#but those make poor single week updates

[pitlanepeach]

Sweet Relief | Chapter One

Summary — Lucía Mora has spent her entire life being the protector, the one who has to pick up everybody else's slack. Carlos Sainz, boss of the Sainz mafia, would do anything for his daughter. If that means burning down the world in order to protect her favourite teacher? So be it.

Warnings — Mafia!Carlos, organised crime, single dad Carlos, age-gap romance, smoking, slight sugar baby vibes, set in Spain, eldest daughter parentification.

Notes — Surprise! This is just an idea I've been playing around with for a little while! I plan to update this randomly, so if you'd like to be part of the taglist, let me know - Peach x

Word Count — 5k

Masterlist

The apartment building smelt like boiled rice and bleach again. Lucía had left the window cracked to tempt a breeze through the corridor, but all she got was the sour breath of exhaust from the street below and the far-off, metallic bark of a dog tied too tightly somewhere.

“Another one last night,” Señora Méndez said from the other side of the clothesline, her voice bouncing between the two buildings like a ball no one wanted to catch. “This time they took the poor boy’s bike. Pulled a knife. A child, Lucía.”

Lucía clipped a wet sock to the line, her fingers aching from cold water. “Did anyone call the police?”

The older woman snorted like that was the funniest thing she'd heard all week. “And wait three hours for a shrug? Please. They don’t come here anymore. Not unless someone dies, and even then, it takes them hours.”

Lucía didn’t reply. Not because she disagreed, but because she knew the rules of the neighbourhood: acknowledgment fed the fire. Let it flicker out on its own.

From the fourth floor, she could see a triangle of the schoolyard where she spent her days; the worn slide with the duct tape, the tree with a splintered trunk, the crooked hopscotch squares someone had drawn in chalk weeks ago and no rain had bothered to wash away. She squinted. Were those children already? It was too early. 

“I told my youngest she can’t go out alone anymore,” Méndez continued, clicking her tongue. “Even just to the panadería. It’s not safe. People are saying it’s the Sainz men again. New blood in charge.”

Lucía’s stomach tightened at the name, though she couldn’t say why. It sounded too old-fashioned for her, like something that belonged in newspapers she didn’t read. She imagined men in long coats and rings too heavy for their fingers. Whispers behind car windows. The word “Sainz” hung in the air like smoke.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said, too gentle to be believed. “Things will settle.”

Méndez gave her a look—the kind older women give younger women when they think they’re being naive.

Lucía smiled anyway.

Later, when she stepped back into her apartment, the floor tiles cooled her feet. A cracked mirror reflected the same thin figure it always did; oversized cardigan, damp hair in a claw clip, half-laced shoes. She didn’t look like someone important. She looked like someone who’d learned how to disappear in the middle of a crowd. 

Still, her eyes lingered on the painting taped to her wall. Just a scrap. A figure in a car, shadowed face. She hadn’t meant to draw him. She didn’t even know who he was. But something about the lines felt familiar.

She turned away and went to make her tea.

Outside, down the street, a black car idled too long. She didn’t hear it over the whistle of the kettle.

—

Lucía slid into the staffroom just before the bell, shoulders tight under her threadbare coat. The lights overhead buzzed with that sleepy yellow hum that always made her feel like she was moving through syrup.

“El milagro llega,” came a voice from the coffee counter.

María, young and smug and dressed like she’d slept in something fashionable, handed Lucía a paper cup filled three-quarters of the way with burnt machine coffee. Her nails were painted a cheerful orange. Lucía’s were bitten to the quick.

“I’m two minutes early,” Lucía said, taking the cup with both hands like it was something precious. “That makes me God, not a miracle.”

María laughed and flopped into the nearest chair, kicking off one boot. “You’re always early. Just not for this. You always dodge the coffee meetings. Is it me? Do I intimidate you?”

Lucía arched her brow and sat. “I grew up with three brothers. You don’t even register.”

“Touché.”

They sat in silence for a moment. 

María was all neon eyeliner and loud opinions. Lucía was muted grays and quiet nods. Still, they made it work. Like a pair of mismatched socks that no one sees under boots.

“You’re doing the after-school art class again?” María asked, softer this time.

Lucía nodded. “No other teacher signed up.”

“They never do,” María said, and then, delicately, “You don’t have to do everything, you know.”

Lucía’s smile faltered, just a breath. “If I don’t, nobody will, and then the kids will miss out.”

María didn’t push. “Have you ever thought about doing something else?” María asked, finally. “I mean… you’re talented, Lucía. The drawings on your board? The way you talk about colour to the kids. It’s not normal.”

Lucía shrugged, eyes on her cup. “Truly talented people don’t live in apartments with broken heaters and mould in the corners.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is when your mother still calls you every Sunday to remind you the electric bill is due, and your youngest brother thinks the word ‘job’ is a slur.”

María winced. “Right. Fair enough.”

The bell rang then, sharp and sudden, scattering whatever truth had started to bloom between them.

Lucía stood, smoothing her skirt. “Time to go be magical.”

“Time to go be criminally underpaid,” María muttered, and followed.

As she walked down the hallway to her classroom, Lucía passed a row of children’s drawings taped to the walls. Most were bright chaos—scribbled suns and wobbly cats. But one stood out: a man in a suit. Dark glasses. A black car behind him. A child's scrawl underneath: Papá.

Lucía paused, fingers brushing the edge of the paper.

Then she kept walking.

—

The radiator had gone quiet again.

Lucía wrapped herself tighter in her cardigan and sat on the corner of her bed, phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek. Her sketchbook lay untouched on the windowsill, half a face etched in soft pencil lines that blurred into nothing.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then her mother answered with a sigh, like she’d just been interrupted from something impossible and important.

“Ay, finally,” her mother said. “I thought you’d forgotten your own family.”

Lucía closed her eyes. “It’s Sunday, mamá. I always call on Sundays.”

“Yes, but it’s already past seven. We were starting to think maybe something happened. You know how things are. All the robos going on. I saw on the news someone got stabbed on Calle Nueve—that’s your neighborhood, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s a few blocks down.” Lie. It was the next street over.

Her mother made a clicking sound with her tongue. “You should move. It’s not safe. Not with all those gangs and criminals. That Sainz family is active again, they say. The one from the newspapers. You know him?”

Lucía nearly laughed. “Do I know the head of a crime syndicate?”

“I’m sure you meet all kinds at that school.” She said snidely.

Lucía let that pass. “Is everyone okay over there?”

A pause. Then the softest inhale, the kind that always came before the hook. “Well. Your father hasn’t worked in three weeks. The cold makes his knee worse. And I try, mi niña, you know I try, but food’s expensive and your little brothers eat like wolves these days. They need new shoes, too. The ones they have now—ay, the soles are like tissue paper.”

Lucía rubbed her temple. “I already sent you extra this month.”

“I know, I know. And we’re grateful. But if you have even fifty more euros—just fifty, to get us through until your tía sends something from Seville…”

“I’ll send it tomorrow.”

“Dios te bendiga,” her mother said, immediate and bright, like a switch had flipped. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Lucía didn’t reply. Her eyes had drifted to the cracked ceiling, where the plaster bowed in the corner like it might finally fall. She imagined standing under it, letting it come down. Letting something else break, just for once.

Her mother was still talking. Something about her neighbours. A cousin getting married. She listened, half-present, half-fading.

When the call ended, she sat in the dark for a while, phone in her lap.

The radiator ticked. A siren warbled in the distance. She reached for her sketchbook but didn’t open it.

Instead, she stood, crossed the room, and opened her little tin cash box. She counted the bills. Folded two twenties and a ten into an envelope. Wrote her mother’s name on it in her careful, teacher handwriting.

Then she sat again.

Not crying. Just quiet.

She didn’t need to cry. That was the thing about being the strong one.

You learned to be tired instead.

—

The classroom was quieter than usual.

Lucía noticed it first in the way the chairs scraped a little softer, the whispers tucked themselves under desks, the tension that hung like dust motes in the light. Something had happened.

She scanned the room. Then her eyes landed on Inés Ramos, seated in the far corner by the window.

Eight years old. Tiny. All knees and knotted braids, with a silence so profound it felt deliberate. Inés spoke the way birds did; only when she had to, and never too loud. She coloured her worksheets in delicate, swirling pastels, even when the instructions said “crayon.” Never caused any trouble.

Which was why Lucía’s stomach knotted at the sight of her now: hunched, turned slightly inward, like she was trying to fold herself into nothing.

Lucía crossed the room.

“Inés?” she said gently, kneeling by the desk. “Can I see your hands?”

The girl blinked, startled, but held them out. One was pink at the knuckles. Not quite bruised. But not unmarked.

Lucía’s voice stayed light. “Did you fall?”

Inés glanced sideways. Toward a pair of boys two rows down, still giggling into their sleeves. One of them—Mateo—noticed Lucía watching and immediately straightened, eyes wide with guilt.

Ah.

Lucía stood slowly, spine like a taut thread. She walked over to Mateo’s desk with the deliberate calm of someone who’s learned not to raise their voice unless they want to lose the moment.

“Mateo. Can you come with me?”

The class went dead quiet. Lucía didn’t yell. She didn’t scold. But everyone knew: this was worse.

Out in the hallway, she crouched to his level.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, voice soft. “All of it.”

Mateo squirmed. “We were just playing.”

“What kind of game ends with somebody being hurt like that?”

His mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds. Then, a sullen mutter: “She’s weird. Never talks. We just wanted her to say something.”

Lucía closed her eyes.

“You are never,” she said slowly, “to put your hands on another person in anger. You understand?”

A pause. A grudging nod.

“Good. Go back inside.”

When she returned to the classroom, Inés was still curled inward, her braid frayed at the end. Lucía didn’t touch her. She knew better. Some children needed space the way others needed hugs.

So instead, she sat beside her and pulled a piece of paper from the stack.

“Do you want to draw for a while?”

Inés hesitated. Then nodded.

They coloured side by side for the rest of the lesson. Lucía didn’t ask any more questions. 

— 

That evening, after the children had gone and the room had quieted to the ticking of the old wall clock, Lucía was cleaning paint cups when she saw it.

A man outside the school gate. Standing very still, arms crossed. Watching.

Not like a parent. Not like someone waiting.

Lucía squinted through the sun-glare. She couldn’t see his face. Just the suggestion of sharp edges. A suit, maybe. Or just the posture of someone used to control.

Then he turned and walked away.

—

The first time Carlos saw her, he thought, ‘She’s too soft to survive in this world.’ 

She moved like someone used to being invisible. Calm. Quiet. But not weak. No—there was something else. The way she watched the children like they were hers, even when they weren’t. The way her voice carried not because it was loud, but because it was certain.

She didn’t command the room. She held it.

Through the window of the town car, he watched as she crouched beside Inés in the playground.

She touched her.

A hand on the braid. A gentle tuck of hair behind his daughter’s ear.

And Inés didn’t flinch.

Carlos’ entire body went still.

He'd seen his daughter go catatonic at the lightest brush of a stranger’s hand.

But here she was, allowing it. Leaning toward it, even.

He felt it like a hook in the chest. “Who is she?” he asked, eyes still fixed.

“Lucía Mora,” Álvaro said, already flipping through the file. “Twenty-three. Teacher. Lives alone. No husband. No boyfriend. Supports her parents and two brothers financially. One of them’s a dropout. The other’s fourteen and doesn’t go to school.”

“Why?”

“Eh. No idea. Father’s got a back injury. Looks like she’s been the responsible adult in the family since she was fifteen.”

Carlos didn’t say anything. Just watched as Lucía handed Inés a piece of chalk. Let her work in silence. Matched her energy instinctively, like she’d studied her, but no—this wasn’t a performance.

This was instinct.

This was real.

“She’s overworked,” Álvaro added. “But no drugs. No record. Clean. Honest.”

Carlos laughed under his breath. “There’s no such thing.”

Álvaro paused. “You want us to keep tabs?”

“No.” That surprised even himself.

He took the file. Read through it slowly. Scanned the address, the salary, the debts she didn’t talk about. She was drowning in them. 

She had no idea who Inés was. She wasn’t trying to impress him, wasn’t angling for proximity to power. She was simply... good.

And he’d spent so long surrounded by people who faked goodness to mask their rot. This woman, he thought, is a fucking anomaly.

Carlos closed the file. Lit a cigarette. Let it burn in his fingers.

“I want to meet her,” he said finally.

Álvaro tilted his head. “At the school?”

“No.” He tapped ash into the tray. “I want to see who she is when she’s off-duty.”

He watched her one last time—how she stood to clean, how she smiled at a student, how she rubbed the back of her neck like her body had forgotten it belonged to her.

Then, “Set something up. Soon.”

—

The walk home always felt a little longer in winter.

The sun dipped low behind the rooftops, casting everything in blue-gold shadow. The kind of light that made even broken things beautiful. Worn tiles, laundry lines strung between balconies, shutters half-hanging off their hinges.

Lucía clutched her coat tighter around her. The zipper had broken two weeks ago.

She passed the usual markers: the crumbling fountain outside the abandoned butcher shop. The dog with one ear that always watched from the fire escape. The little red café that played cassette tapes through dusty speakers.

Then she turned onto her street and paused.

Nothing looked different.

But something felt off.

She scanned the road. No one there. A few windows lit up in the apartments above. Someone arguing in rapid Catalan across the alley. The scent of something frying in oil.

Still.

She felt it. The weight. Like someone was watching.

Her fingers twitched at her side. Her heartbeat picked up, just a little.

She shook her head. “Get a grip.”

She’d been tense all day. The thing with Inés. The boys. The cold. The phone call from her mother, still echoing in the back of her mind.

She was tired. That’s all.

Still, when she reached the door to her building, she didn’t fumble for her keys the way she usually did. She kept her head high. Shoulders square. Turned the lock with practiced speed and slipped inside.

The stairwell smelled like rust.

She took the stairs instead of the elevator.

Halfway up, she glanced back down the dim concrete shaft. 

Nothing.

But she couldn’t shake it.

She reached her apartment, locked the door behind her. Bolted it. Latched the chain. All the things she usually forgot to do, tonight done in sequence like ritual.

Inside, her little space waited for her—soft and cramped and cobbled together with secondhand furniture and fading art supplies. She turned on the lamp. Lit her candle. Boiled water for tea.

By the time she sat on the couch, blanket over her knees, sketchbook in her lap, she almost felt normal again.

Still…

She looked once at the window.

Nothing but window lights and laundry lines.

She stared for a moment longer.

Then she opened the sketchbook and began to draw. Gentle lines. A small hand. A braid. The memory of a quiet child.

—

He came alone.

That was rare.

But Álvaro didn’t need to see this. No one did.

Fernando stood across the street from her building, tucked into the shadow of a shuttered tobacco shop, hands in his coat pockets. Watching.

The place was worse than he expected.

Graffiti crawled up the walls like veins. One of the windows on the ground floor was cracked, taped over with a cardboard cereal box. The outer door didn’t shut properly. A group of teenagers smoked on the steps, passing something back and forth, loud with the recklessness of people who didn’t know how close they were to danger. 

Carlos’ jaw locked.

He watched her window. Fourth floor. Faint light flickering behind a torn curtain. Warm, amber. A single candle glow in a city of broken teeth.

A woman like her shouldn’t live in a building that smelled like piss and regret. Shouldn’t have to walk home with her keys between her fingers like a weapon. Shouldn’t have to dodge stray hands on the metro or carry cash in her bra or count every euro at the corner market.

She should be somewhere safe.

Somewhere soft.

Somewhere… his.

That last thought came uninvited.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like how this felt. Like he’d swallowed something and it had lodged behind his ribs. Tight. Hot.

This was supposed to be curiosity. A thank-you for what she’d become for Inés. That was all.

But standing here, watching her silhouette move through that too-small apartment, watching her sit down at the table with a bowl of what looked like soup and stare into it like she was willing it to become more—it wasn’t curiosity anymore.

It was hunger.

And it was fury.

He imagined someone breaking into that building. Kicking open her door. He imagined her scream. He imagined getting there too late.

And something ancient inside him snapped its teeth.

No.

That wouldn’t happen.

Not to her.

He stepped away from the wall. Lit a cigarette with hands steadier than they should’ve been.

And started to plan. 

—

It was just after lunch, and the classroom buzzed with the usual post-break energy: some students talking in hushed voices, others already immersed in their books or drawings. Lucía was at her desk, sorting through papers, when she noticed Inés standing by the door. Her little frame was still, her eyes wide, her hands clutching the strap of her bag tightly, as if unsure if she should enter the room or run a million miles away. 

Inés didn’t usually seek out attention. She wasn’t the type to raise her hand or push herself into conversations. No, Inés was a child who observed, who stood on the edge of things, careful and quiet. But now, Lucía could see the hesitation in her posture—the way her feet shifted, the way she wouldn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes.

“Are you okay, Inés?” Lucía asked, her voice light but warm, calling the girl over with a gentle gesture.

Inés blinked, then slowly walked over, dragging her feet just slightly as if trying to make the decision to move. She didn’t say anything at first, but Lucía noticed how she leaned a little closer to her desk once she reached it, the silence between them not uncomfortable but filled with unspoken understanding.

Without a word, Lucía set down the papers she’d been holding and turned toward the girl, offering her the space to sit if she wanted.

Inés hesitated again, then sat down on the edge of the desk, just beside Lucía’s chair. She didn’t say anything; she simply curled in on herself a little, wrapping her arms around her knees, her eyes flicking from the floor to Lucía’s face and back again.

Lucía watched her for a moment, her heart softening. She didn’t need to ask what Inés wanted—she could see it in the way the child’s shoulders slumped, the way her fingers lightly tapped the edge of her notebook. 

Lucía smiled gently. The other children in the class were too busy with their own conversations to notice, leaving the two of them in a kind of cocoon of quiet.

“You’re welcome to stay there for as long as you’d like, Inés,” Lucía said after a long pause, her voice soft but steady. “No rush to do anything.”

Inés looked up at her then, and for the first time, Lucía saw the faintest trace of something like relief in the girl’s eyes. It was fleeting but real.

Inés shifted closer, not quite enough to touch her, but enough. She glanced at the papers on Lucía’s desk, then at the art supplies scattered across the corner, but she didn’t move toward any of it.

After a while, Inés spoke so quietly that Lucía had to lean in to catch her words. “Do you think I could… draw with you?” she asked, voice soft and almost shy. “Like we did last time. But… just sit with you. Don’t want to go to my desk.”

Lucía’s heart skipped a beat. She nodded with a smile. “Of course.”

The little girl opened her bag slowly, pulling out a small, worn sketchbook. She didn’t start drawing right away. Instead, she just held it in her lap, tracing the edges of the pages with her fingers.

Lucía stood up, brought the attention of the rest of the class to the board, and gave them their tasks for the next hour. She found herself glancing at Inés every now and then, concern slowly morphing into something sweeter as she watched the little girl get lost in the splashes of colour. 

Eventually, the bell rang, signalling the end of class.

Inés hesitated, as if reluctant to leave.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Lucía said, standing and gathering her things. “Whenever you need, you can come. I will excuse you from your other classes, if you’re having a hard time.”

Inés met her eyes for a moment, and for the first time, Lucía saw a small smile tug at the corners of the girl’s lips. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

—

Lucía’s apartment was dark when she arrived home, the quiet hum of the city outside her window the only sound. She closed the door behind her with a soft click and leaned against it for a moment, breathing in the stillness.

Something was different.

Her eyes immediately went to the door, to the lock she’d been complaining about for months. The old mechanism had been temperamental, sometimes jamming or refusing to turn, and she'd had to manoeuvre it a hundred times just to get inside. But tonight, the lock had turned smoothly. Too smoothly.

She paused, her gaze narrowing.

A small white envelope sat neatly under the door, right where the frame met the floor. There were no markings on it, only a single word: Compensation.

Lucía bent down to pick it up, her fingers brushing the paper before she slid it open. Inside was a thick wad of bills—far more than she was expecting for a few months of discomfort. The amount was substantial enough to make her pause, her heart skipping a beat in cautious disbelief.

She stared at the money, her mind racing.

Her suspicions stirred. Her landlord was an odd man, constantly vague, never really engaging beyond the bare minimum. And the money—it felt off. Too much. She hesitated before slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan. 

With a sigh, she made her way toward the kitchen to drop off her bag and empty the trash can. 

The hallway was dimly lit. Her building was old, like everything else in this part of town. The stairs creaked underfoot, and the walls were thin enough to hear muffled conversations from neighbouring apartments. Lucía could always count on hearing at least one argument or loud voice on any given evening. It was part of the charm, really. 

She made it to the trash chute and started to open it when a familiar voice interrupted her.

"Lucía, wait a second."

She turned to find her neighbour, Marta, a woman in her late thirties with messy hair and a perpetually tired look, standing in the hallway. She had the same exhausted but defiant look that Lucía sometimes wore. A woman just scraping by.

“What is it?” Lucía asked, already guessing it was going to be about the building. Everyone seemed to talk about the building lately—its shitty carpets, its damp walls.

Marta lowered her voice, glancing around before stepping closer. “You’re not gonna believe it, but I just heard some things from a friend of a friend who works with the landlord.” She looked over her shoulder once more. “Apparently, the building’s being sold. To some big corporation, but it’s… God, they’re saying it’s Sainz. He’s buying up the whole block.”

Lucía blinked, half-thinking she hadn’t heard Marta correctly. “Sainz as in… The mafia family?”

Marta nodded, her eyes wide. “Yeah. The mafia. Apparently they’ve been looking at this building for months now. I mean, you know how sketchy things are around here. You can’t trust anyone.” She shifted on her feet, speaking faster now, as though needing to unload the whole story at once. “The rumour is they’re going to hike up the rent, make it impossible for us to stay here. It’s all about making money. They don’t care about us. They’ll just push us out if we can’t pay, move in people who can.”

Lucía’s chest tightened. 

Marta’s face had already darkened, and she reached out, placing a hand on Lucía’s arm. “I don’t know, Lucía, but I’ve been looking for another place, just in case. If they raise the rent… we’ll be screwed. I don’t know how anyone will manage to stay here, not with the way things are.”

Lucía nodded, feeling oddly hazy about it all. 

She didn’t know how long she stood there in silence, her hand still gripping the trash bag.

“I’ll think about it,” Lucía finally said. 

Marta gave her a sympathetic look before nodding and walking away, muttering to herself about how it was just another in a long list of “impossible” things to deal with.

When she finally dropped the trash into the chute, she was still thinking about Sainz, about the landlord’s strange behaviour, and that envelope with the money. It all tangled in her mind, filling the space in her head with questions and suspicion.

She made her way back up the stairs slowly, her thoughts racing.

Back in her apartment, she locked the door behind her, the new lock clicking smoothly into place. She placed the envelope full of euros on the counter, still unsure what to make of it. 

Her phone buzzed, a familiar tone signalling a new message.

Lucía stared at the screen. It was from her mother.

I don’t know if you’ve looked at the school uniform prices for your siblings this year, but they’re going up. Are you going to be able to help?

She couldn’t say no. She never could. 

She glanced at the envelope. Bit her lip.

I’ll come by tomorrow with some cash. 

[sungodsfav]

just a stranger | t. fushiguro

summary : honestly what did he expect was going to happen? you were a complete stranger to him three months ago. it’s not your fault he was an idiot for thinking any sane person would agree to getting married to anyone that soon.

genre : modern au, 18+, marriage of convenience, angst, fluff, smut, 

warnings : MDNI, fem!reader, dilf toji, hitman!toji, stalking, mentions of masturbation, more to be added as I keep writing

wc : 2.3k

teaser | masterlist | next

chapter one : approach

He feels like a damn pig staring at his current search history which consists of, single successful women in my area, and single young successful women in my city, lastly hot single young rich successful women in my city. That’s when he sees your name and photo at the top of a list of today's most powerful women in their twenties. 

Toji blames Shiu for planting the idea in his head. What you need is to be under the protection of someone powerful. That way whoever left that threat will think again. He likes to blame Shiu even though it was Toji’s mind that jumped to the conclusion that a marriage was the only way. 

So he clicks on your wikipedia page to learn more about you since you were age appropriate, hot, and ridiculously wealthy. He reads that you currently own one hospital, two in state law firms, three out of state law firms, four kids sports parks, and five playgrounds. Toji also reads that you are about to make it six playgrounds as the sixth is expected to have a grand opening in a month from today. 

At first he doesn’t understand how you can have that amount of money and success at such a young age, that is until he sees that you’re a defense attorney. A really damn good one too. Toji digs further and clicks on a link showing him the long list of clients you have defended. Majority of it were a bunch of clan heads as well as some obnoxiously rich business men. You don’t take any pro bono cases, which explains how you afford to own everything. Toji actually knows all of the people you have defended from his line of work. Shit, you’ve even defended his boss, Sukuna, when all odds were against him. You would actually be perfect for him because this just means you are most likely protected by both sides. Since you are the only attorney that represents his kind of people. He decides in an instant that he needs to marry you, so that his son can fall under your umbrella of protection.

Toji Fushiguro begins to tail you for three weeks, and in those weeks he learns things about you. 

First, is that you are for sure single, always ordering for one when getting take out or dining alone. Second, is that you are always working, you spend ten hours in the office and then continue working when you get home. Third, you do not have a life outside of work, you just work, eat, bathe, and sleep. Fourth, you enjoy spending the little amount of free time you have watching trashy tv while giving yourself a fresh manicure and a pedicure always with a full wine glass. Fifth, you hated socializing and kept all interactions minimal and brief unless it was work related. Sixth, you have a favorite place for everything, and you are a regular for each said place. You like routines and you stick to them. Seventh, you owned your house which wasn’t flashy like he had expected, it was an updated modern three bedroom one story home with a two car garage. Lastly, eighth, which is his favorite fact, is that within your modern home you pleasure yourself at least four times a week.

He was able to see it all with the help of your wall length windows and his binoculars. Poor Toji just couldn’t help himself, but to pull out his hard cock to join you in the fun all the way in his car down the street every single time. He only became a widow a year ago and being a single father he didn’t have any time to do anything outside of work and Megumi. With all the information he gathered from you, he finally felt that it was time to approach you and put his plan into action.

Toji decides to keep it simple and slow with his approach with you, not wanting to blow his chance with you. He’s a gentleman of course, so his first interaction with you is opening the door to your favorite coffee shop for you. “Thank you”. Is all you say to him with a small nod of your head and a gentle smile directed to Toji. 

Your voice took him by surprise especially having heard you talk on the phone with colleagues and a few of your taped cases that were online. Your voice was always firm and overflowing with confidence, nothing like how you just sounded. Almost shy just now with a voice barely above a whisper. He stood behind you in line and began to realize just how much shorter you actually were despite wearing your tallest high heels. Barely reaching under his chin. 

He listened to you order your usual obnoxiously long complicated drink. You paid, then stepped aside to allow whoever was behind to order which happened to be Toji. “I’ll just take a hot green tea to go.” He hands the employee extra cash, “keep the change kid.” He stood a few steps behind you and watched as you went through your emails, deleting some, flagging others, and reading a few. 

Both the drinks were ready at the same time so Toji lets you grab your drink first by a second or two before he grabs his and rushes to hold the door open for you again. It isn’t until you both make it outside that Toji goes to engage in a conversation with you before you part ways.

He clears his throat to gain your attention. You don’t notice him at all and mindlessly adjust your scarf. “Excuse me-” You cut him off with your palm held up to pause him not even sparing him a glance. 

“No sorry, I don't have any spare change.” 

You turn and begin to walk toward your building as your heels click against the concrete and Toji can’t help but to smirk not expecting to be having to put in more effort in getting you to give in to him. 

The green eyed man tries again the next day, on your commute home. He sits next to you on the bench as you wait for the subway to arrive. Toji tries to speak to you but you end up pulling out giant headphones from your purse and putting them on. He can't help but to chuckle with a shake of his head at just how unapproachable you actually are and your efforts to keep it that way. It was extremely clear to him now that you were single by choice, not allowing him or even other men to approach you. 

That's how the rest of the week goes. You promptly put a stop to all of Toji’s advances without sparing him much of a glance his way. His favorite rejection from you was when he approached you in a pastry shop as you were scrolling on your phone and so Toji asked “can I get your number?” To which you responded without skipping a beat, “I don’t have a phone.” You didn’t even look at him while rejecting him. Because of you Toji realizes that he has absolutely no game when it comes to picking up women. All he really had going for him was his height, face, and god-like build. That was all he had going for him and that was all most women needed to give him their attention. He tells himself that he’s giving up and going to look for another potential bride if you continue to not acknowledge him. He’s desperate and willing to accept eye contact at this point as a sign to keep pursuing you.

He arrives at the grand opening of your sixth playground, Megumi clinging to his leg. Toji spots you quickly as you do interviews with the kids about the park. You look different than your usual appearance, long gone are your usual heels and slacks. Today you're in some straight jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, your hair neatly styled like always, but the expression on you is soft and kind. You smile encouragingly to the small kids.

“Hey brat, go talk to that lady over there.” Toji orders Megumi with a shake of his leg to get his son to release him. The two year old releases his fathers leg but just stares at the lady his dad pointed at before his attention drifts to the playground watching two other kids his age running and playing. Toji goes to squat to get to his son’s level but Megumi waddles away towards the two kids. He was only two years old so he couldn’t really blame his son for not being able to follow directions.

Toji lets out a frustrated groan before walking towards an empty bench to get a better view of you entertaining some random kids. You’re playful and happy interacting with them, some of the parents even coming up to you to give their appreciation for the new playground in their neighborhood. 

It isn’t until he hears the familiar cries of his boy that his worried eyes leave your form to search for his son. Said son is in tears as he looks at the spot Toji previously stood, great, Megumi probably assumes that he was abandoned. “Dumb kid”. Toji relaxes with a scoff and is about to go get his crybaby of a son until Megumi turns and waddles over to you. Your face immediately fills with concern at the sight of the heartbroken boy. Maybe my son wasn’t completely useless. Toji smirks as Megumi holds his arms up to you seeking comfort and you act quick by bending down and lifting him into your embrace. He can’t make out what you ask Megumi and he definitely can’t hear what his son responds with but Toji takes it as his time to step in and make a move. 

The closer he gets to you and his son he can hear that your soothing words are actually comforting Megumi. You rub his back as he rests his head against your shoulder and his tiny arms wrapped around your neck. Lucky bastard. “It’s okay baby, we’ll find your daddy, don’t worry.” You rock him gently in your arms as you look around the playground hoping to spot his father. You were a natural at this, the complete opposite of what Toji expects from someone so cold and out of reach.

Toji finally makes it in your line of sight and your movements falter, you physically grasp Megumi in a tighter hold, and shift your body so that your shoulder would shield the boy. As if you were attempting to protect him. “You trying to steal my boy?” Toji teases with a smirk stopping a few feet away not wanting to scare you into running away with his son. He isn’t an idiot, he knows that his appearance is intimidating. 

Your eyes narrow at Toji before looking down at the boy in your arms who has stopped crying a while ago and is now playing with your necklace. “He’s your son?” Your cold tone has returned and your eyes flutter back to look at Toji. “He came to me crying looking for you.” Your body goes back to a more relaxed state and you turn to completely face Toji, he watches with a smirk as your eyes slowly trail up his form. “Sweetheart, is this your daddy?” Your gentle soft tone seems to only be reserved for kids, Toji notes. 

Megumi lifts his head up to look over at Toji and he lets out a small sigh of relief. “Yea, my daddy.” However, sweet little Megumi goes back to resting his head against your chest. 

Toji lets out a deep chuckle. “Here let me grab him, your arms are probably getting tired.” Toji steps closer to you to grab his son but again your body reacts instinctively as you tighten your hold on the small boy and subtly lean away. 

“N-no! It’s okay, I’m okay holding him. I’ll let you know if I get tired.” 

He couldn’t help but to smirk at the sight. So all it took for you to speak to him was his little brat. “You have any kids?” Toji asks even though he already knew the answer, standing right next to you. He observes you and notes that your small smile that is directed to Megumi falls. 

With a shake of your head you look up at Toji. “No I don’t. How old is he?” Toji is slightly taken back at you actually giving him the time of day. There was a big chance that you still would have ignored him even while holding his kid like he expected.

“He’s two, just had a birthday recently. Honestly, it was sad since it was just us two, now I’m trying to take him to more parks so that he can make friends to hopefully make the next birthday not so lonely for him.” He easily lies to your face and your eyes soften a tiny bit. 

Your eyes land on his chest as Toji crosses his arms, he grins glad that you were a tiny bit attracted to him. Makes things slightly easier. “Oh, what happened to his mother? Nevermind that’s personal, you don’t need to answer that I’m sorry!” You rush out slightly embarrassed. 

He shrugs. “She passed away about a year ago.” 

Your lips drop to a sympathetic smile looking down at Megumi who is slowly falling asleep. “I’m sorry, that must have been tough for you both. If you ever need help with him, please let me know.” Your tone dripped with kindness that Toji couldn’t help but to take advantage of.  He chuckled with a glance down at the concrete before turning to look into your soft eyes before the scarred corner of his lips tilted up into a smirk.

“Ima need your number for that, doll.”

next

a/n : so this is just the first chap but I’m very excited to post more very soon! I’d love to know your thoughts and depending how well this chapter does I might make a taglist if you guys would be interested in that :)

[maxtermind]

SCENE 2 :: HOW MUCH TRAGEDY ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their way back to each other? ★ : a/n :: text posts are going to return from tom till then you can enjoy this<3 taglist form is in the series masterlist btw!! HATS OFF TO EVERY SINGLE SMAU WRITER BECAUSE THIS IS SO HARD LMAO

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1 10 mins ago

f1 LET'S GET THE EUROPEAN LEG OF THE SEASON STARTED! 🇮🇹

username oh the admin knows what they did with carlos at the front lmao username can't wait for the races! let's goooo! 🇮🇹🏁 username so excited for this leg of the season! bring it on! 🤩 username hoping for some amazing races! good luck to all the drivers! 🙌 username here for the racing, not y/n’s drama ⤷ username ugh yes like can we focus on racing and not y/n’s drama? username italy, here we come! forza ferrari! ❤️ ⤷ username poor carlos, dealing with y/n’s drama and still racing username ready for some intense racing action! 🏎🔥 username who else is here for the drama? carlos and y/n's relationship update please! 😂 ⤷ username i hope carlos and y/n figure things out. it was so nice seeing her at the race again

yn.user 20 mins ago

yn.user behind every successful man is his loving fam❤️ congratulations papa sainz

username this is a joke, right? after all the drama? lilymhe wow such a hottie and a MOM? smash! ⤷ yn.user date and time🙏 ⤷ alexalbon uhm... im right here? username weren't you just out with another man? hypocrite ⤷ username loving fam? like she didn't just get caught with another guy? 😂 username wow, pretending everything is fine now? ⤷ username guess she's trying to clean up her image good luck with that username this is so fake everyone knows the truth username acting like a loving family after everything? sure, y/n ⤷ username like who the fuck are you fooling, y/n? we know the real story username you're so pretty, y/n! i bought the tickets just to see you irl username didn't take long for the fake posts to start

carlossainz 20 mins ago

carlossainz victory feels even sweeter with my kids by my side!🏆❤️

username congrats, carlos! the kids are your ONLY real supporters. username so glad you’re focusing on the kids and not the drama. ⤷ username victory without y/n? this is peak comedy😭 ⤷ username way to go, carlos! the kids are all you need! username finally, a win focused on the right people. congrats, carlos! username oh god we really lost the great war huh username great win, carlos! the kids must be so proud. ⤷ username this is the content we love. kids over drama! username well done! no need for distractions we're so proud❤️ ⤷ username the kids are his real mvps so lol username congrats, carlos! the kids are your biggest fans.

twitter

boo is typing... (y/n's pov)

lily is typing… (y/n's pov)

yn.user 20 mins ago

yn.user as my boys said: finally a worthy opponent✨

username this is why some people shouldn't have kids. username she's a mess. no wonder they broke up ⤷ username using her kids for attention. disgusting! carlossainz so you're also bad at scrabble? ⤷ username oh shit carlos didn't come to play ⤷ username you tell her carlos!! username no stability for those poor kids with her around. ⤷ username kids must be so confused with a new man every week username pathetic attempt to make carlos jealous. GROW UP, Y/N!!!

carlos is typing… (y/n's pov)

instagram stories

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[disappointingcabbage]

TMGAP 33 live reaction, spoilers under the cut

Loved the episode dedication poem

I hope this is a science casement based solely on the episode title (peer review)

Alice crashing out at Gwen in the background is actually fantastic

Hi Chester

MAGNUS INSTITUTE INTERVIEW IS THIS A STATEMENT

lmao what did this interviewer say that made all of their side of the conversation get redacted

I so want this one sided conversation to just get more and more comedically absurd without the context of literally anything the interviewer is saying

First date gone spooky?

INTERVIEWER COMMENT REDACTED

There’s so many things mentioned in this casement that could become the spooky element and I have no idea which one it will be

Why did Jonny read that line like he was doing a Michael Distortion impression

Oh every single person at this arcade except for the statement giver and her date is something like the Anatomy Students

same man different door Michael I know it’s you /j

holy shit the kraken

Oh shit maybe the date is one of those uncanny NPCs actually

As an American I’m wondering if blackpool pier has any local lore that makes the statement spookier to Brits

o7 James I guess

“Please don’t go” :(

Alice is so very real and I want to give her a hug this poor lady

Damn Colin was keeping a secret notebook in code

What mail did Gwen get for Lena?

AN AMERICAN????

LARSON??????? MALEVOLENT REFERENCE??????????

“My assistant must have forgotten to update her calendar” *glitch* lmao

IS HE FLIRTING WITH HER?

the externals were LENA’S IDEA????

I mean fair enough for declining. I don’t trust private military groups either tbh Gwen

“When” not if. Wow dude.

Brett learn to take rejection challenge

Gwen’s lesbian ass is so tired of this conversation

Wow short episode this week. Still a good one though.

Still wish we could see some more of whatever’s going on with Sam

[mariacallous]

Those of us who follow Donald Trump’s rhetoric on health care closely know that he has always talked about protecting Medicare while never mentioning Medicaid.

That changed this week, in the Trumpiest way possible.

The program that pays medical bills for more than 70 million low-income Americans has long been a target for Republicans looking to downsize or eliminate federal programs, especially those serving the poor. Trump’s past silence has felt like a reminder that he too wanted to strip funds from the program ― or, at least, that he had no problem with doing so.

Trump certainly seemed to support Medicaid cuts in 2017, when he was pushing hard for legislation to repeal the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare. Had that legislation passed, it would have slashed Medicaid and, in the process, deprived millions of health insurance.

But on Tuesday, while appearing with adviser Elon Musk on Sean Hannity’s Fox News show, Trump actually mentioned Medicaid ― and said, quite plainly, that he did not plan to cut it. “Medicare, Medicaid, none of that stuff is going to be touched,” Trump said.

That was big news, and timely too, because House Republicans are right now moving forward with a budget plan that will likely include precisely the sort of Medicaid cuts Trump was saying he wouldn’t support.

Or would he?

On Wednesday, literally one day later, Trump wrote a social media post in which he endorsed the House budget and said he preferred it to the Senate alternative ― which, among other things, does not have Medicaid cuts.

The apparent reversal confused everyone, including some reporters at Politico who queried the White House. They were seeking clarification. They didn’t get it, because the press office sent two statements ― one promising Trump would protect Medicare and Medicaid and then, just a few hours later, an “updated” version that was conspicuously missing the Medicaid reference.

There’s nothing new about Trump making wildly inconsistent statements, or his staff tripping over themselves to explain what the boss really thinks on a vital issue. Quite possibly they don’t know, and quite possibly Trump himself doesn’t know, given how little interest he often shows in policy. It would frankly be a surprise if Trump understood the program well enough to have a strong opinion.

But that also suggests he has no commitment to protecting Medicaid, which could leave it vulnerable to major cuts as Republicans search desperately for ways to offset their proposed tax reductions.

Medicaid is the fourth-biggest spending item in the federal budget. And unlike the three items ahead of it (Social Security, Medicare, defense spending) it serves poor people exclusively. Historically, those sorts of programs have been the toughest to defend against legislators eager to slash funds.

But Trump’s rhetorical shifts this week tell us something else, too: He understands Medicaid matters to a lot of people. That could be the key to saving the program, if its defenders act in time.

How Medicaid Became Popular

Medicaid is in many respects the accidental child of America’s health care system. It was practically an afterthought in the debate leading up to enactment of the 1965 Social Security amendments, whose centerpiece was the creation of Medicare, the federal health insurance program for the elderly.

When Lyndon Johnson signed the bill into law, Medicaid didn’t even make the front page in the New York Times coverage, as veteran health care journalist Joanne Kenen noted recently in Politico.

But in the ensuing decades, creative and determined supporters like the former Rep. Henry Waxman (D-Calif.), found ways to expand it to cover ever more services and ever more categories of people. The biggest single expansion came in 2010, when the Affordable Care Act gave states the money to cover anybody with income below or just above the poverty line.

Most states have now done that, and it’s the single biggest reason the percentage of Americans without health insurance has reached historic lows.

That growth has also drawn the ire of conservative Republicans, who have said Medicaid puts too big a burden on the taxpayers ― and who see it as an inefficient welfare program that discourages poor people from working. Efforts to reduce and cap the federal government’s financial commitment to Medicaid date back to the Reagan era. And they nearly succeeded in 2017, when Republicans came close to actually repealing the Affordable Care Act.

That was also the moment when the program’s surprising political resilience became clear. The GOP proposals provoked an outcry from people who stood to lose coverage ― not just working adults, but also senior citizens and people with disabilities, many of whom rely on Medicaid to pay for home care or nursing homes.

That coalition today is, if anything, bigger than it was back then. Something like two-thirds of Americans have been on Medicaid or have a family member who has been, according to surveys from the research organization KFF. It has also become a financial lifeline for the health care industry, especially hospitals that serve large numbers of low-income residents.

Not coincidentally, Medicaid is seen favorably by the majority of Americans — and even the majority of Republicans — according to KFF polling. And cuts could hit disproportionately hard in areas that tend to support Trump.

How Republicans Are Targeting Medicaid

Republicans understand this, and not just in the White House. Longtime Trump supporter and MAGA leader Steve Bannon warned during a Fox News interview last week that “Medicaid is going to be a complicated one. You just can’t take a meat ax to it, although I would love to.”

Sen. Josh Hawley (R-Mo.) went even further this week, telling HuffPost’s Igor Bobic that “I don’t like the idea of massive Medicaid cuts.” A day later, eight moderate House Republicans wrote a letter to Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) warning that “slashing Medicaid would have serious consequences, particularly in rural and predominantly Hispanic communities where hospitals and nursing homes are already struggling to keep their doors open.”

Nobody who has watched Republicans grumble about the lack of qualifications for Trump nominees and then vote to confirm them anyway would be surprised to see these same lawmakers vote for Medicaid cuts if a bill is put in front of them. And GOP leaders are already laying the rhetorical groundwork, saying their target is waste, inefficiency and abuse — something Trump has mentioned in his statements, as well.

Convoluted, duplicative and sometimes downright illegal payment arrangements are pretty much endemic to American health care, public and private. Medicaid is no exception. And although “waste” is a broad category that includes a lot of meaningless documentation errors ― as the left-leaning Center on Budget and Policy Priorities has noted ― it also includes funding schemes some states use to draw extra federal matching funds without putting up more of their own.

One of the Medicaid changes Republicans are discussing now would seek to end those practices. The Paragon Institute, a conservative organization that supports the proposal, has noted that Barack Obama proposed a version during his presidency.

But Obama did so in a very different time, and in the context of a proposal designed to expand health coverage overall. That does not seem to be the objective of Republicans in Congress, who also want to tie Medicaid eligibility to employment status. These “work requirements” don’t actually get more people to work, research has shown repeatedly. But they make the verification process so cumbersome that lots of eligible people end up losing coverage.

And whatever the reality and merits of these GOP efforts to reduce waste and fraud, getting the savings they need would inevitably require even bigger changes to the program ― the kinds of sweeping cuts that the public has clearly rejected in the past.

That’s especially true because, as several budget experts have noted, the proposals Republicans have floated would interact with each other in ways that would likely produce even fewer savings than their public budget documents predict.

“There’s not a pile of Medicaid dollars sitting in a corner labeled ‘waste, fraud, and abuse,’ “ Adrianna McIntyre, a professor at the Harvard School of Public Health, told HuffPost. “Steep cuts to the program will ultimately mean some combination of fewer people insured, fewer benefits covered, and lower payments to doctors and hospitals.”

How The Politics Could Shake Out

How this all registers politically remains to be seen. The backlash in 2017 mattered because Democrats and their allies made it matter, especially at the grassroots. They fired off letters and emails and flooded the phone lines of congressional offices. And they showed up in person, through protests at town hall meetings — and eventually on Capitol Hill, too.

The backlash was all over the media, and the impact lasted. The GOP took a beating in the subsequent midterm elections, losing control of the House. Analysts think the backlash to the Obamacare repeal attempt was a big factor in that.

Saving Medicaid now might take a similar effort. But this time around, there’s an added layer of complication: The program’s defenders can’t count upon traditional media to carry their message to lawmakers — or to the public. Going viral on Instagram or TikTok may count as much as, if not more than, getting a story on the local news. And lately Republicans and their supporters have seemed more adept at deploying social media than Democrats.

But the defenders of Medicaid still have a lot going for them, too, even beyond the large and growing number of people who have first-hand knowledge of ― and appreciation for ― what the program provides. Health care is among the issues where voters traditionally trust Democrats more than Republicans.

There’s a reason for that: Democrats have always been the party fighting to expand and defend government programs that help people get health care, while Republicans have always been the party resisting those efforts ― and trying to roll back the programs already in place. That’s as true now as it’s ever been. The future of Medicaid could depend on making sure the public realizes it.

[hollowghostsonfilm]

[Sugu/Sato Fic] Sugar on the Tongue [1/6]

Summary:

Satoru Gojo is the most expensive host at Tokyo's most exclusive club - dazzling, impossible, and not doing it for the money. Suguru Geto is absolutely unimpressed by all of it. He won't book a room, he won't pick a host, and he seems immune to Gojo's charms. And Gojo? He's never met a man who he wants to keep him more. It's a romance story parading as a Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby dynamic featuring a very pretty, very bratty man who finally gets spoiled for real.

Notes:

💸✨ Welcome ✨💸 Honestly, this fic started because of a thread I read where there was an interview with Gege and he said that, despite Gojo being rich AF, he'd probably spend all his time chasing rich older women if he wasn't a jujutsu-shi. From there, the idea spiralled. I'll be updating this as I go (probably a bit less regularly than my other works but we'll see). Thank you for reading!

AO3 Link | Master List of Chapters

Or read below:

Chapter One: I Bet I Look Good with Your Credit Card

The lights were low, the velvet seats plush and only vaguely stained, the music slow enough to make a man feel like he might be in love. Or at least lonely enough that he might pay someone to pretend for the night. Which, in fairness, was this place’s business model.

Satoru Gojo leaned back against the booth, champagne flute dangling between two fingers, untouched. Dom Perignon was boring when you had to pay for it yourself. He swirled it, bored.

He looked like sin in silk, and he knew it. The white dress shirt he wore was open at the collar, his sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms that still carried the hint of a tan from a winter in Bali. His Cartier watch caught the light just enough that it could be noticed, just enough that it screamed money, without being too crass. He hadn’t bought it. A client had. But he wore it better than anyone else.

One of the junior hosts appeared at his side, looking vaguely panicked. “Table 7 is asking for you again.”

Gojo glanced over the host’s shoulder at the table. Lawyers. Mid-tier bank accounts at best. Not worth his time. “Let them suffer. Anticipation makes them spend more.”

“You said that last week about them. They’re getting impatient,” the junior said.

“And I was right last week too.”

Gojo waved the poor thing off, returning to his real task of the evening: looking expensive, untouchable, maybe even vaguely tragic, like a god who just so happened to be available for hourly rates and private conversations.

This wasn’t vanity. It was strategy.

Gojo didn’t work the floor like the others. He wasn’t one to chase. He invited his clients. Then he made those clients work for it.

It wasn’t looking good until he walked in.

The doors didn’t swing dramatically. No spotlight picked him out. But Gojo noticed the man in the black-on-black suit immediately. Tall. Calm. Hair in a lazy half-knot, like he had better things to do and had come here on accident. He was the picture of unbothered, yet sharp. It made Gojo sit up, eyes following him.

The man scanned the room with a look that could only be described as mildly disappointed. As if the velvet, the hosts and hostesses, the drinks, none of it could meet his standards. A dangerous type. One who didn’t want to be impressed by a place like this.

A type that Gojo couldn’t resist the challenge of.

And, sure enough, Gojo’s senses were right. The man was escorted straight to the VIP lounge. He’d been right in his scenting of filthy rich.

Gojo waited precisely three seconds before he rose, slow and smooth, deliberate. He slid into the path between the bar and the lounge just as the man passed, and offered him a smile that shone in the low lights.

“Looking for someone?” Gojo asked, tilting his voice somewhere between husky and sweet. Just enough. “Or are you slumming it here for the ambiance?”

The man blinked at him, before scanning up and down his body with a single raised eyebrow.

“You work here.” Not a question. A deduction.

“Yes,” Gojo grinned.

A pause, then dry as gin, “Are you always this forward with prospective clients?”

“Only the hot ones,” Gojo leaned in a fraction. “And you don’t look like a regular client to me.”

That earned him something, a twitch in the corner of the man’s mouth. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it wasn’t dismissive either.

“You don’t look like someone struggling to make a paycheck,” the man’s eyes went down to the watch on Gojo’s wrist. “You do it for the thrill of it?”

Gojo’s pulse thrummed. Oh, this one was fun. There was something deliciously rude in how this man looked at him, like Gojo was a showroom model that he’d already decided not to buy. It made Gojo’s teeth ache.

“Well,” Gojo let the pause linger, “since you’re clearly not here for our stellar drinks, or for the décor, why don’t I offer you another option?”

He took a step forward, just enough to blur the boundary between friendly and personal. His voice dropped lower, and he let a smile curl at the edges of his mouth.

“You can have me for the hour, or the night. Depending on how generous you’re feeling. Though I have to tell you. I’m expensive. The most expensive one here.”

Gojo didn’t offer this to everyone. Clients could get laughter, charm, practiced seduction. But this man had provoked him with his indifference, and Gojo was determined to get under his skin.

But the man just tilted his head, not surprised or flustered, just evaluating. Like Gojo was the wine list and he was wondering if he wanted something else after all.

“And what, exactly, would I be paying for?” the man asked, tone dry.

Gojo smiled, feline and slow. “Company. Conversation. A diversion. Maybe more, if you’re lucky.”

“Lucky,” the man repeated, voice flat. “Do you often let luck dictate your value?”

Gojo’s breath hitched, losing the upper-hand was such a rare thing for him, it felt like the edge of knife.

He stepped closer, running his fingertips along the man’s lapel like it was the most natural thing in the world. “No,” he kept his voice low, “I set the price. But for someone like you, I could lower it.”

The man laughed. Low. Unexpected. Brief. Like he couldn’t help it.

“Bold.”

“Bold is what you’re paying for, darling.”

There was a flicker of something in the man’s eyes now. Not just amusement, but perhaps interest to. He reached up, casually, and caught Gojo’s wrist before it could drift higher on his chest. His fingers were cool, his grip was firm.

“Don’t touch,” the man’s tone was quiet.

Gojo exhaled with a soft laugh. “Oh sweetheart,” he said, leaning in so close that their noses nearly brushed, “I’m very expensive. But I’m so worth it.”

Another beat of silence.

Then the man let go, stepping back.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.”

Gojo’s smile curled sharply. “Don’t think too long, or I’ll get bored.”

But he also had an inkling he wouldn’t need to, not when he’d already seen that moment of weakness, that reaction that had been fought down.

The man turned towards the VIP lounge again, but paused. He looked over his shoulder, and Gojo admired his face for a moment in profile.

“Suguru. If you were wondering.”

Then he was gone.

Gojo’s heart was beating a little bit too fast.

Suguru. Rich. Unshaken. And clearly used to being chased.

Gojo licked his lips and headed through the staff doors to go freshen himself up. Oh, Suguru had no idea what he had started.

Gojo waited an hour, and Suguru didn’t re-emerge from the VIP lounge.

He told himself he wasn’t looking for him. He was just going to glide through the VIP lounge for a little reconnaissance. Maybe to chat with a regular. But the moment he moved into the room, his eyes scanned for dark hair and a sharp suit.

And there he was.

Suguru leaned against the bar like he owned the room, a drink in hand that was still full. At some point he had undone a button on the collar of his shirt, and now it hung open just enough to display a throat that was worth kissing. He looked completely unbothered by his surroundings.

And – God help Gojo – he was talking to Shoko.

Gojo’s smile sharped as he crossed the lounge like it was his own personal runway. Every movement in this dance was calculated, the way his hips swayed, the lazy grace of his arms, the way the lighting caught the shine of his hair. He didn’t just walk. He made sure he arrived.

“Wow,” Gojo said, slipping between Suguru and Shoko as though they’d left space for him there. “Didn’t expect to find two of the hottest people hoarding the bar to themselves.”

Shoko didn’t even blink. “Satoru.”

“Doctor Ieiri. Lovely to see you again. Thank you so much for the watch.” Gojo dropped into a mock bow.

She rolled her eyes. “Drop it.”

Suguru’s lips quirked. Just slightly.

Gojo turned to him fully now, nudging in close enough to be too close. “Didn’t book a room, didn’t ask for a host,” he glances down at Suguru’s glass with a look of distaste, “didn’t even order anything expensive. Are you this bad at luxury?”

“I’m here for the conversation, and Shoko was providing ample amounts of it,” Suguru said smoothly, lifting his glass away from Gojo’s nose.

“With her?” Gojo asked, mock-horrified. “Shoko’s a menace. She’ll tell you all my secrets.”

“I already did,” Shoko deadpanned, throwing back the rest of her drink.

“Et tu, Shoko?” Gojo gasped, putting a hand over his heart.

Shoko gave him a blank look, before leaning round him to look at Suguru. “He’s worth every penny, but just make sure your card has a spending limit activated.”

With that, she wandered off, muttering about getting a refill and not wanting to third wheel.

Suguru didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched Gojo.

“So… you didn’t leave…” Gojo leaned against the bar.

“I noticed.”

A pause. The air felt thick with it, an unspoken dare. Gojo leaned just a little, his arm brushing against Suguru’s.

“You do know how this works, right?” he asked. “You’re meant to pick someone. Go to a table or a private room. Slip your card into their hand…”

He held out his palm, waiting for the feel of plastic in it.

Suguru glanced at it, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth again. “And if I don’t want a transaction?”

Gojo’s pulse stumbled, but he kept his smile razor-sharp. “Then you’re in the wrong place, rich boy.”

Suguru sipped his drink without rush and gave him no reaction.

“Maybe I’m just curious what happens when someone tells you no.”

Gojo laughed. Not politely. “You think you’re the first to try to get free conversation by using the cold shoulder?” He leaned in, taking Suguru’s drink from his hand and bringing it up to sip it himself. Cheap whiskey. The worst. He put it down on the bar. “Let me guess. You like to watch people want you. Like having all the power in your back pocket.”

Gojo wondered why he was running his mouth like this. It wasn’t likely to land him a client.

“You want me to chase you.” He pauses. “Fine. I will then.”

Suguru turned towards him then. Solid. Unflinching.

“And what will you do when you catch me, Satoru?” he asked.

Gojo let it hang for a moment, then smiled like the sinner he was. “Then I show you what you were missing.”

He didn’t expect that line to actually be the one that worked. His breath caught a little when Suguru tapped the call button on the bar and murmured something to the VIP attendant who appeared.

Moments later, one of the floor managers arrived, bowing and guiding them both to the hallway lined with curtains beyond.

“Private booth,” Suguru said, not looking at him. “Just drinks.”

Gojo’s lips twitched. “Scandalous.”

The booth was small. Cozy. Velvet cushions surrounded a low, lacquered table, lit from beneath with a warm red light that was incredibly flattering for the complexion. The curtains swished shut for their privacy, and some of the noise of the club faded.

It was quiet now. Too quiet.

Gojo slid in first, sprawling himself elegantly out onto the cushions. Suguru took the far side, a respectable distance, but still within fingertip’s reach if Gojo tried.

A bottle of sake was brought in a few moments later. No label. Just pale frosted glass and delicate cups. Suguru poured for them both without a word. Gojo watched him, the clean lines of his fingers, the way his wrist moved. It looked like a ritual when he did it.

“No entourage?” Gojo decided to break the silence.

“I came with some business partners. They have already gone to their own rooms,” Suguru handed him a cup.

Gojo took it, his fingers brushing against Suguru’s. A spark, fleeting and fizzling, then gone.

He sipped the sake. It was dry. Expensive no doubt, with a hint of something floral. Sake wasn’t his favourite, for sure, but he knew better than to be picky. Besides, when it came in such small cups, it was easier to hide that he wasn’t really drinking that much.

“So, let me guess,” Gojo said, setting the cup down half-full. “Trust fund? Legacy company? Or are you one of those tech weirdos who has made like a million scamming someone with an app that lets them talk to their dogs?”

Suguru didn’t answer. He studied Gojo instead, like a butterfly caught under a pin. He didn’t look amused. He didn’t look annoyed either. He was just… looking.

Gojo resisted the urge to fidget. “So mysterious,” he purred. “You know that you’re cheating, right? Part of the whole fantasy here is that you’ve got some scrappy billionaire backstory.”

“And what’s yours? Or is that curated by client?”

That stung more than it should have, but Gojo smiled anyway. “My story? I keep it simple. Me: beautiful. Tragic. Glittering. Allergic to boredom.”

“And what is it you want?”

Gojo blinked. The question was soft, direct. It wasn’t flirtatious or playful.

It was dangerous.

Gojo leaned back, crossing one of his long legs over the other. “What makes you think I want anything?”

“Because people like you always do,” Suguru replied calmly. “The ones who perform the hardest. Who talk the loudest. You don’t walk into a room like you did unless you’re desperately trying to be seen.”

Gojo’s heart beat hard in his chest. The curtain swayed slightly.

He should have laughed it off, tossing his hair and saying something outrageous. But instead, he tipped his head slightly, looking at Suguru through long, white eyelashes.

“What about you?” he asked, voice low. “You walked into this place like it offended you. You’re sitting here now like you’re barely tolerating it. But you stayed.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Suguru sipped his own sake, then set it down beside Gojo’s with a soft clink.

“Curiosity.”

“About me?” Gojo raised an eyebrow.

“About how long you’ll keep pretending that this isn’t all a desperate ploy for my attention.”

The silence snapped into place, taught and surprising, and Gojo couldn’t help but laugh, startled.

“You think I care what you think?” He asked, voice breathy.

Suguru smiled. Not a smirk of getting the upper-hand. Just a smile.

“Yes.”

And Gojo, master of masks, god of the game, didn’t have anything to say to that. He was off-balance, off-script. He recovered fast. He always did.

“Well, isn’t that flattering?” He picked up his sake again, sipping it. “You think I wake up in the morning and think about what some stranger thinks of me?”

“Not me specifically,” Suguru conceded. “And I don’t think you worry. I think you wake up needing to know what strangers think of you.”

Gojo laughed. “You don’t know me well enough to say something that arrogant.”

“Don’t I? Shoko told me quite a lot.”

Gojo’s pulse skipped again, though this time, he couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of fascination. This man kept up with him. Matching him beat for beat and never letting him fully get the upper-hand.

Gojo leaned forward, draping his arms over the table like an invitation. “Fine. You want honesty, I’ll give you honesty.”

Suguru stayed perfectly still, listening.

“I want someone who doesn’t blink when I spend ten grand on a shirt,” Gojo said. “I want to be spoiled. Worshipped. I want gifts, and keys to things, and luxury that drips off me like honey. I want to be kept, Suguru.”

The name came out soft, intimate, low, and Gojo kept going, high on the power that this confession gave him.

“I want someone to tell me I’m the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen while they’re sliding a black card into my palm. Someone who sees my body and decides it’s work investing in.”

He smiled then, slow and bright and wicked.

“And maybe,” he added, “I want someone who wants to pay for me.”

Suguru said nothing for a moment, as though he was waiting to make sure that Gojo was finished. “That’s a lot of want.”

Gojo’s eyes flashed. “I’m a greedy boy.”

“Clearly.”

The air between them buzzed. Gojo took another sip of sake, watching Suguru over the rim of his cup.

“You judging me?”

“No,” Suguru said finally, voice steady. “Just trying to decide if that was weaponised honesty or you just lying to yourself.”

Gojo huffed out a laugh. “Could be both. Let me guess. You’re the responsible type. Good credit score. Predictable hobbies. Quiet apartment, sleek furniture. You probably cook.”

“I do.”

“Knew it.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “And you think that makes me a good target for you?”

“I think,” Gojo leaned in again, “that men like you want to spend money on people like me. People no one else can have.”

“But from simple deduction, it’s clear other people can have you.”

Gojo ground his teeth.

“No one has spent enough to have me for keeps yet.”

That pulled a response, a breath, just barely audible.

“Is this how you work? Skipping straight to the finale? Promising a relationship if someone empties their bank account?”

Gojo’s smile grew fangs. “Not always, but I have good instincts.”

“And what do your instincts say about me?”

Gojo tilted his head. “That you keep going back and forth between how much you want to ruin me and spoil me. Maybe not in that order.”

He watched as Suguru’s jaw flexed. There it was. The reaction. He’d got him.

Gojo leaned back with a slow, satisfied sigh, finishing his cup and discarding it.

“I’d look good with your credit card, and you know it.”

“You’d look good with anything,” Suguru replied, his tone lacking any flirtation, merely stating fact. Gojo’s chest stuttered. That shouldn’t have landed on him, but it did.

“You are dangerous,” Gojo said.

“So are you.”

They sat in silence again, the tension now molten. Gojo shifted, crawling over until his leg brushed against Suguru’s under the table.

“I could make you very happy,” Gojo tried, his voice velvet.

“Could you?”

“I’d shine just for you.”

Another beat.

“I don’t buy things I can’t keep.”

“I don’t have a return policy,” Gojo grinned.

Suguru finished his own drink.

Then, slowly, with a precise movement, he slid a small, sleek card from his wallet and set it on the table between them. Gojo’s heart skipped for a moment, but then he saw it was neither a room key, nor a credit card.

A business card.

Black. Matte. Silver embossed. Suguru’s full name.

Suguru Geto. Private Investment Management.

Gojo stared at it.

“I don’t have one to give you in return, you know.”

“It’s an invitation,” Suguru said. “If you’re serious.”

Gojo picked up the card, pinching it between two fingers like it might bite.

“I’m always serious.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, tucking the business card inside.

Suguru stood. “Then I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

And just like that, without a touch, a kiss, or even a parting smirk, he slipped out of the booth. Gojo felt a wild, electric tension zing through his stomach as his head fell back against the velvet cushion, lips parting.

“Oh, fuck.”

[spectrechosts]

Heaven Sent - Chapter 6

Full Series

Grezayla jots down a status update on the angel job in her notebook; notably that while Feathers shows some amount of interest in yoga conceptually as both a meditative exercise and something that it can display skill in, when placed in a group setting it gets upset because the succubi keep feeling eachother up in front of it.

"Dolls, can your pal Vicky speak candidly for a sec?" Vixitana asks, lounging across the meeting room couch. She continues without waiting for an answer. "This job fucking sucks."

"It doesn't suck!" Azaerixia pouts. "We're like, getting close to maybe being Feathers' friends!"

"Yeah!" Grezayla agrees, joining her in pouting. "Besides, isn't this like, your regular job anyway?"

"This is like my regular job if nothin' happened for weeks and weeks and my client was a huge pain in the behind." Vixitana says. "Do you know what I usually do to clients who aren't upfront with what they want?"

"…Whatever they summon you for?"

"No." She says. "See, I get two types of clients: The first kind knows they wanna be a girl, they summon me to make 'em one, we have some fun with their new parts and go our separate ways; them with a new lease on life and me with a contracted soul to collect on later."

"Alright..?"

"Now the second kind is the referrals. Someone else answers a summon, feels out the client's desires, and finds out they wanna be a girl- but that's not what they're summonin' a succubus for. Whoever they summoned puts a note on their file, and the next time they try to summon 'em they get my cute ass instead. You with me so far sugar?"

Grezayla sticks her tongue out at Vixitana.

"Now this is where the key difference comes in. These people, these girls, these sweet sweet angels- and I mean sweet like a metaphorical angel, not our stuck-up shit-for-brains angel- they summon me and they're so sad, sugar. They're so sad and they don't even know it, they've been sad so long."

"I get that, that's why we need to help Feathers-"

"Shhhh shh shh shh." Vixitana shushes, sticking her hand out. "And you know how I help 'em? These poor unfortunate souls, they summon me and they say 'Oh Vicky, can you give me a handjob with maybe some backdoor tongue action (but only if that's not a weird thing to ask for)?', and I convince 'em to let me out of the circle and then I say 'No. We're puttin' you in a slutty little outfit and I'm doin' your makeup', and they say 'But-', but I don't listen because I'm already pinnin' 'em down and conjurin' the outfit onto 'em. And I get out the makeup kit and I grab 'em by the chin if they're too squirmy and call 'em good girls when they stay still, and I make them look fucking gorgeous."

"Okay, well, Mistress already told us why fleshcraft won't work in this situation, so-"

"No, hang on, I- I want to hear where she's going with this." Says Helneth, almost as interested in the tale as Vixitana is in telling it.

"So then I get the full-body mirror out," Vixitana continues, completely ignoring their interruptions, "let 'em admire my handiwork. Let 'em see what's possible before we even start doing magic. And they cry, most times. They cry and I hold 'em while they let all those pent-up feelings out, tell 'em it's okay. It's a whole process, y'know? Can't just put 'em in a dress and fuck 'em stupid and then just… leave 'em to navigate things on their own. I talk to 'em for hours, sometimes."

Grezayla feels a twinge at that, snuggles up to Azaerixia. She can't say she fully knows what that's like, but… having a succubus to help her understand her feelings was certainly life-changing for her. She wants to be that for Feathers, she just isn't really sure how.

"Then I jackhammer their fuckin' prostate with my tongue while milking every single drop of cum they can make outta them. Like they asked."

Okay, she doesn't particularly plan on doing that for Feathers. Maybe once it starts being nicer to everyone.

"And like I do a good job, y'know, do my due diligence as a succubus and all; but I level with 'em, I say 'Listen, I can give you waaaay better than that, doll'. That's when I hit 'em with the big guns. Fleshcraft 'em the most perfect body a mortal girl can get and show off eeeeverything that body can feel, how much better it is for 'em. And once I'm done and they can think straight again they're obviously wonderin', 'Oh fuck, this is so much more than I asked for, what am I on the hook for now?', and I tells 'em, 'That was aalllllll free, doll', and they're like 'What? There's gotta be a catch!', and I say 'Nope! Tonight was on the house, just 'cause you deserve it. Buuuut, if you want it to be more than just tonight, if you want to keep this body forever, aaaalllllllll you gotta do is sign this contract. You get to be happy with your new body for, let's say forty years, and then when that's up I come collect your pretty lil' soul and take you down to hell, and you get to be my pet'." Vixitana leans back against the couch armrest, smug. "They always sign."

"Wow." Helneth says breathlessly, flustered within an inch of her unlife and visibly tenting her skirt.

"That's so niiiice!" Coos Azaerixia. "Good for them!"

"Uh-huh." Says Vixitana, basking in the praise.

"And Mistress lets you do all that?" Asks Grezayla.

"Uh-huh! Since I don't ask for payment for what I do to 'em without asking and I did some extensive focus-testing, got the data that says girls would have really appreciated having this happen to 'em, it's all above board. You should get in on it sugar! I may not look like much right now since it's still a pretty new division, but once the time's up on all those contracts? Ooooh, lil' Vicky is gonna be drownin' in souls."

"Wow." She says. "And you think we can workshop this into something for Feathers? Since it doesn't require any fleshcraft at the start?"

"Huh?" Vixitana says blankly. "Oh, sure, maybe? I mostly just wanted to talk about how fun the job usually is."

"Ah."

"It-" Helneth squeaks. "It does sound really fun. Both for you, and for, um, whoever, is um, lucky enough to-"

"Wanna roleplay with me, doll? Get some hands-on experience with what it's like?" Vixitana asks, making a jacking-off motion to emphasize what she means by hands-on.

Helneth nods meekly, and Azaerixia claps her hands together in excitement.

"Ohmygosh can I help? It sounds so so so fun!"

Grezayla manages to scribble down a quick note about giving Feathers a bit of a push into a makeover before she's dragged, giggling, into helping to undress Helneth.

~~~

Like my work? Consider buying me a ko-fi!

[yourlocalartsonist]

MFIP (and life) UPDATE✨✨

1/13/25 | Update 3 | Next Update | Last Update

Oh-ho-ho notice how I didn’t have “monthly” in the title this time~ Yeah, we’re not doing these that frequently anymore. I realized I have a lot going on, and MFIP doesn’t really have progress done every single month; I’m writing a fic, so it’s even harder to show progress without spoiling shit honestly, and I don’t make a new art piece every month. I’m still gonna be doing these updates, though! They’ll happen every 3-4 months—not including hiatuses—so I’ll actually have stuff to share with you guys and not have to worry about scraping for dimes.

Anywhizzle, today’s update is gonna be a long boi, and I wanted to just yap about what was going on this semester in general. I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty for not working on the fic as much as I wanted to, but I still wanna give you guys an explanation as to why I randomly disappeared for a good few months. Unlike what I usually do however, Imma start with the life bullshit this time instead having it at the end. We’ll get to the actual progress update afterwards, and boy oh boy was progress made. So strap in for the ride folks!

Now Presenting: “What The Fuck Happened To You⁉️”

Okay, so, I’m a little bit of a dumbass—

Dudes if any of you are gonna start college or are currently in college, please think twice before making the same mistake as me. Last semester during the fall, my teeny tiny little apeshit brain thought it would be a good idea to enroll in six courses, four of which are online.

“I can handle it!” I thought, “How bad could it be~” And much like the Onceler, I got motherfucking humbled.

See, I dunno if it’s different anywhere else but for my college, online classes typically mean you get a fresh new load of work to do and hand in every week. Two of the classes my little Einstein heart enrolled for AS ELECTIVES were Criminal Justice and Creative Writing. Ya know! For fun! It’s not like I was enrolled in Calculus Level 2 and the Calc 2 Lab Class for my career requirements at the same time as those or anything—Oh, wait.

Anyways, me being the little genius I was thought that wasn’t enough, and enrolled in two more elective classes. To give myself some credit, one of those classes was Geography which would be a very easy grade. To immediately take that credit back, the other class was Physics: Energy and Environment literally because they wouldn’t let me enroll in an actual Physics class until the Spring semester and my moronic ass was impatient, so gave myself a supplement💀

As you can probably tell, I had massive regrets lmao. The workload was extremely hefty considering both Creative Writing and Criminal Justice had a LOT of reading and writing; both classes would have around 3-4 assignments due for each class at the end of the week. The Physics class took place hella late in the day twice a week, so I’d have to get all that work done before that class started ‘cause I’d be way too exhausted to do anything afterwards.

It was a living hell.

I was working on studying and homework almost every single day for hours on end. Being real with y’all, it added to a lot of stress and irritation, and admittedly a few breakdowns where I legitimately had to just cry to relieve the stress. It’s why I hope no poor soul bites off more than they can chew in a moment of overconfidence or just poor judgement the way I did ‘cause man that semester was so rough. I actually love college too, so getting me to dread it meant I def fucked up with choosing classes. Needless to say, I barely got to work on MFIP for four months. Progress was slow, if any at all.

I’ve talked about this before too, but my mom’s a breast cancer survivor and I’m an only child. Since my dad’s the sole breadwinner, I’m the only one who can take care of my mom. AKA on top of all the pressure from college, I had to manage doctor appointment after doctor appointment, and it only adds up to more chaos as more doctors have to get involved.

BUT HEY!

I got through it in the end! And without withdrawing from any of my classes or getting a low grade! So the torture is thankfully over and I now know to literally never do that again for as long as I live— Now that it’s winter break though… 👀

🎉CONTENT TIME BABYYYYYYY🎉

So the good news of all of this is once winter break hit I uhhhhh got silly.

DUDES you won’t believe the sheer level of fucking insanity that took place once I was finally able to finish this semester, go on break, and actually write. I uh…

I finished Chapter 10 in two days🦐

Yeah I uh finished the fucking chapter in two days I am not shitting you. My ass went on break, sat down, and accidentally finished this long ass chapter that’s above 11K words within two days. It’s even funnier because I was tweaking so badly to work on MFIP the entire semester that once I finally sat down, I figured out exactly what I want to happen all throughout the rest of the arc. To properly explain, Imma just say how I usually work on my chapters.

I don’t actually have an organized outline for MFIP! I have a Google Docs full of ideas and certain beats I know I want the story to hit, and I generally know in my head what’s gonna happen. The details are what I figure out as I go, it’s like improv but for writing. Why don’t I just make a proper outline for the story? Because my brain genuinely can’t work that way for MFIP🦐✨ I’m not sure why; it’s not like I suck at outlines or anything, but MFIP just gets overcomplicated when I try to make an outline for it. There are so many different threads all tying back to each other that the only way I can properly comprehend it is by trusting what’s in my head.

I’m not going into detail to avoid spoiling, but I know exactly what most of the story is gonna be. I have an endpoint in mind, albeit one that’s very far into the future.

I knew what was gonna happen in the end of Arc One all the way from when I started the first chapter. That’s why the entire arc is building up or spiraling down to the events of Chapter 14. The difference is, now know 90% of the details for each of the remaining chapters too! It basically means I’ll have a very smooth writing process ‘cause all I have to do for these final chapters is to write them.

I’ve completely finished Chapter 10 and am currently around 5K+ words into Chapter 11.

Once my team finishes editing it, it’ll be published here and on AO3 as usual. I’m anticipating for it to come out sometime in late February!

HOWEVER, THERE’S ✨MORE✨MOTHERFUCKERRR

💥ONESHOTS💥

THAT’S RIGHT! We’re getting canon Oneshots along with the chapters! I’ll be posting them in a specific order, but I’ll say between which chapters the Oneshot takes pace in the author’s note so y’all can keep track easier~

The Oneshots will vary in POV. Sometimes it’ll be Salena, sometimes someone else.

I’ll make it obvious which character it is if it’s a relevant character at all but I’ll also, once again, leave the info in the author’s notes! We’re not tryna recreate FNAF here-

They’re a cool way to show more content to the story that’s either too short to fit a chapter, or just not from Salena’s perspective. They don’t HAVE to be read in order to understand the story of MFIP, but they do add a lot more substance to the events that transpire. It’s like peeling back to see another layer and more context.

The first oneshot Dear Moon will release soon after this update!

It might even release the next day, honestly. I really can’t wait for you all to read them! I think they turned out really well ;w;

✨To Art, or Not To Art? That Is the Question✨

Yeah I’ve been a bit indecisive on the whole art in the Updates thing

I’m not gonna post any art for this Update bc it’s already getting like WAY too long, but I’m debating the whole thing altogether. I don’t really think it’s necessary, and I would much rather make art its own separate posts on Tumblr and yap about ‘em there. It’ll def take off the pressure of creating a new art piece to talk about considering this is a fanfic not a comic. Otherwise my ass was scavenging through procreate for art like a hyena scavenges for meat💀 I might try out showing off all the art I posted here and link to the posts where I yap about them.

It’ll be like a gallery for all the pieces made between the Updates~

I think it’ll be more fun to post stuff that way instead, and also reduce how much I procrastinate with these Updates—

And That’ll Be All Folks~!

I think that’s everything for this Update. You guys have no idea how happy I am to FINALLY be back😭

Classes start again for me in around a week, but I’ll probably still have time to create stuff so won’t need a full blown hiatus again. It’s gonna be a bit tricky since my classes are very math-heavy and intense this semester, but I tried being smarter about my schedule to not overwhelm myself.

So yeah, I’ll keep working on MFIP and posting whenever I can! I’m so excited to finish off Arc One of the story and finally get to the part I’ve been building up to for around two years now. Only five more chapters to go~!

Some last little reminders!

Dear Moon Oneshot will be out within this week

“Are You Free Tomorrow?” Oneshot will be out sometime in late February

MFIP Chapter 10 will be out on the soonest Friday within that same week of February

ROTTMNT: Moths Fly In Packs

[bergdg]

Analyzing Invention: Jan-Aug 2024

We are now two-thirds through 2024. Each week, a new challenge has appeared as part of the Inventor's Fair, a Magic: the Gathering card design contest blog here on Tumblr.

For the uninitiated, each week, a design challenge is announced on the blog and members of the community create cards meeting the design specifications. At the end of the week, a few winners and runner-ups are selected from the submission.

So let's take a look at some of the trends so far this year - January through August.

Art. Katerina of Myra's Marvels. Illustrated by Gaboleps

The Contests

Through August, there have been 33 contests: 11 being led by @abelzumi, 10 being led by @spooky-bard, and the rest led by an assortment of judges (Note: there were 6 contest in which the judge didn't identify themselves).

Throughout these 33 contests, there have been 723 entries, spread over 110 unique participants. Of those participants, there have been 17 who have submitted at least 17 submissions (50+% participation). A special shout-out to @nine-effing-hells for their 33 submissions.

On average, there have been 22 participants per contest, with the highest being Common Wonders (30 participants) and the lowest being a tie between My Better Half, War Never* Changes and Spoiled for Choice (16 participants).

Fig. 1 - Line Graph of the Number of Entries Per Contest. Blue dots represent the number of entries for a contest, and the green line represents the 3-contest average.

The Submissions

As previously mentioned, there have been 723 unique entries (some of which had multiple designs, such as all the ones submitted for My Better Half).

In previous evaluations, we looked at all sorts of data: such as card types, mana value, and rarities. While prepping for this iteration, I asked what folks would like to see. The request: let's see some color breakdowns. So let's deep-dive!

Starting off, let's look at general color identities. If they are at least partial in the color, they'll be included here. In order:

Black: 232

Blue: 224

Red: 215

White: 211

Green: 156

Most of the colors are pretty close in the number of entries, except poor ol' green. This is the same from what we saw in the January-April update as well. (The order then was almost the exact same, with just blue and black swapping places).

The pattern is similar when we look at solely mono color entries, with Blue and Red swapping places:

Black: 91

Red: 87

Blue: 83

White: 80

Green: 55

Fig. 2 - Image of Kermit the Frog, with text saying "It's not easy bein' green".

Now let's dip into a well we haven't before: multi-color entries!

Based on our general color tendencies, you might think Dimir (blue-black) OR Rakdos (black-red) would be in the top spot. And while they do make a good showing (at #2 and #4 respectively), the top spot might surprise you:

Orzhov (W B): 35

Dimir (U B): 34

Izzet (U R): 30

Rakdos (B R): 26

Azorius (W U): 24

Boros (R W): 23

Simic (G U): 22

Gruul (R G): 20

Selesnya (G W): 16

Golgari (B G): 13

Unsurprisingly, all 4 green guilds were lowest on the list. I was surprised that Golgari was lowest though, with the general black designs being the most prominent.

For three colors, most of the 10 options are fairly close, between 3 and 5 entries each. The slight stand-out was Abzan (W B G) with 6. There has been only a single 4-color design, Atraxa's Command designed by @khyrberos (g w u b), and four 5-color designs.

There have also been 35 colorless cards designed. I'll give a note here on lands - since we are looking a color identity and not mana cost, many lands are in a color bucket, not just here in colorless land.

Well, that about sums things up for this time around. It's always cool to see everyone's submissions each week as part of the @inventors-fair! Y'all are awesome, and I can't wait to see what designs you come up with through the end of the year. And maybe, just maybe, think about adding some green :).

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Pitch Manor Progress (which is sort of like Six Sentence Sunday but also not)

It's still Sunday for five more minutes, here. SO....

Okay, I haven't written anything on the Haunting of Simon Snow in awhile. But I have been working on my floor plan for Pitch Manor, which is more than tangentially related to the potential progress of that fic. And today's a rough one for me, so I'm going to post about it like it's progress so I might feel a tad better. Ahem.

OKAY. SO. I've been working on a floor plan for Pitch Manor for... pretty much forever and a day. I ran into trouble when I was writing chapter 2 of Haunting and Simon (Construction Worker!Simon) began to describe the house. I realized... I had no idea what he was describing.

(Warning, there is a long winded geeky ramble ahead. It's just how I do things. Ahem.)

What was supposed to be a quick "let's find a floor plan that I can just copy with some minor adjustments" project has since turned into my special interest project. As a history nerd, that means a lot of research, looking at dozens of floor plans for other houses ranging in origination from the 16th century to the 20th (and probably a few older than even that, since a ton of religious buildings were repurposed into estates. Think Downton *Abbey*.)

But this past week, I feel I've really pushed through a lot of the issues I kept running into. (I've ridiculously been trying to make it as true to the descriptions in Carry On as possible, and something that fits the purposes of my fic, which of course I have envisioned in many, sometimes incompatible, ways.) I've had to make some "this or that, you can't have both" choices, but I'm finally happy with the basic shape and layout.

Whew.

Just for funsies, here's a cross section snippet of my floor plan WIP. It's pretty messy still, but I'm still excited LOL

And (finally), instead of six sentences, I will instead offer you all six tidbits of information about Pitch Manor, as I've envisioned it:

There are four (4!) different sitting rooms. Because the aristocracy just loved their sitting rooms. (Parlor, Withdrawing room, Drawing room, and Reception/Receiving room.)

There is a ballroom. Try and stop me.

The original manor house was built in the 17th century, and has been refurbished and updated a few times.

The most extensive refurbishment happened in the 19th century, which is how it gained its current stylings. (Baz is a freaking troll and I love him for it. The most popular architectural style in the Victorian era was "Gothic Revival." "It's not Gothic; it's Victorian." Hah.)

Some rooms were added on during the Victorian refurbishment, including a Smoking room. They were very popular at that time.

The largest room in the house isn't the ballroom. It's the library. (It's two stories. Try and stop me.)

(I do hope to release the floorplans into the fandom wild after they're complete, in case anyone else wants to make use of them.)

I want to ramble more. But it's almost midnight. Sooo.... Gratitude and hellos under the cut!

Thank you to @blackberrysummerblog, @shrekgogurt, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @monbons,

and @cutestkilla for the tags. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on!

Thank you also to those of you who have willingly (I hope) listened to me ramble on about this damned project of mine for ages. Because boy howdy, do I ramble. @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @artsyunderstudy, @youarenevertooold, @ic3-que3n,

@best--dress, @monbons, and @mooncello. It's good there are a few of you, that way no single poor soul has to bear the full weight of my obsession special interest. (If anyone reading this actually wants to join these ranks, hit me up on Discord XD)

Thanks also to everyone that has tagged me even when it's been ages in between progress posts from me. I appreciate being kept in the loop on what you all are up to creatively!

Hellos and howdies to @noblecorgi @bookish-bogwitch @that-disabled-princess @bazzybelle @messofthejess

@imagineacoolusername @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @prettygoododds @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife

@valeffelees @fiend-for-culture @bubble-gumhead @brilla-brilla-estrellita @aristocratic-otter

@j-nipper-95 @whatevertheweather @ivelovedhimthroughworse @drowninginships @alexalexinii

@facewithoutheart @angelsfalling16

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 27: catchall (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: somehow my progress has slowed slightly from writing two chapters in a week but I still wanna update faster... 😔

Summary: School is back in session, and you catch up and catch someone's eye.

Warnings: blanket series warnings

Word Count: ~3400

The end of August—and summer vacation—hurtles towards you at breakneck speeds. Before you realize it, you're once again in uniform, sitting at a desk, and trying not to stare out of the window instead of paying attention to the teacher. It's harder to focus since you hit your head, you think. That, or you're just finding it hard to care.

It's this—and the dearth of notes in your English notebook—that leads you into classroom 1-4 as soon as lunch hits. First, a peek, a quick scan of the room for one of two potential saviors.

A guy near the door glances your way. "Need something…?" he asks.

You pause. Flash a smile. "Sorry, I'm looking for—ah! There he is! Please excuse me!"

You brush right past, make a beeline for where Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are talking.

"Tsukki-san! Yamaguchi-san!" you sing, holding up both your lunch and your notebook. "Can I ask a huge favor?"

Tsukishima sighs. "If it's about class notes—"

"Please? It's been really hard to focus since the whole concussion thing. You wouldn't make the poor concussed girl suffer without knowing what's going on, right? And Yachi-san's busy with her other friends, so I don't wanna bother her." You bat your eyelashes. "I can't pay you, but I can do some special drinks for the team or something next week. You like strawberries, right?"

"How did you even—"

You grin and point to the strawberry milk on his desk. "Observation. C'mon, please?"

"You can't get me to do things for you the way you do Nishinoya-san, you know."

"I know!" you chirp. "Why do you think I'm bribing you? I just have to emphasize the -senpai and he'll do whatever. You're not that easy."

He sighs. "Fine. Pull up a chair and stop the cutesy stuff. It's weird."

~

You spent the whole of lunch sitting with that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, going over notes and eating. He'd tried not to stare, really, but—I mean, come on, really? He had to.

If you know those two, it's probably a club thing. You seem way too sweet to be friends with Tsukishima, of all people, unless forced to. And, well—

He crosses the room the second you leave, with two minutes before the bell. "Hey, Tsukishima."

The guy in question raises an eyebrow. "Do you need something?"

"So that girl who was here—"

"Not interested. Go ask someone else."

"But—"

"Dude, if you wanna talk to her, figure it out yourself. She's basically taken, anyway."

His heart falls, but only a little—

Basically taken isn't the same thing as taken. He'll need more information.

~

At Karasuno High School, you quickly learn a few important things to stay street-smart. It's not that things are dangerous, but, well, if you want information, asking around is always going to lead you to the same place.

That place, naturally, is classroom 3-4, in the fourth seat from the front, next to the window. She's built up a reputation—if she's not otherwise occupied, look for the girl with the bleached streak in her hair, usually eating some kind of lollipop. Bring tributes—information, if you can, but she also accepts money, candy, and—if you're a girl—hookups. Ask for Nishinoya Satsuki, and if you're an underclassman, you damn well better call her "senpai".

She likes to think it's her second-best talent, the first being too racy to advertise outside of specific circles. She knows who's single, who's open to fooling around, who's looking for a real relationship or a fling, who's gay, who's denying it. Crushes are obvious enough—the crushing and the crushed, and if she puts her mind to it, she can usually guess who the next crush will be on repeat customers. For a price, she can either tell you what she knows or walk right up and ask the right people.

It's not even hard. Most of the time, she just asks, which is something a solid 80% of the students at this school find completely impossible. She's not sure what's so mystifying about it—she gets a name and a year and the information she's supposed to look for, she walks around at lunch and starts asking until someone can tell her what she needs to know. Sometimes, she leverages a favor or a curiosity or two, but it's never much harder than that. With her reputation, she hardly needs to seek anyone out anymore. She flirts with the cute ones, she hangs out, and when someone comes looking for cupid, cupid provides.

She tries her best to be understanding, no matter what. She doesn't judge, doesn't ever say "you think you have a chance"? She's not like that. Everyone deserves someone, and she does her best to get the information for anyone, no matter the request. At worst, a "sorry honey, that one's gay". Being the premier Out Lesbian at school gets her access to about ninety percent of the Karasuno Gays by default, and after she broke a guy's wrist for outing one of the closeted ones, she got just about the other ten percent. Having an ear to the ground and a reputation for breaking bones and giving out black eyes keeps her good side attractive, too—she's ruined at least one person's dating life with a few well-placed bits of (true) information.

So she's understanding. Very understanding. She's never once laughed in someone's face at a request.

Before today.

She crosses her legs, leans back in her chair. Takes the lollipop out of her mouth and points it at the first year in front of her, who's just described someone around your height, your build, your hair and eye color, who's friends with some volleyball guys and recently had some issue with her head.

"Oh no, honey," she says to the fresh-faced first year who's made the trek to her floor for this. "I'm so sorry to tell you this, but that's Yuu's girl. Pick someone else, she's off-limits."

The kid has the audacity to look affronted. She sizes him up carefully. Athletic build. Obviously not a volleyball guy, or he'd know you already, and likely not close to any of the volleyball guys, or he'd have gone to them first. She'll have to do some recon. "I don't know who Yuu is. They're not together, though, right? Tsukishima said she was basically taken. Not taken taken."

Tsukishima. There's a thread. She'll ask Yuu which one Tsukishima is later. In the meantime, she raises a dangerous brow, lifts her chin. "Not taken yet."

"So, she's currently single," he presses. "Right?"

She drags her lollipop across her bottom lip as she thinks. Same year, not same class, or he'd have seen you before, and likely have seen you with Yuu. Probably the same class as this Tsukishima. He hadn't given his name or introduced himself properly. Smart enough to figure out to come to her, but not smart enough to figure out that he's coming to your Senpai's older sister.

"What'd you say your name was?"

"Doesn't matter. If she's really committed to him,  it won't be a problem if I ask her out, right? She can just say no."

…so he has something he's hiding. Red flag, and not good enough for you.

"Well, Doesn't Matter-kun," she drawls, "you're looking at a path that's gonna end with a broken heart and a broken nose."

She pops her lollipop back in her mouth, crunches it under perfect teeth. Reaches into her pocket and begins unwrapping a second lollipop. "I have it on good authority that she's prepared to leave anyone for him if he just asks. You'd be better off just getting over her now."

"C'mon, just tell me her name."

She shrugs. "I have prices, you know. You were able to figure out to come to me and ask about her, surely you heard that I need tribute for information. You won't even give me the information of your name. You got a sister?"

"What?"

"Do you have. A sister."

"Not for you," he sneers.

She raises an eyebrow. "Okay, wow. Fine then. Import me something. Rare candy and I'll consider getting you any information on Yuu's girl."

"Rare… candy?" He seems thoroughly bewildered.

"I want something American. I'm getting bored of the current stash. Find me some good American candy you can't get at the little foreign section at the konbini and I'll get you her name."

"Fine," he sighs. "I'll be back, then."

~

Satsuki doesn't waste any time. That afternoon, she finds her way to the volleyball gym, waits by the door with arms crossed as volleyball boys file in. A few shoot her odd looks—the third years she recognizes from her class, Sawamura and Sugawara, seem to understand the reason for her being here. They were there during lunch, she thinks—Sawamura looks to one of the younger guys, a tall blond dude, and says something, and then he's heading over her way with a look of confusion. She loves it when she doesn't even have to ask.

"Hi," she says, extending a hand to shake with her best smile. "Are you Tsukishima?"

He shakes her hand awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. Can I help you…? Sawamura-san said you were here for me."

"I am," she confirms. "Nishinoya Satsuki, third year. I'm looking for information about someone, and he mentioned your name, so I think you might be able to help me out. You told a guy recently that our beloved [name]-chan was, in his words, basically taken."

He already looks irritated. "Yes. Was this a problem?"

"I wanna know what you know about him, that's all." She tilts her head, smiles sweetly. "You did the right thing, and I told him the same, but he wouldn't give any information about himself, and I need that information."

"I wouldn't tell him anything about her. I don't even know him. He just showed up after I helped her out with some notes and started trying to ask about her."

A new face appears beside Tsukishima—shorter guy, freckles, darker hair. "Who?"

"That guy who was asking about [surname]-san the other day," Tsukishima says.

"Oh! He's never really talked to us before, but he's on the baseball team. His name was… Ashita-san? Asuka-san? Something like that. He's in our class, 1-4."

She reaches forward, clasps the guy's hand with a charming smile. "You're a huge help. I'm gonna check out the baseball team. Thank you, um…"

"Yamaguchi," he replies.

"Thank you, Yamaguchi-kun."

She turns, prepares to leave. Runs right into—who else?—Yuu, walking with you. "Oh! Hi Yuu, hi [name]-chan! I was just leaving."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really? What's up?"

"Nothing. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Yuu, I'll update you later when I'm not on the hunt. See you!"

She tosses a little wave over her shoulder, redirects her path towards the baseball field. She's gonna go home today with more information if it kills her.

It takes a few minutes for baseball guys to show up. She catches sight of Mr. Doesn't Matter among the guys—baseball it is. Her instincts about him being an athlete were right on the money. She skims over the guys coming through—one or two she recognizes, one of whom is a Kirijo-kun who she's pretty sure owes her a favor she can collect on.

Yeah, she's gonna figure this out. Anything short of dropping a dossier on Yuu's lap would make her a failure of a big sister. And she can't let that happen, now can she?

~

Kirijo on the baseball team does, in fact, owe Satsuki a favor, and she collects—not just this Doesn't Matter guy's actual name, but, even better, just a bit more info than that. His sister's name and phone number and where to find her. She walks away with a spring in her step, tapping out a text message to the number she received.

Satsuki to Unknown at 16:04

Satsuki: hi! Is this asuka-chan in class 3-2?

Satsuki: this is nishinoya satsuki. I got your number from Kirijo-kun under duress

Unknown: this is her. What can I help you with?

Satsuki: are you free? I have some questions for you and can make it worth your while

Unknown: what did you have in mind?

~

The bag of candy is dropped on her desk five minutes after the start of lunch that Friday. It takes Satsuki a moment to scan the labeling properly—Ring Pops is emblazoned on the bag, lumpy with the candy inside. She tears it open, plucks out the first blue individually-wrapped candy she sees. It's a lollipop on a little plastic ring—cute. Packaging is in English, so it seems like he actually came through. She unwraps the candy, slips it on her finger to admire it. It's beautiful in the light through the window behind her.

"Impressive. So you can't give your name, but you can follow directions. What were you looking for from me, again?"

"That girl's name. The one you said was Yuu's girl. And these were expensive, so I want more than just that."

"Do you think you get to make demands of me, Asuka-kun?" She tilts her head sweetly, pops the ring pop into her mouth for an initial taste. The flavor's intense—blue raspberry, she thinks it's called—and blooms on her tongue pleasantly. "Ooh, good choice. I'm gonna have to find more of these."

"How'd you—I know I didn't tell you my name."

"Same way I find most information, dumbass." I fucked your sister, she wants to say, but Hitomi had quietly asked for no marks with an air of shame and a I'm still figuring this out, please don't tell anyone. So she won't tell anyone where the new mark on her neck came from. Not this time. "You're in 1-4, you're on the baseball team, you don't like to talk to people outside your little bubble of athletes. You've had three exes in the past year, the most recent being two months ago, and you have a type, which includes the girl you're asking me about. Honestly, I don't want you going after her, but she's the type to totally hate meddling, so I'll keep my end of the bargain since you did well and leave it at that. You're asking about [full name], and you don't seem to understand that you need to give me information in return for information."

"[full name]," he repeats, testing the name on his lips.

"She's a personal friend of mine. Set to come over for dinner with my family tonight, as it stands. To make myself clear, I won't be putting in a good word for you."

"What, did you talk to my exes?" he snorts.

"No, nothing like that, though I plan to. It's just, see, she's really close with my little brother and the rest of my family. I'm sort of banking on making her a Nishinoya one way or another, and I have no intention of seeing her get her heart broken by some random catcher with a mid batting average. But, you did go above and beyond with this pick, so I'll also tell you—she's a manager for the volleyball club. From what I can tell, she adores them, and the sense I'm getting is that they adore her right back. If you hurt her, that's…" She hums, counts on her fingers exaggeratedly. "Fourteen guys ready to kick your ass, plus me, plus the fact that she can kick your ass. You know, assuming you even get the chance. Don't say you weren't warned."

He shrugs. "I think I'll be alright."

She watches him turn and go. Asshole.

~

Satsuki to Yuu at 12:48

Satsuki: hey, so heads up

Satsuki: keep an eye out for any first year guys trying to get close to your girlfriend

Satsuki: had a guy on the baseball team asking about her. His family's got pretty decent money, he ran through three (!!!) girlfriends in the last year, and when I told him, verbatim, that she was your girl, he insisted that almost taken isn't taken so he's going after her anyway

Satsuki: also, his big sister is almost definitely gay and afraid of anyone in her family ever finding out, so there's that little red flag

Satsuki: damn good kisser too. Anyways.

Satsuki: I'll give you the full rundown later. Just wanted to warn you.

~

God, but Noya has been clingy the past day or two. You don't mind it, really—it's Noya, he does that—but you can't figure out why. It's almost a bit of a relief when you manage to convince the girls to let you go grab a package for the team. It's just some more powdered sports drink, so it shouldn't be too heavy, and you've been doing great lately. So great that you've been having to pretend you're not doing all that well to stay out of gym and be excused from Sports Day next month.

Besides, it's an easy task! Just head to the faculty office, tell them you're the volleyball team's manager, carry the box back. Easy. Super easy.

Problem 1: The box is a little bit heavier than you were prepared for.

Problem 2: There are three of them.

You're lucky the teacher doesn't recognize you as the girl whose head exploded. You walk slowly down the hall with cheeks puffed out and very nearly make it to the stairs before the top box slips.

You panic, reach for it frantically, and go through many several stages of grief in the moments before an unfamiliar hand swoops in and steadies the stack.

"Woah, careful there," someone says, and suddenly your three heavy boxes becomes one manageable box. "You alright?"

You blink, taking in the sight of the boy in front of you. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

He smiles an easy, charming smile as you take him in. Brown, fluffy hair. He's tall enough that you have to look up to see his face, and the two heavy boxes that had been making your life hell balance easily in just one of his hands, forearm flexing under the weight. "Let me help you with those."

"I can handle them, but thank you," you reply curtly.

"I'm sure you can," he says with a tilt of his head. "I just thought I'd offer. Good luck with those."

He sets the boxes back on top of the one you're still carrying, and you wince under the weight. Honestly, if any of the guys figure out how heavy the load you're carrying actually is, you're never gonna hear the end of it.

"…okay, fine, maybe I do need a little help," you say as he begins to walk away. "Honestly, I shouldn't have gone alone to grab the boxes and I knew it, so…"

Immediately the load lightens again. The guy falls in step beside you as you descend the stairs. "Why not? Are you hurt?"

You laugh a little. "One of the guys on the volleyball team accidentally got me in the face with a spike last month. I ended up with a concussion that's still kind of kicking my ass."

He winces. "That's brutal. They can hit that hard?"

You nod emphatically. "I wish I could tell you I knew from experience, but I mean, he hit me hard enough that I don't actually remember getting hit. But I'm trying to get back to doing things and being useful, so I wanted to at least be able to grab a box by myself. Good thing they sent three of them, right?" You roll your eyes.

"Well, hey," he says as you round a corner, "we'll get you right up to the volleyball gym and I can give you the boxes back then so they think you did it all yourself. You looked like you were handling them pretty well before they started slipping, so I'm sure you can play it off. The stairs are the real enemy, anyway."

You laugh. "That might just work. Thanks."

"No problem. As payment, could I get your name?"

"Well, you're saving me from a lecture, so… oh, what the hell. [full name]. Nice to meet you."

"Asuka," he replies with that boyish grin. "Asuka Chouji."

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[wrestlingarsenal]

In the early Aughts, my favorite Tag Team was "America's Most Wanted" -- James Storm and Chris Harris. These two studs were booked nearly every week to suffer some incredible beatings on TNA Wrestling. In 2004, they were involved in a Handicap Match which I wrote about on my old Wrestling Arsenal website 20 years ago today, on April 11, 2004 (and continuing the following week on April 18, 2004).

It seems James Storm had injured his shoulder and couldn't wrestle, so the promoters booked his partner, Chris Harris, against one guy from their rival tag team -- the Naturals. Harris won, so the Evil Promoter forced him to immediately wrestle the other member of the Naturals! THEN THE POOR WHIPPING-BOY WAS FORCED TO WRESTLE BOTH OPPONENTS AT THE SAME TIME in a HANDICAP MATCH! (I's all worked up because I love unfair 2-on-1 tag team beatings.) TNA was notably homo-erotic in those days, and also got good ratings. Hmm, I wonder if those go hand-in-hand?

To revisit and update my old static images describing this sadistic scene, I went and found this episode of TNA Wrestling (which aired as a pay-per-view on 2/25/2004) and created this edited video, focusing on the "Wildcat" in agony. I mashed the two preliminary singles matches together with the Handicap Match to make it seem like one long, glorious, two-against-one torture scene. I must say, Chris Harris looks great selling in his tight blue trunks and tall shiny boots, and his partner is adorable outside the ring worrying about him, looking like a chubby Jordan Catalano.

[verascrow]

alrighty, here goes. there was this one time a firefighter came to my school years ago to do one of those job presentations. And apparently firefighters have to write a goodbye letter in case they die while on the job. they always have it kept up to date, stored in their locker with rest of their gear. but just imagine firefighter! schlatt writing his goodbye letter or better yet, someone reading what he wrote.

Anon, I was getting on a flight after I read this and I looked high I genuinely cried so hard. I didn’t know that was even a thing and it makes me so emotional about it.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spent weeks trying to put even one thing down on his letter. The only thing he wrote consisting of “Engine Co. 219 Ladder 131, Brooklyn, New York City. Firefighter Jay Schlatt.”

Firefighter!Schlatt who has over 100 scrapped letters to signal his goodbye, too stuck on critiquing what would make the letter sound more professional or, simply better.

Firefighter!Schlatt who leans more on a short and sweet letter as opposed to a long and wordy one, but writes one that crosses over 11 individual pages nonetheless.

Firefighter!Schlatt who thanks every single one of his family members, no matter the relationship, and writes the longest paragraph for the one person who got him into computer related things and signs off the letter to them in specific.

Firefighter!Schlatt who names every single person at the station and thanks them individually with so much heart that even he sheds a few tears at his own words.

Firefighter!Schlatt who grabs the two kitties' paws who he's called his own and paints them black, pressing them into the paper with their names written over them, hearts and renditions of them around the paws.

Firefighter!Schlatt who draws a little portrait of himself at the end of the letter, simple smiley faces decorate around it and a (poor) rendition of his gear.

Firefighter!Schlatt who writes down every struggle and success he has dealt with in his letter, some of the words and sentences blurred for the water of his tears disturbing them.

Firefighter!Schlatt who, once he finishes his letter, refuses to touch it after it's done, less he need to update or change it in the future, and shuts his locker with such force and goes about his business as usual, as if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spends months refusing to touch or even look at his letter, stuffing it in the back of his locker behind and under a random assortment of things.

Firefighter!Schlatt who spends all of this effort to put the letter out of his mind, accidently taking one thing out and resulting in the letter gracefully flying to the floor.

Firefighter!Schlatt who doesn't realize it and leaves to tend to his cats and rest up, leading to one of the members of his crew to come across it- well, at least one of the pages.

Firefighter![X] who finds the first 3 and last 2 pages and nothing more an hour or so later, give or take, being confused by what it was until reading the title of the paper: “Engine Co. 219 Ladder 131, Brooklyn, New York City. Firefighter Jay Schlatt.”

Firefighter![X] who only doesn't want to read the whole amount of pages they have, but can't help themselves as they read their own name and Firefighter!Schlatt's message to them and sobs.

Firefighter![X] who reads through the whole thing and is left in tears by the end of his, moving to clean themselves up before consulting Firefighter!Schlatt.

Firefighter!Schlatt who is disturbed in the middle of falling asleep by Firefighter![X] clearing their throat in front of him, handing him the loose pages with a quiet "I think these are yours... sorry" before vacating the area as quick as the entered.

Firefighter!Schlatt who reads over the first words of one page before shoving them in his pocket, placing his hands over his face and hoping, at the very least, Firefighter![X] won't tell anyone.

Firefighter![X] who keeps their mouth sealed tight with no desire to share a word of what they read.

[sleepyy-27]

Heroes of courage

Chapter 1: darkness in the peace pt. 1

Page 4

Prev | next

IM SO SORRY I TOOK SO LONG WITH A SINGLE PAGE I HAD A LOT OF SCHOOL LAST WEEK AND A FEW OTHER THINGS THAT TOOK A LOT OF MY TIME TOO

(sorry if sounds like I’m making excuses I’ll try to get the next page out as soon as possible)

Sorry about the poor quality of the page and the horrible handwriting

Page transcript:

Old woman: little one, are you alright?

Link Oc POV: wait… those.. eyes.. why..?

Link Oc: Yeah.

Link Oc POV: I’ve never met her… yet.. she seems oddly familiar.

(This comic update was very short sorry)

[pbaz7]

Yayyy cute stuff! Excited

Anything Azzi wanted—or even thought about wanting—Paige made sure she had it.

- lovergirl

And, truthfully, even if Azzi didn’t ask, Paige would find a way to give it to her.

- beautiful

What she didn’t see were the seven texts Azzi had sent her. Or the three missed calls.

- oh p ur in trouble

Hey, Az,” Paige said quietly, her tone soft but unmistakably fond.

- soft little baby aww

What the hell, Paige?” Azzi cut her off, her voice reflecting her clear frustration. “We’ve had this planned for like two weeks!”

- Paige! Put a reminder in your phone!

There was a long pause on the other end before Azzi said quietly, “It’s whatever. I love you too.” And then the call ended.

- never end a phone call without an I love you!!

Paige didn’t respond, unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

- aw p dont beat yourself up

Paige’s heart sank when she noticed the faint redness around Azzi’s eyes, a clear sign she’d been crying. The sight was almost unbearable.

- aw Azzi my poor baby

Paige chuckled dryly, standing up. “Yeah, I got that.” As she walked to the door, she gestured lazily toward the flowers on the desk. “You should put those in water before they wilt.”

- oo this got a lil sass in it

The room was completely covered in flowers. Vases, bouquets—there were everywhere, sitting on her desk, lined up on the floor, spilling over onto her nightstand.

- Paige really cannot deal with Azzi being mad at her 😭😭😭

“I rented it for you.”

- my standards are made higher every single day

It was the kind of kiss that spoke louder than any words ever could, filled with love, forgiveness, and a promise to always be there for one another.

- actions and words!! 👏 👏

The two of them continued their private tour, hand in hand, stealing kisses between pieces of art and basking in the quiet intimacy of the night Paige had created just for them.

- l loved this! Manifesting this kind of love (minus the slight overconsumption and mini argument) for all of us!

Can’t wait to see what you do next! Keep me updated! If you haven’t guessed I love a warning before posts (: Hope everything worked out with you and your gf ❤️

- 🫂

paige being soft little baby and lover girl in this 🙂‍↕️

i physically cannot end a phone call without saying i love you like five times

“oo this got a lil sass in it”

yk paige sassy as hell

your standards should be through the roof and not in hell and i’ll make sure of it

ily 🫂

[its-a-me-mango]

(Two Cents Anon) Glad to see we got a response about the workplace allegations! Imo it seemed pretty solid and I kiiiinnda understand why he remained quiet for awhile.

HOWEVER, I still find it odd that Kevin or Luke haven't said anything about the whole situation with Celeste, which, iirc, was what started all of this. I hope they speak up about that soon- I just want her to get a real solid apology :( Also, speaking of the Celeste situation, it really does feel like the result of just. Assuming and jumping to conclusions. Still makes me feel... weird in regards to watching SMG4/Glitch Productions, so I'll continue abstaining from it.

Oh god hi anon so sorry for taking forever to answer, I've been mega busy the past week so everything's been slow as hell </3 I was also waiting at first to see if anything else will happen but things seemed to have quiet down a bit so I'll say something now.

I agree, Kevin's response was a pretty solid one, acknowledging what Glitch's current working situation is like while also acknowledging how it was in the pass definitely show some growth and change since then. I feel that a more dishonest approach would be to completely deny everything and worse yet, not address it at all. I do think the past criticisms are valid and shouldn't be disregarded now, but having a more even distribution between good and bad experiences really helps balance things out.

However I do agree though, the lack of a response to Celeste is definitely disappointing, I get the main focus of Kevin's response was to address the working conditions allegations, but this would've been the perfect time to say something. I mentioned before that Celestes' situation is probably more of a private matter unfortunately, in that any conversations are going to be between Celeste and Glitch privately.

It'll be up to them if they wish to share it publicly again, if they do or don't is up to them, I can only hope that Celeste gets a proper apology and some kind of closure privately at least, it's kinda one of those things that is more personal and therefore doesn't have to be shared publicly. I'm just glad she doesn't hold any ill will towards Lottie, as we know she's innocent in all this, I'll respect any decision that they make in regards to who keeps voicing Tari.

It's sad to think this whole situation started from poor communication, we can all sit here and say how easy this was to avoid because in all honesty, it was very easy to avoid. We can only hope that Glitch learns from this, but it sucks that this comes at the expense of loosing one of their first VA's, and subsequently all the others who quit too. I still genuinely wish all of them the best and that they can move onto greater things.

I do think Jasmine's apology is all we'll get unfortunately, but it's at least something.

I get what you mean about still not feeling comfortable watching Glitch, I'm still not entirely comfortable with it, but for me personally I'm probably gonna go back to watching them soon, even if this never gets fully resolved. Don't get me wrong, I'm still upset and disappointed with Glitch over this, but I do genuinely believe they can improve from this, I'm willing to give them another chance basically.

Part of my reasons to stop watching was because of the workplace conditions, I was under the assumption every single employee was horrifically overworked and underpaid, and I would take no comfort in watching something I knew was made under those conditions. But now that we have clarified that those claims are not entirely true (again maybe for in the past but definitely not as much now), I can take some comfort in that.

I will still 100% keep myself and everyone else here updated incase any new developments happen, but I do genuinely think this is all we're going to get unfortunately. Wether you can continue to watch Glitch or not is entirely up to you and as I've always said, I hold no judgement towards anyone, if you're not satisfied enough to keep watching them, thats fine and understandable.

I don't want anyone to think I'll be forgetting about this just because I'm gonna go back to watching and making content soon, and neither should anyone else forget about this, I just genuinely think Glitch can improve and change from this and I'm willing to give them a chance. Obviously if something like this happens again then I'm done, but I've seen enough accountability this time around (albeit kinda weak) to keep watching them for now.

That's all I'll say for now, I'm still happy to keep hearing from people about this, I don't want this to become "old drama", it's literally 2/3 weeks old now that's not old, I'm old, my back aches.