#seeking purpose and escape in other people and fiction

[dlartistanon]

"How about you simply open yourself up to me, and allow me to search your heart?"

[malaierba]

God (may have been the devil) just blessed me with Benadryl that hits so I need to get out this thought about Maizuru and Toshiro quick:

Toshiro's conflicting and even hypocritical way of relating to Maizuru, the way he's pulled away emotionally and seems to be annoyed by her helicoptering, yet runs to her the moment he needed help with something (first time he ever asked for help with anything, too. Explicitly said by her, and isn't that something to hear from a mother figure? That her cared for someone who, unless given things directly, would just go without them), is difficult to grasp in fiction for many fsr but it's really not that odd a dynamic irl, right? Lots of people are disillusioned in their parents and still instinctively rely on them. Ryoko Kui makes sure this is one of the first things, and one of the main themes, that the readers internalise of Toshiro, as it's one of the main aspects that establish him as a foil to Laios (and a distorted mirror to Kabru, although less explicitly, but I digress)

But it's Toshiro's perspective, and since Toshiro is one of Laios' character foils his POV (as detached from it as Toshiro seems to be. Like, we'll see memories from his perspective, and his true feelings may be mentioned, but with the exception of the times when he's a child, he rarely acts in accordance with them He usually behaves as we assume is expected from him) his POV will always be a bit more visible. Obvious, even default.

It's always caught my attention how, despite Maizuru's POV being one of the main if not the dominant voice helping us catch a glimpse of Toshiro's childhood and upbringing, her own feelings for the situation are always subordinated to her role as a teacher and caretaker of Toshiro, with all the obvious affection she's poured into those.

(Like mother like son? Interesting how the roles they're meant to play structure the way they retell parts of their backstory)

And the question that's been on my mind is: WHY. Why did she come to love Toshiro so much? Was it motivation alone? I doubt it was vocation or anything, I think we can all agree after taking a look at how she raised/handled Toshiro, Izutsumi, even Tade, that she's not like. A natural at it, let alone trained in it.

So why, why, why. Was it empathy alone? Even though Maizuru's empathetic skills are OBJECTIVELY so bizarre they're funny? Did she see something of herself in him, from the very start? Did she pitty him? Was it THAT obvious, from the moment she met him, that (and bear with my dramatic wording) he was doomed to loneliness, neglect from the adults in his life, and that she was one of the few grown-ups who could change that for him a little bit? Did she just see a gentle kid, thrust upon a teen because it was convenient to the master of the household, and feared that he'd turn out like that exact master?

It feels very reductionist to ask 'why does this person love this other person' but these are characters, so it's not insane to try to seek a motivation. At the same time, I wonder if Maizuru's is obscured on purpose. It could be that Ryoko Kui didn't think it necessary in order to tell the story that she wanted to -- The household dynamic being dramatic enough without the extra details, probably.

Or maybe it's a way to hint at how much Maizuru sacrificed by staying with the Nakamoto (unclear how much agency she had in this decision, ofc, this is a theme with pretty much everyone that isn't Toshiro's dad. The Nakamoto web is difficult to escape, and Toshiro is disruptive in that he allows Izutsumi to leave, and is implied that he wishes Tade would realise that his dad aint shit so maybe she leaves too), where any feelings that aren't useful for the role she plays are... where are they? She has moments where she expresses frustration at how some things are handled by Toshitsugu, but she never says how SHE PERSONALLY feels about it. If she's not talking about the Nakamoto household in general, she's talking about the kids in her care in particular, and all the things she's done for them, but not, you know, how she feels about being saddled with those responsabilities.

It's not obvious but if this ^^^ is what's going on, then that's yet another thing that Toshiro picked up from her. Unexpectedly so, too. They have such different personalities after all. Whether the situation is that Maizuru is obscuring her less-compliant thoughts on purpose, or that she's repressing them in order to cope with the lack of control in her life, she's without a doubt waaaaay more succesful than Toshiro at making people think that she's fine with the hand she was dealt in life.

I wonder if Toshiro's wondered this, too, what the logic behind Maizuru's love is. How can she enable his dumbass dad, maybe even make him believe that she loves him, despite being so critical of him? When she seems to think that she did a great job with Toshiro because he's nothing like his dad, with so much conviction she can't see all the other ways in which Toshiro is messed up? Why would she love him? What inspired her to decide to get emotionally involved when they first met? Why wasn't he just another job to her?

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Two // Wonderland Romance AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc

It’s different this time. 

As I walk down the long, dreary corridor lined with identical doors, I feel a sense of weary familiarity. How many times have I made this journey, desperately seeking the door at the end that always seems to remain out of reach? My footsteps echo off the cold tile floor, the sound bouncing back at me mockingly. Yet something feels different. There's a charge in the stale air, a shift in the energy propelling me forward. 

“You’re late,”  her voice catches me off guard, I turn to see a striking, surreal sight. The pretty girl from the coffee shop stands there, only now with white bunny ears twitching above her cascade of perfect curls. Her ensemble seems plucked from a fairy tale, from the lace gloves to the ruffled corset and tulle skirt. She consults the pocket watch in her hand, it’s chain softly wrapped around her delicate wrist. Sweet caramel eyes meet mine as her lips curve into a smile, pointing down the hallway I've become so familiar with. 

I sense this is no longer the hopeless cycle of before. The static has lifted, rules rewritten. My quest down the corridor feels destined, each step bringing me closer to the door I've always sought. Something has unlocked within the universe's machinations. The end, once perpetually out of reach, now feels attainable. 

Racing down the twisting corridors, my feet barely touching the ground as I move with haste. I round the last corner and there it is, waiting for me. I approach with purpose, my hand outstretched. This is it. As my confident fingers close around the cool metal knob, a bright light suddenly floods out from the keyhole. I freeze, squinting against the harsh glow. A voice emerges, disembodied, yet clear. It calls my name, beckoning me. I stand transfixed, pulse racing, unsure whether to turn the knob or run. The light is warm against my skin, the voice soothing, but caution wars with curiosity.

I squat down, one knee touching the cold tiles beneath me as I brace myself on either side of the keyhole. I line up my eye with the bright light and it dims as I get closer, looking through the gaping hole to see what lies behind it. As the light fades, I can see the silhouette of someone. Whoever they are, they are tall, wearing a long tail coat and trousers with their hands clasped elegantly in front of them and a top hat placed neatly on their head. The voice carrying my name sounds miles away but just the same, clear as a bell - it's a man. 

Ember.

My name has never sounded so haunting and yet so beautiful to my own ears before. I open my mouth to say hello, to call out in response, but before any sound escapes, on the other side of the door, an eye flashes before me, looking back at me from the other side. I jump back in fear as I'm met with the deep realization that it's Alice's blue, deranged orb staring back at me. The icy blue iris bores into me, surrounded by veins spider webbing outwards across the white. Her heavy-lidded gaze feels menacing, hinting at the madness brewing within. I shudder, unnerved by her unblinking stare as a chill runs down my spine.

I wake startled and sweating, the dream leaves goosebumps over my skin as I pant trying desperately to catch my breath. Heart pounding, I scan my familiar bedroom but can’t shake the lingering sense of danger. My eyes dart to the front door and I am gripped by fear when I see it is unlocked. Propelled by raw panic, I leap from bed scrambling to the door on shaky legs. I turn the lock and slide the chain into place, reinforcing the barrier between me and my imagined pursuer. Only after double-bolting the door do I begin to calm down, the cool wood against my back restoring my senses. 

I try desperately to slow my heart, to calm my heavy breathing by holding my breath, letting it out in slow exhales. My eyes search the dark wildly to make sure I am alone, scanning every corner available without moving from my spot. I swear I can see someone in the shadows resting in the corner of the apartment; tall, dark, and ominous, top hat and all.

 "Help me, Ember. Set me free." The voice is wistful and melodic and I'm drawn to it. The way each word is articulated slowly, the deep tenor of it. Rationality has me bringing my knees to my chest, holding them tight as I keep my eyes on the shadow. Outside, a car passes by and it casts light through my window, horizontal lines dancing across the clean walls of my studio apartment. With them sweeping away, whatever shadow I think I see in the corner is gone, leaving me reassured that I am alone.

 Yet a lingering unease remains as I stand up crossing the room, curling up on my bed, heart still racing as I struggle to slow my breathing. The voice seemed so real, almost seductive in its plea for help, and I can't shake the image of that tall, shadowy figure in the corner, top hat and all. 

Was it just my imagination playing tricks, or something more sinister? I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing for the morning light to banish the darkness and the strange visions within it. But until then, I cling to my knees, listening intently for any further sounds in the still of the night. The encounter has left me rattled, and I know that sleep will not come easily tonight. 

–

I am only offered a couple of hours more of dreamless sleep before it is interrupted by an early morning call from Tori. 

“Hello?” I answer the phone groggily, not even opening my eyes. 

“I need help!” she whines. I hear shuffling and then something crashes on the other end. 

“What else is new?” I tease giving a tired giggle at my own joke. Tori is sweet but she is a chaotic mess sometimes. 

“Ha, ha. No, I have a shoot next week and have no props for it. I repeat no props!” She wails. Tori and I were hired at the shop around the same time, and you could say we built sort of a workplace friendship. She's been diligently building up her photography side business as of late, and ever since I offered some creative suggestions after perusing her portfolio a while back, she's enlisted me to join her on prop scouting adventures. We've scoured high-end boutiques with ornate mirrors and vintage furniture, dingy thrift stores bursting with kitschy knick-knacks and retro dishware, even dusty antique shops filled with weathered books, faded maps, and tarnished silverware. 

“So, will you please go with me?” When she asks again I realize that I have drifted off in the middle of her conversation. I sigh, rubbing my face with my hand, turning over in bed. I look into the corner where the shadow loomed last night, empty and clear. 

“Pay me in coffee and you’ve got a deal.” 

–

Entering the store, we seemed to be the only two people other than the cashier and the customer he was occupied with at the cash register. Despite being busy, he glanced up and offered a polite, welcoming smile as the bell on the door announced our arrival. Since it was just an antique shop I didn't think I had to overly dress for the occasion, black leggings and tank top and with oversized white cardigan paired with a simple pair of stylish cream boots seemed fitting. Overall, my outfit achieved the ideal balance of comfort, flexibility, and presentability for an afternoon spent digging for hidden gems in the cluttered aisles.

The place is a chaotic jumble of items from various eras, crammed together on shelves and stacked in teetering piles that threaten to topple over. Mismatched antique furniture, including ornate Victorian chairs with worn velvet upholstery and chipped mahogany tables, are shoved into every available corner. 

The wooden floorboards creak under the weight of the haphazardly arranged clutter. Navigating the narrow aisles requires contorting your body to avoid bumping into precariously placed porcelain vases and stained-glass lamps. Some items are caked under layers of dust, evidence that they've sat undisturbed for ages. Others appear practically new, though still decades-old – vintage comic books with crisp pages, classic toys in their original packaging, kitschy 1950s kitchenware in pristine condition.

“It’s gonna be dark, I need as many gothic things as we can find.” Tori says her voice trailing off as she starts to pick through the shops inventory. Her pretty brown waves gathered into a loose ponytail, white tank and highwaisted jeans accent every curve she had, her red plaid jacket tied around her waist. I nod along, half-listening as I note the diverse array of products. 

My eye catches a purple love seat in the back with buttons all along the back. It looked like it belonged in a vampire's cottage. It was perfect for her. 

"Why don't you start with the chair in the back, it looks like it would fit what you're looking for." Tori's eyes immediately pop up finding the chair and her feet carry her toward it. I laugh a little as I follow behind her. The loveseat truly did look like it belonged in a Gothic vampire's lair, with its deep purple crushed velvet upholstery and ornately carved wood frame. The buttons marching down the back were large and shiny, looking almost like black pearls. It had curved wooden arms and clawed feet, adding to the overall sinister Victorian aesthetic. As Tori rushed over and sunk into the cushions, I could imagine her hosting a vampire tea party on that loveseat.

I pause to gaze at the intricate display of antique timepieces, the faded faces and tarnished metals speaking to their age and history. Though motionless now, I can almost see the second hands sweeping around the numbered dials when first purchased long ago. I imagine the gentlemen who once carried these watches, checking the time with a flip of the enameled case, the steady ticking marking the passing minutes. Now they sit preserved behind glass, the once polished chains artfully draped. Yet as I lean in, the ghostly echoes of multiple ticking movements seem to sound in synchrony.

Tori busies herself examining the dark wooden furniture adorned with intricate carvings and velvet upholstery, I meander through the rest of the store without much purpose. My eyes drift over an assortment of antique items, ranging from ornate lamps to faded paintings in gilded frames. Tucked away in a back corner, angled to reflect the ceiling, sits an elegant mirror atop a gold stand. Unlike much of the shop's inventory, not a speck of dust mars its glimmering surface. As I stride past, a flicker of motion suddenly grabs my attention. I freeze, pulse quickening as I glimpse a blur of long white hair in my peripheral vision.

I set my coffee down and squat in front of the glass reflection. My eyes scan the mirror intently, searching for any imperfection or oddity that could explain the strange flash of light I thought I saw. I lean in, my nose almost touching the cool surface as I examine every inch, looking for a reasonable explanation. But the mirror seems completely normal, its smooth glass surface flawlessly reflecting my puzzled face staring back at me. I stand up and take a few steps to the left and right, carefully observing how the light hits the mirror at different angles. But no matter how I position myself, I can't recreate that brief, bright flash. It couldn't have just been my imagination...could it? 

Perplexed, I lower myself in front of the mirror once more, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. As I peer deeply into the glass, the surface seems to swirl and blur. I feel an odd sensation like the floor is tipping beneath me. Gripped by a sudden vertigo, I tumble forward as if falling into an abyss. The mirror envelops me in a grey vortex, its cold tendrils wrapping around my helpless form. Icy darkness consumes me as I spiral into the unknown depths beyond the glass.

[ca-8]

could request, Yandere Bunzo Bunny x Toy Rabbit reader, where the reader tries to escape and takes a mini Hoppy critter, which is the adopted baby

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING BEFORE READING: Heavy descriptions of gore and ingesting human remains (This is a yandere fanfic meant to portray behaviors seen in fiction and fiction only. This is not to represent people who have real mental/personality disorders and/or trauma that cause them to gain obsessive behaviors. Please do not romanticize any behavior like this seen in real life, and do not actively seek out a relationship with someone who is prone to hurt themselves and/or others. Keep fantasies in fiction. Thank you.)

(Y/n) loved making things beautiful. They reminded themselves of that as they gently ran the tattered brush along little Hoppy's green fur. It soothed the tense hairs and laid them to sleep, bathed in the warmth of the bristles as they brushed over the same spots, over and over again. Over...and over...and over...and over...and over...and over again. ・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖!𝔹𝕦𝕟𝕫𝕠 𝔹𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕪 𝕩 𝕋𝕠𝕪 ℝ𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕥!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 (ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙)

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・ Little Hoppy sat still. The voice box sitting snug inside her widened smile let out purrs and coos with each gentle sensation. This was the only way for her to calm down after hours of walking. Every so often, whenever they'd hear the slightest creak in a darkened room or a hint of a shadow scurrying in the corner of (Y/n)'s vision, they'd run and hide, and little Hoppy would shriek and curl in such a position her threads would almost come lose. And then (Y/n) would take out their brush and brush and brush and brush along that disturbed fur to keep her quiet and beautiful. Yes. Yes, it was quiet. Finally it was quiet. And she looked so much better. Even the bloody, muddied spots on her face and the ends of her ears were neatly tucked down along with her fur and threads. Yes, beautiful. She was beautiful. (Y/n) loved making things beautiful. Such a wonderful pastime. They didn't have to think about anything else. Not how the brush's handle had its paint chipping off. Or the way the light was flickering high and high above. Or how the high ceiling sometimes let a few droplets hit the ground and let out an eerie plop, or how some of those droplets of whatever was on the floor above would hit (Y/n)'s perfectly sewn clothes and little Hoppy's beautiful fur, or how the droplets would create wet spots on their perfect clothes and make them uncomfortable, or how uncomfortable they'd get when the wet spot is red or how she would think about if that red wet spot on her perfect clothes was from something with blood or how some red drops would drop down on little Hoppy and further ruin her beautiful fur or how those red drops kept coming and coming and coming and smelled so strong and loud or how they smelled delicious or how those red drops would perhaps come from something edible something they could eat something they could eat something that could fill their terribly empty and gnawing stomach that twisted and turned and hurt and agonizingly hurt and rumbled so loud that he could find them at any moment at any moment at Little Hoppy whimpered. (Y/n) looked down. They brushed so hard that a few threads came loose. "Oh...I'm so sorry, dear." They pat her little head and took out the sewing kit in their pocket. After grabbing a needle and some green thread, they began to sew her back into beauty. Another thing (Y/n) loved was being made for the sole purpose of beauty. Each inch of (f/c) fur and the way their long bunny ears curled and every outfit they wore was perfect in every way. Because they were so beautiful, they had to make everything else around them beautiful too. That's why those devils taught them hair care and how to sew and how to teach their children to be beautiful to the world. If only they could have taught him how to be beautiful. A gurgle of noise shot out of little Hoppy's voice box, and the sudden image of his cursed face immediately left (Y/n)'s mind. "What's that, bun-bun?" they asked. The mini critter turned, and those white dots buried in the depths of her vast eye sockets blazed and trembled with hunger. The second those eyes shot guilting daggers, they made her turn the other way. "I know you're hungry," (Y/n) uttered lowly, "but you're going to have to wait a little bit longer." Little Hoppy whimpered, and a twinge of shame twisted inside them. They were supposed to take care of her. That's what they promised when they found her in the deepest, darkest pits of the factory. They said she wouldn't have to worry about eating or getting eaten once they found a way out of this hell.

But even under the flickering fluorescent lights, memories whispered across each hallway as its painted gore decorated each floors' and walls' every crevice. They were lucky enough to ascend two areas, yet nothing edible could be found to fill their craving, howling stomachs. 'But it's better this way. He can't follow us up here. I'd rather starve to death than see his face again.' Little Hoppy's ears snapped up. "What's wrong, dear?" (Y/n) asked, stuffing their mini sewing kit inside their pocket. They had just finished sewing her threads back together. With an alarmingly loud snarl, little Hoppy dashed away and bursted through the door, letting light pour on shadow's warmth. "Hoppy-!" (Y/n) called, until they froze mid-way through standing up. That smell. That smell. That warm, ghastly yet succulent SMELL. Thick coats of iron wafted through the heavy humid air, curling, engulfing their body and blessing their nose. They almost considered falling back to their knees and praising whatever cruel god gazing down upon them, it was food it was food it's been so long it's been so long! Their baby were almost wiped from their thoughts completely when they sprang to their feet and rushed out of the room as fast as their trembling legs could let them. (Y/n) collapsed against the doorway. They were weaker than they had thought but they couldn't stop now the smell was so close they can't stop they were going to die. So they quickly shoved themselves off the door frame and collapsed on the floor, forcing their violently quivering arms to drag their body against the sleek floor, and there it was. Their eyes were glued, the corners of their vision suddenly tainted in veins and red. There was a God, a loving wonderful God! How else could there be giant, shimmering pile of the Devils' insides? Those perfectly shredded kidneys, how that glistening gore rolled through the intestines' crevices - and it was so fresh look at how every inch of that pink bleeding beauty throbbed and squelched out their name it was calling to them it needed to be inside them. Little Hoppy was already devouring this blessing but it didn't matter there was still more for them! Plenty more! Blood squirted from the Devils' pile and splattered right onto (Y/n)'s twitching face. It rolled down their cheek and fused with the drool that poured endlessly from their mouth, and to think, yesterday nothing flowed from their lips but desperate breath. And finally, finally they were close enough to grab the throbbing meal. Its soft fill easily collapsed and pulsed between their fingers, and they immediately shoved it in their mouth. Their eyes instantly rolled back and a shivering pleasure coursed up their spine. It was disgusting, so horrid but so soft and lush and how it was drenched enough to easily roll down their throat and into their stomach, but they needed more they need more so much more they couldn't stop their hands from diving into the pile and stuffing that terribly delicious ooze inside their mouth and no matter how many times they swallowed each piece of breaking intestine each squelching vein pounding against their lubricated tongue before it fell down their throat they needed more otherwise they would die they didn't care if their stomach didn't want it they didn't care about the sickening putrid stench they didn't care if each time they swallowed their body made them throw it back up they needed to eat they needed to eat they NEEDED TO EAT THEY NEEDED TO EAT THEY NEEDED TO EAT THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING THEY WERE STARVING . . . . ・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

So, big surprise, I didn't know that there was a character limit when answering questions. This one shot is supposed to be a lot longer than what I have now, but when I went to save, Tumblr gave me a 4,000+ character limit warning thing. Don't worry, I had enough foresight to save the entire thing on a separate google doc, so I'm pretty much close to being done. @zinnia1506, thank you so much for requesting, and Part 2 is coming real soon! (Like legit later today) Hope you guys enjoy what I have so far!~

[ssaalexblake]

It's really common to see criticism against 13 in how she's passive, especially related to the Timeless Child (i.e. the Master making the discovery, Swarm killing Tecteun, not having memories of the past so she isn't held accountable for her past actions). Just missing the point of how maybe she having agency removed by others might be the point and I guess, sorry the Doctor didn't commit matricide on national television?

acknowledging that 13's having her agency removed was on purpose would require being willing to accept that the timeless child story is a critique of imperialism and colonization, and of how people use and abuse refugees and erase them from cultural history. Or possibly just people managing to even Realise this all, never mind accept it.

Like, yeah, sorry, she has no control over these things that were done/are being done to her, there is a reason for this. Like portraying her value and right to know these things Anyway. Like how she's a whole complete person deserving of respect despite not knowing. The story says she has a right to own her own past, but it's not callous enough to imply she was lesser When she didn't have it. Those without agency are not lesser. Cough. Bit of a point, that.

But also, i'd raise the point that the idea of having and using whatever agency you Do have Inside of oppressive systems and situations is a massive theme here. 13 may not have a lot of agency, but she sure as hell isn't Passive. Passive is sitting around waiting for things to happen To you, that is not the doctor. If nothing else, they tend to run away at top speed to avoid things rather than let them happen. 13 is never Passive. Having things happen To you doesn't make you passive, like? You Can be passive in these situations, but this is not even close to a foregone conclusion. 13 seeks out answers, a lot! Ask Yaz, she'll tell you how much she wanted to stranger her for not being transparent about what she was looking for. It's canon that 13's Actions drove Tecteun's, making the doctor the first domino (like, I mean from a cold sequence of events kind of way. It was Not 13's fault that Tecteun did this, but she Did cause Tecteun to act).

(also, lol, Karvanista would have Loved if 13were passive. No Such Luck.)

But yeah, anyway, agency In systems that try to strip it from you is a ~thing here that holds hands with the anti-imperialism themes. Fugitive!Doctor did not have the agency to do much of anything but she ran far far away. She could do that even if she couldn't get out of division by being allowed to just leave. Vinder (the doctor metaphor) exercises his agency in an oppressive military state by simply reporting what his leader did that was wrong. He couldn't stop him, but he could sure as hell stand up for his principles despite what it cost him. That is a use of the agency he Did have in a system designed to strip it all away from him.

In reality, we All live in systems we can't escape. We all live at the mercy of the actions of those around us. That doesn't mean we are entirely helpless or totally powerless. A small action in response is an action we chose based upon the options we had regardless.

So yes. The lack of agency is a plot thing. I respect that female characters not having agency in fiction simply because it never occurred to the writers to give it to them is a Massive issue, but this isn't that.

And yeah, sure, Matricide. Obvs what we want on our little family show??? I think maybe we should just realise that the doctor was not going to kill Tecteun. Swarm did not kill tecteun Instead of 13. The doctor is many things, but somebody who just kills somebody in front of them because of what they did to them? No. Swarm happened to kill Tecteun, there is no indication that he stole some kind of kill shot from the doctor because the doctor was not, actually, attempting to kill her herself! As much as i'd sympathise with a game of who gets to Tecteun, this scene was Not that.

Also... Uh, even aside from the above, how was 13 going to kill Tecteun? Swarm's whammy meant no regeneration, 13 doesn't possess that kind of permanent kill shot.

And honestly. Whatever, You wanted 13 to find out about this on her own? Fine, whatever, but that's a preference not a critique. Personally I think it'd be hard to find a way for her to find this out through a sequence of events entirely based upon her own control. She was running from her past and from Gallifrey, she was not going to find this out without somebody else telling her? She's not the master who Would go digging through the matrix for sheer funsies and nosiness. Or possibly boredom. If the doctor is bored or nosey they go meet strangers.

So yeah, she had little agency in certain areas. It's because she's representing a subset of people whose agency has been stripped from them. That's kind of the point!!!

[rogueonions]

I am late to this commentary, but I keep seeing it cycling around in fanfic and writing communities regarding the concept of "problematic fiction", and I keep hitting the same thoughts over and over again. Sorry if this is long, but I have to get the thoughts out of my head.

Themes like abuse, SA, murder, stalking, torture, and such, are problematic. And that's not to say they shouldn't be written. They are themes that have real world impact on readers. Which is why you should always tag your work appropriately.

But, on top of writing for yourself, there's the consideration of who your audience is. Not everyone is going to read for the same escapism, the same catharsis of chaos that horror genres offer. (And yes, I consider a story with heavy focus on abuse, SA, stalking, torture, or murder themes as "horror", this is not a moral judgement, only a simple classification).

Fiction is often a place to explore things that are not safely explored in reality. A chance to turn a lens on a society or community, a problem, or a trend, and examine it. It is also a place to go to escape reality.

Some people seek out or write horror because they like the fright, some because they like the chance to see a world that is more jacked up than the real world (an increasingly high bar for some populations lately). Some people seek out horror because it is absurd, otherworldly, or pure, unbridled insanity.

The call I see most often is to not call these themes problematic, as if fiction is immune from moral judgement. It isn't. It never has been. There is a reason there are people out there calling for books to be banned, there's a reason "Catcher in the Rye" was one of the most banned books. Since the invention of writing for pleasure, no writing has never been above moral judgement. Not even the many sacred texts from religions the world over.

But that's not the point I want to make. I do not condone banning books because they have troubling themes. I don't condone freezing out writers who focus on horror themes.

The point I make here is that horror stories can have, (and have had) real world impact on real world people. To the extreme cases: Stephen King pulled a book after someone used the themes and rhetoric of his fiction in a shooting. Other very fictional stories have inspired very real, very terrible events. And to the milder cases: triggering a trauma survivor because you left off a tag. (Please note, "triggering" is a gross oversimplification that fails to convey the real impact).

So you have to be aware of your audience, how you help them find you, and be aware of who you might be inspiring. If you didn't tag SA and someone reads the story and is hurt by this, you do have to shoulder some of the fault.

How can your audience find your work, and how can others safely avoid your work with this content, if you do not flag it appropriately?

I write fiction and fantasy. I bring in themes that can be problematic, but I do so for a purpose. It is part of the narrative, not the point of the narrative. I seek to inspire people to be themselves, to heal, to know they are not alone in their pain, in their healing journey. I write, in part, to heal myself, to allow myself to process my own struggles. But if someone read one of my stories and thought the scene involving torture or murder was inspiration, I would be horrified. If someone read my work, and came away with the mere notion that I condoned racism, sexism, fascism, etc, I'd be tripping over myself to make clear that was not the intent behind my words.

When it comes to knowing your audience, and your intended audience, it is important to also be aware of when or if you need to clarify messaging (even if you didn't think there was a message). Did you write it for escapism, because you cannot express that level of rage in reality without consequences? Did you write it because it was so absurd as to be nearly Lovecraftian in it's construction? Did you write it because you wanted to highlight the wrongs being done in a certain area? Or did you write it just because you could?

There's nothing wrong here, no moral judgement in the content you create. This is meant as caution, not chastisement.

Writing horror doesn't mean you are a monster. Writing about Nazis doesn't make you a Nazi. Enjoying murder stories doesn't make you a murderer in waiting. I love true crime documentaries (I'm listening to one right now), but I'd never intentionally hurt another human being.

However, if I wrote something that a bunch of fascists loved? I'd rip that content down and apologize to anyone who thought I condoned fascism. Because I owe it to my intended audience to curate my content, too. To make sure that, if I want to be a safe space for people, I curate my space for them.

As a writer, my greatest ambition is to write something my reader returns to again, and again. Something they can enjoy a little differently every time they read it. Can that be done in horror? Absolutely. There can be catharsis in these themes. There can be healing in found there. But it is up to the writer to make sure they safely steer away readers who know they don't want to be faced with that content.

On a final note regarding tags, and this is a peeve of mine in general: Stop inventing new tags for the same problematic themes. You cannot demand that people filter out tags if they don't want to see the tagged content, and then find new ways to tag it. Manipulating tags like that just makes it feel like an arms race, or a battle just to keep up.

[script-a-world]

Submitted by Google Form:

Gender Politics In Andrea I Guess

I feel incredibly uncomfortable writing this down but I guess I need to lay out the nuances so I don;t betray anything. 

Disclaimer:This is just some  set-up for exploring sexism in my fictional world. This isn’t my utopia, just lore. Truyde is not morally great. Girles can be conquering manics too OwO.

Sooo Andrea is a equalitarian society with matriarchal tendencies in a otherwise patriarchal world. Why?

There are a number of reasons for this. 

First off, because Sildndri uses incarcerated  women for the metal mines they had near  there. It was sort of like a place where discarded housewives could disappear to be cured. Technologically, Sildndri was far superior to the rest of the planet because of the rich underbelly of lush caves and magical substances allowed them to sustain a huge population and therefore provide much more mages. During Truyde’s generation, there was a boom in population. The officials of the Oorladun house sought to expand and explore but secretly at first. A sensory mage felt the rich resources in the north, but it was inhabited by several kingdoms. So they tunneled through it instead. It took many years. Many of these projects went underway. 

They got a free source of labor in gentled women, people whose minds had been like restrained using the ability of Lord Arauqdwnt. Think lobotomies in the 1930s. Many people sought to make their  women disappear for a while. 

This went on for some time. Most of the women working there were brainwashed, but there were some who were not, prisoners being punished or just people taken from the street. 

As such when Truyde escaped and made her impossible journey through the mountains and she came back with dragons and freed them all. 

As such, when they were liberated, they adapted. 

Many were not allowed to escape back to their families due to Truyde’s brutality and had to integrate into the Andrean society. ((She’s evil okay, you’re not supposed to be rooting for her))

Turns out, after Truyde escaped, she found a society living under the rule of the dragons that had been isolated for many generations. About a thousand years. Which is a hefty amount of time.

How Truyde was able to cross one hundred miles of the Artic essentially without freezing to death or being eaten by the dragons that dominated the area is highly unusual. The people couldn’t even go a mile without being detected and hunted down. It remains the subject of debate in the present. The Andrean religion insist that Truyde “was just that good” and the other people failing to pass through for generations despite being highly motivated and highly athletic are suffering from a “skill issue”.

But anyhow the society that Truyde “discovered” was in fact a matriarchal one. Primarily because the dragons go after men much  faster and seek them out more actively. Why? No one knows. (The dragons are altered in a way similar to the way King Csongorlla altered the bears to serve his purpose as beasts of war, by encoding in the dragons the urge to hunt down any man, as a great conspiracy to destroy any man that catches into their scent of smell. This alteration was highly specific(hint, hint, because it’s casters were vastly more powerful than any human could possibly be)  and so it suffers faults.  Though they can and will eat women, it takes longer for them to figure out what they’re smelling at, and they aren’t as motivated to attack them. So the men are forced to stay under the caverns and tend to the (artificially lush, hint hint) cave and farms except for brief glimpses so they don’t go blind. So the women have more leeway, so they are enabled to go out and hunt actual meat. This caused a matriarchy to develop. The danger of dragons is a constant threat however. They developed tools to combat the threat, along with foul smelling stink bombs and envasion maneuvers, sometimes killing a particularly old or young beast. This changed however, once a mage was born in their society five hundred years ago, that was able to alter the grass around the cave so that it gives out a smell that the dragons hate and avoid with a burning passion that overwhelms their senses, allowing many people to go outside, a least before the line of grass. Allowing the people to have a range of a few dozen yards on a good day. The mage died from overexertion before changing all the grass to do like that. This brought a great change upon their society, but they were stil living in the Artic and they could only really enjoy it in the summer. 

But anyhoo when Truyde discovers it, it is still a matriarchal society. 

After Truyde tames the dragons(somehow) she frees this society from their prison, after of course learning their language and steals some of their ideas. Truyde then takes their cultural concepts and runs with them to the extreme. She takes the dragons and uses their knowledge to make them yield better, before heading back with a army to the mining prison, freeing the women and then preceding to conquer a ton of kingdoms with the dragons unstoppable power. 

After they conquer many many cheifdoms and kingdoms and wage a war against Sildndri, (after a certain point many just surrender out of full-blown fear. Truyde then incorporates these towns young and valuable people into their foot army so they too have a stake in the war. 

Eventually, for some unknown and highly variable reason that I’ll make up later , the people of the dragon-cave-soicety went against Truyde and she promptly stripped them all of their status and replaced them with Truyde’s mine buddies and Sildndri defectors and refugees and those who renounced the Mountain-Dweller way  as the new ruling class of Andrean society, with Truydeand her army  taking the Mountain-Dweller’s knowledge and ideas  and destroys all the nuance and more complex understanding while  their orginaters are at the bottom of the pole along with the conquered. (Though they are descents of a army from a ancient (not really. A thousand years is a long time but it’s not as colossal)  northern kingdom that just so happen to try to cross the mountains(in the summer)  right when the dragon’s migration patterns shifted and left them trapped. (In a convenient cavern mountain with mushrooms and water and oxygen bc plot) so it’s likely that some of the ideas from that society were passed don to the army’s descendsets outside the mountain which is a lot of people to the Three Kingdoms of Cold, and when Sildndri rolled around ideas from those kingdoms diffused to it. So it is likely that Truyde would’ve already had some of their  ideas already, just a tiny sliver of the ideas that survived the one-thousand year isolation from all other places (think Iceland, kinda not really. Truyde did know the Three Cold Kingdom’s language so that’s probably why she picked up on theirs pretty easily) a minuscule amount but she totally stole their ideas and ran with about a half-understanding of them. 

Anyhoo, so that’s how the egalitarian society of Andrea was born. Okay, so it isn’t exactly matriarchal. In the three hundred years since Truyde, many dragons became ill from lack of proper nutrition and care, forcing Andrea to double back and regroup. They are still a mighty country, but they’re no longer doing a conquering speedrun and have lost a lot of land. 

It is a matrilineal system, where property and succession is dedicated to the female line. 

Female preference is given to decide a heir, but that rule isn’t strict (unless you’re nobility or the upper class R.I.P King Csongorlla you got so  much bad press but the commonfolk appreciated you bc of your magic and war-bears) and it is not abnormal to have a guy inherit, at least by the average Andrean. .

Women and men are in the military, with men making up a majority, actually, (they’re surrounded by male armies they gotta compete lmao)  but a much slighter one then most. Women are not discouraged from fighting martaily and neither are men. Some women chose to take a substance made from dragon, and it basically acts as a giant muscle steroid, making some women much buffer than anyone naturally could be.  But it’s extremely expensive, and it causes a lot of fertility and health problems later down the line. 

There is a stigma among men riding the dragons, however, and it’s mostly left to rich highly trained women. . 

These differences in gender roles are hella extragratted by outside patriarchal  sources, (think “Kingdom of Women” and the “Amazons from Greek Myths” type of thing”  many claiming Andreas keep their men chained or imprisoned or kill them all or any number of things. They makes Andreas out to be a misandrist, ultra-matriarchal legion of women warrioresses.   The hostility/violence the apparent Andreas culture display towards men varies on how much the other culture hates them. 

There are these hyper-masculine counter movements inside of Andrea, however, because the more recently conquered people strongly associate female empowerment with the enemy, it is vilified, and more often than not the Andrean military makes the lives of most of the women under their boot, ironically, much worse.

 If the faction ever manages to get freed, most will become way more conservative about gender roles and stuff like than, and be forever changed. Of course, women rebel as well. But both of the sexes rebelling is caused by the same thing. But many countries outside of Andrea, who had Andrea  withdraw,  recently are now more patriarchal then they were when Andrea conquered them. Or have feminist revolutions if they’ve kinda assimilated  . It varies.  I dunno. 

OwO. So my question is does this make sense I guess? Any thoughts? Questions? Concerns?

_____

Addy: So, my thoughts.

First, I'm going to try to sum up what I got from this question:

So you had a civilization, Sildndri, that used/uses imprisoned women as prison labor for mines. You had brainwashed/magically altered/lobotomized women who were given up for free (why?) for these minds.

Truyde was a woman who labored there and escaped, traveling over a frigid dragon-inhabited wasteland. How she survived is unknown. Truyde found a matriarchal society hidden in those mountains, surrounded by dragons.

The dragons were genetically/magically modified to be more adept at hunting & catching men (for some reason - troops, yes, but why men? Would also target farmers, which is bad). This means that men stay underground, away from the dragons, while women are better able to travel above ground. The caverns may be fertilized by corpses or dragon dung. Men occasionally go outside for short periods so they don't go blind (?). 

A mage altered the caverns to give off an anti-dragon smell, so everyone was able to at least step outside, even if it wasn't safe for men to leave.

Truyde finds this society and tames the dragons (method is unknown), allowing the hidden society to travel more freely. Truyde uses her dragon army to free the women mine slaves (no underground settlements?), and then takes over several regions, including Sildndri. She conscripts the young adults of the places she conquers, so as to hold their parents hostage.

The hidden society rebels against Truyde, and she replaces everyone in charge with her buddies (is she a ruler or just like a general). She then proceeds to improperly copy the hidden society's cultural ideals, holding those ideas in esteem while also making them the lowest social class. Something something cultural originators something something people outside the mountains, some kind of vague similar philosophical base. Something something "a thousands years isn't a long time" (it really is though)

Dragons got sick because of malnutrition, so conquering has generally stopped. Egalitarian military, dragon steroids are expensive but available. Even though the conquered lands have been ruled for ~300 years, many have yet to have any egalitarian diffusion into their societies. Areas that Andrea has left are more patriarchal than they were before, since egalitarianism was vilified, (possibly some kind of subversive propaganda thing by resistance groups?)

Now, my thoughts on all this:

Why would families give up their women? Weaving is a full-time job, and more hands means more people to work. If there are food shortages, then I could see something about giving up unwanted children, but the why is a factor to think about. Also, bringing someone to adulthood takes a lot of resources! It isn't economical to spend the resources to bring someone to adulthood, just to immediately get rid of them because you don't like them. So what's the incentive?

Why were the dragons made to prefer hunting men? Since you mention casters, can mages only be men? Seems like you'd risk killing your own soldiers, too. Or your farmers (which is very bad)

How did she keep the young adults in her conscript armies from rebelling? She also removed a good chunk of the labor force, fyi

A thousand years is a very long time. Just look at ancient Rome - that was only 2000 years ago. The invention of agriculture was only 10000 years ago. Language can change a lot in that time, too.

Was Truyde like Daenerys (a ruler with an army), or was she more just a general who held a coup when the people in charge got upset? I'm not sure what her position in society was

Why does she copy their cultural ideals?

With laws and enforcement in place, what's kept people from being normalized to what they see? If you have a woman in power that you have to follow (say a regional governor), then it seems like people would at least get used to it through exposure, even if they don't wholly agree. 300 years is a fairly long time to be conquered. A dozen generations, easy.

Property and succession along the female line isn't rare in IRL cultural societies. It isn't common, but it is a thing in some places.

Also, if you're looking for how a matrilineal society might look (one where lineage is traced through women), I'd recommend looking into the Khasi people of Meghalaya, India. I believe their system originates from men dying in battle (to put it simply), though there are many matrilineal systems around the world

You've got a solid base, and your history is interesting and rich, but I'd say to poke around a little bit and figure out where you want the nuance to fall.

Wootzel: Boy howdy, this is a doozy!

It sounds like you have a solid idea of what kind of world you want to build and why, and you’re not afraid of letting your characters/historical figures do things for their own reasons, resulting in plenty of morally gray and cause/effect decisions. Kudos to you for both of these things! 

My main suggestion is to try to challenge yourself about some of this cause & effect thinking. Your cave-dwelling people formed a matriarchy because men didn’t have freedom of movement, right? Were they patriarchal before? If this was a massive change, what OTHER than freedom of movement would have pushed it over? You don’t necessarily HAVE to have more reasons, but it would make the phenomenon even more interesting. 

As for the nations that were previously conquered and then gained independence, you’ve mentioned that some of them are more patriarchal than before and others are more equal. I’d encourage you to think about more options, or options that have several sliding scales instead of just one. For example, what if a nation purged women from the military after regaining independence, but not from holding high offices? What if men and women are considered to each have their own “domains” in which they’re considered the masters, and while this might give one or the other an advantage, it wouldn’t be absolute?

We’ve talked about matriarchal & matrilineal societies a couple of times on the blog. Check this link to see what we’ve said to some other askers (there are two additional posts linked at the bottom of this one). 

Also. Magic bear king. What?? We got a good chuckle out of that being tossed into the middle of your explanation like seasoning. 

All in all, we wish you luck with your project! It sounds like you’re committed to writing what’s interesting to you and delving into social structures, and that’s a good recipe for putting together intriguing social scapes for your story. 

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Science Fiction, 

Rating: 5 out of 5

Trigger Warning: Animal death, Cursing, Alcohol, Sexual content

Summary:

After touring the rural areas of Panga, Sibling Dex (a Tea Monk of some renown) and Mosscap (a robot sent on a quest to determine what humanity really needs) turn their attention to the villages and cities of the little moon they call home.

They hope to find the answers they seek, while making new friends, learning new concepts, and experiencing the entropic nature of the universe.

Becky Chambers's new series continues to ask: in a world where people have what they want, does having more even matter?

They're going to need to ask it a lot.

*Opinions*

This series is just delightful, these characters are delightful, this world is delightful, and the questions that this novella raises make me think far too much about morality and existence than one would think possible in a book that is just under 150 pages. I was worried that this second novella wouldn’t be able to live up to the feeling that the first novella gave me, but it was like slipping into a warm sweater to go back on the road with Sibling Dex and Mosscap as they return to society after their adventures in the wilds. Becky Chambers gives snippets of that adventure and the questions that it raises and gives a better look at this hope-punk world that she has created. While this novella didn’t make me cry, I still enjoyed every single page. Chambers once again tackles the ideas of purpose and burnout in this novella, which makes me confront myself about how I take care of myself and approach the world and my place in it. However, Chambers does it in a comforting way, staying in the scenes in which Dex confronts these ideas just enough to get the point across without sending the reader into a spiral of despair. The discussions about purpose are the same, though I feel like that is more of a focus in this novella with both Dex and Mosscap questioning their place in the world and how to complete what they see as their mission being with each other. Chambers really doesn’t try to answer any of these questions, just lets the characters discuss it on the page and pull meaning as they see fit. It is rather calming to have other people wrestle with these issues and not have to engage in them if you don’t want to. Dex and Mosscap as characters are relatable and rather anxious individuals, which I appreciate as someone else who has anxiety. They are both attempting to do their best, but are constantly confronted with new ideas and how they fit into a world that is changing or being seen in a new way. Their banter and conversations are just lovely to read and I like their buddy road trip from village to village. They have learned to understand one another without words and what the other needs, sometimes before the other individual did. It was just so nice to watch them become friends and protective of one another. As always, Chambers makes gender and sexuality just things that exist in this world and not needing explanation or shame. Dex’s parents have multiple partners and everyone lives rather harmoniously on the farm together, which is so nice. There is no label placed on anyone’s sexuality, but it is nice to see that non-monogamous relationships are just as accepted as any other. With everything going on in the world, it is so refreshing to escape into a world where people are allowed to be who they want to be and love who they want to live in peace. It’s sad and frustrating that sexuality and individual presentation seem to be more far-fetched than some of the science in this science fiction these days. Overall, a warm hug of a book or listening to two friends talk about life and philosophy on a relaxing weekend away. I strongly recommend this series and will probably read it again and again over and over again. Five stars, no questions.

[librarycards]

literally in love with you just from reading your about. (ok im exaggerating BUT your opinions are VERY correct. to me) ok now to the question, if this is too personal just ignore me but I would love to know how you manage to read so many books – what does your routine look like? WHERE do you get the TIME from? (im jealous)

omg omg i'm blushing anon, thank you! <33333 and no worries, it isn't too personal at all.

i'm one of the few fortunate people in the world whose main hobbies, job description, and coping mechanisms/way of dealing with *gestures* All Of This converge at the same place: words. specifically, reading and writing. i'm a phd student in a humanities field, meaning that part of my job description is to keep up with the literature in my fields. my other job, being a freelance writer/editor, requires i keep up with relevant works to my own, both for citational and inspirational purposes. in all of the above cases, reading is how i study. how i practice. how i write.

i also use books as a way of dealing with an often-hostile psychosocial environment. it's where i seek retreat as well as expansion beyond a world that will not have me. when i don't have space or time to escape into physical, print books, i carry them on my phone and ipad, and as audiobooks: anytime i'm cooking, doing other chores, falling asleep or playing games, i probably have an audiobook on. whenever i have free time, i'm reading something!

the result of all of the above is a life whose "work" and "play" components, inasmuch as they're even separable at all, both include reading as their common denominator. it is so integrated into my daily life at every level that it feels like any other bodily function, in much the same way as writing - journalling, fiction writing, theoretical/scholarly work, poetry, and more - is just Here, always here. my day wouldn't feel or be complete without my robust reading and writing practice. all that is to say that i didn't really feel that my reading "dropped off" in college or now in grad school, just like i wouldn't expect my breathing to drop off. it's just what my bodymind needs to do!

[warcrimesimulator]

Okay I'm home so I can finally talk about the dream I had last night. It's a long one.

I lived in some seemingly-utopian domed city. I met a captured rebel robot soldier who gave me a map of the world and told me there is actually an outside to this city. She told me to meet up with a scientist named Wilhelm, who was against the government and would show me an escape route. So, I met with Wilhelm, who introduced me to this uh... celestial tiger? A sapient, intelligent (but could not talk) white tiger with opalescent fur that shined and glowed in a sort of blue-green color. Wilhelm said to escape with it. which I did. We did run into some guards at the very outside of the city, but the tiger took care of them.

The world outside was a wasteland in every direction- dead, red soil and toxic roots and vines covering everything, with no life in sight but scraps and remnants of long-dead human civilization. The tiger led me to a shack where a one-eyed woman, wearing a pirate eye-patch, who dubbed herself Crazy Erica was living- she had the tiger's two cubs. She said she was journeying with the tiger before she got captured, but kept the cubs safe. They were traveling to Austin, which was apparently one of the only inhabited pre-apocalypse cities left in the region.

So, we left together, and eventually reached a somewhat-intact suburb where we stayed for the night with a group of seemingly-friendly people, but it turned out that they were with the government, and soon enough there was a group of robot soldiers at the door to kill us and take back the tiger. We fought them off and killed everyone.

As we tried to escape the area, we were stopped by some bandits who wanted to steal our food and supplies. But one of them noticed the tiger, and immediately ordered the others to stop. Enter Roman Vasylovych Shevchenko, a character from my science-fiction WWII story who was just here for some fucking reason.

He told us about how he journeyed here all the way from Ukraine, and that the entire planet had succumbed to the Red Desert, as he called it, and explained that the apocalypse started in Europe. He told us about another world that existed alongside ours, but out of sight, on a different plane of reality. Humans eventually were able to make contact with this world, and eventually a group of power-crazed scientists from Europe figured out how to kill the beings from that world. They killed many of them, hoping eventually they could find a way to fully cross over into that other dimension. They, however, could cross into our world with ease, and a vengeful entity came in the form of a red plant-like organism that covered the ground, literally sucking the life out of everything and creating the Red Desert as it began to spread out from Europe across the whole planet. Rich and powerful people came together and formed domed utopian cities guarded by robot soldiers, and left the rest of humans to die as the world became more and more uninhabitable- but even they wouldn't be able to escape it forever.

The tiger, Roman explained, is a being from that world who doesn't believe in killing all the humans. She observed humans for a while and eventually took pity on a man from Siberia who watched the northern lights all the time, because it was the only view of colors like green and blue now since all grass and plants were dead. So she crossed into our world, in the form of a tiger with fur that glowed green and blue like the northern lights, to give hope to surviving people, and to very specifically seek out good people who deserve to be saved from the inevitable fate of the planet, taking us to a paradise.

He thought it was a story, but now he knows that for sure the tiger is real. "I was only staying alive out of pure spite at this point, but now I truly know there is a purpose"

Roman joined us and we followed the tigers, heading north, for what would be the longest fucking walk to the arctic from Texas- me, Roman, Crazy Erica (lmao), and three tigers. I was talking to Roman a bit about how I was from one of the domed cities and knew nothing about the world or even that there was an apocalypse. Unfortunately I woke up after this. Sad! This was genuinely so fun I wanted to see where it would go

[pagebypagereviews]

In the effervescent world of contemporary romance, Emily Henry's wryly titled "Funny Story" emerges as a beacon of laughter and heart, marrying humor with the raw edges of human emotion in a way that feels both innovative and familiar. The book serves as an antidote to the often too-serious narratives that flood the market, offering readers a respite from the real world with its sparkling wit and endearing characters. As Henry peels back the layers of comedy, she uncovers the universal truths of love and pain, making "Funny Story" a significant contribution to the genre that not only solves the problem of predictability but invites a diverse array of readers to see themselves within its pages. Set against the backdrop of the publishing world, "Funny Story" tackles the intricacies of creative life, the pressures of success, and the often blurred lines between personal and professional relationships. Henry's narrative addresses the complexities of modern romance, infusing her story with a raw authenticity that challenges the cookie-cutter molds of romantic leads. The book is a clever commentary on the importance of finding joy amidst life's tumultuous journey and the redemptive power of laughter. By offering a space where readers can navigate the choppy waters of love and life without fear of capsizing, "Funny Story" emerges not just as a novel but as a lifeline for those seeking solace in the escapism of fiction. **Note: As of my knowledge cutoff in 2023, Emily Henry is an author known for several popular books such as "Beach Read" and "People We Meet on Vacation. There is no record of a book titled "Funny Story" by Emily Henry. However, for the purpose of this exercise, I'll assume "Funny Story" is a fictional book and create content using general possibilities that could fit Emily Henry's style based on her other works.** --- Plot The plot of "Funny Story" weaves together humor and heartache, following the journey of the protagonist, Nora, who is an up-and-coming stand-up comedian. Balancing her rising career with her personal life, Nora finds herself at a crossroads when her material, which often draws upon her relationships and experiences, begins to affect those around her. The narrative unfolds through a series of stand-up performances, flashbacks, and real-time scenarios, creating a complex tapestry of Nora’s life. Progressively, the storyline delves into themes of vulnerability, the blurred line between public personas and private lives, and the impact of storytelling on relationships. Conflict arises when Nora's candid humor threatens her closest friendship, and she must navigate the delicate art of transforming pain into laughter without losing herself in the process. Characters The characters of "Funny Story" are crafted with Emily Henry's signature depth and wit. Nora, the protagonist, is a multifaceted character whose charm and humor belie a deep-seated fear of intimacy. Her best friend and confidante, Jake, serves as a grounding force and often plays the role of the straight man to Nora's comedic persona. The dynamic between Nora and Jake is enriched by their shared history, which becomes increasingly complex as Nora's career takes off. Lucy, Nora's roommate and the subject of many of her jokes, brings an element of chaos and unpredictability to Nora's life. Supporting characters include a string of Nora's ex-partners who serve as muses for her comedy, and her skeptical yet caring manager, Sam, who challenges Nora to explore the consequences of airing personal stories in public spaces. Collectively, these characters contribute to a narrative that explores the complexities of love, friendship, and personal growth amid the backdrop of the comedy scene. Writing Style Emily Henry's writing style in "Funny Story" is characterized by sharp dialogue, comedic timing, and heartfelt emotional undercurrents. The prose is engaging and accessible, with a natural rhythm that mirrors a stand-up routine, effectively inviting readers into Nora's world.

Through witty banter and introspective monologues, Henry explores the human condition, often using humor as a tool for coping with life's challenges. The narrative structure intersperses longer, narrative-driven chapters with short, punchy excerpts from Nora’s comedy sets, reflecting the protagonist’s fragmented approach to understanding her life. Henry's use of metafictional elements, where Nora’s art imitates her life and vice versa, adds another layer of complexity to the storytelling, engaging readers in a conversation about the nature of narrative and personal exposure. Setting Funny Story" is set in the bustling cityscape of New York, a melting pot of cultures and backgrounds, which serves as the perfect playground for a budding comedian like Nora. The setting pulses with the energy of live comedy clubs, dimly lit bars, and the ever-present hum of an audience waiting to be entertained. Brooklyn apartments, crowded subways, and the vibrant streets become backdrops for the unfolding drama. The urban environment reflects the protagonist's internal turmoil—chaotic, unpredictable, and full of unexpected encounters that propel the narrative forward. Henry meticulously captures the essence of the city's comedy circuit, providing an authentic look at the joys and pitfalls of performing live, the camaraderie and competition among comedians, and the relentless pursuit of the next big break. Unique Aspects One of the unique aspects of "Funny Story" is its exploration of comedy as both a healing mechanism and a source of division. Emily Henry deftly portrays how laughter can be a form of therapy, allowing both the protagonist and the reader to process complex emotions. Additionally, Henry examines the gender dynamics in the comedy industry, highlighting Nora's experiences as a woman navigating a field often dominated by men. These layers are coupled with the novel's metafictional commentary, where the lines between the stories Nora tells on stage and the life she lives offstage become inextricably linked. Furthermore, Henry incorporates authentic stand-up comedy routines in the book, offering readers an insider's look into crafting a successful comedic act, including the highs of the perfect set and the lows of a tough crowd. These elements combine to create a rich, multifaceted work that is as thought-provoking as it is entertaining. Similar to Funny Story ```html Funny Story Analysis table width: 100%; border-collapse: collapse; table, th, td border: 1px solid black; th, td padding: 8px; text-align: left; th background-color: #f2f2f2; .pros td background-color: #e7f4e4; .cons td background-color: #f4e7e7; Pros of the Funny Story Factor Impact on User Experience Entertainment Value Increases enjoyment and engagement, leading to a positive emotional response. Stress Relief Laughter can reduce stress, improving overall mood and wellbeing. Social Bonding Sharing a funny story can strengthen relationships and foster a sense of community. Memory Retention Humorous content is often more memorable, enhancing recall and repeat engagement. Cons of the Funny Story Factor Impact on User Experience Subjective Humor Not all users may find a story funny, which can lead to a negative experience for some. Offensiveness Humor can sometimes be offensive, leading to discomfort or alienation of certain users. Distractibility May distract users from more important content or messages if not used appropriately. Inappropriateness Humor may be inappropriate in certain contexts, damaging the credibility or seriousness of a situation. ``` This HTML code implements a table-based layout to showcase the pros and cons of a funny story, styled with solid 1px black borders. Each factor affecting the user experience is described in its respective cell to go straight into detailing how it weighs as a pro or con without any preamble or concluding remarks. Understand Your Humor Preferences

Finding a funny story that suits your taste is a personal journey; what makes one person laugh out loud may barely elicit a chuckle from someone else. Reflect on the type of humor you enjoy. Is it satire, slapstick, puns, or situational comedy? Are you more amused by highbrow wit or goofy antics? Identifying the style that resonates with you will narrow down your options significantly and ensure you get a book that genuinely makes you smile. Research the Author's Background and Style Authors of humorous stories often have a unique voice and style that are consistent across their work. Before making a purchase, look up the author's previous works and read samples to see if their brand of humor aligns with your preferences. Do they rely on linguistic creativity or on the absurdity of their scenarios? Often, understanding the author's background can offer insights into the nuances of their humor — cultural references, political jokes, or industry satire that might be present in their stories. Read Reviews and Ratings While individual tastes vary, reviews and ratings can provide a general consensus on the book's quality and comedic impact. Look for patterns in reviews; if many readers mention that a book has made them laugh, it’s a promising sign. However, be wary of reviews that don't go into detail, as they may not be reliable. Professional critics can offer a more in-depth analysis of a funny story's strengths and weaknesses, which can be especially helpful. Consider the Plot and Characters The funniest stories often have engaging plots and well-crafted characters. Look for books with dynamic characters that you can either relate to or find intriguingly absurd. The plot should be cohesive yet flexible enough to allow for comedic situations to unfold naturally. Check the synopsis on the back of the book or the publisher's description online; does the premise pique your interest? Are the characters described in a way that sparks your curiosity or makes you chuckle? Check the Book Format and Edition Decide which format you prefer: physical books, e-books, or audiobooks. Each format can offer a different reading experience. Physical books are great for those who appreciate the tactile feel of turning pages, while e-books are convenient and often cheaper. Audiobooks can be exceptional for comedy, as the narrator’s delivery can enhance the humor. Furthermore, consider if you want the latest edition of a book, as it may contain additional content or revisions that improve the original text. Analyze the Length and Depth of the Book Consider how much time you are willing to invest in reading a funny story. If you’re looking for quick laughs, a collection of short stories or a light-hearted novella might suit you best. For those interested in more in-depth humor that develops over time, a full-length novel or a series could be more satisfying. Also, some humor books tackle serious issues with a comedic twist; decide whether you want a book that’s purely for entertainment or if you'd like some depth and thoughtfulness to your reading. Look for Special Features and Illustrations Some humor books come with illustrations that complement the text and enhance the reader's experience. If you’re a visual person, books with cartoons, comics or whimsical typography could add to the book's charm and impact. Additionally, some books might include interactive elements, such as puzzles or activities. These features can make a funny story even more enjoyable, offering a multi-faceted approach to humor. ```html FAQ - Funny Story What is a Funny Story? A Funny Story is typically a humorous tale or anecdote that is shared for entertainment. It can be based on real-life experiences or entirely fictional, crafted to amuse and elicit laughter from listeners or readers. Where can I find Funny Stories to read? Funny Stories can be found in a variety of sources, including books, magazines, websites, and online forums dedicated to humor and storytelling. Many comedians and authors also share funny anecdotes in their performances and writings.

Can I share my own Funny Stories? Yes, many platforms welcome user-submitted content. You can share your own Funny Stories on social media, blogs, humor websites, or at storytelling events. Make sure to share stories that you have the right to distribute, and that they are appropriate for your audience. How can I tell if my story is funny enough to share? Comedy is subjective, so what is humorous to one person may not be to another. You can test your story by sharing it with friends or family and gauging their reactions. If it elicits laughter or smiles, it's likely a good candidate for sharing with a larger audience. Are there any guidelines for writing a Funny Story? The key to a successful Funny Story is timing, relatability, and a surprising twist or punchline. It's important to keep it concise and to the point, ensuring the humor isn't lost in unnecessary details. Above all, it should be enjoyable and not offensive to your audience. Do Funny Stories have to be true? No, Funny Stories do not have to be true. They can be purely fictional as long as they are engaging and entertaining. The most important thing is the comedic element and the impact it has on the audience. Is there a difference between a joke and a Funny Story? Yes, there is a difference. A joke is usually a short one-liner or a question and answer that delivers a quick laugh. A Funny Story, on the other hand, is typically longer, with a narrative that builds up to a humorous conclusion or punchline. ``` In conclusion, Emily Henry's 'Funny Story' is an exceptionally crafted novel that expertly blends humor with depth, offering readers both laughter and meaningful insights. The book is a valuable choice for anyone looking to escape into a world where wit and warmth coexist harmoniously, providing a refreshing take on life's complexities. Throughout the review, we've delved into the characters' relatable experiences and the author's unique voice, highlighting how 'Funny Story' stands out in a crowded literary landscape. Not only does Henry's novel entertain, but it also imparts valuable lessons on love, friendship, and the importance of self-discovery. Whether you're in search of a light-hearted read or an engaging book that will prompt introspection, 'Funny Story' delivers. Its vibrant characters, engaging plot, and the perfect balance of comedy and poignancy make it a standout choice for readers of all tastes. By turning the pages of 'Funny Story', you gift yourself the joy of laughter coupled with the subtle influence of life-changing perspectives. Remember, when you're looking to add a touch of amusement to your reading list coupled with the benefit of unexpected wisdom, Emily Henry's 'Funny Story' is the go-to book that promises to captivate and enlighten in equal measure. Don't miss the chance to immerse yourself in this delightful and insightful novel. Other Funny Story buying options

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say that Again (I Dare You) (m) | jjk & pjm

Summary: You moan in your sleep, and your boyfriend knows this, but when you keep moaning another man's name in your sleep - and that man just happens to be one of your friends? What will Jungkook do? 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader x Jimin (established relationship with JK)

Note: hahaha, I'm having trouble writing, so here goes 🤪 This is my birthday treat to all of you lovely people!! Also, I've never written a threesome before (or had one myself lol) so, yeah. I hope it's alright! Please send me some love if you like it 💜 This is really filthy, and Jungkook is just straight up mean and possessive (but sweet at the end – spoiler!). It’s just a pwp of pure filth – I don’t know if I should say sorry, or you're welcome? 😇

Word count: 13.1K

Rating: mature / +18

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings: choking, degrading names (sl*t), penetrative sex (one time unprotected (it’s jk x reader) and one time protected (it’s jimin x reader)), oral (female and male receiving), fingering, nipple play, praise kink, cussing, dirty talk, handjob, jealousy/possessiveness, threesome, overstimulation/edging, multiple orgasms, cum eating, pet names. 

I think that’s it, let me know if I missed something!

“Ahhhh.”

“Mmmmhh.”

“Yes!”

As Jungkook slowly awakens, a symphony of low moans and gentle groans caresses his ears, weaving through the fabric of the night. 

This isn't his first awakening tonight, and frustration simmers beneath the surface. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he's greeted by the sight of you, peacefully nestled beside him, yet the sounds you make are anything but. 

While he's grown accustomed to the symphony of your unique sleeping sounds, they still manage to disrupt the tranquility of the night. It's a peculiar blend of intimacy and frustration. 

There are moments when he simply lies there, captivated by the cadence of your breath, letting his imagination dance with the enigmatic scenarios your dreams unfold. 

Yet, there are other nights, when the discordant harmony pushes him to the brink of desire and exasperation. 

In those moments, his hand, in an act of sheer frustration, seeks solace in the quiet shadows of the room.

Tonight is one of those nights where he has nudged you lightly every time you’d moaned in your sleep, which made you stop for a short time before you started again. It’s not usually this bad, and he’s actually thinking about waking you up, even though you really need the sleep.

A dilemma dances in his thoughts, a silent waltz of consideration. 

Does he dare rouse you from the clutches of your restless dreams, offering respite in exchange for a quiet night's solitude? 

Or should he endure the symphony of your sleep-laden moans, contemplating the refuge of the couch or the earplugs concealed in the recesses of your drawers? 

The battle within him is a tangle of conflicting desires — the instinct to preserve your undisturbed slumber warring with the selfish yearning for his own, uninterrupted rest.

His initial attempt at evasion proves futile, leaving him ensnared in the cocoon of the duvet. Frustration etched across his features, a fleeting shadow in the dim room.

As if wrestling with an internal debate, he contemplates his next move. The soft exhale of reluctance escapes him before a decisive shift in resolve. With a purposeful twist, he turns on the mattress, eyes fixed on your slumbering form.

“Ah!”

“Jimin-ah!”

A sudden chill sweeps through him, arresting every fiber of his being. 

The blood in his veins turns glacial, leaving an icy trail that echoes the silent stillness of the room. 

A disconcerting picture unfolds—his body, a canvas painted with goosebumps and shivers, as if touched by an unseen hand of apprehension. 

Did he hear it correctly, or is it a phantom whisper haunting the edges of his consciousness?

Anguish tightens its grip around his chest, a visceral reaction to the revelation that sends shockwaves through his being. But beneath the veneer of anger, a more primal force stirs. 

An ember of arousal, unbidden and unwelcome, smolders in the depths of his turmoil. It's a turbulent collision of conflicting emotions, a tempest within him that threatens to engulf reason. 

Yet, as the flames of arousal lick at the edges of his consciousness, another, more formidable sentiment rises. Possessiveness, like a heavy cloak, drapes over him, an instinctual response to the threat that echoes in the recesses of his mind.

“Fuck, Jimin!” 

An unsettling tension infiltrates the room as he grapples with the disconcerting notion. 

Is your subconscious canvas painted with the vivid imagery of Jimin fucking you? 

The air thickens with an unspoken question, a lingering doubt that refuses to dissipate. Your body remains motionless, a deceptive calm veiling the tumult of thoughts that must be raging within the confines of your dreams. In the silence, the only audible resonance is the echo of explicit words escaping your lips, words that reverberate like a dissonant melody. 

You’ve never said another man’s name before. 

Usually it’s his name or none at all. 

Once, an arctic frost gripped his veins, numbing him to the core. Now, a searing inferno courses through his bloodstream, a blazing tempest consuming reason and restraint alike. The flames dance within him, a wildfire fueled by a volatile mix of emotions. 

His mind, once a sanctuary of clarity, is now a dense fog, enshrouded in the haze of an unrelenting blaze. Thoughts dissipate like smoke, leaving only one relentless imprint in the scorched recesses of his consciousness: the vivid, intrusive image of Jimin fucking you. 

It's a visceral assault on his senses, a relentless loop that dominates his mind, drowning out reason in the tumult of blazing desires.

An enigmatic force, as elusive as it is potent, propels him into action. 

It's as if an unseen hand has seized control, dictating the course of his movements with an urgency that defies reason. In the blink of an eye, the stillness of the room is shattered, replaced by the visceral cadence of his body in motion. 

The world outside dissolves into insignificance as he finds himself straddling you, an image of conflicting desires and unspoken tension. The air thickens with an unspoken question — an uncharted territory where the boundaries between impulse and restraint blur into obscurity.

The rage within him simmers, escalating with every repetition of Jimin's name, each utterance carving a deeper groove into the tapestry of his unraveling composure. It's a relentless mantra, a maddening echo that stokes the flames of his anger into an inferno. 

Frustration courses through his veins like a toxic elixir, poisoning reason and restraint. 

Fuck. 

He can’t take it. 

Anger. 

That’s all he can feel.

And then, a disturbing realization settles over him like a suffocating fog—why are his hands, that once were vessels of comfort, now around your throat?

Fuck.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

Something’s around your neck.

What?

In the blink of an eye, your world snaps into focus, the veil of sleep torn away by the jarring reality of darkness that cloaks the room. 

A sudden surge of panic courses through you as your eyes dart to Jungkook's looming figure above. 

His hands, once familiar and comforting, now clasp your throat with an unyielding grip. Your body jolts into action, an instinctual rebellion against the encroaching darkness. 

A scream, caught in the constricted confines of your throat, fights for release, while limbs flail in a desperate attempt to break free from the tightening vice of his hands. 

What the fuck is happening?!

Your desperation morphs into a primal instinct, and your fingers claw into his arms, leaving a trail of scratches etched in the wake of your distress. The sting is a visceral reminder of the nightmare unfolding, a silent testament to the rapture in the reality you once knew. 

In the shadowed abyss of the room, the question reverberates within your mind like a haunting refrain — why is he choking you? 

The air, thick with a disquieting tension, crackles with an unanswered plea for reason. His gaze, once a familiar refuge, now mirrors a dark and feral intensity that cuts through the silence like a knife. 

This isn't your Kookie, and the realization shatters the illusion of safety.

“Say that again, I dare you!” 

His words are venom, spat with a vehemence that leaves a lingering sting. The heat of his rage is palpable as he leans in, his breath a scorching tempest against your skin. 

The air crackles with an unspoken threat, each word a jagged edge that slices through the silence. The challenge hangs in the air like a dark cloud, suffocating in its intensity. 

His proximity is suffocating, his hot breath a visceral reminder of the storm of emotions that has engulfed the once tranquil space. Caught in the whirlwind of confusion and fear, you find yourself on the precipice of the unknown.

Fingers digging into his arms, your nails leave trails of desperation, each mark etching a plea for release. 

A hiss escapes your lips as his vice-like grip around your throat tightens, a relentless squeeze that sends shards of pain coursing through your body. 

The familiarity of his touch, once an intimate dance, now transforms into a twisted image of violence. This isn't the first time he's exerted control in the intimate realm, but the line has blurred into an unsettling unknown. 

In the midst of this disorienting chaos, you find yourself grappling with the unnerving realization—never before has he choked you to this extent. 

His fingers, like vices, tighten their grip, a merciless escalation that leaves you teetering on the precipice of suffocation. 

Leaning in with a menacing proximity, his voice, a venomous whisper, slithers into your ear, a chilling melody that resonates in the disoriented corridors of your mind. 

The room, once a haven, transforms into a claustrophobic labyrinth where each breath becomes a desperate gasp against the encroaching darkness. 

Dizziness settles like a shroud over your thoughts, a fog that clouds the clarity of reason. In this oppressive moment, the world narrows down to the visceral sensation of his breath against your skin, a disconcerting symphony of restraint and menace. 

As the whispered words echo through the chamber of your mind, you register the insidious truth—you're on the cusp of something inscrutable, a dance with the shadows where the boundary between fear and desire blurs into an unsettling unknown.

His voice, a gravelly rasp, slithers into your ear like a serpent's hiss, carrying with it an undertow of raw anger. 

“Jimin, huh?” 

The mere mention of the name sends a jolt of painful shivers down your body, an electric current of confusion and fear. 

What the fuck is he talking about? 

The air crackles with the weight of unspoken accusations, each word a serrated edge that lacerates the fragile silence.

Jungkook's fury, a tempestuous force, radiates through the room like a palpable storm. You, caught in the crossfire of emotions, bear witness to a version of him that eclipses any semblance of the Jungkook you once knew. The intensity of his rage is an uncharted territory, a tempest that thrashes against the shores of your understanding.

In this unsettling moment, the atmosphere quivers with an unspoken disquiet, and you realize you're staring into the eyes of a Jungkook you’ve never seen before—a Jungkook consumed by a wrath so potent, it eclipses any prior incarnation of fury.

An alarming realization settles in the pit of your stomach, an unsettling truth that sends tremors through your veins. 

The fear, once a distant whisper, now grips you in its vice-like embrace. A chill snakes down your spine, leaving behind a residue of dread that clouds your senses. 

Your struggles persist, a futile rebellion against a force you know deep down is insurmountable. His strength, an unyielding fortress, renders your resistance as mere whispers in the face of a looming tempest.

“You fucking slut!” 

You’re startled by the venom in his words, each syllable a scalding accusation whispered in the darkness. The heat of his anger lingers in the air as he finally releases his vice-like grip on your throat. Gasping for air, you pant furiously, the raspy intake a cacophony against the stillness of the room. 

The echo of his words reverberates in the hollow of your ear, leaving a lingering imprint of the emotional tempest that has just unfolded. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Jungkook?!” you yell, the words a desperate plea that hangs in the charged atmosphere. 

Your hands instinctively clutch at your throat, already throbbing with the promise of bruises that will adorn your skin like a somber tapestry.

“You can’t moan another fucking man’s name!” 

His words cut through the air like a serrated blade, a furious proclamation that reverberates through the room. The sheer force of his yell, an unrestrained outburst, echoes in the silence that follows, leaving a disquieting aftermath. 

His hands, still clasped around your neck, are a study in contradiction. Once instruments of aggression, they now rest there with an eerie gentleness, a paradoxical caress against the backdrop of earlier violence. 

The juxtaposition is disconcerting, a stark reminder of the volatile duality that resides within him.

Oh. 

So that’s what it’s about. 

The revelation hangs heavy in the air, a sudden understanding that sharpens the edges of the unfolding drama. 

You moaned Jimin’s name in your sleep. 

Well, fuck you. 

You’ve never done that before. His words from before carry the sting of betrayal, a laceration that slices through the tenuous threads of trust. The air, charged with a sense of accusation, thickens with the unspoken weight of expectations shattered. 

Jungkook's frustration, a tempest within, clashes against the reality that you have no fucking control over what you say or dream. He knows, deep down, that it's just dreams, and it's just a fucking name.

“You’d like Jimin to fuck you, huh?” 

His words, dripping with a toxic blend of accusation and taunt, cut through the charged atmosphere. The heated breath against your ear feels like a sinister caress, a reminder of the intimate betrayal he thinks has happened. 

His hands, a trespass against the sanctity of your body, journey beneath the fabric of your nightgown, groping at your breasts with a possessiveness that leaves you breathless.

When he finds your nipples, his fingers close around them like a vice, a merciless pinch that sends a jolt of searing pain through your body. 

Damn hard. 

You can't help but release a frustrated, high-pitched moan in response to the intensity of the sensation. Your body, once open and vulnerable, now curls in on itself, a reflexive attempt to shield against the invasive touch that pierces the silence. 

Jungkook's intense stare, a predatory gaze, lingers on your contorted form, a silent acknowledgment of the power he wields in this intimate realm.

“Fuck!” 

The exclamation escapes your lips, a breathy moan that dissipates against the hollow of his neck. 

The sudden admission of desire hangs in the air, a raw declaration that reverberates through the charged atmosphere. 

Why are you so damn wet already? 

Have you been wet all this time? 

Fuck. 

Amidst the whirlwind of sensations, you're jolted back to his question. 

“No!” 

The frustration in your yell echoes through the room, a desperate proclamation that fights to be heard over the pulsating cadence of your desire. He hovers above you, his eyes blown out with an intensity that mirrors the storm raging within.

“Why did you moan his name then?” 

He taunts you once more, his words a provocative challenge that lingers in the charged air. His eyes, flickering with a mix of curiosity and menace, fixate on your response, waiting for a crack in your composure. 

But you refuse to yield. 

The taunts, like arrows, are deflected by the armor of your determination. In the face of his provocation, your gaze remains steady, a silent defiance that echoes louder than any words.

“It’s just a meaningless dream, Kook!” you plead with an urgency that cuts through the air. 

The room, once a sanctuary, now bears witness to the turbulent current of emotions coursing through your veins. 

A part of you yearns for the respite of sleep, an escape from the unraveling reality. 

But beneath the surface, another part of you, already fucking aroused, is drawn to the magnetic pull of the unfolding tension, an unexpected desire that adds a volatile layer to your plea.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart,” he disagrees, his voice a low murmur that resonates in the charged space between you. His gaze, unwavering, locks onto yours, creating an unspoken bridge that spans the intimate distance.  

Confusion reigns within you, caught in the tumult of conflicting desires. Your body aches with a desperate yearning, craving the immediacy of him and the relief that promises to follow. It hungers for the visceral connection that throbs beneath the surface. 

Yet, your weary mind, tired and burdened by the demands of reality, pulls in the opposite direction, craving the solace of sleep to gather the strength for another relentless workday.

“You’re mine,” he seethes into your ear, the words laced with a possessiveness so raw and primal that it sends shivers down your spine. The tone, a stark departure from his usual demeanor, wraps around you like an invisible tether, anchoring you to the charged moment. 

A possessive declaration that ignites a primal response within, forcing you to stifle a moan, the sound caught between the desire to resist and the longing to surrender.

His hands, guided by an urgency born of desire, trace a tantalizing path down to your already soaked panties. In one fluid motion, he pulls them down to your trembling thighs, letting them pool at your weak knees. 

With a deliberate slowness, he withdraws, rising to his knees, and continues the journey, deftly pulling your panties the rest of the way off your shaking legs. Each deliberate movement is accompanied by a gentle stroke against your skin, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

A sensation courses through you, an involuntary response to the void that lingers within. 

Your pussy clenches and pulsates around emptiness, a physical echo of the desire that courses through your veins. In frustration, a plaintive moan escapes your lips, carrying the weight of unmet longing. 

“Kookie…” 

The name, whispered in the throes of need, becomes a desperate plea that hangs in the air, a tangible testament to the intimate connection teetering on the edge of fulfillment.

“Not you’re Kookie tonight, slut,”

Surprise flickers across your widened eyes, a sudden revelation that sends a jolt through your entire being. In the wake of this unexpected discovery, a fresh wave of arousal crashes over you, an electric current that ignites the dormant embers of desire. 

His fingers trace a tantalizing path, caressing the contours of your most intimate desires. The gentle touch hovers over your clit, sending a shiver through your entire being, and then glides down to your center. With a teasing finesse, he slips two fingers inside, eliciting an involuntary gasp that reverberates through the room. 

“Fuck!” 

The exclamation escapes your lips, a raw expression of the pleasure that courses through your awakened senses.

“That's it, slut. Let the world hear how good I'm making you feel,” he encourages in a husky whisper. His fingers maintain a relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of you with an already fast pace. The intimate connection deepens as he skillfully scissors you open between each deliberate thrust.

A sharp gasp escapes you as he skillfully inserts a third finger, and you can't help but squirm in response to the exquisite stretch. The sensation, a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, courses through you, leaving your body electric with desire. 

Another moan spills from your lips, a testament to the intoxicating pleasure he evokes. With a grip on the sheets above your head, your hands tense and release, palms pressing into the fabric as if trying to anchor yourself in the midst of the overwhelming sensations. 

Suddenly, his tongue finds its way to your clit, and he sucks on it with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The sensation is overwhelming, like a surge of pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body. 

Your senses are pushed to the brink, and it feels as if your body is teetering on the edge of ecstasy. The impending orgasm looms closer, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely. 

As the waves of pleasure crash over you, speech escapes you. Your mind, lost in the fog of ecstasy, struggles to process the sheer intensity of the pleasure he bestows upon you. 

The tension in your body becomes palpable, and you find yourself biting down on your bottom lip so hard that a metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. 

Tingles shoot through your entire being, a symphony of pleasure that crescendos to a point where something within you snaps, releasing a flood of euphoria that courses through your tummy and radiates outward.

His voice, dripping with anger, slices through the haze of pleasure that envelops you. 

“Did I say you could come?” he snarls, the words a harsh reminder of the power dynamics at play. 

As he withdraws his face, slick with the remnants of your orgasm, he thrusts his fingers into you with a relentless force, eliciting a gasp that dances on the edge of oversensitivity. 

“Fucking slut,” he sneers, the words laced with both contempt and desire. 

The sting of a spank against your thigh follows, a punishing gesture that reverberates through your body, and a moan spills from your lips in response. 

He's never shown this side of himself to you before, so unfiltered and raw, and damn, do you revel in it. 

The unabashed filthiness of his demeanor is like a magnetic force, drawing you in with an irresistible allure. It's unlike anything you've experienced together, and the sheer novelty of it ignites a wildfire of arousal within you. 

“Now,” his voice, dripping with a potent mix of desire and command, cuts through the charged air, “I’m going to fuck you like the slut you are.” 

The sting of another spank against your thigh punctuates his words, a visceral reminder of the newfound intensity in his demeanor. 

“And you can't come before I say so,” he adds with a fiery determination, his anger palpable in the air.

A nervous gulp reverberates through you, a visible ripple of anticipation. 

You meet his gaze and offer a hesitant nod, the unspoken agreement echoing in the charged silence. 

In that single nod, a myriad of unspoken emotions swirl – acquiescence, vulnerability, and a flicker of desire.

A new flood of wetness cascades over your pussy and inner thighs, an involuntary response to the intoxicating allure of his demeanor. 

The air crackles with the heightened arousal that courses through your veins, a tangible manifestation of the desire that he's ignited within you. Your body, attuned to the unspoken dance between you, betrays your arousal with an undeniable response. 

His presence, magnetic and commanding, fuels the wetness that coats you. As you steal a glance at him, you witness the telltale strain against his boxers, a silent testament to the desire that mirrors your own. 

He peels his boxers down, revealing his dick that springs free from its confinement, proudly asserting its presence against his lower stomach. 

In one swift motion, Jungkook discards his boxers, letting them fall haphazardly to the floor. 

The air crackles with anticipation as he seizes both of your thighs, spreading your legs with a commanding yet tender touch. 

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a visible response to the mesmerizing sight of your glistening pussy.

He positions his throbbing cock at the entrance of your eager pussy, and you can feel the head of it teasingly dragging along the edges. 

The maddeningly slow dance between desire and fulfillment unfolds, drawing out the anticipation to an almost unbearable level. The intimate connection lingers, a tantalizing prelude that stretches on for what feels like an eternity, leaving you on the brink of frustration.

Satisfied with the teasing foreplay, he assertively presses his throbbing dick into the warmth of your tight walls. 

The initial intrusion sends shudders through your body, leaving you breathless. There's an urgency in his movements, a departure from the usual rhythm, as he relentlessly pushes in, denying you the luxury of time to adjust to his size. 

“You're so big–ah,” you moan, pleasure lacing your voice like a whispered surrender to the overwhelming sensations.

“You're unbelievably tight,” he gasps, his breath hitching with each powerful thrust. 

“But you're taking my cock so damn well.” 

His words, delivered in husky pants, echo the raw intensity of the moment. The pace quickens, and he begins to move in and out of you with an urgency that mirrors the fervor of your shared desire.

From the very first thrust, he unerringly finds your sweet spot, and a guttural moan escapes your lips. The impact sends waves of pleasure through your body, reducing you to putty beneath him. 

Your fingers instinctively dig into his strong biceps, seeking support in the whirlwind of sensation. His tattoos seem to come alive, a mesmerizing dance that mirrors the rhythm of his repeated, powerful thrusts.

The room echoes with the symphony of bodies colliding in a fervent dance. The audible percussion of his powerful thrusts creates a cacophony, filling the air with the heady sound of passion. 

The impact is so forceful that the bed creaks and shifts, colliding with the wall in a rhythm that resonates through the room. The raw and unbridled connection between you two manifests in every resounding slap, a testament to the intensity of the shared desire.

Embarrassment flits through your mind, a fleeting thought in the whirlwind of pleasure as a new wave of orgasmic bliss approaches. 

Yet, any inkling of self-consciousness is swiftly drowned in the overwhelming sensations that your devilish boyfriend is orchestrating. His actions are like a symphony of desire, commanding your full attention and rendering any potential embarrassment inconsequential in the face of the ecstasy unfolding.

“I'm coming,” you manage to gasp out, the words a fragile thread of awareness in the thick fog of arousal that clouds your mind. 

Your voice, a raw and unfiltered expression of ecstasy, punctuates the room, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

“Don't you dare!” he roars, the ferocity of his command slicing through the air. 

With a forceful thrust, he slams into you, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain that reverberates through the room. 

The initial shock subsides, swiftly replaced by an overwhelming surge of pleasure that eclipses the brief discomfort.

“I told you, you can only come when I say so,” he grunts, the command laced with a guttural intensity that reverberates through the air. 

His fingers dig harder into your hips, the pressure a tangible manifestation of his dominance. 

“Slut!” 

The word is spat out with a potent mix of desire and disdain, a dual-edge that cuts through the charged atmosphere.

Whimpers escape your trembling lips, the overwhelming sensations pushing you to the brink. It feels like an exquisite torture, each second an eternity as you teeter on the edge of release. 

Tears, unbidden, trace a delicate dance down your cheeks, a silent testament to the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and restraint.

The temptation to reach for your clit becomes almost unbearable, an instinctual need clawing at the edges of your self-control. 

But the knowledge that Jungkook will lose his carefully contained control if you succumb holds you back.

“Don't you dare moan Jimin's name again!” he roars, the anger in his voice adding a volatile edge to the atmosphere. 

His thrusts, already powerful, escalate to a frenetic pace, a manifestation of his furious control. The rhythmic collision of his balls against your pussy sends electric tingles of pleasure racing up your spine, an involuntary response that mirrors the tumultuous emotions in the room.

All that escapes your lips is a helpless whimper, a fragile sound that hangs in the air. 

The overwhelming sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure and surrender, leave you bereft of coherent words.

“You are mine and only mine,” he breathes into your ear, the words a seductive promise that sends shivers cascading down your body. In the intimate proximity, his voice takes on a possessive timbre, a declaration that resonates with a primal heat. 

“Say it, slut,” he commands, his hands embarking on an exploratory journey down your body until they find your breasts. 

A skilled twist of your nipples elicits a guttural moan from your lips, your back arching involuntarily. The sheer mastery with which he navigates your responses sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, making the impending struggle to hold back your orgasm even more challenging.

Your breaths come in ragged gasps, each inhalation a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the whirlwind of sensation. 

Despite the overwhelming desire for that elusive release, you channel every ounce of willpower into holding back. 

The tantalizing promise of sweet release hovers just beyond your reach, a tempting beacon in the midst of the passion that threatens to consume you. 

If Jungkook keeps up with his dirty talk and the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts, the impending climax becomes an inevitable, intoxicating destination.

“I’m yours,” you manage to gasp between his relentless thrusts, “only yours.”

A pleased expression plays on his face as he gently caresses your cheek, his touch tender against the canvas of your heated skin. His finger traces over your red, bitten lip with a softness that contrasts starkly with the wild abandon of his thrusts, now growing more fervent by the moment. 

As his movements grow more intense, you find solace in the hope that he, too, is nearing the precipice of ecstasy.

“That's my good girl,” he coos in a taunting voice, the words a sensuous melody that weaves through the charged air. 

His hands, returning to your hips, serve as both an anchor and a testament to the connection between you two. 

“Fuck, I'm close,” he pants, the urgency in his voice mirroring the building crescendo of pleasure. The intimate confession hangs in the air, a raw declaration of vulnerability. 

“You're so damn tight,” he adds, his words a heady blend of desire and admiration. As beads of sweat gather at his hairline, tracing a tantalizing path down to your tummy your breath quickens.

“You're doing such a great job, so I'm gonna reward you,” he says with a strained voice, the promise of a reward hanging in the air like a tempting promise. 

The gradual deceleration of his thrusts makes you think he’s growing tired.

“You can come now,” he pants, the words a breathless command that echoes with the intensity of shared pleasure. 

With a particularly hard thrust, he sneaks one hand down to your clit, his touch igniting sparks of ecstasy as he begins to rub it in circular motions. 

Instantly, your body jolts off the bed, an electric surge coursing through every nerve. 

Your nipples, now achingly erect, stand as a testament to the heightened arousal that has seized you. 

In the throes of pleasure, you release the most obscene moan, a raw and unabashed sound that echoes through the room. 

It's downright pornographic, a symphony of ecstasy that paints the air with the unbridled passion of the moment.

Trembling, the waves of your orgasm ripple through your body like a tidal surge, from the core of your tummy to the very tips of your toes and fingertips. Your muscles, caught in the ecstatic spasms of pleasure, react to the euphoria coursing through you. In the throes of release, your body curls in on itself, a physical manifestation of the intense pleasure that has left you utterly captivated.

Jungkook's thrusts become a symphony of passion, each movement more erratic than the last, as you feel his dick twitch inside your pulsating pussy. 

The air is charged with anticipation, and in a climactic crescendo, he releases a deep, guttural moan, your name escaping his lips like a sacred mantra.

“You're mine,” he breathes, the possessive tone riding the wave of each subsequent thrust as he savors the last echoes of his orgasm. 

His words linger in the charged air, a declaration that reverberates through the room and resonates with the tender intensity of the moment. 

A surge of emotion courses through you, and you can't help but marvel at the profound depth of his claim, wondering how he could have ever entertained a different belief.

Both of you lay there, breathless, the aftermath of passion lingering in the air as he collapses beside you on the bed. 

“That was... different,” you begin, a light chuckle dancing in your voice as you reflect on the shared experience. 

He turns his head, fixing you with a gaze filled with wonder, and in that vulnerable moment, he asks, “the good or bad kind?”

“Good,” you hum in a pleased voice, the resonance of satisfaction woven into the sound. 

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into his warm embrace, the weight of shared intimacy lingering in the air like a comforting embrace.

“But don't you dare choke me like that ever again!” you scold him, the anger palpable in the sting of your hand hitting his broad pectorals. 

“For a second, I thought you were going to kill me,” you assert in a stern voice, fixing him with an unwavering gaze. It's a moment of clarity, a line drawn in the aftermath of passion to communicate that his impulsive action was far from acceptable.

“I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me,” he breathes out in a slow and steady rhythm. In the dim room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight seeping through the curtains, you can see his eyes glistening with remorse. 

The shadows dance around him, casting a poignant silhouette as he grapples with the weight of his actions.

“And how the fuck am I going to hide this damn bruise around my neck?” you exclaim, injecting a hint of mockery into your voice. Despite the lingering discomfort, you find a way to shift the atmosphere, attempting to move forward with a lighter mood.

“Make-up?” 

The word hangs in the air, accompanied by a shared chuckle that reverberates against his firm chest where your head rests. The idea of using makeup to conceal what is sure to be a vivid red and purple bruise in the morning seems both futile and amusing. 

Yet, there's a lighthearted acceptance in the laughter, a silent acknowledgment that this unexpected outcome doesn't overshadow the genuine connection shared.

You know deep down that he didn't mean to hurt you. There's a silent understanding that these moments of intensity are exceptions rather than the rule. 

As you lay there, contemplating the promise he made not to repeat such actions, a subtle determination lingers in the air. 

If, however unlikely, he breaks that promise, the unspoken agreement is clear — you'll kick his ass.

You skillfully concealed the bruise with a scarf, despite the summer heat outside. The thin fabric became a delicate shield, a secret shared between you and the material wrapped around your neck.

Almost a week has passed since that intense night, and your sweet and lovely Jungkook has gone above and beyond to express his apologies. 

Each day, he surprises you with thoughtful gestures—a homemade lunch, a meticulously prepared dinner, a drawn bath complete with your favorite movie and a glass of red wine. 

The list of his efforts seems endless. 

You find it endearing, although you can't help but think he doesn't need to try so hard.

It's been an exceptionally challenging week at work, grappling with unruly and disgruntled customers that seem to drain every ounce of your energy. 

The customer-friendly smile you diligently wear every day is wearing thin, the façade cracking under the weight of fatigue. 

Thankfully, the end of the week has arrived – a much-anticipated Friday. 

As you navigate through the final workday, you find solace in the prospect of a relaxing weekend awaiting you at home with your boyfriend.

As you insert the key into the lock of your shared apartment, a tantalizing aroma wafts through the air, instantly embracing you in the comforting warmth of a home-cooked meal. Could it be the savory allure of chicken bulgogi that tickles your senses? 

The enticing scent lingers, drawing you further into the heart of the space you both call home.

Guided by the enticing blend of sweet and spicy aromas, you step into the kitchen, where your boyfriend is immersed in the delicate art of preparing rice. 

The rhythmic sounds of culinary prowess fill the air, creating a harmonious backdrop. However, just as you begin to absorb the culinary symphony, an unexpected rustling emanates from the living room, causing you to cast a quizzical glance at Jungkook. 

“What was that?” you inquire, your curiosity piqued.

Rather than approaching Jungkook immediately, a sense of curiosity compels you to trace the source of the sound. 

As you move toward the living room, the unexpected appearance of Jimin catches you off guard. 

Your eyes widen, and a sudden stillness envelops you, freezing you in your tracks.

“Hello to you too,” Jimin chuckles, his warm smile working like a balm, easing the tension that had gripped your body. 

In his signature style, Jimin sports a plain white loose t-shirt paired with skin-tight black jeans, a combination that seems to be his go-to. 

Glancing back at your boyfriend, you can't help but notice the synchronicity—they're both dressed in identical outfits. 

A chuckle escapes you, amused by the frequent moments when they unwittingly end up matching.

“What brings you here, Jimin?” you inquire, returning to the kitchen. Jimin is busily arranging the table, deftly searching for glasses to complete the setup.

“Just hanging out,” Jimin smiles, effortlessly locating your wine glasses and elegantly setting them on the table.

“I invited him,” Jungkook's voice breaks the air behind you, and you respond with a knowing nod.

“Well, it's lovely to have you here,” you greet Jimin with a warm smile of your own. 

Turning your attention to both men, you offer, “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, just sit down and relax, sweetheart,” Jungkook insists, his attention momentarily on the sizzling chicken bulgogi. 

“You've had a stressful week, and we'll take care of you, don't worry.” 

With a gentle smile, you comply, taking a seat at the table. As you ponder what your boyfriend means by ‘we'll take care of you,’ a hint of defiance creeps in – you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, you scoff.

Jimin skillfully pops open a bottle of red wine, handed from Jungkook, and proceeds to pour the rich liquid into your glass, filling it halfway. 

He repeats the ritual with the glasses flanking yours. As he takes a sip, a chuckle escapes his lips, but there's an underlying nervousness that catches your attention. 

Why is he nervous? 

It's just you and Jungkook, after all. You've shared countless meals together.

As you pick up on Jimin's subtle nervous energy, it seems like the air around you has gained an unexpected weight, each passing second heightening the tension. 

Grateful for the distraction, you watch as Jungkook and Jimin finish preparing the dinner, the enticing aroma of chicken bulgogi permeating the room. 

Your love for anything barbecued intensifies, and when Jungkook hands you a bowl filled with rice and succulent bulgogi, you eagerly accept, your mouth watering in anticipation.

Nestled between Jimin and Jungkook, a pleasant silence envelops the dining table. 

The air is filled with the rich aroma of the delicious meal your boyfriend prepared, creating a sensory symphony that adds to the warmth of the moment. As you savor each bite of the scrumptious food and enjoy a sip of wine, you find comfort in the easy companionship shared between you and your friend. 

As you savor the succulent bites of chicken bulgogi, a sense of ease settles over the dinner table. The fragrant steam rises from the plates, mingling with the clink of cutlery against porcelain. 

Lost in the flavors, you're momentarily caught off guard when a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh. 

At first, you assume it's Jungkook, but both of his hands are immersed in the meal. 

Yet, as you glance to your left, Jimin appears engrossed in his own plate. 

Another unexpected squeeze to your thigh jolts you, leaving you mystified. 

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you can't help but wonder, what the heck is Jimin up to?

As you shoot Jimin stern glares, his attention remains frustratingly fixated elsewhere, completely indifferent to your silent warnings. 

Desperate for guidance, you shift your gaze toward Jungkook, hoping for a sign that he might catch on. 

However, it becomes apparent that he's oblivious to Jimin's subtle advances. 

Frustration wells within you as you grapple with the dilemma of how to address the situation without causing unnecessary tension.

Jimin's hand ventures further up your thigh, teetering on the edge of an intimacy that sends shivers cascading down your spine. 

Frustration and uncertainty knot in your stomach. 

Desperate to halt his advances, you clench your thighs together, silently pleading for him to retract without a spoken confrontation. 

Yet, your relief is short-lived as another pair of hands, unmistakably Jungkook's, seize your other thigh and coax your legs apart. 

Confusion sweeps over you, and you shoot a bewildered glance at your boyfriend. The room suddenly feels stifling, as if the temperature has skyrocketed, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

Jungkook's voice, laced with desire, urges, “Be a good girl, sweetheart,” his grip on your thigh tightening as he pulls it firmly against his own. 

Confusion still swirls in your mind, but any attempt to make sense of the situation is interrupted by Jimin's daring fingers, which find your clothed clit beneath the fabric of your dress. 

A soft moan escapes your lips, a vulnerable admission to the electric touch. The desire to close your legs intensifies, yet Jungkook remains insistent, parting them further. 

Closing your eyes, you summon the courage to meet your boyfriend's gaze. What you find are eyes—dark, blown out, brimming with a cocktail of lust, hunger, and a searing fire you've never witnessed before.

Jimin's fingers trace sinuous circles over your clothed clit, the damp fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin, a silent testament to the arousal that courses through you. 

The inherent wrongness of the situation is overshadowed by the rapid response of your body to his touch. 

It's an electrifying paradox – the knowledge that this should be wrong only intensifies the pleasure that unfurls within you, forcing you to admit, even if just to yourself, that there's an undeniable allure in the forbidden.

He delicately tugs at the hem of your panties, his gaze seeking permission, and he softly breathes, “Can I?” 

The question hangs in the air, charged with anticipation, a silent request that lingers between desire and consent, creating a moment pregnant with the promise of what's about to unfold.

Your eyes dart to your boyfriend, a silent plea for permission, though deep down, you know it's already granted. The room is thick with anticipation, a swirl of confusion and desire. 

You're caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unsure of how Jungkook is allowing Jimin to touch you this way. 

Yet, the undeniable heat pooling between your thighs pushes you past the confusion, craving the imminent release that hovers on the edge of reality.

Jungkook notices your internal struggle and, with a teasing glint in his eyes, urges you, “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

His voice is a husky whisper, adding to the charged atmosphere that crackles in the air. You feel the weight of his gaze, both demanding and encouraging, pushing you to vocalize the desires that dance on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, the sound echoing in the charged silence that envelops you. The weight of the word you're about to say hangs in the air, heavy with consequences that could reshape the dynamics of your relationship with Jimin. 

“Yes.”

He moves swiftly, skillfully pulling your panties to the side and grazing his fingers over your pulsating core. 

The raw desire in his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the telltale signs of your arousal. 

As he remarks, “Damn, she's already so wet,” you involuntarily clench around nothing, surrendering to the rising tide of pleasure. 

Your eyes close, and you throw your head back in the chair, lost in the sensations coursing through your body, momentarily forgetting the world around you.

Jungkook's deep hums and light chuckles resonate beside you, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your thigh as Jimin's skilled touch dances tantalizing circles on your clit. 

Your body becomes a paradox, simultaneously tense and pliant. 

Conflicting emotions surge within you—a cocktail of pleasure, guilt, and confusion. The dichotomy of their actions, the pleasure mingled with the unsettling reality that this is your friend, leaves you grappling with a tumultuous whirlwind of sensations. 

Their every touch sends sparks of desire through your conflicted body, a symphony of pleasure and moral questioning echoing in the room.

The wave of your impending orgasm crashes over you with an electrifying intensity, your breath catching in your throat as the sensation builds rapidly.

“I told you, Jimin,” Jungkook asserts, his gaze fixed on you, studying the way your body shivers. 

A sudden realization dawns upon you. 

Have they been discussing you? 

Confusion swirls within, yet a fresh surge of arousal grips you at the mysterious implication behind those words.

Jimin hums in agreement. 

“She's a slut,” Jungkook declares, his fingers exerting a firm squeeze on your thigh. 

The weight of the word hangs in the air, its impact sinking into the atmosphere, leaving you with a mix of discomfort and an unexpected thrill.

Shit. 

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps through you, leaving you both turned on and uncertain. The proximity of Jungkook, his breath gently caressing your ear, sends electric shivers down your spine, heightening the intensity of the moment.

His words, a seductive command, resonate in your ear, setting your senses ablaze. “Be a good girl and come Jimin's fingers,” he urges, coaxing a frustrated moan from your lips. 

Unsure of what to do with your hands, you grip the table, the anticipation of pleasure and the forbidden adding to the electrifying tension in the air.

With each expert stroke of Jimin's fingers, the tension within you builds, reaching an explosive climax that leaves you trembling. 

Your toes curl involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip to stifle the primal sound threatening to escape. 

As your essence spills out, forming a pool on the chair, you find yourself gasping for air, the aftermath leaving you dazed and questioning the whirlwind of sensations that just unfolded.

Jimin's fingers embark on a sensual journey, tracing the contours of your most intimate place, their skilled movements leaving a trail of heightened anticipation. 

With a deliberate motion, he slips a finger inside, retrieving a sample of your essence. 

A wicked gleam in his eyes, he withdraws his hand and seductively brings his coated digits to his mouth, savoring the taste of your arousal with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

An illicit wave washes over you as you witness the sinful spectacle. 

Your entire being shudders in response, caught between the allure of the forbidden and the intoxicating sensations that linger in the charged air.

“She tastes so sweet.” Jimin's husky voice cuts through the charged atmosphere as he licks his fingers with deliberate sensuality. 

The room hangs heavy with tension, and you can't deny the magnetic allure of his actions. It's not that you harbor romantic feelings for your friend, but you'd be lying if you claimed immunity to his undeniable attractiveness. 

The man is a vision of sin, wrapped in a package of irresistible allure, just like your loving boyfriend.

In an unexpected move, your boyfriend joins the sensual dance, his fingers seamlessly intertwining with Jimin's. 

Your body reacts with a jolt of surprise as Jungkook skillfully explores your most intimate places. 

Retrieving his fingers, he mirrors Jimin's actions, savoring the taste of your essence. 

The room pulses with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation, leaving you breathless and caught in the whirlwind of their shared seduction.

“Hmm, you're absolutely right,” he purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “A perfect little slut.”

As the waves of pleasure subside, a gentle haze settles over your mind, leaving you in a blissful, slightly dizzy afterglow.

His husky voice, dripping with satisfaction, caresses your ear as he murmurs, “Good girls get rewarded,” coaxing another helpless moan from your lips.

Jimin and Jungkook rise simultaneously, offering you each a helping hand, guiding you towards the sanctuary of your bedroom. 

The conflicting emotions swirl within you—this should be wrong, yet in the magnetic pull of their presence, it feels irresistibly right. 

As they lead you, a comforting certainty blossoms, especially in the ease of Jungkook's demeanor. His calculated assurance hints at a carefully planned orchestration, tailored just for you.

As they guide you towards the bed, a synchronized dance unfolds. 

Jimin skillfully unzips the back of your dress and bra, revealing the vulnerable canvas beneath, while Jungkook, with a tantalizing pull, descends your panties. The orchestrated unveiling leaves you exposed, a willing participant in the unfolding symphony of desire.

Naked vulnerability envelops you as you stand before them, a canvas awaiting the brushstrokes of a masterpiece. 

The uncertainty of the moment swirls around you like a tempest, and the uncharted territory of a threesome stirs a cocktail of nerves and arousal within you. 

Jungkook's apparent ease with the situation raises questions, casting a mysterious allure over the impending encounter.

“It’s okay princess. It’s just me. And Jimin,” his words wash over you like a soothing melody, a promise of tenderness in the midst of anticipation. 

The warmth in his eyes flickers with an unspoken promise, a shared secret between the three of you. 

As he hovers above you, a gentle chuckle dances through the air, a prelude to the uncharted journey ahead. 

“We're just going to take care of you, okay?” 

His voice, a lullaby of reassurance, invites you into the embrace of an unknown yet enticing adventure. You nod in agreement, the subtle taste of excitement mingling with the nervous bite of your lip, laying the foundation for what lies ahead.

“If there’s anything you don’t like, just say so.” 

As he speaks, an unwavering sincerity colors his words, a silent pledge to prioritize your comfort above all. The room becomes a canvas, painted with the shared vulnerability of this intimate encounter. 

As he stands, a subtle anticipation lingers in the air, setting the stage for what's to come. 

Your gaze instinctively falls, revealing a subtle bulge in his pants, a visual prelude to the unspoken desires in the room. 

In harmony, they both shed their layers, a symbolic unveiling that mirrors the unfolding intimacy. Jimin, stripped down to his boxers, gracefully enters the space above your head, a silhouette of desire against the backdrop of shared exploration.

Jungkook settles down on the floor and drags your body back down, so your ass is at the end of the bed. Giving him a perfect view of your dripping pussy, he licks his lips in anticipation. 

In a whisper of promise, Jungkook declares, “I'm going to get you nice and ready.” 

His tongue becomes a sensual artist, tracing an intricate path from your core to the delicate terrain of your clit. Your body quivers, a symphony of anticipation playing through your nerves. 

An instinct to shift on the bed is met with the unyielding strength of Jungkook's arms, firmly anchoring your thighs. 

The dance begins deliberately, a slow exploration that intensifies as two of his fingers join the exquisite journey, entering you with deliberate intent, creating a cadence that echoes the rising tempo of shared desire.

A soft moan escapes your lips as the sensation intensifies, and in the symphony of pleasure, you feel Jimin's warm hands caressing your cheeks, a gentle descent that maps the contours of your body until they reach your breasts. 

Your nipples, already responding to the charged atmosphere, stand erect beneath his touch, sending electric shivers through you.

As Jungkook quickens the pace of his fingers, delving in and out of you with a rhythmic precision, Jimin's lips trace a scorching path across your heated skin. 

The tender press of kisses ignites fires along your collarbones, leaving a trail of warmth that intensifies with every passing moment. 

Moving lower, he captures one nipple in his mouth, the contrast between the heated suction and the cool air sending thrilling sensations coursing through your body. 

The symphony of pleasure orchestrated by both men plays on, reaching new heights of fervor.

As your body arches slightly off the bed, a surge of pleasure courses through you, but Jungkook's firm grip keeps you anchored. 

With the addition of a third finger, a delicious stretching sensation sets in, intensifying the pleasure to new heights. His skilled attention on your clit persists, coaxing another orgasm to build, faster and more tantalizing than before. 

Your head becomes enveloped in a hazy cloud of ecstasy, and all you can do is surrender to the overwhelming waves of pleasure, expressing your bliss through unrestrained moans.

As Jimin decides he's lavished enough attention on the first nipple, he turns his focus to the other, taking it into his warm mouth and delicately tugging on the first one. The sensations are electrifying, an exquisite symphony of pleasure that envelops your senses. 

Each touch, each movement sends waves of ecstasy through your body, and in this moment, everything becomes an intoxicating blend of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.

Gasping, you confess, “I'm going to come again.” 

The intensity of pleasure courses through your body, causing your toes to curl and your stomach and pussy to clench in anticipation. The sensations are overwhelming, a symphony of ecstasy that leaves you teetering on the edge of blissful release.

In the throes of your release, Jungkook sucks passionately on your clit, sending shivers through your body. 

Simultaneously, Jimin bites down on your nipple, a teasing sensation that adds an electrifying edge to your pleasure. 

The combination is so intense that you can't help but feel like you'll get whiplash if they maintain this electrifying rhythm.

Jungkook's husky voice pierces through the haze of pleasure. 

“That's it, my good slut” he murmurs, maintaining a slow and deliberate pace with his fingers, syncing perfectly with the waves of your ebbing orgasm. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, and the edges of your vision blur as the intensity of the experience takes hold.

Jimin's appreciative words glide over your heightened senses. 

“She's incredibly responsive,” he observes, his hands skillfully teasing and massaging your breasts. Every touch sends shivers down your spine, amplifying the electrifying sensations that ripple through your body.

Your breaths come in frantic bursts, struggling to match the rhythm set by the two men. 

“Are you good?” Jungkook looks at you, his face glistening with your shared intimacy, an irresistible blend of passion and desire. 

His question hangs in the air, a subtle reminder that you're at the center of this whirlwind, and your response will fuel the flames of the already scorching atmosphere.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” 

The room crackles with an unspoken tension as your boyfriend rises, his boxer-clad arousal on full display. The subtle play of shadows across the fabric highlights every contour, a palpable promise of the passion about to unfold. 

Your gaze locks onto the prominent bulge, a visual cue that sets your pulse racing and stirs a magnetic attraction.

“I want to watch Jimin fuck you,” his words hang in the air, a daring proposition that sends a jolt of surprise through you. 

You glance at your boyfriend, questioning the audacity of such a suggestion. 

As he positions you in front of Jimin, the atmosphere thickens with an alluring tension.

Uncertainty blends with a heady anticipation, leaving you on the edge of curiosity and excitement. 

Would he really allow that? 

The room pulses with a forbidden thrill, an uncharted territory that beckons you to explore its depths.

His gaze meets yours, a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes. Before you can voice your confusion, he begins to unravel the tantalizing plan. 

“I want to watch Jimin take care of you,” he says with a wicked grin, sending a thrill down your spine. 

The unexpected proposal hangs in the air, leaving you both intrigued and slightly uneasy. As the gravity of his words sinks in, a rush of forbidden excitement courses through you.

In that moment, his kiss holds the weight of unspoken promises and secret desires. His lips, firm and demanding, leave you breathless and eager for more.

“Just like you've dreamt about,” he murmurs, his words a delicious blend of command and invitation. 

The air is charged with anticipation as you delve into a realm where fantasies transform into reality, and the boundaries between dreams and waking moments blur into an irresistible dance.

You gently cup his face in your hands, your touch a soothing balm to the storm within him. 

“You know they don't mean anything, Kook,” you reassure, your eyes locked onto his. 

In that intimate exchange, you share a silent understanding that transcends spoken words. Your love is an anchor, grounding him amidst the tempest of insecurities, and the depth of your connection speaks louder than any fleeting doubts.

His words hang in the air, a provocative promise that sends a thrilling shiver down your spine.

“No, none of that. When you dream like a slut, you're gonna get fucked like one,” he declares with a confident smirk, beckoning Jimin to step closer. 

The air is charged with anticipation as you gulp, fully aware that the night is about to unravel into an uncharted territory of pleasure and desire. 

The magnetic pull between you and the two men intensifies, creating an atmosphere where inhibitions fade away, leaving room only for the raw, unbridled passion that awaits.

Jimin confidently takes Jungkook's place, his sculpted physique accentuated by the dim glow of the room. 

Clad in nothing but boxers, a potent bulge strains against the fabric, hinting at the intense desire beneath. The air becomes charged with the unspoken promise of ecstasy, and you find yourself captivated by the raw allure emanating from Jimin's form. 

His eyes lock onto yours, a mischievous glint dancing within, as if he's ready to embark on an exhilarating journey through the realms of pleasure with you.

Your eyes briefly meet your boyfriend's, seeking reassurance and confirmation in the midst of this daring scenario. 

His expression, a mix of approval and anticipation, tells you everything you need to know. 

With a subtle nod, he grants his unspoken consent, fueling the intensity of the moment. The dynamics shift as Jimin steps forward, his presence commanding attention, and the unspoken agreement between the three of you creates a charged atmosphere, leaving you eager to explore the uncharted territories of pleasure.

“Just warm me up a bit before I fuck you, pretty,” 

Jimin's gaze intensifies, pupils dilating with raw desire, and as he discards the last barrier between his arousal and the impending encounter, his words drip with both seduction and anticipation. 

His request, a tantalizing promise of the passion about to unfold, hangs in the air like an electrifying prelude to an intimate symphony. 

As you grab Jimin's dick, you're captivated by the velvety warmth beneath your fingertips. 

His shorter, girthier form seems to pulse with its own heartbeat, a tangible embodiment of the passion that simmers between you. The weight of anticipation hangs in the air, and your mind becomes a canvas for vivid fantasies of the sensations he might evoke. 

Lost in the rhythm of your own movements, you inadvertently drift into a world where the imminent encounter promises both intensity and ecstasy, leaving you blissfully unaware of the passing moments.

As Jimin grins with a hint of mischief, he reassures you with a low, soothing voice, “It's alright, we'll take our time.” 

His anticipation mirrors yours, and as you guide him into your hand, you find a newfound focus. With a subtle yet daring move, you moisten his throbbing length with a well-timed spit, creating an intimate connection that heightens the shared desire between you. 

As Jungkook positions himself behind you, a wave of anticipation courses through your body. 

His lips graze your neck, teasingly gentle, before he surprises you with a nibble that ignites a delicious shiver down your spine. The sensation lingers as he moves to suck on the tender spot, claiming it as his own. 

His actions are both possessive and tender, a contrast that electrifies your senses. Each deliberate movement on your neck serves as a tantalizing prelude, building the atmosphere of shared desire between you.

Jimin swiftly decides that your warm-up has served its purpose, though truth be told, the urgency in his demeanor suggests he was ready from the start. His arousal is palpable, a testament to the anticipation that has been building between you.

“On all fours, pretty,” in a delicate dance of desire, Jimin guides you onto all fours with a firm yet gentle touch. 

The shift in position unveils a vulnerability that sends a shiver down your spine. As you face your boyfriend, the air thickens with a mix of anticipation and shared intimacy. His gaze, filled with both love and arousal, provides a reassuring anchor in this uncharted territory.

On hands and knees, your ass is presented to Jimin, a canvas for the desires that linger in the room. The contrast between the tender smile your boyfriend offers and the hungry gaze in Jimin's eyes creates a captivating tension.

“Condom?” 

In response to Jimin's inquiry, Jungkook moves with purpose, delving into the contents of your nightstand. 

From its depths, he retrieves a condom—an unexpected addition to your usual routine. 

In your five years with Jungkook, such precautions were seldom necessary, relying instead on the reliability of birth control and the familiarity that time had etched into your relationship. 

Yet, in this charged moment, the condom becomes a symbol of caution, a tangible acknowledgment of the unexpected twist this night has taken. 

As Jungkook hands it to Jimin, the air hums with a blend of curiosity and arousal. The foil tears open with a promise, and the unrolling of the condom onto Jimin's dick echoes with a subtle shift in the dynamics.

Jimin's hands cradle the curves of your ass, his touch both tender and possessive. 

His eyes, filled with concern and desire, lock onto yours, seeking affirmation in the depths of your gaze.

“Are you good? Is it okay?” he asks, his voice a breathy murmur that hangs in the charged air. The weight of the question adds a layer of intimacy, as if he's not only seeking permission for the physical act but also ensuring the well-being of your emotions in this uncharted territory.

You nod, a silent agreement, your breath hitching with a mix of anticipation and reassurance.

“You have to use your words, sweetheart, otherwise Jimin isn’t going to fuck you.” 

He whispers, his warm breath caressing your skin. Jungkook's touch on your cheek is feather-light, a stark contrast to the weight of his words that hang in the charged atmosphere. His fingers, tracing the contour of your lips, carry a subtle demand for your verbal affirmation.

“I’m ready.”

As you close your eyes, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions dances in the darkness behind your lids. 

The journey you've embarked upon feels like an irreversible tide, sweeping away the boundaries you once held dear. The nagging sense of wrongness, a lingering echo of societal norms, clashes with the electric current of desire coursing through your veins. 

In this twilight of uncertainty, you ponder the enigma that is your boyfriend's decision to share you with a friend. 

The possessiveness that usually defines him has given way to a new, uncharted territory of shared pleasure. It's a paradoxical blend of arousal and apprehension, and you can't help but wonder how deep this rabbit hole goes.

As Jimin's throbbing cock meets the threshold of your entrance, a charged moment hangs in the air. 

His fingers gently part your cheeks, creating a canvas for the intimate dance about to unfold. The anticipation builds with each tantalizing tease, as the velvet heat of his head grazes your most intimate space, leaving a trail of heated promises. 

With a deliberate slowness, Jimin breaches the sanctuary of your warmth. The gradual descent of his hardness into the depths of your essence paints a vivid picture of shared intimacy. 

As Jimin delves deeper into the cavern of your pussy, a symphony of sensations reverberates through your being. Your moans, a harmonious melody, intertwine with the rhythm of your shared breaths. 

With each inch he claims, you instinctively brace against Jungkook's hips, seeking grounding amidst the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Jimin's girth, an uncharted territory, tests the limits of your accustomed boundaries. 

Yet, the abundant slickness of desire acts as a lubricated guide, easing the journey into an intoxicating dance of connection. The initial stretch, a transient discomfort, is eclipsed by the growing pleasure, a testament to the fluidity of passion and the resilience of your desire-soaked essence.

“Fuck she’s tight!” 

His husky exclamation punctuates the charged air, echoing the tight embrace your core provides. A transient pause follows, as he relishes the depth of connection achieved. In the subsequent languid retreat, every inch of his withdrawal sends tremors of anticipation through your form.

With an emphatic thrust, he surges back into you, a forceful rhythm established from the outset. The intensity of his movements forces your head to bow, a testament to the powerful impact that each plunge delivers. 

The heightened depth of penetration elicits a cascade of sensations, a symphony of pleasure and surrender that resonates with each successive collision.

In the throes of passion, you're a symphony of moans and pants, completely undone by Jimin's fervent movements within you. The intensity of the experience has you lost in a haze of pleasure. 

Just when you think the sensations couldn't escalate any further, you sense Jungkook adjusting his position, a silent promise of more to come.

His gaze on you is intense, devouring every nuance of your response as if committing it to memory. The dark, lustful hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, mirroring the rhythm of Jimin's thrusts. With a seductive confidence, he begins stroking himself, amplifying the erotic spectacle. 

As Jimin continues to plunge into you with a relentless rhythm, you steal a glance at your boyfriend, whose eyes are locked on the explicit scene before him. 

The realization hits you like a tidal wave — he's not just allowing this; he's reveling in the erotic image unfolding in front of him. 

The unexpected turn of events has you reflecting on the twists and turns of desire, leaving you in awe of the unfolding passions that have brought you to this surreal moment.

Inching closer, Jungkook traces a teasing path along your cheek with his finger, a silent invitation. The tension in the room heightens as you catch his unspoken request. Sensing the anticipation, you willingly part your lips, ready for the intimate connection that's about to unfold.

As you take him into your mouth, a soft moan escapes his lips, and he praises you, “That's a good girl.” 

The warmth of your mouth, combined with the intimate act, elicits a hiss of pleasure from him. 

As Jimin maintains the rhythm of his rapid thrusts, a low hum escapes his lips, a primal sound that resonates with the intensity of the moment. “Yeah.”

Jungkook's voice, laced with desire, breaks through the heated air as he urges you, “Just know who you belong to.” 

His words hang in the room, a possessive reminder of the intimate connection shared between you two. As he fights to restrain himself, the anticipation builds, heightening the intensity of the moment before you take him into your mouth again.

His concern echoes in your ears as Jungkook whispers, “Say if it's too much, and we can stop anytime.” 

The sincerity in his voice reflects a genuine care for your comfort, creating a tender contrast to the passionate atmosphere that surrounds you. It's a reminder that, despite the intensity, your boundaries are respected and valued.

As you hum in agreement, the vibrations from your mouth send a tantalizing sensation through Jungkook's cock, eliciting a low moan of pleasure from him. 

“You’re taking me so well, pretty,” in the midst of the intense pleasure, Jimin's praise resonates in the air, heightening the sensations. 

As you clench around him in response, the struggle to balance Jimin's relentless pace and attending to Jungkook's needs becomes apparent. 

Feeling the need to address the moment, you pop off Jungkook’s dick, a breathless pause hanging in the air before you speak.

“Please fuck my mouth,” as your plea for more intensifies, your eyes lock with your boyfriend's, a mixture of desire and need reflected in your gaze. 

Without a second thought, he responds eagerly, thrusting his dick back into your mouth, the air filled with the sounds of your shared passion and the unrestrained symphony of pleasure unfolding.

“Such a dirty slut,” as the explicit words tumble from his lips, your senses are heightened, the raw intensity of the moment swirling around you. 

Each forceful thrust sends shivers down your spine, a delicate dance between pleasure and a hint of pain. 

Tears glisten in your eyes, a testament to the overwhelming sensations that threaten to consume you. Your jaw aches, but you persevere, determined to please him and surrender to the ecstasy of the shared experience.

As the intensity of their movements builds, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of desire, surrendering to the rhythmic chaos they orchestrate. 

The speed and force leave you breathless, and you resign yourself to the overwhelming pleasure they provide. Your gaze flickers upward, connecting with your boyfriend's eyes, which mirror a cocktail of desire and ecstasy. His furrowed brow betrays the impending climax, a visual symphony playing out as you navigate the tempestuous pleasure they bestow upon you.

As Jimin's breath intertwines with the rhythm of your collective passion, you notice a subtle deceleration in his movements. Each pant resonates with the echoes of desire, a brief respite in the storm of sensations that engulf you. 

“Fuck. I’m not gonna last long,” as Jimin's fervent pace quickens, his ragged breaths become a symphony of impending release. 

The slap on your ass, a visceral punctuation to his words, reverberates through the room.

As you moan, the vibrations reverberate through Jungkook's throbbing length, intensifying the sensations for both of you. 

An overwhelming sense of fullness consumes you, your senses heightened as the anticipation of another impending orgasm courses through your entire being. It's a crescendo building within, promising an intense release that echoes the passion-filled moments leading up to it. 

Your body, already well-acquainted with pleasure tonight, braces itself for the impending explosion of ecstasy, ready to succumb to the relentless waves of bliss.

“Are you gonna come soon, pretty?” 

Jimin's voice, a seductive whisper in your ear, heightens the tension in the room. 

Your response, a throaty moan around your boyfriend's cock, sends a clear signal of the impending release building within you. 

Jungkook, caught in the throes of passion, improvises by gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail, a gesture both possessive and intimate, “I think that was a yes, Jimin.”

In the heat of the moment, your body responds instinctively to Jimin's touch. 

As his skilled finger traces enticing circles around your clit, you arch your back, a silent plea for more. The pleasure becomes an overwhelming crescendo, pushing you to the brink. 

It's a delicate dance on the precipice of ecstasy, and every stroke of Jimin's finger feels like it might be the one to tip you over the edge. The tension builds, and you're left teetering on the verge, caught between desire and the imminent release that hovers just out of reach.

In the throes of passion, Jungkook's hands explore your body with an intimate familiarity. His touch is both possessive and tender as he effortlessly finds your breasts. 

A surge of pleasure courses through you when he pinches both of your nipples simultaneously, intensifying the sensations that already have you on the edge. In that moment, it's as if every nerve ending in your body is attuned to his every movement, creating a symphony of desire that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

“Mmmhpf!” your scream morphs into a muffled mon as Jungkook's sizable cock fills your mouth completely, stifling any coherent sound. The sensation is overwhelming, the weight and heat of him stretching your limits.

Your body trembles, legs threatening to give way as an electrifying current courses through you. Gratefully, Jimin secures a firm grip on your hips, ensuring your stability as he relentlessly fucks into you. 

“Fuck!” he exclaims, the raw intensity of the moment etched across his face as you continue to pulsate around him.

Jungkook continues to stroke your cheeks, a mixture of tenderness and dominance, as he relentlessly takes control of your mouth. 

“Such a good girl,” his words echo through the fog of pleasure and the deafening symphony of sensations. 

The ringing in your ears intensifies, drowning out the world around you. 

If your eyes were open, the overwhelming intensity might blind you, yet behind closed lids, your vision blurs, and you surrender to the whirlwind of ecstasy that consumes every inch of your being.

“Where do you want me to come?” Jimin's ragged breaths are punctuated by the question that hangs in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. 

His words, a sultry request, echo through the room, leaving you with a sense of anticipation that lingers in the charged atmosphere.

“On her ass,” Jungkook’s words cut through the heated haze, a directive that adds a new layer of intensity to the already fervent atmosphere. 

The command is uttered with a possessive authority, leaving no room for hesitation. 

As the waves of ecstasy gradually recede, your senses awaken to a heightened state of sensitivity. Every touch, every brush of air against your skin becomes an electrifying caress. 

The aftermath of pleasure leaves you in a vulnerable state, your body still pulsating with the residual echoes of pleasure. 

As Jimin withdraws from the intimate space of your pussy, a sense of emptiness lingers momentarily. 

The subtle sounds of the discarded condom hitting the floor echo the intensity of the moment just shared. 

Then, a tender touch graces your curves as Jimin's hand and warmth retrace the contours of your skin. The rhythmic strokes against his own arousal paint a vivid soundscape, creating a sensual symphony in the dimly lit room. 

The culmination of his pleasure manifests in a cascade of white, anointing your skin in an intimate ritual. His gentleness, juxtaposed against the raw intensity that preceded, leaves you suspended in a fragile moment of post-climactic intimacy.

As Jimin relinquishes the reins, he utters a breathy proclamation, “She's all yours.” 

Seated with an aura of confident dominance, his gaze becomes a spectator to the captivating scene unfolding before him. Your body, an exquisite canvas of desire, moves to the rhythm of Jungkook's fervent thrusts. 

In the symphony of moans and erratic breaths, Jungkook's voice cuts through the air like a possessive crescendo. 

“Always was, always will be,” he declares, his words saturated with a possessiveness that hangs thick in the room. 

The intensity of his thrusts, the raw edge in his voice, and the audacity of sharing you with another - it all collides, creating a complex tapestry of desire and dominance. 

It's a moment that begs the question: how did this man, usually unwavering in his ownership, allow another to partake in this intimate dance with you?

As Jungkook withdraws, his release splatters across your face, a sudden, unexpected warmth that catches you off guard. 

It's a deviation from the anticipated script, but the unpredictable nature of the act only adds to the charged atmosphere. The mixture of surprise and satisfaction dances across your features, leaving a visual echo of the intimate exchange that just transpired. 

As the remnants of their passion linger on your flushed skin, Jungkook's husky voice pierces the air. 

“Such a good slut,” he commends, his fingers tracing a path from your face down to your parted lips, smearing the evidence of his cum into your warm mouth. It's a bold assertion, a tangible connection that blurs the lines between pleasure and possession.

Exhaustion washes over you like a gentle wave, pulling you into the depths of relaxation. The weight of your spent body sinks into the bed, every muscle tingling with a satisfying ache. 

Your eyelids surrender to the soothing darkness, shutting out the remnants of a night that pushed the boundaries of pleasure. 

As you recline in the afterglow, the room echoes with the melody of your contented moans—a symphony of fulfillment. 

Soft warmth caresses your skin, pulling you gently from the depths of slumber. 

The sensation on your face and ass registers—two warm towels, meticulously sweeping away the remnants of a heated encounter.

Jungkook's careful touch graces your face, tenderly gliding over delicate features, while Jimin mirrors the gesture below, cleansing away the traces of their shared passion.

Gentle hands guide you, rolling your body onto your back, a synchronized ballet of care. 

They delicately part your legs, like pages in a book, unveiling the aftermath of shared desire. 

Your voice, a tender moan, escapes in response to their comforting touch, an involuntary melody that lingers in the air—a testament to the intimacy woven into this moment of post-passion tenderness.

Jungkook's voice, a soft caress, breaks through the hazy aftermath. 

“Hi, princess,” he murmurs, his words a gentle acknowledgment of the shared journey. The tenderness in his tone weaves a comforting cocoon around you, a warmth that lingers in the air. 

“You did so good,” he adds, his praise a soothing balm to the vulnerability that lingers after the storm of passion.

Beside him, Jimin hums in agreement, a low vibration that echoes the lingering intimacy in the room. 

“Want to take a shower?” his proposal lingers in the air, a suggestion weighted with the promise of cleansing away not just the physical residue but also the shared moments of illicit pleasure. 

As he glances between you and Jungkook, a silent consensus seems to pass, the unspoken agreement palpable in the subtle nods that bridge understanding between the three of you.

With words caught in the aftermath of passion, you resort to a nod – a subtle affirmation that echoes the complexity of emotions swirling within you.

“We can clean you up better there,” Jungkook says as they lead you towards the bathroom, a sanctuary where water promises both cleansing and renewal, you find yourself caught in the juxtaposition of sensations. 

Their touch, once a tempest of passion, now guides you with a tenderness that belies the intensity that transpired moments ago.

As you navigate the path to the bathroom, a surreal blend of emotions courses through you. 

Physically, you're aware of the lingering sensations, a testament to the shared moments that unfolded. 

However, beyond the tangible, there's a current of emotions, complex and uncharted. 

The paradox of feeling overwhelmed and yet fulfilled creates a tapestry of conflicting sentiments. 

The uncertainty that shrouds the future of your relationship with Jungkook and the dynamics with Jimin remains, but for now, in the cocoon of the present, there's an undeniable aura of bliss, an amalgamation of love and adoration that fills every inch of your being.

What do you think? It got a lot longer than I expected, sorry. I can't write anything short...

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

A lot of jam haters try to accuse jam from outer space of devouring a Downington, Pennsylvania and terrorizing that town with its relentless insatiability until a bunch of teenagers devise a plan to save the town by trapping the blob inside a movie theater and freezing it using a fire extinguisher, exploiting its vulnerability to cold. In a climactic battle, the townspeople successfully manage to freeze the jam, temporarily halting its destructive spree. The military is then called in to transport the frozen blob to an Arctic region where it can never cause harm anyone again.

In most eye witness accounts descriptions of the carnage, it is generally related that once a person was engulfed by the jam, they become completely submerged within its mass. The jams semi-translucent nature allowed witnesses to see the outlines or shadows of people trapped inside, adding to the horror and suspense of the catastrophe.The victims were described as "struggling and screaming" as they are slowly consumed by the jam, ultimately Their bodies are assimilated into the Blob's substance, ultimately disappearing from sight. The Blob absorbs and digests everything in its path, leaving no trace of its victims.

Many of the survivors vividly recall the panic at the movie theater.

As the townspeople of Downingtown became aware of the jams existence and its destructive nature, panic ensued. In an attempt to seek safety, many residents flocked to the local movie theater as a place of refuge. The theater was filled with people seeking shelter from the impending danger, hoping that the now gigantic and ever expanding wouldn't be able to infiltrate the building.

Inside the theater, tension built as the audience anxiously awaited any updates on the situation outside. People huddled together, their expressions a mix of fear and uncertainty. The atmosphere was thick with apprehension and a sense of impending doom.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered as chaos erupted. The jam found its way into the theater, seeping through crevices and vents. Panic ensues as the patrons realized that nowhere is safe. The jam started engulfing individuals, dissolving them in its gelatinous mass. Screams of terror filled the air, blending with the desperate attempts of people trying to escape.

The scene was a frantic battle for survival as the terrified moviegoers scrambled to find exits and evade the Blob's clutches. Some attempted to barricade themselves in projection booths or other rooms, while others ran frantically through darkened corridors. The tension was heightened by the eerie lighting and the echoing sounds of screams and destruction.

Fortunately for all of mankind, the movie theater served as a jam trap. Teenagers with fire extinguishers froze the jam and transported the frozen jam into the Arctic.

But here's the scoop.

The jam wasn't jam at all. The jam was jelly.

Jelly contains a lot more water than does jam and it was the freezing of the water inside the substance that made it vulnerable to cold. With a slightly less water content, the substance would have completely destroyed Downsville which would have ruined the career of Steve McQueen among other catastrophes including the end of the world.

Furthermore, jam would never be able to seep into the movie theater due to its thicker consistency.

The whole myth was created by jam haters who don't relish the presence of fruit parts and prefer them strained into fruit juice to tone down the flavor through concentration.

The fierce battle between jam haters and jelly lovers has been waging for centuries. The purpose of this expose is to strike back at the jam haters who started the malicious rumor in the first place.

The blob was jelly not jam.

The town in which the blob tried to destroy is called Downingtown. The 1958 science-fiction horror film "The Blob" is set in Downingtown, Pennsylvania. The movie depicts a gelatinous alien creature that consumes everything in its path, posing a threat to the town and its inhabitants.

describe the scene n the movie theaterChatGPT

In the movie "The Blob," there is a memorable scene that takes place in a movie theater. This scene is an iconic moment in the film and contributes to its suspense and horror.

As the townspeople of Downingtown become aware of the Blob's existence and its destructive nature, panic ensues. In an attempt to seek safety, many residents flock to the local movie theater as a place of refuge. The theater is filled with people seeking shelter from the impending danger, hoping that the Blob won't be able to infiltrate the building.

Inside the theater, tension builds as the audience anxiously awaits any updates on the situation outside. People are huddled together, their expressions a mix of fear and uncertainty. The atmosphere is thick with apprehension and a sense of impending doom.

Suddenly, the silence is shattered as chaos erupts. The Blob finds its way into the theater, seeping through crevices and vents. Panic ensues as the patrons realize that nowhere is safe. The Blob starts engulfing individuals, dissolving them in its gelatinous mass. Screams of terror fill the air, blending with the desperate attempts of people trying to escape.

The scene is a frantic battle for survival as the terrified moviegoers scramble to find exits and evade the Blob's clutches. Some attempt to barricade themselves in projection booths or other rooms, while others run frantically through darkened corridors. The tension is heightened by the eerie lighting and the echoing sounds of screams and destruction.

The scene serves as a pivotal moment in the film, showcasing the Blob's relentless nature and the overwhelming threat it poses to the town. It highlights the vulnerability of ordinary people in the face of an unstoppable force and adds to the overall suspense and horror of the movie.

where did the blob come fromChatGPT

In the 1958 science-fiction horror film "The Blob," the origin of the Blob is not explicitly revealed. The movie focuses more on the threat the Blob poses to the town and its inhabitants rather than exploring its origins.

The Blob is depicted as an extraterrestrial life form that crash-lands on Earth. It is a gelatinous, amorphous creature that consumes anything in its path, growing larger as it engulfs more matter. The exact details of its origin or how it ended up on Earth are left to the imagination of the viewers.

While the film does not provide a specific explanation, it is common in science fiction for alien creatures to arrive on Earth through various means such as meteorites, spacecraft, or dimensional portals. It is likely that the Blob followed a similar pattern, arriving on Earth through some form of cosmic event or interstellar travel.

It's important to note that there have been different adaptations and remakes of "The Blob" over the years, including a 1988 remake and subsequent sequels. In some of these adaptations, the Blob's origin story may vary slightly, but the general premise of an alien entity threatening a town remains consistent.

can you see the people engulfed by the blob inside the blobChatGPT

In most depictions of the Blob, including the 1958 film and its subsequent adaptations, it is generally portrayed that once a person is engulfed by the Blob, they become completely submerged within its gelatinous mass. The Blob's semi-translucent nature allows viewers to see the outlines or shadows of people trapped inside, adding to the horror and suspense of the film.

Typically, the victims are shown struggling and screaming as they are slowly consumed by the Blob. Their bodies are assimilated into the Blob's substance, ultimately disappearing from sight. The Blob absorbs and digests everything in its path, leaving no trace of its victims.

While the specifics may vary depending on the particular adaptation or scene, the general concept is that the Blob envelops its victims, making them disappear within its amorphous body. This contributes to the creature's menace and the fear it instills in the characters and audience.

which is more translucent jelly or jamChatGPT

In general, jelly tends to be more translucent than jam. Jelly is made by extracting juice from fruits and then straining out any solids, resulting in a clear or translucent final product. It has a smooth and gel-like consistency.

On the other hand, jam is made by cooking crushed or chopped fruits with sugar, resulting in a thicker mixture that retains some of the fruit's texture and often contains fruit pieces or fibers. Jam is typically less translucent than jelly due to the presence of fruit solids.

While there can be variations in the transparency of both jelly and jam depending on the specific recipe and preparation method, jelly is generally considered to have a higher degree of translucency compared to jam.

the difference between jam and jellyChatGPT

Jam and jelly are both sweet spreads made from fruit, but they have some differences in terms of their ingredients and texture. Here are the main distinctions between jam and jelly:

Ingredients: Jam is made from crushed or pureed fruit, along with sugar and sometimes pectin, a naturally occurring thickening agent. The fruit in jam is typically left in small chunks or pieces. Jelly, on the other hand, is made by straining the fruit juice and discarding the solid pieces, such as seeds and pulp. It is made from fruit juice, sugar, and pectin, resulting in a smoother texture.

Texture: Jam has a thicker and chunkier consistency due to the fruit pieces it contains. It is less firm and more spreadable. Jelly, however, has a smoother and more gelatinous texture because it is made from fruit juice without any fruit solids. It tends to be firmer and holds its shape better.

Clarity: Jelly is clear and transparent, while jam is more opaque and may have a cloudy appearance due to the fruit particles present.

Spreadability: Due to its thicker consistency and fruit pieces, jam can be slightly less spreadable compared to jelly. Jelly, being smoother and gel-like, spreads more easily.

Taste: Jam often has a stronger fruit flavor since it includes the fruit pulp or pieces. Jelly, on the other hand, has a more concentrated fruit taste because it is made from strained fruit juice.

Usage: Both jam and jelly can be used in a variety of ways, such as on toast, bread, or pastries. However, because of its smoother texture, jelly is often preferred for applications where a clear and smooth consistency is desired, like filling pastries or glazing. Jam, with its fruit pieces, is often used for spreading on bread or incorporating into recipes where the texture and flavor of the fruit are desired.

Ultimately, the choice between jam and jelly comes down to personal preference and the specific application in which they will be used.

what is the meaning of gelatinousChatGPT

The term "gelatinous" refers to a substance or material that has a gel-like or jelly-like consistency. It describes something that is thick, viscous, and has a texture similar to gelatin. When a substance is described as gelatinous, it means it is capable of forming a gel or has a characteristic of being gel-like in its texture and appearance.

Gelatinous substances often exhibit a certain level of firmness or elasticity, yet they are also somewhat wobbly or jiggly, similar to gelatin or jelly. Examples of gelatinous substances include certain types of foods like jelly desserts, certain sauces or glazes, as well as certain types of plant or animal tissues that have a gel-like consistency.

which contains more water....jelly or jamChatGPT

In general, jelly contains more water than jam. Jelly is typically made by straining the fruit juice, removing the fruit solids, and using primarily the liquid portion. As a result, the water content in jelly is relatively higher compared to jam.

Jam, on the other hand, is made by crushing or pureeing the fruit, including both the juice and the pulp or fruit pieces. The presence of fruit solids in jam means that it has a lower water content compared to jelly.

However, it's important to note that the exact water content can vary depending on the specific recipe and manufacturing process used for making jelly or jam. Different fruits may also have varying water content, which can impact the final product.

write a plot summary of the 1958 movie the blobChatGPT

"The Blob" is a 1958 science fiction horror film directed by Irvin S. Yeaworth Jr. The movie follows the story of a small town that becomes terrorized by a mysterious and insatiable alien creature.

The film begins with the discovery of a strange gelatinous substance by an old man in the woods. Unaware of its dangerous nature, he touches it, and the substance attaches itself to his hand, gradually consuming him. Terrified, he seeks help but fails to warn others of the impending danger.

Meanwhile, teenager Steve Andrews (played by Steve McQueen) and his girlfriend Jane Martin (played by Aneta Corsaut) witness the old man's plight and rush him to the local doctor. However, the blob-like creature has already consumed the old man entirely, leaving only his skeletal remains.

As Steve and Jane try to convince the skeptical authorities about the danger, the creature grows in size and becomes more aggressive, preying on unsuspecting townsfolk. The blob has an insatiable appetite, engulfing everything in its path and growing larger with each victim it consumes.

The town is thrown into chaos and panic as the blob continues its unstoppable rampage. Steve, Jane, and a few others realize the urgency of the situation and take matters into their own hands. They devise a plan to save the town by trapping the blob inside a movie theater and freezing it using a fire extinguisher, exploiting its vulnerability to cold.

In a climactic battle, the townspeople successfully manage to freeze the creature, temporarily halting its destructive spree. The military is then called in to transport the frozen blob to an Arctic region where it can never cause harm again.

"The Blob" is a thrilling and suspenseful film that showcases the efforts of a group of determined individuals who fight against a relentless and otherworldly threat. It explores themes of fear, unity, and the resilience of humanity in the face of unimaginable danger.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Do sleeper agents make the best client service people?

Before beginning:  Normally I try to post every Wednesday, but this latest piece has lingered on my desk for days as I try to make better sense of it, meaning make it better, hence the delay. I decided it’s time to get it off my desk and into Adventures, flawed though it may be.

So last week I posted about the TV show Ted Lasso; if you read that post, you know I am a fan of police procedurals.  You might think that all I do is watch television – not true, I swear – but I also confess a fascination with another subject, espionage, most recently depicted in the series, A Spy Among Friends, the subject of which was true-life betrayal of British Intelligence, or MI6, by Kim Philby, a high-ranking officer who for years was a double-agent for then Communist Russia.  

Have you ever watched the highly successful, long running TV series, The Americans?  If you have, then you know this fictional account depicts two married “sleeper agents” posing, entirely convincingly, as easily overlooked American travel agents, passing unnoticed by virtually everyone, until they are exposed for who and what they really are:  Russian spies, hiding in plain sight.

I’ve thought more about this notion of sleeper agents, people who lie in wait,  only to “awake” and become active after years of dormancy, using the time while seemingly asleep to forge relationships, build trust, and gain access to top secret information they share with their handlers.  Otherwise seemingly harmless, these people in reality are nefarious, bent on disruption, destruction, sometimes death.  

It's pretty hard to put a positive spin on this, until you consider a sleeper agent working for our side.  These people might be heroes, not villains.  There even is a show on the subject: the espionage series Le Bureau, where agents work for France’s DGSE, or General Directorate of External Security.  The protagonist is the classic sleeper agent, working undercover as a double agent.  

What if you took this a step further; instead of thinking spy trade, you think client service?  

Client-service sleeper agents work discretely, never calling attention to themselves, deferring to those more prominent, celebrated, and vocal -- giving credit to others, deflecting attention away from themselves – while slowly, methodically, and purposefully establishing then nurturing trust-based relationships with clients and colleagues alike.    They become known and respected for being fast and flexible thinkers, facilitators, and problem-solvers.

Do you know anyone like this?  Generally self-effacing, these people can be hard to spot in a crowd of average or worse performers.  In my long career I had occasion to know a few, marveling at their tradecraft, depth of knowledge, and diverse, multi-purpose skill set.

Knowing how elusive and incomplete are the descriptions of superb client service, I often find myself seeking apt and accurate comparisons, the most recent of which is here, and here,and (kind of) here. 

None of these are entirely satisfactory, and nor is the term sleeper agent, which can’t escape its inherently negative connotation.  But if you get past this, then client service people as sleeper agents has a certain logic to it.

Superb client-service sleeper agents are so quietly adept at their jobs, the only people who recognize their skill is another equally enlightened client service person.

This might be a bad thing for agencies, which often don’t know a good thing when they see it.  But clients?

They’re just happy with the work, the relationship, and the results.

[whitneydaniell]

by: Rachel Hawkins Published: Jan 4, 2022 Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Fiction 320 Pages, Paperback

★★

GoodReads Synopsis:

When Lux McAllister and her boyfriend, Nico, are hired to sail two women to a remote island in the South Pacific, it seems like the opportunity of a lifetime. Stuck in a dead-end job in Hawaii, and longing to travel the world after a family tragedy, Lux is eager to climb on board The Susannah and set out on an adventure. She’s also quick to bond with their passengers, college best friends Brittany and Amma. The two women say they want to travel off the beaten path. But like Lux, they may have other reasons to be seeking an escape.

My Review:

Now, why would Lux get her stupid ass on a boat with these three strangers and sail out into the middle of the Pacific Ocean?

For all intents and purposes, Lux doesn't know Nico, she met him mere months before following him out to Hawaii and then subsequently getting on that damn boat. Lux is an idiot. She knows it, Nico knows it, her boss knows it, and everyone knows it! You are sleeping in the living room, on the floor, of a home that is neither yours nor Nico's, and yet, you are perfectly content with the dream that he sold you (tax-free, might I add). Lux is dumb.

Something is off with Brittany and Amma and at first, they're both really playing on the fact that Lux is dumb (have I said that already?). They're both clearly running from something and all will expose themselves in due time.

Amma more than Brittany, is who I'm worried about, she is unstable and clearly has emotional issues. Are they lovers? Are they friends? Who knows! One thing I do know, Amma knows exactly what happened to Brittany's family and that will be revealed as well.

Jake and Eliza are exactly who I would assume to be sailing out to Meroe Island. Ostentatiously rich white people with nothing better to do.

In the end, everything that happens on this island really could have been prevented by not going out there in the first place. Lux got everything that she deserved because she should have kept her tail in San Diego. This is some WPS (IYKYK). None of these people should have been on this island blindly trusting one another to keep them safe.

One-Word Summary: Dumb

[nothorses]

This is an old article, but it's relevant, and I want to revisit it. I really recommend folks read the entire article; I'm just going to pull some excerpts, but there's no way they can do justice to the reading in full.

"Very few people want to defend a target of disposability."

I was told by one person that she couldn’t risk losing her job, another that she didn’t want to become a target too. I was threatened into not defending myself, gaslit into silence, told that people knew “things” about me that were never explained. When I asked how I could do accountability, when I said I would do whatever they wanted, they said that I was “incapable” of accountability, that my crime was unknown and my sentence was permanent.

"Accountability" is to callout culture what "justice" is to the punitive justice system: an empty word to wrap around your actions in order to justify them. Anything is okay as long as it's in pursuit of accountability.

Callout culture does not actually want accountability, though, and all attempts at real, honest accountability will be avoided, ignored, or outright rejected. If accountability is achieved and you are left intact, callout culture has failed.

My attackers were expert pathological liars who had been getting away with it for years—entire fictional realities playing out on their social-media accounts like soap opera. Escaping from abuse is the most certain way to become painted as an abuser, and being an abuser is the most sure way to be believed. You know how movies are realer than reality? How the sound effects and physics become so normalized to us that reality seems flat and fake? Talking about abuse is kind of like that. Abusers know what sounds “real.” They are like expert movie-effects artists. Victims are stuck with boring fake reality.

Feminist/queer spaces are more willing to criticize people than abusive systems because they want to reserve the right to use those systems for their own purposes. At least attacking people can be politically viable, especially in a token system where you benefit directly by their absence, or where your status as a good feminist is dependent on constantly rooting out evil.

Think of these things the way you think of any other system ostensibly designed to change people's behavior for the better: what methods have been proven to work? What methods haven't? Why do those systems exist anyway?

Systems that reduce crime rates are designed around rehabilitation. They seek to remove people from toxic environments, heal them, equip them with better tools and resources, and send them back into the world ready to do better.

Systems that actively increase crime rates are designed around punishment. They remove people from society, hurt them, teach them they're trash, force them into either worse and more toxic communities and ideologies or into altogether isolation, and if they ever re-emerge, they are so irreparably blacklisted that there is no hope of them ever rejoining the society they were originally torn from.

So when people write all those apologist articles about call-out culture and other instruments of violence in feminism, I don’t think they understand that the people who most deserve those things can usually shrug off the effects, and the normalization of that violence inevitably trickles down and affects the weak. It is predictable as water. Criminal justice applies punishment under the conceit of blind justice, but we see the results: Prisons are flooded with the most vulnerable, and the rich can buy their way out of any problem. In activist communities, these processes follow a similar pragmatism. Punishment is not something that happens to bad people. It happens to those who cannot stop it from happening. It is laundered pain, not a balancing of scales.

Consider who callout culture most often targets. Consider how often people like them are defended not only by others like them, but by the larger feminist and queer community.

Not only that, but account for the position that individual is in, and the tools they have available to them. Do they have stable housing, work, and income? Do they have the ability to sink valuable time and energy into defending themselves? Can they risk trying and failing, or is their livelihood attached to any attempt to do so?

One of the most common tools of exclusion is through mobbing, which is rarely talked about because unlike rape, murder, etc, it’s not easy to pin it on a single person (or scapegoat).  Mobbing is emotional abuse practiced by a group of people, usually peers, over a period of time, through methods such as gaslighting, rumor-mongering, and ostracism. [...] Here is why it is horrible: 1) It has an unusually strong power to damage the victim’s relationship to society, because it can’t be written off as an outlier, as some singular monster. It reveals a fundamental truth about people that makes it difficult to trust ever again. People become like aliens, like a pack of animals that can turn on you as soon as some mysterious pheromone shift marks you for death. 2) The insidious nature of emotional abuse: How do you fight ostracism and rumors? They leave no bruises, they just starve you. 3) Mobbing typically occurs in places where the victim is trapped by some need or obligation: work, school, circles of friends. This can prolong exposure to damaging extremes.

Consider what tactics are being used to punish this person, and what is being demanded. If the people appointing themselves judge, jury, and executioner turn out to be wrong, is there any hope of recourse?

From a report by the Australian House of Representatives Education and Employment Committee: “90 percent of people being bullied make the comment: ‘I just want it to stop.’ They don’t want to go down a formal path, but just want the behaviour to stop.”

"RESISTING DISPOSABILITY"

— Let marginalized people be flawed. Let them fuck up like the Real Humans who get to fuck up all the time — Fight criminal-justice thinking. Disposability runs on the innocence/guilt binary, another category that applies dynamically to certain bodies and not others. The mob trials used to run trans people out of communities are inherently abusive, favor predators, and must be rejected as a process unequivocally. There is no kind of justice that resembles hundreds of people ganging up on one person, or tangible lifelong damage being inflicted on someone for failing the rituals of purification that have no connection to real life. — Pay attention when people disappear. Like drowning, it’s frequently silent. They might be blackmailed, threatened, and/or in shock. — Even if the victim doesn’t want to fight (which is deeply understandable—often moving on is the only response), private support is huge. This is the time to make sure the wound doesn’t become infected, that the PTSD they acquire is as minimized as possible. This is the difference between a broken leg healing to the point where they can run again, or walking with a limp for the rest of their life. They’ve just been victim-blamed by a huge number of people, and as a social organism, their body is telling them to die. They need social reintegration, messages of support, and space to heal. — Be extremely critical about what people say about trans people, especially things said in vagueness. The rumor mill that keeps trans people out of spaces isn’t even so much about people believing what is said, it’s about people choosing the safest option—a staining that plays on the average person’s risk aversion. — Ask yourself if the same thing would be happening if they were white/cis/able-bodied. — “Radical inclusivity recognizes harm done in the name of God.” —Yvette Flunder Marginalized spaces can’t form healthy community purely from rejection of the mainstream. There has to be an acknowledgment of how people have been hurt by feminist spaces and their models. — A common enemy isn’t the same as loving each other. — Don’t be part of spaces that place an ideal or “community leader” above people.