#but it ended up being a collection of illegible writing

[dimepdf]

★  𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐓. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. sure you cant blame a girl for trying but Toji shows you that he can make it fit .

─── ☆ notes. oh no,, Taiyo is back at it again with a new format. i'm writing shorter fics to make room for more ideas for the 9k+ Christmas wip i want done before the holiday week my new upload schedule is mon,wed, fri, and saturdays for now on usually around 7pm cst .

─── ☆ length. 954 (8 min read) .

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, smut, no plot/plotless, pwp, size difference, size kink, consent is sexy, Toji kinda being a soft dom, kinda bratty reader, failed cowgirl, missionary, manhandling, pet names, unprotected sex, meat to meat!, eye contact, dumbifcation, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, stomach feeling, chain dangling, implies of creampie | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

You had caught yourself in a bit of a problem when you said, "I can’t." 

Your thighs trembled as you struggled to maintain a sitting position. Your muscles ached, and your chest heaved as any small shift had you seeing stars straddling Toji’s lap.

Small whines exhaled from your throat as your arms wrapped around his neck, even with the gesture of encouragement from his thumbs rubbing against the skin of your hips, letting you take complete control.

You at first thought it was a wonderful idea, not acknowledging the knowing look in Toji’s stare. 

He knew you were just being a brat since you would struggle to even fit him entirely in your mouth while giving him a blowjob, but seeing the determined look in your eye had him sitting back and entertaining your entire allusion.

Laid against the headboard with both hands kneading against your hips, there wasn't an ounce of concern in his eyes, as he hadn’t bothered to help you one bit as you were starting to backtrack on your plans entirely.

Your face twisted into a grimace as you slowly lowered yourself down, inch by inch, almost panting as you let out a long string of curses before finally bottoming out his entire length inside of you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as you leaned forward, listening to Toji's deep chuckle. 

His muscly arms drew you into a soothing embrace, allowing you to catch your breath and listen to the pitter-patter of his heartbeat as your chests pressed together.

"It won’t fit." Your voice trembles as you shift your head to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. A shiver up your spine from the slightest movement of having him stuffed completely inside of you.

"Then how about we make it fit?" Toji surprisingly granted you mercy, giving you a moment to fully collect yourself before moving around to a more comfortable position, pushing aside the lightheaded feeling that left you feeling strangely empty as he pulled out of you.

Clenching against nothing, Toji gave you enough room to lie on your back, his hands wrapping around the bend of your knee to yank you closer to the edge of the mattress standing near the end of your bed.

As if they had belonged there, your thighs had wrapped around his hips in an instant, settling on your back. Everything about him leaning on top of you made you clench your fists around nothing in arousal—his stature completely enveloping you, his large muscled forearms encircling you on both sides. 

"Huh, how does that sound pretty?" Your head could only nod as your body shivered at the feeling of him using the slick of your arousal to coat the hilt of his length, rubbing himself against your folds in a teasing manner before sinking his tip between them and splitting you open.

As he continued to bottom out with one careful thrust, you let out a pierced moan. the first noise of bliss shared between the two of you as his hips met yours, stuffing you completely full.

It should have been considered illegal how good the drag of his meat felt against your walls, every inch making your spread thighs tremble as they started to ache from being too pushed apart. 

The moment his rhyme picked up you were convinced you were bound to start seeing stars soon. 

The wet sound of your pussy clenching against him as he thrust in and out, falling in love with the pick up of his breathing as he rested his forehead against yours watching every change in your expression. 

You don't pay much mind to the small gold chain that dangled just below your breast. The glint of the cold jewelry brushing against your exposed skin with every thrust had kept your brain too occupied with the abuse of your cunt to pay it any mind.

Toji pulled away to give you enough space to lean back against the sheets, you'd be thrashing if it weren't for his entire body weight holding you against the mattress as he adjusted himself to stuff inside of you at a deeper angle.

Your eyes were rolling up as your body tensed, having a sneaky orgasm—just the first one of the night—as he continued to fuck you through it.

"You still with me, princess?" He uses his palm to guide your chin back down, his long fingers ghosting over your cheek as he playfully slaps you, having the audacity to pose his words as any old innocent question, as if he weren't fucking your brains out right now.

As the buildup of your second orgasm began to boil over, you could only manage whimpers and broken moans.

convinced you were going to just pass away from the feeling of bliss as his palm fell flat against the pudge of your stomach, pressing into the flesh and feeling himself with a breathy chuckle.

You had almost found it sickening that he had found so much satisfaction in fucking you to the point of overstimulation, as tears swelled your eyes along with your second orgasm that left your nails clenching into Toji’s forearm.

His pace doesn't falter, doesn't even stutter as you shiver and shake under him, and you don't bother holding back any noises that come from your throat.

Toji doesn't seem to mind humming in agreement to every broken sentence, whispering compliments about how well you were holding up for him while he uses you raw like his personal fucktoy.

"I told you it could fit, baby," he coos, his tone laced with false kindness as his hips drive you deeper into the mattress. "Now the hard part is gonna be pulling out."

🔖 @chloee0x0 @yazmunson @kawatabae @haitaniwhor3 @pluzo @hey-gurls69 @momoewn @kogoshidied @disaster-rose @hoohoohope @pidwidge @jadeisthirsting @zuuki @watyousayin @tojishugetiddies @rumi-rants @justanotherkpopstanlol @awkwardaardvarkforever @lexiinanime @melty-kisses @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ficti0nalslxt @Morpheus_sturridge @sheluvzeren @kodemzx @IplaytheTromboneandI’maMhasimp @elisedylandy @Sacvh

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[satoruhour]

Helllooo!!!! I hope you're doing well<33 I'm not sure if you're taking requests so this can be taken as a random rant as well. (I'm in my exam week-depressed-stressed era lol) but is it just me Or the animated version of choso and the mans voice actor just doubled his hotness!?? Hence why me is here to ask if you could do a choso street racer au, could be anything from him meeting at a race or him taking them drifting? Idk but I just need more racer choso au's😭😭😭

LUCKY DIME

a/n: oh no my love i hope your exams went well and that you’re resting comfortably now ❤️ OFCCCC i planned to write a racer!choso for so long i just didnt have any motivation / tagging @screampied

wc: 3k

warnings: racer!choso, reader is ‘dating’ a weirdo, fem!reader, threat of sexual assault (from weirdo guy), threatening harm, flashback, unsafe driving tendencies (dont follow them in this fic lol pls drive safely), semi-public sex (parking lot), car sex, slight nipple play, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, finger sucking, implied multiple rounds and p -> v sex later on, n*sfw under the cut

choso hasn’t always been open about his origins — moving from the shimotsuma district to shibuya just two years ago in need of quick cash to send back to his struggling mother. it was a hard decision on both ends, with his mother advocating more for him to leave for a better life than the one she could offer. he acquiesced with a promise to earn enough to send back to her every month in return for the secret stash she provided for him and that promise meant everything. he was going to get money no matter what.

even if it meant meddling with the local yakuza, doing petty little tasks of collecting money, escorting the people important to the oyabun to their meeting places, being on lookouts while gambling and prostitution happens indoors. choso would never write back to his mother on what he’s been doing to get so much money, but if he’s able to send a hefty amount back to her on every 29th, he’s satisfied.

that is until he’s met with a couple arguing as they walk along the alleyway, creating such a ruckus that choso’s sure they could power the whole of shibuya — well, more of the man, anyways, saying something about racing and cars that he’s not even sure he catches on.

“well, if you just listened to her and opted for a flat-plane rather than use a cross-plane, maybe you wouldn’t have lost the race!” you’re throwing your hands up, struggling to walk behind in these new heels you bought while you navigate the dark alleyway. for a boy who’s expressed interest in you, he wasn’t doing well in trying to keep you one bit. you’d say he’s rather annoyed that you know so much about cars, trying to genuinely help him while he just sees it as attacks.

“yeah, well, if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have embarrassed me about losing to noritoshi.” you roll your eyes, unaware you’re passing a dangerous area with dangerous activities behind the door choso was guarding, nor do you notice the way the bodyguard perks up at the name of noritoshi, who sounds awfully familiar.

you scoff, “trust me, you embarrassed yourself the moment you tried to challenge the dude,” it was meant to be a harmless comment; noritoshi could never measure up to the famous four, but he practised his drifting hard enough and put in the hard work, stayed humble. he was everything that your “man” wasn’t, and it was only deserved that he didn’t win. ultimately, you didn’t expect much from a man in the illegal racing scene who only cared about who had the nicest engines and paint finishes.

“what’d you say?”

choso keeps a close eye on the both of you.

“it was nothing—” you sigh, reaching out to grab at his arm to get him to stop shouting so loud when you notice the person standing in front of a shady door — twin pigtails hairstyle with a dead look in his eyes and a tattoo across his nose, dressed up in a suit. it was scary enough walking through a dimly-lit alleyway, but your fear heightens when your eyes fall upon the surroundings of ashes of late night campfires, dried blood along the walls, and used condoms on the floor.

“no, no, tell me what you said, just so i know that i heard you right,” your “man” insisted, stepping up so close to you that your nerves were on high alert from the proximity and the possibility of that someone just a few feet away inflicting harm on the both of you.

“it was nothing! i just meant that you didn’t have a chance against noritoshi from the st—” it’s like you hit a sensitive nerve, because the next thing he’s doing is grabbing your wrist and dragging you along, not aware of how choso perks up even more, ready to leave his post. it borderline hurts with the way he grasps at your skin, paired with the discomfort of your heels and outfit, you can’t just wait to get home and rest up.

“ohh, so that’s what you said!” the man continues to tug you, not heeding your pleas for him to stop, “might as well just leave you here with the yakuza to see whether you stand a chance.”

that’s what the man was guarding . . wait.

a shout wretches out of you when you notice there’s no shadows at the door that’s lit simply with fluorescence at the same time the mysterious man has one hand each on your arms.

“who are you—” your “man” has the gall to speak first, shocked at the stronger grip of the other when he tears the fingers away from your wrist before stumbling back. the mysterious guy simply tugs you into his hold, levelling the other with just a stare from his eyes that’s got him babbling and stuttering in fear. you hate to admit that once the man beside you speaks, your body curls into his side — it’s like a smooth cup of coffee that you gravitate towards.

“do you want to repeat what you just said?” choso puts you behind him as he approaches the other, one step taken while the cowering one takes one step back. “because i can always open the door i’m guarding and let them take care of you, instead.”

“t-that wouldn’t be necessary—” he’s adamant on his threatening, taking out a flip phone and dialling numbers one by one, no doubt the number of his boss. he doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on the pigtailed man as he continues to dial the number and pressing call. if choso’s being honest, he’s about to shit himself just as much, never having called his saiko-komon personally before so he only fakes the number, thanking the heavens that someone somewhere decided to call his boss’ phone just at the same time.

they all hear it, the familiar nokia ringtone from behind the door, but in choso’s ear, all it says is that it’s an invalid number that garners no answer. he talks over the operator’s voice anyway.

“yeah, i need you to take care of this guy. just outside here—” that’s enough for him to go running away, puddles splashing and his voice crying out for civilisation, although you’re not too happy yourself, afraid for your own fate. kept like a pet for the yakuza? made to work for them to pay off this small helping hand? commit—

you sit up from the hood, “you called a fake number?!” it’s hard to say when that fateful meeting turned into this over the past few months, asking choso to recount the night the two of you met out of curiosity when you realise that your yakuza-accountant boyfriend had dialled a fake number the whole time.

“i had just joined! i wasn’t going to phone my boss . .” he sheepishly says with head turned to you, and while you’re giving him brutal smacks on the shoulder (“what! if! he! hadn’t! run! away! were you going to let a phone operator beat him up?”), you’re still thankful he decided to step in at the right time even if his heroic act had been brought down a notch by this revelation.

it’s then that he asks about the whole racing thing you were involved in but you’re taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t going to make you do anything in return. even if the alley had boasted its dubiousness, you realise than the man standing in front of you was not much older than you, a childish sparkle in his eyes when you entertained the question. with a random number in your phone, it was up to you if you wanted to text him, but after a few races, you think that he was just too handsome to pass up.

choso picked up racing and drifting fast, joining your small group of friends of yuji, megumi and nobara who were all rising up the ranks. it was difficult, knowing the famous four, but it didn’t hurt trying to build a reputation in the underground scene. he practised around the docks, crashing into crates, sending the seagulls flying, and almost sending your scrap car over the edge.

“tokyo is pretty at this time of night,” choso mumbles as he sits up, too, liking the way you scooch closer to him on the hood of his 1967 Ford Mustang.

“tokyo is cold, i’m lucky i’m not freezing to death.” you tease him even when you’re wearing his warm jacket, squealing when his cold hands make it under the jacket and your shirt.

“how are you cold, that jacket’s wool!” he nestles his face into your neck, freezing nose touching the skin there and you giggle, trying your best to push him away. choso says that, but he’s happy to see you in his jacket while his arms tingle with both frost and lovesickness. “you’re just extra sensitive to the cold.”

before you can retaliate, though, he’s pulling away from your body heat to look you in the eye; it was a wonder he even got you, a girl who’s just so passionate about cars and who taught him everything he needed to know about it. six months down the road, he’s writing about something other than living paycheck to paycheck again, getting in some extra money from racing as well.

“wanna drive?”

you grin, hopping off his hood before jumping into the car beside him and he only laughs at your enthusiasm, hopping in after you and starting the ignition. you wish it was like this before every race: you beside him in the passenger seat as he gets ready to race against his opponent. the rev of the engine always excites you, knowing you contributed to the many modifications of his Mustang. but choso always says it’s dangerous for you — so you’re left to watch from the sidelines.

but now, as choso drifts down the mountain, you can’t help but stare at him as he changes gears every few seconds, hair blowing everywhere from the wind outside before he reaches the base and races off into the main road. you’re shouting in excitement, music blasting loudly from the cassette player while you dominate the streets at night.

“d’you think i can break 190, sweetheart?”

your jaw drops, “while drifting?” he nods, “you’re insane . . yeah, do it.”

choso’s laughter feels infinitely heavenly, stepping on the accelerator on a fairly empty road. he’s familiar with the traffic of the roads too, so at 4am, it’s basically deserted when he speeds down the gravel while he tries to break the speed limit. you feel on top of the world, a pretty road full of green lights on every turn; there’s a couple of sharp screeches from his tires as he navigates shibuya.

“hear that increased throttle response . .” you whistle when he presses his foot into the accelerator again, Mustang speeding off into the streets while you look over to him: hand holding the stick shift and one hand on the wheel. he’s as pretty as you remember him six months ago and his beauty truly hits you in the moment that you unconsciously rub your thighs together.

“all thanks to you, baby,” feels like the final blow, not knowing the effect he has on you until you’re waiting until he slows down to place your hand atop his on the steering wheel. there he lets you steer where you want to go, face melting into recognition at the place you’re taking him to.

“you’re nasty.” in the abandoned car park, he giggles when you’re shushing him as you make your way to the backseats, levelling him with a stare that begged him to hurry.

“yeah . . whatever, you like it.”

choso grins, switching off the ignition and climbing in after you, making you forget all about the cold season of japan in mere minutes. his lips collide with yours and his body naturally pushes yours to the leather seats, driving you crazy just with his mouth. his hands make quick work of your skimpy outfit, inching past your tight halter top and to your tits. you gasp softly into the kiss.

“may i?” even after all this time, choso still asks for permission, pulling down your top and bra when you nod.

his mouth is both warm and gentle when it meets with your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud and eyes looking up at you just to relish in the hooded lids and soft moans you give him. his free hand fondles your other, squeezing and playing, rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

“just s’soft . . always,” he hums into your chest, kissing you down bit by bit and making you wait for it with each teasing journey he makes. there, he manoeuvres himself onto the floor, kneeling on the carpeted finishing as your knees hook onto each shoulder. the car is filled with your laboured breathing, watching him slowly undo the straps to your uncomfortable heels. it’s excruciatingly slow, pulling at the strings and removing each shoe before his lips leave fire along your shin, up to your thighs and to your pulsing core.

“choso . .” you whine, hips bucking off the leather.

all he does is laugh, hands spreading your legs before he’s licking his lips at the mess you made in your skirt, panties and back of the fabric soaked right through. your boyfriend pulls you forward with a certain fervour that makes you yelp and you match him with a nervous grin as he tugs away the underwear and marvels at the arousal that just sticks to your pussy, pretty and dripping right in front of him.

you have no warning before choso indulges himself in your cunt and you cry out in surprise, hand tangled up in the mess of his hair that falls from his pigtails. his warm tongue laps at your clit like a man starved, slurping up all of your arousal into his tongue. the cold weather is just the cherry on top, cold wind wafting through the walls and the windows, making you extra sensitive.

“c-cho—” you hum, one hand lost in his black locks while the other clutches tightly onto the seats for any sort of anchor while choso only pushes his face further in between your legs. he can feel your pussy clench around nothing, switching between sucking and flicking his tongue with a relentless pace that threatens your sanity. “t-too much . .”

all he does is laugh into your centre, eyes flitting to meet yours while he continues his ministrations, arms wrapping around your thighs. choso moans at how good and sweet you taste, a curious hand moving from your legs right to your hole where he plays with your folds. gently, he pushes past your walls and you whimper from the intrusion, clamping down around his finger.

“relax, darling, i got you,” he softly says, relaxing his pace just a bit as he starts to thrust his finger. while slow, his tongue doesn’t stop, however, still continuing to make the lewdest noises.

“pussy so damn sweet,” he groans, nuzzling his face right into your sloppy core before teasing a second finger; it’s easy to slip in but he still warns you wordlessly, inching them right in until they reach the knuckles, “and so tight, too—”

the car is filled with the smell of sex, the sounds of your pussy and your endless moans as choso starts to pump his fingers in and out, reaching so much deeper than any of your toys can and stretching you out just right. your hips buck uncontrollably as you feel that coil in your stomach, knowing that you were only going to get even more of this before choso properly fucks you — but it’s all he promises, that to make sure you’d cum on his fingers and tongue thrice before he even thinks of railing you like you deserve.

“c-choso, your fingers—!”

“yeah?” it’s breathless, bottom half of his face all soaked and wet, but he goes right back in.

“mmfuck— cho, cho, p-please . .” your words are jumbled up, babbling through your teeth while his fingers gathers all of your juices, “i’m g’nna—”

choso thinks you’re just perfect like this, moaning as much as you want in his Mustang and spread out just for him to eat. he cannot keep his eyes off you, curling his fingers just a bit to find your sweet spot as he flicks your bundle of nerves as his eyes stay on the way your lips part for little pants to escape. your eyes have fluttered close by now but he doesn’t mind as you continue to push his head towards your cunt.

“cum on my fingers, my love,” the other groans, words muffled a little, “cum on my tongue like a good girl.” 

“cho— f-fuuck . .” you writhe around on the leather seats as you reach your peak, voice descending into a silent scream while your jaw hangs open. at his peripheral he can see and feel your thighs tremble while you chant his name like a prayer, over and over until you think your voice is hoarse. his seats are wet, no doubt, and you wince seeing your cum decorate the leather, but choso quietens your worries as he leans up to give you a kiss. you can taste yourself.

“taste good?” you’re ruined despite it being your first orgasm, answering half-heartedly before slumping, a soft moan leaving you when he removes his fingers and strings of your arousal stick to each digit. his hand naturally gravitates towards your mouth, fumbling with your lips before he pushes in — distracted, he takes the opportunity to latch his mouth onto your cunt again and you mewl loudly.

“that’s just the start,” choso grins, laying a long stripe up your pussy and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls over his fingers, “i’m sorry in advance . . hope you’re able to get out of bed tomorrow, baby.”

[forcryingoutlloud]

guilty as sin?

warnings: smut (18+ minors dni!) mutual masturbation, handjob, fingering, cum play? kind of?, very slight slapping (like once i think?) shit writing

a/n: i had such high hopes for this idea but alas i fear i did it no justice, i kinda just wanted to get it over and done with. anyway enjoy if you can? feedback is always appreciated too :) not proofread as i couldn’t bear to re read this one more time

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“goodnight!” she called out to her boyfriends family, gently shutting the door to her bedroom and leaning her head back. she was alone for the first time in days - her boyfriend somehow bumping into an old friend in the old Italian town they were staying in and staying out for drinks - and she appreciated the lack of company.

her mind had been racing with thoughts of him all day, his chiseled abs glistening in the sunlight, his neck dripping with sweat that she longed to lick away and the illegally tiny shorts he was wearing that left practically nothing to the imagination.

him being her boyfriends brother.

unbeknownst to herself she clenched her thighs together and sighed, pulling the summer dress over her head and throwing it somewhere on the floor. her nipples had hardened, wether it was the thoughts racing through her head or the air conditioned room she wasn’t sure, but she settled herself on the bed, gently cupping a tit in her hand and squeezing.

she gasped out quietly at the touch before pinching her nipple and feeling another gush of wetness flood her panties. letting out quiet whimpers, she wished with everything she had that it was matty’s rough hands toying with her instead; but her imagination was strong enough to make her think it was him.

she moved her other hand down her body, biting her lip to stifle a gasp when her fingers came into contact with her clit over her underwear, pressing down slightly and rolling her hips to meet her touch.

she moved her panties to the side and ran two fingers through her slit collecting her wetness before bringing it back up to her clit and rubbing circles into the bud.

“matty,” she whimpered quietly, bringing a finger down to her entrance and pushing in.

she closed her eyes and whined loudly at the intrusion, before slapping a hand over her mouth trying to muffle her sounds.

“bit too late for that princess.”

her eyes ripped open and took her hand out of her panties, sitting up in the bed and staring at the man that was stood by the door.

“matty what are you doing?”, she wrapped her arms around her body trying to cover herself, crossing her legs to hide the glaringly obvious wet patch that had gathered on her baby pink panties.

the movement had brought mattys gaze to her core, a smirk taking over his face.

“the walls are thinner than you think sweetness,” he took a few steps closer to her, sitting on the opposite end of the bed, gazing at her with blown out pupils and pure desire in his eyes.

her eyes widened, a flush taking over her cheeks from the embarrassment of being heard. he cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow at her. “why’d you stop? i was enjoying the show.”

she bit her lip and thought for a moment. the angel on her shoulder telling her it was wrong, to tell him to get out. the devils voice was slightly louder, enticing her to give in to what she had been craving for so long.

with a flutter of her lashes she slipped her hand back into her underwear, a shaky breath leaving her pouted lips as she ran two fingers through her wetness.

“that’s it," he cooed. "feel good angel?” she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded, gazing at him with a sultry look on her face.

“want you to tell me sweet girl, tell me how good it feels. what you wish i was doing to you.”

she sucked in a sharp breath when she saw his hand move to squeeze at his sizeable bulge, wishing it was her hand instead.

"w-want you to fuck me," she slipped a finger inside herself and arched her back with a high pitched whine, the sight of her tits bouncing had matty stifling a groan through bitten lips.

"aw poor baby," he pouted at her mockingly, deft fingers undoing the button and zipper on his jeans and pulling them and his boxers down in one swift movement. his cock stood up proudly, flushed a slight shade of red and glistening at the tip with his arousal. "is he not good enough for you?"

she felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head at the reminder of her boyfriend, but it was soon forgotten when matty let out a moan as his hand grasped around his base, pumping steadily.

he fixed her with a stern gaze, his eyes narrowed slightly as she writhed on the bed. his hand that wasn't occupied with his cock slapped her thigh harshly. "answer me. thought you were a good girl hm? good girls do what they're told.”

she whined at the sting on her thigh and shook her head. “no, he can’t make me cum- fuck! always think of you instead-.” she brought her other hand down to rub at her clit, her fingers working rapidly inside her but not getting the job done as well as he could’ve.

he growled slightly at her words, his hand tightening around his cock and thumbing at his slit. “yeah sweet girl? does thinking of me get you off? mm bet it does, fuck-.”

he ran a thumb over his tip, his hips jerking and threw his head back exposing his pretty neck that was begging to be covered in her lipstick. but she knew that would be wrong.

she whined loudly when she slipped another finger inside herself, pumping them rapidly to bring herself to the edge. “matty i-.”

he smirked at her and pumped his cock harder, cocking a head at her. “‘s not good enough is it pretty girl?”

she pouted and shook her head, grinding her hips against her fingers. “need more matty please.”

he tutted at her and shook his head, his movements on his cock never faltering. “can’t do that sweetheart, ‘m not gonna touch you. you’re not mine are you?”

she whined loudly, tears brimming her eyes and threatening to fall at any moment from the dull pleasure.

all she needed was a small touch from the man in front of her to push her over the edge but he was denying her of what they both so desperately craved.

because of his brother.

his movements started to become erratic as he felt his orgasm approaching, rough groans and curses falling from his mouth with the odd moan of her name every now and then. “how about i cum all over that pretty face hm? will that be enough to get that slutty little cunt over the edge?”

she moaned loudly before slapping a hand over her mouth and biting down harshly. she gazed up at him with hooded eyes and nodded, mumbling a ‘please’ from beneath her palm.

he groaned and sat up, still pumping his cock, and moved so his knees were on either side of her stomach, angling his cock towards her face.

“open up pretty girl, can’t leave any evidence behind can we?” she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out, eagerly awaiting his cum. he slammed a hand on the headboard above her as his orgasm hit, white spurts decorating her tongue, lips and chest.

she felt another gush of arousal through her core, but it wasn’t enough to push her over the edge. he threw his head back and took a few deep breaths before looking down at her with furrowed brows, his curls covering his forehead.

“god, look at you, so desperate for it. you’d do anything for me to touch you, wouldn’t you? yeah you would. so eager to please someone who you don’t belong to. it’s pathetic.”

the tears fell from her eyes at his harsh words but she couldn’t ignore the pulsing in her core. he moved down her body and brought a hand to her thigh, tracing random shapes into it.

“c’mon darling, you can do it. want you to cum for me, give it to me.”

she furrowed her eyebrows as she tried to figure out what he was tracing on her thigh, vaguely making out the letters ‘m’ and ‘i’.

“matty what-.”

by the time he had finished the ‘n’ the band had snapped inside her as she realized what he was doing, leaving her writhing and moaning on the sheets, his words of praise slowly grounding her.

he had written ‘mine’ on her upper thigh.

when she came back to her senses he had a smirk on his face as he scooped us his cum from her chest and stuck his fingers in her mouth, causing her to let out a defeated moan.

he sighed and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and stood up, pulling his jeans back on and retreating to the door.

“clean yourself up, he’ll be home soon.”

[peterparkersnose]

hey there, first i would like to thank you for taking my request cause i love your writing so much and it is a special request that I could only read from you, it's a joel miller x fem reader, fluff age gap (ofc not illegal), i find so much comfort in your joel's fics, so, thanks again and wishing you the best. <33

Stargazing

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: age gap, ellie plays matchmaker (common troupe), alcohol consumption, drunk confessions, mutual pining, anxiety and overthinking, this is a heavy dialouge fic, joel being awkward, just general awkwardness but fluff at the end I promise :)

a/n huge shoutout to the person who asked this! i was silly while editing this and accidentally deleted their ask, and they were kind enough to resubmit it for me. also, just a side note almost in every one of my joel fics there is an age gap, I just don't normally specify it but with this one they really deep dive in to it. I'm sorry but I am a younger person, I don't think I could write from the viewpoint of someone close to my parents age.

summary Ellie tries to set Y/N and Joel up on a date

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read time: 13 mins 34 seconds

It was past closing time in the bar. Maria, Tommy, and Joel sat around the dimly lit bar at the last table. Tommy had assured the bartender that he would close up; Tommy was more than capable to.

“Truth or dare,” the drunk man slurred. All three of them were collectively wasted. Joel sighed, downing another shot. He felt seconds later that he shouldn’t have. “Truth.” Joel spit out. This seemed like the hundredth round of this childish game Maria insisted on playing.

“Who in all of the population here would you want to bang in bed on your last night alive?”

Joel knew the answer immediately. A secret he had been keeping to himself for the few years he has known you. And the secret he had been denying and denying for so long. He knew Tommy was fishing for something. But that last shot began to ring through his system as he spoke. He let out a disappointed sign.

“Y/N.”

Maria snorted, almost falling out of her chair. Tommy looked at Joel with his brows furrowed. “What?” Joel asked in defense. “Joel, ain’t she like 20?”

“22.” he said in defense. There wasn’t much to defend, he was a great much older than you. And Joel was more ashamed than ever. He had known you since you were 19, ever since you helped escort Ellie across the country. It felt gross, it felt wrong. But whenever he thought of you, something just couldn’t resist. Your mannerisms, the way your voice sounded, how you responded to maturely to everything. You were an old soul, one that Joel got along with well. Crossing the platonic line never crossed his mind until he settled down in Jackson.

Joel’s eyes darted to the floor. “Hey, you said anyone!” he argued. Maria could not contain her laughter, almost falling on the floor. “Whatever. You guys suck.” he said, pushing his glass of whiskey that was almost finished off towards Tommy. Joel got up and began to leave. “I shouldn’t have said nothin’.”

“Hey!” Tommy yelled after him, over Maria’s laughing. “Quit it,” he muttered at her, making her laugh even more. “Joel-”

It was too late. He drunkenly made his way down the street and to his house. The light in your bedroom was still on he noticed. Joel wasn’t being a stalker and being weird, but you were his neighbor. What were you doing up so late? Reading something he figured. Or talking with Ellie, the girl really seemed to never shut up. As he was about to turn away, you came to the window. Confused of why Joel was out so late, you opened it. The cool spring breeze entered your room.

Joel seemed to panic, and pretended to have not noticed you at all.

“Miller!” he heard you yell. He stopped in his tracts and turned around. “L/N!” he called back. The repetition of your gesture towards him made you smile.

“What you doing up so late? Don’t you have patrol with me tomorrow morning?”

Joel let out a sigh. His hands rested on his hips. “God, is that tomorrow?” he lied. He totally knew. He was looking forward to it all week. “Yup. 7 sharp. Better get to bed, old man.”

The old man comment definitely hurt his ego. He couldn’t pick up on it, but that was your way of flirting. Teasing almost. But to Joel it just proved to himself that you just wanted to be friends—when you totally wanted the opposite.

“And what are you doing up so late?”

You held up the landline phone in to view. “Ellie,” you sighed. “Get some sleep!” he called, and began to head back to his house. The vision of you in your nightgown was getting too much for him, making him realize he wanted things he never thought he could ever want again. “Goodnight Joel,” you called. He waved, and entered his house.

You flopped down on your bed after you closed your curtains. Holding your pillow over your chest, you squeezed it hard. Your stomach fluttered as you childishly re played the memory of what had just happened. Finally, your bedroom light went out.

-

“Y/N,” Ellie sang, circling into your kitchen. It was your fault for leaving the back door open on such a nice day. It unfortunately tracked in things such as unwanted Ellie’s. It was midday, your patrol with Joel had ended about an hour earlier.

“Yes?” you sang back, sitting on your couch and looking up from your book. “I have news.”

She came and sat down next to you. “And what is this news? Is it important enough to distract me from my book?” you asked. Ellie sensed your pissed off tone.“Bookmark the page. You’ll never guess what I heard.”

“Ellie, if this is gossip—” you sighed, setting the book down next to you. “It’s not gossip when it involves you,”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, praying Maria didn’t share one of your embarrassing stories you confided in her. Everyone knew Maria had a big mouth. You slowly crept forward “What is it?”

“Joel has a crush on you.”

A quick laugh escaped from your lips. Ellie looked at you confused. “I-I’m telling the truth.” Your laughter continued. “I call fucking bullshit. Where did you hear that?” “Dude, Maria straight up told like everybody in the dining hall today.”

Your face scrunched. "What?"

“Your definitely fucking with me Ellie. Not funny.” you laughed.

“No!” Ellie exclaimed. “She got wasted with Joel and Tommy last night and he confessed that he would ‘bang you out of everyone in this town’ according to Maria.”

So that’s what he was doing out so late last night.

The thought of the older man that escorted you and Ellie across country a few years ago having a crush on you was absurd. Wasn’t it?

“Well, I thought you should know because remember what you said when we passed through that one small town and…”

She was waiting for you to confirm the pushed down memory that lived in your brain rent free.

It was a small midwestern town in the middle of nowhere. You and Ellie sat outside a coffee shop Joel was currently ransacking for supplies. It was a nice day like today, you and Ellie were sitting on the steps keeping watch as Joel went through the kitchen.

“You know, if the world wasn’t shit I would like my own store. Maybe a coffee shop, it sounds nice. Calm, definitely.” Ellie confided in you. “What would you be doing?”

Your foot tapped on the concrete as you thought to yourself. What would you be doing?

“I would be in college by now. For what, I’m not sure. I would have eventually liked to be married but… that’s never gonna happened.”

“Never say never. You always have Joel.”

You scoffed and giggled. But you had to admit, you had gotten to know the older man well. He was bitter, but you saw through the cracks sometimes. He was quite handsome anyways. Something about his rugged appearance and peppery hair just sat right with you. He had a few soft moments with you along the journey, patching you up after a fight or comforting you after a nightmare that Ellie didn't know about. But that was ridiculous. Ellie was talking nonsense.

You laughed out loud to Ellie’s suggestion, just like you had previously. “Don’t deny it. I see the way you look at him Y/N.”

“Your full of shit,” you joked, giving Ellie a slight push on her shoulder.

“Joel would make a nice husband though. Strong, resourceful, handsome. If I had to pick… sure. I’d be Mrs. Miller any day.”

When you said the words you wanted to suck them back in. Too soon, too much, too quickly. Ellie stared at you blankly. Joel exited the building at the perfect time with a few cans of fruit and spoons. Perfect timing. You remembered the awkward silence as you ate on the pineapple bits, but the phrase rung in your head for days.

“Mrs. Miller”

Being brought back into reality, the memory of expressing interest in Joel re lit something in you. You felt your stomach churn.

“Ah… see?” Ellie exclaimed. Your face turned red as you wanted to bury it in your book. “Mrs. Miller!” she yelled, leaving the living room towards the kitchen and out the back door.

“Ellie!” you yelled firmly, following her with your fists clenched. “Where are you going?”

“To find Joel.”

“Why?” you asked panicked, finally catching up to her on the street panting. You were more nervous than ever to hear her response. “To set you and Joel up on a date, duh!”

"Ellie!" you scolded her, looking around to make sure no one heard her. "What?" she whined, breaking away from your eye on her and making a straight line for Joel's house. To your luck, he was in his garden tending to his flowers. He hadn't seen either of you yet.

You let out a quiet shout, a simple “Ah!” as Ellie pranced down the street. You couldn't watch it, you couldn't look. You ran back in to your house and shut the back door behind you. Sliding down the back of the door and sitting on your kitchen floor, you prayed he responded positively. Or that Ellie was just trying to scare you in a ‘I’m telling the teacher but actually just asking to go to the bathroom’ way. And if Ellie actually went through with her plan, you hoped he didn't take this the wrong way. Even though you really didn't think he would. Would he?

-

It was the next day. You had refused to leave your house in sheer embarrassment. Running in to Joel right now was just a no. You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard the pattering of feet in your downstairs. Praying it was Ellie, you grabbed your knife and held your towel against your chest. "Ellie?"

"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed. You sighed. "You know, you cant just break in to my house whenever you want." you said, sticking your knife in to your banister.

"It's important!" Ellie exclaimed. "Is it important enough to wait until I can get dressed?"

"He said yes."

You were confused. "Who said yes?"

"Joel!"

Your mouth slightly dropped. "And when did I agree to this?" you asked, venturing in to your bedroom to get dressed. In all honestly, you could have stood and talked to Ellie for a few more minutes comfortably in your towel, but you wanted to hide the wide grin that couldn't seem to leave your face even if you tried.

"When you told me you wouldn't mind being Mrs. Miller," Ellie teased, acting like she was stating the obvious. You poked your head out of your door and looked down your stairs and gave Ellie a sour expression. "I only want you to be happy, that's all!"

"I'm perfectly fine as it is. I didn't need you meddling in my life."

"Well, nobody else was going to do it. We all see how your cooped up here, reading all day. We just want to make sure your okay."

You came out of your bedroom dressed, wrangling out the ends of your wet hair with a towel. You met Ellie at the bottom of the stairs. "And who is we?" you questioned. Ellie sucked her teeth. "You caught us," she chuckled, staring at her converse. "Tommy and Maria and...maybe Dina?"

You sighed audibly, closing your eyes for a moment. "All three of you! Wow." you said somewhat sarcastically.

"Ellie!" you heard a yell from outside. It was her new friend, Dina, who she was almost inseparable with.

"Gotta go." she said, opening your front door and skipping down your steps.

"Ellie- wait!"

She turned around and looked at you, you saw Dina anxiously waiting for her. "When is he coming?"

Ellie shrugged. "Dunno. He said he'd be around."

Your face scrunched in confusion. Be around...?

Before you could ask any follow up questions, the two girls were gone.

———

“This is so damn stupid,” Joel whispered to himself. His doubt was creeping in. The bouquet was hidden behind his back. Fresh picked from his garden, tied off with a bit of twine. His other hand was about to knock on your door. It wasn’t too late… 7 o’clock? You wouldn’t be in bed yet, right? Knock knock.

There was some shuffling from inside the house, and you opened the door. Almost yanked the door open, actually. Joel took a step back due to the commotion. “Joel?” you nervously asked, pretending you weren’t anxiously waiting for the random arrival of your not-so blind date all day. “W-what are you doing here?” you asked, playing dumb.

“If it’s not a good time I can-”

“Oh—no! It’s perfect, d-do you want to come in?” you asked the older man, looking up at him. Joel never seemed as intimidating as he did now. And you’ve seen him torture people before.

You let Joel in to your house as the two of you just stared at each other awkwardly. What did you really have to talk about? 

“What are those?” you asked anxiously, referencing down to the flowers in his hands.

“Oh!” he exclaims, kicking himself mentally for not remembering to give them to you. “There for you. Fresh from my garden.” 

You recognized the flower as tulips, your favorite. Joel was touched by the sparkle that came to your face once he presented them to you. Accepting them, your hands grazed his a bit. The both of you let go, almost dropping the flowers on the floor. An awkward laugh was exchanged. “Thank you, there beautiful.” you sighed in awe, moving in to the kitchen to get a glass to put them in. “How did you know tulips were my favorite?”

“Wild guess?” Joel responded. Not from Ellie prepping Joel for this date, not at all. 

“So what did you have in mind for tonight?” you asked, cutting off the stems of the tulips so they would fit in the glass jar you had filled with water. 

“Uh,” Joel mumbled. “I- you know that trail around the fence?”

“Up the mountain?” you asked him, setting the flowers down in the middle of your table. “Yeah. Your up to it?”

“That's a great idea, Joel.”

He let out his breath he was holding, thrilled that you agreed to his idea. Ellie said it was stupid, that walking the trails at night could be creepy. Ellie suggested a nice dinner, but Joel thought that was just so boring. Every date he had ever been on had basically been a nice dinner. He had this planned ever since Ellie even brought up the idea of a possible interest in pursuing Y/N.

Stargazing. 

The cool air was refreshing. You kept in rhythm with Joel. He was slower than you, and he was worrying that it would be a turn off for you. But you didn’t mind. You enjoyed taking in the silent night and the hums of nature slowly.

The moon was full and it was a clear night. The trail was overgrown, but still manageable. Joel had trekked up here earlier that day to get ready. As the clearing began to come in to view, Joel felt his anxiety rising. What if you didn’t like it? What if he put too much effort in to it and you thought it was weird? Joel was a quiet kept man, but his thoughts were screaming almost constantly. 

“Joel!” you gasped, stopping at the edge of the clearance. 

A blanket was laid on the ground with a few decorative pillows. A canteen with two cups sat on the grass along with a book and a lantern. Joel reached down and clicked the lantern open, and it began to emit a soft warm light. It wasn’t like the harsh, recreational ones that would blind you. 

“Did you do this? It’s… beautiful.”

Joel’s eyes cast up at you. “It’s nothing much…”

You sat down next to Joel on the blanket he had set out. “Nothing much?” you chuckled, taking in the beautiful view that shown over an abandoned city where Jackson got a lot of their supplies from. 

“I think this is the nicest thing a guy has ever done for me.”

“Then you obviously haven't met many nice guys,” Joel said, his voice shaking slightly. He realized how detrimental and self-deprecating that sounded and tried to re-phrase it. “You haven't been on many dates… right?”

And that now sounded predatory. “I-I mean-”

“Actually, this is my first date. Ever.”

Your confidence and comfortability answering him calmed Joel’s nerves. “I don’t mean to pry,” you began. “But did you ever have someone? Like before all this. And if you don’t want to reply that’s okay, I was just wondering but-”

Joel chuckled a bit at your eagerness. “Nah, no worries.” he re assured you, slowly moving his arm around you. Accepting his touch, you moved in to his embrace as the two of you stared up at the stars. “I had a wife- she was my ex-wife. My daughter’s mother. We had her real young, and she just wasn’t ready for the commitment of a family.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, watching a blinking star above. “It’s alright. Gave me the best life I could have ever asked for, for thirteen years.”

“And your daughter?”

Joel knew this was bound to come up sooner or later, just not this soon. He didn’t even realize he mentioned Sarah until you asked your follow up question. “She didn’t make it past outbreak day like most people didn’t.” he said bluntly. “But anyways,” he said quickly, saving the awkward response from you. “What about you? Any family?”

“Just Ellie. No relation as you know, but she’s my sister.” Joel nodded. There wasn’t much in this world, and family became what you made it. “What’s that?” you asked, perking your head up from Joel’s chest and pointing over to the grass. “What?” he asked. “The coffee or the book?”

You gasped. “You got coffee?”

He smiled and smirked. “I’ve always wanted to try coffee!” you exclaimed.

Joel looked at you with an odd look. “Your tellin’ me you've never had coffee?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “I used to have this every morning before the outbreak. Withdrawals the first few weeks were definitely difficult.” he explained as he poured you a glass. It was dark and steaming hot. “Coffee is a delicacy, dude. No one in the QZ had this where I was from. It would occasionally get passed out to the soldiers but man, that’s cool.” you said. Joel forgot—you were a post outbreak baby. You wouldn’t have known of the luxury of Starbucks or an espresso machine. “You may not like it, but it’s very unlikely.” he explained. Joel’s love for coffee was strong.

You took the first sip. It burned your tongue and tasted like dirt water. The smell was unmatchable, but the taste was just horrible. You froze, not wanting to disappoint Joel. 

Joel couldn't help it, he couldn't keep in his laughter. “Not a fan?” he asked, looking at you behind his cup as he took a sip. “It’s very…interesting?” you said, forcing yourself to take another sip. 

“Don’t torture yourself now,” Joel said, extending his hand for the cup. You gladly gave it back to him. “It was a nice thought,” you said dearly, giving him credit for his sweet gesture. “Ellie said the same thing when I made her try some. Must be a…”

He didn’t want to say it. His words came out faster than he could think. “What, a post outbreak baby thing?” you finished his sentence.

That was exactly what Joel was going for. “I mean, I didn’t mean it that way but…”

“It’s okay. Stop worrying Joel, you seem so nervous.” you flirted. “Aren't you?” Joel asked, feeling like that emotional wall was just broken down by your comment.

“Me? Oh, I’ve been a nervous wreck all day. Ellie didn’t give me a time, place, or any context other than that you were coming.” 

“Your kiddin’ me. That damn kid,” he sighed, reaching for the book on his side. “Speakin’ of Ellie.” he said, handing you the book.

“Constellations and Stars.” you said in awe.

“For kids,” you added, reading the small line under the title. “This some kind of cruel joke?” you asked Joel, opening the first page. “I promise it not,” he chuckled. “Found it in Ellie’s old storage bin she keeps in my basement. Thought it was useless, well, until now.”

“Do you see any?” you asked Joel. The two of you were laying flat on the blanket. Your head rested on his chest as his arm draped down protectively over you. Your legs were touching, feet and calves were intertwining. “The Big Dipper is always easy to find… if you look.”

You opened the book and flipped around a few pages until you found the page for the Big Dipper. “Like a kite,” you said. “Yeah, kind of like a kite.” 

After a few minutes of intense searching in the sky and enjoying your other’s companies, you found it. “Joel, I think I found it.”

“You did. I found it like five minutes ago.” he said shyly. You sighed in defeat. “I guess your just better than me.” you sighed sarcastically. “I guess I am.” Joel hummed.

“You know, back when the world wasn’t like this people would buy each other stars?” Joel asked. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” you laughed. “With real money? Like the physical stuff?”

“Yup.” Joel confirmed. 

“I would buy you a star if I could.” you said suddenly. Joel suddenly felt a warmth grow inside of him, one he hadn't felt for many years. He had to spit out his thought, he just had to. Didn’t want to waste an opportunity. 

“I’d buy the whole sky of stars for you.” he said softly. You looked up at him, a hand resting on his chest. “Would you really?”

“In a heartbeat.”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter. You told Joel old stories about your QZ, he told you old stories about his life. Sharing what seemed like useless future plans now sounded promising with Joel. The two of you never wanted the night to end.

tag list(sorry if this appears twice tumblr is glitching currently) @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy

You noticed the small wrinkles around Joel’s eyes when he smiled. When he smiled at least, you don't think you have ever seen this man so filled with so much joy before. You took in the detail of his smiling face intricately, not wanting to forget the feeling of the moment you were in. This man just said he would buy the whole sky of stars for you. You would do quite literally anything for him, but not like you wouldn’t have done it before. The feelings were very obviously now mutual. 

-

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy

[mixiury]

Always remembering you - Genshin x GN reader

Characters: Wanderer, Itto, Kaveh, Neuvillette

Summary: You have to leave for a long period of time. What do they do after it? (Basically them missing you)

A/N: I am alive!! Sorry for not posting in a while. Honestly I haven't been very motivated to write but I randomly got this idea so I hope yall like it! (I edited some parts and typos I noticed so hopefully now it is better :)

Wanderer has no need for things as transitory and insignificant as the attention of others— specially if it comes from an human being— so what makes you believe that you would be an exception?

It's been decades since he last sought companionship after all. The only reason why he asked you to accompany him is to complete the tasks Nahida assigned him. It is just easier for you to do all the hard work instead of him. Don't try to read between the lines.

Yes. Of course it was necessary to stop in the middle of Sumeru's forest to contemplate the surroundings for the past hour. It is part of his job to ensure that there are no potential dangers near the city.

Actually, the fact that the path you were taking was blocked by a tree that mysteriously collapsed in front of you due to a strong blown of wind has nothing to do with him. Why would you think he did that in the first place? You're imagining things.

The only reason he's holding your hand right now is so you don't get lost or delay him by this absurdly long new path he's chosen. Yes, it's clearly the only option you two have, so don't complain and keep walking.

But if you need a moment to rest he won't refuse. And if at any point you decide to lean your head on his shoulder, he won't push you away either. Just don't get used to this, he only allows it because he knows how fragile human bodies are and he prefers to avoid Nahida's scolding for leaving you in the middle of nowhere.

And if you still have doubts, that's right, the fact that all these things happen after not being able to talk to you all week is totally a coincidence.

Itto, on the other hand, doesn't seem to know the word discretion.

What do you mean you have another important commission to do? But didn't you just finished one yesterday? How about you join him in a beetle tournament instead? Or maybe you can spend time with the gang? Come on, he knows you can't refuse this unique opportunity!

Hmm? That you always spend time with them..? But this time is different! This time they will do something so different and so incredible that you just can't loose! Trust him. Arataki Itto always keep his word!

And it is just that it seems like the entire universe is sending you signals to spend time with him. From Itto posters that mysteriously appear on paper airplanes to his name in the alphabet soup you eat.

But if all that is not enough to convince you that it is the destiny the one putting you together, somehow you both end up meeting multiple times a day. No matter where you look, he will be there.

Do you have to collect different flowers from Inazuma for your commission? It turns out that floristry is one of his hidden talents! Do you have to give them to someone? How curious! He was just talking to that same person! Are you saying he is brothering them? Of course not! He would never do that... On purpose.

There's no point in questioning him, somehow he always has an excuse- (although it doesn't mean they make sense). It's only until you look up at the sky and see fireworks with Itto's face, his signature, and the words "I miss you" that he finally tells you the truth behind all the coincidences that has happened during the day.

However, the moment does not last long, because shortly afterwards different guards come running to capture Itto for alleged harassment and "illegal use" of fireworks without authorization. Complete defamation if you ask him.

At the end, you and Kuki have to visit him in jail and take care of all the paperwork for the damage him and the gang caused. But hey, at least that means his plan worked?

Kaveh directly doesn't seems able to function properly.

Don't get him wrong, he knows better than anyone how hard it must be for you to be so busy. After all, he has found himself in the same situation as you multiple times in the past.

It's just that he had never noticed the influence you have on his life until that moment, where instead of having breakfast together at the same place as always he finds himself eating preheated noodles from the microwave.

For the first time in a long time he's having trouble concentrating on his work, unable to finish the commission he's been putting off for the last week— not so surprisingly— the same amount of time since you traveled to Fontaine.

Because every time he looks at the paper on the desk he can't stop his hand from drawing sketches of you, his mind clouded with questions about your safety and how you are doing.

Kaveh doesn't really know how to control that feeling so he does the only thing he knows in situations like this; Overwork himself. Going from basically doing nothing all week to creating almost a month's worth of work in a few days.

Of course, it doesn't take much for his friends to notice, trying to reason with him more than once. However, if there is something to recognize from Kaveh it is his stubbornness, reassuring them that everything is completely under control.

It's only until he ends up falling asleep during a conversation with Tighnari that he decides to take action into his own hands, sending you a letter telling you about the situation because your boyfriend can barely stay awake during the day and has been living of coffee.

And despite his reproaches towards Tighnari, he can't help but feel glad the moment you return to Sumeru a few days earlier than anticipated, updating you on every little detail that happened while you were gone and sleeping for almost a full day no long after. He may thank Tighnari later.

Unlike the others, Neuvillette feels totally fine after you left.

Of course he notice your absence and perhaps your name has appeared in his mind more than three times in the day but that's all. There is no need to worry about it, Take all the time you need.

He continues with his routine as always. He is also a very busy person so he doesn't think a lot of it. He's just walking around in the same place where you met because he's taking a short break. Nothing more than that.

In fact, you might even be able to see him ordering at the same coffee shop where you had your first date, sitting at the same table he sat at back then. But that isn't related to this situation, so please continue what you are doing.

But if you notice how Fontaine has fallen into heavy rain this last month, he will just reassure you that it's completely normal. Probably is just the weather that hasn't been stable lately. Nothing to worry about. Everything is under control as it always has been.

Yet, even if he manages to fool himself, all the melusines notice the way his gaze wanders from the documents on his desk to the empty seat next to him. His eyes shining every moment he hears the door of his office open just to met with the disappointment in them when he realizes it's not you on the other side.

Because despite his attempts to distract himself, it's simply impossible when every place he goes has some memory of you. He knows you won't be away for long so why does he feel like something is missing when you're not around?

Melusines try to talk with him, even requesting help to Furina, but it doesn't seems to be an end of the countless rains that has been occurring since you left.

He will just continue denying his feelings over and over, completely oblivious of them and the attempts of others to cheer him up.

It's hard for Neuvillette to understand the reason for his the emptiness he feels, but when he sees you once again he can't help but notice the great sense of relief that comes with you, immediately asking you how you are doing and making sure you feel welcome.

Maybe with the pass of the time he will be able to come in terms with his feelings but for now all he wants to do is to spend more time with you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dow promised to turn sneakers into playground surfaces, then dumped them in Indonesia

Dow Chemicals plastered Singapore with ads for its sneaker recycling program, promising to turn old shoes into playground tracks. But the shoes it collected in its “recycling” bins were illegally dumped in Indonesia. This isn’t an aberration: it’s how nearly all plastic recycling has always worked.

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/2023/02/26/career-criminals/#fool-me-twice-three-times-four-times-a-hundred-times

Plastic recycling’s origin story starts in 1973, when Exxon’s scientists concluded that plastic recycling would never, ever be cost-effective (#ExxonKnew about this, too). Exxon sprang into action: they popularized the recycling circular arrow logo and backed “anti-littering” campaigns that blamed the rising tide of immortal, toxic garbage on peoples’ laziness.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/14/they-knew/#doing-it-again

Remember the campaign where an Italian guy dressed like a Native American shed a single tear as he contemplated plastic litter? Funded by the plastic industry, as a way of shifting blame for plastic waste from the wealthy, powerful corporations who lied about plastics recycling to the individuals who believed their lies:

https://www.chicagotribune.com/opinion/commentary/ct-perspec-indian-crying-environment-ads-pollution-1123-20171113-story.html

When I was a kid in Ontario, we had centralized, regulated, reusable bottle depots — beer and soda bottles came in standard sizes, differentiated by paper labels that could be pressure-washed off. When you were done with your bottle, you returned it for a deposit and it got washed and returned to bottlers to be refilled again and again and again.

After intense lobbying from soda companies, brewers and the plastic industry, that program was replaced with curbside “blue boxes” that promised to recycle our plastic waste. 90% of the plastics created has never been — and will never be — recycled. Today, the plastic industry plans on tripling the amount of single-use plastic in use worldwide:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

You know those ads from companies like Bluetriton (formerly “Nestle Waters”) that promise that your single-use plastic bottles are “100% recyclable…and can be used for new bottles and all sorts of new, reusable things?”

Bluetriton is a private equity-backed rollup that has absorbed most of the bottled water companies you’re familiar with, including Poland Spring, Pure Life, Splash, Ozarka, and Arrowhead. When they were sued in DC for making false claims about their “recyclable” water-bottles, their defense was that these were “non-actionable puffery.” According to Bluetriton, when it described itself as “a guardian of sustainable resources” and “a company who, at its core, cares about water,” it was being “vague and hyperbolic.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/26/plastic-fatalistic/#recycled-lies

With this high standard for plastic recycling, Dow’s Singapore scam shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it seems to have surprised the government of Singapore. Writing for Reuters, Joe Brock, Yuddy Cahya Budiman and Joseph Campbell describe how they caught Dow red-handed:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/global-plastic-dow-shoes/

The method is actually pretty straightforward: Reuters hid tracking devices in cavities in the soles of sneakers, dropped them in one of Dow’s collection bins, and then followed them. The shoes were passed onto Dow’s subcontractor, Yok Impex Pte Ltd, who sent them hopping from island to island throughout Indonesia, until they ended up in junk-markets.

Not all the shoes, though — one pair was simply moved from Dow’s collection bin to a donation bin at a Singaporean community center. Of the 11 pairs that Reuters tracked, not one ended up at a recycling facility. So much for Dow’s slogan: “Others see an old shoe. We see the future.”

Dow blamed all this on Yok Impex, but didn’t explain why its “recycling” program involved a company whose sole trade is exporting used clothing. Dow promised to cancel its deal with Yok Impex, but Yok Impex’s accountant told Reuters that the deal would be remain in place until the end of the contract. Yok Impex, meanwhile, shifted the blame to the low-waged women who sort through the clothing donations it takes in from across Singapore.

Indonesia bans bulk imports of used clothes, on the grounds that used clothes are unhygenic, displace the local textiles industry, and shipments contain high volumes of waste that ends up in Indonesian incinerators, landfills and rivers.

In other words, Singaporeans thought they were saving the planet by putting their shoes in Dow bins, but they were really sending those shoes on a long journey to an unlicensed dump. Dow enlisted schoolchildren in used-shoe collection drives, making upbeat videos that featured students like Zhang Youjia boasting that they “contributed 15 pairs of shoes.”

Dow does this all the time. In 2021, Dow’s “breakthrough technology to turn plastic waste into clean fuel” in Idaho was revealed to be a plain old incinerator:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/environment-plastic-oil-recycling/

Also in 2021, in India, a Dow program to “use high-tech machinery to transform the [plastic from the Ganges] into clean fuel” was revealed to have ceased operations — but was still collecting plastic and promising that it was all being turned into fuel:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-environment-plastic-insight-idUSKBN29N024

Dow operates a nearly identical “shoe recycling” program in neighboring Malaysia, and did not return Reuters’ requests for comment as to whether the shoes collected for “recycling” in the far more populous nation were also being illegally dumped offshore.

The global business lobby loves the idea of “personal responsibility” and its evil twin, “caveat emptor.” Its pet economists worship the idea of “revealed preferences,” claiming that when we use plastic, we may claim that we don’t want to have our bodies poisoned with immortal, toxic microplastics, that we don’t want our land and waters despoiled — but we actually love it, because otherwise we’d “vote with our wallets” for something else.

The obvious advantage of telling people to vote with their wallets is that the less money you have in your wallet, the fewer votes you get. Companies like Dow have used their access to the capital markets (a fancy phrase for “rich people”) to gobble up their competitors, eliminating “wasteful competition” and piling up massive profits. Those profits are laundered into policy — like replacing Ontario’s zero-waste refillable bottle system with a “recycling” system that sent plastics to the ends of the Earth to be set on fire or buried or dumped in the sea.

The ruling class’s pet economists have a name for this policy laundering: they call it “regulatory capture.” Now, when you hear “regulatory capture,” you might think about companies that get so big that they are able to boss governments around, with the obvious answer that companies need to be regulated before they get too big to jail:

https://doctorow.medium.com/small-government-fd5870a9462e

But that’s not how elite economists talk about regulatory capture: for them, capture starts with the very existence of regulators. For them, any government agency that proposes to protect the public from corporate fraud and murder inevitably becomes an agent of the corporations it is supposed to rein in, so the only answer is to eliminate regulators altogether:

https://doctorow.medium.com/regulatory-capture-59b2013e2526

This nihilism lets rich people blame the rest of us for their sins: “if you didn’t want your children to roast or freeze to death in the climate emergency, you should have sold your car and used the subway (that we bribed your city not to build).”

Nihilism is contagious. Think of the music industry: before Napster, 80% of the music ever recorded was not for sale, banished to the scrapheap of history and the vaults of record companies who paid farcically low sums to their artists.

During the File Sharing Wars, listeners were excoriated for failing to pay for music — much of which wasn’t for sale in the first place. But today, fans overwhelmingly pay for Spotify, a streaming service that notoriously pays musicians infinitesimal sums for their work.

Spotify is a creature of the Big Three labels — Sony, Universal and Warner — who own 70% of all the world’s recorded music copyrights and 65% of all the world’s music publishing. The rock-bottom per-stream prices that Spotify pays were set by the Big Three. Why would the labels want less money from Spotify?

Simple: as co-owners of Spotify, they make more money when Spotify pays less for music. Musicians have a claim on the money they take out of Spotify as royalties — but dividends, buybacks and capital gains from Spotify are the labels’ to use as they see fit. They can share that bounty with some artists, all artists, or no artists.

Not only that, but the Big Three’s deal with Spotify includes a “most favored nation” clause, which means that the independent artists who aren’t under Sony/UMG/Warner’s thumb have to take the rock-bottom rate the Big Three insisted on — likewise the small labels who compete with the Big Three. The difference is that none of these artists and small labels have massive portfolios of Spotify stock, nor do they get free advertising on Spotify, or free inclusion on hot Spotify playlists, or monthly minimum payouts from Spotify.

The idea that we shop at the wrong kind of monopolist in the wrong way is a recipe for absolute despair. It doesn’t matter whether you listen to music with the Big Tech-owned monopoly service (Youtube) or the Big Content-owned monopoly service (Spotify). The money you hand over to these giant companies goes to artists the same way that the sneakers you put in a Dow collection bin goes to a recycling plant.

Think of the billions of human labor hours we all spent washing and sorting our plastics for a recycling program that didn’t exist and will never exist — imagine if we’d spent that time and energy demanding that our politicians hold petrochemical companies to account instead.

At the end of Break ’Em Up, Zephyr Teachout’s outstanding 2020 book on monopolies, Teachout has some choice words for “consumerism” as a theory of change. She writes that if you’re on your way to a protest against a new Amazon warehouse but you never make it because you waste too much time looking for a mom-and-pop stationers to sell you a marker to write your protest sign, Amazon wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

The problem isn’t that you shop the wrong way. Yes, by all means, support the creators and producers you care about in the way that they prefer, but keep your eye on the prize. Structural problems don’t have individual solutions. The problem isn’t that you have chosen single-use plastics — it’s that in our world everything for sale is packaged in single-use plastics. The problem isn’t that you’ve bought a subscription to the wrong music streaming service — it’s that labels have been allowed to buy all their competitors, creators’ unions have been smashed and degraded, and giant accounting scams by big companies generate minuscule fines.

The good news is that after 40 years of despair inducing regulatory nihilism and “vote with your wallet” talk, we’re finally paying attention to systemic problems, with a new generation of trustbusting radicals working around the world to end corporate impunity.

Dow is a repeat offender. A repeat, repeat offender. Chrissakes, they’re the linear descendants of Union Carbide, the company that poisoned Bhopal:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhopal_disaster

They shouldn’t be trusted to run a lemonade stand, let alone a “recycling” program. The same goes for Big Tech and Big Content company and the markets for creative labor. These companies have repeatedly demonstrated their unfitness, their habitual deception and immorality. These companies have captured their regulators, repeatedly, so we need better regulators — and weaker companies.

The thing I love about Teachout’s book is that it talks about what we should be demanding from our governments — it’s a manifesto for a movement against corporate power, not a movement for “responsible consumerism.” That was the template that Rebecca Giblin and I followed when we wrote Chokepoint Capitalism, our book about the brutal, corrupt creative labor market:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

We have a chapter on Spotify (multiple chapters, in fact!). For our audiobook, we made that chapter a “Spotify Exclusive” — it’s the only part of the book you can get on Spotify, and it’s free:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

Next Thu (Mar 2) I’ll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who’s-who of European and US trustbusters. It’s livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free. On Fri (Mar 3), I’ll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival.

[Image ID: A woman kneeling to tie her running shoe. She stands on a background of plastic waste. In the top right corner is the logo for Dow chemicals. Below it is the Dow slogan, 'Others see an old shoe. We see the future.']

[leonsdoll]

BBF!HAZEL X READER

word count: 0.6k

warnings: a wee angst

notes: not my best work but oh well, I missed writing for haze soo:3 not proofread !

bbf!hazel who met you the first time she came over to your house to study with your brother and wanted to ask you out right then and there, but before she could ask you your brother draged her to his room so they wouldn't completely fail their test

bbf!hazel who started coming over more and more often till she was over every day. you started noticing she would knock on your door and invite herself in your room almost everytime she was over

bbf!hazel who quickly asked for your Instagram one day and immediately followed you when she left and wrote you a simple 'hey'

bbf!hazel who started texting you every day and fell head over heels for you, she even started saving all the photos you'd send her, she has a little collection with your name and a heart by it

bbf!hazel who one day while picking you up from school saw what she thought was you flirting with another girl and was silent the rest of the car ride and didn't stay over after she dropped you off

bbf!hazel who kept seeing stories with you beside that girl and couldn't get them out of her mind

bbf!hazel who slowly stopped texting you, leaving you on delivered or on read for what you thought was no reason at all

bbf!hazel who stopped coming into your room when she came over and started almost completely ignoring you

bbf!hazel who one day gets an angry message from you asking what the fuck was wrong with her and why she was ignoring you

bbf!hazel who then typed up and even angrier message asking why you would flirt and hang out so much with another girl after she thought you had something special

bbf!hazel who was very surprised when you told her you were hanging out with her to take your mind off hazel because you thought she didn't like you back

bbf!hazel who told you to meet her outside your house in half an hour

bbf!hazel who sped over to your house in anxiety, spending the whole car ride planning her apology

bbf!hazel who when she got there parked in an illegal spot without knowing or caring because she just wanted to get to you as soon as possible

bbf!hazel who walks up to you fiddling with her fingers while looking at the ground

bbf!hazel who looks you in the eyes and starts rehearsing her apology she came up with in the nerve raking drive over

bbf!hazel whose eyes light up as she sees that familiar smile spread across your face when she's done apologizing

bbf!hazel who moves closer to you and leans in, too scared to actually do anything

bbf!hazel who's taken a back by your hands cupping her face and pulling her into a kiss, her face getting red as the kiss gets more intimate

bbf!hazel who's disappointed when you pull away but then hears a loud noise coming from the end of the street

'fuck haze!' you pull away and point to her car being taken

at first she doesn't get what you were pointing at but two seconds later when she does she freaks the fuck out

'oh fuck!' she yelled and covered her mouth with her hand, she turned her head and noticed you trying to keep a laugh in

'it's not funny' she said as she tried to now hold her own laughs in

bbf!hazel who doesn't care about her car being taken away because at least she got to kiss you

bbf!hazel who ends up staying the night and finally being able to talk about her love for you and showing it too

[ridhearts]

can you tell my heart is speaking? {misc.}

@diodellet​ requested: how would these characters react to getting an anonymous love letter from their crush who, ~plot twist~ has really really illegible handwriting? (like doctor's penmanship but ramp it up by 200% hahaha) like who would try to deduce the sender's identity or who would mistakenly throw the love letter in the trash?

this was one of those requests where i read it and INSTANTLY got inspo - even though it ended up a little silly. i hope you like it!!

!! information !!

characters: ruggie + jamil + rook + lilia + sebek

reader: gn!

cw: none!

masterlists ⇿ requests

• • • • • • • Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is one of the easier ones to slip a note when he’s unaware. Just ask if Crewel needs to bother Leona about retaking any tests, go tell Leona about these tests until he threatens to bite a piece of you off your body, then slip into Ruggie’s room and leave the note squarely on his pillow. Most of the guys in the dorm don’t care enough to watch the weird freshman and remember what they’re doing, or they just assume you’re dropping something off for Ruggie as you tend to do.

When Ruggie gets the letter, he at first thinks he’s too tired to read. But then he blinks a few times, holds the letter closer and further from his face, and realizes that, no, his vision is just fine. He’s just got a mysterious letter to figure out, on top of all his regular work. Now, he just has to figure out if it’s a ransom note or a love note…

His consideration of it being a love note is 100% a joke. He doesn’t mean it. But after checking all of his belongings (the stash is still meager, but it’s been growing substantially) and realizing nothing is missing, he crosses ransom off the list. So he starts wondering if he forgot to repay someone, or if somebody could be collecting an IOU. But the list of people he allows to hold favors over his head is notably short, and they all accuse him of trying to hasten the process of them deciding what to use him for when he asks them about leaving a message for him. Ok, so it’s not debt collection, either.

At lunch, Ruggie holds the note in the sun and turns it around in his hands. Some of the symbols actually look like words…written by the kids back home, of course. When he thinks about it like that, he can actually make out a few words: confess, his name, and…love??

OH. So he was right when he found the note. He laughs at himself then, and is thankful he chose to sit by himself in the courtyard today.

That makes narrowing down the suspects way easier. There’s only one person in this school who even pretends to like him, and luckily it’s the one person he doesn’t mind getting a love letter from. Yeah, he wishes he could actually read what you wrote, but something tells him he’ll hear it straight from the horse’s mouth soon enough.

Did you think he’d run straight to you like a lovesick prince and clear the air, saving you from your multi-day suffering of wondering why you haven’t heard a response? You’d be right! - well, partially, about him beelining for you. But you know he’s going to tease you for your handwriting, mentioning how some of the kids back home wrote better than you. Lucky for you…a lot of them can write so well because of him. He’s not the neatest writer out there, but you can READ his handwriting, which would be an improvement on your part.

Ruggie showing up at your door nearly gave you a heart attack, even though it was what you’ve been hoping for. You noticed instantly the piece of paper held in his hand, full of your deepest thoughts and feelings for him. But why did he look so confused?

“What does this say?” He immediately asked, not allowing you to get a word in. Your eyes darted from his face to the note, an embarrassed heat creeping up to your face.

“Uh. Well. If I wanted to tell you, I wouldn’t have written it out, you know?” 

Ruggie stared at you for a few moments before laughing, crumpling the paper in his hand as he did so. Your heart sank - was he really going to reject you in such a cruel manner?

“Listen up, prefect! I’m going to give you some lessons in penmanship,” He declared. “I used to teach some of the kids back home, so this should be a breeze.”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, not wanting to sound too eager. You didn’t wanted to say it (out loud), but he got a million times cuter when he talked about the kids in his neighborhood. “But...what about the letter?”

“I can’t read it.” 

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry!” With the mischievous look on his face, you were suddenly reminded that Ruggie wasn’t simply some innocent underdog in the school just because he wasn’t one of the infamous overblots. “Your final exam will be rewriting it, and I’ll be watching you write every single word.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or mean, but your heart did somersaults anyway.

• • • • • • • Jamil Viper

Jamil is a difficult one to catch off guard, especially since (mostly unbeknownst to you) he has a crush on you, too. When you’re in the room, he finds himself watching you from the corner of his eye (or sometimes straight on during his less subtle days), noticing little things that only make him all the more wistful.

The one time he won’t do this is during basketball practice. This is for two reasons: one, he’d die of shame if he missed an easy shot because you were in the room, and two, he happens to be in a club with one of the people who would instantly blurt out any strange behaviors from him if spotted (Floyd). At least Kalim has the sense to stop talking when Jamil gives him a very pointed glare that would only encourage Floyd further.

So, as long as you rope Ace into your plans, talk to him by the bleachers for a second and sneakily place a letter on Jamil’s bag, he probably won’t even notice. And if your note is just on a piece of paper and not enveloped with stickers (please make it discreet, he would also DIE if he had a very obvious love letter on his stuff, regardless of who it’s from) then he won’t even suspect anything until he’s already reading the letter!

…unfortunately, Jamil can’t read the letter.

He tries! He really does! For about 30 seconds. Then he decides it can’t be deciphered and is probably a stray page of somebody’s notes that got stuck on his bag somehow. Ace, who is very aware of what it actually is, tries to casually question Jamil as he crushes it in his hands.

Jamil responds flippantly, saying he couldn’t make sense of it and it’s nothing any of them need to worry about. Before Ace can casually try to offer to decode some of it, Floyd takes that as an invitation to snatch the paper ball, shout a popular baseball player’s name out (nobody is sure if he chose a player of the wrong sport on accident or not), and throw it in the wastebasket across the room instead of the one right next to him. (It makes it! As the basketball club cheers Floyd on and Jamil rolls his eyes, Ace swallows nervously. He’s 90% certain that you just got rejected, hard.)

Ace not-so-subtly breaks the news to you the next day, and he winds up pulling Deuce into ‘Operation: Cheer Up The Prefect!” This involves ice cream (coincidentally they bring home more than you need in their own favorite flavors) and keeping you as far away from Jamil as possible. With how brutally Ace told the story, you’re positive you’d die of embarrassment if you had to meet him face-to-face.

But Ace notices during practice one day that Jamil keeps staring at him. When they take a water break, Ace almost implodes in relief when he’s finally approached.

“Hey, Ace. Is anything wrong with the prefect?”

“You care?” Ace asked, purposely taking the bite out of his words. 

“Well...” Jamil shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt - sweat tank? - and looks to the side, as if choosing his words carefully. “Kalim was planning another party, and I need to know if they’re sick or anything so he doesn’t get sick.”

“Oh. Yeah, they’re fine.” Well, as much as he hates it, Ace feel sorry for you. This guy is ruthless. But he can’t just leave it at that - he’s gonna get you closure, whether you wanted him to or not. “Hey, what did you make of that weird letter on your backpack the other day?”

“You still remember that? It was a piece of-” Jamil stopped, looking right at Ace. Shrinking away, Ace watched Jamil as his eyes shifted slightly, trying to figure out if Ace was messing with him. “What do you mean, a letter?”

“...I may or may not know the basics of what it said. And could’ve read it. Because I know who wrote it. And I can read their handwriting.”

Jamil’s eye twitched once as he started to connect the dots. He looked more annoyed than horrified, which Ace couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. “This letter is sensitive in nature if you only know the basics of what it said, and it just so happened to be the event right in between the prefect talking to me every day to avoiding me when ‘they’re fine?’ Did I get that right?”

Ace laughed nervously. “They don’t call Scarabia one of the smartest dorms for nothing...”

“Sevens,” Jamil cursed, turning on his heel. He was out the door before anybody could ask him what he was doing, but Ace figured out where he was headed. You were in for quite the surprise. To walk out like that...Jamil must really like you.

Gross.

• • • • • • • Rook Hunt

Epel tried to fight you tooth and nail when you asked him to deliver the letter. However, after several rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors and even more accusations of you cheating, Epel finally (and begrudgingly) agreed to be your mailman. If Vil wasn’t in the room when he delivered it, he would’ve just tossed it at Rook and been done with it. However, he handed it over with as much grace as he could, listened to Vil’s curt corrections, and scurried out of the room (while Vil called out something against said scurrying.)

Rook knew exactly who wrote the letter as soon as he saw the first word. With handwriting as unique as yours, how could he not? You thought you could hide it when romance seized you so wholly you couldn’t help but express it in written words? How foolish!

Rook began giggling like a madman, and eventually, Vil’s curiosity got the better of him. “What do you have there?”

“It seems the little lovebird has finally decided to sing their song!” Rook exclaimed. Vil wasn’t sure if he’s ever seen such pure glee before.

“Ah, of course. Any highlights?” Code for give me the details, please!

“I would tell you, but I’m afraid I can’t read a single word.”

“Huh?!?” They don’t talk about the utterly disgraceful noise that left Vil’s mouth at that.

See, Rook knows what he received through deduction alone. He’s been expecting you to make a move for some time now, actually! And while he’s touched by what you decided, it’s such a shame that your feelings didn’t break through like you thought they might! Fortunately, Rook gets told he speaks cryptically all the time, so he can play your little game with you if you’d like.

Suddenly, you have Rook trailing you even more than usual, spouting long, wordy praises(?) and sonnets that put Shakespeare to shame. He uses excessively flowery prose and more dramatics than usual, so what little words you catch just don’t make any sense. You enjoy the show, and you’re happy to see he hasn’t rejected you entirely, but you’re also completely lost on any progress you thought you would’ve made with the letter.

Rook has had his fun. Now, it was time for the moment you’ve certainly been waiting for - he was going to answer your feelings and return them in full!

With the recent theatrics, he decided a simple flower and a knock on your door would be enough to express how genuine he was being. After all, he didn’t want to overwhelm you entirely and have you doubting him! So he knocked on your door between the end of classes and dinner, certain you’d be winding down from the day and have a second to spare.

When you opened the door, Rook bowed and offered the flower in his hand to you. “Ah, mon cœur, how lovely it is to see you again. I’ve come to officially accept your feelings and see...if you might be interested in pursuing a relationship with me? You know I do love a good pursuit.”

You took the flower cautiously, an eyebrow raised. “But I thought..”

“Hm?”

“Oh! Nothing.”

“No, no! Do not be keeping secrets from me already!” Rook lamented, straightening his posture and grabbing your hands in his. “Tell me what it is that confuses you.”

“Well...” All of a sudden, you were feeling very embarrassed and sort of like a fool. “I guess, when you started with all the poems every day, I kinda thought...that meant we already were in a relationship?”

Rook blinked at you, unable to hold back his singular laugh. “My feelings are as strong as they have always been. I could feel the passion in your letter, I could see the love-”

“You couldn’t read the letter, could you?” You sighed. “Grim warned me this might happen...”

But Rook, thoroughly amused with the situation, only brought your hands to his face and pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Perhaps we are soulmates, then, if we so thoroughly understand each other with such indirect communication.”

• • • • • • • Lilia Vanrouge

Are you confessing to Lilia via letter because it’s old fashioned and romantic, or because you’re scared? As you walk up the hill to the front door of Diasomnia, you still can’t figure out the answer for yourself.

If you know Lilia well enough to even considering there’s a CHANCE at a successful confession, you’ve definitely picked up on how he’s much…more than he leads on. Even if you didn’t know him that well, with the way everybody who knows him respects and admires him, you’d have to be stupid not to know SOMETHING was hiding beneath those “innocent, adorable eyes” and those “boyish good looks” and his “smooth, youthful cheeks.” (All, of course, are direct observations made by the fae himself.) So perhaps the chance at being gently let down is greater than you’d hoped, but certainly you’re trying to appeal to his more private side, right?

You approach the door, stand frozen in front of it, and slip the envelope with his name beneath the door before hurrying away. Okay, you wrote your confession because you were scared.

Lilia allows you to leave the dimension of his dorm before curiously picking up the letter. You aren’t very good at hiding your tracks, but against fae, most humans aren’t. He smiles at the hearts you’ve drawn on the envelope, carefully peeling off any stickers to keep. What a sweet way of telling him things he already knows.

Oh, he doesn’t mean to be demeaning! You’re simply so cute, it’s hard for him not to coo over every little thing you do! He’s been carefully tiptoeing around the subject for ages, but if you were brave enough to confess to him first…perhaps it’s time for him to truly confront the feelings that have been building ever since he met you. You are strange, and you are reckless, and you are oh so dear to him. It couldn’t hurt to at least see where a relationship would go within the year, right?

(Read: Lilia has some hangups about the difference in your lifespans, but fae aren’t exactly known to be selfless creatures. Lilia doesn’t hoard jewels and gold so much as he does the people he holds close to his heart, so it was really only a matter of time before you found yourself by his side anyway.)

Of course, even if Lilia can read the letter just fine, he has to have some fun with it! The hope and apprehension in your eyes when he meets you next is too enjoyable not to toy with, just a little. So, instead of asking you to dinner, Lilia asks if you need help with your unit on hexes and curses. Confused, you cautiously agree and suddenly, instead of a date, you have a two-person study group. At least he’s not avoiding you completely?

Lilia has you carefully drawing out the symbols in your textbook while he watches with his sharp eyes. You’re almost positive he’s leaning too close to you on purpose, and you’re 100% sure he’s being such a perfectionist just so he can fluster you more. When he purposely puffs a little air on your neck just as you’re finishing this round of symbols, making you jolt and mess up an otherwise perfectly straight line, Lilia clicks his tongue and begins to tell you to start again. You interrupt him.

“You’re being weird again.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” You respond, turning to face him. Ah, right, he never backed away and now your faces were inches apart. Leaning back, you turned your head and huffed. Normally you’d find this endearing, but now you were beginning to feel like a toy. “What’s with this whole studying thing, anyway? I never mentioned having trouble in class. Actually, I’m doing just fine.”

“And yet you accepted my help anyway?” Your face began to heat up. Lilia backed away to give you your space again. “No, I just thought I might help you, since whatever curse you slipped underneath my door was absolutely abysmal.”

“Curse?”

“I’ve gotta say, though, hearts are a strange choice of rune...”

“Oh,” Your face got hotter, and you sighed. “Listen, Lilia, if I overstepped...”

Before you could finish, Lilia leaned in again, one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the table. You weren’t caged in at all, but you felt as if leaving would be a big mistake - not that you wanted to, of course. Lilia was smiling, the carefully constructed way someone does when they’re waiting to prove you wrong.

“Don’t say that, little one. It appears I’m the one that overstepped. I only meant to tease you a bit, that’s all. I never meant to imply I wasn’t interested.”

• • • • • • • Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s eyes have been on you all day (more than usual). Lilia joyfully proclaims that he has “‘got it bad,’ as the youth are now saying,” but Sebek knows it’s deeper than that. Sebek knows you are planning something.

You and your two friends (which, now that he’s got suspicions, he refuses to admit are also his friends) have been hunched over something, whispering conspiratorially and laughing all day. What’s more is that the Young Master has been hanging around you at night more and more frequently. Dots are connecting in Sebek’s head, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Before he can best decide how to confront you, you leave with your little entourage. But what’s this? Upon closer inspection, Sebek realizes you’ve left behind a piece of paper. He scans it closely, once, twice, then realizes…

YOU’RE PLOTTING AGAINST THE YOUNG MASTER AND WRITING YOUR PLANS IN A SECRET CODE?!?!

Sebek is beside himself with grief, fury, and shock at your audacity. At your betrayal!! How could a human such as yourself - weak and simple-minded and kind and attractive and determined - stoop to such lows?! This isn’t right! It keeps him awake at night, and he decides the next morning that he must confront you before you do something you cannot undo.

You hear loud, aggressive banging on your door far earlier than Ace and Deuce ever arrive at your dorm. Excitedly sending the two a text saying Sebek is right on time, you jump down the stairs and try not to be too excited. After straightening yourself out one final time, you take a deep breath and open the door.

...Only to see a very frantic Sebek?

“HUMAN.” His voice is loud as always, but it almost sounds more tense than usual. You’re thankful Grim is the only other one in the dorm who sleeps, otherwise you’d have some very angry roommates right about now. “What is it that you’re planning?!”

“What am I planning?” You repeated. This was not how you were hoping this conversation would go.

“Don’t act like I haven’t seen you and the others plotting in the shadowed corners of the school!” From his pocket, Sebek presents your letter and waves it in front of your face. “I know this is a secret code, and I know you’ve got something nefarious up your sleeves!”

“What? I don’t-” You grab his wrist to stop his waving, only to look past the paper and see him so worked up, he’s got tears in his eyes.

“If you denounce all your evil plans to me right now, I’ll let you off with a warning! As a future knight of the young master, I really shouldn’t be making such deals, but-” And he cuts himself off, like the emotion is too much for him to handle. It’s almost sweet, how he offers up his integrity just to keep you afloat. Or maybe he’s finally accepted that Malleus actually likes you and would miss you if Sebek were to chase you away. It was hard to tell.

What wasn’t hard to tell was how distressed Sebek is, so you took the paper out of his hands and look at it. Deuce did warn you that your handwriting was rather messy. It would make sense that he couldn’t read it. How he got this idea in his head, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to watch him suffer for much longer.

“You figured me out, Sebek,” You responded sadly. Sebek looked absolutely scandalized. “I wanted to leave the young master vulnerable, so I was trying to take out the rising star that would one day defend him.”

“And how did you plan to do that?” Sebek scowled at you. You heaved a dramatic sigh.

“...You. I was trying to take you out.” For the effect, you paused for a moment before continuing. “On a date, actually. This isn’t a plan written in code, it’s a love letter.”

Sebek stared at you before clearing his throat. “OH.”

It was going to take a while to sink in and even longer to convince him, you could tell. You ushered him to your couch before he could faint.

[thatshirleylee]

brennan's statement on instagram

I'm calling on my government officials to immediately demand a ceasefire and de-escalation in Gaza.

I applaud anyone and everyone calling for peace, with the understanding that real peace only exists if it deeply and honestly accounts for and fully ends violence in all its forms. Real peace addresses and corrects wrong-doing in the past and guards against it in the future. It goes hand in hand with justice and requires truth, restoration, reconciliation, reparation.

Peace cannot co-exist with collective punishment, ethnic cleansing and forced displacement. It cannot co-exist with blockades, embargoes, or with 2.2 million people, half of which are children, trapped with no hope of escape or political recourse. It cannot co-exist with murdered journalists, bombed hospitals, or years of protesters being shot and killed at the border. It cannot co-exist with illegal settlements segregated roads, and the silent, imperial chill that settles over the gaps in the yiolence - the unspoken geopolitical consensus that a group of people need to unflinchingly accept permanent subjugation and occupation.

My heart breaks for every Israeli person who lost loved ones during the attacks of October 7th. It breaks for every Ukrainian person who has lost their loved ones. It breaks for every Congolese person who has lost their loved ones. I do not speak on behalf of Palestinians now because some lives are worth more than others. I speak on their behalf because, as an American, my government is actively championing and financially funding their mass slaughter and forced displacement.I speak on their behalf because l, and all Americans, have a responsibility to pressure our government because we are responsible for this. Some have said that this situation is complicated. The United States government clearly disagrees. It has definitively, categorically, militarily chosen a side, and I do not agree with that decision.

In writing this, I have been wrestling with what I am sure many people like me wrestle with: There is a powerful narrative surrounding violence in the Middle East that asserts an ever-moving goalpost of self-education and study in order to even be qualified to have an opinion. As someone with a love of research, I have at times in my life fallen into the trap that I am not educated enough, clever enough or aware enough to have a worthwhile perspective, and that three more articles and two more lectures and one more book will do the trick. Unfortunately, democracy doesn't work that way - we, the citizens of any democracy, cannot possibly be experts on every aspect of the policies of our governments, and yet if we do not weigh in and make our voices heard, the entire experiment falls apart. Not only do people constantly doubt themselves and the things they can see with their own two eyes, but old shortcuts for political action can fall apart as well: This specific issue exists along a raw, charged and unique faultline in American politics. Nobody I grew up with has ever challenged me on my support for abortion rights, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, none of it. The people in my country who would despise me for those positions are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to me. But there are people who l've broken bread with and shared honest affection with who will see the words l've written here and incorrectly conclude that I do not wish for the security, dignity and happiness of them and their loved ones, and that breaks my fucking heart. Full-throatedly condemning the actions of the Israeli government while battling rampant anti-semitism at home is an urgent moral necessity, and doing so is made unnecessarily challenging for the average person to navigate by the pointed obfuscations of cynical opportunists, bigots, and demagogues on all sides of the political spectrum who see some advantage in sowing that incredibly dangerous confusion.

So, I'm calling my representatives. I'm having hard conversations with friends and family. I'm here, talking to you. I should have done it sooner. If you're Israeli and hurt by this statement, know that I want freedom, dignity, security and peace for you, and that every ounce of my political awareness believes whole-heartedly that the actions of your government are not only destroying innocent lives, but doing so to the detriment of you and your loved ones' safety. If you're American and feel lost and confused - I understand and empathize. This, the whole country, only works when we get involved. I am constantly haunted by the specter that maybe I have missed some crucial piece of information on this, or any, important world event: I'Il just have to make my peace with that self-doubt and trust my gut by going with Jewish Voice for Peace, Amnesty International, the Geneva Conventions, the United Nations, etc. And if you're Palestinian and reading this: I unreservedly support your right to life, to freedom, to happiness and human flourishing, to full enfranchisement and equal rights, to opportunity, prosperity and abundance, to the restoration of stolen property and land, and to a Free Palestine.

[thehardy-boys]

The Platform (Tommy Shelby x Reader)

Hey! Its literally been like forever but I've had some time to myself and actually written something. This was not requested or anything but I just got inspired with all the new content recently. Anyways, pls enjoy. It's a series so there will be more parts to the story.

Warnings: Sadness, negative thoughts, flirting if you squint (In the future -- smut 😏)

Part 1

(y/n) hadn’t planned on ever coming back.

“I’ll put your tea here then mum. Alright?” (y/n) spoke fairly loudly so the elderly woman could hear. She was nearing eighty and she had lost most of her sight and hearing. She was a ghost nearing on a corpse. But there was no one else to look after her. As these kinds of responsibilities usually fall on the women, the daughters, they fell on (y/n) just the same.  

“I’m heading to work. Mrs. Iona will check in on you from time to time, alright?” The bedroom door was almost closed when she heard the slight mumble coming from the shriveled woman.

“Not supposed to be here. Don’t want her here. Take her away.”

She paused only for a moment suddenly hit with a wave of the past. The tide so strong it almost pulled her into its murky depths. But with the door closed and the sight of her mother taken away (y/n) turned her back and softly made her way out of her mother’s house.

She waved to Mrs. Iona as she shut the front gate and walked back down the street towards the main road. Her shoes already collecting the terrible coal dust.

She hated it here. The heavy air that the sunlight could never quite penetrate which resulted in the town being in a constant gloom. It made her skin crawl. The unhappiness was crippling. The drunkards already stumbling around the street at eleven o’clock in the morning, the starving children running back and forth, the haggard mothers one step closer to the grave and the dark alleys that were haunted with glistening knives, illegal pistols, and razor-sharp caps.

Get me out of here. Get me out of here. (y/n) screamed internally but she only pushed open the heavy wooden door of the newspaper agency and kindly greeted Mrs. Kelley the receptionist before making her way to the back of the building and sitting down at her desk. Another day. More editing. That was her lot in life: never to be the one writing and creating but only a ghost in the machine, a minion behind the scenes.

By the end of every long day at the newspaper house the words would blur into one huge muddle. She’d pack up her small bag, wish a good night to her boss Mr. Beavers, and head home. Her eyes would be sore and her brain throbbing with a headache. But that was just Small Heath, barely living.

(y/n) felt that she had something missing. She knew she had it when she was younger because of all her memories. The vibrancy of the trees she climbed, the scent of baking in the kitchen, the damp fur of their pet dogs after a rain storm. Everything was so vivid back then and full. Her eyes open and wanting, now she was shuttered, fragile, and tired. Her knees often ached and her neck sore from hunching over papers all day. She was decaying, slowly.

“(y/n)!” Her head popped up from her desk at the sound of her name. Polly Gray was making her way towards her. She was as formidable as (y/n) remembered. She rose up to return Polly’s hug.

“Mrs. Gray, It’s so nice to see you!” Polly squeezed a bit tighter. The warmth of her body rubbing off onto (y/n). She welcomed it. It had been so long since she had received any kind of touch.

“When the hell did you get back?”

“About a year now.”

“A year!? A whole year and you didn’t bother to drop me a line?” Her outrage wore the mask of humor but (y/n) could tell there was genuine worry, genuine hurt lurking behind it.

(y/n) shook her head in apology, “I know. I know. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to come back here and then a lot happened and I’ve just been so busy Mrs. Gray. I’m really sorry.”

“No, I know (y/n). I heard what happened. Awful stuff. I had no idea you were here dealing with it all. You should have asked for help.”

(y/n) began to shake her head and ward off Polly’s offer when her boss’s door opened up behind her.

“Ah, Mrs. Gray and Mr. Shelby do come in.” He gestured warmly into his office.

Polly rubbed her arm before stepping inside.

A tall man had been standing behind Polly. (y/n) hadn’t noticed him in the frenzy of the greeting but she didn’t need an introduction. Nobody in Small Heath did. He was just as the ladies described him at the grocers she went to weekly: cold, inscrutable, foreboding, and dangerous.  

(y/n) had lived in Small Heath only until she had turned thirteen and then her family had moved away. Her father had been close to Polly and consequently (y/n), over the years, had played with the young Shelby brothers. (y/n)’s older brother had gotten along well with Arthur and if she concentrated hard enough, she could remember playing hide and seek with Thomas and John Shelby. But it was all so long ago, and she realized she hadn’t seen any of them in over fifteen years. And yet she knew it was Thomas. She knew.

She wondered mildly if he remembered her, “(y/n) (l/n).” That was all he said with a quick nod he passed her by not glancing back and nor did she.

Polly left first and, on her way, reminded (y/n) to drop by. An hour or so later Thomas came out, as well. (y/n) was neck deep in the upcoming Sunday issue so she barely registered the figure standing next to her desk.

“Oh, Mr. Shelby! Did Mr. Beavers ask me to get you any forms?” She pushed away her paper hurriedly and stood up.

He shook his head slowly and continued to stare at her, hands deep in his pockets.

She tilted her head as a question, and he only shrugged slightly.

“I was trying to remember why you left, all those years ago.”

(y/n) sat back down. A flicker of fear coursed through her at the reminder of their family’s departure. A broken window, her father’s bruised face, and her mother’s hands constantly trembling.

“It wasn’t my decision; it was my parents.” She didn’t look up at him and instead pulled her papers back towards her. She didn’t want to sift through all those years. She could barely make it through the present.

He must have sensed the finality because he bid her good day and left but his stare stayed with her all day and even into the night. The frostiness of the blue. The condemnation they held for humanity.

Mr. Beavers explained the next morning that they were starting a partnership with Shelby Limited. They would be expanding their sports column to include more articles on the races. Mr. Beavers excitedly described the hope for a few informative articles on the intricacies of horse racing, training, and breeding. But it wasn’t just about horses Mr. Beavers went on, being attached to Shelby Limited allowed them an easy avenue for new stories and information. It was a ready-made news source.

“All this in exchange for what?” (y/n) asked.

“We give Mr. Shelby’s races publicity and well…occasionally we would publish or not publish certain articles for the company.”

(y/n) crossed her arms, “So they can censor us? What stops them from completely taking over the paper? What if next week they decide they don’t want the Theatre column? Evan and Nate would be out of the job.”

Mr. Beavers frantically shook his head, “It’s not like that, not like that at all. I know Mrs. Gray and I trust her. The company is not interested in that kind of control. I mean we’re only a small agency, (y/n).”

And thus, the partnership began and now not just (y/n) felt the steely stare of Mr. Shelby, but the entirety of the agency did.

It started slowly but Thomas began to come by once or twice a week. It was usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (y/n) learned from Mr. Beavers that they were working on a contract. She would here the tell-tale sound of expensive shoes on the marble floor and know even without looking up who it was. Thomas Shelby walked with such authority in his three piece suits all the young ladies at the agency were already gossiping about him during their lunch breaks. But (y/n) kept her distance.

She had always been an outsider in Small Heath. The community never welcomed her family, something to do with their Jewish ties. And now, after returning, people were even more wary. (y/n) could tell there were whispers behind her back. She ignored the fake apologies about the missing invitation when she caught her colleagues out for a bite to eat all together. It didn’t bother her, not really.

“Mr. Shelby, Mr. Beavers will be right out. His previous meeting’s running a bit late. Please sit down if you’d like.” She gestured to the few arm chairs by the window. He only nodded and sat. He lit his cigarette and did what he always seemed to do around her, stare. And she ignored him in favor of the monumental stack of paperwork in front of her.

“How much do they pay you here?” He asked out of the blue. His deep voice easily cutting through her concentration.

She looked over, “Minimum wage.”

“For all that?” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

(y/n) shrugged.

“You edit, organize, design, and manage each issue and only get minimum wage?”

“I’m not in a position to be picky, Mr. Shelby.” She bristled a bit.

He took another drag and let the smoke column upwards. He did look beautiful with the sunlight streaming in behind him. It caught the contours of his angular face and she thought yeah, I think I get it now.

He cleared his throat and sat back satisfied her attention was now on him, “Don’t you remember me?”

“Yes. I mean we were just kids.” She shrugged lightly.

“We met on the platform.” He took another inhale of his smoke, “After the war.”

(y/n) blinked.

“Yes, we did.” Her throat had gone dry.

He opened his mouth to continue but “(y/n)! I need the consumer reports.” It was Evelyn from the market section. Her plump red lips perking up at the sight of Thomas. (y/n) had the feeling Evelyn already knew he would be here; the reports weren’t needed until the end of the day.

“Yes. Here they are.” (y/n) sifted through her desk and handed over the packet.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Evelyn asked. She played with a few loose strands of her hair.

“Oh. Uh-Mr. Shelby this is Ms. Lowe. Ms. Lowe, Mr. Shelby from Shelby Limited.”

“Ever so pleased to meet you, sir.” She placed a sneaky hand on her hip and shifted her weight a tad to conform her body into an elegant pose.

And she was attractive (y/n) had to admit. She was young and full of vigor. Her hair always done to perfection and makeup never smudged. She looked like a movie star. She looked like a woman all men would fall head over heels for. (y/n) inwardly cringed. She could only imagine what she must look like next to this creature of beauty.

But when (y/n) looked over to see Thomas’ reaction, he seemingly hadn’t stopped looking at her. Only when their eyes met did Thomas glance over at Evelyn and give a slight nod.

“Mr. Shelby! Please come in, come in! I do apologize about the delay!” Mr. Beavers rushed out and hurriedly greeted the businessman.

After the door closed Evelyn let out a huff. She handed back the packet to (y/n).

“I don’t even need these. I just wanted him to get a look if you know what I mean.”

(y/n) gave a small smile hoping to be rid of the superficial woman but she had one last request.

“Put in a few good words for me, will you? He always comes by your desk. Just drop in a few hints?”

(y/n) sighed and re-organized a few papers, “I’ll try my best Evelyn, but I can’t promise anything.”

A few hours later, Evelyn really did come and collect the consumer reports but lucky for her the office door opened and the two men appeared.

“And wonderful (y/n) here will get the correct form for you to sign Mr. Shelby. Let’s organize a convenient day for her to drop the upcoming issue down at your office weekly.”

Evelyn who was too quick easily swooped in without any hesitation, “I can help, Mr. Beavers. You know that I have a much more open schedule than (y/n). I’d be happy to deliver the issue.” She smiled blindingly.

(y/n) just sat there watching the whole thing unfold. In fact, she was actually grateful Evelyn was sticking her nose into it because she didn’t want to see more of Thomas than she already had these past few weeks.

“That is true, Mr. Beavers. Evelyn has a bit more time on her hands these days.”

The boss was beginning to make the face of agreement before, “I’d like Ms. (l/n) to be the one making the deliveries.”

And there was no room for argument with Mr. Shelby.

“Of course, whatever works best for Mr. Shelby. Let’s say every Thursday?” Mr. Beavers heartily clasped the man’s hand and then beckoned Evelyn into his office for a round up on the recent reports. (y/n) didn’t miss the venomous look the other woman shot her.

(y/n) opened her desk drawer and took out the mentioned form that needed the signature.

“Just here, Mr. Shelby.” She held out a pen for him without bothering to look up. This turned out to be a bad idea because she jumped in surprise as he partially leaned over her to sign the paper. He smelled of oak and whisky. He carried the scent of the past.

She remembered seeing his eyes in the sea of green uniforms on the platform. And she knew. She just knew. After all those years. She had walked towards him. He stood there waiting for her. His beautiful blue eyes. That beautiful face.

“(y/n) (l/n).” He had said her name then with such certainty like it was law. Like it had some kind of divine meaning and not just a jumble of letters.

“Is that all?” He asked setting the pen down.

She cleared her throat, “Yes.”

She expected him to be on his way, but she looked up when she never heard the retreating footsteps. He still stood next to her one hand on the back of her chair. Looking down at her.

“Did you not expect me to remember you?”

She clenched her jaw, “Why would I expect you to remember me?”

He furrowed his brow and walked away.

Part 2

[ultraericthered]

Don't believe in what you can see (but I see you, Liam!)

Had some random thoughts to spare regarding Moriarty The Patriot following my viewing of the "Scandal In The British Empire" arc.

This is a series that lives or dies based on how it characterizes and handles the main protagonist, what he does, what he believes, and what he's striving for. And given that the protagonist in question is THE Professor James Moriarty, that had to be a tricky thing to figure out. So I guess it speaks to the writing quality that I am very engaged with how William James Moriarty and his brothers operate and am absolutely on board with the fundamental sentiments behind the motivation and support the revolutionary societal reforms they seek to bring about as their goal....but I also disagree with the angle Liam has settled on and what he believes has to be done to achieve it. Quite vehemently, in fact.

For starters, he wants to destabilize British society through a barrage of well planned, coordinated and directed crime waves throughout the empire, even reaching elsewhere in Europe. It'd be an extreme rarity that such crimes be victimless, and though done towards the end of crippling the power, wealth, and status-based influence of the nobility, there are plenty of non-noble class victims claimed. As part of these crimes, Liam will either commit murders, arrange murders, orchestrate suicides, or just look the other way as an aristocrat is placed in a life-ending situation by his machinations. Breaking laws, ethical norms, and common sense regulations of civil society in ways that harms more than helps is very, very seldom a good, righteous, justified thing no matter what rationalizations could be made for it. Now sometimes I can't fault Liam for what he does (the poisoning of the Viscount was aided by him but mainly required he simply not save the guy just as he himself hadn't save a terminally ill child, Dudley Bale fell off the bridge on his own, etc.), but most of the time his actions fall squarely under the category of "illegal felony".

Then there's the fact that the envisioned crescendo hinges upon the Lord of Crime coercing the masses into unity against a common threat to their homeland and collective well-being, prompting a need to re-asses and reconstruct things under dubious pretenses rather than allowing the people to seriously look at and examine the full reality of their fucked up society to come to a clear-headed, informed consensus on a decided course of action to fix things. It's the same thing Lelouch did in Code Geass R2 and I wasn't entirely okay with that either. I just think it's dickish and not even sustainable in the long term, and to think "I just need to make victims out of enough people to the point where they'll all rise up to want and demand social reforms and changes in their ruling class' leadership, and meritocracy will kick in!" is surprisingly naive for a genius like Liam.

Then there's his hypocrisy. The title "Moriarty the Patriot" is because Liam, in spite of being a criminal mastermind, also cares greatly about Great Britain and has sworn allegience to the crown, believing the nation needs a healthy government, honest law enforcement, non-abusive abiders of Noblesse Oblige in key roles of society's upper levels working alongside commoners, and the monarchy and military kept in-tact in order to thrive. It's that last part that seems like a problematic area, as monarchy by definition puts those of royal blood and status above all other people, and it's been known to allow anyone close to or in the favor of the royals to play parts in shaping how the country is run and how society is influenced. So if Liam wasn't keen on deposing the monarchy and reforming government in Britain altogether, who's to say that, no matter what reforms his plan may yield, the class system won't continue to prevail, aristocracy won't continue to abuse its power, and society won't remain as cruel, unfair, and inequal as it was before? ..... Oh wait, we CAN say that!

Lastly, the senseless martyrdom factor. Liam never valued himself as a priority in his life, never saw in himself any worth to society at large beyond what he could reshape it into, and due to turning to aiding crime and plotting murder even at a young age, he believes his heart is too blackened and his hands are too unclean. So naturally, he plans on the fulfillment of his revolutionary vision to come along with the end of his life. Beneath all the ideals and the honest assessment of what ails British society and does great harm to so many of its people, Liam is driven by a personal desire to leave behind this harsh and unjust world, to give his life to his cause and seal the realization of his envisioned future with his blood, and to validate the self-image he has of an accursed, dreadful, loathsome villain who can bring into reality necessary change only through necessary evil. It's wasteful, corruptive, insensitive, self-loathing, self-destructive, and wrong. (Thankfully I do know Sherlock's around to talk him out of this.)

So yeah, I find the James Moriarty Brothers to be quite the compelling Villain Protagonists/antiheroes, and Liam especially. So much I want to laud him for and just as much I want to kick him for.

[compacflt]

If you want, and only if you want to, could you explain about making Logistics a big part of Ice's career path? Not only did fit so well with your Ice's characterization, it was just so neat I've made it my HC for Ice's career path.

yes!

I got REALLy deep into the defense policy weeds in this post so I’m putting a cut to save people’s dashboards

1. when i was rewriting chapters 8 &9 last winter i did literally the bare minimum of research about the current set of high-level officers. the commander of the pacific fleet at the time had previously been the director of pacific fleet logistics ordnance & supply. So that was easy to yoink. a proven chain of succession.

2. but also: it fit ice’s (or his alter ego admiral Kazansky’s) neat, orderly, effective, collected, strategic characterization. And as professional tactics go, there would be no better promotion for a high-level officer looking to take over the fleet than DFLOS. understand the fleet by the numbers, you comprehensively understand the fleet.

3. In terms of secret-keeping logistics, ice is supposed to be kind of the best. like, because of his logistical thinking, he & maverick get away with it. Or that’s how I would’ve written it if I were a little smarter. Obviously in practice a bunch of people find out so it’s not great. but the navy AS A WHOLE doesn’t find out.

4. The field of military logistics is rigorously bureaucratic, boring, soulsucking, selfdefeating, notoriously corrupt, and yet entirely necessary for the military to succeed at any level (in the very first draft of WWGATTAI i included a famous US marine corps maxim that most people have heard at some point: “amateurs talk tactics. professionals talk logistics.” but that was literally the only good thing about the original chapter 6 which got entirely rewritten a month after i published it). So logistics as a field of specialization fit in perfectly with my secondary character thesis that rising through the boring bureaucratic ranks of the Navy sucked all the humanity & will to live out of ice one day at a time.

a couple related interesting things that I’ve never talked about on this blog & might never get the chance to again:

a) ice canonically joins the navy as a fighter pilot & ends his career as a glorified bureaucrat. that sucks. obviously the struggle to rise in the ranks is a notoriously cutthroat, political, sleazy business (you do not get to the top of the United States Navy by being nice to people), but i would also not be the first person to say that—for exemplary officers—leadership is an EXPECTATION that can counterbalance someone’s natural drive to excel, if that makes sense. You get promoted because you’re good at something (flying), but you get promoted away from the thing you were good at. There is an extent to which you have to fight for a promotion—but there is also an extent to which commanders above you pick you for the job, suck you up along the pipeline. Loss of agency—a major major component of joining the military—does still apply to upper-level officers.

B) to that end, i am reminded of one quote from Todd Schmidt’s 2023 book “Silent Coup of the Guardians: US Military Elite Influence on National Security.” This is an Army training & doctrine commander speaking: “the military has a lot of two- and three-star senior leaders that were confident, charismatic commanders at the O-6 level. But that’s the end of the story. One in fifty, maybe one in a hundred, truly have what it takes to operate successfully at the strategic level and make a real difference for their service. The problem is that they all tend to think that, since they have stars on their shoulders, they’re the one.” —I’ve been writing ice as “The Chosen One,” the officer unicorn, for two reasons: one, it provides him cover for his illegal relationship (and also asks an interesting chicken-egg question: does he get away with his rlnship because he’s so good, or is he so good JUST to get away with his relationship?); and two, he’s “the chosen one” in canon, i.e. he already has four stars in canon: canonically he is not a mediocre officer. But most officers (cough cough maverick) are not cut out for high-level leadership.

C.) in Thomas E. Ricks’ book “The Generals,” Ricks argues that (at least in the Army) mediocrity in the general/flag officer ranks is unfortunately by design. In WWII, if you were a mediocre officer, you got relieved! You got fired! It’s part of why we won: merciless culling of the general officer ranks! But between WWII and Korea, officer relief began to be associated with shame & wasted resources. Mediocre officers got promoted anyways. The military elite pipeline sucks mediocrity up the chain of command. Ricks blames this issue for (at least the Army’s) shit leadership in every post-WWII war, including but most especially Iraq and Afghanistan. There’s no penalty for mediocrity. That in turn reflects on military strategy (mediocre strategists at the helm) & the outcome of every military foray (mediocre outcomes).

D) additionally. There’s a whole neverending debate in the field of civil-military relations (an extremely interesting field of study btw) about the corporatization of the military—lots of high-level talk over the years of “running the military like a business.” If you get kinda into defense policy like me (am i still antimilitary? Idk! but i CAN easily tell you i am against the navy’s littoral combat ship program! It sucks!) then you will know that the navy is struggling right now on a lot of different fronts (procurement [shipbuilding esp. is a disaster—ford-class carriers are under budget though 👍🏽], recruitment, theatre prioritization, general preparedness, readiness against major adversaries [China in particular]). Simply, the navy is pretty mediocre at the minute. I talk a big game about ice being COMPACFLT & SECNAV, but if those are true, & if he “exists” in our current timeline, or even canon timeline (COMPACFLT in 2020), then he’s complicit in a lot of why the navy is sucking ass right now. He didn’t do his job very well. LOL. So, because I love (especially my version of) ice too much to see his legacy suffer, I am stating for the record that my timeline is a different timeline where ice saves the navy from itself and fixes all its issues & solves all its problems & makes it the pride of the armed forces & the tip of the spear of American defense :) because I said so

E.) unrelated but important. It sounds obvious but it must be said. Ice dies on the job in TGM canon. To the extent that in earlier drafts of the script, not-his-sister-Sarah even points out to maverick that ice is still active duty, in the same breath as she tells him ice is sick again. (A wise move to remove that line.) ice does not resign his commission. Ice does not retire to spend time with his family at the end of his life. Ice dies as commander of the pacific fleet. He dies on the job; he dies FOR the job, bureaucratic as it is. If you were wondering why I wrote ice so dormantly suicidal, it’s because canon (i argue) has made it clear that—since the second ice signed up to be a fighter pilot during the Cold War to the second he died active duty—ice has ALWAYS been ready and willing to die for his honorable Navy career.

[diaryujin]

𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃

summary: being part of a gang that murders isn't as badass and cool as those silly romance novels make it out to be. it involves questions, regrets and tough decisions, including ones related to your ex, jay.

genre: angst

includes: exes to (not so) lovers, inaccurate gang life pls bear with me i don't do illegal shit *sob*, murder, death, blood, curse words, guns, jay is mentioned as a nepo baby, mentions of (g)i-dle minnie and soyeon and le sserafim chaewon, quite some flashbacks, not that good ngl, not proofread, lmk if i missed anything

pairing: ex! gang member! jay x ex! gang member! fem! reader

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i apologize for 1. not updating 'diary entries filled with her' i've been busy writing this and i've been too drained to upload those :( i'll start with them again tomorrow and 2. if this isn't all that good idk why i wasted time writing this but oh well

“Y/N, your target is agent JJXNG. He’s an assassin like you who’s part of the team trying to track us down.” You focused on Minnie in front of you, the leader of the gang you were a part of. You were her most trusted assassin and the one she assigned the most difficult targets to. Sometimes, you didn’t understand what kept you in this job, but all your doubts would clear whenever you saw the stacks of cash as your monthly salary.

“JJXNG. How long has he been with the squad?”

“Two years. He’s a formidable force though — sneaky rat. He slips out from right under our noses.” “I see. Any specific date I should get him dead by?” “As soon as possible, honestly. I’ll tell Chaewon to set up a lead in one of our usual alleys.”

“What about alley 96?”

“Perfect. See, this is why I love you so much.”

She patted your shoulder, grinning a little. You chuckled, but it was weak. Seeing that, her face wore a look of concern.

“Are you okay with doing this though? I know you’re going through that break up…”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be fine. Can’t let emotions get in the way, right? Anyway, it’s not like this involves him.”

“I understand if not though. I’ll just ask Soyeon.”

“Seriously, I’ll do it.”

She tilted her head questioningly, and you nodded. She sighed before letting go of your shoulder.

“Alright then, I’ll call you once Chae is done. Take care of yourself until then, hm?”

“I will. Take care, Minnie.”

She smiled, and you reciprocated the gesture.

Upon reaching your apartment, you went into your room, looking for a change of clothes. Hands moving through your wardrobe, you froze as they landed on a certain hoodie.

Jay’s.

You must’ve mistaken it as one of your own when you were returning all his stuff. You ran your hands slowly over the fabric which was surprisingly still somewhat warm. He bought it in the USA, and it was rather expensive. You often stole it from him to the point where he just gave up and gifted it to you.

Unfolding it, you had an internal debate over whether you should wear it. In the end, you took off the clothes you were wearing and wore the hoodie and a pair of comfortable leggings. Why leave it to collect dust?

Soon, you were on your bed, lazing around as you scrolled on your Instagram feed. Your eyes were looking at posts, stories, and reels, but your brain processed nothing. 

Jay.

Homemade cooking.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled.

You buried your face in your mattress, groaning. Hell, you missed the taste of his food, but worse — you missed him.

You were yet to reach the acceptance bit of the five stages of grief, and it was hindering all your thoughts. Looking back at your phone, you closed Instagram and opened your gallery.

A major part of getting over someone was deleting the more intimate pictures with and of them.

Fuck it, you didn’t.

How could you, when the man was way too fine to be real?

You were holding on to slivers of what you used to have, and you knew it was unhealthy, but who were you to care?

Scrolling through all the pictures, different memories played in your mind by a broken record. Smiley, hot, cute, straight from hell, meme-worthy, sculpted by Michelangelo, jawline sharp enough to cut through a watermelon, goofy, with a guitar — your photo album of him had all genres of Park Jongseong, even his darkest and deepest ones.

If everything was so perfect, what went wrong?

You reflected on your three-year relationship with him. Arguments were few and far between the two of you. You spent a lot of time with him, he spoiled you a lot (even though you told him not to), he treated you like a princess, and you reciprocated it as much as you could. Even with all your missions with the gang, everyone would call you both the perfect couple.

Your parents adored him — he was their ideal son-in-law — and you couldn’t help but smile as you remembered the shy look on his face as they explicitly told him that. His parents were friendly with you. Sure, they were a bit awkward and haughty, but you had seen worse.

All this got you wondering…

Where in the middle of this dreamy paradise did the devil find his home?

He wouldn’t have cheated. He was too good-hearted for that…or at least you hoped.

You did a little digging after you both ended things, but (un)fortunately you had no evidence to support your claim, and couldn’t have any justified hard feelings towards him.

You had the events of that day burned in your memory — the day when the safe little bubble you lived in burst.

He was at your place, and you both were watching a movie together. Usually, you’d be cuddling with him, but that day, it was like he was doing his best not to let even an inch of his skin come in contact with yours. It hurt your feelings, sure, but you just brushed it off as him being on his man period.

A scene appeared on the screen where the main character and her love interest were having a cheesy date, and you turned to look at Jay, expecting a comment about how your relationship with him was better or a lovesick smile, or his lips puckering out in an awkwardly endearing manner, or- or- anything other than a blank stare and a frown. He noticed your gaze and his jaw tensed.

“Y/N…this-this- you and I…”

He took a deep breath.

“I can’t do us anymore.”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth opened and closed like a fish. Your hand reached for his instinctively, but he drew it back, showing that he wasn’t joking. 

“But- why? What’s-What’s going wrong? It’s nothing we…we can’t fix, you know- I’m sorry if I did anything, I’ll-I’ll change my ways, just please don’t-”

“It’s not your fault, okay? I just- my work is getting more time-consuming nowadays, and I don’t want to end up neglecting you in the process, Y/N. You deserve someone better.”

“I don’t need anyone else, Jay! You’re more than enough, you’re my everything! I don’t care if you have to spend less time with me, I understand and I’ll manage-”

“No Y/N, trust me. Plus…”

He looked away nervously, eyes staring at the paused screen as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Plus…?” “My parents disapprove.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

You couldn’t say anything against that. You knew how much Jay loved his parents, and you would never want to come between them.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I wish it wasn’t like this.”

“That’s okay. I know- how they mean the world to you.”

“I’m not saying you don’t, but-”

“It’s fine, really.”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, Y/N. I’ll never forget you. I just can’t.”

“You too, Jay. Good luck with your work.”

And just like that, he left.

A month ago.

You wanted to scream. This was like the millionth time that you thought about that day.

You seriously had to get something better to do in your life. 

Suddenly, a call came on your phone. You looked at the ID, and as you expected, it was Minnie.

“Y/N? Hello.”

“Hey, Minnie. Something up?”

“They took the bait literally an hour after Chaewon set it up.”

There was a snicker of amusement from her end, and you grinned a little to yourself as well over how stupid the squad was.

“Damn, they’re confident.”

“I know! They didn’t even wait!”

“It’s dumb.”

“Mhm. Anyway, those bitches set up the meeting date as fuckin’ tomorrow. Wild, no?”

“Seriously? So soon? Kinda feeling bad for JJXNG, the poor guy most likely isn’t even prepared.”

“Fools, really. Deserved. You’re up for it, right?”

“Of course. Time?”

“11 p.m.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at the base at 10:30 p.m. tomorrow. That good?”

“That’s perfect. Alley 20, by the way.”

The alley was quiet, the streetlights providing just enough luminescence for you to notice the outline of a man slowly approaching you. You gripped the pistol in your hand tighter, setting your arm to the side so that the guy wouldn’t notice.

The soft but heavy sound of his footsteps was slightly muffled by the drizzle that left you a bit soaked. Drops of water trailed from your hair to your face, and you wiped them off with your free hand.

The man was now close enough to you. He wore a mask just like you did, but his was black with ‘JJXNG’ written on it in bold, red letters.

This guy was bloody stupid.

There was something familiar in his gaze, but you brushed it off as deja vu. He seemed to be sizing you up, so you did the same. You noticed that he had a gun too, so you moved yours further behind your back. Looking into his eyes, you saw that there was a bit of confusion swirling in them.

“Agent JJXNG? Hard to pronounce.”

You chuckled dryly, but his eyes widened.

“You’re…ENZ? Wait, but-”

Why…why was his voice so familiar? The guy had the same tone as…as someone who had been a vital part of your life until a month ago, and then became a permanent resident in your head.

“Y/N?”

You froze.

“How- How the fuck do you-”

The same surprise. The same shock. The same concern.

“Jongseong…?”

He lowered his mask at you saying his name, and you could see how his mouth was agape with shock. You did the same, although your lips were pursed together in a thin line. 

“I didn’t expect to be seeing you so soon.”

His hands fidgeted with his pistol, and you realized.

You were tasked to kill him.

He stood still for a moment, seemingly going through the same dilemma.

“So, Jongseong, this is the work that’s been so time-consuming, hm? Did your parents approve of this?”

He gritted his teeth, remembering how he said those things as a reason for breaking up with you.

“Look, Y/N-”

“I’m not about to get together with you right now.”

“I’m not that desperate.”

That hurt, and you had no idea why.

“Do you promise to never keep secrets from me, Jay?”

You held out your pinkie suddenly, catching him off guard. The poor boy was just trying to cook.

“All of a sudden?”

He chuckled, before instantly locking pinkies with you.

“I promise, only if you do the same, love.”

You smiled at him, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

You shook your head, not wanting to remember unfulfilled promises right now. Suddenly, your eyes focused on the gun pointed directly at your forehead and you winced, mentally slapping yourself for losing focus.

“Didn’t think I’d be doing this ever in my life, but here we are.”

His tone was cold yet cocky, which was annoying as hell. You reciprocated the gesture calmly, and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Fuck. Should’ve seen that coming.”

He was in a pissy mood. You were in a pissy mood.

An irritated Jay plus an irritated you equaled disaster, which was why you usually avoided each other when both of you were emotionally heightened.

Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t allow that. You were at his house already mad, and you wanted to be with him to blow some steam off. He got some news from work that seriously angered him by the time you were there.

It started with you forgetting to wash the dishes once and ended up with the both of you having a screaming match in the living room. He complained that ‘you never cared about his feelings’ and you retorted by saying ‘he had extremely high standards’.

That was your first major argument, and it ended so badly that you didn’t contact each other for a week.

Why were you having all these flashbacks? You weren’t some anime protagonist. 

“Is this a race of who kills who first?”

“It’s always like that. I thought you had two years of experience under your Prada belt? Or are your targets handed to you on a silver platter as well?”

He scoffed at your remark. He never liked to be reminded that he was a nepo baby. He was always extremely humble and sweet, even if he occasionally didn’t understand seemingly normal things due to his upbringing.

But fuck it, to hell with him and his kindness.

“It just feels weird, since I’m killing you.”

Your grip on your pistol loosened.

“...yeah.”

His eyes were now filled with remorse as they softened.

“Frankly speaking, I don’t-don’t really know how I’ll go on- move on from this.”

He cared.

He still cared.

A week after that big fight, you had someone at your door — Jay.

When you saw him at your doorstep, all of your favorite snacks cooked by him in one hand and a necklace box in another, you didn’t know how to react.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.”

He genuinely looked like he was going to burst into tears. You hugged him tight, and he buried his head in your shoulder, sniffling a little.

“I forgive you. I’m sorry too.”

“I thought I lost you, love. Please- don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, Jay. I never will.”

The rest of the day was spent with you both cuddling, eating, and (re)watching your favorite movies amongst many kisses.

And that’s how you both made up after every fight.

You struggled to come to terms with the fact that the same guy you used to watch Lady and the Tramp with was now pointing a gun at your forehead.

In his defense, you were doing the same thing.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’ll count to three, and we pull the trigger at the same time when I reach 0.”

You didn’t know how to feel about that suggestion — it made too many things real.

You were going to die.

He was going to die.

You’d be the reason he died.

He’d be the reason you died.

You didn’t want to continue living after this. You didn't want to live holding the huge guilt of having murdered the sweetest guy on the planet. At this point, you were struggling to hold back tears.

“Sure.”

You steadied your arm, and he copied your action.

“3…”

The first day you both met.

“2…”

The day he asked you to be his girlfriend.

“1…”

Life while dating him.

“0.”

The day you both broke up.

The loud bang of your gunshot echoed throughout the alley, the rain accentuating it. The sound overpowered the clang of his gun falling to the ground, and his soft words.

“Y/N…I can’t. I can’t kill you. I still love yo-”

You opened your eyes and froze.

How did you just do that?

He should’ve killed you, you were dea-

Your eyes fell upon Jay’s body in front of you.

There was a hole in his forehead, and blood was trickling out of it. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, and you could only see the whites. There he lay, limp and lifeless.

And it was all your fault.

Then it hit you.

He didn’t shoot. 

He broke yet another promise.

You kneeled in front of him, letting yourself cry. You cradled him close just like how you used to whenever he had a bad day and you would comfort him.

“Jay…Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Why-Why didn’t you shoot?! Bastard, how do you want me to live now that you’re gone! You piece of- of absolute shit! I loved you, I love you and I will- simply continue to love you, and-and it’s going to hurt ‘cause you’re not here, damn it!”

You held him close, your salty tears mixing with his blood.

You couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t continue life knowing you were the reason he died.

You remained in that position, Jay’s body in your arms. Your warm hand gripped his cold one. It was weird how it still gave you comfort.

Your eyes darted around, before focusing on his gun in the pool of blood. You took it, deciding to finish his mission for him, not minding the red liquid staining your hand.

His gun was now on the side of your head.

“I love you, Park Jongseong.”

Another loud bang echoed in the alleyway.

[mmmichyyy]

🖤gallavich fic rec list🖤

i combed through my ao3 bookmarks and tumblr archive so here are some (but not all!) of my fave one-shots, wips, completed fics and tumblr ficlets i read & reread this year, ranging from newer fics to ones published in the past years ✨ there's almost 50 (!!) recs here so hopefully you'll find something new to read 🖤

check out the fic rec list i compiled last year!

(i didn't include the fics i've already mentioned in the last list plus the endless fics posted this year to avoid making this list longer than it already is, but if i had infinite time & space i'd include them all 🥰 onwards!)

one-shots:

seal my fate by allyasavedtheday (s2 canon divergence)

fix me up by biblionerd07 (Mickey has a lot of scars. Ian has a lot of feelings about those scars.)

shut the door and let go by @tellmegoodbye (s3 sleepover re-write)

these days, life is better by biblionerd07 (Ian realizes Mickey is the most romantic guy on Earth.)

in the romance section by kissteethstainred (When Ian moves to a new area, he starts to frequent the local bookstore. Eventually he begins to visit the bookstore for the owner more than the books themselves.)

icarus is online by @mishervellous (AnonMate is all everyone is talking about. Ian wants in on it.)

beginners by @bravemikhailo (Ian and Mickey meet the day they graduate college and all they've got is one night together.)

start again by allyasavedtheday (A little look at how Ian (and Mickey) comes to terms with his bipolar disorder.)

falling for you without a second look by xylodemon (s3 roadtrip)

for his honey by @squidyyy23 (ian’s impressed when his husband’s business savvy helps them expand their farm. and he's going to make sure he knows it.)

'tis the damn season by @sweetcresta (Ian comes home for Christmas and old habits die hard.)

sneaking in by @ianandmickeygallavich (Sneaking into a movie feels different. It shouldn’t, friends go to the movies, families go to the movies. But….Ian can’t help thinking about the fact that it’s a classic choice for a date.)

eighty-four by kissteethstainred (college/time-travel au)

if you love me, won't you let me know? by kissteethstainred (college au)

five times mickey wears ian's clothes and one time ian wears mickey's by @teatimeallovertown (A brief look at the journey of Mickey and Ian through the clothes they share.)

i'd follow your love down a dead end street by zoeplacid (Ian Gallagher wishes his soul mate was Mickey Milkovich, but the universe seems to have other ideas.)

wildfire by ilostyournumber (Ian is a bipolar stripper and Mickey is deep in the closet and they try not to tear each other apart.)

'til our compass stands still by biblionerd07 (Mickey just assumed they'd have smooth sailing from here on out. It never occurred to him being in prison together might be the easiest part of their relationship.)

wips:

sweetpea by @whatthebodygraspsnot (shapeshifter!cat!mickey! 🐈‍⬛)

reckoner by @thisdivorce (Ian Gallagher is married, stable, happy working as a Paramedic and trying to start a family, but a chance encounter with the foul-mouthed father of one of his patients—who has more ties to Ian than either of them know—threatens to blow it all up.)

selfless acts of the illegal variety by @abundanceofnots (The last thing Ian Gallagher thought he'd be at 19 is married—and to a grumpy Ukrainian bouncer called Mickey who's barely said ten words to him since they first met, no less. But when a rare chance at love knocks on your door, you don't just send the cute guy in dire need of a green card back to his homophobic father in Kyiv, right?)

your question has been received by @celestialmickey (a tumblr AU with a bit of a twist)

change like shifting shadows by @thisdivorce (priest!ian)

bound & free by @sunoficarus (magic/fantasy + marriage of convenience au)

a beginner's mind by @spoonfulstar (a collection of stories that take place after the events of ch. 27 of you'll never see us again)

the fine art of falling for you by @goodkwuestion (Teaching the Arts is hard enough, but mastering the art of falling in love might just prove downright impossible.)

paragraphs by @palepinkgoat (Ian has an opportunity to be a reading tutor for ex-convicts. He meets one in particular that catches his eye.)

things beyond mistake by @gallavichy (Ian, a high school teacher in need of a fresh start, returns to his childhood home after nearly 20 years to find himself once more sharing a lonely dirt road with Mickey, the boy he once knew and the man he's desperate to get to know.)

rebuilding (series) by freespiritedone (After almost 6 years in prison during which he was simultaneously built up and torn down, Mickey is free and embarking on a brand new life in New York City. Everything is different and yet some things never change - even if he wishes they would. Coming to terms with a new life while contending with the old is harder than anything he could have imagined. *long, slow burn)

completed:

technically by @annatrow (Ian Gallagher has grown up in the foster care system for most of his life, and he’s pretty sure he’s got his future figured out. That is until he falls for the bad kid who is about to change the entire course of his life.)

please don't say i'm going alone by biblionerd07 (Ian shows up at Mickey's wedding and asks him to run away together. Somehow, Mickey finds himself stupid enough to say yes.)

geometric progression (series) by romanticalgirl (angsty s4 au) *sidenote: i reread this all the time when i feel down just to feel even more depressed :')

these foolish games by @suzy-queued (A workplace rivalry becomes a love quadrangle. With laser tag.)

through the dawn (series) by spock (a semi-au set in a universe where mickey and ian didn't grow up in the same neighbourhood.)

SLOML (series) by @good-then-dont (short fics exploring Ian and Mickey’s own exploration of their relationship in a world where 3x6 never happens.)

ian the friendly ghost by @sunoficarus (ghosts au where Mickey thinks the house he moved in is haunted because the doors seem to close on their own and his shit somehow gets neat and tidy and Ian's just a very polite ghost who's got a bit of a crush on the adorable grumpy guy who's just moved in)

the little things give you away by kissteethstainred (When Ian first sees them, he thinks they’re twins. They both have similar looks, with pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes. They act similar too—both of them are quiet, they fidget in the same way, and they make some of the same facial expressions. Ian wants to know them.)

my nine lovers by @annatrow (Secret Agents Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich find themselves working together multiple times over the course of ten years.)

mickey mantle vs. the t-rex by zoeplacid (angsty alternate s5)

broad-shouldered beasts by biblionerd07 (Six years after Mickey goes to jail, he's released on parole. He does his best to build a "normal" life and a relationship with his son while juggling the scars of his past.)

OSHA compliant by romanticalgirl (It's been two years since they broke up. And Mickey's got his life together. Which means it's about time for something to come along and screw it up.)

you make me feel human by dragona (In which Ian is a cold-blooded serial killer with a soft spot for a certain South Side asshole.)

tumblr ficlets:

fiction in the archives by @gardenerian (ficlets and 5+1 prompts)

what we talk about when we talk about love by @bravemikhailo (a collection of one-shots, ficlets and prompt-fillers originally posted to tumblr)

tumblr fics ✨ by @gallawitchxx (collection of ficlets, 5+1 prompts, scene fillers)

time travel au part one / two / three / four / five by @whatthebodygraspsnot (s1 ian & mickey meet their s11 selves)

who's more cold & happy husband weight gain by @iansfreckles (& all their drabbles!)

magic au & migraine ficlet by @arrowflier

& of course, check out @galladrabbles for a wide range of 100 word ficlets written by our talented community & @gallavichfanficlibrary for more specific rec lists ✨

[kingsandbastardz]

So this is a thing that’s been bouncing around in my head for awhile, but I hadn’t really had a good starting point for it because it was just a billion fragmented pieces. I kinda have to write it now, though bc I think it’s giving me mental constipation and actively preventing me from writing other things. Anyway, forgive me for being long-winded.

---

Regardless of how you see the ending – whether you think he reached enlightenment/ascended, or he died, or he lived  -- llh’s story is about escaping the narrative.

FDB meanwhile is about being a catalyst of change or transformation, whether it is for his own life or llh’s. He exists in a shifting narrative space that's difficult to define and creates narrative movement from that.

DFS… well. He's still trapped.

First, what exactly is ‘the narrative’ I’m talking about here? It’s a thought or concept, it’s alive yet also not. It’s essentially the words of a story strung together and told and retold, adjusting to the whims of the storyteller and the desires of the people hearing it. It lives and changes organically based on call, response and group consensus.

It’s a crowd of people sitting around an old man in one town, nodding along and yelling when they don’t like the direction a story is going – and then in the next town, that same story teller making adjustments so he gets more tips that evening. It’s people in other towns asking repeatedly for the same story over and over because they like that one hero and each time, the storyteller obliges them, with small details being added or falling off. It’s the collected gossip that morphs as it moves like lightning through an entire city. It’s the records found in a courts’ archives where the ink has become smeared and illegible because a scribe dropped it in a puddle and the next scribe did his best to write in the margins what he thinks it said. Probably.

It is the men at the beginning and end of MLC telling the crowd about Li Xiangyi’s great feats while dressed in white, and heroically battling evil.

This changing, amorphous thing is The Narrative. Now, see the entirety of MLC as such a story—this narrative being told by all these different voices to the audience (us).

So LLH escapes it. FDB defies it and changes it and refuses to live by it.

DFS is… he is part of it. If he ever cared about what anyone says about him, dfs has long since given up on changing the narrative. He’s learned to accept it because it literally doesn’t matter what he says or  does – ppl will always spin it to suit the needs of the story, which will then get passed around as fact. So he lives within this framework of societal expectation for the villainous. He weaponizes it to use it to his advantage. And, ultimately, he’s trapped by it.

Imagine a yin yang symbol. Imagine llh standing on one dot with dfs standing on another. Imagine the yin yang spinning as they both walk forward. They’re interlinked, never to be separated. They’re mirrors, but at the same time always moving in opposite directions of each other as the symbol spins. This is the position I image DFS being when in relation to llh.

Narratively, DFS both parallels and moves in opposite directions to llh.

Mirrored parallels, let’s go with that - Where they are the same but on opposite ends of it:

Visually dark vs light in clothing etc, even their masks are black vs silver and on opposite sides of their faces

Skills and energy-wise: both utilize pure yang energies but fast and overwhelming vs slow and steady

Positioned as great rivals/oppositional forces of equal skill

He’s just as trapped by the narrative as LXY but as the demon lord instead of the hero

Repeatedly placed on opposite sides of the screen as a visual cue

Dfs = chaos, llh = agent of order

Llh femme presenting for a very heteronormative appearing sect and storyline while dfs is extremely masculine/heteronormative appearing, but at the helm of a sect that is full of fringe elements and is potentially queer

regarding personal health - llh uses risk percentage as an excuse to not try to heal himself – meanwhile dfs will take any risk to heal himself even if it means he dies

Dfs rescued himself as a child while llh is picked up and nurtured by others

Dfs is a self-taught genius while llh is a trained genius

Dfs survives so hard he doesn’t understand what it means to want to die, llh wants to disappear so badly that he doesn’t understand what it means to desire to live

Oh right, and the thing I didn’t mention before. Not only does DFS live in the narrative. DFS is narratively bound to llh. He is not and was never independent of llh. Not due to lack of skill or for want of trying, dfs is narratively incapable of succeeding at his greatest goals without llh’s help – or ultimately fails due to llh’s actions. Either outcome, llh is involved.

He leaves the story when LLH does (disappearing into the ocean after the Donghai Battle) and returns to the narrative (leaves seclusion) the very moment FDB forces LLH to become active again and LLH starts moving to tie up loose ends.

His attempt for establishing peace was destroyed by Shan Guado and Jiao Liqiao, yes, but it ultimately fails because lxy declares war and ‘kills’ him. It takes LLH revealing himself to everyone and establishing events for things to quiet down.

Unable to reach the guanyin elixir without llh’s help

Unable to figure out the secret behind shan gudao’s death and the war between their sects without llh’s cooperation

Succeeds in finding the styx flower, not for himself, but for llh’s benefit

Unable to reach the next level of Beifeng Baiyang without help from llh and Yangzhou Man

Continuously bids for freedom and agency – but his first attempt is foiled by not being able to get rid of the mind control bug. Then during the amnesia arc, his ‘freedom’ from his enemies comes at the cost of being kept by llh as a servant. Then as soon as he was able to get rid of the mind control bug, he’s captured by jlq and his freedom/autonomy is taken away again. If the narrative was a sentient being – it’s watching him claw his way up the side of a mountain and every time he almost reaches the top, it chops his hand or fingers off to send him flying back down below. Ultimately, DFS is only able to regain physical and mental freedom when llh rescues him and choses to give him that freedom (see amnesia arc where llh tries to keep dfs as his servant/weapon).

Cure llh/save his life – ultimately stopped by llh’s actions.

Simply put – while llh exists without dfs. As far as the narrative is concerned, dfs does not exist without llh. Jinyuan Alliance is replaced completely by Shan Gudao as the bad guys in the story. (Which he was- but there is no mention of DFS or the alliance's roles - everything is attributed to lxy's heroism and return from the dead.)

So what happens post canon in a world where llh is dead? What then? We have fdb, right?

I’ve been bothered by this – and as much as I go on about how fdb is the future of the story. That he’s the inheritor of everything llh, including dfs... There is no guarantee of anything because he’s the guy that writes his own story and transforms his narrative.

We get the bit of bonding with each other in the zombie village when llh deliberately leaves them alone with each other (could this be an example of llh facilitating emotional bonds between the two?). We get fdb’s sense of betrayal later on when he thinks dfs turned on them. And then later his happiness when he realizes dfs was on their side. We get him calling dfs Lao Di. But then we have the moment at the eastern sea with the letter - where we get him running off to investigate alone until both men just happen to arrive at the beach at the same time from opposite directions. Because fate, I guess. I think dfs and fdb’s relationship is meant to be a 50/50 swing by design because we don't know the future and Fdb is ultimately the catalyst for whatever direction the story goes.

As two men who loved the same man and who tried their best but ultimately failed to keep llh alive, will he care enough about dfs to maintain ties with him or… just… walk away after saying his goodbyes --- you know, they way they often do in jainghu.

So just for speculation’s sake. Let’s say, with no additional input or relationship development. Let’s say they take the second route and go their separate ways. FDB doesn’t reach out further to DFS and DFS never tries to find fdb for a replacement fight. They never try to bridge that llh-shaped gap.

This is where we come to the third thing – Narratively, dfs’ purpose is to remind llh of the true past and to provide information or vehicles for him in his quest to address that past.

So what does that mean for dfs when LLH dies? Dfs, as a survivor, cannot physically do the same. How will he die narratively? Imo, with the way his movements mirror llh's and his role for llh, it makes sense that dfs will do what llh did - he goes back to where he was in the past. He returns to the beginning.

And from there? Maybe, DFS returns to seclusion, or a form of seclusion at least, once again in mourning. Because otherwise what else does he have left that holds meaning for him? Jinyuan Alliance? Whatever remnants remain... he never cared about it and I’d argue that at the very start of the series, he was already 1-foot out the door with retiring from leadership. Strength was freedom – he has both, so now what? Power and skill? The one person he wants to fight is gone.

DFS goes away. Days become months, become years and life continues on. New heroes and villians will rise and fall. And one day, fdb will remember he used to know a powerful guy. Whatever happened to him? And the people around him will shrug. Some may even be young enough to be like, “Who?” FDB lets it go because he’s a busy man. He’s got businesses to run, students to train, etc – can you blame him? His life is full. Eventually, he forgets he ever asked a question.

This is how the last living piece of dfs in the worlds’ consciousness dies. He fades away from memory, absentmindedly.

Maybe one day, a student or scholar will crack open a book about the history of li xiangyi and if they don't skim, they’ll come across a line or two talking about some guy that fought lxy that one time and ultimately failed to kill him. Maybe they will be motivated enough to look further into him, maybe not.  

Llh remains alive as a memory – his legacy kept alive by fdb who’s his student and his students’ students. Sigu Sect and Baichuan Court remain as pillars of society.

DFS? Who is there to remember him? Who is there to see how his story ends? Does it matter? Who is DFS without llh?

There are plants that exist without their natural pollinators or creatures that eat their fruit because they are so ancient, those creatures no longer exist. We only know what they potentially look like based on the shape of the flower/plant/tree.. They survive because they have evolutionarily figured out stopgap measures to make up for the deaths of their pollinators. But one day those measures will no longer work. Stopgaps only buy time. That plant exists as a living memory of something that used to exist and then one day it too will die.

DFS is like that remaining plant.

You know that question about whether a tree exists if no one is there to hear them fall in the woods?

Now, here is me, getting a leg cramp in the audience. I’ve always loved the antagonists, the monster-shaped beings that weren’t really monsters inside, and all the random side characters that fall off the story one after another. I’ve always bothered the hell out of everyone bc I’m the person going “So what about x? What about y? Where is z now?”

So consider this me asking – in a story where his existence is swallowed by a narrative that no longer needs him - what about dfs? Where is he now? What is he doing now?

[lamb-writes]

NON-SHIP BOTTLES HEADCANONS !

pairing: n/a

content: slice of life, very light angst. 

word count: 0.4k

a/n: it’s my blog and i get to write as much bottles content as i please

He knows a ridiculous amount of random trivia. Since he was stuck at home a lot when he was a kid, he had a lot of time to comb through every book in the house and memorize the shows on the few channels they had. 

Not exactly a headcanon, but Bottles is a huge dog person. If his daily schedule wasn’t so hectic and irregular, he’d definitely have at least two. 

Bottles is really into music. He thinks he likes it as much as everyone else does. He doesn’t. His room is filled with CDs, vinyl records, and tour posters. There’s a guitar collecting dust in his closet that he taught himself to play when he was a teenager. He’s mainly into indie rock and R&B. 

The highlights at the ends of his hair are from bleaching it years back. He used to keep his hair shorter, but he’s been trying to grow it out to get rid of the lighter parts. 

He used to live somewhere much colder, so a majority of his wardrobe is still hoodies, sweaters, and button-ups. He usually doesn’t like to wear short sleeves around the club because it exposes more of his hands than he’d like. Bottles knows they don’t care, but it’s a habit at this point. 

Speaking of where he’s from, Bottles’ lost contact with most of his family when he moved to California. 

Bottles idolizes EZ a lot. He doesn’t bring it up to anyone since it’s kind of lame but knowing that EZ was a prospect just a few years ago and was promoted to Presidente so quickly makes it a little easier for him to get through what he does as a prospect himself every day. 

A big part of why Bottles joined the club is so he could be a part of a family of sorts that truly see him as one of their own. To be a part of something that was bigger than him. In his hometown, he was always seen as the “weird” or “loner” kid by others. Even if it was by doing something illegal, being given a chance to prove himself just like everyone else was a welcome change of pace to Bottles. 

His glasses are so big because they’re from when he was younger. His parents said he would grow into them. He didn’t. No, his eyes haven’t gotten better since then. Yes, he’s upset about it. 

One of the few club members that showers on a mostly regular basis.