#I just can’t imagine a world without them

[dekariosclan]

Just a silly question if no one has asked yet! How would Gale react to GN Tav who is quiet but always listen to him intently & even remember what he told you even though he mentioned it briefly? Thanks!

Anon, there are some perfect pairings that exist in this world: Chocolate & peanut butter. Popcorn & movies. Tea & biscuits.

But the perfect pairing that is most relevant to this post?

Yappers & listeners.

And if the stars were to align in such a way that Gale ‘Yapper’ Dekarios got paired up with a ‘Listener’ Tav, Gale would consider it a match made in heaven Elysium.

One thing I’ve noticed about Gale is that there are several times in the game where he makes self-deprecating comments about how chatty he is. During Act 1, he says he is “tired of the sound of my own voice” after sharing his heartfelt thanks to the group for letting him stay. In a Durge run, he says he is aware that others find him annoying: “That’s it? She annoyed you? If that was just cause for killing someone, I’d be dead a thousand times over!”

And even in the ending where he proposes to Tav, he keeps his chattiness in check by saying: “Now, I believe this is the moment where I should get to my point, so to speak.” Just from the way he says it, it appears as though he’s repeating something that has been said to him many times before.

Gale is an intelligent man, and he’s aware of how he’s perceived. He knows people find him ridiculous or annoying because he ‘talks too much.’ He knows he should try and keep his speeches short (no matter how much he longs to go into poetic detail) because people will inevitably grow bored of him. There are at least two times in the game where Gale will offer up a shorter version of what he’s about to describe—explaining the process of ceremorphosis is one, and his explanation of how he was stricken with the orb is another—because he’s already anticipating that Tav would prefer that he didn’t speak at length.

…so imagine how it feels when he realizes that Tav not only wants to hear his more long-winded descriptions, but also follows along without growing impatient?

And most miraculous of all, seems to actually be interested in what he has to say? Listening intently, even to the point of remembering brief points of discussion that Gale himself may have dismissed out of mind?

Anon, he would be absolutely smitten.

Here’s the thing that a lot of people get wrong about Gale: They think that because he’s intelligent, scholarly, and charming, they need to be on the same level or better for him be interested in them.

But Gale doesn’t need any of that. Gale already has intelligence and knowledge to spare. And when it comes to charm, Gale knows he can be “smooth enough for two.”

What Gale doesn’t have, and has never had, and desperately wants, is a non-Tressym companion who will accept him as he is.

So, for Gale to be with a Tav who listens to him, and loves him, and encourages him to speak to his heart’s content?

I can’t imagine a more perfect pair.

——————

A quick note in case anyone is interested: A while ago I actually wrote this lil GalexTav thing featuring a Tav very similar to the one described above, written from their perspective of loving Gale.

[susicheng]

༘⋆ speechless (not if i can help it) . . . o.sn

00. discount motivational speaker

. . .

subject: urgent concern regarding graduation speech changes

dear mr. kim,

i hope this email finds you well, though i can’t imagine how it would, considering the chaos your ceremony change has caused.

i am writing to express my deep concern, disappointment, and, frankly, rage over the changes to the graduation ceremony speeches. as valedictorian of ncit high, i’ve sacrificed sleep, weekends, and a social life to earn this honor. i’ve worked tirelessly, not to mention consumed an obscene amount of caffeine, for the privilege of addressing my peers at graduation. now, it seems, that effort means nothing.

your decision to merge or eliminate one of the speeches is not just unfair; it’s insulting. the valedictorian speech is a cornerstone of the graduation ceremony. cutting it—or combining it with the class president’s speech—is like watering down coffee: it ruins the whole point. while i understand the importance of change, this particular change feels like a slap in the face to those of us who have upheld this school’s standards and traditions.

i have to ask: who thought this was a good idea? was there any consultation with students, staff, or even your own conscience? if the answer is no, i strongly urge you to reconsider this decision. better yet, reverse it entirely. we’re not asking for the moon here—just the chance to honor the achievements of both the valedictorian and class president without undermining either role.

i trust that as our new principal, you care about the voices of your students. or is that just the nice PR you sold to the school board? i look forward to your prompt response and a resolution that doesn’t feel like a poorly executed experiment.

thank you for your time. or, more accurately, for fixing this.

sincerely, yn ln ncit high valedictorian, class of 2025

subject: re: urgent concern regarding graduation speech changes dear yn ln, thank you for your email. i can see that this is an issue you feel strongly about—your use of bold words and thinly veiled sarcasm certainly made that clear. while i respect your passion and appreciate the time you’ve taken to express your thoughts (and frustrations), i must inform you that the changes to the graduation ceremony are final. yes, i understand this decision may feel like the end of the world—or at least your world—but it was made after careful consideration. streamlining the ceremony allows us to focus on celebrating the graduating class as a whole, not just individual achievements. i understand that this is not the response you were hoping for. you’ve worked hard, and that’s commendable. but let’s be clear: change is inevitable, and learning to adapt is a valuable skill. the decision is not meant to undermine your achievements but rather to modernize a tradition that, frankly, could use a little updating. if you feel this is unfair, you’re welcome to schedule a meeting to discuss alternative ways to highlight your accomplishments. however, the speech format is set, and no amount of all-caps emails or strongly worded essays is going to change that. i hope you’ll take this as an opportunity to show the leadership and maturity expected of someone in your position. best regards, mr. kim principal, ncit high

. . .

subject: about the graduation speech changes

hi mr. kim,

i wanted to talk about something i heard about you making changes to the graduation speeches. i’ll be honest, a lot of people are confused and upset about it, and i can’t say i blame them. as class president, the speech at graduation is something i’ve been looking forward to for a long time. it’s kind of a big deal to me, and i know it means a lot to the people who voted for me too.

changing things now, so close to the end of the year, feels a little unfair. it’s tradition, you know? and graduation is supposed to be about celebrating everything we’ve worked for, not cutting corners to make it flow better. i’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons, but i think this decision is rubbing a lot of people the wrong way.

is there any way we can reconsider this? maybe there’s a compromise that keeps the ceremony special without making it feel like we’re losing something important. let me know if you’d be willing to talk about it.

thanks for listening, sion

subject: re: about the graduation speech changes hi sion, thanks for reaching out. i appreciate you sharing your thoughts on the graduation speech changes—it’s clear this is something you care deeply about, and that means a lot to me as your principal. i understand why this decision might feel disappointing, especially for someone in your position. however, after careful consideration, the changes to the ceremony are final. the goal here isn’t to take anything away from the students but to create a ceremony that is efficient, cohesive, and reflective of the graduating class as a whole. i know this isn’t the answer you were hoping for, but i encourage you to see this as an opportunity to adapt and shine in a new way. if you have specific ideas about how we can make the speech—or any part of the ceremony—feel more special, i’m open to hearing them. let’s work together to make this a graduation everyone will remember for the right reasons. thanks again for speaking up. i’m proud of your leadership and the example you set for your classmates. best, mr. kim

pay a visit to; . . the masterlist . . the next work

© susicheng .. please do not copy, reupload, or translate my work

#: @holyhaech @f6llsun @fae-renjun @i03jae @doughyk @kukkurookkoo @222brainrot @ballsa420 @jeonghansshitester @chenlezip @mi1kteaa

[trrsseea]

The Choices We Make

pairing: Bucky x reader

warning: non

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his vibranium hand. The dog tags around his neck clinked softly as he shifted, the sound somehow heavier than usual. Y/n was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she made breakfast, blissfully unaware of the war raging in his mind.

It wasn’t her fault. She was perfect—kind, smart, patient, everything he didn’t think he deserved. But that was the problem. Wasn’t it? She deserved someone who fit into her world. Someone who understood memes without needing them explained. Who didn’t get overwhelmed by crowds or who could actually laugh along with her friends instead of feeling like an outsider in their world. He didn’t belong here. Not at this time. Not with her.

Y/n walked in her hair slightly mussed from the morning, wearing one of my old shirts. She was holding a tray balanced carefully in her hands, carrying a breakfast, golden French toast and two steaming mugs. I assumed one was tea for her and the other, black coffee for me. Her face lit up with her usual radiant smile, a look so serene and angelic that she seemed almost otherworldly.

She smiled even brighter, which I didn’t think was possible as she handed me a mug. “Morning, sleepyhead.” I looked up and took the coffee, but the warmth of the mug did little to ease the cold feeling in my chest.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” I said, my voice low but steady.

She frowned, placing her mug on the table with a soft clink. “That sounds ominous,” she said, followed by a light giggle, unaware of just how right she was.

I took a deep breath, staring into the dark liquid swirling in the mug I held tightly. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this isn’t working.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” At first, she didn’t understand, but then she realised it.

“We’re fine. Aren’t we?” she asked, her frown deepening as her eyes searched mine.

I shook my head, unable to meet her eyes. “You deserve someone… normal. Someone who understands your world, your jokes, your friends. Someone who isn’t stuck in the past.”

“Bucky,” she said softly, sitting beside me. “Where is this coming from? Did something happen?” She sounds worried and places her hand gently on my knee, her thumb moving in slow, soothing circles.

“It’s not one thing,” I admitted, setting the coffee down. “It’s everything. You’re young, Y/n. You have your whole life ahead of you. And I’m… I’m old. I’ve lived through things you can’t even imagine. And sometimes, I feel like I’m dragging you into my mess.”

She stops the movement of her hand “That’s not how I see it,” she said firmly.

“I know,” I said, finally meeting her gaze. “But it’s how I feel. And I don’t think it’s fair to you. You could be with someone who doesn’t come with all this… baggage.” I gesture to myself.

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she stood up, crossing her arms. “Okay, let’s break this down. First of all, yes, you’re older. But that doesn’t mean we don’t understand each other. And you’re not the only one who has been through tough things. Everyone has baggage, Bucky.” She says firmly not letting her shields down.

“It’s not the same,” I argued.

“I’m not saying it’s the same baggage,” she countered, her voice steady, “but we all have something we fight.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to be the same to make this work.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Y/n, you’re too good for this. For me.”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I knew who you were when we started this, Bucky. I chose this. I chose you. And yeah, it’s not always easy, but what relationship is?” She smiled slightly at me.

I looked up at her, the walls I’d been building around myself starting to crack. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, sitting back down beside him. “What I need is you. Flaws, baggage, your dad jokes, and all of you. You don’t have to have everything figured out, Bucky. We can figure it out together.”

I was silent for a long moment, the weight of her words sinking in. “What if I can’t be enough?”

She moved to sit on top of me, each leg on one side, and placed her hands on my cheeks, her gaze locking onto mine. “Then we deal with it. Together. But you don’t get to push me away because you’re scared. That’s not fair to me.”

I stared at her, my throat tight. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a small smile. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulled her close, and buried my face against her, inhaling her familiar scent. She responded by wrapping her arms around me, holding me just as tightly.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You’re stubborn.”

“That’s why you like me,” she whispered into my ear brushing her lips softly against it.

Without thinking, I lifted my head closing the distance between us, and pressed my lips softly against hers. The kiss was tender, lingering for a moment as if we both needed the reassurance.

And for the first time in weeks. I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work Maybe I didn’t have to do this alone.

[pamperedollie]

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XOXO. જ⁀➴ TWO

. ۫ ꣑ৎ "i’ll do it.”

summary. the gossip of last friday have followed you into your own life, and the only way you can get out is by embracing it

word count. 4.3k

warnings. language, some semi 18+ implications ...

The clang of the metal echoes through the hallway as you slam your locker shut, your head falls forward, resting against the cold surface. You let out a heavy sigh. What a morning.

A scattered ocean of gossip and murmurs surrounding you grows louder, and louder with each passing second.

“Is that her? Oh my god.”

“I feel so bad… can you imagine how embarrassing that is?”

“She’s not as smart as I thought if shes messing with a guy like him.” you hear a familiar voice causing you to slowly turn to the group with glares sharp enough to cut glass, and you recognize where the familiar voice came from. 

Taylor Beaufort, steps forward. Her innocent wide eyed look made you feel a small ounce of remorse, then you remembered those painful words she just spewed. You couldn’t help but recognize the irony, Taylor–the poor girl. She’s been dating Evan Ortiga for a month, blissfully unaware of his wandering eyes. Everyone but her knows.

“Taylor,” a bitter chuckle escapes your lips as you slowly cross your arms, “I know you’re not talking–”

Before you can finish, your attention is ripped away. A familiar figure emerges from the crowd, practically demanding your attention, his presence sucking the oxygen from the room. Drew, your fellow subject of these baseless rumors.

“We need to talk,” he mutters, his tone low and husky. You stand your ground, remaining silent. 

He drags a hand down his face, letting out a loud groan before he–without your response–grabs your arm.

Against everything you stand for, you don’t protest it. The warmth of his hand stills you. It’s strange, how easily the guy can quiet your instincts to fight back. He had a way about him, he felt so dangerously familiar, you knew not to get caught up with him.

He leads you into an empty classroom surrounded with windows, closing the door with a soft click. Drew exhales slowly, leaning against the door as if he’s holding it–and the world that surrounded us–shut.

For a moment, you just look at him, oddly enough you can’t keep your eyes off him. His black compression shirt clinged to his chest, soaked with sweat from gym class, his damp hair stuck to his forehead in messy clumps and his gym shorts sat low on his hips, stopping right before his thighs.

Realizing what your doing, you force yourself to blink, to not let your eyes linger for too long. Too not let him notice how your pulse skips every time you do so much as glance at him.

“You know this’ll just make things worse right?” you mutter, breaking the silence.

A slow, humorless chuckle escapes from his lips. He grabs the towel from around his neck and lightly dabs his forehead. “Whatever, let them talk. I’m more worried about you.” unexpectedly his tone softens, his gaze concerned.

Who is this guy, and what has he done with the Drew Vanderbilt you’ve grown to know and despise?

Your defenses falter ever so slightly, just for a second.

“I’m fine” you reply, but your voice betrays you, barely above a whisper. Attempting to regain the power, you step closer, closing the space between you two until you can the heat radiating off him. “But this shit? Is only going to make things worse for me. So why don’t you do me a favor and stay the hell away from me, Drew?” 

Your words hang in the air, you don’t look away from him, not for a second. Then, his eyes meet yours, stormy and unreadable. His breath, hot and heavy from running up the stairs to see you, fans across your face as you inhale sharply.

For a moment, the two of your are still. His jaw tightens as his gaze drops down to your lips before flicking back up to yours eyes. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, your pulse screaming at you to retreat, but you stand your ground. 

Then, shattering the tension, Drew steps back, his mouth struggling to curve into a small, dry smile. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice lower now, “Whatever you want.”

He lingers for a bit then turns and walks away, leaving the air in the room colder, emptier. 

You stand their frozen, you loathe him. Hating his stupid confidence, the way he doesn’t flinch no matter what you do, the way he looks at you like he’s daring you to crumble.

You hate that he’s he’s beginning to creep under your skin.

You push open the door and step into the hallway where a small crowd has gathered, their eyes snapping to you as if you’re the headline of the hour.

You sigh, taking no action as you know that whatever you do will only fan the flames of scandal.

It’s only noon and the weight of this day feels as if its harshly pressing down on your shoulders. One more class to endure, and of course this one has to be your personal hell.

AP Calc is filled with faces you’ve spent the entire day trying to avoid. Alexa, and her posse, the main trio, their presence impossible to ignore. Of course, Alexa and Evan lounge carelessly, their work untouched. Unsurprisingly Damson is the most on task out of the group, making sure they don’t fall behind.

The low buzz of whispering cuts through the air, and you don’t have to puzzle yourself trying to figure what exactly–or who exactly–it’s about.

“Can’t believe Drew is hitting that, good work bro…” the sharp words cause you to turn in your seat, your glare landing on Alexa and Evan. “Excuse me?” you question, your tone sharp enough to draw blood.

Their heads snap up as they notice you, caught completely off guard like deer in headlights. Alexa rolls her eyes in that exaggerated sort of way that makes you wish they’d to get stuck like that. “Nothing that concerns you, Y/N” she says, her voice dripping with venom. Alexa hates being called out–it’s written all over her stiff shoulders and tight jaw.

“Great!” you reply, your voice laced with obvious sarcasm, “That’s what I thought.”

The tension in the room grows as you can see Alexa’s snap her pencil in anger, she grits her teeth, forcing a dry smile. 

Suddenly a low voice cuts through the hostility, “Could y’all stop being ashsoles and do you work?” Damson mutters, his words quier but firm.

You can’t but let out a soft chuckle. Damson and you had always been cool, despite your disdain for his group of idiot, dirtbag friends. He had obviously been extra nice to you throughout this situation because of you finding him and Ryan, but still, it was sweet. 

You smile faintly and refocus on your work, it all comes to you so much easier now that you haven’t been overthinking about everything. Ryan’s words really had the power to switch a flip, suddenly everyone was clicking, and your grades climbed almost effortlessly.

You leave your internship a little earlier than usual today, the clock barely ticking past three. Your work had been quite uneventful. The most noteworthy news of the day was word of a new intern joining the political correspondence team, but you barely gave it a second thought.

The whispers though, were impossible to ignore, the man who’d be joining the team was apparently pretty well-known amongst new yorkers, known as this smart, educated, “dreamboat”. Your work friends were just as swept up in the frenzy as everyone else, they’d vowed to take the long way to the fourth floor just to catch a glimpse when he starts next week.

But you? Honestly couldn’t care less, you couldn’t afford any distractions especially in a dire time like this.

A couple weeks back, you overhead a conversation between your mentor and another designer that shifted everything into sharper focus. A Junior Designer positions was opening up, and they were watching the interns closely. This opportunity wasn’t just a job, it was your dream wrapped in chic silk and sequins. This role meant access to everything you had worked for and more, including the upcoming Paris Fashion Week, to help however you could in that, was a dream.

The stakes simply couldn’t be any higher, so you spent every night perfecting your designs, every morning fetching coffee orders without a single spill–it was all for this. So no, word of a new, hot intern didn’t make your spirit falter in the least.

When you arrive home you’re in a rare bright mood, the day was confusing and now it was over–and it was still daytime. You waltz around the penthouse, savoring the solitude of being home alone with nothing to do. You prance to the  couch and flop down, ordering food as you put on your favorite show. It’s just you, the glow of the screen, and takeout on the way. What a perfect night in.

two hours later

BZZZ BZZZ

Another tag from Gossip Girl, the third one you’d been mentioned in. This time, you don’t panic at the sight of it, you calm yourself, clicking the notification you read aloud.

“Hookup classroom?!” your voice falters, the words cutting through your practiced composure like glass. Of course. That’s why everyone had been staring when you left. Your mind scrambles, looking through the comments and replies.

Before you can truly spiral your phone distracts you, Ryan was calling, without much thinking you knew what the subject of the call would be. You decline it, texting her instead:

i alrd know girl, i’ll call u l8r 

You sink deeper into the couch, letting the hum of your show drown out the scattered thoughts in your head. Then your phone vibrates again. Assuming its Ryan again, you thinks its urgent and answer without looking. 

“Ryan, I said I’d call–”

The words catch in your throat, freezing mid-sentence as the voice on the other sends a chill down your spine.

“We need to talk”

You know that voice, low, familiar, and maddeningly self-assured. Drew.

“How did you get my number?” you ask, forcing an edge in your tone to mask the spike of panic you felt at the sound of his voice.

He responds, but his connection falters, chopping his words into small unintelligible fragments.

“I need–your–”

“What? Repeat it?” you reply as your frustration climbs.

“Need–to–” 

“Dude, I can’t hear–”

Then–without a word–the line goes dead.

A new message pops up almost immediately.

Probably; Drew Vanderbilt: You’re staying at the Bellemont, right?

Yeah, why? :You

Read 6:30pm

You stare at the screen, not looking away once, your heart thumps as the silence stretches. He’s enjoying this isn’t he? Making you wait, after a call like that. You call him again. Once. Twice. Six times. Finally, he picks up, his connection a bit better making his words clearer.

“What’s your room number?”

Before you can think, you respond. “555.”

The regret fills you almost instantly, as you leap off the couch. You scramble to fix yourself up, brushing off the crumbs from your food and tugging on a hoodie. Why is he here? Why are you letting him in? 

The buzzer rings. You press the intercom, leaning on the wall you let out a shaky sigh.

Drew steps inside, his eyes sweep over the messy living room. His expression shifts to something you can’t quite explain–judgement? Amusement? Maybe, remorse?

He then turns to you, “Caught you at a bad time, didn’t I?” he says, his lips curving in a way that makes your skin itch, setting your nerves on edge.

“What? No, obviously not,” you blurt, throwing a blanket over the mess of a couch and sit down, crossing your legs as if that might restore some of your dignity.

He shifts to sit beside you, his movements more casual than usual. He sported baggy jeans, a fitted white tee, and sambas. He leaned back, manspreading just enough to claim space. He adjusts his glasses with a slow precision that felt almost deliberate. 

“Listen,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got something that’ll get us both out of this mess.” 

You fold your arms, refusing to look at him knowing it’ll mess up your entire demeanor. “Drew, I told you I don’t need–”

“Oh my God,” he groans loudly, cutting you off. His head falls back, his exasperation filling the air. “You just don’t get it, do you?

You glare at him, trying to fight your composure unraveling. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking for your help,” he says, leaning forward now, his face so close that you catch the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne. “I’m catching just as much shit for this.”

His eyes lock onto yours and for a moment, the air between you shifts. You swallow hard, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you finally let it out, your voice wavers, cracking slightly.

“Neither did I,” he shoots back, his voice soft but razor-sharp, “But here we are. So what do we have to lose?”

Against all better judgement, something in you is urging to you to hear him out. Everyone already believed the rumors, it was to late to fight it now, he was right. What did you have to lose?

He exhales sharply, almost like he’s trying to steady himself. “We have to…” He pauses, turning his head away from you, his voice drops to a low murmur. “Give them what they want.”

You help but chuckle at it, “I’m sorry?” you say a sly smirk curling at you. Drew–utterly embarrassed and at your mercy. His jaw clenches as his gaze darts to the floor as though he was avoiding the sight of your obvious amusement in his discomfort. 

“We just have to make them think the rumors true. Only for a little while,” he mutters, his voice getting lower and lower as if it physically pained him to admit this to plan to you. He turns back, head up, posture stiffened, he finally meets your gaze. “Then they’ll get bored and move on. They always do.”

He uncrosses his arms, shifting slightly closer to you, observing you as you think it over. You notice the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips when his gaze moves down landing onto your legs, the fabric of your spandex shorts rutching a bit at your hips. His expression shifts, you can see his confidence rekindling like a spark to a flame.

You don’t give him the satisfaction, straightening your shorts out, giving him a pointed look. His smile doesn’t fade, if anything, it grows. 

It almost felt like he was assessing you, taking in every bit of you, he leans back and tilts his head.

“So?” he breaks the silence, but at that moment you feel your own eyes betraying you, flicking over to his biceps where his tights sleeves strained against his arms. You catch yourself too late and snap your gaze back to his face, realizing what that knowing look of his meant. The silence stretches thickly between you.

“But why?” you finally ask, clearing your throat to mask your embarrassment. “Why do you care so much? Gossip Girl’s eyes have been on you since you were a freshman.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something more guarded. He leans forward towards the TV, licking his lips before he answers. “No, not like this. This time they’re really digging, and I’ve got shit I can’t let get out, shit they’re too close to finding.” his voice lowers, his gaze dropping again.

You tilt your head, curiosity buzzing in your chest. What could Drew Vanderbilt, of all people, possibly be hiding? “So what do you need from me?” you ask, fluttering your eyes a bit, you sit up straight.

He looks at you with a mixture of disbelief and relief, he hadn’t expected you to even consider this far. “Make em’ think you’re head over heels for me. I’ll do the same, so much so that they’ll grow to hate it–and leave us alone.”

A fake relationship, trouble. You couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as him, his entire demeanor just grew to be all too unbearable. You were afraid, afraid of what something like this might do to you, how it might change you. 

But for some reason, god knows why, when it’s Drew asking–Drew who’s looking at you now like you’re the only person who can save him–it doesn’t seem so bad. Still, you hesitate, every bone in your body screaming at you to stop. “It’d be hard for anyone to be head over heels for you, Drew,” the words going against everything you’ve felt in that moment, you add, “Fine, under one condition; tell me what your hiding. Relationships are built on trust, Vanderbilt.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but the smirk doesn’t fully return. Instead, he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that simple.”

You arch a brow. “Is it serious?”

“Not… really,” he mutters.

Your smirk returns. “Then I guess you’ll just have to live in fear of your not-so-serious secret coming out.”

He groans softly, running a hand down his face. “Fuck, Y/N…” he stands abruptly–and to your dismay–he walks towards the elevator door. Pausing with one hand hovering over the ground floor button, he glances back, his brows furrowed just enough to give his expression a slight flicker of vulnerability. “Could you at least think about it?”

But that slight frown wouldn’t work on you, were you attracted to the idea? Maybe… but you weren’t gonna do something this drastic for some guy you barely know if he couldn’t atleast be vulnerable with you. 

“Bye-bye, Drew” you say, your smile sharp as you throw him a wink.

It’s finally Friday, the last day of your internship before the new recruit arrives, you’ve poured everything into this week. Working tirelessly, staying after hours to assist your mentor designer with preparations for her upcoming fashion show. 

The studio was quiet, the sounds of sewing machines and rustling echoed through the room. Your hands were busy arranging swatches when the door beside you swung open, making both you and your mentor whip around in surprise.

Standing in the doorway was the one and only,

Nova Kaine.

Your idol and worst nightmare.

The very sight of her made your heart slam against your ribcage. She wasn’t just a designer–she was the designer, her presence was nothing short of terrifying. 

Her gaze swept over you with the precision of a blade, sharp, as if she were dissecting every inch of your being. She held something in her hand–a gold sequin sketchbook. Your sketchbook, the one you’d frantically been searching for over the past few weeks.

“This yours, Ms. L/N?” she asked coolly, her tone laced with venom. She glanced down at the cover, your name curling off her tongue like it left a bitter taste.

You throat tightened as you rushed forward, of course, your first meeting with the women you’ve always aspired to be had to be like this. “Y-Yes, Ms. Kaine, thank you so much, I’ve been–”

She cut you off, lifting the sketchbook just out of reach, almost as if she was taunting you with it.

“These designs…” she began, flipping it open.

Your stomach dropped. She’d seen everything, that sketchbook was different, you rarely took it to work as it was home some of your most raw, personal–experimental designs. They reflected who you were, stripped naked, in a way you never intended anyone to see.

“...They’re incredible,” she finished, her tone shifting slightly. “Great work, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a bus. Incredible? From Nova Kaine?

Before you could stop it, your mouth fell open as the moment twisted in something surreal, something out of a dream. As you tried to form words your palms grew clammy, you struggle to manage a weak nod and a trembling smile.

“Are you aware there’s a Junior Designer position open?” she asked

Sweat gathered at your temples, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, swaying back and forth, fighting the urge to fidget. Your thoughts raced faster than you could comprehend them.

“Yes, M-Miss,” you stammered, nodding uncontrollably. 

“Well I think we should meet about it soon,” she says, closing the sketchbook with a harsh snap. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, if you blinked you could’ve missed it. “I’d love to have someone like you in my corner during Fashion Week.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” you replied, the words barely escaping your lips.

With a small nod, she turned and left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Then, you and your mentor locked eyes. The room erupted into quiet squeals of disbelief and excitement.

This was it—everything you’d ever wanted, right within reach. And for once, it didn’t feel like a far-off dream. It felt real.

A couple days later you find yourself sitting face to face with Nova Kaine at a sleek, upscale restaurant in the heart of Manhattan. This moment–this lunch–was everything you’d ever dreamed of and more.

The space buzzed with quiet luxury. Waiters floated by in crisp uniforms, carrying silver trays, while sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting soft shadows on the marble tables. Nova barely glanced at the menu before ordering a Diet Coke. Out of intimidation, you ordered nothing but a water and an appetizer of garlic bread.

“So, you’re not getting any food?” you ask, trying your hardest not to cross any lines–the question’s shaky as it leaves your lips.

“Oh this shouldn’t take long,” she replied curtly, adjusting her collar. “I’ve got dinner with someone in about an hour.”

The words hit you like a wake up call, while this meeting meant everything to you, it was a mere footnote in her bustling day. You adjust your blouse, letting out a nervous laugh. You begin cutting a small piece of garlic bread to keep your hands busy. 

“So,” she began, her tone sharp and direct, “I want you to know you’re probably our best intern. I’m sure you realize this position was practically waiting for you, right?”

You choke a bit on your saliva, all you can do is let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head in humility. 

Nova leans forward, crossing her legs with this effortless poise. “You’d be perfect for the position,” she said, her words deliberate, “but there are two very important things you need to know. First, it’s full-time, Second, you’re representing the new generation of vogue, so you need to maintain a squeaky-clean reputation.”

Her words swirled in your mind, stirring equal parts excitement and dread. A full time designing position at Vogue meant everything–but it came with costs. You had to switch to online classes in the afternoon, you didn’t desire to return to the struggle of juggling school and work you experienced the first months of your internship.

And then there was your reputation.

Wasn’t it good? you wonder. You’d never been involved in any scandal…wait. The events of last Friday. The hookup classroom. Gossip girl, and Drew Vanderbilt all come back to you.

Your chest tightens thinking of all the ways you’ve gone wrong, the weight of your silly mistakes settling in.

Nova’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts like a knife, silencing them completely. “That means no rumors, gossip, or scandals. So I have to ask…”

You stare down at your half cut bread, unable to meet her piercing gaze.

“This…situation with that Vanderbilt boy,” she said, her tone tiptoeing around dissapointment, “that’s not some fling, right? You understand how damaging that could be to your chances if it is–right?

You couldn’t get a single word out, your thoughts raced in your head too fast for you to speak. Every part of you wanted to deny, to tell her the truth, to undo this mess–but you couldn’t possibly do that. Not now.

“N-no” you stammered, your voice barely intelligible. You force yourself to look at her, eye-to-eye, flashing a stiff uncomfortable smile. “We’re serious. He’s…he’s my boyfriend, actually.”

The lie struggled to leave your lips, you felt as if you were holding in a bit of vomit in your mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

“Good!” Nova said, her tone suddenly chipper as if you’d passed some sort of test. “Well then, we’ll get things sorted out for your start date. Since you’re still in school, there’ll have to be some adjustments, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.”

The conversation was wrapped up quickly after that, the weight of your lie lingered. What have you done? Gossip Girl had wormed her way into your life and now stood between you and your dreams. You embraced her rumors to get by, but at what cost?

The walk home was slow and shameful, you knew what you had to do. And yet, before could even take out of your phone, Someone had beat you to it.

Your phone buzzed, his contact lighting up the screen. You paused for a bit before you answered, you knew what this would be. As much as you pushed back, you and Drew were practically tied together at this point, there was not stopping it. You finally answer, hesitating a bit.

“You win, I’ll tell you, but–”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke a word, then you heard a low chuckle on the other end

There was the Drew Vanderbilt you knew.

“Where are you?” he said, his tone teasing but kind.

[pseudophan]

(different from last organisation anon) i don’t know if you’re doing this already but i imagine it would be a major help to flip through a real cookbook and see what’s actually in one and compare what you have and what you’re missing (page numbers, index, chapters/sections etc), like a physical check list rather than writing one from scratch. really hope it’s going well! can’t wait so see it <3

yeah i'm doing that! actually one issue i have is i started the book without thinking about page numbers and by the time i was like, fuck i should have those, it was kind of too late so in the end it simply Won't Have Them. which is kind of a nightmare because at one point there's a recipe where the sauce for said recipe is on a different page but i guess at the end of the day it's 30 seconds more work to find it cause instead of the page number i had to just write "it's in the dip section" lmao. but the book isn't super long so it's alright. annoying, but not the end of the world

i'm still gonna do a list of the dishes in the order they're in though, just... without the page numbers. i feel like it's still somewhat helpful to know if the one you're looking for is at the start or the end

[ravennaortiz]

May I?

Summary: Juice struggles to ask Happy for his daughter OC Coris hand in marriage. As always 18+!

You can do this. Thought Juice to himself as he took a deep breath. Eyes locked on Happy who was talking with Tig and Chibs across the lot. He had been trying to get the courage to speak to him all week. To ask a simple question. Yet every time he chickened out. A small voice in his head kept talking him out of it. What if he said no? That was worst case scenario. But he might say yes, which would make this one of the best days of his life. His feet were moving before he realized it. All three men stopped talking once he joined them.

“Hap. Can we. Umm can we talk” asked Juice his eyes looking anywhere but at his friend. Hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. Happy simply grunted and jerked his head off to the picnic tables across the lot.

“Well?” inquired Happy after several very silent minutes as he sat perched on one of the tables. Eyes watching Juice pace back and forth in front of him. Clearly something was on the young mans mind.

“I….i was…..I was wondering if you would mind” started Juice as he shook his head before turning away from Happy. Trying desperately to collect his thoughts. This should not be this difficult he thought to himself.

“I was wanting to know if you would care….no would you mind….well ughh” started Juice again as he balled his fists in frustration.

“This about my daughter?” inquired Happy finally. Taking pity on Juice. He had an inkling what he was trying to get at but did not want to assume.

“It’s about Cori” blurted out Juice eagerly as he nodded. Mentally kicking himself because obviously Happy would know his daughters name.

“So it’s about my daughter. Glad we are on the same page” replied Happy dryly as he chewed on his toothpick as he shook his head. “What about her?”

“May I?” asked Juice quickly.

“May you what?” asked Happy his face stern and a frown on his lips. He knew damn well what was being asked but he wasn’t going to make this easy. Partly because he want ready to have this talk. Cori was his little girl, his only family. His heart pounded at the idea of her being someone else’s.

Fuck Juice thought to himself as he closed his eyes. He was making a mess of this. Taking a deep breath he opened his eyes and locked onto Happys. “May I have the honor of marrying your daughter? She means the world to me just like she does to you. I can’t imagine life without her Hap. Words cannot express the depth of my love for her. So if you would allow it. I’d love to ask her to get my crow and marry me.”

Happy was silent. His eyes burning a hole in Juice. He swallowed hard before pushing off the table. Chucking when Juice back pedaled. “Wasn’t gonna hit you” he grunted as he opened his arms. “Come give your father in law a hug” he added making Juice roll his eyes and laugh. “Seriously though. I couldn’t ask for a better man for my baby girl.” He added before pulling Juice in for a quick hug anyway.

[nazarethsprincess]

I just love my sisters

[dontmindmejustdoomscrolling]

Just finished reading Gideon the Ninth.

I’m going to cry what the FUCK

[sillylittlecandlestick]

Sammy pushing away her trauma with that “I've already forgotten” line is so real for a lot of farm kids, like damn.

[icelogged]

WHEN IT’S COLD

AND THE WORLD ENDS

I WANNA BE HIGH [literally straight edge]

[aeide-thea]

still thinking abt the tumblrinx i encountered a while back whose pinned post said they were transmasc… and also demanded that men dni

like—i’m not confused by the convoluted not-like-the-other-boys doublethink that gets you there, i can follow the chain of illogic just fine, but i sure am deeply wearily depressed by it!

[dex-starr]

“Who else would ever stay?

Who else would ever stay?

Who else is going to love someone like me?

Who else is going to love someone like me that’s marked for death?

Who else is going to be with me when I breathe it all?

Who else would take your place and hold and keep me safe?”

[sammygender]

if i was shiv roy my anger would be biblical

[whimsyprinx]

i don’t think I’m like actually allowed to be happy or that I even know how to be anymore

[mssbdr]

🚨 We Need Your Kindness to Survive 🚨

Hello, My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with my family. Life here has become harder than I ever imagined, and I’m writing this with hope in my heart that you might hear our story.

The ongoing war has devastated my family. We’ve lost 25 family members—each one a beloved part of our lives, taken too soon. I miss them deeply—their laughter, their presence, their love. Every day is a reminder of this unimaginable loss.

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

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64.media.tumblr.com

We are now facing daily challenges to survive—things that most people take for granted, like food, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. The harsh realities of life here have replaced our dreams with the constant fight for survival.

Our Current Situation:

💔 Lost Stability: The war has left us without work or a stable source of income. 🍞 Basic Needs: Food and water are becoming harder to afford with rising prices and scarce resources. 📚 Dreams on Hold: Like so many here, my family’s dreams have been replaced by the need to simply survive. 😢 Unimaginable Loss: Losing 25 loved ones has left a void that can never be filled.

How You Can Help:

I’m sharing our story with the hope that someone out there might care. Even $5 can make a big difference for us, and if you’re unable to donate, just reblogging this post can help spread the word.

Your kindness, no matter how small, is something we’ll never forget.

What This Means to Us:

Your support is not about changing our entire situation—it’s about giving us a little relief, a little hope, and a way to keep going. We are not asking for much, and we understand if you can’t donate. Sharing our story is just as valuable to us as a donation.

Thank you for reading this far. It means the world to us to know that someone is listening. Your kindness gives us strength and helps us believe in a better tomorrow.

With all our gratitude, Mosab Elderawi and Family ❤️

✅️ Vetted by ✅️

@gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #309 )✅️

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[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your older boyfriend, satoru, shows you just how much he adores you in his private office <3

tags. older bf!gojo satoru x virgin!female reader. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). smut, pwp. fīngering. multiple ōrgàsms; overstimulation. mention of corruption kink. dry hūmping. nicknames ‘princess, baby, beautiful’. pls ignore any grammar errors xx

“heh, don’t look at me. look at yourself, princess,” satoru chuckles, easily noticing how your head is tilted in attempt to watch him as he gets you off. you’re sitting on his thighs with your legs spread, shamelessly allowing him to finger you in his office.

your shaky eyes dart down to your dripping cunt—clearly seeing how it’s got a mind of its own. it’s squeezing satoru’s long fingers as he moves them in the speed of light. your limbs are shaking by the amount of pleasure you’re receiving.

“the-the door,” you hiccup. you hadn’t locked the door behind you when you walked into satoru’s office. you definitely wouldn’t want any of his colleagues to walk in on you. though, that didn’t seem to worry your boyfriend. all he’s focusing on at the moment is your perfect pussy taking in his middle and ring finger.

satoru’s glossy lips are parted and covered in spit. he has to lick up the drool from the corner of his mouth so it wouldn’t dirty your opened blouse. he’s quite literally salivating at the sight and feeling of your warm cunt. . .

“the others ‘re busy, they won’t come in as long as you keep your pretty voice down,” satoru promises you in a smooth tone, blue eyes wide with fascination as he stares down at your pussy.

he’s always imagined what it’d be like to be inside of you. what it would feel like to hold you in his arms and make love to you without holding himself back— to show you a world you have yet to discover.

satoru wants to be the first one to do that, though he’ll wait until you’re ready. for now, he’s completely satisfied with just a taste of heaven.

“fuck, baby, she’s beautiful,” satoru praises your delicate pussy. your wet folds continue to make way for more of his fingers, spreading as he tries to enter a third digit into your poor, clingy hole. you whine as you feel satoru prepare you by rubbing your clit repeatedly with his thumb—trying to make you as wet for him as you possibly could be.

you shake your head, “can’t take more, ‘toru.” it genuinely feels like you’re being stretched out. three fingers are going to take you out. “nuh-uh,” satoru mocks you before telling you to look at him. the moment you do, his lips envelop yours in a lustful yet comforting kiss. you moan into his mouth and he does the same back, eyebrows furrowing because of how good it feels to suck on your tongue.

his fingers don’t stop. the third slides in and you jolt back against satoru’s chest. “shh, shh, i got you,” the older man attempts to calm you down. he stops fingering you for a second so you could adjust to the stretch. you’re tight—he can feel his erect cock twitching in his pants, begging to replace his fingers. he can’t, not yet.

satoru cusses under his breath once he feels your ass rub against the bulge in his uniform’s pants. you’re killing him and you don’t even realise it because you’re too focused on his fingers fucking your cunt. shlick shlick shlick — you’re dripping wet.

“i’m gonna cum,” you whisper through a soft gasp. it would be your third orgasm. you’re sensitive and your pussy feels like it’s on fire. your lower abdomen is tingling and aching. you’re going to inevitably squirt all over his chair, again.

satoru bites his lip as he hears you announce how close you are. his long fingers are already soaked with your juices, coating them with a sticky layer that he cannot wait to taste. “do it, baby. wanna see you cum,” your boyfriend coos.

satoru loves the way your hips circle back to him, rubbing against his groin. you’re driving him insane without even knowing it. he curls his fingers inside you, thumb still circling your clit for extra stimulation. you’re being driven to the edge of insanity.

he bucks his hips a little each time you involuntarily move in his lap. “toruuu, fnnh, so close,” you’re not only moaning because of the fingers inside of you, but also because of the hard bulge rubbing against and between your ass cheeks.

satoru knows your voice can easily carry over to the next room. you’re usually loud when you finish on his fingers. he takes his free hand and pushes your head back against his shoulder, his index and middle finger sliding into your mouth to silence you.

your whimpers are muffled as you automatically start sucking on his digits. satoru kisses your ear and jawline, whispering small words of praise against your skin because of your obedience. “keep it down for me, beautiful. y’re already doing so well.”

your eyes roll back as your saliva dribbles down his left hand. the wet trail runs down his veiny arm that’s exposed to your view. you love it when satoru pushes the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows—it reminds you of why everyone fawns over him. it’s hot.

you’re trying to hold out, not wanting to cum. you wish to stay like this, with satoru’s fingers deep in your cunt and mouth, his bulge grinding against the fat of your ass.

the white-haired man instantly notices this and chuckles to himself; you’re fighting a losing battle. he increases the pace, his wrist working over time so his fingers could reach those sweet spots in your velvety walls. he decides to rile you up some more;

“shiit, just imagine that ‘ts my cock stretching your pretty cunt out,” satoru grins against your ear. he knows you’re weak for dirty talk. you have never felt what it’s like to be stuffed full of a dick, and thus the imagination adds to the raunchiness of it all.

you shiver and let out a small moan escape your mouth before you continue to suck on satoru’s fingers. all this time you’ve settled for make out sessions, grinding and oral pleasure. you’re needy for more than that.

satoru knows what buttons to push. he knows how to make you melt and give in to him and his words. he bites your earlobe after letting his tongue lick the skin, “all filled up to the brim. you’d like that, huh?”

you barely managed to stifle a loud whine at that. your eyes widen and your pussy spasms around his fingers. you know it’s not long before you’re going to cream all over satoru’s hand.

sweat trickles down your forehead.

“yes, yes, yes!” you moan repeatedly, voice muffled by the fingers in your mouth. you can hear your boyfriend grunt into your ear after seeing how enthusiastically you’re responding. he’s totally getting off to you’re desperation.

satoru wants to cum so bad. he wants to shoot ropes of his cum in the pussy he’s prepping to one day take his dick.

you see black spots in your vision because of how hard the climax hits you. your breath hitches and you grip onto the armrests of the chair for support. a spray of clear and watery juices covers satoru’s entire hand and bits of his arm—evidence of just how much you enjoyed your little session with him.

the older man pats your tummy and rubs it, comforting you as the aftershocks of your climax hit. he pulls his fingers out of your messy cunt and brings them up to his glossy lips, thoroughly licking every drop off. his dick pulses in his pants at the delicious taste.

you’re panting as you try to get your thighs to stop shaking. you’re out of energy, drained. all that you hear replaying in your mind is satoru’s dirty talk. you don’t know if you can handle his dick if you’re already overwhelmed by the way he skilfully uses his fingers.

as if sensing your thoughts, your boyfriend smirks and hugs your body tightly to his chest.

“can’t give it t’ ya now,” satoru whispers and pouts, teasing you as if to turn you on again. he takes his wet fingers out of your mouth and presses his lips against yours as a promise, “but one day i will, yeah? one day i’ll fuck ya so good you’ll only know my name.”