#there's just a LOT of options of things to make

[inkskinned]

it took me 964 applications. i've been counting, but not well. i don't always add every quick-apply to the spreadsheet. this one was five rounds of interviews. saying my elevator pitch like a parrot, peppy and happy. for a long time, i didn't hear anything from them. i thought it was the same as always - they say where did we find you, seem excited, then ghost me. i had sent three follow-up emails hi, just checking in! excited for this opportunity!

i have a master's degree and over 10 years of work in the industry. i've worked 5 jobs at once. i have worked hard and i tried hard my entire life, no matter how burnt out i got or whatever else happened to me. i am the representation of the american dream.

but i'm not a good fit for an entry-level job, i guess, so i get told a lot we just don't think you're be happy. but they fill other positions internally, instead saying - well, there was another candidate who had 6 more days of experience. if i'm lucky, i get this sad little email back from the recruiter, all saying the same thing: we liked you, but we went with another option, good luck job hunting. that is - if i'm lucky, and they even communicate at all with me.

what a waste of fucking time. i've been counting interviews - i am a fucking master total of 42 fucking hours. can you fucking believe. i would have made rent if they'd fucking paid me.

and now nobody does remote, even though this is a job that for the last five years has been remote-completely. now they are paying 14 an hour for a job that used to be 33.50. now they are saying we are looking for rockstars and mean we don't give you health insurance. "we need someone motivated and a little crazy" translates to you will have one day of PTO annually. every job board filled with the same AI-generated bullshit of "our values/join our family/Make Waves With Us". they need to be constantly growing. who knows if they're genuinely hiring.

sometimes i want to write did you know i saved a life once into the cover letter. sometimes i want to put a little secret in there, a little short story about how when i was a kid i used to dream of speaking to my plants. i have the same six conversations with people and answer the same eight questions. sometimes at the end they'll throw something in there that's completely irrelevant. what is my go-to belting song (and yes, they say, there is a wrong answer). what animal would i turn into. what's the most reactive element i've had direct contact with. do i know how to lift an elephant.

964 feels like a nice number, somehow round and pleasing. sometimes i have nightmares where the spreadsheet grows arms and strangles me to death. i saw an old friend in one of these recently; he said the earth will end and you'll still be applying until you run out of breath. 964 is a lot of time to spend filling out an application on a site that doesn't load properly and just steals my information.

one time in desperation i applied for a supermarket position. just anything to make the ends meet, good lord, i'd take anything. i was rejected from it. i'm not, like, proud. i'd take anything so i can afford to live again. and meanwhile, god! our fucking president!

i can't think about it without shaking. i had to beg for help. i paid my own way through college - i have been working (under the table) since i was 12.

nine hundred and sixty-four. and finally! something! and here's the fucking thing: i had to turn it down because it's in your city. how pathetic to think that 2 months ago, i would have agreed to move out to DC, my hands in your hair. my life splashed on your sheets. how pathetic that 2 months ago, you said you wanted me. 964 fucking jobs later, and how pathetic! i can't say yes because my life is entirely different. holy shit.

it's just hell. because god fucking protect you if you have a breakup or a mental breakdown or health issues or need your meds. you can try for a year and still hear fucking nothing from the job market. i have no idea how many times i've said i give up and i still fucking kept doing it. every moment like sandpaper against a raw wound. lowering and lowering my expectations. watching my savings dwindle to nothing. thank you for submitting your application!

back into the frying pan. over and over again.

[drawings-by-bee]

To be clear, the responsibility does not lie on the funeral home. There's a lot of people in the notes talking about how terrible it is for funeral homes to charge their high prices but, unfortunately, it's a lot of work to prepare a body and people need to get paid. And they're not even getting paid that much; the people who do this work do it because they're passionate about helping the dead and their families, not for the money.

Unlike in ye olden days when you just paid for a shitty coffin and for a random guy to dig a hole, now we have things like embalming and permits and whatnot. Much like how the quality of life has gone up, quality of death has as well; our standards for how we treat our dead have risen astronomically, which ends up effecting how much we need to spend.

Instead of Peter the Town Carpenter building a coffin that will eventually break down, it's made internationally and it's built to last decades. Instead of just plain wood, there's a mattress and a pillow and frills that an actual human being had to sew. And then that coffin gets delivered, and now we have to pay for gas and pay the delivery driver, as well as an import tax.

Instead of just letting the body rot, now we fill it with chemicals to preserve it. We make it look like they're still alive. Makeup is applied to make them look the way they were before, but now we have to pay for the makeup, and the embalming fluid, and the mortician needs to pay rent.

A venue needs to be rented for the funeral, flowers need to be delivered, people fly in to say goodbye to a corpse that was made to look just like how they remembered it.

In order to keep up with today's standards of death care, you might end up spending tens of thousands of dollars, and you may not have any other choice.

Even if you're going the cheapest possible route, you NEED to pay for the coffin, you NEED to pay whoever dug the grave, everybody involved needs to be paid enough to survive.

In short, yes, universal death care is necessary. But, also, the return to a simpler form of death care would greatly reduce the cost; and I think that if the government is going to pay for anything it would be the most basic burial/funeral possible, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.

I think the best case scenario would be government owned, non profit funeral homes. Any government subsidized death care would be as streamlined as possible, meaning no embalming (better for the environment) and basic plain wooden coffins (would break down quickly which, for me, counts as a plus).

And, of course, there would likely be group cremations. Which is a bit of a complicated issue. Personally, I'm not necessarily for or against them. While I find the concept wildly dehumanizing, I'm of the opinion that corpses should be treated like corpses, and that trying to create the illusion that they're still alive is the reason for insane funeral prices.

To summarize, yes I think that there should be free options for death care, but it would be pretty much impossible to uphold current standards and still remain cost effective.

Anyway, sorry for the essay lol

It's a topic I'm very passionate about, and it's something I could talk about for hours!

truly just as we have universal health care we need to have universal death care. dying is not optional and funerals should not be a financial burden for families.

[yumiblaze]

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader Part 20

Snoop time~~~~

PROLOGUE / PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5 / PART 6 / PART 7 / PART 8 / PART 9 / PART 10 / PART 11 / PART 12 / PART 13 / PART 14 / PART 15 / PART 16 / PART 17 / PART 18 / PART 19

CHAPTER TWENTY

The rest of the morning went pretty well, you just busied yourself with looking after Derpy for a while. You brushed her fur and helped Jinu clip her claws. It was nice to have something to do that didn’t involve demons and k-pop for once; though I guess Derpy is technically a demon?

You kept glancing at your phone checking for messages from Celine only to see constant messages from Rumi, Mira and Zoey saying they wanted to meet up with you and make sure you were okay. It wasn’t like you were going to be able to avoid them forever but you knew that if you showed up with one of the Saja boys things could get dicey. Then again leaving the apartment without a body guard right now was not an option and you kind of wanted to try and get the two opposing teams to make peace somehow.

Who to take was a completely new problem. You knew that taking Baby was a definite no; he had enough trouble getting along with everyone in the house let alone anyone else. Mystery and Jinu had also been part of the attack on Rumi so taking them might make her uncomfortable. That left you with Abby and Romance; both boys not being involved in the attack. Abby was a clear choice in your head not only did he seem to be the most soft hearted of all the boys but maybe his muscles would keep Zoey and Mira distracted long enough for you to explain why they shouldn’t kill him.

Since the largest of the group wasn’t in the living room you guessed that he would probably be in his own room. The only problem was out of the six doors in the corridor you only knew where the guest room was and where Romance’s room was. All six doors looked exactly the same from the corridor and while you could just ask Jinu or Baby (the only two boys in the living room) whose room was whose it sounded a lot more fun for you to snoop.

You closed the living room door behind you making sure you were alone before deciding which door you wanted to try your luck with. You decided to just go with the first door on the left, silently twisting the door handle and cracking it open just a sliver. You gazed into the room as you slowly creaked the door open bit by bit.

The room was roughly the same size as the guest room but was covered in black sound proof panels. There was an unmade double bed shoved into one corner, navy blue covers and a couple black pillows strewn over the bed without care. Opposite the bed was a large black desk adorned with a symphony of screens, a light up key board and mouse and a comfy looking gaming chair that was black with blue accents. Between the bed and the computer set up was the one window in the room, though black out curtains had been drawn across it letting no natural light in. On the left side of the room just behind the door was a black wardrobe a few lose pieces of clothing laying in a pile in front of it. Finally the area closest the door to the right had a TV attached to the wall, various gaming consoles beneath it. There was a few shelves attached the wall with a few different games on them and a collection of beanbags opposite the TV to sit on.

“You know if Baby finds out you’ve been snooping in his room without him knowing he’ll get mad.” Someone whispered in your ear making you jump.

You slammed the door to the room and spun round to see Mystery standing right next to you. You had no idea how the boy had made his way over to you without making a noise or where he had even come from.

“Myst! You scared the shit out of me.” You scolded the boy placing your hand over your racing heart.

“Sorry.” The boy muttered pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. “I keep forgetting humans don’t hear as well as I do.”

“You hear better than humans? Don’t you have a human body right now?” You asked confused.

“I mean I guess I look human but my sense of smell and hearing didn’t go away after I made a deal with Gwi Ma. I got to keep these enhanced sense from when I was me, when I was a wolf.” Mystery told you shrugging like it was nothing.

“So you can hear everything that happens in the apartment?”

“Most of it, especially when Baby gets angry at games. He put these weird sound proofing things up but I can still hear him quite clearly, it’s just quieter.”

“Didn’t know Baby would be so into gaming.”

“He likes shit talking people and likes winning games against others.”

“Yeah that actually sounds like his thing.”

“Anyway why were you snooping?”

“I wasn’t snooping, I was trying to find Abby but I don’t know whose room is whose yet.”

Mystery smiled at you slightly as you denied snooping before gently taking your hand and leading you further down the hallway. He knocked on the door one down from Baby’s and opened the door without waiting for a reply.

“Have fun.” The quiet boy told you gently shoving you through the open door.

The room you had been pushed into was much lighter than the last room you had been looking into, the curtains fully open and letting in the bright afternoon sun. The walls were a light peach colour and the floor was a smooth laminated wood. The double bed was messily made, the red and orange colours making the warm feel warm. There was one large wooden chest of drawers on one side of the room and the other side of the room was littered with a collection of weights and work out tools. The main event being a work out bench, where the man you had been looking for was placing a huge looking barbell back in its resting place.

“Oh hey (y/n)! What’s up?” The man asked sitting up and smiling over at you. You blushed as you glanced at the pink haired man. He was sitting on his workout bench, a thin layer of sweat covering his form and he wasn’t wearing a shirt letting you take a better look at his flawless muscles. You found your mind completely unable to remember why you had come into the room as you took in the sight of his glistening muscles. His whole chest reminded you of something you’d see in a museum, like someone had sat and sculpted those perfect shapes for hours.

“You like what you see?” Abby asked with a smirk pulling you from your thoughts.

“No! I mean yes! I mean- I just didn’t expect to find you topless!” You stuttered trying to avert your eyes from his naked torso.

Abby just gave a hearty laugh standing from the work out bench and walking past you to his chest of drawers.

“I mean last time we spent time with each other you were the one half naked so now you get your revenge.” The man remarked pulling a top out of one of his drawers. “Did you need me for something?”

“I actually wanted to ask if you could come somewhere with me.” You replied fanning yourself with one hand in an attempt to cool your burning face.

“Where?” Abby asked slipping the top over his head and grabbing his yellow beanie.

“I want to go visit my sister in the hospital.”

The man froze, his eyes filling with worry.

“You sure you want to take me with you?” He asked nervousness lacing his words.

“Well I mean I can’t take any of the three who attacked her, Romance will be way too annoying for Mira to deal with and I’m never leaving the apartment on my own after last time.” You explained. “Anyway you’re so caring and hot that they won’t be able to stay mad at you!” You stared at him with the best puppy eyes you could muster.

“Fine.” Abby told you with a soft smile. “Just don’t tell Jinu or he will lose his shit.”

@ffcfffr @whimsiecat @gremlinartstudio @chugjugg @aerissblog @kitkatpattywack2808 @airwolf92 @fries11 @doggyteam2028 @downbadgirlypoo @kashasenpai @seung185 @faefanatic @izzieg3987 @lansy-4 @weponxwrites @bunniotomia @chaoticfivesworld @clmstorm @sra7riddle-malfoy @vi1326 @justanotherkpopstanlol @jaeyuuns @tikitsune @zzsloth @yumi-does-stuff @ghost-reine @yuurisfavblog @dragongirl642 @just-a-blue-nerd @snowy-violet @justanindiangirl12 @sexually-attracted-to-pans @minthoneynbasil @tatsuri-zomushiki @ellie-x0xo @olxh @satansdaughter123 @reallysparklychaos @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @lostsomewhereinthegarden @avadakadabra93 @szc56 @phoenixflying666 @l0wlifepr1ncess @reverie-sxno @fantasyhopperhea @bakusquadobsessed @adorablepandasuniverse @sad-sie

[synchodai]

The implications of Karlach being one of Zariel's favorites

When I say things like, "Karlach is a ruthless and efficient killer prior to us meeting her; the set up for an "evil" path for her has always been there," people don't understand how I come to those conclusions.

It's mainly because people don't know who Zariel is and the layered implications of Karlach being one her favorites are.

Zariel was a solar (the highest order of D&D angel basically) who was tasked with overseeing the Blood War. Because she preferred to be where the action was and found it hypocritical to just passively observe from the sides like what most celestials tend do, she went down to Avernus to try to end the Blood War once and for all. And it takes quite a lot of idealism and confidence (one might say hubris even) to defy celestial orders and believe that it was possible to end a never-ending war if only a righteous and powerful outsider intervened.

She enlisted an elite army from Elturel called the Hellriders (the organization that Zevlor is a remnant of) to help her fight the Blood War. And when a solar descends from the heavens and asks you to take up a holy mission with her, what paladin is gonna say no? So, a lot of Hellriders probably romanticized this quest and thought it would be a most glorious heroic battle.

It was not.

Mortal human wars already suck, but imagine one waged between armies of demons and devils. It's ugly. It's brutal. There is no point to it but carnage and violence. It is designed to rot your soul in ways many mortals aren't equipped to handle. And so, the Hellriders who survived the initial onslaught turned tail and deserted Zariel in battle.

This is why when you save him in the mind flayer colony, Zevlor talks about how a Hellrider "has no oath," which is a soft way of putting that any surviving Hellrider is an Oathbreaker. They broke their oath to Zariel.

(The descent that Descent to Avernus is about is Zariel enacting vengeance upon the city of Elturel by dragging it down to the Hells. To her, this is what they deserve for what they did to her. To the her, this is enforcing justice and the oaths the Hellriders swore to her.)

Zevlor's dialogue and abandonment of the tieflings becomes so much more resonant when you know this history. It also makes the PC's dialogue options make so much more sense when you know this isn't the first time he's forsaken someone he had promised to protect.

Anyways, Zariel dies, her unconscious form is taken by Asmodeus, she rises as a corrupted version of herself, and Asmodeus makes her the new Archduchess of Avernus who basically keeps her old celestial job of overseeing the Blood War but now she's a devil whose idealistic righteousness has been twisted into vengeful fury.

Zariel is very much not your typical type of devil. She retains the righteousness from when she was once a solar and considers herself a cosmic martyr. She doesn't do the plotting and politicking and scheming that other archdevils flourish in. Her whole thing is this feeling of superiority over both devils and angels because unlike them, she's willing to get her hands dirty — to burn and corrupt herself in the name of her cause. You know how some edgy anti-heroes become their enemy in order to defeat them? That's what Zariel thinks she's doing.

She will never backstab you, but it is her burning mission to front stab you. Ruthlessly. Mercilessly. Painfully. All means justify her end. Ironically, it's this zeal that keeps perpetuating the Blood War. It's poetic. It shows how the Hells are a mirror of the Heavens. Yadda, yadda, yadda...

SO! What does it say about Karlach that this devil, if not favors her, at the very least sees her as a prized possession? Because Zariel has many war machines that she doesn't hesitate to count as acceptable losses. There is no sacrifice too great, after all, in furthering her cosmic cause.

Well, it shows that Karlach is extremely resilient and extremely useful in the Blood War, but also that she's reliable — that never once has she turned her back on a fight like the Hellriders. We know that Karlach is idealistic — that her naiveté and willingness to trust others is what damned her to the Hells. But we also know that Karlach can be reckless and sometimes be dismissive of the cost of that reckless power.

(Larian definitely could have fleshed out Karlach's soul coin plot more, but there was some really juicy bones to having a cambion force a messenger to tell Karlach the backstory behind each soul for every coin given to her. When thinking of how to best torment her, this is what a devil comes up with. It implies that Karlach would rather use soul coins indiscriminately and that it is actual torture to remind her that these souls she's snuffing out to fuel her engine were people who had desires and fell into bad circumstances just like her because they made foolish mistakes to fulfill those desires.)

The more I played and the more I learned about Karlach, the more I realized: Oh, you're not just one of Zariel's many toys, are you? You are Zariel — or at least Zariel on a smaller cosmological scale.

Zariel's story actually has a lot in common with a BG3 companion's "ascension paths" in that the road to becoming a powerful being at the expense of others is paved with brick after brick of rational and even altruistic justifications.

Karlach's "evil path" could have very well gone down the same path that Zariel did. She consumes so many soul coins that the heat of her fury consumes her. The fires make her powerful but they burn away the thing in her heart that made her want to be powerful to begin with.

... But Larian kinda dropped the ball in Act 3, so instead Karlach just dies or becomes a mind flayer instead. Enjoy, gamers!

[annabelle--cane]

Basira Hussain is lonely, in a way that speaks to me more directly than Martin, curiously. While Martin is audibly alone, Basira is alone in a succinct and subtle way, a loneliness that she doesn't allow to numb her, but it also doesn't motivate her, doesn't govern her actions at all. She doesn't do what she does, fighting for a better world, to bring people closer to her, to not be alone. She's so emotionally closed off, so unaccustomed and unwilling to demand comfort. She loses Daisy, and it hurt her, but she never mentions her name again; I bet she thought it would weigh her down. Definitely one of Jonathan Sims's most interesting characters, albeit underrated.

I don't see people talk about her part in mag 117 very often, but I think that whole "either fight to change your situation or adapt and stop complaining" thing explains a lot of her character. she doesn't think she can just be upset about something, she thinks her two options are "comply and shut up" or "start fixing it Right Now," so if she isn't ready to swing into action mode instantly then she just swallows whatever the problem is. she doesn't give herself space to think or process because she feels like it makes her whiny. why would she tell anyone how losing daisy affected her emotionally? it's not like that would change anything.

[traumasurvivors]

My husband and I have ran into financial hardships, more so than usual.

My dog's health issues have gotten worse. My husband lost part of his pay. (I am so angry about this, and it's a whole other rant so I won't get into it or I won't stop.) We just had to pay to fix my vehicle, and his vehicle so we can get back to work. (Public transit is not an option where we are.) My credit cards are maxed, and I'm really trying not to panic.

Add to that and we've lost a lot of our US customers for my business due to the issues shipping over the border, and we're really hurting.

I am really, really stressing trying to bring my dog in for her monthly librela and cartrophen injections as well as pick up her prescription on Friday. Usually I can make some credit card space, but I just can't. I skipped grocery shopping and every possible thing I could, but I just still can't figure out a way to pay for her appointment.

I'll be honest that it's not life or death, and usually I'd just post-pone her appointment but she's never been in as much distress as she has been the last week and I really don't think she can afford to miss an injection. Her meds, and everything are a few hundred dollars a month.

It would mean the absolute world to me if you'd consider checking out my stim toy business @flappyhappystim. We are a Canadian business and the products we can sell to our American customers are limited, but there are still some. Our pinned post is the one I use for advertising, and reblogs on it are appreciated.

I do have a PayPal, but I feel bad even posting it. It's here.

I feel so awkward and guilty posting this, but I'm feeling a bit desperate and am able to push through the feelings because I just love my dog so much.

[ruinix]

i went to the British Grand Prix. I’ve come back with the worst like cold thing ever. It was so dusty there to the point that I’ve been sneezing black and i feel rubbish, how would quinny deal with his gf having a bad sickness, cause she went to like an event or something-💕

Lovely, NOOOO, not the dust. I fear, I am way too late. Isn't this race the one where Lando Norris won, but the biggest win was the one on third place who finally got a podium finish?! (I am barely remembering what was relayed to me by my friend) Anyway,,,I have no idea what to title this. (I fear my titles are wack recently. Sorry about that)

Fevers, Fevers

18+. Thoughts. Fluff. Small Fever (about 101°F or 38.3°C) and Care. Quinn being a worried mess. (Optional) Bonus content: Your POV. Extremely no proof read (sorry i am so sleepy).

Quinn instantly noticed how pale you were when you came in, so he was on you. When you almost ell, he was there, catching you, worry eating up at his insides. He tried calling your name, but you were only tiredly smiling then pouting at him. When he touched your head, you were burning.

"Oh, my Love," he sighed, trying to carry you, but your kept refusing him, so he knelt to remove your shoes.

You went to a fair with your friends. You were out for almost nine hours, from 9AM to now 6PM. From your messages, you clearly had fun, so Quinn was relaxing by napping all day. Now, you you were looking so pale with a light sun burn on your nose, your eyes filling up with tears as you watched him replace your shoes with house slippers.

You weren't even holding your bag or any of the goodies you've bought. You were only holding your car and house keys. Your lips trembled as he stood, as he softly wiped at your pained tears.

"I know," you sniffled, leaning against his touch but not letting him pull or carry you to the bedroom. "It was so hot. I was sweating a lot. Then it was so cold. Then hot again."

He listened to you ramble, stumbling with your words, finally able to coax you to move from the hallway. Since you still wouldn't let him carry you, he leaned you on him, taking your weight, taking you straight to the bedroom. You were sniffling, sneezing then whining that your head was aching. All Quinn could do at the moment was to strip you down, putting you in his comfy sweater, tucking you under the comforters, before he ran a bath.

With an oral thermometer, he made you hold it in your mouth, firmly threatening about not letting you go out for any more fairs—as if he could stop you—so you wouldn't fall asleep. When you complained, he gave you a lick on your forehead.

"I am sick and you are hurting me," you complained with mischief shining in your eyes.

"Don't be silly. The bath is already running. Just wait a bit more," he softly work your hair out of your hair ties. "Do you want soup? Don't answer that. I'll make you some before you take your medicine."

You nodded, blinking up at him. As the thermometer beeped, you blurted out, "Are you upset?"

"Only because you got sick when I was napping all day," he said, not letting his voice break. "Sorry." He should've gone with you. He should've made sure that your sweat didn't dry on your back, made sure you weren't hot by holding your umbrella, made sure you weren't cold by holding you close to him. When you were about to say something, probably something that could easily ease his soul, he said, "Don't worry about me. I'll be okay if you get better soon. Okay?"

"Okay," you responded with a gentle smile.

He knew that you understood where he was coming from. You both knew that he was fuzzy over you. He literally couldn't help it because you were extremely important to him. With a kiss to your burning forehead, smelling the lingering smell of the sun and your sweat on your skin, he went back to the bathroom to make sure that water was in a good temperature.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Quinn made sure you were refreshed after he bathed you as quickly as he could by scrubbing your body with a soft face towel, shampooed and conditioned your hair, and cleansed your face from your makeup, muttering reassurance that he would do your skincare later.

He towel-dried your hair, almost listening to you when you said it was enough, only to be horrified when you sneezed. So he quickly used a blowdryer, his heart pounding in his ears in his worry. Then he tucked you in bed, all wrapped up in thick comforters.

Quinn made your soup, adding the egg that you requested. He almost didn't wake you up when you looked so comfortable with cooling patch on your forehead, but he had to.

"My Love, time to eat your soup," he whispered, gently shaking you awake, chuckling when you groaned. "I know, but you need to eat, yeah?"

"Fine..." You peeked at him with one eye. "Only if you kissed me first."

Quinn probably shouldn't, but he really couldn't resist you and you were asking so sweetly, so he did. Just a quick peck on your lips. His reward was immediate. You smiled so brightly, your cheeks reddening a deep shade of red, but not from your fever anymore. When your eyes darted to his lips then back up, your breath hitching, he almost kissed you again.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," he panted.

"Like what?" you asked, looking so innocent and sweet.

"Like that." He kissed your cheek, pulling away so he wouldn't jump you. He sat you up, piling pillows at your back. But when he looked at your face again, you were still giving him your dreamy eyes. He almost folded. "Please behave."

You still misbehaved, luring him for another kiss or a hug, testing Quinn when he was basically dying in worry for you. At that point, he put the thermometer back in your mouth, squinting at you because you were acting so lively. But alas, you were still burning up.

"You need to rest," he sighed, watching down your paracetamol with water, putting the empty bowl on the nightstand. When you shift to lay down, he was there to fix your pillows. As you settle, he asked, "Are you comfy?"

"No." You shook your head, blinking so slowly like you were about to sleep.

What do you mean "no"?

Quinn felt a lump rise in his throat. His hands were trembling as he adjusted your pillow, your blanket, your hair. He offered you his own pillow, the one he usually hug when you weren't home. He only stopped when you grabbed his hand.

"Come here," you murmured, your voice sounding raspy with sleep.

He immediately slid under the covers, feeling awful at how hot you were as you hugged him, cuddling you back. He wished he could take away your fever. He could feel the slight tremble of your body, how you sighed and hummed when he rubbed over your shoulders, your nape, your head.

"Now, I'm comfy," you sighed.

Oh.

It was his turn to blush. That made him feel mushy and toasty in his chest.

Quinn was mesmerized at how pretty you looked. He couldn't help but watch your blinks turning heavy and your breaths slowing as you fall asleep. He made sure he could reach the new cooling patches on the nightstand and towels to wipe your sweat, then he fully settled, holding your hand, kissing your fingers softly before placing it on his chest to anchor his anxiety.

He should do your skincare like he promised. He should find your bag. He was sure that your phone was still there, needing to be charged. He should make you more soup or something more hefty but still light for your stomach. He should stay awake to make sure you were all right.

However, the more he looked at you, the more his eyelids felt heavier.

He would do it later.

Before he knew it, he was sleeping while holding you so tightly.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You woke up feeling sluggish but better. When you sit up, you noticed you weren't wearing the same clothes you wore last night. Even the sheets and the blankets were new. You immediately knew Quinn changed them. You must've been so knocked out not to feel him changing everything. Your Quinn was so sweet.

"Good morning, my Love." Quinn entered the room with another bowl of soup. Thankfully, besides the light eyebags under his eyes, he didn't look exhausted. "You need to eat so you can take your medicine again."

"But I'm feeling better," you protested, trying to snatch the bowl from his grip, but like last night, he fed you, spoon after spoon. The soup was a different one from last night, but it still had an added egg like you had requested. He was so sweet. "I can do it myself."

"I know," Quinn silently said. "But let me."

You wanted to tease him for being so fuzzy, but you knew it was his way. He always worried so much, overthinking the light fever you had. You could've just slept it off and you would still be alive, but Quinn wouldn't let that happen. You couldn't blame him, because you acted the same way if he got a fever, but his level of care seemed to exceed yours.

You should up your game if he run a fever. You mentally knock on wood, only wanting Quinn to be healthy and strong.

"Did you sleep well?" You asked the stupid question after a tenth time of gazing at his dark circles.

"I did." He smiled his usual pretty smile that made his smile lines show. "I just woke up two hours earlier."

You nodded, making calculations in your head about every task he could've done with those two hours. This was Quinn you were thinking about. This man would be so quick and efficient with anything he put his mind into despite all the messy socks that he kept forgetting to put in the laundry basket.

You noticed your pile of everything your purchased in the fair, near your small reading corner, and your bag.

"You left it in your car," Quinn explained, feeding you another spoonful of soup.

He was wonderful. You doubt that you would drag his hockey equipment out of his car if he turned uo with a fever. It was an arduous task that you wouldn't think about doing, but Quinn did it for your stuff. You gulped. Well, maybe next time—

"Eat," he demanded with a frown.

You did while your brain ran on full speed on how you would take care and spoil Quinn after he took care of you. As you stared at his eyebags again, you decided the first thing you would do was to steal him away from his possible plans today. The eyebags needed to go. He wasn't on ice. He shouldn't be stressed.

Sleep would be the best solution.

As soon as you finsihed your soup and drank your medicine, you were tugging him on the bed again, wrapping your arms and legs around him. He was not allowed to leave.

"Let's sleep again." You grinned.

Like always, Quinn just accepted his fate, murmuring, "Okay."

Lovelies @dancerbailey3 @loser-pretty-girl @tiredallthetimex @quinnintheabyss @r0wdymaize86 @macka @hughesmybaby @hockeygirlyyyy @bpinkblink @siennaluvshcky @arty-anon @hodgepodge-musings @alexxavicry @alwaysclassyeagle @svexhenthusiast @starrymari @hastielakeroad @thehuggybearslover @mrshelenhoran

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist

[kedreeva]

Oh I do have a Bird Question. To what extent can they socialize/bond with humans? Obviously they’re different from dogs, do people also project dog behavior on birds? What’s “really” happening?

It really depends on the age the bonding is done, the sex of the bird, and the species.

Imprinting can be good or bad (depending on species and sex), but is done within the first couple of days. Sometimes this just means you're one of the flock, sometimes this means you are a mate, sometimes this means you are a rival. You have to be VERY careful you understand the species you're working with, and whether it's okay to do.

Hand raising is very similar to imprinting, except the bird isn't exposed to you within the first week or so to the point where it thinks you are the same. It just knows you are not a threat. This can also be a bad thing, depending on the situation (habituating wild birds sometimes means they can't be released). In some species like peafowl, it's still enough that once they hit maturity, you are not a threat but you are a RIVAL still, or an intruder on their mating grounds.

Taming is just habituation after adulthood, where you teach and train a bird to be accustomed to human interaction. This is generally a pretty safe option for captive birds that don't need to be released. it can actually be beneficial- taming makes it easier to do medical stuff with them, like perform health checks.

People project dog (and cat!) behavior on fowl at least all the time. I'm sure they do it with other birds but I don't really have much to do with other birds. My favorite instance was when Beep (an old bird of mine) came up to a visiting friend of mine and started growling threateningly and I had to rescue my friend before she got attacked because she thought the bird was purring happily. I also see a LOT of people wishing their (raised in a brooder/free range, not at all human habituated) peafowl would cuddle the way my imprinted hen does, and are upset because their birds will only come and lay nearby. Like my dude. They are telling you they trust you, they like you enough to come hang out the way they would with friend peafowl. You've done it, you've become a friend. That's what peafowl friendship looks like, because they aren't mammals. My birds only cuddle because I taught them to do it from baby age and didn't discourage it at any point, you're not going to get that from an adult because it's not a peafowl behavior. It's a learned behavior.

I'm sure there's other examples but this got long lol

[lemonanddeepspace]

𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐨 𝐔𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭

Sylus

[Chapter 2] Auction

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Story Warnings: Angst, Smut, Arranged Marriage, Second Chances, Infidelity

Chapter Warnings: None

A week goes by where you don’t hear a single word from him. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, you rarely hear from Sylus. But you expect at least some sort of continuation to your conversation. However, you realize very quickly that Sylus didn’t even think twice about your demand.

You should’ve expected it. Sylus wasn’t going to take you seriously. He never will. You’re still annoyed by his silence, even if you knew that he wouldn’t do much. It forces you to think of the next steps. 

Even when you knew that getting a divorce wouldn’t be too easy, you never planned ahead. What would you do if he refused your request? Now you stare at the ceiling, trying to find unwritten answers. You’ll surely figure it out, it just sucks that you have no ideas in your brain. You want to leave as quickly as possible.

While you brainstorm your next step, there’s a knock on your door. You frown as you sit up on the bed, wondering who it is. You’re never needed around so it’s rare when someone is knocking on your door. 

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You yell as the knock happens again, more persistent this time around. You drag your feet to the door before you notice it’s one of the twins– You never know which one it is, you simply say a name and stick to it. You always get it right or at least they’ve never corrected you.

Your eyes look down at the fairly big box in his hands, brows furrowing at the sight. You point at it before asking, “Is that for me?”

“Boss man wants to go out with you tonight.” He says, placing the box in your grasp. Without giving you a second to question what’s happening or what Sylus has up his sleeve, the twin turns around and begins to walk away.

“Kieran!” You yell, hoping that the man will stop and explain it further. However, he keeps walking. You yell again, this time, “Luke!”

“You got it right the first time!” He answers as he gets smaller in the distance. You end up scoffing before slamming the door shut. Of course, you’re expected to go out with him but not given any details. You’re not given a hint about the event, nor the timeframe. You’re just expected to be ready.

You put down the box on the bed, opening it to find a dark red dress. Your eyes sparkle at the silk material, almost amazed at the sight of it. It shouldn’t surprise you since Sylus is drowning in money, but you still can’t say you have a lot of nice things. Nothing quite as nice as this dress at least– Perhaps your wedding dress, but the mere sight of it makes you nauseous.

You stare at the dress, hands feeling the material as you wonder what Sylus has up his sleeve. You could refuse to go by not changing, but knowing Sylus he’d just drag you with whatever you have on. It’s clear that you don’t have an option. You never do. You never will.

An hour after receiving the dress, there’s a knock on your door again. He wastes no time in showing up, barely giving you an opportunity to get ready. You finish applying your lipstick before walking to the door. You’re not quite ready yet, but you’ll make it clear.

“Give me five minutes.” You don’t even bother looking at him when you open the door. You quickly go back to the mirror to check your outfit, ensuring everything is alright. 

“We’re going to be late, sweetie.” Sylus informs you as he steps into the bedroom. He looks around the room, unfamiliar with his surroundings. For the first time in five years, he finally steps into your bedroom.

“And whose fault is that?” You ask, smoothing out any wrinkle you spot in the mirror. He picked the perfect dress. Surprisingly, he got all the right measurements. “Where are we even going? Kieran refused to tell me.”

“A charity auction.” He answers, making you frown. You look back at him, opening and closing your mouth as you try to gather the right words to say. Since when do criminals go to charity auctions?

“Is it legal?” You can’t help but question, even when you know the answer.

“Not necessarily, depends on what you consider legal.” He responds, and he almost earns a chuckle from you. You manage to remain stoic though, not willing to give him any sort of reaction. His eyes check you out as you walk back to your vanity, though he tries to avert his gaze.

“You can wait outside, I won’t take long.” You tell him but your words fall on deaf ears. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, choosing to watch you. You’re uncomfortable with his gaze on you, feeling as if he monitors your every move. No, no. You don’t feel as if he monitors your every move, he’s monitoring every step you take. 

“Don’t you have nicer jewelry?” He comments, getting a better look at the earrings that adorn your ears. You’d roll your eyes at the insult but you know you have a better remark.

“My cheap husband won’t buy me jewelry, I fear.” You hold back a smirk, and he clicks his tongue. You don’t know how much it stings, you’re not even sure he cares but to you it seems that he’s annoyed by the comment. 

“I’ll get you jewelry then.” He ends up responding, something that you barely pay attention to. It doesn’t matter if he buys you the whole place, you still want to leave the marriage. You still don’t understand why he wants to take you along, it’s definitely not the first charity auction that he’s gone to since the beginning of your marriage. 

“Better buy me the most expensive set you see.” You murmur, something that isn’t meant to reach his ears. Luckily for you, it does.

Sylus links his arm with yours as you step into an old building. The outside looks shady, all worn down and abandoned which is why the interior takes you by surprise. The interior is extravagant, every aspect of the room exuding wealth. You would’ve never guessed the treasures that rely inside from the exterior. You guess that’s why they say to not judge a book by its cover.

Sylus wears a suit that matches your dress. You’re matching, not only showing off that you’ve come to the event together but also the fact that you’re a couple. The gold wedding band that adorns your fingers isn’t enough apparently.

“Anything catches your eye, kitten?” Sylus asks as you look around the place. Too many items are up for grabs. Everything belongs in a  different category. Exotic paintings, jewelry, pets– You quickly begin to wonder where the profits of this are going. A charity auction? Sure, that’s what the wicked say to make themselves feel better.

“Don’t call me that.” You glare at him, something you wish would work but you know it won’t.

“You said you wanted jewelry, no?” He brings up, eyes staring at the pathetic necklace that you’ve picked tonight. He’s about to make a remark, but you beat him to it.

“I also told you I wanted a divorce but there’s no divorce anywhere in sight.” You comment, earning a chuckle from him. A ridiculous mocking laugh. You feel your blood begin to boil at his behavior, but you can’t lash out in public.

“We could get you a leopard.” He says as you walk past the caged animal. You cling to Sylus as you walk past the animal, scared that it’ll break from its cage and attack you. It doesn’t help that the nefarious eyes stare right at you, as if you were its next prey. He can’t help but retract his statement at your reaction, “Or not.”

“What kind of charity auction bids a leopard?” You question, making him click his tongue.

“An illegal one. The wicked like to do something nice once in a while, but it must be worth their while.” He answers, though it doesn’t satiate your curiosity. You could bet all your money on the fact that everything is stolen.

“Which charity is it for? Young criminals of the N-109 Zone?” You attempt to joke but it doesn’t quite land. At least Sylus doesn’t even attempt to mask a smile. To think that anyone in the shithole is willing to help others is beyond you.

You suck in your bottom lip between your teeth as you look around the place. You’ve moved past exotic treasure and moved to more dangerous things. Your heart almost skips a beat at the mere sight of the destructive weapons that they’ll bid off tonight. If they land in the hands of the wrong person then– Who are you even kidding, this place is filled with the wrong people.

“Why are we here?” You question, looking around the place. You’re trying to look for a reason. Perhaps an item that he’s interested in.

“Thought I’d get you something since you’re so neglected.” He answers, making a frown appear on your face. He’s mocking you. 

“I want a divorce, nothing you buy will change my mind.” Your voice is a little louder than it should be, drawing attention from the crowd. Sylus furrows his brows, with clearly something to say yet he won’t speak.

You get out of his grasp, dusting off your dress before saying, “But since you want to buy me something so bad, I’ll find something I like.”

“Knock yourself out, sweetie.” He watches as you walk away, giving you space to decide what you want to pick. If you want the leopard, he’ll get you the leopard. It’s not like it’ll bother him, he’s barely around.

You step away from the section, feeling uneasy with the weapons around you. You wander around, looking at all the items that are up for grabs. Nothing quite catches your eye. The jewelry is remarkable but nothing that fits you.

“What–” Your eyes narrow as something catches your attention. Curiosity flows through you as your eyes fall on a tank of water that stands out in the place. You wonder if your eyes deceive you as you walk to it, but the image becomes clear with every step you take. You’re appalled at the sight. There’s a skeleton in the water.

You feel your heart in your throat at the sight of it. It’s not human, but it’s pretty damn similar to a human’s. The question if it’s someone’s skeleton appears in your mind, and you almost chuckle at your stupidity. Of course it is.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” A proud voice catches your attention, your gaze quickly falling on its owner. A surprisingly soft face to find in a crowd of criminals. He’s tall with dark purple hair and fair skin, having soft and delicate features that aren’t commonly found in the area. However, you don’t dwell on that thought, the N-109 Zone isn’t the only place where criminal activity takes place.

The look on his face doesn’t match the tone of his voice– There’s a subtle pout on his lips and a slight frown on his face. Sorrow radiates from his body as he stares at the sight in front of him. As if he’s hurt about the display. As if it were someone he knew.

“Not really. It’s cruel.” You end up answering, tearing your eyes away from the stranger. “To do that to an animal–”

“It’s not an animal.” The proud voice quickly fades, becoming full of emotion. He notices it and takes a deep breath, “But it is cruel.”

“This whole thing is cruel. All for the name of charity.” 

“Charity?” His eyebrows come together with curiosity. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, almost laughing at your odd choice of words. You feel your face get hot from embarrassment before you give the man a subtle nod.

“That’s what my husband told me.” You answer, feeling ridiculous for even indulging in the thought. You try to laugh it off, “And of course I listened, like an idiot.”

“Who’s your husband?” He ends up asking, knowing he’s never seen you before. It’s not that he frequents in the black market events but he’s not unfamiliar to the scene.

“Well…” You feel embarrassed to bring up his name, so you end up shaking your head in response. It’s liberating to have a conversation with a stranger who doesn’t know that Sylus is your husband, and you’d like to keep it that way. You try to shift the attention to the man, asking, “What’s your name?” 

You’re met with silence. It’s not an event where you exchange information. 

Before anything else can be said, you catch him from the corner of your eye. You let out a sigh before giving the stranger a subtle smile, “It was lovely talking to you.” 

He doesn’t get to say anything else before you walk away, practically running in the opposite direction from Sylus. You won’t let him catch you so easily. 

The event proceeds to be uneventful. Sylus shows you off as his arm candy for the first time in your marriage, bragging about you to everyone who is willing to listen. You zone out in the midst of every conversation, unwilling to engage with his acquaintances. Sylus blames your attitude on having a bad day instead of your bad marriage. You barely pay attention to him either way.

He bought you a gorgeous jewelry set but you aren’t too happy with it. He notices the pout on your lips as he takes you back home, something that he doesn’t dare ask about. It’s probably over some noble shit or whatever, something he has no interest in. He just knows he fulfilled his duty after you complained about your lack of jewelry.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Sylus asks the moment you step back into your home. You wish you could tell him that you’ve changed your mind and that you want to be married to him forever but sadly that’s not your situation. 

“A charity auction, really?” You’re embarrassed as you say it. You can’t believe you actually fell for it.

“What’s the problem? I was a little flexible with my wording, but it was technically a charity auction.” He responds which makes you scoff. 

“You can sell the blood jewels, I don’t want them in my possession.” You tell him as you begin to walk away. You just want to go to bed and continue to live your solitary life; you wish you had another option but since you don’t, you’ll continue living it the same way.

“For someone married to a criminal, you sure are a humanitarian.” He points out, making you stop in your tracks. You roll your eyes, annoyed that he even dared.

You slightly turn to look at him, giving him the sweetest smile you possibly can. Deceiving him before asking, “Why don’t you give me a divorce then?”

Before anything can be said, you walk away. You know he doesn’t have anything worth your time. 

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

[bluelizard100]

Missing Piece pt. 6 !

warnings: groping, unwanted sexual advances, reader injury, punishment, spanking with a belt

This part is also a lot longer than the other ones, around 8k give or take

You get no peace. Not after that dreaded fucking dream. 

Days have passed and you still keep your head bowed, too embarrassed to show your face. This is worse than when John spanked you. 

After fleeing to the bathroom that night, you got in the shower and stayed there until the water ran cold. You had only planned to get yourself off, using the shower for guaranteed privacy (and to cover any noise), but after your need washed away, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. 

It was a miracle Johnny had even let you go in the first place. What if he was still there, in your bed, waiting? 

What would you say to him? What would he say to you? It was safer to just stay in the shower. 

After three hours in the bathroom, you finally gathered the courage to sneak back to your room. The hallway was empty. Safe. 

You tiptoed back to your room. It was empty, Johnny nowhere to be seen. Safe. 

You didn’t try to sleep anymore that night, afraid you’d fall victim to another stupid dream. 

—

Staying in the bathroom that long was not safe, and you should’ve fucking known that. 

You were still on edge, sneaking down the stairs to the kitchen. When you heard voices, you stopped, eavesdropping. 

All four of your kidnappers were already awake and sat at the table, with Johnny of course leading the conversation. 

“Poor thing was whimperin’ an’ twitchin. Thought it was a bad dream at first… couldn’t ‘ave been more wrong!” 

They all laugh, and you wish you could just wither away right there. 

“Ah wanted tae help,” he continues, “but she was bein’ stubborn, tryin’ to pretend she didnae want it. She went for a shower, and I waited outside the door. To be honest, Ah was listenin’ in. She’s a quiet one, Ghost— I bet you’ll have fun wi’ her.”

Oh god. He was listening.

Hearing them talk was humiliating, but you couldn’t make yourself walk away. You needed to hear what Johnny told them, needed to know what they’d know. 

“She was in there for a while, but Ah dinna ken how long. I stopped waiting after the first hour.” 

There was more laughing and a grunted comment from Simon, something about Johnny deserving a ‘reward’ for listening. It was astounding to hear that he’d be rewarded for not assaulting you, but then again, Simon fucking kidnapped you and none of them had any issue with that.

You skipped breakfast that morning. 

As you had already learned, hiding out in your room all day isn’t an option. The only reason nobody came to get you for breakfast was, you assumed, because of your dream. They either thought you needed some extra sleep, or they knew you’d be too embarrassed to eat with them all. 

Lunch, however, was a different story. Kyle came up to your room around noon to get you, and, to your surprise, he acted as if he knew nothing of your dream. He said nothing when you refused to look at him or speak to him. He merely coaxed you out of your room, not dissimilar from how he had to coax you out during your very first days as their captive. 

Of course, not all of them could be as gracious as Kyle. 

John was the first to say something, waiting until you were sat down with your meal so you couldn’t run away. 

“Next time come to my room, sweetheart,” he grinned. “My shower head is detachable.” 

You still cringe thinking about how pink you must’ve turned. The heat had to have been pouring off your cheeks. Even the tips of your ears felt hot. 

Johnny wrapped his arm around your shoulder and tugged you into his side. He tried to kiss the crown of your head, but you shoved him off you before he could. They all laughed some more while you sat with your head down, hoping that they’d all choke on their lunch and die. 

–

Now, three whole days have come and gone, and they still manage to find ways to bring it up. Johnny is the worst about it. 

“Our three week anniversary is comin’ up…”

You’re sitting on the couch, you with a book and the rest watching something on the TV. All five of you are in the living room, sitting in your usual spots. It’s peaceful– was peaceful– and Johnny decided to open his big mouth again. 

Everyone turns their attention to him, waiting to hear where he’s going with this. 

“Now, the way things go with dating is ya fuck on the third. I think we can apply the same rule here, since bonnie’s clearly gettin’ needy, aye?”

Immediately you move to stand, practically rocketing yourself up from your spot. You don’t manage a single step before Kyle grabs your arm, pulling you down into his lap. 

“You don’t need to run away,” he chastises. “He’s only teasing.” 

You glance around at Johnny, Simon, and John. Judging by their heated looks, Johnny is not just teasing. 

“Now, why don’t you just settle down and keep reading your book like a good girl, hm?” 

It’s phrased as a question, but you know you have no choice. Kyle picks your book up from the couch and slides it back into your hands before wrapping his arms around your middle. He leans back, settling into the couch and taking you with him. 

You try to do as you’re told, but you can feel eyes on you. You know you’re being watched, which only distracts you further. You shift your attention to the television, but it’s some boring history show. It’s a little surprising that they don’t watch Ancient Aliens. 

You return to your book, trying to focus. This is one of your books, something you’ve been wanting to read for a long while now, but the burning stare from just Johnny has you itching to leave. 

Unable to take it anymore, you turn and stare directly at him. It’s something you remember an old friend telling you: if someone stares, stare right back to assert dominance. She was only joking when she told you this, but with no other options, you decide to try. It goes along with the ‘make them uncomfortable too’ mindset that had been gaining popularity online. At least, it had been before you were kidnapped. 

The only issue here is that Johnny isn’t just some random creep you’d find on the streets. He’s a professional creep, one that aids in your captivity. 

You glare at him, staring straight into his stupidly blue eyes. Johnny only smirks, settling further into his spot. 

You refuse to look away, even as the seconds tick into minutes. Johnny, on the other hand, is either determined to make you lose this little challenge you’ve started, or he’s sorely misunderstood your reason for staring in the first place. 

He lifts his hand from the armrest of the couch and brings it to his crotch, palming himself through his jeans. Your eyes go wide and unconsciously shoot down, looking directly at his groin. 

Johnny barks a laugh, and you feel your cheeks flame with anger and embarrassment. Again you try to stand up, and again Kyle keeps you trapped. “Stop it,” he demands, his voice laced with annoyance. 

So far, you’ve only ever had to deal with Simon and John’s anger. You aren’t particularly keen on experiencing an angry Kyle. So, with a petulant huff, you relax as much as your agitation will let you and pick your book back up. 

The frustration of being bossed around and helpless to stop it eats at you. Instead of reading, you spend the rest of the evening imagining them all behind bars. 

–

Kyle doesn’t let you up from his lap until it’s time for bed. He kisses your cheek goodnight, as well as John and Simon. When it’s Johnny’s turn, he stares at your lips. Lucky for you, Simon swats him upside the head, and, with a grumble, Johnny kisses your cheek like everyone else. 

You had gotten used to their affections, but now, after The Dream, you’re once again repulsed. As soon as Johnny pulls away, you’re beelining for the stairs. You have a routine to follow– brush your teeth, shower if you have enough energy, and then bed. Tonight, you skip the shower. Typically, if you choose to shower in the morning, the four are usually finished with their breakfast by the time you’re done and you can eat alone. You’d rather be alone now, especially in the mornings when everything seems to grate against your nerves. 

After brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas, you slip into your room and crawl under the covers. 

Before closing your eyes, you spare a glance at the windows. They’re tilt and turn, with bug screens. You doubt it’d be that hard to pop them out of the window frame. 

Your dream tonight is escape themed. 

–

Your days go on like normal. You eat, do some chores, read, Simon takes you for a walk, you eat again, do some more chores, Couch Time, and then bed. On paper it all seems monotonous and simple, but dodging your apparently unashamed captors makes it anything but. 

Your ‘three week anniversary’ is tomorrow. John has decided that today, you’re going to bake cookies with him. He leads you from the living room to the kitchen where ingredients are already set out on the counter. If he can be normal about this and you can keep your ever-shortening temper in check, then this might actually be a bit fun.

Your hope is crushed when you turn around. John stands behind you, holding out an apron for you. It’s a stereotypical housewife apron, frilled at the straps with two pockets at the front. It’s a very light blue, patterned with little pieces of cake, cookies, and muffins. 

“Don’t just stare at it– put it on,” John laughs, though you can hear the subtle warning. 

You take the dreaded apron and tie the top strings around your neck. When you move to the ones at your back, John stops you, turning you away from him. “Let me,” he hums. 

John ties the strings tight, accentuating the curves of your body. You hate it, but you keep your mouth shut. 

“Aren’t you pretty,” John croons, looking you up and down. “All you’re missing is a ring on your finger, and you’d be my perfect wife.”

You tense, grimacing at the thought of being married to him– or any of the four. 

That’s what this is about, then. The cookies, meant to be a treat for your ‘anniversary,’ double as a ploy for him to play house: His sweet, doting housewife baking cookies for her husband. It’s like a scene from the 60s, only without the Valium to ‘help’ you along. 

John leads you over to the counter where the ingredients, measuring cups, and a recipe all wait for you. 

You look over the recipe. When your eyes land on a bag of chocolate chips, you scan the back. John looks at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and slight annoyance. When you find what you’re looking for– a recipe– you take the one laid out on the table and crumple it up. 

John’s expression twists, first to surprise and then to anger. “What the bloody hell was that for?” He barks, his volume raising towards a shout. 

You shrug, trying to play uninterested while you simultaneously celebrate and fear his reaction. “There’s a recipe on the chocolate chip bag. I don’t need this one.” 

John narrows his eyes at you. “So you crumpled up the one I had written out for you?”

You nod your head. “Yup.” At the start of your captivity, your repulsion to them was fueled by fear. Now, however, you’re fueled by spite. 

John grabs your wrist and yanks you over to him, getting in your face. “You’d better wipe that smirk off your face if you don’t want to find yourself bent over this counter,” he growls. “We don’t have to bake today. I could just paddle your arse with a wooden spoon and send you to the corner like the brat you’re being.” 

The threat has your spine straightening, and you find yourself shrinking back into fear. All it took was one threat of punishment. So much for spite. 

Gingerly, you uncrumple the recipe and smooth out as much of the wrinkles as you can. It’s a meager attempt to appease John, but it seems to work anyway. He smiles and pats your flank. “There we are,” he says, back to crooning at you. “Just needed a reminder, hm?” He gives you a final pat before turning to the counter, and you take that as your cue to start. 

–

Thankfully, John stays out of your way while you bake. You worried he’d try to help and you’d have to pretend that he wasn’t in your way, but instead he stood off to the side, happy to watch you mix ingredients and roll balls of dough. 

The only interference of his is when the cookies come out of the oven. You set them on top of the stove to cool for a bit, and then John uses a little spatula to get them off the pan and onto a cooling rack, repeating the process until all the dough is gone. 

It really wasn’t as bad as you suspected it would be. Even the apron came in handy– you hadn’t realized how much time you could save by wiping your hands on clothes instead of stopping for a paper towel. The only thing you have to fret about now is the mess.

You stare at all the dirty pans, measuring cups, spatula, and the big mixing bowl with dough still stuck to the sides. A brief thought flashes through your mind; scraping all the dough off the sides of the bowl and feeding it to Johnny, giving him salmonella. It’s not a realistic thought, but it amuses you nonetheless. 

With a sigh, you drop all the utensils into the mixing bowl and then fill it with water, deciding it should soak before you try to scrub the sticky cookie dough off the sides. 

Maybe you could make them all dishwater cocktails. 

“Don’t worry about the dishes, sweetheart,” John says, interrupting the nice quiet. “I bet Gaz would be willing to lend a hand, later. You know by now how much he enjoys doing his chores with you.” 

John has a point. His comment brings attention to the other three, Kyle and Simon both having gone along with Johnny to another appointment. It’s just you and John here. Only one man here to keep you captive rather than four. 

You entertain the idea of escape for only a moment before John is by your side, wordlessly untying the strings of your apron. You’re reminded that, when the number of men here to watch you lessens, the stricter they are about watching you. John will be practically glued to you until Johnny, Kyle, and Simon return. There’s no hope of escape now, not today. You’ll have to wait until they’re all here, as nerve wracking as that idea is. 

John fishes you from your thoughts when he laces his fingers between yours, giving you a gentle tug to follow him. He takes you out of the kitchen and to the living room, leading you to his recliner. It’s not often you sit with John, or with Simon, for that matter. You have two theories: the sergeants, or Johnny, at least, are too unwilling to share your attention, or it simply makes more sense to sit you on the couch where there’s more room. 

John sits down and pulls you with him, settling you down in his lap. You assume he’s going to turn on the television, but you stiffen when his hands pet slowly over your thighs, his hands sliding over the material of your sweatpants. 

“Mmh, so tense,” he murmurs. “You really do need a massage, don’t you?” 

His hands smooth up, settling at the tops of your thighs. 

“But after that dream, I’d wager you need a different kind of massage.”

Like every other time your dream is brought up, you try to launch yourself up from your seat. John wraps his arms around you, trapping you in his lap. 

“Don’t you go runnin’ away,” he huffs, wrapping one arm around your torso, trapping your arms to your sides, while his free hand splays across your belly. 

“Me and the lads, we’ve got questions…” 

John trails off only long enough to press a soft kiss just below your ear. 

“Without fail, whenever that little dream of yours gets brought up, you get all flustered and worked up.” 

His hand slips under your shirt, calloused fingers brushing against your bare skin. 

“So, then, tell me. What’s got our darling acting like such a prude?”

You can feel your face heat, warmed by shame and indignation. Squirming proves to be futile, John only banding his arm tighter around you and nipping at your earlobe when you try to move. 

“C’mon, tell me what you dreamt about.” 

His words are soft, gentle, trying to coax the information from you. 

“No,” you manage to hiss. “That’s-... private.”

John scoffs, the sound only feeding your growing resentment. 

“It’s hardly a secret, sweetheart.” He’s so condescending, it makes your blood boil. 

“We all know you had a dirty little dream, and we all know it left you so worked up that you needed to run and hide in the shower to get yourself off.

“I bet it wasn’t even that good, was it? Your fingers are so small compared to ours, so useless. Probably took too much work getting there to even enjoy your sad little orgasm.” 

You squirm again, jerking in his hold. You refuse to sit idly and let this bastard humiliate you. 

“Settle,” he growls. “You’re not getting up until you tell me what happened in that dream.” His hand slides higher, his fingertips trailing the underwire of your bra. 

“I can always force it out of you, if you want to keep bein’ stubborn,” he grunts. “I’ve a long history of interrogation. I can get very creative, darling.” 

His fingers press at the wire, trying to force their way under it. That, coupled with his threat, gets you talking. 

“It was Johnny!” 

He stops, and you know he’s smirking without even seeing it. 

“Yeah? And what was our Johnny doing?” 

You swallow, clearly uninterested in talking about it. John sighs behind you and forces his entire hand under the wire of your bra, cupping your breast. The band stretches and digs slightly into your skin. You can’t help the cry that sounds from your lips. 

“Tell me,” John commands, giving your breast a squeeze. 

Anything to get his hands off you. 

“He was–” you try, cutting yourself off to find the least vulgar phrasing. 

“...he was going down on me,” you finally mutter. 

John laughs. The bastard fucking laughs at you. 

“That’s all? All this fussing because Johnny was licking your cunt in a dream?” 

Why does he have to be so vulgar? 

“It’s not funny!” That’s all you can think to say, trapped in his lap while he laughs at your embarrassment and gropes your chest. 

The bastard doesn’t let go, either. You hoped he’d back off once you told him what he wanted to hear, but he doesn’t move. 

“No, it’s not funny,” he concedes. There’s a patronizing lilt to his voice, stirring up your temper. You aren’t sure which is preferable: the vulgarity or the patronizing. 

“Our poor darling, so flustered over just a little dream… you must be real innocent, then. You don’t have much experience, do you?”

Why is he insistent on this torment?

“That’s none of your business!”

John tsks at you, squeezing you again before you can start squirming. 

“It is my business,” he murmurs into your ear. “It’s all our business. You’re our woman, now, sweetheart. Did you forget?” 

He gives you one last squeeze around your middle, a small warning not to move, before unwrapping his arm from your body. He slides his now free hand up under your bra, cupping your other breast. 

You feel him smile against your ear when you tense again. 

“So skittish,” he murmurs. 

His hips shift beneath you, pressing deliberately against your ass. 

“You’ve been so neglected. You wouldn’t know real pleasure if it came to you in a dream...”

He speaks directly into your ear, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine despite your displeasure. 

“Not funny,” you try, but your voice is nothing more than a meek whisper. 

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

His thumbs brush over your nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. 

“Sensitive, too,” he hums, amusement lacing his words. 

“Stop,” you hiss, scratching at his arms. 

“You knock that off,” he scolds, though he still maintains that playful lilt. “Don’t be naughty. I’m just touching.”

You scratch deeper, but he presses his bulge harder into your ass. “Keep scratchin’ and I’ll do more than just touch.” 

Stifling a nervous whine, you stop scratching and let him touch. Maybe if you try hard enough, if you just close your eyes, you can ignore it and not even feel it. 

It doesn’t take that long for John to catch on, though. 

“Open those eyes,” he commands softly. “You’re fine. I’m not hurtin’ you.” 

When you don’t obey, he pinches your nipples cruelly. Your hands move back to his arms, clutching and trying to pull them away. 

“But I can hurt you,” he grunts. “Eyes open.”

You finally listen, releasing a breath when he stops pinching. 

“There,” he murmurs. His thumbs brush over your nipples, soothing the pain. 

“Keep bein’ good for me. I’m almost done.” 

You fight with yourself to keep your eyes open, one part of you all too eager to block it out and the other part trying to avoid more pain. 

John’s hands are warm and calloused, his rough skin scraping against yours. You focus on your breathing, breathing in for four counts and out for four. It’s not much of a distraction, but it allows you to focus on something other than the warm tingle of his hands on your body. 

This shouldn’t feel good. This should disgust you, but this evil man knows where and how to touch. Worry bubbles up the longer he touches. 

He said he was almost done. What does that even mean? Is he just touching to touch? What defines ‘being done’ for him? How much longer is he going to keep this up?

Finally, finally, his hands slide out of your bra and back down to your belly. 

“Was that so bad?” 

That patronizing lilt has returned, but you’re too relieved for anger. 

John’s fingers skirt idly over your belly. He still hasn’t taken his hands out from under your shirt. 

“The lads won’t be home for a bit.” 

You tense again, unsure of where he’s going with this. 

“Relax,” he huffs, his fingers stilling. “I’m just thinkin’ of something to watch, that’s all.” 

John resumes his petting with one hand while the other reaches for the TV remote. 

Relax. No more touching. 

–

Kyle holds the door open and Simon and Johnny trudge through, the latter hanging off the former. 

“No strenuous movement,” Kyle calls out. You don’t know who he’s talking to. 

Simon leads Johnny into the room and settles him down on the couch, dragging an ottoman forwards for him to prop one leg on. Kyle walks in a moment later, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. 

“We might have to get the brace out again,” Simon grunts, examining Johnny’s knee. You wonder how much first aid stuff they actually know and how much is guesswork. 

“Ah told ye all those bawbags do is hurt me,” Johnny snaps, sounding particularly petulant today. 

Kyle hands him a few pills and the water. “And they told us that it’ll get worse before it gets better. It’s a process, and your knee won’t get better any faster if you keep stressing it.” 

Johnny shoots Kyle a glare before he takes the pills from them. 

“Stay off that knee,” Simon grunts. “If it starts hurtin’ worse, tell me and I’ll get your brace.” 

You watch with interest. A nefarious little connection forms as you take in everything they say. 

The windows in your room.

One man down. 

Only a bug screen to keep you in. 

–

You need to do this tonight. 

Your three week ‘anniversary’ is tomorrow, and if there was even the slightest bit of truth to Johnny’s third date, third week of captivity false equivalency, you don’t want to be there to experience it. 

Sat in the middle of your bed, you force a third sock over the two you’ve already got on. You’ve dressed yourself, knowing that running in your pajamas is more than dumb– but you have no shoes. A few layers of cotton is better than nothing. 

Once the third sock is on, you stare at the window, chewing your lip. Your nerves are eating at you. The men don’t go to bed at the same time you do, not always. Some nights, like tonight, they stay up and do… whatever it is they do. 

This could be a good thing, though. They’re all downstairs; they might not hear as much as they would if they were all upstairs. 

The issue is, though, they’re all awake. Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll be drinking, their senses inhibited.

You squeeze your eyes shut and whisper a little prayer to whatever divine force may listen, then stand from your bed and sneak to the windows. 

You grab the handle and pull it down, tugging the window open and wincing when it snaps. This window probably hasn’t been opened in a while.

You pause, holding your breath and listening for any movement. 

When you hear none, you move to the screen. 

Popping it out will make more noise than opening the window did. You have to be careful. 

You grab the metal lip on one bottom corner, then the lip on the opposite top corner. With a breath to steady yourself, you start to wiggle. 

Pulling it out would make too much noise. You have to loosen it first. 

The screen scrapes against the windowframe, each little noise sending your heartrate climbing. Seconds feel like minutes, and you can’t help but look over your shoulder to the door. 

You can’t even block it with anything; they’d hear the scrape of furniture against the floor through the ceiling. 

You turn back to the bug screen. Your wiggling is working. Sucking in another breath, you give the screen a firm pull. 

It comes out with a pop. 

You flinch at the sound and pause, listening once more.

Nothing. 

You peek out the window, and your stomach twists when you see the drop.

There’s a little bit of roof protruding from the sides of the house for you to land on without hurting yourself, but that would make a considerable amount of noise. There’s also the drop from that lower section of roof to worry about. 

You take another deep breath. Something about climbing out a window to escape your four former-special forces kidnappers has you incredibly anxious. How curious. 

You glance down at the roof below you before swinging one leg out over the window sill. You maneuver yourself until you’re hanging out the window, clutching the sill with your hands. All you have to do is let go.

Just let go.

Thoughts spin around your mind like a storm. 

It isn’t too late to back out. Just climb back up, put the screen in the window, change into your pajamas, and go to bed. 

The thought of giving up and going back to your kidnappers when your chance is right here is nauseating.

You look down, eyeing the spot you’ll land, and let go. 

A tiny cry slips past your lips despite how tightly you’ve pressed them together. 

You hit the roof, but your feet slide behind you. Fear shoots through your veins like ice as you slip, landing on your belly and sliding. 

By some miracle, the shingles, the friction of your clothes and of your feet digging into them, saves you from sliding all the way down. 

You know you don’t have much time, but you need a moment to gather yourself. You’re shaking far too much, and already your legs feel like jell-o. 

You turn onto your back, glancing out into the dark woods. There is no light pollution out here, the sky alarmingly dark. 

You should’ve thought this through. Should’ve waited, planned it out better– but there is no turning back now. You couldn’t get back up to the window if you tried. 

Slowly, you inch down the roof, towards the gutters. You can hang off those and fall from there, like you did with the window. 

This drop is higher, but it’s not nearly as bad as it would’ve been without the roof you’re on right now. The universe is on your side. 

When you reach the gutters, you roll until you’re parallel with the gutters. You inch down, maneuvering until you can grab the gutters. You grip the edge of the gutter tight before letting your body fall down from the roof. Your palms are sweaty, so slippery you nearly lose your grip. 

Another startled cry, but you manage to keep your lips pursed. 

You’ve gotta hurry. 

You look back down at the ground and, with another breath, let go. 

Don’t forget to roll, don’t forget to roll, don’t forget to roll– 

You don’t roll. 

You hit the ground, one leg bearing all your weight. Your ankle snaps to the side at a sickening angle, and this time your scream is opened-mouthed. 

Fuck fuck fuck– you are so fucked. 

You try to crawl, but any movement at all has pain shooting through your ankle. You’re helpless, laying on the grass as you listen to worried voices through the open bedroom window. 

You see someone’s head stick out the window– Kyle, maybe– and then you hear more yelling. 

It doesn’t take long for your captors, sans Johnny, to surround you. The pain, the fear, and the adrenaline rush wearing off, work together to make your vision spot. Your head feels fuzzy, your limbs feel heavy, and your ankle throbs. 

Your body is jostled as someone, you don’t know who, scoops you up off the ground. You’re so tired, but not enough to black out like you so desperately want to.

They carry you inside, all three scolding and yelling at you. You’re laid on the couch, wincing at the sound of heavy thumping. 

The thumping turns out to be Johnny, who hopped his way over to you. 

“Ye really shouldnae have done that,” he growls. 

You try to turn away, but he grabs your chin and yanks you back to him. 

“Dinna fuckin’ look away from me,” he snaps, his volume raising. “If ye had any idea just how angry I am– let alone the others,” he snarls, “you’d be tryin’ much, much harder tae look sorry.” 

Tears prickle behind your eyes. You look up at Johnny, but he’s pushed out of the way by Simon. 

He says nothing to you, only sitting you up enough to press a bottle to your lips. You recoil at the bitter, medicinal taste, but he pushes your head back in place. You drink multiple sips before he finally lets you go, and Johnny’s back in your face again. 

“If Ah were nae so angry, maybe Ah’d feel bad for ya,” he growls. 

Your eyelids get considerably heavier than they were just a second ago. When you can keep your eyes open, your vision is blurred, unfocused. Words start to lose their meaning, turning to muffled sounds. 

What did Simon make you drink?

The last thing you register before everything goes dark, is a shoot of pain through your injured foot.

–

When you wake, you’re laying back in your bed. You rub the sleep from your eyes before looking to the window. It’s daylight now, the sun shining through the new metal bars screwed into the wall. 

You were always a prisoner here, but now you truly feel like one.

The dull ache in your ankle pulls your attention from the window. You throw back the covers to inspect, scared to see what kind of horror awaits, but you find your ankle already wrapped.

You also notice you’ve been changed back into your pajamas. You grimace at the thought of one of them, or realistically, all of them looking at your unconscious body. 

The last thing is a bracelet on your wrist. It’s actually quite pretty, a dainty chain with a single, heart-shaped sapphire. Upon further examination, though, you realize there’s no clasp. It won’t fit over your hand, either. This bracelet can’t be taken off. 

The door to your room opens and you stiffen, fear spiking immediately. 

Kyle walks in, looking less than pleased with you. 

“How’s the ankle?” he asks, and though he’s very clearly angry at you, there’s genuine concern in his question. 

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “Who wrapped it?”

“We took you to get it x-rayed,” he answers.

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “You took me to a hospital, unconscious, and they let you leave with me??”

He shoots you a hurt look, sensing your disappointment at the fact that you were allowed to come home. 

“No,” he grunts. At your confused look, he sighs. “We’re shady men, luv. Do you really think we don’t have shady friends who’ll do some shady things for us?”

Oh.

Kyle moves on quickly. 

“It’s just sprained. No broken bones,” he explains. “Grade two sprain. You’ll have to stay off it for at least a month.”

He watches you closely, noting every nuance of your expression. 

“We got you crutches,” he continues, “and one of those knee-walkers. If we have you, we can get Johnny’s old wheelchair out for you.” 

You didn’t know Johnny was in a wheelchair. You don’t bother dwelling on it, either. 

You’re worried about your punishment. You look from your ankle back up to Kyle. 

“...how much trouble am I in?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it. Simon’s down there negotiating on your behalf; he says the sprained ankle should be punishment enough, and that it’s our fault you ran because we pushed you too much. 

“As for the rest of us,” he sighs, “the rest of us are very, very unhappy with you. I was sent up here to check on you. The only reason I’m not punishing you myself is that Cap ordered me not to. I’m just supposed to see if you’re awake.”

Dread sits heavy in your gut.

“And, since I know you’ll ask later,” he adds on, “that bracelet is your tracker. Implanting a chip is too risky, so we went with the next best thing.” 

They were gonna chip you?

He walks over to you, to the bed, and sits down on the edge. 

“As for your clothes, Simon changed you. I was sitting with a very distressed Johnny, and Cap was too angry to see you.

“You’d better be extra sweet to Simon, by the way. He’s doing a lot to save your ungrateful arse.” 

You shrink back instinctively, shameful tears prickling your eyes. 

You can’t believe it, but you actually feel bad for trying to run. You tell yourself that the shame is from running with such a piss poor plan, but deep down, you know you feel guilty for trying to leave them. This isn’t fair. They’re manipulating you– that’s gotta be it. They’re manipulating you and brainwashing you into feeling guilty. 

Kyle touches your cheek, drawing your eyes back to his. 

“You look sorry,” he murmurs. “Are you?”

Are you sorry?

Your turmoil seems to show on your face. Kyle grips your chin now, jerking your attention back to him. 

“Listen closely,” he says. “I am very, very mad at you for trying to run, and I’m even angrier that you managed to hurt yourself in the process. If it were up to me, I’d be punishing you right now instead of talking.”

You take a shaky breath in, trying to focus on Kyle instead of your overwhelming anxiety. 

“But I understand why you did.” He sighs again. “Simon does, too. Johnny and the Captain, though? Not so much.” 

He releases your chin, moving to cup your face. 

“And I know by the look in your eyes that you are sorry, you’re just worried that feeling sorry for trying to escape your kidnappers is ‘wrong.’ I know you’re confused, sweetheart, and Simon does, too. We know you’re overwhelmed.

“When I take you downstairs, you keep yourself lookin’ sorry– and don’t hesitate to say you are when John asks. He might not be too hard on you if he believes you’re sorry, and you’ll get Johnny back on your side again.”

Suspicion creeps up on you. You must show it, because Kyle frowns. 

“If you’re so angry with me, then why are you telling me this?” 

“I just told you,” he huffs. “Simon and I both know you’re only running because you’re overwhelmed and confused by what you’re feeling. We know you’re warming up to us, and we know it scares you. 

“On the other hand, Johnny feels betrayed, and Cap doesn’t like that you disobeyed us. The first time you tried to run, you said you wouldn’t do it again. You lied. Cap doesn’t like liars.” 

When your expression shifts back to worry, Kyle smooths his thumb up and down your cheek, trying to comfort you. 

“That’s why I’m telling you. I’m upset with you for running, but I know why, and I don’t think you should be punished so hard for being afraid.” 

Oh. That’s… considerate. And not at all what you expected. You knew they’d all be angry, but you didn’t expect any empathy at all. 

Is this a trick? A scheme to manipulate you into trusting them– at least, Kyle and Simon? 

You don’t get to dwell on it. Kyle stands from your bed and, with a pitying look, scoops you up into his arms. 

“Price is probably done listening to Simon by now,” he murmurs. “Remember, make sure you show him you’re sorry.” 

–

Kyle carries you to the sitting room where John and Simon are sitting in their recliners. Johnny’s on the couch, an ice pack on his propped-up knee. 

He tries to stand when he sees Kyle carrying you in, but Simon orders him to sit back down. You’re surprised (and relieved) that he listens. You know he’s livid. 

Kyle carries you over to John, setting you down gingerly in his lap. You feel your hands start to tremble, and you glance down at the floor to avoid his stern eye.

John doesn’t bother holding you down, knowing that you can’t get away on your own with your ankle freshly sprained. 

“Well,” he says, his voice gruff. “Explain yourself.” 

He doesn’t sound angry; he sounds calm, dangerously so.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. You try to speak, but your body and mind are betraying you, trapping your words in your throat. 

“Spit it out,” Johnny snaps from the couch. You flinch. 

“Oh, so now we’re scared?” John scoffs. “Climbing out the window and jumping off the roof are just fine, but this is where things get scary?” John grabs your chin and jerks your head towards his, forcing you to look at him. 

“Explain yourself. Now.” 

You glance at Kyle, but John uses his grip on your chin to shake you. “Fuckin’ look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he growls. Your heart rate spikes. 

“Last chance. Tell us why you ran.” He releases your chin.

“I was scared,” you finally choke out. 

This doesn’t seem to appease him, or Johnny. 

“Scared o’ what?” Johnny demands, his volume inching towards shouting. 

You flinch again, hunching your shoulders inwards as if making yourself smaller will save you. 

“Answer him,” John commands. “What are you afraid of? We don’t hurt you, we don’t threaten you, we don’t neglect you– so what exactly do you have to be afraid of?” 

His tone is steady again, but his anger is still potent in his words. 

Your own anger starts to build. They do hurt you, they do threaten you, and they stole your freedom away from you. Your fear is valid and you have every reason to want to get away from them. You want to tell them this, to scream and kick and fight– but you remember what Kyle told you. 

Look sorry. 

So, you take a steadying breath, and let your guilt seep back into you. 

“...you keep talking about sex. You touch me where you shouldn’t touch me. I thought today you were gonna-..” You cut yourself off. This admission is a gamble; they could take pity on you for this bashful display, or they could get even angrier at you for thinking that they aren’t allowed to touch you wherever and whenever they want. 

John scoffs again, but there’s less irritation this time. “So you jumped out a fuckin’ window because you thought we were gonna fuck you?”

He puts his hands on you then, moving you onto your belly, across his thighs. A small, anxious cry leaves you as you squirm against him. 

“Lets say you didn’t sprain your ankle,” he huffs. “Let’s say we didn’t find you. Do you know how much danger you’d be in?”

He takes one hand off your body, and you tense when you hear him unbuckling his belt. 

“We’re many, many kilometers away from the nearest town, and you don’t even know which way to go to get to it.”

He pulls his belt from his belt loops, the sound of leather sliding against denim sending shivers across your body. 

“You’d get yourself lost. You’d be stranded in the woods, no food or water or shelter– fuck, not even shoes.” 

The buckle clinks as he doubles the belt. 

“You’d die out there. We wouldn’t be able to find you, to save you and bring you back home where you belong.”

He tugs your pajama bottoms down, bringing your panties along with them. You wail, reaching for them to try and tug them back up. Once again, you’re over John’s knee, bare and vulnerable for all of them to see. 

John grabs your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the small of your back. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks, though you aren’t sure if he really cares. 

“I’m sorry!” you yip, panicked. 

“Good,” John grunts. “Then you’ll take your punishment.” 

The belt connects with your bare skin barely even a second later, leaving a stinging stripe. The sting forces a ragged cry from your throat. You had thought his hand was bad, but the belt is leagues worse. 

“I believe you,” he says. “I believe that you’re sorry, but you still need to be punished.” He traces a finger along the stripe from his belt. “I think five for lying,” John muses, “five for putting yourself in danger, five for getting yourself hurt, and ten for trying to run again.” 

Twenty-five?

“That was one,” he declares. “Count them. If you skip one, I’m starting over.” 

He brings the belt back down, the sting jarring you just as bad as the first one did. 

“I said count,” John snaps. “Do you want me to add more?”

“No!” you cry. “I’m sorry, I’ll count!”

“Good,” he grunts, though he doesn’t sound very pleased. “Let’s start over, then. This is one.” 

Even with the heads-up, the sting startles you. You lurch forwards instinctively before crying out the first count. 

“Good girl,” John growls, bringing the belt down again. 

The leather bites into your skin, leaving fresh, stinging welts and aggravating the ones already there. 

“Two!”

John sets a steady, mercifully predictable pace. He strikes, allows you a few seconds to cry before you count, and doesn’t strike again until you’ve given him a count. 

Most of the punishment is the pain– the horrible, biting sting of leather striping your skin– but the humiliation adds to the lesson. They’re all watching, all of them seeing you get your bare ass whipped with a belt and listening to your pathetic crying and counting. 

You’ve only reached ten when you start to beg. 

“Please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t run again, I promise!”

John pauses, taking a moment to feel the heat radiating off your backside. “You said that last time, sweetheart, and now look where we are. How am I supposed to believe you won’t run again without being taught a lesson?” 

He brings the belt down, this time aiming for the crease where your thighs meet your ass. You swear your vision blacks for a second, the sting so intense you can’t even scream. You lay shivering and panting, your jaw dropped open. 

“What number?” 

John’s demand shakes you from your daze, and you mumble out a number. 

“I can’t hear you. Speak up, or we’ll start over.” 

“Eleven,” you choke out, holding back a sob. 

You hear heavy footsteps, and soon Simon is crouching down in front of you. You’re hit with deja vu, thrown back to the first time you were punished. Simon had knelt in front of you and wiped your tears. Your belly turns, worried that this time, he isn’t here to comfort you. 

Again the belt comes down, and again you cry and count the number out loud. Simon pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes your nose, his touch gentle. The knots in your belly loosen. 

“Halfway there, baby,” Simon murmurs. “It’ll be over soon.” 

Simon stays there for the rest of your punishment, wiping tears with his fingers and your nose with his handkerchief. He even whispers a count to you when you forget, saving you from having to start all over. 

The last stripe lands, you cry the last count, and Simon is the one to pull your panties back up and lift you from John’s lap. 

He carries you to the couch, sitting next to Johnny and settling you in his lap. You wince when your bottom meets his thigh, and he shushes you. 

Johnny reaches for you, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Ah’m nae mad anymore,” he whispers to you. “Ye said ye were sorry and ye were so good for yer punishment. Behaved better than I do, sometimes.”

Simon huffs out a laugh. You are not so easily amused. 

“Will ye take ‘er tae our room?”

Our room?

“She needs some love. And a nap.” 

Simon nods, gathering you in his arms and standing up from the couch. Kyle comes over to help Johnny up, and you’re still left wondering why your room is now ‘our’ room.

Simon carries you out of the living room, up the stairs, and to your bedroom. “Johnny’s movin’ back in,” he explains softly. “Can’t trust ya not to run again.” 

Simon lays you down in your spot, and a few moments later, Kyle leads Johnny in. He limps over to the other side of the bed and crawls in, making himself comfortable. You imagine this is how he does it when he’s sleepwalking and sneaks into bed with you. 

“C’mere,” he coos, snuggling up next to you. He spoons you, and the wounded, punished part of you lights up at the affection. 

Simon and Kyle leave you be, their footsteps growing quieter as they descend the stairs. 

Johnny tangles his arms around you, trapping you against him. He nuzzles into your neck, pecking little kisses into your delicate skin. 

“Happy three week anniversary, bonnie.”  

[knightoflodis]

One. I am pretty sure that the way that sheep were bred has caused it so that they actually need to be sheered constantly or they will have issues. They are also domestic animals and can no longer live on their own in the wild. So we might as well keep them around and keep sheering them since it provides clothing for us and life for them. Besides. Do people complain about dogs and other house pets getting haircuts/groomed? It’s just a haircut.

Two. For leather. I don’t think our population is ever going to give up on eating meat. And if it did, most of those animals are domestic and can’t live in the wild. So. We are going to keep eating meat. And if we keep eating meat, we can either waste everything else from the animal that we don’t use (which is stupid and I feel kind of disrespectful to the animal) or we can use all of it and continue to make leather and other things. I know it’s not the best thing to think about. But the other options are to either throw away the leather or cull the herds of animals that we will no longer be eating and won’t be kept as pets and won’t be able to live on their own. Like. We also couldn’t just release a bunch of animals out into the wild. Especially if there are no natural predators. Just look at what happens in areas with deer and no wolves. The deer overpopulate and destroy everything. Which brings me to deer. We can’t exactly stop hunting deer because we have to keep their population down or the environment and a lot of other things will suffer. Humane or not. This is how life is on our planet and at least right now we do not have a way of stopping it flat out.

As for furs. I don’t really have anything to say since I do not know much about the fur industry.

no but genuinely I lose a little more patience for people who won't wear wool, leather, silk, or fur every day that I live in a world where plastic is increasingly the only damn kind of clothing you can find (or the only kind of fabric for sewing, even)

obviously, animal cruelty is horrible. I believe that even industries that rely on the deaths of animals should make their lives as good and their ends as humane as possible. and many of these industries need tighter environmental regulations on their production practices- some of the chemicals involved are highly toxic and ill-controlled at times

but at some point, you have to wake up to the fact that the only alternative we've found to date is destroying our planet

it's all plastic. and plastic is horrible for the world- the environment, humans, and especially animals. how cruelty-free is it to cause mass habitat loss? or climate change that disrupts food sources for those animals on a vast scale? how is that better than the deaths of a relatively small proportion of animals comparatively?

(and don't even start with "but pineapple leather! but cactus leather!" when those are still basically plastic due to heavy plastics use in their production processes. there is currently no non-plastic alternative to most animal-based textile products)

I've always tried to keep in mind that we all have to decide where our line is, that we all consume and there's no way of living in this world that doesn't take something from it. that for me, plastic clothing is to be avoided as much as possible, and for others, animal clothing products are to be avoided as much as possible. that the choice is equally valid

but I'm having a hard time seeing it as valid anymore when it just feels like trying to push the unpleasant part away from yourself so you can pretend your choice has no negative impacts. you're not wearing animal skin (or wool that an animal didn't even die to produce), so surely your way of doing things is better! no animals were harmed in the making of your outfit!

except. they were.

they and all the rest of us.

[strawwbyy]

Overtime my view on all the Kings have changed... and I've come to the personal opinion that Satan and Mammon are the best love interests. I've made a post a long time ago on why Mammon (imo) is the best option for an actual relationship, but thinking back Satan is also a great option. They're both great but have differences, I want to point them out.

This is all in my opinion!!!!! Mind you I haven't read all cards, but (I think) enough to have made up my mind.

Like I said I've talked about Mammon before on this post. But, I'd like to add some things. Overtime, it's been clear that Mammon grows more and more attached to MC as time goes on. He talks about his extreme devotion all the damn time, specifying sometimes how he's more in love the more he sees them.

Also, sometimes I wonder if some Kings (or demons in general) have a preference for MC, at least at first, due to them being related to Solomon and having the same soul, however this doesn't apply to Mammon. He didn't feel strongly towards Solomon, he mostly saw his time with him as just messing around/having fun, but it wasn't love. However with MC, he's said multiple times that he LOVES them, and that he fell in love at first sight. This makes his love more honest to me, seeing as he's liked MC since the beginning because of who THEY were, not because they're Solomons Descendant.

I've also learned thanks to people who share screenshots that Mammon is a lot more infatuated than I first thought... We know that he devotes himself greatly to MC, acting like they're his master. But, I feel like deep-down he doesn't actually see himself as MC's posession, but that being theirs makes MC his (if that makes sense...) He did say, in his H-Scene, that he went for this to gain MC's favor, since there were a lot of other devils trying to own them already. He wants to make MC dependant on him completely. It's slightly scary, because this means that he's actually kind of very obsessed. He spends a lot of time on MC, even scolding devils behind their back when he deems their attitude towards them unproper. Also, Bimet, Valefor and Eligos refer to MC as their Queen/King, and sometimes even Mammon does so, so it's clear he's talked to his nobles before about it, and has already decided that MC is basically his. He's also talked about marrying and kids.

Onto Satan, sometime ago I wasn't that into him. He was fun, but I never really saw him with a lot of love. However I've been enlightened. He (from what i've seen) never says that he's in love with MC or anything, he's not very lovey-dovey. He even got slightly shy when holding their hand once.

He gives his all to protect MC and make them happy. It doesn't show too much, but it's a clear fact. I don't want to bring it up...... but even in Mammons pirate card, he uses all his free time getting to work to build a barrier to keep MC safer, which isn't something a King would usually do.

Another thing I really like about him is that he's just really happy around MC. He loves spending time with them and you can really tell that deep down he loves them fr fr

(Of course I don't need to mention that he's really hot. And strong! But this isn't a satan appreciation post lol.)

Now... I want to mention that, although in my opinion Satan and Mammon are the ones who seem to love MC the most, and they're both great, they have a big difference.

Satan is a lot more... Human? Idk how to say it, but by this I mean he's more "normal" than Mammon.

Mammon is amazing, yes, but he's almost too perfect in a way. Everything he does feels so far from MC (or us even). Again, he's really perfect in everything he does.

Satan feels a lot more sincere to me. Overtime I've come to the conclusion that Mammon has ulterior motives with what he does, with the fact that he wants to eventually make MC dependant on him. Meanwhile, Satan is a lot more straight-forward to me, a lot more emotional. He feels more human in his interactions, while Mammon feels more like a fictional character.

Idk if it's understandable. I feel if you've seen enough of them both you know what I mean. A lot of times I think WHY is Mammon the least popular King, but I think it might be because of that: Mammon is less emotional in his ways. Almost too perfect compared to Satan, who feels more like a normal guy who happens to be a really angry demon King.

This isn't to say Mammon isn't my favorite. HE IS. But I really enjoy Satans personality as well, it feels more real. This is a bit of a word vomit, but hopefully someone gets what I mean? lol

[bayetea]

if you're just predisposed to hate love triangles (or love triangle-esque conflicts) then that's all well and good and understandable because most of them are just poorly-written wish fulfillment, but the way that I see a lot of people complain about about the percy/annabeth/calypso/rachel stuff in pjo forces me to wonder if people just missed out on the symbolism of it all. love triangles are not some uniquely flawed premise, they're just a romantic version of a very basic character beat: a character is torn between two (or more) options and struggles to make the right decision. and if you're going to construct a love triangle-type conflict then one of the best things you can do, as a writer, to add more substance to it is to ensure that the main character's endgame romance means something more than just ending up with the person they like best. this is exactly what happened with percy in botl and tlo, which helped add meaning and purpose and thematic intrigue to the love "triangle" itself

and it's not really super complicated: percy is a demigod. rachel is a mortal. calypso is an immortal. annabeth is a fellow demigod

one of the reasons percy spends time with rachel is because proximity to her offers him an escape from the demigod world (and I don't say that to diminish perachel, which is a ship that I like, this is literally what percy says: "[…] the more serious things got at camp, the more I found myself needing to call up Rachel and get away, just for some breathing room. I needed to remind myself that the mortal world was still out there, away from all the monsters using me as their personal punching bag." -tlo, which was intentional irony given that rachel seeks proximity to percy for the opposite reason). but percy can't "escape" from his demigod nature and all of its negatives and positives, a point that was driven home all the way back in tlt, when sally desperately tried to keep percy away from the demigod world to protect him + out of fear of "losing" him; she eventually learned that it was necessary for percy to understand that side of himself and make his own choices, just like it was necessary for her to do the same when she turned down poseidon in order to live her own life (percy's enough like her to understand that. iykyk). when rachel puts an end to their budding romance near the end of tlo, she takes the choice of "escaping" from his demigod nature away from him, because no matter what percy wants, no matter how intensely he never wanted to be a half-blood, he can't be a mortal like rachel. the fact that it's rachel who turns him down and not the other way around symbolizes this lack of choice ("[...] you and me, that wasn't part of it. Our fates aren't intertwined. I think you've always known that, deep down." -rachel, tlo), it's literally not an option for him to get away from the fact that he's a demigod

except, of course, when he's offered immortality twice - once in botl, and again in tlo. calypso offered percy something very similar to what he wanted through rachel: an escape from the hellishness of his demigod life, but this time, on the eternal paradise of ogygia ("You would be immortal on this island. You would never age or die." -calypso, tlo). percy did have the option of choosing calypso and the immortality she was offering; that he turns her down foreshadows his decision to do the same thing in tlo. yes, he had multiple motivations for doing so, such as wanting to improve conditions for demigods, and not wanting to leave annabeth, but it's also made clear that he just doesn't want to be a god, and he knows that that wouldn't be the right outcome for him. and he can't be a full mortal either, he doesn't have that option. the midpoint is his demigodhood, a status which can suffer and enjoy the positives and negatives that come with accepting both halves of his lineage

so when taking all of this into account, it's clear what choosing annabeth in the end represents. it's about more than the romance of it all (and pls don't taint this post with shipping discourse or rachel/annabeth/calypso hate I will have no choice but to kill you with space lasers). if you only regard rachel and calypso as temporary obstacles to the holy percabeth or as hot girls that bolster percy's status by wanting him and making him look cool, then you miss out on worthwhile meanings that were built into the story (and also that's just a disservice to both ladies don't you think). ending up with annabeth tells us something more about who percy is, about what he wants for himself, and furthers his distance from "look, I never wanted to be a half-blood" in tlt to arrive at a crucial conclusion of his own self-acceptance: "I am a half-blood."

and this is fun to talk about because I can use this to emphasize why the moa love triangle between frank/hazel/leo doesn't work nearly as well. rick really dropped the ball here lol. hazel is set up as a character who is frozen between two core binaries - present and past || life and death, which plays heavily into an important aspect of her character: she's out of place, she's caught between the two, and unlike percy, she needs to escape from this middleground in favor of more positive outcomes; she has to live in the present, and she has to believe that she deserves to live and stop loathing herself as some kind of zombie. hazel has the option of dwelling excessively on the past and giving up on living, so it's important for her character arc to establish that she isn't going to choose those negative options

assigning these "options" to the moa love triangle could have been a sensible way to continue that internal conflict off of son of neptune's heels. frank represented hazel's newfound relationship to the present era and to new beginnings, whereas leo (via his relation to sammy, hazel's deceased former love) represented hazel's lingering attachment to the past. but hazel is already dating frank before she meets leo, so the thematic "choice" between present and past has already been made. she isn't even experiencing her random blackouts in mark of athena anymore, because going through a flashback with frank (and being given his firewood during that flashback, which is also literally his life) in son of neptune protects her from being overtaken by her past memories again

it also just totally cuts the tension of it all; there are no stakes whatsoever to this romantic conflict, because unlike percy, she was already taken before the love triangle even emerged (god it would have been so much better to keep frazel from dating until later on in the series). it's really fun to see frank and leo bickering because it brings out a side of them that we hadn't yet seen before, but like... where's the meaning in any of this drama? where is it supposed to go? what happened to the themes and symbolism that were so strong in the first 5 books? I'm not saying that I didn't want the love triangle to exist at all (sue me I'm a dramamonger), there was certainly potential for it to land harder, but the way it's written doesn't justify its existence. leo and frank could have bickered for other equally petty reasons, and none of the moa love triangle drama was even necessary for the sammy/leo ancestry reveal, never mind the fact that we don't even get a hazel pov in this book; the love triangle ends up failing to prioritize the person that it hinges upon, which is just bad writing. in a book series format that, unlike pjato wrt rachel/annabeth/calyso, allows all vertices of the love triangle to be fleshed out protagonists, it's just baffling that rick would choose moa, where most of this "triangle" plays out, to decenter hazel's voice from a conflict that concerns her more than it concerns anyone else

(and before anyone says, "also it's bad because frank and leo are weirdly older than hazel," pls know that this is one of the biggest misconceptions in the fandom; it comes from an "error" in hoo that rick corrected in toa. the age gap in both cases was always <2 years, hazel is 14 in hoo and confirmed 15 in toa. she and frank first met when she was 14 and he was 15. that was never part of the main issue!)

[laceymorganwrites]

Oblivious!Keegan

Keegan who is so smug and smooth whenever it´s about someone approaching him, right? dude has countless encounters and is a fling pro, he doesn´t do relationships, just one night stands, never saves numbers, never even talks much about himself and doesn´t care about the other person unless it involves sex

he doesn´t get crushes, doesn´t do feelings. the only meaningful connections he has are with his team because they´ve been through so much together

he knows he´s attractive, but doesn´t really use it to his advantage. he only ever goes out when he´s horny on leave. and that´s pretty much the only time he allows and tolerates blunt flirtation, he finds it so boring and only ever tolerates it when he wants to get his dick wet

he genuinely just thinks it´s all so pretentious and hates going through the trouble just to get laid but at the same time what is he to do when he´s horny? and since he doesn´t do relationships or completely shallow fucking going to a bar is still the best option for him

so imagine his surprise (and mostly straight up dread) when for once he´s the one who´s actually interested. of course he doesn´t do anything about it, just sits with the feeling until it goes away. it doesn´t. in fact it ruins his plans for the night.

what was supposed to be a fun night out and maybe a few hours of good sleep after sex that would make him forget about all the shit he has gone through for a bit, ended up him alone in his apartment unable to sleep because why the fuck is he thinking about the new recruit??

well they´re not technically new, he just doesn´t really remember them, their meetings in the past only scarce. they were one of the first few human contacts he had after his entire team got wiped out, being one of the ones to actually drag him out of the trenches. he does remember their touch in the back of his mind and how it was the first thing that felt warm ever since that day.

he doesn´t actually remember their face or their voice, just the feeling he gets whenever their paths cross, this warmth that´s hard to explain, hard to grasp, that warmth that he feels undeserving of so he shoves it so deep down it can never reach him

that warmth he denies himself only to chase after shallow satisfaction for a night before going out into the field again to fight for whatever is left of this godforsaken world.

he doesn´t even remember when they joined the Ghosts, barely noticed them getting new med staff in the first place. not until Logan practically drags him to the infirmary after yet another mission where he was reckless and got hurt without reason. he seemed to do that a lot lately, worrying everyone on the team.

nobody knew why he was like that, restless, harsher than usual, more self destructive than ever. nobody can really wrap their heads around it so they send Logan to do the trick. Logan is the only one who can actually get through to Keegan because Keegan has such a fucking soft spot for the kid, he can´t be mad at him no matter what he does

needless to say he is testing him a lot when he realises he´s taking him to the infirmary. Keegan is just about to walk out again when he sees you, reluctantly sits down on one of the operating tables. you barely notice him stiffen up at the thought of getting a check up, he hates being in the inirmary. he would genuinely rather sit every injury out than have someone else take care of him

he hates being exposed like that, being vulnerable, being in a state where you could literally cut him open and gut him like a fucking dog. being in a position where he can´t escape, can´t fight back, where he´s weak

he doesn´t trust med staff, doesn´t trust anyone but the Ghosts. and even though you´re a part of them he needs a lot of time to warm up to you.

never once questions why you´re so patient with him, why you safe him a seat at dinner every time, why you make sure he eats and drinks enough, why all of the spare parts for his guns are always organised neat and tidy. he´s not used to anyone caring for him in that way, in a different way than his brothers in arms do.

and that´s why he´s blind to it. more like he doesn´t want to see it. not again. he has all the preconditions to be a heartbreaker but he isn´t, he couldn´t handle it. sure he gives off fuckboy energy, but he´s pretty chill and most of all open and brutally honest about what he wants, no false hope at all

he never expects anyone to want him beyond just his body, doesn´t think anyone would be capable of loving him, doesn´t spare much thought of him even deserving the love. it´s not that he hates himself. he sees himself as a weapon, does a weapon have a need for love? exactly. so why should he?

why should he pick up on the clues you give him so patiently, so sweetly, so obviously? it´s not even like you want to be with him so desperately, you just...fell in love with him. you don´t feel the need to confess, not in this environment. neither of you have the time or the right to date in the first place. but you also don´t make a secret of your feelings. far from it

i think deep down he knows you love him but he can´t allow himself to accept that. because if he does you become a distraction. a distraction he can´t afford. then again he can´t tell pure sexual flirtation and actual interest apart so he doesn´t quite take you seriously, doesn´t react to your advances, doesn´t believe you´re actually serious so he doesn´t even entertain any thoughts on the matter

Keegan will let you treat him, but barely meet your eyes, always looking at the wall behind you, shutting his mind up like he does on missions, ignoring how your proximity drives him mad, how much he admires you when you´re focused working like that, so carefully and thoroughly. he genuinely passes every clue you give him up to just you being a good medic. like no, Keegan, medics aren´t all touchy like that (we´re not in KorTac here-)

Keegan doesn´t notice the way you give him the stronger meds, doesn´t notice the way you ask about his physical rehab, about if he´s eating enough, the way your eyes linger, your hands too, asking if you should check up on him later too, just to make sure. all the while you´re treading carefully, making it obvious but not too desperate. you don´t outright invite him over to your room, or you to his. it´s still very painful to watch for Logan and the other team members.

the ones who have been telling him for months and months now to just either give you a chance or reject you outright, anything else would be cruel. and he just shoves it off as: oh they just think I´m hot, it´s nothing more, it´ll pass

no way in hell would you like him like that. and Keegan and Logan both have enough at this point. Keegan because Logan keeps pestering him about your crush on him and Keegan doesn´t fucking believe him because who on earth would have such bad taste?? and Logan is pissed at Keegan because my guy, he´s not telling him that just for a pity party like noo, they do like you, you´re a great guy. no, Logan is fucking done with how stupid Keegan is, he is supposed to be the dumb one. he is genuinely so shocked when he sees the thoughts connect, when he sees everything click for Keegan in real time.

"what do you mean they´re not just being nice?" type vibes-

he is so awkward once he finds out because how the fuck does he treat you now? he obviously likes you back but he is not the relationship type, no matter how hard he tries he will break your heart eventually. there´s no way around it. it´s not like he does it on purpose, he´s just not made for love. but maybe, just maybe he actually wants to try this time.

[definitelynotsiffrin]

Ok actually adding my two cents bc tags are just not enough so bare with me, long rant ahead.

Time to say, it simply... doesn't work. Like, even if you are ACTUALLY doing it for the safety of children, it won't do shit.

If you want children to be safe, the options that should be followed are:

Sex ed

Ideally, parental regulation via communicating with them and explaining things instead of just acting like children are helpless stupid crotch goblins unable to understand the world around them (NOT strict parenting. Fun fact! That just teaches them to be better at hiding things from you!)

Actually making the porn industry safer (with laws to regulate exploitation) for all the people whining about unconsensual or violent stuff (a lot of which is done by two or more consenting adults and it is not your business if they like to do things that make YOU particularly uncomfortable. Discomfort is not a moral thing. Just because you do not like something does not mean it's unethical, and before anyone comes to whine about "BUT WHAT ABOUT (really bad thing)" that's not what this is about and you know it do not pull on straws, this is about consensual scenarios.)

Understand that kids (primarily teens) WILL find porn or sexual stuff one way or another, your best bet is just to make sure they know how to be safe about it. This also applies to things like alcohol (there is a big chance teens will get their hands on alcohol or drugs, your duty is to make them understand the dangers of it and make them feel safe enough to come to you if ANYTHING happens to them)

Try to actually restrict the access for really small kids. No 10 year old should have a tumblr account, let's be honest. With teens they'll find their way around but with kids that young it's not even allowed by the site itself, yet here we are. This means also working on making the world for kids so internet-dependent (school, friends, fun, everything is tied to the internet noawadays especially as we lose third spaces and kid-friendly areas and this is a big and real concern that we SHOULD focus on, not internet censorship)

And finally, the most important part... you cannot protect children completely. It's inevitable, and it sucks yes, but giving companies the ability to have all of your personal information is not the way to fix that, in fact it makes it WORSE by putting more people in danger.

Because data leaks are not a "what if" it's a "when". On top of the fact that if you know enough about recent company bureocracy you should never trust them with that much information anyways. Where is all that internet safety of not giving your data away that we were taught when we were younger?

Kids will be exposed to unpleasant things, traumatizing things even. And it's a group effort to make sure this is likely to happen less, of course, but it's also important to give them the places to be SAFE to talk about it instead of locking them away from everything, isolating them and also deciding that Big Bezos should have all of your information to sell to 3rd parties or have leaked out a month later while queer and sex-positive people and poc get censored to hell thanks to the new excuse of exerting power the companies and goverment now have.

How bad is it? Well. Not only will kids still access it, but now they will access it in ways that are more unsafe (unregulated sites are especially dangerous, since kids aren't taught the etiquette of "IF you are going to see it, at least do not interact in the comments, it's dangerous both for you and for the people you interact with" they can easily get groomed or worse)

Again, both safe sex spaces and minorities will get censored to the ground as we've already seen. Which also will lead to further stigma towards sex-related situations and people's bodies (as we've seen during the past few years as these attempts grow harder and harder to ignore)

Peoples' information will exist online, which means that not only are we under the threat of leaks at any time (seriously, do you know how many times companies have leaks? How many times has your password become unsafe? I can tell you it's more than a handful) but it ALSO becomes accessible to agencies that are nothing less than dangerous. ICE can just ask for your information to youtube now and woops you've been disappeared! For information that site did not even need to own!

And it gets worse! The people pushing these things don't actually push them for kids' safety, if you believe that you are falling face first into propaganda (nobody is immune to it, you are not to blame for falling for it but it is your duty to learn the real information to fix that)

Their intention is obviously belief-motivated, sure, but it's also very much with the intent purpose of using it as a smokescreen to get rid of everything they find undesirable.

Sex-positive spaces, queer communities, safe spaces for people that are "out of the norm" (which more often than not is minority-dominated).

And so they can have the ability to censor not just what they do not like, but what threatens them. The power to censor stuff in-masse is a dangerous one.

We can all agree there is bad content out there, but this is not the way to fix it. Not only does it mean there will be less regulation due to not making it legal (meaning there will be a lot of dubiously-sourced things online since the only sites willing to host it won't moderate it) but it will also be complely innacessible to a lot of people that are perfectly fine and legal to see it! And of course the aforementioned issues on top of that.

Censorship is not a tool for "kid's safety", censorship is a weapon for people to wield. Because if they can shut down people, why wouldnt they go for the ones fighting back? Hell, look at tumblr's anti-porn policy that's been in place for years now and see how many trans women and poc have been banned under that pretense despite being completely sfw.

"Kid's safety" is just a lie, a dogwhistle really, propaganda. They do not care about children beyond what use they can bring to them politically. Because there are a lot of real issues that do require targetting, but those never even get brought up, it's not of their best interests to do so. Children do not matter to them. Control over you does.

may be a hot take but i think the fact minors can access 18+ content by just clicking a button that says 'yes im totally over 18 trust me' is like. totally fine tbh. its a non-issue. i dont care if curious teenagers are looking at porn. they've been doing that for as long as porn has existed. id rather teens explore their sexuality through images on the internet than rush into real life experiences when they're not ready for it yknow. the UK is trying to put stricter age verification in place (which in turn is becoming an online privacy nightmare) and like. for what. who is it helping. why is this a problem.

[nomorespahgetti]

Could you do a yellowjackets fic where the reader is just SO sensitive to like everything even before the crash, but its like set after the crash where she genuinely is just always upset and just CANNOT handle the hunts or eating people and she ends up starting to starve really badly to the point where the girls are like constantly faking that the human meat is animals or smth, and she gets hurt somewhere in the middle of the fic and everyone freaks out because she's usually the only one who can make people happy and she makes little games or things to do to lift spirits so they CANT lose her. Oh I also forgot to ask if it could be centered around Shauna, Natalie, or Lottie plsss and THATS why she gets special treatment is because everyone's scared to stand up to whoever it is you choose pretty pleaseee

Crybaby

Or the events and the argument that follows when the sensitive Yellowjacket is forced to finally eat

Should I create a name for the character because I like her teehee. I’ll probably make a series for this just because I like the concept a lot.

༒☽𖢠

“I can’t do it. I— I can’t do it. I’m sorry, I just can’t,” you inhaled sharply, glancing around the teepee’s dirt floor, as if there were risk of anything living hearing you. “I can’t eat human flesh.”

Natalie Scatorccio cursed herself mentally. God, even before the plane crash, before you had all gone berserk and eaten your team captain, you had been known to be picky. Not just picky, but a Crybaby. After away games, you’d be the one who didn’t eat. The one who’d rather sulk, starving in the backseat of the game van, than eat the high carb food the rest of them did. You weren’t a big enough of a complainer to whine until provided other options, just a big enough one to sulk, forcing your teammates to acknowledge your taking of the short stick.

Natalie didn’t have it in her to beg for you right now. She was already getting enough grief from Shauna, and had plenty of responsibility thrust on her as she was selected leader.

“Just eat it,” she pleaded with you, her eyes closed in exhaustion. You shook your head, crossing your arms determinedly as you moved to walk away. That was your signature move to end arguments: walking away. Most of your teammates respected that once you walked away, presumably to sulk, the fight was over.

She sighed, chewing on her top lip as she watched you cower away, a thin blanket wrapped around you as a makeshift shawl.

She got up, advancing towards you before you could leave the teepee, “It’s fucking goat, it’s not like we’re eating… Mari or whatever! I mean, come ahn!” Her voice was exasperated, her accent slipping as her frustration became more evident.

You whipped around, turning to face her with the same round, doe eyes that you did every time you argued with her. You couldn’t ignore the way she looked at you, almost as if she couldn’t comprehend not wanting to eat to survive.

“You guys killed one of the goats?” You whispered out, swallowing softly.

Her breath settled, and her tongue darted between her lips quickly, lingering ever so slightly on the bottom one. “It was injured. It wasn’t going to survive much longer,” she said, her voice soft as she moved to convince you.

Your eyes met hers, your brows uplifted in the slightest. You willed her to tell the truth.

She swallowed, her eyes shifting to the right of the hut before back to you. “It wouldn’t have lived much longer, okay?”

You paused, your eyes flickering as you battled what to do. Realistically, you trusted Natalie. She wouldn’t have lied to you knowing how strongly you felt about it— that you were certain.

“Okay,” you whispered, your words coming out so soft she almost doubted that you had even spoken them. Every word that came out sounded like it was against your will, hurting you just a little bit as they left your mouth.

“Okay?” She repeated, her entire body shifting in frantic response. “So you— you’ll eat?”

You nodded again, your eyes moving all around the inside of the tent as you did. Your gut twisted, but if you agreed to eat now, you could spare yourself from having to eat anything during the next hunt, when it wouldn’t be for the sake of the creature. When it was brutal.

“You guys didn’t… you know?” You asked, shooting her a look.

She shook her head, looking at you. “No. No. Not since last winter, you know that. Not since we’ve had to.”

You nodded, your tongue running over your front teeth. Maybe as reflex. Maybe as a reminder that you were involved in what they did. At least the first time. You had refused to eat Javi. Refused to go near any of them for days. Nearly died of starvation, refusing to eat from the amount of grief you carried.

“We didn’t have to do anything,” you argued softly, your voice pathetically low.

“Come on… that’s not fair,” she pointed out. “None of us wanted to hurt anybody.”

“Right. You were just glad it wasn’t you, right?” You snapped, your eyes narrowing in on Natalie, the tears blurring your already narrow vision.

She froze, her mouth tilting in a small frown. She swallowed, looking down at the floor. It hurt, hearing the words she had told herself a million times over before said by her best friend.

“Sorry,” you muttered numbly. You wouldn’t tell her you didn’t mean it, when part of you truly did. You and Nat had that, you were honest.

She nodded her head simply, unable to tell you that you were right. The two of you both knew it, and it’s not like you needed to tell her that for her to know that it’s what you already thought. The only reason you forgave her after what happened to Javi is knowing that it would’ve been her in place of him. That reminder is what kept you humble, reminding you that, you too, were guilty. Not that you were present during the hunt— you never were, the girls knew better than to involve you, because your involvement meant intervention, and intervention wasn’t wanted unless it was from The Wilderness. You’d be lying if you told yourself that if given the chance between Nat and Javi, you’d save Javi.

You exhaled, your lips still turned downwards in a mix between a pout and a frown. Your cheeks had already been dusted red with the flush that came and went whenever you cried, your arms crossed over one another to protect your delicate heart. You said nothing, taking the step to exit Nat’s teepee.

༒☽𖢠

You were sat on one of the wooden tables you all had crafted during early spring, stirring around your soup with a spoon that Shauna had carved. Your teammates were spread around your guys’ makeshift village— some in their teepees, others lounging around, soaking up the sun. You sat alongside a handful of your teammates. The same girls you changed with in locker rooms, sung with on long van rides, gossiped about and to, played on turf, all before the crash. Now you found yourself sat alongside girls— teenage girls, the same girls you’d gone to school with—who had all partaken in cannibalism. The spoon went limp in your hand, your fingers dropping it as you pulled your hand away from the bowl.

Van’s brows knitted together in confusion, looking up and down between you and your still full bowl. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her tone similar to that of a concerned parent. Not cooing, but affirming and gentle. Reassuring.

You shook your head, looking away from the bowl. You felt like throwing up. You couldn’t look at it. “I can’t,” you gagged out, pushing it away.

The girls shared glances, their eyes wide as they watched your reactions. Some of the girls— Robin, Akilah— they held guilty expressions. You didn’t need confirmation to know that you were right. You covered your face with your hands, your face impossibly hot as the tears began to fall. You were tired. You were so. fucking. tired.

Taissa glanced at Van from across the table, not sure what she was communicating to the other girl besides just remorse for you. She put her arm over your shoulder, gently rubbing it. She looked at the other girls, nodding her head for them to leave rather than just stare at you.

Van watched guiltily, wishing she’d have something to offer to you other than a stupid joke. She let Tai take the lead, watching from across the table as physical support.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she cooed gently, her hand rubbing small circles on your back. “It’s a goat, okay? One of the ones from the pen,” she reassured quietly.

“Akilah… saw in a prophecy that it wasn’t going to live much longer,” Van said, nodding her head gently as she let out a small sigh.

Tai’s eyes narrowed in confusion, her brow raising in surprise as she looked across at her girlfriend. What the fuck? She mouthed, her eyes now wide as she eye-scolded the ginger.

Van’s eyes widened in defense, shrugging as she looked at Taissa.

You shook your head back and forth, your chest tightening. “I know that you all lied to me. I know that I ate… Javi,” you swallowed, the words barely coming out.

Tai’s hand didn’t falter as she shot Van a quick glance from her spot at the table. Van met her gaze, swallowing as her eyes glanced down to you.

For months now, the girls had been carrying the guilt of lying to you. Every girl on the team was actively lying to you per Natalie’s orders. After the girls had returned from the hunt, and you were faced with Natalie leading the pack, you distanced yourself. You knew something had changed in them— grew and evolved from the small bud it was when you all allowed your consciences to turn off and let your captain freeze. You couldn’t trust them or their instincts. Not when you couldn’t even trust your own.

So, days later, after Natalie had very sternly told each and every one of the girls that they were to look out for you, and keep you alive, you knew the ‘moose’ soup they had given you wasn’t really moose. It was the middle of winter, and you hadn’t been able to catch anything in weeks. Even more so, it’d been longer since you’d all been able to catch anything moose, or anything within the size range of it. You knew. You knew that they lied, but you also knew that you chose to believe them.

“That’s not…” Van tried, her voice low as she shook her head slowly. Natalie told them, and no matter how ridiculous any of the girls found the lying, or how many eye rolls your crying had elicited from some of the girls, they all obliged. Nat was their leader, after all.

Tai shook her head gently at the girl across the table from her, silently telling her it wasn’t worth arguing with something you already knew. You stood up from the table, your face red and your nose congested. You inhaled, sniffling softly before crossing your arms in your defensive position, swallowing softly as you walked away.

Tai let out a small huff, turning around at her girlfriend. “Seriously?”

“What?” The redheaded defended, looking at the dark-haired girl across from her, her eyes narrowed in on her.

“Nat’s gonna be on our asses later about this. When she does, I’m blaming you,” the curly haired girl warned, holding up a tentative finger. She was already halfway out of getting up from the table, one leg swung over the bench as she moved to follow after you, prepared for the damage control she’d be doing.

Van let out a small groan, deflating in their seat at the table’s wooden bench. “It was goat,” she groaned into her hands, dropping her elbows onto the table as she stirred her spoon in her half-empty bowl. She debated for a quick moment, glancing up at where you and Tai had gone before taking your portion and dumping it in her own bowl.