#this should be illegal frankly it feels wrong

[lottieurl]

had the utmost displeasure of hearing dżem live with that new vocalist. felt sacrilegious

[kitasgloves]

ATSUMU MIYA knows he's fucked. Being comfortable with being openly bisexual earned him some respect as an athlete and a few biphobic insults on the internet, but he wasn't greatly affected by whatever people thought of him. He's confident with his sexuality. So, when Sakusa Kiyoomi introduced you, his fiancé, to the team, he realized how it was going to bite him in the ass.

It was astonishing how Sakusa was all right with introducing you to the team, after all, he was a private man. He keeps his personal life completely separate from his career as an athlete. Others in the team such as Bokuto and Hinata, thought it was endearing that Sakusa is willing to open up to them and introduce his future wife. You had a personality opposite to Sakusa. You were pretty, great with jokes, and clever. Atsumu couldn't help but get hooked, no wonder you got Omi-omi wrapped around your finger.

Now, Sakusa was an incredibly hot guy, it was a fact that is difficult to deny. Albeit, aloof and not afraid to tell the truth no matter how brutal, Sakusa was intelligent and talented. His picturesque features were just a bonus. Atsumu just finds it cruel how he's drawn to the wing spiker ever since he joined the MBSY Black Jackals. Sure, he had a tiny crush on him back during high school, but he didn't expect it to resurface and develop quickly once he became an adult.

Atsumu thought it was downright fucked up how you and Sakusa arrived at the outing, violently ripping the air out of his lungs with how fucking gorgeous you both looked. Atsumu thought Sakusa wasn't attending the outing, but god he was wrong. While everyone was busy laughing and talking with you as Sakusa contently listened with a subtle smile, Atsumu had a gorilla grip on his can of Coca-Cola. He's sweating and his eyes persistently watch you and Sakusa.

God, he couldn't explain what he was experiencing. Envy? Longing? Come on, he was a hot and openly bisexual man, he could easily get anyone he wanted. But what if the one he wanted was already taken? Or rather, what if he's also attracted to that person's fiancé?

"Hey, Atsumu, you doing all right?"

You tilt your head to the side and Atsumu merely chokes on his soda. He smiles and gives you a thumbs-up. He could've sworn he saw Sakusa smirk in the corner of his eye. The outing went on with Atsumu subtly trying to spend more time with you and Sakusa.

Atsumu felt flabbergasted when Sakusa invited him to your wedding. It was next week. Atsumu had to bite his tongue when Sakusa looked so shy and all flustered when he extended the invitation to him after practice.

"[Name] insisted that I should invite you and the rest of the team"

Sakusa mumbled it was illegal how a six-foot-three brooding man could be adorable. Of course, Atsumu accepted the invitation and proceeded to spend his days preparing for the big day. It's not like he was trying to steal the show like he usually does, he just wanted to get your and Sakusa's attention and leave a lasting impression.

The wedding rolled by. Frankly, Atsumu felt nervous that he didn't prepare enough. But after seeing you and Sakusa kiss at the altar, he felt a burst of joy mixed with longing. Now, the party began. Atsumu grabbed the nearest alcohol and chugged it down, he tried to distract himself by actually having fun. He danced with Bokuto and Hinata as he kept the party alive. As the bride and groom approached the dancefloor, all the alcohol in his body dissipated.

Atsumu's throat felt incredibly dry as his heart leaped out of his chest. Both you and Sakusa looked so fucking good it's making him absolutely weak. You toothily smiled at him, it displayed sheer joy. Sakusa spared him a smirk, showing his dimples. Atsumu needs someone to check his pulse real quick.

"Atsumu!"

"Congratulations, [Name]! So, how does it feel to be a Sakusa?"

"Fucking fantastic"

"I'm gonna wait til ya regret that"

"Miya"

Sakusa frowned at him which made both you and Atsumu laugh. Nonetheless, Atsumu pulls you both on the dancefloor. He watches you gleefully dance your heart out, Sakusa was even letting himself loose and get lost in the lively music. It made Atsumu's heart throb with delight. Eventually, the music transitioned into a soft melody. Everyone exited the dancefloor as the bride and groom had a moment. The shared smile on both of your faces as you held each other, swaying along to the music, brought that weird feeling back to Atsumu.

He pouts and spends the entire event drinking until he gets wasted. He wasn't sure how he ended up in the backseat of a car and carried into a bedroom, but that's all he recalls before he passed out. Atsumu wakes up to the most painful hungover since his college days.

"Ugh, fuck"

He tries to sit up. The bedroom didn't belong to him, so he wasn't home. He was still dressed in his tuxedo. He found a bottle of water and pills on the nightstand, there was a note left beside it. He squints his eyes.

Here are some pills for your hungover :) - [Name]

There are spare clothes for you in the closet, dumbass - Sakusa

No fucking way...

Atsumu takes the pills and frantically gets changed into a large white shirt and a short cotton shorts. He takes a deep breath and exits the room. The smell of bacon enters his nose making his mouth water. He shyly trudges into the kitchen to see a shirtless Sakusa cooking breakfast only wearing grey sweatpants.

Oh dear lord help him

"Uh, good mornin'"

Sakusa turned around and put two pieces of bacon on a plate filled with eggs and rice, there were three plates available. Sakusa squinted his eyes at him and sighed.

"You idiot"

"Ya didn't have to take me to yer home so I wouldn't have to ruin you and [Name]'s honeymoon, Omi-kun"

"You could've gotten hurt. You were stumbling and tripping over your own feet last night. If my wife didn't see you throwing up on a potted plant, you would've gotten kidnapped"

"Look, I'm sorry"

"Tsk"

Sakusa clicked his tongue. Atsumu tried not to stare at his delicious pectoral muscles. The sound of the door closing catches his attention. All air gets violently knocked out of his lungs because you were only wearing an oversized shirt all the way to your thighs, one of your smooth shoulders was exposed. You were yawning and rubbing your eyes as you approached the kitchen.

"Good morning"

"Good morning, darling"

You go over to Sakusa who gives you a kiss on the lips. You turned to Atsumu and smiled.

"Good morning, 'Tsumu"

"Go-good mornin', [Name]"

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, thanks for, uh, taking care of me"

"No worries. Let's go eat breakfast!"

The three of you shared breakfast. Atsumu's eyes kept darting from you and Sakusa as you talked, a part of him felt guilty for interrupting an intimate moment between you two. Both of you deserved an alone time after your wedding. Atsumu played with his food and sulked in his seat.

"Oi, why aren't you eating?"

"I'm sorry for...ruining yer moment"

"No, it's fine Tsumu! Did Kiyoomi make you feel unwelcome?"

"No, I didn't!"

There was a lighthearted bicker between you and Sakusa which makes Atsumu smile. He slowly regains his appetite and finishes his food. When he looks up, he sees both you and Sakusa giving him a gentle look. He gulps.

"Uh, is there somethin' on my face?"

"You're quite adorable aren't you, Tsumu? Won't you agree, honey?"

"Yes, unfortunately"

"Huh? What do ya mean?"

"Tsumu we can see the way you look at us"

Oh fuck. Atsumu didn't want to jump to conclusions but he's internally panicking, bi-panicking he supposes.

"I do-don't know what yer talkin' about"

"Bullshit, Miya"

"Come on, it's okay Tsumu. No need to be ashamed"

"Bu-but both of ya just got married!"

"So?"

You and Sakusa replied in unison. Atsumu is convinced he's about to have a cardiac arrest. You stand from your seat and make your way over to him, you gently grab his face and caress his cheeks. Sakusa silently walks over to you two slyly slides his hand across his neck and grabs his chin. The way both of you were touching him and looking at him was making his brain melt.

"How about we go to the room, yeah?"

Atsumu nods, effectively hypnotized by your voice. You grabbed his hand and led him to your shared bedroom. Sakusa has his hands resting on Atsumu's shoulders, further increasing the anticipation. As soon as the bedroom shuts, Atsumu knows he's going to have a wild time.

should I make a part two with a smutscene? lmfao

edit: here's part 2 lol

[lesbojournals]

Who Are You? (Mafia!Stucky x Spiderman!Reader)

a/n: had to repost because it uploaded weird the first time (sigh)

based off of this prompt

"Who did this to you." Steve's voice was cold as ice as he held your shoulders tightly.

You shook your head negatively. You knew who did it. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Bucky had already broken a glass in his fist upon your arrival, bruised and bloody and frankly a mess.

You couldn't say it. You wouldn't say it.

-

Earlier That Day

It was a typical mission for you. Maybe, you pondered, maybe even a little more relaxed than the typical mission.

The goal?

Stop illegal weapon trading-specifically a trade happening between famous mob bosses Captain America, Winter Soldier and ex-workers of Tony Stark.

Typically a mission like this would have you in a frenzy, because fighting famous mob bosses? You might have unnatural superpowers on your side but they had much more hand to hand combat on their side. Stark had informed you, however, that the infamous bosses wouldn't be present, and it was only someone of much lower status on the mob chain that would be completing the task for them.

Easy enough. You had thought.

But as it turns out, Stark's sources were wrong, and it was the very well known and famously wanted assassin Black Widow that had stood in your way.

You thought your spidey powers would come in handy, after all, you couldn't back out now. You thought wrong.

They helped to a certain degree, after all you scared off the ex-workers and were able to ensure that the mob wouldn't get a hold of dangerous super weapons. What you didn't do was watch your back as the Black Widow hit you upside the head with the bottom of her gun.

This lead you to where you are now. Tied up, in the middle of a dimly lit room with no windows, with no way of communication with the outside world.

"Shit, shit, shit." You whispered, at least thankful your mask was still on.

You tugged at the restraints holding you. You could get out of them, you were sure, but what were you supposed to do once you got out of them? You had no idea what was behind the door in front of you.

You couldn't ponder the decision further, as the door opened.

Your hands shook at the sight of the two men in front of you.

It was your boyfriends, your boyfriends. Your boyfriends who didn't know you were Spiderman, your boyfriends that you thought owned and worked at a boxing club.

You were fucked.

That was when you snapped out of your bondages and went to run.

Steve caught you before you could make it, immediately throwing you to the ground.

Bucky laughed, and Steve had a small smile as he looked at him. "You thought you could get away that easy, huh?"

You didn't respond, crawling back to get back up on your feet.

Both men advanced on you, and you scrambled on what to do.

"Feeling quiet?" Steve questioned, and you couldn't believe your boyfriends were threatening you so harshly.

Bucky smirked. "That'll change."

And he swung for your face, knocking a punch right at your upper cheek bone. He swung again with his metal hand, and you were sure that he had broken your nose.

You tried to stifle the tears, not wanting to injure them.

"Come on, little spider, tell us how you knew about our exchange." Steve threatened, and knocked you down to the ground with one swift kick.

You shook your head negatively, attempting to get up again before Bucky delivered a hard kick to your ribs.

"Should we see, who's the friendly neighborhood spiderman?" Steve taunted, and Bucky nodded with a hum, reaching for your mask.

Alarms went off in your head, and you could feel hot tears running down your face. You immediately sprung up, deciding to whack both of your boyfriends in the face with your webbing with a quick thwip.

This caused both of them to stumble back, cursing loudly as they scratched at their faces.

You took the opportunity to sprint out of the room, following only your intuition to get out of the building. You could hear loud footsteps approaching and decided to slam your body through the nearest window and jump out, shooting your web to swing off of whatever building was in front of you.

You heard gunshots and through the sheer luck of your aim in your swing you avoided them. You continued to swing down the block, crying hysterically as you approached a roof you could calm down on.

When you steadied yourself on the roof you checked your surroundings and immediately ripped off your mask, throwing up as you continued your hysterics.

Everything hurt, including your heart. You felt claustrophobic and couldn't stop the tears running down your face. You pulled your mask back on and kept moving, deciding to head to the top of your favorite spot to retrieve your things.

You changed out of your suit as fast as you could, pulling your hood up to help conceal your bruised face from strangers.

You decided against taking the subway to your shared apartment with the boys, opting instead to walk the long way home. You ignored the multiple calls coming from your cellphone, undoubtedly from Steve or Bucky. You sniffled as you walked, trying your best not to cry uncontrollably again.

When you got to your apartment building, you could see the shadows of Steve and Bucky, moving around frantically. You guessed they were arguing, probably about you not answering your phone.

You let yourself in the building, begrudgingly taking the elevator up to your floor. When you got to the floor, you sighed shakily. You walked up to your door, hearing the boys yelling at each other. As you unlocked it the yelling came to a complete halt, and you slowly opened the door.

"Where have you-baby?!" Steve interrupted himself, immediately taking on your figure.

You inched out of the doorframe. Steve rushed to be in front of you, but you refused to make eye contact.

"Who did this to you." Steve's voice was cold as ice as he held your shoulders tightly.

You shook your head negatively. You knew who did it. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Bucky had already broken a glass in his fist upon your arrival, bruised and bloody and frankly a mess.

You couldn't say it. You wouldn't say it.

How could you tell them it was them that did it?

You did nothing but break down into tears, falling into Steve's arms as you crumbled on the floor.

"Sweetheart..." he shushed. "What happened?"

You shook your head negatively. Bucky came over to you as well, rubbing your back.

"Who did this to you honey?" Bucky tried to be gentle, but he had the slightest tinge of threat in his voice, one you were now all too familiar with.

"I, I, I..." You couldn't catch your breath, Steve soon taking the chance to demonstrate with Bucky deep breathing to help you ground yourself.

"Can we...can we just go to bed?" You insisted, watery eyes staring up at both of your boyfriends.

They had a silent conversation with facial expressions, and you could tell Bucky wanted to figure out what happened now, while Steve was more lenient on letting you get rest.

Steve helped you up, guiding you to the bedroom. Bucky followed, and you let them change you into pajamas as tears continued to stream down your face. They gently pushed you towards the bed and you got in, sniffling as they coddled you. Bucky gave you a concerned look as he laid in front of you.

"We'll talk about this in the morning, yea? For now just get some rest." Steve spoke, and he wrapped his arms around you from behind.

You felt hot tears trickle down your face.

"Okay."

[luvrodite]

THE VERY FIRST NIGHT JASON TODD (college! au)

↳ the first night you spend at his place

You don’t mean to stay over, the first time that you do. Truly you don’t. But it’s late, and you’ve spent the entirety of the afternoon dozing in and out of consciousness on the–quite frankly, illegally comfortable–couch in Jason’s living room. The both of you lie, pressed into each other, against the couch cushions and watch the reruns of old tv shows that are showing. 

A cool wind breezes in through an open window, and at your back, Jason is warm. The sun has long since set, but neither of you have mustered up the will to shut the blinds beyond the comments made every so often when a car will beep loudly, or a truck drones down the road, so loud the both of you flinch awake where you’d lingered on the precipice of true sleep.

It’s this such disruption that pulls you so meanly from sleep, startling you where you’d been so very comfortable in the arms of your boyfriend, and your movement in turn wakes him. He grumbles, and the both of you blink blearily in the dark at each other.

“What’s wrong?” he yawns, making to tug you closer. You stay upright, and he frowns at you, greatly inconvenienced. You would laugh if you were more awake, but sleep clouds your senses still and you reach for your phone. The time blinks at you, a mocking 12:19 and you let out a breath that is heavier than Jason feels it ought to be.

You show him the time and he stares blankly at you. “I’ve missed the last bus,” you say, and he screws his face up as another yawn tears out of him. His arms come around you once more, this time successfully pulling you closer.

“So what, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tucking his nose into your neck.

“Be serious,” you murmur, brushing a hand over his hair. “I should get home.”

He lifts his head to look at you. “‘M being serious. Just stay.”

You pause. 

“Stay the night?” you murmur, unsure. He nods, earnest and sleepy. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll drive you home, if you want,” he says gently, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your mouth. Your heart snags on how he grows a little shy as he pulls away, eyes flicking away to where your necklace has slipped out of your shirt collar. “Just thought it’d be more convenient….y’know…you could borrow my clothes if you want.”

“Jason Todd, you romantic, you,” you breathe out, a surprised laugh colouring your voice. He grumbles as you giggle, heat crowding in your face. You cover up your shyness with a false bravado, peering down at him to tease, “Will you make me breakfast in the morning, too?”

He glares up at you, teeth nipping at the tip of your finger. “I would. ‘Cos I’m a gentleman. And a good host. And your boyfriend.”

Everything in you seems to turn topsy turvy at his words, heart melting into a syrupy sweet, treacle-like mass in your chest. You can’t help but kiss him again. 

“Okay,” you whisper, and his eyes brighten in the dark. “I’ll stay, if you’ll have me. If you promise I’m not being a bother.”

“Could never bother me,” he says plainly, happy. “C’mon, sweetheart. Get you something to wear, think I’ve got a spare toothbrush, somewhere.”

You think that your first night together is going to be nerve-wracking. That you’ll stiffen up in bed and never fall asleep for fear of–fear of what? Getting too comfortable, you think. You think you’ll do something ridiculous and be laughed at for it. You don’t know if you could bear it from Jason.

But as it happens, you are guided down the dim-lit hall, hand in his, feeling very much as though you have already fallen asleep. A soft shirt is pressed into your hands, and shorts you forego–sleep plies you soft and uncaring, you’re here anyway, aren’t you? Jason says nothing, only pressing a kiss to your shoulder and leaving. He returns some moments later, takes your day clothes from your hands in exchange for a red, unopened toothbrush. 

You slip under the sheets and sleep claims you with a kiss. 

me when i lie and say i'm saving writing jersey boy for friday and the weekend. september and october are my peak jason months i think. the weather turns gentle and everything starts to bloom again, and i feel so much love for this silly little fictional man. he makes my heart ache. i love domestic jason. i think mid afternoon in september is always so pretty and the evenings are even lovelier. it makes me think of love so much even though i think i'd run away if it came within six feet of me.

[synthetickitsune]

hii how are you doing? i'm so happy to see your requests open! can i request angst 13 + fluff 32 with jeonghan please? thank you in advance and love your blog <3

thank you, i hope you're having a good time here! ♡

Jeonghan (Seventeen) | Nightmares & "It's okay. I'm here." comfort | 0.8k | gn!reader

The air is thick with tension. It's silent, dead of night, a time that is supposed to be peaceful.

You're supposed to be asleep, and you are - barely - Jeonghan, who is very much awake, notes. Your brow is furrowed, face twitching as if in pain. Should he wake you up? Perhaps. But you need to sleep. Then again, you’re obviously not getting any rest. So after a bit of hesitation he shakes your shoulder, calling your name softly. Your entire body jolts and you wake up with a start. You’re breathing heavily, eyes staring off into space.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. You don’t respond right away, you only stare at the ceiling. It worries him. He’s never seen you like this before. What could you have dreamt about? 

“Give me a second,” is all you say and as impatient he is, he waits. Even if it feels like he’s gonna lose his mind. You let out a deep breath. Then you close your eyes for a moment. It feels like eternity before you open them again. 

“I had a nightmare,” you say, and he doesn't say that he guessed as much, “I died there.”

Before he can coo at you and provide comfort, you continue.

“I mean you did too,” you chuckle, and look at him, laughing some more at his confused face, “Wait a minute.” 

So he waits some more, unsure whether to be amused or concerned. Frankly, he's both. You’re adorable when you’re a little unnerving in the middle of the night. The cutest, but… why does his chest feel so tight suddenly?

“Look, we were in an elevator, and then it sort of jumped and started falling. We were free falling and all I could think of was - ah, finally,” you smile again and on instinct he smiles too. Like he isn’t worried about the love of his life greeting death with open arms it seems. Why are you so happy?

“But then I saw you,” and as you say this you frown, “And I got so sad. It felt so wrong - like, you don't deserve that. And I panicked and I started telling you how much I love you and I didn't stop until the elevator crashed and... yeah.”

This time he laughs freely. The nerves make him do it. It should be illegal to make him feel both this loved and this… anxious? Afraid? 

“Cute,” he comments, pulling you closer to him, because it was your nightmare and you should be comforted, “But I’m here. It’s okay. And I hope I told you love you too.” 

“You did,” you hum, happily snuggling into the warmth of his chest, “The other people in the elevator gave us super mean stares.” 

He tsks, helping you up so he could tuck your head under his chin. Why does nothing feel like you’re close enough? 

“They can't understand our love,” he sighs and revels in the sound of your laughter. You seem relaxed. It doesn't seem like the nightmares affected you at all. Maybe he’s the one overthinking this. 

“Are you sure you're okay?" he ask his voice dropping into a soft whisper “Wanna talk about anything?” 

“Just stressed from work,” you sigh, “Nothing to worry about.”

“But if you ever need to-”

“I can talk to you,” you roll your eyes fondly, “I know, Hannie.”

He nods, pulling you even closer with a kiss to the top of your head. 

“That's right,” he says proudly, “I’m always here for you.” 

“I’m sorry I didn't think to tell you that I love you first,” you murmur, the words muffled by his shirt. He laughs, but the sound is a little hollow. Why is he so affected by this? It wasn’t even his dream.

“Just never leave me, okay?” he feels embarrassed as soon as he says it, hiding his face into your hair. Totally only to hide and not to reassure himself that you’re right there. He should be comforting you. He’s never failed you like this so why…? 

“Hey,” you say, breaking free from his hold to make him look at you, “Never. What’s wrong?”

He laughs at himself a little. 

“I don't know,” he admits. Seriously, what’s wrong with him? “Could I hold you for a while?”

Instead of an answer, you push yourself a little higher on the bed and wrap your arms around him. His head rests on your chest, and once he hears your heartbeat, he relaxes.

“I’m alright, Hannie," you repeat, fingers threading through his hair, “I’m safe, and when you wake up, I’ll still be right here.” 

He nods, squeezing you one in a silent thanks. You fall asleep soon after, missing how he holds onto you like his life depends on it. Because maybe it does more than you realize - more than he realized. He ponders the nightmare and his suffocating emotions until he falls asleep. 

Come morning, he hasn’t figured out anything new but he holds you a little tighter and lets you go with a bit more reluctance.

[myguidingmoon-light]

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.” (Luke 2:7)

No room. That’s something I’ve heard too much lately. Palestinians have been hearing that for 75 years. Since they were driven out of their homes—more than 700 000 of them—in 1948 to make room for the colony of Israel, there has been less and less room every day. Less land, literally, as even though lines and walls have been drawn over the years, Israel continues to illegally settle in Palestinian land. Less room to breathe, as the population of Gaza grew within the illegal blockade walling them into a tiny strip of land. Less room to live now, as Gaza has been under constant attack by Israeli bombs and guns and while the civilians of Gaza are pushed by this violence into even smaller and smaller “safe zones” (though there is nowhere safe in Gaza right now).

But also no room our conversations. No room in our imagination. No room in our understanding of our world of “human rights” and “developed nations.” You’d think “Palestinian” is a slur for how quickly it shuts up (or heats up) dialogue. These are our neighbours, and it feels like pulling teeth to get people to engage with their humanity—let alone ask their MP to ask our government to ask Israel’s government to please stop bombing civilians for the third month straight.

Today we recognize when a Jewish Palestinian family was forced by the state to leave their home, shelter in unfit terrain, give birth without proper medical care, survive a massacre, and become refugees. We Christians call the baby born in that family Emmanuel, which means God with us. God was born in Bethlehem, behind the border wall, in an occupation. What does that tell us about who God is?

Our Christian siblings in Palestine have asked us not to let this Christmas pass as usual. To that, I ask, what is Christmas as usual? If we don’t see our neighbours in the story of Jesus, what is the point? If we need to put the real, genuine injustices of the world out of our mind so that we can be comforted by Christmas, we are frankly doing it wrong. The point—the whole point—is that love and justice are possible for the unloved and the oppressed, even when it doesn’t feel that way. It is our responsibility to make that happen, and we can’t do that with our eyes closed.

You should feel uncomfortable about celebrating Christmas while a genocide is going on. We need to have room for that. We also need to have room for the hope that Christmas represents. We need to have room in our hearts for justice, lasting peace, and a free Palestine, because we are all needed to make it a reality.

And for God’s sake, CEASEFIRE NOW!

“He has brought down the mighty from their thrones/ and exalted those of humble estate;/ he has filled the hungry with good things,/ and the rich he has sent away empty.” (Luke 1:52-53)

.

.

.

I am indebted to Rev. Munther Isaac for his wisdom in helping so many of us walk through this time. Personally, I just finished his book “The Other Side of the Wall”—if you are a Christian, you have to read this book. I’ll buy you a copy if you want.

I also want to note that this post isn’t really supposed to be an explainer or an argument. I didn’t cite anything here, but if you’re curious about anything I referenced (e.g. why did I bring up medical care?), send me a message and I’d be happy to give you more details about what’s happening in Palestine. I’m no expert, but I know some people just genuinely don’t know the extent of the injustice and don’t know where to learn more; if you have questions I’m happy to help, but I’m not here to fight with you.

Same deal if you want to help but don’t know how. I’m happy to give you some ideas and even help you out with them (distance permitting). One important action you can always take is contacting your Member of Parliament. You don’t have to write anything fancy—just tell them honestly how you’re feeling and ask them to support an urgent ceasefire. This is literally your right as a Canadian, so you don’t have to worry about doing something wrong.

[xappetites]

jouissance (3)

Phillip Graves x Reader | Phillip feels himself shifting, the way it happens when he starts to think of something as his. Like he's pacing the edge of the property, keeping what belongs to him under his watchful eye, by his side. Ready to gore whatever thinks they can take it from him. | word count: 1,688

Someone has done wrong by his wife, Phillip can tell. Even if all she does is look real surprised when she walks away from baggage claim and sees him there waiting for her. 

It’s the same eyes she gave him when he got her the ring, like she never expected it; which makes it startlingly clear that she’s been made to think she’s not worth the trouble. And she’s thought that for long enough that she has no issue depending on only herself. 

And it should be one more flash of good luck for him, all things considered. It’d be far easier to live his life not putting in effort that isn’t expected of him, but the thought hits him dead in the pride.

His wife should never be pitied for it. It should be something to envy, belonging to him. No one’s going to look at his senator’s girl like they look at Marnie, no one would ever call his girl ‘abnegate’ like they do to his mother. So, of course it bothers him; enough to have him licking an orgasm out of her on the backseat of his truck, in the middle of the airport parking lot, while she giggles out something about getting arrested for indecent exposure. And he laughs into her cunt, drags a hint of teeth over her clit just to see her flinch because this is by far the tamest illegal shit he’s done these past few weeks.

She doesn’t know that, though. Phil’s frankly not sure she even knows the full extent of what he does for a living, beyond the fact that it’s vaguely military related and it sometimes takes him down to shithole places for months at the time.

She knows it was the reason they didn’t have a honeymoon; which then gave her an excuse to abscond back to New York for a month.

And Phillip, he doesn’t have the healthiest impression of marriage, he’s aware. He’s met enough married shadows that get the jitters as soon as they touch down at home base, aching to get back to their spouses, to realize that the way his father and Pete gripe about their wives isn’t the norm. 

But Phil didn’t really imagine himself one way or the other, before feeling the itching under his skin to just wrap up a nice little win as fast as possible; when he couldn’t still the bouncing of his leg through typing out his mission report. Not before this last week he spent on his own in the new house.

Maybe it’s because it is new, but it’s fucking barren. The long silence after a fight he didn’t win. There’s no hair in the drains to complain about, no overspill of beauty products on the bathroom counter. None of the things he’s seen in her apartment in the city: the book haphazardly thrown on the couch and the spices standing at attention by the stove, like a splinter cell from the army of jars on the rack.

It should be unsettling to want it, should feel out of character, but Phillip’s too used to noise to be comfortable in that tomb of a house. He’s right at home in the constant din of people around him, and he happens to really like the noises she makes.

The breathless little thing she groans out as she tugs on his hair, the singing under her breath while she redresses herself —in that way that makes him wanna keep her in bed all day. All those sounds she’s keeping just out of his reach by refusing to stay in town.

“You don’t like the house?”

He breaches the topic as soon as he merges onto the highway, with a hand splayed possessive over her thigh. It’s about as subtle as a tank, bulldozing over the bore of late friday night traffic; and it makes her straighten in the passenger seat where she’s leaning back, boneless, save for the wrist hanging out the window so the smoke of her cigarette falls mostly away from the vehicle.

Phil watches like a hawk; follows each little shift in her expression, looking for the denial, the excuses. He gets a burst of embarrassed laughter instead.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it? It’s so quiet.”

“Well we haven’t been in it to make it noisy, have we?”

This time her laugh is a little higher, breathy and surprised. She reaches for his hand, teasing her fingertips over the endless little white lines of scar scattered across his knuckles; and she takes advantage of the gridlock to lean in and speak right into the skin of his neck.

“This place is so fucking boring when you’re not around.”

…

The Graves are a good, southern, God fearing family; they go to church every Sunday, they say their prayers before every meal. And they bless every single calf less than half an hour after the poor things first lay eyes on this world.

Phillip— isn’t. He can’t stand the smell of incense, he’s spent too many hours counting the floor tiles as their pastor droned on about loving thy neighbor and he’s never felt God out in the field with him. Not that he has any need for it, when he can rely on himself and his shadows.

But god damn, if this girl wasn’t heaven sent with a pretty bow and his fucking name on the tag.

He feels it in his bones with a certainty so deep it aches, bent over her in the stupid walk in closet neither of them cared about but it’s quickly proving itself a necessity. Or maybe that’s just his orgasm crawling like fire up his spine, feeling her tighten around him everytime he catches her eyes through the ridiculously big mirror. Perhaps it’s the sight of her dripping with him, his inside and out. Or the way it takes none of the cajoling he’d braced himself for, to convince her to come meet the shadows on base.

“Give me a baseline here. What are they expecting? Marilyn or Jackie?”

Her voice comes loud, so he can hear her all the way in the en-suite from where he left her starfished on the bed, chattering away with that manic sort of energy spike she gets when the sex is really good. 

Phil considers it for a second, watches her stretch like a cat towards him as soon as she lays eyes on him, and she shines in the shared petty joy of performing a different version of themselves, keeping their soft bellies out of reach.

But he doesn’t like the thought of her playing stupid for the Shadows. He doesn’t want to put on a show for them; hell, just imagining it makes him move to grab her, scrambling over the bed until she’s giggling under him; putting weight on her before she’s lost, drifting too far from him.

She grins, assuming that Phil’s reaction comes from the impulse to mark his territory, which in a way it is. He’s simply taken by the humiliating notion that he wants every man under his charge to know this is true, for there to not be a single doubt that this woman loves him. The Shadows aren’t like Pete, or his parents, they’re trained to mind the details and pinpoint weaknesses; if they catch even the slightest clue that this is an arrangement , he doesn’t doubt they’ll mock him over the comms channels he has no business being in. Or worse, they’ll pity him.

“Would that make me JFK?”

It’s a joke, but it makes her smile falter. And she drags the pad of her thumb over the scar on his cheek. Staring at him for a second of silence that feels significant in a way he can’t put into words.

“Won’t wear pink, then.”

…

The Shadows are on their best behavior, which in fairness, isn’t strange. Phil isn’t training animals, he’s beating excellence into himself and whoever chooses to trust him with their talent. Besides, this meeting —after his wife’s no pink, no heels, no pearls, entrance— is a smaller affair. Team Leaders only. The men he trusts to make this request of.

“Alright, I know there’s been rumors,” some shadows laugh, some roll their eyes, which Phillip hopes it’s enough to loosen the tension of a dozen well trained, deadly people in a crowded office, no matter how comparatively big it is. “And I’m aware y’all have better things to do than minding my businesses, but I thought I’d bring the missus over to meet you lot.”

His girl shifts behind him, Phil catches it out of the corner of his eye, holding his gaze through the reflection on a window. Deliberate, where she knows he can see her, as intimate as the pinky she brushes against his hand.

“And I want you to get familiar with this pretty face, ‘cause I’m gonna need you to make her top priority, in case anything happens to me.”

Phil waits for a few nods from the shadows, as they collectively watch his wife’s microexpressions. Covertly as their training allows. The way she narrows her eyes at the back of his head, burning a hole through him, her body twisting infinitesimally to better face him; and her subtle point of touch that becomes her full palm against his, so Phillip has the chance to hold on firmly to her hand.

“Vance, you and your team know what to do. The rest of you will receive instructions if necessary.”

The shadows can tell when they’re dismissed, so they break lines with the usual callout, moving in pairs and threes and single file out the door until his office is quiet. And then Phil can turn to see her, waiting for the questions he saw forming across her face in real time but never come.

She just pulls him flush against her, slowly —the gentlest she’s ever been with him—, and she kisses him until he’s tugging at her clothes and panting out her name into the mid summer heat, barely audible under the constant hum of the air conditioning.

[nostalgicninjas]

2012 Leorai Rant

there’s so much discourse about whether 2012 leorai is considered incest or not and i kinda wanted to throw my two cents in ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i grew up with the 2012 series, and as a kid, i was a hardcore leorai fan. now as an adult, i’ve become neutral to the ship (though it will always hold a special place in my heart for nostalgic purposes). overall my thoughts/perspective on leorai have changed a lot over the years. i’ve grown to ship them more with other people (‼️ aprinardo and shinirai supremacy ‼️) while still loving and appreciating their canon dynamic. personally, i don’t view their relationship as entirely platonic or romantic. on one hand, i believe leo and karai do love each other like family (the same way all the turtles love april and casey like family) but they also connect on a deeper level that’s too intimate to call them “siblings”. it’s not as black and white as them being either brother/sister or boyfriend/girlfriend. to me, their relationship has so many layers it’s too complex for labels. which is fine because labels are overrated anyway. but that’s just my opinion.

i completely get why some people (especially those with adopted family members) think the relationship is weird, and i also get why some people see no problem with it. at the end of the day, it all depends on an individual’s life experiences or personal preferences.

note: if two people are biologically blood relatives, then an intimate/sexual relationship between them is 100% incest and i do not support or condone such behavior.

in this particular case however, i believe there is a difference between real incest and what society views to be incest. imagine two people have been dating for a while and then their parents fall in love and decide to get married. are they supposed to just turn their feelings off for each other and break up because they are now “technically siblings”? i’m sorry to break it to you but that’s not how emotions work. emotions are complicated. and frankly it seems wrong to try to force two people to think/feel a certain way about each other just because it’s what society excepts. i have always been a firm believer that people should be free to follow their hearts and love who they love. if there is no blood or biological connection involved (or any other illegal factors), then i see no reason why people can’t be free to choose how they get to view a person or how they wish for those relationships to develop. because in this case, love is not a crime.

in a way, the same can be said for leo and karai. first impressions count for something, and leo had already developed feelings for karai long before he found out she was splinter’s daughter. i know most people would disagree, but just because they view the same man as a father figure does not make them obligated to view each other as siblings. just because mikey CHOOSES to view karai as a sister does not mean leo is obligated to view her the same way. same goes for raph and donnie. from what was shown in the series, those two (especially raph) hardly considered karai to be a part of their immediate family, much less considered her a sister. and that’s their right. as much as i’m sure we all wanted to see the turtles and karai come together (and trust me i did too), donnie and raph had valid reasons to dislike/distrust karai and they shouldn’t be forced to brush their justified feelings aside and immediately accept her as a “sister” if they don’t want to. they may view her as an ally/asset to the team, but if they don’t want to view her as family, then they shouldn’t have to (though i’m sure they would eventually accept her in the future; whether or not as a sister or just a distant family member, we’ll never know).

i even once saw someone say that if shipping leorai isn’t incest because they aren’t blood related, then it shouldn’t be considered incest when shipping the turtles with splinter since they also aren’t blood related. that’s a really gross comparison for multiple reasons but mainly;

1.) the turtles are all MINORS and splinter is a grown ass man which is reason enough because W T F

and

2.) splinter has always viewed the turtles as his children and the turtles have always viewed him as their father. for him to suddenly take any kind of sexual interest in them is downright predatory, blood or no blood.

as for the whole “whether or not they share dna” debate, that’s honestly up to interpretation. splinter was never actually seen touching the turtles, so it’s not a canon fact that they actually absorbed any of his human dna when they mutated. and even if they had, the notion that this automatically makes them biological relatives to splinter is actually quite comical. that’s like saying the radioactive spider that gave peter parker superpowers is suddenly his new father. sounds silly, doesn’t it?

overall, i hate it when careless leorai fans make insensitive statements about adopted families, and i also hate it when anti shippers treat leorai fans like freaks just for having a different perspective on their relationship. if you prefer to think of them as brother and sister, then that’s cool. we’re all entitled to our opinions. what’s not cool is constantly harassing fans of the ship and shoving your “sibling” agenda down their throats (and vice versa).

to borrow a paragraph from @orokukarai’s rant:

If the ship makes you uncomfortable, whether it's for personal reasons or you're just not vibing, that's OK. If you personally see it as incestual, that's valid. But going around saying Leorai shippers all like or support incest is not true and there are many valid readings where they're not incestual even if you disagree with them. Some shippers probably do like incest, but then so do many non-Leorai shippers.

in conclusion, respect other people’s opinions. if you stumble across content you don’t like, block or ignore it. no need to comment hate or fill up the ship hashtags with negativity (and that goes for ALL fandoms).

just stay in your lane and keep scrolling ✌️

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Steven Beschloss at America, America:

On January 6, 2021, 147 members of Congress refused to certify the 2020 election which Joseph R. Biden won. This despite a violent attack on the U.S. Capitol earlier that day. This after two months of constant lying by Trump and his enablers that the election was stolen and he really won. That election denialism didn’t fade, neither has the desire for a coup that would subvert the will of the people and reinstall the 2020 loser in office. Fast forward to May 30, 2024. Twelve ordinary citizens unanimously determined that Donald Trump was guilty of 34 felony charges after five grueling weeks of detailed evidence. This followed dozens of the defendant’s enablers in Congress appearing inside and outside the courthouse to insist that this trial was rigged, nothing more than a political show trial, and that their beloved leader didn’t do anything wrong or illegal. The jury’s verdict of guilt didn’t change their rejection of justice and the legitimacy of the judicial system. In fact, the trial denialism only grew louder, more insistent—and more dangerous.

We should not be surprised. The same people who rejected the factual reality of Trump’s loss in 2020 have only grown more extreme in their need to ignore the truth as their hunger for power by any means has grown stronger. Accepting that the court proceeding was legitimate and the jurors’ conclusion was fair and true would puncture the bubble of lies that have propelled Trump toward the 2024 nomination for president. If he is guilty now, then maybe it means he really lost then. If they accept that he is genuinely a convicted felon and doesn’t belong anywhere near the White House again, they would have to doubt their decision to stick by him and his lies dating back to the 2020 election and before.

[...]

We can count on the trial deniers to keep digging, led by the convicted felon who had already succeeded in convincing them to embrace election denialism. Their chosen leader will continue to provide them an endless stream of contempt—toward the trial, toward the judge, toward the Manhattan District Attorney, toward the court system, toward the president, toward anyone who sways from their dangerous message.

And if a Republican refuses to go along? Then they devour him. After the verdict, former Maryland Gov. and now Senate candidate Larry Hogan dared to post this rational statement: “Regardless of the result, I urge all Americans to respect the verdict and the legal process. At this dangerously divided moment in our history, all leaders—regardless of party—must not pour fuel on the fire with more toxic partisanship. We must reaffirm what has made this nation great: the rule of law.” In response, election-denying and trial-denying Republican National Committee chair and Trump daughter-in-law Lara Trump went on the attack. She said Hogan “doesn’t deserve the respect of anyone in the Republican Party at this point, and quite frankly anybody in America, if that’s the way you feel.” Chris LaCivita, a Trump campaign advisor, was more direct in defining the consequence of Hogan’s lack of fealty. “You just ended your campaign,” he wrote in response. The insurrection did not end on Jan. 6, 2021. Since then, the rejection of factual reality has only intensified. 

Steven Beschloss’s America, America column on how the anti-reality MAGA Cult's election denial has extended into trial denialism is a must-read.

The MAGA Cult is all about showing fealty to the 34x convicted felon and domestic terrorist cult leader Donald Trump, facts be damned.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — eight || Jungkook

[Moodboard by @jeonlovescoffee]

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 7.5k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy,  who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then  it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father  decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fights and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): toxic parental relationship, explosion, general angst

First · Previous · Next

(there is a long author's note under the chapter, feel very free to skip it lol)

“How is everything looking, Hector?” is the first thing you say when you walk though the new building’s glass doors.

The simple action brings you a sense of satisfaction you haven’t felt in a long time, as you take in what you’ve achieved. Of course, the situation is still far from what it was before Mr. X was murdered. The Organization doesn’t own this building, and it’s merely renting one floor from it. It’s also not quite as impressive of a building as you would have liked, but it will have to do, and you know that getting your hands on this place in a couple of weeks is nothing short of a miracle.

But then, knowing which strings to pull and which palms to grease had always been your thing, hadn’t it.

God, it felt good to be back to doing things the way you used to.

“Everything seems to be in order, ma’am,” Hector replies, matching his step to yours as you walk towards the elevator. Despite the fact that it’s still early in the morning, the lobby is already bursting with life. The image you’re giving the group right now is an excellent one. There’s still a lot of work to be done on the floor you’re renting, but that is only temporary and, frankly, you cannot find it in yourself to care about that right now.

“Mr. Jeon should be coming in to check on things in about twenty minutes,” you say as the elevator doors close, his schedule clear as day in your mind. “I want everyone ready.”

Everything won’t be ready by then, even you can only manage so much, but arranging for people to greet him and for his office to be in order should be feasible. You know he won’t be all that impressed by it, can picture his expression of annoyance and vague disgust. Still, it should make it clear that you have everything under wraps and that he wasn’t wrong in giving you free reign in handling the building. As you were taking the steps to do that, you had been able to tell that he wasn’t happy about all of your choices. He’d held back saying anything on that, though.

That was ultimately a good thing, of course, but you weren't sure what to make of it. Before, at least, you knew what you were dealing with. You’d tried to fight back all the paranoid thoughts you’d been having ever since the shift in Jungkook’s demeanor, tried to just trust, for once. That had been— easier said than done. Maybe you just weren't wired that way, maybe you just didn’t have it in yourself.

Knowing, from the looks you sometimes caught him giving you, that the feeling was mutual had brought a surprising sense of comfort.

The elevator doors ding as they open, and you step out on the busy floor. People are rushing in every direction, carrying boxes, chairs, computers, papers, and the occasional plant. Behind a circular desk, directly facing you, a woman is setting up a computer and doesn’t notice you. In fact, no one so much as glances in your direction, and it takes you a few long seconds to find one of the security guards that you’ve hired.

That simply won’t do.

“Who is in charge of watching the elevator?” you ask the man without bothering to greet him.

You see him blink as he tries to figure out who you are. Finally, he seems to recognize Hector and, though he clearly still hasn’t placed you, he must decide that you’re important.

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re pretty busy here, I—”

“One person needs to have eyes on it at all times,” you order. There’s no inflection to your tone, no anger, and yet it leaves no place for discussion. “That is the only thing that is needed of you. Anything, and I mean anything that happens in here must be white noise to you. Is that clear?”

He swallows.

“Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

But you don’t think he does. No matter. You’ll fix it soon enough. Perhaps it would be smart to put one of Jungkook’s men at this spot. You doubt this man truly realizes what is happening here, what this company even is, and, frankly, what he risks, being here. You suppose you’ll find somewhere else for him, and you mentally file the task before briskly turning away from him.

“Mr. Jeon’s office is that way, Hector?”

You barely need to ask. You’ve studied the plans, you've chosen the emplacement for the office, to the point that you already know this place like the back of your hand, even if it’s your first time actually stepping foot in it.

Hector hums in affirmation, following after you as you make your way through the corridor. You don’t miss anything happening around you. You glance at the wide room where half of the desks have already been set up, and at the people who are already there. They’re here to act as the legal front of the business, which really is mostly just a way to launder money. None of them are actually of value, and you haven’t bothered remembering their names or faces, but they’ll come in handy as a group.

You do recognize, in a corner, two accountants that you managed to hire again. You’ll need some more, but these two are capable of actual magic with numbers, and it’s a relief to you that that’s one less thing you’ll have to worry about. One of them looks up, meeting your eyes, and you give her a polite nod, which she returns. The quiet respect of the interaction is one more thing that helps grounding you.

You wish everything could be this simple.

When you walk into Jungkook’s office, you know exactly what you’re going to find. Except what catches your eye isn’t the elegant wooden desk, the leather chair, or the impressive view on the city you have through the picture window. No, it’s the floral arrangement that sits proudly on the desk, and the rich perfume that’s emanating from it.

You don’t know much about the language of flowers. You’ve never had to give it much thought. You do know that you don’t like these colors. Lots of red, dark greens, some unpleasant touches of purple. It’s too intense, jarring, almost tacky. When you take the card that’s planted in the middle, you know exactly what to expect.

‘Jungkook,’ the card reads in elegant calligraphy, ‘I see you keep walking in my father’s footsteps. There are things that we need to discuss. You know where to find me. —A.’

Even though your back is turned to Hector, you only stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the last second, and you want to scold yourself in response to it. If you start letting emotions slip through, you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold them in next time it really matters. You know that. You need to— you need to stop slipping.

The card goes into your wallet. New filing. You’ll have to remember to burn that later.

“Throw these out,” you order Hector. “Take the stairs to avoid running into Mr Jeon, and go out the back. Then try to find out if anyone saw them getting delivered.”

“Are you sure, ma’am? If he finds out—”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

At the finality of your words, Hector just nods stiffly and takes the basket the flowers came in. Not long ago, you would have thought he had an excellent point, would have taken pains to ensure Jungkook wouldn’t find out. It was true that he still wouldn’t be happy about you hiding things from him, but it was— things had changed, too. You didn’t think he would mind that much. He’d probably understand.

Shit. Since when did you work on probably’s when it came to your safety? You needed— you weren’t sure what you needed. To get a grip or to trust him on this?

Anna trying to contact him was undoubtedly bad news, though. Your mind latches to the obvious distraction, all too happy to move away from the dilemma. Thinking of Jungkook's possible reaction to her is enough to make your stomach twist at the thought of what happened last time. You don’t want to have to go find him, all bruised and battered, after spending the night at the Circle. You don’t want to have to see him in that state again. And most of all, you don’t want to think about what he must have felt like, to inflict that upon himself.

You breathe in, slowly. As unreasonable as it is, that is probably your main reason for not letting Jungkook see the flowers and the note. You just, desperately, irrationally, want to protect him. It’s something you did a pretty shitty job at all those years ago, no matter how hard you tried, and it’s something you’d like to do better now, since you have the chance.

That isn’t the only reason, though. You’re also not sure Jungkook can be trusted around Anna. She’s been playing the manipulation game for a long time, possibly as long as she’s been alive, and it’s clear that she still has some form of influence on him. You don’t want to give her a chance at figuring that out — figuring him out. You’re certain that it would jeopardize the Organization, and, again, you don't think that would be good for Jungkook. Falling back into Anna’s arms is the last thing he needs.

Maybe you should put more faith in him, but you’ve been doing a lot of that already, lately. It looks like this is where you find your limits.

You straighten your shoulders, glancing around the room. You cannot stay here immobile, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Without a doubt, the potent smell hanging in the air is one he will notice. There’s even a strong possibility that that consideration impacted Anna’s choice of flowers.

It certainly would have impacted yours.

You don’t linger on that thought.

In just a few steps, you’re at the window. It takes you a second to get it opened, and when you do, the harsh, cold wind of November comes rushing in. You suppress a shiver, dig your teeth into your cheek to keep them for chattering. To finish the job, you retrieve an air freshener from a nearby closet. You made sure there would be some on hand, considering the fact that a number of hybrids would be working there. While they are not fond of the artificial smell, it’s still better than most of the unpleasant, natural ones that humans don’t necessarily notice.

And, apparently, it can be used when your bitch of an ex-boss keeps trying to sink her teeth in your new one. Like she hasn’t done him enough damage, like she hasn’t hurt him enough, like he won’t forever bare the scars she’s inflicted on him—

You still your movements, mind racing.

You’re used to the gnawing of irritation, the bite of the desire for revenge, the cold feeling of injustice. This white-hot anger is— new. It’s unlike you, frankly, and that fills you with fear. But what you find truly terrifying is the fact that you don’t find completely unpleasant. You should know better. You usually do.

Yet, for some reason, you cling on to this specific emotion.

Why?

“Why the fuck does it smell like that in here?”

Turning around to face Jungkook, the question is yet one more thing that you file away in the complex system that is your brain, making a mental note to come back to it later.

Or not.

“You’re here early, Mr. Jeon,” you say with a polite nod of your head. He’s standing in the doorway, nose scrunched in disgust, black hair falling in soft curls to frame his face and underline that perfect jaw of his. A scowl twists his mouth, no doubt due to the smell he was mentioning. “There was a strange smell in here,” you say flatly, without batting an eye. Not lying but not quite telling the truth either. “I assumed you would rather avoid that in your office.”

He doesn’t question what you say — why would he? — and just lets out an annoyed groan. You’re starting to suspect that it’s just your voice that gets on his nerves. He walks inside the room and looks around critically.

“I suppose this doesn’t look too bad,” he admits after a few second.

“This should only be temporary,” you tell him. “If everything goes well, you should be able to have your own floor.”

‘If everything goes well’ sure carries a lot of weight here.

If he makes it through the next day.

If he’s not horrifically murdered in the next few months.

If you don’t fuck up.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Jungkook comments, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him. He’s not really saying this to you, expecting you to react to this information. He’s just— saying it. Sharing his thoughts with you. It throws you off more than you would like to admit. “I’m not going to be running things from behind a desk.”

You bite your tongue, force yourself to think about what you want to say.

“Then think of this as being about your image, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “Ideally, I would prefer if you worked from here, at least until things settle down but,” you keep going, expecting his anger, “I would understand if you didn’t. Still, this place should be safe.” And you add, somewhat self-consciously. “I upped the security.”

He seems puzzled, and then an amused — somewhat mocking, but mostly amused — grin forms on his face.

“As long as you have some hybrids on the team, no one should be able to do what we did.”

You nod politely. You’d thought something along those lines.

“We will ensure that we do.”

“Frankly, even we didn’t think it would be that easy to take you on,” Jungkook adds, burying his hands in his pockets and taking a step towards you. The grin’s still dancing on his lips, and you stare. Is he trying to get a rise out of you?

You realize you’re taking too long to answer, and you look away, though you can tell that he's still looking at you, still smiling. You have no idea what to make of that or what you should reply. So, instead of going down that route, you clear your throat and pull out your phone, looking at it to read the schedule you know by heart.

“There is still work to be done up here,” you say, voice coming back to you now that you’re going down a familiar script, “so most of the appointments you have for today are outside. In the future, we’ll ideally hold most meetings here or in restaurants nearby.” You don’t add that you want to make sure people come to him, in a place where you can be in control, rather than the opposite. You know he wouldn’t like that, and you know he’ll likely keep his habits or going all around town. That is just something you’ll have to compose with.

“Right,” he says, tone just a little too sharp, and you hear all that he doesn’t say loud and clear. You could take issue with it, but you know that he’s making the same kind of effort you are.

You glance up at him and your eyes meet. In that moment, you both choose not to add anything that could get your defenses back up.

“Let’s get it done,” he says, and you nod.

This is something you think you could get used to. Actually, this is— nice, almost.

Almost.

While Jungkook has given you more freedom lately, not forcing you to be on his heels at all time, you are still in his presence more often than not. You are not entirely sure of how much of that is necessary. Since he now actually listens to you, it certainly makes more sense than it used to, but you can’t help but think that there has to be a better use of your time. You did mention, once, the possibility of having someone else filling in for you — someone who would be able to explain the inner workings of the Organization shouldn’t be that hard to find — but Jungkook just let out a dismissive scoff, and you didn’t bring it up again.

You did not want to push your luck, not for something that was ultimately harmless, when it was clear that you had finally reached a fragile truce. You still managed to get things done on your phone while Jungkook did— did his thing, more or less. It involved a lot of talking to people, a lot of handshakes, and many meetings in small offices that you were not always allowed into.

You were familiar with such interactions; Mr. X made sure to meet with the higher-ups at least once a month, and had frequent dinners with them individually. The difference was that Jungkook didn’t limit himself to the higher-ups. They were on the list, certainly, but it wasn’t all that rare for you to have to spend your afternoons in a freezing warehouse while Jungkook was talking with people who were only in command of a small group — sometimes, the meeting involved the whole group.

You did not say a word about it. At this point, you suspected that he knew what your feelings on the matter were, but he didn’t comment on it either. Those were differences that you could accept, especially because you could somewhat see the use in what he was doing.

Mr. X had never done anything to ensure the loyalty of those people and, though you sometimes met with one of your informants in person, neither had you. Usually, fear was enough to keep them in line. But with someone as charismatic and as confident as Jungkook… It was no wonder that that they felt they had a shot.

And, of course, a large number of the people Jungkook met with were hybrids. Some hid their attributes underneath hoodies and gloves; others flaunted them threateningly. You spotted lots of sharp teeth and claws, split tongues, scales, and, on one occasion, additional eyes on the temples of a spider-hybrid, usually hidden behind glasses.

Jungkook fit right in. The way he spoke, the way he held himself, it was obvious that he was seen as one of their own.

The same thing could not be said about you. Your mere presence could offset the balance in the whole room. On the few occasions when you interfered to talk to Jungkook, you were met with glares and even a couple of growls.

While there was no way Jungkook wouldn’t have noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. You weren’t sure what that meant. It seemed unlikely that he was putting you in these situations to make you fear for your life, not when he’d made it clear that you were not to be harmed by his men. That, however, did not help you figure out what his true reasoning was.

You were starting to wonder whether or not there was a reasoning. That was hard to wrap your head around, so unlike anything you had experienced in the years since you had joined the Organization. But then again, Jungkook was unlike anything you had experience since then.

And maybe that was not a bad thing.

During that time, you had started to send Hector do some of your less sensitive work. He’d recoiled at first at the idea of leaving you alone but, for once, he had not seemed too upset when you had insisted. You couldn’t say for sure if that was because he was mad at you or because he believed you when you told him you would be safe. He had simply nodded, and then he’d gotten to work. As it turned out, his heightened sense of hearing was an invaluable ability when he met with people or inspected places. You were always cautious not to send him anywhere too dangerous, of course, and you suspected that he knew that.

Trust might have been growing here, too, now that you thought about it.

Huh.

“This group is in charge of weapons entering the country,” you tell Jungkook in the car. “The government pays close attention to that, so they lay low when there’s no shipment coming in. The recent change in the group’s direction seems to have been well-received, even among the human members.”

Jungkook snorts at that.

“Yeah, ‘cause you would be the first to know if that wasn’t the case.”

“I actually keep a close eye on that group, considering their importance,” you reply, not even blinking at his derisive tone. “I would have heard about it.”

That makes him glance in your direction, raising an eyebrow.

“You have eyes everywhere, don’t you?” This time, he’s not mocking you.

“There seems to have been some movement within the group,” you continue, unwilling to reveal your secrets any more than you need to, “but most of the humans who were there kept their place. If anything, the new arrangement ensures more stability within the group, because the hybrids face less danger.”

You notice a muscle in Jungkook’s jaw contracting at your words, and you know exactly what he's thinking about. While weapons are strictly regulated in the country, humans caught carrying them can essentially get away with jail time, a fine if they’re lucky — or able to corrupt the police. For hybrids, however, punishment could go up to the death penalty. It says a lot about the Organization’s views that the team charged with handling the weapons was mostly hybrids.

So disposable that their lives could be lost to avoid jail time for humans.

“Most humans within the group seem to take no issue with the new arrangements,” you conclude. You’re not sure why you add that; it is an unnecessary assessment. It could be an attempt to ensure that the meeting you’re about to enter will be productive and that Jungkook won’t be out for blood. It could be you trying to stop the situation from worsening.

Or it could be a clumsy way of trying to bring him some comfort.

If that is what you are doing — and you refuse to look into it, refuse to analyze the way you’re feeling right now over something that insignificant — God are you bad at it.

“They better not,” Jungkook just growls.

There is more that you could say. According to your informant, something akin to friendship — comradeship at the very least — has developed within the group. These people look out for each other. Considering what happened in other factions once authority changed hands, you believe this to be significant. But none of this is objective, nor does it actually matter. Factions have been run without any of that for far longer than you've been involved with the Organization.

So you don’t say anything, merely lean back into your seat, and look out the window. The car is smoothly following along the bay, dwarfed by the massive cargo ships entering and leaving the harbor. Despite yourself, you feel your shoulders tensing. You’re always careful when you’re around here — would never set foot in here unless you absolutely had to. It’s too crowded, full of too many people from different factions. The ones that don’t belong to the Organization despise the ones that do. In the best of times, you’re not welcome there.

This is far from being the best of times.

Still, when you get out of the car alongside Jungkook, no one would be able to tell that the atmosphere here makes your skin crawl. Now that you frequently work with hybrids, your control over your breathing has become constant. One less thing for others to pick up on and to use against you; one more thing for you to constantly be mindful of.

You wonder if this should have been harder for you to implement, but the truth is that it only took a few days of effort. The control you have over your body at this point is— absurd, probably.

But even that doesn’t stop your heart from dropping in your chest and your blood from turning into ice in your veins when you spot a familiar face among the small group that is already gathered in the warehouse.

It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him. He’s aged considerably since the last time, grey streaks in his hair, circles under his eyes, and you wonder if anything happened and how he got affected to this job. The last time you had been in contact with him, he was still at the quiet position you had ensured he had, supervising the bouncers in a club that was not so secretly a brothel as well.

You remember the look on Mr. X’s face when you had asked him for the favor, the pleasure he’d taken in seeing you squirm.

You were almost— you were certain that this part of the business had not been affected by Jungkook’s reorganization of things. There was no reason for him to be here.

So then why are you suddenly staring at your father’s face, standing in the middle of a shady warehouse?

Had something happened? Was there an issue with money? Why wouldn’t your family have contacted you and why, why hadn’t you kept better fucking track of his whereabouts, why hadn’t you known—

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jungkook’s voice as he greets the group’s leader, and you immediately try to correct yourself. You can tell that your jaw is clenched too tightly, know that there is probably a tension in your shoulders that looks unnatural. You can only hope that people will blame it on you being a stuck-up bitch; anything that they already believe to be true about you. Anything but the truth.

You barely lay eyes on the man who brings Jungkook in a brief embrace. Hoseok, you’d learned when checking your intel. There are doubts as to what type of hybrid he is. The unnerving smoothness with which he moves makes you suspect snake, but it could just as easily be something else. He shoots you a quick smile, which would have caught you by surprise if you weren’t hyper focused on the situation at hand, wringing your brain in an attempt at understanding it.

The brief speech Jungkook gives is completely lost on you, though, even in that state, you don’t miss how easily he manages to captivate and rile up his audience. Charisma rolls off of him in waves, and no one seems to be immune to it — well, no one but you and your father. His eyes remain bored and he keeps on staring at the ground.

He does not look at you once.

It is not until Jungkook starts talking with people individually that he steps towards you.

“Fred Lucas asked me to relay a message to you, ma’am,” he says.

It’s, objectively, a good lie. He used to work for Fred Lucas, and you’re the only one who deals with him. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook glancing at you, looking annoyed. You doubt he’ll look into it very much.

The word “ma’am” still feels like a slap in the face, coming from him.

You tilt your head towards a corner further away in the warehouse. There is wind blowing through the gate, and with the loud noises of the harbor, you’re hoping it will be enough to cover your voices.

“What is it?” you ask, voice quiet, when you get there. “What are you doing there?”

He clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at your questioning.

“Don’t you think you switched sides a little too quickly?” he asks you in return. “Nothing’s done just yet, and it’s not looking good for you. Some people might think it was an inside job.”

“Then they’ll think that,” you reply without batting an eye. “The choice was between this and death. What are you doing here?”

You see disapproval flash in his eyes.

“You've only delayed things,” he hisses. “You should lie low until the storm passes. Not everyone will find you indispensable.”

You discreetly flex your hand. His chastising tone brings to the surface parts of you that should remain buried at all times.

“I know you got this opportunity handed to you on a silver platter twice now,” he keeps going, shaking his head, “but you won’t always be so lucky.”

You know this should get a rise out of you. You should get angry. You should have something to reply to his words. Instead, you just feel yourself growing emptier and emptier.

Lucky.

He built the altar on which he sacrificed you, and he’s calling you lucky for it.

He’s jealous, a distant part of you supplies. It’s probably true.

“What are you doing here?” you ask for the third time. You bite back any other question, any offer of moving him, should he need your help. You know he would find it humiliating.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to shield him from that feeling, but you still do.

“It’s an important job,” your father replies dismissively. “Might as well take the opportunity to make a good impression.”

You can’t tell if he means that he wants to preserve his life or if he wants to try to climb the ranks of the Organization. You refuse to let yourself think about it, because if it’s the second option you’ll—

You can't think about that either.

“I see,” you nod. “In that case, you know where to reach me should anything be needed.”

For a second, you consider asking him about the rest of your family.

You think better of it before you act on that. You always do.

“Lie low,” he tells you again as the two of you are parting. “It’ll be better off that way.”

It’s only when you reach Jungkook that you consider the possibility that he might have been trying to look out for you. That is a thought that you could take comfort in, and yet you can’t even do that because, no matter how much you look at it, you just cannot find yourself to believe that.

“What did he want?” Jungkook asks you in the car as you drive away from the warehouse, away from the harbor, away from your father, and back to a place where you have control.

It takes a second for things to click into place.

“An update on the Heaven’s Doors situation,” you respond, though his eyes on you feel heavy in that moment. “Or rather, a lack of update.” A vague shrug. “Fred’s usual antics.”

“Is that it?”

You look up at him, meet his gaze. He’s just staring at you and you're not— You can’t read him. You can’t let yourself think that there's something akin to concern in his eyes. Not right now.

So you just nod.

“I will make sure to let you know if there is any actual development, Mr. Jeon.”

He openly rolls his eyes and, thankfully, the moment passes.

If this keeps up, you will definitely need to find a technique to keep that heart of yours in check.

Though you don’t mind being out and about with Jungkook nearly as much as used to, and though you still regularly have to be in the field yourself, you find immense relief in knowing that you have an office to come back to. As the preparations that you’ve made for the floor you’re renting come together, it becomes more and more of a place you can work from.

Of course, that means that every now and again, you cross paths with people you would rather not see. Some mostly harmless, like Fred Lucas, who you’ve learned how to handle, others clearly trying to determine the importance of your role in the Organization. And then there's Junho, the shark hybrid who you thought was going to be your end, who gives you a bright grin that reveals all of his teeth as you walk past the front desk where he's talking with Jungkook.

There is not an ounce of kindness in it.

You walk by with a mere, polite nod towards the two of them. You’d like to think that you haven’t let anything show — you know you’ve suppressed the shiver, you're pretty sure you kept your lips tightly pressed together — but the truth is you know cracks have formed in what used to be a perfect mask. You’ve caught it a few times now, a twitch of your lips, fingers tapping on your thigh. It’s not much. Most people wouldn’t notice it or care.

Yet it worries you, bubbles in your throat sometimes. If you let yourself slip in front of the wrong people, you could reveal too much about yourself. The thought is terrifying to you; not too long ago, it would have meant certain death. The thought that things might have changed and you might not need this anymore to your survival is perhaps just as scary.

What if you crumble? What if all those things buried deep inside your soul wreck everything you've built as they come back up to the surface?

Worse, what if they don’t?

“I’m out of here,” Jungkook announces loudly, though you’re the only one with him in his office. “Are you staying caged up in here?”

You glance up at him to find him already staring at you, jacket slung over his shoulder, and you feel your breath catching in your throat. You can only pray that your poker face holds up as you do, because all of your self-control is needed not to look away immediately. Once more, while you still can, you bury everything that comes with it, and you reply with a perfectly smooth expression.

“There is much left to be done, Mr. Jeon.”

That is not untrue, but if you were honest with him or with yourself, you would admit that the main reason for your decision is that overexerting yourself and coming home to your apartment only to collapse into a dreamless sleep actually sounds like the best way of spending your time these days.

Jungkook’s lips twist in a displeased expression, but he doesn’t seem angry, just annoyed. You can’t help the curiosity that fills you as you examine him. He seems more relaxed around you than he’s ever been. There’s still tension in his whole body, but it is not vibrating with anger and distrust anymore. In his eyes, you also cannot find the hatred you used to see. There’s a lot swirling inside them, it is true, things that you think you could spend hours deciphering, but—

“Suit yourself,” Jungkook shrugs, “but you won’t be able to stay hidden in here all the time.”

You snap back into focus, in time to press your lips together and nod at him.

“If there is anything you would like me to handle outside, make sure to let me know.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but seems to think better of it before snapping at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, turning around and vaguely waving a hand at you, though you cannot tell for sure if it is a salute or if he is merely dismissing you.

“Certainly, Mr. Jeon.”

The glass door closes softly behind him, and your eyes go back to the spreadsheet in front of you. You’ve stared at the numbers for far too long now, but you want to ensure that they are right before forwarding them to one of your trusted accountants. You could handle it all yourself; you’re fairly good with numbers. If there is one thing you’ve learned over the years, though, it’s that you should delegate whenever possible. The hard part, of course, was finding people that you could trust.

As a result, few people in the company, outside from the bosses, are paid as well as the accountants — and are under as much surveillance.

That is how they got Capone, after all, and you have no intention of seeing Jungkook or yourself go down the same way.

Your phone dings while you’re still staring at the numbers and you check it immediately, having effectively trained yourself to do that over years of juggling the informations given by your numerous informants.

The text is brief, three words to be exact, but it makes your blood run cold.

‘All out war’.

You’re on your feet before you can process it completely. Jungkook has left less than two minutes ago, your brain supplies while you rush to the door and then through the corridors. You should still be able to get to him — but the elevators are both taken. You feel more than you notice people throwing you surprised glances. You don’t have time to think about it, nor do you have time to listen to the voice in the back of your brain that comments on the fact that you’ll need to ensure that an elevator is available at all time for the higher-ups.

You’re running down the stairs before you know it. Hector, you realize at some point, though you can’t tell when exactly, would have been faster than you, but he’s probably getting his coffee somewhere on the floor and it’s too late to go get him. On your phone, you try to get a hold of Jungkook, but he doesn't reply, likely because he’s still in the goddamn building and has no way of knowing how swiftly the situation just changed and— Fuck, you need to get to him.

Based on the text you received, you have to assume your informant texted you in the middle of the meeting. Depending on where they are in the chain of command, the decision could have been made hours, maybe a day earlier. Which would leave ample time for them to plant—

You burst through the door of the lobby, earning yourself surprised looks from the people in there — among which you don’t find Jungkook. Normally you would worry of appearances, but you don’t have time for such considerations, and so you run through the lobby, wincing when your ankle twists unpleasantly, and then, finally, through the glass windows, you see him about to get in his car. He seems to be making small talk with the driver, thank God, and then gives you just enough time to walk through the door and call out to him.

“Mr Jeon!”

He turns around to look at you, surprised, while you wince at the way your voice just cracked.

“Changed your mind?” he asks, and you think you see the hint of a smirk on his lips.

You shake your head. All you can think about is that you have to get him away from the car. You gesture at him to approach, but he either doesn’t understand or chooses to ignore it.

“Mr Jeon,” you repeat, “there is something I need you to take a look at.”

Even from where you’re standing, you know he’s rolling his eyes at you.

“Then show it to me,” he replies. “I’m not getting back in there.”

You swallow painfully, eyes going back to the car. No. You’re not getting close to that thing with Jungkook. The two of you are probably at the very top of the kill list, and even if the blast might not kill you if you’re not inside, you know that is a risk the enemy faction would be willing to take, because it is a risk you would be willing to take.

“Mr Jeon,” you say, once more. “Please.” You try to convey everything you need to say into the intonation, but even to your ears, your voice barely varies. This is not an exercise you are used to — far from it, in fact.

You think Jungkook frowns, takes one step in your direction, before stopping himself. He turns to say something at his chauffeur, which you don’t quite manage to catch. He’s not showing sign of moving, and with each second in the open with minimal protection, you feel yourself growing more desperate. This is supposedly a safe part of town — but realistically, with an open war in the Organization, there will be no safe parts of town for the next few months.

“Jungkook!” you finally hear yourself shouting, and his head immediately whips in your direction, eyes wide. This time, finally, he walks in your direction, and the relief you feel is so overwhelming that you can feel your legs grow weak under you.

“What the fuck?” he growls in a low voice when he reaches you. Normally, you’d try to figure out exactly what is going through his mind then — if he’s angry, if he’s surprised, if you’ve made a mistake — but right now, all you can do is exhale in relief.

“It’s war,” you say simply, voice low. “You need to get inside, and we need to call reinforcements for this place.”

You shouldn’t be surprised when Jungkook doesn’t budge and simply looks at you like you've just grown a second head, but it does take you aback. This kind of information would have been enough for you to formulate a dozen instructions — it was enough for you — and you curse yourself quietly for not realizing you needed to express it differently for him. Letting your emotions get the best of you like that… There was a reason why you didn't do that.

“What do you mean, it’s war? I thought you said they were lying low since you started hunting them—”

Your eyes keep darting between him and the street, trying to figure out where the threat is going to come from — because you don't doubt there is going to be a threat. Any second now.

“I was wrong,” you interrupt him. “You need to get inside, Mr. Jeon, please, until we figure out—”

“Don’t bullshit me, if it’s war I won’t be doing it from here, I’ll be—”

You tune him out when you hear a honk. A car arrived behind Jungkook’s. You see the drivers shouting at each other, before Jungkook’s driver gets in his. Quietly, you pray that you were wrong.

The car has moved less than a meter when it blows up.

Then it's chaos. People shouting and running, a burst of flames shooting up in the sky, the smell of burning gasoline.

Jungkook turns around slowly, shouts a name that you don't recognize but that you have to assume refers to the driver. He starts moving in the car's direction, but you regain enough control over your body to catch him at the last second. Your fingers wrap around his arm, and that makes him pause. He looks lost when his eyes find yours.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely more than a whisper, and he likely wouldn’t hear you if he wasn’t a hybrid, “you need to get inside.” Then your voice gets quicker as urgency replaces fear in your veins. You start saying out loud what your brain is processing in the moment, both because you need him to understand the severity of the situation and because you likely won't have time to fill him in later. “They just blew up a car in one of the richest areas of the city. Either they don't care about repercussions by the police, or they’ve already bought the police. Even if you weren’t in there,” thank God he wasn't in there, “they've sent a clear message. They won't stop at anything now. Either they will die in this fight, or—” You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “Or we will.”

Jungkook just stares at you for a few seconds longer. His jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth, and then, slowly, his face hardens. His fingers close around yours, just a second, before he takes your hand off of him.

You hadn’t noticed you were still holding him.

You do, however, notice that the very tip of his fingers linger on your skin, and the gentleness of the gesture.

You choose to make nothing of it.

Once more, he looks at the car, before he looks at you again. He doesn’t look lost this time. He looks resolute.

“He’s dead already,” he tells you. “Let’s get inside and do— whatever it is you said to do. Call— whoever you need to call.” You nod, having to rush to follow his long strides back inside the building. “Let’s show those bastards.”

As the elevator doors close on the two of you, you find yourself staring at the burning car. It is a strong blow, to be struck in front of your headquarters. But Jungkook is alive, standing next to you, and filled with such determination that you want to believe in him against all hopes. So, instead of keeping your thoughts to yourself, you nod decisively.

“Certainly, Mr. Jeon.”

standard author's note: i'm sorry it took me so long, i hope you still enjoyed seeing oc and jungkook after all this time, i hope you'd missed them a little bit and you enjoyed their dynamic, and i hope you liked the chapter :) if you did, it would mean the world to me if you would reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask, everything is welcome! i wish you all a great day and i'll see you in the next one.

lengthy author's note: sooooo, it's been a while. if you've followed my blog you know i've been struggling with various stuff — first finishing my master's thesis, and then just. life in general and writer's block in particular. on top of that, with this story there's such a slow burn that everytime i step away from it, i'm afraid i'll pick things up 'wrong'. you know, if i make them too close/if i make them a step back, if i repeat myself too much (repetition of oc's thought-process is intended but only to a certain degree), etc. i hope this stil works. i'm also... idk, i guess i'm afraid of disappointing people after all this time. it's scary to think that people have waited for so long and might go 'oh, i waited all that time for this'.

and most people have been very sweet about the time i was taking to write the chapter and i'm not saying this to be all 'woe is me' or to get sympathy!! please know you don't have to read this and feel bad for me or comfort me lol, and vice versa if you didn't like the chapter it's all good lol. it's just... that's the kind of things that can make writing harder.

thank you for reading all that, genuinely seeing the continued interest in iicngyp on my blog and continuously getting asks about it by people who were so invested in the characters played a huge part in getting me to write and finish the chapter and i'm endlessly grateful for that. hopefully i'll see you a little sooner next time, and i wish you all the best!

[the-bjd-community-confess]

TW: Sexualization of (fictional) Minors/CSA mentions

Mod: Batch post 3 for these, so the people who want to avoid the topic can do so 💜

1. "It’s still just as gross as the real thing " This line, this line alone made you honestly the biggest asshole and I hope you're fucking ashamed. I hope you grow the fuck up and look in the mirror and see what a fucking dumbass you were saying this with 100% confidence. I've not been active reading this blog for some months, but seeing this line.

This one fucking line. I want you to tell me, with full fucking confidence that you genuinely believe, that a fucking dumb ass shitty as fuck doll, a fucking piece of plastic, and bobbleheaded waste of space, and overly expensive toy being portrayed in a gross and sexualised fucking manner, is in any fucking way comparable to a real life, breathing, living, growing child being betrayed by the people who should care for them. A child that has thoughts, experiences pain and suffering. A literal human being that can be traumatized and violated, a child you can fucking betray and destroy completely and utterly.

I want you to fucking come here, and tell me that you actually think this is in any fucking way comparable. I want you to tell me this, and I want you to do it off-fucking-anon, because saying shit like this, fucking put your face to that statement.

What the fuck is wrong with people like you? You can hate that shit, find it fucking tasteless and gross. But you're not going to fucking use real victims, to feel morally superior and peddle your stupid fucking arguments.

NO THIS SHIT IS NOT COMPARABLE. No matter how "close it looks", it will never be comparable, because one of these has a real life fucking victim, while the other is a heap of plastic you can throw in the trash.

~Anonymous

2. As someone who’s been exploited and abused as a child by men, I find it disgusting that no one recognizes how art IS self expression. So when people sexualize underage individuals you are giving them gratification. So yes it makes someone a deviant. People watch CP , and since it’s illegal they try and use art to get around it. And we say that’s ok? That does feed their desires, which can fuel them to act on it. If their brain believes it’s a real child, it’s just as bad as the real thing. I’m disgusted people think this is ok to do. That pedos are valid to make their dreams a reality through art and dolls. Dolls ARE art. Dolls ARE self expression. How someone styles their dolls DOES say a lot about them. If you truly understood how these individuals work, you would understand how harmful it is. Speaking as a victim and a sex worker who does encounter these types of men.

~Anonymous

3. honestly ()bsequi()us, as a victim of the things you keep harping on about, i'm in the camp of the people who understand that fictional exploration of dark topics does not equate to condoning those subjects, and i furthermore really wish you would stop being so morally aggrandizing to people about it. if you don't agree, that's your erroneous hill to die on, but heckling people the way you do is only making you seem more unreasonable.

~Anonymous

4. There's only one person, maybe two, that are screaming and shaming everyone else for thinking pedo-bait is gross. And I am not surprised to see who the most vocal one is.

~Anonymous

5. "I'm saying this as a survivor" bro there's survivors on both sides lol. getting rid of csa is kinda hard if you didn't notice, let us try and fix our first world rich kid problems until then ok? personally I don't want to see ppl who on top of being pedos, enjoy fondling plastic in their public Instagram accounts

~Anonymous

6. When people say they don't care if a "child" doll gets sexualized, they're not saying they defend pedophilia. They're saying you're a tool for comparing the struggles and suffering of real, human victims to a literal fucking doll. No it is not "just as bad", it's nowhere close, and frankly it's insulting and gross that you think they're even comparable.

~Anonymous

[opinated-user]

As someone who is a big fan of the Alt Right Playbook that LO loves to mention, it irks me so that she is taking the exact wrong lessons from it. It almost feels like she's using it to make her own arguments, not how to spot arguments made by the alt right.

which is missing entirely the point of the series. the point is not to keep linking clips from it and yell loudly "this is the same thing these people are doing to me, which basically mean they're evil and not worth listening to", but to recognize thought patterns and not waste your energy where it isn't needed. us saying that LO should have waited to have confirmation that P did something illegal before doing something questionable herself is just... stating the obvious, quite frankly.

[dancingisdangerouss]

What if Al never Kidnapped or murdered anyone He was just a quirky magician Who manipulates ( y/ n) into having relations with him .

how would he do it ?

Ooh interesting! Hard to say…is he still the same personality, minus the illegal activity? If so, he’s still an obsessive fucker 😂

While he’d stand a much better chance of getting with Reader if he didn’t literally kidnap and rape her (that ain’t something she’s going to just “get over”), I think he’d still face a significant challenge—as we know from her initial interactions with Evan, you need to be blunt as fuck with Y/N.

Her default setting is to assume that people don’t have a romantic interest in her, so she easily misses basic cues due to not wanting to make any assumptions and get hurt when she’s “inevitably turned down.”

So she’s basically spent years reprimanding herself for taking things the wrong way (e.g. assuming a guy liked her based on how touchy and friendly he was, but turned out to be not interested), and has kind of trained her brain to not jump to conclusions, even when they smack her in the face.

So like, if Al had his eye on her, he would probably do some dipshit similar thing with the groceries in order to plant himself in her life somehow. Y/N would of course help him, but in typical Reader fashion, would be like “mmkay you’re welcome peace out” and walk off before he even got a chance to engage her further.

Unfortunately for Al, this would continue for a while, as every time he attempts to talk to her and get into her life, she would be inadvertently dismissive and uninterested. So he’d eventually take it up a notch by like popping a hole in one of her car tires at work, and then just happen to be in the area when she comes out and finds her car broken down.

At that point she can’t take off somewhere and would be forced to talk to him in his car. I can see him trying to slowly manipulate her, “accidentally” brushing his fingers against her hand or arm, pretending she has something in her hair to remove, fixing her jacket when it’s askew. And every damned time she’s just like “oh hey thanks!” and carries on without a clue.

Eventually he would insert himself into her life enough that they’d become friends, and from there I think he would up the ante. Commenting on how good she looks in that dress, or how cute it is when she talks about certain interests. That would get her attention since he’s openly complimenting her, so I can see her getting flustered and angry for letting herself think he’s being flirtatious (even though he is).

The funny part is that I can picture him one day having her over for something at his house, and when something she does ends up giving him a hard-on, he decides to do absolutely nothing to hide it, just fucking sitting on the couch with his legs splayed open. And she just…fucking walks in the room, freezes when she sees his erection, convinces herself that either something else got him worked up or that it’s just the way his trousers are folded, and completely ignores it.

By then, Al just loses his patience like are you fucking kidding me right now? Basically cornering her and saying he doesn’t know how he could be more obvious, and finally just outright telling her he’s interested (which frankly, he should have done in the first place, but his tactics normally work—just not on someone as insecure as Y/N).

And after months of him manipulating her into befriending him, and getting her flustered along the way, she actually does like him; but she’s just kind of mumbling like “oh you don’t want me, I’m kind of a mess, like seriously you could do better,” leading him to be further pissed because “you’re turning me down because you don’t think you’re good enough?” which…actually somehow offends him more that she’s just decided for him what he wants, because who is she to say how he should feel??

Tbh I think he would just pin her to the wall and kiss her right there, and she’d shut up and soon reciprocate. He’d need to be careful, though—she wouldn’t be exactly pleased if he tried to fuck her right then and there, since she’s very skittish in that department, so he would need to further manipulate her into giving into him, continuing with the “innocent” touches until she stops startling and instead relaxes when he does it.

In summary? Al would have to play it very cautiously and get her to trust him and let her walls down before he can get what he wants, so he’d really need to be heavy-handed with the emotional manipulation. One wrong move could fuck it all up…but that’s also part of the thrill of it. Because what good is an easy game?

…..This got really long, oops. I guess I liked the idea 😅

[themauzarka]

while people dislike jason due to most things surrounding aaron especially mys aaron. people also dislike or hate him due to his more unsavory things he said in the past like claiming that shipping aphmau with other guy characters is "whoring her out". people also dislike or hate jason because when he was 18-19 he began dating jess who was 14-15 at the time. which leads people to believe that jason groomed jess.

A few words.

• I totally understand the frustration around Aaron's writing. In fact, I think that the only Aaron rival who was handled decently and not humiliated/demonized/retconned for the sake of having Aaron as Aphmau's sole boyfriend, is Kai, and maybe FCU Garroth (I'm not done rewatching FCU yet, so far his crush is reasonable and quite adorable, lol).

• That sounds like immature jealousy, also the reason why Aaron is handled so poorly in terms of pairing him up with Aphmau. It might sometimes feel forced because the writers feel obligated to have them as a couple their whole lives. This is also understandable, though Jason is wrong for saying such things for sure. Frankly, I would be mad too if someone drew my S/O in situations I would be uncomfortable with, and we can tell Jason is (or was, let's not forget people change and grow) a very jealous person. I'm not defending that.

• I can't say anything about the age gap other that I know it's illegal in their country. We don't know what Jason's intentions were, how mature they were back then, if they knew each other's ages when they were playing the game and fell in love... I'm not saying that it's okay. I'm just saying that we are not the judges of what they've done when they were young and immature. I know what it feels to suddenly turn 18 and be expected to be a fully mature responsible part of society in one day. And I also know that there's a possibility that Jason liked Jess because they talked a lot under different identities and she sounded as mature as him. But I'm not too sure of that. And you're not either. I don't think it's the right thing to do to say many bad things online about someone because you BELIEVE it happened the way you think. Jess and Jason are not teenagers anymore and they should be able to handle their relationship themselves. I understand the worry though. Just please be respectful.

[magnoliamyrrh]

i find the whole conversation around self-dxing to be interesting too because while self-dxing can indeed be dangerous and bad, on the other hand i am also quite anti-psychiatry, if youve got something youve obviously got it without a diagnosis, and getting a diagnosis can be hard af

like idk i think way too many ppl push this "go get therapy go get professional help and evaluation!!!" thing all the time. as if many therapists and psychs arent stupid af, as if they cant be wrong, as if they cant further traumatize someone, as if they can't be smart and kind ppl but Still get things wrong. and as if the entire psych system for the most part isnt fucked in manyyy ways...... like... yea, if you can and find a good one go i guess depending on circumstance... but you better take everything they say with a grain of salt too, wtf

.... yes teenagers and in general young ppl self diagnoing themselves with 2000 things is harmful. they may be doing it either for attention, because its cool and trendy, bc theyve actually got histrionic or mauchausens, bc theyre pathologizing normal human reactions, or bc theyve not done enough actual research and went off of articles which explain things in such a way that frankly most humans would relate. or they may confuse disorders among each other, or they may not be pragmatic enough abt it. yes this is a huge issue. weve got 20000 teenagers and young adults and even some adults running around saying theyve got turrets or did or autism or bpd or ocd or whatever the hell is trendy. psych wards for symptoms and conditions (which are themselves often imperfect) have been watered down to an extreme and are thrown around. therapy talk is being used to make excuses for behavior which should not be excused

...... at the same time. yea self diagnosis isnt inherently harmful all the time. the ppl who say otherwise and are 2000% certain only docs can tell u shit arent skeptical enough of docs. with some things its obvious. i didnt need any doctor to tell me i had anorexia nervosa or bulimia lmaoooo that shit was obvious and clear as day. i didnt need to be told i had bpd, i caught on at a young age i had it, and bc i neither could go to therapy nor wanted to, i spend years understanding that disorder on every which side and way and recovering from it myself. it saved my life. i dont even wanna know how bad things would have been if i didnt accept i had that and understood it - and yea, i didnt need no doctor to tell me to know. and low and behold, docs agree i used to have bpd, still hsve some symptoms, but have mostly recovered from it. funnily enough i caught onto having some sort of osdd/did years ago, than denied it completely to myself for years, than i couldnt ignore it and deny it anymore. ended up getting a diagnosis for that too. :/ i figured i had adhd for years on end but docs either thought it was something else or i wouldn't bring it up much. low and behold i have a diagnosis and the high doses of adhd meds i can handle without feeling st all "drugged out" are proof that i do actually have adhd

if anything lmaoo i have personal experience with having a crazy psych. a woman who mistook cptsd&osdd/did for bipolar disorder, gave me drugs literally illegally which ate at my body and told me not to tell anyone, and also yelled at me that i was crazy. had a therapist who thinks being molested makes ppl homosexual and that step-parent sexual attraction is normal on some level.....;;;; like;;;;;;..... yea. the psychs and therapists arent some sort of final say people. they can be crazy and they can be wrong

and the idea that Inherently someone with bpd, or did/osdd or whatever else Cant Know of their disorder before being told (tho the latter was actually suggested to me many yrs ago by someone) is just. wrong and harmful frankly. yea in some cases pls dont know, or theyre in extreme denial (like with anorexia). but not with all. not with all. 👀 my psychs found it surprising how self aware i was, impressive, but they did not think this was some sort of disqualification

idk. yea. like. theres definetely issues around self-dex especially in the hell were living today but acting like its Always Inherently Bad and Will Never Help and docs are some sort of authority who are the only ones with some say... ,,,, yeaaaa. no. that's also dangerous

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

(ask from an anon who requested that their full message about an elderly man who has repeatedly broken their boundaries not be published. before anyone worries too much, anon is middle-aged, not a minor.)

hi there, sweetie, please don’t worry about making me uncomfortable, it’s totally fine. i have given a lot of advice in the past, and it’s not that i don’t anymore, i just haven’t had the mental energy in the last year or two that i used to have, so i’ve fallen behind in most of my asks. so this probably won’t be as long a reply as i would have given a few years ago, but that’s due solely to my available spoons and not because of you at all.

in short, i don’t think you’ve done anything wrong at all, hon. you’ve been remarkably polite and compassionate, in fact, while this man just keeps ignoring and willfully breaking your boundaries - quite frankly, i think he’s very nearly reached the point of stalking you.

it’s very kind of you to give him the benefit of the doubt, but your feelings and your comfort matters too, and this man is unhealthily fixated on you. he should be seeking this attention from peers his own age and/or his own family, not someone who has expressed discomfort at his behavior. maybe - and that’s a big maybe - his motives truly are innocent, but his behavior has 100% reached the level of “really fucking creepy”.

if he doesn’t stop and keeps trying to find ways to contact you, i think it’s reached the point where you need to tell your parents. i know you don’t want to worry them, but when he tried to use the post office to trick you into giving up your new address, he crossed a BIG line. like, that sounds illegal to me. that sounds like he’s obsessed with you, and i don’t know if he’s so elderly that he could actually be dangerous, but i think you should consider the possibility. that’s something your family deserves to be aware of.

it’s makes complete sense that you’re upset about this, sweetie. if he was a few decades younger, you wouldn’t hesitate to feel afraid of and creeped out by him, but his age makes you feel like you have to be respectful and compassionate towards him. those conflicting feelings make for a lot of anxiety.

if it helps, you have my permission to be creeped out, upset, even afraid. if he has the mental capacity to trick a postman into trying to get your address, he has the mental capacity to understand that you’ve said no. just because he’s old doesn’t mean he’s innocent, or incapable of knowing right from wrong. what he’s done is wrong, and being old doesn’t excuse that.

please consider talking to your parents, hon, and do whatever you need to do to protect yourself and your boundaries, take care of yourself, dear.