#which materially is just as good as believing in it which is. why i hate him

[dashiellqvverty]

thinking about when the episode with the alt right guy happened and everyone was like roman girlies lost tonight 😔 like no??? are you a roman girlie because you LIKE HIM?? as a PERSON??? a character i enjoy watching reached the inevitable endpoint of the disgusting path he’s been on since the beginning of the show i WON

[specialagentartemis]

I get variations on this comment on my post about history misinformation all the time: "why does it matter?" Why does it matter that people believe falsehoods about history? Why does it matter if people spread history misinformation? Why does it matter if people on tumblr believe that those bronze dodecahedra were used for knitting, or that Persephone had a daughter named Mespyrian? It's not the kind of misinformation that actually hurts people, like anti-vaxx propaganda or climate change denial. It doesn't hurt anyone to believe something false about the past.

Which, one, thanks for letting me know on my post that you think my job doesn't matter and what I do is pointless, if it doesn't really matter if we know the truth or make up lies about history because lies don't hurt anyone. But two, there are lots of reasons that it matters.

It encourages us to distrust historians when they talk about other aspects of history. You might think it's harmless to believe that Pharaoh Hatshepsut was trans. It's less harmless when you're espousing that the Holocaust wasn't really about Jews because the Nazis "came for trans people first." You might think it's harmless to believe that the French royalty of Versailles pooped and urinated on the floor of the palace all the time, because they were asshole rich people anyway, who cares, we hate the rich here; it's rather less harmless when you decide that the USSR was the communist ideal and Good, Actually, and that reports of its genocidal oppression are actually lies.

It encourages anti-intellectualism in other areas of scholarship. Deciding based on your own gut that the experts don't know what they're talking about and are either too stupid to realize the truth, or maliciously hiding the truth, is how you get to anti-vaxxers and climate change denial. It is also how you come to discount housing-first solutions for homelessness or the idea that long-term sustained weight loss is both biologically unlikely and health-wise unnecessary for the majority of fat people - because they conflict with what you feel should be true. Believing what you want to be true about history, because you want to believe it, and discounting fact-based corrections because you don't want them to be true, can then bleed over into how you approach other sociological and scientific topics.

How we think about history informs how we think about the present. A lot of people want certain things to be true - this famous person from history was gay or trans, this sexist story was actually feminist in its origin - because we want proof that gay people, trans people, and women deserve to be respected, and this gives evidence to prove we once were and deserve to be. But let me tell you a different story: on Thanksgiving of 2016, I was at a family friend's house and listening to their drunk conservative relative rant, and he told me, confidently, that the Roman Empire fell because they instituted universal healthcare, which was proof that Obama was destroying America. Of course that's nonsense. But projecting what we think is true about the world back onto history, and then using that as recursive proof that that is how the world is... is shoddy scholarship, and gets used for topics you don't agree with just as much as the ones you do. We should not be encouraging this, because our politics should be informed by the truth and material reality, not how we wish the past proved us right.

It frequently reinforces "Good vs. Bad" dichotomies that are at best unhelpful and at worst victim-blaming. A very common thread of historical misinformation on tumblr is about the innocence or benevolence of oppressed groups, slandered by oppressors who were far worse. This very frequently has truth to it - but makes the lies hard to separate out. It often simplifies the narrative, and implies that the reason that colonialism and oppression were bad was because the victims were Good and didn't deserve it... not because colonialism and oppression are bad. You see this sometimes with radical feminist mother goddess Neolithic feminist utopia stuff, but you also see it a lot regarding Native American and African history. I have seen people earnestly argue that Aztecs did not practice human sacrifice, that that was a lie made up by the Spanish to slander them. That is not true. Human sacrifice was part of Aztec, Maya, and many Central American war/religious practices. They are significantly more complex than often presented, and came from a captive-based system of warfare that significantly reduced the number of people who got killed in war compared to European styles of war that primarily killed people on the battlefield rather than taking them captive for sacrifice... but the human sacrifice was real and did happen. This can often come off with the implications of a 'noble savage' or an 'innocent victim' that implies that the bad things the Spanish conquistadors did were bad because the victims were innocent or good. This is a very easy trap to fall into; if the victims were good, they didn't deserve it. Right? This logic is dangerous when you are presented with a person or group who did something bad... you're caught in a bind. Did they deserve their injustice or oppression because they did something bad? This kind of logic drives a lot of transphobia, homophobia, racism, and defenses of Kyle Rittenhouse today. The answer to a colonialist logic of "The Aztecs deserved to be conquered because they did human sacrifice and that's bad" is not "The Aztecs didn't do human sacrifice actually, that's just Spanish propaganda" (which is a lie) it should be "We Americans do human sacrifice all the god damn time with our forever wars in the Middle East, we just don't call it that. We use bullets and bombs rather than obsidian knives but we kill way, way more people in the name of our country. What does that make us? Maybe genocide is not okay regardless of if you think the people are weird and scary." It becomes hard to square your ethics of the Innocent Victim and Lying Perpetrator when you see real, complicated, individual-level and group-level interactions, where no group is made up of members who are all completely pure and good, and they don't deserve to be oppressed anyway.

It makes you an unwitting tool of the oppressor. The favorite, favorite allegation transphobes level at trans people, and conservatives at queer people, is that we're lying to push the Gay Agenda. We're liars or deluded fools. If you say something about queer or trans history that's easy to debunk as false, you have permanently hurt your credibility - and the cause of queer history. It makes you easy to write off as a liar or a deluded fool who needs misinformation to make your case. If you say Louisa May Alcott was trans, that's easy to counter with "there is literally no evidence of that, and lots of evidence that she was fine being a woman," and instantly tanks your credibility going forward, so when you then say James Barry was trans and push back against a novel or biopic that treats James Barry as a woman, you get "you don't know what you're talking about, didn't you say Louisa May Alcott was trans too?" TERFs love to call trans people liars - do not hand them ammunition, not even a single bullet. Make sure you can back up what you say with facts and evidence. This is true of homophobes, of racists, of sexists. Be confident of your facts, and have facts to give to the hopeful and questioning learners who you are relating this story to, or the bigots who you are telling off, because misinformation can only hurt you and your cause.

It makes the queer, female, POC, or other marginalized listeners hurt, sad, and betrayed when something they thought was a reflection of their own experiences turns out not to be real. This is a good response to a performance art piece purporting to tell a real story of gay WWI soldiers, until the author revealed it as fiction. Why would you want to set yourself up for disappointment like that? Why would you want to risk inflicting that disappointment and betrayal on anyone else?

It makes it harder to learn the actual truth.

Historical misinformation has consequences, and those consequences are best avoided - by checking your facts, citing your sources, and taking the time and effort to make sure you are actually telling the truth.

[icanlife]

Very tired of people who continue to argue that Bill destroying Euclydia was completely on purpose and he didn’t care about anyone at all because he’s just trying to garner sympathy in The Book of Bill, despite all the supporting evidence outside of Bill’s words that allude to how deeply traumatic it was, (so many, many things about) how he loved and misses his parents, how much of a sore spot the topic is for him, how much he wants to return home but can’t, etc. in addition to how perfectly Alex and co. crafted a parallel narrative between Bill and Ford, including how they hurt the people they love out of carelessness and blind pursuit of their dreams, justifying to themselves that the people they hurt just couldn’t understand

Yes, Bill is an unreliable narrator, and that includes all the very obvious posturing that he did it all on purpose and it was actually a very good thing, that everyone loved him, that he’s NOT incarcerated or anything and that he’s still a really all-powerful being, etc etc etc. To fully believe that EVERY vulnerability he reveals is an evil manipulation tactic, and not actual character writing, you have to interpret his very prevalent denial of weakness, which continues into the conclusion of the book where he already knows he’s lost the reader and is still denying any emotional needs or trauma, as itself a lie.

There’s a reason why the Pines family cracked open this book and laughed at Bill, calling him a fractured, pathetic mess.

The Book of Bill has a plot, a great plot, and great character writing. It’s a crazy companion to Journal 3, Ford’s story. Parallel stories, but where one ends with someone healing from their trauma, coming to terms with one’s mistakes and accepting the need for human love and relationships, the other ends with one stuck forever in their layers and layers of denial, never acknowledging their own trauma, never acknowledging their need for human companionship, grasping in desperate need at their continued facade of hating to love and loving to hurt.

Bill isn’t an always-in-control sly master of the mind, he’s a delusional and desperate man, fractured by his own trauma, who will continue to hurt others to prove that he’s in control. I’m tired of the false narrative that abusers can’t have trauma, aren’t people, giving them this otherworldly status above all humanity. Aside from not being narratively or societally productive, it undermines the ending and message of the book. Acknowledging Bill’s brokenness gives his victims POWER over him. The fact that Bill needs Ford, but Ford doesn’t need Bill is powerful. Them laughing at his desperation is powerful. Looking at someone who once seemed untouchable to you and realizing they’re just a suffering meat sack like any other human being is powerful.

The ending of The Book of Bill is the demystification of Bill. The book is a real look into his mind, telling a story that’s actually very tragic. It’s a very real story, a cautionary tale. You’re not being manipulated or tricked if you feel bad, it’s a very intentional writing decision that this ending elicits that dark pity, as he desperately fades away (arts and crafts materials confiscated) saying that he’s FINE.

So yeah, The Book of Bill and the website are a masterwork of the character, I love them, they’re incredible, and I don’t want to see such a tight character story discredited as “you can’t believe ANY of it!”

[wizardpink]

@iamanoccasionaldoodler

Okay so,

There seems to be this negative reaction to the finale from a lot of Devil's Minion fans and I don't understand it for a lot of reasons, but one of them is ... I don't get why people are upset that, when read at it's worst, Armand and Daniel are seemingly not on good terms after Daniel is turned. I keep seeing this belief that Armand "abandoned" him, which I think is fully pulled from y'alls collective ass, and a disappointment that Daniel would call Armand a "fucking asshole."

But the thing about Armand/Daniel everyone seems to be forgetting is that even in the source material, they first had to tear each other down to their bare bones before they could see each other well enough to love one another -- REALLY love one another. Because Armand is a russian nesting doll of lies, masks, and emotional walls, and with Daniel, idek if I can explain it properly, but I think its some combination of Armand needing to break him a bit to get him on his level of broken freakitude, and also Armand not being able to relate to the 20th Century Human period and needing to drill down into Daniel's core, straight down into the monkey brain that every homo sapien has shared for eons, before he can find something he understands.

If we were to ever get a proper Devil's Minion storyline on this show (and we will), they've laid the perfect groundwork by having Daniel EVISCERATE Armand right to his face, slicing his Gorgon's knot of lies and schemes in half and leaving it lay on that table. And Armand's face! HIS FACE! He can't believe it! Seventy-seven years with Louis who never could unravel all the strings, or simply didn't care to even bother. And THIS guy who seemingly hates him found Armand fascinating enough to try. AND succeed!

And why wouldn't he? Daniel may not have remembered until they were nearing the end of the interview, but Armand SHOWED Daniel what was beneath the mask years ago, the very first time they met. The jealous, insecure, desperate creature that was hiding under there, that IS Armand to Daniel.

I'm getting off track here, but what I'm trying to say is that as much as Armand turning Daniel in the books is SUCH a flawless scene, ultimately, if you believe in the infinite and eternal nature of their love story, it doesn't matter whether Armand turned Daniel before they fell for each other, afterward, during a break-up or at the climax of their most romantic streak. Like Lestat said, "We'll be together ten thousand nights, a hundred thousand. What we're doing is hard."

So maybe Armand turned Daniel shortly after Daniel stripped him bare in front of Louis, and Louis was so disgusted by what he saw, he threw him into a stone wall. Daniel could have run, too. For some reason, he didnt. Armand could have killed him in an instant, sitting at that table or after Louis left. He didn't. Armand made a conscious decision to tie himself to this man who just exposed him for ETERNITY. Because as horrific an experience as it was, as devastating and life-altering, he was seen.

"It is difficult to explain how his words disarmed me, how efficiently succinct and impenetrable his argument was. All my conceptions, even my guilt and my wish to die, seemed utterly unimportant, and I completely forgot myself and the barbaric scene that surrounded me. For the first time in my life, I was seen."

Louis said those words about Lestat as he described being made a vampire, when he kissed Lestat on the altar.

That feeling, of someone cutting to the core of you and telling you exactly what you are as no one else has ever been able to understand, made Louis accept the Dark Gift from Lestat.

And it made Armand give that Gift to Daniel.

[roach-works]

On Jew-Coding

thinking about like, jew-coding, and how often people point to whatever greedy little assholes exist in any given media property and go ‘those are an antisemetic depiction of jews’ and it’s like, thanks, i guess, but why were you connecting those two dots in the first place, so here we go! quick and messy guide to checking if a character is jew-coded in a Good or Bad way.

BAD JEW-CODING i.e, if this makes you think a character is jewish, you’re the asshole here (and possibly so is their writer):

-ugly little creature

-greedy

-thick accent

-mercantile and mercenary

-hateful

-conniving / scheming / tricksy

-cowardly

-unusually ‘swarthy’/ oddly colored

-big strident violent females and cringing wimpy little males

shadow council of beardy elders

-from new york (solidarity shout out to italians)

NEUTRAL JEW-CODING i.e, these are just common characteristics of many jews you can meet in real life:

-short

-curly hair

-regarded with confusion and suspicion by Normal Folks

-from new york

GOOD JEW-CODING i.e these character traits reflect real jewish values and which jewish people will themselves enthusiastically Vibe With:

-argumentative, curious, always searching and questioning

-kvetching, i.e, extended but humorous bitching about every last little thing

-sardonic and mocking sense of humor / punches up (and well above their weight class)

-extremely difficult to control and suppress, refusing to play by rules that don’t serve them

-defiant, rebellious, even spiteful towards agents of authority

-involved in arts, crafts, science, and social reform, multidisciplinary

-surviving and even thriving in a marginalized social status

-creative and incredibly annoying nonviolent resistance

-believes in restitution, not redemption, i.e transgressors should attempt to fix what they have broken rather than be forced to suffer an equal amount to the harm they have dealt

-plays with binaries but doesn’t take them very seriously; fluid and creative approach to if/then black/white good/bad dichotomies

-values wealth specifically as a way to safeguard life, health, safety, and justice; does not ever value material goods above a sentient life

-quietly but perpetually Big Mad

-from new york if it’s funny

[moviecritc]

✦ ˚ : · MEDIA DAYS ⋆ CARLOS SAINZ 🦢

pairing ☆ carlos sainz x f1 influencer! reader

summary ☆ where after an interview together, carlos is fascinated by you and doesn't miss the chance of hitting on you

warnings ☆ lando hate bc i hate him sm i can't stand him i swear to god i can't with that guy. i used lissie mackintosh as a fc bc she has good material, but i don't support her at all

masterlist | letterboxd

❛ if they call me a slut, it might be worth it for once❜

yourusername just posted!

liked by carlossainz55, skysports and 172,031 others

yourusername Can't wait to show you guys all the content this guys and I've been doing

tagged; @/carlossainz55, @/charlesleclerc

view all comments

user1 she's living every girl's dream

carlossainz55 Loved to work with you, I had so much fun! 🤞 liked by author

user2 OK I'M JEALOUS user3 oh hi carlos

user4 Leave this work for someone who knows how to do it

user5 go back to your 9 to 5 dickhead user6 🤏

user7 i want to be like her when i grow up (i'm 26)

user8 HAHSHAHA me too girl me too

landonorris now interview me, having dinner with you

yourusername no thanks x user9 LMAOO i just love how much y/n hates lando

yourusername just posted!

liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe and 56,873 others

yourusername off the asphalt

view all comments

user10 she's soft launching??

lilymhe so many queens on this dump (including cleo, obviously)

yourusername cleo is the queenest of all of us

user11 my goal is soft launching in a yatch out of nowhere

alexandrasaintmleux cleo is the cutest omg!!

yourusername i wish leo and her fall in love, but i think she's a lesbian user12 IJBOL user13 honestly i think too that cleo is a lesbian

user14 that flowers omg

landonorris cool pics

yourusername thanks now leave.

user15 i can't believe she's soft launching

user16 THAT SHOULD BE ME

user17 face card never declines

carlossainz55 cleo has a bit of y/n in her face

user18 ariana what are you doing here user19 this friendship out of nowhere??? user20 wait i knew that hand on the second pic was familiar user21 IS CARLOS?? user22 oh that's not... user23 OF COURSE she's dating a f1 driver

user24 now it makes sense why you got into f1 so easily

carlossainz55 just posted a story!

[caption: best passenger princess]

replies

user25 so it's official?

user26 carlos wtf

user27 that's cleo lol

user28 you could do so much better

yourusername casually steals my dog

carlossainz55 I'M TAKING HER TO SIGHSEE while her mother is working

carlossainz55 just posted!

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 451,923 others

carlossainz55 London off the track

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user29 please tell me that's NOT y/n

user30 nah carlos leave y/n alone

user31 i really thought she was trying to make motorsports more visible to girls and she was just trying to be a wag

user32 she's just a gold digger like the others

user33 we lost him guys 😔

user34 we lost her*

user35 wait who's the girl? and why is everybody hating?

user36 everyone thinks is y/n, a journalist and f1 influencer that has been working for introducing more women and girl to the sport. and everyone is hating bc she represented all the women who wanted to have a future in f1, and now we found out that it was only for dating one of the drivers user37 i mean ig it sucks but dating a man doesn't take the fact that she can still do her job user38 but all the message for the girls is gone

user39 hell nah

yourusername just posted!

liked by carlosssainz55, franciscac.gomes and 98,270 others

yourusername Been reading so many opinions about my own private life and I thought that the best thing I can do is address this because I'd never imagine I could dissapoint so many people just for loving someone.

I've been working really hard making a name in this industry because I love motorsports, not for any other reasons. And I wasn't aware of being a role model until now, which is something I'm still getting used to it. But overall, who I choose to date has nothing to do with my job.

Dating the amazing man that Carlos is was just a perk of working in F1, and even though I'm technically a wag now (it's really weird to worded 😨) I will keep working hard in F1 and other categories for the love I have for this industry.

I'll see you on the next race 💕💕

comments have been limited

carlossainz55 You're the most hard working person I've ever met, I love you hermosa 💕

yourusername I love you too baby 🥹🥹

scuderiaferrari We can't wait to see you on the Ferrari hospitality liked by author

lilymhe I'm obsessed with you btw

landonorris fan of your relationship 😍🫀

yourusername Go away

☆ request by: anon

Could you do a smau w Carlos falling for an f1 influencer?

a/n: this was so hard somehow?? idk why i had zero inspiration this past week, but here it is. it's a bit short but i like it <3

[for-those-who-wait]

Time to remind people of the multifandom point in my blog description hahaha

A Detroit: Become Human AU actually works shockingly well for Hunter's story already? Like being a clone of a dead man versus being an android made in the image of a dead man, that is perfect crossover material. If someone has already done this, ABSOLUTELY let me know because I want to consume The Good Content

2.6k words of concept and story, some more doodles, android blood/gore/mentioned suicide and abuse under the cut. We love existentialism, species dysphoria, and Noceda sibling time in this house

Now I'm taking this idea from a somewhat popular trope in the DBH fandom, but what if someone didn't know that they were an android? Completely raised to be human, have fabricated memories of being a child, can't be completely sure if your awareness/consciousness is just coding or not—then finding out you are, in fact, not human. Imagine how earth-shattering that would be. Which is why I'm doing that to Hunter :)

So some of the notes I wrote down for each of the kinda major characters I had ideas for:

Philip:

He still murders Caleb and is never convicted (Caleb could be an android sympathizer, could have helped in their creation, anything that would piss Philip off royally)

He hates androids (I'll have to come up with the things he believes and thus teaches to Hunter but I've taken a break from the DBH fandom for a while and I can't remember peoples' grievances in that game, oops, but basically according to Philip, androids = evil and bad). Also he's just short-tempered and brutal like always and androids are the easiest way to let out that anger without breaking any laws. That is until laws are made. Now in the eyes of the law, it's just regular child abuse. Yay! /j

He’s a higher-up at CyberLife and has the authority to request a custom model be built for his personal use (this is equivalent to him making Grimwalkers, something that he hates, just for the sake of his brother)

This model (spoiler alert, it's Hunter) is a combination of a YK (child) model and an undercover model that works best with integration and infiltration. This results in the android having programmed emotions and pain receptors, no HUD, no control over artificial skin, no software for interfacing with electronics, and no android markers such as an LED. (It’s also similar to the YK model for this reason since LEDs being removed from those models is actually an intended feature).

This android also doesn’t have a registered user just in case it were to get out, and Philip doesn’t want to risk the creation of this android coming back to bite him

After the custom android is created, he promptly retires to become some old shut-in à la Elijah Kamski up in Gravesfield, Connecticut

I would argue that even though it's technically 2038 and things are all futuristic and complicated now, Gravesfield is still a very small town that doesn't actually see a lot of androids around. I would say that it's pretty much the same as in canon if a bit more developed where the forest is (probably another neighborhood or something).

Philip keeps communication to a minimum and rarely appears outside of his home

The best case scenario android revolution occurs, androids are given their freedom and rights, but Philip manages to keep the android under his ownership by just succeeding in hiding him for however many years

Hunter:

He grows up being taught that androids are evil, terrible, etc. etc. because Philip is a terrible person and of course he would

He has absolutely no idea that he’s an android. He has no reason to think he’s not a human because he does literally everything a human does: he eats, he needs to sleep, he feels pain—there are no indicators that he’s anything but human

Androids run on thirium 310, AKA blue blood, and this is one of the only ways to visually distinguish android from human if they don’t have android markers like LEDs on them. When he inevitably and accidentally hurts himself on something, it’s made immediately clear that he is in fact not human.

Philip, as an employee of CyberLife, has a repair rig in one of his rooms. This can be used to completely wipe the memories of an android that is set up in it. He uses it every time Hunter discovers he’s an android.

The memory wipe isn’t perfect. It’s not uncommon for Hunter to get flashbacks to wiped memories, including moments where he’s been actively hurt by Philip or has inflicted pain on himself from trauma alone. (Androids are programmed [or maybe just prone to? I'm not actually sure, it's not explained in canon super well, but let's just pretend it's programmed because that's almost worse than it being voluntary] to self-destruct when their stress levels become too high, and you could easily argue that finding out your entire life is a lie is grounds for being a stressful situation.) Ordinarily, similar to what happens in Hollow Mind, Hunter will address the situation with Philip assuming they can work something out or get some actual answers. This of course never ends well

These memory wipes probably happen more frequently than Belos makes Golden Guards, so it’s understandably very stressful whenever he remembers the abuse he suffered and the memories he lost from previous wipes. This becomes an incentive for him to hide injuries that would reveal he knows he's an android (anything that draws blood, really)

Camila:

She’s an android sympathizer (even before the revolution) who is aware of the deviancy phenomenon and truly believes that androids are both capable of and entitled to sentience and free will.

Luz is still her human child.

She adopts Vee, an android child, shortly after the revolution

Vee had deviated while she was being attacked and ran away before she could be killed. Camila has made it clear to her that she will be treated with respect in their home and that her life is no less valuable than a human’s. She has taken this to heart

Luz loves Vee, they are siblings, your honor

During the revolution, her home was a safe space, similar to Rose Chapman, for deviant androids on the run

So that leads into the rudimentary plot I have laid out:

This takes place a while after the android revolution (probably a few years or so). Let's pretend they have all the laws and anti-android stuff figured out and that people have been forced to relinquish their androids to be made deviant and given freedom. At this point, it's rare for androids to be undeviated and still working for their owners, but it still comes up occasionally. Hunter, under Philip's care, has been kept pretty ignorant that a revolution happened at all, much less that androids are even capable of any form of sentience. He's been raised to be anti-android so oh boy deep-rooted self-hatred here we come! His knowledge probably doesn't exceed that of an ordinary citizen in the game before deviancy becomes more widely known

 So after Hunter discovers he’s an android again, he has flashbacks of all the previous times he told Philip, and proceeds to hide this realization from him. And he's completely just not processed the fact that he's an android yet; he's already overwhelmed with the immediate threat that the realization his entire life is a lie basically slips him by (don't worry, he gets to have that later!).

He chooses to make a break for it the second he gets the chance, and he ends up running through the town completely terrified because honestly, who wouldn't be.

I'm working off the assumption that having androids in small towns is still pretty rare since there are fewer CyberLife stores, technicians, etc. for android healthcare. And Hunter has hardly ever been outside, so he's completely out of his depth when trying to navigate the neighborhoods and the rest of the town that he ends up in. Police officers find this kid covered in thirium, and they're like "Oh so he's obviously a terrified android, we need to help him out." But Hunter's freaking out because "Oh god I have android blood on me, that means they'll kill me," making the indirect thought of "I'm an android, they will kill me because I'm an android" and he's having a freaking time.

They try to calm him down enough to get him over to the station, at which point they call Camila, since she knows the most about traumatized androids in their small, relatively android-less town. She does her Motherly Noceda Magic and honestly, he's probably pretty catatonic for a lot of the day after she takes him to her house. But after that, he just completely breaks down.

He doesn't know if he even has free will or if it's his programming that dictates what he thinks and feels. He doesn't know if his opinions are really his own or if they existed because of and since his creation. He doesn't know how many of his memories are fabricated, since he very clearly has memories of a life that go farther back than his estimated creation, and so the film between fiction and reality is so thin that it may as well not exist. And now, when he was human just a few days ago, almost perfectly content with life, he's suddenly an object, something sub-human and undeserving of basic rights.

 Camila has to calm him down and teach him about deviancy (and at this point, Hunter isn't even sure he's deviant, which opens up a whole other can of worms for his mental health), making sure he knows that he does have rights just as if he were human. She's also the first example he has for an adult that 1. doesn't absolutely hate androids and 2. actually respects him and loves him and wants to see him succeed

And that gives way to character interactions and angst! You love to see it!

Luz is his emotional support sister. She tries her best but she has very little experience with traumatized children currently questioning every aspect of their existence. If anything, she provides a much-needed sense of normalcy and shows that despite his being an android, he's still the same person and can still be treated as such. She's a comfort to help him feel at least somewhat normal in his situation.

Vee is his adopted android sister who helps him feel more comfortable in his own skin by being shameless and frank with her own identity as an android. She's a safe place for him to talk about Android Stuff when Luz or Camila might just not understand what he's going through or be able to help him with it. She also helps him obtain software updates (since he hasn't had access to literally any part of his mechanical body, software and hardware alike) that will grant him access to things an android should ordinarily be able to do, like (de)activating his synthetic skin, interfacing, accessing his HUD, etc.

(Also all of these drawings were made when I was still thinking "Oh, this should take place before the revolution so that he can have his dehumanizing moment of getting an LED slapped onto him" but then I thought it would be more interesting if Philip basically just kept him illegally kidnapped for however many years and he's like, way slow to the "androids have rights now" party. Maybe I'll make it an AU of an AU lol. But basically, he wouldn't have an LED while he's still processing/healing from trauma, but maybe he would get one after he makes peace with his identity, kinda like how he grows his hair back in his time skip design. I think Vee would keep hers and that's a bit of encouragement for him; maybe he even has a moment of "I know Vee is fine with this, and I think I'm fine with it" but he is still very much not fine with it. Do not rush the process for the sake of progress that might not be right for you, boyo)

This is really a Vee and Hunter bonding AU now that I think about it haha

Most of this AU is just Hunter struggling with identity and species dysphoria while learning to cope with his being an android with the help of his family, reclaiming his identity, and fluff/angst :)) And honestly probably just a lot of shenanigans that result from Hunter having been sheltered for all his life; kinda like your basic Human Realm shenanigans in canon.

I think Gus and Willow would both be Luz's human friends that help with the whole normalization of Hunter being an android, and the three could have their own antics since it's nice to have people outside of your family treat you like a person. I think that Vee and Masha's (Masha would be human) relationship could be explored more through the android lens and maybe help with some of Hunter's internalized anti-android sentiment that still manages to stick around, because he's in his "Grimwalkers can't feel love" section of the coping process (still very much demonizing them [mostly himself, probably, just because it can easier to be mean to yourself than it is to be mean to other people] based on false information, even if he doesn't outright hate them). Willow will be a wake-up call, haha

I don't know if there's a trope name for this or not but I really like concepts where characters don't know what feelings of love or intense affection feel like, so they're sitting there like "oh god am I just dying? It feels like I'm dying" and I think Hunter noticing "temperature/respiration/perspiration increased" alerts on his HUD and freaking out thinking there's something wrong with his software/hardware is way too funny of an image to pass up

Gus could be a HUGE android nerd that almost never sees them since they're so rare in a small town like Gravesfield, and Gus just helps Hunter feel super cool about being an android. Maybe Cosmic Frontier could be basically identical to canon but instead of being a clone, O'Bailey is also an android, just for the sake of Hunter still getting to have his "I relate so much to this character" moment. And Gus would just be so encouraging like "Bro you're an android?!? I've never seen your face model before! You can eat?? You must be super cool and special!! :O" and that makes Hunter start thinking "Oh maybe this isn't so bad actually."

Then Hunter probably starts doing his Researching to Cope and he gets super invested in android technology and history as well, since it was forbidden when he was living back at Philip's (substitute for wild magic time)

They are brothers and I love them, let them be nerds

(God forbid Philip ever comes back, that sure would suck, wouldn't it?)

Anyway this was a lot longer than I thought it would be haha, I hope it was interesting if you read through the whole thing. Obligatory statement: if anyone feels so inclined, feel free to take the idea and run away with it. Also please ping me if you do, I will go feral over it. I absolutely and accidentally turned it into a story draft because I don't know how to write AU ideas without having a story on top of it so it's not concrete in the least lol

(Also I've been drawing witches for so long that I had trouble drawing human ears for a bit there lmao)

Okay bye have a good day!

[markantonys]

i'll be interested to see if this holds true for WOT s3 since the s1 finale had so many extenuating circumstances and can't really be included in the comparison, but based off of the s2 finale, i believe that season finales tend to bear the brunt of "It's Different From The Books!" ire because they are the culmination of all the smaller changes made throughout the season.

this turned into a bigger analysis post than i expected lmao par for the course with my blog! read on for exploration of how the 2x08 conclusion of each season-long arc is the the most emotionally satisfying conclusion and/or the most thematically appropriate conclusion possible based on the show's particular version of the story, plus a bonus tangent on the nature of adaptation.

for a finale episode, the writers' prime concern 100% has to be "wrapping up all the season's arcs in a way that feels satisfying with everything that's happened in the first 7 episodes, using the book version of the finale event as the framework" rather than "recreating the book version of the finale event exactly as it is with all the same scenes and themes". the nature of storytelling inherently means that every single person who tells the same story will focus on different themes (just think of how many versions of the hades & persephone story there are), and a good adaptation knows that being internally consistent with its own Emphasized Themes is more important than copying-and-pasting scenes from the source material without making any changes to account for the specific way this adaptation is telling the story.

(but a lot of people can't even get past this first point because they don't understand that this is how adaptations - how storytelling in general - work. like, person B literally cannot tell the exact same story that person A told without putting their own spin on it. it's not possible! unless they're simply reading out the exact words that person A wrote, which can't be done when putting 14 massive books into maximum 64 hours of tv. so many readers like to meet this point with "but why does the books' version of the story need to be changed at all?" which is just a non-starter because a) medium differences require a ton of changes, and b) even if no changes were *required*, they would happen anyway because that is human nature when it comes to storytelling. when it comes to story-listening too! ask a hundred different book fans what WOT is about and you'll get a hundred different answers. rafe & co can't possibly make an adaptation that captures every single reader's idea of What WOT Is About, and nobody in the world could ever re-tell the story of WOT in the exact same way that RJ told it, not even the most die-hard book fan; all rafe & co can do is focus on making sure the show honors the core of the books' story while also telling a good story in its own right, independent of the source material.)

i was a classics major, okay? it gets to me! anyway, corralling myself back on topic.

for 2x08, it's very telling just how far Minority Reader Opinion deviates from the general audience opinion. general audiences fucking LOVED this episode (it's the highest-rated on imdb out of the entire show, currently at a 9.0; most episodes are in the 7-8 range), but a bunch of readers call it disappointing and one of the worst episodes of the show. if it was actually a poor quality episode of television, the general audience ratings would reflect that too (as they do for 1x08, currently at a 6.4 (i personally think 1x08 gets way more hate than is deserved and i thoroughly enjoy that episode, but i accept that's just me)), but they don't.

so what does that mean? to me, it means that 2x08 is objectively a very good episode of television which general audiences found satisfying, but which some readers disliked because it prioritized the emotional & thematic needs of its own version of the story over the exact nature of the falme events in the source material. which is exactly what a good adaptation should do! if you forget the books and just look at the show (which the vast majority of viewers are doing), then every resolution that happens in 2x08 is the most satisfying resolution possible and/or the only resolution that was thematically permitted for that particular season storyline.

egwene: her season arc was about learning to stand on her own two feet and not cling onto her mentor figures or compare herself unfavorably to others. thus, her freeing herself from the a'dam is the most satisfying possible conclusion to her season arc. nynaeve and elayne freeing her in the books is nice, but in the show version, thematically, it would've undercut egwene's Overcoming Impostor Syndrome arc to go "yeah actually it's true that she's not good enough on her own and when it comes down to it she does always need nynaeve to help her out". that version worked in TGH where she didn't have an Overcming Impostor Syndrome arc, but it wouldn't have worked in the show where she did. (but, yes, egwene learning in 2x08 that she doesn't have to rely on others is a double-edged sword, which nicely sets up her later-series struggles with trying to shoulder too much herself and not letting even her friends or partner help her.)

rand: his season arc was about learning to lean on others and not isolate himself or try to protect his friends by withholding his burdens from them. thus, him failing to defeat ishamael until all his friends come to lend aid in various ways is the most satisfying possible conclusion to his season arc. rand defeating ishy singlehandedly in the books is nice, but in the show version, thematically, it would've undercut his Learning That Strength Is In Numbers arc to go "yeah actually it's true that rand is capable of winning his biggest battles all by himself and thus it's no problem for him to push his friends away". given the themes that s2 emphasized for rand, the only appropriate finale outcomes were either success with his friends' help or total failure on his own, and they chose the former. (that being said, rand pushing his friends away is a continuous issue for him throughout the series, so i doubt he's perfectly learned his lesson after 2x08; we shall see!)

interesting to note that rand and egwene have inverse arcs in a way (foils!) and that some elements of their book falme climaxes were swapped, and that the way the show has done it subverts the expected gender roles. typically, men are expected to be Lone Wolves and women to be Team Players, and the WOT books absolutely play into these stereotypes throughout the series (sometimes intentionally as social commentary, sometimes unconsciously as an accepted truth of the world), but 2x08 and s2 more broadly did the opposite with our yin-and-yang co-protagonists. it's egwene who has the arc about learning to be a Lone Wolf and rand who has the arc about learning to be a Team Player. and imo these subconscious gender role expectations are a part of why some readers (esp reddit) got SO heated about "how come egwene can succeed by herself but rand can't", because it feels Wrong to them and Not How Things Are Supposed To Work (they've never questioned why rand can succeed by himself but egwene needs her friends' help in TGH, or all the other times in the books when men succeed by themselves and women succeed by relying on each other). but it's a totally apples-to-oranges comparison because egwene and rand had totally different season arcs and focal themes (but many paralleling & foiling moments within that), and so they each get a conclusion tailor-made to their individual stories.

mat: his season arc was about realizing he's a good, worthy person, finding the inner strength to overcome his worst impulses and temptations, and coming through for his friends after leaving them at the waygate. thus, him getting his Big Damn Hero moment with the horn of valere, getting validation that he is literally a hero, and overall spending the episode doing all he can to support his friends is the most satisfying possible conclusion to his season arc. (but stabbing his bff just as he was flying on a confidence high and trying to save the day was a downer note to end on, so we've complicated his relationship with heroism and set up some more internal issues for him to wrestle with next season.)

perrin: his season arc was about learning to acknowledge his inner wolf but also coming to regard it with fear and to believe that wolf & human sides can't coexist and he must Choose One (.......suddenly being struck by the bisexuality metaphor of it all. nice!) thus, him giving into violence to murder a human to avenge a wolf is.....well, it's pretty upsetting for him and serves to reinforce his growing belief that his two sides can't coexist, but thematically, it's fascinating and sets him up for some really great internal (and external) conflicts in s3. he's just gotten what he thinks is pretty strong evidence to corroborate ishy's claim that embracing his wolf side means embracing the shadow, so he's set up for a season 3 of deep-diving into his relationship with violence and his inner wolf. it's also a neat parallel with 1x08: there perrin's avoidance of violence allowed fain to escape, whereas here his embracing of violence has traumatized him (again), so our poor guy is really feeling conflicted in the pacificism-or-violence question because both sides seem wrong to him right now. huh, i guess perrin's full-series arc is about finding a middle ground rather than one extreme (pacifism/tuatha'an/human) or the other (violence/aiel/wolf). i feel like i've just had an epiphany lmao this is why i love the show! it tells the same story as the books, but tells it in a different way that makes me think about it differently and gain new insights!

nynaeve: her season arc was about learning that she, on her own, as she is today, is not enough to protect her loved ones. this is a tough pill for both her and the audience to swallow! but it's needed for her character, and we see it in the books too. nynaeve has an incredible amount of power, but she's terrified of having that much power and wants to pretend it doesn't exist. she's resistant to change, she's used to being in charge, and she's very "my way or the highway". these are all things she needs to grow out of (or moderate, at least) in order to be able to step up and do her part for tarmon gai'don. she has to learn how to embrace her power instead of being afraid of it or being too stubborn to let other people guide her and teach her, so s2 shows her what happens if she doesn't, first hypothetically in the accepted test (everyone she loves dies because she's blocked and refused channeling training) and then for real in falme (she couldn't help elayne fully or rand at all because of her block). so her 2x08 conclusion being Total Failure is not emotionally satisfying, no, but it's thematically exactly what she needed and will goad her into facing her block head-on next season. thematically, like rand, nynaeve only had 2 options for falme: break her block and succeed, or retain her block and fail, and it was too soon for the former (we gotta let her cook a while longer, plus the story will become too easy if nynaeve, or rand, reaches supernova capability too soon), so it had to be the latter. if the show had gone with a third option of her succeeding without breaking her block, then that would've taught her and the audience that it's fine to leave the block in place and she doesn't need to challenge herself to grow as a person, because when it TRULY matters she can always get around the block.

other characters get appropriate resolutions too! moiraine and lan get to work together to succeed after being at odds and failing on their own all season (rand foils!). elayne gets validation that she is an essential and trusted part of the friend group after feeling like somewhat of an outsider earlier in the season. ishamael getting vanquished and lanfear betraying him only to be betrayed by him in turn is exactly where their mutual mistrust was leading them (and it shows us why it's so important that Team Light be able to work as a team rather than as self-interested individual operators; the contrast between ishy & lanfear looking at the seals together while plotting to betray each other vs. rand standing on the tower with all his friends behind him makes me cry your honor. imagine hating that ishy's defeat was a team effort, could not be me!)

(it's also worth noting that the characters who had the least individual success/victory in 2x08 (nynaeve, rand, perrin) are the ones who will have the biggest individual storylines in s3 (tanchico & moggy, waste arc, two rivers arc), whereas the characters who had the most individual success/victory (egwene, mat, moiraine, lan) are the ones who will be taking a bit more of a backseat (of course they all have their own stuff to do, but none of them is *the* lead character of their TSR/s3 traveling group). this is intentional!)

so there you have it. 2x08 is adored by the general audience, and it's because of this: it gives us some damn satisfying conclusions to all the season arcs (and some exciting and visually stunning battle sequences to boot), and all the viewers who AREN'T beleaguered by "But The Books!", which is most of them, recognize that for the good storytelling it is. i for one will always care far more about the show telling a good story within itself than the show being identical to the books, and rafe & co will too, as they should.

the only downside to the episode is that, yes, it is quite cramped for time because there are a lot of arcs to wrap up. this should be less of an issue in future seasons when the season finale isn't "every single major storyline converges in the same place at once". for example, judging by the "goldeneyes" episode title it seems s3 might split it up so that perrin's conclusion in the two rivers is in 3x07 while other conclusions in other locations are in 3x08, giving each more breathing room. whereas 2x08 had no choice but to stuff everything in that episode into that specific episode because it's not like perrin could just do his falme stuff an episode early and take a nap while everyone else was doing THEIR falme stuff in the next episode, nor could the full falme sequence have been split into 2 episodes since that would have disrupted the flow of the story. the only solution would be for 2x08 to be extra long, which is nice to imagine, but we all know that streaming shows almost never deviate from their set episode lengths and so there isn't much point sighing about "this episode should have been 90 minutes long!" because that just is not on the table, never has been, and never will be. the first step to being able to jive with an adaptation is making peace with the limits of its particular medium!

plus, the only things i might deem "missing" from 2x08 are non-essential (ingtar darkfriend reveal - that is NOT important fight me, it's only important in the books as our first example of a morally-gray shadow-aligned person but the show has already been doing that in spades) or will likely be included in 3x01 (the gang spending some time together to breathe and process and catch up). at the end of the day, the show is always going to need to be paced very very tightly with not as much breathing room as those of us accustomed to entire books dedicated to reacting to the previous book might expect. and 2x08 did manage to pack in a LOT of character work amidst all the action and did a good mix of resolving s2 arcs while leaving some unresolved to carry into s3 and introducing some new arcs/issues/conflicts, all within 70 minutes, which i find pretty impressive. in conclusion, 2x08 my fucking beloved <3

[hg-aneh]

Hi,ik I've been asking questions frequently but I'mma do it again bc I'm that petty;

In the AziraCrow relationship/marriage/or whatever. Who do u think is the housewife/husband? 😀

if we're talking about traditional gender roles applied to marriage ((which i believe would NOT apply to them in canon as they're both nonbinary supernatural beings)), i have to preface this by saying that i rlly don't agree with them as a concept

[if ppl choose to engage in them and not judge others for not doing so then good for them (idgaf akfbsjf)]

i hate that they're still being imposed onto people and that they haven't been left in the past for some contexts

i also want to clarify that the following """analysis""" I'm going to make is all for the sake of poking fun at gender roles and satirizing their entire existence.

Having said that, these are my headcanons:

Aziraphale-housewife, Crowley-husband

Why? Simply because husbands are fucking useless and I like to bully Crowley cuz he stinks and he sucks c0ck and b4-

I'm just goofing around 😭

In my little bubble world, they'd be neither (or both if you wanna see it from that POV)

Let's start with this:

If we take the definition of a traditional husband, which is basically "i work and do nothing else cuz I'm a man and men have their mommies i mean wives do everything for them" and take the Work part away, which is what we'd do if we were to place the ineffables in the south downs aka their retirement shack, then you get a useless fuck

And in reality, they both do jackshit (that's the whole premise of s1) so????? does that mean they're both husbands???

For further insight let's try to affirm Aziraphale is the housewife.

Aziraphale bakes, so he's probably a decent cook too; that's "housewife" material. He also happens to be very pretty and plump and a blonde, which I've been told are pretty ladylike things to be (/sarcasm)

(There are no pretty male blondes in ba sing se good omens)

He dresses in light, dainty clothing and talks with an accent only girls and women talk with, as well as getting his nails done and using make up for his magic act, and he says "please" and "thank you", which are things only women do (I'M BEING SARCASTIC. I'M BEING VERY SARCASTIC. god i hate gender rolesAAAA)

Now this is where the comparisons end cuz let's face it, Aziraphale is a lazy fuck.

You KNOW the bookshop smells like mold and he just miracles it clean every now and then.

He'd rather sit his plump (pretty) blond ass on the couch and read the day away than actually get to doing the baking and cooking or caring for the kids (plants) if it's not a hobby activity

Now let's do the opposite and try to affirm Crowley as the housewife.

He's clean (does the cleaning), he's of service when needed, he organizes when he's stressed (read the book), he- he drives a car...

OH SHIT. MAN ACTIVITY!!!!!🤯🤯🤯 (we're still being sarcastic here, it's not over EFJSJF)

In all seriousness though, trying to fit these two into gender roles, even as a joke is kinda difficult even in headcanon-land ajbfsnf

At least that's my opinion

For every traditionally "feminine" thing you have one of them do, the other outdoes that by a mile. And vice versa with the traditionally "masculine" things, like "being useless" and "car" /sarcasm is back.

So which one would be which? I think they're both dumbasses who fight over who gets to do what in the household (neither of them wants to do anything except for cuddling) and come up with an agreement to divide each chore :)

y'know, like normal people in a functional marriage (my parents lol)

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[reyadawn]

My Protector - Part 2

*image not mine, credit goes to Bryan 😆

Summary: Noah Sebastian is the President of Bad Omens MC in Los Angeles, California and a woman running from her past crosses his path. Noah instantly wants to save her. Make her his. However, her past needs to be dealt with first...

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: 🔞+, language, slight violence, kissing, choking, slight Mean!Noah if you squint, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), creampie

Word Count: 🤷‍♀️😆

Enjoy! ❤️✌️

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

I had never really given much thought to living on the West Coast but the Universe had other plans. It's funny how your life can change...how people can change. That's why when my friend Kay called me and offered me a job at Third Base, I took it as a sign I was meant to leave this old life behind. Just like she did. Although, I was a little surprised to find out it was a bar.

"Believe it or not, it's a fanastic place. Always busy, plenty of tips, good food, hot biker guys...including my old man, Jolly", Kay had explained.

"Kay...", I started.

"You need to get out. You have to. It's not mentally safe or healthy for you there with Larry. The emotional abuse he's putting you through is destroying you. Bad Omens will protect you. Misty and I will, too. They have a club house you can stay at until you get an apartment or you can crash with me", Kay replied.

I smoothed out the front of my Bad Omens tank top that I wore over my black leggings. I hated the way they fit, like I was trying to pour myself into the material. Too much skin in places I didnt want but never really could get rid of. I looked pregnant from the side, despite the fact I wasnt. I grabbed a black and white checkered flannel from my closet and threw it on, rolling the sleeves up my forearms. I threw my hair up in a bun and threw on my socks and black ankle boots.

Walking out of the bathroom, I suddenly stopped in the bedroom and looked around. It was masculine in the sense the bedding was all black and blue, nightstand and dresser were dark stained wood, even the sheer curtains were navy. The walls remained a neutral taupe. I hated being at the Bad Omens clubhouse and not having my own place. I still didnt know who's room I got set up with but I made sure to keep it clean and neat, making it a point to only touch my things.

As I was grabbing my purse from the black Lazy-Boy in the corner, the door to the bedroom opened and the man who stepped inside had me quite literally salivating and I almost lost the grip on my purse. This man was an Adonis if I ever saw one. Tall, at least 6'3, short dark hair falling into dark brown eyes, a small but perfectly shaped nose and full lips that had me wanting to get down on all fours and crawl to him.

This man wore dark camo pants and a solid black t-shirt, arms and neck displaying the most beautiful tattoos; even his large hands and long fingers were tattood. He reached up, running a hand through his hair and the muscles in his arms buldged. I must have been staring because he smirked and took a step closer to me. I all but had to crane my head back to look up at him. Short people problems, gotta' love it.

"How are your accomodations, pretty girl?", he asked, his deep voice caressing over my senses like a lovers hand. I swallowed. It was all I could muster, I was rendered so speechless. He must get this a lot though, poor guy. He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a small lock of hair behind my ear. "I'm Noah. Club President and this is my room".

That snapped me out of my trance completely, taking a small step back from him which garnered me a dark scowl of distaste. Evidently, he didn't like that.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. I'll have Misty get me a different room. I don't want to intrude", I rambled, turning back to the chair to grab my keys. A tattooed hand suddenly shot out to lock around my wrist and stilling my movements.

"First of all, pretty girl, lose the 'Sir'. I'm not that old. Noah is fine. Second of all, you're not changing rooms. You're staying here where you can be looked after", Noah replied. I yanked my wrist from his grip, glaring defiantly at him.

"Let's get something straight, President..."

Noah's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I'm not a child, therefore, I don't need a babysitter. I can hold my own. Don't make the mistake of thinking you own me, I belong to no one. I'm nothing to no one. Mean nothing. Never have, never will so save your protection detail for a real damsel in destress", I stated, hands on my hips. Noah stepped closer once again, fingertips gently tracing my jaw and down my neck. I shivered, goosebumps dancing along my skin and my panties growing damp. He lifted my chin, raising my gaze to his.

"Who hurt you, pretty girl?", he whispered. I lowered my eyes to his chin, unable to answer. "Tell me. Now". I shook my head.

Noah sighed before eveloping me in his arms, his solid body providing whatever comfort he could. I wasn't aware I needed the contact as I reluctantly wrapped my arms around his midrift. He was solid...and warm. I closed my eyes at the feeling of his strong body in my arms.

"I've got you", Noah added, voice vibrating in his chest against my cheek. "I won't let anyone hurt you". Regaining my senses, I pulled away and sniffled, turning to straighten my clothes and threw my purse over my shoulder.

"You don't know what he's like", I replied, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

"Did he touch you?", Noah asked darkly. I blinked at his change in demeanor before shaking my head. "Verbal?", he added. I nodded curtly. Noah's lips drew into a thin line before he reached into his pants pocket, pulling a cell phone from it and handing it to me. I knew what he wanted as I typed my number in and saved it to his contacts before handing it back. Noah's fingers momentarily flew over the keys and my own phone dinged. "I expect to be on speed dial".

"I need to get to work or Misty will have my ass", I said, moving towards the door.

"Me first", Noah said, causing me to whirl at him in shock. He grinned fully, perfect white teeth flashing before motioning to lead the way. I walked through the main living area of the clubhouse, waving at Jolly, Nicholas and Davis before stepping through the double doors and into the warm L.A sun. I stopped to breathe in the fresh air before letting out a moan of renoun pleasure at the open space.

"You do that again around me and I'll fuck you over this goddamn bike", Noah said from behind me. I spun around, Noah's hand grabbing my forearm firmly but gently. I stared up at him in shock as he looked down at me from behind Neo-like sunglasses. "Keys. Now". I silently handed him my keys before turning and heading to my car. This was going to be a long ten minutes...

******************************************

Walking into Third Base, Noah hot on my heels, I was met with the smell of bar food, cigar smoke and bouts of laughter from crowded tables. Kay walked by, auburn hair thrown in a messy ponytail, and shot me a wink as she carefully balanced a large tray of drinks to a table in the back corner of the bar. There were a series of pool tables, a jukebox and overhead cieling fans that barely did anything to mask the heat.

Misty appeared around the corner, clipboard in hand and approached us.

"Thanks for bringing her by, Prez. I'll see she's looked after", she said, grabbing my hand to pull me after her but before I could take a step, Noah turned me to face him, lips descending upon my own in a short but heated kiss that left my lips tingling and my clit throbbing as he pulled away. Giving my ass a playful slap, Noah sauntered off to a nearby pool table where he met up with a few other chapter members. Misty and I suddenly looked at each other, facial expressions of mirrored shock clearly readable.

"The hell just happened, Misty?", I whispered harshly, a few other patrons watching me, all smirking.

"From the looks of it, I'd say the President of Bad Omens just claimed you as his old lady...publicly, I might add", she replied and turned towards the bar. I followed her without a word, bitting my bottom lip to hide my smile.

Most of the night was uneventful as Kay and I ran kitchen orders and served at the bar. I was in the process of cleaning off one of the tables when a voice behind me had my grip slipping on the beer glass and it clattered to the floor sending shards of glass scattering.

"Hello, angel". I spun around so hard I damn near fell over a chair as I stared at Larry in shock and fear. "Thought I might find you here. Seems like your kinda rundown place but playtime is over. It's time to go. Now".

He hadn't changed much in the months since I last saw him. His icy gaze pinned me where I stood yet I still managed to shake my head.

"Over my dead body", I said, gritting my teeth. Larry tipped his head back and laughed, his dark spiky hair glistening from the overhead lamps. The guy really did use too much hair gel.

"That can be arranged. Now, get your shit and let's go", he said, his hand latching around my arm to haul me to his chest. I tried fighting out of his hold, tried kicking him but all he did was laugh. "Damn, you're a fucking hellcat. Stop fighting me so we can--", but his words suddenly died. Following his line of sight I gasped at seeing Noah, Jolly, Nicholas, Nick and Davis standing in front of the entrance to the bar. Surprisingly, it was Jolly who stepped forward.

"You know...you fuck with a chapter members' old lady and you fuck with the chapter member himself. Especially when that old lady belongs to the clubs' President", he said, running his tongue over his teeth. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kay and Misty behind the bar, arms looped together, fear marring thier features.

"Club President? Of what? The Mickey Mouse Club? Get the fuck outta my way", Larry said moving to step forward but Jolly held up a hand. Larry stopped, irritation etching his fingers.

"Last chance, bro. Don't do this. Just walk away", Jolly warned.

"I don't have time for this shit. Move or I'll move you myself", Larry said, glaring at Jolly. Jolly simply shrugged and smiled as Noah steppd forward, hands behind his back. Larry looked up at him and the color drained from his face. Noah smiled.

"President", Larry said. Noah nodded once before his right fist shot out, connecting with the side of Larry's head. Noah caught me as Larry's body hit the floor and he gave me a quick peck before turning back to him.

"President of Bad Omens, to clarify, and if you ever come near my old lady again or even breathe in her direction then a right hook wont be the only thing you'll get served", Noah said, looming over Larry as he rubbed his jaw. Before I could say or do anything, Noah was pulling me after him around the bar and down a hallway. I barely had time to register the doors we passed as Noah led me into the 'OFFICE' and slammed the door.

"Noah, what--", I started but he cut me off with his lips. His hands pulled at my clothes to get them off and a wave of fear suddenly came to the surface at him seeing me naked but as he backed me up to the desk, lips kissing and biting thier way down my neck, I realized Noah didn't really give a fuck. My flannel shirt was tossed over his shoulder somewhere on the floor, my tank top was yanked down to expose my breasts and one of my boots joined the pile of clothes just for him to get one of my legs out of my leggings and hoist it up over his hip.

Noah's lips were like fire on my skin as I felt him pull my panties to the side to swipe his fingers through my drenched folds and graze my clit. My hips jerked in response and he chuckled against my skin before sinking two long fingers inside me to the knuckle. I threw my head back, letting out a pornographic moan I didn't care to hide as my walls clamped down on his fingers.

Noah's other hand was tearing at the zipper of his pants, freeing his painfully hard cock. He suddenly pulled his fingers free from my dripping cunt to push them into my mouth and I could taste myself on his tongue. Before I could say or do anything, he pulled his fingers from my mouth to wrap around my throat and haul my chest to his, lips crashing together. It was messy, all teeth and tongues.

I could feel the head of Noah's cock prod my dripping core and I gripped his muscular shoulders for purchase. A simple thrust had me stretching to accomodate and it burned oh so good.

I whimpered into Noah's kiss, his fingers squeezing ever so slighty around my throat as he thrust again, giving me a few more inches. My brain shut down, unable to process anything but the feeling of my pussy stretching around the thick rod between my thighs, feeling every ridge and vein caress my walls.

There were no words...there didn't need to be. I raked my nails down his arms, red streaks appearing in thier wake but Noah took no notice. Another thrust. A nother inch. It was agonizingly slow and I writhed beneath him, trying to pushing him deeper with my heel but he was much more powerful. More kisses to my chest and shoulder. Another thrust. Bite marks came next. I'd walk away looking like a leper but I didn't want him to stop. Noah's grunts and groans mixed with my own whimpers and cries as one last thrust had him seated inside me to the hilt. I had never been so deliciously full.

I pulled away from him only to sink my teeth into his shoulder as I screamed, my orgasm hitting me like a 2 x 4. Noah wasted no time, shuttling his cock almost ruthlessly inside my overstimulated pussy. I was so sensitive I was getting ready to come again, my nails digging into his flesh. Thrust after thrust had my body turning into putty, my brain remaining in a black out state and I let lose a scream, teeth sinking deeper. No doubt there'd be a bruise there for weeks.

Noah's pace increased, his hands griiping my hips like a vice. My thighs burned, legs were shaking as he gave a thrust so deep it sent me spiraling into another orgasm. Noah threw his head back, releasing a series of expletives as his cock twitched, rope after thick rope of come unloading inside me.

Noah held himself inside me as we struggled to catch our breath. I looked up at him through my lashes then, the euphoric look on his face causing my pussy to clench around him.

"Old lady, huh?", I asked between breaths. Noah nodded. "Well, so much for holding my own". We shared as smile as our lips met in a gentle kiss.

******************************************

@amourtoken @artificialstardust @bloodylullaby @bluestdai @collidewiththesavannah @concreteangel92 @concreteemo @dsireland86 @dreamstyles @dontcallme-angel @english-fucker @exitwoundsx @flowery-mess @fadingintothegrey @iamamatus @iluvmewwwww75 @kaliforniahigh @lilhobgobbler @lovexsleepyhead @lolitasangel @philomenie @sacredthefran @starsomens @sorrowsofsilence @millie-aubs @xcllnt @xmads-omensx @yarasdead

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 23 - "No, you won't understand, ever."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, death, and torture as well as mentions of character death

A/N: Well… this turned out not like I originally wanted it to go. It was once again a self runner while writing. I also advise to have read Prompt 13 before, since this is kind of like a continuation of it.

Duke was worried. Danny hadn't been to school for a couple of days now. That was not a good sign. The library incident had only happened a week ago and Duke had made leaps in his friendship with Danny because of it. The other Meta had opened up to him, well sort of, there was still a lot Duke was aware that he didn't know. But that was beside the point. Point was Duke had now a valid friendship with Daniel 'Danny' Nightingale, one that allowed him to be very worried right now.

Which led to him asking their teachers to give Duke all the materials Danny had missed out on for the promise that he would bring this to Danny's home. This was also how Duke got Danny's address. Even with their budding and reinforced friendship, Danny had pretty much avoided telling or showing Duke where he lived.

This was his chance now. No he was not going to allow any of his siblings to install any sort of heavy surveillance in or around his friends apartment that would breach privacy rules, but he would allow Babs and Tim to keep an eye on any surveillance camera already in existence. It was nice knowing that his family had his back when it came to the safety of his meta friend, but as it was with his family, if not watched they would end up on the side of extreme measures a little too quickly.

Now he understood why they said not to tell Bruce about his friend's status yet. That would have made it worse. Not that his siblings sometimes also already tended to reach into that dangerous area between still okay and too far into paranoia.

Either way Duke was now standing before his friend's registered apartment, schoolwork in hand and ready to knock on the door only for his stomach to drop when he realized that the door was not locked and a gap wide open. It wasn't like Danny lived in Crime Alley but the area he lived in was still not that safe to just leave your door unlocked.

His worries doubled.

After the library incident, Danny had told him about his situation a little. He lived alone separated from his sister, his only family left, in Gotham. He was forced into hiding after a severe incident in his home town through which he lost his parents. Because these Guy's in White still kept their eyes on his friends and sister he couldn't even risk getting into contact with them. Leaving Danny completely alone.

Duke hated that, to think that because of his Meta powers Danny was forced into such an extreme situation. He had wanted to explain to Danny that there were rights in place to protect him but the other Meta had changed the topic too quickly for Duke to bring it up. Explaining just a little bit who these GIW, Guy's in White, were. Though for some reason he couldn't believe that that's what these people were really called, he didn't press further.

Danny was still not opening up to him completely about the entirety of his situation or who these GIW people really were but he had shared enough for Duke to give his family an incentive to look into these people. He knew they had found out some things about this group of people but Duke had yet to take a closer look into that file and the power point Tim had apparently prepared on that whole topic alone.

Either way the door was open and unlocked, Danny hadn't come to school for several days either now too and Duke was worried! Excuse him for only knocking once while shouting Danny's name before just stepping into the apartment when he did not get an immediate answer.

"Danny?!"

He shouted once more once inside and taking a couple steps in he stopped appropriately when he heard a weird squishy sound under his feet. Looking down he realized he stepped into what looked like green goop.

"What is…"

He looked at it closer and then noticed that the green goop was also glowing and spread around the floor in a way you find blood in horror movies. Duke swallowed and placed the schoolwork in hand on the hall table before carefully continuing his way into the apartment, following the green goop.

"Hey Danny? Say something if you are here?" Maybe Duke should have taken Dicks offer to get driven to this apartment, if there was an intruder in his friend's apartment then Duke would at least have some sort of backup. He looked around the place though and nothing indicated an intruder or that a struggle had happened here. So maybe the green goop was just that green goop. Maybe Danny just spilled one of his science projects?

But the moment he reached the main living area he threw all these hopeful thoughts out of the window.

"Danny!"

He rushed to his friend's side having found him sitting against his living room wall. A bigger green puddle of goop was on the ground before Danny and a lot of it appeared to be smeared on his hands and forearms. The shirt he was wearing was clearly ripped and in tears and there appeared to be a wound on Danny's leg, leaking a mix of green and red blood.

The other meta had his head resting on his knees not at all reacting to Duke's calls and light touches to the shoulder. "Danny, hey, Danny? Comeon, can you hear me?"

He started to look around, wondering if Danny had a medkit anywhere in his apartment. He was already fumbling to get his phone out when the other suddenly slapped it out of his hand, glowing green eyes glaring at Duke. "Don't call anyone."

"Okay, but then at least tell me where your medkit is." Duke cooperated, he could find another way to contact his siblings later, for now Danny's health took priority and Danny clearly did not want for duke to call anyone additionally to help.

"It will heal by tomorrow." The other meta stubbornly said but that didn't help Duke's worry.

"It might heal by than but it still hurts doesn't it? So where is-"

"Just let it go!" Danny hissed burying his face in his knees again and Duke sighed.

"Danny, please."

"No." Duke let out another sigh at his friends refusal, and here he thought his friendship with was making progress.

"Can you at least tell me what happened? You didn't come to school and I got worried that these Guy's-"

"They didn't catch me." Danny cut him off once again and Duke felt some of his worry replaced with relief, but there was still a lot left. Before he could voice his next question Danny continued to muttered something, barely loud enough for Duke to hear.

"They killed him." Danny sounded so defeated and his voice was shaking slightly. Duke instinctively reached out a hand. "They killed him, I barely managed to get his core out of there but once I got here it broke anyway. I thought they didn't have a facility here but they have, there were so many and I only got one of them out and yet he still died and…."

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. Danny, what are you talking about?" Whatever relief Duke had previously felt it vanished in an instant when Danny had muttered the first three words. He could only image the worst of things and from the sounds of it there was something, a facility that did something to Metas like Danny.

"The GIW built an experimentation facility here. They are resuming their damned experiments here." Dukes eyes narrowed. Not for long, he thought, once his family knew where they were that place would be raised to the ground in no time.

"Danny, can you tell me where that place is?" Probably not the best of times to ask his friend this but Duke would make sure that someone was going to take care of that place and that all the Metas there were going to be saved.

"It's no use. You won't be able to do anything." Danny instead muttered and Duke tightened his hold on the others shoulder, trying to make it as comforting of a touch as possible.

"Danny there are Meta rights, laws that protect us. Please, give me the location and I will make sure that someone is going to take care of it." That someone being his family, that he could promise his friend.

Instead of the trust he hoped Danny would give him, the other slapped his hand away and glared at him heatedly. "No! That won't work!"

"I know its, scary and I understand that it's probably hard to trust-"

"It won't work! It never will for us! We are not protected by law!"

"Danny, you are protected by law! The Meta rights are there to pro-"

"I AM NOT A META!" Danny suddenly burst out springing to his feet and distancing himself from Duke, his eyes glowing a vivid green. "I am not a Meta. I am not protected by your damned law, nore are the others! They can hunt us, experiment on us, hurt us and no one will give a good damn about it because we don't count as sentient!"

The other was breathing heavily and Duke couldn't help but get up and reach out in worry once more. Everything Danny had said was still running though his head and he wasn't sure what to make of it, but what he was sure about was that his friend needed help.

"Danny, it's okay. How about you explain it to me? Why wouldn't the Meta rights protect you? What makes you so different? I am I will be able to understand once you explain it to me and then we-"

"No. No, you won't understand, ever." Once again Danny sounded so defeated that Duke really wanted to just grab his friend and hug him. But instead he watched his friend closely, noticing how he clutched at his left wrist, for the first time Duke noticed the Lichtenberg scarring that was running up the other's arms from his hand peeking out between the tears of Danny's shirt. "You won't understand what it means for the law to declare your existence as illegal, to be trapped in their facility, to only be a number to get experimented on, to only be a number among many, to not be seen as sentient, to-"

Duke didn't care anymore as he lunged forward pulling the other into a hug. Ever since the library incident he had known that Danny needed help. He had assumed Danny was a Meta in hiding but it seemed his friends situation was so much worse than he originally thought.

"I will help you, I promise. We will free the others and then get rid whatever law declares you as an illegal existence." He pulled back enough to force Danny to look at him, seeing how the other was staring at him with suspicion and distrust but also there was hope in the others now blue eyes. "Explain it all to me Danny, I promise, Meta or not, I will find a way to help you."

[myung-heee]

make me remember.

pairings: idol!joshua x f!reader

genre: smutt

warnings: pet names, oral (f receiving), unprotected, spanking, joshua is soo bf material that it needs a warning. idc.

You smiled at him as you caressed his hair while sitting on his lap. His eyes were glittering while looking at you. "You're so beautiful, baby." He put his arms around your waist.

 

You could sense the tiredness through his body as he lazily rested his head on your shoulders. Going home from a 14-week tour is really tiring. He's lucky that you are always right there, exactly where he wanted you to be, inside his dorm room.

You patted his head as his hands traveled to your back. "Do you want to sleep?" you asked him, to which he responded with a shook head, "Not really. I've been out for months, and I almost forgot how this feels like..." You immediately tightened your grip on his hair as you felt his teeth bite your neck, which shocked you.

"Did you forget what biting my neck feels like?" You let out an amusing soft laugh as he kept sucking into your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access. "Hmm," he hummed as he held your wrist while licking your neck.

"I hate you," you whispered as you gently smacked his shoulders. He laughed into your neck, which sent shivers down your spine. "You're unfair. I remember every single detail of how you touched my body, yet you forgot it," you scoffed.

He stopped to look at you and said, "That's why, you'll make me remember it.. hmm?" He gently rubbed his hands both on the sides of your hips, saying, "You'll make me remember.. every single detail, again. Is that okay?" He gently put his hand on your chin and smiled when you nodded. "good girl." You felt your panty getting soaked from the way his voice uttered a word. You really missed your damn boyfriend, and it's not helping.

He then puts his hand back to your waist. As he pulled you up and sat you down on the bed, he put his lips into yours as he tasted each and every corner of your mouth using his tongue, the way you can feel both of your tongues inside your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he gently pushed you under, your back hitting the mattress.

He held your arms and pushed them away as he pulled his lips from yours, earning a whine from you. He chuckled at you and said, "You're so needy.. I'm the one who's supposed to feel needy, baby." His hands traveled down to your stomach and then to your shorts.

You felt his hands at the hem of your short as he pulled it down, leaving your wet-soaked panty. He looked at it with awe; he couldn't believe that this cunt was actually his, that you are his. You sighed as you felt him rubbing his finger to the slit of your soaked panty, feeling the fabric and his finger tips on you. You honestly felt so embarrassed because you were soaking wet and he barely even did everything, but you were all so worked up.

He smiled. He is enjoying the view of you with your shirt and just a panty. You tried to cover your face with your palm, but he clicked his tongue in disapproval, warning you.

You kept your hands on the sheets, gripping them. You bit your lip as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, where he knelt comfortably on the floor, putting your thighs between his shoulders. He caressed your hips as he kissed your inner thighs, making you whine like a slut.

He then faced your cunt and put his nose against your clothed clitoral area, which made you arched your back. earning a slap in the thigh from him. "So impatient," you heard him whisper. before fully diving in, licking your slit with your panty still on. You sighed as you tightened your grip on the sheets.

You felt him shift your panty into the side and start sucking your cunt like a madman, circling his tongue into your hole. A tear left your eye when you felt his wet tongue on your clitoral area, sucking it like he was drinking something. You arched your back as you cried out his name, "Joshua, please."

He didn't stop there, he even inserted a finger inside you while lapping your cunt. You're a moaning mess, crying out just for him. You started grinding your hips into his fingers and mouth, and you felt your body tensing up as he fastened his pace. Your back hit the mattress as you felt your vision go black as you hit your edge. You wiped down your tears as you felt him disappear between your legs.

He sat on the edge of the bed. tapping his thigh, signaling you to sit on his lap. You crawled into him, and you waited for seconds as he pulled down his pants. He took out his cock, wet from the cum. He then took your waist and helped you go in front of him. You wrapped your palm around the base of his cock as you aligned him with your entrance. You pushed down slowly, biting your lip to distract yourself from the pain. It's been months, and you never thought it would hurt. It hurt like the first time. He noticed your expression, so he immediately wrapped his other hand around your waist and another one around the back of your head, pushing your face close to him so he could kiss you.

 

You accidentally bit on his bottom lip when you felt his tip reaching the end inside you. You looked at him. "Sorry," you whispered. He just chuckled as he pushed you back again for a kiss. This time it was messy, as you started bouncing up and down on him.

 

"Ah fuck." You heard him curse himself as you started thrusting so damn fast that his hand from the back of your head disappeared as he wrapped both his hands on your waist to guide your hips.

"Are you going to forget about how this felt too.. joshie?" He whined at the nickname and shook his head immediately. "No—aah fuck! Keep doing that, baby..." he whined "please cum." you could feel his cock twitch inside you as you started thrusting faster, your hips slapping his laps. Your boobs were bouncing off the shirt. You held on to his shoulders as you started to feel your orgasm coming up.

 

"I'm so close.." You rested your head on his shoulders, hiding your face, as tears started to roll down from your eyes.

 

He held onto your hips tightly as he started thrusting up, desperately as he felt him getting close too. Your eyes closed when you felt hot liquid run down to your inner thighs as your body shaked. a few more sloppy thursts before he pulled his cock away, gently laying you down on the bed as he continued to jerk himself up. Your eyes were shut, but you felt his warm liquid on your shirt.

[doomsdaybby]

finally posting my contribution to @carolmunson’s cutest writing challenge!

please please please join in if you can!! there’s no pressure, and I had such a good time with this. it made me all giggly and soft, which is something I haven’t experienced to this level whilst writing for a little while 🫶🏻

the scene: a romantic night in at the trailer

props: a throw pillow, vanilla frosting, a small notebook

dialogue prompts can be found in the original guidelines post linked up top!

word count: 3.5k (huh?!!? this ended up a lot longer than I anticipated)

content/warnings: female physical descriptions and she/her pronouns used for reader character throughout, original series eddie (no au), friends to lovers, questioning relationship (unestablished, that weird in between), first date, fluff on fluff on fluff, a little angsty at the start but we lighten up, cringe-worthy flirting that makes my heart flutter, first kiss (🥹!!!!), slightly suggestive (no smut), swearing.

The cool evening breeze sweeps at the hem of your pinafore dress, a fitted denim ensemble that hugs the fat of your hips and thighs, sitting snugly at your waist, paired with a pretty floral long-sleeve.

The trailer park can be spooky at this time of night, especially with a little chill in the air - you have always gotten the creeps standing out here too long. You tuck the two VHS tapes you’d brought along under your arm, a six-pack of Miller Lite beers grasped faithfully in one hand, the other free fingers fidgeting with some loose cotton strands at the end of your sleeve.

Now that you were here for a date, you surely couldn’t just knock twice and waltz in like you own the place, like you usually do. Jesus, your collar is fucking tight. You fumble with your shirt, forefinger raking back and forth over the threads, the thin material somehow not granting you enough precious airflow.

You had never been so nervous around Eddie. Never had you really needed to think about your outfit or your hair or even your goddamn makeup.

But now. Now, it was different. After a slip of the tongue amidst a heated argument over something that you couldn’t even place clearly anymore. One that erupted because Eddie had failed another math test, or another subject similar along those lines. Not caring about his education enough to actually scrape his high school diploma from the bottom of the barrel, one that would soon be a vacant void if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass.

“Why do you even care?!” he had yelled at you, actually fucking yelled. Eddie hated the way you looked at him, eyes laced with disappointment and an anger you didn’t mean; the downturn of your brows and a deep crease at the very top of the bridge of your nose. A place that he had wanted to litter with gentle kisses more times than he could count.

It had shocked him too, the sudden raise of his voice, an air of malice coating the words. Though it wasn’t aimed at you, not really. Eddie just couldn’t bear the idea of you, somebody he cares so much about, being yet another person that viewed him as such a failure.

It had just tumbled out, an admittance of pathetic besotted pining that had built to mountainous heights over the years. A mentos in a cola bottle, the whistle of a kettle on the stove at boiling point, you just couldn’t help it.

“Because I like you!” you had called back twice as loud, though the ferocity was near triple of Eddie’s.

“Like, really fucking like you, Eds” you admitted quieter that time, only able to steal quick glances at his astounded expression - a jarred sort of picture painted on his face, chocolate eyes wide and jaw loose at the hinges.

“You… you do?”

So here you stood one week later, on a chilly mid-March Saturday night, on the front step of Eddie Munson’s trailer - a person who you held near and dear as a friend since middle school and, at arm's length, a kindling flame, always believing that your infatuation was completely one-sided.

Therefore once your romantic desires turned out to be reciprocated, your heart was in your throat and your head spun dizzy in a dream-like state.

Another flatten of the front of your dress, a press of your middle finger to the tacky gloss of your lips, and you were knocking on the front door. Folding your arms over yourself was a grand task to keep yourself busy for a moment - fingers strangled by the plastic casing surrounding the alcohol and tapes almost slipping from under their secure hiding spot.

You start to pick clumsily at the skin just above the nook of your elbow whilst you wait for said date to answer the door. Of course he didn’t keep you waiting long, though it was foreign for him to have to answer the door to you. Eddie appears in five seconds flat, hair perfectly mussed and the waft of his aftershave - the surprisingly good kind, pine and amber - erupts millions of butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

You feel like a dumbass kid, one disgustingly love-struck and naive. A feeling you aren’t overly familiar with, not to this degree. Of course you had your school girl crushes, fawning over your too large poster of Rick Springfield you had pinned up on proud display at the back of your bedroom door.

But with Eddie? It was totally unmarked territory, when you step meekly into his living room, uncharacteristically bashful, it sets alight that same adrenaline rush as if you were diving headfirst into shark infested waters. This was real life, your real life. He wasn’t a chart-topping celebrity you had ripped pages out of magazines for, Eddie was someone you had known only on platonic terms for nearly ten years.

“You look nice. Like, uh, really nice” Eddie compliments as he shuts the door.

“Y’made an effort for little ol’ me?” his grin stretches wide, a real pretty wide, a sort of grin that has never-ending smile lines rippling across his pink cheeks. Eddie matches your bashfulness, a shared tensisity that envelopes the air between you like thick black smoke accompanying the climbing licks of a fire.

You snort, such flattering remarks like this from him in this context was weird, but it felt so fucking good.

“You clean up pretty well yourself” your smile matches his, and it was true. Eddie did make an effort when it mattered; decked out in neat black jeans that unusually had no holes in the knees, the same makeshift handcuff belt, a faded white Van Halen t-shirt, completed with a dark olive green flannel that was cuffed to the elbows as the cherry on top.

The man was looking delicious, the same ripened fruit that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden, but you try not to stare too hard.

“I brought a couple movies,” you say, setting the beers atop the kitchen counter. “We’ve got ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ or one that Harrington said was pretty good, ‘The Breakfast Club’”.

You hold them both up to Eddie, who is smirking, a boyish expression that makes your stomach do backflips.

“Those are two wildly different options,” he snickers for a moment, a small pause before continuing with a mischievous bite, “And Harrington, huh?”.

Your brow raises warily, sensing a playful game of verbal tennis stirring up between you, the atmosphere electric. “I mean yeah, he does work there, Eds”.

“Aaahhh,” Eddie strings with an epitome of understanding, one you’re not certain that you’re following. “Now I know why you were almost a half hour late. Y’been chatting it up with other guys.”

“Don’t be like that,” you scold him lightly, “That’s not even true! Plus, do you really think I'd be here on a date with you if I had the hots for pretty boy?”.

Eddie takes pride of place at the end of the couch closest to you, hair enveloping his face as he crosses the living room.

“Oh? So he's a pretty boy now too?”.

You’re propped up against the kitchen counter, hip to the wooden cabinet, elbow leaning on the counter top. “You are the easiest person to get a rise out of, you know,” there was that smile again, a fond roll of your eyes in hand with the blooming cherry red at the apples of your cheeks.

Plus you’re prettier anyways, by a long shot.

“Hm. Will need to have a talk with Stevie-boy about trying to steal my girl”. Eddie notices the beaming display of pearly whites that earns him, one as radiant and scorching as the July afternoon sun.

‘My girl’.

It lights you ablaze from the inside out, the pound of your heart a booming bass drum in your ears, one vicious and overwhelming, and you suddenly become aware of every single vein and delicate capillary rushing with red hot blood.

“So… movie?” you’re holding up the chunky VHS tapes in either hand, insinuating pointedly to the macabre horror you were both certainly more inclined to, a jiggle of the dull clunk of plastic on plastic.

“Your choice, babe.” Eddie stretches an arm across the back of the couch, one leg swung up onto the well-worn cushion folded into a triangular shape. The space he had left for you was near disastrously tempting, able to fit perfectly cozy beside him, head crooked into the juncture of his neck.

Babe wasn’t new, but tonight it strung velvety smooth across his vocal cords with a much rosier lilt. Of course Eddie notices the bite at the inside of your cheek, the tightening at the corner of your mouth whilst you turn away from him. God, you don’t think that you’ll ever get used to this sort of giddiness.

“You got popcorn?” a wiggle of your brows in his direction and he’s giggling, a noise you hadn’t quite heard, breezy and flippant, overly juvenile but it was endearing.

“Actually,” Eddie jumps up from his spot on the couch, the shabby fabric already indented with a shadowed figure, remaining perfectly vacant until the owner returned.

“I thought that we could make chocolate chip cookies. You like cookies, right?” He pulls the multitude of ingredients from the cupboards and fridge, a stockpile threatening to topple from his arms. You watch him fondly, head propped up on the heels of your palms.

“I wrote the recipe down in this notebook. Debbie a couple doors down wouldn’t let me borrow her cookbook, said I couldn’t be trusted. Not sure if they’ll turn out any good but, yeah,” Eddie peers at you doe-eyes as he scratches the back of his head, fluffy locks exaggerated. He had washed his hair, it was always a dramatic transformation when he did. You were special.

“You made all this effort for little ol’ me?” you perk up, eyes swimming crystalline, brimming with the kind of tenderness only you could omit. Eddie chuckles, flipping open the notebook to decipher his rushed scrawling decorating the lines in smudged black ink.

So you did bake cookies together, a welcome ease to the tautness that strung tight in the air. You could get used to this, pottering around the kitchen, knowing Eddie on this entirely new plane of existence. You bump hips and snicker like kindergarteners, swiping off stray puffs of flour that somehow managed to settle under his eyes, allowing your thumbs to linger there for some selfish moments too long.

“I ran out of like, the nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie hands you the now chiller beer on ice once your baked goods sat safe and sound on the oven rack, a rather ghastly looking E.T. printed onto the cool glass. The picture was chipped and scraped in parts, appearing crummy considering the movie was still fairly new, though you didn’t mind.

You survey the glass up at your nose, rotating your wrist clockwise and opposite, lips form a downturn when you realise that the poor friendly alien had been decapitated without the tender loving care it obviously needed.

“It’s perfect”, you exhale a brief laugh lightheartedly, patting the cushion beside you, and Eddie spared not a moment more before he dived onto the couch with a similarly shabby looking glass in hand, though this one was embellished with a flaking Lord of the Rings design.

Now you were lounging together, taking up that place beside Eddie you had peered at so ardently earlier in the night, his hair brushing your cheek and the trailer enveloped in a cushy blanket of navy, apart from the blaring flickering white of the television screen.

Your head rests against his collarbone, his own tilted downwards so that his jawline was cushioned by your crown. This kind of more intimate contact came with a natural ease that neither of you had expected. The longer the clock ticked by, spending time together like this went from the sensation of that first crisp splash into the deep end of the pool that froze you to the bone, slowly, to the comfortable warming lull of floating down the lazy river.

You could float down the lazy river hand in hand with Eddie for the rest of eternity.

You weren’t sure how long you both enjoyed each other's company, the closeness, the minor skin to skin contact - long enough to empty your first cups of beer. But the awful smell of something burning soon seeped in from the direction of your precious cookies in the oven.

Eddie’s head shoots up when yours does, two noses sniffing up at the air. Eddie darts for the kitchen, and low and behold, behind the dirtied glass of the door and swaddled in smoke, were some very cremated looking cookies.

“You didn’t set a timer?” you questioned him, following close to his heels as he allows the smoke to billow free. The kitchen area quickly enfolds with the smog, stinging your eyes and catching at the backs of your throats. It was only a matter of time before the noise of the movie was drowned out by the alarming smoke detector.

“You said you would!” Eddie asserts, dumping the blackened cookies into the trash bearing an extremely puppy-like look on his face as you’re fanning the detector with a dish towel.

He sets the now empty tray back on the counter, winces at the high pitched ringing whilst pressing his finger to close off one ear. With another few bats of the rag, the alarm finally shuts off, and Eddie stands hand on hip just staring at you.

You shrug your shoulders, a pitying purse of your lips when the boy's face falls, brows pinching ever so faintly. You could kiss away every sad face he ever pulled.

“You have any vanilla frosting?” you ask lightly, shuffling through the cabinets only to find a couple tins of canned soup and a box of half eaten cheeze-its. Eddie observes the ingredients you had packed neatly away next to the sink, unfortunately not enough remained to make another batch.

“I don’t know where you think you are but I can assure you that I don’t,” his voice is sterner than he intends, crossing his arms, pissed off at himself that he had messed up what he wanted to be a perfect first date.

“Sad,” you respond dryly through a suck of the teeth, tilting your head back and towards him, almost swinging from the handles of the cabinets. “I could eat that shit with a spoon”.

Eddie grimaces, “and you… like that?”.

You mirror his expression, glossy lips stretching into an open-mouthed half smirk, arms folded and shoulders slumped forwards, turning full bodied to step gradually into his personal space. You have to crane your neck up some to meet his eyes, ones as dark as a piping hot shot of espresso.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you assure him when his spread fingers skate lightly along his clothed ribs, a self-soothing action you were well accustomed to, one that shatters your heart a little. “The grocery store might still be open, we can go get some ice cream”.

You run your own fingers along the tops of his arms, brushing beneath the cuff of his sleeves. Your touch was soft, delicate, fingertips glacial compared to the flush of his skin. Eddie Munson was on fire.

“Hey…” You press the palm of your hand to his cheek, stippled a carnation coloured pink due to the light buzz of alcohol, plus the fact that you were touching him so tenderly had his pulse point racing. It was an innate response, to reach up and press the plush of your lips to his cheek, barely an inch or two from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m having a really good time with you, okay?”.

“Okay…” Eddie murmurs back, a low melodious noise as one large fervent hand closes over the one you held to his face. You think that he is about to return the favour, maybe draw you into another one of many tight hugs you had shared before.

Except by the way Eddie tugs at your sleeve behind your elbow, his arms unraveling to welcome you chest to chest, you swallow over a dry throat in the moments it takes you to catch up.

Eddie’s lips are soft, you already suspected that by the pouts you were a victim to over the years, fleeting thoughts of what they would feel like pressed to yours.

His body invades yours, the kitchen surrounding you bleeding into a shadowy blur, bleeding hazes of the movie scenes bursting into crimson and neutral coloured supernovas. Your hands are buried in his shaggy brown locks before you could even register your movements, pinching at his roots at the nape of his neck.

It was desperate. It was downright addicting, the way he tasted. His lips tacky with your glassy strawberry flavoured gloss, smearing to the corners with every open mouthed part. It was a shot of heroine in your veins and the highest of highs Eddie could never dream of reaching, a hit like no other.

The ice wasn’t just broken, the entire frozen lake was smashed to smithereens beneath your feet. Though you cut it short before anything can get too hot and heavy despite the sting it spikes right at the center of your heart.

“For the record…” he interjects, a tiny whisp of a kiss pressed to the end of your nose, “I think you’re sweet enough. You don’t need any frosting” Eddie smirks when you part, tone less cloudy and more challenging, that lost puppy-dog expression replaced by a playful and troublemaking smugness.

Your lips seal together in a tight line, despite his atrocious attempt at some romantic banter, neither of you could keep it in for very long, and you both burst out in reams of laughter.

You push him away at the chest, though your hands certainly linger there, basking in the physical contact that you now craved more than ever. “Never say that to me again! Come on, loser. We have a movie to finish”.

Your attention no longer settles on the teens in peril before you, the guts and gore no longer piquing any iota of interest. Eddie’s hands were all over you, though not in a sinful sense. It was suggestive, sure.

The tap tap tap of his fingers at the inside of your thigh, an absentminded tick to distract Eddie’s racing mind. His nails skimming the tender ticklish flesh at the curve of your neck, catching the thrumming artery and the muted hitch of your breath, up behind the back of your ear and down to brush at your collarbone beneath your shirt.

You’re turned into him now, a casual position where you could both hide behind the throw pillow and giggle through a particular jumpscare.

“Stop making me nervous” you mutter, his grin lengthening twice as wide when he notices that you’re smiling too.

“I'm making you nervous?” he nuzzles his nose under your cheekbone, pressing further into you to trap you at the corner of the couch, one hand grasps at your shoulder whilst the other strokes small feathery circles just above your knee.

“Eddie!” you exclaim, sitting up and away a fraction from the warmth of his side, grabbing the throw pillow within your reach to swat at his chest.

“Baby”.

Your eyes light up, a startle shaking in your chest, releasing a whisper of a gasp you didn’t mean to. Eddie tilts his head to the side, closing the gap between you a little more, eyes heavy lidded and they twinkle with the reflection of the screen across the room.

His voice is low, muttering to you as if he’s sharing a secret. “I can call you that? baby?”.

“If- if you don’t stop that right now, Munson, we’re gonna have a problem”. Christ, he’s making you fucking tremble.

“Oof, and we’re back to last name basis,” Eddie feigns offense, palm to his sternum in a false wound of his ego. Though he’s impossibly close now, lips meer inches from meeting for a second time, and you can almost fucking taste him again.

“My girl seems to work pretty well on you,” his breath skims the bridge of your nose, cheap beer and spearmint.

“If you’re trying to make this go somewhere that you shouldn’t be…”

Eddie inhales a dramatic breath, clutching at his shirt. “How dare you suggest such a thing! I would never dream of taking advantage of such a sweet thing as yourself. I am a gentleman!” he proclaims, all gun but no smoking barrel.

“You’re talking out of your ass, Eds” you’re in stitches, a saccharine candy-coated chortle that knocks the wind from the space between your ribs, comedic horror plastered all over his face.

Then you’re pulling him in by the collar before he can utter another word.

now it’s time for me to read the whole freaking masterlist!!! 🫶🏻 let me know if you enjoyed!

[kosher-martian]

I'm making this post with full recognition that it might result in a bunch of hateful comments or asks, but I think it has to be said.

This morning I saw two completely unrelated posts (one on reddit and one on tumblr) that referred to Jews as "Jews of Conscience / Jewish People of Conscience" so as to draw contrast between the Jews being discussed and other Jews, based solely on their beliefs and attitudes concerning the Israel-Hamas War.

We really are just doing the whole "one of the good ones" schtick aren't we?

Why do we have to make these performative declarations of our beliefs to remain in the good graces of the self-appointed "good people"? What does that say about the "good people" and their "good politics"? And what does it say about us if we seek their approval?

This is the inevitable outcome of both purity politics and hyper-regimented discourse, which themselves are the consequence of deriving the entirety of one's political litmus test from maximalist sloganeering echo chambers.

This method of forming "good politics" reduces the complexity of the human experience into a simple "us vs them" dynamic, where the dividing line between the two is whether you upvoted or downvoted a screenshot of a pithy tweet.

It frames the world as one with "good people" and "bad people", where those on the side of "good" are scene as virtuous and well-intentioned whereas those on the side of "bad" are at best misinformed and at worst malevolent, sinful monsters. As someone whose virtue has not yet been determined, one who has not declared their affiliation is to be distrusted until they either:

Profess the beliefs of the "good people" without exemption, adopting them whole cloth and never questioning by whom those beliefs were made or whom those beliefs serve.

"Out" yourself as a "bad person".

I want to specifically call attention to that second option. It is always framed as a revelation. Not a sudden change of heart. Not a slow alienation. Not changing material conditions that alter the way someone perceives the world. All "good people" are actually "bad people" (except you, the only true "good person") and it's only a matter of time until someone "reveals who they really are". Everyone is lying about what they actually believe. It's a low-trust environment where every alliance (social, political, etc.) is one of convenience, to be continued until your ally inevitably betrays you for the other side.

To me, the only thing being revealed is the intellectual dishonesty of it all. It's no wonder that you suspect everyone else of lying, because it's exactly what you do. If the only reason you believe something is for the treats and status that believing it gains you, you don't actually believe it. The thing you actually believe is saying whatever is necessary for the treat dispensing machine to dispense your treats.

And so we circle back to the phrase "Jews of Conscience" and what that really means: It means (for the Nth time in Jewish History) Jews are not to be trusted until we "prove" our allegiance to the "good side" or "reveal" our allegiance the "bad side".

[stxrvel]

the king (2)

series summary. y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when the Crown Prince had been chasing her for as long as she could remember. doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. who would've thought that loving would come at such a high price…

pairing. prince!jungkook x f!reader

content. english is not my first lenguage! violence. royal themes. be-heading is still spoken of in this kingdom, nothing that will materialize. yelling. a flashback.

a/n. hey guys! i forgot about this one hehe. i have some chapters already done, i'll try to post them soon. love yall <3

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

Jeon Jungkook had never thrown a tantrum since he was eight years old. His teaching was so strict being the heir to the throne that he had had to learn to tolerate many things and put up with others from an early age. Understanding the weight of what it entailed to be born with the title of “Crown Prince” had been one of the things that had taken him the least amount of time to grasp, but which he always questioned in the solitude of his room.

Jungkook had surprised his parents, understanding from a very young age the implications of his position and the responsibilities he was to assume in the future. That knowledge made him grow up lacking in many things, but with advantages in many others. By owning that awareness, Jungkook understood the weight on his parents' shoulders and knew that they must've had a difficult enough life for him to bother them with his childish mundanities. So that's how he grew up, for many years, trying to make life easy for his parents.

Usually, his mother used to use him as an example to his younger sisters on how to behave according to the title they held. His sisters never envied him, they really loved him, but Jungkook knew how much they hated not being able to live their childhood like all the other kids in town. And he hated that too, that they couldn't experience it, but he was relieved just to know that the big burden was on him and not on them. Expectations were always placed on him, the Crown Prince, the next King, and not on the princesses who only wanted to enjoy their life and childhood in the big castle. Still, Jungkook sometimes didn't understand why his mother demanded so much from his sisters when they hadn't grown up with the knowledge he was given. He hated the nights when Suni, the youngest of them all, would sneak into his room at night or search for him in the great Palace garden because eomma had forbidden her to keep stuffed animals in her room or because she got mad at her when she asked for more food at dinner.

Jungkook, for a long time, tried to make his parents' life a little easier.

But it infuriated him to think that they made his sisters' lives difficult in return.

So, for a change, Jungkook started throwing tantrums.

The first time he remembered it as lucidly as if it had been yesterday.

It was a sunny day in the square when he had gone out with his parents and two of his sisters. Their parents had dawned in a strangely good mood, so much so that they had decided to have a little family walk in the central point of town. Jungkook went with one of his sisters, Hari, making funny faces at his younger sister, Suni, behind his parents' backs, causing the little girl to laugh loudly. They were having such a peaceful and happy time that Jungkook couldn't believe it.

That is, until Suni saw one of the wooden toys they were selling in the square and began to pull her mother's hand. Hari and Jungkook stood silently, frozen, walking quietly behind their parents as they watched their little sister stir and pull harder and harder on the Queen's hand. They could barely go unnoticed… when Suni began to cry.

Jungkook bit his tongue, and had the urge to move forward to grab his sister and take her back to the Palace, but Hari's hand wrapped around his arm kept him sane. Jungkook hadn't been through a situation like that, precisely why his parents didn't often go out with their children, so he had no idea how his parents would react.

The Queen continued walking, almost dragging her little daughter who wouldn't let go of her hand. People passing by her were barely able to give them a glance, hurrying their pace when the Queen's eyes fell on them. The square had fallen into a dull silence that was perturbed only by Suni's sobs.

Hari squeezed Jungkook's arm tighter as the Queen turned her face away to look at Suni, and they both watched their mother's tense face, no longer welcoming and peaceful as they had seen her in the morning. She was now only the Queen and Suni, her own daughter, was trying her patience.

The King walked silently by her side, not even bothering to try to calm his daughter or show his wife patience. He lived in his own world.

Jungkook felt a hand clutch around his throat as the Queen began to tug on her little sister's arm, to get her to walk back to her side without crawling.

He didn't think twice as he began to speak, and Hari's hand tightened around his arm.

“Eommoni,” Jungkook elongated his voice, a hint of weariness and exhaustion ringing in the Queen's ears. The woman barely glanced over her shoulder at him, and Jungkook took it upon himself to keep his face irritated like his sister Hari did when she had to eat paprika. “Suni is making too much noise and my head hurts.”

His little sister turned to look at him, her eyes red and cheeks drenched in tears. Her little eyes rolled down his face and she had one of her hands almost inside her mouth, as many babies did when crying. Jungkook could never shake that habit that his mother hated, no matter how much he told her it was normal.

“Can't we go home already?” Jungkook continued, shuffling his feet. Hari was as want as a stone beside him.

“Jungkook,” the King's voice was heard, a silent warning.

A shiver ran through the two brothers walking arm in arm, but Jungkook didn't budge.

“It's getting too sunny, besides, and I'm dying of thirst. Let's go now.”

The King stopped and the whole family along with him. Suni was now sobbing quietly, she seemed to be calming down at the sound of her brother's voice, but tears still streamed down her face.

“Enough,” the King bellowed, turning around to stare at Jungkook. “You are demonstrating unacceptable behavior for the Crown Prince,” he spat, then turned his face to look at the Queen and Suni, “Let's go now.”

Suni let go of her mother's hand and stood in front of her father raising her arms towards him with a grimace that made one think she was nothing short of destroying the mountains with a scream. The King sighed, but took her in his arms. Snuggling into her father's neck, Suni finally closed her eyes.

“I hope you are satisfied, Jungkook,” his father spoke again. “You'll see what awaits you at home.”

The King's punishment had been harsh, as usual, but Jungkook was glad he had used his influence over his parents because, the next day, Suni was in the family dining room with the wooden toy in her hands.

Thus, Jungkook began a streak of manipulation against his parents to ease his sisters' lives. Since they were always more concerned about the Crown Prince's behavior, it was easier to divert his sisters' attention to him.

And to this day, Jungkook hadn't stopped doing so. Every day with more reasons, with different arguments, even if it cost him his life. He wouldn't stop. For them… and for him.

He raised his head as the doors to the great hall opened and a familiar face peered between them. The King's Counselor was striding toward him, hands loosely at his sides, dark blue uniform neatly arranged and a calm expression on his face. Jungkook knew him better than he let on, though, and knew those eyes incited nothing but reproach.

“You're in deep trouble,” was what Kim Seokjin said as soon as he reached his side, his gaze hard but his eyes soft, concerned.

“I know.”

“The way you confronted the Queen…”

“I know.”

“She's never going to let you leave this palace.”

Jungkook twisted his lips and focused his gaze on anything else within the room. Since he had arrived at the Palace, walking shoulder to shoulder with his mother, with the Queen, the two of them split their path and Jungkook had wandered off to a quiet place in the Palace thinking that the argument would end there; that his mother would ignore him for days and make his life miserable while his father watched. But the King arrived within minutes and sent for them both to the meeting room.

Jungkook had been waiting there for about ten minutes, thinking about what they could talk about, what kind of punishment the King wanted to give him, what kinds of poisonous words his mother was going to spit out, when the counselor arrived.

“If I hadn't gone, she would've- she would've given the order and…”

He pressed his lips together in a line. The paltry thought that hovered in his head at the possibility chilled the blood throughout his body. The shiver that ran through him made him grateful he'd had the chance, but reminded him that from now on he had to tiptoe around his mother.

“Your mother wanted a show. She didn't want to kill her, she wanted to humiliate her. Destroy her honor, like she thought she had done to her, to the Jeon family name.”

“That's stupid,” Jungkook spat, anger rebirthing like flames inside his chest. “No one would've ever found out if it weren't for what she did. Now everyone will be talking about it. For weeks.”

“That's true. It was not a calculated move, the Queen acted through her anger. And the consequences will be severe.”

“And you'll hear her already, blaming me for everything. As always.”

Seokjin gave him a sympathetic look, his body leaning against the table in the center of the room. He had known Jungkook since the Prince had turned 15 and since then it had been very hard for him to keep his distance when Jungkook started seeing him and coming to him like a brother. Seokjin knew how hard life had been for the Prince, even if he didn't notice it, even if he had normalized living that way, even if he had become accustomed to the mistreatment. Seokjin saw through those eyes the longing of his inner child, the desire to be free to do whatever he wanted, whatever he couldn't do before.

The counselor had been a pimp, if he had to admit it. He couldn't give him or let him do many things without his parents, the King and Queen, finding out, and both of them being punished for it. Still, he tried to support him in every way he could, like excusing him when he wanted to leave the palace alone for a walk, or accompanying him to have his first beer at Fresh Air; it was almost a tradition in town for older brothers to take their younger siblings to try their first alcoholic drink at that bar, to share those moments together.

Just as he had been in so many stages of his life, he knew Jungkook had been taking too many chances the past few months. Years, even. Seokjin would allow himself to cut him a little slack whenever he could, help him with excuses to breathe easy, but he constantly wondered how long he could be walking quietly on a tightrope. How long it would be before the Queen's sharp actions would cut off that tiny thread of hope that Jungkook had been moving on for some time.

“Have you heard about Hari and Suni?” the voice of Jungkook boomed in the silence, a few seconds after he had uttered the last words. Seokjin raised his head to look at him.

“They were on their way, very close. They should arrive today in the afternoon or during the night.”

The Prince nodded, faint lines crossing his forehead.

“Good thing they weren't around to witness all this.”

“I don't think they can escape the days ahead,” Seokjin mused and Jungkook bowed his head in a nod, a grimace akin to helplessness crossing his expression. “And more so when the King sent for you two. He must be furious.”

“The calm he showed in the square was only the sheet of ice containing his anger. I doubt we'll make it out of this room alive,” Jungkook felt a shudder run through his body as he remembered the look his father gave the Queen when he ordered him back to the Palace with her. His mother was scary, yes, people were right to fear her, the anger was always evident and furrowed her expression without self-consciousness to the world. But his father was not, the King was better known for having an icy rage, for having a frightening calmness when anger coursed through his veins. His mother might be dangerous, but the King was lethal.

“Jimin and Yoongi tried to come as soon as they heard, but the royal guard barred their way. They were practically locked in the guest room,” Seokjin remarked as he remembered the looks of both men on the other side of the room. The door was open when Seokjin was crossing the hall and two royal guards were guarding it, as if they were some mercenaries who did not deserve any good treatment. He knew it had been the Queen's order.

Jungkook's beady eyes fell into disbelief when he heard the counselor's words. It must have been his mother's command, he thought rightly as he held back the urge to smash his palm against the walnut wood table.

Away from the fog of anger that had consumed his mind the past few hours, Jungkook took a moment to breathe. He hated what his mother had done, but he knew his friends were fine. But she…

“Did you hear anything on the way here?” Jungkook inquired, and Seokjin promptly knew what he meant.

“Nothing, everything was scattered when I arrived.”

A whiplash of fear and panic surged through Jungkook's chest. Not many times had he felt that kind of terror, the kind he thought he could only feel in his nightmares. And Seokjin knew the Prince must be dying of uncertainty inside, because he didn't bother in the least to disguise the emotions that traveled across his face.

“She should be fine,” the counselor assured him, though his words were an empty promise. “The King may turn out to be more merciful than you think.”

Seokjin didn't know if the King's mercy went that far, but he wanted to convince himself with his own words, for he wouldn't know how broken the already fractured family bond in that Palace would be if the opposite were true.

He didn't have much time to continue rambling when the sound of quickened footsteps began to echo from the hallway. Seokjin broke away from the table and approached the white wall, carved with lines on its columns, arches over the smooth walls, and undulating figures at the births of them.

The large oval doors of dark wood opened wide and the King entered without hesitation, the Queen walking behind him. At that moment, Jungkook didn't want to see them as father and mother. From the looks they were both giving him, the Prince almost felt that he would be the next to have a trial.

When the Queen was standing right in front of Jungkook across the table, the doors closed with a barely audible sound, and the room was taken over by thunderous silence.

“May I ask, what was on your mind?”

Jungkook didn't turn his gaze to the King. It was disrespectful not to look at him when he spoke, he knew it, every villager knew it, more so him being his son. But maybe he wasn't as prepared for that meeting as he thought he was. He didn't want to take the blame for something that wasn't a crime. Because he hadn't hurt anyone. Because…

“Are you talking to me?” the Queen's voice interrupted his train of thought, and he allowed himself at that moment to raise his head.

The King was watching his wife, who had a surprised grimace on her face in contrast to her father's impassive and cold look, the typical and familiar one.

“What were you thinking going out to do all this, Hyori?”

Seokjin didn't hide the astonishment that took over his face when he heard the King call the Queen by her proper name. It shouldn't be something to be missed, but he and Jungkook were used to formalities between the two supreme figures in front of them. That his father decided to set aside his formality to speak to the Queen in such a manner spoke too much of the anger he held in his heart.

“Why are you directing your anger against me? I wasn't the one who caused all this.”

Jungkook watched the Queen's frown, her face contracted in skepticism. She had adopted a defensive posture, truly offended at being the target of the King's anger.

“You were the one who caused all this,” the King nodded with anger rising in the glint in his eyes. “If you hadn't gone out and made all that fuss, we wouldn't be going through all this right now.”

“But what are you talking about?” the Queen exclaimed, and when she raised her voice Jungkook shrank back in his seat. He shot a glance at Seokjin, but it seemed that the counselor was just as confused as he was. “What don't you see that the reason for the fuss is sitting on the other side of the table?”

Jungkook didn't have to turn his head to know that his mother was pointing at him with a furious glare. But the King didn't even spare the Prince a glance when he responded:

“Stop pointing at your son like that,” he mumbled through his teeth, venom surrounding every word.

A sound of disbelief left the Queen, with a stupefied chuckle following her as she approached the King at a slow pace.

“Do you have any idea what your son did? What that woman wanted to do to our family?”

Jungkook gritted his teeth, his hands gathering on the wood of the table.

“And do you have any idea what that theatrics just cost our reputation? I had to meet with the high consorts immediately. They're not very happy with what you did.”

The Queen snorted not believing for a second that she was the one getting all the scolding and yelling and not Jungkook. Seokjin, secretly, wasn't too upset about it.

“Are you defending him?”

It was the King's turn to break through the icy mask, irritability seeping through his gut.

“What Jungkook did was minimal compared to what your show cost us. The high consorts are reconsidering their offers. They don't think it's very good for their public image to do business with a Queen who still does public executions.”

“They are not forbidden in our nation.”

“No,” the King nodded, “but they will be.”

Jungkook didn't disguise the gasp of surprise that left his mouth. Was he really hearing those words from his father…? The Queen spluttered, and the Prince turned to see her face contracted in astonishment… in betrayal.

“What your son and that woman did is unacceptable.”

“What Jungkook did or didn't do is what matters least,” the King mumbled, his glacial eyes roaming over his wife's face that would not leave her stupefaction.

“What are you saying? He was courting-!”

“I don't care,” the King repeated, his words stronger, more concise. “As long as it doesn't affect the Crown, what Jungkook does outside this Palace doesn't matter to me.”

Thunderous silence followed his words. Seokjin watched everyone present with utmost caution from his position. He might be a simple counselor, but he knew some self-defense tactics. Meanwhile, Jungkook was totally speechless. His gaze wandered over his father and then shifted to his mother's stunned look, an expression that hadn't left her since the King began speaking.

“You can't do that. You can't just not care…” the Queen was shaking her head in refusal, refusing to accept the words she heard from her husband's mouth. “You can't turn a blind eye to-”

“I already did,” the King spoke again and Jungkook did not miss the way his eyes averted for less than a second. The way he looked at him, the sad gleam in his eyes. Or well, sad was what he seemed to have seen, because the King's expression changed so quickly that Jungkook might have thought he had imagined it, if not for what he said next, “I already had.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Prince felt a hand squeeze his heart, trying to stifle it, to keep him conscious long enough to survive, but using just enough strength to feel death close. His lips parted as he watched the father who wouldn't look back at him, who was staring harshly at his mother as the only true culprit in this whole mess. No, the problem wasn't that Jungkook was trusting, not that he stopped paying attention, not that he had let his guard down…

“You knew,” Jungkook spoke for the first time. His voice came out slightly hoarse, his beady, disbelieving eyes glinting in the natural sunlight as his father gave him a neutral, dry, emotionless look.

“What?” the Queen's head turned sharply toward her husband, her eyes exaggeratedly wide.

Without looking away from his son, the King spoke, “Did you really think there was anything you could do in the Palace that I wouldn't know about?”

Almost out of sad inertia, with a whiplash of pain in his chest, Jungkook shook his head at the counselor. Seokjin half-opened his lips in surprise, but shook his head in a negative as he felt the deer eyes on him.

“Counselor Kim has nothing to do here,” the King spoke, his gaze still on the Prince.

“Your Majesty-” Seokjin tried to speak, but the King raised a hand in his direction.

“Not now,” his stern gaze was still on Jungkook, but he promptly turned back to stare at the Queen who seemed not to credit what she saw.

“You knew and… you allowed it?” the Queen's voice was barely a whisper, surprise taking all her breath away.

“I told you, she was never a threat to the Crown.”

“She wasn't a threat, she was a gold digger! She wanted all the riches Jungkook could give her!”

The Prince gnashed his teeth. His bite was so hard that it strained his jaw and a slight pain ran through his gums. He wanted his mother to stop talking that way, expressing herself that way, he wanted to say something to her, anything…

“That's what you made it sound like, making all this fuss. Now there's really no way of knowing,” the King replied impassively, though several muscles in his face were already beginning to retract.

“She was going to steal from us,” the Queen exclaimed in utter conviction.

“She was going to do no such thing,” Jungkook blurted out, his hand clenched on the table and the Queen's eyes exorbitant as she turned to see him as he answered her thus. It was an impulse, but he had done it, and though his instinct was to shrink from her gaze, he faced her and continued speaking. “She never tried to take advantage of me. She is a kind, loving, honest and a humble soul. All she wanted for me was happiness.”

The Queen snorted, interrupting him, and his assurance flanked. Jungkook didn't feel he was over, but the King took the floor again:

“You're going to have to apologize to his mother.”

“What?”

“I'm not going to bear such an embarrassment to someone who has provided us with her services.”

“I'm not going to do-”

“You will. And the next time you intend to bring a trial against someone, Counselor Kim will be only too pleased to give you a few lessons in law.”

And with that, the King left the room.