#and therefore more scrutiny

[madmaryholiday]

so i WAS gonna organize some stuff in my room today, but my dad just HAD to nag me about cleaning my room and point out all the places i could "start" and now the thought of doing any of it makes me want to peel my skin off.

AND this has had the handy side effect of making me afraid to start playing fallout 4 now lest dad barge into my room again and demand to know why i'm not cleaning.

so instead of doing either of those things, i'm just sitting on my bed, mindlessly scrolling tumblr.

cool.

[gideonisms]

I do think that not being allowed to be a little grumpy and unreasonable in private without someone noticing would give me new unique kinds of neuroses though. I have always wished the imperial radch books examined breq's surveillance of her crew more in the later books because the common radchaii habit of being intentionally oblique/people from other places being more oblique and unreadable when talking to someone from the radch irritates breq frequently but seems to me to be the natural result of constantly being monitored. breq may be causing some of her own interpersonal issues here

[cosmogenous]

maybe...

[muntitled]

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x F!Reader

Summary: "Jesus, dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party?"

Warnings: Hyper Feminine!Reader, Language, Fluff, Jealousy, Humor, Reader has a crush, Confessions, Teasing, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Dom!Hazel, Humping, Grinding, Masturbation, Pillowprincess!Reader tbh, Thigh Riding, Public sex, Risky Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Power Play, Ownership Kink?, Praise Kink, Slight!Hate sex ♡

Part two >

Hazel Callahan was rarely included into anything vaguely external, she would venture to say that she was even rarely included in her own thoughts. Therefore, infuriatingly, painfully aloof Hazel thought nothing of the invite you had presented to the entire group at Fight Club.

Why should she feel special?

Things like this seldom warranted her definite response, so when all the girls had affirmed their attendance, Hazel was... discombobulated to find a silence of anticipation growing pregnant in the gym.

It took a sharp stab in the ribs from PJ for Hazel to swing her head back into this specific reality in the space-time continuum. A reality in which you sat adjacent to her in a circle, legs crossed dainty underneath you to better accommodate the neatly pressed pleads in your pink skirt. There was nothing remarkably profound from you carrying yourself like the pretty princess you thought you were, what strikes Hazel as odd, however, was the look of expectancy in your dark eyes- a look you directed at… her?

"What?"

"You're coming? To my slumber party tonight?" you reiterate stifling the need to pat down at your braids corralled into a pink headband. You are basking under the scrutiny of her gaze but you also happened to suffer under it too. The longer Hazel watched you with furrowed brows, and her knee propped up to her chest, the longer you keened forward as if desperate to hear her say-

"Of course she's coming," PJ once again injects herself in between the two of you. "We'll all be there," You're perhaps nodding at PJ and Josie but your eyes are unable to leave the absolute prison that Hazel has them in. She does nothing except nod as well, before leaving you to your clique who all sit prettily under clouds of Chanel number 5.

The interaction replayed within the confines of Hazel's head throughout the rest of the school day. Right up until she finds herself, nestled in a car with Josie and PJ, taking the short drive in the more affluent neighbourhood from her place to yours.

"So, Hazel," the lascivious tone in PJ's voice already has her rolling her eyes as the car slows before an egregious house. "Are you ready to lose your virginity tonight?"

"Jesus Christ-" Murmurs Josie before PJ assumes what is expected to be your tone of voice- only its a hyperbolic and a higher in pitch reenactment of the real thing.

"Oh Hazel! I'd really like for you to come to my slumber party tonight!" All three girls leave the car as PJ continues her comedic display of seduction as she brushes up against Hazel and says "I really want you at my slumber party."

Hazel laughs as PJ grabs a hold of her upper arm, exposed from her open black button up and tank top. "You're coming right?" PJ sobers up as she says, "That's hot girl speak for "You're going to be cumming inside me-"

Josie does not keep her eyes off the approaching house as she interjects with, "Girls can't cum in other girls"

"Wow!" Hollers PJ, "-And here I was thinking you actually believed that girls can do everything that guys can do-"

"Wait," Hazel's eyes are on her shoes as she readjusts her tote bag and says, "You think she actually wants to like... fuck?" She lowers her voice drastically in the wake of making it up to your front door as she bends and reiterates, "Like actually fuck me?"

There is, frankly no time for Hazel to get a firm response on such a discombobulating thought because you quickly open the front door, and your skin is glowing everywhere from being completely exposed in your pink satin shorts and matching camisole set. Your hair is still loose as it frames your face- your round and constantly smiling face. Why had Hazel never noticed you until now?

Perhaps she did.

Perhaps she negated the possibility of forming a crush on you because you appeared so painfully… straight?

But here you are, smiling at her and only her. Your eyes had been bright at the sight of Hazel and her button up and how outrageously attractive she looked in a tank top but your smile dims significantly when you peer down at PJ'S hand still wrapped around Hazel's forearm.

"H-Hey," Said Hazel, with her voice that reminded you so vividly of a midnight snowstorm,

"Hey," you replied back, quickly turning away. Your mood had already been cemented for the rest of the evening. Despite it being your slumber party, you let your best friend host while you continued to wallow in the regret of your own unshakeable feelings. You hated that PJ and Hazel were very clearly a couple, but what you hated perhaps more, was that you still wanted her. You stole longing glances at her in your space, lazing on your bed while the rest of you sat encircled on the floor in sleeping bags. Hazel completely hijacked your entire brain throughout all the games and activities.

You had lost yourself in her presence and that only kicked up a notch when you felt a pair of forearms lazily splay onto your shoulders from above. With your bum still on the floor and your back against the foot of your bed, Hazel had decided to humour her turn in Truth or Dare. While she answered, she let her legs frame your body. So that it swung over the side of the bed, perfectly framing your sides.

Breathing had been impossible. So impossible in fact, you didn't know it was your turn until it took Hazel bringing her lips down to your ear. Your nerves had been shot to hell as she whispered, "Dove, it's your turn."

You cursed this idea and you cursed this wretched slumber party.

Luckily, It passed by in a significant blur that left you still riding on the high of being in Hazel's personal space until bedtime at 1am. While the girl's drifted into their own sleep, your eyes remained on the pink chandelier hanging from your ceiling while you cradled your stuffed frog to your chest. No matter how hard you try, sleep is a difficult thing to come by. You are left to your thoughts of the girl sleeping on the floor, while gentle snores sounded in the room.

"Fuck," you almost instinctively mutter as you find your hand drifting past your navel. You spread your leg ever so slightly before pushing your hand into your underwear. The quicker you came, the quicker your body could finally be allowed to slip into actual slumber. It sounded like a solid plan, and you had already taken to grinding your wet cunt against your hand- until it all went to hell and your duvet is being pulled slightly off of you.

You're quick to remove your hand and grab a hold of your covers as your eyes snap open to stare at the silhouette above you. Hazel's hair is a spectacular mess on her head and her skin shines orange from the glow of your salt lamp.

"Let me in," she whispers, not really waiting for a response before she's forcing herself into your covers, scooching you on the right side of the bed.

"What are you-"

"Shh," it's embarrassing, how quick you are to snap your mouth shut and heed her commands. Hazel's stomach warms significantly at how docile you are and she smiles as she says, "I cant sleep and I had the vague suspicion that you couldn't either." Hazel says, propping her exposed forearm under her head as she looks up at your ceiling. Her button up is discarded somewhere in the room, leaving her in basketball shorts and a tank but you're not complaining. Not at all.

"I told myself I'd be more intentional with my actions, and my actions are telling me to kiss you right now, but my feelings are telling me you might not want that." You're corraled into stark and naked shock as you watch the girl you've always wanted, confess to you in your bed. It feels unreal. The longing stares, the hours you've spent writing amatuer poetry in your notes app about her, the amount of times you made yourself cum with her heavy on your mind.

This does not feel real.

"Jesus," your voice is uncharacteristically coarse as you rush to say, "Dude, do you know what it means when a gay girl says they wanna have a "slumber party."

Hazel appears stunned as she watches you with wide eyes, "Well yeah," Says Hazel, "but… do you know what it means?"

"I've liked you since junior year," Your confession has her mind going hazy as she tries to recall all the subtle hints which she effortlessly discarded as you just being kind.

"God, you're such an idiot!" You release a chuckle that momentarily stirs a sleeping girl laying closest to the bed in her sleeping bag.

"Shh," Hazel's finger is pressed softly to her lips, you nod slowly only able to process mimicking her own actions.

"What were you doing just a second ago?" She says, swiftly removing the attention from her and her stupidity, replacing the atmosphere instead, with something much more dangerous. There's a difference in her whispers, a tone that has you melting into the covers as you unconsciously squeeze your legs shut. In this moment, she could ask anything of you, and you would simply comply. The silence stretches like honey between the two of you, and Hazel watches with doe eyes as you sink into your shame.

"You don't have to say anything." She finally whispers back, freeing you from your internal damnation but not completely letting you off the hook as she continues: "Just move your hips for me." It was an aggressively passive instruction that exploded a bundle of charged electricity between your legs. You are trapped in a distinctly uncomfortable position between wanting to comply, but wanting to be stubborn. The discomfort of these emotions are not entirely unwanted.

"Do you want me to show you how?" There is a challenging glint in her eyes that simulates the peroration of whatever the hell this is that you are both about to do.

This non-relationship which is so innately a relationship.

"Yeah." Your voice rocks with the signs of an oncoming tempest alerting your body to the possibility of something very, very exciting on the horizon.

Time and space seems so few and far in-between as Hazel keeps you arrested in those blue, endless hues. Examining her features keeps your wanton, unwinding nerves chaotically at bay. There is an intense exchange of control as Hazel shuffles closer, until her head is resting on your pillow and your both breathing into each other's parted lips.

She almost restlessly sets her palm onto your body, her hands on a slow path down your hips. It gives you a sliver of control knowing that bubbling behind her dilated pupils is a need that haunts her just as greatly.

"I'm gonna show you, okay?" She does not need to repeat herself but you recognize her words for what they are: masked behind the excitement and the charged atmosphere, is a real, and genuine need for consent.

The very moment you hopped over this threshold, you would forever be locked in a world anew. There would be no take backs. Your actions would forever be transcribed on the sacred tablet of our shared history.

"Are you going to show me, Hazel?" Desire is seated comfortably on top of your lungs and you speak only in soft pants, "Because it really feels like you're all bark and no bite."

There is a flash of excitement that sweeps momentarily over her lidded lustful gaze.

Her hands are much more sure of themselves as they lock into your sides, her fingers digging rudely into your silk pyjama bottoms.

"Shouldn't you be taking those off?" You ask cheekily.

A scoff slips through her lips as she shifts just a tad closer, her face now centimetres from yours. "You're awfully needy." Hazel whispers, "It's incredibly embarrassing."

What would prove to be even more embarrassing is the jarring way your hips stutter the very moment those words leave Hazel's lips. Your accidentally whorish slip up might have gone unnoticed were it not for the annoying fact that her right leg was seated quite cosily between your legs.

"Shut up," is all you manage to say - a desperate attempt at scrambling for your dignity crumbling in the bed between you.

Hazel laughs airly. Slowly, her hands at your hip begin to move, subsequently allowing your hips to move. A soft and slow moan passes through your lips, drowned out by the sound of sleeping girls as your eyes flutter shut.

"Hey," Hazel's lips are fully touching yours now, "Look at me." She could've never anticipated how the fucked out look in your eyes could ever make her feel. Your eyebrows are curved, as if you're in pain as you hump slowly against her thigh. The coarseness of the silk and her thigh pressing against your aching cunt… it makes everything feel so overwhelmingly real, unmarred by great expectations. The thump of her heart underneath your palm is so incredibly real. The beads of sweat growing pregnant on her forehead are real. Her dry, parted lips pressed against yours is in fact real.

"What are you thinking about?" It strikes you then that you had been a muddled, mindless haze, humping against her thigh with an urgency.

"I'm thinking about you." You reply, truthfully.

"Good things, I hope?" It is so unimaginable, the way her voice is able to remain so incredibly steady while yours is as shaky as a walrus thumping across an icy lake.

"I don't suspect anyone has ever had a single good thought about you." You shoot back and the fingers gripping your hips lock tighter, nearly prompting you to apologise.

The only other option left for you to exhaust is clamping your mouth shut as Hazel's hand assumed a much more aggressive administration. She grips on the plush skin at your sides with an unnecessary hardness, as if she wanted to tear in into you.

"See, I was gonna fuck you," it is absolutely shameful, the whimper that escapes your lips, "But now I'm gonna make you hump my leg like the slutty little girl you are." Before you could scold her, or perhaps violently disagree, rudely, before your cries of indignation could ever be forced out, Hazel is lifting you up from your side of the bed, her head shifting until her brown curls cover your pillow fully.

She turns onto her back, never releasing eye contact as she forces you down so you're straddling her steepled knee. The new position leaves you searching for a new anchor.

"Your hands are pushing down on my hair-" she grumble-whispers.

"If you'd let me finish faster that wouldn't be as much of a problem now, would it?" Hazel's response, in lieu of her thoroughly unimpressed face, had been to grind her thigh further against your core, eliciting a wanton, broken moan into the air.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Dove." Her voice is gravel, "Wouldn't want anyone seeing how much of my whore you are, would you?" The sound of your own moans slam back into you as you press your pussy incredibly closer to her leg.

"Imagine what they might think of you? Our little star pupil getting herself off on my leg? Is that really all it takes to please you?" Staying quiet had become an unimaginable feat, a mountain that becomes even more difficult to surmount when Hazel's eyes search frantically over your crippling form for a trigger that might send you over the edge.

You couldn't begin to imagine how powerful she must feel watching your hips move wantonly on her thigh while your hooded eyes displayed desperation.

You feel so thoroughly hers, a previous existence in which you went without her hard ministrations guiding you to orgasm felt completely in vain. You want nothing more than to be so incredibly good to her, and the thought that she might want the same way sends you to an early grave.

"You're doing so well, Baby. Keeping going." An embarrassing wave of pleasure ripped straight through your spine leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. There is no mistaking that your reaction to her praise and her validation had not gone unnoticed.

Your pussy is completely soaked against her leg, burdened with the knowledge that it wants something but it didn't exactly know what.

"I need you," you whisper. Before your own shame might wave away the pleasure, you are delighted at the moan that slips through Hazel's parted lips.

You had been so thoroughly enamoured by your own pleasure, you had not stopped to consider hers. The pillow princess stereotype brought with it a wave of shame as you looked down and found her hips stuttering slowly against yours.

"I'm right here, Dove."

And you both began to melt for each other. Your legs are tangled in one another while her thigh is pressed against your clit at the same time your thigh is pressed between her legs as well.

You are pleasantly surprised when you begin to feel the fabric of Hazel shorts moving against your own legs slotted in between her. You didn't have to picture how gloriously lecherous it might have looked, using each other so blatantly to fulfil a need that had begun simmering since forever. "Oh fuck, you're so pretty," her hand finds purchase against your breast, tweaking your nipples until they hardened against the camisole while her other hand was comfortably gripping your jaw, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

"You don't even know how perfect you look right now," you did not speak a word of a lie. Watching Hazel's long and domineering form writhing underneath you is a mental image you wish to keep stored in your chest of sacred memories forever. It is discombobulating, watching someone so used to walking so tall and unbothered, being made a complete mess underneath you.

You never wanted this moment to end.

"I want you to kiss me." She croaks, despite already bringing your face close to hers by the strength of a single grip. Her eyes search yours for something. You only hope that grinding yourself even faster against her leg is a testament to whatever it is she might've been looking for. Soon, her lips crash onto yours. When Hazel Callahan kisses, she kisses sloppily and disastrously as if she wanted to swallow you whole before you ever thought of escaping. Her lips are all encompassing, her tongue is restless, pushing itself into your mouth with avid determination.

You moan softly into her mouth. A sound she appreciates greatly given the way her hips began to move against your thigh with a matching ferocity. Her hand slithers along your back, until she cups a handful of your ass, dragging your pussy once again against her, at her desired pace.

Rough. Arresting. Frantic.

"You're being too loud," She sighs, breaking away from your lips to trail them down your neck. "You're being too fucking loud-"

"Fuck, Hazel I'm close-" Your legs are locked against hers but the hand on your ass keeps your hips moving by proxy. "I'm so close."

"You're gonna cum for me, Dove?"

"Oh God, I love it when you call me that-" There is an embarrassing pool of wetness accumulated between your legs, dripping through your shorts and onto her skin. She is equally as wet and that fact only spurs you on.

"I need you to cum for me, baby?" Her stuttering hips told you her own release is dangerously close, sitting on the horizon. Perhaps your orgasm had bled into something prideful, her need to make you cum first caused her to delay her own release.

"You're fucking unbelievable." You sigh with troubled realisation.

She uncovers herself from your chest, panting heavily without her hips ever stopping. "You're gonna cum first, okay?" She nods, persuading you to mimic her movements because despite everything, you are putty in her hands.

"Okay."

As she kisses you once more her hand travels back to your now exposed boob. Between your kiss, Hazel had somehow managed to haphazardly lift your camisole enough to expose your breasts.

A straggled sound leaves the back of your throat as your orgasm crested.

She succeeded in making a mess of you. Your hair had been set free, braids spilling like wild snakes down your torso.

"Oh God, oh fuck-" a hand slaps over your mouth. Hazel's eyes are wide as she continues to guide your hips to release.

"Such a good little Dove, aren't you?" Your eyes are blown with stars and pixie dust as you nod drunkenly. She's humping your thigh and you're humping hers and soon the orgasm sneaks up on you, stealing your breath right from inside your lungs. Your strangled moan is muffled by her palm.

Her eyes take it all in with a very certain hunger, drifting from watching her own hips grinding your thigh, to the choked expression of utter euphoria splashed against your face.

"Fuck, baby." Her Eyebrows knot as her breathing picks up. The pressure visibly building across her face is nearly enough to send you back into your pool of euphoria.

"Oh fuck- oh baby," The wave of pleasure that courses through her is violent and incredibly validating. It is you who had gotten her to this point, humping your leg so desperately as if it might be the only thing she could ever hope to achieve. For someone who had built such a notable reputation for always mainting an I-dont-give-a-fuck mentality, this feels like an immense achievement for you.

Once the smoke clears, and Hazel finds herself back on planet earth, the relics of her euphoria register as intermittent aftershocks. The dawn of what you had just done begins to settle and almost instinctively, you revert to your teasing.

"How nice of you to finally join us," you are still hovering above her, her long neck craning to look at you.

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who squeaks when she cums."

The dampness between your legs is a reminder. "You're gonna learn to take just as much as you give sooner or later," You don't miss the hint of a promise thinly veneered along that whisper. Choosing to ignore the fluttering in the pit of my stomach at the sound of it alone, you climb off of her and back to your space on the bed.

"What's its name?" Hazel asks, peering into the darkness to bring your stuffed frog back into your arms. "You strike me as someone who gives their stuffed toys names."

You're still out of breathe as you reply, "Texas,"

She cracks a smile at that. Before you can finally drift off, a hand slips across your hip, trailing over your torso before brushing over your breast and staying there. "I'm gonna buy you one...I wanna watch you hump it like you just did my leg okay?"

All you're able to do is nod.

[hansensgirl]

💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (2/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, rules, verbal contract, loss of employee, anxiety/fear, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~2k

author’s note. | series masterlist. here’s part two (finally)! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

When you arrive at work the next day—stocking shelves at a grocery store—your boss regards you with far more contempt than before.

Your brows remain knitted as she approaches you, your uniforms matching, except she’s allowed to wear a sweater on top. You must suffer in the cold, with an aching back and sore arms and legs. She says your name to grab your full attention, which doesn’t take much, what with the boredom that drives you to death here.

“Why are you here?” Lydia asks. You’re confused. “…I work here?” you answer with a slight laugh to your tone, though you aren’t amused. You prefer to just do your job without a hitch.

“You don’t. And I don’t accept volunteers,” she nearly sneers, and you halt what you’re doing. She’s never been very nice, but this is another level. The cans of beans can wait. “What are you talking about, Lydia? Is this a joke?” you question, placing your hands on your hips.

“I fuckin’ wish. Your little mob boyfriend came around last night—said you quit,” she explains, and her words are bewildering. Once the absurdity blurs and the meaning hits you, you start to think. You rack your brain as to who would’ve done something like that.

Ari.

“Listen, I’ve already got a girl coming in later today. The job isn’t hard, s’not like I’m dying for you to stay,” Lydia sighs. Her words are harsh, but you expect nothing kind from the woman who is all too eager to fill her pockets.

“Go home. Don’t come back here,” your boss demands. You flinch from how she spits her words, watching as she walks off to harass one of your coworkers. Ex-coworkers.

You’re filled with ire as you pack your things up and say goodbye to people you’ve known for so long. As you walk home, you think about Lydia’s words. Why would Ari do something like that? You never hurt him—so why would he hurt you?

You start to worry about the grander things, too. You have no source of income anymore, just what you’ve saved. Soon, the bills will come in, and your rent will be due.

You near your home and spy a car parked outside. It’s fancy—an emulation of a vintage Impala. But it doesn’t belong in front of your dingy condominium. You know who owns it.

Some neighbours that loiter outside watch you. You’ve never been subject to their nosiness, and the feeling of scrutiny—the knowledge of judgement—is unwelcome. But that’s the least of your worries.

The mob leader is inside your home, and you have to confront him. What if Ari changed his mind about the deal? And he’s here to kill you? Your hands shake as you open the door, unable to prolong the confrontation. There is no upstairs—therefore, nowhere to run.

You swing the door open to find Ari sitting on your couch, watching the news on your television. He wears another one of his fancy suits—similar to the one from yesterday, but in a different colour. He sips something from one of your favourite mugs and sighs in relief afterwards.

You close the door behind you quietly. The locks click in place, and the sounds prompt Ari to look at you.

“Hey, hon,” he greets, giving you a charming smile. “H– Hi, Ari…” you respond, shrugging off your jacket and handing it on the lone hook. “You’ve got a nice home here,” Ari compliments, and you awkwardly press your lips together.

“Thanks,” you murmur, inching towards the kitchen. It isn’t much—the epitome of honest work. You take the compliment, though you’re unsure how you should feel. He lives in mansions bigger than you could possibly imagine. What’s so impressive about your small world?

The fact that he can turn it upside down—put a dent in it, shake it up, and it wouldn’t take much.

The television switches off, and the mob boss sighs. He stands up and saunters into the kitchen. You never realized how tall he is until now. You crane your head up to look at him, but the intensity of Ari’s gaze is too much to bear. You guide your gaze to the tiles.

“I needed to talk to you,” he starts, and you set the mug you had grabbed onto the countertop. Your thirst can wait. “Y– You have my number, right?” you ask, hoping your tone doesn’t come off as rude. Your voice is shaky with fear.

Ari grunts, eyes never once leaving your face. “You’re right. I do,” he agrees. You never gave it to him—he took it.

“But I prefer this. Being with you—talking to you, not texting,” Ari explains. You nod, briefly gazing at him before resuming your staring at the floor. Suddenly, a warm, large hand comes up to your chin and tilts your head up.

You’re forced to meet the older man’s gaze. For the first time, you note that his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue. There’s even a hint of green swirled into the oceans. “There are a few things we need to discuss. Important things,” Ari tells you.

“Like what?” you breathlessly ask. “Rules,” he says.

The thought of having rules isn’t as insulting as you want it to be. They would serve as guidelines—lifelines, little things you can hold onto for the next few months.

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go sit. I’m sure you’re tired after your long walk home,” Ari urges, guiding you to the living room with ease. You let him do whatever he wants—and that more than pleases the mob boss. But he doesn’t let you sit down.

First, Ari sits on the wingback chair you snagged from a yard sale at a decent price. Then, he pulls you onto his lap. You let out an ‘oomph!’ at the rudeness of his actions. He’s brazen and confident, everything you will never be, even in your lonesome times.

Ari lets out an exhale of relaxation, settling you on his thighs until both of you are comfortable. He holds you gently yet firmly, thumbs stroking your skin to get you to calm down.

“Doesn’t this feel nice? Right?” the older man asks, but you’re not sure how to respond. Your honesty is embarrassing, but your deceit will offend him. “I– It does,” you admit, much to your chagrin.

“Exactly—so why fight it? Why fight me?” Ari questions, and you shrug. You’ve never been good at confrontation. “I– I’m not. I’m just… confused. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even dated anyone!” you exclaim, though your voice is nothing more than a whisper.

Ari shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles on your back so that you don’t get worked up. “Shh… It’s okay. Don’t worry,” he tells you, his tone gentle and full of patience—kindness, perhaps even love. The idea is baffling.

“All that purity is what makes you so precious,” he whispers in your ear, nose nuzzling the side of your head. He smells of cigarettes and expensive cologne. “And that’s exactly why I want you, sweetie. You’re… innocent. Perfect. All mine…”

You sigh shakily at his words. They have you flustered. No man has ever charmed you the way he has. “Th– Thank you…”

“I’m here for you, princess. Anything you need, you come to me. Got that?” he reassures, and you nod your head. You doubt you’ll ever ask Ari for anything—but you do have a question for him.

“C– Can I ask you something?” you wonder. The mob boss smiles and gives you the go. “Did you go to my job and tell them I quit?”

A few moments of silence pass. “Yes, and I wanted to tell you this before, but I had to take care of some other stuff,” he quickly explains, but his words are slow and calm. They’re not rushed or panicked.

“You always wake up early, so I didn’t have enough time to get here before you went to work,” Ari finishes, lips pressed into a line, showing just how disappointed he is in himself.

“I– I’m not upset about that,” you clarify, looking down at your hands. “Then what is it, sugar? Hm?” he presses.

The pet names make you feel so sweet in the mind, almost hazy. You’ve always dreamed of love like this—but you know what you and Ari have isn’t love. You’ve always been naive, but you’re a realist.

“What am I supposed to do? I need money to live, Ari,” you say almost incredulously. Ari’s smile grows like he’s holding back a secret that he’s been dying to tell you.

“I told you not to worry about these things, honey,” he chides. “I’ll take care of you—as long as you follow the rules,” Ari warns, but he remains kind. So far, in your eyes, the benefits are all too enticing.

Will the rules be the other shoe that’s been waiting to drop? No, impossible—Ari is too kind to be so cruel.

“What are the rules?” you ask him. “They’re pretty simple, nothing you need to worry your little head about,” Ari coos, making you feel much more relaxed.

“Firstly, you always have to look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he begins, spreading his thighs out just a bit as he settles further into the chair. You mindlessly nod before catching yourself and correcting your error.

You reluctantly make eye contact with Ari, which bears to be too much, so you settle for staring at the beauty marks littered across his face.

“Good girl,” he hums. The praise makes you feel warm on the inside—safe, even in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city.

“Secondly,” Ari resumes, eyes remaining locked with yours. You take the time to admire the little details on his face. The freckles and beauty spot, the grey hairs in his beard, and the battle scar on his forehead slightly covered by his long locks. “You don’t call me ‘Ari,’ baby. It’s ‘Daddy’ from now on.”

The question of why—and even a negotiation to have this rule only apply behind closed doors—fizzles on your tongue. Instead, you acquiesce.

“Yes… Daddy.”

Ari lets out a small growl at your words. You actually saying the word is much better than he ever imagined. The mob boss can feel blood rushing to his cock, but he wills himself to stay strong. Not yet—it’s too soon, he thinks to himself.

“Thirdly, honey,” he continues, voice laboured and a bit gruff. “You’re not allowed to tell me ‘no.’ Ever.”

Ari firmly lays down the third law, leaving no room for your freedom. You can feel your independence slipping away, but you reassure yourself. It’ll only be for a few months. Perhaps this is for your own good. Yes, that’s it.

“Okay…” you whisper under your breath. Ari ignores your slight mishap. He knows you’ll return to being his perfect girl in no time. He understands—ever the kind man.

“Lastly—and most importantly—is that you must always listen to me, no matter what,” he gently adds. Ari runs his hands up and down your back, soothing you from how he’s completely changed your world. “Got it all, baby?” the older man asks.

You hesitate before nodding. “Good girl,” Ari coos, and you can’t help but smile. He’s sweeter than you believed. “Now, I could make you sign a contract,” he sighs, his gentle face morphing into one that looks stressed, perhaps even disappointed. There is a pang in your heart.

“But I trust you. Don’t ruin that.”

A threat hangs in the air, but you’re too grateful to see it. Ari knows this all too well, and he can’t help but feel pride over how he managed to get you to fall into his lap. What would a girl like you ever do without a strong man like him by your side? Not much, that’s what.

“I won’t, Daddy. I promise,” you eventually break the silence, and you’re gifted with Ari’s knee-buckling smile.

[atrueneutral]

'Husband' & 'Wife' Part II (Raphael x Tav)

There's smut in this. [Part I] --- She stared at him.

And he stared at her - waiting for her to strip.

“Is there a problem?” Raphael inquired with faux innocence and a raise of his brow.

Well, no… and yes.

It was neither the act of stripping nor the thought of actually being naked in front of the cambion that delayed her from enacting the first half of her bargain; it was the fact that they had appeared in the entrance hall - and it wasn’t empty.

To their credit, half of the debtors paid them no mind because they had no mind left; they shuffled around in despair, mumbling to themselves whilst the other (seemingly-more-lucid) debtors silently worked on their hands and knees to clean the marble floor with rags and a bucket of water.

Also to their (and Raphael’s) credit, they were clothed.

Suddenly her poor-decision-of-an-offer to clean his House naked became just that: a poor decision.

Another poor decision to add to her List of Regrets…

The List was never to be revealed to anyone, and therefore Raphael would never know how many times his name was mentioned; what he did need to know was that she was a woman of her word (most of the time), and she would, in-fact, clean his house naked for eight hours if need be.

(What-in-the-devil possessed her to say eight hours? Of all the hours! Why not five? Or even two?

One would have sufficed, surely…)

“No, there’s no problem,” she said sweetly, holding eye contact as she began to undo her belts. “It is rather toasty in here…”

His intense, heated gaze wasn’t helping.

Not in the mood to entreat Raphael or the debtors to a striptease, her belts were casually discarded to the floor. Footwear was next in line to be removed, but because her boots did not simply slip off, it became mildly embarrassing as she balanced on one leg at a time and wrestled each foot from imprisonment - all with Raphael watching with crossed arms and the hint of a smirk. Tav smirked, too, albeit with slight sarcasm once she dumped the second boot, and she swiftly moved on to pulling down breeches and smallclothes in one go. She stepped out of the puddle of garments whilst lifting her tunic from over her head, and the pile continued to grow with the added shedding of her brassiere.

All that was left-

“Leave your footwraps,” Raphael commanded, reading her intention of going for the strips of cloth around her feet. He inspected her as Tav straightened to shamelessly stand beside her shorn gear. His brown eyes were unapologetic in their scrutiny, and both she and her arousal unapologetically liked the way the cambion slowly burned a path from her face, down the column of her neck to drink in the sight of her breasts and hardened nipples. Further netherwards they went, trailing along her waist, hips, and thighs to magnetically settle on her sex. “I married well, it seems. You are exquisite. Haarlep does not do you justice - in more ways than one, I’m sure.”

Heat tinged her cheeks (the cheeks of her face, though her other cheeks were warmed from the temperature within the House), and Tav mentally reproached herself; this scenario was leading to danger, which was not good seeing as how the last time she stripped naked in front of a fiend…

“I’m very flattered you think so, husband,” she said with a pinch of haughtiness. “I presume my eight hours has officially begun? Where am I to begin cleaning? It looks as if this hall has been taken care of.”

“You will be cleaning the Archive. You know the way I believe?” Raphael dramatically gestured for her to take the lead down the hall. “After you, my dear.”

Tav stuck her nose in the air and airily began to guide them down the steps and through the passage that led to the dining hall.

“I can’t help but notice that you have yet to thank me for coming to your coin purse's rescue,” Raphael remarked behind her.

“You will get your thanks when I have the breastplate in hand,” Tav replied. “Besides, if anyone should be thanking anyone, you should be thanking me for my offer to do this - let alone in a state of undress.”

“Mm, you are quite right, Little Mouse…” said the cat, his voice dipping into a purr. “Thank you.”

She refrained from glaring at him; there was no-doubt that Raphael was appreciating the view of her assets as they moved through the dining hall and towards the Archive. The loitering debtors strategically fled or turned their backs at their approach, and Tav tried not to pay attention to the worrisome amount of wispy, spectral souls that skimmed through the air overhead.

Thankfully, for this visit, there was no need for her thieves’ tools; the doors to the Archive were open for visitors, allowing her to head straight for the expansive room she had at one time browsed all by her lonesome. During that uninvited drop in of Raphael’s treasures, the Archivist had annoyingly hovered over her shoulder (even after she successfully persuaded him that she was Someone Important), and, by the looks of things, the very same Archivist still had a job.

Not bothering to cover up, Tav stopped a number of feet away from the snobbish servant.

“If it isn’t Verillius Receptor,” the Archivist said snidely after getting over the initial surprise of her nudity. He then smoothed down his hostility once he saw who it was who followed behind and he bowed. “Oh, and my lord!”

“You are not needed - begone,” Raphael ordered in greeting.

Unable to help herself, Tav discounted the Archivist’s presence as she gave Raphael a simpering smile, “I look forward to seeing your treasures up close, husband.”

At the moment of leaving her, she regretted the way her words could be misconstrued as innuendo. Nothing lost on him, her ‘spouse’s’ eyes glinted with amusement - and more.

The ability to sputter like a goldfish was passed from her to the Archivist; his mouth opened and closed as his eyes flicked from her to his lord - confusion apparent. Panic then sprouted, for his delay caused a change in demeanor from Raphael and the servant hastily bowed again before scampering off.

“Close the doors behind you,” added the master of the House.

The Archivist obediently obliged, and the set of doors shut at his exit.

Wanting to avoid Raphael’s stare, Tav appraised the items that sat behind impervious shields. The Amulet of Greater Health and the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength remained on their marble pedestals, but the center pedestal was empty of any item or any contract belonging to a specific person.

Raphael stepped closer. “I’ve yet to find anything to match the significance of what was there.”

“Yes, the contract of your Crown’s courier,” Tav answered. She rotated to face him, and her heart stuttered; Raphael was closer than expected - well within arm’s reach. “Congratulations, by the way. As I understand it, you’ve achieved a number of victories since gaining the object of your heart’s desire.”

“Yes, but, as is natural when a desire is fulfilled, another must take its place.” His eyes drifted to her lips, and the rapid beating in her chest hurt. “Would you like to know my latest heart’s desire, Little Mouse?”

“Please share - unless you’d like me to find out through the reading of your diaries.”

His expression turned calculating at the recounting of her indiscretion, and Raphael invaded her space further with a single step, his head leaning in for her ear as he had earlier in the armor shop. A chill coursed through her when the back of a finger ghosted along her arm. “It’s my heart’s desire that each pedestal be cleaned to pristine perfection.”

He pulled his smirking (and stupid) handsome face away, and Tav quelled her own heart’s desire to punch it.

Snap!

At their feet, a bucket of sudsy water and a number of rags appeared from a plume of smoke and embers.

“Be sure to do a better job than the debtors - I’d hate to have to punish my wife.”

Tav internally fumed; he thought to lord himself over her? When there is no contract between them? She could win right here and right now; she could forget the breastplate! She could leave - leaving Raphael a thousand gold short with a breastplate he didn’t need or want, and with the remnants of a bargain to be made between him and the dwarven shop owner!

Tav mentally burned the List of Regrets (to avoid adding her next decision to it).

Oh, she’ll show him! She’ll make him beg!

“I’d hate to be disobedient.” She smiled demurely as she gracefully lowered to a crouch while looking at him. Her head came to be at the level of his crotch as she picked up the rags and then the handle of the bucket with the same hand. Her eyes fell from his face to consider what lay beyond the fabric of his breeches, and Tav caught a sliver of her lower lip between her teeth.

She rose without a second glance to the cambion and swayed her hips on her way over to the first exhibit displaying the Amulet of Greater Healing.

Raphael prowled after her.

“Oh, does my lord husband have nothing better to do than to watch his wife clean?” Tav asked as she stepped up the few stairs. She set the bucket down on the top step, just shy of the pedestal’s base.

“Past experience has told me that I can trust none else in this House to see to it that a mouse doesn’t get into mischief,” Raphael answered, landing at the foot of the stairs and effectively blocking her path from leaving the golden, fenced-in enclosure in which she stood.

“I’m sure the mouse meant no harm in seeing where the cat - no, pardon me, the fox - conducts his business.” Again she crouched, and Tav stuck out her backside as she grabbed a rag and dunked it into the foamy water. The rag was rinsed of any excess before she arranged herself to begin.

“Had there been harm, the mouse would have suffered for it.”

“Duly noted.”

She would clean to the best of her abilities, and she would do it whilst posing in the most provocative manner possible. Currently, this meant placing herself beside the pedestal - her position remaining low as she spread her legs and hovered above the floor on the balls of her feet, giving pedestal and floor an eyeful of her sex.

Nothing for Raphael, of whom she did not bother to acknowledge while ‘focusing’ on her task.

Hand and rag slowly moved up the smooth, arched portion of the pedestal before making its way back down again, wiping the marble of any accumulated dust and grime. When it came to more ‘stubborn areas’, Tav decided to add a bounce to her body in rhythm to her vigorous scrubbing.

“What are you doing, Little Mouse?” Raphael inquired with a substantial drop in his pitch.

“I’m cleaning in the nude - per the terms of our agreement,” Tav said pleasantly, moving to re-dunk her rag.

“Do you typically clean in this manner?”

“No, I typically clean with clothes on.”

“You know my meaning.”

Tav shifted the bucket over and threw a smirk over her shoulder as she once more sunk down and spread her legs - providing the front of the pedestal en eyeful of her front and the cambion a nice picture of all that her backside had to offer. “No, Raphael, I’m afraid I don’t know your meaning.”

“Then let me speak plainly - do you typically clean as if there were a cock beneath you?”

With the bucket slightly out of reach, and because she hadn’t rinsed her rag fully, Tav squeezed a nominal amount of water from the cloth, providing Raphael the illusion that her sex was soaked to the point of dripping.

“Not typically.”

She heard a low growl behind her, which pleased her to hear in more ways than one as she progressed on in her cleaning of the pedestal’s surface. After a handful of minutes, Tav got to her feet to return to the bucket but was stopped by a new directive.

“Move on to cleaning the center pedestal.”

The roughness of his voice drew her attention, and Tav knew she was doomed to live out her fantasies - if not solely due to the look Raphael was giving her; his eyes were dark and glazed over with want, and he gripped the stiffened outline of his cock through his breeches.

The devil was unraveling - because of her.

Tav grabbed her rag and bucket to then sidle up to him.

“Do you typically get aroused while watching debtors clean, Raphael? I wouldn’t put it past you,” she murmured whilst glancing from his eyes to his parted lips - the top of which was frozen in a partial curl.

“Only when watching you,” he replied huskily.

Tav tightened her hold on the bucket handle, lest it slip from her fingers and she make a genuine mess. The urge to kiss and taste that mouth of his was churning within, but she could not give in per the rules she created; he must bend and break first.

“I see.” She smiled as she stepped past him, and Raphael trailed after her to the center enclosure where the empty pedestal awaited to be cleaned.

Tav was at the top step when she paused and thought better of the placement of her bucket. She pivoted and slowly strutted back over to Raphael, who, yet again, acted as a guard to the section’s entrance and exit. The bucket was gently set down to the side, and she half-kneeled before him while she drowned her rag within water. With her eyes on that-which-couldn’t-be-ignored, Raphael capitalized and worked to free his erection from confinement.

It was then that a string of happenings happened within seconds of one another; Tav came face to face with the cambion’s well-endowed and well-engorged cock, her mouth went dry somewhere in the middle of ringing the water from her rag, and there was the painful realization that she might end up as the one begging.

Raphael languidly began to stroke himself - precum gathering at the tip.

Needing to clean and possessed by desire, Tav leaned in and swiped her tongue across the exposed head of him, causing Raphael to groan and twitch. She looked up, meeting brown, dilated pupils that were filled with longing, and there was the cursory thought that he, with his fiendish arrogance and pride, would simply take what he wanted rather than-

Tav’s musings were cut short when Raphael’s other hand wove itself into her hair.

“Tav.”

The sound of her name was perhaps the closest she would hear to a plea, and her response was automatic. Tav licked her lips before bringing them around the head of his cock, taking him into the heat of her mouth and planting her tongue against him. The rag was dropped and forgotten as her hand came to replace Raphael’s in wrapping around his shaft, and she took over in pumping him slowly, causing an audible breath to leave him. His hips reacted, matching her pace, and his fingers entwined in her hair - adding a gentle pressure to the back of her head as it moved.

Raphael’s heady gaze emboldened her to gradually increase her pace - her tongue circling and licking at his head, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked. His shaft became slick with her saliva, assisting her in her strokes…

And then she stopped with a teasing smirk. He growled in disapproval as Tav removed his cock from her mouth, and she did not blink as she snatched her rag and stood.

“Forgive me for getting distracted - I’d better go clean what was requested,” she rasped.

Every purposeful step she took away from Raphael and towards the pedestal caused her cunt to throb with need, and Tav decided to play out her fantasies; she would be the one to bend for him.

Up the few stairs she went with his eyes never leaving her, and she began to leisurely wipe down the top of the pedestal.

Oops! How clumsy of her to drop the rag behind the massive obstruction!

Needing, of course, to retrieve her item, Tav bent over the pedestal, positioning her stomach against the cool surface, and she made a half-hearted attempt to reach the rag while presenting herself to the cambion.

She gently wiggled her ass in invitation, and, at the sound of a burst, bootsteps became jingling bootsteps in their approach.

Her wiggling ceased the moment she sensed and felt Raphael behind her. The fabric of his clothes pressed against her bare skin, his cock nestled between her legs, and a delightfully warm, clawed hand splayed across her back to then follow down the line of her spine. The hand palmed her ass before giving her a firm spank.

Tav yelped in surprise and twisted to glare at the fiendish, winged and horned form of her ‘spouse’.

“A punishment for being so careless,” he said lowly, treating himself to a handful of her smarting cheek. “I warned you, did I not?”

“I suppose you did,” Tav conceded with a sigh. Her expression changed to include a charming smile as she batted her eyelashes. “But, be a dear and get me another rag so I may continue in my duty?”

“No,” Raphael said. His other hand gripped her hip while the hand on her ass traveled to her aching sex. Fingers slipped between her soaked lips and across the sensitive bud of her clit, causing her to jerk and keen. Raphael practically purred at his findings, and Tav gasped when two digits pushed inside her after a moment of exploration. “I have my mouse right where I want her - squirming under my claws.”

He began to pump, and the mouse squirmed as she held onto the pedestal.

“Have you always wanted this, my dear?” Raphael asked, curling his fingers to elicit a cry of a moan from her lips. “Why else would you offer what you did?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about this - too often…” Tav admitted in between breathlessness.

The claws at her hip dug further into her flesh, and Raphael hummed - sounding positively pleased by what he heard in the middle of positively pleasing her with his fingers. Once she was substantially wound up and to the point of nearly-begging, the cambion removed his digits, leaving Tav feeling empty and needing to be filled.

Eagerness and anticipation spiked her blood at the feeling of his ridged cock sliding between her lips. He coated himself with her desire for him before the head of him pushed at her entrance. 

“As have I,” Raphael said, easing himself inside her walls with a shudder.

“Oh, gods!” Tav moaned. The size of him stretched her, and she choked on breaths as they both acclimated to one another.

He began to move, ripping pleasure through her body while both of his hands gripped her hips.

She clung to immovable marble as the devil she knew fucked her from behind. Raphael buried himself within her cunt with each thrust, and his rhythm seemed to match that of primal need. Her head turned to look at him, and his eyes ensnared her with a blazing fire that held flames of possessiveness.

“My Little Mouse,” he growled.

Danger manifested before her, and the meager amount of wisdom Tav had fought to keep her mouth shut - to neither confirm or deny his claim over her.

But every other aspect within her stupidly liked how it sounded…

“Oh, my lord husband! My Archdevil Supreme!” she exclaimed, causing Raphael to shudder again.

Well.

Her wisdom tried.

As he continued to fuck her, Tav wished to have access to her clit to help push her over the edge, but even if she was not to come undone herself, there was immense satisfaction to be felt and seen in the cambion’s undoing. He became absorbed in having his way with her, which was an ego boost as much as it was a turn on, and Tav was confident that her time for sexual bliss would come in the hours ahead.

Cleaning the House was no longer a priority for either of them.

“You should also know how often I’ve thought about you coming inside me - filling me with your seed...”

In exchange for her confession, Raphael growled something feral. A hand roamed across her skin before pushing into the small of her back, and she was held to him and pedestal both as his pace signified that his climax was nearing.

With a last, rough jerk of his hips, Raphael finished and spilled inside her cunt - his fingers trembling against her skin while every drop seeped into her womb.

His hold left her as he leaned forward and braced himself upon the sides of the pedestal surface. He panted over her, getting his bearings, and Tav was stunned when the cambion eventually leaned over to plant a kiss on her shoulder before slipping out of her and stepping back to give her room to move.

Tav peeled herself away from the marble, leaving perspiration behind.

“I would get my rag…” she cheekily remarked. “But I’m afraid I’m not done soiling this pedestal.”

Raphael’s head snapped to her, and he ravenously watched as she hopped up to properly sit upon the marble top, her legs spreading to showcase his come that leaked from her.

“What's next, dear husband?"

[odinsblog]

One of the most durable myths in recent history is that the religious right, the coalition of conservative evangelicals and fundamentalists, emerged as a political movement in response to the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade ruling legalizing abortion. The tale goes something like this: Evangelicals, who had been politically quiescent for decades, were so morally outraged by Roe that they resolved to organize in order to overturn it.

This myth of origins is oft repeated by the movement’s leaders. In his 2005 book, Jerry Falwell, the firebrand fundamentalist preacher, recounts his distress upon reading about the ruling in the Jan. 23, 1973, edition of the Lynchburg News: “I sat there staring at the Roe v. Wade story,” Falwell writes, “growing more and more fearful of the consequences of the Supreme Court’s act and wondering why so few voices had been raised against it.” Evangelicals, he decided, needed to organize.

Some of these anti- Roe crusaders even went so far as to call themselves “new abolitionists,” invoking their antebellum predecessors who had fought to eradicate slavery.

But the abortion myth quickly collapses under historical scrutiny. In fact, it wasn’t until 1979—a full six years after Roe—that evangelical leaders, at the behest of conservative activist Paul Weyrich, seized on abortion not for moral reasons, but as a rallying-cry to deny President Jimmy Carter a second term. Why? Because the anti-abortion crusade was more palatable than the religious right’s real motive: protecting segregated schools. So much for the new abolitionism.

Today, evangelicals make up the backbone of the pro-life movement, but it hasn’t always been so. Both before and for several years after Roe, evangelicals were overwhelmingly indifferent to the subject, which they considered a “Catholic issue.” In 1968, for instance, a symposium sponsored by the Christian Medical Society and Christianity Today, the flagship magazine of evangelicalism, refused to characterize abortion as sinful, citing “individual health, family welfare, and social responsibility” as justifications for ending a pregnancy. In 1971, delegates to the Southern Baptist Convention in St. Louis, Missouri, passed a resolution encouraging “Southern Baptists to work for legislation that will allow the possibility of abortion under such conditions as rape, incest, clear evidence of severe fetal deformity, and carefully ascertained evidence of the likelihood of damage to the emotional, mental, and physical health of the mother.” The convention, hardly a redoubt of liberal values, reaffirmed that position in 1974, one year after Roe, and again in 1976.

When the Roe decision was handed down, W. A. Criswell, the Southern Baptist Convention’s former president and pastor of First Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas—also one of the most famous fundamentalists of the 20th century—was pleased: “I have always felt that it was only after a child was born and had a life separate from its mother that it became an individual person,” he said, “and it has always, therefore, seemed to me that what is best for the mother and for the future should be allowed.”

Although a few evangelical voices, including Christianity Today magazine, mildly criticized the ruling, the overwhelming response was silence, even approval. Baptists, in particular, applauded the decision as an appropriate articulation of the division between church and state, between personal morality and state regulation of individual behavior. “Religious liberty, human equality and justice are advanced by the Supreme Court abortion decision,” wrote W. Barry Garrett of Baptist Press.

So what then were the real origins of the religious right? It turns out that the movement can trace its political roots back to a court ruling, but not Roe v. Wade.

In May 1969, a group of African-American parents in Holmes County, Mississippi, sued the Treasury Department to prevent three new whites-only K-12 private academies from securing full tax-exempt status, arguing that their discriminatory policies prevented them from being considered “charitable” institutions. The schools had been founded in the mid-1960s in response to the desegregation of public schools set in motion by the Brown v. Board of Education decision of 1954. In 1969, the first year of desegregation, the number of white students enrolled in public schools in Holmes County dropped from 771 to 28; the following year, that number fell to zero.

In Green v. Kennedy (David Kennedy was secretary of the treasury at the time), decided in January 1970, the plaintiffs won a preliminary injunction, which denied the “segregation academies” tax-exempt status until further review. In the meantime, the government was solidifying its position on such schools. Later that year, President Richard Nixon ordered the Internal Revenue Service to enact a new policy denying tax exemptions to all segregated schools in the United States. Under the provisions of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, which forbade racial segregation and discrimination, discriminatory schools were not—by definition—“charitable” educational organizations, and therefore they had no claims to tax-exempt status; similarly, donations to such organizations would no longer qualify as tax-deductible contributions.

On June 30, 1971, the United States District Court for the District of Columbia issued its ruling in the case, now Green v. Connally (John Connally had replaced David Kennedy as secretary of the Treasury). The decision upheld the new IRS policy: “Under the Internal Revenue Code, properly construed, racially discriminatory private schools are not entitled to the Federal tax exemption provided for charitable, educational institutions, and persons making gifts to such schools are not entitled to the deductions provided in case of gifts to charitable, educational institutions.”

Paul Weyrich, the late religious conservative political activist and co-founder of the Heritage Foundation, saw his opening.

In the decades following World War II, evangelicals, especially white evangelicals in the North, had drifted toward the Republican Party—inclined in that direction by general Cold War anxieties, vestigial suspicions of Catholicism and well-known evangelist Billy Graham’s very public friendship with Dwight Eisenhower and Richard Nixon. Despite these predilections, though, evangelicals had largely stayed out of the political arena, at least in any organized way. If he could change that, Weyrich reasoned, their large numbers would constitute a formidable voting bloc—one that he could easily marshal behind conservative causes.

“The new political philosophy must be defined by us [conservatives] in moral terms, packaged in non-religious language, and propagated throughout the country by our new coalition,” Weyrich wrote in the mid-1970s. “When political power is achieved, the moral majority will have the opportunity to re-create this great nation.” Weyrich believed that the political possibilities of such a coalition were unlimited. “The leadership, moral philosophy, and workable vehicle are at hand just waiting to be blended and activated,” he wrote. “If the moral majority acts, results could well exceed our wildest dreams.”

But this hypothetical “moral majority” needed a catalyst—a standard around which to rally. For nearly two decades, Weyrich, by his own account, had been trying out different issues, hoping one might pique evangelical interest: pornography, prayer in schools, the proposed Equal Rights Amendment to the Constitution, even abortion. “I was trying to get these people interested in those issues and I utterly failed,” Weyrich recalled at a conference in 1990.

The Green v. Connally ruling provided a necessary first step: It captured the attention of evangelical leaders , especially as the IRS began sending questionnaires to church-related “segregation academies,” including Falwell’s own Lynchburg Christian School, inquiring about their racial policies. Falwell was furious. “In some states,” he famously complained, “It’s easier to open a massage parlor than a Christian school.”

One such school, Bob Jones University—a fundamentalist college in Greenville, South Carolina—was especially obdurate. The IRS had sent its first letter to Bob Jones University in November 1970 to ascertain whether or not it discriminated on the basis of race. The school responded defiantly: It did not admit African Americans.

Although Bob Jones Jr., the school’s founder, argued that racial segregation was mandated by the Bible, Falwell and Weyrich quickly sought to shift the grounds of the debate, framing their opposition in terms of religious freedom rather than in defense of racial segregation. For decades, evangelical leaders had boasted that because their educational institutions accepted no federal money (except for, of course, not having to pay taxes) the government could not tell them how to run their shops—whom to hire or not, whom to admit or reject.

The Civil Rights Act, however, changed that calculus.

(continue reading)

[the-palelady]

i have a lot cooking right now, but i just had a loss in the family, therefore this is definitely self-indulgent! i apologize ♡

bloodborne is my favorite game of all time, so hunter!ghost lives in my head rent free 24/7

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ; 1081

𝖈𝖜 ; maid!reader, hunter!ghost, afab!reader, slow burn?, pining, reader is super timid because she has never seen the light of day lol, these two need to get laid tbh. this is an au, i know that isn't some people's thing so here is your warning!

Boots trudged through the entrance of the Queen’s chambers and ripped you from your thoughts. It had been lifetimes since someone had stepped foot inside Cainhurst Castle and seeing a Hunter of all things walk into the palace sent you flying behind one of the nearby pillars where you held your dusty rag to your chest. He was large, clearly well-toned under the hunter’s garb that he adorned. His face was obstructed by the cloth mask that covered his mouth, and the way his hat was tipped forward shielded his eyes from the scrutiny of others. If he were to stand even the slightest bit close to you, you knew he would likely tower over your cowering form. 

You had been a maid for Annalise, Queen of the Vilebloods, for as long as you could remember, long enough to have witnessed the fall of the Vilebloods, you and your Queen the only ones left in the castle. No one ever came and went, the two of you locked away and hidden from the outside world due to the one known as Martyr Logarius. Queen Annalise kept you privy to the details, seeing you as much more innocent than herself.

“I do not wish to defile thy pure soul,” she would always say, speaking to you in a tone so soft you could almost not hear her words.

You watched as the Hunter ascended towards the Queen, her voice booming throughout her chambers as they drew closer, introducing herself as the ruler of the now almost fully wiped out Vilebloods. From your hiding place, you could see the Hunter bow towards her majesty, their large form taking up your vision, and with that the Queen’s words became hushed, only meant for the ears of the Hunter she spoke to. You let out a soft sigh, and with your curiosity still eating away at the corners of your mind, you turned to continue dusting the candelabra that adorned the hidden chambers.

As always, you quickly became lost in your work, not noticing the slow steps that began to grow louder as they drew closer to you. The flash of metal reflecting the subtle candlelight is what ripped you from your focus. With your hand still raised, holding a rag to one of the candelabras, your eyes locked with another’s. They were as dark as the endless night that cloaked Cainhurst Castle, and as fearsome as they were weary. A thin strand of blonde hair poked out from underneath, bouncing against the skin of his forehead when he came to a stop.

He blinked at you with what seemed like a blank expression, your own clearly full of surprise and apprehension. The presence of another was unfamiliar to you, your only sense of company being Queen Annalise. Your worlds were also galaxies apart: you, a simple maid, and he, a hunter of beasts.

And yet you couldn’t have been more drawn to him than you were right now. He bore holes into your skin with his sharp gaze, skin aflame under the layers of your garments, and as he finally stepped away, you released the breath you were unaware you had been holding, the flames that consumed you now dying out.

But this wasn’t the last you had seen of this moon-scented Hunter.

He was now a constant in your life, seemingly appearing from the shadows from time to time, always approaching from behind, startling you out of your work. For a time, you didn’t think much of it, his towering figure slipping right past, making you jump almost right out of your shoes each time. But as you turned to investigate the culprit of your fright, you could see a quick glint of mischievousness in his eyes. It was gone faster than it appeared, but you knew what you had seen.

It wasn’t until a few moons later did your Queen request your presence in her chambers. The request was hardly foreign to you, but you thought it strange, even more so when the Hunter’s hat peaked out from the apex of the stairs leading to Her Majesty’s throne.

On instinct, you curtsied to the Queen as she kindly spoke out her reason for summoning you, “Our dear Hunter shall be joining us in our plight, wouldst thou show him to his chambers?”

When your gaze rose from the elegant rug beneath your feet, you could once again feel the piercing stare of the Hunter, his eyes following the graceful motions of your body as you bowed your head to Annalise, “Of course, your Majesty.”

And the two of you descended the stairs in silence, walking ahead of him to lead the way to the guest's chambers. The hairs on the back of your neck stood tall, goosebumps lined the length of your arms and legs, and your ordinarily refined sense of decorum began to falter at how close he stood behind you. His steps were as silent as they always were, the only sound echoing throughout the hall being the small heels that you wore, clicking rhythmically against the stone floor.

Decades seemed to pass before you arrived at the chambers. With a turn, your gaze diverted towards the floor, avoiding his at all costs. You could already feel those peculiar orbs on you, a raven following the path of its prey.

The collar of your dress was suddenly choking you, the fabric and ruffles rubbing your skin in a way that made you want to claw at it, tear it away. The seconds ticked on for far too long, the silence between you and the Hunter becoming unbearable. So with a slight bow of your head, you took your leave.

“Ghost.”

You were hesitant in taking another step, your bodies side by side, and yours glued in place. The sound of such a gruff voice threw you off guard. All you could do was blink, looking reluctantly around the room before letting out a soft, “What?”

You didn’t dare look in his direction, afraid that perhaps he would disappear again if you made the wrong move.

“My name. And yours?” Admittedly, hearing the curiosity in his voice surprised you.

Timidly, you stuttered out your name, a hum coming from underneath his mask.

You could hear the creak of the wooden door as it was pushed open, a click once it closed, and then you were left alone in the darkness of the castle corridor, heart threatening to leap from your chest. 

[capybaracorn]

Demands for Canada to stop supplying weapons to Israel grow louder

But loopholes and a lack of transparency stall efforts to hold government accountable for its role in arming Israel.

Montreal, Canada – Human rights advocates are accusing Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s government of misleading the public over weapons sales to Israel, which have come under greater scrutiny amid the deadly Israeli bombardment of Gaza.

At issue is legislation that prohibits the government from exporting military equipment to foreign actors if there is a risk it can be used in human rights abuses.

But regulatory loopholes, combined with a lack of clarity over what Canada sends to Israel, have complicated efforts to end the transfers.

Dozens of Canadian civil society groups this month urged Trudeau to end arms exports to Israel, arguing they violate Canadian and international law because the weapons could be used in the Gaza Strip.

But in the face of mounting pressure since Israel’s war on Gaza began on October 7, Canada’s foreign affairs ministry has tried to downplay the state’s role in helping Israel build its arsenal.

“Global Affairs Canada can confirm that Canada has not received any requests, and therefore not issued any permits, for full weapon systems for major conventional arms or light weapons to Israel for over 30 years,” the department told Al Jazeera in an email on Friday.

“The permits which have been granted since October 7, 2023, are for the export of non-lethal equipment.”

But advocates say this misrepresents the total volume of Canada’s military exports to Israel, which totalled more than $15m ($21.3m Canadian) in 2022, according to the government’s own figures.

It also shines a spotlight on the nation’s longstanding lack of transparency around these transfers.

“Canadian companies have exported over [$84m, $114m Canadian] in military goods to Israel since 2015 when the Trudeau government was elected,” said Michael Bueckert, vice president of Canadians for Justice and Peace in the Middle East, an advocacy group.

“And they have continued to approve arms exports since October 7 despite the clear risk of genocide in Gaza,” Bueckert told Al Jazeera.

“Unable to defend its own policy, this government is misleading Canadians into thinking that we aren’t exporting weapons to Israel at all. As Canadians increasingly demand that their government impose an arms embargo on Israel, politicians are trying to pretend that the arms trade doesn’t exist.”

Lack of information

While Canada may not transfer full weapons systems to Israel, the two countries enjoy “a consistent arms trade relationship”, said Kelsey Gallagher, a researcher at Project Ploughshares, a peace research institute.

The vast majority of Canada’s military exports to Israel come in the form of parts and components. These typically fall into three categories, Gallagher explained: electronics and space equipment; military aerospace exports and components; and finally, bombs, missiles, rockets and general military explosives and components.

But beyond these broad categories, which were gleaned by examining Canada’s own domestic and international reports on weapons exports, Gallagher said it remains unclear “what these actual pieces of technology are”.

“We don’t know what companies are exporting them. We don’t know exactly what their end use is,” he told Al Jazeera.

Global Affairs Canada did not immediately respond to Al Jazeera’s question about what “non-lethal equipment” the government has approved for export to Israel since October 7.

“What does this mean? No one knows because there’s no definition of that and it really could be quite a number of things,” said Henry Off, a Toronto-based lawyer and board member of the group Canadian Lawyers for International Human Rights (CLAIHR).

Human rights lawyers and activists also suspect that Canadian military components are reaching Israel via the United States, including for installation in fighter jets such as the F-35 aircraft.

But these transfers are difficult to track because a decades-old deal between Canada and the US – 1956’s Defence Production Sharing Agreement – has created “a unique and comprehensive set of loopholes that are afforded to Canadian arms transfers to the US”, said Gallagher.

“These exports are treated with zero transparency. There is no regulation of, or reporting of, the transfer of Canadian-made military components to the US, including those that could be re-transferred to Israel,” he said.

The result, he added, is that “it is very difficult to challenge what are problematic transfers if we do not have the information with which to do so”.

Domestic, international law

Despite these hurdles, Canadian human rights advocates are pressuring the government to end its weapons sales to Israel, particularly in light of the Israeli military’s continued assault on Gaza.

Nearly 28,000 Palestinians have been killed over the past four months and rights advocates have meticulously documented the impact on the ground of Israel’s indiscriminate bombing, and its vast destruction of the enclave. The world’s top court, the International Court of Justice, also determined last month that Palestinians in Gaza face a plausible risk of genocide.

Against that backdrop, eliminating weapons transfers to Israel is effectively a demand for “Canada [to] abide by its own laws”, said Off, the Toronto lawyer.

That’s because Canada’s Export and Import Permits Act obliges the foreign minister to “deny exports and brokering permit applications for military goods and technology … if there is a substantial risk that the items would undermine peace and security”.

The minister should also deny exports if they “could be used to commit or facilitate serious violations of international humanitarian and human rights laws” or in “serious acts of gender-based violence or serious acts of violence against women and children”, the law states.

Meanwhile, Canada is also party to the Arms Trade Treaty (ATT), a United Nations pact that bans transfers if states have knowledge the arms could be used in genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes and other violations of international law.

But according to Off, despite a growing list of Israeli human rights violations since October 7, Canada “has been approving the transfer of military goods and technology that might fuel” them.

Late last month, Canadian Lawyers for International Human Rights wrote a letter to Canadian Foreign Minister Melanie Joly demanding an immediate end to the transfers. The group said it would consider next steps, including possible legal action, if action is not taken.

‘It takes a village’

Still, Canada insists that it maintains one of the strongest arms export control regimes in the world.

Asked whether his government intends to end arms transfers to Israel, Trudeau said in Parliament on January 31 that Canada “puts human rights and protection of human rights at the centre of all our decision-making”.

“It has always been the case and we have been consistent in making sure that we are responsible in the way we do that. We will continue to be so,” the prime minister said.

Gallagher, at Project Ploughshares, told Al Jazeera, however, that Canada maintains “a level of permissibility” in choosing which countries it chooses to arm, including Israel.

And while Canadian weapons exports to the Israeli government pale in comparison to other countries – notably the US, which sends billions of dollars in military aid to Israel annually – Off said, “Any difference is a difference.”

“It takes a village to make these instruments of death and it should make a difference if we cut off Canada’s contributions,” he told Al Jazeera, adding that the pressure on Canada also sends a message to other countries “potentially aiding and abetting Israel’s slaughter of Gaza”.

“If you send arms to countries committing serious violations of international humanitarian law, you will be held to account.”

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

hi there! love your work! i recently had a prof say that all zoos (USA) are bad (so we shouldn't support them) and sanctuaries are better because using animals for entertainment is morally wrong, most zoo profits dont go to conservation, and conservation efforts are bandaid solutions to capitalism destroying animal habitats, so the real solution is to return the land to indigenous stewards to manage/rewild. i didn't disagree with the last bit, but the argument as a whole felt a little off to me for a reason i couldnt put my finger on. am i off base here? just feeling really unsure about the whole thing.

You're not wrong! There's a mix of reality and personal opinions in those statements, and it's definitely something worth critically examining. A quick fact-check of what they said for you:

All US zoos are bad

There's a massive range of quality of zoological facilities within the US (and around the world). Some are stellar and some are not, and it's really just not accurate to lump them all under the same umbrella for almost any purpose. Unless, of course, your issue isn't with animal welfare, and it's philosophical, which is what it sound like in #2...

2. Using animals for entertainment is morally wrong.

This is one of my favorite things to talk about w/r/t how we exhibit animals. Entertainment has become equated with exploitation and implicit low welfare in the last couple decades, and so you get a lot of people saying using animals for entertainment is wrong. But those same folk will say that they enjoy seeing animals in other contexts, and they think that's okay. Where's the line between enjoying something and being entertained by it? What makes something one and not the other? Also, we know that people learn better from from situations which are enjoyable/entertaining - even just a fun teacher who jokes around vs a dry lecture - so how can that only be a problem when it's used to make viewing animals more impactful? I wrote a whole piece on this a while back (linked here) if you want to dig into this more. Some zoos (and accrediting groups) are shying away from "entertainment" type branding - shows are demos now, for instance - and others are leaning into "edutainment" that's done with good welfare and communicates actual education messaging. In short, this is a personal philosophical belief, and you're right to question if you agree. (Even if you decide you do think that too! It's always good to question why someone is arguing what they believe about animal use, and how they came to believe it).

3. Sanctuaries are better than zoos.

There's two reasons I think he's misinformed here. First, almost all exotic animal sanctuaries in the US are licensed exhibitors - just like zoos! I only know of a couple that don't exhibit to the public at all. It's an important part of their revenue stream, because gate take helps support paying for animal care. Also anything you see from a sanctuary on Youtube, Facebook, or TikTok? Also exhibition! They just message about it differently, and often have a different ethos about how they exhibit (e.g. tours to reduce stress instead of letting people wander, doing conservation or rescue messaging instead of just display). Second... look, most people assume that the word "sanctuary" means a facility is intrinsically more ethical than a zoo, and therefore they must be a good place. In reality, many sanctuaries get much less public and regulatory scrutiny (at the state level) than most zoos. There are good sanctuaries out there, but there are also sanctuaries where stuff goes on that would absolutely be unacceptable at zoos, and it slides because of the assumption that sanctuaries are inherently more moral and ethical and care for their animals better.

4. Most zoo profits don't go to conservation

This is correct! Direct conservation funding is often a small part of the money a zoo makes. However, that's because money goes to things like facility maintenance, new construction, paying salaries, etc. If zoos put all the money they made back into conservation programs, practically, they wouldn't have the funding to continue to operate. The question that I'd suggest asking instead is "where are they putting money into conservation" and "are they doing conservation work or just throwing money at something to display the logo of the program." Also, it's worth keeping in mind that a lot of what zoos do to support conservation isn't necessarily financial. Many facilities contribute "in-kind", by doing things like sending staff to assist with programs or teach specific skills, or by donating things like vehicles and equipment. Research zoos do also seriously contributes to in-situ programs, and breeding programs for re-introduction like the scimitar-horned oryx and the black-footed ferret are also conservation. Could many of the big urban facilities with huge budgets do more? Yes. But looking just at dollars spent on conservation programs is disingenuous and inaccurate.

5. Conservation efforts are band-aid solutions to capitalism destroying habitats / Returning the land to indigenous peoples to manage/rewild is the real solution to conservation issues

This is a little outside my scope so I'm going to only address the part that I know. First off, like, there's no One True Answer to conservation issues. That's reductionist and inaccurate. Conservation really is a human issue, though, and it often has to involve solving human problems that lead to negative results for animals. There's definitely an issue with what some people call "parachute conservation" where Westerners swoop in and try to tell people living in range countries how to best manage their animals and natural resources without recognizing their perspectives, needs, or what drives their behavior towards those animals. That's not just a zoo issue - that's an issue with a ton of traditional Western conservation work. And there is progress towards fixing it! In the zoo world, I've been very impressed with the work out of The Living Desert, where their conservation people spend a lot of time overseas teaching people in range countries to evaluate and improve their own conservation programs, so they can assess efficacy and also have data to apply for grants, etc. They provide support when asked, rather than trying to tell people who live with these animals regularly what to do. One of my favorite programs that TLD collaborates with (they don't try to run it!) is a group called the Black Mambas that reduces poaching by supporting entire communities to reduce the desperation for food/income, educating kids about animals, and running all-female patrols staffed by community members.

Overall, it sounds like your professor's view of zoos is really informed by their personal moral perspective, and possibly reinforced by a lot of the misinformation / misleading messaging that exists about the industry and about conservation work. They do have some specifics right, but not necessarily the context to inform why things are like that. It was a good catch to question the mix of information and approach it critically.

[lia-life-lounge]

A Philosopher's Lexicon: Vocab that'll make you sound like an academic

Although curated by a philosophy major for philosophy, the following list of vocabulary is a great addition to any intellectual's written or spoken lexicon!

Verbs to Replace "Says" or "Thinks"

Asserts

Affirms

Argues

Contends

Expounds

Posits

Postulates

Delineates

Reiterates

Conjectures

Refutes

Disputes

Verbs to Replace "Shows" or "Explains"

Elucidates

Demonstrates

Validates

Substantiates

Corroborates

Vindicates

Exemplifies

Enumerates

(There's a bit of room for overlap between the "Says" or "Thinks" list and the "Shows" or "Explains" list).

Words to Describe Perspectives or Approaches

Holistic

Myopic

Dogmatic

Pragmatic

Empirical

Normative

Prescriptive

Descriptive

Reductionist

Relativistic

Utilitarian

Absolutist

Subjectivist

Objectivist

Positivist

Words to Describe Statements

Incontrovertible

Pertinent

Cogent

Nuanced

Dialectical

Syllogistic

Empirical

Normative

Didactic

Esoteric

Transitional Phrases

Moreover

Consequently

In contrast

Furthermore

As such

Henceforth

Therefore

In light of this

By the same token

To that end

Words for Critique, Analysis, or Inquiry

Scrutinizes

Deconstructs

Mitigates

Substantiates

Vindicates

Invoke

Inquiry

Interrogate

Delineate

Explicate

Reconcile

Synthesize

Undermine

Engage

Evoke

Scrutiny

Descriptive Words for Ideas or Concepts

Paradigm

Construct

Framework

Epistemology

Ontology

Teleology

Dialectic

Axiom

Maxim

Tenet

Doctrine

Dogma

Words for Nuanced Argumentation

Corollary

Inference

Premise

Deduction

Induction

Syllogism

Refutation

Rebuttal

Concession

Adjudication

Exposition

Elucidation

Conjecture

Remember, the key is not just to use these words, but to understand them fully so you can wield them effectively. Context is king; make sure the word or phrase fits seamlessly into your argument.

_________

Imagine trying to cram all those words into just a couple of paragraphs... not saying you should do it, but it might be a fun challenge, no?

If you're interested in more academic writing tips, feel free to explore the #AcademicWriting and #WritingTips tags on my blog. To distinguish between my original content and reblogs, you can filter the tags #LiaLifeLounge and #LiaReblogs, respectively.

Have fun writing! ✨

[slutforsilverfoxes]

This song came on my shuffle while I was cleaning so therefore I am not responsible for this heinous crack 🙃 But also, sorry in advance 💀

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!BAU!reader established relationship (+ a feature by two of the BAU hooligans)

__________

“We really couldn’t fly into a closer airport?” you grumble under your breath, forehead pressed against the cool window of the Tahoe as a seemingly endless expanse of cornfield flies by in a blur.

Hotch uses the rearview mirror to glance at your sour face, raising a single eyebrow in challenge. “And where, pray tell, is this closer airport you speak of? Hiding amongst the corn?”

“Hiding amongst the corn?” you mimic in a childish tone, and he grunts in response although the corner of his mouth twitches with mirth.

“It was almost better when you two were keeping things under wraps,” Derek chimes in from the passenger seat. His long legs allowed him to claim shotgun while you and Emily were relegated to the back. Dave, JJ, Garcia, and Spence were in the vehicle behind you, much to Penelope’s chagrin about being thwarted from “napping on my sturdy hunk of Derek,” as she had so eloquently put it.

“To be fair, you chose to ride with us,” Aaron comes to your defense, and you pipe up with a vindicated, “Yeah! Thanks, babe.” You lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek and he frowns at you, pulling a pouty, “What?” from you in return.

“Sit back and put your seatbelt on,” he chides gruffly, and you can hear the unspoken brat that would’ve been sure to follow if you were alone.

“Fine,” you huff in feigned annoyance, settling into your seat and clicking your seatbelt in place.

The car is silent for a few minutes save from the wind whipping past, then you lean towards the center console and ask, “Can we at least listen to music?”

Emily perks up at that, pulling her head from the case file in her lap. “Music would be good.”

“Here, Derek,” you offer, sliding your phone towards him. “It’s unlocked so you can queue songs. But if I see you swiping anywhere else, I swear to god-”

“Chill, Y/N,” he laughs out. “Ain’t no way I’m risking burning my retinas with a nude from our boss man.”

“Morgan,” your boyfriend sighs like an exasperated parent while you tease, “Only cause he’s too hot to look at.”

“Please just put some music on,” Aaron groans after your comment, and you can see the back of his neck flushed red through the gap between the seat and headrest.

“Alright, alright,” Derek finally relents, plugging in your phone and then turning to smile at you when he spots a playlist titled AH🖤. “Now that’s pretty cute,” he admits, and you return his grin with a bashful one of your own.

Then your smile morphs into a horrified gasp when his thumb hovers over the playlist, the world seeming to move in slow motion as his finger makes contact with the screen.

Corpse’s gravelly voice instructing the listener to Choke me like you hate me, but you love me blares through the speakers as you shriek in surprise. Hotch jams his palm into the volume knob, mercifully cutting off the music before the next line can assault everyone’s ears.

The car is plunged into silence once more as your face flushes under the delighted scrutiny of one Derek Morgan. Emily, to her credit, remains unfazed (mostly because she’s the recipient of your lascivious texts about Aaron).

“We’re never talking about this again,” you whisper, mortified, unwilling to meet Aaron’s gaze in the rearview mirror. You’re so paying for this when you get to the hotel tonight.

“On the contrary,” Derek counters in an almost giddy fashion, “I just figured out how we’re going to pass the time until we reach the precinct. So, Y/N, are you the choker or the chokee?”

You collapse on yourself, head in your hands as you wail, “I wanna die,” while your boyfriend quietly mumbles, “I’m resigning when we get back to Quantico.”

—————

A/N: For those of you wondering… yes, this song is on my Hotch playlist 🥵

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner @iyv-ray24 @mrs-ssa-hotch @criminalskies

[gothgleek]

I love the idea of rival factions at the Royal court with distinct styles of dress and I think one with untapped potential is the Great Council’s decision to choose the next heir aka Rhaenys vs Viserys.

One of Rhaenys’s greatest strengths is that she comes from three different houses so she would always represent House Targaryen, House Baratheon, and House Velaryon with her clothes. I think her primary colors would be red and gold in a Velaryon style of dress. Red for her dragon (Meleys the Red Queen) and for the Targaryens, and gold for the Baratheons and to show off her wealth. I think she would wear House Velaryon’s colors if she did not she need to assert herself as the Targaryen heir. Wearing a Velaryon styled gown she uses more subtle ways to align herself with the Velaryons. (See the hairstyle drawings for a better crown.)

Additionally, while she is feminine, she knows that Westeros is hesitant to elect a female ruler so she tone down her femininity. Therefore, no low cut dresses and nothing formfitting and nothing too colorful. I see Velaryon style dresses being based on Old Valyria (aka the Byzantine Empire) so a lot of shapeless dresses with a single stripe down the front and a v collar so this works in her favor. Sometimes she would layer these dresses with robes or long sleeves as well. This choice is also encouraged because she would not want to remind Jaehaerys and Alysanne about their relationship to their daughters. She emulates Jahaerys by wearing heavy fabrics, dark colors, dragon scale embroidery, and heavy jewelry like livery collars and crowns. Additionally, Rhaenys would definitely take hunting and dragon riding as an opportunity to network so she would have a whole wardrobe for outdoor activities. This wardrobe would be largely earthy tones to make herself seem more approachable to her hunting party. Again, nothing form fitting so she would wear bloomer style pants or have balloon sleeves. She takes out her copper armor during more serious or more formal occasions.

However, she wouldn’t want to be too masculine because Westeros is not ready for that either. She would wear take fashion cues from Alysanne and wear surcoats, braids, and flowing sleeves in the shape of dragon wings. Inspired by her mother, Rhaenys would wear flared dresses, gable hoods, bejeweled hair bands, and sarafan style sleeves. She would also have elaborate embroidery, statement necklines, a mantle- a long vest or cloak-, prints, and beading on her dresses as well since it’s Velyron fashion. Additionally, Rhaenys would wear elaborate and tall hairstyles with statement hair accessories. Most of these would have metals and gems collected from Corlys’s travels. Corlys would even commission a crown similar to the iron throne and Jae’s crown for her to wear on special occasions.

Rhaenys would always have an updo with a statement piece similar to a crown. Maybe she would wear her hair in braids with pins and rings adorning it for an added flare. Pearls would certainly be her main accessories but use gems from Corlys’s travels to adorn her headwear as well. I think hair nets like snoods and cauls would be popular on Driftmark since they resemble fishnets so she would wear them often as well. Also, since she’s under more scrutiny than others, she would make sure her hair is something that wouldn’t be easily disheveled. This is where her mother’s Stormland roots would come into play with tight braids and gable hoods.

Viserys’s strength is that he is a male heir with Targaryen features however I think he’s very clueless so he and Aemma would -play it safe and take their style inspiration from Jaehaerys and Alysanne. For Aemma, this would mean a similar color palettes, similar hairstyles, silver accents, and clothes designed form the same tailor. However, Aemma would put her own personal touch on that. For example, Aemma would wear Houppelande or Burgundian style gowns because a Vale fashion. I also imagine these would have lower necklines, and more lace details than Alysanne or Rhaenys as a way to appear more feminine. She would also wear soft colors and soft fabrics to appear more approachable to other members at court. Additionally, unlike Rhaenys, her jewelry would be sourced from across Westeros to give her a home land advantage. She would befriend ladies at the court by having favorite jewelers and tailors from each of their regions. After all, there is no better way to gain allies by showing you have personal interest in their homes.

For her hair, Aemma would almost always be wearing some sort of headpiece. A hennin and stickelchen for indoor occasions, designed by the same headdress designers as Alysanne, the Arryns, and the Hightowers. To support the Westeros economy of course. Also, if she’s feeling homesick, she has a hennin shaped like a crescent moon that represents the moon door in the Vale. She also has double or triple coned hennins to resemble dragon horns. If Viserys makes some sort of fauxpaus, she would wear a ridiculous headpiece so people would have something else to talk about. On other occasions, she would wear veils, hair nets, and metal headpieces similar to Old Valyrian styles. If her hair is ever visible, I think she would wear it either wear with ribbons, pins, or in bound braids like Alysanne.

Also building on her relationship with Viserys, she would wear things that would appeal to his interests. Since he is so interested in the histories, she wears a lot of Old Valyrian inspired clothing. Her sleeves are inspired by Valyrian architectures such as battlements. Her hennins sometimes resemble spires. Her bodice can resemble ceiling beams and neckline can resemble buttresses. If she’s wearing a dress with multiple colors, it would be inspired by stained glass. The stained glass could also resemble the Sept which appeals to followers of the Faith people as well. I imagine Viserys would’ve written her a poem or song about a long extinct flower from Valyria and how he would grow fields of them for her if he could. Which might showcase their relationship- he’s all about hypothetical gestures that appeal to his interests. But, it would work on her while she’s young so some of her dresses are the same color as that extinct flower.

[evilscientist3]

so do you actually support ai "art" or is that part of the evil bit :| because um. yikes.

Let me preface this by saying: I think the cutting edge of AI as we know it sucks shit. ChatGPT spews worthless, insipid garbage as a rule, and frequently provides enticingly fluent and thoroughly wrong outputs whenever any objective fact comes into play. Image generators produce over-rendered, uncanny slop that often falls to pieces under the lightest scrutiny. There is little that could convince me to use any AI tool currently on the market, and I am notably more hostile to AI than many people I know in real life in this respect.

That being said, these problems are not inherent to AI. In two years, or a decade, perhaps they will be our equals in producing writing and images. I know a philosopher who is of the belief that one day, AI will simply be better than us - smarter, funnier, more likeable in conversation - I am far from convinced of this myself, but let us hope, if such a case arises, they don't get better at ratfucking and warmongering too.

Many of the inherent problems posed by AI are philosophical in nature. Would a sufficiently advanced AI be appreciably different to a conscious entity? Can their outputs be described as art? These are questions whose mere axioms could themselves be argued over in PhD theses ad infinitum. I am not particularly interested in these, for to be so on top of the myriad demands of my work would either drive me mad or kill me outright. Fortunately, their fractally debatable nature means that no watertight argument could be given to them by you, either, so we may declare ourselves in happy, clueless agreement on these topics so long as you are willing to confront their unconfrontability.

Thus, I would prefer to turn to the current material issues encountered in the creation and use of AI. These, too, are not inherent to their use, but I will provide a more careful treatment of them than a simple supposition that they will evaporate in coming years.

I would consider the principal material issues surrounding AI to lie in the replacement of human labourers and wanton generation of garbage content it facilitates, and the ethics of training it on datasets collected without contributors' consent. In the first case, it is prudent to recall the understanding of Luddites held by Marx - he says, in Ch. 15 of Das Kapital: "It took both time and experience before workers learnt to distinguish between machinery and its employment by capital, and therefore to transfer their attacks from the material instruments of production to the form of society which utilises those instruments." The Industrial Revolution's novel forms of production and subsequent societal consequences has mirrored the majority of advances in production since. As then, the commercial application of the new technology must be understood to be a product of capital. To resist the technology itself on these grounds is to melt an iceberg's tip, treating the vestigial symptom of a vast syndrome. The replacement of labourers is with certainty a pressing issue that warrants action, but such action must be considered and strategic, rather than a reflexive reaction to something new. As is clear in hindsight for the technology of two centuries ago, mere impedance of technological progression is not for the better.

The second case is one I find deeply alarming - the degradation of written content's reliability threatens all knowledge, extending to my field. Already, several scientific papers have drawn outrage in being seen to pass peer review despite blatant inclusion of AI outputs. I would be tempted to, as a joke to myself more than others, begin this response with "Certainly. Here is how you could respond to this question:" so as to mirror these charlatans, would it not without a doubt enrage a great many who don't know better than to fall for such a trick. This issue, however, is one I believe to be ephemeral - so pressing is it, that a response must be formulated by those who value understanding. And so are responses being formulated - major online information sources, such as Wikipedia and its sister projects, have written or are writing rules on their use. The journals will, in time, scramble to save their reputations and dignities, and do so thoroughly - academics have professional standings to lose, so keeping them from using LLMs is as simple as threatening those. Perhaps nothing will be done for your average Google search result - though this is far from certain - but it has always been the conventional wisdom that more than one site ought to be consulted in a search for information.

The third is one I am torn on. My first instinct is to condemn the training of AI on material gathered without consent. However, this becomes more and more problematic with scrutiny. Arguments against this focusing on plagiarism or direct theft are pretty much bunk - statistical models don't really work like that. Personal control of one's data, meanwhile, is a commendable right, but is difficult to ensure without merely extending the argument made by the proponents of copyright, which is widely understood to be a disastrous construct that for the most part harms small artists. In this respect, then, it falls into the larger camp of problems primarily caused by the capital wielding the technology.

Let me finish this by posing a hypothetical. Suppose AI does, as my philosopher friend believes, become smarter and more creative than us in a few years or decades; suppose in addition it may be said through whatever means to be entirely unobjectionable, ethically or otherwise. Under these circumstances, would I then go to a robot to commission art of my fursona? The answer from me is a resounding no. My reasoning is simple - it wouldn't feel right. So long as the robot remains capable of effortlessly and passionlessly producing pictures, it would feel like cheating. Rationally explaining this deserves no effort - my reasoning would be motivated by the conclusion, rather than vice versa. It is simply my personal taste not to get art I don't feel is real. It is vitally important, however, that I not mistake this feeling as evidence of any true inferiority - to suppose that effortlessness or pasionlessness invalidate art is to stray back into the field of messy philosophical questions. I am allowed, as are you, to possess personal tastes separate from the quality of things.

Summary: I don't like AI. However, most of the problems with AI which aren't "it's bad" (likely to be fixed over time) or abstract philosophical questions (too debatable to be used to make a judgement) are material issues caused by capitalism, just as communists have been saying about every similarly disruptive new technology for over a century. Other issues can likely be fixed over time, as with quality. From a non-rational standpoint, I dislike the idea of using AI even separated from current issues, but I recognise, and encourage you to recognise, that this is not evidence of an actual inherent inferiority of AI in the abstract. You are allowed to have preferences that aren't hastily rationalised over.

[sansa286]

F&B Propaganda: Paternity Disputes (or Lack Thereof)

Something that's always confused me when reading Fire & Blood is why some characters have their paternity placed under scrutiny due to a lack of resemblance to one parent, while others are given a pass. These are some thoughts and analysis I had on the subject.

So, we all know F&B is a pseudo-history book written from a plethora of unreliable pseudo-sources, some of whom very well may be telling the truth, other's who are fibbing a bit (or a lot), and the rest that told flat-out lies and regurgitated gossip. Therefore, certain inconsistencies, like paternity debates, are not showing that GRRM is an inconsistent writer, but rather him pointing out the blatant favoritism and narrative spinning that happens when history is written. Simply put: unless/until we get the events of F&B written in an ASOIAF style multi-POV structure, most of the stuff in F&B is meant to be taken with a grain of salt, some grains bigger than others. For example: Visenya being "jealous" of Rhaenys over Aegon preferring her romantically is clearly out-of-character, but treated as legit because Visenya is not a well-liked person in the grand-scheme of Westerosi history and culture. Therefore, painting her as envious is a way to spin her as "bitter" and "unlikable," when she more than likely just had a lot of ambition, and/or did what she thought was right for the Targaryen cause (flawed those actions may be).

We all know Rhaenyra was the subject of side-eyes over her three eldest sons, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon, and Joffrey Velaryon, who are officially recorded as sons of Laenor Velaryon; however, it's widely believed (and canon in the show) that they are biologically the sons of Harwin Strong, who Rhaenyra had an affair with because Laenor was gay and their attempts to conceive children were not successful. The reason in-universe people believed (both in the books and the show) that they were Harwin's is due to their dark hair and eyes (Harwin has green eyes in the show, but in the books it's inferred that they're brown like the Velaryon boys'.)

However, the Velaryon boys are not the only ones who don't share the same coloring as their parents (or the parents on paper). There are actually two others that come before them in the Targaryen bloodline that share that in common, however their paternity is never called into question. They are Alysanne and her daughter, Alyssa.

Biblically accurate Alysanne Targaryen. "Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls." - Fire & Blood (pg. 131, ch. "The Year of the Three Brides")

Alysanne is the fifthborn child and secondborn daughter of Aenys Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon. Her older siblings were Aegon, Rhaena, Viserys, Jaehaerys (who she married), and Vaella (passed away in the crib). All of Aenys and Alyssa's children are inferred to have had stereotypically Valyrian features (silver hair and purple eyes); Rhaena is the only one we get a full description of outside of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, but if the others didn't look Valyrian, it definitely would've been noted in the book. Aenys and Alyssa are noted for both having Valyrian features (par. 3 here & F&B p. 127; Aenys weirdly enough never gets hair color mention, but if it were anything other than silver we'd know, but we'll get to Aenys in a minute). We're told explicitly Alysanne has a head full of honey colored curls and blue eyes. But this is never brought up as a point of contention or placed her paternity up for debate. It's just assumed that it's due to her maternal grandmother, Alarra Massey, being an Andal woman.

However, this assumption is never mentioned in F&B. Her features are just mentioned and that was it. The theory laid-out by fans is that her hair and eyes come from her grandmother, however, Alarra's looks are never detailed in F&B. We only know that she was considered very beautiful (p. 127); and there are plenty of people of Andal descent who do not have blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Her [Alyssa Targaryen] hair was a dirty blonde tangle with no hint of silver to evoke the dragonlords of old, and she had been born with mismatched eyes, one violet, the other a startling green." - Fire & Blood (pg. 287, ch. "The Long Reign-Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny, and Pain")

Which brings me to her daughter, Alyssa Targaryen, who was also noted for having non-traditional Valyrian features (dirty blonde hair, green and purple heterochromia eyes). But Alyssa's paternity is also never brought up as possibly being anything other than what was recorded at her birth. (As for the show, Daemon's perspective on his mother is warped due to being knee-deep in the Targaryen sauce, so that's why I think his mother doesn't look like what she's supposed to in the show. If they ever do an adaptation of Jaehaerys' reign, I hope they don't throw a silver wig on her, but given what they did to Rhaenys who tf knows?) Interestingly, Alyssa is also described as long-faced, which is a trait associated with the Starks, and Alysanne was noted for being close to...Alaric Stark (I'll spare you that theory though.)

This is all fascinating with the knowledge of the dance being in the exact same book, because Rhaenyra has three dark haired and dark eyed boys and there's all of this speculation. Some may assume it's because both Rhaenyra and Laenor have silver hair and purple eyes, but so did Alysanne's parents, Aenys and Alyssa V. And like their great-great grandmother, Alysanne (if we're to believe she simply looks like her grandmother), Jace, Luke, and Joff also have a grandmother with non-Valyrian looks in Rhaenys, who in F&B had dark hair. There is no report of catching Rhaenyra and Harwin screwing around, jut observing the differences in looks of her children and Laenor. Surely, if we're to never assume that Alysanne is not a bastard because her grandmother (may have) had the same features/genes that simply skipped a generation, we could also do the same for them?

Sidebar: I am not saying that Alysanne is secretly a bastard or that the Velaryon boys' actually are trueborn, just that the reasons for this assumption are silly. If one kid is going to have their paternity scrutinized for not resembling their parents coloring-wise, then all kids who fall in that category should. That being said it is important to point out that it's not IMPOSSIBLE for Alysanne and the boys being/ not being a bastard to be true. It's been pointed out for years by the fandom that the people in ASOIAF don't understand genetics. The only reason Ned had a leg to stand on is because Cersei straight-up admitted to sleeping with Jaime, and letting him father her kids. Had Ned realistically went to Robert without Cersei's admission, and said that her children are not his because they have blonde hair and green eyes, he would be laughed at because a child resembling their mother and not their father is common. And on the off-chance that he does get some traction with it, well, not enough people would believe him, and Tywin would make a bigger example out of House Stark than he already has.

But again, secret-bastardy/secret-trueborness is not the point I'm trying to make. And if Alysanne were really a secret bastard, then, honestly, more power to her. She'd only become more iconic in my eyes.

So this begs the question: why are some people not speculated on for not resembling one or both parents coloring-wise while others aren't? It brings me back to the introduction: F&B is propaganda and certain pseudo-historical figures need to be portrayed in a certain light in order for the story they want to tell to be successful. This goes doubly-so for those that were close to Jaehaerys, and in this case: his mom (Alyssa V), his wife (Alysanne), and his daughter (Alyssa T).

Jaehaerys is considered the peak of the Targaryen dynasty and well liked by the establishment in Westeros (the Citadel, the Faith, various lords and ladies of the major houses). He is the Great Conciliator. Therefore, certain "creative liberties" being afoot is quite expected and this is not above the antics we see take place during his reign. Just look at how the true cause of Gael's death was covered up for years and the fishiness of Saera's disappearance and Viserra's death.

Alyssa V is considered a perfect mother, despite the less-than-stellar choices she made with her children outside of Jaehaerys. She's considered to be so great that the lords that sat the Small Council were able to put aside their misogyny and allow themselves to be ruled by a woman until Jaehaerys came of age. She is one of the main reasons Jaehaerys was able to take the Iron Throne in the first place. It would not go well if the man who was considered to be the greatest king of Westeros had a mother who may have cuckolded his father. Compare this to Aenys, who despite having Valyrian features had a one-off rumor about him being the secret bastard of Rhaenys the Conqueror and one of her male favorites mentioned in F&B; and this is 100% due to the fact that Aenys is considered by Westerosi historians to have been a weak and incompetent king. (Just think: if Aenys, who resembled his parents, had bastard rumors - do you seriously expect us to believe that neither Alysanne nor Alyssa ever had any?) "But, Jaehaerys is strong, brave, diplomatic, wise, etc... of course he comes from a mom who embodies Westerosi ideals to a tea. She even died trying to give her second husband more heirs despite her delicate age. Such a moral [debatable] man could only be born from a woman who was nothing but dutiful."

Alysanne is considered the perfect wife and queen consort, highly regarded for the active role she took during her husband's reign. She was intelligent, altruistic, birthed many children, and rode a dragon. She was so good at her job as queen she got several laws passed that now share her name. "Not only could such a woman not be born a bastard, but she in addition to being Jaehaerys' wife is also his sister, and could surely not be born from a woman who would ever risk bringing a bastard into this world."

And then, there's Alyssa T, the secondborn daughter and fifthborn child overall of both Alysanne and Jaehaerys, and was a wife to the highly regarded Baelon (also her brother), which means she was never going to be on the receiving end of those accusations. She even escapes having the usual witchcraft practitioner and/or lesbian/queer rumors that are usually thrown at women in Westeros who do not fit the traditional ideas of being a woman (even Visenya had those accusations). Her preferring boyish activities is never painted as a negative by the narrative unlike with other women in Westerosi culture. "Of course she's straight as an arrow and brags about how much sex she's having with her well-beloved and cherished-by-all brother-husband who was considered a peak heir and would neverrrrrr marry a bastard. Of course she thought most girls were idiots. Of course she brags about how many sons (never daughters) she's going to give her husband. Of course she does not care about anything outside of being a broodmare after being married like all good girls do. Bastard? Never. Two of her grandsons were kings we fondly remember. She is trueborn like her mother. She is Athena if she fucked."

But Jace, Luke, and Joff? Their mother was the first ever female heir apparent (not presumptive, apparent) to the Seven Kingdoms, and kept this status even after her father had three sons. She never apologized for this. And she entered a war over for her claim. "She wore a braid like that crazy warrior-witch Queen Visenya. She's breaking tradition by going ahead of her brothers in succession. She's bitchy sometimes. She's not thin like good women are supposed to be even after birthing several children. Speaking of children, yeah she did her duty and had many male heirs but some of them have dark hair and she's a whore, so they must be bastards. She's trying to take over a man's place. Of course she's evil and reveled in the deaths of her baby nephews. Of course she fucks outside of marriage. Honestly, I'd be more surprised if they weren't bastards!"

TL;DR: F&B uses paternity debates as a way to attempt to delegitimize/sow doubt against people the narrators don't like, this only prove by how inconsistent one's potentially faulty paternity is evoked on the basis of looks and nothing else. The chances of any of your trueborn faves secretly being a bastard is never zero. Now, I kind of want Alysanne to be a secret bastard.

UPDATE Sept. 5, 2024: Edited for grammar, word-flow, and minor spelling mistakes.

[ultfreakme]

I saw a lot of people saying Higurama should've been there in the double page spread instead of Junpei where Yuuji is recalling people who had a lot of impact on him. The argument being, Yuuji knew Junpei for one day whereas he knew Higurama for a month. As a Junpei girlie in the year of our lord 2024, that makes me biased but I want to tackle this properly and explain why Junpei was there instead of anyone else.

Yuuji's ideas on the value of life and death

Yuuji was not randomly reminiscing about people who died. It was these characters for very specific reasons and this is attached to the dialogue bubbles. These bubbles express his previous assumptions, and what he learned from them.

It starts with Yuuji's grandpa, Wasuke- his memory is attached to Yuuji thinking people have assigned roles. Wasuke was the first to give Yuuji a role. He enrolls as a Jujutsu Sorcerer because Wasuke told him to save people and Yuuji thought if he fulfilled this role, he'd have a good death.

The 'good death' is then linked to Junpei. Prior to meeting Junpei, Yuuji placed an emphasis on people dying "good deaths". This meant respectable and moral deaths where peoples lives were not tampered with. With Junpei, Yuuji failed at saving him (what Wasuke asked of him), and at giving him a proper death (the thing Yuuji wanted to give as a bare minimum). This was a double whammy where Yuuji properly understood the kind of world he has entered.

Then we transition to Yuuji realizing there is no such thing as "good death". Todo in Shibuya had pointed out to Yuuji that he keeps thinking about the meaning and logic to death so much he's disrespecting those who did die. This post here by @linkspooky (hello, sorry for tagging you, you don't need to read this mess, I just wanted to cite and link to your theories because they were fun to read) has a big section about how Yuuji sees things in terms of 'story' and 'roles'. Therefore for him, 'death' must have some significance too and he tries to assign meaning to Junpei's death as a coping mechanism.

But this ENTIRELY falls apart because one death? Yeah he can assign meaning to one guy, but everyone he knew and treasured were falling like flies. What significance could he give to Nanami and Nobara's death, who were also killed by Mahito? What of Shibuya? Yuuji heard Todo saying "don't dwell on the death of others, that would be trivializing their life and what they were, and don't drag yourself down" to further enforce his ideology of himself playing a "role".

Yes, Nanami and Nobara died meaninglessly, but Yuuji blamed his inability to perform his 'role' right in this 'system'. He dug deeper into the mentality of being one small part of this big thing and diminished his own significance to nothing.

BUT.

In 265, Yuuji has realized that is not the case and he says that over Nanami and Nobara. These two characters arguably had the most mundane dreams and reasons for being sorcerers. Nanami dreamed of a peaceful life and got back to sorcery to do something useful he didn't think a corporate job could provide- he felt himself to be contributing more to making lives better by being a sorcerer but ultimately he wanted to just, be happy.

While Yuuji sees being a sorcerer as being a 'hero' and as a somewhat noble profession about saving lives, Nobara DID NOT. For her, this is a 9-5 job. She took this on because it paid, she was good at it, and gave her the freedom to be herself. Over Nobara, we see Yuuji saying "just walking your dog and raising your family are also decent roles" (fingers crossed the translation is fine). Nobara wanted to go shopping, dress nice, explore the city of Tokyo, be independent and free of scrutiny. These aren't particularly lofty goals like "save everyone" but Yuuji didn't realize how much value these goals have until now. Her dying words were "it wasn't too bad" which probably made no fucking sense to Yuuji because she died young, horribly, needlessly. How could it be "not too bad" when she didn't get to do much at all?

He was so fixated on giving meaning to death and fulfilling some higher purpose he forgot that little things matter and these people are independent and unique individuals. That's when we see Choso, who lived and died because he simply loved his brothers, nothing about saving the world or anything. Yuuji's final statement that small fragments of memory and happiness gives value is said over Gojo. Gojo who's been the center of fucking everything. Gojo who is the strongest and most powerful. Gojo who's been assigned the lynchpin of sorcerer society and whose mere birth caused upheaval in the strength of sorcerers and cursed spirits. Yuuji realizes he remembers Gojo not for his power or his death but for the little moments they shared together.

Junpei's there, because he was the first person whose death he somehow tried to justify in his head. He was kinda making it about himself instead of seeing Junpei as an independent person. Linkspooky also made a great post about how Yuuji didn't really try to listen to Junpei as a person. He saw him as someone to be saved, or someone to be stopped until the last few minutes. All of these people he is remembering are people who taught him a vital lesson the first time around and were a huge turning point.

Higurama absolved Yuuji of his guilt and told him he shouldn't blame himself, and that is very significant, but Yuuji isn't talking about himself in this scene. He is talking about his changed perspective on the value of ALL life. These people he's thinking about have made him reconsider his perspective on his role with respect to others, which is why it's Junpei instead of Higurama.

Span of Time

Junpei and Yuuji knew each other for a day, two days if you're being generous. He shouldn't matter so much.

Aside from the trauma of seeing someone you conversed with and seemed to get along with die a horrible death while asking "why?" (ah i believe this might be where Yuuji started trying to give meaning to death), time doesn't really matter in terms of impact.

Geto and Gojo knew Riko for about 4 days, but Riko's death was Geto's tipping point into entering his corruption arc. Geto and Gojo knew each other properly for about two years. The remaining ten were spent not having seen each other at all (based on canon, I am all for them meeting up in secret in headcanons). But for Gojo, Geto is still someone very important. ChosoYuki knew each other for a couple of days too.

I think bringing up how time passes in real life is kind of useless in fiction. Practically speaking, Gojo should've then moved on from Geto a long, long time ago and his feelings about him should have diminished. Gojo also should've managed to get past his issues about Toji but he clearly still has some trauma and issues related to him. Yuuji knew all these people for about 4-6 months yet he is so traumatized by all of their deaths. It's less about "how long did they know each other?" and more about the narrative relevance of these characters in their life. After Sukuna, Mahito was Yuuji's biggest villain, and this was setup USING Junpei.

Similarly, though Riko and Haibara weren't really present in the manga for long, they served to highlight the exploitative nature of sorcerer society.

I know people like to mock Gege and the general fandom is already very weirdly hateful of Junpei, but Gege is very good at conveying meaning and themes through his characters. It was Junpei for a reason. JJK is a story that makes you, as a reader, introspect about things. I think this dismissal of Junpei, calling Megumi 'useless' and the general atmosphere where there's an emphasis on power rather than anything else is a really fruitless way of consuming JJK and I hope people learn to curiously ask why a writing decision has been taken, instead of coming at it with own assumptions and priorities.