#Best Books for Buy NET

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.

I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.

This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.

Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.

The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.

I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”

“Why don’t you steal them?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.

“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.

After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.

Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.

“Is it about the frogs?”

“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”

I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”

She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”

“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”

The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.

I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.

I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 6 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The meeting with Mr. Vert hadn’t provided any safety net. Instead, it had only piled on more work.

He wasn't kidding. The next day—you had a photoshoot.

Bucky was doing his job by being there and watching everything. Everyone in the studio had lowered their guard or was taking things easy, simply because they believed he was your ‘boyfriend.’

He watched you from across the room as the team worked on your makeup, preparing you for the shoot. There was a shift in you, something subtle but noticeable. The intense, almost lifeless person he had seen this morning had slipped into a different mode—work mode. The transformation was unsettling.

After the shoot, an interview followed.

It started with condolences, the interviewer offering their empathy, but that wasn’t why they were here. They wanted the real story. They wanted to dig into your grief, make you relive it, rewind it over and over again, all for the sake of a headline.

Bucky, watching from behind the camera, folded his arms as he turned to Selena, who stood nearby with a look of quiet satisfaction—proud, like a soccer mom watching her star player.

"Do you think this is good for her?" he asked, his voice low.

Selena barely glanced at him. “She can’t grieve forever, or she’ll drown in it,” she said, arms crossed. Then she met his gaze, her tone sharp. “I know what’s best for her.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Give her space to breathe.”

“What she needs right now is to channel her emotions into something productive. Even in grief, she can create a masterpiece.” Selena’s eyes flicked back to you, as if she were assessing an investment rather than a person. “She’s an A+ singer. Her world tour tickets always sell out. You wouldn’t understand.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked toward you as the interview wrapped up.

Bucky scoffed. He knew Selena didn’t like him. But it was more than that—she didn’t want to share you. Possessive manager? Was that a normal thing in the entertainment industry? He had no idea.

What he did know was that you never said no.

Not once.

Even when you were ushered into a meeting with the creative team, where all the concept designers and executives had gathered to discuss your image, Selena had been the one leading the entire discussion.

The main topic? Rebranding you.

Two hours of back-and-forth between the team, arguing over aesthetics, colors, themes—but not once did you object. Not once did you voice an opinion.

Bucky watched, feeling something twist in his gut. Even from an outsider’s perspective, some of the ideas were ridiculous. But you just sat there, nodding when expected, agreeing without question.

From his eyes, you were like a walking zombie.

This wasn’t the person he had met in Mrs. Walls’ house.

That person had fire. Stubbornness. A presence that demanded attention.

Now?

Now, you were a living doll.

And he couldn’t help but wonder—who were you?

After the meeting, you and Bucky made your way down to the lobby, where the car was already waiting.

Without a word, he walked ahead, pulling the door open for you. You slid inside, feeling drained. He shut the door before rounding the car and slipping into the driver’s seat.

Just as he reached for the ignition, a tap on the window made you turn your head.

Selena stood outside, motioning for you to lower it. You pressed the button, and the window hummed down.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “After this, you have no schedule. I’ll handle the rest for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Go get some rest, so tomorrow—”

Before she could finish, the car lurched forward, cutting her off mid-sentence.

You gasped, instinctively gripping the seat. Then, realizing the sudden movement, you scrambled to fasten your seatbelt.

“Bucky!” you snapped, shooting him a glare.

His expression was unreadable as he kept his eyes on the road. “Do you actually agree with those changes?”

You hesitated before answering, voice quieter than before. “It’s what’s best.”

“Really?” His tone was laced with skepticism.

You exhaled a slow breath, leaning back against the seat. “I lost my identity the moment I signed the contract. They molded me into someone new.”

Bucky glanced at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “What, did you make a pact with the devil? Sacrifice your blood or your firstborn for fame?”

A short laugh escaped your lips. “No. Are you into conspiracy theories or something?”

He scoffed. “That’s exactly what a devil worshipper would say.”

You laughed again, but this time it was brief—just a flicker before fading into silence. Your fingers curled against your lap as you turned your gaze toward the window.

Bucky noticed the shift in your expression. The way your shoulders tensed. The way your laughter had disappeared too quickly, as if you were forcing yourself to act fine.

It was like you were forcing yourself to live.

“Do you want to let off some steam?” he asked suddenly.

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “Wait… do you actually care about me?”

His lips quirked slightly. “I’m already getting paid.”

Before you could respond, he switched lanes, taking an unexpected turn.

“Where are we going?” you asked, watching the unfamiliar route unfold ahead.

Bucky only smirked. “You’ll see.”

🪓🪓🪓🪓

You glanced around, taking in your surroundings. This was your first time in a place like this. The dim lighting, the scent of wood and metal, and the sharp sound of axes striking targets filled the air.

Your eyes landed on a group of people, each taking turns hurling axes at circular targets painted on thick slabs of wood. Some were laughing, others intensely focused.

Then you noticed something odd—one of the targets had a portrait pinned to it. A woman stood in front of it, gripping her axe with both hands before launching it forward. The blade embedded itself right between the eyes of whoever was in the picture.

You swallowed.

“Here you go.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Bucky suddenly placed an axe on the table behind you with a loud thud. Turning around, you found him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, looking smug.

“What kind of place is this?” you whispered, leaning in slightly.

He smirked. “An axe-throwing range.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You shot him a look. “But why did you bring me here?”

His grin widened. “Just throw it, and you’ll understand.”

Before you could argue, he grabbed the axe from the table and placed it in your hands. Then he guided you toward the marked spot on the floor.

You tightened your grip on the wooden handle, feeling its weight. It wasn’t too heavy, but it definitely wasn’t light either. You squared your shoulders, adjusting your stance, but hesitation crept in.

You glanced at Bucky. He gave you a small nod as if you needed confirmation from him.

Taking a deep breath, you raised the axe over your head and threw it forward with all your strength.

Thunk!

The axe struck the target, embedding itself into the wood.

A strange sensation bubbled in your chest—something raw, something rising. It wasn’t just excitement. It was release.

You turned to Bucky, wide-eyed, and as if he had been expecting this, he silently motioned to the table beside him.

Five more axes were lined up, waiting for you.

A slow smile spread across your lips. Without hesitation, you grabbed another axe, lifted it, and threw.

Thunk!

Another.

Thunk!

Each throw felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders. Every time the blade hit its mark, a rush of energy surged through you. The frustration, the exhaustion, the numbness—it all poured out with each release.

You didn’t stop after one round. You went for a second. A third. Each time, the feeling inside you intensified.

By the time you finally stepped back, your breathing was slightly uneven, but for the first time in a long while, you felt… lighter.

Bucky watched you, tilting his head slightly. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes!” You laughed, your stomach growling as if on cue. This was the first time in a while that you actually wanted to eat—no, more than that, you wanted to eat everything.

Bucky chuckled. “Alright. Let’s get some food.”

And just like that, you followed him out, feeling something you hadn’t in a long time.

Alive.

🪓🪓🪓🪓

The two of you sat on a park bench, the cool evening air carrying the distant hum of the city. A streetlamp cast a warm glow over the wooden table where your burgers and drinks rested.

You took a big bite, savoring the smoky flavor of the grilled patty. Across from you, Bucky leaned back slightly, his fingers wrapped around his burger as he took an unhurried bite.

As you chewed, you glanced at him. “Why did you bring me to that place?”

Bucky took a sip of his cola before answering. “Because I could tell you were about to explode—like a volcano right before it erupts. You’re this close to breaking down.” He held up two fingers, barely any space between them.

You swallowed, then muttered in your head, Some of my stress is from you.

“My depression is that obvious, huh?” you said instead.

Bucky shrugged. “I also see strength in you. Even at your lowest, there’s still something left in you that keeps going.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

He nodded, gaze turning distant. “You remind me of someone I once met in prison. A hostage. He’d been locked up years before I got there. Smaller than me, weaker too, and tortured for so long… but he stayed alive because he believed—really believed—he’d be rescued one day.”

Your grip tightened around your burger. “You… you were tortured?”

Bucky smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Oops. Said too much.” He exhaled through his nose. “But yeah. Long story short—I survived. And Mrs. Walls helped me crawl out of the nightmares.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. “Wait—your story is way more complicated than mine.”

Bucky laughed, the sound light, almost careless. Like everything that had happened to him didn’t weigh him down anymore. Like it was nothing.

But you knew better.

Without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. His body tensed for a split second before relaxing under your touch.

“You went through hell,” you said softly. “I’m glad you’re free. I’m glad you’re alive.”

Bucky stilled. His eyes flickered to your hand before meeting your gaze.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, his lips parted, and he gave a small nod.

“…Thanks.”

His voice was quieter than before. Almost like it wasn’t used to saying that word.

🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓

The Next Morning

You were in the middle of adjusting your jacket when the door to your apartment suddenly burst open.

“Are you serious right now?!”

Selena stormed in, heels clicking against the floor as she slapped a newspaper down onto the counter.

You and Bucky both turned toward her, mid-preparation to leave.

On the front page was a photo of the two of you—sitting close at the park, laughing, and looking way too comfortable with each other.

Selena crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure he’s just a mere bodyguard to you?”

Bucky, unfazed, picked up the newspaper, tilting his head at the image. “Huh. Not my best angle.”

You groaned. Great. Just what you needed.

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

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Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[luvwestwood]

"Working Overtime" - Toji Fushiguro

4,469 words.

warnings. nsfw (18+), toji is your boss, escort reader, thigh riding, p in v, spitting, toji rails you on a balcony, exhibitionism?, toji fucks you on a pile of money, mention of size difference, hair pulling, eye contact, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praising, light aftercare

notes. corporate girlie by day, escorting by night. out of all people, who knew your own boss had to be tonights client? (ok but wealthy toji is such a refreshing experience from broke homeless smelly ass toji.)

art used is by @/yunonoai

Being able to say you work under Mr. Fushiguro meant that you were gifted of some kind. Just having the privilege to do so puts you on top of others in society.

Toji Fushiguro himself possessed a different category of wealth. Any high-rise building you walk into in the whole of New York, you could be 99.9% sure that he owns it.

Five star hotels, bars of any kind, and award-winning Michelin restaurants. Oh, you name it. This was his world and we were just living in it.

On the other hand, the Fushiguro company's pay was decent. Working conditions were way above standard. It was a luxury to work in his office, but knowing you, it just wasn't enough.

You needed more than that. Which is why you took up escorting, suggested by your best-friend one night while the two of you were intoxicated by liquor. She told you that you had the looks, the bod, and a personality anyone would die for. And lastly, you were captivating - you could have anything your way.

At first you took it as a joke. Thinking she was just being a lick ass. But surprisingly you had tried it out not long after the idea was proposed, and you ended up making almost double your annual net salary in just four months. This night job was a secret that only you and your best-friend knows about.

Of course, you worked on the weekends. Choosing to work Monday to Thursday would’ve been self sabotage.

You had more than enough money to buy whatever you want, send your mom on holiday, and you were always on top of rent. Your corporate job was just something to get through the day with rather than rotting at home.

During shifts, you and the other escorts would hang around in the night club changing rooms. Most of the girls were also strippers in the same club, but that wasn’t really your thing. So you just stayed with escorting. Your manager would just assign each of you clients, unless someone has personally booked you in.

Speaking of which, a voice came from the door frame. “Star, you have a client tonight. 9PM.” Star wasn’t your real name, it was just a fake one that you used while you escorted. It was safer, and most of the other girls did the same.

You look at Geto, your boss, in the reflection of the vanity mirror. Busy polishing up your eyeliner, you try your best not to poke yourself in the eye. “Name? And did he obey my no-home rule?”

As an escort, you did have some rules for your own service. You figured you’ve been doing this for quite a reasonable amount of time, so you made a personal rule where you’d refuse to go to a clients house. For safety reasons.

“Goes by the name.. uh… Eznin? And he did indeed. Seems like he booked in for the Ritz Carlton on 25 West. Think he’s a first time client too.” He reads the details off his tablet.

Of course, it just had to be one of Fushiguros hotels. You literally couldn’t escape that man.

The other girls in the room purred, “Aren’t you lucky.. Seems like he has money, don’t ya think?” Meimei takes a puff of her cigarette, looking at you in the mirror aswell for a response. “Maybe check for an expensive watch? I’d take it if I were you.”

“Not funny, Meimei.” She was known for stealing from her clients, you never knew how she got away with it. It even got so bad to the point that she sp¡ked a client, taking his wallet afterwards.

Getting up from the chair, you made your way behind the dressing divider, shimmying your robe off to slide on a dark blue lingerie set. Over it, you wore a simple black dress. I mean, you could never go wrong with a little black dress.

Throwing on some matching strappy heels, you stuffed your purse with some condoms and lube. And a plan B, of course.

“Your rides sorted,” Geto stood back from the door frame. “I’ll text you any further details.”

“Copy,” after spritzing on some perfume, you made your way out of the club.

An all-black SUV was waiting for you outside the entrance. Your favourite driver, Todo was standing beside the car door, smiling as you approached him.

“Hi, Todo.” You smiled as he held the door open.

“You look wonderful miss.” Todo smiles back before closing the door, walking around to the drivers side.

The car drives on, and as you were securing a secret mic in your purse, (for safety reasons but the client never knows) Todo speaks.

“Ah- Miss, not sure if I should disclose this information but your client tonight is.. very wealthy.” His leather covered hands clutch onto the wheel. “I’d be more demanding if I were you, make the most of it.”

Breaking out into a laugh, you stop fiddling with your bag, to look at him in the rear view mirror. “..Is that so?”

“Yeah… thought I might let you know.” He grins, bringing the car to a stop. Todo quickly scurries out of the vehicle before you could, opening the door for you.

“Thanks for the ride, Todo.” You slipped a $20 bill in his hand. “I’ll text you when I’m finished.”

He nods, getting back into the car as you made your way inside of the hotel.

Checking your phone for updates, Geto sent you a text with all the details around five minutes ago.

Eznin Caln 30 years old, Net worth- $307,473,297 Floor number 43, he’ll let you in.

You walked over to the elevators, luckily one was already open. Taking a look at the buttons panel, you looked for a 43. Noticing it was the last highest button, you raised an eyebrow before pressing it.

Clutching onto the straps of your purse, the doors closed. You could only look at yourself in the metal reflection, taking a few deep breaths. Of course, you made sure to send a text back to Geto to let him know you were at the hotel.

Although you were decently experienced in this job, you’d still get nervous each time you were about to meet your clients.

Setting down the fly aways in your hair, the elevator came to a halt.

*Ding!*

The metal doors opened before your eyes. Hesitant, you walked inside, the bottom of your heels tapping against the wooden floors.

“..Hello?” You peeked inside the other rooms in the penthouse, one being a mini office that seemed like someone was just there, the other being a bedroom with big windows and a balcony, overlooking the city.

A deep voice spoke behind you. “Can I help you?”

You gasp, clutching onto your chest as you turned around. “I’m so sorr- Mr. Fushiguro?!”

Your eyes widened, and his mouth wide open. He was only in a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair wet from a fresh shower. You couldn’t help but ogle the drops of water that decorated his muscular body.

“…Are you.. the escort?”

Unable to form words, you swallowed your spit before speaking. “I.. I am.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at the ground.

“Alright, make yourself comfortable.” He eyed you up and down, a mini towel in his hand to dry his hair. “Sorry you have to see me like this, excuse me while I put some clothes on.”

Is he not going to question anything?..

Your breath hitched, God, did he know I was eyeing him? “Okay..”

He turned around to go back to the bathroom, but looked over his shoulder as he was doing so. “Just call me Toji, we’re outside of work.”

You watched as Toji continued to walk away, “Well.. I’m basically working, aren’t I.” you muttered under your breath, making sure he doesn’t hear.

Looking around, you remembered that he owned this hotel. I should’ve known when I was going to the 43rd floor, he doesn’t let anyone in here.

You walked over to his bedroom, it was bigger than your own apartment. The sheets were neatly made, and a bottle of Malbec sat on a table near the window.

Placing your purse on small sofa, you removed your jacket, neatly folding it over the arm rest aswell.

You made your way to his closet, in search for a white robe. There was a robe on the hanger beside his freshly dry cleaned suits. You took it out, tracing your fingers over “The Ritz-Carlton” that was embroidered onto the front in cursive.

Sliding your dress off, you covered yourself in the robe, only the dark blue lingerie set underneath. Afterwards you tied a knot around your waist with the belt. Kicking off your heels, you placed them inside the closet, along with your dress that was neatly folded.

Although you were an escort, you made sure to clean up after yourself. You hated leaving a mess around, so you respected your clients by making sure to leave the place clean.

You could hear Toji walk into the bedroom. Closing the doors of the closet, you turned to him, and he was already busy getting the wine bottle open with a corkscrew.

Taking a seat on the armchair in front of him, causing you to be at crotch level with Toji. You watched as his arms flex each time he handled the bottle.

You noticed Toji was in a more relaxed outfit. He wore a dark grey cotton longsleeve that sculpted over his muscles like paint, with bottoms in a matching colour and fabric.

“Toji,” you called out his name.

The pouring of the wine stopped, his fingers gently pushing the glass towards you. “Hmm?”

Taking the glass by the stem, you twisted it between your fingers. “Do you regularly hire escorts?”

Toji walked over to the edge of the bed, sitting down. He sighed, looking at the city view in front of him. “No,” taking a sip, he continued. “This is my first time, actually.”

You did the same, but taking a tinier sip. You didn’t want to be tipsy while carrying out your service. It was too dangerous. “..Oh.”

Looking back at Toji, he was busy staring at the red liquid swirling around in the glass. “I dont even really know how they work.”

As you were about to take another sip, you paused. Your eyes looked at him over the rim of the glass, before placing it back down on the table.

“You can just do whatever you want with me, really.” You crossed your legs, exposing the bare skin on your thigh to him.

"I see," he nods, slightly leaning back onto the bed, using his hands for support.

"So, you made up your mind yet?" you got up from the arm chair, making your way to Toji who was on the bed. "What you wanna do?" You stood yourself between his legs, as he tried his best to hold himself back from pulling on the knot that was holding your entire robe together.

Toji's hands rested on your hips on top the robe, dangerously close to your ass. He made sure to bring you closer to him, almost pressing your chest to his face at this point. "I don't know," His free hand tugged on the knot of the belt, slowly unraveling it until the robe slid off your body. "Maybe you, if that's an option."

He could feel his cock strain against his pants as he took in the sight of you in nothing but lingerie, it felt like he was opening a present on his birthday. Blue was his favorite color.

You choked on your words at his response, he sure did have a way with his words. "I don't usually allow that, but maybe I'll let it slide tonight."

Toji caressed your wet lip with his thumb, gradually sliding it inside of your mouth as you sucked on it gently. He stops and moves you to the side by the waist, getting up from the bed.

Confused, you stay standing in front of the bed, watching Toji as he grabs something from the drawer. He eventually makes his way back onto the bed, but this time, leaning his head back against the head-board.

Toji takes out his wallet, pulling a $20 bill out and placing it on the nightstand beside him. "..Crawl over to me."

Your lashes flutter as you watched him place the bill on the night stand, you could only obey what he asked you to do. 'I'm just doing my job.. this doesn't mean anything. He will forget about this.' You constantly chanted this in your thoughts, completely disregarding the fact that he was your boss.

You crawled onto the bed, and slowly to him. Toji's eyes watched you closely making sure to tell you, "Stop," as you were just about to crawl onto his lap.

He takes out another $20 bill from his wallet, this time, two. Toji gently raised his knee, just enough for it to rub against your warm cunt that was covered by the lace panties. "Ride my leg, until I tell you to stop."

Aroused, which you are not meant to be, you couldn't help but sink yourself down onto his leg. Part of you wanted this, but you did at good job at not showing it.

You slowly started to move your hips back and forth on his lower thigh, placing both of your hands down in front of you for support. Toji's hardened cock begging to come out as he watched you closely.

If you were to lift up his top, you’d be able to see his leaking top peeking out of his waistband. The straps of your bra slowly fell down off your shoulders. Toji could almost groan at this lewd sight in front of him.

"Good girl," He did his best to hold himself back from holding onto your hips, "Keep going."

A spot on the fabric of his pants turned into a darker grey than before, your slick making its way through your panties. Nothing can be done.

Breathy moans started to crawl out of your throat, Toji noticing as you started to grind on his leg harder and slightly faster. "Stop."

You whimpered quietly as Toji retracted his leg from underneath you, observing the newly made wet spot on his pants. "Look at this mess you made all over me.."

Speechless, and breathless, you fell back onto your heels in front of Toji, he took another bill out, but this time $50.

"..I want that bra off." He slaps the bill onto the growing pile on the nightstand, followed by another 50. But he doesn't take his eyes off you. "And the panties. They're kinda annoying me now."

Doing exactly as he said, Toji's hand rested on his crotch, aching to palm himself through his pants. You slowly, but teasingly unclasped your bra, Toji clearing his throat by the time your tits were finally on display to him.

Followed by your soaked underwear, which at this point was no use. They managed to fly across the bedroom, hanging off a small statue that was on top of a console table.

He just wanted to wrap his mouth around each of them, or even motorboat your titties.

Toji propped himself up in a less relaxed position. "Lie down on your back, legs spread."

Your last sight was him before you fell back on to the bed, your head nearly hanging off the edge. Toji noticed your nipples hardened as soon as your skin made contact with the cold satin sheets. You felt the weight of the bed shift around, as Toji grabbed both of your legs by the thighs, positioning his head between them.

Squirming about, Toji peppered kisses on your inner thighs, his large hand wrapped around one of them. Wasting no time, he went straight to sucking and softly biting on your folds, using his tongue to lap at your bud until it was swollen. Moaning into your pussy, he softly massaged the flesh of your thigh, the vibrations from his grunts adding more to your stimulation.

Busy sucking away, wet noises from his tongue and the slick of your dripping pussy echoing throughout the bedroom. His hand reached behind him, then slowly went back over his shoulder. It was a $100 bill, tucked between his index and middle finger.

You were too busy hanging your head off the edge of the bed in pleasure, grabbing the sheets beside you and wrinkling them as Toji devoured you like he hasn't eaten for weeks.

The paper bill fell onto your stomach, tickling you slightly. You could feel Toji spit onto your pussy, the saliva trickling down almost into your hole before he slurped it back up, sticking his fingers in there instead. You felt them slide into you with ease, Toji swirling his warm tongue around on your clit.

"O-oh God.. To..ji." You managed to choke out a moan, your manicured hands clawing at his hair and eventually messing it up.

Letting go of your thigh, he used his now free hand to fondle with your breasts eagerly, twisting your nipples between his fingertips before giving them a slap.

One last lick on your clit, Toji removed his head between your legs, this time his whole body kneeling between them. You sneakily push up against him, his bulge through his pants grazing against your bare cunt.

Using your strength to lift your head from the edge of the bed, you watched as he took off his shirt, letting it fall onto the floor. Its neckline was soaked from eating you out earlier, but we don't talk about that.

Panting, his hands frantically rummage through his wallet. You noticed it was still bulky, as if the previous cash he pulled out didn't make any difference to the amount he had now.

Toji pulled out $1000 all in 20 bills, your eyes widening, wondering if he was serious.

"Please.. let me fuck you." Toji also sat back on his heels, $1000 in his hands as you were underneath him, fully naked. He just wanted to indulge himself in you, and if he could, he'd make this night last forever.

You slowly nodded, honestly begging to having his cock inside of you too. Before you knew it, your vision was filled with the $1000 raining down onto your body, and by your sides on the bed. He quickly pulled his bottoms down to his knees, before realising they were too annoying. He proceeds to fully kick them off.

Toji glances around the room for a condom, before you stopped him. "..Is it okay if we don't use one? ..I want to feel every inch of you."

You read his mind. "Anything you want, gorgeous."

His large hands shuffled through the pile of cash that was over your body, making sure that he could still see your tits and your beautiful face.

One hand grabbed onto your waist, and the other was used to align the tip of his cock with your hole. As soon as he slightly pushed the tip in, both of his hands were on your waist now.

Toji carefully slid in, making sure you take every inch of him. He closes his eyes in pleasure as he feels your plush walls clench around him, Tojis grip on your waist intensifying.

And, god was he big. In both cock, and Toji in general, he could destroy you if he decided to use full stength tonight.

"Y-you're too.. big," Toji not even halfway, you cry out, only wrinkling the sheets more to the point they weren't tucked into the frame hotel-style anymore.

You could feel both of his thumbs caress the soft skin of your sides as he cooed, "I know baby, I know," Toji let out a grunt as he tried to move in and out of you.

The difference of size between you and Toji made you throb, at this point he could just use his hands to fuck you on his cock back and forth like a doll in his grasp.

Toji starts to pant as he picked up the pace of his ruts, your tits bouncing, only adding to the pornographic sight in front of him.

Covering your face with your hands, you moan into them, the feeling of being full with Tojis cock was driving you mad. You could feel one hand let go of your waist, bringing it to your wrist to pull it away from covering your face.

The rustling of the cash beneath you and the sound of skin slapping echoed out into the living room from the bedroom. "Look at me when I fuck you," Toji says sternly, causing you to whimper in agitation as you did your best to keep your eyes on his.

"To..Toji.." You moan out, choking on your words as your hand grabbed onto his that was wrapped around on your waist.

"Come on doll, say my name." Turning feral, Toji pounds into you like a fleshlight. Voice shaking as you try to moan out his name, and by tomorrow you wouldn't be surprised if you lost your voice.

He comes to a halt, completely. Toji slides his cock out of you, a creamy white ring formed at the base. You whine before he hushes you. "Y'know what," He picks you up, cradling you in his arms.

You switch positions, instead you lock your legs around his waist, as the two of you made your way to the balcony door of the bedroom. Is he..

*click!*

Toji slid the glass door open, the two of you stepping out into the balcony. It wasn't cold, and you could see the still busy city carrying on with life underneath the hotel.

Suddenly, Toji peeled your legs off his waist, making you face the railing, and the city in front of you. You gasp as he roughly positioned your body, placing one leg up onto the rail, your two hands clutching onto the cold metal.

He slides into you again, but this time not allowing you to adjust. Toji immediately goes in with brutal force, your ass ripping against his pelvis as he drilled into you. On the balcony. For anyone to watch.

Toji spits again, his saliva falling onto your asshole and soon enough drips onto his cock that was continuously pounding in and out of you.

Your moans broke out into a giggle due to the ticklish feeling, Toji couldn’t help but smile at your reaction.

Both hands on your waist, Toji groans in pleasure and praises you non-stop for taking him like a good girl. His hand wrapped around your lower stomach as he felt you give in, your legs unable to support yourself. "You're doing so good for me," he whispers in to your ear, only to leave a trail of wet kisses down your back afterwards,

You moan continuously, for sure, everyone below could hear. Your hand made its way to Toji's nape, bringing him closer to you as he repeatedly fucked into your sweet spot.

"I’d do anything to be able to see a view like this one for the rest of my life," his left hand made its way down to your clit, lazily rubbing circles.

This just did it for you, lowly moaning, you let go of Tojis neck. Leaning forward, you rest your chin on the metal rail ontop of your same hands that were grabbing onto it. But a certain someone didn't let you do that.

Toji immediately grabbed you by your hair, pulling you back against his chest, taking your leg off the rail. You felt him interlock his hands around your inner elbow, suddenly fucking into you upwards as you grab onto his bicep for support.

"G-o-d Toji, please just f-u-ck your c-um into me." The enunciation of your words came out in bits, as Toji drilled up into you at a brutal pace.

He grinned against your necks skin, leaning further to plant kisses on your jaw."You want me to fill you with my cum, huh?"

You frantically nod, but that wasn't enough of an answer for a man like Toji.

"Oh baby, use your words." He purred into your ear, holding his orgasm to make sure you get it when you deserve it.

"I need it- I need it so ba-ad." You whimpered out, squeezing onto his bicep. "Please, Toji."

He whined, balls tightening as he heard you beg for him. You already drove him crazy, and that only drove him crazier. With one deep thrust, his movements come to a halt, allowing his warm, thick seed to fill you up completely.

Toji placed more kisses onto your back and your neck, making sure to never lose grip of you in case you go all jelly. Followed by him, slowly pulling his cock out of you, his load dripping out of your hole and onto the balcony flooring.

He stuck two of his fingers back into you, slowly fucking the load inside of you to make sure it stays inside. With his cum covered fingers, he slid the two of them past your lips and into your mouth. You sucked on them, humming as it covered your taste buds, and eventually swallowing.

Toji slapped your ass, and you yelped, giving him a glare. He chuckled before picking you back up bridal style, carrying you back inside the penthouse.

He gently and carefully placed you on the bed, quickly cleaning a bit of the mess you two made around the room.

"How about I go run us a nice bath, hmm?"

Fiddling with your thumbs, you watched as Toji neatly fold the pile of money together alongside the one on the night stand. Of course, it’s still yours. "That sounds good," You smiled as he walked over to give you a peck on the forehead.

The dripping of water from the bath tap rang throughout the room, Toji leaning back against you as the two of you were in the tub. You squeezed a sponge over his abs, the hot water dripping down his skin as he closed his eyes.

"..Toji," you called out his name, and he hums back in response.

You gently rubbed the sponge up and down his arm, "Would you say this counts as me working overtime for you?"

He smiles, opening his eyes to look up at you. "I'll add another $500 bonus and a shopping spree if you ride me in this tub."

You scoff, letting go of the sponge as you sulk against the marble of the tub. "I'm literally stuffed with your cum. I think you had enough, thank you very much."

Toji only laughs, "Aren't you forgetting you got an asshole and that throat of yours? We can easily squeeze in three more rounds."

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[bimrwolf]

Lines We've Crossed (Part 1)

sirius black x reader words: 9,550 warnings: angst??? kissy kissy ... yearning summary: Navigating friendship with Sirius Black has always been tricky—his teasing smirks, his easy charm, the way he always seems to be there when you need him. But lately, things feel... different. Unspoken feelings and jealous glances start to creep in, fueled by a tense confrontation and a heartache you don’t want to name. Between rainy Hogsmeade weekends, stolen kisses that weren’t meant for you, and sharp words you can’t take back, the bond you’ve shared begins to fray. As the shadow of war grows darker at Hogwarts, so do the emotions tangled between you and Sirius, forcing you to face the one thing you’ve been avoiding: the truth about how you really feel—and whether Sirius might feel the same. a/n: yeah so i said i'd never write HP fanfics.... here we are lol Part 1 | Part 2 (coming soon)

Thunder rolled and rain pelted against the stone of the Hogwarts castle. You sat in the Gryffindor common room, pouting as you stared out the window. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, but no one necessarily wanted to trudge through the cold, wet rain. A book you had neglected lay nestled in your lap, while your now-cold hot chocolate sat untouched beside you.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That Rowan Fairfax canceling on you last minute wasn’t worth the way your stomach twisted every time you replayed the conversation in your head. He had been the one to suggest going to Hogsmeade together, even offered to buy you a butterbeer. But when you asked this morning if he wanted to walk there with you, he’d mumbled something about the rain and avoided your gaze entirely.

It wasn’t just disappointment. It was the way he didn’t even say, Maybe another time. It left you with the sinking feeling that he wasn’t interested anymore. Maybe he never had been.

The thought burned more than you wanted to admit.

You rested your chin in your hand, trying to focus on the rain instead of the sharp ache in your chest. Normally, you’d brush something like this off. But today, it lingered, twisting your thoughts into knots. Was it you? Had you done something wrong?

Your spiraling was interrupted by the sound of the portrait hole opening, followed by familiar chuckles. Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter sauntered in, their voices carrying through the room.

“There she is!” Sirius called, his voice breaking through your melancholy. You turned, startled, as he strode toward you with that same boyish grin he always wore, sliding onto the couch beside you and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

The contact made your skin prickle with warmth, but you quickly shoved the feeling aside.

“We were just talking about you,” Sirius added with a teasing smirk.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Sirius had been one of your best friends since second year. His presence was so familiar it felt like a safety net—steady, dependable, constant. But sometimes, especially moments like this, it felt like too much. Like you were hyperaware of him in ways you shouldn’t be.

James leaned against the back of the couch, grinning. “We were wondering why you weren’t with Lily at Hogsmeade.”

Your stomach sank again at the mention of Hogsmeade. You frowned, turning your gaze back to the window. “I didn’t feel like getting wet.”

Sirius tightened his arm around your shoulders in an exaggerated gesture, his tone full of mock disbelief. “You know there are these objects called umbrellas?”

You nudged him playfully, rolling your eyes. “To level with you, it’s not just the rain. I guess I’m not really in the mood.”

The boys exchanged looks, and Peter let out an exaggerated gasp.

“This is one of the last Hogsmeade weekends before the end of term!” Sirius exclaimed, leaning forward to meet your gaze. His pale grey eyes, always so soft when they looked at you, were filled with genuine confusion.

You tried to hold his gaze, but something about it made your chest ache. “I know,” you mumbled, shaking Sirius off of you. As you moved away from him, you ignored the way his expression faltered. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’m okay. Really.” 

They all shrugged. Peter sat down and took out a fresh cauldron cake he must have bought at Honeydukes. You started to analyze them and their clothes. Then their hair. “You four came back from Hogsmeade just now?” 

“Yes,” they said. 

“Then how are you all so dry? You look like you haven’t stepped outside.” Sure there were drying spells, but you would still be able to tell they had gotten wet. 

They all looked at one another again, a silent agreement amongst each other. Their eyes wide in panic, clearly hiding something from you. Sirius looked at James, shrugging, but James shook his head vigorously, that if he said anything he’d be dead. 

It was always fascinating to see them communicate without words because James, Remus, and Peter decided to go up to their dorm, leaving you and Sirius alone. You didn’t know if Sirius had won the wordless argument, but he had gotten his way somehow. Sirius quickly changed the subject. “Come on. I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you. Let me buy you a butterbeer.” He had that cheeky grin that he always gave you when he tried to persuade you into doing something. You felt your eyes roll and cheeks heat up at his smirk. You were happy the other boys had left.

“Heard that one before.” You let out a sigh. 

“Huh?” 

You shook your head, kind of grateful he didn’t know. It saved you from embarrassment. “Doesn’t matter.” You bit your lip, looking over at him. “I told you I don’t feel like walking so far in the rain.” 

He smiled again, standing up, holding out his arm for you to take. “Do you trust me?” 

You raised a brow, scoffing. “Yes but–” 

“Then believe me when I tell you the way we’re going, you will not get a single drop of rain on you.” His smile was ear to ear. 

Since first year, Sirius was a mischievous boy. And it never helped that James Potter encouraged the behavior. So it really didn’t surprise you when he showed you the secret passage to Hogsmeade. Sirius made you swear never to tell anyone about it. Ever. 

The pair of you snuck out of Honeydukes, holding in laughter as Sirius had snagged a candy bar from the cellar you ended up in. 

The two of you ran to the Three Broomsticks under an umbrella. Sirius instructed you to find a seat while he retrieved the beverages, which you happily agreed to. You always loved the warmth of The Three Broomsticks. Secretly, you were happy Sirius offered to come with you because the more you thought about it, you’d regret not going. 

You found a table, making your way, smiling wide as you imagined the warm butterscotch. You admired the cozy spot you picked out. You felt better already even when you heard a shrill giggle a few tables over. You looked over, still smiling. You had looked away but looked back, doing a double take. Your face fell. 

It was Rowan Fairfax, sitting across from some blonde haired girl you’ve never seen before. Your eyes narrowed and you faced forward, fists clenched. Sirius noticed right away when he appeared with his hands carrying two pints of butterbeer. “Everything okay?” He set your cup in front of you, slightly startled when you grasped it aggressively, taking a large swig, wiping off the foam from your lip. He watched you in bewilderment as your chair scraped against the wooden floor. You stormed up to Rowan, arms crossed. 

“Not going to Hogsmeade, I see.” Your voice was cool and laced with tiny daggers. 

Rowan’s eyes were wide at the sight of you. He laughed nervously. “Oh… uh… it lightened up so I decided to come. See, I was trying to look for you because I thought maybe you still came but I–” 

You smiled sweetly at him, putting your hand up to stop him from talking. “Oh no! I understand, don’t worry.” 

“You do?” He asked, shoulders relaxing.  

Your smile turned icy as you looked the blonde up and down. “Absolutely! It’s not everyday you find a living thing out of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.” You felt bad, the girl looked nice, but you were fuming with rage. 

Rowan snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Funny. Seems like you’re managing just fine.” He glanced at Sirius behind you, who looked confused about what was going on. “I admit the rain wasn’t the reason I didn’t want to go with you. Maybe it’s because your hands are already occupied by someone else.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What the hell are you talking about, Fairfax?”

“Please,” he guffawed. “Don’t act obtuse. We both know I’m talking about Black! Everyone believes the two of you are already dating.” 

You didn’t expect him to say that. Your face softened but it didn’t stop you from feeling the sting of his words. He gave you a pointed look, smirking. “Or maybe you didn’t notice?” He leaned back looking again where Sirius sat. “You don’t really exactly stop the rumors, do you? Here with him alone and all.” 

Through clenched teeth you finally answered, “For your information. We are just friends.” The irritation in your voice was clear. “Everyone knows we’re only friends.”

“Not sure that’s true. Look at you. You didn’t even wait two minutes to drag him here. I guess you kind of enjoy it. Letting him be your bi–” 

You had had enough. You took the first thing you saw, which happened to be the blonde’s butterbeer. You dumped the rest of the contents all over Rowan. “What the–” The golden liquid ran down his face, soaking into his hair. The girl gasped, but you caught her hiding a smile behind her hand. The entire pub went silent as Rowan sputtered curses at you. 

You didn’t look at Sirius. You couldn’t. The only option you had was to storm out. 

The cool rain drops burned as it fell on your skin.You had your arms crossed against your chest, looking down at the ground. There goes not getting wet. 

It wasn’t long until you heard Sirius calling out your name, his voice was faint at first. He had always been a fast runner, quickly catching up to you. He was breathless but he had gently grabbed your elbow so you’d turn around. He had the umbrella sticking out, letting it shield you from the rain. 

He didn’t know what to say, you could tell. He gave you a small smile. “I promised you wouldn’t get wet…” He tried to joke but he frowned when your jaw ticked. “Listen, I don’t know what Rowan Fairfax said to you but… he’s always kind of been a pompous thickheaded toad.” 

He was only trying to help you feel better but in some way, he was making it worse. Your anger was bubbling again. Your eyes were locked on the ground. The storm inside you was wild as ever. 

“Sirius, I don’t need you to come to my rescue. Not now. Not ever.” You tried to keep your voice steady, and you achieved that by not looking him in the eye. 

He blinked, clearly confused. He looked unsure what to say. “I’m not trying to. I was only making sure you were okay…” 

Your frustration rolled out of you like thunder. “Why do you even care, Sirius?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “We’re not even a couple. You and me. Right?” 

He took a step back. “Of course we’re not. I never said we were. But it doesn’t stop me from caring about you.” 

“Oh sure,” you interrupted him. Your voice was sharp. “Have you ever thought about how many boyfriends I’ve had in all my years at Hogwarts?” 

“What does that have to do–”

“Just answer my question! How many?” You asked, your heart was pounding against your chest. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but quickly closed it. Your lip quivered, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Exactly. None. Not even one. Because apparently, anyone who has ever been interested in me backs off. You know why? Because of you, Sirius. Everyone assumes we’re more than just friends.” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t that ridiculous?” 

You ignored how Sirius’ face dropped slightly at the last comment. “I never meant… I didn’t know.” 

You wiped your face. You weren’t sure what was rain or tears anyway. “I just want to be left alone, Sirius. Let’s just only associate with one another when we’re in big groups, okay? No more of… everything.” 

Sirius completely backed away from you. His jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything else to you as he turned back around to head into Hogsmeade. You were certain he was going to the secret entrance, possibly to get back to the castle sooner. You let out a shaky cry once he was gone from view, feeling more alone than ever. Something ached in your chest, like lightning cracking in your lungs. The storm didn’t feel like it was over. 

***

It wasn’t long for the group to feel the tension between you and Sirius. They quickly caught on to the way neither of you looked at each other anymore, how you never spoke directly to him, and how, most of all, Sirius wasn’t all over you. The absence of his usual teasing, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, or even the occasional stolen laugh between you—it was glaring.

They didn’t question it, but it was obvious.

It was the week of the Quidditch Final, and Gryffindor was up against Slytherin. The energy in the Great Hall was palpable, students buzzing with excitement. You, on the other hand, stared listlessly at your plate, poking at your eggs as you sat with Lily far from the boys. You knew they were at their usual spot, probably going on about strategies or Quidditch plays.

Lily was smiling softly, her eyes drifting toward James as she talked about how she had never noticed how fit he was.

You smirked, half-listening, watching the way her green eyes kept sneaking glances across the hall. “Can’t believe you finally caved,” you teased lightly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone far too innocent as she blinked up at you.

“Please.” You gave her a knowing look. “You definitely fancy James Potter after all these years rejecting him.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she ducked her head, rubbing at her temple. “I do not... I mean...” She sighed, burying her face in her hands. “He’s not all that bad now. He’s less arrogant, and I don’t know... oh god, what am I going to do?”

You chuckled quietly at her melodrama. “Suppose you’re going to the game then?” you asked, trying to keep the tone light.

“If it means watching Slytherin officially lose the House Cup, then yes,” she said, her gaze flicking across the hall to where Severus Snape sat, his expression sour as always.

Normally, Lily was the first to roll her eyes at the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. But ever since last year—since Snape had called her that name—it felt like something fundamental had shifted in her. You could see it in the way she carried herself, the way her words were just a bit sharper when Slytherins were involved.

You sighed, glancing toward Sirius almost reflexively, even though you told yourself not to. He was on the other side of the hall, a boisterous ringleader as always, getting most of the Gryffindors to join in a chant encouraging James.

Lily smiled at the scene, clearly charmed by the way James tried to hide his embarrassment. Sirius, on the other hand, was utterly shameless, leaping onto the table with Peter and Remus, their arms slung around each other as they swayed to the beat of their own chant.

You couldn’t help but notice the way James’ face lit up when he caught Lily’s gaze. His grin softened into something more vulnerable, more genuine. And Lily, for all her teasing and denial, smiled back, her green eyes gleaming with a happiness you hadn’t seen in her for a while.

You realized, in that moment, that their relationship had shifted. And it would change everything.

You weren’t sure why that realization sat so heavily in your chest. Was it because you envied how easy it seemed for them now? Or was it the fear that everyone was moving forward while you felt stuck?

Your jaw clenched as your gaze fell on Sirius. He was still on the table, completely oblivious to the scolding look Professor McGonagall was shooting his way. He didn’t seem to care. He never did.

And yet, even as McGonagall reprimanded him and took points from Gryffindor, Sirius showed no reaction. He didn’t flinch, didn’t argue, didn’t flash the defiant smirk you’d come to expect from him. He just climbed down, brushing it off like it didn’t matter.

But what frustrated you most wasn’t his reaction—or lack thereof. It was the way he didn’t look at you. His eyes didn’t meet yours across the hall. There was no shared smile, no playful glint.

Instead, he laughed along with James and Remus as if nothing had changed.

Your blood simmered, the boil low and slow, until you realized your fists had clenched under the table. Why does it bother me so much?

You told yourself it was because he wasn’t the same Sirius anymore. He wasn’t your Sirius—the boy who had been your best friend, your anchor. The boy who used to make you feel seen.

It infuriated you because you didn’t even know why it hurt.

Without thinking, you stood up abruptly.

Lily jumped at the sudden movement, startled. “What are you doing?”

You opened your mouth, trying to find an excuse, but nothing came. Instead, you pressed your lips together, the words caught in your throat. “Save me a seat at the game, will you?” you mumbled, your voice tight as you grabbed your bag and scurried off before she could ask more questions.

As you left the hall, your thoughts churned like a storm.

You didn’t want to admit the truth—not even to yourself—but the ache in your chest wasn’t just frustration. It was jealousy, tangled up with hurt and longing in a way that made you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

And it was all because of Sirius.

***

You hadn’t realized Gryffindor had won. The entire game your eyes were glued to Peter who sat by Remus who sat by Sirius who had his arm around a fifth year Hufflepuff, Piper. Your chest felt as if it was collapsing. Your fists were clenched and you were certain if you turned your palms up, indents from your nails would be tattooed into your skin. 

Everytime a chaser from Gryffindor scored. But when James was the one to score, his friends would stand up and cheer. Piper would also stand, clapping her hands, a shrill cheer came out of her. 

The cheers of the crowd swelled around you, Gryffindor red and gold blurring into a sea of celebration. But none of it reached you. Your focus remained fixed, not on the players darting through the air or the roar of James Potter's spectacular goal, but on Sirius.

He was perched in the stands, his arm slung casually over Piper, his easy smile pulling a laugh from her lips. You hated the sound of it. Hated how easily he could charm her—or anyone, really. Sirius Black, the boy who could make friends with a stone if he tried hard enough, was just there, as he always was, and yet, it felt unbearable.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous. Why should it matter? You were upset about the tension between you, about the argument you’d had weeks ago. That’s all it was. Right? That was the reason your chest tightened every time Piper leaned into him, her blonde hair brushing against his shoulder, her laugh echoing in your ears like a mocking taunt.

But when his gaze flicked over to you, just for a moment, and his lips quirked in that familiar sheepish smile—the one that had always felt like it was meant for you alone—your breath caught. It was as if the world had paused, the noise of the match fading into the background. Your stomach twisted, a strange fizzing sensation spreading through you, warm and dizzying and utterly unshakable.

And that’s when it hit you.

You liked Sirius.

No—liked wasn’t strong enough. You cared for him in a way you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to understand before. It was the way your heart raced when he smiled, the way you felt seen when he met your eyes, the way you always seemed to gravitate toward him, even when you were angry.

It was why the sight of his arm around Piper burned like a brand, why your chest ached with a mix of longing and bitterness. You wanted to be the one sitting there, the one making him laugh. You wanted him to hold you the way he was holding her.

Your stomach dropped at the realization. You had been so careful to keep him at arm’s length, to shove those feelings into a corner of your mind and lock them away. But seeing him now, so carefree and entirely out of reach, made it impossible to deny.

The game continued in a blur after that, James scoring again and again, the Gryffindor stands erupting with joy. Lily jumped to her feet beside you, her cheers sharp and triumphant as she hurled taunts at the Slytherin team. Sirius, catching on, shouted something equally bold in her direction. “Hell yeah, Evans!” And she grinned back at him.

You forced a smile, even as your chest tightened. His pale eyes darted to you, his smile softening, like he was testing the waters between you. For a fleeting second, it felt like old times—before the fight, before the distance. But just as quickly as the moment came, it vanished, replaced by Piper’s giggle as she leaned closer to whisper in his ear.

Your heart sank, your fists clenching in your lap. The truth was undeniable now, sharp and unwelcome, but there it was: you liked Sirius Black. And he was sitting beside someone else, grinning as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You turned your attention back to the game, blinking away the stinging in your eyes as Gryffindor clinched the victory. Around you, your housemates erupted into cheers, Lily throwing her arms around you in excitement. But even as you hugged her back, the ache in your chest refused to subside.

Everyone waited for the team back in the common room which had been decorated in celebration. Lily waited anxiously, hands fidgeting, peering over the crowd of people as the portrait swung open. As if on cue, Peter, Remus, and Sirius appeared with a crate full of butterbeers and sweet snacks. 

Sirius handed you a butterbeer, hands momentarily grazing when you took it… apprehensively. The look he gave you made you swallow the shared secret of how they even acquired a crate full of treats from Honeydukes. No one else knew. And you were sure you weren’t supposed to, but Sirius had trusted you. 

A pang of guilt washed over you. 

He smiled, teeth sparkling out the corner of his mouth. Maybe you two should talk? As soon as the thought crossed your mind, he had already left you, making his way handing out more butterbeers around the room. 

You chugged the glass bottle down, “Are you going to drink yours?” You pointed to Lily’s glass. 

She broke from her daze, staring at James across the room. She looked at the bottle in her hand, shaking her head and giving it to you. Her brows furrowed, concerned how quickly you drank her bottle too, wiping the fizz from your lips with the back of your hand. “Okay, what is going on with you?” 

You looked away, trying not to give away that your mind was occupied with confusing thoughts that you hadn’t figured out yourself. so you lied. “I feel like exams are looming over us.” 

Lily‘s eyes narrowed, scanning you up and down as if she wasn’t entirely convinced. “You do great in all your classes.” 

You hummed. You noticed her attention flickered back over to James. “Are you going to ogle him the entire night or are you going to go talk to him?” 

She frowned and you laughed at her reaction. “Will you just slow down on the butterbeers.” She commented after you had convinced Peter to give you another one. Her hand gently placed on the bottle. “You’ll outdrink the entire team.”

You waved her off, your cheeks flushing from more than just the warmth of the butterbeer. “It’s a celebration, isn’t it?”

She chuckled, removing her hand. “Fine, but only because I’m hoping you loosen up a little.” 

“Loosen up?” you repeated, slightly offended, but she only smirked and gave you a pointed look.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It has nothing to do with exams,” she said, leaning closer. “You and Sirius… something’s been off for weeks. Care to explain?”

You froze, your hand gripping the neck of your second butterbeer. “There’s nothing to explain,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh, please,” Lily scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think no one’s watching.”

Your jaw ticked, avoiding her gaze, bringing the bottle to your lips. Your eyes flicked to Sirius laughing, throwing his arm around James as they cheered. You could hear him telling the crowd a play by play of James. Your lips betrayed you, lifting into a small smile. Your stomach twisted when his gaze landed on you, returning the smile but it looked a little sad. Maybe you should talk to him. 

“Lovesick,” Lily nudged you. 

“Lily!” you hissed, glancing around to ensure no one overheard.

“Well, am I wrong?” she pressed, arching a perfectly manicured brow.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It’s complicated. We had a… disagreement, that’s all. He’s just a friend. End of story.” Liar. 

Lily didn’t look convinced. “If you say so,” she said lightly, but the knowing glint in her eye remained. She glanced across the room at Sirius, who was animatedly recounting something to James and Remus, his voice carrying over the buzz of the party. For a moment, her gaze softened, and you could tell she wanted to say more. 

But she didn’t and eventually, she caved. Her and James had found themselves on a loveseat. His arm draped over the back, listening to her talk. You on the other hand, had managed to acquire more butterbeers. You weren’t drunk. You felt lighter. That’s what you told Peter who caught you when you tripped on a corner of a table. “Do… you know where Sirius is? I need to have a few words with him.” You stood tall, attempting to make a serious face. 

He looked around. “I’m not sure. He said he was going to get more snacks but that was ages ago.” He frowned, putting a hand on his stomach. “I was looking forward to some Cherry Tarts. I’ll let him know you’re looking for him!” Peter smiled bright at you. 

You couldn’t help but look disappointed. “It’s alright. I think I’m going to go out and get some fresh air.” 

He gave you a knowing look, patting you on the shoulder. As you weaved through the crowds you wondered if he saw right through you. It was impossible, you didn’t even know what there was to see. 

Someone grabbed your arm as you approached the portrait. The grasp wasn’t tight, but firm enough for you to stop in your tracks. Remus towered over you, his face shadowed with forewarning. “Why don’t you go to bed?” His voice was soft, mixed with something else you couldn’t place your finger on. 

“Why? It’s not that late.” You laughed. It was a lie. It was really late. Professor McGonagall would soon make an appearance to shut the festivities down. Or maybe she wouldn’t because Gryffindor had won the House Cup and the term would be over soon. 

He took in a sharp breath. “You look… will you just go to bed?” 

You pulled away from him. “I already told Peter, I’m not drunk. Okay, yes I had a few butterbeers but I’m not going to fall down the stairs or anything of that sort. I only want to feel the night breeze on my face.” 

Something was on the tip of his tongue, his lips parted but it stayed stuck there. He was hiding something. Which meant your curiosity was much more important than his concern for your wellbeing. You opened the portrait, not giving him another look as you left the tower. You had expected there to be something dangerous on the other side from his foreboding tone but nothing of the sort was lingering around. 

You strolled past different paintings, most of them asleep. You always loved the castle at night. You weren’t exactly allowed to be wandering the halls, but you weren’t planning to go far from the common room. You found a spot, a ledge of the castle where you could see the night sky. You sighed, leaning against the cool stone ledge, willing the breeze to clear your thoughts. It wasn’t as if Sirius hadn’t always been like this—charming, magnetic, always surrounded by people who gravitated toward him like moths to a flame. You had spent years watching it, laughing it off. So why now? Why did it feel like something sharp was wedged under your ribs every time Piper giggled at something he said?

Shaking your head, you pushed off the ledge and wandered back toward the common room, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet corridor. But as you rounded a corner, you froze. There they were, just ahead—Sirius and Piper.

Your first instinct was to turn back, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the way Piper leaned into him, her voice hushed and sweet as she whispered something in his ear. Maybe it was the way he smiled back at her, that easy, natural smile that used to feel like it was yours.

And then, before you could look away, Sirius tilted his head, his hands cradling her face as he kissed her.

The sight hit you like a Bludger to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. You stood frozen, your heart racing, as a mix of emotions crashed over you. Jealousy, sharp and biting, surged to the surface, followed by an ugly wave of self-doubt. Why her?

Your eyes lingered on the way his fingers tangled gently in her hair, the way her hands gripped his arms as though he was hers to hold. He looked so... confident, so sure of himself. So completely comfortable in a way that made your stomach churn.

Had he ever thought about kissing you like that? The thought burned, and you hated yourself for letting it linger. But as you stood there, unable to tear your gaze away, you couldn’t stop your mind from spiraling.

What does she have that I don’t? She was pretty, of course. A Hufflepuff—bright and cheerful and bubbly in a way that made her impossible not to like. But it wasn’t just that. There was something effortless about her, something easy. She fit into Sirius’ world in a way you never seemed to.

You bit your lip, your fists clenching at your sides. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to brim, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, anger bubbled up, hot and unrelenting. You were angry at him for doing this—angry at her for being the one in his arms—and most of all, angry at yourself for caring so much.

I shouldn’t feel this way, you told yourself. He doesn’t even know. Doesn’t care. Why would he? Perhaps that’s why you were irritated that Rowan mentioned no guy wanted to be with you because of Sirius. No guy wanted to be with you, not even Sirius. You were undesirable. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of a giggle, and it twisted the knife deeper. Sirius leaned closer, his lips brushing against hers again, and you suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. 

You needed to leave. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this scene.

But as you turned, you collided with something solid. Peeves.

“Peeper!” the poltergeist cackled gleefully, his voice loud enough to echo down the corridor. You stumbled back, wide-eyed, your cover blown.

Sirius and Piper broke apart instantly, both turning toward the noise. Piper flushed, quickly adjusting her jumper, her embarrassment clear. But Sirius’ reaction was different. His jaw tightened, his expression hardening as his storm-grey eyes locked onto yours.

You stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot, your emotions a mess of humiliation, anger, and something far too raw to name.

“Brilliant,” you muttered under your breath, cursing Peeves as you spun on your heel and stormed back toward the common room. Your footsteps were quick and loud against the stone floor, but they didn’t drown out the sound of Sirius calling your name.

You approached the portrait, clenching your eyes tight as you tried to remember what the password was. 

Tears brimmed the corner of your eyes, burning as you attempted not to let them fall. “Pickle Goblin,” you croaked. The portrait swung open. 

The party had fizzled out. James and Lily were still talking. Remus was on the other side of the room, reading. Peter must have already gone to bed. You stormed inside, ignoring a cheerful greeting from Lily. 

Remus quickly stood up, saying your name sympathetically. 

“Not now,” you choked. The portrait swung open, Sirius’s eyes wide. His hair was disheveled and the little hope you had wanted to believe it was from running after you. He was out of breath, but managed to call your name. You stopped at the door that led to your dormitory. 

Bystanders quickly scurried off to their own dormitories, only leaving you, Sirius, and your friends. You turned around, placing a pretend smile on your face. “Yes?” 

He swallowed, looking over at James, begging for help. “Are we okay?” 

You tilted your head, the smile on your face never reaching your eyes. “Are we okay?” You repeated the words to yourself, looking around the room as if the answer was floating in the air. Your voice was strained and dripped with incredulity. 

He didn’t flinch. His gaze held yours but you saw the flicker of regret. Or perhaps it was frustration, you couldn’t tell. “I mean…” he started, running a hand through his hair. “I just want to fix this. Whatever this is.” 

Lily started to approach you, but you held a hand up, stopping her. “Fix this? Do you even know what this is? You can’t even say it.” 

James shifted awkwardly, tugging Lily back gently by her wrist. "Maybe we should —" he began, but Sirius shot him a look that made him stop mid-sentence.

"Of course I know," Sirius said, his voice lower now, almost pleading. "You stopped talking to me. You-"

Your laugh interrupted him. Remus had stood up this time, saying your name in a warning tone. “Stopped talking to you? Sirius I only told you the truth and you refused to listen to me. I told you we couldn’t do this anymore. We couldn’t do this anymore.” 

“What does that even mean?” His voice got louder. He was frustrated. 

“Exactly! Don’t you see, Sirius. We’ve always been a this. Always close friends who were always together. Always a little too close always giving each other looks that we only know. But never a this that is anything more. And because of that, no one has or will ever see me as anything but your shadow. Not Rowan, not Piper, not even you. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe that’s all I am. In fact, I think you like it because you know that I will do all of those things with no benefits. ” You broke, and your voice quivered. 

Your words hung in the air, suffocating and bitter. 

His face shifted and the confusion left. It was unreadable but you noticed the birthmark above his left eyebrow, knowing it only appeared when he was angry. He answered quietly, “That’s not fair.” 

"Fair?" you repeated, letting out a humorless laugh. "Fair? You think this is about fairness, Sirius? It's about the fact that you're out there snogging Piper while I'm-while I'm-" You stopped yourself, realizing what you were about to admit, and shook your head violently. "You know what? It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters!" Sirius stepped closer, but you took a step back, your heart pounding.

"No, it doesn't," you said firmly, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Because nothing is going to change. You'll keep being you, and I'll keep being the person no one looks at twice. So, no, Sirius. We are not okay."

For a moment, he just stared at you, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he was holding back a thousand things he wanted to say.

But whatever they were, they never came.

You turned on your heel, your shoulders trembling as you climbed the stairs to your dormitory. You heard James mutter something under his breath, followed by Sirius letting out a frustrated growl.

But you didn't turn around. You didn't look back.

When you finally reached your bed, you collapsed onto it, letting the tears fall freely now.

Somewhere deep down, you had wanted him to fight harder. To say something, anything, that might have made this hurt less. But he didn't.

***

Much like you expected, end of year exams were dreadful. Time dragged on. Nothing was happening except the alarm that the dark wizard, Voldermort was apparently getting stronger and his army was growing little by little. 

There were hushed whispers and rumors that there were Hogwarts students that held allegiance to him. Most of them were Slytherins. 

You hadn’t really had time to even notice the lingering ache of unspoken words whenever you would see Sirius. The tension between you was thick, and if it weren’t for exams, you’d probably drown in it, smothered to death. 

It was easier to busy yourself with studying and homework. You would spend hours in the library, mountains of scrolls for each of your classes. 

Yet, Sirius still found a way to creep into your thoughts. He was unshakeable. It irritated you. Your absentminded tapping against a table forced Lily to stop studying with you.

It was late in the evening when you made your way from the library. You yawned, grateful tomorrow was your last day of exams. The hallways were quiet, and your footsteps echoed, bouncing off the stone wall. You had passed a few ghosts, mumbling about “They’re arguing again.” 

You thought it was weird. Anyone could be arguing but when you turned a corner, you stopped in your tracks. Low, heated voices caught your attention. Two figures were arguing near a tapestry. Sirius and his brother Regulus. 

Regulus looked much like his brother, dark hair, cool eyes. His robes were adorned in Slytherin green. 

Regulus stood rigid. Face stone cold. 

Sirius looked like a storm, hair disheveled, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. ”I’m not returning and it’s final.” Sirius had run away from home in the middle of the summer holiday, before the school term began. You never saw Regulus and Sirius talk much since then. Only pointed looks full of disappointment from both brothers. 

Regulus crossed his arms. “Because you’re a coward. You’d rather be running around with your pack of strays. You ran away from your family and your responsibilities–” 

“My responsibilities?” Sirius cut in, his voice rising with incredulity. “You mean their leash, their expectations. Their madness. I’m not going to waste my life playing puppet to a cause I despise.” The venom in his tone startled you, even though you’d heard him speak of his family with bitterness before. This was different. It was rawer. More desperate.

Regulus’ face didn’t falter, but his hands clenched at his sides. “You think you’re better than us? That leaving makes you noble?”

“No,” Sirius said, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “But at least I can live with myself.”

Regulus flinched, his composure slipping for a moment before his expression hardened again. “You’ll regret this, Sirius. You’ll see how wrong you are.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Sirius alone.

For a moment, you considered leaving before Sirius noticed you. This was personal, a side of him he hadn’t chosen to share with you. But before you could slip away, he turned, his storm-grey eyes meeting yours. The air between you felt electric, charged with emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“How much did you hear?” he asked, his tone clipped, the sharpness in his voice not quite masking the exhaustion in his eyes.

You hesitated, unsure if honesty was the right move. “Enough,” you admitted softly. “Sirius—”

“Don’t,” he said, cutting you off as he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “Just... don’t. I’m fine.”

The lie was glaringly obvious, but his tone left little room for argument. Your chest tightened as you watched him, wanting to reach out, to tell him he didn’t have to go through this alone. But the wall he’d put up between you was unyielding, brick by stubborn brick.

“Are you sure you’re—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. His grey eyes met yours, but they weren’t soft or kind like they used to be—they were cold, stormy. “Why do you even care, anyway? I thought we weren’t even friends.”

The words hit you like a hex, stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked, stunned, as the sting of his dismissal sank in.

“That’s not fair, Sirius,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Fair?” he repeated with a bitter laugh, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You made it clear, didn’t you? You don’t want anything to do with me. So why start pretending to care now?”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, anger and hurt warring inside you. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly before he turned away, running a hand through his hair again. “Just... leave it, alright?”

The sharpness of his words sliced through you, leaving you frozen in place as he strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence. You stood there, alone and hollow, as the ache in your chest grew heavier, threatening to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t sleep. The dormitory had settled into a quiet hum of steady breathing but you lay awake, staring at the canopy above your bed. Lily had noticed you were upset, but you shrugged her off, pretending to fall asleep before everyone else. 

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your place to worry. He didn’t want your help and pushing him would only make him more distant than he already was. It wasn’t that you wanted to stop being friends with him. You guess you just had realized you didn’t know how to be friends with him after learning your friendship was the reason boys didn’t want to date you. 

None of your racing thoughts stopped the gnawing worry, watching him argue with his brother, who you knew he was once close to. 

Finally, unable to take the stillness of your bed any longer, you slipped out from under the covers and padded down to the common room. You knew someone had the same idea when you saw the fire, low but still glowing, casting flickering shadows across the space.

Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized that person to be Sirius. He sat on the sofa facing the fire, his head resting against the back, his gaze fixed on the dying embers. His hair looked tousled, hanging over the edge. You considered turning back, afraid he might snap at you again. But something in the slump of his shoulders stopped you. 

You didn’t say anything, but you walked into view, offering him a half-hearted smile. His eyes, though tired, didn’t hold the same sharpness as before. His face softened, gesturing wordlessly to the spot next to him. You approached cautiously, sinking into the seat. 

The silence and tension pressed down on your chest, trying to decide what to say. 

“I shouldn’t have been harsh,” he said finally, his voice rough and low. 

You shook your head, your throat tight. “It’s okay. I was just worried.” 

He gave you a small smile, making you feel that weird fizz in you again. “I never told you why I ran away from home. Did I?” 

You shook your head. 

He let out a humorless laugh, looking back at the fire. For a long moment, he didn’t respond. He fixed his gaze back to you, eyes heavy with a pain you couldn’t describe. “She wanted me to take the Mark.” 

“What?” The air left your lungs in a rush, but your brows furrowed, somewhat hoping it wasn’t what you thought he meant. 

His lips pursed. “My mother,” he answered, his tone bitter. “She wanted me to bear the Dark Mark. Pledge my allegiance to V… the Dark Lord. Said it was my duty.” He paused, his hands clenching to fists. “That’s why I left. I didn’t even pack. I left everything. I didn’t even say goodbye to Reg and I know a part of him hates that I didn’t. But if I had… I don’t think I would’ve gone through with it.” 

He rubbed his face, sighing. “And now my biggest fear is playing out. Regulus is beginning to truly believe the lies of my family. I’m sure it’s my mothers doing.” 

Your heart twisted. “Sirius…” You placed your hand on his. He tensed for a second, and you felt guilty of the weeks you hadn’t been around him that even your touch was foreign to him. He glanced at your hand on his, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. For a moment, he looked like he might pull away, but then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Regulus... he’s my brother. And I hate what he’s becoming, but at the same time, I can’t blame him. Not entirely. He’s just... he’s stuck. Just like I was.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice. This wasn’t the Sirius who was loud and brash, always ready with a witty comeback or a rebellious grin. This was Sirius stripped bare, raw and aching, and it broke something inside you to see him like this.

“He’s not you, Sirius,” you said softly, your hand still resting on his. “He’s still young. He still has time to see the truth.”

Sirius shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “You’re too optimistic for your own good, you know that?” He leaned into you playfully. Another beat went by, and the sadness returned into his eyes. “I don’t regret my choice to leave. But I miss him,” he admitted quietly. “And I hate that I do.” 

You swallowed hard, trying to choose your words carefully. “He’s still your brother, Sirius. That doesn’t just go away.” 

His lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

You smiled softly, the tension between you easing just slightly. For a while, neither of you spoke, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It felt... safe. Familiar.

“I miss you,” Sirius said quietly after a while, his gaze fixed on the flames. 

You felt the heat in your cheeks rise and that heavy feeling be placed on your chest again. You swallowed hard. “I miss you too.” 

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made your heart race and your stomach twist with nerves. You looked away, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

As you sat beside Sirius in the dim glow of the fire, the tension between you seemed to melt into the warmth of the common room. Yet, the knot in your chest remained, twisting with every word, every glance he threw your way.

The air between you felt fragile, as though any sudden movement might shatter the moment. You tried to focus on the flicker of the flames, but your thoughts were a mess of questions you didn’t dare ask. What did all of this mean? For you? For him? For the strange push and pull that had lingered between you for so long?

Sirius shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing yours. It was such a small thing, but it sent a jolt through you, and you suddenly realized how aware you were of him—of his presence, his scent, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.

Why is this happening now? you wondered, stealing a glance at him. He looked tired, his face shadowed with an exhaustion that went far deeper than the physical. His confession about the Dark Mark, about his family and Regulus, had cracked something open in you—a deep well of empathy and something else. Something warmer. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to name.

You studied his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell messily across his face. He was beautiful. He always had been, but now, in this quiet moment, the thought struck you differently. There was something vulnerable about him tonight, something that made your chest ache.

What if you lose him again? The thought whispered through your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The weeks of tension between you had been suffocating, but this... this felt like a fragile lifeline. You didn’t want to let it slip through your fingers.

Your gaze dropped to his hands, resting loosely on his knees. You thought about all the times those hands had brushed yours—accidentally or intentionally—how they’d tugged you along on one of his harebrained adventures or steadied you when you’d nearly fallen on the Quidditch pitch.

And now, as you sat here together, a thought crept into your mind. A thought you’d pushed aside countless times before, too afraid to confront it. What would it feel like to hold his hand and not let go? To know what it’s like to kiss him? Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you quickly looked away, scolding yourself. Don’t be ridiculous. He was your best friend—or had been, before everything went sideways. This wasn’t the time for romantic fantasies, not when he was baring his soul to you.

But the thought wouldn’t leave. It settled in your chest, insistent and impossible to ignore. You had spent years brushing off the idea, convincing yourself it was nothing. A fleeting crush. A side effect of being so close. But now, in the stillness of the common room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than that.

“Sirius,” you said suddenly, the sound of your own voice startling you.

He turned to you, his brows lifting slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest. Don’t do this. Don’t make it weird. He’s already had a terrible night.

But then his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you swore the world stood still. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your breath catch.

“Sirius,” you began again, your voice softer now, “have you ever thought about kissing me?”

The words hung in the air, and the moment they left your lips, your stomach flipped with a mix of dread and anticipation. You braced yourself for his reaction, for the laugh or the scoff or—worst of all—the rejection. But none of those things came.

Instead, he stared at you, his eyes wide and searching. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

You laughed nervously, shaking your head as if you could erase the question. “Never mind,” you said quickly. “That was a stupid thing to say.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse roaring in your ears. “I don’t know,” you admitted, though it wasn’t entirely true. “It’s just... I don’t want to go into seventh year never having been kissed. And... I trust you.”

His eyes softened at that, his surprise giving way to something warmer. “You trust me?” he repeated, his voice quieter now.

“Yes,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “I trust you more than anyone.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the firelight flickering in his eyes. You could see the hesitation in his expression, the way he was weighing his words. And for a moment, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But then he let out a breath, his lips twitching into a small, uncertain smile.

“You really know how to put a bloke on the spot, don’t you?” he said, his tone lighter now, though his voice was still tinged with something deeper.

You couldn’t help but smile, though your heart was still racing. “So... would you?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you as if he were trying to figure out if you were serious. “Are you sure about this?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I’m sure.”

Sirius hesitated, his eyes locked on yours, searching for any sign that you might change your mind. When he leaned in, it was slow, cautious, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. His hand brushed against your cheek, tentative and warm, as his lips met yours in a soft, chaste kiss.

It was simple, just the barest press of lips, but it sent a shiver through you nonetheless. His touch was surprisingly gentle, like he was afraid you might break. When he pulled back, he lingered close, his breath brushing against your skin.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing, though his tone lacked its usual confidence. “First kiss accomplished.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. Something unspoken lingered in the air between you, the warmth of his hand still ghosting on your cheek. The kiss had been sweet, careful... but it hadn’t been enough. Not for you.

“Sirius,” you said softly, reaching for his wrist before he could move away completely. He froze, his grey eyes wide and questioning as you tugged him closer again. “Wait.”

“What is it?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his for the second time. This time, the kiss wasn’t cautious or hesitant. It was fuller, deeper, and it carried all the emotions you hadn’t been able to put into words.

For a moment, Sirius seemed startled, but then he responded, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kissed you back with more certainty. His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying lightly against the fabric of your jumper. You felt his thumb brush a slow circle there, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head slightly, letting the kiss deepen, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. His lips were warm, soft but insistent, moving against yours in a rhythm that made your heart race. There was something intoxicating about the way he kissed—like he was pouring every ounce of himself into it, like he couldn’t get enough.

Your breaths grew uneven, mingling between you as the kiss intensified. Sirius’ fingers tightened slightly at your waist, and you felt the faint scrape of his teeth against your lower lip as he deepened the angle. It was perfect—messy, electric, and far more than you had expected.

And then, just as suddenly, Sirius pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he broke the kiss. His breathing was unsteady, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Wait,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. His hands lingered where they were, one on your neck, the other at your waist, but he didn’t move closer again. “We should stop.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “Why?” you whispered, your fingers still clutching his shirt.

“Because,” he said, laughing softly, though there was a tremor in his voice. “If we don’t, I don’t think I’ll want to.”

The words hung between you, heavier than they should have been. You nodded slowly, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes that made your chest tighten.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time before he pulled away entirely. He stood, running a hand through his already messy hair, and gave you a small, lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, watching as he turned and disappeared up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

You sat there for a long time after he was gone, your fingers still tingling where they had touched him, your lips still warm from the kiss. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but your thoughts were anything but quiet.

The ache that had lingered between you for weeks had softened, but it hadn’t disappeared. If anything, it had transformed into something else entirely—something that both thrilled and terrified you.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t over. Not yet.

[alwaysforevermaybenever]

YANDERE EX-HUSBAND: INTRODUCTION

× cw: general yandere stuff; malaysian/cantonese slang; reader is implied ethnically chinese (read her dialogue in Steven He’s accent); reader is also female; obsessive behavior; bribery; stalking; being held at gunpoint(?); threats; felony; implied murder; controlling behavior

× note: it's basically renheng/uncle roger and auntie helen

⌗ your beloved ex-husband? Hah! He’s no better than a plate of burnt egg fried rice with no spring onions or meat from a kopitiam(coffee shop). In fact, you’d pick studying at art school over looking at his face for a single second, even if it means your mother disowning you.

⌗ Unfortunately, even after getting divorced, you still live together. That’s because the house is bought under both your names, so you can’t just kick him out. And it’s not like you’ll have enough money to buy a new house after selling your current one, because half the money goes to him. Tsk. What a nuisance…

⌗ Yala, he’s handsome and rich, but he’s such a jerk and a micromanager! He always insists on telling you how to cook your signature noodles. (Mind you, you grew up learning how to make that. Your ma made sure of that.) He didn’t go to culinary school, so who is he to tell you that, huh?

⌗ You can’t stand being married to such a pompous man like him, so you locked yourself in your room on the wedding night. No way you’re gonna do anything with that eyesore (metaphor). That’s why five months later, after countless arguments and fights, you divorced him.

“Haiya, he CEO of a company, his net worth 1 billion. But he cannot even cook rice or defrost chicken for me when I ask him to? And you ask why I divorce him ah?” *slaps table*

⌗ However, your ex-husband doesn’t really care about your rants or complaints. You’re talking for hours on end about him, so that’s already a win in his book. He’s always on your mind!

⌗ He fully expected you to divorce him. That’s why he insisted on buying the house under both your names - you can’t get rid of him that way. All long as he’s under the same roof as you are, he couldn’t be happier. He eats the food you cook (leftovers because you’re used to cooking for all your relatives during family dinner), rolls on your perfectly made bed while you work your accountant job (in one of his other companies that you don’t know he’s the CEO of) and plays the picture perfect husband when your mom drops by (your 28501864817 relatives marching right behind her) with mooncakes and tangyuan (because she’ll beat you up with the tea set heirloom passed down forty-five generations when she discovers that you’re divorced with no sons!!).

⌗ How did you even get married to him if you hate him that much? Well, long story short, your mother and his mother are best friends, and their husbands are brothers, which made daily reunions even longer because they had so much to talk about. When they noticed that he showed interest in you as a child (one time), they decided that you two would get married when you were of age. While you were resentful that you were essentially forced into an arranged marriage, you pushed through it for the wedding ang pao (red packets) and tax benefits (at least until you divorced, which was when you started working and putting that science stream (not art!) degree to use). 

⌗ You hate your ex-husband, but you do admit that he’s a good wallet. Besides, it’s not like he’s obsessive or possessive or a micromanager who stalks you when you go out or a genuinely bad person who commits felonies because he found out you were searching for potential bachelors because after all you’re in your prime! Right? And besides, who wouldn’t want to date and eventually marry you? But don’t worry your pretty little head because he’ll take care of them since he’s the only one you’ll ever need. Yeah, you’re divorced but who’s to say you can’t get remarried? Not the law! 

⌗ And if he has to drag you screaming and kicking and cursing him (and his ancestors) to the ancestral plane and make you stand by the altar, that’s what his strength is for! And if he has to pay hush money to all the people present that’s ok, cuz he’s not rich for nothing and the relatives aren’t greedy bloodsucking money nabbers (me) just for show.

“Once again, until death do us part, my love… You at the back - put down that phone. I’ll pretend you weren’t trying to call the police, for the sake of this auspicious occasion. What do you mean my wife is being held at gunpoint and trying to punch me no she isn’t.”

[qiu-yan]

I think if MDZS was truly about moral good, then Cultivation Society would have been fundamentally changed and everyone who tried to change it wouldn’t be dead. The fact that XXC and SL wanted to change cultivation sects from being dynastic to more merit based and they got such horrible fates is tragic. JGY wanted to use his power to help the more common folk, but he was struck down and any good he’s done is going to be tainted. WWX and LWJ choose to walk away rather than do anything in the novel, so I’m not sure if their actions can be considered a net positive. There’s only so much good they can do as wandering cultivators, there needs to be some kind of structure to help the community but most sects are unwilling to put in a lot of effort if it doesn’t benefit them specifically. There was no social change in MDZS.

thank you for the message! and sorry it took me five million years to get to it...

from a utilitarian point of view, i think you're completely correct: the one individual the novel holds up as the most righteous out of everyone has a far greater negative than positive impact on the world at large; society and the plight of the common folk are in a worse state at the end of the novel than they are at the beginning. postcanon, no matter how much individual nighthunting wei wuxian and lan wangji do, the life of your average commoner is probably going to get more dangerous. you are correct that there was in fact no social change in MDZS. shit did not change on a major scale.

two comments about this: first, the moral framework employed by MDZS is decidedly non-utilitarian. second, as you said, MDZS is not About Moral Good.

first, the moral framework employed by MDZS is not utilitarian at all. wei wuxian and lan wangji are not "righteous" in the way that someone who pulls the lever in the trolley problem can be called "righteous" via utilitarian reasoning; rather, wei wuxian and lan wangji are "righteous" in the way that someone who walks away from omelas is righteous. from a utilitarian perspective, walking away from omelas doesn't accomplish shit because the child is still suffering and one person's absence is not going to change that. from a non-utilitarian perspective, though, walking away from omelas isn't about bringing about a certain result but rather is about living in accordance to your own ideals and code of honor. it's not about helping as many people as possible or about bringing about the best possible outcome, but rather about living your own life without any regrets.

this isn't a philosophy i (a utilitarian) really buy into, but many people do find it persuasive. and though there are still some logical holes induced by protagonist-centered-morality, i do think that MDZS is overall thematically cohesive if analyzed through this non-utilitarian lens. unfortunately, one side-effect of this lens (as well as the general non-utilitarian sorts of philosophies this lens is based in) is that the story ends up somewhat handwaving actual negative consequences.

second, MDZS is not Purely About Moral Good. it has an internally consistent moral framework and it has a lot to say about what it thinks is righteousness, but it isn't a "ringing endorsement of the Correct Course Of Action" book in the same way many other works of fiction are. MDZS is about a certain kind of righteousness, but it's also a cynical condemnation of society, a remark upon the role and unreliability of rumors and hearsay, a subversion of typical xianxia/wuxia genre tropes, an interpersonal tragedy of love and duty and sacrifice and hubris, and a thorough rejection of the just world fallacy. it's also a romance.

i say that MDZS is also a social critique and a rejection of the just world fallacy because, in my view, we aren't meant to read characters like jin guangyao as "unambiguously evil characters who got what they deserved." i do think we're meant to see the way in which society turns on jin guangyao, the way in which that parallels wei wuxian's unfair downfall, and the way in which the genuine good jin guangyao did for the world is now at risk, as a tragedy. as a rather depressing insight upon the morally bankrupt nature of society. MXTX wrote it that way on purpose. you're not meant to read jin guangyao's downfall and go "he got what he deserved;" rather, you're meant to look at the black-and-white, hypocritical, and classist way in which society turns upon jin guangyao as a criticism of that society - one that builds off of the social criticism baked into wei wuxian's character arc.

there is no structural change in MDZS because MDZS is a criticism of society, not a story about how society got better. MDZS posits that this polite society is classist and morally bankrupt, and then does not fix said society. MDZS says "this polite society was hypocritical and self-serving then, and it still is now." in that sense, then, the ending is deliberately rather tragic.

in that sense, then, wei wuxian stepping away from the cultivation world does also feel like him giving up on society. which, from an interpersonal perspective, is fair: he already set himself on fire and literally died trying to do the right thing, so i don't think we can really begrudge him for not wanting to risk it a second time. maybe this time someone else can try to fix things (and die in the process). also, given his and lan wangji's absolute lack of any political ability, it's probably also for the best that they not try to involve themselves in politics to better the world, because realistically they'd probably just make a bunch of enemies and solve zero of the problems.

MDZS tries to give us some hope for the future of its fictional society: both the novel and the fandom (including me myself) posit that said hope for the future lies in the juniors, by whom wei wuxian's generation tried to better than their parents did for them. jin ling's generation certainly seems kinder than wei wuxian's generation. i think we're meant to conclude that things aren't completely hopeless because jin ling's generation, kinder and nobler than the previous one, will try to fix things.

but personally, i'm not sure how i feel about placing the hopes of social reform on the specific personalities of citizens and leaders, rather than the structures those people exist in. instead, i'm reminded me of what i wrote a few months ago about the granularity of morality in MDZS being the entire individual and not the action, by which i mean that MDZS seems to assess and conclude entire characters as "good people" or "bad people" or "complicated and morally grey people," rather than analyze the morality of specific actions. and i think it's because MDZS treats the unit measurements of morality as people rather than actions or policies, that MDZS is ultimately able to posit that the future will be better because a specific group of individuals from the next generation have kinder personalities - even though there was no structural reform. as if the state of a society is determined purely by the personalities of a select group of future leaders within it, rather than the laws and institutions that bind it and the material conditions its populations live in. to put it in other words, this is peak "we replaced the evil king with a Wise And Just king (and made no other changes), so we've saved the day!!!" thinking.

.

i feel like i rambled a lot in this response, so i apologize for its relative lack of cohesion. i hope i haven't misinterpreted your points and that i've continued the conversation in a relevant manner.

[s3cr3tjuic3]

buddie agere headcanons :P

Buck!

-Buck is a flip but majorly leans towards regressing. he started involuntary regressing sometime after the fire engine accident but he always put it off and pretended he was fine. he thought it was some kind of flashback because he would often get scared and jumpy. it wasnt until Chim caught him having a panic attack in the bunks that he found out he was regressing. Chim had been noticing some signs in Buck but didnt press him about it because he assumed he knew. he in fact, did not.

-after Chim helps him calm down and find a name for whats been happening to him, Buck tells Eddie and Maddie since they are the closest and they both take turns babysitting him.

-Eddie is Buck's main caregiver, although Buck can be very independent since thats how he grew up when he was physically little. Eddie and Maddie have to teach Buck that they will give him affection no matter what and he doesn't need to hurt himself for their attention.

-its not uncommon for Buck to be sad when he regresses and sometimes he will try to spend a lot of time in bed when he's at his loft or in the bunks at the station. Eddie has to coerce him from the bed to somewhere sunny. Little!Buck cries a lot but Eddie is always up for some cuddles to make him feel better.

-On the other hand, when Buck is in a good mood, he is pure ADHD. he will either run circles around the station or he'll talk your ear off about natural disasters. Bobby keeps a basket of kid's books in the lounge area for Buck to read which turns into Buck sitting cuddled up to someone telling them all the facts about volcanoes he knows from watching documentaries (Eddie and Bobby are his usual victims).

-Buck isnt very big on little gear but Eddie has the occasional paci in case Buck has a very bad day and regresses to a smaller than usual age.

-however he LOVES toys, he has a giant toybox in his loft full of fire trucks, police cars, and hot wheels (Maddie banned Buck-sized skateboard but did gift him some Tech Decks). He also loves plushies, especially jellycat plushies. Chim gifted buck a net to hold his plushies.

-despite how hyperactive Buck his, he's very well behaved and has a reward system with Eddie to encourage him to behave. Eddie has sticker charts and depending on how well Buck behaves, he gets rewards anywhere from candy to small gifts.

Eddie!

-Eddie is also a flip but doesn't have a specific lean towards being a caregiver or a regressor. Obviously Eddie loves taking care of kids, he loves his son more than anything but even he will admit that he grew up way too early. His regression is more voluntary, but not always. His regression became more involuntary after he changed his will. He's tried his best to hide his regression from Chris (he knows, he understands). At first, only Carla knows and helps him learn about it and get gear. but eventually, after Buck reveals to the 118 that he's an age regressor, Eddie tells Buck that he's an age regressor too and they take care of each other. or sometimes have Maddie and Chim watch them.

-Eddie's regression is very soft, he's not as hyper unless he's around Little!Buck, he just prefers curling up with someone and watching movies or cartoons. He regresses pretty young and really likes using little gear, which Buck is very happy to give him

-Since Eddie's regression is mostly him just wanting physical affection, he doesnt misbehave much so he doesnt need a reward chart (though he still loves gifts).

-He loooooves fluffy things. Blankets, plushie, soft rattles, loves them. When he regresses at Buck's loft, he always has a blanket around his shoulders.

-Buck is Little!Eddie's favorite person and follows him around everywhere. Everybody calls Eddie 'Duckling' when he regresses. Chim starts buying him rubber ducks and placing them on his bunk in the firehouse. Hen buys him a duck plushie that he keeps at the firehouse and carries with him when Buck isn't on shift with him. His name is Mr. Quackers.

-Eddie is also a sensitive little and cries very easily. He's very emotional. He's not the best at hiding it and it often gets him benched if he regresses while on the job. That also makes him sad. But Buck spends every other moment with him if theyre not on a call.

-Overall, Buck and Eddie are well loved and anyone from the 118 is willing to look after them if they can. Bobby and Athena especially love looking after them.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Tutor Sesh

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You tutor the popular soccer genius who is failing one subject; the same subject which you happen to be excellent at.

Square Filled: “if you solve this i’ll buy you lunch.” for @badbitchesbingo

Author’s Note: JJ and the reader are in college

x

If you can get this paper done before you leave the library, you’re not going to have any homework for the entire weekend. This paper has been the bane of your existence and you’re about to finish it. The door to the library slides open which makes a weird air sound that causes you to look up in curiosity.

One of the most popular girls in school comes rushing in with her books clutched to her chest. Her blonde hair flows behind her messily but she doesn’t seem to care. She was supposed to meet you forty minutes ago but didn’t leave a message that she was going to be late.

“I am so sorry I’m late. Practice ran late.”

She is a soccer genius. She got a soccer scholarship when she graduated high school and is very good in all subjects but physics. She is very good at playing soccer but if she doesn’t keep good grades, she will be kicked from the team and lose her scholarship. You just so happen to be great at the subject she sucks at which is why you agreed to tutor her.

“It’s not a problem. Just let me finish this paper. I’m almost done.”

“Sure.”

She takes out her textbooks and notebooks while you try to focus on your paper. Her blonde hair falls in front of her eyes so she tries to blow it away only to have the same strand fall back in her face. She gets annoyed and tucks it behind her ear. God, she is so beautiful. Milky skin, golden hair, and oceans for eyes.

Yeah, you’re not going to be able to finish your paper. With a sigh, you close out your document and log out of the computer knowing this session is going to take most of your time.

“Okay, I’m ready.” JJ shows you her physics book which you’re quite good at. That’s the one subject that she isn’t good at which is why she asked you to tutor her. “Tell me what you’re having trouble with.”

“All of it,” she sighs. “We’re talking about the Magnus Effect.”

You try your best to explain the subject as best as you can but she isn’t getting it. You gave her a practice test just to see where she’s at but she fails it.

“God, I’m going to fail and I’ll be kicked off the team,” she loses hope.

“No, you’re not. Okay, I just have to go about this another way.” You look at her bag to see her soccer uniform sticking out of it. “I got it. Think about soccer, okay? A spinning object in motion exerts a net force on the air, which according to Newton's 3rd Law, exerts an equal and opposite force back on the moving and spinning object, altering its trajectory. The Magnus effect is why soccer players can bend a soccer ball into the goal around a five-person wall and why baseball pitchers can throw a breaking ball pitch.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” she nods.

As you explain it to her, you’re also drawing diagrams that are easy to follow. She has her notebook out and is taking notes to study later.

“When a soccer player kicks a ball off-center it causes the ball to spin. The direction and speed of the spin will determine how much the ball curves during flight. The curve of the ball during flight is known as the Magnus Effect.

“As the ball undergoes top spin,” you draw a clockwise rotation on the figure, “it causes the velocity of the air around the top half of the ball to become less than the air velocity around the bottom half of the ball. This is because the tangential velocity of the ball in the top half acts in the opposite direction to the airflow, and the tangential velocity of the ball in the bottom half acts in the same direction as the airflow.”

“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” she sighs.

“It’s the big words, right?” you chuckle.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, since the air speed around the top half of the ball is less than the air speed around the bottom half of the ball, the pressure is greater on the top of the ball. This causes a net downward force to act on the ball,” you explain.

“Think of when a soccer player kicks the ball right of the center. It spins counter-clockwise and the Magnus force acts left, causing the ball to curve left. When the ball is kicked left of center, the ball spins clockwise and the Magnus force acts right, causing the ball to curve right. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, better than this book,” she laughs.

“Okay, with that in mind, answer these questions. If you solve this, I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Okay,” she grins.

You spend the next hour explaining physics in relation to soccer so she’ll understand it, and she’s doing a lot better when it’s compared to something she loves doing. You two get lost in time until she looks at her phone.

“Shit, I have to go. Thank you so much for helping me.”

“It’s not a problem.”

You’re about to clean up when she grabs your face and kisses you. It comes out of nowhere which is why you’re so shocked, but she’s gone before you have a chance to do anything about it. She rips a piece of paper from her notebook and scribbles her number on it.

“Call me, okay?”

You open your mouth to reply but nothing comes out. She puts everything into her bag haphazardly before getting up. She waves at you as she leaves, and you’re still sitting there starstruck.

Did that really just happen? Even after she’s gone, you can still feel her on your lips. You touch your lips gently as if that will preserve the feel of her. Maybe you should tutor her more often.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[yuurei20]

This is a little bit of a weird long question lol

I'm more asking your opinion about it haha

I'm trying to think on it - is Idia an Otaku because that's the setting the game is for (Japanese audience) and those are the signifiers that a Japanese audience would recognize as "nerd", or is he just an Otaku in general and would still be a "Weeb/Anime nerd" if the original audience was American/otherwise western.

Like - what I mean is in American pop culture, the "Weeb/Anime fan" is kind of a subset of nerd. Like none of the characters from "the big bang theory" (to my knowledge) are "weebs", they aren't our most generic image of a nerd. If a character/person is a "Weeb" it usually means they have a specific interest in Japanese media, and this doesn't necessarily correlate to other "nerdy" things.

Because in America/Western settings, Japanese fandom culture is foreign (thus me using Weeb instead of Otaku though plenty of people call themselves Otaku rather than weeb), so the implications of Idia being a Weeb is somewhat different - he's no longer a "generic nerdy character", but something a tad more specific.

So like - how there's beansfest or the use of honorifics or how the unique magic works with pronunciation - that usage of Japanese culture and language to express what Yana is trying to do, but it isn't necessarily meant to be Japanese in universe, because NRC is distinctly not set in Japan or even the Twst equivalent of Japan

Basically to sum up my rambly question - do you think Idia is supposed to be a "Nerd" in general or is he supposed to be an "Otaku"?

Tldr, would Idia be buying "comic books" in the EN localization or would it still be "Manga"

How exactly is our dear Idia the Nerdy foil to Hercules's Jock lmao

Hello hello!! Thank you for this question! ^^

Is there a word that can encompass both, in English? 👀

I think this connects to how the word "otaku" in Japanese seems to be different from the word "otaku" as it has been adopted by English, so this might be confusing 💦 But I will do my best!

I found an excerpt from a book called "Otaku Marketing" that provides an explanation of "otaku"'s original meaning, summarized here:

The basic definition of an 'otaku' is someone with a particular obsession who devotes an extreme amount of time and money to that interest and possesses deep knowledge and imagination regarding it. The term can be viewed negatively, describing a person who is immersed in subcultures that are difficult for the general public to understand, and who lacks communication skills. These days it has become more generally accepted with a meaning similar to "enthusiast" or "fan", and its usage has diversified, including terms like "health otaku" that contrast with the negative connotation, but the original image of otaku as being obsessively dedicated, introverted, and intense remains. Examples of otaku include military enthusiasts, railway enthusiasts, Johnny's Entertainment enthusiasts, Gundam enthusiasts, Hanshin Tiger enthusiasts, etc.

This is very much Idia ^^ There are many traits associated with otaku that we see in him, from his stutter to how quickly he speaks when excited, self depreciation combined with contradictory pride, net slang--even the manner in which he laughs and the personal pronoun that he uses.

In English it seems that, as you say, the Japanese-language concept of "otaku" has been separated into "nerd" and "weeb."

Idia is interested in things like puzzles, board games, horror movies with practical effects and Halloween, which might not be the first thing that comes to mind when an English-speaker hears the word "otaku" and may push him more into the "nerd" category.

Idia mentions reading manga and watching anime, but is this just because the game is being developed in the same country that produces those things?

Is this a case of Idia not being fully localized, and an American-developed Twst would have made him interested in American comic books and cartoons to suit its home audience, as you say?

I agree that NRC does not seem to be set in Japan or even a Twst-Japan-equivalent, but that might be exactly the point: Idia is interested in media from another country, and that is where things get interesting!

It seems that a Twst-Japan equivalent exists, and Idia is a big fan of their pop culture 👀

Sam mentions branches of his Mystery shop that exist in the "East," introducing things from real-world-Japan culture in the New Years events.

How canonical the New Year's events are meant to be is a little vague, especially because everyone (except Azul, Jade, Floyd and Scarabia) go home for New Year's in the main story--a point that is integral to the plot of Book 4.

But even if New Years is meant to be a fun little spin-off with no real connection to the culture of the actual universe, we also have a vignette where Idia explains what ninja are to Silver, saying that "they live in a far eastern country," and mentioning things like "shuriken," "fireball jutsu" and "samurai."

If there is another word in English that encompasses both "weeb" and "nerd" together, then I think that might be it! If it must be one or the other...I am not sure!

I have seen EN players who missed the Harveston event insisting that Idia doesn't actually like anime, just movies and video games, so it seems to be a divisive subject on EN.

Idia's interest in the pop culture from this unnamed country in the East is definitely not his defining personality trait, being only one of the many facets of who he is ^^

How to express this in English seems more complex than one may think!

Is it inaccurate to describe Idia as a "weeb" because of the depth of his interest in locally-produced board games and movies that have nothing to do with Twst-Japan-equivalent-media? If he is referred to as a "nerd," will there be friction because of lines like, "an anime can be so good it's literally life-changing"? Are the two groups mutually exclusive in English?

I am not sure I have an answer :> Would be most grateful for any opinions and ideas!

[creatingnikki]

Dear you at the start of 2024,

Hello, I'm here with insights and tea. You will have a lot of main character moments this year. Flying all the way to another city to meet a man you met online because you're this bold and hopeful woman who loves love and can actually take care of yourself even if things don't work out. Don't ever regret being that woman — the courage to believe in love despite all the prior bad experience, despite all the trauma and baggage you still haven't been able to clean your way out of, despite the shitty people out there — you are a sparky, smart, sweet person with so much capacity for love. Don't let people who break your heart shame you into hating you for your strengths and for taking a leap of faith.

Also, remember, sometimes people only break your expectations, not your heart. Love...it is something so vague and intangible and different for all. But for you? It's showing up. It's prioritizing the person's needs and emotions, being in sync with their thoughts and caring. Endless caring. So, if you take a minute and think about it, that boy you travelled over 500 miles for never loved you and baby you didn't quite love him either. You were on the path, both of you, yes. But neither got very far and it's frustrating and it sucks. But don't let yourself marinate in the misery of broken expectations for too long.

You will also make out with this really tall and hot guy in the middle of the dance floor at the club with everyone stopping and staring and you won't care because in those few minutes of drunk ecstasy everything will quiet down and it will feel like it's just you and him and all that sexual chemistry in between.

You will spend yet another week in the Summer in Delhi with your best friend and you will drink soju and eat tteokbokki and you will read many interesting lit fic books — this time from some v cool Indian authors too.

The space you were so restless for, you will be blessed with. And then you won't know what to do with it or yourself. You will keep feeling broken thinking that void, that God-shaped hole inside of you, is way too big and you will feel depressed and beyond repair. But when the seasons change you will give a reading club in a park in your neighbourhood a chance and you will make new friends. The 동네 친구들 (neighbourhood friends) like you had as a child you had been wanting again.

You will bake brownies at 2 am in the night and have your home smell like comfort. You will get that promotion at work and realize you've been in the workforce for long enough to be a reporting manager and it will feel amusing because you still sometimes feel like that 21 year old fresh out of college starting your first job. You will buy sunflowers for your friends and your mom and sometimes forget to buy flowers for yourself.

Patterns will keep repeating and you will struggle to break them. You'll want to get a hammer and smash them because the consistency with which you will fall back into them is frustrating and appalling. But that way you will only end up smashing your own crutches. So, you will have to learn to get out of them the way you learned to get out of the pool at seven — slowly, without haste, without slipping, and with grace.

My love, you will feel like ending this life but in a way you would turn off the computer at 10 when it was glitching — from the main switch. But you can't do that no matter how much you wish sometimes you could. Because you could always start the computer again the next day. And you always would. Hang in there because instead we are going to hit refresh.

I love you. I am getting better a loving you. When you are in December, you'll see. My words to you are kinder and there's so much less shame and guilt and disgust. So, you may not experience any major milestones in 2024, but you do know that this too is a pretty big thing? Being softer and more patient with yourself. And so I'd say it will end up being a pretty good year over all. Net good.

Love, The me at the end of 2024

PS You'll get through every single thing you feel like you won't. I promise.

[sgiandubh]

Just so stories: Mommy and Daddy

In the (questionably) blessed White Picket Fenced America of 1955, things were deceptively simple:

Mommy stayed home, while Daddy was earning enough cash to buy that new Frigidaire.

Uhm. No, not really: see what happens to Mad Men's Betty Draper, the pearl-stringed suburbia matron. Not exactly a cheerful look, but perhaps a true, albeit neurotic, one.

For some unfathomable reason, one of the main dismissive arguments used against shippers reads along some very similar lines. I paraphrase, as this is a collective POV (probably stemmed from CO's laboratory and snowballed to great success across their dashboards):

'Oh, aren't they stupid! How can they expect C to follow him around the world, children in tow, at his beck and call? Or to wait for him, military wife style, as he traipses from Vegas to London to Paris to Belgium? What are these, The Fifties?'

To this Dorothy Dixon, along comes one of the Tumblrette Pundits, with a ready-made answer, always the same:

'Of course they are stupid! Of course she doesn't! Every time she is working somewhere, she brings McSideburns and The Blonde Bambino around! And McSideburns takes care of Blonde Bambino, as he should! Reality, not fantasy!'

Let alone they have absolutely no clue about the real state of play, given the almost complete, paranoid opacity reigning since at least a Certain Sad Event. Let alone that no other logical/common sense argument provided is accepted (cults seldom deal in both acceptance and common sense);

Nannies? Pah, so 1992! Family safety net? Pah, so suburban! Working parents? Pah, these people are stars, their life is a cornucopia of perks and freebies and glam!

So, in a nutshell, according to them:

Mommy is busy working and Daddy follows all along/ stays at home with Blonde Bambino, hoping that Mommy will bring enough cashola to finish that double glazing people usually install in December.

In other words, we immediately picture C as a 'starke, titanische Weib' / the strong, titanic woman German poets were so fond of back in the 1800's. Dragging along a diminutive, shy, understanding and private McSideburns, trousered Vestal extraordinaire. The rest is taboo (or should be, in my book), at any rate.

Something wrong with this vision? Yes. It's exactly the 1950's one they accuse us of espousing (we don't), but this time the male/female symbolic roles are reversed. As a result, a shrink would have many thoughts and probably a handful of questions about that need to completely castrate the Goddess's Consort to perfect oblivion. Obliterating his life, his story and even his name, for Christ's sake!

Not a good look for either C and The Prop and, to be honest, quite a weird, borderline insulting one, especially when coming from 'respectful, realistic' fans. The real utility seems to be concealing the emptiness of a Tale Forever Untold. It will be effectively replaced by the chorus with the perfect fantasy of a modern dad, a successful producer/manager and so on and so forth.

Reality is a bit different, if you just take a look on The Fratellis' Wikipedia page and follow the links:

But, but, but... 'additional personnel' (😱😱😱) - how could that be?

And yes, remember (LOL) David Eustace and the FMN shooting photo of the Happy Dynamic Duo? Happy to oblige to a friend who provided a work project (that album was postponed two or three times, then released in 2021) during COVID, probably.

The mere thought of a young, urban, sophisticated, committed and trusting couple, living and loving their best life, traveling separately or together, allowing 'spaces in their togetherness' (wasn't that The Prophet quote she liked and shared?) is something that gives them the shingles. Anything but this. Anything - even that sad The Empress and Her Additional Personnel narrative.

You see, they don't like The Obvious. At all.

[boujiestpoet]

Philia ?

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

previous chapter next chapter

summarry: The whole world is tired of Lewis Hamilton and his best friend being oblivious of each others feelings. The line between frienship and love doesn't exist, but we have two stubborn and scared people as a couple.

The Amalfi sun was blazing, the net was up and the three of them were barefoot in the sand, already sweaty and chatting like teenagers.

"Loser buy lunch" Y/N announced "So you're going to buy me lunch, doc?" Lewis glanced at her, his competitive spirit was

"Please, I'll destroy you in front of all these tourists, Hamilton" The two were on opposite teams. The flirtatious tension hidden beneath the cover was more visible. Long glances that sometimes fell on the other's lips, laughter and playful little nudges.

Lewis squashed the ball, confirming his victory "I still have it" he cheered, flexing dramatically. Y/N rolled her eyes "Next time do it without ego"

"Embrace the loss" even with the cocky tone the driver gave her a ge hug gentle as a cloud , if it was possible she would be in his arms every morning and every night.

Miles watching the two from a far mumbled under his breath “Someone should just tell them they’re in love already.”

lewishamilton

lewishamilton: Rest and Reset (don't mind Y/N she's being a aore loser)

↳ dr y/n : 🙄

f1lover: Is that Doctor Y/N? At this point they are pratically married

↳ teamlh: They’re so each other’s person. I’m crying.

↳ ynmedlife: Okay but imagine having Y/N as your doctor AND she’s besties with Lewis?? Unreal.

The soft hum of the sea was the only soundtrack as Lewis and Y/N stood at the terrace, basking in the golden light of dusk. The tension between them was unspoken, as always—an ache simmering just below the surface.

Then came a familiar, easy voice behind them:

"You still haven't told me, how long you've known each other."

Both turned, Miles was leaning against the door with a smile and a beer in his hands.

Y/N laughed, a small gesture that lit up her face. Lewis felt it like a warm breeze in his heart. "Yeah" Y'N replied, turning to Lewis. "Ever since we were 15, I made him copy my math homework"

Lewis laughed, shaking his head "If it wasn't for you I would have failed school, he wasn't the best in the class"

"She always had her nose in the books" Miles laughed, sipping his beer "Even today, she always has papers on her face"

"I remember when Y/N barricaded herself in her room for 3 days to study. I brought her food and water even if she threw notes at me"

Y/N shyly smiled "And I sat for hours in the garage watching you Anthony set up the kart and talking about strategies"

Miles grinned, taking a sip of his beer. “Damn… sounds like you two were each other’s ride-or-die.”

The words hung in the air, a little too close to the truth. Lewis shifted, glancing at Y/N with a half-smile. “Yeah, we always had time for each other. Even now, somehow, we make it work.”

Y/N nodded, her voice quieter, more vulnerable. “Always.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filled the space where words could have been.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft glow on the both of them , there was no denying it—no matter how stubborn they'd both been chasing their dreams, they’d always found time for each other.

Maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant everything.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The long bezzle

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

When it comes to the modern world of enshittified, terrible businesses, no addition to your vocabulary is more essential than "bezzle," JK Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/09/accounting-gimmicks/#unter

The bezzle is contained by two forces.

First, Stein's Law: "Anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop."

Second, Keynes's: "Markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent."

On the one hand, extremely badly run businesses that strip all the value out of the firm, making things progressively worse for its suppliers, workers and customers will eventually fail (Stein's Law).

On the other hand, as the private equity sector has repeatedly demonstrated, there are all kinds of accounting tricks, subsidies and frauds that can animate a decaying, zombie firm long after its best-before date (Keynes's irrational markets):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

One company that has done an admirable job of balancing on a knife edge between Stein and Keynes is Verizon, a monopoly telecoms firm that has proven that a business can remain large, its products relied upon by millions, its stock actively traded and its market cap buoyant, despite manifest, repeated incompetence and waste on an unimaginable scale.

This week, Verizon shut down Bluejeans, an also-ran videoconferencing service the company bought for $400 million in 2020 as a panic-buy to keep up with Zoom. As they lit that $400 mil on fire, Verizon praised its own vision, calling Bluejeans "an award-winning product that connects our customers around the world, but we have made this decision due to the changing market landscape":

https://9to5google.com/2023/08/08/verizon-bluejeans-shutting-down/

Writing for Techdirt, Karl Bode runs down a partial list of all the unbelievably terrible business decisions Verizon has made without losing investor confidence or going under, in a kind of tribute to Keynes's maxim:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/08/10/verizon-fails-again-shutters-attempted-zoom-alternative-bluejeans-after-paying-400-million-for-it/

Remember Go90, the "dud" streaming service launched in 2015 and shuttered in 2018? You probably don't, and neither (apparently) do Verizon's shareholders, who lost $1.2 billion on this folly:

https://www.techdirt.com/2018/07/02/verizons-sad-attempt-to-woo-millennials-falls-flat-face/

Then there was Verizon's bid to rescue Redbox with a new joint-venture streaming service, Redbox Instant, launched 2012, killed in 2014, $450,000,000 later:

https://variety.com/2014/digital/news/verizon-redbox-to-pull-plug-on-video-streaming-service-1201321484/

Then there was Sugarstring, a tech "news" website where journalists were prohibited from saying nice things about Net Neutrality or surveillance – born 2014, died 2014:

https://www.theverge.com/2014/12/2/7324063/verizon-kills-off-sugarstring

An app store, started in 2010, killed in 2012:

https://www.theverge.com/2012/11/5/3605618/verizon-apps-store-closing-january-2013

Vcast, 2005-2012, yet another failed streaming service (pray that someday you find someone who loves you as much as Verizon's C-suite loves doomed streaming services):

https://venturebeat.com/media/verizon-vcast-shutting-down/

And the granddaddy of them all, Oath, Verizon's 2017, $4.8 billion acquisition of Yahoo/AOL, whose name refers to the fact that the company's mismanagement provoked involuntary, protracted swearing from all who witnessed the $4.6 billion write-down the company took a year later:

https://www.techdirt.com/2018/12/12/if-youre-surprised-verizons-aol-yahoo-face-plant-you-dont-know-verizon/

Verizon isn't just bad at being a phone company that does non-phone-company things – it's incredibly bad at being a phone company, too. As Bode points out, Verizon's only real competency is in capturing its regulators at the FCC:

https://www.techdirt.com/2017/05/02/new-verizon-video-blatantly-lies-about-whats-happening-to-net-neutrality/

And sucking up massive public subsidies from rubes in the state houses of New York:

https://www.techdirt.com/2017/03/14/new-york-city-sues-verizon-fiber-optic-bait-switch/

New Jersey:

https://www.techdirt.com/2014/04/25/verizon-knows-youre-sucker-takes-taxpayer-subsidies-broadband-doesnt-deliver-lobbies-to-drop-requirements/

and Pennsylvania:

https://www.techdirt.com/2017/06/15/verizon-gets-wrist-slap-years-neglecting-broadband-networks-new-jersey-pennsylvania/

Despite all this, and vast unfunded liabilities – like remediating the population-destroying lead in their cables – they remain solvent:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/government/verizon-sued-by-investors-over-lead-cables-environmental-statements-2023-08-02/

Verizon has remained irrational longer than any short seller could remain solvent.

Short-sellers – who bet against companies and get paid when their stock prices go down – get a bad rap: billionaire shorts were the villains of the Gamestop squeeze, accused of running negative PR campaigns against beloved businesses to drive them under and pay their bets off:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/30/meme-stocks/#stockstonks

But shorts can do the lord's work. Writing for Bloomberg, Kathy Burton tells the story of Nate Anderson, whose Hindenburg Research has cost some of the world's wealthiest people over $99 billion by publishing investigative reports on their balance-sheet shell-games just this year:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2023-08-06/how-much-did-hindenburg-make-from-shorting-adani-dorsey-icahn

Anderson started off trying to earn a living as a SEC whistleblower, identifying financial shenanigans and collecting the bounties on offer, but that didn't pan out. So he turned his forensic research skills to preparing mediagenic, viral reports on the scams underpinning the financial boasts of giant companies…after taking a short position in them.

This year, Anderson's targets have included Carl Icahn, whose company lost $17b in market cap after Anderson accused it of overvaluing its assets. He went after the world's fourth-richest man, Gautam Adani, accusing him of "accounting fraud and stock manipulation," wiping out 34% of his net worth. He took on Jack Dorsey, whose payment processor Square renamed itself Block and went all in on the cryptocurrency bezzle, lopping 16% off its share price.

Burton points out that Anderson's upside for these massive bloodletting was comparatively modest. A perfectly timed exit from the $17b Icahn report would have netted $56m. What's more, Anderson faces legal threats and worse – one short seller was attacked by a man wearing brass-knuckles, an attack attributed to her short activism.

Shorts are lauded as one of capitalism's self-correcting mechanisms, and Hindenberg certainly has taken some big, successful swings at some of the great bezzles of our time. But as Verizon shows, shorts alone can't discipline a market where profits and investor confidence are totally decoupled from competence or providing a decent product or service.

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

[losingmymindrn]

District Four's Market

𓆟 𓆜 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆜

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Main shops:

Fish Market stalls: buys fish from the fishermen. Their stock is often common sea fish including blackfin tuna, bluefin tuna, redfish, red grouper, salmon, and king Marckerel. The capital had alternated most fish species to be able to live by District four, which is why there is many varieties of fish. Stalls often near the pier

Seashell sellers: they collect and sell seashells from the beach. All of their shells have to be full, non broken, and pretty. They sometimes have have dried out seastars, washed up urchins, and sand dollars. They have small buildings near the peir, sometimes more inland, but not often.

Ship repairs, wood: they repair old wooden pirate like ships before they embark on their journey out sea. They are paid by the government, but not much as wooden pirate ships aren't, in the captial's words, good enough in comparison to the metal ones. Little do they know, the most successful fishers have had more luck on wooden ships than metal. They are on the edges of docks and peirs, close to ships.

Ship repairs, metal: like the wooden boat repairs, they repair the metal fishing boats. They are given more money by the government, but their ships aren't the best repaired, which is why sailors use the wooden ships more often. Again, they are near the peir and docks.

Net stalls: they hand weave all types of nets. To keep them dry, they set up stalls more inland. The higher quality nets are sold in upper class areas.

Hooks and baits shops: nice, small buildings that sell hand crafted hooks and fish baits. Most hooks and baits shops don't have high quality products, but if you live in the upper class areas you will find better hooks, and sometimes rarer baits. They are all over district four.

boat shops: there is only 3 of these buildings, as the boats take a very long time to make. They are on pairs, so you can take your boat out the moment you get them.

Deep sea creature buildings: these make money. They buy lobsters, red crabs, oysters, squid and octopus. These are typically very expensive, so residents of district four have to be "wealthy" to be able to buy some. These shops are in high class areas.

miscellaneous items: these are most likely necklaces, messages in bottles, pieces of coral that wasn't wanted by seashell sellers, pendants, ships in bottles, books, maps of the sea, candles, or fables for children. Found everywhere.

Different types of food is found everywhere

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Black market, Skull and Bones territory:

Exotic fish: Saliors who fish up any exotic or weird creatures, sell them to these buyers, who in turn sell them to any brave person. In the deeper parts of the Black Market.

"bewitched" items: a monkey's paw, a large shark tooth, messages from pirates years ago, all things that may be considered cursed is found here. there is only one of these stalls, so if you want a cursed item you better get it fast.

prostitutes: the women, or men, desperate for money may become prostitutes. Buildings holding them are found at the middle of the Skull and Bones territory.

Bones: many types of bones are sold in the Skull and bone territory. There are shark jaws, fish skeletons, "mermaid tails", and rarely human bones. Stalls found in the back.

tonics: these are commonly made medicines that are needed. Found in the front of the black market.

Tattoo shops: Tattoos are huge in District Four. To get a tattoo, you must have a story to tell, and someone to back it up. They can tell if your lying. Found everywhere, only opens in night and early morning hours.

꒰ 🪸 ꒱ ࣪𓂂 ׅ Bars:

The Trench: District Four has many bars, but this is the most popular. This is a bar and diner with a stage for music or magic shows to be held. They have a variety of great tasting drinks and food. Saliors spend most of their free time here, sometimes they even bring their familes. Found close to the sea, free to enter.

Mermaid Cove: a less popular yet nice bar. This is for people 15 and up, as it's mainly drinking and gambling for pearls and coins. Found in the middle class area.

Davy Jone's locker: the most popular bar in the Skull and Bones territory. They sell drinks that are very questionable to drink. Some food, but not much. Found in the middle of the Skull and Bones territory

The Black Pearl: Has hard drinks that make you believe nothing is real. It has a dark, wet, and cold atmosphere. A popular bar in the Skull and Bones territory. It is found near the beach closest to the territory

I hope you like this^^

[justforbooks]

The Optimist by Keach Hagey

The man who brought us ChatGPT. Sam Altman’s extraordinary career – and personal life – under the microscope

On 30 November 2022, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman tweeted the following, characteristically reserving the use of capital letters for his product’s name: “today we launched ChatGPT. try talking with it here: chat.openai.com”. In a reply to himself immediately below, he added: “language interfaces are going to be a big deal, i think”.

If Altman was aiming for understatement, he succeeded. ChatGPT became the fastest web service to hit 1 million users, but more than that, it fired the starting gun on the AI wars currently consuming big tech. Everything is about to change beyond recognition, we keep being told, though no one can agree on whether that will be for good or ill.

This moment is just one of many skilfully captured in Wall Street Journal reporter Keach Hagey’s biography of Altman, who, like his company, was then virtually unknown outside of the industry. He is a confounding figure throughout the book, which charts his childhood, troubled family life, his first failed startup Loopt, his time running the startup incubator Y Combinator, and the founding of OpenAI.

Altman, short, slight, Jewish and gay, appears not to fit the typical mould of the tech bro. He is known for writing long, earnest essays about the future of humankind, and his reputation was as more of an arch-networker and money-raiser than an introverted coder in a hoodie.

OpenAI, too, was supposed to be different from other tech giants: it was set up as a not-for-profit, committed by its charter to work collaboratively to create AI for humanity’s benefit, and made its code publicly available. Altman would own no shares in it.

He could commit to this, as he said in interviews, because he was already rich – his net worth is said to be around $1.5bn (£1.13bn) – as a result of his previous investments. It was also made possible because of his hyper-connectedness: as Hagey tells it, Altman met his software engineer husband Oliver Mulherin in the hot tub of PayPal and Palantir co-founder Peter Thiel at 3am, when Altman, 29, was already a CEO, and Mulherin was a 21-year-old student.

Thiel was a significant mentor to Altman, but not nearly so central to the story of OpenAI as another notorious Silicon Valley figure – Elon Musk. The Tesla and SpaceX owner was an initial co-founder and major donor to the not-for-profit version of OpenAI, even supplying its office space in its early years.

That relationship has soured into mutual antipathy – Musk is both suing OpenAI and offering (somewhat insincerely) to buy it – as Altman radically altered the company’s course. First, its commitment to releasing code publicly was ditched. Then, struggling to raise funds, it launched a for-profit subsidiary. Soon, both its staff and board worried the vision of AI for humanity was being lost amid a rush to create widely used and lucrative products.

This leads to the book’s most dramatic sections, describing how OpenAI’s not-for-profit board attempted an audacious ousting of Altman as CEO, only for more than 700 of the company’s 770 engineers to threaten to resign if he was not reinstated. Within five days, Altman was back, more powerful than ever.

OpenAI has been toying with becoming a purely private company. And Altman turns out to be less of an anomaly in Silicon Valley than he once seemed. Like its other titans, he seems to be prepping for a potential doomsday scenario, with ranch land and remote properties. He is set to take stock in OpenAI after all. He even appears to share Peter Thiel’s supposed interest in the potential for transfusions of young blood to slow down ageing.

The Optimist serves to remind us that however unprecedented the consequences of AI models might be, the story of their development is a profoundly human one. Altman is the great enigma at its core, seemingly acting with the best of intentions, but also regularly accused of being a skilled and devious manipulator.

For students of the lives of big tech’s other founders, a puzzling question remains: in a world of 8 billion human beings, why do the stories of the people wreaking such huge change in our world end up sounding so eerily alike?

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?