#end this text editor hell

[royalreef]

[dru-reads-writeblr]

Going slightly off-topic, and I apologise to OP (also sorry if this has been mentioned already in the RB chain).

In AO3 you can use Horizontal Rules for scene breaks which, as a standard piece of HTML, can be read by screen readers or at least come with an aria attribute which can be understood by a screen reader.

Tumblr sadly doesn't have Horizontal Rules natively and they don't render if you write your post in HTML either. I've seen it recommended to use an image for your scene break and give it the alt text "[diving line]".

OPEN LETTER TO FANFICTION WRITERS ON ACCESSIBILITY; PLEASE READ.

first of all, thank you for spending your time, seldom acknowledged and definitely deserving of a compensation you are not receiving, to entertain us. i’m speaking on behalf of more than just blind readers, but everyone. you’re sick as hell.

i’ve summoned you to provide some information you may not already know. i know a lot of you like fonts. especially those who cross post their work on wattpad. i admire any and all acts of aestheticism to a degree, and can understand the desire to use them. (blind folk, sorry y’all. momma’s making a point.) 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰, it’s cute. 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 is a little cuter to me, if i had to choose. or maybe 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈?

now, sighted folk: if you’re on mobile, i implore you to participate in a little exercise for me. select this text and scroll through all the copy/paste/define/‘search the web’ options until you get to the speak portion. if you need to change a setting for your phone to do so, would you mind? i’d really appreciate it.

please make your phone read aloud part of my post, and be sure to include any bits with those super cute fonts. 𝕚’𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒, 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖. 𝕚 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕝𝕪, 𝕚 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕪𝕡𝕠𝕤 𝕚 𝕔𝕒𝕟’𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖.

whether you participated and discovered it for yourself or you thought this was a crock of shit you’d rather not sniff, i’ll tell you! screen readers cannot dictate words using those fonts. at least, on a majority of devices. not mine, or any of my mutuals elsewhere.

you do not have to change your behavior on my behalf, but please be aware that fonts limit access to your work.

blind readers do exist, i exist, and i am bound by the same feelings of dogged longing that make other sad horny bitches read angsty, smutty, father-wounded nonsense.

thanks for making it this far. i really hope my sincerity is being conveyed, reading makes me so happy and i’m not the only person on this app who relies on accessibility settings more often than not. do with this information what you will, and have the day you deserve!

[hotchnerwrites]

hi there!! hope you’re doing well :D

this is my first time requesting something like ever so pls bear with me lolll

would you be up for writing something for shy bau reader and pining hotch following them home after a bau night out?? :DD

Bar Closed, Heart Open

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x shy!BAU!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, minor miscommunication, idiots in love <3, hotch pov

A/N: such a cute idea!!!! loved writing it, i hope you love reading it too :) thank u so mujch for ur ask and ur patience <3 mwah mwah mwah, enjoy. also my text colour editor crashed, i had such a cute colour palette for this post ugh :<

My requests are open. Send me stuff! Please read the rules before asking, and be advised there is a slight wait time right now. But I will post for sure. :)

Hotch wasn’t drunk.

Well, not exactly. He had nursed his scotch for over an hour and topped it off once. He was relaxed, fuzzy around the edges, but nowhere near out of control. 

He was, however, standing outside your apartment at 11.46 pm, which was dangerously close to a serious lapse in judgment.

Morgan and Garcia had dragged everyone out after the case wrapped. Just a low-stakes evening at the closest bar near Quantico— laughter, drinks and darts. But you’d sat at the end of the booth all night, shoulders tucked in and ankles crossed as if trying to make yourself smaller. You had politely pretended to enjoy yourself while everyone grew steadily louder. You’d given it your best shot, Hotch would give you that. But you just didn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoyed taking up space. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what tipped him over the edge. Maybe it was the way you quietly slipped out of the booth when no one was looking. Or maybe it was how every time he looked at you, you looked down like it burned.

So there he was, coat unbuttoned, hands cold, heart hammering. He tried to remember why it seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago.

Before Hotch could chicken out, he reached out and knocked on your door. Lightly, though, like he hoped you wouldn’t hear.

But you did.

A few moments passed before the door opened a cautious sliver. A flash of clothing, and then you peeked through the side, startled, wide-eyed. “Hotch?”

You looked so soft, so sleepy, so… you. And Aaron Hotchner— seasoned profiler, former prosecutor, Unit Chief— nearly turned around and fled.

“Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You blinked, completely puzzled. “Um… No. You’re fine. I just—I just wasn’t expecting…” You trailed off, voice soft.

Hotch cleared his throat, trying to dispel the persistently increasing jitters. “Can I come in for a minute?”

You stepped back, letting him in with your usual shy awkwardness. You looked like you were trying to process whether this was a dream or a disciplinary meeting.

The lights were low, cosy. You’d clearly been winding down. Fuzzy cat socks. A soft throw blanket on the couch. An unfamiliar domestic ache passed through him, and he had to force his gaze away from how inviting it all looked.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” you said too fast. “You just… surprised me.”

You stood with your arms curled around yourself, fidgeting. Your eyes flitted to him, then the floor. Were you nervous, too? Because of him?

Hotch took a deep breath. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

You blinked again. “That’s… why you’re here?”

“No,” he said quickly. Immediately regretted it, too. “I mean— yes. But also no. I mean—“

He scrubbed a hand down his face, mentally reviewing every poor life decision that led to this moment. This was going so much worse than the already-pathetic version he’d imagined. What the hell are you doing, Hotchner? 

Your brows furrowed, and you took a cautious step forward. “Is… everything okay?”

“No,” he sighed, lowering his hand, “But I think I’ve made something wrong. And I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

You looked so confused. And so small. Hotch felt his heart twist in several directions before you asked, “What do you mean?”

“I think I’ve given you the wrong idea.”

“About?”

“Me.” His throat felt tight. “And… you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. He felt every second of your silence like a countdown.

“I always thought you didn’t like me,” you said.

He nearly laughed—not because it was funny, but because it was so absurdly tragic that he’d made you think that.

“Why?”

“You never talk to me unless you have to. You don’t smile at me like you do with JJ or Emily. And when I try to joke with you, you just stare like I’ve said something stupid.”

Hotch grimaced. Of course you’d noticed. 

“That’s not—God. That’s not what I meant to do.”

You looked like you were trying to shrink into yourself. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m quiet. Weird. I know I come off as—”

“You don’t,” he interrupted. “You don’t come off as anything except… you. Thoughtful. Kind. And yes—quiet. But that’s not bad. It’s never been bad.”

He saw you freeze.

And he realised this was it. No take-backs. No cool, calm control. The mask was off.

“I’ve been trying so hard not to scare you off that I think I just came off like an asshole.”

Your voice was so quiet. “Wait. Scare me off?”

He nodded, wishing he were someone better at this. Someone smoother. Someone not carrying a briefcase full of unspoken feelings.

“I like you,” he said. “A lot more than I should.”

There. Done. Ruined.

You blinked, stunned. “I’m… sorry, what?”

Hotch swallowed past the ball in his throat. Say it again. Softer. Or maybe louder. Or more romantically. You probably didn’t hear him right. He must have imagined the way your cheeks flushed and given him the slightest sliver of hope.

“That— Sorry, I’m just— I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Wait, so… so you don’t hate me?”

He winced. Interrogations were easier than this. “No. God, no. I’ve been doing mental gymnastics trying not to show how much I liked you, especially in the office. I thought— I figured you might not appreciate it. But clearly, I took it too far.”

Your eyes were doing that wide-eyed sparkle thing again. Like you were recategorising the last six months of interactions in your head. All the awkward silences, the moments he stood too close and then bolted, the time he spilt coffee and nearly had a stroke when you offered to help clean it.

“You… like me?” you asked.

And now he felt about twelve years old. “Yes. Is that not—was that not clear?”

You laughed, then. He’d never heard you laugh like that. If only he could bottle it up. “Aaron, you flinched every time I entered a room.”

“That wasn’t flinching. That was panic.”

You lifted a brow. 

“Not the bad kind,” Hotch added quickly, “I just kind of forgot how to speak for a couple of seconds. Or function, for that matter.

You giggled. He’d take the memory of that laugh to his grave,

“You’re really bad at this,” you said.

He sighed, smiling despite it all. “I am… painfully aware.”

“I thought you were mad every time I said something awkward,” you admitted. “Or when I fumbled a report. You always looked so stern.”

“I am stern,” he said, and you laughed again. “But I was never angry. I was… distracted. By you.”

Something in you shifted then—visibly. Like you were seeing him clearly for the first time.

Hotch took a step closer.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said softly. “But I wanted you to know. I wanted to stop pretending I didn’t notice you. Or that you didn’t matter to me.”

You didn’t run. You didn’t hide. You didn’t even look away.

Instead, you reached for his hand.

And Hotch didn’t stop himself from holding it.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[avaredava]

Oh lord have mercy.

Imagine you're a video editor. You're hired to edit porn videos...yes we're open minded and get paid a lot for it.

I'm really seeing Suguru but could absolutely work with Satoru, Toji, maybe Sukuna (my man thoo)

I mean, I could say more but ugh your smutty little brain is so good I don't *need* to say more

Kisses 😘🧎‍♀️

HELL YEAH I love your ur brain more queen

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌Sum

You're always behind the screen editing porn… maybe you’ll be in front of it this time.

⯌ Wc

0.8k

Not proof read and sorry its kinda shorttt

⯌ Warnings

Oral m!receiving, porn, uploading nudes without permission but reader didn’t mind <3, live stream of sex, degradtion, penis in vag sex, unprotected (wrap before you tap), spit, saliva, creampies, breeding kink.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Click 

That was the average sound of you sending another edited video making sure it wasn’t blurry and shit like that. That perfect 4k video was sent to none other than Suguru Geto.

A famous porn star.

You two were close. Bestfriends. But boundaries were slim that's why you were perfectly fine doing all of this. 

He doesn’t even fuck other girls but all he does is masturbation and a shit load of toys on his big cock. Yet it’s just him, he has millions of twitter followers. So you get paid quite well.

He sent you another video, it was him whimpering like a little bitch, stroking his cock sluggish and drawn out. You can lie, sometimes it makes you horny. In your defence you’re just a woman!

It was quite a blurry video. It was annoying that he couldn’t get a new camera. You didn’t mind because you have a daily editing job just because his camera is super blurry.

You went and changed the settings making it so clear, it’s basically better than your eyesight. The thick throbbing veins and the shiny white pre-cum is such a pretty sight. Before you got too into it, you quickly sent it to him. With that you slammed your computer shut.

_

Suguru got the message and almost uploaded it before he realized… that’s not his cock. That's a pussy. A cleanly shaved wet video of a pussy. And it’s a pretty one too.

Yeah unfortunately you shut your computer too quickly to check. And you like editing your own videos. You need to practice your editing skills somewhere!

But he uploaded it anyway.

It blew up so fast. Thousands of likes, of just you fingering your pussy, with sweet moaning sounds in the background. Yeah he really liked it too. You open his twitter account to see how the video was doing.

 You saw what he posted and your heart dropped.

But in a weird way you felt good looking at all the good, postive comments. Saying how pretty you looked. But one made you soaked.

 “Bro, Suguru and this chick should do a video together. It would be mouth watering.” 

You gulped when you got a text from Suguru. It was a screen shot of that comment with an “?” under it. 

That's how you ended up driving to his house with a shaky hand on the wheel. When you pulled up front you were shocked at how fancy the mansion was. But all you could really think about was having that cock you had to look at for years over screen and hope you had it, was finally gonna be inside of you.

At least that’s what you hoped.

When you got in he already was naked and had a live stream on. He quickly undressed you and forced you on your knees. Everyone was freaking in the comments on how this is the first time he did porn with someone and how you were so hot. 

_ 

You were giving mind shattering head for hours, and more, and more people joined the live. You were getting needy. Especially with the fact you couldn’t touch yourself since your hands were tied behind your back.

He finally pulled his cock out of your warm mouth that had saliva running out of it down your chin, which he seemed to like. (and the rest of the viewers.)

He turned you around and you fell into a deep arch since your knees were only on the ground and you couldn’t catch yourself since your hands were tied. He moved the camera to have a clear view of your pussy and ass and his cock for a close up.

You sobbed when he slammed in, hard and fast. No lingering and slowness like his jerking off videos, just complete feral, animalistic thrusts, of his taking of whats his. You were his best friend but god he’s always wanted you and this is just making him act like an animal who hasn't eaten in days. 

He wrapped his arm around your body rubbing quick circles on your clit. He was getting so close. So, so close.

And people watching isn’t okay with him right now. 

He threw the camera. 

“Take it you stupid slut.” He said, his teeth clenched in a voice that made you clench around him. 

He came almost instantly. His cum drizzling down your legs as he tried to keep fucking it into you like a man with no brain. Both of your fluids mixed creating something he thought was the most beautiful thing ever. (It was)

You passed out after a mind shattering orgasm, Suguru took some pics of your cream pied pussy and posted it after the live ended quickly because of him.

He held you close, both falling asleep in his comfy bed.

Later on the both of you made your own twitter channel. (it blew up)

୨୧・・・・୨୧

If you want this re-written i understand this isn't one of my best sorryyy

[savage-daughter-of-nikitie]

D. Earl Stephens, retired managing editor of the military's daily newspaper, Stars and Stripes, issues a warning, not only to the average citizen of the U.S. but, I believe, to rank and file military personnel at home and around the world.

He's exhorting them to consider if they will follow the orders of a madman hell bent on destroying the U.S. or follow the U.S. Constitution. I suspect tens of thousands of troops will disobey orders rather than invade Canada (less so with Greenland or Panama, I suspect). Those will be the first shots of the civil war.

I'm posting the entire text of his piece here and will link to the article in comments.

@followers @highlight

---

“It would be helpful if we stopped pretending this terrible chapter in American history won’t close without bloodshed …

It would be helpful if Americans, and our feeble Democratic politicians in particular, stopped implying by their comatose actions that Democracy is some damn American right and has no end date.

America very well might be arriving at hers, because, yes, it really is that bad right now.

Rather than bringing Ping-Pong paddles and groovy, little signs to a fascist hate-fest disguised as a State of the Union speech, it would be helpful if our meek, out-of-touch Democratic politicians at least pretended they understood the perilous moment we are standing in right now.

We are in deep, deep trouble, and now would be a wonderful, necessary time to step in front of your favorite mirror and honestly ask yourself what you are willing to do to fight for our country’s survival.

We are but six-plus weeks into the repulsive, wannabe-king’s second term and the damage he and his party are causing are already at catastrophic levels.

Our air, water, earned benefits, peace, public safety, civil rights, and human rights are all under immediate threat. Worse? This is only the first course of many that will be served by the vindictive, orange madman, and his pathetic party of supplicants.

The insults, the attacks, endless provocations, and thrashing of our Constitution will continue daily. All this carefully planned evil will be aimed at exactly one thing: breaking us.

Everything he is doing is designed to pound us into submission, and he’s having a grand damn doing it.

This was entirely his aim when he and his pet mutt, JD Vance, double-teamed Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy at the behest of Boss Putin in the Oval Office on Friday. The idea was to publicly humiliate the man who has done more to defend America’s interests across the globe than any Republican in memory.

Because Zelenskyy has tasted gun powder and breathed the odious smell of death on the battlefield, he wasn't about to be pushed around by some morbidly obese, 78-year-old yacht club bully and his toady, who think swinging a sand wedge to free a golf ball from some bunker is dangerous business.

Zelenskyy punched back and wasn't having it. He told the truth, and didn't back down. The future of his country is on the line right now, and he acted like it.

And therein lies the playbook for dealing with this sadistic bastard — if only the cautious, too-clever Democratic Party and their weak leaders, Chuck Schumer and Hakeem Jeffries, bothered paying attention.

While Rome burns, they dither.

They act as if we have all the time in the world, when time is something that is not guaranteed right now. They seem to somehow have no idea how bad things are about to get, or most certainly will be when elections they seem to be pinning their hopes on roll around next year.

Everything changed on November 5th, but by the looks of it, very little has changed in the Democratic Party.

This country will never be the same, and the sooner we come to grips with that, and start acting accordingly the better.

What would you do if everything you had and everyone you loved was threatened? Would you act like Zelenskyy or Schumer?

One of the big mistakes of Joe Biden’s presidency was this notion that everything was going to be OK, and that his idea of America matched the actual circumstances of America.

If I had a dollar for every time he said this, I’d fold up shop and move to Tahiti:

“We are the United States of America – there's nothing we can't do if we do it together. We just have to remember who we are.”

It was a noble statement and magical thinking that would have worked great pre-2016, when we could still believe without being laughed at that our two parties could work together in a crisis to protect America.

When we were attacked by the terrible human being who is now somehow leading us January 6, 2021, that magical thinking needed to go out the nearest window.

Instead, our Justice Department twiddled its thumbs and allowed the America-attacker to build himself back up, so that WE would have to deal with him AGAIN.

I seethe just thinking about this, but it is where we are right now, and the sooner we all understand this the better.

The clock is ticking. The bomb is in place.

Which brings me back around to my original premise: At some point, he will do something so heinous … so anti-America … so dangerous … that the people who truly love our country will be forced into the streets to take a life-or-death stand. Sadly, this is actually the best-case scenario, because the worst case is we just go quietly into the dark, gloomy night and become an authoritarian country, where we have zero rights or say in how we are governed.

Yesterday under the cover of his blankets, the America-attacker shared this with us:

Now read the First Amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; OR THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE PEACEABLY TO ASSEMBLE, AND TO PETITION THE GOVERNMENT FOR A REDRESS OF GRIEVANCES."

He is telling us what he thinks of America and silly things like the Constitution. Kings don’t pay attention to that kind worthless drivel.

And, really, end of the day, it not him who we have most to fear. It’s the stupid, goddam Republicans who are stubbornly in all of our lives. These are the people who have illustrated there is no known pain or sacrifice to our civil liberties or pocketbooks that they won’t absorb just for the satisfaction of watching some poor kid of color going without something they didn’t think she should have.

So the choice is yours: You can continue thinking there is some magical way out of this, or you can begin to take the threat to everything you hold dear seriously, and ACT accordingly.”

— D. Earl Stephens, author of “Toxic Tales: A Caustic Collection of Donald J. Trump’s Very Important Letters” and finished up a 30-year career in journalism as the Managing Editor of Stars and Stripes.

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 09 | t. jefferson

words: 13.5k

warnings: sex

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123

THOMAS HAD WOKEN up feeling sick.

At first, he couldn't place the reason. He'd been drinking enough water and taking his multivitamins, he hadn't eaten anything bad (as far as he knew), and despite what Lafayette thought, he hadn't been drinking.

It was only when he pulled himself out of bed that the prior night’s events caught up with him, the information surfing on the fresh wave of nausea that rolled over him as he stood. When he glanced over at his mirror, the face staring back looked bedraggled and gaunt.

He powered his phone off immediately after checking the time when he was met with a screen full of texts from the last person he wanted to hear from; he dragged himself through his morning routine in a haze as his thoughts spiraled, inventing increasingly creative stories for how he’d ended up at that point. Who had given the interview? What else had she been lying about?

"I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

What finally broke him out of his stupor was a knock at the door at half past three P.M. He cupped a hand around his mouth to check his breath; he hadn’t had anything to eat but coffee, but he was grateful to have convinced himself to take a shower and brush his teeth.

When he opened the door, Thomas furrowed his brow. “Lafayette?”

“I ‘ave come with food and cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Y/N told me what happened.” His discerning gaze made Thomas hold his tongue, wavering on his intention to tell Lafayette to kick rocks. “I did not think you would want to be alone, and I assumed zat you could use a cigarette.”

When Lafayette raised his eyebrows expectantly, Thomas sighed.

“Alright, c’mon in. Can't have you stay long, though; ‘m busy getting ready for my rally tomorrow.” He stepped aside to let Lafayette by, and he started toward the kitchen as Thomas locked the door behind him.

“I am sorry to hear what happened.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“Zat she hurt you,” Lafayette said simply, and Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “She told me that her editor has ze article about your past and that she told you about it. I hear you did not take it well.”

“Oh, gimme a goddamn break,” Thomas snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to take the news that the person I’m seein’ has been planning to tell the whole world I was an alcoholic?”

“Poorly. There is no other way to take it.” He put the bag he carried on Thomas’s counter and started withdrawing styrofoam boxes. “Why do you think I am here? I am on your side. And I ordered southern American food. I did not know much about it, so I ordered one of everything.”

“One of everything?” Thomas repeated curiously, reaching for a box, and Lafayette nodded. Thomas’s eyes widened when he opened it. “That’s a lotta macaroni ‘n cheese.”

“I also have fried chicken, grilled asparagus, waffles, shrimp and grubs—”

“Shrimp ‘n grits?”

“—Collard greens, cornbread, and something called a ‘hushed puppy.’”

“You didn’t need to come here ‘n do all that, Laf.” Thomas’s demeanor had softened considerably as Lafayette had withdrawn his many containers of food, laying them out on the counter. “‘S awful sweet, but I’m doin’ fine. I’m pissed, but I’ve handled a whole lotta abuse from the press already this campaign cycle.”

“Not like this, and not from her." At Lafayette's knowing look, Thomas appeared perturbed. "You may lie to yourself all you want, but you cannot lie to me about zis. I see it. I see ze two of you together, and I cannot imagine zis being anything like what you have experienced with ze media before.”

Thomas hesitated, not meeting his eyes, but as he stared down at the boxes of greasy takeout, his gaze was unfocused.

“Yeah,” Thomas finally said, pulling open a drawer to withdraw two forks. “I didn’t expect this from her. Thought she had more integrity than that.”

“Try, just for a moment, to understand ze dilemma she faces.”

His skeptical gaze shot to Lafayette. “Thought you said you didn’t come here to defend her.”

“I did not, but I do not know zat zis is a question of her integrity,” Lafayette reasoned. “Someone is out there giving interviews with ze press about your past with alcohol addiction. If she does not write zis article, someone else will.”

“She shoulda come directly to me about it, then. I coulda got out in front of it.”

“You still can, and you still should,” he said, “but her job is to write about you. She hasn’t betrayed anything you’ve shared with her in confidence, she simply interviewed someone with much to say about your past.”

“Yeah, till the article comes out and it’s everything I told her about Martha,” Thomas said cynically.

“The article does not mention Martha. It makes no reference to any past lover or to your engagement.”

“I can’t take her at her word on that anymore,” Thomas said incredulously. “Be serious, she’s gonna do whatever she wants with what she knows.”

“I can assure you, it does not even offer an implication. I ‘ave read it, Thomas.”

“You’ve read it?” His voice was stunned, and he froze as he was opening a container of food. “How long have you known about this?”

“Not much longer than you. After she wrote it, she came to me for guidance.”

“And you didn’t tell her to shut it down?”

“I advised against her publishing it, but she is not ze editor of ze Post. I am not sure how long zat remains in her power for. So I told her to talk to you.”

“Yeah, ‘n look where that got us,” Thomas grumbled, and Lafayette sighed.

“Would you not rather know?”

“I’d rather you told me the goddamn minute you found out about it,” he snapped. “God, I’ve known you for years; where the hell’s your loyalty? A pretty girl walks into the scene and all of a sudden I take a back seat?”

"You know zat is not what zis is," Lafayette shot back. “Oui, she is my friend, but I refrained from coming to you about this because I know zat she cares about you. And you care about her, so you should understand why I wanted to give her ze chance to make things right."

"Oh, please. Don't come here telling me she cares and didn't mean to hurt me." His voice was sharp and dismissive. "She knows what this article's about. She knows what she's doing."

“She is under pressure you do not understand.”

“I think I understand just fine. She’s got priorities; she’s got a career, ‘n that comes before me. Shoulda realized how far that went, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“She does not have security in the way that you do, Thomas,” Lafayette reminded him. “She works two jobs and still has problems with paying her bills. She cannot afford to lose zis job.”

“She's got plenty of people she could stay with while she found another.”

“So you think zat you should be more important zan her income?” he challenged. Thomas didn't respond, only frowned. “She should be quitting her job to delay her source finding a journalist willing to publish zis story?”

“I don't mean it like that.” His frustrated voice had grown quieter. “She shoulda never let it get this far, though. She could've lied to her editor about the interview ‘n never written the article.”

“Her manager knew she was interviewing someone. What would she have written about after?”

“I don't know, alright?” His words came as an outburst, and they were followed by a huff. He continued, voice softer, “I don't know what she shoulda done. All I know is this wasn't the right answer. Y'know what she told me? Said she cared too much about me to know how to write about me, and that she got too close. But none of that stopped her from writing this, so I dunno what to believe anymore. Nobody who cared would try ‘n air this out.”

“The way she writes about it is not flippant.” Lafayette's gentle tone matched Thomas’. “She writes about you as someone who ‘as succeeded in the face of struggle, not as someone who chose a life of vices.”

“I don't wanna hear it anymore, Laf. You oughta leave if you're just here to defend her. We both know that, no matter what you say about it, telling voters a presidential candidate was an alcoholic is a nail in the coffin.”

“For whatever it is worth, I see you as someone who ‘as overcome great animosity against all odds,” Lafayette offered. Thomas shot him a sidelong glance as he closed the container of macaroni and cheese. “Truly. You have everything to be proud of. Regardless of how people may react to zis, do not forget all zat you have done to become who you are today.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said weakly. “I can only hope the voters are gonna see it that way.”

“If you do not win this election, you will still forever be who you are.” Lafayette's words made Thomas purse his lips as he reached for the small plastic container of gravy sitting atop the tin of mashed potatoes. “Remember that your whole life has not been leading up to this moment; it will continue on after it regardless of the outcome.”

A long silence passed as Thomas stared down at the gravy, visible through the barely-opaque white plastic. A dent was forming in the styrofoam container he'd placed it onto as he held it in his tense hand. The styrofoam tore, and he snapped back to the kitchen.

“I know,” he finally said. “But I do appreciate the reminder.”

“I trust that you will keep yourself reasonable throughout this election cycle. You are a smart man.”

“And if I don't, that's what I've got you for.” The smile he gave Lafayette was weak but wholehearted. “Now, we've got a whole lotta food here. You gonna hang around and help me eat it all?”

“I thought you said you needed to prepare for your rally tomorrow,” Lafayette said hesitantly, and Thomas shrugged.

“I think I could use the distraction. ‘N they just put Jurassic Park on Netflix.”

“I am glad to hear it. I cleared my calendar before I came over; I would hate for it to ‘ave been for nothing.”

Thomas' laugh was surprisingly earnest. “Would it be too on-the-nose to break out the bourbon for the occasion?”

“As someone who has written no articles about you lately, I cannot imagine why it would be.”

—---------

GIVEN WHAT SHE had told him, Thomas couldn't break his pace campaigning. He went through with his rally the next day and appeared at a nonprofit-sponsored event the day after as the keynote speaker. He shook hands and took selfies, kissed babies and signed foreheads. He politely declined one woman's request to sign her breasts as a stencil for her next tattoo.

He was playing his role as a media darling the way he always had, blithely and jovially, and his numbers were up in the polls. (James was telling him so, at least; he'd stopped checking for fear of seeing how far they might drop.) Part of that, however, was keeping the Washington Post far from his events. Regardless of who at the Post filed for press admittance, they weren't coming, and he was making sure of that himself. Besides, he had enough coverage.

He was waiting quite patiently for the other shoe to drop as he buttressed his image, though, checking Twitter between podcast interviews and university appearances. He'd become quite sly about sneaking glances at his phone as it poked just a degree out of his pocket, but all he ever saw were texts he had no intention of answering and DMs on Twitter that conferred Y/N's assumption that he'd blocked her number. James had caught on, however, to how preoccupied Thomas was. He would trail off in the middle of a sentence when he noticed his averted gaze, and he watched his eyes glaze over when interviewers made small talk before his appearances, and Thomas caught his skeptical gaze on many occasions. Thomas averted his eyes quickly when he did so.

Nothing damning ever crossed the headlines, and Thomas, too, began to realize he was operating on borrowed time. He wasn't sure how much time he'd borrowed, and he wasn't sure how much he'd have to give back. Neither realization was a relief. It only built his anticipation for the weeks that followed, and he grew more scattered and more concerned about what was to come until—

“Thomas.”

His head snapped up at the stern sound of James’ voice. It was a tone usually reserved for Charles Lee and his father, and Thomas had a hunch as to why he was hearing it just then.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was in his office at the space they were leasing for their campaign headquarters, a dingy old building that may have been considered glamorous in the early ‘70s, but its interior had never been renovated, so it now simply looked dated. James took a seat across from him.

“Where the hell has your head been at for the past couple weeks?”

“What do you mean?” He answered a little too quickly, and James narrowed his eyes.

“You're always on your phone. Even when you're making appearances in public, you're not entirely there, and in meetings, you definitely aren't. Something is obviously up.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What're you accusing me of?”

James looked taken aback. “Nothing. I'm asking: I can tell something happened, but what? I want to know if you're okay.”

“You wanna know if I'm okay?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said, frowning, and Thomas’ creased brow softened a degree. “We've been friends for years. I'm worried about you, not upset.”

“Right, yeah. ‘Course.” Thomas dragged a hand through his curls as he took a deep breath, not meeting James’ gaze. “Sorry. ‘M just stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“I learned somethin’ last week that's bad for us. Bad for me, really, but it's a problem for our campaign if it pans out, y’know?” His words were agitated and scattered, and when he finally looked James in the eye, he sighed. “A friend in the press told me there's somebody out there giving interviews about my history as an alcoholic. Sounds like they claim to know more than they really do, but at any point now, that information might come out.”

“I see.” James’ lips were pursed. “Would that friend happen to be Y/N L/N?”

Thomas frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitated, looking down as he collected his thoughts. Slowly, he said, “You two seem quite close in a way that concerns me. Is there anything I should know about that?”

Thomas’ stomach had curdled. “Nah, I mean… Dunno what you mean, really. She's just a professional contact.”

“And the dynamic between you two at work events? Your choice to rent out the restaurant she works at for a rally?”

“Hey, I've been goin’ to that restaurant for a whole lot longer than she's been workin’ there.”

“That's beside the point.”

“I dunno if it is.”

“Thomas. Be straight with me.” James eyed his stiff shoulders and the way he sat rigidly upright in his chair; his stance was unnatural. “You're communicating with her outside of professional channels, and you aren't taking the things you learn straight back to us. Frankly, it's unprofessional of you.”

Thomas eyed him with a knit brow, trying to keep his surprise peripheral. “I… Yeah, sorry. Shoulda communicated better.”

“And why didn't you? Something about Y/N L/N seems to cloud your judgment, and I'm not sure where that's coming from.”

He'd have to remind himself to thank Dolley for her discretion. “Dunno what to tell you. We haven't really been communicating, it's just this, ‘n I've been distracted cause I don't know what to do about the interview somebody's been givin’ about me. You don't have to worry, either; we're not friends, ‘n she's not gonna be around in the future.”

James furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a moment to collect the words, “Just haven't seen her at our events. Her assignment must've changed.”

“...Right.”

As they looked across Thomas’ desk at one another, neither had the heart to note all the media inquiries he'd declined from the Post in the preceding weeks.

—--

Y/N WASN'T HAVING the time of her life either. In the weeks that followed, every media request she submitted was painstaking, wrenched from her hands by her manager and laced with shame and anxiety. She was having increasing trouble justifying why finding a reliable source for her article was giving her so much trouble, but her countless declined media requests had been giving her an easier out.

The closest she came to him for several weeks was his open speaking events—rallies, cocktail hours, fundraisers and the like—despite her numerous texts and calls. She even managed to get James’ and Lafayette's ears on a couple different occasions, but the only person who gave her the time of day was Dolley. Even then, in contrast to James’ and Lafayette's dismissal, all she received was passive pity. She'd asked her how she'd liked the Pacific Northwest — that was where Thomas’s campaign had led them most recently.

“Oh, you know. Lots of rain.” Dolley’s words were accompanied with a sad smile. “I'm glad to be back on the east coast, I suppose.”

“Would you really consider DC to be the east coast?”

She only shrugged. “Maybe not. But all the same, it's good to be home.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Sorry campaigning hasn't been all it's cracked up to be.”

“No, no, it's been fine. Don't worry about me, dear. How… how have you been, though?”

Y/N's hopeful expression froze, and although Dolly's was unchanged, she couldn't help but feel that something had shifted. She swallowed as she regained her warm smile.

“I've been good, Doll. Working lots of hours, but nothing too terrible.”

“Good, good. I haven't seen you at too many campaign events recently, you know.”

“Right, well. Traveling that far would just be a bit of an ordeal.”

“Of course.” Dolley touched Y/N's arm as she glanced over her shoulder. “I really can't linger, but it is good to see you. I hope you've been taking care of yourself through everything.”

“Through everything?”

Again, Dolley shrugged. “All the hours you've been working. I imagine it doesn't allow much time for you to rest.”

“Right, yeah, no, for sure.” Y/N shook her head quickly, offering a light laugh. “For sure. I've been fine.”

“Right.” Her smile was tight. “I do hope I'll see you around.”

Y/N was doing her best not to read into Dolley's words, but they occasionally floated to the forefront of her mind on her commute to work and in the shower. She couldn't help but dwell on the hesitant way she asked how she'd been as she sat at her computer redrafting articles. She couldn't gauge the sincerity in her voice when she said she'd hoped to see her around.

She found Lafayette no more than a week later, and it appeared he'd already been cornered by none other than Ben Arnold. She wasn't sure when the two had been acquainted, but Lafayette was looking rather weary as Ben grew ever-closer to him with his notepad.

While she was trying to decide whether to approach the pair, Ben noticed her over Lafayette's shoulder.

“Y/N!” He flagged her down with a hand, and Lafayette turned sharply in the direction he was facing. Both she and he were tense as she approached. “You know Lafayette, don't you? I can't place it, but I'm sure I've seen you both talking together before.”

“Right. Yeah, we know each other.” Her smile was tight, but Ben didn't seem to pick up on it. “What's going on over here?”

“We're talking about Adams’ speech from the other day. I wanna root for the guy, but God, he sure fumbled that.” He shook his head in disdain. “He has me starting to think he might just be too old to be the candidate.”

“Yeah, well. No candidate is perfect.”

“You're one to talk, with the way you've been tearing into Jefferson. You're doing great work, though, don't get me wrong. And don't let me dissuade you.” When Ben nudged her playfully, she pursed her lips.

“Thanks.”

“How's your day going, though? Have you gotten any content out of this rally?” The concern in his brow was aimless, and when Y/N shrugged, he frowned. He followed her gaze as she snuck glances at Lafayette.

“It's been fine. I, um, I should get going, though. It looks like you two were in the middle of an interview, and I really don't want to take your time. I have some work to get done this afternoon.”

“Will your article finally be hitting the front pages?” Y/N inhaled sharply when Lafayette spoke, and his polite tone was in contrast with his stern, knit brow.

“Not today.” She spoke softly, and when she looked him in the eye, she was almost afraid to look away. “There have been some complications.”

“Of what sort?”

“That’s somewhat confidential, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it is.” He hesitated. She didn’t move. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everything alright?” she repeated incredulously, and he shrugged.

“I am only wondering.”

“I’m fine.” She answered the question he didn’t ask.

“Glad to hear it.” Ben nudged her with a lopsided smile, and the one she put on to match was stiff. “Looking forward to your article, then.”

She and Lafayette shared a look.

————

PER NOBODY’S WISHES, she thought dryly as she read her email, they’d be seeing her again soon. Thomas was holding a speaking event at the university she'd attended, and it was being moderated by a professor she'd had as an undergrad. Although Thomas’ campaign may have blacklisted her, her persistent participation in journalism seminars appeared to be paying off well into her career. There was, of course, a media junket in the hours that preceded the speech, and she was, of course, always welcome back at her alma mater. When she was younger, people would tell her time and time again that her GPA barely mattered if she wasn’t looking to attend graduate school, but there it was, pulling strings she figured had long since frayed.

She arrived early. She’d barely slept the night before, so she figured it wasn’t ultimately worth waiting the extra hours before leaving the house, and she showered before the sun was even up. She stopped by her old professor’s office to thank him along with an extra cold brew and her thoughts on his recent book. She lingered in the bookstore afterwards, eyeing the merchandise they’d updated since she attended. She walked by her old dorm building. She made uneasy eye contact with the security guards placed every five feet.

Vans with tinted windows went in and out of gated driveways, and she wondered which of them had reason to appear so incognito. Although she hadn’t the slightest clue, she didn’t allow her stare to linger on any of them for too long.

She checked in for her time slot four hours early.

—-------

THOMAS HAD MIXED feelings about university speaking engagements. Young people barely voted, and many of them had obviously come only to network regardless, trailing behind him with questions about his campaign staff and his cabinet. Nevertheless, the optics of caring about the next generation were helpful if not essential, so there he was in a van being driven through closed-off streets toward a university convention center.

He shook hands and learned names he had little intention of remembering for multiple hours before the event even started, and he was led by his security detail down a long hallway for the press junket that he should have anticipated.

He asked for a cup of coffee before they started, chatting idly with one of his bodyguards in the hallway outside, and then he asked for another. He arrived at the first interview thirty-eight minutes late.

He cut each interview short. They were with outlets he’d spoken to time and time again: CNN, Fox, the Associated Press, the Guardian. The questions they asked were routine.

Eight interviews took him less than an hour, ultimately, but he was informed that he’d be giving sixteen that day (it would’ve been fifteen, but the university newspaper snuck in a reservation).

After each, he took a breath, fixed his tie, and opened the next door to meet the interviewer he’d be speaking to next.

Nine was from NBC.

Ten was the Times — he shuddered when he saw Ben Arnold, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen his face before.

Eleven was the LA Times.

Twelve was NPR.

He walked out on autopilot toward the next room after shaking his interviewer’s hand and wishing her well. His eyes were glazed over as he opened the door to room thirteen.

He fixed his shirt cuffs as he walked in. “Mornin’, how’s your day—?” He stopped short when she lifted her head, eyes as wide as his. “Who the hell let you in?”

“Please, just give me five minutes.”

He looked over his shoulder to his security personnel. “Gimme the room.”

“Sir, we’re under instructions not to leave your side.”

“Instructions from who? You work for me.”

“I understand that, but our manager—”

“Wait outside. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Secretary Jefferson?”

He nodded before turning back toward Y/N. “I only need five minutes, hm?”

“Yes. Please.” He sat across from her as the security detail filed out into the hallway, and her hand was shaking atop her notebook when he met her eyes.

“What part of ‘stay away from me’ was unclear?” he spat.

“It’s my job; I couldn’t stop trying to get to your events.”

“And what did you think would happen when you did?” She was silent. “How the hell did you get in, anyway? My staff knows that you—”

“I went here. For college. I used to work for the professor interviewing you later, and he reached out to me, not the other way around.”

“Management and I are gonna be havin’ a serious talk about his role in organizing this event, then.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not his fault,” she protested. “You can’t ruin his credibility just for this, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he snapped. “It’s not fair? It’s not right? All of a sudden, you’re worried about protecting somebody’s reputation?”

“Come on, you know what I’m saying. He did nothing wrong.”

“And I did then?” He raised his eyebrows, folding his arms. She sighed, shoulders dropping. “‘S that what you’re saying? Is that all you meant? He doesn’t deserve that, but I do?”

“No, of course you don’t. Please stop making this something it isn’t.”

“What is it then? Hm? If it’s not you playing favorites? You’re allowed to drag my name in the streets, but I can’t do it to somebody you care about?”

“Thomas, I do care about you; just listen to me.”

“What is there left to say?” His tone was sharp, and he didn’t go on, just watching her expectantly. The only sound was the hum of the AV equipment switched on in the corner. She hadn’t set any of it up.

“I just want you to understand that this is my job.” She spoke softly. “I didn’t know this was what I was signing up for, but I did, and it’s too late for me to back out.”

“You didn’t do this by accident. I don’t care what your assignment was; you sat down and spent hours writing down the worst things you could find about me.”

“I had to. My editor—”

“You had to? There was no other way out?”

“Yeah, maybe unemployment,” she bit back. “I need my job, Thomas. I have to work.”

“You’re a big name in media now. Don’t act like you have no sway.” He looked her up and down. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she urged. “Someone was going to come out with this eventually. If I didn’t write it, I would’ve been scooped.”

“You always have a choice.” When he stood, he was looking down his nose at her. “Hope it was worth spending your day here just to make mine worse. I’ll be more careful about the press at my events goin’ forward.”

He started toward the door, and her hurried footsteps behind him didn’t give him pause.

“Wait, please, I—” Her fingers were soft on his forearm, and he jerked it away, turning to face her.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You hear me?” His tone was harsh, and she pulled her hand back, balling her fingers lamely in front of her. “I don’t know where you find the goddamn nerve.”

When he left, he slammed the door behind him.

——————

SHE WAS DREADING the office on Monday. The speaking event had been local, so she couldn’t skate by on travel complications for another day working remotely. She slipped into the office early so her editor wouldn’t see her come in, and when eleven AM came and went undisturbed, she found herself ticking off the minutes before she could slink away while Ashley was out on lunch.

At 11:38 AM, there was a knock at her office door.

“Coming.” Her voice was soft.

She opened the door. The usual culprit.

“Ashley,” she said, honey-sweet, “Morning. Happy Monday.”

“Good morning, Y/N.” Her smile was tight. “What do you suppose there is to be happy about today?”

“Well, the weather is beautiful, my apartment’s heating was fixed, my friends are—”

“That was rhetorical.” Ashley breezed past her into her office, and Y/N sighed. “Where the hell is my article? I know you went to the Georgetown event last weekend, and you have yet to even send me notes from it.”

“He wouldn’t speak to me.” She turned, closing the door behind her.

“And why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because all my writing treats him terribly?” Y/N asked. “This is your own fault. Being upset with me for not being able to get his ear when you told me to drag his name through the mud is insane.”

“I don’t need a new interview with him. I need you to finish the draft you sent me weeks ago. If you don’t, I’m giving it to another staff writer to finish.”

“You’re bluffing. It’s my intellectual property; you don’t own that article until it’s published,” Y/N said. “If you could assign it to someone else, you would’ve by now.”

“And if someone had sent me your interview tape, I could’ve had it in the paper immediately,” Ashley seethed. “Why are you holding out on me, L/N? You got this assignment because your supervisors before me believed in you. This doesn’t just reflect on you; it reflects on them now, too.”

“Yeah, and they weren’t breathing down my neck trying to push their own agendas on my writing.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Y/N paused, sucking her teeth. Ashley raised her eyebrows.

“I think Adams lied,” Y/N finally said.

“And why do you think that?”

“He has an agenda. No one will even corroborate his story.”

“He worked with Jefferson, and the facts line up.”

“How would you know if the story lines up?” Y/N asked incredulously. “You weren’t on Washington’s staff with them.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you don’t have a secondary source, and I don’t care if you don’t believe him,” Ashley insisted, “because you haven’t published in weeks, and this is front-page news. You never sit on a story like this.”

“Don’t you care about our integrity? This affects our reputation as a paper, too.”

“If it turns out to be false, we’ll print a retraction.”

“I don’t want my name attached to a slanderous article,” Y/N said. “We could get sued. I could get sued.”

“We have the best lawyers in the game, L/N. What you need to do is grow a pair.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t talk to me like that.” Y/N’s nose was crinkled as she eyed Ashley. “However good you think our lawyers are, you underestimate Jefferson’s.”

“I’ve been in journalism a long time. I know what we can get away with.”

“What if I don’t want to just be ‘getting away with’ things?” Y/N asked. “I came here to report the truth.”

“From what we know, this is the truth.”

“But we don’t know that.” Y/N’s firm gaze met Ashley’s narrowed eyes. “I’m not finishing the article.”

“You work for me.”

“If you press this, I’ll walk away,” Y/N warned. “You need me here this late in the game.”

“You need me a whole lot more,” Ashley said. “If you don’t get me my finished article by Friday, you’re fired.”

“Then I quit.”

Ashley’s narrowed eyes softened. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ll pack my office. Effective immediately.” Y/N’s expression was unchanging. Ashley drew back, folding her arms.

“Fine. You have thirty minutes. After that, security will see you out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—————

SHE HADN’T PLANNED for that. When she went home, she was all but convinced it had been a fever dream. Was she sick? She took her temperature—98.5° F. She checked her email. It had already been disabled. Her Google Drive was gone, which meant her draft was gone, which meant her career was over.

She hadn’t given two weeks notice, and she had burned a bridge. Ashley wouldn’t be listed as a reference on her future job applications. She hadn’t published in weeks, and she had lost all her contacts on the Jefferson campaign. Who would hire her?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot despite her nine hours of sleep. She needed to go to sleep.

Laying down didn’t help. Maybe Tums would do something, but the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn’t nausea. She figured an antacid couldn’t hurt. Maybe she was stopped up. Maybe she just needed a laxative. Maybe she needed antipsychotics. Had she gone mad?

She didn’t check her phone for three hours. She could only stare at the ceiling. She had no dental insurance, so she would need to postpone her appointment. She had no health insurance, either, so she was rather lucky that flu season was over. Her car repairs would have to wait, but the Metro reached her part of town. She didn’t have to travel for work anymore, anyway.

She had opted in on a financial nightmare. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that she even remembered why.

It was with trembling fingers that she called Lafayette. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. She sent him a text. Quit my job. Not sure what to do. Call me back.

She couldn’t call Alex, and she couldn’t call Angelica, and she didn’t have Dolley’s number. None of her closest friends would understand the decision she’d made.

She went downstairs, and Mira was in the kitchen idly doing the dishes. The lunch rush had passed, and the dinner one hadn’t started.

“Hey, Mira,” she said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

“Dishes have to get done, mija, are you going to help me?” Her tone was all business, and it almost made Y/N smile. She had her own concerns.

“Yeah, I can. Lemme load the dishes.” And so as Mira scraped and rinsed each plate, Y/N put them one by one into the dishwasher. She fell into a rhythm so passively that it caught her off guard when Mira spoke.

“You wanted to talk about something with me?” she asked, and Y/N went still.

“Yeah,” she said, “I did.”

“I am listening.”

“I quit my other job.”

Mira turned the water off. Her brows were knit when she faced Y/N. “You quit?”

“I did.”

“You worked hard for that promotion. What happened? You were famous.”

“My editor wanted me to publish some things I didn’t quite believe in,” Y/N said quietly, and Mira nodded, turning back to the sink. She turned the water on and reached for another glass.

“Ya veo. About Thomas?”

Y/N paused. “What makes you say that?”

Mira only shot her a sidelong glance, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Y/N shrugged, and Mira turned back to the sink, shaking her head. “What did they want you to say about him?”

“I…” It occurred to her that Mira hadn’t answered her question. “Things I don’t want to repeat. I don’t want to spread rumors.”

“Are they true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I will not repeat what you tell me,” Mira said. “Tell me.”

“There are claims he was an alcoholic,” Y/N said, and Mira pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is that just a rumor?”

“Only one person has claimed it. They say it was years ago.”

“He does not seem to me to be an alcoholic.”

“Me neither,” Y/N said. “If it’s true, he’s clearly recovered. With how much energy he has, I’d sooner believe that he does cocaine.”

Mira laughed softly at that. “He is always moving, no?”

“You’re telling me.”

Mira turned off the water as she handed Y/N the final dish. “So when did you quit?”

“This morning.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Today?”

Y/N nodded. “I didn’t even give any notice. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were being brave,” Mira replied. “You did what you believed.”

“And now I’m paying the price.”

“What price?” Mira asked. “You left a job that you hated. You… what is it… seguiste a tu corazón.”

“Followed my heart?” Y/N repeated, and Mira nodded.

“Thomas means something to you,” —Y/N opened her mouth to protest, and Mira only raised a hand to stop her— “He is in your life, at least. He is your friend. You did what he needed.”

“I know. God, I hope so. I was just trying to do the right thing, and now I feel like I’ve blown up my life.”

“What is blown up? You have a roof over your head. You have food on your table. Also you have this job.”

“It’s not enough for me to be able to pay you rent money,” Y/N admitted. “Not with my student loan payments. I understand if I can’t stay, but when I find a new job, I can get you all the money later, and if you want interest, it’s—”

“It is not my worry,” Mira said. “We have enough money. We do not need yours. We will not remove you from your home.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pay you when I have the money. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Be proud that you have done what you believe.” Mira took Y/N’s damp hand in her own, dishwater running down in beads from her elbow. “I am proud of you. It is allowed to feel that for yourself, too.”

—————

SHE THEN CALLED Thomas. He didn’t pick up, and she wasn’t expecting him to. He hadn’t read any of her texts in weeks, so she didn’t bother sending them anymore, but they were still marked as delivered. Lafayette didn’t call her back, but he texted— I am happy for you.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Can you call?

He texted back immediately. Later. I am working.

Are we okay? It took her a long moment of staring to press “send.”

We will need to have a longer conversation, he sent. Her stomach turned. Then— But yes.

She called Thomas again.

That was her routine for the rest of the evening. She applied for a job at CNN, she called Thomas. She made herself dinner, she called Thomas. She took out the trash, she called Thomas. She applied for five more jobs, she called Thomas. She took a break to read through the texts she’d sent him, and she called Thomas.

She texted Lafayette again. Can you tell Thomas to call me?

I can try, was his reply. Should I tell him you quit?

I’d like to tell him myself, she sent.

Then it will be difficult.

By eight PM, he had 47 missed calls from her. It was more than she’d tried in the weeks since he had cut her off, but she supposed he would have chalked it up to the fight they’d had over the weekend. Every time the phone went to voicemail, she heard his disgusted voice ringing in her ears— I don’t know where you find the nerve.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure, either.

At 9:47, she had just finished another job application, and it was time to call Thomas again. She was sitting on her couch, and she put the phone on speaker beside her as she reached for her glass of wine. She closed tabs on her laptop as she listened to the first four rings, and she pulled up another application as the fifth went by.

The sixth ring never came, and the phone didn’t go to voicemail. There was faint static coming from her phone’s speaker. She froze.

Tentatively, she spoke. “Thomas?”

A beat passed. Finally, “I only picked up as a favor to Lafayette. You can tell him I did my piece.”

“Wait, no, don’t hang up,” she said frantically. “Please. Are you still there?”

“I’m done wastin’ time here. I’ve given you a whole lotta chances. Goodnight.”

“I quit my job.” Her words were rushed. Silence followed, but no dial tone.

“You what?”

“I quit my job,” she repeated. “The article’s scrapped.”

“Y’know, it’s not so easy to trust right now that you’re tellin’ me the whole truth.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, putting down her wine glass. She picked up the phone and took it off of speaker. “But that's it.”

“You’re not goin’ back?”

“Never.”

“And that article’s never gonna see the light?”

“It would be illegal for them to publish without me on staff. They don’t even have the interview tape.”

There was a long pause. “Why’d you do it?”

“Are you serious?” she asked, huffing out a disbelieving laugh.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because I couldn’t publish that article. I’m sorry I ever even wrote it. My editor has been hounding me for weeks to get it finished so that they could publish, and I delayed it and delayed it, but it came down to publishing or leaving. So I finally left.”

“‘Cause I yelled at you in a conference room at your old college?”

“Because you were right when you did,” she said. “No one who cared about you would publish that article.”

“What about all those bills you have to pay?” The question was steeped in disdain.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, and her voice was shaky when she explained, “I’m applying for jobs, but I’ll take on more hours at the diner, and I can delay some of my payments. And Mira and Orlando are my landlords, so they won’t evict me, so I won’t need to couch surf. I’ll take on a little bit of debt. I’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated a moment. “Sorry for askin’. You don’t owe me all that information.”

“Right now I owe you any explanation you want.”

He sighed. “Y/N.”

“I’m serious. I’m so sorry, Thomas. This whole ordeal is finally over. You never have to think about this again.”

“Well, if somebody’s giving interviews about it, I’m sure I’m gonna have to worry about it soon enough.”

“...Right.”

“But that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t put that on you. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies,” she said softly. “I’m glad you picked up.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “I am too.”

Nearly a minute passed and neither of them spoke. Neither seemed to have the words to offer, but he didn’t hang up, and she didn’t want to.

Finally, “Can I come over?”

He hesitated. “I’m at James’ right now.”

“Oh.” Her voice went quiet. “Right. Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, I’ll let you—”

“I’ll be home in an hour,” he cut her off, and her eyebrows shot up. “Think you can wait that long?”

She checked the time. It was past ten. “I suppose I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

—-

IT WAS MORE than an hour later when he texted her. In fact, it had been eighty-one minutes. She'd begun to abandon her hopes when he sent— Headed home. Come by whenever.

She didn't love being on the Metro at that hour. She couldn't call an Uber. She brought nothing but her phone, wallet, and keys.

It was nearing midnight when she arrived, and ten minutes passed between when she buzzed in and when she knocked on his door. Most of them were spent standing outside working up the courage to do so.

When she finally did, he opened the door immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking her up and down.

“Were you waiting by the door?”

He frowned. “It's the middle of the night, and I buzzed you in twenty minutes ago. What else would I be doing?”

She chose not to correct him on the time. “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure.”

She didn't respond at first, shifting her weight between her feet. “Can I come in?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Lemme take your jacket.”

“Thanks.” The brush of his fingers against hers when he took it sent chills down her arm. She followed him inside.

“Would it be too on the nose to offer you a drink?” he asked. “I think we could both use one right about now.”

“It'd be more than welcome,” she agreed weakly, and he nodded, walking toward the kitchen. She didn't follow him right away, and he glanced back at her.

“Well, c'mon in, act like you've been here before. You know where the glasses are.”

“Right. Sorry.” She slipped off her shoes before continuing toward his cabinets. “What are we drinking?”

“Wine?”

“What kind?”

“Zinfandel.”

“Right.” She handed him two wine glasses as he took a bottle from his shelf and pulled the cork.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded.

A moment passed in silence as he poured two glasses, and he turned his head to look at her as he put the cork back on the bottle. “Take your pick.”

“Right. Thanks.” She took the glass closest to her.

“Cheers?” he said as he picked up his glass, tilting it toward her. Her smile was tight as she clinked her glass against his. He sighed. “Relax a little. You wouldn't be here if I didn't wanna see you. You're not on trial.”

“I know,” she agreed softly, “but I did fuck up. You don't have to be this nice to me right now.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his wine. “That's what makes me such a good person.”

She rolled her eyes, and his small smile was self-satisfied. “My savior.”

“Hey, I don't wanna hear any snark from you in these circumstances,” he warned, and she shrugged.

“Then you shouldn't have invited me over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The way I remember it, you invited yourself.”

“How rude of me.”

“I oughta kick you out just for that.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she took a sip, and amusement danced in his smiling eyes. “You wanna come sit down?”

“I… yeah. I'd love to.” They both migrated to the living room, and when she took a seat on one end of the couch, he sat beside her without hesitation. “I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“You've apologized. Not much more you can say about that.” His tone was dismissive.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, sweetheart.” He took a heavy sip of his wine, and she frowned. “What I do want, though, is an explanation.”

“I… don't think I have much of an explanation to offer. No excuses I haven't already given you.”

“I don’t want an excuse. Why’d you do it?” he asked. “When did this start, who gave the interview? How long have you been sitting on it?”

“I can't tell you who.” Her response came quickly, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I know that's unsatisfying, but it's just not something I'm willing to break. Their anonymity, I mean.”

He hesitated a moment. “Y’know it's not your job anymore, right?”

“Yes, I'm aware.” Her voice had an edge. “But… this is about my reputation as a journalist. This is an integrity thing.”

“Whoever you're interviewing doesn't seem to have a whole lotta integrity.”

“That isn't my problem.”

“You know this affects me, yeah? I'm not asking this outta spite; I need to know who's claimin’ this.”

“I can't be the one to tell you.” Y/N pursed her lips. “I'm sorry for that. Honestly. But I can't.”

Thomas took a heavy breath. “You're not makin’ it real easy to forgive you, y'know.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Her ears rang in the silence that followed.

“Fine,” he finally said. “When did you write the article, then?”

She swallowed. “Shit… I… Almost three months ago? Maybe less?”

“Three months?” he repeated.

“I told you my editor was at the end of her rope with me delaying this. It wasn't for no reason.”

“So every time I've seen you for three months you've been sittin’ on this.”

“I mean… yeah.” She shrugged. He was watching her incredulously.

“That's all you've gotta say about it? Yeah?” Her nose crinkled at his pitchy impression of her voice. “Every time I've seen you you've just been pretending you weren't gonna destroy my reputation?”

She sighed. “It's not like that. I mean, it is, but c'mon. It's not like I've been putting on such a promising act as your fun hookup. All we've done for the past three months is fight.”

“What about that night at the diner?” he asked. “We did a whole lot other than fightin'.”

“Do you mean your rally?” she asked, and he nodded. “Thomas, I hadn't written it then. I didn't even have my source yet. I didn't know about any of this. I… it was the last time I woke up here that was the day I wrote it.”

“Don't sound so self-righteous about my question, then; you were still stayin’ over here when you were writing it.”

“I was not,” she defended. “I haven't even been here since I wrote it. After that morning, I barely saw you for weeks.”

“And apparently I shoulda kept it that way.”

“Do you want my side of the story or not?” Y/N asked weakly. “I know you're upset, but you asked me to explain. I'm just trying to fill in the blanks.”

His jaw ticked, and he sat back against the couch. “Yeah. ‘M sorry. Go on.”

“Well, the article was the reason I didn't try to see you in those weeks. At least not for anything more than a talk. I think some part of me knew from the jump that it was wrong.”

“Then why'd you do it?” he asked. She sighed.

“My career. My money. I really needed that job, and I worked so hard for it, and at first I thought I might be able to discard the article without it seeing the light, but my editor doubled down. It was obvious pretty early on that my job depended on it. I was hoping I would be valuable enough that they wouldn't fire me over it, but once it was drafted, there was no way to stop it and stay at the Post.”

Her voice shook, and she reached over to put her wine glass on his coffee table. She rested her forehead in her hands.

“I know I fucked up, but even now, some part of me feels like I made the wrong choice. What now? What's next for me? Who's even going to hire me after I quit the Post with no notice? What about my loans?”

She jumped at the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he looked as bewildered at her reaction as she felt.

“‘M sorry. Didn't mean to… scare you, it's not… Shit. Whatever. I'm sorry.” His fingers were stiff as he rubbed her upper back, and it drew a soft laugh from her.

“God, when did we get so awkward? It's okay, it's not your fault.” She took his hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers into his.

“‘Course. Right. But y'know… if I'd never gone for you, you wouldn't be in this type of spot. I shoulda just left you alone from the jump.”

“That would've made both of our lives a hell of a lot easier,” Y/N agreed, and his smile was reluctant. “Too late, though. If I didn't care about you being in my life, I wouldn't have just thrown away my career for you.”

“Y’know, the campaign could always use more speech writers.”

“Not helpful.”

“I know. Sorry, sugar.” He squeezed her hand. “But your career's not down the drain. You're real smart, and you're real talented. Somebody else is gonna wanna hire you.”

“Maybe, but the industry is so tight. If word travels that I left the Post with no notice, I'll seem unreliable. Nobody wants that.”

“Somebody’ll hire you. I promise, alright?” His words held great conviction, and she could only sigh.

“Thanks, Thomas.”

He offered an encouraging smile. “‘Course.” He paused for a moment— “Now, I don't wanna reopen old wounds or anything, but I gotta ask.” She creased her brow. “Was the article the only reason you were avoidin’ me? Changin’ all your shifts at the diner, boltin’ for the door when I saw you at Lafayette's… was that all this?”

“I… I don't know.”

“Right. ‘Course, ‘m sorry for askin’. I shouldn't have brought that back up; it isn't even—”

“No, no, listen to me.” Her voice held traces of frustration. “I like you, you know I do, as if me quitting my job isn't evidence enough, but I just couldn't,” —her words were defeated— “let myself get attached to you. There's no good ending to this. The good ending was sex until the election and then neatly going our separate ways. And I fucked that up a couple different times.”

“So you didn't?” he asked. She frowned.

“Are you serious? Of course I got attached. You're all swagger and confidence, and suddenly the Republican presidential frontrunner wanted me, of all people. It all felt like a dream. It felt like too much of a dream. There's no room for dreaming in my future, only planning.”

“So you just saw it as temporary.”

She nodded. “I did. I fucked up by getting to know you, though, and you fucked up by being so much kinder and more complex than I took you to be. I didn't account for there being anything under the surface.”

He smiled softly. “Sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to let it happen again.”

“You're too considerate.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, sitting with them slanted at her side. “All of that to say, no, it wasn't just the article, but you did nothing wrong.”

“This is night ‘n day from you accusin’ me of trying to control you a couple weeks ago,” he pointed out, and she huffed.

“Hey, I was trying to keep us from having to figure all this out. It would've been easier if you'd given me a good reason to lose your number.”

“I'm glad I didn't.”

“I am too,” she agreed. She picked up her glass of wine, and she took a slow sip, choosing her words. “So, are we, like, good?”

He laughed. “Mhm, we're, like, good.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his impression of her voice, but when he squeezed her knee, her stomach turned. “C'mon, lighten up.”

“I don't think this is all that funny,” she protested, and he sighed.

“All is forgiven, alright? Relax. We'll laugh about this soon enough.”

“I'm not ready to laugh at it yet.”

“You'll get there.” His hand was creeping up her thigh, rubbing circles into her skin, and she frowned before covering it with hers.

“What exactly do you think you're doing here?”

He smiled as his hand tightened around her leg, fingertips pressing into the skin, and she gasped when he pulled her toward him. “Clearin’ the air.”

“You're so corny.”

“‘N I missed you. Gimme this.” He took her glass of wine out of her hand, placing both his and hers on his coffee table.

“I was drinking that.”

“‘N now you aren't. Y'know, alcohol really isn't good for you. Take it from somebody who knows.” Her eyes were wide as he pulled her legs over his lap, his hand settling on her lower back when her thighs were draped over his.

“You're invading my space, Jefferson.”

“You gonna write an article about it?” He held her face by the chin, then only inches from his. The mocking pout he offered made her roll her eyes. “Sick of seein’ that frown.”

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and when she smiled at the gentle action, he turned her head to kiss her on the mouth. “There's that smile,” he said softly before kissing her again. “All I've been getting these days was your little furrowed brow,” —he swiped his thumb over the bridge of her nose— “always so angry with me. Always pouting.”

“It was for good reason.”

He snorted. “Uh huh. ‘Cause I've just been such a nuisance.”

“You've been the cause of all my stress for months now.”

“Then lemme relieve some of it.” His hand drew back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as he kissed across her chin and down her jaw. He hooked his other hand under her thigh. “Come here.”

She squealed when he pulled her all the way onto his lap, and she shifted to face him, tilting her head back as his lips traveled down her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to stop the little whimpers that escaped her lips as he sucked on her skin, and she squealed when he suddenly bit down hard on the skin above her collarbone.

“Thomas,” she whined as a hand flew to his hair, and she whimpered as he sucked the soft skin into his mouth, pulling her in close by the waist. The skin smarted as he pulled away, his breath heavy. “That hurt.”

“D'you mind?” He raised his eyebrows, expression flat, and she swallowed.

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Good.” His mouth returned to the skin of her chest, kissing and biting her upper breasts. He released her waist to undo the top buttons of her blouse, brow furrowed as he did so, and after a moment, he huffed and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “Pick your arms up.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, hands slipping under the fabric around her waist, riding it up to the band of her bra. She put her arms above her head, and he immediately pulled her shirt off, discarding it absently onto the floor. He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her on her back onto the couch beside him, and she yelped when her bare back hit the cool leather, arching away from it.

When he climbed on top of her, he slipped a hand under her back to undo her bra clasp, sliding it down her obliging arms. She inhaled sharply when the cool air hit her sensitive nipples, watching him in anticipation.

“Touch yourself,” he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“C'mon, play with your tits for me. Wanna see you make yourself feel good.”

“I…” Any protest in her voice died when his lips returned to her skin, kissing down her stomach, shifting down the couch. He settled between her legs, nipping the skin above her hip lightly. He met her eyes with an expectant gaze.

She tilted her head back, arching up against her hand as she reached for her breast, pinching her nipple. Her breathing was heavy; she reached for the couch cushion behind her head with her other hand, gripping it tightly.

“Fuck.” The sound escaped her lips as a whisper as she rolled her nipple between her fingers, and her hips twitched involuntarily. Thomas’ hands ran up her bare thighs under her skirt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and she did so with a deep breath, squeezing her breast in her hand. His heavy gaze made her squirm. “Good girl.”

The words made her groan as she took her other breast in her hand, circling the nipple with her fingertips as it hardened. Although she was watching Thomas, his eyes were fixed on her chest, and she pushed her tits together, rolling her hips toward him.

“Please touch me,” she breathed, and he smiled, pushing her skirt up to her waist.

“Do you deserve it?” He ran a finger lightly over the outside of her panties, and it brushed over her clothed clit, making her whine. She pinched both nipples, pulling her tits up her chest.

“Please. I'll behave. I'll be good for you.” She arched harder toward him. He watched with hungry eyes as she squeezed her breasts.

“Finally got tired of making trouble?” He didn't wait for an answer before pulling her panties down her legs, leaving them dangling off one of her ankles as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. She inhaled sharply.

“So pretty,” he commented, running a finger up her slit. He smiled at the wetness that collected on his fingertip. “And so well behaved. This all for me, sweetheart?”

She moaned when he circled her clit with his thumb, and she nodded, desperately grabbing at the couch. He landed a sharp slap to her thigh, and she yelped.

“Did I say you could move your hands?” he asked, and she frowned, bringing them back to her hard nipples. “Keep ‘em there.”

She swallowed hard when he returned to her sensitive clit, rubbing it in light strokes. Her breathing was heavy, and any movement from her hands was absentminded as her chest heaved. His fingers dipped down, teasing her entrance, and when his tongue flicked her clit, she stiffened, arching involuntarily as she rolled her hips toward him. When his lips wrapped gently around her clit, his teeth scraped it, and her legs jerked. She whined.

“Fuck, please, Thomas.”

“Be patient.” His hands moved to her hips, arms hooked under her thighs to hold her legs open, and he sucked hard on her throbbing clit. She moaned, and he didn’t stop her when one of her hands flew down to the back of his head, knotting her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, god,” she groaned, and she could feel his smile grow against her skin as his tongue traced patterns on her clit. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Mhm.” Her legs shook under the vibrations of his voice on his tongue.

Her eyes fell shut as her body tensed and twitched, and he didn’t let up, pushing her hips down into the couch as he worked her up. She whimpered when he released her thigh to slip a finger into her ignored pussy, curling it gently inside her.

“I need more.” Her voice was needy when she eventually spoke, her orgasm starting to build inside her. Everything was just shy of enough—his lips were too gentle, his fingers too slow, and all it did was frustrate her. Thomas didn’t respond. She huffed, but she could only stay quiet another moment. “Please?”

He pursed his lips as he lifted his head to look up at her. “You think you need more?”

“Yes, I do,” she whined. “I can’t cum like this.”

“What d’you need?”

“Just… more, please,” she said desperately. “Harder, or faster, or… something. Just… more.”

“Oh yeah?” He added another finger to her dripping pussy, and she gasped. His fingers pumped quickly in and out of her. “You need more?”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Oh, god.” She moaned, dropping her head back onto the couch, and his lips returned to her clit. She squealed. “That’s so good. Just like that.”

He sucked her clit hard into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and her hips jerked uncontrollably against him, chasing her orgasm. Her eyes rolled back when he curled his fingers inside her. “Fuck, Thomas, I’m close.”

“Yeah?” he murmured against her, and he lifted his head. “You gonna cum for me? You almost there?”

“Yeah,” she moaned, and his tongue returned to her clit. Her legs were shaking in his grasp, and one of her hands gripped his hair while the other sank into the couch cushions, scrambling to ground her. “I’m so close, fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She was cut off abruptly by her own loud whine as he pulled back from her entirely, and she could feel her building orgasm dissipate. “No, no, no, please, I need—”

“Who said any of this was about you, hm?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head between her legs, and her hold on his hair loosened. Her deep-seated pout didn’t stop him. “Do you think you deserve to cum right now? After everything you did?”

“You said we were all good,” she protested, and he hummed in agreement.

“‘N I feel great right now. Don’t think I see the issue.” She groaned when he sat up, running his hands up her thighs. “Should be real grateful I’m not still upset with you. I could be doin’ a whole lot worse than this right now.”

“What, you want me to thank you?” she said dryly, propping herself on her hands as she sat up. Thomas pulled her closer by the thighs as he raised his eyebrows. “...Do you?”

“I mean, some manners would go a long way. I’ve been awful generous toward you, sweetheart.”

“I’ve said please.”

“‘N I don’t owe you anything for that,” he said, looking her in the eye as his thumb circled her clit. “You don’t have any kinda control over me. You don’t own me.”

If it weren’t for the punch in his tone, she wouldn’t have realized he was throwing her own words back at her, and she exhaled heavily. “C’mon, play nice.”

“I’ve been plenty nice to you.” His hands ghosted down her legs to her calves, and she sighed. “If anybody has reason to be upset, I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He looked her over for a moment, and he swung his legs over the side of the couch to stand, making her furrow her brow. When he reached his feet, she followed suit, “Hey, wait don’t—” She squealed when he leaned down suddenly to throw her over his shoulder, holding her by her legs.

“It’s alright sugar, I know you’re sorry. Think it’s my job to make you sorry, though.”

She groaned. “Put me down, let’s just talk about this first.”

“Don’t think so.” She squeaked when he pinched the back of her bare thigh, reaching around to swat his hand away. Her eyes widened as she recognized the door to his room retreating behind them as he walked through his apartment, and she yelped when he threw her down onto his mattress. “We’ve talked plenty, haven’t we?”

He didn’t waste any time before loosening his tie, and when she scrambled backwards on the mattress, he grabbed her by the ankle to pull her toward him. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?”

“I don’t want this to be how we resolve this; we should—”

“D’you know your safeword?”

“...Red.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

Her chest heaved as she watched him undo the buttons on his shirt, but her gaze fell to the growing bulge in his crotch all the while. He seemed to pay her little mind, barely sparing her a glance as he pushed his shirt down his shoulders. His undershirt was tight, and when he joined her on the mattress, climbing atop her, her hands drifted to its lower hem, pulling it out of the waist of his pants.

“You should take this off,” she said softly, and he kissed her bare shoulder.

“Don't think I will.”

She huffed, and he reached for the waistband of her skirt. When he tried to pull it down, it caught on her hips, and he furrowed his brow. “Where the hell's the zipper on this thing?”

It was without warning when he grabbed her hips to flip her onto her stomach, and she yelped when he immediately pulled her hips back toward him to pull down the zipper of her skirt. He pushed her flat on her stomach to pull it down her legs, and when he did, she pushed her torso up to turn and look at him.

“Why am I the only one naked?” she asked, and he pushed her chest back down onto the bed with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. He slapped her ass absentmindedly.

“Relax. I'll take care of you.”

Although she huffed, her heart was racing as he ran a hand down her bare back. She twitched when his fingers dipped between her bare legs, and she parted them reflexively. The pads of his fingers were warm as they ran up her slit.

“So wet.” His tone was condescending. “So pretty.”

It was abrupt when he grabbed her by the thighs, pushing her to her knees, and he parted her legs by the calves. She braced herself on her forearms, arching her back, and he hummed agreeably. It was nervously that she glanced back at him, and she found him settling on his knees between her legs.

“You okay?” he asked softly. He kissed her bare lower back, and her tense shoulders softened. He leaned over her to kiss the back of her shoulder, and she felt his hard, clothed dick against her ass. She whined.

“Thomas, please, just fuck me.” She pushed herself back against him, shaking her hips. She dragged her ass down against his boner. “Don’t you want to?”

He hummed absently. “I’ll think about it.”

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t make me wait any longer; I need you, I need you now.”

He laughed. “Aw, sugar, that badly?”

“Please?” she said softly.

“Yeah, alright.” The clang of him undoing his belt made her heart rate jump. The smooth sound of leather against fabric, and then the muted thud of the buckle hitting the floor. When she felt his dick tap her clit, sliding against her center, her hips twitched, and when his tip gently nudged her entrance, she pushed her hips desperately back against his, and he let her.

She could only take half of him on her own, and with a hand on the small of her back, he pushed himself the rest of the way in. She groaned.

“Fuck, that’s deep,” she said. He hummed in amusement, rolling his hips against hers, and she whimpered. “God, please move. Please?”

“Mhm.” When he began to thrust into her, it was shallow at first, and his pace was slow. Impatient, she snapped her hips back against his, fucking herself on his dick, and he moaned. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Keep going.”

Although she did so vigorously, fists twisting in the sheets to brace herself to feel him deeper, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling them back at his own pace. As it quickened, she went limp in his grasp, doing her best to keep matching his movements, but her actions grew increasingly pathetic as he took control. He slapped her ass, gripping the meat of it.

It was a moment later when he grew impatient, grabbing her by the waist to push her down into the mattress. She squeaked as she lost her hold on the sheets she had been gripping for leverage, her cheek squished into the mattress beside her hands.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he grunted, leaning over her. His pace quickened, and she gasped. “You like that? You like it when I hold you down and fuck you?”

“Yeah,” she whined. “‘S good.”

“Yeah? You missed me blowing your back out? Huh?” He slapped her ass, and she squealed. “Say it.”

“Missed it. Fuck, please, I missed you,” she said. “So good. You’re so good.”

“Yeah, good girl,” he cooed, leaning over her back. He kissed her shoulder as he weaved a hand into her hair, and she whimpered when he pulled it back with a tight grip at the roots. Her head lifted off the mattress, mouth agape. “Taking it so good for me. So well behaved.”

His lips latched onto her shoulder, sucking her skin into his mouth, and she sagged against the mattress, eyes rolling back when his teeth sank lightly into it. When he pulled away, the skin was red and smarting. He kissed the resultant mark.

“Thomas, I need more,” she pleaded. “I can’t cum like this. Please, touch me.”

“Beg for it,” he said, releasing her hair, and she groaned.

“Please, please, I’ve been so good. I’ll be good for you, Thomas, anything you want,” she pleaded, and he hummed, his thrusts growing increasingly aggressive. His grip returned to her waist, pushing her down. “Need you, need you, need you.”

Her words were muffled as her face was against the sheets, and the movement of his hips against hers was becoming frantic.

“Keep going,” he panted, accelerating his thrusts, and she could feel that he was growing sloppy, beginning to lose his rhythm.

“Fuck, I’m desperate, touch me, make me come. You’re the only one I need; you’re the only one I want, but please, I need you.”

“Yeah? You need me? How bad?”

“So badly.” Her words were nearly a cry. “Please?”

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groaned, and she let out a broken whine.

“Please, let me cum, touch me,” she begged, and he leaned forward, pushing her down by her upper back. For only a moment, she could barely breathe as his hips hammered against hers.

“Oh, god, sweetheart.” His hips stilled against hers as he came, and after a moment, he released his hold on her back, leaning over her to kiss down her spine. She let out a shaky breath as he ran a gentle hand across her hip. “That was so good.”

“Mhm.” Her response was bitter and short, and he chuckled.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” He kissed her shoulder as he pulled out, and she didn’t respond, only going limp as she lay on the mattress. “Cat got your tongue?”

“‘M fine,” she said roughly. He hummed skeptically.

“Yeah?�� His hands ran up her lower back, and he grabbed her by the hips to turn her over on the bed. She met his eyes with an impatient gaze. “C’mon, what’s the problem?”

As he settled between her legs on the mattress, she tensed, and his grip on her thighs was gentle.

“Thomas.” Her voice was warning.

“Mhm?” He blinked up at her innocently as he grabbed her hips, pushing them back.

“Please don’t tease,” she breathed, and he kissed her stomach softly, moving toward her center.

“When have I ever?” he asked, and when she rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Relax. I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank god,” she murmured, and she jerked when his thumb brushed over her already-sensitive clit. She whimpered when he rolled it under the pad of his finger.

“This what you meant when you said you wanted me to touch you?” His fingers dipped down to her soaked entrance, gathering both their cum before returning to her slick clit. Her hips twitched away from his hand, and he frowned mockingly. “Aw, sweetheart, are you sure you're not too sensitive? Maybe I should stop, I don't wanna push your limits.”

“No,” she groaned. “No more teasing. I need to cum.”

“You're making demands now?” His thumb was flicking her clit back and forth as he raised an eyebrow at her, and she pouted. Her hips rolled against the pattern of his movement.

“Please. I've been good.”

“Yeah, you have.” He kissed her thigh, and when his tongue took the place of his fingers on her clit, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, fuck.” Her voice shook. He pushed one tentative finger inside her, but she was sore enough that she barely felt it. “Keep going.”

It was easy to lose herself in the feeling as he picked and sucked at her clit, curling his fingers inside her, and with how sensitive she already was, her orgasm built quickly. She could feel her pulse in her center, and her cunt tightened sporadically around his long fingers.

“So tight,” he commented, moving a finger back to her clit, and she groaned at the loss of feeling. “Such a perfect cunt. And you've been so good, so obedient.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hands twisting into his sheets as he worked her over.

“You gonna keep being good for me if I let you cum, sweetheart?” he asked, flicking the tip of her clit lightly, and her breathing was short. She nodded frantically.

“I'm close, I'm close, I'm close.” The words were a whine, and when he returned to rubbing circles into her clit, she let out a squeak.

“That feel good?”

“So good,” she whimpered.

“Cum for me, then.” His grip on her hip tightened; the pace of his finger accelerated, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, back arching and legs stiffening as she came, and she was panting as she came down from it.

He didn't stop the movement of his hand against her. As she squirmed under his touch, she had to reach down and take him by the wrist.

“No more,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I can't take any more.”

He chuckled as he moved away, kissing down her leg. “Alright. No more. You were good for me.”

She hummed softly in response, and his hands came to rest on her calves just below her knees as her eyelids drooped.

“You okay?” he asked, and she sighed.

“I'm okay.” She rolled her head to one side to look down at him. “Does this mean we're good?”

He chuckled and kissed her knee. “I'll get over it.”

“Yeah?” She reached for his hand when he came to sit beside her on the mattress, and he turned his head to look at her when she gave it a squeeze. His smile was halfhearted.

“Yeah.” He turned back to look at the ceiling. “I did miss you. It's worth having you back.”

“I feel the same,” she said softly.

“‘M gonna find some pajamas and a rag real quick; you want me to grab you something to wear?”

She sighed, pushing herself off of the bed to sit up. “Yeah. Thanks. Don't bother with a rag, though, I should pee anyway.”

“Alright. Be back in a minute.” He sat up to kiss her forehead, taking her face in his hands as he did so, but when he pulled back, he didn't move for a moment, just watching her. His thumb swept over her cheek. “Alright.”

She swallowed when he stood to go to his closet, and she followed suit, heading to the bathroom. After she used it, she eyed her mussed hair in the mirror while she washed her hands, and her gaze settled on the hickies on her neck. She sighed and turned the water off.

Thomas wasn't back yet when she went to bed, but she was cold and so burrowed into one side of the sheets regardless. He would return minutes later with clothes for them both, but she was already beginning to drift off, the fatigue of the day weighing her down.

It was at the corner of her consciousness that she heard him come in and chuckle when he saw her. The sheets were pulled up to her cheekbone. She didn't stir when he dipped down to kiss the side of her head, taking his spot in the bed beside her.

“G’night, sweetheart,” he whispered. She didn't move. Her breathing was slow. “Love you.”

The words didn't break her rest, but she heard them. She also heard him hesitate and inhale harshly, and she heard the way his voice slowed when he, again, said, “I love you.”

She would wake up and write it off as a dream.

[vivalas-vega]

until next time / part two / jake 'hangman' seresin x reader

part two!! loving this so far and really excited about toying around with incorporating graphics into my fics - as always please let me know what you think!

until next time / part two / jake 'hangman' seresin

part one

word count: 2.3k

I do not have a taglist - if you'd like to be notified of future works please follow @vegaslibrary and turn on post notifications

warnings: language, alcohol, brief mention of laying in the street but not serious

You felt like a cliche as you sat on the ground of your bedroom, back pressed against the end of your bed with a glass of red wine in hand and two letters discarded at your side. You were staving off a round of tears, but they were there in your eyes despite how you tried to blink them away. Nothing was wrong in the unique way that everything was wrong… if someone asked that would be your answer. Nothing’s wrong, but it wasn’t true, you just didn’t know how to answer the question. Which thing would you share? What was even the point of sharing? Your phone still got a minimum of three texts a day from your cheating ex-boyfriend, your half-finished novel was sitting in disarray on your desk a few feet away and littered with notes on how to fix it that you didn’t know how to implement, and a fresh assignment had just landed in your inbox from your editor that you were wholly disinterested by. 

But worst of all, you didn’t even know where the only person you wanted to talk to was. He was off in the middle of an ocean somewhere, and all you had to connect you to him was the discarded letter on the floor. Your head had been swirling the entire drive up the coast, something you’d opted for over flying thinking it might give you some time to think but really it only gave you too much time to think. Your trip home had been everything you expected, and it shouldn’t have bothered you because you’d walked in knowing what would happen but it did… and the one person who knew your family, the one person who could understand was unreachable.

Not that you’d really tell him what happened anyway, not in a letter, not when he was doing what he was doing… which was as unclear to you as his location but you knew it wasn’t a cruise ship he was on, and he wasn’t there for the hell of it. As you grabbed a pen and settled into your spot on the floor you didn’t tell him any of it. You didn’t tell him what a nightmare life seemed to be, you didn’t tell him you hated the way everything felt, and you definitely didn’t tell him too much about the second letter beside you, sent from his colleague.

(text only version of photos)

You wiped at your cheeks as you placed it into an envelope and sealed it, making sure to address it before moving on to spare yet another mail mix-up. As you stared at the blank sheet of paper you wondered where to even start… you’d never written a letter to someone you’d never met before, let alone someone your best friend merely tolerated. You’d heard plenty about Hangman over the years. Bradley thought he was arrogant and crass, too impulsive and reckless in the air. He got under his skin in a way you hadn’t ever seen in all your years of knowing him. You’d chalked most of it up to competition when he’d rant to you, but when Natasha echoed the same sentiments you figured there had to be some merit to your friends disdain but you never would have guessed the man they described would think to apologize for something as innocuous as reading your letter.

(text only version of photos)

You weren’t sure why you included as much as you did in your response, maybe it was because you didn’t know what else to do with your time now that it wasn’t being shared with your partner or maybe it was because you could feel the longing for connection in his words. Whatever the reason, you dropped it into the mailbox alongside Bradley’s and ran a hand through your hair as you stood out on the sidewalk, looking around as you wondered what the hell to do now. You could go upstairs and work on your novel, and be thoroughly frustrated when it went just how it always did… you could start planning out your new assignment for work but you thought you might have preferred walking into the street and lying down instead.

As you trudged back into your home you stood and overlooked the space, eyes lingering on photos of you and Bradley, you and Natasha… you and Carole. You loved this place, but it didn’t feel right anymore, not right now. And so, like a caged and rattled bird, you threw open your closet and grabbed your suitcase.

[captdedeyes]

Friendly reminder that Wix.com is an Israeli-based company (& some website builders to look into instead)

I know the BDS movement is not targeting Wix.com specifically (see here for the companies they're currently boycotting) but since Wix originated in Israel as early as 2006, it would be best to drop them as soon as you can.

And while you're at it, you should leave DeviantArt too, since that company is owned by Wix. I deleted my DA account about a year ago not just because of their generative AI debacle but also because of their affiliation with their parent company. And just last month, DA has since shown their SUPPORT for Israel in the middle of Israel actively genociding the Palestinian people 😬

Anyway, I used to use Wix and I stopped using it around the same time that I left DA, but I never closed my Wix account until now. What WAS nice about Wix was how easy it was to build a site with nothing but a drag-and-drop system without any need to code.

So if you're using Wix for your portfolio, your school projects, or for anything else, then where can you go?

Here are some recommendations that you can look into for website builders that you can start for FREE and are NOT tied to a big, corporate entity (below the cut) 👇👇

Carrd.co

This is what I used to build my link hub and my portfolio, so I have the most experience with this platform.

It's highly customizable with a drag-and-drop arrangement system, but it's not as open-ended as Wix. Still though, it's easy to grasp & set up without requiring any coding knowledge. The most "coding" you may ever have to deal with is markdown formatting (carrd provides an on-screen cheatsheet whenever you're editing text!) and section breaks (which is used to define headers, footers, individual pages, sections of a page, etc.) which are EXTREMELY useful.

There's limits to using this site builder for free (max of 2 websites & a max of 100 elements per site), but even then you can get a lot of mileage out of carrd.

mmm.page

This is a VERY funny & charming website builder. The drag-and-drop system is just as open-ended as Wix, but it encourages you to get messy. Hell, you can make it just as messy as the early internet days, except the way you can arrange elements & images allows for more room for creativity.

Straw.page

This is an extremely simple website builder that you can start from scratch, except it's made to be accessible from your phone. As such, the controls are limited and intentionally simple, but I can see this being a decent website builder to start with if all you have is your phone. The other options above are also accessible from your phone, but this one is by far one of the the simplest website builders available.

Hotglue.me

This is also a very simple & rudimentary website builder that allows you to make a webpage from scratch, except it's not as easy to use on a mobile phone.

At a glance, its features are not as robust or easy to pick up like the previous options, but you can still create objects with a simple double click and drag them around, add text, and insert images or embeds.

Mind you, this launched in the 2010s and has likely stayed that way ever since, which means that it may not have support for mobile phone displays, so whether or not you wanna try your hand at building something on there is completely up to you!

Sadgrl's Layout Editor

sadgrl.online is where I gathered most of these no-code site builders! I highly recommend looking through the webmaster links for more website-building info.

This simple site builder is for use on Neocities, which is a website hosting service that you can start using for free. This is the closest thing to building a site that resembles the early internet days, but the sites you can make are also responsive to mobile devices! This can be a good place to start if this kind of thing is your jam and you have little to no coding experience.

Although I will say, even if it sounds daunting at first, learning how to code in HTML and CSS is one of the most liberating experiences that anyone can have, even if you don't come from a website scripting background. It's like cooking a meal for yourself. So if you want to take that route, then I encourage to you at least try it!

Most of these website builders I reviewed were largely done at a glance, so I'm certainly missing out on how deep they can go.

Oh, and of course as always, Free Palestine 🇵🇸

[satorusugurugurl]

I Think He Knows: (Chapter Eleven)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,764

Warning: angsty, softness, fluff, language, mentions of illness

A/N: i’m sorry sorry for the delay!! I had a really terrible stomach virus and I was sleeping it off! Lol woke up with my laptop on my bed while trying to edit! Just one last part, and it's just going to be a final chapter no epilogue! Then I’m going to finish Single Dad Club and LSIAH! Ah!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Why the fuck was he doing this? Why was he letting you go? I didn’t feel right; it made his stomach sick. The way your face twisted with pain and confusion when he brought you to the airport almost destroyed him. But he knew he didn’t tell you to go. It was okay. You would never get to Europe.

It didn’t matter if he hated it. As long as you were happy, that was the only thing he cared about. And you said you wanted to stay with him in Okinawa while he finished his work. He knew how much this cottage meant to you. But he also knew how devoted you were to being there for and helping him.

So it was time for him to show you how devoted he was to you.

This will hurt; it will hurt like hell, watching you leave through security. But as long as you were happy. Nothing else mattered. That pain would go through a throbbing stabbing sensation through his heart, which would turn into a more numbing tingling sensation like when his hand would fall asleep. And this wasn’t goodbye forever. It is more like an ‘I’ll see you soon.’

The way you looked up at him with tears welling in your eyes, he released his resolve and begged you to stay. If he were to do that, though, you wouldn’t get on that plane. You would have to wait another two years before you’re given an opportunity to stay at your cottage again. So he would let you go even though he didn’t want to.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“And I love you more than you’ll ever know. But you have to go and see your muse.”

You were his everything, so he had to let you go regardless of how bad it hurt. “Suguru.” Suguru smiled sadly, watching as you tried to find the words. “I-I—" he added, bringing you closer to his face. The words weren't there, but he knew what you were trying to say.

“I know, Princess. I love you too.” He pulled you in and kissed you deeply; he heard you choke on a sob before your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

This kiss had to be the Suguru’s favorite kiss you’d ever shared. Everything he felt for you was put into the kiss. How he'd fallen in love with you, how thankful he was to have you there to help him heal, and how much he would miss you. It hurt so fucking bad to be saying goodbye. But everything was going to be okay. Suguru groaned as he felt you deepen the kiss; your grip on him tightened; you didn't want to let go, to say goodbye just yet.

However, Suguru pulled away first; if he let that kiss continue, it would end up with him begging you to stay. Contradicting everything he had told you up to this point. He pressed his forehead against yours and stared into your eyes with the softest gaze.

“You need to go. Utahime has everything for you. Text me, please. I want a tour of that little cottage the second you get inside. I want to see that smile on your face. I want you to be happy.”

“Hey, love birds, can we get a move on? We still have paperwork to sign, and I can’t do that here at the security checkpoint.” Utahime interrupted Suguru’s goodbye, which was for the best because he might have said screw the cottage, screw you leaving, and begged you to stay with him.

With a sigh, Suguru nodded as he helped put your backpack on. “Iori is right; you got stuff to do before your flight. Text me!” Watching Utahime pull you to the line, watching you look back at him, made his stomach feel like it was being twisted into a present. Suguru couldn’t believe he was standing there watching you walk away, watching you disappear down the line towards security, but he didn’t show it. He put on a soft grand or shield every time you looked back at him

He stayed in that same spot, watching you slip away with each step closer to the security checkpoint. Only when he could no longer see the top of your head did he finally peel his eyes away from you? Turning away from you was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.

The tip of his nose began to burn along with his eyes. Tears started to swell up as he took a step forward, increasing the distance between you both. The distance would continue to grow until you were thousands of miles away. The distance might be daunting to other couples, but as long as Suguru had you in his heart, no distance would be too far.

Everything would be okay, even if it felt like the end of the world. Suguru knew this was only temporary, even though he told himself it didn’t lessen the pain.

Suguru mumbled as pain settled in his heart and stomach as he made his way through the growing crowd of the airport. God, he wished he could hear you say you loved him just one more time before you left. He would do anything, literally anything, to kiss you. To hold you tight, smell your perfume, and hear your voice in person.

“Suguru!!”

The sweet sound of your voice flooded his ears, even through the buzzing sounds of the airport. Rolling around, he watched as you shoved through the line of other travelers. You stumbled, nearly falling before you managed to catch yourself before straightening up and bounding forward. You were chasing him down like you were in one of those romance movies. Seeing you running forward, barely avoiding other people, Suguru ran towards you.

There was a certain relief in watching Suguru whirl around, eyes wide, as you called his name out. God, he could’ve cried when you watched him start running back towards you, bumping into people as if reaching you is the Aunt to poison wrecking through his body. That action, the look in his eyes, and how he moved as fast as he could only assure you that you were right about him.

“What are you doing?!” he questioned, running the remaining distance between you. “Did you forget something?”

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him as hard and as deep as you could. Suguru stumbled back, going wide as he tried to process what was happening. That shot covers slowly faded as your lips feverishly against his, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him down tighter against your height. Your boyfriend growled, his hands grabbing the sides of your face as he kissed you back with as much passion

There were no other people in the airport. You were the only two people in the country, even the world. Had stopped with the second her lips remained still when you slowly pulled away. Suguru, his forehead melting into your body as you press the palms of your hands firmly against his chest.

“You're wrong,” you whispered gently, pressing another kiss against his lips.

“I’m wrong?” his eyes focusing on yours that glittered with unshed tears, “about what?”

“The cottage being my muse, sure, was the cottage initially. It inspired my book and helped me form the story. But honestly, the cottage hasn’t been my use for a very long time.”

Your boyfriend sighs softly, eyes widening as you speak. “It hasn't?” You shook your head, leaving Suguru with more questions than answers. “So the cottage isn’t your muse?”

“No.”

“Okay, then, what’s been the source of your inspiration?”

You giggle, nestling your forehead against his. “It isn’t a what Sugu.”

“Uhm—okay then—”

“It’s you.”

He blinked, breath slipping through his lips. “W-What was that?” he wanted to make sure he had you correctly.

“You’re my muse, Suguru. You are my inspiration. Not some cottage in the middle of Europe. It’s you, my best friend, the man I fell in love with.” A relieved laugh sounded from your chest. “Suguru, it’s you, baby.”

“M-Me? It's me?”

“It’s been you so long. You helped me with research and inspired me. Fuck you’re literally Ilsan!” Tears of happiness flow down your cheeks like the words leaving your mouth. “It wasn’t the cottage that helped me with my writing. My writing has improved because of you!”

Suguru felt like his heart was in his throat. That cottage had been your everything in the beginning of your plotting and brainstorming. Your whole story was rooted in that place you had never stepped foot in, but you felt love for it. For you to tell him that the cottage, the place that had been your inspiration, was now his title, his honor, made him move without thinking.

Suguru grabbed your face as he slammed his lips against yours. He was pulling you into his chest, pinning you firmly against his body. His warmth wrapped around you, making you feel at ease, like you were at home. That was a feeling you’ve loved one you never wanted to lose.

You broke the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, just for him to pull you back in for another. This time, you fisted your hands into his shirt tighter, holding yourself up as you tried to push yourself further against him to mold your body into his. Feeling that desperation in your touch only urged your boyfriend to kiss you harder and more profoundly, both of you seemingly forgetting that you weren’t in the comfort of your apartment, but we were in public.

The reality of the airport came back as you heard someone calling your name, but you refused to break the kiss, only deepening it. It wasn’t until there was a crashing sound near you that Suguru pried himself away from you. His tongue darted out to wet his red, swollen bottom lip as he glanced to the side. Following his lead, you turn to find Utahime. Picking up the suitcase that had fallen over while she adjusted the three bags she was struggling to carry.

“Oh fuck.” You cursed, rushing to help her with the bags. “Sorry Iori!”

Your agent gave you a look normally reserved for Gojo, which let you know she was furious. “A warning would have been nice, but no, you left me standing in line by myself with your bags. The last time I checked, I was your agent, not your maid.”

“Right, of course, I know that! I’m sorry, I just had to do something.” That special something chuckled from behind you, his hand gently massaging your shoulders.

“Uh-huh, well, now that you’re done doing,” she gestures to your boyfriend, “‘something’ we need to get going.”

Looking over your shoulder, you gave Suguru a gentle nod before looking back at Utahime. “Yeah, you’re right; we need to go.”

It was early afternoon as Suguru stood in the aquarium, looking at his progress with the mural. Paint coated his arms and face, and he glanced down at his phone to see if you had texted him at all. There had been no notifications or missed calls so far, and that just seemed to make him worry. He was just about to text himself when the plastic to the area he was working in rustled.

“I'm back!” Gojo announces, holding out a drink for his best friend. “And I brought you a drink because I alone am the best.”

“Yeah, you are.” Suguru snatched the bottle of green tea from his friend, chugging it down. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He pushed his sunglasses onto his head before landing at Suguru's progress. “It looks great so far.” The mural was getting close to being finished. All of the base colors and shading were done. The only thing Suguru had to finish was the small details and highlights.

“Yep, I think I just need another month to finish it. I’m gonna get this done way before the deadline.”

“Oh, for sure. Are ya’ going to take some pictures for your girlfriend?”

At the mention of you, Suguru huffed a sigh before nodding. He had been working just as hard as he had lately, finishing up the first draft of your book, and the stress from that alone was draining you. Noticing the silence, Satoru smacked his hand against Suguru’s back several times before helping him grab his stuff as he took some pictures.

“Hey, she’ll be okay, man.”

“I know.”

The warm summer breeze pushed Gojo and Geto forward, hurrying them back to the condo. Suguru constantly checked his phone for any calls. He knew you had been working hard, and you were exhausted lately. You needed to take better care of yourself even when he wasn't around. That worry had him all but running up the stairs to the condo, flinging open the door to find Shoko and Nanami sitting on the couch.

“Welcome back,” Shoko said, swirling her whiskey around in her glass while Nanami was focused on his laptop. Suguru hummed, heading into the kitchen and looking around. “What, no thanks? Some host you are.”

Suguru poked his head out from the corner, cocking a dark brow in his friend's direction. “You all come to spend a week with me, and I'm being a bad host for not saying hi?” He watched as she twirled some dark hair around her finger before taking another sip.

“Ignore him, Sho, he's just worried about you know who!” Satoru butted in, throwing his arm around Suguru’s shoulder as he watched his best friend wash off his arms.

“Of course, I’m worried about her; she's been pushing herself too hard.”

“Tch.”

The sound of Nanami scoffing had Sughrh shooting a glare in the blonde's direction. “What’s with that reaction?” Suguru looked between the two, and when they said nothing, he groaned. “Or ignore me like you have been.” Nanami’s eyes finally broke their connection with his laptop as he shut it, his honey-brown eyes darkening.

“You haven't realized what’s wrong with her? I'm not even near her, and I know what’s happening. All because you couldn't keep it in your pan—”

A door opened, and Suguru snapped his attention to it, finding Utahime leaving the bathroom. She slipped her phone into her pocket and adjusted her baseball cap. She didn't say anything as she grabbed Shoko’s hand, helping her stand.

“Let’s go out for a bit, Nanami, come with us. There's a cafe down the street I wanna try.” Gojo perked up at the mention of a cafe, rushing towards the group. “What the fuck do you want Gojo?”

“I wanna come! I heard they have great sweets!”

Suguru could see the vein throbbing in Utahime’s forehead from the kitchen and underneath the baseball cap. “Fine, you can come, but you’re paying since you decided to invite yourself!” Gojo laughed out loud, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You act like I’m not swimming in money.”

“And you wonder why people don’t like you.”

“Everyone loves me! Isn’t that right, Suguru? Come with us and tell me how much you love me being your best friend.”

Before Suguru could answer, which would be no, Utahime slammed the door to the condo open. “I didn't invite him to come with us!” Gojo winced, looking into the kitchen with a shrug of his shoulder.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t even want to go. I would rather shower and relax while catching up with my girlfriend.”

None of his friends said a word as they left the condo. He did, however, receive very nasty looks from Utahime and Nanami. Looks that sent a chill down his spine as he headed into the bedroom. Suguru had no clue why they were acting the way they were. They were treating him as if he had hurt you in any way, shape, or form, which he hadn’t. He had taken you to the airport and set up your flight to Europe. He wanted you to see your muse.

But you didn't want to go.

That day, he took you to the airport, and you had decided you wanted to stay with him. You had Utahime retract your offer, and luckily, since you hadn’t signed any of the forms, the cottage owners understood what had gone on. From their website, they had given you noticed that a young couple from Spain had rented out the cottage instead. You weren’t even upset about it; you were just hopeful they would be as happy as you were.

And you were happiest when you were by Suguru’s side.

Things have been great for you in the last month and a half. You were thriving as a couple, working on your projects at your own pace and helping each other out when you needed it, either with your research or when you needed help getting more paint. Life has been nothing but good to both until recently.

You have been feeling down and under the weather for the last week. Suguru thought it was due to the late nights and the anxiety you had due to you trying to finish the draft of your second novel. Suguru didn’t think anything of it at first. He assumed that it was just the stress and everything getting to you, but when you started throwing up two days ago, he began to worry.

He tapped his knuckles on the bathroom door. “Princess?” He asked with a frown. “Are you okay?”

From before the door, he heard you gasp before several boxes hit the floor. “Uhm! Yeah! Yeah, just a second!” Your tone wasn't all that convincing, so he knocked again.

“Look, I can hold your hair back if you're sick again. I don't mind.” When he heard you moan in embarrassment from the other side of the door, he slowly pushed it open, peeking his head inside. “That's like one of my duties as a boyfriend.”

Suguru had half expected you to sit on the ground, hugging the toilet like he had left you this morning. Instead, you had showered, and we were sitting on the edge of the tub, down on your bottom lip, picking your nails as you glanced up at him. The dark circles under your eyes were more prominent in the room's lighting. They made him want to do nothing more than throw your new laptop out the window and tell you to take a break.

“Sweetie,” he whispered, the tone of his voice enough to make your eyes water. “Oh baby, what’s the matter? What happened?”

You hiccuped, covering your face with your hands. “I-I’m sorry.” The tone of your voice was so broken, making your boyfriend rush forward, kneeling in front of his hand, gently rubbing at your knee.

“Baby, why are you sorry? You don’t have to apologize for working so hard.” When he gently rubbed circles on your knee, tears finally breached your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. “I know how important getting this done is. I think you need to take more breaks.”

God, why did he have to be so sweet and considerate? This would make what you had to tell him harder than it already was. Your hand it up, resting against the top of his own, your stomach twisted as you shook your head.

“I—It’s not that—”

Suguru's thick paint-stained fingers intertwined with yours. “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

Unfortunately, there was no easy way to tell him what was happening. So, without saying much, you picked up a box next to you and handed it to him. Suguru glanced at your face briefly before opening the box, letting its contents fall onto the closed toilet.

Several sticks, with pink lids, blue lids, and small strips, fell out. All of them had either a plus sign, two lines, or a smiley face in the center of them. He had seen them before; of course, he had it in movies and television shows, but the reality didn't seem to hit him indeed until he picked up one of the tests that said pregnant on a digital screen.

His dark eyes stared blankly at the tests, causing your anxiety to swarm like bees. He looked at each test and read the results before gulping. This was terrible, horrible; it couldn't be any worse. You felt as though you had failed him. You told him you had the IUD, which was an excellent contraceptive! But like all other birth controls, it wasn't one hundred percent accurate.

Your OBGYN had told you there was a one out of a one hundred chance of getting pregnant with an IUD, and you were that one percent. Maybe you should play the lottery.

“I’m sorry—I feel terrible; I’m sorry!” Your boyfriend said nothing. “Seriously, we have—options that we can look into; I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“B-Because I told you it was fine! And now I- I’m in this—”

Suguru cut you off by holding you tight against him. “You think I’m mad at you? Princess, I’m not mad at all.” Tears in his eyes, he shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his features. “Baby, this—” he stares at your stomach, “this is amazing.” You stare at him in shock, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears as you softly cry.

“You’re not mad?”

“Baby, no, princess, come here.” He gently pulled you into his lap, his arms snaking around you, holding you close. “I love you. I have always wanted to have children with you, and God, I want to marry you. It seems we’re just doing this a little bit out of order.” He planted kisses against your cheek as his hands gently rubbed up and down your back.

“Oh—” your voice cracks, “oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him tight against you. “We got this baby; no matter what happens, I’m gonna be by your side.” His hand slowly trailed over your lower stomach, rubbing it gently. “Both of your sides.”

It was funny to think that soft, gentle moment in the bathroom with a condo in Okinawa would be the first stepping stone to your future. A future that was full of doctor appointments, deadlines, and diapers. An amazing, bright, happy future Suguru had only dreamed about, one you never thought was possible. But you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Your boyfriend, scratch that, your husband, had stayed true to his word. He went to have a doctor's appointment, held your hand during your delivery, and worked twice as hard to provide for you and your daughter. He spoiled you both rotten. Never once did you yearn for anything because your best friend, since you were in grade school, made sure you had everything your heart desired.

Suguru couldn’t have been happier that your IUD had slipped. Sure, your pregnancy wasn’t planned, but he loved you and Kiko more than anything. And before he knew it, three years had passed. In those three years, you had finished your second novel, and we’re working on your third, and he gained popularity over his mural at the aquarium. His commission requests grew, and he was elated that he had an opportunity to provide between raising your daughter and working full-time, but time had a funny way of coming around full circle. It was late July, and Suguru looked up at the aquarium's water tanks. Different species of fish and whale sharks swam by as a tiny little hand gripped his tightly. Looking down at his dark-haired daughter, Suguru smiled as her eyes, the one feature she inherited from you, sparkled with amazement.

“Ooh! Daddy, look!” She called out, pointing to a giant whale shark. “Fishy!”

“That’s right, baby. You did so well listening to the tour.” You praised sweetly, shifting the baby carrier to your front, where your son peacefully slept.

In that moment, Suguru took a chance to take you in. You looked tired; you hadn't been sleeping well between taking care of Satoshi and working on your draft. Neither of you had been sleeping well. Suguru couldn’t even remember the last time you guys had a vacation with just the two of you.

He wanted to take you out to spoil your rotten just you. You both needed a little vacation. Plus, your parents begged you to drop the kids off with them for a weekend or two. So, it might be the perfect time to take advantage of that. He just needed to figure out where to go. While Suguru thought of different destinations to travel, he let Kiko drag him across the hall towards the wall, where his murals still stood.

“Mommy! Mommy look it’s Uwcle Toru!” Kiko shouted pointing to her uncle. “And Uwcle Nana, and my aunties!”

“Mhmm—and whose is that right there?” You whispered, stroking Satoshi's dark hair as you pointed towards you and Suguru.

“Mommy and Daddy!”

“That’s right, my sweet girl.”

Suguru crotched beside Kiko, pointing towards Riko with a sad, melancholy smile. “And who’s that baby?”

“Riko!” Your daughter proudly announced. “I’m named after her, Nanako and Mimiko!”

Suguru kissed his little sunshine’s temple as he glanced back up at the mural, which depicted both of you holding hands while you had a copy of your book in your other hand. He stared at the painting before lingering on the book in your hand, before his eyes slowly peered back at you. Looking at the painting, he suddenly knew exactly where he would take you.

You were smiling at your daughter before you felt his gaze lingering on you. “What?” You asked softly as Satoshi yawned.

“Oh, nothing, just admiring my pretty wife.” He lifted Kiko into his arms as the four of you headed out of the aquarium, returning to the hotel you were staying at. “And I was thinking we need to take a trip just the two of us.”

“Oh really? And just where do you plan on taking me?”

He glanced back to the wall, grinning wide. “It’s a surprise.”

Forever Tag List:

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INHK Tag List (TO BE ADDED AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

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[minniesmutt]

⚠︎ ━━━ LUNCH

⚠︎ ━━━ SS + WC: 5 + 0.8K

⚠︎ ━━━ CONTENT: PREGNANCY, FOOD MENTIONS, KIND OF TOXIC EX

     Y/n nervously sat in her car outside the restaurant— nothing super fancy as she had asked thankfully. He had already told her he was inside, she was just trying to calm down, finally gathering herself, grabbing her bag, and walking inside. Telling the host she was meeting someone before they led her to the table. 

     Jeongin had set his phone down on the table as she joined him. “Hey.”

     “Hi,” Y/n offered a smile as she sat down across from him.

     “How are you doing?” He asked 

     “Okay? Kind of nervous honestly.” Y/n grabbed the cup of water in front of her and took a sip. 

     “Let's order then we can talk about it. How does that sound?”

     Y/n agreed and picked up her menu. Scanning over the items for a few minutes before the waiter came over. Both putting in their orders and giving their menu’s to the waiter before they walked off. Sitting in an awkward silence for another minute.

     “I’m not getting rid of the baby.” Y/n finally stated after a moment.

     “I wasn’t going to make you,” Jeongin confirmed, “I know it was a one night stand and we barely know each other but I do want to at the very least co-parent this kid.”

     “I can work with that,” Y/n nodded

     Jeongin nodded, silence taking over the table again, “What do you do for work?” He asked

     “I’m an editor for a online news outlet.”

     “You work with Seungmin, right?”

     “Yeah. We were in a lot of the same classes in college but weren’t friends until after graduation and we ended up at the same company.”

     “Same department?”

     “No. He works more in reporting and journalism. I’ve edited a couple of the stories they’ve let him published.”

     “He hasn’t published a lot?”

     “No, (Astird)’s case was actually the first one they let him take on his own.”

     “They didn’t think he was going to be bias on it?”

     “I don’t think he told his boss she was his roommate. But even when I was editing it, you could barely tell he knew her. He’s very unbiased in reporting which is a good trait to have,” Y/n explained as her phone went off on the table next to her

Jihyun ❌: why aren’t you home?                   I know its your day off

     “Everything okay?” Jeongin asked

     “Yeah, just a friend texting me,” Y/n brushed it off 

     “Do any of your friends know about you being pregnant?”

     “Just my friend Hana, the one who was with me at the club.”

Jihyun ❌: Y/n

     “Do any of your friends know?”     “I may have told all of them?”

     “How many is all?”

     “Five.”

     Y/n nodded

Jihyun ❌: when the hell did you turn your location off?                   answer me

     “Do you need to take that?” Jeongin asked, seeing the constant light up of her phone from the text.

     “No. It’s just me ex. He can deal with it?”

     “When did you guys break up?”

     “Almost a month ago. Hana ended up dragging me to a club to just get my mind off it.”

     “Ah. So I was a rebound fuck,” Jeongin joked and it definetly made her laugh a bit.

     “If you wanna look at it like that,” Y/n said, “I was more so looking to get drunk till I forgot but drunk me also is horny.”

     “Bad break up then?”

     “Yeah. It’s over now though.”

     “Good for you,” Jeongin smiled

     “So, how are we gonna work out appointments and stuff?” Y/n asked, changing the subject

     “I would like to be there for them but if you don’t want me there that’s fine. I also can already tell I might not be able to make it to all of them with work.”

     “You own you’re company, right?”

     “Yeah. There’s certain meetings I can’t get out of.”

     “I can try and schedule them as best I can to avoid that but I can always update you afterwards if it doesn’t work out.”

     “That works out for me.” 

     The waiter came back with their food and they both thanked them before eating. Other small talk continued throughout the meal, some regarding their lives, others regarding the baby. Jeongin paid at the end of the meal, walking out with her.

     “Don’t be afraid the text me if you need anything, okay?” He told her, walking her over to her car

     “I will, thank you,” Y/n said, unlocking her car.

     Jeongin opened the door for her, “I mean anything. Even if it’s a weird pregnancy craving in the middle of the night.”

     The two of them laughed as she set her bag down on the passenger seat. “I will.” Y/n assured him and took her seat.

     Jeongin closed her door and waved her off as he walked to his own car. Y/n took out her phone, wanting to text her friend the good news till she remembered the messages— with new ones.

⚠︎ ━━━━━ M. LIST ⚠︎ PREV ⚠︎ NEXT

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[sp0-t]

How do we feel about an AU where price is an author, who also happens to have a slight alcohol problem, but he ends up falling for his hot new editor who might be the cause of his new work(s).

Author!Price who would purposely misspell or leave notes for his editor so they’d end up calling or texting him about it:

“Really you misspelled ‘redundantly’? Isn’t this literally your job?”

OR

“I saw the message you left me, god, you know you really shouldn’t distract me from my work. Might end up leaving a mistake or two behind.”

OR

“I just had to step away from my laptop from how badly written *insert page/paragraph number* was, I mean seriously! ‘To think it’s written is to write’ what the hell does that even mean!?”

Author!Price’s editor who agrees to help him with his alcohol problem, taking him to meetings, regulating his alcohol intake, eventually taking all alcohol away, just helping Price through the whole process.

Author!Price who eventually fucks things up between him and his editor, goes back on alcohol but it becomes worse. Editor who is also heart broken but tries to move on by continuing to edit other authors works.

Author!Price who eventually somehow finishes his book, and publishes it…

Editor who tried to fight against the urge to buy the book, ends up with a fresh copy in their hands. Who takes weeks even a month to even open the book, it sits there on their kitchen table constantly haunting them.

…

Editor who finally opens the book, who finally flips the pages to find the dedication page… and runs to find their phone and call Price.

I might just have to write this…

edit: (P.S. I am aware that editors and authors don’t usually meet up or personally know each other. Especially now and days with technology, but for the sake of this fic let’s say that Price likes to be old school and have a one on one basis with his editors and meet face to face!!! 🙏)

written by: @sp0-t ©️

[nwarrior777]

"MainSpring Rays: The Power" Little game which play Big. Dev Team Open Call announce!

Can't believe i am saying this, but, it's actually happening! I am looking for people who would like to join to the dev team of my game!

What's even this game?

MainSpring Rays: The Power based on life of a russian immigrant [the author], wrapped in surreal metaphors on a fantasy-like word building base. Little melancholic story about everyday life horrors, with hopeful message

MSRTP is a little indie visual novel. However, it has not popular core solutions, which I, as author, wish game industry and media in general a very Right Now

The game has 3 main principles:

Accessibility Focus Disabled players are included in audience and every aspect of the game is treated with "is this accessible? yes - go, no - fix" mindset. The goal is to create the game which will be accessible by default to all known disability types - vision, hearing, motoric, with no need of extra menu options slapped on already made gameplay. To make this goal come true a lot of techniques used: not using epilepsy triggering video effects, default big fount size of game interface, Special Balance Rule, and many more (more details about it in next promo posts) I assume that there will be mistakes on that, cause i am new at coding but if to make games - only like this, so that's why one of Open Call roles is Accessibility Consultant/Tester, who needs to be of course, disabled

Representation focus Characters with various appearance features, medical conditions, all fat - all shown gorgeous and respectful even if i draw representative art for about a decade, there is Open Call role for Representation Writing Consultant because i am white and don't want to write black character badly, don't have face burn, etc it's not surprise for my audience to see these designs, but apparently the thing that characters needs to have more body types and appearance than one model for million character in one game is discovery to be made in game industry

The game is free I want to give all people chance to play no matter of their income, including income of people who can't buy even one cofee cup by month

Ok, some more important info about the game?

A little about the plot: In the game you - player (the main hero), lead small group of refugees to Light, through world which falls to darkness. You go through hells of life guiding by Light Dots on Sky, keeping warmth inside and helping each other in hard times. The ending is the only one. The Good one

It's little visual novel. It's already has working rough prototype with full written story, most of graphic is ready, text written but not edited.

So this is why we here - Open Call!

People Needed:

Voice actors (details - on castingcall.club project page, link below)

Accessibility consultants and testers (if you know coding - cool, but you can be just disabled person)

Testers (coding, bugs)

Representation Consultants

Grammar editor (my eng is my second, help)

may add more in dev process

! Unfortunatelly, it's volunteer (unpaid) work. But, if you have enough free time and passion for project of such values, it can be interesting

Contacts, if you interested:

Email: krisvolyk777@gmail.com Write with the theme "The Game"

Also, i created the page on CASTINGCALL.CLUB - you can apply there, especially on voice actors roles

So excited to post this announce! Will wait for your letters

[iwriteasfotini]

The Whomping Willow Tunnel - Pt 2

If you haven't looked it over, I wrote this post about the NUMEROUS discrepancies regarding the physical traits of the tunnel which leads from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. I also wrote a post about the one-eyed witch tunnel and the Hog's Head tunnel.

Regardless of how it was described, we know that in POA, Remus, Peter, and Ron (who were all chained together at the time) traveled through the tunnel (presumably walking sideways). As did Severus, levitated vertically and unconscious.

Both these passages are from POA, Chapter 19 - The Servant of Lord Voldemort.

How these two unique occurrences managed to get into and out of a hole which Harry had to "pull himself" through on multiple occasions is beyond me. But it happened!

And they made it through the tunnel unscathed. Except for Severus whose head was scraping against the ceiling a few times when Sirius wasn't paying attention.

They all get out, I won't even bother showing you the passage as it is truly uneventful considering the hole is "a gap between roots."

But what does it all MEAN?!?

It means JKR does things to suit her agenda.

It means she or her editors were not very detail focused. (Unlike ME!)

It means that THIS text from POA Chapter 18 - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs is just straight up WRONG.

How exactly does Severus glimpse a werewolf at the end of a tunnel which may be in the floor of the Shack, on one occasion "twists" right before the opening, and may or may not permit the traveler to stand upright?

Much more importantly: How the HELL does he survive the experience without a F*$%ing DOOR at the end of the passage?

Oh, because James pulled him back! Obviously.

It means that when JKR wants to create tension between two parties she invented The Prank and didn't think it through very thoroughly.

It means when fandom uses Remus' retelling of The Prank as one of the very few scraps of evidence as to what the teenage Marauders were like, we are using a story riddled with holes and inconsistencies, not to mention impossibilities.

Not only that, but this tunnel has implications beyond The Prank. This is also from POA Chapter 18 - Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

First, Remus is the one telling this little ditty. Why is he telling it, not Sirius? He doesn't know what happened from first hand experience. He was (apparently) in his wolf form.

ONLY Peter had the capability to freeze the tree? Severus does it, James does it, Ron does it...

They were already in their animal forms (safety first), and would "slip down the tunnel." How exactly did Prongs navigate a tunnel Harry had to crawl through? Okay, let's assume the JKR is HORRIBLE with describing the size of things. The tunnel is large enough for Remus, Peter, and Ron all chained up, shuffling sideways. The tunnel *probably* could have fit Prongs, but we never really know how big Prongs is, and more importantly how big his rack of antlers is.

They would "join [Moony]." BECUASE THE TUNNEL DOESN'T HAVE A DOOR!!! What in the world was keeping the werewolf in the Shack??? Or is it assumed he could travel down the tunnel to the Whomping Willow, but then the tree impeded his progress?

Let's circle back to The Prank.

If there are no doors, and the Willow was the only thing protecting Hogwarts from a werewolf (as is implied) Severus AND James would not have survived The Prank.

It there are no doors, and the Marauders were using the Willow tunnel to access the Hogwarts grounds with a werewolf during full moon, then what was keeping Moony from getting out all those years he was solo and DESPERATE for human prey?

The Take Aways

Canon has a lot of flaws. Canon has a lot of room for interpretation. The passages above show that Remus is either straight up lying to Harry or the stories which he tells are not possible with the information the reader is given.

I cannot believe that JKR did not mention a door ONE time in regards to the Whomping Willow tunnel. Both the one-eyed witch tunnel and the Hog's Head tunnel had a closing door on both ends.

I cannot believe the Marauders take the fall for having questionable moral judgement regarding their supposed full moon wanderings when Dumbledore overlooked the importance of a closing door on both ends of that passage. Doesn't it feel a bit too unbelievable of an oversight?

Am I going to stew and lose sleep over the various inconsistencies shown when examining the three Hogsmeade tunnels? No.

But I am going to ALWAYS take canon with a grain of salt.

I am NEVER going to use a single sentence of canon to define an entire character. I'm sort of obsessed with that Shrieking Shack scene in general, so my next Meta might be to break down the dialogue in that scene because there are a lot of things said (see above) which are sweeping statements and are not supported by other canon text. It makes me take everything Remus, Sirius, and Severus say as having the potential to be inaccurate.

Do I think The Prank didn't happen? No. I think it did. And if you want to see exactly what I think it looked like you should read my fanfic series.

Do I think the Marauders left the Shrieking Shack (which in itself is extremely morally questionable)? Yes, I do. And if you want to know what I think that looked like you should read my fanfic series.

I think when there is this much room for interpretation for something which happened in the Marauders era, there is room for a lot of justifiable HC.

This concludes my first Meta series on the tunnels to Hogsmeade.

[finnlongman]

If one were to want to read the Irish myths in the original language, would it be better to learn old or middle irish? how much difference is there between them? a lot of resources/books I've found focus on Old Irish, or at least that's what the titles say. But when I've looked at the original texts for a lot of the tales, i cant actually tell if what I'm looking at is old or middle irish.

Neither, do Early Modern Irish and join me in hell, lmao.

Realistically due to manuscript survival, the majority of longer narrative texts are in Middle Irish or later, so if your interest is "reading stories", that's what you're going to end up dealing with. Very, very few people would just sit down and read a medieval Irish text the way you might read a passage of modern Irish, though this is partly because many of them are in dreadful editions that require a lot of work just to use, and in turn this is often because of illegible or damaged manuscripts. A more realistic goal would probably be trying to get to the point of being able to translate medieval texts, or to compare other translations with the original.

But most learning resources for medieval Irish are Old Irish. That ... doesn't really matter? Like, you start with Old Irish because it's the most complex grammar that's the most different to, e.g. Modern Irish. And then you just sorta relax your grammar and lose your infixed pronouns and gain independent pronouns etc and you wind up with Middle Irish without having to learn a separate thing. We had exams on trying to tell the difference when I was doing my MA and it can be Challenging, especially since there's a lot less definitively Old Irish than people originally thought, and because things are often preserved in later manuscripts with updated spellings.

Plus, many of those horrible editions that I mentioned were done by editors who decided to reconstruct the spelling according to what they thought it should be, or standardised all the verbs, or otherwise emended the text in such a way that a lot of its definitive dating features are now invisible. So if you're looking at an edited text, it can be incredibly challenging to gauge the language and thus the likely date.

Anyway, the textbooks like to show you nice proper grammatically correct Old Irish with all its infixed pronouns squarely in place and behaving themselves, and then no text you look at will ever look like that, at all. It's great fun. There just aren't textbooks and resources for learning Middle Irish specifically (probably because anyone working on Middle Irish is going at some point to need to deal with Old Irish features, and also because of the field's historical trend towards focusing only on the oldest versions of things they could find). But you will find resources for Old Irish that incorporate texts with Middle Irish features.

You can also go the other way, which is to learn Modern Irish, which is much easier due to the wider availability of resources and teachers, and then just kinda work backwards. I did not do this so I cannot advise on the best approach there. I will say that I am finding my modern Irish more useful for most of the Early Modern stuff I do than my Old Irish, but that is also because I have substantially more modern Irish than I have Old Irish at this point, and the Old Irish at least aids me in guessing how to approach particularly heinous verbs.

(It is miles easier to eyeball an untranslated 15th century text and have a vague sense of what it means than it would be to do the same with a tenth century text, especially with how rusty I am on Middle Irish at this point. So if I am posting excerpts of a text and noting that I'm just doing the translation on the fly it is going to be an early modern text 99% of the time.)

Rough dates, fyi: 600-900 Old Irish, 900-1200 Middle Irish, 1200- Early Modern Irish. Realistically you have Middle Irish texts being written in the fourteenth, fifteenth centuries and of course things also get copied into later manuscripts and preserve older language, so these are only very broad approximations. TBC 1's earliest MS is ~1106, the Book of Leinster is ~1160, so firmly towards the end of the Middle Irish period, but they still have bits of Old Irish in there, esp. R1. Stowe is 15th century in a 17th century manuscript with modernised spelling but often it's Middle Irish in grammar. It's a whole mess. Good luck lol

[Apologies that this is not the most coherent or detailed answer I've ever written. I am very tired right now]

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

i’m so sorry if this is a stupid question or one you do not want to answer since it doesn’t match with your content, but how the hell do you use colors on your posts that are not the ones tumblr gives you 😭

i don't mind random questions at all!! i'm always happy to get questions (even if they're not fic-related)

okay so the way i do it through html which is a bit fiddly but it gets the job done so 😅

i'll put a lil step-by-step thing below the cut if anyone is interested:

you need to be on the web version (it doesn't work in-app)

click the settings icon at the top of your post (^ that lil guy)

at the text editor section, click "rich text" and change it to "html"

to change the colour of the text for a custom colour, the coding is (change the zeros to the hex code of your colour of choice) and to end the coloured text, put at the end of the line/text

there are also websites that might help you do gradient text if you want to! i used to do that but i forgot how 🫠 you can definitely find it pretty easily online tho

i hope that helps!! and again i'm always happy to get questions so :D

[autisticlalna]

Messages From R.C.

ive made a post recently talking about communication with R.C., but i didnt really explain who R.C. is. this is because i forgot i hadnt been talking on here about them. OOPS

so, to recap: there are strange messages in Rubyco's Skyblock Kingdoms pov. they're very brief, written in Galactic, and they're signed with "R.C." - an entity we know nothing about, but that seems to have an interest in keeping track of what Ruby is up to.

so, let's go over what these messages are!

note: all of these images are edited for visibility. in-video, the messages are faint white text on a black background.

Episode 1:

Timeline Status STABLE R.C.

(in the intro during the black screen after "For reasons yet unknown, lightning struck her down.")

...well, that's not worrying at all.

Episode 2:

Devoted Thats Interesting R.C.

(during the tree-cutting timelapse when Ruby is getting materials for OSSHA HQ)

nothing in Episode 3, so skipping ahead a bit--

Episode 4:

Timeline Status UNSTABLE

(black screen at the end, when Vintage is telling Ruby she'll trust them)

there's also Galactic in the video description:

Where did the clock come from?

Episode 5:

We are always WATCHING R.C.

(near the start of the "Hey there! Editor Ruby here" bit)

Episode 6 doesn't have a R.C. message, but there is morse code translating to "HELP ME" when Ruby is spooked by the thunderstorm. there's also not anything in Episode 7, despite whatever the hell is going on with Viking.

Episode 8:

oh god, oh fuck.

MISSING

This was the only one we could save

(after the clocktower timelapse)

SOMETHING IS LOST

(after the flower farms are completed)

CONNECTION LOST

there's also some Galactic in the description again:

We are unsure of their location.

and, finally, a post:

...so not only have R.C. been keeping watch of Ruby this entire time, but they've now lost connection entirely.

and then we loop back around to the link at the art of this post, where R.C. makes a surprise appearance in the SBK Discord and scares the hell out of everybody.

um. post to be updated as more appearances happen! im afraid.