#every day my beliefs are solidified

[whumpfish]

Every memorial day I add more and more to my block list.

Empathy for people hurt in wars (spoiler alert: everybody gets hurt in wars) is not the same as justification of wars, of colonialism, of war crimes, of military-industrial complexes.

Yes, I'm an American with an uncle who was hurt in a war. Yes, it was, like all American wars save the Civil and second half of the World War, an unjust war. He got fucking drafted, and he and everyone else in that boat got nothing but PTSD and the cold shoulder from the government at fault for his troubles in the end. And guess what his political affiliation is?

If you said Republican, your ignorant ass is dead wrong. He's not as left as I am, but I'm a fucking anarchocommunist. Not super common among his generation in this country. Want to guess whether he supported that war or supports any wars after it?

If you said "yes," your ignorant ass is dead wrong again.

Fuck yes I respect my uncle. He helped shape my antiwar values and my sense of empathy and we got along great my whole life because we share those values. He is legitimately one of the kindest, gentlest people I've ever met. Unasked for involvement in an unjust war doesn't make him deserving of lifelong night terrors.

He's also a fucking human being. On that level I respect even your ignorant ass, and would feel sorry for and empathize with you if you came away from any life experience with PTSD. Because I have PTSD, and I wouldn't wish this shit on my worst enemy.

And on the subject of enlistment, Google Project 100,000 before you cast judgement even there. You don't have to be a draftee to be forced into participation. Sometimes your circumstances are enough. Also, it may shock some of you to hear but RECRUITERS LIE TO THE PEOPLE THEY GET TO ENLIST.

I hate this country and its government with a passion that burns with the fire of a thousand suns. I think it's fair to say most disabled people do. I don't blame other disabled people for policies that are designed to starve and kill us. I blame the fucking government that made them.

You shouldn't have to be an historian to possess the sense you were born with, but every memorial day, I increasingly find that apparently you do.

[kyber-crystal]

i will follow you into the dark || bradley "rooster" bradshaw

summary: your first instinct has always been to push people away when they get too close, but for some reason, you have trouble letting one pilot go. but little did you know that he had settled into your heart from the start and has no intention of leaving. (in which you have Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even notice—5 occasions that solidify your love for him, and 1 time you realize it)

words: ~3.3k

warnings: angst (BUT A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE), near-death experiences, brief mentions of violence, also my writing LMAO

a/n: hi guys i haven't posted a full-length fic in a LONG time but here we go :) this fic won the vote so it's going up first! hope you enjoy :)

I. meet me in the middle

“Mav!”

You and Maverick turned around at the same time. “Which one?”

“The pretty one,” Rooster stated. 

“Be more specific.”

“I am being specific, Captain.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Fine, I need your daughter.”

“You always need her for something.”

“Sorry, pops,” you grinned and clasped Maverick’s shoulder, and walked over to Bradley. “Come to kidnap me again, Bradshaw?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“Then…go eat? I don’t see what any of that has to do with me.”

“I’m going to dinner, and I want you to come along,” he explained. “So, let’s go.”

“Is that why Cyclone was grumbling about someone spilling coffee all over him earlier? I knew it had to be you that put him in that mood.”

“Doesn’t matter. Come on.”

You looked back at your father, who simply laughed and motioned for you to go. The test flight would have to wait. 

It was 5:30 when you got there, but the usually-crowded cantina had only one other person inside. Rooster didn’t hesitate as he set down his car keys and slid into the booth right next to you.

“There’s a seat right there,” you pointed out. 

“And?”

“You can sit over there.”

“I don’t want to, though.”

“Alright, then.” 

You weren’t even done for the day and already, felt tired and worn out beyond belief. The one thing that had been keeping you going was Maverick’s promise to take you on a Mach 7 test flight. (With the Admiral’s permission, of course. But you wouldn’t be surprised if he had never asked.)

Rooster tells the waitress your order without blinking, and you give him a tired smile as a thank you. 

There’s no animated conversation, no loud comments or jokes or anything of the sort as the food comes out, but neither of you mind. Sometimes, all you needed to cool down from a long week was each other’s company and a steaming plate of fajitas. 

The little routine you’ve established falls into place so easily you don’t even have to think. Impromptu dinners, blasting 80’s music as the sun goes down, taking the offbeat path down to the coast with salt in your windswept hair.  Little to no words spoken, and somehow the silence speaks volumes.

But you don’t understand why he’d choose you to do this with, out of everyone. You’d expect him to drift towards someone less damaged. Someone who could keep up to his free and daring spirit and push him to his limits. Someone who had less baggage and didn’t flinch at every little touch. 

But despite all that he doesn’t leave. Even when everyone else around you seemed to, he was always there, assuring you he’d wait no matter what.

“Don’t worry about it.” He places a gentle hand over yours as he hands his card over to pay later that evening. “Let me treat you tonight.”

“Thanks…” 

He holds the door open for you as you walk out and keeps a ghost of a hand against your back the whole way to the car. You’re trying to burrow into yourself, but he doesn’t stop looking at you. The feeling of his eyes on you sends shivers running down your spine and you nervously shift in your seat. 

“You okay?” Rooster places his hand on the headrest as he reverses out of the parking lot. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press any further, assuming that you’re tired and that’s why you’re unwilling to say much. He knows. He understands. “If you ever need to talk, though, I’m one call and a 15 minute walk away. Or 7, if I sprint.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “If you say so.”

II. waiting on you

As soon as you hop out of your plane, he’s the first one there to greet you and pulls you in for a hug. You have no time to react to it because he’s so quick to sweep you up into his arms. You can smell a mix of sweat and coffee and a little bit of raspberries on him, and it helps bring you back down to reality. 

“You saw me a few hours ago, Roos…please let me go…” you mumbled into his shoulder. His grip on you only tightens further. “What’s with the excitement?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”

Not knowing what else to do, your hands awkwardly reach up to pat him on the back. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Though you don’t say it out loud, you’re also just as happy to see him—it’s comforting to know he’ll be waiting whenever you return from something. And that, you think, is more than enough. 

Rooster carries your things for you without asking, and you’re grateful because your shoulders feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets. Once again, he’s standing close by as you go to your quarters, ever the watchman. If he doesn’t have a hand on you, then his eyes will stay glued to you for as long as they can be. 

“Is that my shirt?” he asks as you step out of the bathroom wearing an oversized vintage T-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

“No.”

“It looks better on you, anyway.” He smirks; you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit longer than normal. “You ready to go? They’re waiting for us at the Hard Deck. Hangman’s complaining about a rematch or somethin’.”

You lean into his side and smile, and he puts an arm across your shoulders. It feels so natural that you almost don’t notice. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

His eyes never leave you, even when he’s in the thick of the game. It’s impossible to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach every time his gaze flickers over to yours. 

Coyote notices your dazed look and nudges Payback in the side. “How is it that everyone knows that Bradshaw and Y/N love each other except Bradshaw and Y/N?”

“Because they’re stupid,” Payback whispered back.

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“So, we need to do something about it.”

“Hm…I’d say we wait it out. They’re going in the right direction.” A small smile graced Coyote’s face as Rooster pumped a fist up in victory before rushing over to embrace you. “A room full of people, yet all he sees is her.”

“You’re so right, man.”

III. rose-tinted glasses

“What are you looking for out there?” Rooster called out.

“Something pretty,” you replied as you stood by the ocean’s edge, the wind fanning your hair around your shoulders. He’s sure that he’s never seen a more mesmerizing sight. 

“I beat you to it, because I already found one,” he stated with confidence, eyes never leaving you.

“Where?”

“I’m looking right at her.”

“That’s not what I meant, silly. Do I look like a seashell to you?”

“No, you’re even better.”

You laugh once again and resume your search. Right then, a glowing scallop catches your eye, and sand dusts your clothes as you bend down to pick it up. It’s smooth and seems to glow in rose gold amidst the early evening light. 

“Would you look at that,” you breathed out, palm extended to show him what you’ve found. “It’s perfect.”

Rooster encloses his hand around yours, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s cold out but you’re not freezing at all because he’s so close. He’s so close. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Wow…it sure is.”

He kneels down with you, and you spend the next few hours making it a competition to see who can find the most unique set of stones. A strange feeling washed over you as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. Never had you imagined to be spending Thursday night with Bradley Bradshaw by the seashore, and yet, it feels like you’ve done this thousands of times before. 

Everything seems to fall into place. 

IV. for you, i’d cross the line 

“Y/N, hey.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter. Move over.”

You shifted on the bench to make room for him and he sat down next to you. This was probably his tenth time playing his rendition of ‘Great Balls of Fire’ but that didn’t matter; the man knew how to sing. You found yourself leaning into him and listening to his heartbeat, and the sensation lulled you into a peaceful trance. 

You took one good look at your best friend. Sweat lined his forehead and his face was bright red from both the alcohol and heat, but still, you were 100% sure that you’d never seen a more beautiful sight in your life. 

The way he seemed to gaze at you made your heartbeat pick up speed. It didn’t matter that he had too one too many drinks in the moments leading up to this, nor did it matter that he was always one to be rather affectionate with you. It didn’t make you love him any less—if anything, it made him all the more endearing. 

“You’re looking at me very…intensely,” you mumbled. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “A man can’t help it when he’s in love.”

“Was that tipsy you or sober you?”

“Sober me is saying I love you.” He continues playing, unfazed, and the sound of the piano in your ears fades away into nothingness. 

It’s drunk Rooster telling you he means what he says, the confidence boost making him do things he normally wouldn’t. It’s drunk Rooster attempting to serenade you as his warm, alcohol-riddled breath falls against your neck. It’s drunk Rooster talking…but there’s a sober truth hidden behind his words that sends a shiver down your spine. 

You’re nose-to-nose as he starts to sing, and you lose yourself in a sea of gold and blue as his warm thumb grazes over your cheek. As if there’s an invisible string drawing you together, you move closer and closer towards each other. Drunk or not, he was utterly enchanting and you couldn’t turn away.

Once again…you ignore the stirring feeling in your chest at the feeling of his body being so close to yours. 

V. saving grace

You find yourself opening the door to Rooster, who has a bouquet of your favorite flowers and some large Tupperware in hand. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you accept them and step aside to let him in. “What is this for…?”

“Thought you’d want something nice to add to the kitchen. You and Mav need to work on decorations,” he said. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No…I’m…how’d you know these were my favorite, anyway?”

“I heard you talking on the phone to Phoenix about them six months ago,” Rooster explained, taking his jacket off and hanging it over the couch. “I pride myself on being observant like that. Also…I woke up early to cook you that pasta you always go nuts over when we drive to LA.”

“Oh.” Your heart twinged as you glanced over—that damn pasta was your favorite thing on the entire planet. You claimed that nobody could make it as well as the diner in Newport did, except Bradley himself. (He didn’t tell you how many times it took to get it just right, though. He didn’t want you freaking out over that. And besides, Maverick’s pots and pans that he borrowed had already paid the price.)

He paused for a moment after setting the container down on the counter. “I noticed you went home early today. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied as you put the flowers in a vase. But that was no use; he could see right through your monotone response. “Didn’t sleep enough last night.”

Bradley sees your hands tremble slightly. “Sweetheart.”

That’s all he needs to say before you step forward and lean your head against his chest. One arm finds its way around your waist to pull you close, while his free hand smoothes your hair out. A cracked sob escapes your lips and you squeeze your eyes shut in the hopes that if you kept them closed long enough and prayed hard enough, a guardian angel would swoop in and save you. 

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t go, Bradshaw,” you begged, voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m right here, don’t worry,” he reminds you, his hand moving down to rub your back. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, I promise.” 

You reach your pinky out a bit, and the two of you link your fingers together. 

You’re never letting go, and neither is he. 

epilogue—soul ties 

“I’m trying to shake them off. They won’t let up—shit, I’m hit—”

His panicked voice cuts through the buzz of static and you can feel your whole body go numb. What if he doesn’t make it back… The thought alone is too much to bear. 

He curses under his breath and you hear something like that of a whispered prayer and several mentions of Please let me come home to her. Your heart clenches in your chest and you feel like you’re going to puke. Noticing your sudden uneasiness, Maverick grips your hand to keep you steady. 

“Bradshaw, what the hell is going on there?” Coyote nervously rubs at his forehead as he looks up at the screen. “If you die, we’re all going to kill you.”

“Left engine’s completely blown out. I have two bogeys on my tail.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until the tangy, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. This couldn’t be happening. There already was a ghost amongst the skies, and Rooster could not afford to become the second…

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, I’m going down, guys—” Rooster curses again, and the earsplitting sound of a large blast interrupts him before he can say much else. 

“Bradley!” you shrieked as you watched his radar signal slowly fade off the screen. “No—”

Silence punctures the air and you finally lose balance, succumbing to the black void of nothingness. 

—

10 hours later, you sit outside the hospital room in the cold hallway, a thin, tear-stained blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Hangman and Phoenix had long since given up on getting you to move, so they took turns sitting with you. 

“You should try eating. There’s In-N-Out nearby, I’ll get something for you if you want,” Jake offered. 

You shake your head. 

“Come on. It’s been all day.”

“No.”

“You’re really that worried about him, aren’t you.”

“No,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You claim to not care, yet you’ve been sitting here for the past ten hours.” 

“I don’t care. This is me looking out for him in the same way any colleague or teammate of his would. This is what I’m supposed to do. What we’re all supposed to do.” 

“Y/N.” Jake sounds a bit more serious this time, and this makes you stop trying to bury yourself within your thoughts. “Listen to me.”

“What,” you exhaled.

"The fact of the matter here is,” he cleared this throat, “Bradshaw cares about you…a lot. Not in a simple and innocent ‘friendly’ way. And if you keep pushing him away like you always do, all 'cause you're scared, you're gonna lose him for good. Losing a good man out of fear is never worth the cost."

Your heart stops.

Every hug, every word and cheesy pickup line, every lingering glance and touch and intertwined set of fingers—he'd fallen first long ago, and pulled you down with him. But you let him, and you'll walk to the ends of the earth if it means he'll hold your hand along the way. And that's when everything hits all at once—the realization comes crashing down like a waterfall. 

You were hopelessly in love with him, the man who brings you flowers every Friday night. In love with the man who holds the door open for you, gives you his favorite jackets, and stays up late or wakes up early to learn your favorite comfort meal (even if it means failing 17 times in the process and ruining Maverick's kitchen), the man who serenades you to classic rock ballads with the taste of rum on his lips. 

This was Rooster Bradshaw, and he was your soulmate.

“But I already lost him,” your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words to say, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That man is going to stay waiting for you until the day his body is buried six feet underground. Deny it all you want, but he’ll keep waiting long after he takes his last breath.”

You let out a long sigh and stood up. “Okay.”

You’re hesitant as you step inside the small hospital room. He’s asleep, but he must’ve sensed your presence and his eyes flutter open. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Bradley.” He moves over a bit for you, and you sit down next to him. “You’re alive.”

“Sorry for not dying. That must’ve disappointed you,” he jokes. If he’s in any sort of pain, he manages to mask it behind a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I waited ten hours.”

“You should’ve gone home and slept.”

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that you weren’t okay.”

He hums some tune against the crook of your neck; lips brushing over your skin. “But I came back, like I promised. I’m okay, because you are.”

Helovesmehelovesmehelovesme.

As if he could read your mind, he leans in just that bit closer. You look up at him and your heart somersaults in your chest. 

When your lips meet, everything clicks into place and it’s like you finally found the missing puzzle piece you’d been searching for. He was here all along; it made so much sense. Everything else fades away into the background as you get lost in the feeling of him and him alone. You knew from the moment he stuck out his hand and told you with a million-dollar smile “I’m Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, and I can make a mean lasagna or anything else you want,” that choosing him would be the single best thing you ever could’ve done. 

And you were most certainly right about that now. 

“I kept it, you know.” he murmurs as you eventually break away, “I didn’t think it would last as long as it did, but here it is.”

“What…what are you talking about?”

He fingers dip below the scoop of his T-shirt and he brings out the glittering charm, laying it in his hand. “You gave it to me ages ago. It was a while ago but I still remember the exact time and place. August 5th, 2010, 2:26 a.m. We were both on the verge of falling asleep.”

Your heart grows warmer. “Roos…”

Rooster opens the locket, and inside is a picture of you beaming as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. So young and so in love, but not yet knowing how you felt about each other. 

“I think this is what kept me alive up there. I was in the air long enough to think about and reflect on the fact that I was dying, but I knew I had to come home to you. I was dying, Y/N, but you saved me. If you didn’t come into my life right when you did then I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be telling you that I love you.”

He has you at a loss for words yet again. It didn’t matter that you’d known each other for years because he would always find a way to steal your breath. The once-tiny caterpillars crawling in your stomach had morphed into giant butterflies that never stopped fluttering when he came too close.

He leans in and he’s kissing you again; this time it’s like you’re his sole source of oxygen and he’s in desperate need of fresh air. Your grip on his hand tightens as he deepens the kiss, and you pray to God that your heart won’t explode into a million pieces like it did when you thought you wouldn’t see him again. 

I’ve died and come back to life twice now, Rooster tells himself. 

And both of those times, you’re the angel that magically appears to save him from a certain, unfortunate fate. 

tags, including people who may be interested (sorry if this list seems off, it hasn't been updated in a while hahah): @sarcastic-sourwolf @totomoshi @sebastianstangirl01 @purelyfiction @lunamoonbby @hazelgirl355 @multifandom-fangirl4 @paintballkid711 @buckysbeloved @lyn-lc @spawn0fsatan @milestomaverick @teacactusworld @cherry-waved @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @lam-ila @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @queenbbarnes @yeehawnana @t-stark35 @thesunsetphantoms @danirose-0420 @callalily2000 @the-untamed-soul @shizzybarnaclee @bananaa @luvfurdogs @shalaniela @unordinare @and-claudia @lgg5989 @katiemcrae @elenavampire21 @joyfullyswimmingface @nyx2021 @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vane28282 @bittergomez @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @whotfatemywaffles @hoedameronsworld @aerangi @julia-marshal @uwiuwi

(also if you filled out the general taglist form/top gun taglist form and you're not on here, that means i couldn't tag you for some reason)

[amaranthineghost]

| I CANT HELP BUT PUSH YOU AWAY, MY DEAR. SELF SABOTAGE IS ALL I KNOW ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: feeling loved is foreign to her, she wants to self sabotage, but he won't let her.

ꕥ authors note: I enjoyed this too much, probably one of my favorites I've written, not requested. side note, this will probably be the last thing i write because i work like 20 hours this weekend (including friday) plus another 15 hours next week(not including sunday) so i'll be busy with work and school, but i'll try my best to get some writing done. I suspect i'll be working more because of christmas being close, but we'll see! thanks for all the support <3

if anyone has any christmas requests for any driver, PLEASE i would love to write it :3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of anxiety and overthinking and everything that comes with it, as well as struggles eating caused by anxiety, partially unrevised.

GIVING LOVE WAS EASY. receiving it felt too good to be true. giving love was easy when she'd spent her entire adolescence handing it out like a warm beverage on a cold day. it was always up for grabs, and people always wanted to take it for granted.

the idea of love was something she'd daydream about daily, craving it in a way she didn't believed she deserved. giving her love away was easy because she had lots to give. she'd trust easily, but not at the same time. she'd give her heart, but not her mind and that's how she'd end up hurting.

she longed to be loved. she swore every single love language was hers, but she'd realize how often she'd crave a single touch from the man she wanted. physical touch was always the one she longed for.

love was hard to believe. she was surrounded by it, but she never had it on the level others had.

she longed to be loved, but could she handle being loved? she knew she couldn't from past, failed relationships that failed because of her. because all it took was one relationship to break her trust for the rest to follow.

it was hard to trust that relationship to begin with, anxiety ate her away with every waking moment. she didn't believe she deserved to receive love in return of giving hers away. countless times her friends told her that he didn't deserve the love she gave him, it was best that she found out who he really was, but it destroyed her.

because now when any man showed any slight interest in her, she'd recede with heaps of anxiety.

growing up, from a kid to a teenager, she was never told she was pretty or attractive. she never had the attention from the right guys to make her feel it too. she knew she didn't need guys to tell her things to make her feel better, but she wanted them to. she'd watch her friends find solid relationships, or go between guys. she couldn't find one.

it solidified her belief that maybe she wasn't deserving. being loved was so foreign to her, she didn't know how it felt to be loved in the right way.

after all, all she knew was heartbreak and self-sabotage.

when she'd finally found her first relationship, she'd swallow the looming anxiety that bubbled in the pit of her stomach. because someone wanted to be with her. she'd give them all her heart, she'd give them her trust.

but a relationship laced with infidelity was bound to burn. and so it did. it set a fire greater than she could've put out by herself. because deep inside, it still burned in her heart. it ruined her. now she couldn't comprehend the idea of trusting someone on such a level as a relationship. being genuinely loved by someone other than herself, but even she couldn't. she didn't deserve it. because what others couldn't see in her, she couldn't see in herself.

every other 'relationship' that followed failed. they burned before they even got a chance to ignite into something else. something good, and or something bad.

because she'd never let them get close enough to have her trust. she wasn't the type to easily communicate her feelings towards another individual, pushing it into the deepest depths of her heart and mind. for her and her only.

growing up, her feelings were often stepped on or put out. she'd get called a cry baby, or no one would even care to listen. it's one of the reasons her self sabotages work so well.

she wouldn't communicate, a key component to the formula for a relationship. because what goods a relationship that you know nothing about. what goods a relationship that she's miserable in because she's too scared and untrusting to let someone through to her heart again.

it was a miracle she even managed to date him, let alone meet him in the first place. he was famous, she was her. one of the reasons she didn't think the relationship was going to go as far as it did.

because she'd constantly compare herself to his former lovers. pretty models with perfect features, famous like him.

but the attraction between the two was undeniable, even she had to admit. when they'd lock eyes for the first time, she felt that same anxiety. she always felt it when faced with anything that could be more than just a friendship. but he was different because not only was the feeling of anxiety present, the feeling of wanting more, longing.

though with every notification, she found herself praying it wasn't him, not because she didn't like him because dear god, he was probably the most attractive man she's ever seen. but because she didn't know how to talk to someone with the intention of being more than friends.

it was so vastly different than if she was texting to become friends. she couldn't imagine going from barely knowing each other, to hanging out, to dating.

because it meant she had to trust the person. she'd have to trust herself, and she didn't know if she could handle it.

she found herself struggling to reply within a message that didn't seem too dry, but not giving her burning heart away like charity. she was never good at it.

but when random texts throughout the day turned to late night conversations over the phone, to falling asleep on facetime calls, she knew she was in too deep.

especially when they'd hung out for the first time. they had a magnetic energy pulling one another together, like they couldn't and wouldn't be separated. neither of them wanted to.

but she didn't know what to tell him. she didn't know how to express her feelings when she's forced herself to keep quiet for as long as she can remember. she didn't know how to tell him she needed words of reassurance because her anxiety was her mortal enemy.

it wasn't like she couldn't trust him, she knew she could. but her mind made every possible way that he couldn't be trusted by her. it was always in her thoughts.

self sabotage seemed like the better alternative than spilling her heart and hurt to him, or overthinking every way that this would be a bad thing because there's no way he could be good to her.

when the days of anxiety got particularly worse after they'd started dating, he'd notice the times when she'd shy from his touch. he noticed her lips more irritated than usual from the consistent biting, or how short her nails became. how little she ate, and how much she'd pick at her food, pushing it around the plate till it got cold.

days like those, he did what he could with what he knew, which seemed like nothing. but he'd never fail to say something that he'd hoped would make her feel better.

and it did, at least a little.

as she laid on her back in his bed, her eyes stared into the dark of his room. her stomach rolled with the nauseous feeling that came with her anxiety, and biting her lip became a routine. her head turned to see the back of his. lando's curly hair, the chain around his neck, his bare shoulders and back. a sight to see, especially in the dark.

she'd spent countless nights awake long after he falls asleep, each time she'd carefully reach for his phone. she knew it was wrong, but she needed reassurance, and she didn't want to ask for it. but his phone was password protected, something she was too scared to even hint at.

so it became a routine. stay up well past when he'd fallen asleep, slipping his phone in her hand and simply trying a few passcodes she could think of that might work. to no avail, she'd place the phone right back, trying to make it seem like it never moved.

his phone had face id, she knew but it always seemed too risky, even for her. but she was desperate. she needed to know even when in her heart, she knew there wasn't a chance of infidelity. but her heart was charred and still in flames, so it wasn't enough.

she'd hold his phone in her hand, sliding across the cold phone case that'd matched hers. her heart beat in her chest as she slowly turned closer.

her body loomed over his, her arm snaking in front of his tired face, desperately trying for face id. she knew it'd be too dark, but this was the only time she'd actually try something. she saw the screen illuminate his face slightly, but not enough.

" 'm password's your birthday," his words slurred because of his tiredness, but nonetheless she heard him and she froze. he knew she'd been trying to get into his phone? for how long?

her mouth was dropped open and she slowly retreated the phone, though the rest of her body in shock. her feelings were conflicting. it never occurred to her that his password would be about her. because in her mind, she wasn't important enough for that.

with her breath held, sweaty palms and shaky hands, her fingers danced across the number pad, entering the date.

it worked, her eyes flickering back to him. the fact he was so willing was already enough to calm her because if it was any of her past situationships, she'd be sure they wouldn't be so forgiving if they found her with their phone. it was a deal breaker in the past.

but the way he just didn't care was nearly enough for her. at this point, she just wanted a peak, and that's all she did.

when she reassured her heart, she'd slid his phone back on his bedside table. she laid back down on her side, thoughts running through her mind at a million miles. she turned to him once again, slipping her arms around his midsection. she felt the warmth of his back spread across her chest, pressing her cheek against his skin and fluttering her eyes shut. for so long, she'd craved touch, being held by someone she was in love with.

she'd remember the last feeling she felt before slipping into a warm slumber, the sensation of his smooth and callused hand around her wrist, his thumb caressing her skin softly. she'd smirk against his back.

when morning came, she didn't know what to expect. most of the time, she wouldn't even make it through the night before she was kicked out, forced to go back home. because to them, it was much easier to force her out than to have a conversation with her. she didn't know which one she'd prefer though.

because what she didn't expect was waking up to the sun in her face, leaking through the curtains and spilling across the bed. she'd found her way to the other side of his bed, lying on her stomach with his arm across her back. her hands found their way to his wrist, feeling the multitude of bracelets between her fingers. she examined the difference between them, the fancy designers to handmade ones from his fans.

though mostly silver, there was an odd gold one that stood out, it caught her attention. the corners of her lips twitched into a smile as she separated it from the rest on his wrist. though it was mostly a simple thin chain, it had a bar with the designer name on it. she'd liked it. it was simple and pretty.

she heard the bed rustle next to her, she dropped the bracelet back down on his wrist, her head turning to watch him go from lying on his stomach to pressing his chest against her back. though his eyes still closed, he'd press his face into her neck tiredly. the hand that she'd played with grabbed hers while his other arm snaked around her shoulder and across her chest.

"you can have it, if you want," he muttered against her skin, sending chills down her spine and vibrations through her skin as she inhaled sharply. she watched him bring his hands close together, unclasping the simple bracelet.

"you don't have to, lando-" she stuttered, assuring him it was fine, but he was stubborn. he'd shush her, lifting his head to find her wrist as he'd place it around it.

" 'ts fine," he told her, "pretty girls should have pretty bracelets," he whispered against her shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin. he'd tuck the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. she felt his breath against her, shuddering.

"are you sure?" she questioned, her voice barely above a whisper when she'd look into his green eyes, watching how his pupils change size. she now laid facing him with her arm under her, supporting her weight.

she was scared it was some sort of bribe, that he'd ask her to do something in return, or that it'd be a thing to use for her to overlook something he'd done.

he nodded, studying every feature of her face. every mole, freckle and blemish, every lash on her eyelid, noticing how some crossed over the other.

"y'know we need to talk, yeah?" his tone was gentle, the rasp of his morning voice melted her brain. her heart paused, her eyes dancing across his face as he waited for an answer. his head tilted to the side.

she brought her hand to her face, biting at the flesh around her nails nervously. she felt anxiety creep over her body, tummy churning with unease. she just nodded back, unknowing of what to say.

" 'm not mad, love," he brought his hand to her face, the pads of his fingers running across her cheek, slipping into her hair, "jus' want to know what's goin' on."

the way his voice was so warm and inviting, with the slight rasp in his throat, causing a dip in his voice with every hushed word he spoke, it caused shivers across her body.

her lips parted, but no words left her throat. she pursed them together before thinking of what to say. she'd whisper back to him, "I jus' don't know how to tell you."

his head tilted even more, feeling his fingers scratch her scalp softly, "tell me what?"

"how I feel."

he felt a pang in his heart as he heard her words, the hurt laced into her voice as she watched his face closely, "how do you feel?"

she hesitated, looking at her hand nervously, finicking with the new bracelet on her wrist when he'd carefully push her chin up to meet his face.

she sighed, biting her cheek, "I feel," she started, "like I don't deserve to be loved."

she'd watch his eyes soften at her words, the expression on his face growing sadder the more he processed what she said.

he shook his head, "you do deserve it, darling, m'kay?" he leaned closer, his forehead against her, "I don't know how many times I'll need to say it for you, but I will because it's true."

his words sunk into her skin, her mind, her heart still set afire all these years later. she couldn't extinguish it by herself, but he could.

the fire that burned in her heart started to diminish with every word, with every sentence of affirmation from him. it told her she could spill her guts to him and he'd be there to simply listen. she needed that so desperately.

"I'll tell you anything you want to hear," he sat up more on the bed, his head stretching above hers, "but we need to work together on this." his hand pulled from her hair and lined across her jaw.

she nodded, sighing softly as she looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, her tongue gliding across her cracked lips with a stinging pain.

"I jus' get really anxious, and then I start to overthink," she started so easily and without realizing, she couldn't stop.

she'd spill all her trust on him and he'd pick it up and lock it safely with him. because he'd die than betray her trust, after they'd worked so hard to make this work.

he'd see the fire ablaze in her heart and body and put it out in a matter of a few words when it took her years to even lessen the hurt.

he'd restore her charred heart, picking away at the blackness that plagued it. picking her mind apart from the bad and making her realize what she needed all along.

he put out her fire.

[stil-lindigo]

Hello, very confused and overwhelmed outsider here. Looking at posts here and on news sites I see such pradoxical views, one saying to not support Palestine is to support genocide and the other saying to not support Israel is to be antisemitic. I wonder, and I am going around asking people on different sides of the war, do you believe it is possible to support both the lives of Palestinian people and the lives of Jewish people?

Feel free to ignore this ask or to point out any ignorance on my part. I hope you have some peace in your day/night, I can only imagine how stressful it is to have so many people asking so many serious questions.

hi anon. I’m gonna try to make this is as concise as possible, since I’m technically writing this on my lunch break. Yes, it is possible and in fact very easy to support the lives of Palestinian and Jewish people because - and this is the important part - Israel and Zionism is not Judaism. Depending on who you may ask, Zionism began as a pure-hearted desire for Jewish people post-WW2 to create a place that would always unequivocally be safe for Jews, but as I am not Jewish myself I feel like any description I might give comes off as insincere and not fully grasping the scope of that mission. But no matter what Zionism once was, it is now the belief that Jewish people have the right to commit genocide against indigenous population so that they can establish their ethno-state. And you can split hairs all you like, but after the past four months, my belief in that has only solidified.

Perhaps the strongest opposition to Israel comes from Jewish people themselves, who’ve popularized “not in my name” as a protest chant. Holocaust survivors have come out in droves to protest the actions of Israel, and they’re often the strongest front of any protest action since - yes, you’re right - mainstream news is very committed to selling the idea that this “war” is Jews vs Muslims which is just inflammatory racist garbage. There’s more to it than I can easily get into right now, but just for a start, it completely erases the existence of Palestinian Jews or Palestinian Christians, and also ignores Israel’s historically abusive and degrading treatment of their own Holocaust survivors in their population.

This “war” is not a war. It’s a genocide, where the total amount of bombs dropped on Gaza is officially over twice the impact of a nuclear bomb. One side is asking for a stop the fighting, for aid to be allowed through, they are asking for clean water and food as their women have been forced to rip off scraps off tents to use as menstrual products. One side has had all 35 their hospitals bombed (a war-crime the first time, and it continues to be a war crime every time it still happens), over 100 of their journalists have been targeted and murdered (more journalists than were killed in all of WW2, and btw this is also a war crime). And the other side films TikTok’s levelling apartment buildings, looting houses, kicking Palestinian hostages, stripping them naked and urinating on them. Israel has rained white phosphorus down on Palestine, they have bombed Palestine indiscriminately, they have destroyed archives, historical locations, they have done their best to rob Palestinians of their dignity and empathy and still, they’re not done.

Oh and the excuse that they’re just doing all of this to save the hostages? Hamas offered them all back in exchange for a ceasefire. And the Israeli prime minister, Netanyahu, said no.

In the future, try to get your news from trusted news sources like Al Jazeera, and following journalists on the ground like Bisan and Motaz.

[cameronspecial]

Could you make a one shot where the reader grew up with a very loving family (especially her dad) and rafe surprises her with gifts, activities and acts of service that she loves. She gets confused and asks him what’s with the stuff. He says that he’s recently been spending lots of time with her parents and always asks them what reader likes to show that he can meet the bar her dad has set. (And maybe slip in something on how he’ll set his bar with their future daughters and their boyfriends 😈🥹). I always look forward to reading ur work and I just wanted to finally ask cuz you write everyone’s requests so well!!

Setting The Standards

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Y/N loves that Rafe likes to spend time with her parents without her. She finds it sweet that he takes time out of his day to get to know the other people she loves and thinks it is good for him to be around a family that actually treats him with love and attention. Every time Rafe visits her parents, she notices he gives her a gift and does one more chore around the house the way she likes it. A part of her feels like he is trying to condition her, but it wouldn’t really make sense because he is the one doing the visiting. 

One day, she decides to ask him about it. Her parents spent the day with Rafe at her and his shared house while she was at work. They had to leave before she got home because they had to get to her brother’s house to babysit her niece. She places her purse on the side table and pads to the living room. She isn’t surprised to find a box wrapped in flower-patterned wrapping paper and a bow. She approaches it with a smile, tearing into it as soon as she is within arms reach of it. Her instinct to wait for Rafe goes out the window. She didn’t expect to find ketchup chips in the box. Her parents must have told him about how she became obsessed with the snack when they vacationed in Canada a few years ago. Her hands eagerly reach for the bag and pull it open, shoving the red potato slices into her mouth. She moans at the sweet taste that reaches her taste buds. Rafe enters the room with a chuckle, “I see you like the snack I got you.” His feet take him behind her and he reaches into the bag to pop a chip into his mouth. She stares up at him with a smile. “I did. Thank you. What were you doing?”

“I was switching out your winter clothes with your summer ones. The weather is getting warmer so it’s time for flower patterns and shorts, Bumblebee.” He kisses her cheek with his arms around her waist. Butterfly erupts in her stomach. She hates changing between her closets. It takes forever and is so tedious.

“Aww, thank you, Baby. It means a lot that you do all this for me.” She rests her hands on his and they sway for a little until she gets the courage to ask what she has been wanting to ask. “So… I have noticed that whenever you are with my parents, I get gifts and your acts of service are more tailored towards me. I was wondering why.” 

They freeze and he caresses her forearms. “One reason why I love spending time with your parents is that I get to learn small stuff about you that you may not see as important to me. It helps me make you happy and that’s my mission in life.” 

She awws and kisses his cheek, “That’s so sweet, Baby. I wish I could do those things for you.” He brings his hand up to her cheek as a reassurance. “You may not know it, but just being here for me is enough, Bumblebee. Plus, how am I supposed to show our daughter how she should be treated if I don’t lead by example? Because both of you are meant to be treated like queens. I’m just setting the standards.” A heat spreads over her cheeks at the mention of their possible future. It solidifies her belief that he will make a great father one day. “You are going to set the standards so high for her that she will recognize that she only deserves to be married to a king,” Y/N adds. “Thank you for everything that you do for me.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[moon7jay]

Today's live solidified my belief that Jay would LOVE himself a chubby girlfriend, like the way that teddy was triggering his cuteness agression throughout the live, YOU CANNOT TELL ME HE WON'T BE BURYING HIS FACE IN YOUR FLESH EVERY CHANCE HE GETS

He's definitely the type of boyfriend who kisses and makes out with your cheeks more than your lips. Don't get him wrong he loves your lips but your cheeks are so munchable he has an intense urge to to nibble and eat you 24/7

Also the type to pull u on his lap forcefully. Cuz you're chubby so u don't feel very comfortable sitting on him cuz what if you're too heavy but when u do mention that to him...oh boy he sees red. How dare u even entertain that idea?? Do u have no clue how holding u close and feeling u on top of him where he can touch you freely, caress your soft skin and bury his nose in your hairs is literally all he's living for??

Will also be obsessed with your thighs, I don't make the rules. It's something he can't control. Biting, squeezing, nibbling? He's been there, done that.

Doesn't care if u suffocate him he needs u to sit on his face, fingers digging into your plush thighs, squeezing his head in between,tongue buried deep in your creamy pussy. swear to god he almost cums in his pants every damn time

He's addicted to the feeling of your soft curves against his hard and lean body cuz jay is all sharp edges and hard muscle but u r the literal definition of soft and squishy. He NEEDS you under him at least once a day, cuz why's he even alive if he can't be inside of your gummy walls and make love to you??

If he can't grope your softness and make you squirm, he might as well just quit on life.

[shitsndgiggs]

a kenan fanfic in where he is rumoured to be dating another model which leads to yn, becoming insecure and believing that he is cheating on her because she went abroad to study for a few months. maybe like she blocks him or something and he flies out to her?

DO BETTER - KENAN YILDIZ

In which you think that he is cheating

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

The news hit me like a punch to the gut. Sitting in my tiny dorm room, thousands of miles away from home, I stared at my phone screen, unable to process what I was seeing.

Pictures of Kenan with another model were plastered all over social media, accompanied by headlines suggesting that they were dating.

My heart sank, and insecurity gnawed at my insides. Was it true? Was Kenan cheating on me while I was abroad studying?

I tried calling him, needing to hear his voice, but he didn’t answer.

Each missed call only fueled my fears. In a moment of frustration and heartbreak, I blocked his number, cutting off any means of communication between us.

The following days were a blur. I threw myself into my studies, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy and sadness that tightened my chest every time I thought of Kenan.

But the rumors and photos kept surfacing, making it impossible to focus.

The feeling of betrayal grew, and I started to believe that our relationship was over.

He hadn't even bothered to explain or reassure me. Maybe he didn't care anymore.

A week passed, then another. Each day without hearing from Kenan solidified my belief that he had moved on.

I tried to convince myself to do the same, but my heart wouldn’t let go. My friends noticed my distress, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth.

It was too painful to admit that the man I loved might have betrayed me.

Three weeks later, I was sitting in my dorm room, attempting to study, when there was a knock at the door.

Sighing, I pushed my books aside and went to answer it. My heart stopped when I saw Kenan standing there, looking exhausted and worried.

“Kenan?” I gasped, unable to believe my eyes.

“Y/N, please, can we talk?” he pleaded, his eyes searching mine.

I stepped back, letting him in. He closed the door behind him and immediately took my hands in his. “I flew here as soon as I could. Those rumors, those photos—they’re all lies. I would never cheat on you.”

“Then why were you with her?” I demanded, my voice trembling with hurt and anger.

Kenan sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “It was a charity event. She was just a date for the evening, nothing more. The media twisted it into something it wasn’t.”

I pulled my hands from his grasp, pacing the small room. “It’s hard to believe you when I’m so far away and all I see are those pictures.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice full of regret. “I should have been more transparent with you. I should have called and explained everything.”

“But you didn’t,” I shot back, tears welling up in my eyes. “You left me to find out through gossip and headlines.”

Kenan stepped closer, gently tilting my chin up so I had to look at him. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I was trying to protect you from the stress and drama, but I ended up hurting you instead. Please, believe me when I say that you are the only one for me. I love you.”

I searched his eyes, finding the sincerity and desperation there. My anger began to dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming relief that he was here, that he cared enough to fly halfway around the world to see me.

“I’m sorry too,” I whispered. “I should have given you a chance to explain before shutting you out.”

Kenan pulled me into a tight embrace, kissing the top of my head. “We both made mistakes. Let’s not let this come between us. You mean everything to me, Y/N.”

We stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the distance and doubt melting away.

Over the next few days, Kenan and I spent every moment we could together, rebuilding the trust that had been shaken. He took me out to dinner, where we talked and laughed for hours.

We walked through the city, exploring little shops, holding hands and stealing kisses.

One evening, as we lay in bed, Kenan turned to me, his expression serious. “I know I’ve been busy with football and it’s been hard being apart, but I promise to do better. I’ll make sure you never doubt my love for you again.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his words. “I believe you, Kenan. And I’ll work on trusting you more. We’ll get through this, together.”

[allaboutthemoonlight]

How to Develop the Habits You Want and Stick to Them ✨

I recently listened to a podcast discussing developing the habits you want and ensure they stick. As someone who’s been recently struggling with consistent habit adherence, I wanted to share some of the insights I gathered and talk about what’s been helping me lately.

The Importance of a Goal vs a System:

In a world where goals are often the big picture, it's crucial to recognize the transformative potential of systems. Scott Adams once said, "If you do something every day, it’s a system. If you're waiting to achieve it someday in the future, it's a goal."

Goals are outcomes, systems are the daily habits that lead to that.

Systems enable longevity and continuity, while goals are only momentary. Changing your behavior and integrating systems into your leds to continual progress and applicable results.

When you have a goal or habit in mind, develop a system around it so you can continuously work towards it.

For example, if your goal was to lose 20 pounds in 3 months, the system would be implementing a daily exercise routine and adopting healthier eating habits.

The system, unlike the goal, can be maintained and adjusted over time, leading to long-term progress and success.

Constantly Ask Yourself These Questions:

What kind of days do I want to live?

This prompts you to reflect on your ideal lifestyle and the type of experiences you want to have on a daily basis. It helps you set intentions for how you want to spend your time and what activities or pursuits bring you fulfillment.

2. How do I want to show up in the world?

This encourages self-awareness and introspection about your values, character, and the impression you want to leave on others. It allows you to consider how you want to behave, interact with others, and contribute to the world around you.

3. Am I living by my values and beliefs?

This gives you the opportunity to evaluate whether your actions align with your core values and beliefs. If they don’t, something needs to change. Really take the time to think about the choices you make and whether they are in accordance with what truly matters to you.

I like to do a weekly review every Sunday where I look back on my week and see what I’ve accomplished, where I could improve, celebrate my wins, etc. Every quarter or so, I’ll ask myself these three questions and reflect on my life.

Mirror Your Environment To Enable The Habits You Want To Develop

Your environment aids in the habits that you currently have or want to acquire. You need to change your environment to either break a bad habit or acquire a n

Make the habits you want to stick obvious enough so that there’s no friction in the transition process.

For example, if you want to start reading more books, you would start by placing a bookshelf in a prominent area of your home or room. This makes the habit of reading more obvious since the books are easily accessible, allowing you to pick one up whenever you have free time.

Surround Yourself With People That Also Take Part In The Habits You Desire

Being around like-minded individuals provides a support system and accountability network.

When you see others consistently practicing the habits you want to have, it can inspire and motivate you to stay committed.

Being part of a community that values the same habits creates an encouraging environment and helps you to solidify these aspiring habits as integral parts of your routine.

——————————————————————————————————

Developing the habits you desire is not just about setting goals but also about creating systems, aligning with your values, and leveraging your environment and social circle. Continue to focus on the systems in your life over goals, asking reflective questions, and surrounding yourself with supportive individuals.

—Luna <3

——————————————————————————————————

[anemoiashifts]

how to detach for reality shifting.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ stop putting your dr on a pedestal.

we’ve heard this before but really. i mean it.

im going to assume if you’ve wanted to shift you’ve asked people what it is, asked shifting creators other questions, looked into theories. you were trying to expand your knowledge by looking for answers outwardly. looking for information isn’t a bad thing, but obsessing over what shifting is / isn’t can make shifting harder because your focused on the “what-if’s” & not living as you are. deciding to set out & rationalize shifting & policing others can be detrimental in your journey. this is why i say, i don’t care what shifting is because it’s something. & that should be enough.

the truth is, there is no 10000% concrete proof that shifting is this or that. there is no experiment that solidifies one theory or another, demeaning it as “correct”. they’re all just theories for a reason. so stop trying to rationalize is. find comfort in the unknown. in my opinion, that is the first thing needed in detachment. the letting go & elimination of overthinking how something works & just allowing it to work within time.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ “ill shift & things will be better. ill be happy, ill accomplish this. ill be better.”

your reality is a mirror of your thoughts & internal world. if you’re someone who thinks “this world is awful” you will subconsciously search for things that affirm those beliefs. i saw this example before & i think it really drives this thought home. if you see yourself in the mirror & notice your lipstick got on your teeth, you’re going to wipe it off your teeth. meaning, the mirror didn’t change. you did.

looking for external validation may unintentionally self-sabotage because you are not in the feeling of having it. you are searching for it which is you reminding yourself you do not have it yet.

don’t put off your happiness. allow yourself to feel everything you’re expecting in your dr at this moment. neville goddard once suggested the practice of living your life & imagine what it would be like if you had your desire. continue your imagination with the mindset that you’ve already shifted / manifested / achieved everything you’ve ever wanted until it shows in the 3d, when you are in full alignment. you are focusing on your desire, thus you will recognize it more & watch it show itself in your exterior. the 3d is a mirror to the mind.

���˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ so how do we detach ?

there is no step by step, how to guide. in its simplest terms detaching is accepting & not obsessing over an outcome (when it comes, how you will achieve it) because you know it’s yours already. detaching doesn’t mean not caring or not thinking about our manifestations or —in this case— our desired realities. it means not overthinking your desires.

detaching is ultimately trusting yourself & the universe. that everything will work out in your favor no matter what.

you must change yourself before anything else. once the concept of self is changed, everything else in your life will follow. you decide what you are worthy of. you decide what life you want to live. you are the only one who can truly define yourself. every one else, every other person you have come across, only has their assumption & interpretation of you.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

i want to take a moment to speak about timing. there is no set time your manifestation will come. everyone attracts at different rates. it takes some people days to shift for the first time, it takes others months and some it can take years. patience & persistence is vital in manifesting.

example. some people are able to solve math problems really fast & get every answer correct on exam. while others need more time to preform at the same rate as the students who are able to complete their work faster. the quality of the work is the same. vs if the person who needed more time on math exams rushed through every single problem resulting in getting the answers wrong. everyone goes at their own pace & that’s okay.

a second example. let’s say your baking a cake. you put in all the ingredients correctly, you have to correct sized pan. but when it comes to baking it — let’s say 45 minutes — you keep opening the oven door to check on it every minute. it’ll never cook. you have to give things time & the seeds you’ve planted time to grow.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

[reaper2187]

Arlecchino x reader

In the tranquil abyss of the House of Hearth, where shadows danced and embers flickered, there lived a formidable duo, Arlecchino and you. Arlecchino, the enigmatic leader of her loyal children, carried an aura of authority that commanded respect. While you, her steadfast second in command, exuded a warm and nurturing presence that enveloped the young minds within the safe confines of their clandestine abode.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, ominous shadows across the towering walls of the Snezhnayan palace, Arlecchino summoned you to her secluded sanctum. Her voice, soft yet firm, filled the dimly lit chamber. 'My most trusted confidante, I have a delicate matter that requires your attention.'

Stepping into her private chambers, you were greeted by the faint scent of parchment and the flickering glow of dying embers in the fireplace. Arlecchino sat at her desk, poring over a pile of documents with an intensity that hinted at the gravity of the task at hand.

'My children,' she began, her piercing gaze meeting yours, 'have been restless of late. Rumors of discontent have reached my ears, and I believe it is time for us to address their concerns.'

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. 'I have noticed a subtle shift in their demeanor as well,' you replied. 'It is imperative that we act swiftly to quell any potential unrest.'

Together, you delved into the intricacies of your children's grievances, carefully analyzing each complaint and identifying the underlying reasons for their discontent. The children, you discovered, yearned for greater purpose and a more active role in shaping their own destinies.

Arlecchino listened intently, her keen mind absorbing every nuance of your analysis. 'Your insights are invaluable, my dear,' she said. 'Together, we shall devise a plan to address their concerns and reinvigorate their spirits.'

In the days that followed, you and Arlecchino worked tirelessly behind the scenes, crafting a strategy that would not only meet the needs of your children but would also strengthen the House of Hearth as a whole. You proposed a series of training exercises and missions that would challenge their abilities and foster their growth.

Arlecchino, with her unrivaled tactical prowess, refined your plan, ensuring that it would not only test their physical and mental limits but also instill in them a profound sense of accomplishment.

As the plan took shape, you couldn't help but marvel at the depth of Arlecchino's understanding of her children. She knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately, and her unwavering belief in their potential inspired you to strive for excellence in your own leadership role.

The day of the training exercises arrived, and the children of the House of Hearth assembled in the courtyard, their young hearts filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. You and Arlecchino stood side by side, your presence a beacon of guidance and support.

As the exercises commenced, you watched with pride as your young charges tackled each obstacle with determination and resolve. Arlecchino's eagle-eyed gaze scanned the scene, her approval evident in her silent observation.

Through grueling trials and arduous challenges, the children pushed themselves to their limits, discovering hidden strengths and forging unbreakable bonds. The atmosphere crackled with a collective sense of accomplishment and newfound purpose.

As the final exercises came to an end, you and Arlecchino retired to the solitude of her sanctum. 'Our plan has been a resounding success,' she said, her voice tinged with quiet satisfaction.

'The children have risen to every challenge, proving their worth and unwavering loyalty,' you replied. 'Their spirits have been reignited, and their belief in our cause has been solidified.'

In that moment, you realized that your bond with Arlecchino had grown stronger than ever before. Together, you had not only guided the children of the House of Hearth to a path of growth and fulfillment but had also forged an unbreakable covenant of trust and respect.

As the embers in the fireplace danced and flickered, you turned to face her, your heart filled with gratitude and admiration. 'Arlecchino,' you whispered, 'I am eternally grateful for your unwavering leadership and the profound privilege of serving by your side.'

A faint glimmer appeared in her eyes, a rare hint of vulnerability breaking through her stoic facade. 'And I, my dear confidante,' she replied, 'am eternally indebted to your wisdom, empathy, and unwavering support.'

In the hushed stillness of the chamber, your gazes met, sparks of unspoken understanding passing between you. It was a moment of profound connection, a testament to the unbreakable bond that had formed between the enigmatic leader and her trusted second in command.

[arilynnia]

I just want to come on here and make something clear for you, whether you voted red, blue, or neither. Yesterday, I saw a comment on TikTok where someone stated that they want Trump dead, and every time I see a political video all the comments are hate comments. In social media, this has become a major problem, and an even bigger one in regards to politics. And yes, I know that hateful comments around politics didn’t start with social media, but it needs to be addressed.

If you voted for Trump and leave hate comments, you are proving our points. If you voted Harris and are leaving hate comments, you are the problem as well. In politics you are looking for people to agree with your stances so that whomever you wanted voted in gets voted in correct?

Is it also not a known fact that a very large percentage of voters are not educated in the people they’re voting for. I mean doesn’t a large amount of conservatives believe that in regards to gen z voting for Harris, as well as younger generations in regards to elderly voters. If that’s what you believe then why are you leaving hate comments instead of educating?

When you leave a hate comment you are further solidifying the idea that your party is in the wrong. While at the same time there are people finding those who are uneducated and educating them, which in turn builds more people who are educated, or false educated. If you’re not reaching out to educate them, you won’t know which is the case; and you’re one less person helping your cause.

So wake up and realize the other party are not your enemies, they are your brothers and sisters. You can try to sway them if you so choose or you can support them for their decisions, but hurting them only hurts you and your country. Each of these parties take up somewhere around half the population, in other words, 1 in 2. This country, contrary to your beliefs, would not survive without the people in either party.

My point in this was not that you have to agree, or even support the people who voted for a different candidate, but that you are no better than you see them if you tear them down. At the end of the day, we are one nation; and we are not defined by the color we voted for but the work we put in for our future.

[myfairstarlight]

A Lover's Quill

AO3 Link.

Rated: M

Length: 2k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Canon Divergence

Based on my own post here, s1 AU in which a love letter is written instead of a scandalous gossip column...

This will be a multi-chaptered fic, but this first chapter can be read as a standalone. The whole story is already planned out! I'm not sure I will post every chapter on tumblr yet, but I will update on ao3 frequently as long as my life allows it.

Summary:

Dear Colin Bridgerton, As I understand it, this must be a farewell. Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink. Or. A s1 AU in which instead of a Whistledown column, Penelope writes a letter to Colin the night before he and Marina plan to elope.

*additional notes on ao3.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Dear Colin Bridgerton,

As I understand it, this must be a farewell.

Penelope’s fingers shake as she wraps them around her quill. Her eyes slide towards the crumpled pieces of paper scattered at the foot of her desk, wondering if such unrequited fantasy is even worth her tortured ink.

I wish I had the courage to tell you what I am on the brink of revealing to your face, so forgive my cowardness for hiding behind a quill instead. These past few weeks have been full of agonising feelings, and ones I had to fully come to terms with before I could share them with you.

She pauses as she hears commotions outside her door. Servants are running up and down the estate in their haste to gather Marina’s belongings.

I must apologise, for my meddling regarding your and Marina’s courtship. It was not my place to dictate what either of you should do or should feel, even in my misguided belief that I was helping. I do believe that if one is lucky enough to be in love, well, one should declare it as loudly and fervently as you have done, claiming Marina’s hand in front of her many suitors.

She has shared with me your plans to elope to Gretna Green, I hope you do not fault her for divulging your secret. That way, I can wish you all the luck and happiness.

Penelope takes a deep breath. She knows the next words to be the hardest to put into paper and her fingers start to shake once more.

I must, once more, beg your forgiveness for my cowardness as I cannot bring myself to say those words in front of you. I truly do wish for your happiness, and yet I know the words would get lost between my heart and my mouth because there is another truth I could never speak into existence, for I knew it to be a meaningless affair.

I love you, Colin. I have loved you for many years before either of us even debuted in society. Perhaps from the moment we met, it is quite embarrassing really.

Nothing would ever come out of it, I was aware. But you deserve to know, and perhaps I also needed to admit it, to put it into the world, so I may now move on and seriously consider my prospects when I had been fighting them all season. I hope I can find a match that ignites the fire that bursts within your heart with Marina. I hope I will be as lucky one day.

I bid you farewell, my dearest friend.

Yours Truly,

Penelope Featherington.

To her surprise, the tears she feels building up in her eyes do not fall as she carefully folds the paper and seals the letter. When the wax solidifies, Penelope drops a kiss over the butterfly design.

She thinks of the ironic accuracy of her family’s symbol. Just like her heart, a butterfly will not live long once it takes flight, but at least it is free.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Sneaking out to Bridgerton House is a familiar affair, Penelope is pretty sure Mrs Varley purposely looks away every time, a part of her cannot believe she truly is that invisible. The letter safely tucked in her bosom, she easily finds John, who looks at her with surprise and worry.

“Miss Featherington you should not—” he cuts himself off as Penelope thrusts the letter in his hand. “Ah. For Miss Eloise?”

“Mr Bridgerton,” Penelope corrects. “Colin, that is,” she clarifies, though John would know she barely ever speaks to Benedict outside of polite conversations and would have no reason to write to him. “Please make sure he receives it first thing in the morning. Is Eloise…?” She points towards the garden.

John nods, carefully putting the letter away. “Is everything alright, Miss?”

Penelope takes a deep breath. “You are aware of his plans, correct?”

“Indeed. I am to drive the carriage to the port.” A beat of silence. “For all that is worth, Miss, I do not think he is making a wise decision.”

She is not quite sure why, but servants have always felt comfortable gossiping in front of her, and even to her. Penelope will not complain, however.

“Well, it is not our place to say.”

“Is this letter not about that? Mr Bridgerton has always keenly listened to you.”

Penelope chuckles. “You flatter me, John. I do not think anyone has ever listened to me.”

But the Ton will gladly consume her every word, as long as it is put on paper. It would not have been worth losing Marina’s trust or breaking Colin’s heart, she thinks.

Although, a treacherous voice whispers in her mind, is it truly for the better, to keep silent? Though Colin believes himself in love, would it be enough to bear the burden of another man’s child? To feel the humiliation upon realising he was but a means to an end? And would Marina be able to live with herself? She has a good and kind heart, Penelope knows that to be true, but even the most beautiful souls can be pushed to cruel means when no other solution is within grasp.

Ultimately, Penelope thought, a couple of hours earlier when she decided against using her greatest weapon in Whistledown, this matter did not involve her. Marina is her cousin, Colin is her friend, but this issue only concerns them. Penelope has tried her best without breaking anyone’s trust, and she is at her limit. She cannot keep being the messenger.

And therefore, she has one more secret to divulge.

Curtseying in front of John — although she is aware she does not need to since he is a mere footman, she thinks it is still polite to do so — she ventures into the garden, to immediately find Eloise sitting at one of the swings. Their eyes meet, but Eloise does not move, nor does she scream at her to leave. So Penelope sits on the other swing.

“El.”

“Pen.”

The use of nicknames makes her smile.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

A pause.

“However," Eloise huffs, "you were so wrong because you’re really pretty, Penelope, if only your mother did not have the most horrendous taste in gowns. Never speak of my best friend as such ever again!”

And just like that, they are friends again. Penelope could cry.

“There was another reason I did not wish to discuss Whistledown with you at the time,” she confesses. Eloise makes a questioning noise, a hand reaching for Penelope’s arm. Penelope squeezes it. “It is because I am Whistledown.”

There is a moment of silence as they stare at each other. For a moment, Penelope worries she won’t be believed. Who could imagine sharp and cunning Whistledown as the petite, two-stones-too-heavy Featherington girl? Eloise's grip has gone lax on her arm before suddenly the brunette girl brightens up.

“Of course!” she exclaims. “It makes so much sense! My best friend, the cleverest woman feared by the Ton!”

Penelope blinks, taken aback, before giggling at her friend’s pure excitement. “Eloise! You exaggerate.”

“Oh, you must tell me how you managed such a fit! And do I get the exclusive before anyone else now?”

Penelope smiles and nods enthusiastically, holding Eloise's hands preciously between hers.

If she must say goodbye to her love, at the very least she will always have Eloise and frankly, it is as good, if not better.

“But say, is it still true? Do you wish to marry even though you have such a gem within your hands?” Eloise asks, her voice gone soft. “You could be entirely independent, you do not need a man.”

Penelope lets out a forlorn sigh. “I still wish for it, although I very much doubt I ever will.”

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

John has never been one to care for his employers’ affairs. When the other members of the staff start to gossip, he tends to turn his head and not listen, out of respect. This season has truly tested his limits, however, between Miss Bridgerton, now Duchess of Hastings, debuting, and Mr Bridgerton, the youngest — bar little Gregory — getting so unexpectedly engaged.

And of course, the now notorious Lady Whistledown who rose from the shadows seemingly out of nowhere, stirring up society for being such a bold and yet secretive woman. Gossip had become an inherent part of everyday life, more so than it already was. Whistledown held up a mirror in the Ton’s face to heighten the whispers, and so the Ton speaks even louder because they love to look at themselves.

All that to say, John cannot help but be curious. Miss Penelope’s letter feels heavy. Not literally, of course, but the metaphorical weight of it feels monumental. It is as if he failed to deliver it in time, the world would not be turning on its axis any longer. There was a quiet resignation on the young lady’s face, so far from the warmth she usually bears. In truth, when he heard that Miss Penelope had debuted early and that Mr Colin Bridgerton was courting someone, John, much like the rest of the staff, had assumed she was the one he was courting. There was obvious affection between them, of a sweet and innocent kind, rare in its beauty, and everyone believed they would follow the path Lady Bridgerton and her late husband followed, finding true love at a young age in each other. Alas, perhaps it was only wishful thinking.

And again, it does not concern John, he is merely the messenger — or the driver.

Even so, he decides he would rather not wait. He is aware most of the family is still awake, including the very Bridgerton he is in search of. He finds him brooding in the library, a likely place for him to be, fidgeting by the window.

“Sir,” John says, startling the young man who almost drops the book he was holding. “A missive, for you.”

“A missive?” Colin repeats, intrigued and wary.

“From Miss Penelope, sir,” John clarifies, giving him the letter. He sees the moment Colin's shoulders relax, and his eyes bear a spark of happiness at the sound of her name.

Ah. Foolish youth.

“Right. Thank you, John.”

John nods, bows, then takes his leave. It seems this social season, although coming to its end, will still be full of surprises.

And if it prevents him from waking at the breaks of dawn the next day, he will not be complaining.

(A mere hour later, he catches Colin sneaking out of the house and running across the square. John suspects a new scandal shall befall this family in the morning.)

[xelasrecords]

The Final Night

Han Jumin x MC

NSFW

V has betrayed RFA for Rika and sided with Mint Eye. Jumin believes he can change V's mind in the confrontation tomorrow, while MC prepares to leave her forbidden love for duty. Tonight is the last night they get to share their life just as they are.

Words: 1.9k

Masterlist Read on AO3

"We don't have much time left," she said to the ceiling. Oppressive darkness swathed her and Jumin as they lay in bed. The unlit bulb blinked every few minutes. It had been faulty since she was forced to move into this apartment.

Jumin clasped his hands on his stomach, wringing them before clenching them into fists. Even in bed, he was dressed to prepare for emergencies and so was she. Restful sleep was a luxury robbed by the other side's onslaught of attacks against them. "I'll talk some sense into his head. I'm V's best friend. He would hear me out when given the chance."

"He's too far gone." Her tone was flat. "I'd thought of myself as his good friend too. But look at how he left me poisoned just to flee with Rika." She shared none of Jumin's delusions; that innocence had been shredded when she found the secrets in Rika's apartment that V had warned her against ransacking through.

"He was in a state of panic. Tomorrow will be different."

But the V who would meet them tomorrow was the same person who had betrayed them all.

"He puts Rika above us, Jumin. His protection is for her, first and foremost. He would hurt us if it could ultimately save her. He had chosen her over me." The sour taste that twisted her gut was a live snake coiling around her, spreading venom through her organs. She had thought she meant more to V, but if he had the heart to betray Jumin, she supposed decimating her friendship was nothing to him.

Jumin held her hand on top of his chest and she exhaled a deep breath. His heart was beating fast, each thrum strung with worry for what the next day would bring. She knew, because hers pattered to the same rhythm. Jumin was the only person left worth staying for. She was already overstaying her welcome. Her involvement with RFA was never meant to be permanent.

Just until Jumin was stable, she promised herself. She needed him not to shatter when she left.

"I am afraid." Jumin traced along the bruises mottling her arm, an aftereffect from the poison injected into her. Seven had flushed it out of her system with the antidote she concocted, but the marks remained. Mint-Eye's elixir and poison production was improving faster than she could break them down for the remedy. "There will be a time when everything comes to an end, I know that. Nothing lasts forever. I thought my connection with V would be the exception, yet his very hand was the weapon that severed it."

"I thought the connection was still salvageable to you."

"What choice do I have left?" he said. "I provide security so he knows there's still a chance for him to turn around. I'm here for him. It's not too late. I have to believe there is a part of him that cares for me enough to stop this destruction. Because if it was gone..." Jumin gritted his teeth as his neck grew taut. "No, I won't allow my mind to stray to the worst possible outcome. I don't wish to be consoled by logic at this moment."

It pained her to see him like this. His hurt would only increase tenfold when he realised his belief alone couldn't bring V back. "You're hinging your hopes on something with no basis, an uncertainty that's very likely to go wrong. You're logical in all things but love."

With his thumb, Jumin softly tilted her chin up. "Perhaps I'm hoping that one of my optimism for love will not prove me wrong," he said quietly.

She wished she didn't understand his despairing gaze. He loved her, he adored her, but she couldn't let him have her forever. This very thing between them wasn't allowed to be solidified into existence. Optimism might nurture love into something that lasted, but they couldn't afford it in the face of so many people at risk.

They were living on borrowed time. Tomorrow, they wouldn't be able to so much as to brush their fingertips. There was no future for someone who slithered in the shadows to be with someone born to withstand the spotlight.

She bit her tongue and held her silence as a shield and punishment. If there was nothing she could say to mollify him, then let him curse her in his mind. She would not tell lies.

A glimpse of defeat passed across Jumin's face when she kept her expression unyielding, but he caressed the top of her cheekbone with a light touch. "You do mean a lot to V, I can assure you that," said Jumin, changing the subject. "He's just blinded by love. Before Rika came along, the bond between the three of us was real. Its importance can't be erased by his mere misguided infatuation."

She closed her eyes. "Does any of that matter in the end?"

"For your sake, I can only hope it does." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. The gesture was so tender that it sawed her heart into two bleeding halves.

If she could keep him forever in the darkest nook of her being and hide him where she could keep him safe, she would. She wondered what it would take for her to become completely selfish and put love over the safety of countless who had entrusted their lives to her hands.

"You're here with me. That's enough for now. At least I'm not alone." Gently, she combed through the wayward hair that fell across his forehead, the black of it intensifying the darkened ring around his eyes. "Please don't leave me alone," she murmured.

It was as if she pulled a lever in Jumin. In a blink, fierce determination replaced the resignation in his grey eyes. A storm stirred in them despite his palpable exhaustion. His fingers slid down her collarbones to her back and he yanked her against him, his quick breaths fanning her face. She almost forgot this was how he looked when he was desperate; they'd been too busy channelling their energy into quelling V and Rika's Mint-Eye agenda. She refused to imagine the moment when time eventually barged in and ripped her away from him.

Please let me stay with him.

"I won't leave," Jumin said, a hard resolution in his voice. "So long as you want me, I will be right by your side."

She swallowed and flattened her trembling lips. That was the toughest choice; she wanted him always, but rarely in her life did her desires and responsibilities align. There were always things bigger than them, duties she had to abide by that would put him at great risk if he ever found out about them.

She couldn't put him first.

She couldn't tell him she wanted him either. The moment the words left her mouth, she knew there would be no way back. Jumin wouldn't let her go, and she needed him to leave her for his sake. How could she ask him to let her go after his best friend just stranded him? She would not put him through another torture to choose. She would decide for him.

Please.

This wasn't an ideal time for them to be together. RFA was going haywire, the reputation of Jumin's company had taken a nosedive, Seven was relying on her to aid in their mission to infiltrate Mint Eye, and she needed to take some weight off Jaehee's overworked shoulders and make sure Zen could be there for Yoosung when she couldn't because the youngest boy was crumbling and she couldn't stand that—

Jumin captured her lips with a kiss. She chased after him when he leaned back into his pillow, bringing her on top of him with his arm around her waist. How many times left could she kiss him without restraint? She kissed him harder and gasped when his grip tightened.

She could have this. She could desire him where no eyes were prying. She could act as if she were his.

Her hands moved to Jumin's tense shoulders, bunching his shirt and pressing her torso against him. His hand trailed up her chin and jaw and ear before burying itself in her hair. He pulled her head back to expose her neck and latched his mouth to her pulse point.

She moaned. He wanted her, he wanted her. It was the chant her blood sang to with every touch and every kiss he bestowed her. His touch burned her, paving a charred path for his love to make its way in.

She shifted her leg across him to straddle him and she leaned down on him, nipping at his earlobe and kissing his sharp jaw. With a groan, Jumin stripped them both out of their pants and bucked up to her. He slid into her easily, while his hand moved along beneath her top and squeezed her breast. He bounced her against him in swift, repetitive motions, toppling her onto him, their harsh breaths intertwining.

She wanted to be his. She wanted to give in and let Jumin take over her body and mind, to follow his desires and have it be enough to protect him. Let him possess her so thoroughly that she wouldn't be comprehensible on her own anymore. Maybe then she wouldn't be expected to perform up to her duties. She could be a nobody, invisible to everyone except him.

Jumin was the only person who saw her without any expectations. V wanted her to be good for everyone's sake, but she was only ever herself to Jumin. She was enough.

She wished she could give him enough.

"I love you," she whispered. This was safe. Love was not a plea to stay.

"I know you do." Jumin kissed her and caught her lower lip between his teeth, pulling it back softly. "I love you too."

Her lungs constricted. Somehow, without her planning to, love had become something so small compared to the stakes around them. She could no longer embody the naive girl she had been when she first met Jumin and V, one who was vehement in her belief that love and friendship could conquer all. She had thought she could fight against the burden she was forced to carry, but all it did was crumble her into nothingness. She had lost V, and soon she would lose Jumin.

One more day. She could stay for one more day. Until dust had settled on the wreckage that V and Rika's twisted obsession created, until RFA had learned to stabilise themselves, until Jumin was strong enough to stand on his own.

And then one more day.

Please.

Jumin laid her on the pillow beside him and tucked the blanket around her. "Promise to remember me when you leave." His voice cracked, and her blood froze at the thought of hurting him yet again. "Take me with you. That's all I ask."

Emotions had greater power to destroy than construct. When she left, she would not leave with her whole heart intact. It was her penance to live out her life pining for what she shouldn't have. She didn't deserve happiness from abandoning the man who had been abandoned by everyone he held dear.

Reaching out her arms, she invited Jumin to sleep with her in the quiet for one last time. The confrontation tomorrow would change everything—she could feel doom rattling her bones. She sank her head into the crevice between his neck and his shoulder, and he rested his chin on top of her head, a gesture that nearly made her sob from the familiarity of it. She would lose this as well. There were many fragments of him that she had tried to keep, but they all ended up spilling out of her grasp.

Love was not enough. In a fight where people had to be sacrificed for the bigger cause, love would never be enough.

-

Footnotes:

I just wanted to write about the anxiety in the calm before the storm.

I find it interesting to pair Jumin who's in denial about V's change of alliance with an MC who's accepted her fate so she only bargains internally for more time. Jumin who cannot be logical in love vs MC who's practical to save her love. In the end, none of it changes anything.

Upholding my tradition of inserting I-love-you's and smut into angsty scenes. Let's see when I'll break free from this c:

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[mariacallous]

If there’s one generalization that can stand the test of time, it’s that Jews love pickles. They’re a briny bit of respite from a heavy meal, the snack that solidifies the romantic connection between the protagonists of “Crossing Delancey,” and the hook that keeps people coming back to Sweet Pickle Books — a one-of-a-kind used bookstore at 47 Orchard St. on the Lower East Side that also sells its own line of pickles. 

If you’re questioning just how, exactly, one comes up with the concept of a pickle book store —  let alone one that’s become an au courant hangout spot downtown — you’re not alone. Founder and owner Leigh Altshuler, a 30-year-old book- and pickle-lover, came up with the idea at the beginning of the pandemic. 

“I knew [the store] was going to be books and something and it didn’t have a name, and I knew I wanted it to be after family and being Jewish…and I was  just thinking about the lowest common denominator between the two and it was just like..pickles. And that’s where it all began.” Altshuler said. 

The idea of opening a used bookstore first hit Altshuler at the beginning of the pandemic. “I really became a big ol’ mushy weirdo about books,” Altshuler said. “I went into Mercer Books which was closing that day in March at 3pm, and I remember a cop came in at, like 2:53, and asked the owner why he wasn’t closed yet. And I was just like, ‘he has time!’”

“I walked home and I just thought it was such a shame that these stores are closing and who knows what’s going to happen,” she said.

A former communications director for New York’s legendary used bookstore, The Strand, Altshuler saw the myriad of empty storefronts across the Lower East Side as an opportunity to set up a shop of her own. After losing her marketing job at the McKittrick Hotel and getting over a breakup in her shoebox apartment, Altshuler opened Sweet Pickle Books in October 2020. It was both a financial gamble and an attempt to honor her personal affinity for the used book industry — a community that felt especially precarious during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.

As for the pickles, Altshuler and her boyfriend originally experimented with dozens of recipes from during the lockdown by testing out different salt and cucumber varieties until they batched out the first 360 jars — which barely lasted a month. Now, she sources the pickles from a Texas-based farm, and regular customers can swap their book donations for a free jar of branded pickles or buy them separately in store or online, coming in flavors bread and butter, spicy, and dill for $9.50-$12.95. 

Which, for operating in a neighborhood that used to be known as the Jewish “pickle alley” in the late 19th and early 20th century, feels perfectly kismet. Altshuler lives about four blocks away in the Lower East Side, and while taking walks during the pandemic saw the empty storefronts and remembered how growing up, relatives told her about the influx of Jewish immigrants that were able to sell and make pickles for cheap in barrels and pushcarts. On the cross street that Sweet Pickle Books is nestled between, over eighty Jewish pickle vendors used to make their living, which is history that Altshuler is very grateful she gets to inform people about for the first time and inadvertently continue the legacy. 

“When I first opened, everyone said I was crazy,” she said. “My dad kept on saying to me, ‘Oh, if you do it,’ and I was like, there’s no more ‘if’ here, it’s happening!”

“I don’t even know why I had such a belief it would work,” she added, “but I think it was just a feeling.”

Now, two years out, Sweet Pickle Books is a quirky literary destination for locals and tourists alike — and browsing through the store, it’s easy to see why. The railroad-style aisles are lined with love-worn paperbacks that tend to hover below the $10 mark, a disco ball swings in the corner, and the smooth stylings of the Vince Guardali Trio softly murmur from speakers throughout the store. There’s a pickle costume that young customers frequently take photos in, and big names like Harry Styles and Fran Leibowitz, said Altshuler, have popped in.  

To the untrained eye, it may seem like a miracle that a first-time business owner successfully opened a brick and mortar store during a pandemic — let alone one selling actual books amidst a digital culture that mostly obtains information online. Some people think it’s odd that people would even be interested in books anymore, let alone used ones. But Altshuler knows better than that. 

“Everyone always asks me, ‘Do people read anymore?’ But book people literally show up and haul books across town because they love it and care about these things,” Altschuler said. “[Sweet Pickle Books] just became the lowest common denominator where people could go for a low price tag and have a real conversation about something.”

Growing up in a heavily Jewish suburb in South Florida where she regularly cruised around the JCC, Altshuler always considered both her culture and religion an innate part of who she is and how she moves about the world. “I basically had no idea that people weren’t Jewish because that’s just where I was from,” she said. “My boyfriend is from Australia and he had no idea that you get a bowl of pickles with your meal at a diner, and I thought every restaurant in the world had that.”

Altshuler still proudly self identifies as Jewish, and running a business in the ancestral heart of Jewish history has only made her connection to her heritage even stronger.  “I think [Sweet Pickle Books has] connected me to faith in ways I didn’t really expect,” she said. “I’m understanding the themes in different ways,  and seeing the importance of passing tradition on. And so much of that is centered around food, but also stories — and storytelling is exactly what a bookstore is. I feel like it just makes sense.” 

In this way, Sweet Pickle Books became a conduit for tradition that feels authentic to Jewish customers and accessible for those who would like to learn more. “A customer of mine found out that she was Jewish and came to me on New Years Eve with a babka and a Zabars mug and told me that she wanted to thank me for teaching her so much about Judaism,” she said,  “and she was so happy to have a friend to talk to about being Jewish.”

“I just didn’t expect to be that person for someone,” she added. “That’s a really wonderful thing that I feel like my Jewish mother would be doing cartwheels over.”

Incidentally bridging the gap between communities isn’t something limited to Judaism, though, as Sweet Pickle Books is known to attract customers of all creeds — from the older, New York born-and-bred book hagglers that Altshuler lovingly refers to as her “curmudgeons,” to the droves of TikTok tweens in handkerchief tops, hoping to go viral by posting about a crazy new pickle shop. By harnessing the virtues of old school tradition and trendy innovation,  “I really do want to be the bridge between the two,” she said.

“Sometimes I just look at the store and I want to cry because it’s so sentimental to me — like, it’s so real and important in New York history,” she added. “So many people don’t know this was a pickling district, and every day, I’m like, how else would these conversations happen? It makes me look up stuff, and I feel very special that I get to tell people.”

[madamecalypso]

So here it is...my first try at writing an AlastorxReader fanfiction. Hope you guys enjoy it. Will post this on AO3 too under CrimsonAsphodel.

Fur Elise.

It was said that blind devotion is an obsession. Yet you never questioned your feelings when it came to Alastor.

You recently fell in hell when you first met the enigmatic sinner who will soon be known as the Radio Demon. You were surrounded by other demons at that time wanting to devour you. But it was his smile and voice that caught your attention.

"Smile, my dear! You know, you're never fully dressed without one!"

Wearing a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also has a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center. On his hand is a thin cane with a vintage microphone at the end. But what caught your attention the most is his eyes and smile, the wide grin on his face and his almost glowing ruby colored eyes.

You never questioned his motives as he eliminated those demons, even after being drenched with their blood. You never questioned his motives even when he grabbed your hands and led you away from the carnage. All you saw was a saviour ready to defend you.

He was the one who taught you how to survive in hell. He was already making waves in hell at the time you met him. Eliminating Overlords and broadcasting them on the radio. Growing his powers further as he established himself as a new Overlord in hell.

All he asked that time was for you to be his shadow, a look out. Ensure that his rise to power would not be interrupted, no deals were made to the both of you. You were grateful for his beliefs in you and in turn your servitude was solidified.

You became his eyes, whenever an Overlord met their demise from his hands, you were there. Watching with a smile on your face. Grateful to have served him.

Your once long platinum blonde hair cut short to match his. Your ebony wings hidden away after months of practice, and your emerald eyes glowed with glee. After each kill, his hand would gently caress your face and you would smile further as you would look at him with such devotion.

You became a perfect servant for him, trained to ensure that you would be able to protect him should the need arise. In turn, this amused him, a performer to his every whim. He never needed you to be honest, yet your presence has helped him further. Your presence became a symbolism to other demons of their impending demise. And that brought entertainment to him.

Demons and sinners would often cover before you as you walk, as your presence meant that he's nearby. You created more fear in them to avoid crossing the Radio Demon.

As he grew his power and authority, your devotion for him only grew. You realized how much you started to crave his attention.

Whenever you both dance when days are calm, you marvel at his touch. You know that Alastor doesn't want to be touched unless you're permitted to, so interactions like this makes it special for you.

The demon often smiles mischievously whenever he dances with you, his hand on your hip and the other on your hand. His suit jacket billows out with the movement and his hair is thrown back as he spins you around in your waltz.

He often pulls you close and whispers into your ear. Words of affirmation, honeyed with affection that you adore.

"What would I do without you mon corbeau...my muse"

You didn't know at the time but his words were often lies, yet he makes them sound so true that you never questioned them.

Because you knew that he cared to a certain extent. You see it in his eyes and that was enough for you. As long as he would stay with you.

As years passed, you accepted that you were in love with Alastor.

You know that he's aware of your feelings yet you don't know if he reciprocate it. You are blinded by love that anything he requested you provided. But there are times that you crave more from the demon.

"Al...I wish you would confide in me as I do with you"

You whispered to him one time but his answer was only a smile. You were supposed to be heartbroken by this, yet you accepted it as him not being ready.

So you stayed, You stayed at his side even when he met Vox. You stayed at his side still even when their partnership grew. You even became civil with the other demon to please Alastor.

You even stayed with him even when you heard him tell the story of his death to Vox rather that you who he knew first.

You stayed even when you were casted to the sidelines as they rose to power.

You also stayed when he fought with Vox and severed their friendship. You clung to him as you brought him to safety. Tears with your eyes as you gently lay him down to his bed.

"Always the loyal crow, my dearest... you're everything I ever needed"

Another lie, you learned from him. That night you pleaded with him to stop seeking more power, to enjoy the status quo as it is, to stay by your side.

Yet he only smiled, smile was always what he did. You should have known that this smile has a hidden meaning. You should have not believed his promises. His false words.

It was said that blind devotion is an obsession. You should have questioned Alastor with his motives and feelings.

Because as you woke up, he was no longer there, he left you. His promises are broken, and your devotion shattered. He went missing for the next seven years and you are left to collect your broken pieces, clutching a note that he left.

"When I first met you, I knew I was bound to hurt you mon corbeau"

Share me your thoughts. Thinking about expanding this story and adding my planned OC Calypso.

But anyway hope you like it!

[midasfantasy]

Sonder & Soul Ties

synopsis : every action has its equal opposite reaction. it wasn't your fault society failed you, turning you away at every turn for matters outside of your control. for a world built on fighting evil, people suspiciously had a way of ensuring there would always be more of it. so, you can't really be blamed for ending up surrounded by and helping japan's most wanted criminals. or for wanting them yourself.

content : BNHA villains x fem!reader

chapter warnings : cursing and the worst man known to humanity.

chapter notes : well, well, well. if it’s isn’t the consequences to your actions.

two, red herring

“What do I need to do to keep you out of my station?” 

Detective Tsukauchi, who knows you better than anyone at this point thanks to all your investigations, walks into the interrogation room you have been relocated to. He looks just about as exasperated as he had the last twenty times you both ended up in this room, his soul wavering around him like a dreary cloud of blue fog.

“In my defense, the guy approached me first,” You say, straightening in your seat some to bow your head to him in greeting. 

“The guy was one of Japan’s most wanted criminals,” Tsukauchi shoots you a withered look, and frankly you both shouldn’t be speaking so informally considering the context of your situation, but decorum was thrown out the window after the authorities of Japan realized you were probably going to spend the rest of your lives being familiar thanks to your uncanny luck. Or rather lack thereof. “He died protecting you, [S/N]-san. I think it’s safe to say the whole station is a little baffled.”

“I thought you’d be used to this by now,” You grumble, raising a brow at Tsukauchi as he takes a seat in the chair opposite of you. 

“Every time I think I’ve seen the last of you, you end up in an even bigger mess than before. Although I doubt you’ll be able to top this one,” Tsukauchi murmurs to himself, shaking his head. He drags a hand down his face, pulling at his morning shadow that he probably didn’t have time to shave down before being called into the station to deal with this… mess.

“We’re trying to understand what and why everything happened,” He continues, this time with some actual professionalism. Tsukauchi schools his features into his practiced work face, pleasant and encouraging, motioning for you to begin.

“Well, I can tell you I didn’t mean to be there,” You slouch into your metal chair, glowering when you hear Tsukauchi mutter an incredulous, almost amused, ‘she didn’t mean to be there’ as he marks down your testimony onto a notepad. “I didn’t even know what day of the week it was if I’m being completely transparent.” 

Tsukauchi thankfully does not comment on that last part. “And you had no connections to the Hero Killer prior to the attack?”

“No. Contrary to popular belief, I associate with only the highest morals,” You tut, crossing your legs and twiddling with your thumbs.

He raises a brow that you know means he smells bullshit, but you are not going to elaborate on it. He doesn’t need to know you have no friends.

“I’m glad, you’ll need a good support system after what happened to you,” Tsukauchi says instead, fidgeting with his pen. His soul fluctuates, solidifying around him more as he settles his resolve. “Although, and I’m sure I don’t have to say it, you do always have everyone here to keep an eye on you. All you have to do is ask.”

You uncross your legs and sink deep into your chair, sighing dramatically. “I know, Tsukauchi. Thank you, I’m sure the second we’re done here I’ll be getting the earful of my life for nearly getting killed.” 

“I’m inclined to give you an earful myself,” Tsukauchi sets down his notepad and pen down, his face suddenly much more hard-set. “The Hero Killer made a sudden appearance, and an even more sudden departure. But the Nomus began attacking well before the heroes even knew he was there. Evacuation procedures had already began, it’s inconceivable that you didn’t even hear—“

Tsukauchi cuts himself off, swallowing thickly before rubbing at the heavy bags beneath his eyes. “I’m sorry, [S/N]-san. There are so many people who care about you, myself included. Getting the call to come in and the debriefing on what happened was awful. No one here wants to see you… die, and certainly not in a way that could have been prevented.” 

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, voice small. You’ve almost completely disappeared into your chair, your arms wrapped around yourself in an attempt to appear smaller. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I… it’s stupid, I want to promise this won’t happen again, but I can’t even say that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry you all keep getting dragged into it.”

“[S/N], please don’t speak like that,” Tsukauchi looks remorseful as he leans over the table, laying his hands out palm-up to you. You sniffle, but untangle the ball of nerves you’ve become to let him hold your hands. “There is nothing wrong with you, and you know every person here who would jump at the chance to help you with whatever you’re struggling with.” 

“But I’ve caused so much trouble,” You mumble weakly, your shoulders shaking as he squeezes your hands, listening closely. ”How do you all not get tired of me?”

“You’re young, you’ve had enough terrible experiences to last you a lifetime. How you manage school, work, and everything the world throws at you is beyond me,” Tsukauchi says, smiling warmly. “It’s why we know you’re going to go so far. There won’t be anything that can stop you. We’re going to get you through this, okay?”

It feels like an impossible task trying not to cry again, you normally do good at keeping everything in check, but the last 24-hours have left you unbearably vulnerable. Your throat is thick with emotion as you speak, “Okay.”

“Do you feel up to continuing questioning?” Tsukauchi implores gently, thumbs rubbing at the tops of your hands. You nod quickly, pulling away and straightening in your seat like a decent human being. 

“Yeah, I guess I should just come out and say I don’t really remember much. I was… really drunk,” You do not make eye contact as you speak, folding your fingers in your lap and taking a deep breath. “It’s mostly small moments, like flashes.”

“We can work with that. Tell me what you see in these flashes,” Tsukauchi picks up his pen and notepad again, his eyes kind when you finally brave a glance up at him.

“Well,” You start, clearing your throat, “I remember the… creature, it lifted me off the ground. Oh— I remember it had talons too, and a lot of exposed organs.”

“I’m assuming you mean the Nomu?” Tsukauchi ventures, writing something down. When you don’t answer, he looks back up at you.

“What’s a Nomu?”

“…Seriously?”

“Is uh… is it like an invasive species?” You ask, feeling more stupid by the minute, Tsukauchi’s deadpan humbling your already wounded ego. “I don’t watch the news, just tell me what it is and stop being judgmental!”

“You don’t watch the news?” Tsukauchi asks incredulously. He looks distressed and upset all over again, eyebrows waning downwards as his eyes widen with horror. You make a panicked expression before shrugging and laughing nervously. “So—wait- when you called him ‘That Guy’, you seriously have no idea who the Hero Killer is? And you don’t know about the USJ attack?”

“No?” You blink, jumping in your seat when Tsukauchi slaps his forehead and murmurs to himself. “Is this, like, really bad?”

“Super bad,” Tsukauchi sighs, rubbing his temples. He then proceeds to launch into a detailed explanation of who Stain and the League of Villains is. He also explains what he knows about the Nomu, but no matter what he says you do not feel any better about its existence. 

You also don’t feel any better about killing Stain, but it does comfort you some that he’s no longer able to hurt people.

“And that’s why I’m the one interrogating you. I’m the one in charge of the League’s case and because the Nomu targeted you, I’m trying to gather more information on why. Anything we can get to understand the League better, will bring us closer to defeating them,” Tsukauchi finishes his explanation, running a hand through his hair wearily. 

“That makes more sense now, I was wondering why they made you come all the way here in the middle of the night when someone else could’ve run the procedure,” You hum thoughtfully, messing with your shoes under the table as you shift in your seat. “I thought you just cared a lot, but I guess that’s not the case…”

“[S/N],” Tsukauchi says, and you can see the metaphorical gray hairs you’re giving him.

“Joking!” You laugh, kicking his shin playfully under the table. 

“Well, I don’t think there’s much more I can ask,” Tsukauchi shakes his head with a huff, stepping on one of your toes and chuckling when you yelp. “It sounds like your luck just got the better of you again.”

“So… we’re done?” You ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“We’re done,” Tsukauchi confirms with a pleasant smile, laughing when you jump from your seat to cheer and stretch. 

“God I’m so tired, and I’m soooooo behind on assignments. I guess I have an excuse for being late now though?” You begin chatting to yourself, not catching the way Tsukauchi checks his watch and pales. 

“Speaking of late— we’re way behind schedule. The Chief wants to see you, why don’t you go find him?” Tsukauchi ushers you from the room, ignoring your confusion as he grabs his coat and rushes about.

“Uhm, okay. Do you…” You start to ask, watching Tsukauchi place his hat on and adjust his buttons, already beginning to walk away. “Tsukauchi?”

“Hm?” Said man pauses, looking over his shoulder at you from half way down the hall. He really is in a hurry, what could be so important?

“Do you have to leave so soon?” You ask, taking a few steps closer and giving your best puppy-dog face. You probably look crazy, considering you’ve got tear stains, scratches, and blood shot eyes. 

“I’m sorry, [S/N]. There are a few others I need to investigate, and you kno—“

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in his shoulder and sighing as loud as you possibly can. He’s still for a moment, but eventually he melts, wrapping an arm around you and rubbing your back softly. It’s not often you get to touch people, or their souls. But when you make contact with Tsukauchi’s deep blue soul, you pull it against yourself tight, focusing every happy warm feeling you can into it. Your silent apology for all the headaches you know you’ve caused him.

“Is it really so hard to ask for the things you need, troublemaker?” Tsukauchi teases, poking your side and chuckling as you struggle in his grasp with a few curses about him being a traitor.

“No, I’m perfect. Nothing is difficult for me,” You insist, finally managing to pull away, just narrowly missing him trying to ruffle your hair.

“I wonder why you did not call when you ran into danger yesterday then,” A new voice speaks, and you immediately turn to salute, recognizing their gruff voice instantly.

Tsuragamae gives the worst tiniest amused huff at your display, which is a victory in itself, because you know he’s most definitely pissed at you. You are not excited to get a lecture from the Chief of the Hosu police station. 

“I will be driving you home,” Tsuragamae informs you, his snout twitching as he sniffs the air. “Leave Tsukauchi-San to go, he has important business to attend to.”

You glance between the two men, blinking a few times as you try to figure out whatever silent conversation they’re having in front of you. They’re exchanging intense eye contact, and then, in the creepiest way possible, they nod at the same time before walking in opposite directions. 

“I— hey-“ You sputter, unable to process what just happened. Tsukauchi is on route to exit at the back of the station, going who knows where; and Tsuragamae is walking towards the front, probably to fetch his car for the ride back to your shitty apartment. 

“Gosh you two are impossible— Bye-bye Tsuka!” You call, jumping twice in the air and waving dramatically like he’s off to war and using a nickname just to be a dick. Spinning on your heel, you jog after the Chief, knowing you can’t really afford to keep him waiting when he’s already in a bad mood. “Tsuragamae, wait up, you’ve got long legs—“

You pause at the lobby, slapping your hands over your eyes and groaning. “It’s so bright, did you guys finally replace the LEDs?”

“…No, I was not aware they needed to be replaced,” Tsuragamae says, but you're too busy blinking open your eyes and squinting at the windows to care.

“It's already morning?!” You gasp, running through the front doors ahead of Tsuragamae, getting outside and squinting at the sun remorsefully.

“It is nearly the afternoon,” Tsuragamae says, walking up behind you and knocking the back of your head gently to get you to stop your staring. “Which means we need to hurry along. I am a busy man, I have got places to be.”

“Don’t patronize me,” You grumble, following after him and sliding into the back seat of his ridiculously nice car. 

He won’t trick you with his textbook psychology, you’ll put as much distance between you both before he can start an argument you have no chance of winning anyway. 

Tsuragamae’s forest green soul is tense, that much you are certain of. But Tsuragamae always has a stick up his ass, so it’s kind of difficult to get a read on where the tension is coming from. You want to think it’s because a person died after being taken into custody, but you’re pretty sure Endeavor is going to take the heat of that blow. The alternative is that he’s going to go full parental-mode and scold you within an inch of your life. 

You really hope it’s the former. 

.

.

.

The first few minutes of driving are so dreadfully quiet that you know for sure it’s the latter. 

You’re not exactly a chatterbox per se, especially not with Tsuragamae, but you know how to hold a conversation. In contrast, pleasantries are not Tsuragamae’s strong suit. He has a level head in all case scenarios, and can rationalize virtually anything, all while constantly staying at a fact-based standpoint. This depersonalizing can make him insensitive at times though.

That's why you know he’s waiting for you to start the conversation, or maybe ask him what exactly he wants. He doesn’t want to feel like a jerk for getting straight to the point, even though it's obviously the only thing on his mind right now. Men.

“Do you want to explain yourself or did you get enough of an interrogation from Tsukauchi-san?” Tsuragamae asks, finally breaking your stalemate. He had nearly five whole minutes and still managed to find the most offensive way to open the conversation, charming. 

“I’m not sure what I can say to get out of trouble with you,” You reply after another minute of silence, biting at your lip and staring intently out the window. “I had no idea it was so dangerous to be in Hosu right now, if I had been aware, I would’ve never left the house.”

“You own a phone, do you not?” Tsuragamae prods, sounding a little too condescending for your tastes.

“I do, but I’m not addicted. I mostly watch it for YoTube tutorials or music. I don’t watch the news,” You say, doing what you think is a fantastic job at keeping the annoyance from your tone. 

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Tsuragamae’s soul literally spikes with frustration. You gulp and hold onto your seatbelt a little tighter, preparing for the worst. 

“What do you mean you ‘don’t watch the news’?” Tsuragamae is just full of questions today it seems, because where you were expecting an outburst, he just sounds mildly miffed. 

“The news is full of propaganda, I can’t be wasting my young impressionable mind away staring at a screen that wants me to submit to capitalism,” You respond cattily, basically asking for an argument. Yolo.

There is no argument though. Only more silence. It sets you on edge, because Tsuragamae always has an answer, even when he doesn’t want to. 

“Endeavor says he saw you near where the Nomus were attacking,” Tsuragamae says plainly after the fourth minute of silence, catching your eyes in the rear view mirror with a glare that lets you know you’re in trouble. It tells you he knows you weren’t there by accident. It tells you he doesn’t believe you. 

You decide at that moment you hate Endeavor, What a snitch. 

“…I was trying to find paramedics,” You lie anyway, breaking eye contact in favor of staring out the window again. You’re willing to die on this hill even if it means defaming Endeavor and cursing his whole bloodline just to convince Tsuragamae of your innocence. In fact, you’re in such a bad mood you might just get home and block him on Twitter. 

“Oh? Did you get injured before being attacked by the Nomu?” Tsuragamae asks, one of his ears flicking. He's using his no-nonsense tone now, and it successfully makes you feel scolded, even though he hasn’t truly started laying into you yet. 

“No. There was… a kitten. I found it in the rubble,” You say, knowing you probably sound every bit like the liar you are. There was a kitten, but Crowly certainly wasn’t injured. Crowly was also a traitor, because Crowly abandoned you in your hour of need. “It reminded me of Tamakawa, I couldn’t just leave it.” 

“And so you went towards the chaos, searching for help. Right. And I am supposed to believe this and let you off with a slap on the wrist?” Tsuragamae’s voice is more steeled now, and it’s the first time since before your grandmother passed that you feel like a child getting scolded again. “Forgive me, child, but I think there needs to be appropriate consequences for ignoring public law and deliberately putting yourself in harm's way. Putting others in harm's way.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” You grit your teeth, blinking your eyes rapidly. The feeling is different than from when Tsukauchi was lecturing you. You know that Tsuragamae is coming from the same place, but the way he goes about getting his point across can be uncomfortable, if not downright upsetting. “I can’t keep having this conversation. I don’t throw myself into situations like this willingly, all I have control over is what I do after.”

“You don’t watch the news, you go out alone at night without letting anyone know, and now you’re dragging your feet when asked to take responsibility for your actions,” Tsuragamae scolds, his voice gruff. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that he is just worried for you, and that reprimanding you is just his way of showing it.

“I’m not a child,” You say slowly, your frustration mounting. “I appreciate everything the police force has done for me, I know I would be a lot worse off without you all. I do care.”

“You do not act like it,” Tsuragamae barks back, and it’s your last straw.

“I invited you all to my high school graduation, I celebrate my birthdays with you, I call just to talk about my day and ask you to name the cats outside my apartment,” You’re ranting now, voice raising in pitch and volume. It’s no better than what Tsuragamae is doing to you, taking out his frustration, but damnit weren’t you the one who almost died? “I do half my homework in someone’s office or the lobby, I don’t go anywhere for the holidays because I’d rather be with everyone—“

Your nails are digging so deep into your palms you can feel as they break the skin. You know it’s a low blow even before it leaves your mouth, but you’re so exhausted from the last twenty-four hours that you can’t help yourself. “Wasn’t everyone there when my grandmother died?”

The silence that follows is as long as it is painful, because you aren’t sure if you’ve crossed a boundary, and Tsuragamae’s lack of a response somehow feels like more of an answer than any insult he could shoot at you right now. He has to know that it’s killing you, it’s why he’s been doing it this whole car ride, torturing you with the possibilities. 

“I am sorry, I did not mean to lose my temper on you, child,” Tsuragamae finally replies, but he sounds defeated. Even his soul slumps, which is so utterly peculiar for him, it’s like seeing a white flamingo. It takes all the wind from your sails, and you deflate, not even realizing how tense you had gotten. 

“I’m sorry too, I know you guys are just worried about me. If I want you to stop treating me like a child, I should stop giving you reasons to worry,” You say with a mighty sigh, hanging your head and resting it against the back of his seat. 

“Well, that would certainly help,” Tsuragamae agrees, tone softer than before. Knowing that he isn’t angry at you lifts all the remaining weight from your shoulders. 

It isn’t long before he’s pulling to the side of the road and parking his car in front of your building. It must look strange to your neighbors, having the chief of police as your personal chauffeur. Considering all the weird shit you get up to, it probably isn’t all that surprising though.

“I will walk you to your door,” Tsuragamae says, already unbuckling. 

You freeze, panic setting in as you try to come up with an excuse. That eviction notice is still hanging on your front door. “Uhm! Maybe not— I uh- probably have guests!”

Tsuragamae pauses, giving you a pointed stare. 

“Spot and Harley are probably outside, they uhm— they might get scared?” You venture, knowing damn well the cats Spot and Harley like Tsuragamae worlds more than you. 

“If you would rather spend the time alone, I understand,” Tsuragamae replies, putting his seatbelt back on. You sigh quietly with relief, and open your car door, stepping out and bending at the waist to give him one last wave goodbye.

“I’ll see you soon, old man,” You say brightly, your most charming smile on as you wave enthusiastically before slamming the door and scream laughing in your dash away from his car.

“I had better not!” Tsuragamae shouts as he rolls down his window, a few more warnings mixed in as you giggle your way up the steps of your apartment. 

When you turn the corner to walk down the corridor to your apartment, you find that suspiciously enough, there are no guests. 

‘That's odd.’

You reach your door, and find it’s already a crack open. It sets off your alarm bells, but by nature you’re a curious person, so instead of running down to wave Tsuragamae back to help you investigate, you push open your door like every main character in a horror movie. 

Inside, sitting on your bed, is a man in his late fifties. He's got on the most ancient pair of glasses to survive the 13th century, a vibrant purple suit that has definitely seen better days, and a scarf. In May. 

His soul is a terrible green color, nothing at all like Tsuragamae’s. It’s foul and yellow tinted, and it reminds of how a leaf yellows when it dies. It sags and pools near his feet, sliming around him. You follow the movement with your eyes, distress mounting. 

“Dude, you didn’t even take off your shoes,” You say with horror, looking down at the footprints he tracked over your carpet. 

“You’ll have to forgive my rudeness,” The absolute monster who soiled your cozy home (jail cell), says, looking at you with growing interest. “I’m here to ask you about your future.”

“I don’t need help finding God,” You fume, snapping your fingers and pointing to the door, which is still standing open. “You can take your proselytization and knock off Prada pumps to the public service building down the street. I don’t do charity work.”

“I’m not a preacher,” The man says, still sitting on your bed, and still pressing his musty shoes into your carpet. His soul jumps with vexation, but you're certain that you're angrier than he is at this moment. “I want to know what you’ll do now that Stain is gone.”

“Hopefully my lab report. I’m a day late,” You sass, stomping closer to him, knowing full well you would lose in a fight if things escalated. “If that’s all, can you fuck off?”

“Kicking me out already? You haven’t even heard me out,” He says, looking up at you through his ugly ass glasses with a smile that’s more gums than teeth. 

“You know what, I'm just gonna call the police,” You say, taking out your phone and swiping to the call app, already dialing Tsuragame’s personal number. You make sure he can see you doing it too, because you are a bitch who’s always ready to be called on her bluff. 

“Wait—!”

‘That's more like it.’

“Oh? Don’t want me to?” You ask innocently, pressing each number with added theatrics. “You know how to make it stop.”

He does in fact know how to make it stop, because he grabs your wrist and snatches your phone from you. You were fully expecting him to leave your house, and you aren’t entirely sure why someone who broke in would do the morally right thing. Maybe Tsuragame has a point about the whole reckless thing. 

“Stupid girl, do you not hear me? I’m trying to give you an opportunity,” He seethes in your face, squeezing your wrist. His breath smells like smoke, forcing you to wrinkle your nose and crane your head away from him just to make it clear you think he stinks. 

“And are you not hearing me? I don’t want an opportunity from someone who broke into my house and can’t take no for an answer,” You spit back, struggling to yank your wrist away, swinging your foot out to knock his shin. Neither attempts work, as he is both stronger and quicker than you. 

“Your door was unlocked, I wouldn't call that breaking in,” He argued, throwing you full force at your mattress to face plant into the comforter. You roll over and push yourself up again as quickly as you can, only to freeze as you come face to face with him hovering inches away from you, glaring behind his lenses. “I’m trying to reconnect you with Stain’s colleagues. Get you some friends when you’re clearly down on your luck, if you truly want me to leave you alone while the whole world scrambles to find you, I will.” 

“What…” You stare back at him, wondering if you're still hungover and just misunderstood. “What do you mean the whole world is scrambling to find me.”

The old man doesn’t answer you, instead he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, clicking at the screen before turning it to you to display a video. He presses play and you cast him a curious glance. “You wanted to know.”

The video plays, and it details Stains life. It’s clearly propaganda, and you can feel your patience waning. Just as you're about to slap his phone from his hand and demand your own back, a clip of Stain raving begins to roll. What you failed to realize last night thanks to how wasted you were, is that Stain is absolutely captivating. Not in an attractive, charming way, but in a way that makes you sit and listen because his determination just pulls you right in. 

So you sit, and you listen. It’s a miracle you managed to completely miss this speech last night, because it’s absolutely terrifying. But it captures your attention, and you get so sucked in that you forget what you're supposed to be looking for until Giran pauses the video just before it ends. He forces the phone closer into your face, and that’s when you see it. There, just behind Stain, is your fallen figure.

It’s just your luck that both the Nomu and the green-boy were out of the shot, but you remain just enough in frame to vaguely decipher your features. You glance down at the view count and blanche at the number, feeling horror strike you further when you spot just how short it’s been up for. 

“You’re in the frame for less than two seconds and yet you’re the star of the show. Nearly every comment is about you, who you are, where you are, and what your connection to Stain is,” Giran pulls his phone away from you to look at the screen himself, opening the comment section and scrolling through them. “Strangely enough, no one seems to think you’re innocent. Looking at you now, I’d have never guessed you were capable of killing 46 people.”

“I was proven innocent in court for those deaths,” You say defensively, your heart rate picking up with every second. From the angle you’re at, you can’t see what the comments are saying, but you can imagine how obsessive they are. Fans of serial killers are the worst type of people. 

“And isn’t that something?” Giran says more than he really asks, like he’s making a point. He sounds so sure of himself. Certain that you killed those people. You wonder if that’s what everyone thinks. If they think you killed every person you helped move onto the next world so they wouldn’t be alone.

What if the whole world thinks you killed your grandmother?

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears now, the rushing of your blood growing until there is nothing but a dull ringing echoing in your mind and your body trembles. Did Tsukauchi and Tsuragamae know about this? Why wouldn’t they bring it up? Why wouldn’t they warn you? 

Swallowing the fear that’s paralyzed you is nearly an impossible task. Your stomach feels like it’s dropped to the bottom of the Earth, and your anxiety has nowhere to go. Giran’s mouth is moving with words, but you can’t hear him over the damn ringing in your ears. His ugly face isn’t helping you calm down at all. 

You really wish you had your phone so you could call someone to help. You really really wish you could check to see what people are saying about you. You really really really wish the world would just stop for a minute so you could calm down. 

How can you be in your own home, in your own bed, and feel so out of place? Out of body? Maybe you do need therapy, or god or whatever. It’s getting difficult to see on top of losing your sense of hearing, and you know it’ll only be a matter of time before you black out. But how can you black out when apparently a bunch of killer fans are hunting you down? You aren’t safe. You aren’t safe— You aren’t-

Just as it feels like there will be no salvation from your mind, a wave of calm washes over you.

It’s so sudden and dramatic that you actually sway in your spot, feeling light headed. The blindspots in your vision get worse for a few seconds even as you regain control over your body, blinking deliriously. You’re so wildly confused by it that you just pat at your forehead until you’re staring at the gross guy hovering over you.

The calm fades, leaving you empty and deeply confused, but at least your hearing has returned. 

“…it’s funny though, they were there too yet all anyone can talk about is you and Stain. Be sure not to lay the ideology on too thick when you meet ‘em,” Giran’s words are finally louder than the ringing. He must really like the sound of his own voice to be talking for so long with no answer from you. He's still going through the comments on that stupid video. “The boss isn’t too fond of the Hero Killers ideology.”

“You talk too much,” You grumble, bringing a hand up to rub at your temples. 

“You can call me Giran,” The man says, almost curiously as he pockets his phone with a grin just as slimy as his soul. 

“…I’m [S/N],” You return slowly, still feeling like someone’s just dropped a bombshell on you. 

“I know,” Giran says smuggly, finally taking his phone from your face and leaning away. “I want to help you, [S/N].”

“You can start by taking your shoes off,” You reply, standing from your bed and huffing, but all the fire has left your words. You’re biting at your lips, pulling at the dead skin you get caught between your teeth as you stare between Giran and his phone. 

“Outside it is then,” Giran turns, finally walking out your door and into the hallway. He summons a lighter and cigarette from literal thin air, and lights it up, taking a drag before you can even reprimand him for it. 

“How exactly are you going to help me?” You ask, following after him. 

“Every villain in Japan is feeling motivated by Stain’s little going away speech. But he’s not here to follow up on any of that talking he did, so a lot of people have this overwhelming motivation to do something about it,” Giran explains, smoke leaving his lips and stinking up your entryway. “Not everyone can be a lone-wolf like Stain though. So they’re looking for a new leader.” 

“And what, they think that’s me?” You ask dubiously, squinting your eyes at him and waving a hand in front of your face to try and prevent yourself from breathing in any ash. 

“You aren’t much of a leader,” Giran remarks, looking you up and down. “Though, neither was Stain. Not sure how you managed to get close with the guy.”

“Uhm yeah,” Is your intelligent response, because telling Giran you were not close to Stain seems like a stupid idea.

“It’s too bad he’s going to Tartarus. But I guess it makes sense. With all the public craze, I wouldn’t put it past someone to try and break him out. At least there, he’ll be locked up for sure,” Giran takes another drag, flicking some soot onto your welcome mat and rubbing it in with the toe of his shoe.

Thankfully for him, you’re too preoccupied with what he said to flay him for it. “In Tartarus? Is that… what the news said?”

“Yeah, Endeavor made a public announcement and everything. Figures a guy like him would end up being the one to capture the Hero Killer,” Giran shrugs, then sends you a curious glance over the top of his rims. “Did you not know?”

“Uh—“ You stumble, realizing you came dangerously close to releasing apparently top secret information to someone who definitely shouldn’t know about it. “No, I just got out of investigation. I was at the station all day, and night. I haven’t gotten a chance to check the news.”

‘Why didn’t anyone say anything? Why are they keeping his death a secret?’

“They investigated you?” Giran asks, with a sudden wave of suspicion. His nasty slime soul spikes with thinly concealed threat, and you force your strongest poker face. 

“And they found me innocent of any crimes, just figured I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” You say smoothly, making direct eye contact with Giran as you do. He hesitates for a moment before relaxing, going back for another smoke, soul evening. You aren’t much of a liar, you never have. Thankfully, half truths and leaving out important information suits you just fine.

“You’re lucky, not sure how you managed that with all those lie hound-dogs they’ve got, but maybe you aren’t as useless as you seem,” Giran concedes, dropping his cigarette and stomping on it twice before turning away from you. “Good to know, I’ll be in contact, [S\N].”

“Huh? Wait, you— you’re leaving? Now?” You stammer, panic seizing you. You still have so many questions. What about helping you? What about the opportunity? What are you supposed to do with everything you’ve learned?

“Send me a text when you make up your mind, I put my contact in your phone,” Giran tosses your phone at you (which you totally didn’t forget he had), and you dance around to try and catch it, sighing with relief when you manage to get all ten fingers around it. 

And then he’s gone, only the smoke of his cigarette at your feet still burning. You check your phone screen to see that he had in fact left a contact on your phone, but it only had the text message function available, the phone call button grayed out. 

Just below, in the notes section, he’s written “The job will pay well, don’t miss out.” You laugh at the absurdity, and also a little at his audacity, but mostly you laugh because this is the first job offer you’ve ever gotten in your whole 20 years of living. And you don’t even know what the job is. 

’What a dick. I should kill that guy.’

➢ . . . . .

Giran is a fucking liar.

If you didn’t hate him before, you certainly do now. “I’ll contact you soon”, quickly became two weeks of waiting for him to reach out. When you’d sent him a text, he didn’t even bother answering, the asshole just left you on read.

It ends up being the most stressful two weeks of your life. Your homework managed to pile up after a single night of absence, and your recent slump hasn’t made it any easier to catch up. 

And by slump, you mean late-night internet diving about any information you can find on yourself. 

You know it’s stupid, but it’s so tempting, and the anxiety of not knowing what’s coming keeps you up at night anyway. Your logic was to get it out of your system in one go, just to relieve your anxiety and get back to your norm.

And then relieving the anxiety became scrolling on Reddit for hours under Stain forums. And Yotube. And TigTog. And Twitter, which you’d managed to block Endeavor on. You’ll never forgive him for ratting you out. 

From what it seems. No one knows where you live. It’s at least not public information, which you have the police department to thank for. They keep your documents under tight restriction thanks to how many people already hated you for your “accidental” appearances at their loved one’s passing. 

How Giran found you in under 24-hours is beyond you, but he’s clearly a man who has connections, and he’s been the only one. It isn’t much of a comfort, but you’re safe for now, so all you can do is hope.

Matter of fact, the only thing anyone seems interested in talking about you is your involvement with death. It’s like they don’t really care about you, they just care about how your mind works, and how you managed to ‘get away with murder so many times’. 

It’s dehumanizing, and awful to read, but it’s also deeply addictive. You couldn’t admit you had a problem until the tenth day, when the first thing you did when you woke up was reach for your phone to check if there had been any new posts about you (there had). Checking your phone first thing when you wake up was so unlike you that you just gave up and deleted most, if not all your apps to try and cut the problem off at the root. 

The worst part of it all is that you feel as though you can’t talk to anyone about it. You have the station, but you aren’t sure how much you trust them right now. Stain is dead, and yet the whole world knows a different story. As far as they’re concerned, you don’t know that the dark side of the internet is making you out to be some princess of darkness, a harbinger of reckoning. You literally just told both Tsukauchi and Tsuragamae that you don’t watch the news, and they know damn well you don’t talk to anyone outside of your close knit circle at the police department. 

You don’t want them finding out about Giran, because then they’d know you’re getting evicted, and that would really suck. You also don’t know how you’re supposed to justify not immediately calling the police when you found a stranger in your home. Yeah, too many lectures. You’ll deal with internet-anxiety. 

You’ve got, at best, a week and a half before you’re effectively homeless. That isn’t Giran’s fault, nor should you reasonably be placing all your bets on him getting you a job (because seriously, who the fuck trusts a guy like that), but you’re anxious and out of options. 

When he does finally message you back, it’s one short text with the most cryptic description of a meetup spot you’ve ever seen. You genuinely stare and scratch your head at it for five minutes before going to sleep and deciding it’s a tomorrow-you problem, like you usually do.

Tomorrow-you suffers greatly for the consequences of her actions though, because you remain just as stumped about what the hell you’re supposed to be doing, where you’re going, and if you should be telling someone. 

Giran doesn’t tell you what type of job it is, so you don’t bring anything with you. If he wanted you to, tough shit, he should’ve been more specific. You set out on foot to the random ass part of town Giran mentioned and figure that you’ll just have to check everywhere until you find him. Then, in all your mighty wisdom, you don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Again. 

‘What they don’t know can’t hurt them.’

Finding the location Giran gave you was ridiculously difficult, much more than it probably should have been. You’re well aware you’ll need your wits about you, and that these types of dealings are typical for whatever mess you’re about to land yourself in, but for fucks sake street-smarts have never been your thing. 

The only thing you’ve learned from ending up in a detective’s office every other weekend is that you have the survival instincts of a dodo bird. 

When you do finally make it to the sketchy building Giran had vaguely (very vaguely) described over text, you take a moment to consider your options with your hands on your hips. This was probably your last chance to turn back and keep your innocence. You might not be shrewd, but you were aware enough to recognize that whatever ‘job’ Giran had for you, probably wouldn’t be entirely legal. Not when he asked you to meet in a building like this. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter what he’s got planned, there can’t possibly be a bigger crime than that ugly ass scarf and purple suit coat combo. You’ll be fine.

Shrugging, you make your way through one of the doorless entrances and into the building, careful not to step on any broken glass shards. The inside is just as abandoned and sad looking as the outside, but the air is remarkably more stale. If you breathed deep enough, you could catch the faint trace of something dying. 

There’s not much of anything around besides bugs and weeds. This place isn’t just abandoned, it’s straight up deserted, reclaimed by nature. You’re sure if you weren’t specifically avoiding checking, you would find several spiders in any available corner or dark hole. 

The only real sign of human occupation is the faint sound of voices somewhere deeper in the building. It takes you a bit of wandering to figure out exactly which direction they are coming from though, because your senses are dogwater. 

When you do, you’re careful to walk quietly, tiptoeing as slowly as possible because realistically you have the stealth skills of a seagull. The voices get louder, and you can make out the familiar grimey tone of Giran among them.

There’s a door that’s mostly closed, with more light than any other room peeking out from under the gap. You’re certain it’s the right room, and you think yourself clever as you lean against the wall next to it. You have every intention to be the gossipy-eavesdropping-bitch you were always destined to be, but freeze when the talking stops and one of the voices speaks much louder than before. 

“You can stop being shy and come in now,” The voice from the other side of the door commands. Damnit, busted.

Pushing away from the wall, you move to stand in front of your entryway to hell instead. You try to peek at the crack between the doorframe to figure out if you can see who is inside, and if you really want this. If there’s hookers on the other side of this door, you’re gonna run for the hills and move to a tiny island in the middle of the sea. 

You cringe as you push the door open more with your foot, its hinges scream out impossibly loud. Inside, are three figures, who all turn to look at you.

Giran, who’s green soul flickers with interest as he spots you. An admittedly very cute looking girl with twin blonde buns on either side of her head and a soul of such a pale red color it looks pink. Finally, a man with large patches of burn scars and piercings lining every inch of his skin, who has the most pained purple soul you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

“Ah, there she is. Meet Stain’s apprentice.”