#Then I just want to know if it’s them harassing me again then claiming I’m hurting them somehow. Thank you.

[eclipsecrowned]

you ever just marvel that you’re living rent free slamming doors in the head of sb you haven’t thought of in months.

[sems-diarie]

Ok but Aizawa is absolutely obsessed with chubby/fat women bc they’re soft and they smell nice and he will use you in place of his sleeping bag all the time. He will come home from a shift or his hell class, see you on the couch and bully you into a position where he can sleep comfortably on you.

If you pout n whine at him just right he’ll let out this huge sigh like you’re stressing him out and then wiggle down between your legs to eat you out until you’re crying, wailing that you can’t take anymore and then he’ll just smack your thigh or ass, enthralled at the way the flesh jiggles before diving right back in.

You wanted his attention right? So be a good girl and take what he’s giving you, and thank him for it.

anon u r brilliant i’ve been thinking ab this for days

you’re not thinking much of him when aizawa comes to sit by you. no, not even when he slots his huge, dense body over your back.

you gave him an initial side eye, but he just grinned real lazy. said he likes being close—don’t you, pretty lady?

you don’t think much of shouta, or his schemes, until he raises his head from motorboating the back of your thighs to slapping a hand into the meat of said luscious thigh. he’s sick, you decide, when he presses his nose against the sweat-slicked skin there.

you squeal and tense at the sudden pain that blossoms where he hit you. you don’t have long to relish in it when his fingers sink into you. he holds you still where you lay on the couch, and shouta groans deep as he molds your flesh with hands.

“it hurt?” shouta asks, sounding like it hurts him to breathe anything but the bewitching aroma of the cute, twitching pussy beneath his nearly drooling mouth. “sorry.”

“i need—,” you whine, rocking back to meet his mouth despite knowing you shouldn’t. “y’can’t, ‘cause i’m gross.”

your shouta doesn’t even bat an eye. the minute the words leave his mouth, he’s gone back to harassing your pussy-soft pillow thighs with his scratchy beard. “i don’t care for the shaved shit.”

“i need t’shower,” you hiss. “you’re tactless.”

you’ve been home all day. well, you showered last night for your early-morning errand run. and then you went and did some roller skating. then, you came back and watched a movie. and now, your husband is home and hungry—

and you’re trying to tell him dinner isn’t ready?

you don’t even bother after that. shouta’s strong hands take to your legs, spreading them a bit. just enough to get space for his shoulders to take up between your hips. for a while, aizawa just looks. and talks shit. fake worry drips from your husband’s tone when you, to his pleasant surprise, fight back against him.

“i just want to lick you a little,” aizawa says. he kisses you now, soft half-bites to soft, delectable parts of your legs. “woke up thinkin’ ‘bout it, came home thinkin’ ‘bout it…”

“you want my pussy in your mouth all the time,” it’s more of a hiss than you mean for it to be. and you nearly cry out as part of him brushes your clit. one of his hands supports your weight on his face; the other slides up your body to pinch your nipple.

“fuck yes. are you offering?” shouta loves how your hips grind back to him, taking the pleasure he’s giving you with a clenching, sloppy pussy. “wish you’d cut it with the panties, too.”

“think i give a fuck about a shower?” aizawa is not shy about it at all as he continues. he bites into the silence your swirling brain so dumbly encourages you to leave. and your brickhouse of a man fills it with the filthy, nasty ways he plans on making those pretty eyes cry as you grind cum all over his mouth.

he growls, “make me fuckin’ messy, baby.”

you whine.

“whining about later—you don’t think this spoiled pussy needs me now?”

shouta revels in the gooey squishes your pussy makes when his thick fingers come to pry your ass cheeks apart. you don’t even get a chance to answer before he spreads you again, and this time his tongue claims the insides of your cunt instead.

[shanastoryteller]

ROSES ARE RED, AND THIS IS BEDONKS
CAN I PRETTY PLEASE HAVE SOME PERCY AND TONKS 🌹💖

“What’s going on with Percy?”

Kingsley looks ups from his paperwork to find Amelia looming over him. Not exactly a common occurrence, since he’s well over a foot taller than her. “Brooks?”

“Merlin, don’t speak to me about Percy Brooks,” she says, pulling a face. She’s the one who brought him up! “Weasley.”

He blinks several times, rolling through Arthur’s children until he lands on the appropriate redhead. A bit uptight, considering his parentage, but Molly can fret with the best of them up until she gets fed up and settles matters with her wand. “I could get Tonks in here, if you want.”

“Do they know each other?” she asks in interest. “They were in different houses, and a couple years apart.”

How does she know that? He knew that, but it was against his will. “Tonks is dating him. Or trying? I’m not totally clear on the specifics despite her best efforts.”

He hadn’t anticipated how much work it would take for him to dodge a trainee determined to complain to him about her love life. It speaks well of her future in the field, at least. Or poorly of his own abilities, but he’s fairly confident in those, so he’s comfortable giving her the credit here.

“Great, a harassment case waiting to happen for our department,” she says dryly.

He rolls his eyes. “The only person he’s complaining about it to is Tonks. Who takes it as encouragement. Which, considering the cause and effect, it very well might be.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Amelia says. “What’s what this kid?”

Kingsley is lost again. “Can you get a little more specific?”

“Crouch’s department has become efficient, and dare I saw, effective over the last couple months. It’s certainly got nothing to do to with Crouch, since he’s been useless for nearly a decade. The only thing that’s changed is Percy. Who attends every meeting, claiming Crouch sent him to take notes, and then memos and policy get signed and sent out of Crouch’s office when I know for a fact Crouch is too busy harassing me to do his damn job.”

He tries to avoid the obvious answer because it’s the most ridiculous. “You think it’s him?”

“Who else?” she returns.

Well. “Do you… want me to arrest him?”

“What good would that do?” she demands. “The department is operating smoothly for once. I want to know what his deal is. Is he loyal to Crouch? Plotting against us? Just really passionate about bottom thickness?”

Not according to Tonks.

Uhg.

If he was alone, he’d bang his head on his desk until he’s unable to remember what Tonks’s voice sounded like and then maybe he’d know peace.

“Everyone’s got to start somewhere,” he says. “You’re noticing. Maybe that’s what he’s after.”

“I’m noticing because I notice everything. He’s taking significant steps to ensure people don’t notice. How’s he supposed to get promoted that way? Or transferred?” She shakes her head. “He’s doing it for a reason. Do me a favor and find out.”

Why can’t she ask him something simple, like hiding a body or burying evidence?

Now he has to spend his lunch break listening to Tonks talk about her not-boyfriend.

[showtoonzfan]

Ganna rant about Episode 4 of Hazbin again. For starters it has the same issue that Seeing Stars did for Helluva boss, that being Loona giving Octavia advice in comparison to Husk giving Angel advice. While the characters situations are different, both Loona and Husk were the wrong characters to pick to give advice, or simply just comfort the other character. I’ve already seen some people say that Charlie or Vaggie should have been the one to cheer Angel up, and that would have made more sense. They’ve known him longer and it’s in character for them to do that. For it to be Husk, not only does it feel forced as an excuse to just hook Angel up with a boyfriend and get the shipping fuel going, but it doesn’t make sense narratively.

In Loona’s case, her situation was flawed because she just MET Octavia, didn’t know a thing about her struggles and spouts to her about how she should be thankful just because her dad is “trying”, and the show tries comparing both girl’s situations when they’re not the same. This is practically the same situation with Angel and Husk. While Husk is aware of Angel, he barley knows him. He hasn’t been at the hotel that long considering the pilot took place only a week ago. On screen, all that Husk knew about Angel was that he was a porn star who constantly flirts with everyone, him especially, and we as the audience only see that and only that when the two interact. However episode 4 claims that Husk can see right through him and know that this is all part of his persona that he displays. If we had more time with these two characters outside of flirty banter scenes, this would make more sense, but instead it’s all tell and no show, being rushed with the little time we’re given. Husk even says that the hotel residents go to him to rant their sorrows while they’re drunk and even THAT happens off screen and that’s the problem, the audience has no reason to believe that Husk knows Angel deep down or even cares enough to want to help him, in our eyes, all Angel’s been doing is sexually harassing him.

There’s no reason why these two need to have an emotional scene together, it’s unearned and unwarranted because we haven’t had enough time with these characters, just like Loona and Octavia, there’s just no purpose or buildup. I also resort back to what I’ve said before: Husk selling his soul to Alastor is not the same as Angel selling his soul to Valentino. The show tries to compare Angel and Husk’s situations and it’s just not comparable because Alastor isn’t a rapist who’s trapping Husk to sell his body and be used like a rag doll constantly. Had it been something like “you’re a drug abuser and I’m an alcoholic”- THEN that would have worked, but that’s not what we get, and this leads me to talking about why “Loser Baby” isn’t good.

Some people have already misinterpreted my opinion, so here’s a few things. Is the song in character for Husk? Yes. Is the song about Husk telling Angel not to act and just embrace himself? Yes. On its own, the song is fine outside of some distasteful lines. The CONTEXT, execution, and placement of the song is the issue. Episode 4’s whole purpose is to see just how much Angel suffers. He’s forced to work like a dog at the studio day in and day out, and he gets abused and SA’d by his boss and other demons constantly. He doesn’t have a say in anything and can never say no because he’s under contract. He can’t Fizz his way out of this one and just go “I quit”, he’s literally forced to work in the porn industry wether he likes it or not, and we see all of that on screen. We also explore just how much this affects him. They reveal some pretty dark stuff here, how Angel doesn’t even want his position as a famous porn star and is so desperate to be numb from the pain and suffering he endorses that he’ll get high constantly and let people drug him for nefarious reasons, it’s his escape. They dump ALL of that info onto us, only for this bullshit to come up:

So the writers slut shame him, call him a freak and an addict to laugh at because “haha he’s addicted to drugs and a slut”, even though we JUST got done with a scene that confirms HE DOES ALL OF THIS AS A TRUAMA RESPONSE. He said himself he does the drugs and is addicted to numb the pain, and his own flirting (while problematic) is shown to be an act of him hyper sexualizing himself due to what he goes through. It’s not excusable but it’s still a fact, and we’re supposed to LAUGH at him??? That’s what’s wrong with his character and what continues to be wrong, because Viv sees him as the butt of the joke. Every line of dialogue he has is always about sex and how we should laugh because he’s a slut, an it comes off as so distasteful and insensitive to not only people who have been abused/SA’d, but porn actors in general. We’re supposed to laugh when he talks about cock and sex, but the reason he’s doing it is so dark that we shouldn’t be laughing about it at all cause he’s a VICTIM, yet Viv thinks it’s funny. It’s so disgusting and makes my stomach twist. Angel is trapped being in a position he doesn’t even want to be in, yet his entire character revolves around comedic sex jokes, and once you figure out the reason behind said sex jokes, it feels so wrong.

And this is why Loser Baby doesn’t work. Aside from everything else I’ve already said, It doesn’t line up with what Angel is going through, it doesn’t line up with the rest of the episode. If you wanted Angel to have this arc about realizing he doesn’t need to stick to his persona, fine, but you should have done it in a different episode. This is why Husk comes off as telling him to just suck it up and stop whining rather than what he’s actually trying to say. It looks bad with how they executed it, it just looks like he’s telling an SA victim to get over it and stop whining and what’s worse is they compare their situations when it’s not the same. You literally have a scene of Angel telling Husk he lets people drug him, and not even a minute later Husk is calling him a loser. That’s the issue. The show doesn’t know how to read the room, build character relationships slower, is just so incredibly tone deaf and is hypocritical. We’re supposed to feel bad for Angel cause he’s sexualized to the maxes and is having trauma responses of that, but then we’re also supposed to laugh at him and his sex jokes while also finding him hot. Pick a fucking side Vivienne, the show wants to have its cake and eat it too and look where that’s gotten us. The writing is a fucking atrocious mess and yet it had so much potential if Viv actually cared enough to take Angel seriously, instead of just desperately wanting to give him a boyfriend, and a rushed arc where he magically feels better in the end.

[skzdarlings]

part viii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 13,800 words)

chapter warnings: the usual dynamics and abuse history. reader is harassed at a bar by a handsy man. some fighting. unprotected sex. BDSM dynamics (dom!felix/sub!reader, sadism, masochism, rope bondage, spanking, belting, fear kink).

-

You sleep through most of the afternoon, waking in that bleary, purple hour where evening is unexpectedly creeping into the day.   Felix is not in the room, though the evidence of your lovemaking remains in the mess of your shared bed.  There is also a tender ache between your thighs but it does not register as pain, or at least not as bad.   It is proof of pleasure. 

You touch yourself there, still sleepy but still wanting. 

You listen for Felix.  He is talking in the other room, on the phone with your father.  You slip out of bed and dig around for a shirt, because you don’t want to distract Felix too bad while he is reporting. 

A conversation with your father will no doubt cool him down, more effective than a douse of ice water, but you will not abandon him to that cold.  Never again. 

You wait in the corridor, listening as he mentions your missed class but lying about you having a stomach flu.  He claims he made you rest because you have an important exam in a few days.   He also claims you argued with him, which is convincingly in character for you, but naturally he won this supposed argument so your father has ‘nothing to worry about’. 

You grin, biting your bottom lip, as tender from loving as the rest of you.   

Felix ends the call.  After a moment, he sighs and says, “I know you’re there.” 

You turn the corner.  Felix is sitting in the middle of the couch, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.  His hair is partially pulled back, a lazy half-bun with the rest in a messy sweep around his neck.  The collar of the shirt does not hide the love bite on his throat, twin to your own. 

Despite his frown, he is sitting with his legs apart, and light sweatpants do very little for hiding anything inside them.   He clears his throat but doesn’t close his legs, just cocks an eyebrow when you meet his gaze.    

You blink oh-so innocently.

“You made me sound like such a good girl,” you say.  “Even I almost believed it.” 

You can see the amusement tugging at his lips.  He pushes his tongue into his cheek. 

“Mmm…” His low voice comes softly.  “But you are a good girl.  When you want to be.”

“When I’m made to be, you mean,” you say. 

You hold his gaze as you approach.  He plays the professional, watching you with a detachment that contradicts the thickening bulge in his sweats.   Your desire is even more obvious, in your eyes and face and the sway of your body. 

You put your hands on his knees and bend over, the collar of your shirt swooping low.  Still, he looks into your eyes and no where else.   A conversation happens there, beneath the surface of your words.  You have often read each other like a book. 

Come with me, you say, and though he does not move, though his body and eyes are rooted, he lets a little fondness run through the fissures of his usual mask.  He finally looks at your lips. 

“Do you tell them?” you ask.  You get down on your knees, face at level with his open thighs.  “When they ask how you get me to behave, how you seem to do it so easily when so many tried and failed…”      

He says your name, darkly coloured with promise.  You both know where this is leading. 

It is not just about the kneeling or the pouting, but that this is you, who has never willingly knelt for even the most dangerous of men.  And when you rest your head on his knee, you are thinking about that, about how it is only for him, exactly as he is.   How he knows every possible way his body could be used to hurt someone.  How he runs a gentle hand across your hair. 

“Sweetheart,” he says.

“Do you tell them how you win our arguments?”  you ask, flicking your gaze from between his legs to his face.  “Or do you leave out the part where you shut me up with your dick in my mouth?” 

His hand drifts down your face and he holds your chin, lifts your head.  He furrows his brow as if he, too, is completely innocent. 

“Shut you up?” he asks.  He presses two fingers at your lips in a patient request.  You open your mouth and take him to the knuckle.  “That doesn’t sound right.”  He lets you tease him, lets you swirl your tongue around his fingers.  He looks at those fingers as he slides them out between your lips and back in again.  “You weren’t quiet this afternoon,” he says.  “Mmm, the opposite even, I think, don’t you?” 

You give him your best glare, to which he laughs, a little huff of amusement. 

“You can hate me,” he says, “if it makes you feel better.” 

He stands and takes his fingers with him, so you chase him with pursed lips.  Your breath catches when he grabs the back of your neck, stopping your pursuit, holding you firmly, safely. 

He smiles down at you with that too-sweet, too-innocent smile.  His other hand unties the band of his sweats. 

You swallow.  Your heart is thumping, an excited and pleasurable thrum you feel right down to the core of you.   You blink up at him as the waistband comes loose so he can roll the material down, his dick hard and springing up, his hand as firm on the back of your neck. 

You smile. 

“Make me,” you say. 

He smiles back. 

“Don’t have to,” he says.  “You’ll do what I say.  Now come on.  Be a good girl and open your mouth.”

He is right, that it takes nothing more than that.  You want him too badly to even pretend to refuse, your lips parting in an open kiss that welcomes him to enjoy you as much as you are enjoying yourself. 

Though he plays along, Felix is naturally restrained.  Even when assuming the semblance of total control, he holds himself in a type of bondage, his body tense and breath ragged. 

You make a showy mess of your wet mouth and stick out your tongue. 

“Is that it?” you ask.  “I don’t think you would any arguments like that—”

He laughs and shakes his head.  He hesitates only a moment before taking your face in his hands and fucking himself back into your open mouth.  

It gets you hot and wet, how he hands himself over to you, how he trusts you with the pleasure he is always so reluctant to accept.   You give it to him and more, until your jaw is sore and your face is wet with tears. 

He touches you there, looking down at you with the sort of reverence that usually comes from the person kneeling.  He cups your face and tilts it up, looking at you affectionately even while stroking his dick right beside your cheek. 

You glance there out of the corner of your eye, then bat your eyelashes up at him. 

“I hate you,” you say, and it makes him come in a streak on your wet cheek. 

It is stupidly hot, but Felix being Felix apologizes anyway. 

When he reaches for you, you lean away.  His gaze is wary, watching as you swipe a finger over your cheek then lick that finger clean.  There is very little evidence left on your face, but you gather what remains and put your fingers back in your mouth, giggling as he huffs but surrenders to a smile.   He reaches again but you dodge his hand. 

You wonder if he is also remembering your first night together: how he chased you to stop you from petulantly shoving things in your mouth, how you were the hot-tempered girl you are pretending to be now, how he was the dutiful soldier already in over his head because of that girl. 

You think he does remember, because you understand each other with one glance. 

You run and he chases you.   He vaults the couch and sweeps you into his arms before you can get too far. 

When Felix truly applies himself, you stand no chance of escaping, so every little squirm and wiggle is something he grants you.   

Right now, he concedes no ground.  He locks you in his arms, your back to his front, and marches you right up to the window.  

It is a mirror on the outside and, even if it was not, you are too high up for anyone to see anything but a spec in the glass.  Still, there is a thrilling moment when you feel like you are standing on top of the whole city, where everyone can see you, where they can see him, his hand slipping under your shirt as you plant your palms on the glass. 

“That’s it,” he says, nudging your feet apart with a little kick. 

Your breath is already fogging the glass by the time he touches you.  He makes an even more guttural sound than you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he rubs his fingers through all that wet desire. 

His hair is more dishevelled now, wisps falling from the knot.  You unravel just as quickly, quicker even, riding the rhythm he sets with his hand. 

His arm is around your neck, cradling you close, and his other hand is inside you.  You press against him and come to the soft sound he makes, to his breath hitting your neck, to everything intimate between you. 

His touch gentles but not stop.  You realize he does not intend to stop, that he is slowly working you towards another orgasm.  You whimper and wriggle in his grip, but you also push desperately onto his hand. 

He shushes you soothingly, his arm holding you steady when your knees start to tremble.  He eases you both down, on your knees, never ceasing his touching. 

You come even harder the second time, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. 

He kisses your face then slows down and finally stops his touching.  He cups his hand over your pussy with a sort of possessiveness.  Then he sighs with satisfaction, his breath waking goosebumps along your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, a soft murmur. 

It is only for you, a secret whisper spoken right into your ear.  You look down at the city beneath you, sprawling as far as the eye can see, all the way to the where to the last rays of sunlight peek over the horizon.  An entire world. 

You touch a hand to the glass.  He kisses your neck and your eyes close.  You imagine falling into that big open world, secure in his protective hold. 

You let yourself relax in his arms.  You release a breath you did not realize you had been holding.

-

The next few semesters pass in a blur of similar dreams and desires.  It is just you and Felix in the middle of everything, in and out of a dangerous world, escaping to a haven of your own design.  

You do not know where the times goes, but weeks turn to months.  Semesters come and go. Another graduation looms on the not-so-distant horizon.  Somehow, you feel as ill-equipped for the world as you did when you were a teenager.   

So much has changed and so much has stayed the same.  When it is just you and Felix in that apartment, you feel free to safely exist.  You lives are mired in trouble and trauma but you grow comfortably into your weird, grown-up selves.  You might even say you are happy to be who you are, appreciating the good days because of the bad ones.  

But beyond graduation is the looming threat of a permanent return to your father’s house and the life he has planned for you. 

You are spending the weekend there, in your old bedroom, because of a few events your father wants you to attend.  After just one day in his house, you revert to all your anxious teenage habits.  It worries Felix when you withdraw like that, when you get snippy and cold, though he knows you well enough to understand.  

You look at him now, on the opposite side of this huge bed, far away because you are not alone in this house.  The space feels bigger than you remember.  Terror forms its usual death grip on your heart.  You wonder how you were ever so reckless with your safety, with his safety.  Felix is the bodyguard but you would do anything to keep him safe. 

You slide a little closer, then a little more.  The cadence of his breathing changes as he wakes, always a light sleeper, though he does not open his eyes.  

You brush some hair off his face.  He leans into your touch and you smile despite everything.  You stroke his cheek and feel your sorrows melt with his soft exhale.   

“Rest,” he says in a deep voice rough with sleep.

You continue to stroke your thumb over his cheek, just looking at his face.  His roots are getting dark again and his freckles are more pronounced in the blue dark of this bedroom.   You admire his profile, the slope of his nose, his lips, and you find yourself overcome with affection and desire. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, catching your hand when it slides down his neck.  “Not now.” 

His admonition makes sense.  You have only been here a day.  You will be back in the apartment in a few more.   An apartment with privacy and protection, where you can touch each other without any consequences.  There is no reason to put yourselves in jeopardy here, tonight. 

Maybe you do remember how and why you were so reckless as a child, stealing back whatever parts of your life you could, whenever you could, however you could.  You should be allowed to touch who you want when you want.  You should be allowed to live in your own body. 

You want to feel alive, and you feel most alive when you act in defiance of all the rules that would restrain you, when you face down danger in your path and steal back your heart from that death grip. 

“Felix,” you say.  Then, in a softer hush, you whisper, “Baby.” 

It catches his breath as it always does, such a simple endearment, so common, like he is just a boy and you’re just his girl.  You are certain if you slide your hand lower, you will find him already getting hard just from hearing it. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

“This is crazy,” he whispers, eyes still closed, tightly now, like he can make the rest of the world disappear by not looking at it. 

“I’ve always been crazy,” you say.  “You like me anyway.” 

He finally opens his eyes.  He looks at you and your heart skips beats, and you wonder if that gaze will ever cease to make your heart race this way.  Years and years and years of sharing this bed, and you still feel warm and dreamy when he strokes the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. 

“Hmm, doesn’t matter how I feel, yeah?” he says.  “You hate me no matter what.” 

His tone is light and teasing.  It is your usual innuendo.  The game you always play. 

You do not want to play any games tonight.  Tears prickle in your eyes as you look at him, as those words cross his lips.  You want so badly to say what you really mean, but your emotion gets the best of you and the words never cross your lips. 

His brow furrows when he realizes you are struggling with something.  He touches your face, turning it towards him to look at you more closely.  A tear slips down your cheek and he wipes it away. 

“Felix,” you say.  You shake your head.  You clasp his hand to your cheek.  “Make love to me.” 

You cannot help but laugh at the look on his face.  Very little surprises him, a consummate professional in all appearances, and he is good at absorbing his own shock and moving on.  But he looks physically stunned, eyes wide and mouth open, words caught in a cluster on his tongue. 

When you laugh, it snaps him out of his daze.  His face softens, expression fond if not a little morose. 

“This is, uhh…” He clears his throat, shakes his head.  “Stupid.” 

“I don’t care,” you say.

It is the truth.  You are suddenly completely apathetic to everything beyond the bedroom door.  You don’t care if they catch you.  You don’t care if they hurt you.  You don’t even care if they kill you.  That dark thought has you reaching desperately for the only source of light and life in the room. 

You wrap your arms around Felix.  You hold his shoulders and kiss his face, lining your body up against his.  When you kiss below his jaw, he makes a soft sound of surrender.   His hand slides up the back of your shirt, rests between your shoulder blades and holds you, firmly, as he looks at you then kisses you. 

Your eyes close and you kiss him back.  They stay closed, even when the kiss deepens, when he licks into your mouth, when he catches your sigh with a bruising press of his lips.  You let yourself fall into the sublime haze of desire, not looking but feeling. 

He puts you on your back and holds himself above you.  You are already breathing hard.  You tug on his shirt so he leans back and whips it off.  Then you are touching his bare shoulder, his back, dragging your nails down his backside and feeling him shiver against you. 

His open mouth is hot against your throat, wet on your chest through your shirt, then under it.   You tug it off and over your head, leaving it spilled on the pillow beside you, then your arms are around him and your legs are spreading to fit his hips.  You are both fumbling with the last of your clothes when he gasps against your throat and mumbles something like, “We don’t have—we can’t—”   

Some distant, logical part of your brain knows he means protection.  After the first coming together, you’ve been careful in all your intimate moments.  But sense and logic are far from your mind right now. 

Once you are both completely naked and free, you wrap around him and pull him to you.  He comes to you with another surrendering sigh. 

Your eyes have been closed for so long, and the physical sensations have been so strong, that you very literally see stars when he is finally inside you.   

He instinctively covers your mouth when you make too loud a sound.  You grab that hand and lace your fingers, then rest it beside your head.  He covers your mouth with his, gathering your other hand so both are pushed into the mattress on either side of your head.   He is so close, his whole body pressed to yours, that you think he must be deeper inside you than ever before. 

His hips roll against yours with a slow sensuality, one sometimes lacking in your more desperate couplings.  It all feels so good that you genuinely believe you could die happy if you died right now. 

He makes another soft noise that sounds like a question.  You answer with a gentle moan of your own, a squeeze of your fingers between his, and a clenching between your thighs that has his whole hard body going soft and tender in seconds.  He comes inside you and maybe that should wake you up and cause alarm, but it doesn’t.  The room just gets quieter, your heart thumping against his all the while.  He holds himself above you for a few breathless seconds then lets go. 

You hold him against you, hands separating so you can slide them along his arms and up into his hair.  His face rests in the crook of your neck and shoulder. 

Maybe you should feel more concern for your circumstance.  But you are not really worried. 

Tomorrow, you will attend another party, you will smile, you will dance with someone your father pushes your way.  

A few days later, you will convince your father to let you take birth control, claiming it is to manage your irregular and too-heavy period flows.  He will be as immature as ever and quickly agree, anything to end a conversation he finds too awkward to navigate. 

You and Felix will go back to your apartment.  You will study for tests and drink coffee and write essays.   You will count the days to graduation.

Right now, you laugh.  It is soft and carefree.  It catches when he slides out of you, but it returns when he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow.  But his regard is a tender one.  You stroke his face and he kisses your palm, then he swoops down and kisses your nose and cheeks and just under your chin. 

I’m alive, you think.  In your father’s house, disobeying all his rules.   He has tried so hard to kill you, to break you down into pieces that he can rebuild, the way he does with any malfunctioning piece of industry tech.  And he has failed.  Despite his best efforts, despite his money and power and influence over what seems like the whole world, you are alive. 

You concede that maybe with your problems and imperfections, there is not much more to boast, but being alive is all that matters. 

Felix kisses you.  You think about the childish fairy tales that your father and grandfather ensured never took root in your mind.    If you were like them, you would not believe in magic kisses or true love or saving grace.

You kiss Felix back. 

-

“Can you ride a motorcycle?” you ask.

Felix, who is concentrating so you do not fall off your bicycle, briefly flicks his gaze up to you.  You lose your balance and swerve, but he is quick to catch the handlebar and steer you straight.  His hands hover around you as he walks alongside where you peddle. 

“I can do anything,” he says but absently, too focussed on watching you. 

You snort and your amusement almost derails you again.  You correct your wobble with a little jerk of the handles. 

“Cocky,” you say.  “I’ll have to see it to believe it.” 

Felix laughs.  He holds the handle and guides you around a corner in the path.   

“Maybe I should learn to ride a motorcycle,” you say with absolutely no sincerity.  “I’m sure my father would loooove that, don’t you think?” 

Felix levels you with a predictably dry regard.  You giggle maniacally which causes you to swerve again.    

He steers you forward with a quick yank.  He cannot help but smile at your cheesy grin.

“How about you learn to ride a regular bike first, hmm?” he says. 

“It’s not my fault,” you say, wobbling again.  “It’s the wind.”

“Mhm.” 

“It is!”

It is a rather blustery day, all grey skies and swift winds.  Felix almost lost his favourite beanie, so now it is yanked tight and low over his head so you can hardly see a wisp of hair.  You are similarly bundled in a hoodie, the strings drawn comically tight around your face so it would stop blowing off.  Felix keeps snickering when he looks at you, but it just makes you giggle back at him. 

The university has bicycles for rent to cross campus.  Though you usually walk, today you thought it would be fun to try, even if you did immediately disprove the old adage about memory and bike riding.  

You have not ridden a bike since childhood.   You were not allowed to use it outside because your father was concerned the wheels would carry you away too quickly, that something could happen before your nanny and guards caught up.  You were only allowed to ride your bike in the gym, which got very boring very fast, so you never bothered with it.  The only other time you sat on a bike was the few times you sat on the handlebars when Jisung rode his bike around. 

The memory comes so suddenly, a snapshot of a moment you did realize you remembered so vividly.  His goofy laughter sings through your memory, your own delighted shrieks as he sped down a slope and scared himself more than you. 

It makes you a little sullen.  After years, it seems ridiculous that you should still be so hung-up on an adolescent friendship, especially with so much more to occupy your mind.  But then, you suppose it was not just any friendship.   The Han Jisungs of the world are few and far between.  You were lucky to know him while you did.  Without him, you doubt you would have ever gotten on a bike again. 

Without him, you doubt you would have ever done much of anything but curl into an empty husk of a person. 

Instead, you are soft and smiling when Felix touches your back.  He notices the change in your disposition and looks at you with concern, and it does not trigger frustration nor do you flinch from his touch.  You just smile and steady your handlebars. 

“Just silly stuff,” you say with a shake of your head.  “Sometimes I sat on Jisung’s bike while he drove us around.  Just… thinking about him, I guess.” 

“Mm.”  Felix nods, understanding.  He holds the handle to help keep you steady but he looks ahead, sighing into the wind.  “It’s not silly.   Your friendship was important,” Felix says.  “Though, uhh, I definitely wouldn’t trust Jisung behind the wheels of a motorcycle.”

You laugh at the image of Jisung on a motorbike when that poor boy would sweat just from speeding down a hill.

“No,” you say.  “Definitely not for him.” 

Of course, maybe that is not true anymore.  You are picturing a teenage boy, but Jisung will be as grown as you now.  Who knows what he looks like or what he enjoys, what he fears or wants anymore. 

Romantic intimacy holds its own special felicity, but it is still different from the gentle affection of friendship.  Your heart pangs with the ache of missing him, of years passed apart, of your first ever friend now potentially being as unrecognizable to you as any stranger.  

“I just hope he’s happy,” you say, feeling it so strongly you cannot keep it yourself.  But then, that was always the way with Jisung, to have liked him so much that you cannot help but let it spill out of you, consciously or not.  You’re kinder for having known him.  You know how to joke and be goofy and make Felix smile. 

“Me too,” Felix says.  “He was… well, sort of my friend too.  In a way.” 

“He was,” you say.  “I guess he was the first friend for us both—whoa!”

You make a playful swipe at his shoulder and it makes you lose your balance again.  Felix fortunately catches you with those lightning-fast reflexes, holding you up while your bike hits the pavement.  There is some stumbling while you try to stand, tangled up with the bike, and nearly yank him down with you. 

Eventually you step out.  Felix brushes off your shoulders and pats down your arms, as if inspecting for injuries. 

“I’m fine,” you say, at the same time Felix says, “He wasn’t.”

“Huh?”  You blink at him.  “Who wasn’t what?”

“Jisung,” Felix says, a little exasperated.  “He wasn’t my first fr—”  He cuts himself off when he meets your eye, frowning instead.  He tugs on the string of your hoodie so your already tight lacing gets a little snugger.  “I’m not talking about this while you look like that,” he intones dryly. 

Before you can even open your mouth to protest or ask more, he picks up the bike and swings onto the seat for himself. 

“Come on,” he says, patting the handlebars.  “I’m hungry.  Let’s go.” 

You are not exactly a spritely adolescent anymore, but you manage to get yourself perched up on the handlebars.  Felix is a better driver than Jisung, faster too, and you find yourself laughing into the wind from the thrill of it.  When you reach the campus café, Felix is smiling too, and your previous conversation is forgotten for the time being. 

You park the bike in one of the rental receptacles then enter the café.  The warmth inside is a balm after the chill.  You take off your hood and breathe in deeply, satisfied.  Felix rubs your back as he walks you up to the counter to order. 

You are waiting for your order when you hear your name.  You lift your head, smiling when you see the friendly, dimpled grin of a class-mate, Yang Jeongin.   He is a year younger than you but academically advanced so you have shared a few classes over the years.  He is a very sweet boy, but you have kept your distance given what happened to the last very sweet boy you befriended. 

“Jeongin, hi!” you say. 

“Hi, what’s up?” he says. “Have you started any of your final projects?  I’m already drowning.”

His big smile and wheezy laugh is disarming in its boyish charm, though you know Felix has his guard up as always.  You are still not expecting to feel a proprietary touch settle low on your back, subtle but possessive, and it makes your stomach flip. 

It is not really necessary anyway.  Jeongin is genuinely just being friendly.  He even invites you and Felix to sit with him and his friend, Seungmin, and talk about some readings. 

Instinct almost propels you to blurt your usual reply, a polite dismissal or vague promise of a next time that never comes.  Friendships don’t end well.  You know that. 

But Jisung is on your mind, not just the bad but the good.  You find yourself agreeing, then you find yourself sitting at a table with two class-mates, having a normal conversation about school and exams and some silly, gossipy campus rumours.  You laugh and drink, and Felix does too. 

You touch his knee briefly.  He touches your hand under the table. 

You leave the café feeling lighter, a bounce in your step that has Felix smiling affectionately at you. 

“I do have to tell your father something,” Felix reminds you.  “If he found out you were seeing people and I said nothing—”

“Ughhhh, clock out for two seconds,” you say.  To be extra annoying, you reach out and yank his beanie down over his face.  “Just tell him I’m studying with some people.  It’s for the benefit of my education, so I can be  his perfect and dazzling heir, since I am such a well behaved little girl now, all thanks to the dutiful care and guidance of my oh-so competent bodyguard. See? No big deal.” 

Felix fixes his beanie and shakes his head at you, but he still smiling. 

“I think you and the rest of the world have, hmm, a different idea of no big deal,” he says.  “You know, your extremely powerful father for one… and how he might, uhh, ruin our lives…?” 

You shrug. 

“Win some, lose some,” you say, to which Felix laughs and rubs his face in disbelief.  

Although some days the power of your father and the world under the thumb seems insurmountable, some days all you can do is sigh in the face of it.  Today feels like one of those days.  You are so often frightened or sad or just downright despondent.  Sometimes, the pendulum swings back the other way, and all you can do is laugh. 

You do so now, pulling your hood up and tightening the string around your face again. 

“Don’t worry, bodyguard,” you say with an exaggerated, innocent flutter of your eyelashes.  “I trust you to keep me out of trouble.”

-

“Oh, you are gonna get me in so much trouble,” you say.   

Seungmin laughs.  

A few weeks have passed in which you have tentatively befriended Jeongin and Seungmin.  Jeongin is all smiles and wheezy laughter, with a biting wit that catches both you and Felix off guard.  You can tell Felix enjoys his companionship, even beyond the superficial college-boy role he plays.  And not just because Jeongin is something of a gamer and Felix not-so secretly likes having a go at whatever hand console Jeongin keeps on him. 

You quite like Seungmin.  He is more soft-spoken until he has an opinion to vocalize, at which point there is no escaping his somewhat scathing commentary.  His frankness reminds you a little of Hyunjin, just without any showmanship or embellishment.  With Seungmin, what you see is what you get.  He’s smart and funny and playful, and you like listening to him talk about the readings and his family and all the general shenanigans of an ordinary life.

Felix has told your father they are study partners, which is not an outright lie as all of your interactions have taken place on campus.  You have stayed away from parties and clubs and private spaces, so there has been nothing tangible to protest. 

But today certainly straddles that line. 

After class, the four of you went to your usual campus café.  With a major project due at the start of next week, you have been swamped with work. 

It was after a few hours and several coffees that Jeongin suggested a break.  There are a couple bars around the sprawling campus.  Felix was a little hesitant but your pout was as effective as ever in persuading him.  

The bar is a cozy one, packed wall-to-wall with noisy students seeking downtime.  There is no way anything insane would transpire in here. 

Other than Kim Seungmin. 

“What, you can’t leave your boyfriend for a second?” Seungmin says, but with no animosity, smiling his big puppy grin.  He exhales and shakes his head, eyebrows lifted in faux exasperation.  “That sucks for you, wow.” 

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” you say.  You look over at Felix who is standing at a pinball machine with Jeongin.  His eyes keep darting over to you even though you are not that far away.  The game is just a few steps from the couch where you and Seungmin sit.   

Felix smiles.  He is in his favourite black beanie, some ripped black jeans, and a crisp white coat, wisps of blonde hair falling over his freckled face.  He looks like such a guy, just a casual university senior, slouching against the wall with hands in his pockets, chatting with his friend and his eyes on his smiling girlfriend.   It certainly looks as simple as that.  Your heart does not know the difference. 

He looks away for a moment because Jeongin says something.  Felix laughs.  The room is loud so you do not hear him, but you know that laugh so well, the low drop and happy rumble.  His eyes crinkle with delight.  Your heart skips beats like a little girl with a crush starting all over again. 

“Right,” Seungmin says, looking between you and Felix.  “Sure.”

You punch Seungmin playfully on the arm. 

“Stop,” you say.  “We’re just friends.” 

It is for the best you maintain that as your cover story.  It would be far too convoluted to pretend to be together while being together but lying about being together and—    

No.  It is for the best that no one ever suspects, that everyone assumes you are close friends or room-mates and nothing more.  Not an inkling of your true dynamic. 

No one needs to know you woke before your alarm this morning, that you kissed Felix awake, planting soft kisses on his face until he smiled.  That you teased him and kissed him and finally bit his shoulder, a playful step too far, so he gathered you in his arms and kissed you breathless.  That he stretched out behind you, that he pulled back your thigh with a strong grip and kissed your neck.  That he fucked you long and slow until you were gasping and wriggling in his arms.  That he made you come mere minutes before your alarm.  That he then made a professional call to your father about the week’s plans and the pompous, foolish, awful man was none the wiser.   

You look his way.  Felix winks then looks down at the game again. 

Seungmin clears his throat and you look at him with all the innocence you can muster.  He just laughs. 

“Uh-huh,” Seungmin says.  “Well, does he know you’re just friends?  I mean, seriously, watch this—”

Seungmin slings his arm over the back of the couch, not quite around your shoulders but close nonetheless.  He leans in ever so slightly and Felix looks over as if on cue.  He would never cause a scene without due cause, and, besides, you doubt he seriously considers Seungmin a threat, but he instinctively shifts into guard mode. 

It sends Seungmin into peels of laughter.  You thump him on the leg. 

“Ahaha,” Seungmin says, but lowers his arm.  “Fine, I’ll go get drinks all alone so your super good friend doesn’t pop a vein if you come with me.” 

You hide your face in your hands and shake your head while Seungmin laughs.   He gives you a pat on the back before rising and pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar counter. 

Felix watches him go then looks at you.  You smile at him reassuringly, waving a hand, non-committal. 

Your stomach does a little flip when his sharp stare softens to something more intimate, something just for you.  Years ago, you worried those glances and touches would be addicting, and you were right.  It is more intoxicating than anything in a glass.  Headier than the atmosphere of the bar.  You are flushed with warmth in seconds, the packed heat of the bar keeping that warmth at a simmer. 

You have always desperately chased highs and adrenaline, whatever form they took, good or bad.  When Felix looks away, you crave the thrill of his determined attention, so you stand and step behind the couch.  He looks up as quickly, like you knew he would, standing straight and taking his hands out of his pockets. 

You truly do not go far.  You have no intention of running, of making him follow, of making him worry.  You would not do that to him.  While you are certain no one would try anything in a place as public as a campus bar, you nonetheless will not play completely stupid games.   You only mean to catch his eye so you can level with him a teasing smirk of your own. 

But then someone grabs your arm and yanks.  The unexpected touch and the forcefulness triggers a swift panic, your eyes swimming with the shapes of shuffling bodies, your ears slurring what sound like a friendly enough sentence – someone asking if you are in a certain class with him. 

“I think I’ve seen you,” he says, still gripping your arm.  He smells as drunk as he sounds.  Harmless, or maybe not, given the bruising strength of his touch.  Drunken stupidity can be as dangerous as conniving intention.  “But you always got that little lap dog hanging around, cutie,” he says.  “Can’t get within a foot of you without him in the way—”

Said lap dog manifests without delay.  The man is taller but he is no match for Felix who comes up behind him and yanks on his collar.   

Felix pulls the man over backwards to stare him down.  He says, “Hands. Off. Now.”

The man lets go but with a stupid, futile struggle, shoving you so hard that you hit the woman behind you and topple her drink. 

In less than a second, the man is on the ground, people shrieking and stepping back when he falls.  Felix steps over him to reach you, catching your hand and touching the side of your face. 

“You all right?” he asks. 

Everything happened so fast that you hardly know what to say.  Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck to be closer to him.  He hugs you back as fiercely, murmuring words of comfort that get muffled in your shoulder. 

His senses are sharper than yours.  He knows the man is up and he turns in time to catch the clumsy punch the guy throws his way.  Felix does not show off, even though he could probably lay the guy low a second time.  He just pushes the hand away. 

This nonchalant rejection seems to anger the man more than a direct hit.  He is embarrassed and his stupor only encourages retaliation.  His buddies are trying to pull him back now, failing to lead him off. 

The man looks at you, red from both exertion and embarrassment, and says with a snarl in his upper lip, “Should keep that dog on a leash.” 

Splash.

It takes a second for everyone to realize what just happened.  The man is as startled as you, standing stock still with something dripping down his face. 

You all look over to Seungmin who is standing there with a half-empty glass.

“Uh… Woof I guess?” Seungmin says, then throws the rest of his drink on him. 

The guy staggers towards Seungmin who backs up rapidly.  Then Jeongin literally flies in between them and takes a swing at the guy.  It completely misses and he smacks his hand on a stool, but it is enough for the man to back up.   He must decide that the odds of three-on-one are not in his favour so he finally abandons course, shaking his head as he stalks off with his friends. 

“Yeah, yeah, walk away,” Seungmin says as menacingly as Seungmin possibly can, which is not much, especially with Jeongin doubled over beside him.  He is shaking out his hand, his face contorted with pain from hitting the stool.  “Are you okay?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah, I’m—” Jeongin starts. 

“Not you, dumbass,” Seungmin says.  “Go apologize to that chair you assaulted.  I’m talking to her.”  He looks at you with a tilt of his head.

You nod, letting Felix tuck you under his arm.  He rubs your arm soothingly, up and down, and it helps ground you. 

“Just happened really fast,” you say.  “Startled me, you know…” 

“The guy was a jerk,” Seungmin says.  

Felix scoffs.  His eyes follow the retreating figure.  “No kidding,” he says. 

“I just wanna go home,” you say. 

Your panic ebbs and the hurricane inside you settles. 

You touch Felix’s chest.  His heart is beating fast with adrenaline.  Your breath catches when he looks at you, tendrils of frustration radiating off him.  Yet despite the aura of energy, he looks composed, hair neat across his forehead, beanie in place.  His jacket is slightly rucked up the arm, but otherwise he is in perfect command of himself. 

Your heart dances its bewildered little dance. 

His hand drops to your hip and he tugs you close.  He exhales through his nose, your eyes drawn to his closed mouth.

You think you must be drunk despite not touching a drop of liquor.  How else to explain the physical sensations inside you, so contradictory to your heart and mind?  Your soul could never, ever abide by violence or true possessive domination, not with your history and upbringing. 

But perhaps it is that, the naturally contradictory nature of its manifestation in Felix.  Made by violence, but not made of it.  You feel safe because his careful touches and gentle glances do not come from the same blithe, civilian naivete of your sweet friends.  It comes from all the violence and control that he rises above. 

He holds you and you are safe, protected. 

You say goodbye to your friends and Felix calls the car.  You wait outside together in the light of a streetlamp.  The cool night air dwindles what remains of his adrenaline, though his heart picks up when you step closer, when you press your face to his neck and sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he says, cupping your cheek and lifting your face.  His thumb strokes your cheek, down along your jaw.  He looks into your eyes and smiles.  “You were just standing there.  He shouldn’t have grabbed you.  You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you say.  You look down and his hand falls away from your face.  You fiddle with the zipper of his jacket then drag it down a couple inches.  “I’m just really sorry.” 

He is silent for a moment, his back a little stiffer.  You think he catches the tone in your voice because his hand drifts a little lower, resting on the base of your spine.

“I see,” he says, voice lower.  “Even though Jeongin did all the work hitting that stool—?”

The unexpected joke in a sultry exchange makes you snort with laughter.  The sound surprises Felix who laughs so hard he almost falls over.  You give him a little shove, shaking your head. 

“All right, all right,” he says, patting your back.  “Behave.  The car is coming.” 

“I always behave,” you say with a swish of your coat, stomping ahead of him to the approaching sedan.    

You sit in silence for part of the journey, quiet even with the partition up.  Felix has an elbow resting on the window sill, temple pressed to his fist as he stares at the passing streetlights. 

“Are you mad?” you ask in your coldest tone. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, dimple flashing with an aborted smile.  “I’m never mad,” he says.  “I’m a professional.” 

“Right,” you say.  You slide across the seat to be closer to him but he puts up his hand, stopping you.

“I know it’s a limo, but seatbelt, yeah?” he says.  You do not miss the patronizing tone. 

“You gonna make me?” you ask.  You grab his hand and lower it, looking at him with your smokiest gaze.

His tongue jabs into his cheek as he looks at your hands, palms touching, fingers lacing.  He appears contemplative, beyond your little game.  You give his hand a gentle squeeze.   His eyes meet yours. 

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, low even though no one can hear you back here.  “You know that, yeah?  You know I—  I never knew how to want or not want something.  I would never—”

“I know, Felix,” you say. 

I love you too. 

It sits on the tip of your tongue.  You very nearly say it in that same low voice. 

He lowers your hand to your lap, his palm to your knuckles as he cups your thigh and squeezes.  Once, twice, three times.  He taps on your knee three times then guides you to do the same.  You are a bit bemused until he says, “If you want to talk to me, then…”  Three more touches. 

“I see,” you say, hot beneath the skin of your cheeks and throat, your heart a thunderous thing.  “You expect to shut my mouth then?”  You blink at him too cutely. 

“I expect you to apologize properly,” he says. 

He catches your face before you can spit a rejoinder.  It steals your breath.  He holds your face steady in his hand, jaw pinched, mouth shut, his eyes burning into the side of your face. 

“You answer to me,” he says sternly.  “You think you’re sorry, yeah?  Then you’re going to apologize.  Properly.  Quietly.  Obediently.  Now nod for me.  You understand.”  

You do not nod.  You look at him out of the corner of your eye.  His lips break into a smile. 

“Ah,” he says.  “I see.”

And he does.  He has always seen to the depths of you.  Just as you have always seen beneath his surface smiles. 

The driver sees nothing but a professional on payroll, exchanging an evening pleasantry before Felix escorts you into the apartment building.  The greeter nods at you, you nod back.  Felix marches you into the elevator and stands politely at your side, hands in his pockets. 

You lean on opposite walls of the elevator.  He takes off the beanie and tucks it in his pocket.  Then he runs his fingers through his hair, fluffing the fair strands.  Eventually he meets your gaze.  You stare at each other, a silent exchange of thought and anticipation. 

In the apartment, he does his security check.  You take your time drifting toward the bedroom, wiping off your lipstick, dropping your coat in the middle of the doorway.  He scoops it up as he enters behind you, tutting while he brushes it off. 

“No respect,” he says but lightly, teasingly. 

He walks right past you and drapes the coat neatly over the back of your computer chair.  There, he stands with his back to you, unzipping and discarding his own jacket.  It leaves him in a black t-shirt and his ripped black jeans, plus those heavy regulation army boots.  He is a sharp streak of black shadow, all at odds with his light hair and sweet freckled face as he turns to look at you. 

You stand across the bedroom from each other.  Your heart is going a mile a minute as he looks you over.  You hardly know why the roving glance affects you so deeply.  He has seen you in a hundred variations of dressed and undressed.  Checking you out in your jeans and t-shirt should hardly warrant a herd of butterflies in your belly. 

But it does.  Your skin feels alight as he looks at you, assessing you like a target.  When his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, he is not smiling.  He exhales.  His shoulders are tense, his body hard.

“Take off your clothes,” he says. 

You expected some deviance from routine given your flirtations, but that is still quite different.  You often undress each other, or you provoke him by stripping, flustering him into surrender.  He is not flustered now, his stare cold and ungiving as he waits expectantly for you to obey. 

Your fingers flutter at your side.  Your lips part with a breath. 

“Um,” you say, voice rough with arousal in a way you cannot hide.  It is hard to fake an affronted feeling, though it is not hard to look nervous.   “Excuse me?” 

“Everything,” Felix says.  “Off.  Now.” 

You scoff, suffusing the worst of your jitters into the sound.  You feign a cocky tilt of your head, hands on your hips as you say, “I don’t think you’re in position to give me orders.  If my daddy knew—”

He lifts his knee only infinitesimally but when his foot slams down there is a knife in his hand. 

He flicks some hair out of his hair and smiles, perky, just like Felix. 

“Off,” he says.  “Or I take it off.” 

What should be a flicker of fear is a font of pure desire, sharp in your belly and hot between your legs.  You look at the knife then his cool smile, the crinkle of pleasure in the corners of his eyes, the pretty fall of his hair.  He flips the knife over his knuckles, around and around, smoothly, thoughtlessly. 

You step out of your shoes and kick them aside.  Your jitters are back, excited and jumpy, prickling under your skin as you lift your shirt over your head and toss that aside too. 

“Neatly,” he says, with a tsk, tsk tsk.  “Don’t make a mess.  Daddy wouldn’t like that, would he?” 

“Bastard,” you say, flushed with the admonition.  It also makes you a little giddy.  There is real power and real evil out there, and it is utterly meaningless in the face of everything between you and Felix.  It is a punchline.  It is an inside joke.  The only thing that holds any real power is his gaze, his voice, his hands.

Your eyes, your sigh, your obedience.  It makes him blush, despite his relative position of power, watching you neatly fold your shirt and place it on the bedside table.  You remove your jeans and fold those too. 

When you look at him, he points the knife to your underclothes, a mute statement: yes, I mean those too.  So you take off your bra and place it on the table, flushed and hasty and embarrassed and excited.  You slip off your panties and crumple them.  You miss the table and they fall to the floor, and Felix points to it with the knife. 

“Pick it up,” he says. 

You do, quickly, putting it on the pile then stepping away.  You cross your arms, only a little chilled, mostly hot under his gaze. 

“Good,” he says.  “Very good.” 

With a flick of his wrist, the knife is swiftly embedded in your desk behind him.  He does not even look back. 

You jump.  It makes your heart beat even faster, stomach tied up in anticipatory knots, desperate to unravel as he approaches you with a slow, predatory stroll. 

He circles you.  His fingertips brush your side, sending a shiver shooting up your spine.   He takes a pillow off the bed and puts it on the floor. 

You stand with your back to him, arms still crossed.  He touches the middle of your back, walks his fingers gently up your spine until he is holding the back of your neck, pulling you into him, your naked body against his clothed one. 

“Get on your knees,” he says.  You swear his voice is even deeper than usual.  “Sweetheart.”    

You cannot think of a snarky reply, not even when he steps back and you can breathe again.  You just look at him over your shoulder and make a show of rolling your eyes.  He tips his head, regarding you as if oh-so confused by your petulance. 

He stands while you kneel.  You sit back on your heels and hum to yourself as if bored. 

He ignores that, pointing to bed and saying, “Face there, not me.” 

You look at him with genuine confusion, once more surprised by his direction, but you do as told.  You kneel facing the bed.  He gets down on one knee beside you, cups the back of your head and guides you up, off your heels. 

“Up, up, up,” he says in too jovial of a tone, so frustratingly Felix.  “Hands up here.”  He pats the bed with his other hand until you uncross your arms and place them where directed.  “That’s it,” he says.  “Just like that, sweetheart.” 

He stands, leaving you kneeling at the bedside, upright, arms in front of you.  Kneeling like a penitent in prayer at their bedside.  You look over your shoulder at him, wearing your best and bitchiest expression. There is an irrevocable challenge in your eyes. 

Clink.

Your eyes drop to his belt, to the swift flick of leather and metal over his hands as he opens it.  He is unhurried, sliding it free of its loops. 

But then he does not discard it.  He folds it over his hand.  Once, twice, three times. 

He tips his head.  He holds up three fingers, a question.  

He knows the significance here.  He knows how your insides unravel at the sight of that belt hooked around his fist.  

You know he would stop if you said so.  If you said the word three, if you held up three fingers, if you tapped three times or did anything else to speak to him.  He has given you a voice in every form.  

He is standing over you, at once a personification of your pains and fears, and also he is none of them.   This does not feel the way it did back then, unwilling and tortured and harmed. 

He loves you.  And he is trapped with you, and he is carving out holes in the world with you.  He is handing you back your life, if only pieces, however he can.   You are not a scared little girl under him.  You are in control of that pendulum of emotion.  There is no power in the things that once scared you.  It is a punchline.  An inside joke.  

You smile at him. 

He gets down on one knee again, squeezes the nape of your neck then runs his hand down your spine.  Your back arches under his touch, breath staggering into gasps even though all he does is caress you skin. 

You jump when he smacks the soft curve of your ass, just the flat of his palm on your skin, but already you are tingling head to toe with pleasure. 

“I am responsible for you, yeah?” he says, and smacks you there again.  “That means you are mine.  You don’t run off, you don’t play games.  You do what I say.”

“Or what?” you say, voice already breathy.  “You’ll beat me up like you did that brute in the bar?”

You can hear him adjusting the belt, flipping it around his hand for a better grip. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks.  “Does it get your pussy wet, watching me hurt them for you?”

You don’t get a chance to answer.  Your voice is a feathery-light sound, piercing a gasp when he brings that strip of leather down against your backside. 

You squirm.  You are already so, so wet. 

“Hmm?” he asks, and does it again, a stinging, hot line across your skin.  “Is that how it is?” 

“I hate you,” you say.  You are gripping the blanket, nails digging in.  Your back arches at another strike, chest pushing into the bedding. 

“Awww…” he says, careless.  “Yeah… I know.” 

You must be wriggling too much because Felix pins you down with his free hand, your cheek pressed to the blanket.  He adjusts his position for a better reach. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says, and snaps the belt across your skin.  This one makes you cry out.  “I know exactly how you feel about me.” 

You cry turns to a watery whine, shaking when he gently sweeps his fingertips across your smarting backside.  Your breath snags when he leans in close, breath ghosting your skin. 

“I know,” he says.  “Because it gets my dick hard.  Oh?  What’s that?  Did that scare you?”  He hits you again.  “You wanna tell your daddy?  Tell him how you’re all wet because your mean bodyguard got a little too, mmm, rough with you?” 

He kisses the middle of your back and you shiver. 

“Mmm,” he says.  “No.  You’re not going to do that, are you?  You’re going to stay right… here…” He leans back and snaps his wrist again, patting you when the belt sears your skin and you cry out again.  “That’s it.  You’re gonna take it until you apologize—”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even while tilting your hips, seeking more from him.  You can feel how wet you are when you squish your thighs together, hot and slick between them.  “I really am.”

“Oh?” he says.  “For what?”

“Uhhh—”  It turns to another yelp when he hits you again.  “F-for disobeying y-you.” 

“Why is that bad, sweetheart?”

“B-because—”  You don’t even cry out when he does it again.  This sound is a pure moan, roughly exhaled into the bed.  “Because you’re in charge,” you say breathlessly, voice on the cusp of a sob.  You can feel your knees starting to shake.  “Y-you’re in charge of me.” 

“Am I?” 

You hear the belt unravel, the clink of the metal as it hits the floor.  He touches you with his bare hand, smoothing his palm over your warm, smarting skin.  Every inch of you quivers with the tingling aftershock of the soft touch. 

“Yes,” you say.  “I’m—I’m yours, Felix.” 

There is a moment of quiet when all he does it touch you, gently, a caress across your stinging skin.  Your whole body reacts to him, the slightest brush sending floods of heat shooting through you. 

He traces a circle on your backside, pinches the warm skin.  It makes that sob spill over your lips. 

“Say it again,” he says, his voice lower, only just above a whisper. 

“I’m yours,” you say just as softly.  A tear spills onto the blanket. 

“My name.”

“Felix,” you say.  “My bodyguard.” 

“Yes,” he says, still in that soft voice.  He slips his hand down between your legs and you rear up, spreading your thighs, eager to feel him.  “I am, aren’t I?”  He hardly needs to touch you to feel how wet you are.  Just a surface touch wets his fingers with your desire, a slow stroke that makes your knees shake again.   “I’m good at it, aren’t I?” he says, and takes his hand back.  “At guarding this body.  Hmm?”

Another tear spills out.  You nod, breathing hard into the blanket. 

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. 

He stands up and you lift your head, blinking up at him with big, wet eyes.  You can see how hard he is, obscenely bulging behind his fly.  It makes your mouth water, makes you press your cheek into the blanket as you stare at him wantingly.  

“If I’m not going to hit you,” he says, “then what am I going to do with you?” 

His thumb presses at his zipper and he smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and slowly tugs it down.  Your knees finally surrender and you sit again, slumped against the bed and reaching between your legs. 

“Uh-uh-uh—” he says, diving down to catch your arm. 

You groan, wriggling while he scoops you up and deposits you on the bed as easily as tossing a pillow.   You shuffle around, making some pitiful blubbery noises as you lay on your sore backside.  You rest your head on a pillow, breathing hard, so aware of your body in a way you have never felt before. 

Felix takes off his boots while you settle yourself.  Then he gets on the bed and kneels at your feet, a vision of sin in his black clothes with his flushed face and heady, dark eyes.  He wets his lips, leaves his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he looks at you like a meal offered to a starving man. 

“Hold the headboard, sweetheart,” he says, nodding above you. 

You do not look away from him, reaching back to grip one of the bars in the headboard.  Though your legs are pressed together, you feel the exposure of the vulnerable position, throbbing everywhere he looks at you.    

Your breath gets ragged when he moves closer.  He takes a pillow, ripping it out of its case and tossing the cushion aside.  He flips the soft material of the pillowcase around his fist until it makes a long line like a soft rope. 

Then your hands are bound to the headboard.  His fingers curl around yours, showing you how to tap, how to talk to him.  It registers, even if he immediately distracts you with a wandering hand, slipping down your body to touch and fondle. 

Then he is back at your feet, grabbing your ankles and sliding up, up, up until his hands are hooked under your knees and he can spread you open to him. 

Your hips buck, your back arches, legs shaking in his steady hold.  You are so open to him that it makes you whimper and close your eyes. 

They open again when you feel his mouth between your legs, his teasing abruptly finished as he dives in with full commitment.  You cry out in relief, with utter ecstasy, noisier than you have ever been as he licks and sucks and strokes.  You twitch when he nips at your thighs, when he slips his tongue inside you, when he licks back up then tortures the source of your pent-up need, again and again until you are crying out and coming hard on his tongue. 

He lets you finish, takes over that peak and beyond.  He lowers your trembling legs, lets you wrap them around his hips.  You make a horrible mess of his pants, you are sure, grinding up against the hard material. 

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he says, reaching past you to the bedside table. 

You hardly have a second to look before he is shoving your balled up panties in your mouth. 

“That’s it,” he says, kissing down your neck.  “That’s a good girl.  Don’t need to think, yeah?” 

He sits back on his heels and finally unzips all the way.  He shuffles his pants and boxers down past his hips.  He smiles, then pushes your legs against you so are nearly folded in half. 

“Just—” he says with a soft grunt, pushing at the soft, wet heat of you, so easily sliding inside.  “Just—need—to—take it.”

And you do, moaning helplessly into your gag, still sore from your earlier punishment but all that sensation mingling with everything hard and sweet and good between your thighs.  Your eyes close and you let yourself float, feeling as he hits all those soft places inside you that make your body keen.  When you come again, it is just from that, and a stream of euphoric tears follow as you wrap him between your legs and bring him over the edge with you. 

“God,” he says, dropping every trace of his persona, sounding near tears himself as he comes inside you.  “God—fucking—You.  Oh, sweetheart.  Jesus.  I—” 

His brain sounds as mushy as yours, maybe only marginally smarter because he takes out your gag and releases you from your bondage. 

Your arms fall limp around your head and you hum sweetly, literal music moving through you as your whole body aches with pleasant aftershocks. 

“We gotta clean you up,” he says softly, from somewhere, stroking your sweaty skin. “And I wanna take care of where I used the—”

“Felix,” you murmur, “if you don’t get over here and kiss me stupid, then I’m gonna take a turn with the belt.”

He laughs, then you feel him stretched out beside you, his arms circling you.  You roll into his embrace, throwing your leg around his hip and snuggling into him. 

“You still hate me, yeah?” he says after a moment, though how he expects any coherency when he is massaging down your arm like that, you do not know. 

But you nod, kissing his chest.

“Of course, you’re my bodyguard,” you say. 

You sigh when he smooths his hand over your backside, tenderly caressing the sore skin. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Always.”

-

It sounds almost ridiculous to say, but he honestly fucked you so good that you feel like a new woman. 

You have a little skip in your step – or maybe it’s a limp – for the next couple days, and it’s cute how it flusters him in the daylight because he knows the cause. 

In the mood for a full cleansing, you get the idea to clean out your closet.  You toss things around left and right, sorting donations and garbage and pieces you forgot you owned. 

You are elbow deep in a pile of old sweaters when your fingers curl around something soft.  You yank it out of the pile, hidden away at the very back of your closet.  You wonder what it is and why you have not been wearing it when it is so soft—

Peppy music is blaring out of your speakers, your disposition cheery and pleasant as can be.  It all gets a little fuzzy when you unfold the sweater and realize it is Jisung’s hoodie, the one he gave you that last night you left his house. 

You and Felix are meeting Jeongin and Seungmin after class today, a usual coffee at your usual café while you do the finishing touches on your semester project.  Having friends and a lover and a future you can almost see, can almost imagine controlling if only in your own special way, makes you realize how far you have come. 

Things have changed.  You have changed.  You have forgotten a lot about high school.  You don’t really remember faces, or the things that had you stressed, or half the arguments with your father.  You were obsessed with Lee Minho for years but, frankly, you can hardly remember what he looked like.

But you touch the hoodie and you can feel your best friend, solid as if he was still sitting beside you.  When you lift it to your chest, you swear you can faintly smell the lingering trace of him, that boyish body spray that was probably baked into everything he owned but that you stopped noticing because you were around him so much. 

It is the smell that overwhelms you.  In a matter of moments, your face is buried in the hoodie and you are crying, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re happy or because you’re not. 

Felix comes running, stumbling to a stop in your closet door and looking at you with alarm. 

“Sweetheart?” he says, crouching down beside you.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say, because you don’t know what to say.  You lift your head and look at him, face streaked with tears.  He wipes them immediately, a gentle back and forth, soothing you until your crying is just a mere hiccup.  “I’m sorry,” you say, wiping your face on your sleeve.  “I don’t know why I still get so worked up.” 

“About what?” Felix asks. 

You open the hoodie and recognition lights up in his eyes. 

“Jisung,” he says. 

“You recognize it?” you say, a bit surprised. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and looks at you with a dimpled grin.  “You were wearing this the first night we—”

“Right,” you say with a watery giggle. 

You look back down and sniffle some more, blinking back another onslaught of tears.  You run your hand over the material while Felix rubs a soothing circle on your back. 

“Why is it so hard to let go?” you ask softly.  “When I have people here, now...  When I have a future and…”  You trail off, voice breaking.  You wipe your face again. 

“I don’t know,” Felix says, sounding as morose.  His gaze wanders.  You can see his own mental space shift as he goes somewhere far away.  “I guess…”  He rubs the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.  “One person can’t, uh, really replace another, I guess.  And he was your friend.  It’s different.”  He swallows.  “You can’t just let go of love.  Not… not easily.”

“I guess not,” you say.  You trace a circle on the material with your thumb.  You sigh.  “I should get ready for school.” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, voice breaking too.  He clears his throat and stands.  “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head, hugging the hoodie to your chest and staring straight ahead. 

“No,” you say softly.  “Thank you, Felix.” 

You are a little too distracted with your own thoughts and grief to notice his own solemn disposition.  He does not hold it against you, though, as you are distracted for the rest of the day.  The cause is reasonable enough. 

You are sitting in the library with Felix and your friends, working on your project but distracted, when you lift your head and spot the library computers. 

You have not looked for Jisung anywhere, not online or in person, far too terrified your father would find out and track him down and kill him.  You remember his rage.  You know how serious he was. 

But that seems far away now, not the same nightmarish terror that haunted your every shaking step.  Now you are staring at the campus computers with a more calculating air.  You realize there is no way to trace any searches back to you if they are made on a public server.  

Felix looks up when you stand, shooting you a questioning look.  You just point to the computers and he nods, slouching back in his seat again. 

You feel a little queasy, maybe from the tumultuous feelings of the day.  Maybe plain worry.  Until now, you could pretend Jisung was fine, but what if he isn’t?  God, what if your father went after him anyway?  What if something else happened?  What if he got worse after you left him on that hospital bed?  You are sick with the thought. 

The world needs him.  You need him.  Even far away, even without seeing or touching him, because your friendship does not require that.  It can be words on a page, tucked away in a yearbook that you read on your worst days when you need a reason to keep fighting. 

And so you search.  You find results faster than you thought.  It turns out Jisung has been writing music.  He is very underground and indie, it seems.  He does not have a huge collection of followers, but his artistry has stirred interest nonetheless.  You find his social media profiles without much struggle, as well as his soundcloud and professional profiles.  It looks like he works part time at a grocery store while making music.

You click through his profiles, smiling at some of his goofy pictures and videos.  There are some click-bait short videos with dramatic fonts slashed over his face, saying things like GIRLFRIEND DRAMA!! and GAY RIVALS??

You click on a couple.  It’s just videos where he talks to the camera, but he’s so funny that it feels like miniature stand-up routines. Some of these videos get more views than his music.

It looks like he had a girlfriend for a while, then a boyfriend, which is probably not too surprising when you remember he was obsessed with Hyunjin. 

He says exactly that in his video, laughing as he runs his hands through his hair, black-painted nails stark against the lighter dyed locks.

“Yeah…” he says, laughing awkwardly, “Turns out most people don’t have an arch-nemesis that occupies their every thought in their horny teenage years.  Who knew, right?” 

The comment sections are all a bit chaotic, as comment sections are often a no-man’s land of anarchy, but it feeds the algorithm so he lets the public run amok.  It does not seem to ruffle his feathers.

You scroll until you see a video with the words BEST FRIEND?  It is the only video where he turned the comments off. 

You are not sure what you are expecting.  It has been years.  This video could be about anyone.  He has more friends, quite a lot by the look of it. 

His video starts with that very message.

“I know it’s hard to believe since I am, like, so insanely beautiful and funny and popular and talented now,” he says with a goofy drawl, grinning at the camera, “but I used to be like… the loser.  Not even a loser, no way, man, I’m an overachiever.  I mean the loser.  I did not have any friends but, like, I didn’t even have any enemies either, like what’s a guy got to do to get bullied around here?  I was just, you know, kinda invisible I guess… Hard to believe I developed issues and became an online clout-chaser like whoo-hoo…”

You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself.  The Jisung on camera is wearing glasses, his hair longer than you remember.  His shoulders are broader and he looks good, healthy. 

He rubs his shoulder as he gazes past the camera, looking wistful. 

“I had one friend, though, eventually,” he says.  “I used to think she was kinda scary but, also, to be fair, I thought everything was scary back then haha…  I mean, not haha, you know I was… It was rough. I was like ready to end it all, man…  Times were hard!  Teenage angst, you know, nothing like it!  But she, uh…” 

He looks at the camera and it makes your spine straighten.  This was posted a year ago.  He is not actually talking to you, but for a moment he feels present. 

“She was really good at seeing people,” he says.  “I think, maybe, that’s because she wanted for someone to see her too.  But, like, that’s hard to ask for… And even harder to accept when you finally have it.  She would run away just as fast as she would want attention, haha.  But at the same time… You know, she got it.  She got me. We got each other.  Until then, neither of us had ever really—you know, we didn’t really have good families and stuff, we didn’t have friends.  I talk about firsts a lot, and, you know, every one makes a deal out of their first kiss and their first lay and stuff but like…  Your first friend...”

You pause the video for a second, blinking so you don’t cry in the library.  You briefly glance at Felix, Jeongin, and Seungmin.  Jeongin has predictably strayed from his studies, showing Felix something on his hand console.  Seungmin throws a pencil at them. 

You smile then look back at the screen, hitting play. 

“It changes you, you know?” Jisung says.  “Especially at that age, you know, when you’re growing and stuff… You kinda learn from each other.  Even though we super different, in some ways we were the same, and I think I still… um, carry her with me.  It sounds cheesy but it’s true. I was a stupid softy but her…!  She never took anyone’s shit!  And I got better at that, and I think it was because of her.  We, um, we didn’t exactly have a falling out—  Life just—  Sometimes life isn’t fair.  And she was… she was kinda in a bad spot.  And at the time I felt like I let her down, because I couldn’t get her out.  Of course, now I’m like, yo, we were both kids, haha, how the fuck was I gonna do that anyway… And before we said goodbye, you know, she told me I did save her, and I didn’t really know what she meant at the time.  But when I realized how much of her was still with me all the time, every day, how much she taught me to get me where I am today… I got it.  I still wish I could have done more, but I get it.  And I mean, um, hey, if you’re out there—”

You are startled into greater attention when he looks directly in the eye of the camera.  You realize he is speaking to you, across space and time, as surely as a scribble in your yearbook or a laugh in your memory. 

“I don’t know if you’ll ever see this,” he says.  “But I, uh, I told you once a best friend promise is forever.  Ten years, twenty years, fifty years, you know… hit me up.  But, um, even if you don’t… even if you can’t…” 

He takes a breath and shakes his shoulders, wiggling like he would do when he was trying not to cry.  He exhales and smiles.  You can see all the emotion behind that smile, grief and hope alike. 

“I just hope you’re happy,” he says.  “I am.  And that’s partly because of you.  So if you ever need a reason, or an excuse, or whatever to be happy… This is it.  Thank you for… for everything I guess.  I loved you so much that it made me love the whole world just because you were in it.  So I don’t need anything else from you, but if you could be happy for me… Yeah.  That, uh, that would be good.” 

He pauses, purses his lips, then he laughs a very watery laugh. 

“Okay!” he says.  “I’m gonna go cry now like a big baby.  Love you all! Bye!  See you next time.  Oh yeah, stream Volcano!  Bye!”

You end up laughing through your tears, Jisung being so incredibly Jisung.  You glance back at Felix and your friends, watching them try to keep their laughter down as they snicker over something in Jeongin’s game.  Seungmin has his big puppy grin on and Jeongin’s dimple are so deep as glee pours off him.

Felix looks so delighted and carefree, his whole face glowing like it was touched by a drop of sunshine. 

You want this. 

Now.  Always. 

Oh, Jisung, you think to yourself.  How many times are you going to save me?

You open a new window and make a profile on the website.  Fortunately, Jisung allows private messages from accounts he does not follow.  You just hope he clicks on the message despite the blank profile.  You cannot have anything public that would give you away in any capacity. 

But you open the private message and you write, and you hope it reaches him, even after you have closed the window and walked away, head high with your purpose and a newfound determination to fulfill his only wish for you.

-

To the bestest most awesome boy in the world, from the bestest most awesome girl in the world.

I think I have that whole note memorized by now.  I don’t know you even remember these words, but it was how you started your message in my yearbook. 

I know it’s been a long time but I wanted to reach out.  My situation hasn’t really changed, so it’s still not safe to see you properly, which is why I’m messaging this way.  I’m sorry for that.  But I saw your video where you said you were happy, and I just wanted to say how glad I am.  You deserve the world, Jisungie.  I hope you know how much it loves you back.  How much I love you back. 

I have friends and even a boyfriend now.  I don’t think I would have any of it if not for you.  I think I am starting to be happy, but truth be told I don’t really know what that is supposed to feel or look like.  But I think I am starting to understand.  I think I know what I have to do. 

I’m going to get out.  I am going to get my love out too.  I have been waiting and wallowing, but I’m not going to do that anymore.  I want to be happy, whatever that looks like. 

Thank you for saving me when you did.  Now it’s time for me to save myself. 

You also gave me the world and I love it a little more everyday.  I hope someday soon I can see more of it.  If I’m lucky, maybe I will see you too, but even if we never meet face-to-face again, know I carry you with me too.  A best friend promise is a forever promise, right? 

Take care, Jisung.  Keep fighting.  Be happy. 

Love,

Your best friend. 

Now and always.

♡

[pettytiredandjewish]

Y’all I just noticed something- ever since I turned off anonymous asks, due to me getting harassed constantly by antisemitic asshats and pro-Palestine people/anti-zionists (because I’m a cold hearted bitch/moron/monster for caring for Israeli citizens who are also victims of the war/ caring for the return of the hostages/ calling out antisemitism/etc…) I haven’t gotten any more hateful or harassing asks… I wonder why??? Could it be that some of them are….cowards and likes to hide? I guess we’ll never know….(jk I already know the answer-i just wanted to add a dramatic flair to it lol)

Also do y’all (I’m talking to the pro Palestine and anti Zionist crowd) even care that Hamas is still holding over a hundred hostages??? And that Hamas are treating the hostages like they’re in some sick torture game??? It seems like whenever someone talks about the hostages/any news about them/testimonies from those who were returned/etc… y’all go bat shit crazy. Hell there’s this video going around where this group of people (pro Palestine/anti Zionist) were defacing a mural that says ‘free the hostages’ and ‘fuck Hamas’ (or something similar to it) because it somehow insulted them???

And stop denying that 10/7 happened. It’s not a fucking conspiracy theory! It was a messed up/horrible terrorist attack and a pogrom- a pogrom that Hamas has promised will happen again! To those who are still denying it/claiming that IDF did it/ or thinks that this attack was necessary- y’all are just fucking unbelievable and messed up…

At this point I’m convinced that y’all hate jews in general and that you are using the i/p war as an excuse to be hateful antisemitic little fuckers. I said what I said.

Am yisrael chai! ✡️

[eowynstwin]

Hi everyone. It's been a while—exactly a month since I last posted to this blog. How have you been?

A month isn't really all that long, but it's enough time to be able to look at everything that happened and understand it better. In the end, the whole situation (I've been calling it The Fuckening in my head) really didn't have anything to do with me. I was unlucky enough to run across someone willing to hurt anyone they could for attention, but also lucky enough that everyone who mattered to me in this fandom went to bat for me.

So I’ve decided to come back to this blog. I'll be posting about call of duty again as well as posting my writing. I also plan to blog about other fandoms (I’d already been doing it anyway); I've been getting back into rdr2, for example, and there's some writing I'd like to do for that.

There’s more context which I’ll put below the cut, but that’s the most important part of what I have to say; I often regret how long winded I can be, so the rest is just self indulgence if you can forgive it. I’ve thought a lot about this choice and I’m satisfied with my decision. I hope none of you will mind.

So, lol, things were not great outside of fandom stuff when it all kicked off, though I didn’t mention it publicly because we all know by now that asking for any sympathy when you’re the target of a mob is more likely to just get you raked over the coals harder. I’m still not entirely sure about talking about all of this, but I have a bad tendency to clam up when I really should be asking for support. So:

I mentioned briefly before the accusations started flying that I was dealing with bedbugs—turns out it was actually something else, but leading up to a doctor’s visit I was convinced I had an infestation, and I was stripping my bed every day to look for them. I had alarms set to wake me up twice a night to see if I could catch them, so I was not sleeping all that well. I couldn’t find anything, but I had no other explanation, and it was driving me fucking crazy. Post doctor visit it turns out I had a viral infection. No idea where I caught it, and nothing to do but wait it out. I had a massive, gnarly looking rash all over my body, and to add insult to injury I developed a fever that took me out for a whole weekend. (I’m recovered now but I have a nifty new scar on my hip from getting a biopsy.)

Next to that, I was having some PTSD flareups of my own. This was (mostly) unrelated to The Fuckening. Now, I understand that that might be hard to believe, given “Myka’s” claims, and I can’t make you believe me. Nor will I provide details to convince you, other than to say there were some things going on in my neighborhood that recalled a period of time in my life that was extremely unstable, and I found myself irrationally terrified to go home every day. For those of you who don’t experience the symptoms of PTSD, I think it’s appropriate to note that it isn’t just emotional turmoil; I, personally, experience physical pain in my entire body that lingers for hours, days, or even weeks after being triggered. (Everything regarding this, too, is fine now. I have a great therapist and a supportive family.)

All of this to say, I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally when I decided to leave this blog and fandom. And I regretted the decision almost instantly.

However, I didn’t want to let grief make any decisions for me, and also I was still VERY scared Myka was going to hunt down my personal information and either dox or harass me elsewhere. I think this fear was justified; it has happened to other writers in this fandom before.* So I decided to take some time to cool off and watch the situation develop without me.

I don’t think I need to get into the details—although if you’re interested in them, @fulltacs has been keeping track of the drama. Given the most recent development with the four obviously sock puppet blogs that popped up and immediately began stirring shit up again, I realized Myka probably would have done what she did with or without me. I just so happened to give her the ammunition she needed to do something REALLY big. It was pure bad luck.

(Also—and I’m sorry if this is just stirring the pot, but after everything they did to me I feel I deserve to make the accusation—I’ve suspected for a while that the two loudest blogs leading the witch hunt against me were far more involved in this farce than anyone has assumed. I have no proof and I do not want anyone to do anything about it on my behalf, leave them the fuck alone. But I will not forget the distress they caused me for a long fucking time, and the only way for me to let this go is to say my piece. So there. Done. Let that be the end of it.)

Having this hindsight, I feel comfortable coming back. I’m still very touched by everyone’s support, which in the end was louder than the harassment. I also think it’s important for people who care about fighting racism in any community not to run at the first sign of trouble, which I did, and I feel pretty sorry for.

That’s the gist of things. If you’ve read all of this, thank you for doing so!

*I was going to add a paragraph about halfmoth-halfman’s situation but decided against it. For one thing, she wants to be left alone, and for another, talking about the experiences of fans of color, particularly black fans, deserves its own post separate from my white experience, if I should even post about it at all.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Naughty Nanny Chapter 6

Summary:  Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought.

**In this universe Steve never left, Tony never died.** **curvy reader** Warnings: talk of sexual harassment, unwanted/non-consensual touching/sexual assault, eventual smut

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“How long have you known Wilson Fisk?” Tony asked Y/N pointedly.

“Since he bought the club a year and a half ago,” Y/N answered.  

“And what was the nature of your relationship with him?” he asked.  Bucky glared at Tony across the table as he sat next to Y/N.

She sighed heavily.  “He was my boss.  He felt like he owned me, as a dancer, as a woman, as a commodity,” she explained.  “He constantly pushed for a sexual relationship with me.  I never let him have it.  But he tried…” she trailed off, wringing her hands in front of herself.  “He tried to force me a few times.”  Bucky bristled next to her, trying to keep his breathing calm.  Steve nodded as he watched them.

“Did you know about the weapons?” Tony asked, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I heard rumors of him being like a mobster, but I never saw anything,” she said quietly.  

“And you went back last night because…?”

“I was helping a friend.  Tiffany.  She has a son.  I warned her to get out as fast as she could, find a new club to go to that wasn’t owned by him, it wasn’t safe for her or her kid.  She was auditioning for a new place last night and needed someone to cover her shift, and I went under the impression that he wasn’t going to be there.  He was supposed to be out of the country.  But I guess the manager told him I was coming back for that one night and he…I don’t know,” she shrugged and hugged herself.

Bucky huffed.  “So now what?”

“The intel Scott was able to find will help us knock out all the main sources he uses for moving the alien weaponry.  But getting to him directly before he disappears is a different story.  I say we use what we have,” Tony said, looking at Y/N.

Bucky looked back and forth between Y/N and Tony.  “Wait, you’re not serious.  Use her as bait?” he pointed at Y/N.  Y/N’s eyes widened.

“What choice do we have?”  Tony asked, stepping forward.  “We have something he wants.  He flew in from a completely different country just at the chance to get to her again.  As gross as this dude is, he likes you,” Tony gave her a cocked eyebrow.  “Must be quite a show you put on, naughty nanny.”

Bucky stood and punched the table.  “Watch it, Tony.”

Tony’s head tilted in defiance.  “Or what Manchurian candidate?”

“It is quite a show, Tony, too bad you missed it,” Y/N interrupted them and stood, using her sultry voice on him.  Tony’s eyes widened.  “I’ll do it.  I’ll be the bait,” she said, glancing at Bucky.  

He shook his head at her.  “It’s dangerous.”

“I’m well aware,” she said, then looked at Steve.  “What’s the plan?”

Steve scoffed.  “You’re the expert, what do you think we should do?”

Y/N thought for a moment.  “He loves a damsel in distress.  I can go to him, acting like I want to come back.  That you took me against my will,” she gestured to Bucky.  “Let him think he can claim me.  He’ll love that.” 

Bucky shook his head.  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked her.  Y/N looked at him in confusion but nodded.  He walked out of the room and she followed.  When they were a little ways down the hallway he turned to her.  “You can’t honestly think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t,” Y/N said.  “But if this ends him, I’m all in.  He’s a monster, Buck.”

“I know but, I can’t…” he trailed off, looking at her pleadingly.  “I need you.  Winnie needs you.  There’s gotta be another way.  Something else we can try first rather than putting you in danger.”

Y/N watched him for a moment before looking around to see if anyone was nearby then stepped closer to him.  “Is this because of what happened last night?  When you…?” she looked down towards his crotch.

Bucky recoiled.  “What?”

“You feel some kind of attachment to me because I made you cum?” Y/N said in an accusatory tone.  “Funny thing, Buck, you’re not the first man I’ve made cum from a dance.  That was my whole job.  And I’m good at it.  I sold a fantasy.  You just got to have a first hand experience with it,” she said.  “As fun as that was, I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.  I work for you, remember?  I appreciate you helping me get out of there and caring about my well-being, but I want him gone,” she glared at him, the fire in her eyes staring up at him.  

“Is that all that was? Fun?” Bucky asked, leaning in closer to her face, glaring back at her.

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Y/N’s eyes flicked between his and momentarily down to his lips.  “Yes,” she whispered.

Bucky’s jaw tightened.  “Fine.”

She stared at him for another moment, her eyes slightly softening and she blinked.  “Fine.”

***

A week later Y/N was in place.  She was dressed in her blue bustier outfit again, hugging the robe around herself and clutching her bag as she walked up to the club.  The bouncer took one look at her and motioned for one of the other men to go get the boss.  They let her in without any questions.  Bucky, Steve, Tony, and Scott were all in position.  A tiny camera was sewn into Y/N’s bustier and a recording device in the lining of her robe.  Scott was already tiny and skirting around the edges of the club with his own communication, clocking all of Kingpin’s men and any newcomers that they weren’t sure of.  Y/N was led upstairs to the offices and entered a room where Kingpin was sitting in a large armchair like the one Bucky had sat in before.  He stiffened when he saw it.

“There’s my Big Booty Baby,” Kingpin smiled tightly.  “Come back home to daddy?”

Tony nearly wretched as they all sat watching.  “Bleh, who does this guy think he is?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quietly, sounding remorseful.  “I didn’t even want to leave.  That guy was just…obsessed with me or something.”

“Hm,” Kingpin stood from the chair and rounded the desk toward her.  He lifted a hand and cupped her face.  He at first did it gently, then slapped her hard, making her fall to the floor on her hands and knees.  Steve squirmed and Bucky grimaced, his hands forming into fists.  “Stupid bitch.  You think I didn’t watch that tape of you with him?  You enjoyed it.  You let him have more of you than you’ve ever let me have.”  Bucky’s lips tightened and Steve gave him a glance.  

“Why do you even want me?” Y/N asked as she looked up at him.  “You’re the Kingpin, you could have the pick of any girl here.  With all those connections you have, what do you want me for?”  He stepped toward her and she tried to back up, but he quickly wrapped his hand around her throat.  She gasped as he squeezed.

“You’re mine, do you hear me?” Kingpin growled.  “I own you.  You think you can put up a fight with the likes of me and it wouldn’t drive me crazy?  That your repulsion would make me stop?  I always get what I want,” he growled as he slammed her against the wall.  “Now, behave baby.  I’ve got something special just for you,” he said, an unsettling smile twisting his face.  He slowly held up something in his hand to be face level with Y/N.  She eyed it warily.

“What the fuck is that?” she whispered, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

“Some kind of alien taser,” Kingpin said, giving it a glance.  “I figured the best way to test it would be on your ungrateful pussy,” he threatened, moving it down towards her legs.

“Scott!  Get in there!” Steve yelled through the coms as he, Bucky and Tony jumped from their hiding place and stormed the club.  

They heard a zapping sound and a horrific scream come from Y/N in their earpieces and Bucky lost it.  He barrelled through everyone in the club, not caring who got in his way.  He flew up the stairs and wrenched the door open.  Scott was in the corner knocked out cold.  Y/N was held against Kingpin’s chest facing Bucky, her body jerking strangely from the first shock he’d given her.  Kingpin’s hand was still holding the taser, aiming it between her legs and his other hand holding her by the neck

“Oh look, baby, it’s your knight in shining armor,” Kingpin chuckled.  “I knew I recognized you that night.  Fuck off, Barnes.  I’ve waited this long, I’m not waiting any longer for what’s mine.”  He used the hand that was holding her against him to shove down her bustier and palm her breasts roughly.  Bucky shot.  Y/N screamed as blood spattered behind her and Kingpin fell back with a loud thud.  She fell forward and Bucky caught her before she hit the ground.  

Scott jerked awake from the sound of the gunshot and panted as he jumped to his feet then looked at Y/N and Bucky.  “Shit…you guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good, thanks Scott,” Bucky said, covering Y/N so she could adjust her bra to cover herself again.  Her movements were shaky as she tucked her breasts back in and then looked up at Bucky.  “You okay?” he asked carefully.

Y/N nodded and looked down.  “Just take me home, please.”

@angelbabyyy99 @capswife @julvrs @bellabarnes1378 @mostlymarvelgirl @mega-kittyglitter-1 @buckitostan @drdbnkl2008 @wintrsoldrluvr @danzer8705

[iron-embers]

Addressing the troll and those affected

Edit: Here is the final part to the identity of the Hantengu troll, please read!

The Finale

The text below is the first part

To followers and to those that were following bloodbladesanddemons, I’m sure you are all aware of a troll that has been on those site ever since May, and what started as a minor inconvenience has spiraled into a storm that has hurt many wonderful creators, fans of demon slayer that just a wanted a peaceful place to rant about their passions. Me and bbd have been friends for years, and when we both got into demon slayer about a year ago, we both decided to share that passion and create our own accounts. Both with our own characters, stories and hoping that we could meet like minded people to share our passion with. And at first, it was a great experience that had helped us reach so many wonderful people, and we got in right when the character Hantengu was animated so the hype was there for that specific character.

That all changed however when in April we started getting random anon asks from a person claiming they knew a creator named mothzii who was calling another artist a racial slur, and that’s why we should hate and avoid them at all costs. Since we had no idea what was going on, didn’t know who Mothzii was and found it weird that someone would go anon to apparently warn us, we ignored it because it wasn’t our business and we assumed that since most people are adults they can figure it out themselves. Why add to drama that didn’t involve us right? That changed when a young artist dream core started reporting that there was an anon troll on their asks and messages who was harrassing them relentlessly. Since bbd had recently started interacting with them she decided to help in anyway she could by both advising and giving them support, cuz bullying is not okay. After doing some research, we found a strange account on rule34, a degenerate site as we are all aware, but I found a picture that someone posted of fanart, of Sekido insulting some random female oc saying you disgust me, let me love on my real wives…to which they mention not only a random name of some other oc, but mention bbd’s character chizue. We found that this rule 34 user took mothzii commissioned art of her self insert, drew over it and basically stole the art, and made a disgusting parody of it, mentioning two OCs that were not even the posters or mothziis own. Basically, using bbd’s character without permission to harass and make fun of someone else. Bbd did not stand for it, and made a post saying that it was not okay for someone to use her character to compare and contrast who was a better fit for Sekido…which by the way is childish and disgusting cuz Sekido is a fictional character, and to justify art theft from people on twitter and mentioning an artist on tumblr is apparently is just asking for drama. After bbd made that post, we also reported the post and account on rule34 cuz the pic was very explicit and to see her characters name on that was disgusting. It was taken down….but not before receiving multiple anon asks about it. She ignored them, but when they started making porn of dreamcores CHILD character, sending it to them and BBD through anon asks+messages and practically taunting both saying “hahaha, you can’t do anything about it” bbd stepped in to report them again. They made so many pedophiliac art using dreams character, sent it to them and bbd, and when bbd reported them they started stealing bbds art as retaliation, reposting it on the same rule34 account and kept at the taunting. Even took a gift art bbd drew for dreamcore and made an explicit version making fun of dreamcores character, and stealing+editing bbd’s art without consent and posted it to rule34. It got so bad that she contacted rule 34 moderators about it, and after a while they asked the troll poster to take it down.

Not even a couple days later I start getting anon asks/taunts, with the troll linking their new rule34 account and showing me they stole one of my pieces (The Shinjuro and Hatomi comic) and were taunting me asking what I’m gonna do about it. I did something about it, not only did I report the art theft, I made sure to report to mods about the new account and gave them all the evidence that they are the same person from before on rule 34, even showing the multiple screenshots of this troll making multiple spam accounts just to harass not only bbd and dream, but others not even involved, those that have supported bbd and her art, and even came after me and sun because we were her friends. This troll found it better to be a coward, and hide behind spam accounts because they were so confident they would never be found. So cocky that they justified to themselves that art theft and pedo art is okay as they can bully the people they are jealous of. They went on for months calling dream bbd and sun broken white supremiscists that made art for eachother because white people stick together, that as them being a person of color started demanding they get free art too. Then They made the mistake of calling me a white supremicist, because me being friends with them and others they didn’t like meant I was white….i knew this was a taunt and a way to bait me and instead of keeping it private like they wanted it to be, I exposed them, answered their taunt and revealed that I was actually not white, I was colored, and I addressed both their corwardice and blatant racism for trying to justify their harrassment with the color of their skin. No matter what race, a shit person is still a shit person, and no amount of racial slurs they threw at us would make them right. That’s when they started calling me a Mexican taco muncher, and sent me more spam asks trying to make fun of me, even sent them to bbd and a couple others. I didn’t talk the insult seriously cuz they were entirely off the mark on my race and I knew they were just trying to goad me into a private message battle, so I made it public to others about what this troll was doing and if they were getting bothered to ignore them.

I was also made aware that there was a private discord that most of the Hantengu fan creators were a part of, me and bbd were invited but chose not to accept due to suspicions of the troll being on there, and after getting multiple screenshots of the drama going on there we were glad we didn’t. It proved that the troll was causing many problems on that server. Bbd had gotten to know one of these members from here on tumblr and even started talking to them both on tumblr and outside of that, which was on discord. Since bbd started becoming acquainted with them, I started talking with them as well. But then a couple months into it, the person bbd was talking to had a disagreement with a characters story, and instead of respecting bbds boundary had started to make a problem about it. All of it was discussed privately on discord and bbd, myself and sunbroken had chosen to keep the matter private and not give any more ammo to the troll who we knew was stalking all of our accounts as proven with the multiple spam asks, messages and stolen art. We had hoped the matter could be solved privately as the person responsible had at first agreed to give bbd some quiet time before they would sit down and talk about it. Despite some instances of them not respecting bbds boundary, bbd still chose not to spread any info as that was nobody else’s business, and chose to take down the art with said persons character as since that was her art she has every right to do that..

Until the troll came back and started harrassing again, claiming that how dare BBd do that, claiming this person bbd took the art down of was their friend. Acting as if they had any say over what bbd should post and not post. Considering what the troll was saying through anon asks referencing the person that BBd was on rocky terms with after the argument, we all went to the person to ask if they shared what happened with anyone not involved. Turns out, they did, shared it with one person who they thought was their friend and who was also a part of that same Hantengu server. Understandably due to the harrassment from the troll and finding that this person shared sensitive info with someone not involved, BBd cut contact. I chose not to as I wanted to find out more. For a couple months bbd had been making more content, the troll every so often coming back with more ridiculous spam asks calling her many expletives and mocking their art, the troll was ignored, and others who have been getting the same came to me with screenshots of the stuff they were getting. We all chose to ignore it. Well I suppose the troll didn’t like getting ignored, so then they started a new account on twitter to steal more art, and even started bullying georgette mademoiselle. Because they have no conscience, even started going back on the insults they referred to bbds character with, and started sending multiple messages to both georgette and bbd that georgettes character compared to Chizue was absolute crap. It was horrid, and bbd made sure to report them and talk with Georgette to show that this troll was doing that. So that was supposed to be the end of it right?

Not. The troll kept going. Confident they would never be found, still kept making fun of all mentioned previously, and even started mentioning bbd private tumblr+discord account in these spam asks. We thought it was strange how this troll knew as BBd does not share her personal account with any one, except for the one person from before that she cut contact with. Since the person was not forthcoming with anything going on, bbd had to go on the assumption that whoever they told led this troll to find their private account. And then the troll started stalking their Facebook. Finding old pics and threatening to apparently expose her? Which makes no sense cause bbd has nothing to hide, but it was disturbing how this troll was now stalking her personal accounts. So we kept digging. And since the troll sent me a spam ask taunting me with bbd face, saying their name and trying to guess where they live, I decided to contact them (I know them in real life, and found it disgusting how obsessed this troll was with bothering them. Throughout the back and forth the troll had made many things clear, that they had no intent of stopping, and that they will harass other people. Even going so far as to say they will impersonate again and again to drive her supporters away if it means making them miserable, sharing that they knew both of our discords. Here are the screenshots

They made this first account just this past week, which got deactivated, then came back with a new one, this time showing that they stole more art from bbd and posted it on another version of rule34 since last time they got banned from doing it on the other. This was the convo

After I called them out, after a day or two, sunbroken confronts the person who first shared bbd’s personal info with the other person, trying to get to the bottom of it, but out of fear they chose not to share initially. That and I started receiving threats from the troll trying to stalk my personal and find my face while also threatening to find out where I live. And then finally after a month of not speaking to me I get this from serenesaku, who was the one who vented to their friend ria about the situation from months before in the first place. Dream core apparently got screenshots from one of the members on discord, who apparently got it from a spam account which was the troll on tumblr, sending these to that member to send to dreamcore out of feign concern that apparently BBd was talking behind dreams back on discord. News flash, this chat was entirely fabricated by the troll, making a fake discord account using bbd private discord name, posing as them and making a chat log and wanting dream to see it so to frame bbd. For a text convo btw that never happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if said troll just took a pic of bbd discord name from the screenshots they got from serenesaku back when she vented to them, and just copy and pasted over these screenshots to make it look like bbd said them. And the sicker part is that they did this with mothzii back when the drama first started, impersonating them and sending it to their friends so to isolate mothzii. Serenesaku did not know better, their naïveté was taken advantage of, and because she shared this with another person the troll found their personal stuff and started making up fake evidence. When serenesaku approached me asking who was doing it to Dream, this is the convo that happened. And so many things that were not shared before were shared.

I know this is a lot. Frankly I am disgusted that such a toxic part of the fandom has found its way here and affected some of the good people I know and still attempts to harass me as I post this. I will not delete my account. If there is anyone who wants to know the truth, don’t be afraid to ask. Then again, if you don’t want to be involved, i don’t blame you either. Knowing this information has made me and bbd lose faith in what we thought was a fun fandom. I still hope it is, and that’s why I am making this post. The world is already a shit place, and the internet has its shit places too, but for those that want to advocate for truth and proper internet etiquette, let this be an example of what happens when people don’t properly communicate, that this is what jealousy and not treating other people with respect does. Yes demon slayer is fiction, but why would someone like this troll waste all their time and energy just to make everyone miserable for something that is supposed to be fun. Cuz that is what they want. To divide and conquer. They want attention and power, Don’t let this troll win. With the truth now posted, I hope this can bring those that want a fun environment together under a common purpose. This behavior from the troll is unacceptable, and I know the troll is watching so let this post show you that I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid of speaking the truth. Neither is sun, neither is Saku, and neither are the ones you targeted. I know who you are, I refuse to play your game, and I won’t give up until the many creators I have come to cherish and respect can create without fear that your jealousy will cause another situation like this to happen again. We all have our own personal lives, as humans we are entitled to our own sense of privacy, seeing as how you violated that in the name of harassment, then surely that same respect can be extended to you. None.

The troll is a coward, full of jealousy and won’t stop until everyone is divided and they can have a fictional character all to themselves. it is pathetic. Shameful behavior that they perpetuate with spreading lies and misinformation, hoping they can get away with it again. The truth hurts, I know that and those that may have unintentionally have been in contact with the troll, you are not to blame. How could you have known that someone this two faced was this delusional. If I lose followers, that’s okay. This was never about followers, this was about sharing my stories with those that want it. Bbd wanted that too, before her privacy was infringed upon. Would any of you stay silent and let that happen to someone else close to you, I won’t and refuse to give up, cuz know better than to blame the fandom. This is just one miserable person that wants power over someone. If I mentioned you either with or without consent, my deepest apologies. This troll took advantage of people just wanting to ignore it, talking advantage of peoples trust and wanting to move on and put it all on someone innocent that they were jealous of. I have kept quiet, supporting bbd and those I can however I was able, but now I see the only way to truly bring people together is to show the truth. However ugly it may be, this is how it happened and has spiraled since.

Bbd may have left, but she has not given up, just because she deactivated her account doesn’t change the fact that she had a story she wanted to tell, to share with those that wanted to listen. The wrong person that came in and ruined it doesn’t change the impact her art and stories had on you guys. She wants to thank those that have been with her through all of this, whether it was silent support or the daily comments that always brightened her day. Dreamcore, you were one of those people that was both hurt and supported bbd, and that what this troll sent to Hurt you was not bbd , it was just the troll trying to harass you since you posted about your stress of the whole situation. They saw that their efforts were working on you and bbd, and so they did this to sow even more distrust. The spam account that sent this to the person that showed you these had the intention of setting you against bbd. I remember when you first started getting harrassed, how angry me, bbd and many others were that someone would do something’s so horrid, and then move on to bbd just for helping you. This is a lot, you are not at fault, you are innocent. While in the past I did not agree with Saku at times, they knew how important it was to tell the truth. And it is the truth now I wish to share so people are aware.

I tagged those bullied, and for those I did not tag, it is out of respect that you helped give evidence so the troll can be exposed, if you guys wish to be mentioned please let me know. A united front is better than what the troll wants, which is a divided one. As for @hearts4muzan /overworked , is talking behind others back, spreading lies and rumors, making light of what has been going on….is that funny to you? Are you proud that so many creators have left because of the constant harrassment, art theft, and stalking personal accounts. In what world is any of that excusable, for this not only to happen once before but for you both to help perpetuate another all in the name of attention. Did you think you were clever, so two faced playing as if you had nothing to do with this, now everything has been brought to light. What do you have to say for yourselves? And the just this morning you send this to Saku, since bbd deactivated their account, after you impersonated them on discord, and after sending harassment about bbds OCs for months

Saku knows who you are now, what kind of demented person taunts this after what you had done, and not only that says that because BBd is gone, Bbds character Katashi is now free to use?! Saku didn’t ask for this, sure she made mistakes, but nothing justifys saying that. Katashi is bbd’s character, Saku respects that, and you do not. Appalling.

To those below tagged, none of you deserved any of this unfair treatment, you are not to blame

@dreamcorechild

Saku

@georgette-mademoiselle

@sunbrokenswords

And what I’m sure is many others that have been harassed for no reason other than just innocently interacting with any of us, also not your fault. I know this may break alot of the trust creators thought they could place, who wants to say they talked with the ones responsible and had no idea, I understand this is both discouraging and will hurt. However there is one way I see this and that is what inspires me to give the truth now. This troll was never honest in the first place, they were a coward that preyed on everyone to manipulate and control. If they were never honest in the first place, then there was no trust to begin with. From that let this help teach and show that we as people will not stand for this.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AMITA for lying to everyone I know about my identity’s as a queer/neurodivergent person?

I (18M) am a bisexual, transgender man who is also autistic, ADHD, and OCD. When people hear this about me, even if they know me, I feel like they build up this image of me as an awkward, “cringy” 11 year old who’s obsessed with “cringy” fandoms. And while i have a qualm with this because I know they are looking down on people who are just less masked/higher support needs, I also dislike that they do this because it’s just not who I am. Without the labels, I mostly seem like just a normal dude, if not a bit nerdy.

I also used to be extremely bullied as a kid (7-12) to the point of a suicide attempt, mostly due to homophobic, transphobic, or ablest remarks about me. Since then I’ve completely changed community’s and do not talk to anyone i knew before high school.

When authority figures (Teachers, Show Directors, Investors of the teen programs I lead) apply ablest/transphobic stereotypes or prejudices to me, they also tend to be less,,, normal? around me. Less kind compared to other kids, call me an “inspiration”, or they’ll coddle me when I’m incredibly capable. I do a lot for someone my age- and I know the connections I make now at conferences and whatnot will help me in the long run. My dad’s family is poor, and my immediate family is more comfortable but not that much. I know I’m smart, and I can weaponize that to get a better life for my family by getting good scholarships and jobs in good fields. I can’t just let people who could be very important to my goals look down on me. So i just.. don’t tell them anything about me. They might assume Im odd or “not normal”, and for the most part I let them assume whatever, but if i’m ever asked directly about anything I deny it. Especially in relation to me being transgender; I have the very privileged ability to pass without any medical intervention, and I use that to pretend to be cisgender. Living in the deep south of USAmerica, most of who I am could make my social life very uncomfortable to downright miserable.

Here’s where the problem starts happening. when my social and (what i consider to be a) “professional” life occasionally touch, I wouldn’t be able to be out everywhere socially without someone I don’t want knowing finding out. So i don’t tell any of my classmates/friends/peers about any of my identities either. I hang out with queer and straight people, never be actively homophobic/ablest, and will be very vague about the two questions i’ve ever received about any of that stuff. It’s very, very exhausting to pretend all the time, every day, especially pretending that I’m cisgender because it’s a tricky game, but I can’t really back down and I’m afraid that I might get bullied again if I was ever open about it with classmates.

A few months ago, I was dating this guy, who i’ll call Kai (17M) Kai is also a transgender man, but does not pass at all and is comfortable with it. He’ll get shit sometimes, but also has essentially no straight friends. I told him I was queer when we became good friends, and then told him I was trans after we started dating. I also told him why I lie about being cishet or neurotypical, and while he didn’t seem happy he didn’t push it at first. I told him that I understood if he didn’t want to be in a secret relationship, but because of where we live and what I want to do I wasn’t comfortable with being out again. He said he still wanted to date me, and claimed he would support me, and we had a pretty good relationship overall.

A month after that, he started bringing it up again. He told me that I was more than my identity, and if people didn’t see me for who I am instead of stereotypes, it isn’t worth talking to them at all. And while I agree with the sentiment, it’d never be possible to just not hear someone if they were harassing me, and while I truely dislike a lot of the authority figures that I engage with, they are in the professional fields I’m interested in, and I’m incredibly lucky for getting where I am so early. Kai also said that since I am well known in our very small school (only 300 kids), being out could be a positive influence on what people think about autistic people or trans people. In a particularly heated fight, he even said I was doing a disservice or betrayal to my community by not representing or being proud of being apart of them publicly.

We broke up pretty soon after, but I think about what he said a lot. I know that I wouldn’t be the only out person at my school, and that my school is actually a lot better compared to most local schools, which are a lot larger and… dramatic, but I just don’t think I could be out without going back to how I used to be mentally. And Kai was right about how I could be a good influence on some of the meaner classmates- I do think some of my peers who I ingenuinely connect with might reconsider their prejudices if they knew I was transgender.

I’m intentionally choosing not to take the opportunity to do better. It wouldn’t ruin ALL my relationships with the authority figures I consider to be important holding, since it would just be my school, It might dampen one or two of them. Plus, I’m lying to pretty much everyone who knows me. They build relationships with a false idea of me, and I feel like an asshole sometimes because I’m not honest.

TLDR: I’m a transgender, autistic guy in a very bigoted community. Everybody thinks i’m cishet and neurotypical. AMITA for not being proud of who I am because of potential social losses, and AMITA for lying to people and giving friends/peers false ideas about who I am even if they would not be friends with me if they knew?

What are these acronyms?

[nottsangel]

hi guys. I’ve thought long about doing this post, especially since I’m trying to stay away from drama as much as I can, but this is going too far and i can’t ignore it any longer. I want to warn people and stop her, because this person’s behaviour is unacceptable and it has gotten to a point where people feel unsafe. besides my experiences with this person, there are many other people who i’ve talked to that have similar experiences, some even worse than others. this needs to stop.

the person I’m talking about is @/vampyshlut (formerly known as rafesbimbo).

this person has been harassing people, ignoring boundaries and not showing any respect whatsoever. she is manipulative, becomes obsessive real fast and will start love bombing. an example of this is intense clinginess; she gets upset and angry when you don’t respond in a certain amount of time and will spam you with many, many messages (e.g. saying that you hate her just because you weren’t online). another example is jealousy; she gets jealous when you interact with other people and will continuously push you (e.g. to commit) and make you feel guilty for not replying.

this was the case with one of my friends. she started acting like she owned them, and got mad when my friend would drink or smoke. after a while, my friend got fed up with this behaviour and blocked her, but even then she’d still send anon asks. when they texted her to stop sending asks, she said “i don’t want to, i miss you.”, and continued harassing them.

with one of my other friends ( @drudyslut ), she found out her real name, which she had never once mentioned on her blog before. when she asked her about it, she said “i did my research.” this is very scary and not okay.

to give another example, in my case, besides the fact that she was two separate emoji anons of mine and continuesly spammed me and asked me for attention with both, she also began degrading me at one point and called me names. it was very triggering and when i was evidently uncomfortable, she kept going and going. she never once asked if it was okay. she has zero respect.

mind you, these are just a few examples of the many things she has done to different people on here.

however, when people are fed up with her disrespectful behaviour and block her, she continues to contact them through many anon asks. and even when you block the anons, she somehow still finds a way to send anon asks from many different accounts and continue to harass.

and even though she claims that she has certain people blocked (and vice versa), when those people post something, she would post an indirect response on her own blog, meaning that she was/is still secretly lurking on blogs that have her blocked. not only that, for some weird reason she also wants them to know that she is watching them.

this kind of behaviour is NOT okay and being blocked means that that person wants nothing to do with you anymore. leave them alone and respect their boundaries.

the reason i decided to write this post is because this is still ongoing and it sucks that me and others don’t feel safe anymore on our own blog. with every anon ask we get, we fear that it could be her. it sucks that we can’t freely interact with other anons anymore because of this. it sucks that even though you block someone, they still find ways to harass you and you can’t do anything about it. i hope that this post will stop her and make her realise that she can’t keep going like this any longer. we all just want to feel safe on our own blogs.

to her: all we’re asking is that you leave everyone alone. if someone has you blocked, they have done it for a reason and do not want anything to do with you anymore. don’t try to get into contact again, don’t try to send anon asks through different accounts, don’t dm their side blog, don’t send texts to their phone number. move on with your life. and no, no one is ‘ganging up against you’, we’re standing up for ourselves and our friends because your behaviour is simply unacceptable and we are fed up. the way you treat people is not okay and it’s getting to a point where it’s really, really scary. i hope you can reflect on your own actions and will heal.

[your-local-grinning-cat]

The Ultimate Compilation Callout

Hey Guys! AR OOC once again to say I am 100% done.

I'm done with this. I thought it was finally dying down and the drama was finally getting to be over with but then she came back and is now trying to say that we are the ones in the wrong. And she is STILL trying to blame Leona's mod when, as both @/castaway-achlys and I have stated numerous times at this point, they were asleep during the entire event. They did not ask for us to defend them. We were both just tired of hearing our friend be exhausted and stressed out by her.

And the fact that so many people have come out to give their own experiences of her being rude and cruel to them just proves this is not a singular event.

I'm putting all this under a cut because it's gonna get long guys. In fact, I’m probably going to end up needing to create a couple reblog chains to get it all out.

But I'm done playing nice. I have all the receipts. Like I went allllll the way back to when the discord was first created. I caught her in her first lie.

Which, coincidentally, her very first lie in the Discord server happened on the very first day it was formed. What a way to start.

I call her the Malleus mod as an identifier in these screenshots, because unlike her, I am not petty enough to reveal peoples’ personal information on the internet just because I don’t like them.

HOWEVER. I will remind everyone that she is not JUST the owner of the Malleus account. Even if you don’t want to look under the read more because there are a LOT of receipts, know that these are all her known blogs.

I do not condone harassment. Harassment is basically what started all this. Just block and go.

Malleus Draconia @/therealmalleusdraconia

Falena Kingscholar @/the-falena-kingscholar

Aijuka (A Leona gf OC) @/the-one-aijuka

Jack Howl @/frosh-jack-howl

Fellow Honest @/fellow-honest

Meleanor Draconia @/meleanor-draconia

Baul Zigvolt @/baul-zigvolt

Sebek’s Mother @/thethickestone

Marja Felmier @/marja-felmier

And her latest: Eric Venue @/ericvenue

(Bonus non-rp blog @/thetwistedminds)

Before we get too far into it I will say there is a slight color code! But only a tiny one!

Gross light green color - look at that lie! 👀

Gross darker green color - a lie is revealed! 🤭

Orange - note the date/time! 🗓️⏰

Let me show you what I mean in the lie I’ve already mentioned - her very first one. :)

There we have the orange, telling you to note the date. That’s because I was wanting to make sure it was known that the pet posts were made on the same date that the discord was created.

And then we have the gross light green around Malleus mod claiming that this bunny is her bunny and that it was her bunny’s birthday recently.

Now here is the follow up with the gross darker green of a lie revealed. 😌

And there we have it! The color coding system and her very first lie told the very first day the Discord channel was active and easily disproven with an image search.

Now let’s get into the FUN STUFF! /sarc

We’re going to be doing some rehashing here but I’m also going to probably be including some new things so stay with me folks! This’ll be a ride! Buckle up!

So, originally I was thinking I'd start with the current drama. But considering that a lot of that has already been covered and what hasn't been covered needs more context, I'm just going to keep going in chronological order, I guess.

I've been up for over 24 hours compiling receipts, editing them to protect IDs, and then getting them all sorted so let's finally do this so I can pass out!

First up is something that actually has been covered a bit but I'm going to expand on it slightly - her blatant lie to @/elysia-nsimp (I'm not tagging anyone because I'm not forcing anyone to get notifications on this lmao).

Here's what everyone has already seen. But to expand on the event, we didn't call her out on her bad behavior, even though we probably should have as she had just lied straight to another mod's face about her blog ownership. I simply DM'd the mod in question privately to make sure they were okay and then tried to keep the peace in the main chat.

Because, believe it or not with this major callout post, I don't generally like confrontation. But I stepped in there for Elysia and I stepped up during this for Leona's mod.

Now, later that night, she posts this as if nothing had happened and she hadn't just been told that she needed to work on her roleplaying skills:

Uh huh. Sure. That's your last account. Because you have shown so much self-control when it comes to filling character voids within the twst rp community already. I'll be generous and give you a month before you break.

Now these next ones need a tiny bit of background information and a note: the Malleus mod is German and, as far as we know, lives in Germany. These next pictures are little indicators that she has not experienced the United States at all. These indicators may not seem important now, but they will be in just a little time. So keep them in mind for after the pause.

You cannot tell me anyone who has spent any length of time in the United States has not at least heard of Walmart.

Quick pitstop to say wow! You didn't even make it a month! Congratulations!

Also, note the question from the admin and the pretty obvious passive aggressiveness from me. We were sending plenty of hints that they needed to stop - sometimes coming outright and saying it, sometimes simply implying. Either way, we were all ignored.

She says she's not a mind reader. Well, apparently she's just not a reader period.

Now... a bit of an oddball here. And I want to say I do not necessarily think this is a lie. I am including it for a lie that is coming. The one that I included all those America comments for.

I'm sure you will note that I said that I don't "necessarily think" it's a lie - indicating that I do think it could be a possibility. That would be correct.

She has been lying since day one and, after this doozy of a story I'm about to share with you, I honestly don't know what to believe when it comes to her.

So.. to sum this up...

We went from a cringe ask from an OC account that she didn't want to answer -> the asker wasn't supposed to be on tumblr because they were underage (???) and was trying to date her irl and somehow had all of her information (oh but don't worry guys she deleted the ask!) -> he found her social media accounts and sent her NSFW pictures and started spam liking, demanding pictures of her kids, sent pictures of her at-the-time boyfriend, sent pictures of his family and his kids -> so she blocked him on everything and then started spam creating the rp accounts to see if he did it with other people or if it was just her (...mmmhmmm...) but nope he was only interested in Malleus -> she then apparently moved to America for a bit to crash with her boyfriend because this underage person went to Germany to find he.

Oh, by the way, why was this guy obsessed with her? Oh, he was obsessed with German women. He decided that all German women were pretty. And she's German-Russian! And Russians have intense standards for women you know! After this guy found out she was German AND Russian, I mean... it was only a matter of time before he upped his game to try to find her!

Guys, she's not saying she's too beautiful for her own good - the underage stalker speaks for itself!

Now, since this stalker found her through her Malleus account and was obviously very determined, you would think the first course of action would be to, ya know, delete the Malleus blog. Right?

No, no, no! Then she would have to start all over and, of course, if she switched accounts she would be forced to make a post on her current blog saying what her new blog is and he would just find her there. That's why she's trying to make her other accounts more active than her Malleus account (her Malleus account was still, by far, before all this happened, the most popular of all her rp blogs)!

Can I also mention that in that post announcing her pregnancy ON HER MALLEUS ACCOUNT WHERE SHE SUPPOSEDLY HAS A STALKER, she had tagged ALL OF HER BLOGS AT THE TIME?

But yes, Malleus mod. I definitely believe your story. :)

Please. Please tell me you all can understand why I just cannot find it in me to trust a single word coming out of this woman's mouth.

Especially now that during this whole drama, she has been lying through her teeth and trying to pin the entire blame on Leona's mod.

Now this part is nearly over (thank whatever gods anyone believes in) but let's just post the last few of the "before drama happened" pictures, shall we?

...I'm realizing I didn't underline the part where I called her out for having that many blogs in the gross dark green of a lie caught... oops. This is what happens when you have far too little sleep.

But either way, here is another time when she was called out on a lie of hers. And her little comment at the end means she read it and she acknowledged us.

She just didn't care because it didn't suit her.

~~~~~~

ALRIGHT!

THAT'S THE END OF PART ONE!

Yeah. This is going to come out in PARTS. I can't cover it all in one post because there is a picture limit.

So, I'm going to end up making a reblog chain...

Eventually.

Real talk? I need to sleep. Desperately. It's nearly two in the afternoon where I am and I have not slept yet.

Do not underestimate the power of spite and my loyalty to my friends. Both are very strong motivators.

But my body's needs are finally winning.

When I wake up, I'll have the Ultimate Drama Arc to post and expand upon and then the Return of the Drama Arc.

Yay. (said in the most unenthused voice ever lmao)

Anyway. Enjoy all this. I'm gonna go die. /j

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (7)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Jade doesn't care much about the hierarchy of the mafia when it comes to you. This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-writes @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol

It’s a common song and dance. Small organizations sometimes come to the Leech Mafia in hopes of garnering support for their coups. Walrus asked Jade to “lend” you to her. You’re more surprised at her audacity than her motivations.

“You’re trying to replace the Carpenter?” You occasionally see the leader of the Carpenter Mafia at formal functions. A tall, thin man with a disproportionately large head and wheedling voice. Friendly and charismatic on the surface, but known for his underhanded methods of luring people in, stranding them, and devouring them. An insatiable man who takes as much as he can get his hands on.

“Yes, so I humbly came to ask for help.” She places a hand on her chest and furrows her brows. “The Carpenter is a money-obsessed, greedy man who exploits all those who fall into his trap. I can’t watch him go on anymore. Call me a hopeful idiot, but I think with enough determination, even seven maids with seven mops could clear all the sand on a beach in half a year.”

If you were someone else entirely, maybe you would have fallen for her act. That pained look on her face and her poetic description of her tenacity could move a heart made of stone. However, you’ve spent a major portion of your life knowing Jade. You could recognize that duplicitous sorrow anywhere.

“What kind of mafia doesn’t have any suffering?” You won’t pretend the Leech Mafia is a good organization, either. There are monetary benefits, but mafias are built on cruelty, discipline, and fear of the pecking order. For example, if you dislike the way something was done, you have the authority to make sure the offending soldier who carried out the task disappears by sunset.

Walrus smiles. “I strive to create an organization where we can depend on each other.”

“And you want me to help you, huh. Is that why you told your men to attack me? It was a test to see if I meet your expectations.”

“You’re so cute, you know that? You ask questions when you already know the answer. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

No wonder why Jade looks so displeased. He likes to play pranks of that nature on you as well, but he becomes defensive when anyone else tries. What a hypocrite.

“I’m not upset.” As two-faced as Walrus is, you find that you don’t hate it. In the underbelly of society, this is what it takes to not only survive, but to claw your way to the top. In her own way, she is admirable. “Well, tell us what you want and what you’ll give us. This is a negotiation, right?”

“I’m just asking for the basics. Soldiers and weapons, that’s all. Can you spare me a hundred men?” She asks this nonchalantly, but surely she must know the weight of her question. One hundred men on land when the Leech Mafia operates mainly in the Coral Sea is a tall order. Such a number would impact your own operations in the Queendom of Roses. Again, this is expected. When you have more to lose in a negotiation, it is standard to ask for more than what you hope for.

“What a daring question. You are also quite the greedy person, Walrus.” Jade folds his hands on his desk. “Surely you have prepared something of equal value.”

“Of course.” Walrus pulls out a twisting gold wand inlaid with a red jewel. With a flick of her wrist, an image of a man appears in the air. “This is the man who cursed your parents, Jade Leech.”

A shadow passes over his face. This must be a bluff. How are you supposed to believe her when she declared such a thing without proof? To your surprise, Jade does not challenge her claim.

“That matches my findings.” Jade lowers his chin, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her. “What of it?”

“He’s dead. Carpenter personally got rid of him. No use for someone who managed to screw up an assassination, right?” She taps her wand to the image. It becomes a map with a glowing red dot south of the Coral Sea. “One of my friends has a Signature Spell that can analyze dead bodies. If we get his corpse, she should be able to figure out exactly what curse was cast on your parents. His body was dumped around here in the ocean, so you’ll need to retrieve it.”

Jade’s shoulders tense. You glance at the rigid line of his jaw. Softly, you place your hand on his shoulder blade. Calm down. A beat passes. He takes a breath and relaxes his muscles.

“Your proposal is hypothetical. There is no guarantee your friend will be able to deduce what spell was used. In the scenario which she does, there still remains the question of whether or not it can be cured.”

“It’s better than knowing nothing, right? I’ve been working for you for a month. I know there’s been no progress with your parents’ condition.” Her eyes glint. “Honestly, you should be happy to get any kind of lead.”

She has a way with words. At this rate, she will gain the upper hand of the negotiation. You stand still and believe in Jade and his silver tongue. He is not the type of person who will walk away from a discussion having lost more than he gained.

“You knew about the attempt on my parents’ lives, and yet you did nothing while under our employment.” Jade leans forward in his seat and stares her down. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew something about it? Withholding information from us until you can use it as a bargaining chip . . . I’m hurt, Walrus. It will be difficult for us to form a relationship of good faith anymore. If you had told us before it happened, we could have prevented such a tragedy in the first place. From that angle, is it not your fault that my parents were saddled with such an unfortunate ailment?”

Twisting her words and the situation until it benefits him is child’s play for Jade. No matter how contrived that reasoning may seem, at the end of the day, Walrus is the one who desperately needs resources from the Leech Mafia. As long as he does not forget who has the upper hand, he will certainly get his way.

“Of course,” Jade continues, offering her a way out, “I believe in second chances. If you take responsibility and pitch in to find a way to undo the curse, I will have no qualms in lending you my support in your upcoming coup.”

In the end, Walrus has no choice but to concede. There are other groups she could turn to, but creating good relations with the Leech Mafia can only help her if she wishes to gain influence. A weak, unstable group after an internal struggle is easy prey for older, already established syndicates to absorb. She needs their support to avoid a short-lived victory.

Walrus leaves with a promise of seventy men and enough weapons to supply them. As soon as she’s out the door, your mind drifts to the manuscript again. It briefly mentions that the Leech Mafia’s influence spreads after their parents wake up. Maybe this inner turmoil in the Carpenter Mafia causes that expansion. No details were ever given in the manuscript. When you read it over, you had the impression that the author did not have the slightest inkling towards the politics and inner workings of a mafia.

You find yourself stepping back towards the wall as you think. Your body yearns to curl up in the window seat in the attic. Part of you wants to hide up there right now and digest this information. There is so much to think about now. The division of resources, the men you’re going to lend to Walrus, the compensation for the lack of manpower in some of the Leech territory on land . . . .

A hand rests on your waist and reels you in towards the side of Jade’s chair. The perpetrator gives you an imploring look.

“If you need a space to sit, would my lap suffice?”

A few moments ago, you thought Walrus had audacity. Jade outmatches her.

“No, I’ll go up to the attic instead.”

“May I come with you?”

“Seven, you’re so persistent.” You heave a sigh and motion for him to shift so that you can sit comfortably on his lap. His smile grows unbelievably smug as you take a seat, purposely putting your full weight on him. He doesn’t show the slightest hint of discomfort.

It becomes easier to think when you have something pressed against your back. His arms surround you, providing a small space for you to retreat in your mind without any worries. Sturdy and secure like the face of a cliff or the trunk of a tree, safe despite the threat you know he is capable of being. No matter. You were the one who said you would trust him. And now that you’ve let your guard down, you find that you feel rather cozy.

“You’re being weirdly clingy today.” You notice he still hasn’t let go of your waist. “When Walrus asked for my help, you were so adamant on refusing. I could’ve gone, you know. We would’ve had a reason to lend her less soldiers.”

He huffs. “I have told you before. Have you already forgotten? There is no need for you to dirty your hands with filth.”

It takes you a moment to recall when he last said those words: outside Azul’s home while Floyd beat the living daylights out of Barry Moore. You should never have to lift a finger. Just keep making others do your dirty work.

“What’s your problem with me fighting every so often? I’m not against it.”

Jade rests his head on your shoulder. He’s been getting bolder ever since you promised him your trust.

“If you want to, I would not stop you. But I can tell you prefer to stay holed up somewhere and wrack your brain instead of using your fists. In situations where violence is necessary, you often order someone else to do it unless you are the only one around. Regardless, I would support you to the best of my ability whether you wish to scheme or massacre.” He sighs into your shirt. “I was already quite upset that I did not manage to stop Walrus’s men from ambushing you. It put our negotiations at risk.”

“You were going to refuse her terms just because of that?” It’s not like Jade to make such an illogical decision for something that doesn’t even bring him entertainment. In fact . . . “I would’ve thought that watching me struggle in a fight would be interesting to you.”

“Of course it is.” His chest rumbles against your back. Your eyebrow twitches. Laughter? The nerve! “But I would rather you struggle in a situation that I’ve created, which I can stop whenever I wish.”

“So you only like my suffering when you’re in control of everything about it?”

“Let’s not call it suffering. Challenging obstacles, if you will. But yes.” His eyelashes flutter against your cheek. “If it is ever necessary to truly put your life at risk, it means that I have failed in some capacity.”

You should be grateful to hear those words. But some part of you sours. Why is he so bent on protecting you? You aren’t weak. Your Signature Spell’s primary function is to shield you from physical injuries. Fighting comes naturally to you. In fact, when you met the twins, you were the one who fought for Jade. Sort of. You even extorted him afterwards. And in the Leech Mafia, it is your job to protect him.

“I don’t need to be protected.”

“You are correct.” He nuzzles his face into your neck. “You have survived for this long in the mafia. I don’t try to keep you from harm because you are incompetent—far from it, actually. I do so because you are too competent. You take on more and more difficult work, increasing your chances of getting hurt, but you do not stop and consider how seeing you injured may throw me into disarray—”

He suddenly pauses. You think you get the gist of it. His parents still lie unconscious in hospital beds. Perhaps a small part of him blames himself for not being careful enough. Even you sometimes lie awake wondering if there was anything you could have done to prevent it. If only you took that manuscript seriously sooner. If only you had been more vigilant. If only, if only, if only. Do you dare to assume he’s worried about you as well?

Jade’s fingers tighten on your waist. “I want to make sure you are safe and comfortable. If you will allow me, I will do anything in my power to ensure it happens. Scheme and plot, stew in your thoughts, give orders like a tyrant. I will be your hands and feet so that you never have to endanger yourself. It is only a selfish desire of mine that you will never be harmed.”

“So, if I’m understanding correctly, you’re saying you care about me?”

He chuckles. “Is it something that needs to be said?”

Answering a question with a question. Typical.

“Tell me properly.”

“Relentless as always.” He relaxes his grip. “I care about you. More than you think.”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me anymore.” There’s enough sincerity in his voice that you don’t have to confirm. A part of you just wants to hear him say it.

“I was not lying, then or now.” Jade’s arms wind around your torso and hold you close. “I have always been truthful on this subject, and this is no lie, either.”

[xxdrowninglessonsxx]

DNI IF ANGRY AT WHAT I HAVE TO SAY OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. SICK OF THE HARASSMENT.

Two months ago people would have been hyping me up for criticizing the two-party system, but now I just get comments telling me how I’m the reason trans people don’t have rights or why other minorities don’t have rights. I’m trans, 22 years old, and live in Appalachia. I can promise you I’m not the reason trans people don’t have rights. We don’t have rights because society is rigged against us. We don’t have rights because we never have. We don’t have rights because the candidates we vote for to give us rights, never do what is promised. They rarely fulfill their campaign promises, so why would I want to support someone who has no intention of actually helping me or the other people they claim to want to help? Just so we can be “comfortable” for another 4 years until we get to the 4th year and wonder why no change was made and why we have to pick between 2 evils again?

Just because I question the system we live in and actually stand up for what I believe in, doesn’t make me complicit in my own suffering. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Get a life and stop harassing trans people and other minorities for not following blindly to whatever bullshit you spew while simultaneously using them to prop up your stance. It’s actually kind of fucked up. I vote in my local elections and the primaries. Never have I once said I wasn’t going to vote, and the people insinuating that don’t know me as a person in real life. You sit behind a computer screen arguing for the sake of arguing. Just because I don’t know who I’m voting for for sure, doesn’t make me the devil, and trying to force and harass other people into going along with “VOTE BLUE NO MATTER WHO” only makes you look worse. You’re allowed to vote for whoever you want for, just as much as I am. It’s almost like that’s the point of voting. You’re allowed to announce who you’re voting for or what your stances are; it’s almost like that’s in the 1st amendment. You’re fed up. I’m fed up. We have the same goals but different ways of going about it.

I’ve held the exact stance that the two-party system is shit for years, and never have I ever been more attacked than by Harris supporters. I haven’t ever had a republican come on my page to guilt trip me about my own identity and tell me I’m the reason that my community is in jeopardy, but you democrats sure love to attack minorities who want change just as bad as you when they don’t fully agree with you. Or you use trans rights to make a lame point, despite the fact you’re literally using someone’s identity against them in order to make them feel bad for not following your specific pick for president who literally supports genocide just as much as the other one does. Please spare me the bullshit on how Trump is worse and plans to take our rights away. We as a collective know. I voted for Biden in the previous election. What’s to stop Trump from running again in the next one if he loses this one? It’s clear his age won’t stop him.

Some people need time to grapple with what’s at stake in this election, and it’s not fair to bombarde them with hate in order to convince them to make a choice when both parties go against their morals and have gone against their morals. Hate and the “better than thou” attitude is the exact reason they don’t like your cause.

I’m sick of people acting like voting blue for President will prevent the end of the world or whatever the fuck you think. Other elections matter as well, not just presidential. Democrats love to sit comfortably while their President is in office, so comfortably that they forget that organizing for change matters. They forget that we should be lobbying for ranked choice voting. They forget that we should be lobbying against the electoral college.

Have you taken a look at your candidate’s benefactors recently? Do you know any response other than, “Well, what do you suppose we do about it?” when asked about Palestine’s plight? How should I know? I’m a lower-class person who makes about $10,000 a year with no voice but my vote. I’ve emailed and called my representatives. I’ve done all I can do. I’ve donated what little money I can to causes I believe in. It’s not my job to step up. I have been stepping up. It’s our politicians job to step up. It’s the billionaires who fund our politicians who need to step up.

It’s not anyone but your candidate’s fault if they lose in the election. Quit blaming the innocent people who do nothing but work their asses off just to scrape by into being complicit with you and your corporate-controlled parties who only want to pass whatever agenda will make them the most money. The parties who allow the rich to get richer while the poor get poorer. Y’all loved saying Palestine was your red line when Biden was running, but suddenly everything is different now? It doesn’t make sense to me, and it must be fun being privileged enough to jump from one cause to the next as trends cycle because you don’t live in Palestine, and it doesn’t effect you. You are not immune to propaganda just as much as I am not immune.

“A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything.” - Malcom X

That being said, I understand the appeal of voting for Kamala and why you would. I understand the fear. I experience the fear every single day. So go out, vote, and use your voice. Stop making others feel bad. Going after the people who relatively agree with you is not helping your cause, it is hurting it, and it will be what causes you to lose the election.

[bohemian-nights]

No this fandom is actually insane

Do people think it’s ok to write “he was teaching her how to bathe”?????? I’m honestly scared to go read the post that they were talking about. The lengths that these people will go to just to prove that dettles never happened

Read at your own risk.

The person who wrote that is actually Black(or so they claim), but is willing to throw Black characters and Black fans under the bus and promote negative stereotypes about us for their mostly (racist) followers in defense of a racist characters desirability.

Sir/ma’am, if you are reading this, get some self respect. I’m actually embarrassed for you cause this shit is actually pathetic. You’re better than this.

Case in point they wrote this crap a while back with 100% sincerity:

(I should also note that I actually had a run in with them about a year and some change ago and they threatened to block me after I asked them if Corlys bathing with Rhaenyra would be normal father daughter figure bonding time so I blocked them first😊).

Like you don’t have to like Dettles, but when you are pushing harmful ideology and stereotypes (Black people are so stupid/dirty that we need the white mans help to civilize us) as a way to discredit them and make those who ship it look like angry Black women jealous of the poor helpless white woman and her stans, you’ve gone too far.

Let’s keep in mind that this poor helpless white woman was actively trying to kill a Black girl for a crime she claims she didn’t commit and that despite claiming that Nettles definitely didn’t sleep with Daemon her stans spazz out everytime you mention her name and actively want her cut from the show.

Or how about the fact that these same stans actively stalk and harass Dettles shippers whose only crime has been pointing out y’all’s bullshit.

Let’s keep in mind all of this shall we:

So who is actually jealous of who here? Who in this scenario wants racial revenge?* Who is the problem in this hellhole of a fandom?

Is it the people merely pointing out Nettles importance to the Dance and Daemon’s arc or the people who hurl racial insults and stereotypes? The people who want her erased from the narrative in its entirety cause she disrupts the status quo?

(The fact that someone would even fix their mouth to say that when Black people have been beaten, raped, enslaved, terrorized, tortured, disenfranchised, abused, subjected, and not even given common decency and respect for centuries by these people. If we wanted racial revenge it damn sure wouldn’t be off the back of a fucking fictional character).

The fact that they can’t see Nettles value and only see her as some irrelevant Black girl and reduce people liking her down to a gotcha/“woke” moment is fandom misogynoir in action.

They forget that she comes from nothing, claims a dragon, has a prince willing to give his life for her(six men or sixty remember that since y’all claim to be capable of reading🙃), survives the Dance and becomes a firewitch worshipped by a group of people, because they don’t want to acknowledge her importance.

It makes them uncomfortable to do so because she doesn’t look like them, but people like I’m not like those other Negros cover up for them so that when they are called out for it they can go see this n-I mean this Black person agrees with me.

Imagine being this butt hurt about a fictional character that you can’t even leave your racism or tap dancing at the door for five seconds.

Nettles doesn’t fit the mold, but that’s the point of her story.

They can recognize maester propaganda and scream about feminism when it comes to their white faves, but when it comes to the Black girl who is actively being stereotyped and maligned for her gender, race, and social standing in the source material they believe it no questions asked?

Again, what does it say about you that you are so willing to believe that a Black girl who was clever enough to claim a wild dragon doesn’t know how to bathe herself? What does it say about you that you think Daemon would never touch her with a ten foot pole just because she’s Black?

What does it say about you don’t want her on the show because of her race? What does it say about you that a fictional character who just so happens to be Black has you worked up into a tizzy.

Y’all claim to be for women(real or fictional), but in reality you only care about the women who look like you and shit on women you see as beneath you. Women who you think are a threat to the status quo. You’re no better than the men who oppress you.

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

My Exit Note (for now) - and A Letter to Taylor

I’m so very sorry to the lovely people on here who will be saddened to read this, but this will be my last post for a while. I re-joined tumblr in June last year to re-reconnect to this lovely community, and it genuinely seemed so much safer to do than back in 2017. I thought the fandom had gained some perspective as a whole. But after only 7 months, the fandom (and by that I mean swifties) has once again become a battle ground for us, fuelled by none other than Taylor herself, and I’m no longer willing to gloss over that. I’m choosing my own peace.

It may seem like a very fickle move after only 7 months in this space, when the good people on here are genuinely some of the kindest and most intelligent people I’ve ever met online, but let me explain why I need to take a break. I don’t intend to leave Taylor Swift and her art behind and never look back. In fact, I have Eras tour tickets for the summer and I want to give myself a chance to actually be excited about that by the time June comes around. But it’s all too familiar, pretty much exactly the same reason I left tumblr the first time in 2017. I’m here to discuss and analyse Taylor’s art with likeminded (queer) people and I can’t respect the artist of that very art when she continually gives her toxic ‘fans’ ammunition to come into our safe space and harass us and then watches as we scramble to keep ourselves safe amidst abuse and threats. They are doing this in HER name. Members of a marginalised community she claims to be an ‘ally’ to are being doxxed and harassed in HER name and she’s doing nothing. If anything she’s fanning the flames while it burns. Whatever it is that she’s doing with her brand right now, her silence when her own crazy fans are sending DEATH THREATS to people for simply interpreting her art, means that I cannot be part of that right now. I thought the fandom had changed, that Taylor had grown more confident defending what she stands for, but clearly, I was wrong.

The tipping point back in 2017 for me, was when she told those kids from the rep secret sessions that the album was all about her darling bf and gave them permission to go after anyone who said otherwise. And boy, did they take that seriously. They came after us in our little corner for gushing over how beautifully gay those songs were, fuelled by words straight from the horse’s mouth. SHE sent those people after us. Because she wrote the gayest album in history and she couldn’t deal with the noise getting too loud. And I lost all respect for her. It was only in 2019 when she was suddenly draped in rainbows that I carefully looked at gaylor spaces online again, because it seemed like she was finally actually committing to it. But we all know how that ended… So, to see one of those very rep secret session kids on my YouTube feed yesterday picking apart this beautiful NY Times article with lies and inaccuracies in the name of Taylor’s straightness, just reminded me whose side she decides to put herself on. She invited those people to her house. She caters to them, not us. She made them think they were her friends and then sent them after us. With HER OWN WORDS. And I can’t be in the trenches for someone who hands my bullies a gun and points at the target.

I will leave my blog active this time, so my content will be here for people to engage with if they want. But I won’t be on here to receive your messages or dm’s. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you guys at a time where we need to stick together, but I’m getting more anger and hurt out of this than joy atm and that’s always the time for me to put myself first and step away. I hope that we will come together again when the tide changes, I’m still somewhat convinced that the clock is ticking towards a better time for us, but I need Taylor to come through for us (and herself) before I can look at her again. And I promise if that happens, I won’t hold a grudge.

And lastly, here’s something I’ve never done because I’m not crazy enough to think that Taylor sees us on here, but I don’t have any other social media and I had to get this off my chest. (If you have twitter/instagram, maybe do something similar, you never know, she might actually see it and I think she needs to know how much hurt she’s causing with this)

Dear Taylor, @taylorswift

What are you doing, love? I wish I could actually ask you that. In fact, I’ve wished it many times throughout the decade that I’ve been a fan of your music. I’ve wished that I could tell you what your music meant to me when I was heartbroken, and how much joy it brought me when I was young and felt invincible. You changed my life when you proudly held a girl’s hand in public with a smile that showed me that love is there for people like me to find, after all. And when the world was hard on you, I wished I could ask you if you were ok. But today, I just want to ask you this: what have I done to deserve you sending the worst kind of people after me? Time and time again. And you can’t tell me you didn’t know that would happen, I know you’re smart. I know you know the kind of people I’m talking about, the ones that worship you like a God, that will stop at nothing to defend the version of you they have in their heads. The ones you built your empire on. Good on you, but when did you stop caring for the people that actually see you and read the words you put out into the world for us? Was that not what you wanted? I can’t claim to understand how you live the life you’ve chosen, but at least your art was always there to bring joy to my life and community when I needed it. I didn’t need you to be a hero, but now you’ve become part of the problem.

So, here’s the thing: choose a side. Commit to us, or let us go. This line that you’re walking has reached the end. You want to be an ally? Fine. Let me help you with that: Don’t claim to be a safe space for queer people and then throw a grenade into our community and watch it burn. That’s not what an ally does. Don’t appropriate our culture by using our pride flag colours or the colour lavender and then deny the cultural and historic significance of those colours, effectively erasing their meaning. That’s not what an ally does. And most importantly, don’t let people be slaughtered, gaslit and harassed on the internet, or mainstream news, for interpreting your music as queer. A young queer woman, who is an incredible journalist, got called ‘inappropriate’ and a liar on national news yesterday, because she picked up what you’re putting down in your music and wrote an article about it. An incredible article by the way, one that made us all feel seen and validated. And then you’re letting old white men on national television call that inappropriate and invasive. You may not have said those words, but you let them stand there uncommented, let your cultish fans think that their hero is offended by being presumed to be gay. You guessed it, that’s also not what an ally does. A marginalised group of your fans got DEATH THREATS in your name in the last 24 hours because we pick up on queer flagging in your art. And you did nothing. You handed our bullies weapons and left us to fend for ourselves. That is not a safe space for LGBTQ people. And for that reason, you’re losing me.

Because I have nothing to believe. Unless you actually choose me (and yourself for that matter). Just once.

Until then,

J