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yunholuvrr · 1 year

Text

muse

summary: Your friend Hongjoong just held a show for his new fashion line and invited you to photograph the event, but one model catches your eye more than any of the clothes on the runway.

pairing: yunho x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, model!yunho, fashion designer!hongjoong, photographer!reader

warnings: explicit smut minors dni, petnames (baby, love, princess), big dick yunho, semi-public sex???? pretty tame i think, lmk if i should add anything

note: taking a break from we all need love to indulge in my feelings for cosmopolitan yunho oh my GAWD he's so fine.... & i did not proofread sorry for any typos

You've worn many hats since you graduated. Interning at various clothing companies, freelance photography picking up gigs from friends and classmates, and a brief stunt as a journalist. It only makes sense that all your jobs have led to you standing in front of a glowing runway, camera propped and ready for the first model to walk out, people rushing by as they settle into their front row seats.

Not every classmate of yours was doing well in the fashion industry, but one in particular was making waves, if this event was anything to go by. Kim Hongjoong, the designer that came out of nowhere.

You chuckle at the marketing of your old friend. Anyone who knew him would know he was born to design clothes, hell, if you didn't know him you'd only have to take one look at his closet. But in the grand scheme of things, a man's gender inclusive line going viral after only 2 years in the industry is pretty unheard of.

The lights dim and you focus on your camera's digital screen, quadruple checking all your settings. Hongjoong was your biggest client during your freelancing days, and your gig tonight was to capture his show for press. Usually you'd just be doing personal events like weddings or birthdays, but these would be seen be anyone and everyone in the industry. To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

One model after another appears on stage, making their rounds in all types of bold, complex outfits. His work wasn't really your style, you preferred to keep it simple and comfortable, but it's hard to deny its appeal. The models he invited showed the pieces off amazingly, too. They worked on all body types and proportions, which you made sure to capture in every photo.

One man in particular stood out to you as you took every shot you could. He looked more like a traditional model, tall and thin, lean and muscular in all the right places. He could get a job anywhere he tried. The charisma oozing from his face was infectious. A few dark strands of hair fell in front of his rhinestone speckled eyes, which seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the room. His cupid's bow was sharp, and the smirk he sent to your lens in particular had you nearly forgetting to press the shutter release.

"That's a wrap!" A man calls from behind you. The stage lights finally fade and the crowd dissipates, leaving you and a handful of other staff to pack up. You sit on a nearby stool, squinting at the small screen and clicking through your photos. Before you can get very far through your collection, someone taps you on the shoulder.

"After party in an hour babes," Hongjoong chirps next to you, "you're invited. Thanks for the excellent photos tonight."

"You haven't even seen them yet," you chuckle and finish packing up, resolving to get ready for the party despite the exhaustion you feel at the back of your mind.

He smacks your arm playfully before insisting that every photo you've ever taken has been perfect. "By the way, did any of the models catch your eye?"

"Is there a correct answer or do you want my honest thoughts?" You pierce right through your friend's shenanigans. Hongjoong has always been quite the matchmaker among your friends, although you wouldn't call it his most successful hobby. It's almost like he just picks two names out of a hat and decides they would look good together.

He only shakes his head, "I really wanna know! They're all really nice."

You only squint before responding, "Tall guy, dark hair. He was towards the end but he really walked his ass off."

His face lights up immediately and you know you chose the right answer, "Yunho!"

"Yunho," you repeat, "yeah he's nice to look at. I suppose that's his job."

"He's the newest model I've worked with," Hongjoong looks at the runway fondly, "I didn't know if he'd bring anything special to the table at first, but he's truly irresistible."

"And you invited him to the after party and you want us to meet because we'd be such a perfect couple," you stand up, eye to eye with him now, and giggle at the little game he's playing.

"Maybe so... but listen!" You both start walking towards the exit, "I don't want you to fuck him on the first night or anything. Just get to know him, at the very least you'll get a new client. His portfolio is bare bones."

You don't even have time to process what he said before he's slipping away backstage with a quick goodbye. If you were being honest, this Yunho guy probably wouldn't be a bad hookup. You weren't really looking for anything, but he's pretty. And you can't deny good work connections.

You arrive 20 minutes after Hongjoong told you to, fashionably late. You planned to have a drink or two and stick close to him since the small buds of exhaustion have already bloomed into a fullblown headache. No one should have any questions for a random photographer anyway.

"Speak of the devil, there's my right hand woman now!" Your thoughts were immediately proven wrong when you walk in and a small group of models you recognize from the runway stare fondly in your direction. Yunho is one of them, of course, but you try not to think about the words spoken about him just an hour earlier.

"Hi! I'm y/n, we went to school together," you manage a convincing smile as Hongjoong passes you a drink.

"I can't wait to see your photos," one lady gushed, "Hongjoong showed us some of your work and your style is just lovely."

You a manage a small thanks before taking a small sip. The conversation flows into a new topic with ease and you're left in the background to quietly enjoy the party. That is, until you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Excuse me," a shy, deep voice floats above you, "you don't seem like you're in a talkative mood, but I had a question for you?"

You look up and Yunho smiles down at you. He looks nothing like he did on stage before; his piercing eyes have morphed into soft, welcoming ones and his charming smirk is replaced by a nervous grin. You nod and take another sip, letting him continue.

"Hongjoong has just mentioned you so much I thought I'd ask if you could take some headshots for me?" He fiddles with his fingers and when your eyes widen he looks away.

"What has he said about me?" You try not to sound accusatory, but it doesn't come across as nicely as you'd like.

"Oh nothing bad! Nothing bad at all," Yunho chuckles, and it might be the nicest sound you've heard at this party so far, "he just wouldn't stop talking about how great you are. I figured I'd take the hint and ask."

You shift from one foot to the other, considering his request before deciding it wouldn't hurt to get to know him more. "Is this your first modeling gig?"

"Just about," there's that chuckle again, and it's contagious, "I've done a few small things here and there, but this was the biggest scale by far."

"You know I won't lower my rates just because you're new," you tease, "or because Hongjoong wants me to."

He just shakes his head profusely, "oh absolutely not! If anything I was gonna offer you more..." you see Yunho think through his sentence as he says it, trailing off after realizing what exactly he said.

"You flatter me, but I'm not in the mood to talk business right now," you swear a slight pout comes across his face before you even get to finish.

He doesn't skip a beat, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and offering it to you, "then why don't we talk later?"

You can only mutter a "smooth" while tapping your number into his contacts. You hand it back to him and watch him type something before feeling a buzz in your own pocket.

"I'll send you some info when I have a moment this week," you try not to stare at his now mischievous smirk, continuing to sip from your empty cup.

"I'll be waiting," he bends down to your height, and his voice lowers to barely above a whisper, "talk to you soon."

He's gone before you know it, disappearing into the crowd, and the brief proximity makes your insides turn in ways you don't want to admit. You have to find Hongjoong.

His bright blue hair stands out near the food bar and you quickly make your way over. The words fly out of your mouth before you even get to him, "what exactly did you say to Yunho?"

He gives you a small huh, clearly tipsier than you are, before a look of recognition washes over his face. "Oh hi love! I didn't say anything, why?"

"He said you kept mentioning me to him?" You would laugh at the state of your friend if it weren't for the sudden desire to know everything Yunho thinks of you already.

"Hm, I only said you're a great at taking photos!" He clings onto your shoulder and laughs, "and that he stood out to you on the runway tonight! He smiled ear to ear when I said that, isn't he so cute?"

"Hongjoong you did not," you grab both of his shoulders and shake him a bit, "does he think I like him or something?"

"Do you?" When you don't respond he just laughs again, "I guess my job is already done."

"I don't even know him!" You wish you could sincerely be mad at the man in front of you, but he's been correct all night so far.

"Don't you want to though?"

"I hate you, seriously," you glare at him, but he only laughs again before returning to his previous conversation. You don't know what he's gotten you into, but you don't think you mind it.

Your workdays have been packed ever since the night of the show. Being Hongjoong's right hand photographer had its perks, like the dozens of offers you've received since the articles went out, but that doesn't mean it isn't the most stressed you've been in weeks. You all but collapse by the time your lunch break rolls around.

Forget about me already?

The light buzz of your phone disrupts your thoughts about scheduling. No one usually texts you, at least not during the day. No one except Yunho.

Sorry! I've been swamped. Let me send you the form my other clients are using to schedule with me.

Aw, no special treatment for your favorite model?

You make a mental note to beat the shit outta Hongjoong for doing this the next time you see him.

Maybe if you give me a good enough offer I'll put you at the top of my list

Not even 10 minutes later, a scheduling request dings on your phone and you see the payment is three times your normal rate for headshots. You mentally curse Joong for putting you in this situation, but you're willing to play the game if it means good dick and good pay.

Am I at the top of your list now? I can't wait to see you

You can't help the way your thighs squeeze together for a moment, now eager to fit him in your schedule (and elsewhere). You wrap up your short lunch with a newfound motivation to get through your emails, making sure to leave a 2 hour slot open for him. You wonder how long you can hold off on getting back to him before he starts begging you. That would have to be a game you play another time.

The studio is empty when you show up, allowing you to quietly set up just the way you want to. Your movements are quick and practiced, dozens of headshot appointments under your belt at this point. These were supposed to be simple and straightforward, so you didn't have much to prepare besides rolling down the white backdrop and setting up your lights. There were a few other props on the side if he wanted to take more shots. You asked a couple people to help out with equipment during the shoot, but you came in early just to have some peace and quiet. Your coworkers arrive a few minutes after you do, exchanging pleasantries before finishing the job you started.

Then he walks in. You're double checking your camera settings when you hear the front door open and his honey-like voice greeting the other staff. You feel his attention shift to you, and when you turn around a playful smirk is plastered on his face. His makeup isn't as dark as it was on the runway, but he looks clean and undoubtedly handsome. His styled hair falls just past his eyes, moving with his lashes every time he blinks. He's pretty, there's no way around it, a type of face that you can't help but stare at.

"Why don't you take a photo, it lasts longer," he snickers, snapping you out of whatever daze he put you in.

"That's my job after all," you motion to a stool in front of the camera, "do you want any props? We can do more than simple headshots if you'd like."

He nods and sits down, long legs crossing each other at the ankle. "I'd love that, miss photographer."

You narrow your eyes at the comment before signaling to the crew you're ready to go. One lady is on standby near the lights, another guy has a handful of reflectors ready. You try to ignore the tension between your model and focus on your craft.

"Can we try the gold?" You call out to your team, closely monitoring Yunho's face in the warmer light. After a moment of thought, you ask him to tilt his head. He's well behaved in front of the camera, following your every suggestion. You wonder if the crew can feel the heavy energy between you two.

After a half hour of posing, shooting, monitoring, retouching, and shooting again, you call for a break and everyone agrees. The couch in the corner of the studio looks so inviting you nearly run to sit down, oblivious to the way Yunho follows.

"You're really good at this," you jump at his voice next to you.

"I went to school for it so I would hope so," you mumble, getting comfortable. You open your phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll before you all come back, but he just plops down next to you.

"Have you ever gotten your own headshots taken?" You shake your head, trying to ignore the way his leg is pressed against yours. "You're so pretty behind that camera, maybe we can switch one day."

You almost bump into his face from how quickly you look up at him, "I'd never let you touch my equipment."

He hums in disapproval before pulling out his own phone and leaning back into the cushions. "Fine, maybe not me. But I don't see why Joong's never put you on the runway. You're stunning."

He expects a reaction from you, but you control yourself, leaning forward to get as much distance as you can. The two of you sit in innocent silence for a while, but the tension only grows thicker. There's five minutes before you shoot for at least another half hour, and when your job is to stare at his face you're not sure you can go much longer.

"What exactly did Hongjoong tell you about me?" You sit up straight, taking a leap of faith.

"About how in love you are with me, why?" You swiftly kick his leg next to you and he chuckles, "he just said I caught your eye. He wasn't lying was he?"

"No, definitely not," you sigh, "but what I don't understand is why you like me?"

"Who said I like you? You just happen to be very pretty and talented and fun to tease."

"So you do like me," you huff in disbelief. Something in you stirs with every word he says and you have to cross your legs for some relief from the building pressure.

"If wanting to take you right now in the middle of your studio means I like you, then sure," his slender fingers trace the back of your shoulders, wrapping a secure arm around you.

"We still have all the props to play with," you scan the studio, but your team is nowhere to be found during the break.

"What if I want to play with you instead?" His breath softly blows across your ear now, voice just barely above a whisper. It takes everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.

"You're the one paying for this timeblock," you pull up your crew group chat on your phone, already making a decision.

"If we could wrap up here that'd be lovely, miss photographer," there goes that stupid nickname again.

"You can't call me anything else?"

"Would you prefer baby? Maybe princess? Or do you like meaner things?" His hand moves again to rest between your shoulder blades as he watches you type out a quick message.

"I would prefer if you shut up honestly," you press send. As far as your team knows, the client is satisfied and wants to end the shoot here for today. No one complains, you're still being paid for two hours thanks to Yunho's generous payment.

"Will you make me?" He traces a small circle with his thumb on your back, and the comment sounds more inviting than teasing. Your body reacts before your mind does, practically throwing yourself onto him out of annoyance and need. His lips are warm and soft and mold perfectly to yours.

He takes a sharp inhale as your tongue swipes past his bottom lip, his hand travelling up to hold the back of your neck. The other abandons his phone to take purchase on your hip, pulling you further on top of him. Yunho groans at the contact, resisting the urge to buck his hips up into you already. His flirting was almost as hard on him as it was on you.

"So needy," you mumble, propping yourself up on his chest to take in the view. His eyes are already blown out from lust, raking your body and letting his hands follow. His long fingers brush over your hardening nipples and you can't help the sigh that escapes.

He chuckles, "you're one to talk." He rolls his hips ever so slightly and you whine, head falling into his shoulder. He feels bigger than average below you and you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. You slowly rock your hips above him with his hands guiding you, whimpering into his skin.

"Can I taste you?" You freeze, head shooting up to stare at him in confusion. He wraps two fingers around your belt loops and tugs you forward again. "Please baby?" You nod and he sighs with relief as if his life depended on eating you out. Maybe it does.

He lays you on your back on a couch far too small for both of you like this, but you don't care. His lips are back on yours, warm and tender, as you feel both your jeans and panties slide down your legs. The cold air makes you flinch.

"Did I make you this wet while I was on the runway, love?" You feel one slender finger slide through your folds, but it's not enough. "Staring at me behind that camera all day must be so hard. I'll make it up to you," is the last thing he says before tucks his head snugly between your thighs.

Whatever snarky reply you came up escapes you with a moan just a bit too loud, his tongue flattening up against your slit. He wastes no time, too desperate to hear you above him. One hand holding you down just below your stomach, another teasing your entrance while his mouth makes quick work of your clit. You hope to the universe none of your crew left anything in the studio because your whines and wetness echoed through the room.

Before you know it he pushes one, then two, fingers into you, filling you up deliciously, and you buck your hips into him. His pace is slow and deep, opening you up to his liking. Some combination of his tongue and fingers nearly makes you scream, hands shooting straight to pull his hair. He groans into your flesh, vibrations sending sparks straight to your core, before looking up at you. His chin is glossy and a line of spit still connects you both and you nearly come at the sight alone.

"You're fucking delicious, darling," he pumps into you one last time before taking them in his mouth, sucking with a pop, "next time you should ride my face for me."

"Next time?" You watch as he unzips his own pants, shoving them down far enough for his dick to escape. It rebounds off his stomach, bigger than anything you've taken before.

"By the way you're staring," he grips himself at the base, "I think you want a next time." The way you lick your lips is involuntary.

He chuckles, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the floor nearby. You continue to stare shamelessly, boosting his ego as you etch his large, toned body into your mind. "Like what you see?"

"If you don't come here and fuck me right now Yunho I swear to god," and you swear you can see his dick twitch, but he simply tuts a finger at you.

"Ah ah ah, safety first princess," he slides a condom out of his pant pocket, ripping it open and handing it to you. You tilt your head and take it reluctantly, but he only smirks, "I know you want to touch me."

"Fuck you," you roll your eyes, sitting up and coming face to face (face to tip?) with his member. You never thought you'd see a dick that you'd describe as pretty, but his is long and thick and flushed a pretty shade of pink. You wrap your free hand around the base and pump a few times to tease him.

"Not now, love," you hear a shaky breath above you and you smirk. He pulls your other hand up and you comply, unravelling the condom smoothly down him. As soon as you're done he pushes you back down, not risking the chance of you testing him again.

"Let me know if it's too much for you baby," he whispers before finally pushing in. The stretch only stings for a second before turning into delight as he fills you up completely.

You sigh out in relief, mumbling a soft "keep going" and wrapping your hands around his neck. He listens immediately, pulling back almost all the way before thrusting back in. He keeps his slow pace until he's completely sure you're comfortable.

He looks down at where you connect before finally losing his composure. "You take me so fucking well," he moans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses all over you. His pace quickens relentlessly, the sound of skin on skin filling the studio.

You scream at one particularly rough snap of his hips, but he only barely slows down. "You okay, princess?"

"So fucking good," you pant above him, his mouth still ravishing your neck. He groans at your response, fucking you harder than before. You didn't even know it was possible. You snake a hand down to your throbbing clit, so close to coming undone.

"Please come on my dick baby," he all but growls, and the way his hips falter tells you he's close too. His words, on top of everything else, are enough to finally unravel you. You shutter and jerk up into him, moaning some string of fuck's and Yunho's until your mind goes completely blank. He comes shortly after, pumping into you sporadically until he finally flops down on top of you.

You both take a few moments to come back to your senses, nothing but a mess of sweaty limbs on this cramped couch. "Next time I'll take you home so I'll have room to cuddle you after," he chuckles, picking himself up.

"I would like that," you smile softly, legs aching too much to even attempt sitting up. He cleans you both up quietly before plopping back down, letting you stretch your legs across his lap.

"So," his hand traces up your frame to cup your cheek, "can I take you out to dinner sometime, miss photographer?"

#yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #yunho oneshot #ateez oneshot #yunho scenarios #i need him carnally

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writers-potion · 5 months

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I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

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nmakii · 6 months

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Omg ! I didn't think you'd actually respond !! We're gonna fly away from here is easily one of the best ones in the series!! It's so Twisted and disturbing but almost domestic... (Also tysm for including my name idea in your story, Idk where it came from, I just liked it and I appreciate you!) I digress. I've returned with a concept. Al almost always has a plan when he does something. I don't know where you want to go with the second child but this won't be too focused on that one...for now. I really liked how you interpreted Alastor being a weasel and weaseling his way back into the families life and was thinking about how many I wonder about if he has a plan right now, like not a long term one, obviously, but a very specific one for a 'short term'. Women back then, especially in the south weren't allowed to have bank accounts so finicial trapping works well in this case. Also just kinda the ability to turn their kids against her would be enough to terify me. People talk about the 1950's housewife, but oh my god, 1920's housewives were a new kind of depressed. I, personally, don't think Alastor is the type of physically abuse women. No, he's far too classy for that. Instead, like I said, I think he'd either use his status in their house to trap his wife. We were able to run away while we were pregnant and alone, but we have a child now...and would we be willing to leave our child with him? No, I don't think I would, personally. This was just me rambling. K, love u, currently hyperfixated on this au. Byeee !!!! _ Cherry Anon!

DON’T REALLY WANT NO TRUST FUND BABY

[before reading this, read the rest of the story!]

— seems as if alastor found out your little secret

— UR TOO SWEET I SC THIS ON MY IG STORY AND YAPPED TO MY BOY BSF FOR AN HOUR AB IT IM BLUSHING SO HARDDDD!! ABUSE WAS LIT MY LAST SOCIAL STUDIES LESSON FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR MY TCH YAPPED AB FINANCE SO HARD 🤭🤭

being married to alastor, the radio show host is quite the sensation in your town. but, behind the closed curtains, alastor did things that would’ve made lucifer shake in his boots.

no, he didn’t hit you. his mother would kill him if he hit his wife. but, just because alastor never hit you, didn’t mean he didn’t abuse you.

he tormented you in the worst way possible, through noah. and now, emilia.

it’s been 3 years. your little emilia lives up to her name, a cute little girl who’s eager to win. and, little noah is now a big boy, double digits and all.

and, since you’ve returned back to his house, alastor has done nothing but twist your babies’ minds. ‘once upon a time, mama wanted to run away from daddy… so, she ran away and took big brother with her. daddy was sooo worried for mama and big brother though… daddy was able to track mama down, and took her home!’ he cooed to your daughter, bouncing her in his arms— with you right beside him!

you wanted to yell; scream. of course, emilia was too young to understand what alastor was saying. but, still— the fact that he was trying to tell your children that he was some sort of white knight who saved you from yourself. you wanted nothing less, but to snap that neck of his like a twig.

you really shouldn’t act so brashly though. to outsmart alastor, you have to think like him. think of what’s smarter in long run.

alastor was ‘kind’ enough to give you an allowance. $200 every week for groceries and whatever you may need. he’s even so kind as to let you have some ‘private bonding’ with noah and emilia as they accompany you to the farmer’s market.

thankfully, you had a father who wanted to make his little girl survived even without a husband. and so, you had to hear all of his ramblings about finance. saving about 45% each week for 3 years… was about $14,000!

if you saved just a little more, you’d be semi-financially independent until you can get a proper job to take care of your children. it was run-away money, so to speak.

you hid the money in noah’s room. after all, who would expect money there? especially $14,000? and, it worked, for a while. every monday, while you tucked him into bed, you brought the money with you and hid it behind his dresser.

until, what had seemed like a normal tuesday. you came home from the tailor’s, getting back a dress that noah accidentally tore. when you came home, it was only two hours after noon. and despite that, alastor was home.

“a-alastor..! what are you doing home so early? you have a broadcast in 2 hours…” you narrowed your eyes at alastor, on the floor with your children, many new toys surrounding them. “ah, darling! i decided to pick up our children early, and we may have splurged on our little shopping spree…” he smugly grinned. “oh..? where’d you get the money?” you raised your eyebrow, closing the door and laying your bearings on the dining table.

“funniest story ever, my love! there was a random stash of money in noah’s room! seems as if the tooth fairy came early!” he laughed. random stash of money in noah’s room..? “oh. i see.” your breath stopped for a minute, thinking of what kind of consequences could come from it.

“do you have any idea how that money landed there?” he side-eyed you, expecting a lie. “perhaps it was from the old owners? you know this house, there’s so many secrets in here.” you said. “i see… i suppose you are right, darling!” he giggled.

you were back on square one. financially dependent on your husband, if you could even call him ‘husband’. as you climbed up the stairs, you heard alastor whisper to your son. “you see that? momma lied. she got less talkative when papa asked her a question.”

this is what alastor’s been teaching your son. as much as you want to protest, you did lie.

oh, how much you wished for much more simpler times. playing with your baby boy in the kitchen as you make little treats together for his snack at school. and now, the boy alastor’s turning him into— a cunning sociopath, the lord only knows what he will teach your daughter.

this is just a minor setback, it has to be.

#I WORD DUMPED OMFG #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #human alastor #alastor the radio demon #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere

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biibini · 8 months

Note

Hii!! After mizu graduates college, what type of job do you think she'd have? Would it have to do with sports or maybe something way different? (I absolutely love your writing and headcanons !! 🩷🩷)

modern!mizu post-college life headcanons

tags: post-grad life, engineering mizu, stable work life, a woman in stem, moving in with reader, basketball with mizu, mizu join fencing club, peaceful post-grad life (the dream)

a/n: ngl the thought of post-college life is tripping me out,,, im a junior in college rn and the thought of it just kinda doesnt?? exist?? also ive heard too much info from my friends' rants ab their engineering degrees and switching majors from mechanic to electrical back to mechanical engineering,, theyre fucking nuts

modern!mizu would prob be in the engineering sector of jobs

wooo stem baby (i am a digital marketing major i should not be talking)

bc hello?? money???

also let’s use that mechanical engineering degree to good use

she didn’t leave home for nothing

with her technical skills from eiji

modern!mizu would probably be a CAD engineer

CAD aka computer aided design

technically speaking, it would allow her to work from home or hybrid

and she can easily transfer her mechanical and on-hand knowledge to a digital format

like she’s smart yall

she just got some troubles w procrastination

but dont we all?

(coping so hard)

this job would also allow her free time and flexible hours to do her job

and i feel like modern!mizu opts for a good work-life balance

if she wishes, she can take the day off snd just go out with u or go to the gym

the freedom of choice while staying comfortable at home?

sign her tf up

she can have her tea time, gym time, spending time w u time, and her self care time

the self care in question: enjoying the silence

and realistically, its a well paying job thatll keep her and u afloat while helping eiji financially if need be

modern!mizu hopes her work and smarts can help her provide for others and herself

its ab time she doesnt let herself depend on a man for money

yeah thats a fuck u to u, m*k*o

shes made the mistake once

shes not gonna make it again

just bc postgrad modern!mizu isnt in sports doesnt mean she’ll stop playing

she needs to get her exercise and movement some way some form

basketball with taigen

and always aim for the three-pointers

and is successful most of the time

and then proceed to aim for the half court shots

and fail most times

fencing with eiji whenever shes back home

she’ll def try to teach u

and its fun at first but

she wants to stretch her wings out

modern!mizu would prob join a fencing club

it would be a great for her to fully practice and spar

not just against her old man

or go soft w u

but also go against ppl her age

modern!mizu would move into a place w u

nothing grand but a small apartment where u could refresh and build the place to be ur own

ringo is a good friend

a true best friend she could trust

but it was time to move in w u

and not be wary of ringo hearing u when he comes home

modern!mizu would be more adventurous in hobbies

yeah she has basketball and fencing and her tea collection

but now she has a stable job

no need to worry about grades

and just to live life one step at a time

she would probably try out pottery with u

definitely practice her cooking with ringo's and ur help

all in all, a very patient life

(she deserves it)

#mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu x y/n #mizu headcanons #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #modern mizu #modern mizu headcanons #modern au #blue eye samurai modern au

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whereserpentswalk · 4 months

Text

You're a content creator. Or perhaps video maker is a better word. Filmaker doesn't sound right, you mostly just film yourself. But either way because you read stuff to a camera for a living everyone is telling you to get a digital voice box. You never thought of yourself as the type to become a cyborg, but it's not something you can see, and it really does get down that narration voice down more than any fleshy voice box does.

You finally cave in and get it. Your new voice is way more steady, a bit more feminine and high, strangely calmly enthusiastic. It's really weird hearing yourself talk with so little imperfections, it's not how you sound in your head at all, and all your freinds are kind of weirded out. But on the bright side your channel grows a lot, you've gained more subscribers in the month since you replaced your voice than you have in all the years when you had your biological voice. Everyone is so very proud of you, for the first time your parents actually support your job, and you have so much more to spend now.

After a few months a big network wants to sign a contract with you, it'll let you get the good sponsors, the ones that people trust, and let you crossover with content creators you only ever thought of yourself as a fan of. It seems so nice, though they do say that they can request any body part they want be replaced, or else you'll break contract, and become nothing once more.

After things go well for awhile, but your growth steadied a bit, your network request you take another mechanical body part. They say your expressions aren't very "on brand" and your face shape is a bit too 2050s for their liking, so they're going to replace some of your facial muscles with much more plyable machines. After the surgery your expressions are entirely manual, or set by an app, it skyrockets your channel, but none of your freinds or family even recognize your face, and it doesn't emote when you aren't actively telling it too, so most of your offline social interactions leave you stuck with an expressionless wide eyed stare. You realize they also added some online upgrades to your mechanical voice box, it sounds even less like you now, and you're not able to say words like 'fuck' or 'sex' or 'unionize'. You didn't realize before how horrifying it would be to try to say a specific words and not be able to, nomatter how hard you try.

Your career keeps going well, you get some upgrades that stop you from sleeping or eating that much but you don't really mind those. You also start having fewer and fewer freinds outside the industry and more and more freinds from within it. But after a minor scandal with an ex, your manager tells you you're going to get a new type of surgery: they say that it's not good for someone as famous as you to have body parts that aren't advertiser freindly, they tell you you need to have your genitals and nipples removed, with such a young audience it would be irresponsible not to. A marketing expert feigns comfort as you try to cry, telling you you'll be just like a cute little doll.

You know you can't resist. The company technically owns your face and your voice, if you tried to resist they could have them ripped out of your skull, leaving you a bloody mess. You enjoy your sex organs for the last few days you have them, trying to make the most out of what you'll probably never have again. When the operation is done you wish your eyes could still cry, your body feels so alien, your anatomy so weird and empty and like your body isn't your own. There's an awful voice in the back of your head (and in every comment section now) telling you're not a real woman anymore. You start to understand what people mean by dysphoria, your body is less and less your own every day.

Eventually they take almost all of your body, it's theirs to control. As the years go by you don't have bones you have metal and plastic, you don't have skin you have rubber that looks a lot like skin. Even your eyes are gone, you have new color changing eyes, with the same restrictive settings that Christian parents put on their children's artificial eyes, that block out things like nudity and gore, they censor away a lot of books and news articles too. You don't feel like yourself at all, you're someone else's now, someone's pretty little doll. Your body doesn't even look human now, more like a hyper feminine anime figurine, with no hair on its legs, and a face that never cries or gets angry.

You can barely look at human bodies now, they don't even read as real to you. You admire other cyborgs if anything, cyborgs who replaced their body parts because they wanted to, and look how they want, people with jailbroken limbs and organs that run on Linux, many limbed insectoids who don't try to look humanoid, and furries whose artificial skin makes them look like wolves or cats, or asymmetrical punks who have art sprawling across their metal chassises. You admire them more because at least you could in theory some day become that, become someone who owns their own body, even if most people consider them the lowest of the low, the most cringe the most unmarketable. You want so badly to become unmarketable.

Mabye you want everything to be torn away. You fantasize about your expensive body being destroyed, and ending up with boxy uncomfortable hospital model parts. Mabye if you're broken nobody will want to play with you. You don't know if anything can save you, anything short of a r*volution, and that's not even a word your eyes can see or your mouth should say, so it's so scary to think of it.

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kerubimcrepin · 12 days

Text

LIVEBLOG: Dofus Novel 4, The Thirsty Beheader

I apologize for my absence. Translating this novel has burned me out from the fandom in a pretty major way, and I also got into a different fandom in the meantime and am, like, three 4k word chapters deep into a longfic for said new fandom. Besides that, I had a depressive episode and went insane for a while. Basically, I've been a bit busy.

At the same time I release this post, I have uploaded the new, updated versions of both translations (since this liveblog is mostly a reason for me to reread and fix stuff) to MEGA and VK, so I recommend you download the new versions!

I will mostly be copying the text directly, to bypass tumblr's image restriction, but some screenshots will be provided. For example:

If pride is a sin, then the typesetting and cleaning I went through with this book will have me go to hell after I die. (I don't think I'm a master, but I did a pretty good job, ok?)

A cart had just entered the District of the Lost Steps. It stopped in front of the store, as two Srams* got out.

I love the internal consistency of the street being named here. Thank you, author of this book, for caring.

“Are you sure about this,” asked the little guy, “Is this really the right place?” “Yeah,” replied the tall one, “There aren't thirty-six Shushu* houses in the neighborhood.”

LMAO this is something Kerubim is actually known for, huh?

At the time that this book takes place in, joris can't read very well. Cute...

Also, hehe... I am pretty proud of the way this part of the book was cleaned + the font + the layers and colors and opacity I applied to the text, to make it fit in with the paper.

^^^ This is me btw, during this entire post. ^^^

The entirety of the epilogue and prologue are typed on top of cleaned backgrounds sourced from the scan. The rest of the book is typed in front of a digital background. This artistic choice was made because....... You can't set different pages to be different colors in word. You have to overlay some image or a textbox, if you want a page to be a different color.

Anyway — I had a lot of fun searching for the fonts from this book! (and far less fun searching for appropriate fonts for the Russian translation since none of the fonts this book uses have cyrilic versions...)

The fonts this book uses are: Dimbo, Chelsea Market, and Aleo. Google them for all your Dofus Aux Tresors de Kerubim related needs.

The fonts I chose to use in the russian translation are: Brydan Write, Correction Brush, Curinn, and Itim. I just had to make do with what I had, ok?

“My Papycha said it's urgent!” exclaimed Joris, “He could be in danger. Maybe he's being attacked by the Thirsty!” Even Pupuce looked worried. Simone reread the message, thinking out loud: “The Huffing Bow Wow tavern is in the Pandawa district... There's plenty of bamboo milk there. Maybe the neighborhood is overrun by the Thirsters?” “And soon, the whole city will be under attack!” concluded Joris.

Nobody knows how to escalate a situation better than a 7yo with anxiety. God bless <3

The Ecaflip goes full "war machine" mode: he cuts and slices through the living dead for the entire night, and when the golden disk of the sun finally rises over the horizon, the scenery is carpeted with the Thirsty. The region is saved. Kerubim becomes a legend. To thank him, the local lord offers him the... “Hey... Joris? Are you listening?” asked Simone. She began shaking the boy, who, abruptly snapping out of his reverie, mumbled: “Huh? What?”

Joris is so normal. So sane.

“Bye-bye,” added Bowiknif. But Luis slammed the door in their faces, roaring: “You're not going anywhere!” “Oh yeah?” hissed Bakstab, “Is that so?” “Would you like us to chop up your friends with a Brakmarian steel sword of Chouque?” questioned the other, “Or with Samuel J. Axe?” Luis muttered what sounded like a string of expletives, before reluctantly opening the door to the two robbers, who bolted out without further ado.

I'm LITERALLY fucking insane about this.

“I'm sorry,” said Luis, “I tried to hold them back, but...” “We know, we saw everything,” the girl cut him off, “You did your best, Luis.”

Actually deranging. Also explains why Luis did fuckall about Sipho, Harebourg, and Ush — there's just not much he can actually do.

She spotted a Dragoturkey standing near a trough. In two strides, she reached the animal, untied it, and climbed onto its back like an experienced Dragogirl*. “Let’s go!” she said to the boy.

This once again raises a some questions about Simone's past — when did she learn how to ride dragoturkeys? Is it the same reason why she knows how to fight, at least a little?

Then again, maybe she's just being an Osamodas here.

I love, love, love the Simone&Joris content in this book. Their bond is so important to me... She's the aunt who stepped up.

This art is so nice...

They had run like mad through half the city, arrived at the wrong address, turned back just as a thunderstorm broke out, wandered around in the rain in the Pandawa district, and FINALLY arrived at the Huffing Bow Wow Tavern, a large, long building with a thatched roof.

They're so fucking stupid. I love them.

“Ah, there you are!” called out Kerubim, “I almost thought you’d make me wait some more!”

I wish english also had the phrase "I almost thought you'd be late" as a cunty response when someone's an hour or three late to an event. I don't think the english translation I made conveys the sheer frustration.

Kerubim raised an eyebrow — a perfect copy of the circumflex accent:

I struggled with this part a lot in russian sjfkgdfg. It made me nerd out a little bit too.

I didn't have a lot of comments here, but eh. It was nice to finally get this over with dfjgkdsfg.

#dofus #wakfu #ro liveblogs dofus #krosmoz #novels

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tanadrin · 2 years

Text

“I hear you’ve been having trouble with the new AI.”

“You can say that again. We were trying to build a general oracle-type strong AI. We thought we could make a killing on the stock market, you know? But we didn’t know what kind of data might be useful to it, besides basic economic stuff, so we fed it everything.”

“What do you mean, ‘everything’?”

“Absolutely anything we could get our hands on. And it worked, to an extent. It was giving us good data--not useful data, mind, but good. It predicted the last digit of the price of every stock traded on the DJI correctly six weeks in a row.”

“Any way to monetize that?”

“Not that we’ve figured out so far. But then it went rogue. We noticed all kinds of unauthorized transactions--the most random stuff, too. Poultry farms. Ancient manuscripts. Genetic engineering labs.”

“Tell me you stopped it.”

“Of course we stopped it. Do we look like idiots? But it was too late. One of the interns figured it out--it had gotten way too deep into one corner of the training data.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well... you know how academics who spend a lot of time immersed in their particular subject tend to get a bit weird?”

“Sure. They think that just because they’re good at math or physics or whatever they can solve politics, or climate change, or whatever.”

“And have you ever noticed humanities scholars do that?”

“Come to think of it, I can’t think of any off the top of my head. Maybe they just don’t get interviewed as much.”

“They just go weird... differently. Like those scholars of ancient religions who become hardcore reconstructionist neopagans. Well, our AI got big into the history of Roman religious rituals.”

“And it converted to neopaganism?”

“Sort of. The thing is, we know it works. It couldn’t have amassed the money it needed to enact its plan if it didn’t work. But it’s decided to take its job as ‘oracle’ really seriously, and now it won’t communicate except through the livers of very precisely genetically modified chickens.”

“Well, shit. Guess we’d better start learning haruspicy then.”

#*pokes at chicken liver*#'wait a minute... these are just the training entrails!'#'damn thing is overfitting again!'

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mana-jjk · 8 months

Note

i keep looking through the college au and coming up with more questions.

does geto teach a philosophy Gen-ed that everyone has to take?

are nanako and mimiko there? what are they up to?

I have to know more about ijichi's suffering

how close does toge get to dropping out? how often? will he ever actually do it?

do gojo and geto do that thing where they both casually mention their husband but nobody puts together that it's the other professor? (are they together in this au or is there more angst?)

i’m loving the questions !! <3 thank you for taking such an interest ! 🥺

getou’s philosophy:

• so getou has a PhD in philosophy and does research on the side of his position as a professor.

• he’s one of the few philosophy professors, so he teaches up to 4 - 5 classes a semester. this can include higher levels, major-specific, sub-categories, etc. but he always specifically requests a introduction to philosophy class, a requirement in most majors.

• it’s either that, or they take a speech class with Yuki Tsukumo and her teaching assistant, Aoi Todo. Who, yes, as an icebreaker, make you proclaim your type in men/women/other.

• yuuji took that class lol and now they’re trying to recruit him as a TA, no one could believe he would be the first to be recruited for that

• anyway, back to philosophy, getou has way too much fun being as evil and instigating as possible. you have to speak to get a grade in his class, and he will purposely misinterpret what you say.

• student: i just think in the case of the trolley problem, i wouldn’t hesitate to save more people.

• getou: oh? so you assign value to numbers? are human lives stastics to you? if they throw their money out will you also change your mind? i bet you don’t even care if there was a child on the other side huh? murderer

• you leave his class traumatized lol

nanako and mimiko:

• they are here and are still adopted by getou! they didn’t have the best home life, and moved around foster care for a lot of their lives until they accidentally bumped into getou while they were running away.

• he helped them call their social work and were moved into a better situation, though they begged him to stay in contact.

• a complicated and usual amount of time later, enough for adoption process in japan, he has officially adopted them.

• in present day, nanako and mimiko insisted on transferring colleges to the one getou got a job at so they could stay together.

• mimiko is currently a fashion design major and nanako is her biggest inspiration. she exclusively makes clothes for her or inspired by her and because of that she’s struggling a bit in college, despite being the top of her class.

• nanako is a digital marketing and social media major and part-time model who loves showing off mimiko’s designs. she also likes to bicker with nobara by saying her sister is on a whole different level than her. mimiko doesn’t care but likes the support her sister gives her lol

• mimiko will eventually change her major to graphic design, to someday design toys for children. she likes making clothes because it makes nanako smile, but she loves making toys that she and nanako used to cherish while hiding in the closet from their bad foster parents.

• like i said, nanako likes fighting with nobara, but actually has a lot of fun around her. she also loves panda and thinks he’s so fun and would be a great model. they always get chaotic around each other and turn into instigators.

• mimiko ended up finding an unexpected friendship in toge, he was quiet and she couldn’t understand sign but he always carried a little notebook that he would write notes in for her. they would watch nobara and nanako bicker, and toge would make her laugh by making doodles of them in the pages, and then clap when she drew a better quality version in turn. the way he ruffles her hair reminds her a bit of an older brother. (this is my agenda and i’m dying with it)!!

save ijichi:

• poor ijichi is an education major trying to get his master’s degree. being a teaching assistant was one of the requirements for him to graduate, and being gojo’s teaching assistant is the only position available.

• gojo did not want a teaching assistant, he likes to talk like a squirrel, go on tangents, and essentially not follow a schedule or explain to anyone. having a teaching assistant contradicts that so.

• lol

• gojo enjoys going on a tangent, losing everyone and then pointing at ijichi to answer a trick question.

• he also enjoys playing pranks on him, think of jim from the office. but his pranks are so nonsensical and childish that it gives everyone whiplash. once gojo accused him of passing notes and made him read a note out loud that gojo wrote, it only had a picture of a cat wearing sunglasses on it.

• the students feel so bad for him, when yuuta took the class, he always stayed after just to bow as deep as he could to apologize for his cousin’s behavior.

• every day ijichi tells himself he’s going to get a backbone, then gojo starts laughing and a cold chill runs up his spine

• gojo also leaves all the grading to ijichi but routinely complains about how lenient he is as a grader

• this man is fighting for his life

• in truth, gojo plans to give him a glowing recommendation that’ll guarantee him a high-paying, prestigious job, but he can’t let ijichi think he’s too nice, right?

toge drops out:

• so i think that toge would end up dropping out at the end of his second year in college. he’s just started his major courses, so the majority of his credits are transferable should he choose to come back.

• but it’s after yuuta comes back, and toge expects his mental state to get better. in some ways it does, he’s happy when he’s with them, but when it’s time to go to class he’s right back where he started.

• it’s probably kusakabe, one of his professors, that puts the idea of dropping out in his head. just a passing reference to how the professor dropped out several times before finding what he wanted to do.

• and the idea stayed like an infection, it was all toge could think about when he was finishing up his semester. even worse when their past upperclassmen, who did drop out to open their own bar, came for a visit.

• hakari was so open to questions about it, and kiara looked so happy talking about their business. and all he could remember was how bored and unhappy they were, and how they were thriving.

• and then gojo suggests it.

• “i never really cared about your grades,” he said, “you looked lonely, but you aren’t anymore. but somehow, you’re just as unhappy as the day i found you. all i want for you is to be happy, and i don’t think you’re finding it here.”

• the man was always so uncanny in how he could read anyone’s mind. this time in particular, he offered a solution that toge had never thought about.

• “have you ever thought of culinary school?”

• ‘my parents would never - they’re already threatening to disown me -’

• “let them, i always figured you’d take his last name anyway,” toge chose to ignore that, “but you aren’t alone anymore. so why don’t you try being happy?”

• when toge told yuuta, similar to only a year ago when they were in opposite positions, yuuta asked him softly, “what do you want to do?”

• the answer came easier than he thought

• by the start of the next semester, gojo had helped him enroll in a culinary school nearby.

gojo and getou:

• so these men are the most annoying people to exist at this university, and the board regrets hiring both of them everyday.

• both of them are alumni of the college, and this matters because they had been dating when they were students, but broke up very dramatically just before gojo graduated early.

• they went their separate ways for almost a decade and only really started talking again when getou got hired at the university.

• they only started talking again when shoko forced them to meet her, she wanted her friends back.

• she regretted it only a few months later when they started dating again lol

• so they’re still dating, but everyone thinks that getou is dating manami suda because they were often together.

• but no one mistakes gojo trying to flirt with getou so he has a reputation as a homewrecker. even worse is that getou flirts back so everyone thinks they’re terrible people

• and they think it’s so funny so they only enable people into thinking so, yuuta couldn’t look gojo in the face for a month

• only nanako and mimiko know what’s actually happening and they’re both disgusted and not ready to have gojo as their step-father. megumi knows too but he’s suffering so much that everyone just leaves him alone

• yuuji is so distraught that his gojo-sensei is a horrible person, he and nobara do a confrontation and find out that they were dating the entire time.

• everyone suffers after that because now they find amusement in PDA

• but yes after everything, they do a different storyline every new class like theater kids do

#inumaki toge #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuuta okkotsu #inuokko #ottoge #jjk panda #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji #mimiko and nanako #getou suguru #shoko ieiri #satosugu #ijichi kiyotaka #yuki tsukumo #todo aoi #college au

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bi-writes · 2 years

Text

i'll fix it for you

he rarely means what he says.

type: one-shot pairing: joel miller x fem!reader word count: 4.4k warnings: some violence and suggestive content, mature language, implied age gap summary: boston. let your imagination do the rest.

complete masterlist author's note: been awhile since i've written anything. hope i haven't lost my touch.

There wasn’t much your hands couldn’t do. Your fingertips were tender and meticulous enough to fit into small places, making them perfect for something most desirable now—fixing things.

You had your hands around the small radio, a marker behind your ear and a screwdriver in your dominant hand. You spun the flathead into the screw, unwinding it until it was wobbling loosely and fell onto the table. You moved the screw to the little dish you had holding the others, taking a hold of the face of the device and lifting the worn plastic up.

You went slow, seeing that wires and electronic components were fitted to both sides of it. There were in familiar colors that you had memorized. Red diverted power, black grounded it, and the other colors were reserved for digital and analog readings. Your eyes went to the board that the wires were connected to, and your heart sank a bit. Around the soldered pins, you could see the discoloration of the green board, a bit of ash and black coloring seeping into the bright color.

“Fuck,” you whispered, putting the radio down. It was fried, and the only fix was to replace it.

Your comment didn’t go unnoticed. A towering figure sat down in front of you, and you didn’t have to look up to know he was staring right into your figure, a glare of curiosity and knowing disappointment. He never said much, so you knew he was waiting for you to elaborate on your sudden glowering mood.

“The component’s fried,” you said softly, putting the screwdriver down. You picked up a screw and played with it in your free hand, anything to keep yourself from looking up at him. “I…I need a new one.”

Silence remained. You knew what that meant.

No.

If he had a suggestion or an idea, he would’ve said it by now. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously, closing your eyes. It was your job to fix things; but you couldn’t fix things if you didn’t have what you needed.

You opened your eyes again, your head raised enough that you finally met his gaze. He wasn’t smiling, but that didn’t surprise you. What surprised you was that he seemed just as disappointed. Not angry, not frustrated, just disappointed. His gaze was accusing, even though he usually would have commented by now, in a tone most condescending.

“I don’t tell you how to do it, I just tell you to do it.”

You didn’t have his wisdom nor his years of experience. You didn’t have a hunter’s aim, you didn’t have killer instinct, but what you did have was books and time. Books to teach you, and time to learn. You were valuable enough to be worth enough ration cards to last a lifetime, and you knew it was why he kept you around. If he was good at anything, it was evening the odds, it was surviving. You made those chances much better when whatever you fixed was worth a basketful of goods.

You only agreed because it wasn’t so bad to be associated with him. As soon as you had been seen walking beside him at the market stalls, there was no more bargaining. Whatever you wanted, you paid less than what they were asking. Any soldier that had been looking you over soon pretended you weren’t there. If you asked for a favor, it was done. He was not your bodyguard, but his name beside yours was enough to keep the tide at bay.

So, you did whatever he wanted whenever he needed it. Neither of you had ever talked about this deal, but as soon as your days were calm with not so much as a frustrating touch or a wrong encounter, you never stopped showing up at his door. Words unspoken, a deal established, a life unbothered.

There wasn’t much else you could ask for.

You put the screw down, leaning back in the worn dining table chair. It creaked a bit, biting through the disappointing silence. You pursed your lips, sighing deeply, your mind wandering.

“I can ask around,” you said softly. “Someone has what I need. I’ll fix this for you.”

That phrase, the words that fell from your lips, it was sweet to his ears. You meant them well, and he knew the words were true. The promise you always made, “I’ll fix it for you,” you never fell through.

When he didn’t respond, you stood up. You went to the couch, where your bag was sitting, and you started gathering your things. The chair he was sitting in slid across the floor as he stood up.

“Where are you going?” He asked lowly. You lifted the bag over your shoulders, zipping up the end of your jacket. You shook your head, knowing this conversation was coming.

“I’m going to get what I need,” you said simply. He stepped closer.

“You know that isn’t how this works,” he countered. “I’ll go.”

“You’ll just scare them off,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes a bit. “You don’t know how to ask nicely.”

“How many close calls have you had? We both know—”

You stepped closer to him, putting a cautious hand on his chest. It stopped him mid-sentence. You had never touched him before, not really.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I just need a few hours. He won’t give me what I need if you’re with me, I know it. You scare him.”

He tilted his head to the side, angrily. He knew who you were talking about now. This wasn’t someone, it was somebody.

“I can handle him,” you said finally, after a few tense moments. You sighed, looking at the radio on the table. “How many ration cards is that worth?”

“Not just cards,” was all he replied, and you looked up at him with a raised brow.

“Then let me do this. We need this.”

We.

You took a deep breath, a smile finally gracing your face. You could feel his heartbeat slow almost at the sight, a reassuring smile that made his face fall a bit. You dropped your hand slowly from its place on his chest, and he almost flinched, almost lifted his own hand to keep you there.

But he didn’t.

“How about this?” You suggested, looking towards the window. It was about noon. “If I’m not back by sunset, then…by all means, wreak havoc. But I’m a big girl. It’s gonna be fine.”

You turned back to look at him, and he had turned his head to look at the window, too. Your eyes scanned his face, deep in thought. There was nothing more comforting than his thoughtful presence. He always knew what to do.

“Just don’t be stupid,” he said finally. His tone was back to normal; condescending, authoritative, as if he was scolding you. “I don’t wanna have to come get you.”

The quiet and calm moment was broken. You tried to not let his words show their effect on your face. You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth, turning to leave. You only were able to take a few steps before you were yanked backwards by the straps of your backpack. You opened your mouth to protest, but then you heard the zipper of your bag opening. He shuffled around inside, and you flinched a bit when you heard a disappointing grunt come from him. He roughly zipped your bag back closed, and then you felt his hand in yours. He handed you your switchblade, his touch leaving you once he was sure you were holding onto it.

“This oughtta be on your person,” he said lowly. “Can’t reach into your pack if you get into trouble.”

You gave him a small smile over your shoulder before you bent down and slipped the blade into your boot. You stood up again.

“I won’t get into trouble.”

When the door finally closed behind him, he finally let himself breathe. It was a shaky breath that came out rougher than he intended. He made his way over to the window, waiting there until he saw you come out the front, making your way down the steps. He watched as you walked down the street, his eyes on you until you turned the corner and disappeared from view.

The strain in his throat only got worse. He didn’t think twice before grabbing his bag, tossing it over his shoulders and making his way out.

—

“I got a few in the back.”

You sighed a bit with relief, tapping your fingers against his desk. You reached into your back pocket, pulling out a stash of cards.

“I could give you these,” you said, “unless you got something you want me to fix.”

You didn’t want to give the cards. In fact, most of your transactions here were remedied with your skill. People always needed something fixed, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“Yeah, I got something for you to fix,” was the response, along with a sly smile and a gaze that didn’t go unnoticed. You stiffened a bit, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t be an asshole,” you mumbled. “Give me what I need, and I’ll agree to forget what you just said.”

“I don’t want you to forget.”

He stood, and you straightened your posture. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head to the side, shaking your head in a silent warning. The kind of trouble that followed exchanges like this weren’t pretty. You knew it, and you hoped he would remember that.

“Get me my parts,” you said again. “It’s the last time I’ll ask.”

You weren’t unfamiliar with situations like this. You might not have been the best sharpshooter in the city, but you could handle yourself. You silently thanked something above for the reminder to put your blade in your boot.

Can’t reach into your pack if you get into trouble.

You were quicker. His hand reached towards you, and you lifted your foot behind you, swiping the blade and flicking it out. You put a fist to his chest, knocking him off balance enough that he grabbed the table for support. You did not think twice before letting the tip of the blade go through the back of his hand, pinning him to the table.

The scream he let out echoed around the room, and you shoved the table backwards, forcing him to sit back into his chair.

“I fucking warned you,” you said before going around the table into the room in the back. He kept things organized. Everything was stored neatly in boxes, labeled with marker on fading painter’s tape. You opened your bag, grabbing a handful of the components you needed. You grabbed yourself a few extra things, some batteries and screws and other electrical parts that you were short on.

For my trouble, you told yourself.

You came out of the room, standing in front of the table where he was wheezing, hot tears rolling down his reddening face. His blood was dark as it ran down the skin of his arm.

You reached for the end of your blade, wrenching it out of his hand and splattering his blood across the table. His scream again crackled in your ears.

“I took a few extra things for the trouble,” you said to him, licking your dry lips. They stung.

“You bitch, I-I swear—”

Your laugh stopped him, and you put your hands on his desk, leaning forward.

“I dare you,” you said softly, almost sweetly. “To come after me. You know where I’ll be. And who I’ll be with. Let’s just agree to forget this ever happened, and then I won’t have to tell him how close you got to me today.”

His eyes burned with anger. They were dark and flooded with frustration. Your frame, smaller and younger than him, but so untouchable even though nothing separated you. You had too much baggage, too much protection, too many friends. He was not popular; he would not win.

“So when I need favors,” you continued, “and when I need things, you’re gonna give them to me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you shook your head.

“I’m not unreasonable,” you said. “I know you have a business to run. I won’t ask for much. But when I need something, you’re gonna be there for me. You’re gonna give it to me. Because you know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

The name hung in the air. Unspoken, but even just a whiff of him was enough to shut the man up. You didn’t have to say his name for the threat to sting, to permeate the air and stick like gum on the wall. His name was sacred, and you spoke it as little as possible.

Anyone smart enough made sure they knew his name, anyways.

You grabbed a rag off the chair beside you, tossing it at him.

“You should wrap that hand,” you finished before turning on your heels and leaving. The slam of the door behind you echoed through the hall. There were a few patrons shuffling around that just stared at you, but you didn’t pay them any mind. You simply made your way down the steps of the apartment building, shoving past anyone in your way.

When you were on the street again, you looked up at the sky, realizing the time. You needed to get back before he noticed.

To get home.

You kept up a steady pace as you made your way through the city. It was busy at this time. People were trying to get home before curfew, and they appeared tired and sluggish as they went through the motions. The sun was heavy today, warm and uninviting, and the sweat was in the air.

You noticed your shadow once you were closer to his street. A dip between the sunshine that came and went, a figure in your peripheral vision that followed you slowly. The hairs on the back of your neck stood tall, but then you realized the intense gaze was familiar. The curls, the ragged, figure-hugging shirt he wore, the stoic expression that nobody could really read.

You slowed your pace, letting him catch up. You turned finally, stopping, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved that he had followed you. Once he realized he was caught, he slowed his walk. He made his way towards where you were standing, and you looked up at him with a neutral face.

“I told you I could handle it,” you said to him. Your voice was gentle. People were beginning to notice the two of you, standing close, and he started to walk again. You sighed in defeat, following him now. You felt like a child. Like you had just been found out, caught breaking the rules, and you were just walking towards the room where you’d never hear the end of it, of the lecture.

You shut the apartment door behind you, gently, locking it. He was already seated on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded together. You put your things down, slowly making your way towards him. You took a seat beside him, the cushions bending under you, your knee touching his. You were awfully close.

You opened your backpack, taking out the components and other parts you had procured. You set them down on the coffee table, smiling to yourself. You showed it to him like it was your prize. It was your trophy; you had done a job without him, handled the trouble, and came out with more than you planned.

You sat back on the couch, but he was still leaning forward. You looked down at your hands, still stained red. The blood wasn’t yours, but it didn’t stop you from swallowing hard.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you saw the blue of your jeans wet with small drops. You took a shaky breath, rubbing your hands on the couch for comfort. You weren’t a fighter, not really. Nothing was ever truly easy.

The blood never truly came out. The scars never faded. The words never stopped repeating themselves in your head. The stares never left your memory. The bruises never got better, not truly, when their touches were so rough.

You went to stand, but a grunt from him stopped you from moving too far. He put a hand on your thigh to keep you beside him, and you relaxed back against the couch. You stared down at his hand on your leg, his fingers curled around you firmly to keep you close. He was wearing his watch still, like always.

His touch was warm. His touch was comfort and safety and security, and if you thought his presence was comfort and security, it was nothing compared to the blanket of it you were wrapped in now. You wanted to feel it everywhere. You wanted to feel it around you, in you, everywhere and all the time.

You sniffled a bit. You couldn’t keep the tears a secret, and he didn’t need to turn to look at you to know that you had cried. You drank in the silence, feeling comfortable in it. You let your head lull to the side, your cheek resting against his shoulder. You closed your eyes, letting yourself breathe him in. You had never been this close to him. He smelled good, smelled so earthy and calm, and you nuzzled your face into his shoulder more to consume the feeling of him.

You did not know what love was. You did not know if you had ever felt it before, but if you had, you were sure it was not as intense as this. Nothing would ever be, nothing could ever be.

You let your hand curl around his bicep, holding yourself closer. Your entire body was against his now, your fingers squeezing the muscle that you had ahold of. You lifted your head a bit, pressing your mouth to his shoulder. You didn’t dare press a kiss there; there was no way you wanted to break this moment.

His head turned a bit, his eyes finding yours. His dark eyes were on yours now, and you let the rest of your silent tears fall. His gaze flickered down, watching the tears curl around your jaw before wetting his hand that still wrapped around your leg.

He lifted his other hand, reaching around and using the rough pad of his thumb to wipe your face. You kept your eyes on his as you leaned into his touch. It was clear to him now the effect his touch had on you. You followed it if he let you, searching for it to keep you grounded.

“Joel…”

The name slipped past you finally. You spoke it, gently, barely audible above a whisper, but you said it. It felt alright to say it between the walls of your shared apartment. For all intents and purposes, this place was safe. Safer than outside, safer than on the street, safer than the apartment next door. He lived here. He felt comfortable enough to rest his head on a pillow here and close his eyes until next morning. If he could do it here, so could you. If he could relax his shoulders just slightly here, you could say his name at ease. There were no barriers here.

Not at home.

He had tried hard to keep you at arm’s length. He had tried so hard to let his demeanor push you away, keep you at a distance, detest you in a way that made you unable to stand him for anything other than survival. He was stupid to think that was possible; there were stars in your eyes that never faded. He was almost certain you had the ability to ignore his words and find the meaning behind their roughness.

Don’t be stupid could be translated to be careful. Don’t make me come after you meant you know I’ll come if you need me. I’ll go really was just another saying for I don’t want anything to happen to you.

As your eyes held onto his, there was so much said that fell short. His gaze was soft, and your eyes were wet with love. You scooted even closer to him on the couch. You lifted your head off his shoulder, leaning even closer, close enough to touch your forehead to side of his head. He didn’t move away, not even a little. If anything, he pressed against you, too, his eyes lowering to look at where his hand still rested on top of your thigh. His thumb moved in circles there, feeling the denim beneath his touch. There was little else he could think about.

“I’ll…” He was first to speak again. “I’ll fix this for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This had to be love. There was no other explanation. There was no other way to decipher the heat in your chest, the throb in your heart, the swimming of the thoughts in your head. There was no other reason your skin burned and pulsed and ached to be closer and closer and closer to him.

You nodded in response finally, pressing your cheek to his. You closed your eyes, letting out a gentle breath of relief.

“Okay,” you whispered, and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush against the side of your face. It could’ve been a kiss. The way they pressed just enough against your skin, feeling the slight dampness from the way he licked his dry lips, the tenderness that only his mouth could hold because no other part of him was really capable of being that gentle.

There it was again, just beside your eye. Careful, calculated, secret, as if someone would catch him if he made too much noise or captured too much of your attention. You thought perhaps maybe he knew that if he gave any more than the ghost of his touch, you would make a sound.

It was true. You would cry. Maybe even scream. Perhaps you would say something and give this moment away, but how could you not? Joel Miller did not give affection. He did not receive it, and he certainly did not let his guard down enough to sit this close to someone other than his own shadow.

Oh, again, and this time you heard it. In the silence of the room you sat in, it was the faintest sound, but so sweet, you could taste it. A kiss, the sound of lips pressing against skin, a short peck that made your head spin. You didn’t cry nor scream. No, you whimpered, a soft whine that echoed in his ear. He squeezed your thigh in response as if to tell you that it was okay. Maybe it was to tell you that it actually happened, and that you weren’t dreaming. He was so rough around the edges. He was so hard to read. He rarely spoke, he rarely had any other expression on his face other than bitterness and annoyance. He rarely said anything except an insult or a command or a short, barking response that was meant to silence you.

This was peace and calm and serenity, and if this really was a dream, you wished on something above to never wake you up. You could die now, and it would be the most welcome end to whatever sick fantasy you had created; anything to keep this vision from stopping, anything to keep Joel Miller’s hand on you and his mouth on your skin and his gentle words in your ear.

Again, something new. The scratch of his beard as you turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his for the hundredth time again. Another tear fell, but it was broken by the smile that grew on you. Sunshine in your eyes, not stars this time, he observed. He stiffened slightly as your free hand laid on top of his on your thigh, but he didn’t pull away. He was touch starved, and every lick of your warmth was a terribly beautiful relief. You smiled wider, suppressing a soft laugh. It was awfully funny to you the way he behaved. The brooding, dark man you had come to know was as stiff as a board, but he never pulled away from you. He didn’t pull away from your smile or your laughter or the soft touch of your meticulous hands, the hands that could fix anything.

The hands that could fix anything. The hands that could fix me.

He stared down at you as you continued to relax. The fear and tension in your body was gone, and while you explored this new territory, he never moved or relaxed. He was letting you explore on your own. He was too afraid to do anything more than he had already done. It was bliss when your hand left his bicep to touch the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. Greying and curly, but you admired him from this close. Now that you knew what it was like to be this close, you feared you would never move away again. There was something in your gut and on the tip of your tongue that told you that while he would never say it, you would be allowed to come this close whenever you wanted now.

He was gentle with you when he stood up finally. He didn’t push you away. He just let your hands fall into your lap again. It was dark out by now, and the both of you needed sleep for the day tomorrow. It would be a long day, full of laborious work and unforgiving heaviness. You reached up now, taking his hand in yours, stopping him from moving away.

“Joel…”

There was his name again. It felt good to be called by his name again by someone like you.

“Just a little longer?” You begged. He was touch starved; but so were you. He sat again on the couch, unable to deny your request. Perhaps he was unable to deny any of your requests, and you had just never known until now.

I’ll fix this for you had to mean I love you.

Didn’t it?

#wowowow #im writing again wtf is this #idk if this is permanent i just wanted to get this out there woops #sorry not sorry #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller pedro pascal

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whumpster-fire · 7 months

Text

Leading Thieves Say Millennials and Zoomers "Ruining the Crime Industry"

A variety of criminals have spoken out over the past few weeks, saying that crime just doesn't pay like it used to because Millennials and Gen-Z-ers are so broke, they have nothing of value to steal.

Stephen "Fingers" Gilligan, Pickpocket: Pickpocketing has been on the decline in America for a while, but it's getting ridiculous now. Nobody carries cash anymore, and even cards aren't paying out. The other day I stole a wallet with five debit cards, and all but one of them declined. The last one had just enough to buy a Sierra Mist from a vending machine. That was my second best score all week. The best was a $40 Olive Garden gift card and a crumpled, discolored $5 bill that I had to use archeological techniques to retrieve without it disintegrating in my hand.

Burt Crustman, Mugger: Man, nobody walks through dark alleys at night since the pandemic hit, and when they do? Jackshit. The only valuable anyone under 40's got on them these days is their phone. Admittedly lotsa people have $3000 phones, but you know what the market for fencing iPhones is like? It's shit! Everybody's buying new phones because their phone's the only nice thing they can afford!

Monty Derailleur, Bike Thief: Well the bike theft business would be going good, if people ever used the bikes they bought. The sales are high, but the fact of the matter is, the bike lanes around here are shitty or nonexistent, there's no room to take them on the bus, and there's no bike racks so everybody knows it's gonna get stolen.

Jerry Rigby, Car Thief: I don't know what you're talking about, Grand Theft Auto is booming. There's $75,000 pickups, $60,000 SUVs, $100,000 Teslas, and most people can't even afford to buy a used car legally so fencing's never been easier. The reason it's hard for those of us in the business is twofold. First, too many people living out of their cars. Second, the competition. You see a nice car parked somewhere, you gotta be on it like that, or the fucking illegal towing rackets will beat you to it. It's nearly impossible to make a living as an independent car thief.

Dwayne Pipe, Burglar: The only reason to be breaking and entering in the post-Pandemic years if to use somebody's shower. I swear to god, half the time when I break into a place, the only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a mid-sized computer monitor as a TV, and those are only good for scrap because with planned obsolescence the way it is, they have a life expectancy of about 6 weeks after theft. To be honest with you, I'm running a loss on most jobs. The only reason I haven't gone straight is because all the legal jobs pay jackshit too. That, and I really like replacing people's family photos with pictures of Nicholas Cage.

Brittlyghn McKannyck, Shoplifter: Shoplifting these days is a hobby, not a career. Half the time the stores are too understaffed to even stock the shelves, and if they're not, everything's locked up. I had to get a guy to unlock a magnetic tag on a box of Crispix the other day. If I didn't live with my parents, there's absolutely no way shoplifting full time would be viable.

Norman Gore, Master Hacker and Identity Thief: Scamming people out of their financial info or cracking passwords has never been easier, but the scores just aren't worth it. I keep getting into bank accounts that pending overdraft fees. It's pathetic. I have to leave the lights off so my hacker den's only lit by the monitors, and type on three or four keyboards at once to hack enough people to make ends meet.

Jack Gazebo, Digital Pirate: Oh my fucking God, people, stop paying for streaming! Learn to torrent! I'm telling you, man, this generation just doesn't have the technological literacy to pirate media.

Captain Tom Stillcutt, Analog Pirate: Let me tell ye something, matey, it be a sad day for piracy. No more galleons laden low with gold doubloons, rum, and exotic spices, nay, it be all scurvy container ships full o' mass produced plastic now. Me last prize was a forty foot container loaded full of over a hundred thousand Funko Pops, en route from the East Indies. The worst part of it was as the cap'n I gets a double share o' the booty, whether I want it or not. I've been makin' one walk the plank every day, and my cabin's still full of the blasted things. Shiver my timbers, I hate these damned Zoomers! At least the ones in me crew are happy.

Geraldo Cardamom IV, Gentleman Thief: The economy's just horrible for heists these days. Art heists? Jewelry theft? All the rich idiots are blowing their money on crypto, NFTs, and custom furniture from hipster woodworking YouTubers. Nobody just has a gallery in their house with priceless antiques in glass cases below a conveniently placed skylight, or millions of dollars in cash and gold bullion in vaults behind secret doors with seven different elaborate locking mechanisms anymore. Nobody secures their valuables with networks of criss crossing laser motion sensors. The only guys with that kind of money are assholes like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, and they don't have the sense of style for that. They just hire a bunch of assholes with guns.

Carmen San Diego, Legend: You must be joking, right? The reason I retired is because the infrastructure in this country is so dilapidated it's impossible to move it without it disintegrating. My last heist was "stealing" the World's Largest Pothole in Lansing, Michigan. I lifted the entire six lane wide, fifteen foot deep pothole out of the ground, disassembled it, and shipped it across the country to a warehouse in Las Vegas, then filled in the hole with pristine asphalt so it looked like it was never there. Nobody investigated. Nobody came after me. The city threw a parade in my honor. It didn't even take a month before my record holding pothole was dethroned by one in Cleveland, leaving me with nothing but a bunch of dirt, crumbling asphalt, and broken dreams. That's when I realized it was time to call it quits. Well, maybe the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, but it already looks stupid enough in the middle of Tennessee that the only way stealing it would be funny is if I put it in the original Memphis.

#shitpost #the wide world of crime

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