#of having a place funded by my own dime

[system-of-a-feather]

I literally can't believe we are on our way to having our own job and regular income and supporting our rent by ourselves for ourselves soon. The relief at the idea of cometely shedding dependence on my family and actually opening up the open world that is life sounds so fucking nice. I feel like I've been railroaded in a torturous tutorial mission for 22 years. The fucking grind to do everything perfect just to advance to the next stage and get out of the railroad andninto the open world makes the first two hours of Cyberpunk NOT sound and look tedious jesus fucking christ.

-Riku

[brucewaynehater101]

I do have a few more examples! Tim offers Mister Freeze unlimited funding to help his wife on the condition that he sometimes helps with other projects. He hires Harvey Dent to be his personal lawyer (not that he needs one). Blood Sport, Death Stroke, Dead Shot, and many other mercenaries are hired to "break into" Drake Industries to hunt down and "kill" Tim or "steal" important information in order to test his companies defenses and tell him exactly how they got in so that he can patch any holes. He hires one to break in every 2 to 3 months but never the same person in a year. Like if he uses Deathstroke in August he can't use him again until January.

Tim also doesn't want to force these rouges to move far away from their homes so he opens up branches in Metropolis, Central City, Star City, and others too. Anywhere he opens an office for Drake Industries, crime rate always plummets thanks to him hiring all the Henchmen and giving them stable jobs that pay at minimum double the minimum wage of the area plus really good health insurance and other benefits. They even have dental and 4 months paid maternity *and* paternity leave! The desk work may not be as exciting as their previous jobs but boy is it safer.

Also I would like to make one note. DI is one of the few major cooperations in America that openly does *not* donate to the Jusitce Leauge. Tim is still salty about Bruce Quest and during an interview where someone asked how much he donates to them, Tim said, "oh I don't. At all. It's not that I don't believe in them, I do, uts just. There's already so many places funding them they don't need me. But you know who does? The younger generation of heroes. Did you know that The Teen Titans only get funding through the Justice Leauge? I don't think that's very fair so I donate to them. I donate to Young Justice. I track down and do research on dozens of younger heroes who aren't part of any organization and check to make sure they're doing good in their community and then I directly donate to them. Superheroing is expensive, just look how much the JL spends on it! Could you imagine? Being fresh out of high-school, working a minimum wage job, and having to make your own suit and gadgets while also paying for *college*? The stories I have heard from some of them! This one poor kid, he told me that he had to use this roll of regular fabric he found in a dumpster because buying a roll was to expensive! Of course I sent him to a super hero tailor on my own dime, after all he just wanted to help his community saving kittens from trees and stopping local mugging. But still, small heroes like him are important. After all, didn't Superman start by saving cats from trees? Didn't Green Arrow start by stopping a mugging? Didn't Batman himself start by stopping a purse snatching? You never know who the next big hero will be in 5 or ten years."

I might have gotten a bit to into that rant. Listen. Listen this is a subject close to my heart. Small Time Heroes Are Important!

My gods, I love this so so much. You combined two tropes I love: Tim using Business to fund social programs/decrease crime/hire ex felons and criminals, and Tim turning his back on the JL after the BruceQuest.

Added with Tim funding small time heroes???? This is phenomenal

[witlesswitnesstm]

I am a firm Marvin Gardens BPD/NPD truther, so here’s all my evidence.

This is a very long post, so buckle up.

• Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Let’s go through the symptoms he shows, shall we?

- Has unreasonably high sense of self importance, and requires constant admiration:

Marvin, especially as a child, exhibits a large amount of grandiosity. This is most evident in How Marvin eats his breakfast and My Highschool Sweetheart.

He thinks of himself as above the maid staff and he constantly threatens/accuses them. Then he’s given the role of Columbus, and highly identifies with him to the point where he claims he *is* Columbus. That he’s this grand explorer, who’s the king of the ocean. He believes he’s powerful because of the role.

Then as an adult, Marvin has a constant need for adoration. He needs people (like Whizzer and Trina) to love and want him in songs like Thrill of first love and This had better come to a stop. That might even be a reason he got with Trina in the first place. He wanted to feel needed, without the responsibility of having to love back.

Not to mention the line “Kid. Be my son.” In Father to son. He wants Jason to fulfill the role as his son (and subsequently love him), not really acknowledging he’s his own person. But he still deeply cares about Jason, and wants him to succeed, he just does it through the only lense he understands; himself. Also, I noticed that Marvin literally moves the chess board aside and makes Jason face him during that song, even though he clearly doesn’t want to.

- Believes they deserve special privileges or treatment:

The R of Ms. Goldberg shows Marvin is obsessed with getting what he wants, for no other reason besides the fact that he wants it. It’s also implied that he didn’t even necessarily have the acting skills required to be Columbus, Ms. Goldberg just conceded because he kept pestering her. He believed he deserved it, so he got it.

- Make achievements and talents bigger than they actually are:

Again, Marvin obsessed over being a star actor. He also consistently exaggerates his intelligence with lines like “I can read her like a book” in How Marvin eats his breakfast and “I'm not so rich but hell I'm smart.” In This had better come to a stop.

In I never wanted to love you, Marvin also claims that he’s in demand, when he’s most likely not and is just trying to cover for his ego.

- Preoccupied with fantasies of success, power, brilliance

Oh wow. Ok, so we all know about the metaphor for games at this point. Marvin loves winning, he literally says it’s everything to him. He also says that he wants it all multiple times which is just, really driving home the point that he craves success and power over everything else.

Marvin is also characterized as being rich, which again emphasizes his need for success. I’m thinking he climbed the corporate ladder for the sole objective of looking like he’s successful.

Side note, I think the reason he never acknowledges how rich he is might be because he’s ashamed of being a trust fund baby. He had a whole maid staff as a kid, so it’s implied his parents had mad stacks. He might’ve sought success outside his parents’ money so that it was his own accomplishment, not his family’s.

I want to touch on My chance to survive the night, specifically the line “I played a game. She was as cute as a dime and couldn't spell. I asked her to spell my name. That's it for girls.” Marvin has a history of using games as a basis for breaking up with people because of his insecurity, even before Chess game. He gets a lot better with this in act 2, and this is evident in the racquetball matches. He seems a little unconfident, but he’s not devastated by it in the way he would be before.

I’ve mentioned this in a separate post, but The r of Ms. Goldberg can also be interpreted as a fantasy for power, since Marvin isn’t actually interested in having sex with Ms. Goldberg, and instead just wants to have control over her.

- Is critical and looks down on people they feel aren’t important:

Marvin consistently ignores his sweetheart even when she begs for his attention. When she tries to tell him she’s a person, he calls her ridiculous.

Marvin also just generally acted out as a child because he considered everyone as beneath him.

This trait is especially highlighted In Tight Knit family reprise, where he just straight up talks shit about Mendel, not being able to believe that Trina can love him. It’s also shown in Marvin hits Trina, that he dislikes her platitudes and expects substance from her, and then goes on to again beg for admiration with the line “How could you ever deny what we had?”

- Expects others to do what they ask without question:

This is best shown in This had better come to a stop and Chess game. Marvin expects Whizzer to play the housewife, while not acknowledging that he’s his own person.

This is also displayed in Tight Knit family, where he expects everyone to go along with his perfect vision of what a family should be.

- Has an inability or unwillingness to recognize the needs and feelings of others:

This is most clear with Sweetheart and Trina. As I’ve said, Marvin blatantly ignores sweetheart’s attempts to love him, and completely disregards her. I want to note how he does this in favor of being attached to Ms. Goldberg and playing Columbus which are his power fantasies, essentially.

This trait is also shown in Breakfast over Sugar when Marvin basically tells Trina to shut up and that she’ll get over it when she’s having a a pretty expected emotional outburst to him divorcing her. He completely disregards her feelings, showing no empathy to her.

- Acts arrogantly:

This can just be interpreted as confidence but Marvin says that he loves being himself multiple times over the course of In trousers.

• Borderline Personality Disorder

- A strong fear of abandonment:

This ties into Marvin’s need for admiration, but he constantly asks others for validation, and even doesn’t want Trina to find new partners because he interprets it as abandonment of his family.

There’s also the workshop version of This had better come to a stop, which is all about how Marvin is terrified that Whizzer’s going to leave him again in act 2, but he tries to bury all those feelings down so that he doesn’t appear needy. One of the lines is “I sit here and slowly rot. Wait for Whizzer, wait for answers, and get none.” Which just really nails down this point.

There’s also Unlikely lovers, when Marvin refuses to leave Whizzer’s side in the hospital.

- A pattern of unstable, intense relationships:

I’m sure we all know where this is going.

Marvin has a lot of opinions about Trina. He says that he thinks she’s perfect in I have a family, but that at the same time, he says that he hates her in I swear I won’t ever again.

His wants are contradictory. He wanted Trina to leave him alone when he divorced her, but couldn’t accept that she married Mendel. Also, he fights with Trina consistently, even throughout Act 2.

Onto Whizzer, their relationship is driven solely by chaotic passion. Their relationship is *built* on fighting and making up with hate sex.

Whizzer has no idea how to feel about Marvin because of how unstable he is. Marvin can be gentle, but he expects everything to go his way. He’s affectionate but highly judgemental. (Then again, so is Whizzer.)

- Quick changes in how they view themself:

This is best shown in Your Lips and Me reprise. Marvin goes from hating who he was and what he did to Ms. Goldberg to having a whole ass victory song about how he loves being himself.

This might be sarcasm, but Marvin is also self deprecating in Tight knit family reprise, with the lyric “I'm too damn peeved, self-absorbed, self-deceived. Who knows?”

- Periods of stress related paranoia and loss of contact with reality

This is a stretch, but Marvin’s exes always hovering around him in In trousers might be paranoia about his past manifesting itself. This is especially clear in I can’t sleep and Your lips and Me reprise where they physically interact with him, preventing him from sleeping or reminding him of his past.

- Impulsive/risky behavior:

Bro got multiple STDs, presumably from unsafe sex. Also, it’s implied that he also got HIV after Whizzer.

Hitting Trina could also be seen as impulsive behavior.

- Wide mood swings:

This is where Marvin’s giddy seizures comes in. He has periods of extreme laughter and giddiness, sporadically.

- Inappropriate levels of anger

Marvin hits Trina. I mean, what else do I have to say? This whole song is about Marvin’s anger taking over his actions and causing physical harm because of it. He also shows inappropriate anger when he brings out Whizzer’s belongings after the Chess game.

Ok Jesus Christ that was a lot of words. Keep in mind that these are just my headcanons and you’re allowed to interpret Marvin in any way you want.

Also I don’t have these disorders myself and I’m not a professional psychologist or anything so let me know if I got some things wrong. I just care way too much about the Marvin Trilogy and I’m also interested in becoming a psychologist.

[plum-pitt]

Holy shit. I just realized i’ve never even yapped about my headcanons for the rise guys. This is a criminal offense on my part! Must be rectified immediately!!

Disclaimer: Don’t think there’s a lot of hot takes here, but feel free to disagree and talk about your own interpretations if you’d like!! Headcanon is fun and i love discussing it. it’s all fictional and since the text doesn’t give us much concrete shit on these topics we’re all free to make our own, equally valid readings of it. :3

Leo- Transmasc He/Him, gay as fuck who here could’ve guessed, ADHD haver, definitely smokes weed. Fluent in spanish from watching telenovellas as a child. Wants to be a flirty whore/aff so fucking bad but whenever he sees someone he’s legitimately attracted to any charisma he might’ve had gets thrown out the window and into a woodchipper in favor of helpless stuttering. His portalling mishaps early in the series have led him to silly sidequests all over the world that he just,,,, doesn’t really talk about. This won’t come up until they’ll end up in some random ass place and find out just how well travelled and connected he actually is. He’s also got a job at Hueso’s for fun and extra cash to fund his addiction to pot and ordering stupid shit he doesn’t need online. He’s a server, wears rollerskates to “move faster” on the job, just ends up running into shit more often than not. Great with the kids tho, performs little sleight of hand magic tricks and tells jokes to make them happy, never had a fussy kid he couldn’t calm down in a snap. Calls himself Hueso’s nephew and nepotism hire, ignoring the fact that he’s actually a decently competent and well liked employee outside of the several skating related accidents. Shell was cracked badly in the invasion, when they sealed it up, he asked Mikey to paint the healed cracks gold, mimicking the japanese practice of Kintsugi.

Mikey- Definitely queer but not into labels ;3 He/Him is what he defaults to, but any pronouns work for them. Semi fluent in italian, don’t ask me why, just feels right, let chef boy speak italian dammit. One of those mfs on instagram who insists on posting pictures of the food he makes, except his actually looks good and not painfully mediocre so they get a pass. Has been tagging walls in hard to reach spots all over the city for years at this point, after Raph confronted her abt it, fearing that he’d get caught someday, he told him that he’d stop. Yeah, that was a lie he kept doing it, just sneakier now. Makes money off of art commissions, still broke as hell tho cuz he spends it all on bougie ass ingredients and art supplies. Post canon definitely delved more into mystics and spirituality, trains with draxum but also took up meditation in his free time. Fucks with weed and the occasional psychedelic when working on art, says it helps get the creative juices flowing. Considering asking donnie to forge some documents for him so he can attend college online and earn a psych degree. His speech patterns flip on a dime between vague, wise fortune cookie therapist man and typical gen-z slang so abruptly it gives anyone not already familiar with him total whiplash.

Donnie- NonBinary They/He Bisexual but i can’t decide if they’re the kind that can’t stop pulling or can’t pull to save his life. Fluent in several languages, ASL, French, Russian, Japanese. Actually one of their few acedemic endeavors that he doesn’t typically show off and gloat about, makes it all the scarier when his siblings hear him muttering vaguely threatening sounding shit in russian when shit doesn’t go their way. Has tried most substances for “research purposes”, ultimately decided he doesn’t like the feeling of their big ol brain being hindered under the influence, this has a few exceptions tho, mainly when it’s with Leo. Has John Bishops IP address and threatens to drop it on 4chan to “see what happens” every time he tries messing with their family or stopping him from “borrowing” material resources from the US government. Almost considered bs-ing his way into college before they used a cloaking broach to shadow april at school for like 2 days. It was there they learned that the education system fucking sucks and he probably knows more than most professors about his topics of interest anyway. Does freelance work for cash, as far as their brothers know they’re not building and selling anything dangerous (which is code for probably arming both sides in a far away military conflict with deathrays). Spends his free time cyber bullying children on roblox and twitter, and caring for their greenhouse of plants that all have names. (yes he grows weed. his GeniusGrown™️ zaza is known far and wide for its consistently excellent quality. and no, Leo does not get a family discount. Mikey does tho.)

Raph- Someone please send the big man some help😭 he/him(?) Definitely queer in some way shape or form but refuses to confront any identity crisis because he’s just so busy keeping his dumb ass siblings outta shit. Tried weed once and will never touch a substance again, makes his anxiety spike real bad when he doesn’t feel in full control of himself. Runs around with Cassandra and sometimes Jr to do vigilante justice on the side of he and his siblings’ usual patrols. Living garbage disposal and i mean that quite literally. He has and will eat anything, rocks, toys, silverware, sometimes on accident, sometimes on a dare, and sometimes just because he wants to. He grew up gnawing on the legs of furniture, rusty sewer pipes, really any nonliving thing that he could fit his choppers around (unlike donnie who just bit any living creature within a 5 mile radius of his location). Since the invasion made Leo step up as leader Raph has been able to step back a little bit and not have everything in a chokehold, he has a mini crisis about his place in the family and his sense of identity without being a leader. Tries to hide how much it’s affecting him but ofc, living with mikey, this does not last and his ass FINALLY gets chucked (very lovingly) into therapy. Loves to knit, definitely in some kind of old lady facebook group centered around it (he has so much nursing home gossip floating around in his brain hehe)

Alright that’s all for the teetlez. lmk if yall wanna hear about my thoughts on the rest of the main cast, or some of the side cast! Can’t promise i’ll have this much to say on all of em but i’ve definitely got thoughts lol. I might even make a post diving into different character dynamics. idk tho, my fingies are tired typing all that shit😭

Anyway i hope u enjoyed my ramblings, have a lovely day :3

[rarespawnwrites]

WIP Wednesday

just for @msfcatlover, here's more from that scene in the Red Hood Steph fic:

While he had his little fit, Steph walked away, rolling her eyes beneath her helmet. Against the opposite wall was a niche she used as a storage locker. She sent the code to open it and, once it was open, she rifled through its contents. It wasn’t long before she’d found what she was looking for.

With one of her gloved hands, she snagged a heavy visor with a single opaque lens. With the other, she put her flat palm against the side of her helmet, head tilted, as though she could just cover her ears to block him out.

In reality, her audio filter evened out sound levels, letting her pick up quiet noises without being deafened by gunshots and explosions. She hadn’t prioritized more customizable volume control in the design. Hm. Is there an audio version of the “hindsight is 20/20” saying? She could come up with one; she was great at biology.

Casually, she spun the high-tech gadgetry around her forefinger as she swung the marble facade back against the wall, hearing it lock back into place.

Let’s see, ‘Hindsound is—’ Wait, no… That was dead on arrival. What the heck was hindsound?

See, this was what happened when you got home-schooled. And also brutally murdered mid-education.

Turning back, she gripped the visor, stilling its movement. She took a moment to check the power source, then activated it. When the lens lit up, she strode back to Tetch. His face was as red and wrinkled as a squalling infant’s, but without the excuse of actually being one. She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge her, just reached out and gripped his jaw to keep his head still. She shoved the visor over his face.

The sudden glare of the screen in the lens right up against his eyes startled him into a momentary silence as he tried to shrink back, squeezing his eyelids closed.

“I’m sending you schematics for the chip I’m working on. I need the subject to act naturally while carrying out my instructions, but they keep giving off that ‘drone’ vibe when they do something out of character that always tips someone off.” The Big Bat Guy had already caught the pattern, and now the courts were well on their way to establishing precedent for contesting financial decisions under mind control. Fuck her for holiday charity donations, right? Sheesh.

Tetch’s attention had been snagged by the schemetics, she could tell, but she could also tell he didn’t see why it mattered.

There was an elongated wet nasal sound, and then: “Just liquidate whatever assets you can manage until it’s spotted, my dear,” he advised. Through his wrecked throat and stuffed-up nose, it came out completely garbled: “Dusth ligvidayde bwadeba…”

Irritating translation work aside, he just zoomed straight from sobbing to lecturing with nary a pause, huh?

A mood swing like that would be suspicious from anyone, much less a rogue, but Tetch was imprisoned by his own obsession even more than he was by the fake mausoleum. He’d cooperate, just so he’d be able to go back to the dream world induced by his own technology.

“They can’t reverse withdrawals when you’ve taken it out of virtual space. Why worry about authenticity for a bit of funding?” He continued on, tone prim as though he was oblivious to his own state.

As if the point was to fund some flashy showdown. As-if. The point was to shake these assholes down to the last dime in their pockets.

And also help people. With redistribution of wealth or whatever. Sure.

“You know, you could have just said you had nothing.” Steph rolled her eyes beneath the helmet and palmed one of her knives.

“Wait!” Tetch rasped, sensing her intent. “Wait, give me just a moment, I’m looking, I promise!”

Steph let her hand drop, her thin throwing knife dropping back in its pouch. For a deranged sicko, Tetch was surprisingly good at reading the room. At least, he was when it came to saving his own sorry skin.

[lunii-tunes]

Speaking Through the Silence: How God Expressed My Feelings to My Mom

Whenever I'm with my mom, I make sure she doesn't have to spend a dime—I take care of my share of the rent for the room I occupy, meals, household necessities and other expenses. Also, if she's facing accumulating bills or debts, I contribute as much as possible to help her stay afloat. Plus, she's got my uncle who takes care of the full rent, and my brother, who assists with her phone bill and car insurance when he can.

Mom: Ugh, I’ve got a ton of bills coming up, but no money to cover them. Me: Where is all your money? Have you been going to the casino again? Mom: *went ballistic* WHAT EYES DID YOU SEE ME GO HUH?! I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW TO GET TO THE CASINO! Me: Parx Casino would not randomly send mail home with your name on it if you had not visited. Mom: My, my friend took me! And he gave me HIS MONEY to spend! Me: Who can say if he didn't invite you again, or if you'll use your own money after spending his? All I know is that you keep saying you're out of money. What's the reason for that? Mom: THIS CONVERSATION IS OVER! I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT NO MORE!

I was frustrated trying to address how her gambling and financial decisions affect us. Her emotional reactions and interruptions made me drop the topic to avoid conflict.

Later that night, I dreamed I was arguing with her about the same issue. Surprisingly, I spoke Vietnamese fluently in the dream, whereas I struggle with words in reality since she doesn’t understand English. I woke up suddenly, still speaking the words from the dream, which startled me. Overwhelmed with frustration, I began to cry and then prayed:

"Father, I’m unsure how to handle her situation. I’m exhausted from using all my money to cover her debts and bills. My own savings are depleted, and I can’t make progress in life. Talking to her only leads to yelling. But I’m placing it all in Your hands now. I refuse to let it stress me any longer. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

Two days later, I took her to her favorite restaurant, where she knows one of the senior employees. It was a quiet day, so he joined us at our table. While I focused on my meal, he and my mom talked about mutual friends. She shared a lot about various topics, and then, quite suddenly, the conversation turned to someone with a gambling problem!

Him: He has a job, but when payday comes, he spends all his money at the casino and ends up losing everything: his house, his car, and his family. I just can’t understand why people gamble away their hard-earned money. Mom: *quiet* Him: Not only does it ruin their life but also damages their relationships with family, friends, and those around them. Mom: *quiet*

I couldn't believe it when, in that unexpected moment, he voiced almost everything I'd wanted to say about gambling. I struggled to hide my smirk, while thinking to myself, "Yassss! Keep it going, sir!" Lol. It was a moment of silent triumph.

Him: When I have spare funds, I buy inexpensive vacant land, pay minimal annual taxes, and, if I can’t sell it, I plan to pass it down to my children for their benefit. Me: Interesting! It’s a smart strategy—when large companies eventually buy the land for business or development, they often offer more than what you paid. Plus, you’re building generational wealth for your children. I love that! Mom: *quiet*

When I got home, I retreated to my room, filled with joy and gratitude. I offered heartfelt prayers, believing that God had heard me and acted on my behalf. It seemed He moved that man to share a message that echoed my own thoughts and encouraged her to consider investing instead of wasting her resources. While I’m unsure if this will lead to any change or if she’ll heed the advice, it was incredibly comforting to have my unspoken words voiced by another, without the fear of being dismissed. This experience has strengthened my decision to follow God's path more closely, as I’ve felt His profound influence in my life.

1 Peter 5:7

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

God cares deeply for us and is willing to bear our burdens. We are encouraged to cast all our worries and anxieties upon Him, knowing that He is able to handle them and provide us with the strength and comfort we need. It is a beautiful reminder that we do not have to carry the weight of our worries alone; we have a God who is ready to help us.

[variousqueerthings]

Asking this genuinely in good faith but: im confused about what you mean when you say sex is a construct like gender? obviously like. The social and societal expectations around sex/gender are a construct. But I dont see how actual biology is? Obviously there needs to be greater understanding of the nuances of differences in sexes, and its not a binary like how a lot of people talk about it. But the difference in chromosomes, anatomy, hormones, etc. between different sexes is real, and it’s scientifically relevant to distinguish between them when performing clinical studies etc. so i guess i just wonder if you could elaborate on what you mean exactly when you say that? Thanks!

hiya, hope all is well in wherever you are anon. EDIT: well this got long

I assume you mean the post I reblogged about acknowledging that sex is also a construct that shifts depending on the agenda of the person speaking about it

first things first, gonna acknowledge, this is not my expert topic. a big reason why I reblogged this post (and a few other similarly ones over the years, reminding me that my tagging is a mess and I need to clean that up) is my allyship for intersex people - I want to listen to what they're saying, so my first big shout-out is to read up on what intersex people are saying about their lived realities and politics

also as a recommendation I've been enjoying a lot of what @genderqueerdykes have been writing (I believe I rb'd that post from there), which is a general widespread queer intersex-gender-and-aromantic-fuckery-based positivity, that is good for my all over the place soul (also I am currently unemployed, but if someone has a bit of cash to spare there's a continuous fund to help support through homelessness at the top of that blog)

secondly to second, I agree with you --it is important to be able to distinguish various characteristics in human bodies (for example, say, the ability to give birth, let's go with a big one there, not everyone can do that one) so that we can effectively support people medically, do important clinical studies, and also, for sure, speak about elements of bodies that are gatekept, monitored, denied agency, and otherwise become elements of a society that is white supremacist, colonialist, patriarchal, ableist, queerphobic, transphobic and -- returning to aforementioned under-discussed elephant in the room -- intersexist

so to clarify on the idea of the post you're referring to, whilst also going into why I've just listed out some of the violating institutions of our society, the way we decide what defines sex, is changeable, and comes from our cultural norms, it's 100% what you said "The social and societal expectations around sex/gender are a construct" <- you're very much understanding the post with this sentence

take sports. sports is currently one of the biggest spaces we're seeing this out in the open. the notion of what defines a Woman (sex-and/or-gender-malleable-depending-on-the-speakers-agenda) is changeable depending on skin colour, country of origin, "masculine" features (also white supremacist in function, who can forget that tweet where three cis non-white women were "called out" for being trans women -- I've seen similar many times), being intersex (whether or not the person knew about it beforehand, and in Caster Semenya's case, she was tricked into giving up that information, so that's a big non-consensual medical violation amongst all the others), and of course, the patriarchal idea that women just must be weaker all the time, and if they won't be it on their own dime, then we'll change the rules and force/coerce them to do things to their bodies that they did not consent to. gender roles enforcing sex as social construct

I note that since the 20s and all through today, women have had to undergo various humiliating checks to "prove" that they were real enough women to play sports. which coincidentally is what people have been saying girls are risking having to do now in America if things continue the way they have been

as a sidenote, I was watching a neat little documentary interviewing various trans people in sports called "Game On, Queer Disruptions in Sport," which included a story by a Bulgarian ex-rower who back in the day was ousted from professional rowing for being tested positive as intersex. in their story they talked about how actually over half the team were, but it was only because they told their coach and it became public that it was a problem. where does sex end and gender begin in all of this? whose agenda does it prop up when not talking about something "allows" some people to be women and others not to be (to be clear, they no longer ID as a woman, but if memory serves as intersex as their gender so that adds a whole nother dimension, but boy oh boy this is getting long)

sex -- in the sense that people are born with different chromosomes, levels of hormones, developmental Stuff that hijinks how those hormones interact with the body, and a million other facets that affect what we call sexual characteristics -- is real, in the same way that height differences are real (here's a video by philosophytube, which from memory is very trans-skewed, which, understandable, she was going head-on with the terfs and transphobes at the time, but I do think less overall on intersex people -- but yeah, she did the height example there, I'm borrowing it)

how we decide to enforce gender through sex, what sex counts as Enough to be allowed access to [insert gender], what sexual characteristics are allowed without censure and/or other forms of violation of body and (you guessed it) how that overlaps with ideas about gendered characteristics, how we create the gender roles based on our assumptions about sex, and then how we enforce those gender roles onto sexual characteristics like a depressing game of ping-pong, in which each reinforces the rights of the other part of the "argument" to say "well, we need to constantly remain vigilant in order for the world to be neatly divided into two, easily distinguishable categories, otherwise Chaos will ensue! how can we know what a Man and a Woman is if it's not clear cut somehow!" (deep breath)

we're.... sort of on the path of going "well alright non-binary is a thing, as long as we assert that this is purely Gender, the Thing Going On In Your Head Ya Weirdos, perhaps we can just about allow something that's a catch-all third gender type thing in a few countries (although, notably to meeeee, not in the UK)," but we haven't yet truly begun to deal with the fact that whatever is going on with the human body is so much more complicated than that and people are absolutely suffering because of this

and the more one thinks about the sheer rabbit hole of this reality, the more one realises just how damaging we're being, first and foremost to intersex people, and then spiralling, hitting every bigoted institution branch in the book on the way down, because well, okay, gender we'll juuust about accept can be fluid and changeable, but we'll not actually... interact with how bodies are fluid and changeable, because of genes, geography, medical intervention, illness, or idk, a hundred things I havent thought about

so in conclusion: how do we decide to define sex-and-gender? what is our agenda with discussing sex/when we bring it up in our politics (and I mean this not just as a hypothetical for frothing at the mouth rightwing bastards, us, who I believe to be well-meaning, too)? is it to end surgery on intersex babies, is it to make sure transmasc people can access pregnancy support, is it to allow girls and women (any and all girls and women) access to healthy outlets in sports, etcetcetc? is it to be able to more effectively discuss the ways bigoted institutions interact with one another to enforce their ideas onto bodies? or is it to rigidly enforce the divide and insist that while we'll allow the gender thing (again, just about, with caveats, heavy disclaimers, etc) there are two sexes, and never shall the twain intersect, interact, overlap, or indeed have anything to do with gender, for they are immutable objective realities that are not at all affected by our politics and ideals...

it's a sad, unsexy state of affairs

I hope this gave a little introductionary Thing and curiosity to poke at it further. potentially somewhere where someone has much more detail on the actual Philosophy of all of this, because I'd think that's cool, and also for this is like. pokes here pokes there, and also can you tell I'm actually jock from the focus I decided to take there? no? whew still in the closet on that one

[thoughts-of-a-social-worker]

Why Henrietta Lacks’ “Immortal Life” Matters

I don’t recall hearing the name “Henrietta Lacks” before college. I suspect that this is a common story among folks my age and those who graduated before Rebecca Skloot’s book The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks was published in 2010. In fact, the reason Skloot wrote her book in the first place was because no one seemed to be able to answer her question – who was Henrietta Lacks? Skloot, who has dual degrees in biological science and creative nonfiction, set out to find the answers on her own. After more than a thousand hours of interviews, scientific and historical research, and deep dives into archival content (as well as the personal journals of Henrietta’s daughter, Deborah Lacks) she was able to show the world a holistic story not just of HeLa cells and Henrietta Lacks but of her family and their struggle to come to terms with her “immortality” – as well as how that immortality came about. 

Skloot’s book stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for more than six years and, ultimately, I believe it raised awareness of an individual’s rights (or lack thereof) to control how their tissues are used, as well as illustrating the racial inequities embedded in the U.S. medical system. In Skloot’s afterword, she noted that it was not illegal for doctors to take Henrietta’s cells without her knowledge in 1951, nor would it have been illegal when the book was published in 2009. She discussed how, while hundreds of millions of tissue samples are being stored in the U.S., there is no case law that fully clarifies whether an individual has a right to control their own tissue once it is removed from their body. While it’s true that this absence of individual rights resulted in major medical breakthroughs, the Lacks family didn’t find out how Henrietta’s cells were used until decades later and never received any compensation from the entities who profited from the use of her cells. Skloot included a quote from Deborah Lacks which summed up the family’s frustration well, stating, “... I have always thought it was strange, if our mother cells done so much for medicine, how come her family can’t afford to see no doctors? Don’t make no sense. People got rich off my mother without us even knowin about them takin her cells, now we don’t get a dime.”

The Lacks family is certainly not the only family to have ever been taken advantage of by the U.S. medical system for research purposes. There is an extensive history of exploitation – particularly of people of color – which is justified by the need for continual advancements in medicine. From the 1840s experiments performed by Dr. Marion Sims (also known as the “Father of Gynecology”) on enslaved Black women to the 1932 Tuskegee experiments which purposefully denied syphilis treatment to Black men, subjecting BIPOC individuals to medical violence for the purposes of study is not a new phenomenon. It’s no surprise that marginalized communities, especially Black communities, have a deep mistrust of the U.S. medical system. I think about the vaccine skepticism among communities of color during the COVID-19 pandemic and, with these repeated acts of medical violence in mind, I find myself having much more empathy for those who may have been afraid to get the COVID-19 vaccine. 

Johns Hopkins, the medical establishment which first took and cultured Henrietta’s cells, initially tried to better understand how her cells worked by studying her children – and it’s important to note that this was done without the family’s awareness of the researchers’ intent. Today, Johns Hopkins hosts a symposium every year in honor of Henrietta Lacks and celebrates the advancements made possible with her cells. While members of the Lacks family have been present, and she has posthumously been thanked, no additional recompense has been provided to the Lacks. In fact, it ended up being the Henrietta Lacks Foundation created by Skloot which provided money to Henrietta’s immediate family members, in the form of grant funds. As of this spring – more than 70 years after Henrietta’s death – the attorneys representing Lacks’ estate shared that the family has received no financial compensation from either the pharmaceutical or biotechnology industries that have profited from the use of Henrietta’s cells. In August, there was still no update as to whether or not the lawsuit filed by the Lacks family will go to trial or be dismissed by the judge. For now, her family continues to wait, and hope, for justice.

[nickgerlich]

Seeing Blue

I grew up in a very different era. Different stores. Different cultural values. Different everything. If I were able to go back to the 1960s, the decade of my youth, I wouldn’t recognize the place, so much has changed since then.

And one of the biggest most popular retail chains back then was Kmart. It was Walmart long before Sam Walton could gather enough momentum to expand out of Arkansas. The chain traced its roots to founder traveling hardware salesman S. S. Kresge, who opened his first store in 1897 with a partner. The shops, which soon spread across the US, were part of what was then known as the “five and dime” category, meaning cheap stuff.

It was in 1962 that his successor opened the first large-scale retail store, a prototype of the big box phenomenon that would come decades later. They were suburban, whereas the original Kresge stores tended to be center city. Kmart quickly became a retail icon.

There was a shiny new Kmart not many miles from where my family lived at the time, which was the south suburbs of Chicago. My Dad the Accountant always loved a bargain, and had no problem going there in search of one. Mom was enticed by short-term promotional offers that helped her replenish household needs, as well as personal products. My brother and I went along for the ride.

It was Kmart’s signature promotional stunt that probably painted a black eye on the company, though. Their Blue Light Special caused customers to get in an uproar, but also became synonymous with inexpensive junk.

Let me paint a word picture for you. At a seemingly random time, a shop employee would start walking the aisles with a special cart that had a revolving blue light mounted atop a pole. This caught shoppers’ attention, because no one knew where he was going. They just knew that a free for all was about to happen. At the ordained time and location, he would stop, and a voice would come over the loudspeaker: “Attention Kmart shoppers…”

And the deal was announced. “Pantyhose in Aisle 8 for 99 cents!” The women would go wild, pawing over nylon stockings as if this were a Black Friday sale on Xboxes. My brother, Dad, and I were left scratching our heads wondering what we were seeing, primal instinct propelling these women to fight as if they would never own another pair.

It scarred me for life. But then again, maybe it helped shape my never ending fascination with consumer behavior. I still don’t understand that scene, though.

Anyway. I have digressed terribly. Let’s skip forward to the 21C, which found a struggling Kmart and Sears merging in 2005. Both chains had seemingly outworn their welcome on the American retail landscape. Eddie Lampert and his hedge fund orchestrated the unlikely marriage, ostensibly so he could invest vast sums of money in both and make them more competitive again.

It quickly became apparent that Lampert was not at all interested in retail, but rather the land beneath it. The two chains had massive amounts of valuable real estate, and he started closing stores so they could be repurposed or demolished for other purposes. By 2019, there was little left, and in a fit of bankruptcy—long after he had extracted the value—he sold it to Transformco in what was probably the dumbest purchase ever. Unless, of course, Transformco thought it could squeeze a few more drops out of the orange.

Today, there are 11 Sears stores left in the continental US, and one in Puerto Rico. And Kmart—God bless them—is about to close its one remaining full-size store next month. All that will be left is a seriously downsized Kmart in Miami, and stores in the US Virgin Islands and Guam (because there’s no competition on those islands).

Fans of old retail are mourning, although we all knew it was just a matter of time. Amarillo lost its Kmarts years ago, as did the outlying towns. I remember the one in Clinton Oklahoma closing not long ago, one of the long-term survivors. You can always tell an old Kmart store, even though the company was always swift to remove all signage and vestiges of branding. About the best you could hope for is what we call a “label scar,” meaning the fuzzy, ghostly imprint of lettering when the rest of the building had faded around it through the years.

I am pretty sure that most of my students have not experienced a Kmart, unless you grew up near one of the rapidly dwindling number of stores during the last 20 years. They were hideous, typically in disrepair, with merchandise scattered haphazardly throughout. It wasn’t just cheap. It reaked of cheap. “Blue Light Special” had come to characterize the whole place, not just a good deal over on Aisle 8.

I could be callous and say good riddance, but I recognize that Kmart served its purpose. In many regards, Dollar General and the other stores of this type are carrying on the tradition, although on a much smaller scale, and without colorful lights. By comparison, Walmart looks like Saks 5th Avenue, and Target is Nordstrom.

And yet I still remember the carnage of women gone wild that one day. Some memories you simply cannot erase.

Dr “But I Wish I Could” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[ruminativerabbi]

Pittsburgh

Like most of my readers, I suppose, I have been watching the trial of Robert Bowers, the perpetrator of the massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, with a strange brew of emotion concocted principally of fascination, horror, pride in our American justice system, and intense personal engagement—the latter despite the fact that I’ve never actually been to Pittsburgh, thus also obviously not to that synagogue, and that I did not know any of the victims personally.

The charges alone were hair-raising enough to consider during the trial, but the verdict feels even worse: guilty of 22 crimes, eleven capital counts of obstruction of free exercise of religious beliefs resulting in death and eleven capital counts of using a firearm to commit murder during and as part of a crime of violence. Of course, none of the above was at all unexpected: even Bowers’ own lawyers did not waste the court’s time by arguing that their client was not the shooter, choosing instead to argue that he was not primarily motivated by hatred of Jewish people in general, but specifically by his hatred of the HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society and his understanding that at least one of the congregations housed in the building he attacked worked with the HIAS to assist immigrants in need.

There’s a lot here to unpack. The HIAS has been around for a long time, having first been founded in 1881 to assist Jewish persons newly arrived on these shores in finding lodging and employment, and in developing a sense of belonging in a new place so unlike their countries of origin. That remained its primary focus for a long time too—which is why supporting the HIAS was, in my childhood, as uncontroversial a thought as supporting the March of Dimes or the JNF. And it did its work famously well, establishing an office on Ellis Island itself in 1904 and assisting hundreds of thousands of those who arrived there. They provided translation services for would-be immigrants who didn’t speak English well or at all. They lent the truly indigent the $25 “landing” fee that all who passed by those portals were obliged to pay one way or the other. They provided lawyers to argue before the so-called “Boards of Special Inquiry” the cases of individuals who might otherwise have been sent back to Europe. On top of all that, they found the funds to launch nation-wide searches for relatives of the newly arrived so that the former could provide affidavits of support for the latter to guarantee that they—the new immigrants—would not end up as indigents living off public money. They opened a kosher restaurant on Ellis Island that eventually served more than half a million meals. And they created a kind of charity travel bureau to assist new immigrants in covering the cost of train tickets to wherever it was they were going to settle. Perhaps most useful of all, they opened an employment bureau to help newcomers find work.

All that being the case, what’s not to like? My parents were big supporters, never setting aside an envelope from the HIAS without putting a check or at least a few dollar bills inside before mailing it back. As well they should have: three of my four grandparents came to this country through Ellis Island and all benefited from the presence of the HIAS officials waiting for them to disembark and helping them through what could easily have been a harrowing experience in a foreign language they could barely speak. And that, of course, was without knowing that being sent back to Europe would almost definitely have meant eventually being killed along with two-thirds of European Jewry during the Second World War.

Later, the HIAS was instrumental in saving as many European Jews as possible, famously saving 1400 children the Nazis had incarcerated in French concentration camps and bringing them to America. (Nearly all their parents were subsequently murdered by the Germans.) All in all, about 45,000 Jews were saved by the HIAS during the war, none of whom would otherwise have survived. And then, when the war was over, the HIAS assisted in finding homes for more than 300,000 Jewish souls left in D.P. camps with no place to go. Eventually, the HIAS would also play a major role in helping Jews permitted to leave the Soviet Union in finding new homes in Israel, Western Europe, or the U.S.

It's hard to imagine why Robert Bowers would have cared about any of this. Nor, apparently, did he. But the HIAS also took on another role in the latter part of the twentieth century. In 1975, the State Department asked the organization to assist in the settling of 3,600 Vietnamese refugees here in the U.S. And that constituted a sea change for the organization, which now turned from its original raison d’être of helping Jewish immigrants to helping refugees of all nationalities in need, extending its mission to address the needs of all displaced persons in need of assistance in finding or settling into new homes. And that was the part that Robert Bowers apparently couldn’t stand. “HIAS,” Bowers posted online, “likes to bring invaders in who kill our people. I can’t sit by and watch our people get slaughtered.” And then he famously concluded that post with words that were subsequently repeated a thousand times: “Screw your optics! I’m going in.”

And in he went—to a synagogue housing three different congregations, one of which had indeed participated just a week earlier in HIAS’s annual National Refugee Shabbat. Shouting, by police accounts, “All Jews must die,” he set to his deadly work. It didn’t take that long: Barrows entered the building at 9:50 AM and by 11:08 he had surrendered to police. And so, in just a little over an hour, eleven died. Two were a married couple. Two others were brothers. Six others were injured, which figure includes four police officers. The dead, in alphabetic order, were Joyce Flenberg, Richard Gottfried, Rose Mallinger, Jerry Rabinowitz, Cecil Rosenthal and David Rosenthal, Bernice and Sylvan Simon, Daniel Stein, Melvin Wax, and Irving Younger. They ranged in age from 54 to 97. None was guilty of anything other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

At first, it might almost sound as though Bowers’ lawyers were right, that this was “about” HIAS and its mission to assist refugees of all kinds and points of origin and not “just” about killing Jews. But Bowers didn’t shoot up a HIAS office and neither did he take aim at any of their refugee clients. Instead, correctly understanding that part of the Jewish worldview includes a deep and ineradicable sense of identity with the refugees and displaced persons in this cold, uncaring world we inhabit (a point presented in Scripture not as a good idea or even as a noble one, but as a divine commandment), he took aim at Jews because they had embraced their Judaism and the worldview that their faith calls upon them to adopt. And it was that specific part of Jewishness that Bowers couldn’t tolerate, the sense that it is requisite that all who would call themselves godly or decent feel a deep sense of kinship, not with the masters and rulers of the world, but with the powerless, with those seeing refuge from tyranny or poverty, with the defenseless and the desperate. And it was expressly to express his loathing of that kind of worldview—one so identified with Judaism that it would be impossible to imagine Judaism without it—that Bowers chose to act. He chose innocent victims because they were Jewish, because they were in synagogue on Shabbat morning to affirm their Jewishness, because they were associated—both in Bowers’ mind and probably correctly—with the mission of the HIAS not to turn away from those seeking refuge in the world but to turn towards them and to embrace them as fellow children of God.

And now, the verdict having been handed down, we turn to the next part: the sentencing phase of the trial scheduled to begin on Monday, at which time the jury will have to decide whether to sentence Bowers to life imprisonment without parole or to death.

As always, I find myself unsure where I stand on death penalty issues. On the one hand, who could possibly qualify for execution if not a man like Bowers, a violent extremist who mercilessly executed eleven innocents to make some sort of demented political statement about an issue to which none of his victims had any direct connection? He falls in the same category, then, with Dylann Roof, the young man who murdered nine innocents in 2015 after spending an hour studying Bible with them at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina, and who was subsequently found guilty and then sentenced in state court to nine consecutive sentences of life without parole and in federal court to death. Both men acted willfully and intentionally. Neither had any particular personal animus against any of his victims. Both were angry souls fueled by violent hatred. If the death penalty is the ultimate punishment our justice system metes out, then to whom should it be meted out if not to people who fully intentionally kill innocents specifically because of their faith or the color of their skin?

On the other hand, I see the arguments against the death penalty too. The victims don’t come back to life when their executioner is executed; the death penalty speaks to a need to punish felt by the living but yields exactly nothing at all to the dead. Should it matter if the deceased individuals were on record as being opposed to or in favor of the death penalty? And how should faith itself impact on the way we feel about the death penalty? Do we argue that the Bible itself, which clearly has no problem at all with the notion of execution as the proper response to violent crime, should be our guide? What about the strictures that Jewish tradition places around the death penalty, strictures so tight that it would be more or less impossible for a traditional rabbinic court to sentence anyone to death even if such a court were to have the authority to hand down such a sentence? In the end, do we support the concept of the death penalty in theory because it is, after all, the ultimate in punitive acts at the same time we oppose it in reality because of the possibility of error? Is it relevant in this regard to mention the over 300 convictions that have been overturned based on DNA evidence since the Innocence Project began its work in 1992? Surely that should be irrelevant here—neither Bowers’ own lawyers nor even the defendant himself tried to deny that he was the Pittsburgh shooter. Or is it irrelevant, given that, by supporting the idea of sentencing the man to death, we are saying clearly that we support the death penalty while knowing that that the work of the Innocence Project makes it more or less certain that innocent individuals have been executed in our nation’s history?

All these are the thoughts I bring to the conviction and eventual sentencing of Robert Bowers, the perpetrator of the Pittsburgh massacre. What happens to Bowers will happen without any input from myself. But what I can do, and invite all my readers to join me in doing, is to pray that his victims rest in peace and that their deaths collectively serve as a mass sanctification of God’s name in this violent, crazy world we inhabit.

[payday-loanscanada]

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[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

High Stakes Push

Summary- 1.4k Nick Gant x Reader. You and Nick have a job to do that require some skills that your rag-tag team of Division's Most Wanted posses. It requires some finesse, some surprise, and most importantly, not getting caught.

Warnings- Threatening manner. This is an 18+ Only Blog.

A/N- This is written for @darth-anakin-bucky 1k Challenge. My prompt will be italicized in the story. Thank you Suz for letting me participate and congratulations on your milestone. I'm sorry that this is so late though. All mistakes are my own.

Main Masterlist

You fiddled just outside of the clubs exclusive door. Where you knew the card game was going on, waiting with a tray of drinks. Nick was already in there, working the game with a finesse that you trusted. 

There was one thing Nick Gant was good at, it was a decent hustle. He would be able to goad and intice everyone to put everything they had into the game. Money, jewlery, cards, valuables. It was a gauranteed payday for you two, not to mention the other item you two were actually hired to steal, this was a easy job, a quick job and your little ragtag group desperatly needed it now that funds were running low once again. 

The two of you had it down, even down to you imposing as a clubs waitress, dressed to kill if need be. Strapped to your inner thigh was a dagger that had gotten the two of you out of some less then desirable situations. You just hoped that this wouldnt be one of them. 

Loud noises, bouncing lights and exuberant buzzed people pounded the energy behind you. You felt them, your body drawing from them the whole time, building, building, building. It throbbed in you, but you contained it like a little bomb in your core. A bouncer stood at the door, looking you up and down as if checking you out. 

Sweet little innocent, you with your skimpy dress and tray of drinks looking to go resupply the game going on with the twenty-five thousand dollars buy in. Cassie told you this would be the one to hit, worked it all out for both you and Nick. Assured you that they would let you in thinking you were simply the owner's newest favorite working girl. You could play this part. 

“How long you been here Sweetheart? Ain’t never seen you delivering drinks for Burgendy before.” 

You already rehearsed this line, Nick worked with you to make sure you got it just right. “Long enough. Got Burgendy’s Dalmore 62.” You nodded at the ridiculous expensive shots carefully placed in the middle, which the man glanced down. “He’s expecting this right now. You are not gonna make me explain to Mr.Burgendy that I’m not bringing his victory shots because his man wouldn’t let me through.”

It’s all about bluff, all about bluff. He looked you over once more and then stepped aside to let you through. You breezed past him as if you belonged, climbing a red encased set of stairs to the upper levels. Another door was clicked open for you, allowing you to enter the exclusive game. You never even looked at Nick as you approached the club owner. 

A truly vile man who took advantage of his workers in various ways. Cleaning him out gave you a sense of pleasure, as well as the rest of the men here. You could see the collection in the center of the table, piled high, just waiting to be plucked. Burgundy boasted out in a confident laugh, beckoning you in closer to him. “Got something just for me? You sure are a pretty thing.” His hand clasped the back of your ass, a fat hand digging into a cheek like he owned you. 

The temptation to stab the fuck in his neck right there was strong. But you resisted. You felt a rumble of the table and you willed Nick to chill and not loose his cool, not yet. 

You set the requested shots in front of the owner, smiling sweetly as you played the sweet innocent part, pretending to stutter over your words and act meek. “Y-yes, straight from the bar. They said it was your favorite Sir.” 

“Oh you are a keeper. Ass like a dime and manners to boot.” He pulled out his wallet and slipped the last remaining bill from it, tucking it in the front of your dress. “Keep this up Honey and I will keep you on my personal staff.” 

You had the wallet in sight, his ID’s and cards that was your main target in sight, it was enough to act not. For the first time you glanced at Nick, the clear signal. Now. 

Nick pushed back from the table, well out of harm's way while all that club energy you stored, you let it go. A heavy boom of a wave pounded around the table, the shock wave sending the bastards gambling at the table flying in all corners as if blasted from some invisible force. Nick managed to keep them pinned in place, his fingers splayed wide while maintaining the pressure across the room. “Gather it up Y/N, I can’t hold this many for long.” 

You scrambled, scooping up the wallet where Burgendy dropped it and sweeping your arm across the table to shove everything into a bag you had folded under your dress. You grabbed the dagger strapped to your thigh, leaning over Burgendy as he struggled against the pressure, beads of sweat rolling down his face in his fear. You let the knife tip slide along the edge of his face, sneering at him. “An anonymous buyer sends there regards. Keep fucking with your employees and someone worst then us will be back.” You snapped up to a stand, striding out of the room from a different exit with Nick right behind you. 

His arm went over your shoulder and he started counting doors, looking for that fifth one that Cassie insisted would take you through the kitchen and out into the back alleyway. There was yelling behind you, which you glanced over Nicks shoulder and sure enough, the bouncer who let you in was bursting through the door and looking for you. 

“We gotta get out of here Nick.” You ducked your head a bit to keep him from noticing you. 

“On it.” There was a twist of his fingers and the door burst open to let you two slip through. The kitchen ignored you two while darting down the aisle. You felt bad because these people were innocent in all this but you had to make a distraction. 

Nick did it for you, tossing up trays of utensils and food behind the two of you. No one continued following you, paused by the mess of flying plates and expensive fliet mignon. The back door was your saving grace, bursting out by a dumpster that looked like a body or two had been tossed in before and a disaster of a alleyway, Nick pulled you two to hide around it, out of sight. He enclosed you into his arms, shielding you form sight as your dress would have been a dead giveaway and you reached around him to yank his hoodie over his head, keeping your heads together while the door on the other side of the dumpster burst open. “We lost them Sir…” 

Nick and you held your breath, praying that he wouldn’t look around too much. You heard shuffling and the creak of the door slamming shut once again. “Well, he put zero effort into looking for us.” Nick scoffed as he let his tight hold loosen. 

“Just like Cassie said.” You said confidently as you let yourself give a nervous chuckle. Nick turned his gaze to that dress, whistling softly. 

“You look smoking hot in that Bunny.” He pinned you back to the alleys brick wall, his good mood at pulling this off making his features lighten up, a mischievous glint in his eyes while he traced a finger over the plunging v in the front. “I was ready to pop that bastards head off, touching you like that.” 

“I’m glad you maintained control. You are getting better.” You praised while he went in for that kiss, one that was just dirty in all the best ways, the adrenaline rush making you gasp against plush lips that still tasted of overpriced liquor and promises of a good time once they returned back to their little current hidey-hole. Your hand grasped the back of his neck to hold yourself in place, brushing into the spikey strands to give a gentle tug. Nick hissed against your lips, but let himself lift away. 

“Nick, if we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it’s on you.” 

“Ain’t no one gonna catch us.” As he said that, the door slammed back open, making you both duck out of sight. Once it went quiet again, Nick jerked his head towards the street, taking your hand. “You’re right. Let’s not push our luck.”

[babybluebex]

retribution pt.1 [charles blackwood smut]

➽ pairing: dark!stepfather!charles blackwood x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 4.9k ➽ summary: after charles marries your mother to gain a massive fortune, he realizes that he married the wrong woman, and he sets his sights on the real heiress: you.  ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, thigh-riding, oral (f!receiving), power dynamics, step!cest, masturbation, yandere/obession (i think??), daddy kink, breeding kink, slapping, mentions of murder/suicide ➽ a/n: i know that is different than what i usually post, but charles blackwood just... hmmm he grinds my gears in the best way. so, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio (and the sequel will be soon!)

From the very moment you laid eyes on Charles Blackwood, you loathed him. There was something about him physically that turned you off of him. Maybe it was the way his hair was just too perfectly done, the caramel highlights too pretty to be natural. Maybe it was the way his cologne filled your head, dark and lovely, but too masculine, like he was making up for something. Or maybe it was the smile that graced his pink and pouty lips when your mother introduced him to you as her husband. 

It had hardly been a year since your father had passed, and you had no idea just how your mother could move on as quickly as she did. It had torn you up in a way that nothing else quite had. You had always been closer to your father than your mother and, when he got sick, you were left to bear the weight of what was happening. You went to visit him at the hospital alone and sat with him and read to him, and you held his hand as the nurses carefully turned off his machines. You guess that it was worth it, though; you found out that your father had altered his will and now, instead of his money being left to your mother, it was left to you. The only condition was that you had to get married to receive the money, going back to a conversation many years ago where your father tried to convince you not to go to university, telling you that the life of a wife and a mother would suit you better. You said that you would think about it. 

“You’re not my dad,” you told Charles Blackwood. You expected him to be cross or maybe even hurt by your insistence upon that, but he smirked, as if he had expected that sort of answer. “I’m not gonna call you that.” 

“Aw, that’s alright, honey,” Charles said, and he pressed his hand to your mother’s shoulder to stop her from scolding you. “I didn’t think you would. That’s awful, what happened to him. I’m really sorry about that.” 

So casual, the way he talked about your father’s death. As if it was nothing more to you than a bad exam grade. You cried that night, locked up in your room, wanting Charles gone already. He was in the kitchen when you went in in the morning, sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, and whistling. He had the glow of a recently-spent man about him, and you internally sneered at the thought of him fucking your mother. “Hey, you,” he said, putting the paper down. “Let’s have a talk, huh?” 

You glared at him, but sat down at the table all the same. You dug your thumbs into your orange and raised your eyebrows expectantly at him, and Charles pursed his lips. “I want you to know something,” he said. “I love your mom, right? And I have no interest in being your new dad or whatever. But I expect you to treat me with a little bit of respect, not any of… This.” He waved his finger at you, obviously talking about your current abhorrent pose. “I may not be your dad, but I’m still paying the bills and paying for you to go to university. So you’re gonna treat me like you fucking worship the ground I walk on. Got it, honey?” 

“And what do I get outta this?” you grumbled. 

“You get to keep living here,” Charles said. “You still get all that money that your father left your mother when he died. I don’t see what else you need.” 

You scoffed. “Right,” you whispered. “‘Cause you only care about money. Well, Chuck, that’s fucking hysterical, that you think I’m even remotely like you. I can see past dollar signs and see what people are actually about. Anyway, I could care less about your money. I’ve got my own.” 

“Doing what?” Charles asked with a dismissive laugh. “Waitressing?” 

“You wish,” you sneered. “Mother didn’t get any money from Father.”

“All that money?” Charles asked slowly. “Where the hell did it go?” 

“Into my trust fund,” you said highly, and you watched Charles’s blue eyes widen. “I have every cent of my father’s. All I have to do is get married, and me and my husband can fuck off, away from you.” 

Charles stuttered for a moment, then said, “Let me get this straight. Your father left every red dime to his kid and not his wife? And you can only access it if you get married?”

“I told him that I wasn’t getting married,” you explained. “This is his twisted way of guaranteeing that I tie the knot at some point; soon, I guess. But congratulations, Chuck. Welcome to the family.” 

As you stood up from your place, Charles’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, and you yelped. His grip was strong, veins in his hand exposing themselves, and his jaw was set with a rising anger. You could see the red flush in his chest and neck, and, as pleased as you wished you were, you were frightened by him. Your father had never grabbed you like that before. Nobody had. “What did I say about a little goddamn respect?” Charles asked through gnashed teeth, and he twisted his hand, pulling your skin and making you cry out in pain. “You don’t call me Chuck. You call me Charles, or Father, or fucking nothing.” 

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” you hissed. 

Charles’s face was red now, and he lashed out and struck you across the cheek. Before you even had time to cry out, he had you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. “Go to your room,” he told you. “Next time I see you, if this fucking attitude isn’t fixed, you’re gonna be really sorry. You hearing me, honey?” 

You nodded, using every ounce of your self control to not burst into tears on the spot. You cursed him in your head, wishing for him to leave you and your mother alone. You wanted him gone, maybe even dead. Certainly nowhere near you or your mother anymore. Charles stared at you, watching you, making sure of your compliance, then he let go of your face and tugged you close to his body by your wrist. Confusion overtook you as he hugged you, but then it made sense when you heard the floorboard in the hallway creak. “I know you miss him,” Charles said, quiet but certainly loud enough for your mother to hear from the hallway. “And I can’t be him, but I’ll try my best. Alright, honey?” 

He sent a quick pinch to your tender wrist, and you finally let out your caged sobs. “Hey, hey,” Charles said, shushing you in what could be mistaken for comfort. “No need for crying, little one. I’m here for you.” 

When you finally tore yourself from Charles, he looked happy. The anger was gone from his face, and he smiled at you. “‘Morning, lovely,” he said to your mother, and he stepped around you to embrace your mother and kiss her cheek. 

“What’s going on?” your mother asked, looking at you worriedly. 

“Having a little heart-to-heart,” Charles said softly. “Said she missed her father, and I told her that I’ll try my hardest to be there for her.” 

“Aw,” your mother cooed and placed a kiss on Charles’s lying lips. “You’re too good to us.”

That conversation seemed to change something between you and Charles. He was still an asshole when your mother wasn’t looking, but you knew not to tell her. She wouldn’t believe it, and it would inevitably just mean more trouble for you. However, there was suddenly something more with Charles. He seemed charming, as always, but you sensed something sinister underneath it. You knew that he was only after your father’s money, and he was now stuck with your mother when it was you who had all the money. You knew that he was mad at marrying the wrong woman, but he couldn’t do anything about it now, and the thought that your presence vexed him as much as he did you pleased you. 

Except, as you found out one night, Charles still could do something. 

It was still dark outside your window when you heard your bedroom door creak open. You liked to sleep with it closed, and you brushed it off as the house shifting as it settled. Your clock said that it was five in the morning, and you nearly got up to close your door back, but you smelled him first. Fresh from his morning shower, cologne still potent, Charles lingered in the doorway to your room before stepping in. You squinted your eyes to try to see what Charles was doing, but still trying to act asleep, and you watched him cross to your dresser, across from your bed. He carefully opened drawer after drawer, obviously hunting for something specific, and your heart dropped when he crouched to the bottom drawer and his hands came up to brush back his hair. 

Your heart burned with hate and disgust as you watched your mother’s husband, your stepfather, pull out a pair of your panties. You had done laundry just two days earlier and hadn’t worn them yet, and you watched as Charles pressed the bundle of cotton to his face. After a moment, he stood up, your panties in his fist, and you quickly closed your eyes to feign sleep as Charles approached the bed. You felt his presence right by your face, felt his eyes watching you as you slept, and he whispered, “Fuck, little one...”. Then, you heard the zipper on his pants. Through your eyelashes, you watched Charles press his half-hard cock into his fist and begin to stroke himself, rubbing himself with your panties. He slotted his bottom lip between his teeth as he masturbated, watching you as you “slept”. “So fuckin’ pretty… Gonna be mine.” 

You tasted acidic hate in your mouth, but you couldn’t make yourself confront him. To your knowledge, nobody had ever masturbated to the thought of you before. There was a tiny part of you that liked that Charles was so hung up on you, even if the dominating part of your brain told you how sick it was. Anyway, you hardly wanted to interrupt him and stop an orgasm and give him yet another reason to hate you. 

Charles’s cheeks went red in the dim light of the room as his fist moved faster. Your panties were bunched around his cock, flushed and nestled there like it belonged, and you closed your eyes fully. You didn’t want to see him come. You didn’t want to know what he looked like. You moved slightly, adjusting your legs under the blankets, and Charles let out a quiet little grunt. “One day…” he mumbled to himself. “Gonna be mine… All that’s gonna be mine.” 

His breath caught in his throat, and you heard the wet squelch as his cum coated your panties. Charles stood for a moment, watching you, feeling his cock soften in his hand, and he finally sniffed and stuffed the used panties into his pocket. He tilted his head as he continued to examine you and the way you gave little noises as you slept, and he smiled. Oh yes, he thought as he brushed a bit of hair from your cheek. You would make a good wife. 

Later that day, you were absently wandering around the house. It was too hot to do anything outside comfortably, but you definitely didn’t want to be around Charles or your mother for the moment. Even though you hadn’t seen anything that Charles had done, his grunts and hisses were enough for you to know that he enjoyed his time in your room that morning. You had yet to find your panties, and your stomach roiled when you wondered if he still had them in his pocket. 

Your stepfather called your name from across the house, and your heart dropped. As you made your way to his office, you decided to play with him in the worst way possible. If he was going to haunt you and make you miserable, you were going to do just the same. Charles was leaned back in his desk chair when you got there, smoking from his pipe. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his gelled hair coming a bit undone. He looked stressed, and perhaps a little anxious. “Yes?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Charles asked, blowing out a mouthful of thick smoke. 

You shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose,” you said. “Why?” 

“I wanted to take you to dinner,” Charles said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to make it up to you, if I can. I… I truly apologize for hitting you. I have a short temper, see, and I’m trying to be better about it.” His lips were pursed, his eyes trained on you. 

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that his apology was genuine. But he needed you on his good side in order to get your fortune. He was buttering you up. You sighed. “That’s alright,” you said. “Umm… I’d like that, I think. Would Mother be coming as well?” 

“No, little one,” Charles said, and you remembered how he had called you that as he pleasured himself into your panties. “Just us. A father-daughter dinner.” 

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Would you be angry if I called you Father? I just think…” You trailed off and pretended to be ashamed as you played with the sleeve of your dress. “Maybe it would help me adjust.” 

“Not at all, honey,” Charles replied. “Anything to make you comfortable.” 

You gave him the smallest smile, and you approached his seat. “I should have greeted you with a bit more open-mindedness,” you mused. “I was being childish. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because I… I just want you to like me, Father.”

“Aw, honey, I do like you,” Charles said, tilting his head. “You’re already forgiven.”

Your smile grew, and you leaned over to give Charles a tight hug. You could smell his strong cologne as you embraced him, and you made sure to give a soft little moan in his ear. “Oh, Father!” you started. “I can’t seem to find some of my clothes. Would you happen to know where they might have gone? Mother’s always on about donating unused things.” 

“I have no idea, little one,” Charles said, and you straightened up. “What exactly are you missing?” 

“Just a few sweaters,” you said, tracing the etching on the desk. “A skirt or two… A pair of panties with daises on them.” You gave a little laugh, and added, “They were my lucky pair and I just… Never mind, that’s embarrassing.” 

“No, I mean,” Charles began, and he shifted in his chair. Your words had done exactly what you had hoped; he was suspicious and uncomfortable. “If it means a lot to you. How exactly are they lucky, might I ask?” 

You laughed quietly. “Oh, Father, I couldn’t possibly tell you,” you giggled. “It’s not the sort of things girls talk about with their parents.” 

“C’mon,” Charles smiled, reaching forward and playfully tickling your side. “If you don’t tell me, then I’ll assume the worst.” 

In truth, the panties meant nothing to you. You couldn’t even remember when or where you had gotten them. But if it made Charles uncomfortable, then you would stretch the truth however far you needed to. You bit your bottom lip and giggled, and you said, “Fine, fine. I wore them the night I almost lost my virginity, and I… I just feel good wearing them.” 

Charles straightened in his chair, setting his pipe aside. “You’re not a virgin?” he asked. 

“I said ‘almost’, Father,” you whispered. “I still am.” 

“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Charles told you. His hands went to your waist and tugged you closer to him, and he carefully parted your legs with his knee. “Are you waiting for marriage?”

You shrugged. “Or whatever,” you said. “I wanted to do it, but I just… He wasn’t my type.” 

“And what is your type, honey?” Charles asked. 

Your stomach was curling with disgust, but you kept up the ruse. “I don’t know,” you whispered. With a sigh, you settled yourself on Charles’s thigh, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Just, someone who knows what they’re doing, I guess. Who can make me feel good without making mistakes. Older, I suppose.”

“What else?” Charles asked. His thumb brushed against your hip bone, and you shivered when you felt your walls flutter. You couldn’t possibly be turned on by playing this sick game with your stepfather, could you?

“I like dark hair,” you said softly. “Tall. Nice eyes.”

“So…” Charles began and gave you a satisfied grin, one like a wolf who had cornered his prey. “Me.” 

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “I-I guess, when you put it that way--” 

“It’s alright, little one,” Charles said softly, and he leaned forward and kissed each of your cheeks. “It’s alright if you’ve got a little crush on me. Tell me, honey: have you ever been touched before?” 

“Yes,” you replied with a fake meekness. He seemed to like the more innocent side of you. 

“Yes…?” 

You swallowed down disgust, disguising it as nerves. “Yes, Father.” 

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “How have you been touched?” 

“A boy put his fingers in me,” you told Charles, avoiding his eyes. “And his mouth on me.” 

“Where on you?” Charles pressed on. His hand slipped down to your bare legs and let his fingers linger on the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

“Father,” you mumbled. “I can’t say it.”

“Show me,” Charles demanded, his face suddenly stony. “Put your hand where that kid had his fucking mouth.” 

You let your hand rest on top of Charles’s, and you lifted it to your breast first. “Here--” 

“Over your dress?” Charles laughed. 

“N-No,” you laughed softly. You bit your lip as you guided his hand down the neck of your dress, and you shuddered at his warm palm on your soft nipple. Your cunt fluttered again, and you fully blushed when you realized that Charles had certainly felt it against his tense thigh. “Here,” you whispered, and you found yourself letting out a quiet moan as Charles groped at your breast. You weren’t supposed to be enjoying this. No, this was supposed to be torture for him. 

“You like when I touch your tit like this, honey?” Charles asked, and you nodded quickly. “So good for your father, little one. Where else?” 

You took his wrist and pulled his hand up to your mouth, and you placed a gentle kiss to his fingertips. “He kissed me,” you said. 

“Did you like it?” Charles asked. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and you took it into your mouth as Charles watched greedily. 

You shook your head, and Charles pulled his thumb from your mouth. “What did he do wrong?” he asked softly. 

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I just didn’t like him, I suppose.” 

“Do you usually fuck guys you don’t like?” Charles asked. 

“I didn’t fuck him, Father!” you said quickly. “I-I stopped it. Remember?” 

“Oh, right,” Charles said in a hushed tone. “Saving yourself for the right person, who just so happens to have every quality that I possess. Is that right?” 

“Father,” you groaned, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. For some reason, you didn’t entirely mind the smell of his cologne anymore. You didn’t mind his perfect hair. You didn’t even mind the wolfish smile that overtook his pink pout. 

“Where else was that boy’s mouth?” Charles whispered. “Did he put it anywhere else? Or just on your pretty little mouth and tit?” 

As you grabbed his hand, you realized that there was absolutely no going back. Your plan was set in motion and there was no way to stop it. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself, and you slowly took his hand down your body. You carefully lifted your dress and settled his hand over your cunt, and you shuddered at the warmth of his palm. His fingers were against your hole, the heel of his hand pressed to your clit, and you watched him lick his lips. “You naughty little thing,” Charles chuckled. “You let him put his mouth on your pussy?” 

“I didn’t like it,” you told him quickly. “I didn’t like him.” 

“Honey, I’m gonna ask you this once,” Charles whispered, pressing his hand fully against you. Even through the thin layer of your panties, you could feel every inch of his hand, and you bit your lip and tried to control your hips from bucking into his palm. Amongst other things, you were sure that you would get in trouble for it. “Do you want me to fuck you? I can show you how good you’re supposed to feel, little one, you’ll love me for it.” 

You nodded quickly, but yelped when his free hand landed a smack on your ass. It truly hurt, and you whimpered when his hand stayed on your ass and squeezed. “Use your words, honey,” Charles said. “As much as I like the little dumb whore act, I wanna hear you beg for it.” 

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, Charles, please. Please, Daddy, please fuck me.” 

“Ooh, Daddy,” Charles purred. “I like the sound of that, baby. Stand up and take off your panties, sweetheart.” 

You did as he told you, shivering when the cool air hit your wet cunt, and Charles tugged you back down onto his thick thigh. The roughness of his pants made you whimper louder, and he sent a slap to your cheek. It wasn’t hard and didn’t even hurt, but you gasped all the same. “Keep your fucking cock-hole shut,” Charles hissed. “You want your mother to hear you fucking yourself on my leg?” 

“N-No, Daddy,” you whined. 

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “Show me how badly you want me.”

“Huh?” 

Charles took fistfuls of your dress and tugged it downwards, letting your tits escape. “I said, show me how badly you want me to fuck your little hole, babygirl,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my thigh, and maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll bend you over this desk right now and fuck you ‘til you can’t walk. You want that, baby? Want your daddy’s cock wrecking your pretty little pussy?” 

You rested your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, and you rocked your hips down onto his hard thigh. The material of his pants brushed your cunt and clit and made you bite back a whimper, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You hated the way that you were enjoying it. You hated him. Maybe you even hated yourself. But self-loathing could wait until you got off, because the pleasure of everything was too overpowering to focus on much else. 

Charles’s hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere that he could manage. He squeezed your tits and pinched your nipples, and bolts of pleasure rocked through your whole body. That, added with the feeling on your clit, was almost too much, and you whined out. “Daddy--!”

Suddenly, his hand was over your mouth, the other clamping down around your throat. “Shut up!” he huffed. His eyes were alert, locked on yours, and his face was red. Was he really angry? The thought that he was truly angry made your stomach flip, and not in a good way. “I told you to shut the fuck up, why can’t you listen?”

You pleaded with your eyes, asking him to forgive you. It was important for your plan that he didn’t have any ill will towards you. You needed him to want to marry you, and to actually do it. Then, you would get the money, and you could find a way to stage a suicide before the money was put into his bank account. Then, you would have your father’s money, and live with just yourself and the fortune he gave you. But, in order to do that, you had to do everything Charles Blackwood asked of you. You had to treat this horrible man like the sun shined out of his lying ass. You had to make him want to marry you. Which, at the current moment, didn’t seem like it would be too difficult. 

You mumbled behind his hand, trying to warn him that you were going to come, but he only hit you across the cheek again. “Not another sound, you fucking whore,” he said. “Fucking yourself on your father’s leg. So slutty. You gonna come? You wanna come on Daddy’s leg?” 

You nodded quickly, and you started your hips faster. Your legs were quivering and you could hardly hold yourself upright anymore, and Charles took note of the tears brimming at your eyelashes. “Is this the first orgasm you’ve ever had, honey?” he asked. He seemed softer suddenly, and his hand left your mouth; the other stayed secure around your throat, though. You nodded quickly, and he gave a little coo. “Aw, my poor baby. I guess I oughta take some pity on you, huh? You’ve been good to me after all… Take off your dress and sit on the desk.” 

Your dress hit the floor, and you settled yourself on the edge of Charles’s desk. It was a hefty thing made of mahogany, and you clenched your thighs together as Charles’s eyes raked over your entire body. “I know you’re not trying to be modest now,” he laughed. “Open your legs and show Daddy that pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip and did as he said, and you gasped when his eyes finally landed on your cunt. You were dripping wet, your slick glistening off your thighs, and Charles let one thick finger glide up your slit and collect your wetness on his fingertip. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he laughed. “You were really close, weren’t you? Let me guess, you want me to shove my cock in you, huh? Want me to fuckin’ split you in two and stuff you full of my cum? God, you would look so pretty, gettin’ all big with my baby.” He paused to suck your wetness off of his finger, and he gave a quiet little sigh. “Oh, God. Of course you taste good… So sweet, like sugar. It’s almost like you want me to eat you out, sugar.”

“Please,” you sniffled. You reached for him and pulled him in by his tie, and he slotted easily between your thighs. “Please, please, please, Daddy, want your mouth on my pussy, please, make me come, Daddy…” 

Charles placed a soft kiss on your forehead as a way to placate your begging, and he whispered, “You’re asking so nicely, sugar. How could I say no to your pretty little face?” 

You didn’t know what exactly to expect as Charles kneeled down in front of you, and you carefully pushed your fingers through his hair, through those perfect blond highlights. The moment his tongue touched your clit, though, you forgot entirely about how you were supposed to be hating him. You forgot practically everything that wasn’t Charles. He lapped up your wetness and placed a wet kiss to your lips, and your stomach clenched as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “Aw,” he whispered, his warm breath making your cunt flutter again. “You look so pretty, sugar, all fucked out like this. Can’t wait ‘til I can actually fuck you…” 

And, with that, he dived in. He was kissing, licking, and sucking your cunt like it was his only goal in life, your thighs in his bruising grip. You had the instinct to clamp your legs shut, and you nearly did, but Charles pulled his mouth away just enough so that his lips teasingly brushed your clit, and he whispered, “Now, that’s not what good girls do, is it?” 

“M’sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. “Just feels so good.”

“I know, sugar, I know,” Charles whispered. “You’re being so obedient for me, though. Do you think you deserve a reward?” 

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, I’ve been so good for you. Done what you’ve asked, please let me come.” 

Charles sighed, looking up at you once more. “I love listening to you beg,” he whispered. “But you’ve been doing good for me. Go ahead, sugar. Come on my face, baby.”

The way his lips shined with your cum nearly made you pass out. If it were anyone else, you would have adored the sight of it, but, since it was your awful fucking monster of a stepfather, you loathed it. Still, you pulled him close and kissed him all the same, cringing at the taste of yourself on his mouth. 

“What do we say?” Charles asked. His hands smoothed down your body, landing on your waist, and he tugged you flush against his body. 

You let out a quiet little laugh. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered. 

Charles smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “You’re welcome, sugar.” 

[my-favorite-aesthetics]

Hey there! I'm Kara, though some might know me as Fluffy. I'm hosting this fundraiser for my friend Orion, because he can't safely do so himself. I can't tell his story better than he can, so here are his words:

"Help a disabled trans man stuck in an abusive home escape his abusive mother and family

I’m Orion, a 22 y/o queer man with too many sicknesses, diagnosed and undiagnosed to count, but currently unable to access proper treatment for any of my ailments given the environment I am currently in. My mother is the biggest factor in my current situation. Between the severe homophobia/transphobia, and her constant stalking/micro-managing of my life that includes actively using my disabilities against me, and her aggressive bouts caused by her alcoholism and general nature, I really need to escape. It’s only getting more dangerous for me as the days go by. It is impossible for me to get out on my own currently given her control of every dime I’ve earned thus far and our location. She monitors almost everything I do, and I am struggling more and more to avoid her lash outs everyday. I am terrified, and my health is suffering terribly for place I am in right now. I just need to figure out funds to escape as well as funds to support myself when I leave. My disabilities have prevented so much already in progress and I cannot let the costs for them prevent this any longer. Without my medicine/assistive devices I will die, but if I stay here I am at greater danger. Anything will help."

[jeongvision]

Member: Jaehyun

sugar dadddy au ,“Can I taste you?”

thankyou❤️

pairing. sugar daddy! jeong jaehyun ✗ sugar baby! fem! reader

genre. borderline smut, sugar daddy au, non idol au, strangers to lovers au

warnings. cursing, suggestive themes (heavy make-out scene), implied smut, not proofread bc i’m tired as heCk

author’s note. SKSKKS okay so kiss scenes are prob my BIGGEST weakness so bEAR WITH ME HERE i’m trying my best but feedback is awesome guys bc i can’t tell if i’m doing it right send help

Anyone born in the modern era can absolutely vouch that college is a fucking bitch to fund for, for society has decided that it would be a great idea to force the young generation into thousands of dollars in debt just to get a degree you probably won’t have a use for. In no way are you saying that obtaining an education is useless—in fact you love learning new things around the world—but you find it utterly repulsive that there is this pressure placed on you to get a college degree or else you’re deemed a failure to the public’s eye. And with the increasing debt from your loans and the interest rates attached to them, you were desperate to find different means in paying them off than working your ass off for the next twenty years.

What better way to pay them off by having someone pay it off for you?

Succumbing to the internet has landed you with a single businessman in his twenties, fully loaded with cash to spend on anyone who is willing to attend with him on one important business affair to scare off possible marriage proposals from his potential business partners.

The man’s name is Jung Jaehyun, and holy fuck is this man knees-down attractive. You were a little skeptical at first of his offer because what’s so hard about acting like a trophy girlfriend wrapped around someone’s arms when there at thousands out there that would do it for free? Whatever, you thought. Easy job, easy money. And it was an easy job indeed, for he was gentleman all throughout the whole evening. He made sure you were taken care of, pampered for, and made sure that you were comfortable for the entire evening you were with him. He was a sweetheart, and you felt like you were on the top of the world. You get to have your debts paid off and spend some time with an attractive businessman. Nothing gets better than this.

Oh darling, don’t speak too soon. This is just the beginning.

You sat in Jaehyun’s passenger seat as he drove you back to your home. For the first time in years, not a single dime in your wallet has been spent for the latter has provided it all just for you. From the dress you embodied to the jeweleries you complemented all the way down to the heels you traveled on, you wondered how this feels to be part of the upper class. To be able to afford such luxury without fear of making a dent in your bank account seems like a dream too good to be true. And yet here you are, having already a taste of what it’s like to become the rich, you couldn’t deny how glamorous you felt.

However, rules are rules, and it’s upsetting to say that you won’t be experiencing it again any time soon. You and Jaehyun have already agreed that this is a one-time arrangement and you two shall depart from each other’s live once he drops you off at your door. It’s a shame really because you were actually enjoying his company, exponentially exceeding your expectations of how a rich person acts. In the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, if you were to erase his title of a rich businessman, he is just like every one of your friends, just a dash more mature.

You let out a sigh. ‘If only I could spend a little more time with him,’ you thought.

“You okay, y/n?”

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts and looked over to the driver side, Jaehyun half-concentrating on the road and on you.

You giggled a little. “Yeah I’m okay,” you shrugged. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

The time on his dashboard currently reads 11:34pm, certainly coinciding with the dark skies splattered with millions of diamonds. You immersed yourself into the leather seat and looked out the window, gazing at passing cars and trees as you reached closer to your home.

You could hear a chuckle from his end. “I just want to say thank you for joining me tonight. It really means a lot to me.”

You smiled, your expression reflected on your windows to which he catches a glance of. “Of course, it’s the least I could do for our agreement.”

Right when those words left your mouth, there’s a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. You winced a little. Was it wrong of you to say? You’re not sure. One thing you’re sure of is that it’s the truth, and sometimes the truth hurts.

As your front door came to view, Jaehyun parks his car in your driveway. Turning the ignition off, he was quick to unbuckle and exit his vehicle to open your passenger door, sweetly smiling down at you. You couldn’t suppress the chuckle in you. “I guess chivalry is not dead,” you joked, earning a smirk from him. You got out of his car and walked up to your doorsteps, Jaehyun following behind once he shut and locked his door. You two stopped in front of your entrance and faced each other, your porch lights automatically illuminating the dark after sensing your presences.

He gazes down at you, intensely, eyes peering into your own that sends shivers down your spine.

“I-I guess this is goodbye then,” you whispered.

He nods, his eyes never leaving you. “I guess it is then.” You two continued to stare each other down, time slipping into a continuum where nothing else mattered in the world. It’s just you and him, alone at night, the crisp air failing to cool down your heated cheeks as he gazes down at you intensely.

You shakingly let out a sigh. “Be careful driving.”

And right when those words left your mouth, there’s a sweet taste left on your tongue, your body trapped against your front door. Jaehyun’s lips are pressed against yours, his arms pinned on both of your sides. You reciprocated his kisses, moaning in between as your mind loses all focus. He was soft, sweet, and so delectable that you left you wanting more, craving more.

He pulls apart from you, breathing heavily as a translucent thread of saliva connected both of your now-swollen lips. Your face is flushed, your pupils are dialated, and the growing tent in his pants makes it harder and harder to think rationally.

All throughout the night, he adored your innocent nature, finding it no less than adorable for a compassionate individual you are. In just a span of a few hours, he found you more intriguing than all the other women he encountered in his lifetime. He wanted to get to know you more, explore further into the depths of your lens and see the treasures that holds within.

He places his hands on your waist, pulling you close against his own body and knocking the air out of you. “Ma chérie,” he groans, “may I request one more favor of you for the evening?”

You wrap your arms around his neck to bring your face close to his own, your lips only gasp away from crashing into his.

There’s a saying that the eyes are the mirrors of one’s soul, and you’d be damned in hell for lying through your teeth that you didn’t anticipate for this moment to come. You saw how he looked at you the whole night, and you were dying to see more sides of him.

You nodded. “Be my guest, mon cher.”

He sighs deeply. “Can I taste you?”

May all your innermost desires be released from their shackles, for the taste of temptation is too great to bear within.

You let out a mischievous giggle. “Do as your wish, love.”

Oh darling, looks like your professors won’t be seeing you in class tomorrow.

jeongvision’s milestone event!

[binniedeactivated]

txt reactions. || 👾👾

as dads... 👨🏻‍🍼

a/n; i’m sorryyy i’ve been in a fluffy mood lately I haven’t posted smut in a while but I promise I will! enjoy this though <3

soobin -

bro, he’s the clueless dad

doesn’t know anything about being a parent. is lazy about preparing to be a dad but he has a few tricks up his sleeve

everything would fluster the hell out of him. when the baby poops, when the baby pees, when they baby pukes, or when the baby cries he’d get surprised about it every single time as if it doesn’t happen

you know those type of dads where everything is literally a learning moment for them? yes, that’s soobin

is a dorky dad

his children will most likely own him, he won’t own his children

type of dad that gets beat up by his toddler kids for absolutely nothing

they walk in and kick him in the shin while he’s cooking

or pull his hair while he’s trying to read to them before bed

feel like his daughter would be the exact replica of him like seriously, would have his his whole entire face and matching dimples

with that being said, is an absolute sucker for his daughter

gives her anything she wants even if she’s a spoiled brat he’s scared to say no

needs his wife to teach him how to put his foot down

i feel like soobin’s son would be wild asf lmao

repeats every inappropriate thing that soobin says

“daddy? what does bullshit mean?”.

will scold his kids if they’re acting too wild but they never listen to him so it doesn’t really matter

again, he needs his wife to help discipline the kids

i know it can be quite common for parents of color (minorities) to hit their children but in my opinion I don’t really think soobin would hit his kids all that much

he  would pay a lot of attention to them though and know them like the back of his hand but he can’t really control the shit that goes on in his wild household

his wife will mainly come home every night to a messy kitchen and messy living room with soobin passed out on the couch and the kids curled on top of him snoring

all in all he loves them though, they’re his babies <3

yeonjun --

honestly, yeonjun is a pretty attentive father

i think he would be veryyyyy playful and affectionate

would want to do EVERYTHING with the baby

want to cook, want to clean, want to watch tv, want to talk to him/her and hold them all the time

has separation anxiety when his children are away from him for too long

even if he’s at work he’ll face time his wife often just so he can see the baby

if he takes his kids to the park he’s literally watching their every move

will still hug and kiss them on their cheeks and forehead no matter how old they get

extremely overprotective

no really, don’t touch yeonjun’s babies unless you want to die

protects his daughter from anyone that tries to date her

i think yeonjun’s son would most likely pick up one of his talents and his daughter will pick up the other

his son can sing and his daughter could dance, vice versa

encourages them to follow their dreams

supports anything and EVERYTHING they

definitely documents everything lmao, even if it’s small he’ll record or take a picture

will make a photo album of all of his children’s achievements

is the type of dad that’s always talking about his kids

literally fr--he mentions them in every conversation

he’s just a proud dad alright? don’t judge him

i think yeonjun’s children would be extremely well behaved and well kept 

mostly because yeonjun doesn’t play around LMAO

nah fr, he’s a dad that knows how to scold and punish. his kids know better than to cross him

gives his kids anything they want

takes them on vacations allllll the time 

universal studios, disney world, legoland, you name it and he already booked the trip

honestly the type of dad that’s always somewhere having fun with his kids and posting photos on social media

is IN LOVE with being a dad

beomgyu --

lmao beomie is the cool dad

literally will talk to his baby like he/she is grown 

“i’m tired of this show. you want to watch netflix? big mouth has a new episode”.

“can you stop crying? that’s weird. all you did was pee. you’re acting you’re a baby or something”.

“why don’t you just use words? tell me when you’re hungry. stop acting like you can’t talk”. (his baby is literally 2 months old)

loves sleeping with his babies the most. loves when they cuddle with him in bed and just fall asleep in his arms and on his chest

plays with them all the time, chasing them around the house playing laser tag or ‘the floor is lava’ lmao

loves playing video games with them, doesn’t let them win just because they’re young

will literally beat them in every game with no remorse, he just tells them they have to learn how to beat him

when they’re older he’ll literally let them do whatever they want 

“dad can I go to a party?”.  “sure whatever”.

“dad I’m going to a club with my friends”.  “alright. be safe”.

“dad I think I’m pregnant”.   “damn how that happen? I hope your baby’s father isn’t ugly tbh”.

is the type of dad that will lie to his wife about their children’s bad grades to save their asses

always sugar coats the parent teacher conferences to his wife, telling her that they’re the star students (even if they’re bad as hell)

laughs when one of his kids curse

teaches them the cheat codes to getting what they want in life

his kids ADORE him lmfao

is the most understanding and caring dad there is

taehyun --

strict dad who is a good listener lmao

i think taehyun would be more prepared when he knows he’s about to be a parent. of course he knows he doesn’t know everything but this man would be so prepared lmao

literally would do research on different things just to try and get a better understanding of how children’s minds work

his kids would be baby geniuses please

his daughter would be playing mozart on the piano at the age of two

his son would be a mathematician at four

LMAO i feel like his kids would be smart and mean ASF

literally the bougie kids at school with the latest clothes and shoes and don’t want to associate with the dumber kids

spoiled ROTTEN by taehyun will literally call him for the smallest inconvenience

“dad can you put more money on my credit card? I’m feeling sad today”

“dad I need a spa day”.

and yes taehyun will do these things for them at the drop of a dime

i feel like he’s the type of dad that knows everything, literally can’t outsmart him

if one of his children lies he already knows that they’re lying and already has evidence to prove it

I don’t think any of his children would ever lie to him though lmao taehyun don’t play that shit

type of dad that will allow his spoiled ass kids to live in his house for as long as they want without requiring them to move out

absolutely weak for them

will set up bank accounts and college funds for them

literally does EVERYTHING for them i cannot stress this ENOUGH

will buy their first apartment if they want it

will buy them their first cars

taehyun’s kids : part time job? what’s that?

type of dad that his kids can talk about anything and everything with and they love him for it

can be a crackhead dad too, will do the craziest shit to make his kids laugh

his kids are his world <3

kai --

lmfao i feel like kai is the fine line between being prepared and not knowing what the fuck to do every second

literally needs his wife because he’ll get anxiety trying to make big decisions for them

i think he would be at his prime parenting during the toddler stage since he has a lot of energy. he would bring his kids to trampoline parks and bounce house places allllll the time

his kids’ fondest childhood memories would be somewhere in a bounce house jumping and having fun with their dad

would also love turning on a soft playlist and have coloring sessions with them

is the type to make his kids dress like him, oversized sweaters, baggy jeans and cute sneakers

would buy his kids matching outfits and toys

also would be big on accessories i think. would love buying them cute backpacks, lunchboxes, and pens and pencils lmao

i think kai’s children would be chaotic as helllllllllllll

extremely hyperactive and don’t know the concept of bedtime

has frequent food fights in the kitchen

whenever they take a bath they get suds all over the floor

they eat and nap in the kitchen cabinets even though kai specifically told them not to do that

kids would be EXTREMELY cute so it would always be hard for kai to scold them

his version of scolding is literally, “hey don’t do that”. will never yell or hit

can never find a babysitter for when him and his wife have date nights because his children are always on a rampage

and when they do have do have date nights his children always find a way to facetime him fifteen hundred times about nothing

i think out of all kids, kai’s kids would be the baddest ones in school just because of the contrast lmfaoo

his son draws curse words on his desk

his daughter gets into fights all the time

parent teacher conferences are the funniest because kai is smiling no matter how bad the teacher says his kids are

literally cannot control them LMAO

but they’re so funny and sweet to him he can’t help but become weak for them

when they’re older though I feel like they’ll mellow out only a little but still kinda rebellious 

kai is a positive dad who tries his absolute best lmao but he loves them with all his heart <3