#journalists and vultures and all that

[dailykarin]

karn,,,,,,,,

day 10 karin: doppelganger karin, i miss you..

[piastri]

the oldest and most recent pictures in my screenshots folder :)((

[astonmartinii]

little lion | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem young mum!reader

journalists go digging in max's past and think they've found f1's next big scandal - but they underestimate just how protective max is of his little lion

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1tea

liked by user5, user6 and 23,095 others

f1tea: this is y/n y/ln the supposed baby momma of max verstappen. not much is known about her, with her only going back to work recently as a therapist in monaco.

her and max had their baby, a girl, back when they were 17 in 2015. max has never been seen in public with the child and has never publicly claimed her either.

will we see her in the paddock now all the news is out?

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user7: holy shit this is insane

user8: this poor girl doesn't deserve this

user9: literally, either max is a present father and is just private or he doesn't have anything to do with them? but it coming out like this is probably stressful regardless

user10: also by my calculations, the baby will be nearly nine, so probably has a concept of fame and celebrity and if they haven't gone to a race it's probably for a reason

user11: i mean the way people are already talking about them proves them right already

user12: ted kravitz telling it like it is 🤲

user13: no he's not ??? he basically went on broadcast to call y/n a slut and try and say that he was 'always right about max because this proves he is reckless'

user14: once again, this child is eight and could understand some of this if they see it

user15: also the incidents ted is bringing up happened EIGHT YEARS AGO stop bringing a child into your weird agenda

user16: if he's not careful red bull will ban sky from their media run again

user17: i found her instagram and max, alex and daniel all follow her so it's defo legit

user18: i also found it but it's private :(

user19: i tried to follow but got blocked :/

user20: do you people have rocks for brains if it's private it means we're not meant to find it, if she's not spoken about it in eight years that means IT'S NOT OUR BUSINESS

user21: someone tell max to get a DNA test asap, gold diggers will do anything for money and fame

user22: what fame? she's got like 400 followers and has never spoken about max to any media outlet

user23: the way you people jump to gold digging allegations kill me

user24: also if max is the dead beat that sky are trying to make him out to be and y/n is a gold digger then why haven't we seen some child support claims and whatnot

user25: you have no shame posting this, if she didn't want to be found she doesn't want to be found

user26: f1 vultures at their best

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,389,774 others

maxverstappen1: i've seen a lot of journalists and 'professionals' trying to point score with the 'big revelation' of my daughter. sydney is the love of my life and for someone who grew up in the public eye i thought it would be best to keep my daughter away from the circus. not that i owe it to any of you people, but i see syd as much as i possibly can and i didn't want to post her or bring her to the paddock until she could make that choice for herself. y/n is a wonderful mother and is the exact support system i would want for my daughter.

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user27: MAX IS A GIRL DAD?

user28: congratulations media and internet you forced him to expose his kid

user29: the way they probably see this as a victory annoys me to my core

yourusername: you're an amazing father max, don't let them tell you anything else. sydney loves you and that's all that matters.

maxverstappen1: thank you y/n, i miss you both - see you this weekend!

yourusername: we look forward to it! x

user30: she didn't say that she loves him too so they're defo not together

user31: will you people ever learn to read the room?

user32: oh wow so max does see his daughter - watch sky still run with the deadbeat angle

user33: they were so shameless about his SLEEP SCHEDULE i cannot imagine the shit crofty is going to throw at him over this

danielricciardo: i'm sorry for how this has all come out max but i'm so glad i can publicly express my love for my god daughter!

maxverstappen1: this might mean that you can give her all of your gifts in person (if she wants to come) lord knows i can never fit them back in my suitcase

user34: you literally have a private jet?

maxverstappen1: you underestimate how seriously daniel takes being a god parent

danielricciardo: i think i'm singlehandedly keeping jellycat in business tbf

yourusername: and ikea, i have to buy a new shelving unit every couple of weeks daniel

danielricciardo: SYD IS MY BEST FRIEND LEAVE ME ALONE

user35: drop 💥 the 💥 daniel 💥 and 💥 sydney 💥 photos 💥 now 💥

user36: actually don't i don't think my baby fever can take it

alexalbon: you're an amazing father max and sydney is the coolest girl in the world!

maxverstappen1: thank you alex 😊

alexalbon: also if you ever convince y/n to come to races PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make her bake me some of her iconic brownies

yourusername: alex you know i can just bake you some and send them to you via max

alexalbon: please 😫😫😫

yourusername: no worries albono, you're a growing boy you need the nutrients

maxverstappen1: they're brownies

alexalbon: i need y/n's brownies to deal with YOU

maxverstappen1: ok maybe this is why i don't want to introduce you all :(

yourusername: don't worry maxie i'll make you some goodies to go

maxverstappen1: thank you :)

user37: she makes him to-go goodies 🥹

yourusername

liked by feranandoalo_oficial, danielricciardo and 319,506 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm not very happy that i have to make this statement like this because people couldn't respect the boundaries max and i have set as parents but alas: max is the loveliest man in the world and the best father sydney could ask for. he has a very busy life but he still makes as much time as possible for syd and she loves him very much. max has been in the spotlight from a very young age and did not want that pressure and spectacle on his own daughter. we may have never been together, but max has never been the monster you're trying to make him out to be. please respect my daughter's privacy. thank you.

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user41: once again, this is a very cute family but god this is a horrible way to find out about them :(

user42: i hope they know so so many of us are supporting them

danielricciardo: syd has grown so much i actually feel kind of sick

yourusername: i was a mess on her first day of school :(

danielricciardo: oh i can imagine ... max never told us but i'm sure he was his usual stoic self

yourusername: he tried, but we did both cry over a carton of ice cream for the whole morning

maxverstappen1: IT WAS A VERY EMOTIONAL MORNING

yourusername: it really was 🥺

user43: i'm sorry but why do two europeans have a daughter called SYDNEY?

maxverstappen1: she's nearly eight... i made my f1 debut in australia eight years ago... i can't hold your hand any more than that

user44: LMAOOOOOOO

danielricciardo: i am HURT i thought she was named after her beloved god father?

yourusername: if that was the case do you not think we would've gone for the more obvious option of DANIELLE???

maxverstappen1: also you were just an acquaintance and childhood crush at that point daniel

yourusername: omg childhood crush on daniel SNAP

danielricciardo: i'm not that old???

maxverstappen1: we have such good taste

yourusername: we REALLY do

user44: so like they're defo flirting right?

user45: ugh you people have no class (i hope so)

landonorris: i'm so sorry for you guys BUT THANK GOD IT WAS SO HARD TO KEEP HER A SECRET

maxverstappen1: i mean y/n and i kept her a secret for like nearly eight years 🤨

yourusername: i also 100% caught your slip ups you're just lucky there was never any rumour at those times

landonorris: I AM A BLABBERMOUTH PLEASE BE PROUD OF ME

maxverstappen1: fine?

yourusername: i'd be more proud but everyone else also kept the secret sooooo ???

alexalbon

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 894,503 others

tagged: lilymunhe, yourusername

alexalbon: with permission i am now allowed to post my bestest friend in the world!

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user46: god has heard my prayers and gave me my alex and sydney content

user47: i'd say what a random pairing but i think my brain just blocked out alex at red bull as a trauma response

alexalbon: lord knows i only got through being locked in the sim with y/n's brownies and hugs from syd

yourusername: syd asked for her favourite uncle to score more points so we can get ice cream again

alexalbon: i'll fix the damn williams myself

yourusername: hurry up she's getting impatient (i have no clue where she gets that from)

maxverstappen1: I AM NOT IMPATIENT I JUST LIKE THINGS BEING DONE IN A PROMPT MANNER

yourusername: is that what you tell the engineers?

maxverstappen1: ... something along those lines

yourusername: are you going to get more community service?

maxverstappen1: i don't think there were any cameras ???

user48: so max doesn't believe in not swearing around kids... how bad is it with sydney?

maxverstappen1: i am on my BEST behaviour for her

alexalbon: she's like a little sailor

maxverstappen1: in my defence she's much cuter when she swears than me

charles_leclerc: is this why she called me a wanker when i didn't bring leo to the house?

yourusername: i fear that has alex albon written all over it

alexalbon: whoops!

lilymunhe: we need another play date asap !! he goes so mushy i can get him to do all the cute dates i wanna do

yourusername: is that why i got given a badly painted mug?

alexalbon: hey! i worked very hard on that :(

maxverstappen1: i thought sydney painted it alex

alexalbon: can you guys stop ganging up on me :(((((

yourusername: no!

maxverstappen1: 😘

user49: feeling some ... tension here

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, alexalbon and 1,450,987 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: guess who wanted to come see dad at work?

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user51: oh she really is max verstappen's daughter with that cold middle finger to ted kravitz

user52: are they going to make an eight year old do community service as well?

yourusername: great now she's attached to the engineers

maxverstappen1: oh noooooooooo how will we ever cope??? maybe we should all go to every race ???

yourusername: that would be very convenient, wouldn't it?

maxverstappen1: i can see you smiling while typing, i don't think you're as opposed as you say you are

yourusername: you got me! i like to see syd happy :(

maxverstappen1: and me...?

yourusername: and you, i guess 😚

user53: so like are we just going to ignore all of this ^^ and the second picture?

user54: it would be nice that through all the shit they've had thrown at them that they got together through it

danielricciardo: he's been waiting long enough

maxverstappen1: DANIEL???

danielricciardo: what ???

user55: daniel, thank you for your service

user56: i mean we've seen them at one race and it's crazy to think they're not together

alexalbon: why did i have to track my bestie down at the hotel? you verstappens too good for the williams garage?

yourusername: we were busy !!!

alexalbon: franco is distraught

francocolapinto: i am?

alexalbon: yes!!!!

francocolapinto: i am!

maxverstappen1: stop yapping for the love of god i was getting my shit together - something YOU told me to do

alexalbon: fine... i guess

user57: so like that's confirmation right?

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly and 2,349,855 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm still reporting all you journalists to the ethics boards but i guess something good did come out of all of this

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user58: FUCK SKY SPORTS BUT THANK THE LORD THIS IS SO CUTE

user59: a family that flips off ted kravitz together, stays together!

user60: y/n's dirty look at him will forever be legendary

maxverstappen1: i've always loved you, and i've loved playing the long game with you and prioritising syd !! here's to the rest of our lives xx

yourusername: i've always loved you too but as convoluted as it has been i think this has been the best way to be - all love to syd first

maxverstappen1: but now we can cut the shit and do all the cute things without it having to be a 'play date'

yourusername: i love you dummy, but your cats are mine now

maxverstappen1: they've always been yours, just like me

user61: okay fuck you guys this is too fucking cute

user62: no because i'm too chronically lonely to read this this morning

landonorris: FINALLY, I COULDN'T KEEP ANOTHER SECRET FOR MUCH LONGER

danielricciardo: booooooo, we've all kept this secret you're not special

landonorris: i thought i was the only one who max told about his feelings? like literally on the podium when he saw y/n and syd watching?

oscarpiastri: i think you just can't read people lando, even i knew max liked y/n and i've only seen them interact THIS WEEKEND

alexalbon: we've all known forever lando, you're not getting sympathy for keeping the secret for 12 hours

user63: the grid being so protective of the lil family is so cute

user64: i read that george got the GDPA to sign a petition that the media couldn't ask about syd before max was ready to start the conversation himself

user65: also by the sounds of it, they've been rooting for this relationship just as long as max and y/n

maxverstappen1: i'm so lucky to have two amazing girls in my life, i'll love you forever and as long as you'll have me

yourusername: now i have you, i'm never letting you go

maxverstappen1: right back at you

yourusername: you're the bestest father ever and the love of my life, never let anyone tell you anything else my gentle boy

maxverstappen1: i love you both more than anything ever, you're my guardian angel and syd is my favourite little lion

fin.

note: HAPPY MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN BIRTHDAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE !!!

[pinkmoonastro]

The 12 houses explained: short word format

1st: Aries, Mars, Yang, Dragon, Bee, Face, Eyes, Eyebrows, Voice, Accent, First Glance, Passion, Drive, Self Esteem, 3rd Eye, Intuition, Hard on yourself, Mutable, Patience, Leader, Stoic, Muscles, Neck/Head tension, Animals, Intensity, Head scarf, Tender headed, Attracting energy vampires, Hard headed, Red, Purple, Sexual energy, Humor, Introvert/extrovert, Fear of child baring because loss of freedom, Judgement, Lymph nodes, Guitar, Fast talker, Sharp talker, Forward thinking, Warrior, Personality, Spine...

2nd: Taurus, Venus, Yin, Panda, Neck/Throat, Throat chakra, Mouth, Thyroid, Heart, Pink, Blue, Fluid, Security, Resources, Musician, Silent, Introvert, Nose, Scent, Taste, Parent, Singing, Arms, Dancing, Food, Breeze, Partnership, Sharing, Values, Luxury, Pleasure, Easy going, Soft spoken, Naivety, Split decisions, Indecisive, Moon, Father, Sturdy, Poker face, Children, Trustworthy, Grit, Victory, Horses, Trials...

3rd: Gemini, Mercury, Yin/Yang, Jack Rabbit, Hands, Feet, Speech, Tongue, Lungs, Fast pace, Exercise, excitement, Bounce back, Joy, Vigor, Youth, Fidget, Anxiety, Habits, Expressive, Musician, Storyteller, School, Journalist, Moral system, Networking, Group, Siblings, Questioning, Stocks/trading, Choices, Dedication, Picky, Options, Dare Devil, Flirt, Long lasting, Hopes, Trees/Forest, Art, Comedian, Chances, Materials, Time, Loyal, Boundaries, ...

4th: Cancer, Moon, Yin, Owl, Family, Mother, Compassion, Creation, Birth, Life, Regret, Sleep, Nipple, Breast, Anus, Stomach, Womb, Bellybutton, Heart, Sacral, Blue, White, Yellow, Ocean, Cold, Night, Cycle, Fly on the wall, Unspoken secrets, Pores, Suicide, Whispers, Distracted, Outsider, Alchemy, Caregiver, Chef, Guidance, Critical, Teeth, Passage/Gateway, Humming, Drums, Weight on your back, Pressures, Gratefulness, Gratitude, Obedience, Horse, Animals, Words that cut...

5th: Leo, Sun, Yang, Lion, Spine, Heart, Pets, Fun, Youthful, Children, Love affairs, Expression, Dance, Gymnastics, Loud, Bright colors, Short trips, Friends, Aunts/Uncles, Get togethers, Cars, Innovative, Actor, Protection, Magician, Gardening, Gossip, Alchemy, Adulthood, Relaxing, Bonding, Self destruction, Slick words, Hard work, Spotlight, Sharing, Rebuilding, Clothing, Renewed vision, Drawing board, Companionship, Grounding...

6th: Virgo, Mercury, Yin, Ant, Crane, Praying Mantis, Work environment, Routine, Structure, Time, Patience, Health issues, Hygiene, Nervous system, digestive system, Pancreas, Gallbladder, Notebooks, Writing, Movies, Home, Relaxing, Forgiving, Generous, Social Life, Bonding, Practice, Foresight, Letting go, Stable, Helpful, Tense, Pressure, Negative thoughts, Reminisce, Addiction, Sorrow, Indecision, Indigestion, Saving Finances, Strong will, Codependency, Maturing, Realizing, Criticism, Self Honoring...

7th: Libra, Venus, Yin, Dragon Fly, Peacock, Marraige, Partnership, Contracts, Joint endeavors, Kidneys, Bladder, Blood, Caring what others think, Voice, Accent, Culture, Rebuilding, Learning new ways to do, Home decor, Learning gratitude, Giving, Reseveing, Welcome home, Comfort, Jot, Warmth, Spring, Flowers, New thought processes, Building Legacy, Defending yourself, Possessions, Slower living, Connecting to nature, Center of attention...

8th: Scorpio, Pluto, Mars, Yin/Yang, Vulture, Jaguar, Phoenix Death/Rebirth, Fears, Dark, Dreams, Escaping, Running, Hoarding, Lack, Homelessness, Strength, Stamina, Restart, Hard work paying off, Legacy, Against all odds, Elimination system, Pelvis, All the holes in the body, Burgundy, Purple, Black, Sex organs, Releasing worries, Manipulation, Smothering, Misunderstood, Coffee, Over giving, Partnership, Friendship, Sensuality, Secretion, Body odor, Roses, Fruit trees, Chapel, Railroad, Balancing, Power, Unseen forces, Intimidation, Relaxation...

9th: Sagittarius,Jupiter, Yang, Donkey, Whale, Shark, Liver, Legs, Posture, Religion, Long distance, Foreign travel, New ideas, Creative thoughts, Energy, Witty, Nomad, Idealistic, Larger than life, Focused on success, Friendship, Gatherings, Social Life, Relaxing, Luxury, Boundaries, Tired, Mental Illness, Restrictions, Insecurities, Grandparents, Quiet time, Relationships, Sharing, Attention, Harmony, Rebirth, Hard work, Getting over, Time, Late night thoughts, Male role model, Weight on your back, Responsibilities, Greedy, Guarded, Proud, Protection, Unique, Lavender...

10th: Capricorn, Saturn, Yang, Sheep, Alligator Honey Badger, Cactus, Sterile, Marble, White, Grey, Cold, Winter, Snow, Reputation, Social status, Farming, Popularity, Bones, Skin, Nails, Hair, Sharp, Leather, Goat, Structure, Skin conditions, Over explaining, Hard on others/yourself, Violin, Holding onto the past, Hard choices, Seeing others happen, Collecting, Finding purpose, Unique interest, Creative ways to make money, Standing up for yourself, Tunnel vision, Sharing, Networking, Group efforts, Working on love...

11th: Aquarius, Uranus, Yin/Yang, Moose, Mongoose, Snake, Friends, Parties, Organizations, Goals, Hopes, School, Science, mutable, unique style, Different friend groups, Water, Lakes, Rivers, Driving, Circulatory System, Pituitary glands, Changing course, Fear of change, Social media, Learning to stand alone, Trusting intuition, Defending loved ones, nonchalant, Increasing expectations, Std, Dead tree, Sticking it out, Elders, Community, Taking a stand, Protest, Elections, Politics, Numbers, Releasing restrictions...

12th: Pisces, Neptune, Yin, Fish, Birds, Friends, More to go around, Letting go, Releasing Past, Decor, Eye for style, Luxury, Opinionated, Energy field, Subconscious, Mountains, Fog, Spa, Skincare, Hygiene, Safety, Frienemies, Luck, Protection, Unprovided jealously, Foreign, Secret, Being watched, Self expression, Confidence, Talents, Anxiety, Depression, Breath, Dreams, Sleeping, Ufc/boxing, Always wanting more, Magician, Plants, Sunshine, Exotic, Target, Maturity, Completion...

[messenger-of-babel]

Make it Better

Summary: You wanted to be better for him, but maybe better wasn't what he wanted.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: Argghhh I had a chance to cook, and chat, I fear I fumbled. Through two rounds of drafting too,. Ah well, I solemnly swear to do more Dick content regardless. 😤

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You smoothed down your clothes, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your forehead was creased lightly in worry, fingers playing with your hair as you tried to get it to sit right. No matter what you did, nothing seemed to look the way you wanted. You didn't like the jewellery you wore, or the way you had done your hair. Your clothes seem wrinkled in the light no matter how many times you undressed to steam them, and the vibrant blue you wore seemed to be wearing you instead. You sigh, head coming to thump against the mirror.

You swear you had tried to do better than this.

It was always the same pit of nervousness that came off of going to one of the Wayne Family Gala's, so deep and endless in your stomach it felt like the rest of you would just fall through. Not only that, but you were also on the arm of one of the heirs of Gotham, one of the princes whose face was on every magazine cover and every second teenager’s bedroom wall.

Dealing with cameras that flashed nonstop, light so blinding you thought it had been daylight the first time you experienced it. A red carpet walk that felt like a vulture's strip, your name being screamed at by faceless reporters, microphones and cameras waving over the red rope stanchions to try and pry your comment from you. It was all so overwhelming, the sounds and lights. You surely would have collapsed the first time, if it hadn't been the comforting weight that slipped around your waist, and the dazzling smile that took the heat off you.

Dick's hand always knew how to keep you grounded during those events, tracing small shapes into your waist and turning you so he could take the brunt of the cameras. Waving to every news reporter and journalist frothing at the mouth for his statement, always offering some upbeat support for whatever the cause was, while they wrote it like the word of God. The same hand that would guide you through the doors of the venue and out of reach of the squabble outside, looking down at you with the boyish blue eyes you adored and white grin stretched across his face.

"You okay?" he'd ask softly, and you always nodded. The tension in your body melted away when his eyes searched yours so earnestly, trying to pick apart if you were lying. His own worry always seemed to dwarf your own, making you smile as you reassured him that you were fine.

You wanted to get better this time.

So, when you arrived for the Christmas Ball held by the Mayor in the Park, you had already prepped yourself. Dick had come to collect you in his car, smile bright and dazzling when he saw you. It was like he saw past all the flaws you could highlight in your outfit, not caring that the shade of blue you were wearing didn't match his tie exactly, and that despite all your efforts your hair refused to co-operate. He made no comment on your jewellery despite how you felt that the silver you picked didn't match with the rest of what you were wearing, or that it clashed with the gold on your shoes. He just opened the car door for you, kissing your cheek as his hand came to the middle of your back where it belonged.

"You look amazing." he hummed; eyes bright as he shut your door for you. You smiled weakly back in response, tension easing slightly. he could tell your anxiety hadn't gone down, evident in the way his thumb drew circles on your thigh, one hand resting there while the other gripped the wheel. Your hands felt cold despite the car's heater going full blast, and your cheeks were numb. The pit in your stomach threatened to swallow you whole again, adrenaline running through your body like you were fighting for your life. It made your throat close up, worsening as the car rolled to a stop.

"You going to be okay?" he asks softly, hand coming to gently cup your face. You nod, although your smile was tense.

You could do better. This night was going to be fine.

"Yeah. I'm ready." you reply back, the clamouring of reporters and the frantic clicking of shutters were dulled while you were in the car, but you knew it would turn into a roar the second the seal of the door cracked. "We'll make the entry quick; I promise." he smiles, hurrying out from the driver’s seat to come to your door, the paparazzi outside growing ten times louder now that a prince of Gotham has shown his face.

Like the true gentleman he is, he offered his hand to help you climb out from the passenger’s side, broad shoulders blocking most of the flashes aimed your way. You tilt your head up, and your breath is stolen for a moment.

"Good?" he mouths to you, and you wordlessly nod. Illuminated by the flashes of the cameras behind him he looked heaven sent, a bright halo ghosting over the contours of his face and the dip of his cupid's bow. You nod, and he brings you out in front of the crowd. The flashes blind you as usual, but you do your best to send a few smiles their way, waving at a couple of reporters that make you pose together for photos. A perfect couple, that's what you tried to be. Tried to be someone worth standing next to the human turned angel next to you.

You hold yourself together, feeling more and more confident as you walk your way down the carpet, until you’re out of sight. You turn to him now hidden behind the privacy of the event doors, beaming up at him. He reciprocates his smile, hands settling onto your hips as he pulls you close for only a moment. "Getting the hang of it I see," he teases, "I told you; you were made for the spotlight."

He chuckles at the light flush that envelops your features, arm looped with yours as he guides you into the ballroom.

That one comment makes you feel on top of the world, inspiring you to come out of your shell and mingle with everyone, glass in your hand. You felt seen, branching off for conversations and even getting along well with some of his brothers as they arrive. The anxiety smooths out from your forehead, shoulders relaxing and smiles coming more easily.

That was until you saw her.  More accurately, until you saw him looking at her.

Barbara entered the ballroom, clad in a beautiful, deep purple dress and her gorgeous orange hair falling down her back. Your shoulders raised again, fingers tightening on the glass flute uncomfortably.

She was gorgeous, of course. You told her any time you saw her around, since she was still invited to the family dinners every couple of months. Tense smiles swapped between you both, with conversation just polite enough to cover any awkwardness. Were you apprehensive when you started dating Dick and he told you that they were still friends? of course you were. Was it a worry when they had “work” discussions you weren’t allowed to be in? You had cried over some of those nights.  But his smile was charming, and he treated you like you were his earth.

Well, if you were his earth, he was looking at her like she was his sun.

You swear you could see galaxies in the deep blue of his eyes, stars in the smile that fell across his face when she waved at him. Even when she disappeared into the sea of rich Gothamites, his eyes sought her out like an asteroid in orbit. Everything felt like it was collapsing around you, spotlight of confidence cut off and leaving a cool chill across your skin.

Your clothes felt itchy and off colour again, jewellery felt cheap. Your shoes didn't fit right, and your hair looked unflattering in the window reflections. Like Cinderella your clock had struck midnight, except you hadn't even gotten to dance yet. Your stomach rolled, butterflies from before attaching to your sides and cocooning again, going still. Your heart felt heavy, sitting low in your throat and preventing you from calling his name. He looked so spellbound, so full of longing in the way that his lip’s part softly in a sigh.

When he blinks it's like he comes out of a trance and he takes a moment to collect himself again, hand coming to rest once more on your waist. He looks down at you, and you take in his features again. The starlight in his eyes has dulled, his smile still soft but nowhere near as radiant. You had no idea if he realised what he had done, if he was aware of the way he radiated sunlight simply from looking at her. "Let's go get something to eat, dinner will be served soon." he grins, leading you along after your tight-lipped smile and nod. He grinned at the high class he passed, politely navigating them with you at his side completely unknowing that they'd all witnessed his visible adoration. Oblivious himself to the fact that his heart was still in love with the commissioner’s daughter, despite having you by his side.

You wanted to it to all get better, and for a moment it had.

However, as he pulled out your chair for you and you made eye contact with the gorgeous, green eyed woman across from you, the reality sank in that no matter how much you wanted to do better, you would never be able to do better than the memory of her.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How to shatter the class solidarity of the ruling class

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me WEDNESDAY (Apr 11) at UCLA, then Chicago (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Audre Lorde counsels us that "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House," while MLK said "the law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me." Somewhere between replacing the system and using the system lies a pragmatic – if easily derailed – course.

Lorde is telling us that a rotten system can't be redeemed by using its own chosen reform mechanisms. King's telling us that unless we live, we can't fight – so anything within the system that makes it easier for your comrades to fight on can hasten the end of the system.

Take the problems of journalism. One old model of journalism funding involved wealthy newspaper families profiting handsomely by selling local appliance store owners the right to reach the townspeople who wanted to read sports-scores. These families expressed their patrician love of their town by peeling off some of those profits to pay reporters to sit through municipal council meetings or even travel overseas and get shot at.

In retrospect, this wasn't ever going to be a stable arrangement. It relied on both the inconstant generosity of newspaper barons and the absence of a superior way to show washing-machine ads to people who might want to buy washing machines. Neither of these were good long-term bets. Not only were newspaper barons easily distracted from their sense of patrician duty (especially when their own power was called into question), but there were lots of better ways to connect buyers and sellers lurking in potentia.

All of this was grossly exacerbated by tech monopolies. Tech barons aren't smarter or more evil than newspaper barons, but they have better tools, and so now they take 51 cents out of every ad dollar and 30 cents out of ever subscriber dollar and they refuse to deliver the news to users who explicitly requested it, unless the news company pays them a bribe to "boost" their posts:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The news is important, and people sign up to make, digest, and discuss the news for many non-economic reasons, which means that the news continues to struggle along, despite all the economic impediments and the vulture capitalists and tech monopolists who fight one another for which one will get to take the biggest bite out of the press. We've got outstanding nonprofit news outlets like Propublica, journalist-owned outlets like 404 Media, and crowdfunded reporters like Molly White (and winner-take-all outlets like the New York Times).

But as Hamilton Nolan points out, "that pot of money…is only large enough to produce a small fraction of the journalism that was being produced in past generations":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/what-will-replace-advertising-revenue

For Nolan, "public funding of journalism is the only way to fix this…If we accept that journalism is not just a business or a form of entertainment but a public good, then funding it with public money makes perfect sense":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/public-funding-of-journalism-is-the

Having grown up in Canada – under the CBC – and then lived for a quarter of my life in the UK – under the BBC – I am very enthusiastic about Nolan's solution. There are obvious problems with publicly funded journalism, like the politicization of news coverage:

https://www.theguardian.com/media/2023/jan/24/panel-approving-richard-sharp-as-bbc-chair-included-tory-party-donor

And the transformation of the funding into a cheap political football:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/poilievre-defund-cbc-change-law-1.6810434

But the worst version of those problems is still better than the best version of the private-equity-funded model of news production.

But Nolan notes the emergence of a new form of hedge fund news, one that is awfully promising, and also terribly fraught: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet owned by short-sellers who pay journalists to research and publish damning reports on companies they hold a short position on:

https://hntrbrk.com/

For those of you who are blissfully distant from the machinations of the financial markets, "short selling" is a wager that a company's stock price will go down. A gambler who takes a short position on a company's stock can make a lot of money if the company stumbles or fails altogether (but if the company does well, the short can suffer literally unlimited losses).

Shorts have historically paid analysts to dig into companies and uncover the sins hidden on their balance-sheets, but as Matt Levine points out, journalists work for a fraction of the price of analysts and are at least as good at uncovering dirt as MBAs are:

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2024-04-02/a-hedge-fund-that-s-also-a-newspaper

What's more, shorts who discover dirt on a company still need to convince journalists to publicize their findings and trigger the sell-off that makes their short position pay off. Shorts who own a muckraking journalistic operation can skip this step: they are the journalists.

There's a way in which this is sheer genius. Well-funded shorts who don't care about the news per se can still be motivated into funding freely available, high-quality investigative journalism about corporate malfeasance (notoriously, one of the least attractive forms of journalism for advertisers). They can pay journalists top dollar – even bid against each other for the most talented journalists – and supply them with all the tools they need to ply their trade. A short won't ever try the kind of bullshit the owners of Vice pulled, paying themselves millions while their journalists lose access to Lexisnexis or the PACER database:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

The shorts whose journalists are best equipped stand to make the most money. What's not to like?

Well, the issue here is whether the ruling class's sense of solidarity is stronger than its greed. The wealthy have historically oscillated between real solidarity (think of the ultrawealthy lobbying to support bipartisan votes for tax cuts and bailouts) and "war of all against all" (as when wealthy colonizers dragged their countries into WWI after the supply of countries to steal ran out).

After all, the reason companies engage in the scams that shorts reveal is that they are profitable. "Behind every great fortune is a great crime," and that's just great. You don't win the game when you get into heaven, you win it when you get into the Forbes Rich List.

Take monopolies: investors like the upside of backing an upstart company that gobbles up some staid industry's margins – Amazon vs publishing, say, or Uber vs taxis. But while there's a lot of upside in that move, there's also a lot of risk: most companies that set out to "disrupt" an industry sink, taking their investors' capital down with them.

Contrast that with monopolies: backing a company that merges with its rivals and buys every small company that might someday grow large is a sure thing. Shriven of "wasteful competition," a company can lower quality, raise prices, capture its regulators, screw its workers and suppliers and laugh all the way to Davos. A big enough company can ignore the complaints of those workers, customers and regulators. They're not just too big to fail. They're not just too big to jail. They're too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Would-be monopolists are stuck in a high-stakes Prisoner's Dilemma. If they cooperate, they can screw over everyone else and get unimaginably rich. But if one party defects, they can raid the monopolist's margins, short its stock, and snitch to its regulators.

It's true that there's a clear incentive for hedge-fund managers to fund investigative journalism into other hedge-fund managers' portfolio companies. But it would be even more profitable for both of those hedgies to join forces and collude to screw the rest of us over. So long as they mistrust each other, we might see some benefit from that adversarial relationship. But the point of the 0.1% is that there aren't very many of them. The Aspen Institute can rent a hall that will hold an appreciable fraction of that crowd. They buy their private jets and bespoke suits and powdered rhino horn from the same exclusive sellers. Their kids go to the same elite schools. They know each other, and they have every opportunity to get drunk together at a charity ball or a society wedding and cook up a plan to join forces.

This is the problem at the core of "mechanism design" grounded in "rational self-interest." If you try to create a system where people do the right thing because they're selfish assholes, you normalize being a selfish asshole. Eventually, the selfish assholes form a cozy little League of Selfish Assholes and turn on the rest of us.

Appeals to morality don't work on unethical people, but appeals to immorality crowds out ethics. Take the ancient split between "free software" (software that is designed to maximize the freedom of the people who use it) and "open source software" (identical to free software, but promoted as a better way to make robust code through transparency and peer review).

Over the years, open source – an appeal to your own selfish need for better code – triumphed over free software, and its appeal to the ethics of a world of "software freedom." But it turns out that while the difference between "open" and "free" was once mere semantics, it's fully possible to decouple the two. Today, we have lots of "open source": you can see the code that Google, Microsoft, Apple and Facebook uses, and even contribute your labor to it for free. But you can't actually decide how the software you write works, because it all takes a loop through Google, Microsoft, Apple or Facebook's servers, and only those trillion-dollar tech monopolists have the software freedom to determine how those servers work:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/04/which-side-are-you-on/#tivoization-and-beyond

That's ruling class solidarity. The Big Tech firms have hidden a myriad of sins beneath their bafflegab and balance-sheets. These (as yet) undiscovered scams constitute a "bezzle," which JK Galbraith defined as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it."

The purpose of Hunterbrook is to discover and destroy bezzles, hastening the moment of realization that the wealth we all feel in a world of seemingly orderly technology is really an illusion. Hunterbrook certainly has its pick of bezzles to choose from, because we are living in a Golden Age of the Bezzle.

Which is why I titled my new novel The Bezzle. It's a tale of high-tech finance scams, starring my two-fisted forensic accountant Marty Hench, and in this volume, Hench is called upon to unwind a predatory prison-tech scam that victimizes the most vulnerable people in America – our army of prisoners – and their families:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The scheme I fictionalize in The Bezzle is very real. Prison-tech monopolists like Securus and Viapath bribe prison officials to abolish calls, in-person visits, mail and parcels, then they supply prisoners with "free" tablets where they pay hugely inflated rates to receive mail, speak to their families, and access ebooks, distance education and other electronic media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

But a group of activists have cornered these high-tech predators, run them to ground and driven them to the brink of extinction, and they've done it using "the master's tools" – with appeals to regulators and the finance sector itself.

Writing for The Appeal, Dana Floberg and Morgan Duckett describe the campaign they waged with Worth Rises to bankrupt the prison-tech sector:

https://theappeal.org/securus-bankruptcy-prison-telecom-industry/

Here's the headline figure: Securus is $1.8 billion in debt, and it has eight months to find a financier or it will go bust. What's more, all the creditors it might reasonably approach have rejected its overtures, and its bonds have been downrated to junk status. It's a dead duck.

Even better is how this happened. Securus's debt problems started with its acquisition, a leveraged buyout by Platinum Equity, who borrowed heavily against the firm and then looted it with bogus "management fees" that meant that the debt continued to grow, despite Securus's $700m in annual revenue from America's prisoners. Platinum was just the last in a long line of PE companies that loaded up Securus with debt and merged it with its competitors, who were also mortgaged to make profits for other private equity funds.

For years, Securus and Platinum were able to service their debt and roll it over when it came due. But after Worth Rises got NYC to pass a law making jail calls free, creditors started to back away from Securus. It's one thing for Securus to charge $18 for a local call from a prison when it's splitting the money with the city jail system. But when that $18 needs to be paid by the city, they're going to demand much lower prices. To make things worse for Securus, prison reformers got similar laws passed in San Francisco and in Connecticut.

Securus tried to outrun its problems by gobbling up one of its major rivals, Icsolutions, but Worth Rises and its coalition convinced regulators at the FCC to block the merger. Securus abandoned the deal:

https://worthrises.org/blogpost/securusmerger

Then, Worth Rises targeted Platinum Equity, going after the pension funds and other investors whose capital Platinum used to keep Securus going. The massive negative press campaign led to eight-figure disinvestments:

https://www.latimes.com/business/story/2019-09-05/la-fi-tom-gores-securus-prison-phone-mass-incarceration

Now, Securus's debt became "distressed," trading at $0.47 on the dollar. A brief, covid-fueled reprieve gave Securus a temporary lifeline, as prisoners' families were barred from in-person visits and had to pay Securus's rates to talk to their incarcerated loved ones. But after lockdown, Securus's troubles picked up right where they left off.

They targeted Platinum's founder, Tom Gores, who papered over his bloody fortune by styling himself as a philanthropist and sports-team owner. After a campaign by Worth Rises and Color of Change, Gores was kicked off the Los Angeles County Museum of Art board. When Gores tried to flip Securus to a SPAC – the same scam Trump pulled with Truth Social – the negative publicity about Securus's unsound morals and financials killed the deal:

https://twitter.com/WorthRises/status/1578034977828384769

Meanwhile, more states and cities are making prisoners' communications free, further worsening Securus's finances:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Congress passed the Martha Wright-Reed Just and Reasonable Communications Act, giving the FCC the power to regulate the price of federal prisoners' communications. Securus's debt prices tumbled further:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

Securus's debts were coming due: it owes $1.3b in 2024, and hundreds of millions more in 2025. Platinum has promised a $400m cash infusion, but that didn't sway S&P Global, a bond-rating agency that re-rated Securus's bonds as "CCC" (compare with "AAA"). Moody's concurred. Now, Securus is stuck selling junk-bonds:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

The company's creditors have given Securus an eight-month runway to find a new lender before they force it into bankruptcy. The company's debt is trading at $0.08 on the dollar.

Securus's major competitor is Viapath (prison tech is a duopoly). Viapath is also debt-burdened and desperate, thanks to a parallel campaign by Worth Rises, and has tried all of Securus's tricks, and failed:

https://pestakeholder.org/news/american-securities-fails-to-sell-prison-telecom-company-viapath/

Viapath's debts are due next year, and if Securus tanks, no one in their right mind will give Viapath a dime. They're the walking dead.

Worth Rise's brilliant guerrilla warfare against prison-tech and its private equity backers are a master class in using the master's tools to dismantle the master's house. The finance sector isn't a friend of justice or working people, but sometimes it can be used tactically against financialization itself. To paraphrase MLK, "finance can't make a corporation love you, but it can stop a corporation from destroying you."

Yes, the ruling class finds solidarity at the most unexpected moments, and yes, it's easy for appeals to greed to institutionalize greediness. But whether it's funding unbezzling journalism through short selling, or freeing prisons by brandishing their cooked balance-sheets in the faces of bond-rating agencies, there's a lot of good we can do on the way to dismantling the system.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

Image: KMJ (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Boerse_01_KMJ.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[stormyfog]

in plain sight 🫀

murderer heeseung x journalist fem!reader

content: yandere behavior, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, smut later on

chapter 1

the air was thick with the acrid scent of blood, a stark contrast to the evening’s chill as police lights flickered against the shadows of the small town. the crowd had gathered like vultures, murmuring among themselves, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity. in the center of it all, a body lay sprawled in the alley, barely covered by a thin sheet, a stark reminder of the violence that had gripped this quiet town. y/n pushed through the mass of onlookers, notebook in hand, her instincts as a journalist kicking in. this was her job—find the truth, even if it meant uncovering the darkest corners of human nature. as she scanned the crowd, her eyes landed on him—a man standing just on the edge of the gathering, his expression unreadable, eyes glinting in the dim light. he blended in perfectly, like any other face in the crowd, yet something about him made her hesitate. he was smiling to himself, just enough for her to notice.

i took a step closer, my gaze lingering on the man longer than i intended. he didn’t seem to notice, his attention fixed on the scene before us. i shook it off and moved toward the group of bystanders nearest to the alley, but as i stepped forward, i realized he was now standing right behind me. “excuse me,” i asked, turning toward him. “did you see anything unusual tonight?” i hesitated, then added, “what’s your name?” he smiled—a slow, deliberate smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “heeseung,” he replied, his voice soft, almost too calm for the circumstances. “but i think you’re looking in the wrong place.” his gaze flickered from the body back to me, as if he knew exactly what i was thinking. a chill ran down my spine, but i forced myself to stay professional. he was just another face in the crowd, after all.

i couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him wasn’t right. there was a coolness in his eyes that didn’t match the situation. everyone else was tense, their voices sharp with fear or shock, but not him. he looked almost... amused. i forced myself to focus, nodding as i scribbled down a few notes, trying to brush off the unease his presence stirred in me. but as i turned back to the crime scene, i noticed he was still watching me, not making any effort to hide it. it felt as if he was waiting for me to figure something out, some hidden message he was offering without saying a word. i swallowed hard and glanced away, hoping i hadn’t imagined the intensity of his stare. but when i glanced back a moment later, he was gone—slipping back into the crowd as quietly as he had appeared.

i was about to leave the scene, my mind already racing through the details i’d gathered, when something caught my eye—a small, folded piece of paper near the edge of the crime scene tape. it was tucked just beneath a trash can, almost hidden from view. my heart skipped a beat as i reached for it, careful not to disturb anything else. as i unfolded it, i noticed it wasn’t an ordinary piece of paper; it was a torn scrap from one of my own articles. the edges were frayed, but there, scrawled in dark ink across the page, was a single line: “some things are closer than you think.” my breath caught in my throat. the handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message? it sent a cold shiver down my spine. heeseung. had he done this? i looked around the scene one last time, but he was nowhere to be found.

i couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me as i walked home, the streets eerily quiet beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. the paper in my pocket felt heavier with every step, like a secret i wasn’t ready to confront. i tried to focus on the facts, telling myself it was just paranoia, but every time i glanced over my shoulder, i saw nothing but the empty road. it wasn’t until i turned the corner near my apartment building that i caught a glimpse of him—heeseung. he was standing in the shadows, barely visible, but i knew it was him. my heart thudded in my chest as i quickened my pace, trying to convince myself i was imagining it. but when i reached my door and turned the key, i caught the faintest glimpse of him moving in the distance, just out of reach, as if he was waiting for me to notice.

inside, i slammed the door behind me and locked it, my hands trembling as i pulled out the torn article. i stared at the cryptic message, my mind racing. was he trying to get my attention? or was this just some twisted game? i quickly fired up my laptop, searching for anything that could connect heeseung to the murders—or to me. but all i found were news stories, police reports, and unsettling gaps in the timeline. my fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure where to start. the more i searched, the more questions piled up. and somewhere in the back of my mind, a single, chilling thought lingered: what if i was already part of the story?

i sat back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. maybe i was being paranoid. it could’ve been anyone following me—someone else just out for a late walk, or maybe a neighbor on their way home. i was starting to overthink things. the city was quiet at night, and it had been a long day. i let out a shaky breath and stood up to stretch, pushing the creeping unease to the back of my mind. but as i glanced at the torn scrap of paper again, my stomach churned. i had to stay focused. heeseung was just a name in a sea of suspects, nothing more. i closed my laptop and tried to shake off the lingering feeling of his gaze, but it clung to me like a shadow. i wasn’t going to let this get to me.

i made myself some tea, trying to clear my mind, and sat by the window, watching the streets below. the familiar sights of the town, the calm of the empty streets, should’ve been comforting. but all i could think about was the smile he’d given me earlier, the way it seemed like he knew something i didn’t. i tried to focus on the sound of my tea kettle, anything to distract myself. but every time i closed my eyes, all i saw was his face.

chapter 2

the shrill sound of sirens cut through the quiet morning, signaling the discovery of another body. the scene was eerily similar to the one from the previous week—another alley, another lifeless victim. the small town, once so peaceful, was becoming a graveyard of secrets. as i stood at the edge of the crowd, my notebook clutched tightly in my hands, i felt a familiar weight pressing against my chest. this wasn’t just another story. it couldn’t be. there was something darker at play, something i still couldn’t fully understand. the police were already cordoning off the area, their faces grim as they went over the details, but i knew they didn’t have any more answers than they did the last time. the same questions loomed—why these victims? why now? i stepped forward, taking a deep breath, and moved through the gathering crowd. there was something i had to find—something that would connect these killings and, maybe, bring me closer to the one person who seemed to know more than he should: heeseung.

as i pushed through the crowd, i couldn’t shake the feeling that i was being watched again. the sense of unease from last night crept back, and my eyes darted around the gathered onlookers, trying to pinpoint the source. and there he was—standing just at the edge of the crime scene, casually leaning against the brick wall like he belonged there. heeseung. my stomach twisted. it wasn’t the first time i’d seen him at a murder scene, but this time felt different. he was watching me with that same unsettling, almost amused smile from before, as though he were aware of every thought running through my mind. the same quiet confidence. the same eerie calm in the midst of chaos. it was almost as if he wanted me to notice him. i fought the urge to approach him, but something about the way he looked at me, like he was daring me to speak to him, made me take a hesitant step forward.

i took a deep breath, walking toward heeseung, my heart racing. he stood a good few inches taller than most, his 5'11" frame towering over me as i approached. i tried to steady myself, but i couldn't shake the feeling of being small next to him. “another victim,” i said, keeping my voice neutral. “any thoughts on this one?” heeseung tilted his head, his smile curling at the corners of his lips. “another one, yes,” he replied, his tone playful. “but i think you're looking in the wrong place. maybe you're asking the wrong questions.” a chill ran down my spine. his words hit too close to home, as if he knew what i was missing. before i could respond, he turned away, his tall figure slipping back into the crowd, leaving me with nothing but more questions.

as i watched heeseung disappear into the crowd, something caught my eye. it was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a scrap of paper tucked into the corner of the police barrier, just a few feet from where heeseung had been standing. my pulse quickened as i walked over and carefully picked it up. it was another torn piece of my own article, the edges jagged and worn. i unfolded it, my breath catching as i read the words scrawled in the same dark ink: “you’re getting closer, but not close enough.” my hands trembled as i held it, the eerie familiarity of the message making my stomach churn. heeseung had left this. there was no doubt. i glanced around, but the crowd had already thickened, and he was nowhere to be seen. the unsettling feeling that he was always one step ahead of me grew stronger.

i couldn’t shake the feeling that heeseung was always one step ahead of me. when i got home, i immediately locked the door behind me and sat down at my desk, eager to dig deeper. i typed his name into my search engine, but all i found was a void—no criminal record, no arrest history, no ties to anything remotely sinister. heeseung was a nobody, just another face in the crowd. but i couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was something more to him. i kept searching, running his name through different forums and news sites, until one particular result caught my eye. it was a mention on a dark web message board, buried deep within a thread i would’ve never found without looking carefully. my heart skipped a beat as i clicked the link, a sense of dread creeping up my spine. it was the only lead i had—if i could dig deeper into this obscure corner of the web, maybe i’d finally find something that connected him to the murders.

my hands trembled as i navigated deeper into the dark web, scrolling through countless threads that made my skin crawl. then, i found it—an account with the username 'wolf_of_hearts.' the profile was minimal, no bio, just a collection of images that made my stomach turn. each photo showed the same chilling thing: the hearts of the recent victims, sealed in glass jars, perfectly preserved. my breath caught in my throat as a cold realization hit me. the victims... all of them had missing hearts. i had seen the bodies up close, but i had been so focused on the wounds that i hadn’t put the pieces together. the missing hearts were a signature, a gruesome pattern that tied everything together. and now, someone—he—was showing them off like trophies. my mind raced, the weight of the discovery sinking in. i needed to find out who was behind this account before it was too late.

just as i was about to close the page, a new notification popped up—direct message. my heart hammered in my chest as i clicked it open, the words on the screen sending a chill down my spine: “i know you’re watching me :)” the smiley face at the end made my stomach twist in a way i couldn’t quite explain. how could they know? how could he know? my mind raced, trying to process it. the account had been silent until now, but this—this felt like a warning. a taunt. the way the words were written felt so personal, like the sender was watching me in real time. the weight of the message settled in, and i realized with a sickening twist that i wasn’t just investigating the murders anymore. i was being watched. and he was letting me know he was always one step ahead.

chapter 3

the morning air felt heavier than usual, thick with the weight of something looming just out of sight. i had barely managed to get a few hours of sleep when the call came. another victim. another life taken. the police had found the body in a nearby alley, and the scene was already swarming with officers and bystanders. i couldn’t ignore the sickening sense of déjà vu as i pushed my way through the crowd, the usual mix of shock and curiosity hanging in the air like a dense fog. another soul claimed by the killer. another thread in the web that was tightening around this town, pulling us all closer to something dark and inescapable.

as i surveyed the scene, my eyes inevitably landed on him. heeseung. standing at the edge of the crowd, his gaze focused on me, as always. but this time, something was different. instead of me walking up to him like before, he moved toward me—quietly, effortlessly blending into the chaos. i barely had time to react before he was beside me, close enough for only me to notice. his fingers brushed against my coat pocket, slipping something inside before he stepped back, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips. i froze, my breath catching in my throat as he casually walked away, disappearing into the crowd. my hand instinctively reached for the note, the paper feeling cold and heavy against my fingers. what was he playing at now?

i couldn’t bring myself to unfold the note right away, my fingers trembling as i slipped it from my pocket. but when i finally opened it, the words were simple, written in that same dark ink: "there’s a surprise waiting for you at home." my heart skipped a beat. the message was chillingly casual, like a game to him—like he already knew what i was thinking, what i would do next. it was a warning, or maybe a dare. the unsettling thought gnawed at me as i stared at the note, the weight of his words sinking in. he wasn’t just taunting me anymore. he was leading me somewhere, and i had no choice but to follow.

when i got home, my heart was still racing from the encounter with heeseung. but as soon as i walked through the door, another notification popped up on my laptop—another dm from 'wolf_of_hearts.' i hesitated for a moment before opening it, and when i did, the words hit me like a punch to the gut. the message contained everything—my personal information. my address. my phone number. details i had never shared with anyone. and then, at the end of the message, the chilling warning: “if you don’t follow my orders, you’re next on my list.” i stared at the screen, my hands shaking. how had he gotten all of this? how much did he really know about me? my mind raced, the reality of the situation sinking in. he wasn’t just watching me. he was in control now. and if i didn’t do exactly what he wanted, i would become the next victim.

“what do you want from me?” i typed, my fingers trembling as i hit send. the question hung in the air, but i knew it was futile—asking him for answers would only fuel his twisted game. my laptop pinged almost immediately, and i braced myself for whatever came next. the response was short, almost mocking: “you’ll find out soon enough. just do as i say, and you’ll stay safe.” safe. the word made my blood run cold. i wasn’t safe. not with him knowing everything about me, not with him having control over every step i took. a dark realization settled in: there was no way out. heeseung—or whoever this was—had already won. the only choice i had now was whether to play along or risk becoming the next piece in his twisted puzzle.

another message appeared on the screen, and my heart pounded as i read it. “for now, i won’t do anything. but i’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” the words seemed to seep into my mind, winding around every thought, every instinct i had to break free from his grip. there was a sick satisfaction in his tone, a promise of control that he intended to keep. it was as if he wanted me to feel his presence even when he wasn’t there, lurking in every shadow, watching my every move.

i closed my laptop, shutting out the disturbing messages, and headed to the bathroom. the hot water poured over me, washing away the tension that had settled into every part of my body. i tried to push heeseung’s words from my mind, hoping the warmth would melt away the unease, if only for a moment. after drying off, i changed into something comfortable and was finally ready to crawl into bed when a sudden notification lit up my phone screen. my heart skipped a beat, dread prickling along my spine as i reached for it, half-expecting to see another message from him.

my breath caught as i opened the message, and my stomach twisted with dread. heeseung had texted me. i shouldn’t have been surprised—he had access to everything about me, after all—but seeing his name on my screen sent a new wave of fear through me. i tapped the message, and my heart stopped. attached were photos of me in my apartment, taken from just outside my window. one showed me at my desk, another catching me as i moved around the room. the realization hit hard: he wasn’t just watching. he was here, close enough to reach me whenever he wanted.

i bolted to the window, heart racing, and pulled back the curtain. there, standing on the street below, was heeseung. he looked up, meeting my gaze with that same unnerving smile, his hand raised in a slow, deliberate wave. the streetlight cast a shadow over his face, but his eyes glinted, catching the faint glow. he knew exactly what he was doing, savoring the effect he had on me. i stepped back, my pulse pounding in my ears. he was toying with me, and no matter how much distance i put between us, it was clear he would always be closer than i ever wanted.

a part of me couldn’t deny it—this twisted game of cat and mouse had a strange thrill to it. it was wrong, so deeply wrong, to feel anything other than fear. yet, there was something about heeseung, something darkly alluring in his careful words, his cryptic messages, the way he knew exactly how to keep me on edge. i hated that i felt this way. i should be running, finding a way to get him out of my life for good. but every time he appeared, every time he left another clue, i found myself drawn in, the danger only making his pull stronger.

chapter 4 (heeseung’s p.o.v.)

i watched her from a distance, hidden in the shadows, savoring every flicker of fear, every hint of curiosity that crossed her face. she didn’t know it yet, but she was playing her role perfectly—drawn in, inch by inch, exactly as i wanted. the thrill of watching her unravel, of seeing her look over her shoulder, searching for me, was intoxicating. she didn’t understand that this was more than a game to me. i’d waited so long, watched her every move, learned every detail. and now, seeing her wrestle with herself, knowing she couldn’t pull away—that was the real victory.

satisfied, i turned away from her window, a smirk lingering on my lips as i slipped back into the shadows. the night was quiet, and i welcomed the chill as i flagged down a cab at the end of her street. the driver barely glanced my way as i gave directions, my mind already on the place i called my own—a cabin tucked far away in the woods, beyond the reach of prying eyes. it was a place where silence reigned, where every plan i’d carefully crafted could unfold without interruption.

as the taxi driver neared the house, i could feel the familiar sense of control settling in. without a word, i reached into my jacket and pulled out a thin wire, slipping it around the back of the seat. in one swift motion, i yanked it tight, pressing it against the driver’s throat. his gasps for air were brief, weak, and soon enough, his body went limp, slumping forward as he lost consciousness. i eased the wire away, watching as the man fell into a heap against the wheel. there was no need for him anymore. i stepped out of the cab, leaving the driver unconscious and the night still wrapped in its heavy silence. it would be some time before anyone even noticed he was missing.

i dragged the driver’s body out of the cab and into the shadows, my boots crunching on the gravel beneath me. the shed stood just behind the cabin, isolated and hidden from sight, the perfect place for what i needed to do. with practiced ease, i hoisted the unconscious man’s limp form over my shoulder and carried him inside. the dim light from the hanging bulb barely illuminated the tools i’d arranged earlier, each one sharp and waiting. my hands moved with precision, preparing for the familiar ritual. the driver wouldn’t be missed, not out here, not when his heart would soon join the others—each piece of the collection a testament to my affection, my obsession, and my devotion.

i paused for a moment, feeling a hint of laziness creeping in. the body could wait—there was no rush. instead, i decided to clean up. i washed my hands, wiping away the remnants of the night’s work, the routine that had become almost second nature to me. once i was done, i walked through the small cabin and into my room, a room i’d carefully curated. the walls were lined with photographs of her, the ones i’d taken from the shadows, when she hadn’t known i was watching. articles she’d written were scattered across the room, pinned up with a kind of reverence. each page was a piece of her—her words, her thoughts, her passions. it was an obsession, yes, but one that felt strangely comforting, as if i were the only one who truly understood her.

i lay back on the bed, a sense of satisfaction washing over me as i pulled out my phone. with a few taps, i uploaded the photo of the driver’s heart to my dark web account, the image serving as another grisly trophy for those who followed my work. as the post went live, afterwards, i switched to another album on my phone, one filled with pictures of her—i scrolled through each photo slowly, savoring the way her face looked when she was unaware, captured in moments where she was simply being herself. there were shots from a distance, others from close-up, each one a reminder of my proximity to her. these weren’t just images—they were my connection to her, the proof that i was always watching, always waiting for the next step in our game.

as i scrolled through the pictures, each one pulling me deeper into a dark yearning, my mind became consumed by thoughts of her. the more i saw her—her expressions, her every move—the stronger the desire grew. i couldn’t fight it anymore, not when the connection i felt with her seemed so undeniable, so real in my mind. every photo, every moment captured, felt like she was right there with me, even if she didn’t know it yet. i closed my eyes, my breath coming in shallow bursts, unable to control the pull that was getting harder to resist.

i couldn’t control myself, giving in the pleasure that aroused in me. i slowly unzipped my pants and lowered by boxers, setting my member free. slowly, but steadily, i started to stroke myself while looking at the photos of her. i couldn’t get enough, i wanted to be inside of her, but i knew i had to be patient, patient enough to let her fall in my trap. i was grunting at the thought, coming all over my shirt in the process. i got up, changed my shirt, and slept, waiting for tomorrow’s arrival.

the morning light broke through the blinds, but i had already woken, eager for what the day would bring. after a quick breakfast, i headed out to the shed, where the taxi driver’s body lay. dragging him into the back of my car, i made sure no one was watching as i drove him into town. the place i’d chosen was perfect—an alleyway just on the outskirts of the busy district, where it wouldn’t take long for the cops to find him. i placed the body carefully, making sure it was positioned in a way that would lead them straight to me. as i stepped back, i smiled, knowing the chaos and fear that would follow. the game was far from over.

chapter 5

another body was discovered that morning, the familiar grim details making their rounds through the news outlets. the police quickly released a statement, urging the public to avoid walking alone at night, the warning hanging heavy in the air. as the crowd gathered around the crime scene, i couldn’t help but notice him again—heeseung, blending in like a shadow, watching from a distance. my heart raced. i couldn’t go near the police, couldn’t risk speaking to them. the thought of what he might do if i drew attention to myself made my skin crawl. i could feel his eyes on me, a silent threat in the air, and i knew—without a doubt—that he was always watching.

as the crowd slowly dispersed, i stood there, my mind racing, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. that’s when i felt him—heeseung—his presence creeping up behind me like a whisper in the wind. he leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear, and i froze. "you're a good girl," he murmured, the words sending a chill down my spine. "you didn’t tell the cops about me." his voice was smooth, almost affectionate, as if he were praising a child for following instructions. i clenched my fists at my sides, but i couldn’t bring myself to move. his words were a reminder of just how much power he had over me.

a blush crept up my neck at the pet name, my face burning with embarrassment. i didn’t know why it affected me so much, but heeseung noticed immediately. he chuckled softly, a dark glint in his eyes, enjoying the reaction he’d caused. just as i tried to regain my composure, a cop approached us, eyeing heeseung with a knowing look. “you should be with your girl all the time, alright?” the officer said gruffly, giving heeseung a pointed look. “don’t want another mess to deal with.” as the cop turned to walk away, i opened my mouth to protest, but my voice caught in my throat. “i’m not his—” i began, but it was too late. the cop was already walking off, leaving me speechless, the tension between heeseung and me thickening with each passing second.

heeseung’s lips curled into a teasing smile as he watched my reaction. “you’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, his voice low and mocking. i tried to ignore him, but his presence made it impossible. he sobered quickly, his expression turning serious as he leaned in closer. “don’t think i’ve lost sight of you,” he said quietly, his eyes locking with mine, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race. then, as if flipping a switch, his smile returned, but there was something dark behind it. “how about we meet at that little restaurant downtown?” he suggested, his tone still playful but carrying an edge. “i think we should have a proper ‘date.’” the way he said it, with such casual assurance, made it feel less like an invitation and more like a demand.

i quickly nodded, not wanting to provoke him further, afraid of what might happen if i refused. later that evening, i received a message from heeseung—just the address of the restaurant, crossroads café. my heart skipped a beat, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling inside me. i couldn’t help but wonder what kind of game he was playing, but there was no backing out now. i decided to dress up, wanting to look nice for once. it had been a while since i’d done anything like this, since i’d last headed somewhere that required a little effort. standing in front of the mirror, i adjusted my outfit, my nerves rising as i thought about the night ahead. what was heeseung planning? and more importantly, what was i walking into?

as i walked into the restaurant, my eyes immediately found him—heeseung, sitting at a table near the window, looking dashing in a sleek suit that made him seem even more dangerous. his dark gaze met mine, a smile spreading across his lips, but there was something unsettling behind it, a quiet intensity i couldn’t quite place. as i approached, he stood up and pulled out my chair for me, the smoothness of his actions almost making me forget how unsettling everything about him was. “you look beautiful,” he said, his voice laced with genuine admiration, though i could tell it was more than that. the compliment caught me off guard, making my face flush with an unfamiliar warmth. it was the kind of thing i wasn’t used to hearing, and it left me feeling flustered, a knot of confusion twisting in my stomach.

heeseung seemed to enjoy my reaction, his smile widening as he settled into his seat across from me. “nervous?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. i tried to shake my head, forcing myself to keep calm, but he saw right through me. “don’t worry,” he continued smoothly, his tone both comforting and unnerving. “i don’t bite… unless you want me to.” his gaze lingered on me, and i felt a shiver run down my spine. despite every instinct telling me to leave, i found myself rooted to the spot, held by the magnetism he exuded, even when i knew it was dangerous.

heeseung’s eyes never left mine as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his voice soft but pointed. “you know, i’ve been watching you for a long time,” he admitted, his words sending a chill through me. “following your work, keeping an eye on your every move.” his fingers traced the edge of his glass absentmindedly, his gaze dark and unwavering. “it’s fascinating, really,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “how close we’ve gotten without you even knowing.” i swallowed, my heart pounding as his words settled in. the casual way he spoke of his obsession was both terrifying and strangely captivating, drawing me deeper into a web i knew i should escape but couldn’t.

i swallowed hard, my voice barely steady as i forced out the words. “what do you mean...?” my question hung in the air, and heeseung’s smile only widened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. he leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “exactly what it sounds like,” he replied smoothly, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “i know things about you most people don’t. i know your routines, your favorite places, the things that make you smile... and the things that make you afraid.” he paused, watching my reaction, a hint of satisfaction in his expression as he took in the shock i couldn’t fully hide.

my eyes widened in shock as heeseung casually pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe and opening a hidden photo album. my breath hitched when i saw the images—dozens of pictures of me, taken from a distance, capturing moments i thought were private. me at the coffee shop, me on my walk home, even me through my apartment window. heeseung glanced up, his expression a mix of admiration and something far darker. “i’ve been in love with you for months,” he confessed, his voice soft but unwavering. “your articles... every word you write. i feel like i know you, like you were meant to be mine.” his eyes searched mine for a reaction, but all i felt was a cold, sinking feeling as i processed the depth of his obsession.

chapter 6

“i… i need to go,” i mumbled, pushing myself up from the table, heart racing as i turned toward the exit. my steps were hurried, but before i could reach the door, i felt a sudden pressure against my back—a pocket knife, pressed just below my ribs. i froze, my breath hitching. heeseung’s voice was low, dripping with calm control. “you’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, his words chillingly close to my ear. the restaurant, once bustling and loud, faded around me as i realized there was no escaping him—not now.

heeseung’s grip on my arm was firm as he walked me toward his car, his expression unreadable in the dim light outside the restaurant. i wanted to scream, to push him away, but fear held me captive. as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he glanced over, a smirk playing on his lips. “you should’ve listened to me,” he said, his tone almost mocking, as if this was all a game i’d already lost. the silence stretched between us as he drove, the city lights fading behind us, replaced by the dark, twisting roads leading toward his cabin in the woods.

heeseung’s grip never loosened as he led me up the creaking steps of the cabin, the wood groaning beneath our feet in the dead silence of the night. once inside, he turned to me, his eyes glinting with a twisted excitement. “how about i give you a little house tour?” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. “now that you’ll be staying with me… forever.” the final word hung ominously in the air, each syllable sinking in like a heavy weight. i swallowed hard, glancing around the dimly lit cabin, wondering what horrors lay hidden within these walls.

heeseung’s grip remained firm as he guided me deeper into the cabin, each step echoing through the hollow structure. the air smelled faintly of cedarwood, though it did little to mask the metallic tang that lingered just beneath it. “this is the living room,” he began casually, as if we were ordinary strangers exchanging pleasantries. a small, battered couch sat against the wall, its cushions stained and torn. on the coffee table lay an assortment of knives—some polished to a gleaming shine, others crusted with dried, rust-colored streaks. “i like to keep my tools close,” he said with a smirk, noticing the way my eyes lingered on them.

he led me further down a narrow hallway, the dim lighting casting long, distorted shadows on the peeling walls. “and here,” he said, stopping in front of a door, “is where the magic happens.” he pushed it open with a flourish, revealing what could only be described as a shrine to his obsessions. photographs covered the walls—some of his victims, their faces frozen in fear, and others… of me. I felt my stomach twist as I recognized a photo I’d taken weeks ago, sitting at my desk, completely unaware.

“this is my favorite room,” heeseung whispered, stepping closer to me. “every detail, every moment, carefully preserved. just like i’ll preserve you, y/n. you’re different… special.” his voice was soft, but his words carried a chilling promise that left my hands trembling. as my eyes darted over the photographs, i realized something far more disturbing. the people staring back from the walls weren’t random faces—they were people who had crossed paths with me, people who had messed with me in some way. each one had a story, a connection to my life, and now they were gone, their final moments immortalized by heeseung’s twisted obsession.

heeseung’s grin widened as he noticed my hesitation, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. without a word, he led me out the back door and down a narrow, overgrown path to a weathered shed at the edge of the yard. the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something more pungent, a sharpness that stung my nostrils. "this is where the real work happens," he murmured, unlocking the door with a casual twist of his wrist. the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior, the walls lined with shelves of preserved jars, each one containing a grotesque, macabre prize—hearts, blood-stained and floating in a thick, viscous liquid.

heeseung stepped inside, gesturing to the jars like a proud collector. "each heart tells a story," he said, his voice eerily calm. "these ones... well, they didn’t appreciate your worth, y/n. so i made sure to keep a little piece of them for you." my gaze flicked to the closest jar, where a heart floated, barely recognizable, but the color of the blood still sent a shiver down my spine. heeseung didn’t notice my panic, his attention elsewhere as he studied the rows of jars. "i like to think of it as... a keepsake. something to remember them by."

“no!” i screamed, twisting free from his grasp with a surge of adrenaline. i bolted for the door, desperation fueling each step. but heeseung was faster, stronger; within seconds, he’d caught up, his arms wrapping around me with an iron grip. he tackled me to the ground, pressing me down as my breath came in panicked gasps. before i could struggle, he had my wrists pinned above my head, his face hovering inches from mine, his expression filled with a disturbing mix of amusement and possession.

heeseung’s grip tightened around my wrists, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “you’ve seen enough for tonight...” his voice dropped lower, a dark edge creeping into his words. “i’ll teach you a lesson.” my heart pounded in my chest, the terror rising as his meaning became clear. i struggled beneath him, but his weight held me down effortlessly, and all i could do was stare up at him, my mind racing, desperately trying to find a way out. heeseung’s eyes gleamed with something far more sinister, and i knew—there was no escape from him now.

“please,” i gasped, my voice shaky with fear. “let me go. i won’t tell anyone, i swear.” my words tumbled out in a frantic plea, desperate to make him see reason, to somehow convince him that i wasn’t a threat to his twisted world. “i’ll keep quiet, i’ll stay out of your way—just let me go.” my eyes searched his face for any sign of compassion, but all i saw was cold determination. heeseung’s smile only widened, a cruel satisfaction lighting up his features as he leaned in closer. “oh, you’ll learn,” he whispered. “you’ll learn exactly what happens when you don’t listen.”

without warning, heeseung hauled me to my feet, dragging me into the dimly lit cabin and toward a narrow staircase leading down into the basement. i struggled, my breath ragged, but he was too strong, too determined. once we reached the bottom, he shoved me onto the cold concrete floor. my heart raced as i looked around the dimly lit space, the walls lined with chains and shadows. heeseung’s twisted grin never left his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a shock collar, its cold metal gleaming in the low light. “this is where you’ll learn,” he murmured, slipping the collar around my neck and tightening it with a sickening click. he pulled out a small remote, its buttons small and ominous. “you’re mine now,” he said softly, pressing a button. the electric shock that shot through me was immediate, making my body tense in agony as i gasped for air.

“please, stop!” i gasped, the pain still coursing through my body as i writhed on the cold floor. tears blurred my vision, and my chest heaved with each breath. “i’ll do anything, just please…” my voice trembled with desperation, the weight of my helplessness sinking in. “please, just don’t do that again. i’ll do whatever you want, i’ll—” the words barely left my lips before heeseung’s cold, calculating gaze locked onto mine, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. it was as if my pleas meant nothing to him, just another part of his game. “anything, huh?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling into a slow, mocking smile. “we’ll see about that.”

heeseung leaned down, his breath warm against my ear as he spoke in a low, menacing tone. “since you’ll do anything, i’ve shown you how much i love you... now it’s time for you to return the favor.” his words sent a shiver down my spine, every ounce of fear and confusion i felt flooding me once again. heeseung’s hand moved to the remote, and i could see the twisted excitement in his eyes. “you’ve had your chance to beg, but now, it’s my turn.” the collar around my neck felt heavier with every passing second, my pulse pounding in my ears as i realized that there was no escaping this nightmare. my body froze, unsure of what he truly meant by that, but i knew one thing for certain—whatever he wanted, it was far worse than anything i could imagine.

chapter 7 (smut)

i didn’t know what to do, panic clouding my thoughts. desperation surged within me, and in a moment of sheer instinct, i leaned forward, pressing my lips against his, hoping—no, praying—that it would be enough to calm the storm in his eyes. for a moment, it felt like time stopped. heeseung was still, his breath ragged against my lips, as if he hadn’t expected me to act this way. then, slowly, his grip on me softened, his body relaxing into the kiss. but even as he melted into it, i could feel the twisted love and obsession that drove him, a dark, suffocating need that had nothing to do with tenderness.

i quickly pulled away, my heart pounding in my chest as i gasped for air, my mind reeling. what did i just do? i couldn’t even begin to process the whirlwind of emotions that had overtaken me. but when i looked at heeseung, there was no trace of hesitation on his face—only satisfaction. his lips curved into a smug smile, his eyes gleaming with dark pleasure as he watched me struggle. “see?” he murmured, voice low and almost teasing. “it’s not so bad, is it now?” he stepped closer, as if savoring every moment of my discomfort, his words lingering in the air like a cruel reminder of how deep i was tangled in his web.

i backed up, my heart racing as i felt the cold, unforgiving wall press against my back. my hands were shaking, the panic rising in my chest, but there was nowhere to run. heeseung closed the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps, his presence overwhelming, as he stopped just inches from me. his breath was warm against my face, and i could feel his gaze burning into me, a mixture of possessiveness and twisted affection in his eyes. “nu-uh,” he said softly, his voice almost a purr, as if savoring my fear. “you said you’d do anything.”

tears streamed down my face, each one feeling heavier than the last as i begged him again, my voice breaking with desperation. "please, heeseung... don't do this..." i pleaded, but his expression remained unreadable, his gaze unwavering. gently, almost too tenderly, he reached up and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb, as if he were comforting me. it made my chest tighten even more, the contrast between his gentle touch and the violence that followed unsettling. without a word, he pulled the remote from his pocket, his fingers brushing over the buttons with a cold precision. a flick of his thumb, and i felt a sudden, searing jolt of pain course through my neck, the shock collar sending an electric surge that left me gasping in agony. heeseung’s face remained calm, his eyes cold as he watched me struggle.

heeseung’s voice was low and steady, his words laced with a hint of disappointment. “i thought you were learning, doll,” he said, his gaze sharp and calculating. “but i guess i was wrong.” he stepped back slightly, watching me writhe from the pain, his expression one of cruel amusement. “you’re still not understanding what it means to truly obey. don’t worry,” he added, his smile returning, though it was anything but reassuring. “i’ll teach you... eventually.”

before i could even react, heeseung's grip tightened around me, and in an instant, he tackled me to the ground. his body weight pinned me down, and i could feel the coldness in his touch, the raw, unrelenting force behind his movements. the playful façade was gone now, replaced by something far darker. his eyes, once filled with affection, now glinted with something more dangerous—his killer instinct fully on display. "you think you can just play with me?" he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "you’re mine now, whether you like it or not."

heeseung's lips pressed against my skin with an urgency that left me breathless, and before i could react, his teeth sank into the side of my neck. a sharp pain shot through me as he bit down, his grip on my body tightening even more. his teeth scraped across my skin, leaving a trail of bruises, marking me as his in a way i couldn’t escape. each bite felt like a warning, a claim on my very soul, as if he were carving his name into my flesh. i gasped, the fear and thrill mingling within me, but there was no escaping the darkness in his eyes.

a rush of conflicting emotions flooded me, and i felt something i shouldn't feel—an undeniable pull, an unsettling desire that twisted inside me. despite every logical thought screaming that this was wrong, that i should resist, a part of me wanted to be ravished by a murderer. the contradiction gnawed at me; i knew it was dark, dangerous, and twisted, but i couldn’t stop the flood of desire that surged through me. my heart pounded, each beat betraying the part of me that craved the very thing i feared. i tried to fight it, to push him away, but the magnetism of his touch, his dominance, was suffocating, and i couldn’t help myself.

without warning, heeseung's lips crashed down on mine, his kiss forceful, demanding, as if he were marking me, claiming me entirely as his own. i gasped against his mouth, the taste of him overwhelming my senses as he pushed deeper, his hands still gripping me tightly. the struggle was futile; i whimpered, my body trembling beneath him, caught between the resistance in my mind and the twisted pull of my own desire. he could feel my hesitation, but it didn’t matter—he was determined, insistent, and there was no escaping him now. his kiss grew harsher, like a punishment for my defiance, and yet i couldn’t help but melt into it, my body betraying me in ways i hadn’t anticipated.

heeseung’s grip tightened around my waist, and in a swift, forceful motion, he ripped my clothes off, the fabric tearing easily beneath his hands. my breath caught in my throat, the cool air hitting my exposed skin, making me acutely aware of how vulnerable i was beneath him. his eyes darkened with hunger, and for a moment, i was nothing but his prey. i felt the heat of his body pressing closer, his breath hot against my skin as he continued to strip me of my dignity, his actions relentless and without mercy. my heart raced, fear and desire intertwining as i lay there, unable to escape the storm he had unleashed.

heeseung’s body shifted against mine, the pressure of his form intensifying as he grinded himself against me with a slow, deliberate motion. the sensation was overwhelming, sending a jolt of heat through my body that i couldn’t ignore, no matter how much i tried to suppress it. his lips moved to my neck again, trailing kisses and bites that set my skin on fire, while his hips pressed insistently, a rhythm i had no control over. i could feel the heat building between us, and despite myself, a part of me responded, betraying every ounce of logic and reason that screamed for me to stop. but in that moment, all i could focus on was the tension, the connection, and the dark desire that swirled dangerously between us.

his breath came quicker, a low, almost imperceptible groan escaping his lips as his hands moved to unzip his pants, each motion deliberate, almost torturous. i felt the room closing in around us, the sound of the zipper louder than anything else in the silence, and my heart raced in response—whether from fear or something darker, i couldn't tell. his eyes never left mine, filled with an insatiable hunger as he stepped even closer, his body pressing into mine in a way that left no room for escape. the power he held over me, the way he made me feel both terrified and alive, tangled my thoughts and emotions into a knot i couldn’t untangle. heeseung’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, his gaze never wavering as he slowly lowered them, revealing more of his member with each inch of fabric that slipped down. the room seemed to grow even warmer, the air thick with a charged silence that made it impossible to breathe, let alone think. my body betrayed me again, a mixture of fear, curiosity, and something far more dangerous swirling inside me. i wanted to look away, to push him off, but i couldn't bring myself to move—trapped between the desire to flee and the magnetism pulling me closer.

heeseung was so big, the thought of him pushing deeper into me made my mind race, doubt swirling in my chest. the idea of him fitting inside me seemed impossible, almost terrifying. my breath hitched as i instinctively shifted, trying to create some space between us, but he moved with such precision, closing the gap once again. i couldn’t stop the way my body reacted, betraying the flood of emotions—fear, desire, and a twisted curiosity all mixing together in a way i couldn’t control.

heeseung’s movements were slow, controlled, as he slowly entered, and my body couldn’t help but betray me, a soft whimper escaping my lips before i could stop it. the pain was sharp, but it was quickly overshadowed by the overwhelming sensation of being filled, of him pushing deeper with each agonizing inch. my hands clenched the fabric of his shirt, my body trembling as i tried to hold onto any shred of control. the whimpering sounds that slipped from my lips only seemed to fuel him, his smirk growing wider, savoring every moment as he made me into a mess of conflicting desires and fears.

heeseung's pace quickened, each thrust sending waves of sensation coursing through my body, making me moan louder than i could control. his words slipped from his lips, dark and possessive. "you're such a good doll, taking it so well for me," he murmured, his voice low and taunting as if he reveled in the way my body responded, no matter how much i fought it. his hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer to him with each movement, pushing me further into a spiral i couldn’t escape. a part of me hated the way i was responding, but another part, the one i couldn’t deny, craved it, needing more, even as it terrified me.

the pressure inside me built with every thrust, my body trembling as the heat coiled tighter. i gasped for air, barely able to focus on anything other than the mounting sensation. "heeseung, i-i'm close," i whispered, my voice shaky, a mix of desperation and surrender in my words. the admission felt like a betrayal to every part of me that still wanted to resist, but i couldn’t stop it. heeseung’s smirk deepened, and his grip on me tightened as if he was determined to make me reach that breaking point, savoring every second of my vulnerability.

heeseung didn’t slow down, his pace only growing faster, harder, until the pressure inside me finally snapped. a gasp tore from my lips as i came, my body shuddering uncontrollably, the pleasure washing over me in waves that left me breathless. my hands gripped his shoulders for support, every inch of me aching with the intensity of the moment. i was disoriented, struggling to catch my breath, as the reality of what was happening hit me in a way that was both overwhelming and terrifying. despite everything, i couldn’t stop the rush of sensations that consumed me.

heeseung's grip tightened on me as he kept going, his movements frantic, his breath ragged against my skin. i could feel the way his body stiffened, the tension building in him as he got closer. "i’m close," he muttered, his voice low and strained. with one final thrust, his body tensed, and i felt him spill inside me, his release following right after mine. the sound of his breath, heavy and uneven, echoed in my ears as he held me tightly, both of us caught in the aftermath of a moment neither of us could fully grasp. i felt a strange mix of satisfaction and emptiness, a hollow echo of what we’d just shared, the room falling into an eerie silence.

heeseung leaned down, his lips brushing my forehead in a strangely tender gesture, as if the brutality of the moment had never happened. "have you learned your lesson now, doll?" his voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was a coldness behind the words that sent a shiver down my spine. he pulled me into his arms, guiding me toward his room, and i felt my heart race with every step. i see the pictures of myself again, articles with my name printed in bold letters, all pinned up like trophies. his obsession was laid bare in front of me, a chilling display of how thoroughly he'd been watching, tracking every move i made. heeseung wasn’t just interested in me—he was consumed by me, and now, there was no way out.

this was the unmistakable sense that i was no longer just a person to him but a possession. he stepped behind me, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, "you're mine now, doll. there's no escaping me." his fingers tilted my chin, forcing me to meet his dark, possessive gaze. "you’ve always been the one. i just had to make you understand." and as the door clicked shut behind me, the suffocating truth settled in: i was trapped in his world, and the darkness i had tried to avoid was now the only reality i had left.

[lalunanymph]

who’s your (baby) daddy. [3] 

╰┈➤ After being dumped by your boyfriend of 3 years, you decide to switch things up and go on your own version of a “hot girl summer”—subsequently finding yourself with a surprise that would arrive in 9 months time. The catch? You have absolutely no idea which of the men you slept with is your baby’s daddy.

𖨆♡𖨆 nanami x reader, gojou x reader, toji x reader, sukuna x reader

# mechanic!toji, explicit smut, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of babies, girlies fighting, mentions of food, toji is a deadbeat dad wbk minors and ageless blogs dni

‗ ❍ masterlist  

You were never one to be this reckless.

All your life, you were raised by two strict parents who always taught you to look both ways before you crossed the roads, to always ask as many questions as you could and never take things at face value.

Growing up, you were defined as being ‘bossy’ by people around you, a term loosely thrown at any young girl who exhibited even a shred of backbone; the kind of treatment that a man would never get in this world. 

And so, this perspective was what shaped you to be the best at what you did—to give your all, but to always be cautious in what you were giving away in the first place. 

What your parents, school and life failed to teach you was to not believe in a handsome and charming man. For the day you met Fushiguro Toji was the day when that caution all went down the drain. Little did you know that a chance meeting with him would result in you fainting in the middle of an OBGYN’s room like one of those delicate princesses from cartoons you used to watch when you were younger, with that man being the first one to catch you before you jarred to the ground.

But, to get to the present, you had to first backtrack through the past. 

It was a few weeks after that party in the Getos residence when you were given an assignment to go to the countryside—of all places—to interview an anonymous worker who wanted to spill on the conditions of his factory.

Mia had once told you that a good story was like a sandcastle—you could build and build it as much as you wanted from a variety of leads, but once the relevant people caught wind, they would descend upon that little sand house of evidence you built to knock it back to the ground. But, there was another thing those secretive higher-ups failed to recognize; how journalists always waited for the tide to recede before striking. 

At that time, the case had been red-hot and you were the first one on the frontlines to catch it. 

You had driven all the way towards the outskirts of Tokyo, towards the sleepy town of Kamakura—a journey of almost 2 hours with the traffic—where the worker would be waiting for you in a nondescript cafe to tell you his side of the story. Back then, you had no idea if you were already pregnant or if it had not happened just yet; all you recalled was how swelteringly hot it was. 

The cafe offered a cool respite and you ducked under the awning, tightening your blazer around your shoulders. He was a short, flat-nosed man with a northern dialect who gestured too much that he almost knocked back your cup of coffee. Nonetheless, you did your job, hmming and ohhing when he divulged a new piece of mistreatment, only getting to the juicy parts half an hour into your conversation.

“And that's why the deal fell through.” You perked up and positioned your recorder closer to him, frowning. 

“Are you positive?”

“Yes,” he enthused, “It was because of that near lawsuit. All the big guys were talking about it near the watercooler,” he puffed out his chest, mimicking the deep drawl of Kaizen’s top executive. “‘Those damn assholes—they always ruin everything. Told ya we shouldn’t have made a deal with those trigger-happy vultures’.” 

“I see,” you furiously scribbled down his words verbatim. 

He was happy to spill more about the company’s numerous HR violations, and you had literally gasped when you heard they were denying work VISAs to their immigrant workers. It all made your blood boil. 

Towards the end of the interview, you bowed to him and he did the same, double and even triple checking that you would not mention his name in your piece. You made the solemn promise that you did not, and that he would be termed as an ‘anonymous whistleblower’. 

The sun was already setting when you decided to drive back to Tokyo, and you reasoned that it would not take you long. That was before you drove over a nail, and your back tire exploded, causing you to swerve and hit the side of the road, your yell of fear giving way to the unbearable stillness of disbelief.

No fucking way. 

You exhaled out a low groan and slammed your head to the steering wheel. Just fucking great. Here you were, stuck in the middle of god knows where on a stretch of road with nothing but a field of wildflowers as far as the eye could see. Miserably, you stared at the clock, watching the minutes slip by, stubbornly refusing to head out and check on your tire; maybe if you closed your eyes hard enough, you’d awake in your bed to find this all a horrible nightmare. 

Fingers twitching, your first instinct was to call Kento. 

But, reality set in and you remembered that he was no longer someone you could freely call. You no longer had the privilege to call him up whenever you wished, to hear his voice and how he sighed in defeat at your clumsiness but would always come to save you even if you never asked.

It wouldn’t hurt to call him just this once… wouldn’t it?

You had no idea which entity possessed you to reach for your phone. His number was always the first one on your contact list, where it rightfully belonged. But what if he blocked you? You shook those thoughts from your mind and focused on the dial tone.

Ring… ring… ring…

Your heart sank all the way to your stomach. Of course he would not pick up. It was a Friday evening and he was probably with another girl. Kento did not need you in his life any longer. 

“Hello?” 

Your voice caught at the back of your throat.

“Hello? Y/N?” 

It’s incredible how someone’s voice had the ability to bring back a wave of memories. You closed your eyes and did not reply.

“Y/N? Hey—you okay?” Nanami was not a man who was easily concerned, having been around enough volatile situations at work to hone his veneer of apathy. But, the worry in his voice was unmistakable. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Are you hurt—?” 

Suddenly, your common sense returned. You shouldn't have called him in the first place. Clicking the red button, you ended the call and sagged forward, clutching the phone in your hand and pressing it to your forehead. Idiot. You were such an idiot. Your cheeks were wet and you sniffed, wiping the back of your hand over your nose. 

A familiar chord from a well-loved song played from the radio. 

Living alone… I think of all the friends I've known… But when I dial the telephone… Nobody's home…

All by myself, you mouthed the song's lyrics, sinking back into your car seat. “Damn it,” you groaned and forced yourself to straighten, roughly pushing the button to cut the song off before you could faint from crying too much and dying of carbon monoxide poisoning. Silence descended upon you like a thick fog.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to spend the night here, you reasoned.

Skyscrapers and tall buildings were swapped out for thick trees and a lack of light pollution. Perhaps you could even see the stars tonight, something you had not done since you were a little girl. Perhaps—

A loud knock on your window jolted you from your reverie. 

It was the bulk of a man and judging from his frame, he was huge. 

You shrank back into your car seat, praying he did not see you. “I’m going to die, I’m going to die.” So this was how you were to meet your demise; murdered in the middle of a flower field. Did your insurance cover this? You really should have read the manual. In the throes of your thoughts, you hadn’t anticipated him moving to your window and tapping on it. 

A squeak fell from your mouth and you cracked the window open slightly. 

The face that greeted you took your breath away. Dark blue eyes that were closer to navy, inky black locks that fell across his forehead and a smirk on his scarred lips. Holy shit. 

“Car trouble, miss?” 

You meekly nodded and scanned down his impressive chest and abdomen. You wanted to tell yourself you were searching for a hint of a weapon, but that was a lie. God, how was his chest that defined under that tight black shirt? 

Swallowing, you cracked the window wider and meekly nodded. “I t-think I ran over a nail.”

“Let me take a look,” he offered and raised a thumb towards the front of the road. “I have a workshop nearby. I can fix it for ya. That good with ya?”  

You were surprised to find a tow truck in your rearview mirror and gazed at him with wide eyes. “H-how did you know—?” 

“I was driving past here and saw the flat tire,” he explained with that same infuriating smirk. “Thought I could try my luck and see who needed my help.”

Your answering laugh was hollow and you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out of the car. This close, he was taller—almost towering over you and you felt like a rag doll next to him. Though he seemed nice enough, your guard was still up. 

“Sure. That’d be great.” 

At your words, he nodded towards the tow truck. “Get in the front. I’ll hook ‘er right up.” His jeans were covered with grease stains and his hands had the hard look of labor on them. Perhaps he was telling the truth. By now, the sun was slowly making its grand exit, the shades of night soon drawing close. There was no way you could drive back home in this state, not when your chest felt tight and you were terrified of driving in the dark. 

You obediently followed and sat in the cracked passenger seat, fidgeting with your fingers. He got into the driver’s side and with his sheer size, his shoulder was almost brushing yours. He looked like one of those obnoxious gym bros but the way he carried himself was more subdued, a confidence that did not need to be compensated with flexing and Instagram likes. His vibe was unmatched and you found yourself easing around him. 

He drove the tow truck forward and you observed his roughened but deft hands hitch the hook underside and secured it in place. In a matter of efficient minutes, he had done the job and hopped back in, the truck jerking to life.

“Wear your seatbelt.” You scrambled to click the buckle and continued fidgeting with the straps of your purse.

“So, where’d you come from?” he asked amicably and you glanced at him, startled that he was making conversation. “Ya look spooked, so I’m guessing not from here, eh?”

“No,” you murmured, “I’m from Tokyo.”

“What’s a city girl like you doing here?” A lilting teasing tone that made you wonder if he was holding back laughter at your state. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you shyly laced your fingers together.

“I was here for a business interview. I work at a newspaper publishing company.”

You had no idea why you were divulging this to him. For all you knew, he could’ve been an axe murderer who picked up women using this modus operandi and he was planning to take you back to his lair before chopping you up into pieces. 

As if sensing you tense, he glanced at you. “The name’s Toji. Fushiguro Toji. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,” you said and did not give your last name. “Thanks for helping me, Fushiguro-san.”

“I ain’t doing this out of the goodness of my heart, doll,” he drawled and there was something in the wake of his mischievous smile. “I ain’t charity.”

Somehow, this prickly admission made you loosen and you found a smile on your face. “Honest. I like that.”

His laughter was low and almost smoky, which gave you the illusion that he was someone who smoked. The scenery flew past—rolling hills and miles of fields that sprawled out like a Van Gogh painting. Though you had never been much for the countryside, you could understand why city people regularly flocked to the safety of the greener pastures when the smog and fray got too much.

Ahead, a simple mechanic workshop attached to a double-storey home came into view. Toji carefully parked the tow truck and told you to wait inside. Those rippling muscular arms were put into good use when he physically pushed your car into the workshop, immediately getting to work. 

He toiled under your curious stare. For someone of his build and burly strength, he was surprisingly nimble with the tools, and in what seemed like a whir of screwing, pumping and a lot of grunting, your car was fixed. By now, it was purely dark and you could barely make out the fields outside his windows and shivered to think of what could hide inconspicuously in those stalks of waving, tall grass.

“Okay, I’ve fixed your tire.”

You nearly jumped from your skin, momentarily forgetting that he was here with you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Toji’s curiosity edged you to explain, not wanting him to get a wrong impression of why you had suddenly paled. 

“It’s—uh… dark.”

“That tends to happen when night comes.” He was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of worry in his tone. Something about him—whether his presence or his unassuming dark blue eyes—made you blurt out the truth. 

“I’m…” you twisted the keys in your fingers, stalling. “... do you know if there’s a motel nearby that I can bunk in for the night?”

He snorted. “You ‘fraid of driving in the night?” 

When you didn’t reply, he got his answer. “Shit. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark?” 

Wincing, you cleared your throat, adopting an air of sheepishness to ward off his judgement. “Yeah. I had a bad accident when I was younger; I tend to stay away from roads when there’s no sun.”

There was contemplation when he rapped his knuckles atop your car’s roof. 

“You said Tokyo, right?”

“Yeah.”

Toji kissed his teeth and stared out of his workshop’s window. “Hmm. I have a spare room. You could crash there.”

You didn’t dare believe it. The cautious part of you—the one that looked twice before crossing any road—was screaming at you to not take him up on his offer. But the other part—the one that could not even bear to look out the window when driving past a pitch black road, shuddered at the thought of making the arduous journey back into the city.

Images of thieves, ghosts, scarecrows and even aliens flashed in your mind. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he amended and you considered your options.

“You don’t mind?” 

“If by not minding ya mean I won’t charge ya, then no,” he said, a tinge of amusement in his tone. 

You couldn't’ help the grin that tugged at the corner of your lips. 

“Okay. I’ll stay out of your way—it’s just for tonight.” 

Toji nodded and swept one large hand in front of him, gesturing for you to follow. You did, staring at the broad muscles of his back and wondering how a guy in the countryside got this buff. But, it made sense; he was a mechanic and he seemed to work alone. 

He fumbled with his keys before unlocking the door, letting you step in first. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Like his workshop, his home was bare and sparsely furnished. Everything had a use and everything was in its place; it seemed ordinary enough. 

“This is… nice.”

“You think so?” 

“There’s no axe hanging on the wall so I guess I have to count myself lucky.” 

He laughed at your joke; a full-bodied, low sound that was pleasing to hear. Toji showed you to your room and even left you a spare towel and a set of old clothes that looked like it belonged to a woman—perhaps a girlfriend. 

“Hey, you sure this person doesn’t mind me using her stuff?” you poked your head past the door to quip at him. Toji was halfway boiling some water and he flickered his gaze to you, shrugging. 

“She’s not here.”

“Your girl?” you frowned, wondering if it was too late to refuse his offer despite how much the simple yet wide bed was beckoning you for rest.

“Ex,” he intoned from the kitchen. “Broken up months ago. She left some clothes here so might as well, eh?” 

Pursing your lips, you decided not to push him too much on this. Rather, you shut the door, locking it for good measure before starting to undress. The hot water was a soothing salve on your sore muscles and you sighed, dunking your head under the stream and letting it wash your tiredness away. 

You scrubbed your skin until it shone, washed your hair and even used some of his shampoo. Halfway through, the stream turned into a trickle and eventually, the water stopped altogether. Still with suds in your hair, you frowned and wrapped your towel around you. 

“Hey, Toji?” 

“Yeah?” 

He sounded far away and from the distance, you could hear the commentary of a sports event or another humming low in the background.

“Your shower isn't working.”

“Seriously? Fuck—this dump always had plumbing problem.” His grumbling grew closer and if he found you disconcerting in just a towel, he didn’t comment on it, averting his eyes politely. Toji bent down to check the pipe, mumbling under his breath and you tried not to get too puddles on his flooring. 

“Fuck!” 

A jet of water seemed to explode around the both of you, drenching you and completely soaking him, your shriek echoing across the tiles. Toji blindly reached for the piping and twisted it, the water stopping and leaving the both of you blinking.

“Shit, you’re all wet.”

Toji groaned, scarred lips twisted into a frown. Uncaring that a stranger was right in front of him, he peeled his shirt from his glistening abdomen, tossing it onto the floor. You fought hard not to ogle at his defined muscles, preferring to drop your stare and find the cracks of your toes more interesting than this fine specimen of a man. 

“Not exactly something a man wants to hear.”

“Not exactly something I envisioned telling a man in the first place.”

Your retort caught him off-guard and his gaze touched yours. Biting down on a smile, you had to stop yourself from laughing at how the strands of inky locks dripping down his chiselled features reminded you of a disgruntled dog. 

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not! Here—” you quickly passed him the smaller towel and he wiped the droplets from his face, his exacerbated annoyance making it hard not to burst out into peals of giggles. His annoyance was palpable and you reigned your reactions in, taking a step back to give him space, but it was a wrong move.

Your feet slipped on the slick floor and you squealed, heart dropping to your stomach as you lost your balance and jarred onto the floor. 

“Y/N!” 

Strong arms reached for you, holding you up and bringing you back to your feet. Your heart was hammering a mile a minute, your cheek pressed to his pecs as you steadied your breathing. 

“Shit.”

“Y-you okay?” you were surprised to find a waver in his tone when he eyed your quickly scrambling form. You cursed and hitched the towel higher around your bare breasts. 

“Y-yeah.” 

The towel had slipped up and exposed the split of your thighs where a searing pain was spreading across your hip. You cursed and rubbed the bump, cursing under your breath, face twisted in pain. 

“Shit—looks like it’s g’na bruise. Wait, I’ll get first aid.” 

Toji gingerly let you go and left the bathroom. You hobbled out, mindful of your steps and collapsed onto the bed, still massaging the tender spot, your teeth clenched as the waves of pain ebbed and flowed around you. 

He returned and found you on the bed, still alleviating the pain and burying your groans into the sheets. Gentle hands brushed yours aside and you jumped when you felt him prod the bruise.

“Ow!” 

“Sorry—needed to see how bad it was.”

You whimpered when he rubbed some ointment onto the welt, his touch now softer than before. He barely gave you time to flinch away when he peeled your towel back further, the dark triangle between your legs peeking through, your modesty all but ruined in front of this gorgeous stranger. 

His touch was soothing and instead of closing your eyes and enjoying it, you preferred to use humour as a tool of deflection to ward off the awkwardness that clung between the both of you like a film of grease. “Do you always bring women home to your shitty plumbing and give them near concussions?”

You winced when he placed a bandage over the injury; his snort of laughter both reeked of annoyance and amusement in one breath. 

“Nope. You’re the first.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Despite meeting him for a short moment, you could tell that he had rolled his eyes. Once he patched you up and left you to dress, you took the chance to make amends and sought him out. He was seated at the dining table, dressed once more and nursing a mug of tea. Without asking, he reached for a spare cup and poured you a drink, asking without words to join him. 

And you did, tentatively taking a seat opposite of him. 

Understanding the fact that this night had already started off on a weird footing, you decided to lean into it rather than resist. 

“So, Toji from Kamakura. What brings you here?”

He clicked his tongue, a sly grin in place. “Tryna unearth my deepest secrets already?”

You took a sip of the warm beverage, feeling its curls of comfort radiating deep in your chest. You had no idea why you were so adamant on telling yourself you were never one to be reckless when here you were, drinking from a stranger’s cup, staying under his roof and hoping to God he did not lace your tea with a roofie. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll recognize your name?” 

“Maybe you would.”

You couldn’t tell if he was serious and he let you ferment in your discomfort before breaking the tension with a snort. 

“I was from Tokyo, too. Came from a rich but terrible family. Ran away when I was 17 and never looked back. You?” 

Oh. You deflated a bit and shared with him a fleeting smile. 

“My parents were accountants but I never took that route. Loved words more than numbers.”

He hummed. “So, you combined them both?” 

“Well, you gotta appease your parents sometimes.”

“I get that.” You had a thought that no, he didn’t. Toji did not seem like a guy that played by anyone’s rules or games; he marched to the beat of his own damn drum as evident from the curling tattoos around his arm and the unusual scar across his lips. 

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed the tips of your fingers lightly on his skin, admiring the pattern and swirls. 

“I like the design. Was always thinking about getting a tattoo.”

“You should,” he said, voice gruff. But, he did not make a move to shift away from you. 

“May I see more of it?” Your request was timid, and from the pause that vibrated between the both of you like the echoes of a gong, you would think he was going to refuse. But, Toji was proving to surprise you at every turn and pushed the sleeve of his black crew neck sweater up, revealing more of the distinct whorls that seemed to bloom from his tanned and scarred skin. 

“Here.”

You traced one design lightly, unaware at how his breathing had turned ragged, not when you glanced up at him. 

Those dark blues drowned you in their depths and you felt like you could not breathe. 

“Toji—”

He leaned in, palm skimming your cheek. The air seemed to spark and burn like metal meeting metal and you found you wanted to discover if those flickers would catch aflame. 

“You know… I never do this, but…”

He did not finish his sentence, not when you bridged the gap and pressed your lips to his. He tasted of chamomile and nicotine, and when his tongue dipped into the crevices of your mouth, cajoling yours into a sultry dance, you found you liked the weight of his unsaid words between your teeth. 

Toji pulled back slightly, flickering his eyes back to your lips as if he could retrace them by memory alone. 

“Do you wanna—”

“Yeah,” you tried to hide how heavily you were breathing but it was no use. Every rise and fall of your chest throbbed with the growing attraction you could not hide. “Want it.”

“Y/N—”

Proving to yourself that you were more reckless than you discredited yourself with, you clambered onto his lap, thighs pressed on either side of his hips, the shirt he gave you riding up slightly to reveal the soft flesh of your stomach. 

Toji cupped your face in both of his palms, calloused thumbs brushing your cheekbones. He brought you forward, tipping you over to him and drinking from your lips once more, a desperate edge in his kisses this time. Your moans were swallowed by his infuriatingly soft kisses, that plush mouth like a flower blossoming under your lips, letting you shyly sampling the stain of nicotine on his tongue. 

How could a mere kiss leave you panting like you had run a marathon? Whatever spell Toji casted on you, it worked and you fixed him with a half-lidded gaze. “More—please.” 

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Putting those burly muscles to good use, Toji picked you up effortlessly, your bare thighs straddling his tapered waist as he took swift strides towards a room you haven't noticed—one hidden behind a wall. Keeping you still in his arms where you could feel every ripple of his defined muscles pressed against your body, you could not stop yourself from nibbling and sucking the salt off his neck, your moans clashing hotly on his sensitive skin.

A quick grunt, and your pajamas were ripped off your body, leaving you bare and spread for his eyes. Tonight, you threw away your preconceived worries about constantly being the cautious one and embraced the insanity. It seemed that Toji and you were on the same wavelength and he peeled off his tight black shirt off his frame, letting you ogle at just how ripped he was. 

It was obscene how good he looked above you, and it seemed like your legs parted automatically for him to settle between them. Those dark blue eyes were riddled with lust, a smirk growing on his scarred lips—the same lips that made their way down the column of your throat. There was no reason why you let out a lustful moan beyond the fact that every touch of his lips on your skin sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, going south to settle deeply in the centre of your body; your clit twitching when he tongued your nipples. 

There was no gentleness when he flipped you over to your hands and knees, your face pushed into the woolen blankets that smelled musky and almost soapy—exactly like how Toji smelled like. Imbued with the scent of him that seemed to saturate your every pore and the feel of his lips on your neck, the hot press of his calloused fingers mapping a straight line down your back like he was tracing the spine of a book. 

Like a well-loved story, you unfurled yourself for him, letting him pinch your nipples and teasingly run his cock through your soaked folds. Heavy breathing filled the space between the both of you, curling around like thick smoke, choking you back with the pressure of his cockhead slowly splitting you open. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.”

You scrambled to hold onto reality; it had been far too long since you felt a cock this good in you. “Toji—ngh!”

It was dawning on you how much of an enigma Toji truly was—he fucked you like you were nothing but a whore, ramming his hips against yours, palming your breasts and slapping the plush flesh. But there was a softness in how he placed hot, open mouth kisses down your neck that made your toes curl, how those same rough palms ran down your sides, the callouses rasping against your skin leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

With his larger build, it was easy for him to bear down on you, press your entire frame to his bed and manoeuvre you however he wanted. Those same coarse fingers touched your clit, rubbing tight circles on it, leaving pangs of pleasure that got you clenching down on his cock. Tips of his inky locks brushed your shoulder and you gasped when he bit down on your pulse point, that sudden sharp burst of pain getting you threateningly close to the edge.

The slick feeling of his precum staining your thighs and your juices barely gave his cock any friction and restraint from reaching all the way to the neck of your cervix. 

“God—Toji!” you cried and pressed one palm onto your lower stomach, eyes growing wide at how you could feel him there. “C-can feel you so deep.” 

“Yeah—I’m all the way here, beautiful?” he draped his larger palm on yours, grunting when your soft mewls touched the shell of his ear, the pleasure growing too much for both of you to hold back. Like a tidal wave, your orgasm was building, reaching massive heights and you were half afraid to come down. 

“Toji—!” 

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Go ahead and mess up my cock.” One strong arm wrapped around you and pressed you tight to his defined chest. “I’ll be here to catch you, baby.” 

“Condom!” you gasped and patted his hand to let you go. Rather than letting you out of his sight, Toji lifted you up, twisting you so that your tits were pressed to his chest and all you could do to not let your bum slam to the ground was to keep your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Where?” he grunted. Your head was growing lighter—Toji was literally dragging you up and down his cock as he walked, strong enough to keep fucking you without a break. 

“My room,” you squealed and he brought you to a different spot; you had never been this fast in your life to rummage through your purse and reach for a packet, ripping the silver square in haste and letting him pull out long enough to cover his lewdly shiny cock with the rubber. 

Taking over from where you both left off, Toji slammed you against the wall, his scarred mouth to your eye level and you tipped your head up, your legs helplessly shaking in the air. There was no doubt your arms would be sore tomorrow, your core all but bent in half to take his thick girth into your creamy depths. 

“Toji, Toji—”

“Cum for me, doll. Cum for me.” 

Who were you to deny him, especially when he snarled at you to give in and flood his cock. 

Your release broke with a vengeance and you screamed out his name, hips canting madly to milk his cock, feeling his seed dripping down your thighs. You were too tired to even complain when he sat you down on the bed and removed the condom, splatters of white droplets painting your lower belly. 

“Mhm—Toji...”

“Go to sleep,” he reassured, “I’ll get cleaned up and join you.”

But, you were out before he could even fulfill his promise and as he returned back into the guest room to find you completely out cold, he had to smile. Getting in next to you,Toji leaned over and clicked off the light switch, the room drenched in darkness and the soft whistles of your snores. 

“Goodnight, Y/N from Tokyo,” he whispered as he pulled up the quilt to your chin, hiding your naked body from his sight to give you some semblance of decency. He was unsure of how you would react the next morning when you woke up… or god forbid when you found out the truth about him. 

But, Toji did not let those thoughts ruin the glow of his post-orgasm bliss. 

If there was one thing Toji was certain about, it would be this—there truly was not another woman like you for miles around him in this sleepy down. 

Sunlight tickled your eyes and you pried open your lids, finding yourself pressed close to another warm body.

The memories of last night came back with stunning clarity and your cheeks were warmer than a sun-drenched rock, disbelief in yourself for how you had given yourself completely to this stranger. A handsome stranger, but regardless, he was still someone you didn't know very well.

“Morning.” Crap—the hot stranger was awake. 

You did not respond, scrunching your eyes close tightly in hopes he would believe you were still asleep and did not force you to go through with this awkwardness.

“Your snores stopped—I know you’re awake, Y/N.” 

Deciding that you could not delay the inevitable, you pried your eyes open to fix him with a sheepish smile. “Morning,” you croaked, stale breath making you wince. But Toji did not pay any mind to these natural occurrences and offered you a small smile. 

“Gonna take a shower.”

You hummed, peeling your sticky, naked body out of his embrace. “Don’t bump your head.”

“Ha—fucking—ha.” You watched the ripped curve of his back leave the bed and forced your eyes to tear away from literally ogling at him and risking being called a pervert this early in the morning. 

You laid in the wide bed, stretching your arms overhead and enjoying the thrill of birds outside the window. Something about the country seemed charming enough and you briefly allowed yourself to muse how your life would be if you were to leave the city and start a new life away from the fog, the noise pollution, the memory of Kento on every street you walked on—

The loud ring of the doorbell jolted you from your musings, wondering if you would go get it. You reasoned that this was Toji’s home and he should be the one to answer it, but the rapid stream of water that echoed from the bathroom reminded you that he was currently occupied. 

Another grating ring and you stifled a groan, standing up on shaky legs and picking up your pyjama top from last night. Toji’s old shirt was large enough to fall to your thighs, giving you at least a semblance of decency. You staggered to the door, unlatching it only to come face to face with a pair of brown eyes that widened at the sight of you.

The woman at the other end blinked once, twice, and then raked her gaze up and down your barely dressed form, a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. 

“Who are you—?” 

“You slut!” she screamed and pushed past you, wild dark hair mimicking the storm in her almost black gaze. “Where is he? Is he here?”

“Whoa—“ you stumbled back, surprised at her rage, “Who are you?”

Nothing you did could prepare you for her next words. “I’m his girlfriend.”

“W-what?” Through this sudden flash of realisation, you failed to notice the little boy clinging to her leg. 

“He was supposed to be watching his son today.”

Her words didn’t seem to make sense. A son? But the longer you looked at him, you couldn’t deny it. There he was, standing wide-eyed, a full carbon copy of the man you slept with last night. Your stomach sank like you had swallowed a stone. 

Bracing all her anger into her raised voice, she bellowed, “Toji!” 

At this altercation, the dark-haired man came staggering out of the bathroom in nothing but his towel, flabbergasted at the sight of her. 

“Shit—Mira.”

“You gonna explain this to me?” Jabbing her finger in your direction, you couldn’t help but feel as though she was disgustingly pointing out at a bug she had accidentally squashed under her old sneakers. 

Toji flitted his gaze from your shocked expression to her fuming one and furrowed his brow. “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“Who is she?!” 

“Just some rando—ow—hey!” Mira had raised her hand to slap him, and you gasped, hand flying to your mouth at her audacity. 

“You’re such an asshole, Fushiguro. You didn’t send me any money last month—”

Toji rubbed his cheek and growled at her. “I told’ya! I was running low—”

“So you’re resorting to fucking your customers, now?” Hurting worse than her blinding slap was her sudden accusation that all but threw your dignity under the bus.

Right. Of course. You were just his customer; last night didn't mean anything, definitely not to Toji. 

Despite the fact that none of this was making any sense, you swallowed the bile you wanted to hurl at her. If this was his girlfriend, why was she speaking as though she was a spurned wife? 

But, you decided you had intruded enough. Not only were they bickering in broad daylight with raised voices, but they were doing it in front of their son who could only glance back and forth at his mama and papa with wide, hurt-filled blue eyes. 

Stepping back into the room, it seemed that they both did not notice you until you stood before them with your purse in hand. Fishing inside your wallet, you produced a substantial amount of money and passed it to Toji. 

“Here—the money you need.” 

As if he were stepping out from a nightmare, the burly man blinked and gingerly took the cash. “Y/N—wait.”

You paused, waiting for him to struggle with his words. Mira was nowhere to be seen, the world growing smaller to encompass your cold fury and this stammering man before you. 

“I can explain. Mira is not my wife, she’s just my ex who’s taking care of Megumi. My real wife died a long time ago.”

You sighed, rubbing your aching temple. “Toji, I don’t—argh!” 

Something cold and faintly smelling of cream collided with your cheek and you touched your face, pulling your hand back to find it covered with whipped cream. You were confronted by the sight of Mira—her chest heaving, face red and holding that incriminatory can in one hand, a mad gleam in her eye. 

“You crazy bitch!” you yelled, swiping off a glob of cream that threatened to glop into your eye, fixing her with an incredulous stare. 

“Get out!” 

“Mira—” Toji was about to stop her when he got pied in the face with another spray, this one landing right in his mouth and making him choke on his next words. 

“I was gonna!” The anger and indignancy rose in you and you have never felt this humiliated in your life; cream in your hair, cheeks burning and your pride smashed into a million pieces. 

This is what you get for fucking random men, Y/N. 

“Mira—stop. Y/N—”

You stepped back, raising your hand, about to smack the can out of her grasp when she jettisoned you with another stream of cold cream. Having had enough, you wrenched the can out of her hands and gave her a taste of her own medicine—literally and figuratively. She sputtered out a mouthful of that sweet cream and launched into a mad tirade, about to lunge at you before Toji ransomed her into his unyielding arms.

“Guh—bitch!” 

“My hair!” you screeched. “You ruined my hair you fucking batshit insane bitch!” 

Wiping the last glob of cream and shaking off the flecks onto the floor, you threw her a glare so unnerving that even Toji flinched. 

In a voice colder than Arctic ice, you turned your anger to the tall, deceptive man who winced at the sight of more cream dripping down onto the large shirt he had borrowed you. 

“Goodbye, Toji.” 

Despite how badly you wanted to walk out with your dignity intact, it was undeniable that a half-naked woman covered with cream was about as dignified as a drunk person who shat their pants in a club. 

You scuttled past the small, wide-eyed boy in nothing but his father’s shirt, whipped cream dripping down your chin and your burning cheeks. 

“Papa, why is she not wearing any clothes?” That innocent question was the last straw and you quickly closed the door behind you, trying and failing to bite down on your groan of shame.

The last thing you heard as you hightailed it to your car was Mira’s condescending, 

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with your disgusting ass, Toji.”

You came back to the present, rousing to consciousness on the hard examination bed to find three men staring at you in blatant concern.

One of them—the one who had seen you butt naked and covered with whipped cream (but not in a sexual way), was gazing down with barely concealed disbelief.

Toji was the one who first broke the silence. “Y/N?” 

Sukuna was less delicate, getting to the bone of things. “Why didn't you tell us you were pregnant?” 

But, you couldn't speak up, vocal cords ransomed by fear. 

“So, you don’t know which one is the father?” Gojo. His piercing cerulean eyes were filled with an unnamed emotion. 

In the end, it was Shoko who broke the tension by muttering, “I can take some samples from each of you and run it with Y/N’s amniotic fluid.” 

Before you could speak, or even give a rousing reasoning as to why this was important not just for you, but for the baby, Sukuna scoffed and stepped back, his arms crossed. 

“Count me out.”

You swallowed down on your mortification and turned your wide gaze to the tattooed man who looked like he would rather be suffering in the pits of hell than stay for one more second in this crowded, overstuffed room full of potential fathers.

“Sukuna—”

“Yeah, me, too. I already have a kid. I ain’t gonna pay for this one, too.” 

It hurt that they were not willing to even take an hour out of their day to help you find out the truth; that they would discard you just like that—like you didn’t even mean much to them in the first place.

To your surprise, it was Gojo who was trying to convince the dark-haired man to stay. “Toji—”

Finding your voice, you glared at the two men who were the personification of a dog with its tail between its legs. One quick blow and you’re positive the both of them would’ve folded like they were a house of cards. 

“This isn’t about us anymore, okay!” 

You softened your tone, imploring them to understand. “At least just take the test. Please. We have to think about the baby—regardless of who it belongs to and until the test is ready, don’t you want to at least know the child?” 

None of them spoke, too stunned by your outburst. Toji cleared his throat and shook his head, about to retort when Ieiri supplied softly: “It’s a girl.”

There was a collective sharp inhale from each man. 

This time, it was Sukuna who exhaled. “A girl? Damn.” The rosy-haired man’s musing fell on deaf ears for the others, but not on yours. You heard him crystal clear. “I’ve always wanted a girl…” 

“A baby girl, eh? Guess we have to show a good role model.” Satoru winked at you and this tiny show of acceptance warmed your heart that had long gone cold from the previously hostile interaction. 

However, the atmosphere in the room came crashing down again when Toji scoffed. “You both can do that. I’m out.”

There was nothing you could say to convince him. This time, you let the tall, dark-haired man go; thinking it was useless to hinder someone who didn’t even want to be there in the first place. 

You had thought that Sukuna would stay to at least provide his sample, but he sighed and turned towards the door, following Toji's heels. 

“If you would please excuse me.” 

It was just you and Gojo left in the OB GYN room. 

You turned your dulled gaze to him, gently pressing your palm to your stomach where your baby girl was currently growing. With a jaded sigh, you asked him, “Don’t you want to leave, too?” 

Proving that he was a bag full of surprises, the white-haired CEO snorted. “Nah. That baby girl may be mine and I wanna be there for her.” Twinkling cerulean eyes filled you with hope for the first time during this long day. “Besides, you said it yourself—this is not about us. It’s about her.” 

His words melted your heart and you were grateful that even if no one would be there for you, at least Gojo would. 

“Thank you… Satoru.”

— reblogs and feedback are very much loved <3

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost, or claim as your own

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

97 Poets of Revachol pics!

HERE THEY ARE, courtesy of the event's official photographer, Zuzana Šubrtová. The Elysium-based LARP took place in two runs in Terezín, Czech Republic, in the latter half of September. These are from the second run!

I can't possibly describe what it was like to inhabit the rundown tenement of La Cage with more than a hundred other players, bringing to life a whole slice of society: immigrants, barflies, petanque players, sewer people, Union gang members, Wild Pines mercs, disco people, sewer people, looters, street artists, an inevitable mass of fascists, anarchists, communards (or so I'm told), communards (proper), communards (it's complicated), councilmembers, hustlers, taxidermy enthusiasts, the also-inevitable mass of pale-fried strugglers, journalists, Moralintern creeps, RCM chucklefucks, and so on and so forth. The old military hospital burst to life with small human moments and grand revelations happening in every corner at all time, as the gears of history moved toward our inevitable trial run of Le Retour.

We really had it all. Politics, drugs, creeping mold, more drugs, unseen voices steering us toward our best and worst natures, a metaphysical rave, entroponetic anomalies, precognition (scripted), precognition (just kind of happened?? Several times over?), suzerainist coffin deliveries, sweatshop politics, old reckonings, radiant sacrifices (accidental-ish), three-way divorces (one-upping one HDB), strikes and strike-breakers, political dance-offs and political orgies, and did I mention the drugs, under the greatness of history and the pale.

Thanks to the organizers for the colossal effort they pulled off like it was nbd, and to all my fellow dwellers of La Cage.

A few favourites:

First off, this was basically the entirety of my game:

...with a central heartrending tension between that abandon, that 'something beautiful is going to happen', and my character's earthly loves, the family she loved so much. It was really really fascinating and emotionally moving to get to play out that central conundrum in full (and go die on the barricades for an independent Revachol following the push of History) (and also of Franconegro pulling my strings like a marionette in a chilling scene) (but mostly History)

Case in point: me in the back, the Unseen voice/spirit/skill "Doomsayer" to the left, dear husband Tai in the middle. Sorry Tai!

Moralintern mission

Sweatshop workers strike

Both sides of the barricades, right as the game ended (this is not a spoiler, it said up front on the website that that's where the story would end): independentists (feat. His Fuckery Franconegro with the black wings in the background, but also the Unseen of if it sucks hit da bricks, the street martyr and idk who else) and globalists (Dolores Dei, Doomsayer et al)

speaking of those two - here's them in full rave regalia. I love that two of the collective skills of this place are flat-out "Dolores Dei" and "Franconegro", it's so fitting. Can't have current society without them, so here they are, as a molecular part of it.

RCM peeps predictably being serious, professional individuals

Designer drug guy talking to Corrosion who's kind of the local version of Electrochemistry. I'm sure this was a completely hinged conversation that reached sensible conclusions

Wild Pines mercs +1

Disco downtime. The set design for The Bearded Vulture club and The Second Club was out of this world. I hope my own pics can convey some of it.

sweatshop power dynamics (there were accidents, Union leverage, strikes, corruption... you'd think there would be barely time for anything else to go on AND YET)

possibly my fave pic of the whole thing (go Doomsayer!!!). we had specific graffitable areas on the wall and made VERY good use of them. Well, everyone else. My character wasn't much of a graffiti artist, her greatest contribution was turning "Revachol for revacholians" into "Revachol for mold"...

LARP^2

fascist campaigning at the Democracy Picnic

Petanque club...

...actually playing petanque? I never saw them ingame, I was starting to wonder if it wasn't a front for something else

Pictured - no scheming, plotting or quadruple-crossing here as you can clearly see by "Kras Knezhinisky"'s super normal demeanour and unassuming name, which I can totally believe was on his legit birth certificate)

I mention Kras because here's the theatrical taxidermy show with him in the middle narrating the adventures of his antifascist ferret Kommissar Kunixet. Nice pic, I take the shot. Five seconds later, superstar Frittte clerk Jamie Delaney joins in, and what can I do, NOT have Jamie in a shot? Absolutely not, so I take the same exact shot with Jamie in it as well.

And by sheer twist of technology (and of course the pale, and of course vile censorship in defiance of the Romangorod convention)... Kras Knezhinsky of all people gets kommissar-no-kommissar'd. "Kras, the pale is erasing you from our memories, from images," I warn him, showing him the two pictures. One hour later, he gets taken behind the waste disposal facility and shot.

Hm.

(LARP's haunted. These things KEPT HAPPENING. In the first run, that version of my character went "YOU MURDERER" at the specific merc who'd turn out to be connected with her background, a couple of hours before getting that reveal in-game. What's Elysium without some good old-fashioned precognition after all!)

Poor Flowerseller (red dress here) was kind of my Empathy - many valiant attemps were made, however. Uphill struggle.

HARDCORE anodic club leader Konrad Nilsen doing something not so hardcore here, idk what was going on exactly but then again I never even noticed we had a morgue and I had a plot right next room, so what do I know. I know that the end is near. That much for sure. And that the resolution of history's contradictions goes through the pale. But corpses? Nah.

||||||| 😎

[modernelites-if]

Modern Elites is a 18+ raunchy slice-of-life IF that follows you, a young royal, navigating the world of the obscenely rich and immensely famous while trying to keep your elite, royal family together in the midst of drama and tabloids.

Setting: modern times, fictional tiny country of Selusa, New York, Paris and more.

Genre: slice-of-life, drama, romance

Celebrity. Pop Culture Icon. Heir.

Royal.

As the heir to the Selusan throne, you're known by many names. Growing under the spotlight hasn't been easy, especially since it seems the vultures all want a piece of your elusive family. Country clubs, yachts, parties, private jets, elite schools, you've had it all.

But is there something missing?

Customize your heir from appearance to gender identity to personality. Dictate what kind of person they are: rebellious, dutiful. Do they care about the royal line or are parties more on their mind? Will you keep a squeaky clean rep or ruin the family name?

Customize Salusa and cater the country to your taste.

Dictate what kind of leader you want to be, and how others percieve you.

Experience the life of the hidden .01% and the drama of the ultra wealthy.

Engage in fiery, dramatic romances that could either uplift or ruin you and your family.

and more to come.

THE ADVISOR

Imogen/Ian Lancaster [f/m]- your family's advisor and publicist. I has cleaned up every mess, every leak, every scandal and at this point, there are no secrets between your family and them. Coming from a well-off family themselves, they know exactly how this world works...and they navigate it with a steel will and a cold, detached demeanor. I has you handled like an adult with a child, trying (and probably failing) to keep you in line. Anything you do will go through them, so it's better to think twice.

THE BETROTHED

Everett/Eva St. Clare [m/f] - the eldest of one of the most influential businessmen on your side of the world, black sheep, and a source of gossip in polite society, there have been talks of a betrothal between you two since the partnership started. Because of that, you two are forced into a fake romance for the cameras. E is an arrogant and brash casanova, sex-obsessed, and is proudly noncommital with string of rumors that follow them like their own entourage. Unfortunately for you, E's exploits can damage the carefully constructed facade you two have built. Of course, E doesn't give a damn.

THE REBEL

Vince/Vivian De Grasso [m/f] - (secretly) fresh out of jail and newly reformed (not) V's politician of a mother has asked in a favor from your family: to reform them and stifle their rebellious ways by adding them to your security detail. Your father having a soft spot for the kid, brings them in as one of your guards. Hopefully V keeps in line...or not.

THE COMMONER

Cordelia/Corden Bowen [f/m]- an employee at the country club you frequent, someone less polite would call them a 'nobody.' C has a bit of an attitude, but that's expected from someone who is used to getting berated by rich people all day. There's not much else to say about them...or maybe there is?

THE JOURNALIST

Romi Marshall [m/f]- a famed journalist with contempt for royalty and elitism. Their newsletters frequently slam you and your family's every move, and they don't like you one bit. You can confidently say they're your biggest hater.

THE ROYAL BEST FRIEND

Oliver/Olivia Ames-Astor [m/f]- a fellow prince/princess from another country and your best friend, who is still hung up on their ex. Forced to betroth someone else, O has so many problems you can hardly sort through them. Still, they're kind and as polite as you'd expect from a person who has had etiquette lessons drilled into them since childhood. They're also your best friend, so there's that.

[wttcsms]

no but imagine a 2000s-esque romcom of a fic with journalist!reader and pro!sakusa. the very definition of an ambitious reporter, you get right down to business. except, it's not world news that you're reporting; it's something way more relevant and serves society much more: you're a celebrity gossip columnist.

okay, well you were a celebrity gossip columnist. however, a mega corporation ended up buying out a sports magazine and your beloved girly-pop magazine, and then decided to merge the two companies together to make some weird-ass blend of a publication. so, the focus on sports and athletics is still there, but the new managers want drama. something to get people to subscribe and to actually buy physical magazines again. besides having hot pics of shirtless athletes on the covers, they're requesting juicy headlines that can't be read anywhere else. you and every other writer has to be the first person to any story.

of course, it's a merger and with too many employees coming in from both former magazine companies, there will be cuts. everyone is trying to get the craziest story because everyone is trying to keep their job; you're no different.

fine. they want exclusive stories? then you, ever so ambitious, know who your mark is going to be: kiyoomi sakusa. he's the perfect target. he's rarely in the media for anything good or bad, everyone (from fans to haters) is hungering for any type of scraps on him, but most importantly, you have a bone to pick with him.

you overhear him at an event one day where he was complaining about journalists to his teammates. you think he's shit talking (he's just blunt but i wanted a darcy/pride + prejudice moment with sakusa!!! the misunderstanding that builds the prejudice u have against him!!!), and he's going on about how phony and annoying they are when they introduce themselves... it wouldn't sting as much, but five minute prior, you just got done introducing yourself to him!!! so, you're out for blood. you are going to crush sakusa with this article.

you know what they say: keep your enemies closer. so you build a professional relationship with kiyoomi first, gaining his trust, but somehow, this is the first time sakusa's ever felt seen by a person. he opens up to you. he starts telling you about his bad relationship with the media, how they all seem like vultures, ready to destroy him for no reason other than a paycheck, how you're different. he doesn't like doing much public media appearances or interviews because the media likes to blow everything out of proportion and he's not the type of person who's good at appealing to others.

your article is due SOON. you don't have another story lined up, and if that's the case, you better start searching for another job. you have to decide between your career or your relationship with sakusa. you choose him, of course, but before you can come clean about your original intentions, he ends up finding the draft of your article on him.

[randomshyperson]

Mess is Mine - Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Being divorced from Wanda Maximoff implies never getting over her.

Warnings: (+18), language, brief smut, divorced ladies who are very still much in love with each other, unspecified age gap, marriage going wrong, hopeful ending, mild angst, fluff.| Words: 3.949k.

A/N-> There's this divorced couple in a Brazilian soap opera with so much chemistry in their scenes together because of the intimacy gained during marriage (even though that didn't work out) and they won't leave my tik tok ; at some point, my brain thought about this fic. I would love to write more of this trope in the future.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Wanda had a persistent migraine, and the pile of work in front of her was not helping.

Still, all her stubborn brain could focus on instead of her real job was the stupid headline of the gossip magazine on her desk.

A cheap and badly angled photo of her ex-wife with colorful captions that read 'The newest business killer couple?" and dozens more insinuations about a secret high-society romance made her stomach churn.

Wanda tried not to be affected by the gossip, but you looked so happy in the photo that she couldn't help it.

The sudden opening of her door made Wanda jump in her seat, in one quick pull close the magazine and sigh with relief when she saw it was only Natasha.

"Why are you here?" Her long-time friend and co-worker asked. Wanda frowned in confusion.

"It's still my company..."

Nat rolled her eyes, walking into the office and taking long strides to her desk. "I meant in here, smarty-pants. The event is starting in an hour, the staff wanted some words of encouragement or something."

Wanda sighed wearily, massaging her forehead with one hand. "Can't you do that for me, Nat? I gotta make some calls."

Nat hummed in agreement, but her gaze caught the closed magazine on the table and she raised a brow at her friend. "One of those calls includes your ex-wife, I suppose."

Wanda chuckled dryly, taking the magazine out to one of the drawers and adjusting herself to reach the desk phone. "There's nothing else for me to say to her."

Her friend hid a smile that said that she didn't believe this one bit. "Okay, whatever you say. See you later, boss."

Wanda waved goodbye, with the phone to her ear. Her immediate instinct was to dial known numbers but she shook her head to push that ridiculous idea away and went back to work.

Several hours after the peak of the event when the company was filled with guests, from potential clients to journalists looking for any news like vultures at the carrion, Wanda was at her second glass of champagne, trying to keep the rest of her patience intact after having answered so many questions for gossip magazines regarding the headline from earlier in the day.

She absolutely did not want to discuss a possible romance between her ex-wife and the heiress of Bishop Industries. 

Years before, any of them would have been afraid to question her about something so ridiculous, but that was before you came along. And melted your way into the Business Ice Queen, the untouchable Wanda Maximoff, or whatever insensitive nickname they invented about her back then. Before breaking down all of Wanda's walls, making her a better person, and of course, before you left her.

It was definitely the alcohol's fault that she was thinking about this, and with these stupid tears welling up in her eyes. Wanda swallowed all the emotion, burying it deep and making sure that no one had noticed her broken expression. With an excuse to a group of investors who were boring her into a corner, she retreated to an area far away from the company's outdoor gardens, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The beautiful view of the state lake was most welcome.

So of course the reason for her almost minor breakdown had to show up wearing her favorite suit.

"Are you running away from your guests, Maximoff?" Your tone was casual, the smile provocative. She snorted to herself, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes on the lake. You didn't mind, walking over to her at a slow pace until you were beside her on the edge. 

"I just needed some air." She merely replies. With one hand in your pockets, you adjust your own hair, and Wanda hates that she can smell the shampoo, her body betraying her and shuddering as if your scent were addictive. 

"You're avoiding me today." You comment lightheartedly, studying her face. "I arrived an hour ago and it took me almost all this time to find you."

Wanda forced a smile, finally facing you back, but her angry look made you hesitate. "I thought your chaperone was keeping you busy."

You glanced back at the party, stealing a quick check on Kate at the food stand, chatting with a blonde girl, before turning your attention back to Wanda.

"I forgot how hot you get when you're jealous."

Wanda huffs away, her cheeks burning which she tries to hide by staring at the lake. "Don't even start." She warns between teeth. 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, but don't insist. You turn your attention to the lake as well. "I wanted to let you know that the boys have already arrived in King Cross. I spoke to them and Charles on the phone."

"I know, Pietro texted me." She retorts more harshly than she meant to and bites the inside of her cheek as she sees you lower your head in upset. With a sigh, she mumbles, "I meant, thanks for letting me know."

You smile, nodding before turning your gaze back to the party. "What do you think of Miss Bishop?" 

Wanda locks her jaw; How dare you honestly. A list of curses lays ready on the tip of her tongue, but she remembers where you two are, and takes a deep breath. You were clearly trying for some kind of reaction from her, and she's not going to let you have this victory today.

"She's beautiful." Wanda replies. "As young as you were when I met you."

You chuckle shortly, raising an eyebrow at her. "What are you implying, Maximoff?"

Wanda shrugs her shoulders softly, turning to leave. "You're quite clever, Y/N, I'm sure you follow." She hits back, but you step forward into her path. You are suddenly too close, and Wanda finds herself holding her breath. She needs to take a step back to avoid stopping breathing for good.

Your eyes stare into theirs. "Not that this is any of your business, darling, but my relationship with Kate is strictly professional."

You assure her in a low tone, and Wanda swallows hard as your gaze moves down to her lips for a long moment before focusing on her eyes again. A smile forms on your mouth next. "Besides this, I've always had a thing for older women."

Wanda sighs heavily, using all her mental control to pull away at once. "Go pay attention to your chaperone, Y/N. Especially if she's a potential client."

You roll your eyes at the business tip; you already know them by heart, the vast majority learned from Wanda. And your ex-wife makes mention of leaving, so you slide your hand down her forearm gently, taking some amusement in seeing the way she shivers.

"I wanted to talk to you about something, Wanda." You let her know, with a serious tone but a tender look. The redhead swallows dryly at the closeness of your faces now that you're standing side by side, your hands connected. "Later, after the party, okay?"

"I-I..."

"It's important." You assure her, knowing her hesitation is so as not to break your agreement about relapses. With a gentle expression, you insist, "Please, it won't take more than five minutes."

She licks her lips, and you almost kiss her. Lucky for her she agrees and walks away because God knows you would have done it, right there in that garden for all the New York reporters to have a week's news about.

Without Wanda's perfume around you, you take a deep breath and try to clear your mind, having to wait a few more minutes in the garden for your heart to stop beating so fast.

As the event nears its end and Wanda needs to give a closing speech, you say goodbye to Kate before the parking area. You ignore all the journalists who try to insinuate something about you having taken the girl to the car and exchange a glance with Wanda in the small crowd before moving toward the elevator.

Wanda has always known you so well, and with a nod, she knows exactly where she has to go.

Her work floor is completely deserted as she makes her way to her own office. But she still closes the door as she enters, letting out a tired laugh at your figure sitting on her armchair.

Her smile fades when she sees what you are reading.

"Headlines nowadays are getting creative..." You wryly chuckle, laughing at your ex-wife's caught expression. "It says here that I might have an eye to the Bishop's fortune. How silly, you gave me almost half of yours in the divorce, why would I need more money?"

"Very funny." Wanda dryly retorts, reaching up to snatch the magazine from your hands with a tug, and raking the item into the trash afterward. She crosses her arms as she looks at you. "What did you want to tell me?"

You flashed a small, sideways smile. "You used to be more polite when you wanted to sleep with me. At least offer me a drink."

Wanda chuckled dryly, rolling her eyes and begrudgingly moving to the personal bar in the corner of the room. If she leaned over more than necessary to grab one of the whiskey bottles, aware that the position in the chair gave you a full view of her ass, neither of you said anything about it. She hid her satisfied smile as she heard your breath hitch at the image, and you hid your own reaction as you cleared your throat and looked away.

Shortly thereafter, two shots of whiskey were served on the glass table in front of you. But before the toast, you declared:

"I'm leaving."

Wanda frowned, and when you made mention of taking the glass, she placed her hand on your forearm. "Speak."

You chuckled, staring her in the eyes. "I closed a contract with the Ten Rings folks. They want me in Korea for the next four months."

Wanda lets go of your arm as if she had been burned and steps away from the table with an indecipherable, but very disturbed expression.

"B-but the boys.." She tries to formulate, but you rise from the armchair with a sigh.

"They'll be at school." You retort, even though firm, your gaze is almost pleading. For what, Wanda doesn't have the heart to wonder. "It's not as if they stay with us all the time, Wands. The boarding school takes up this time quite well. It will only be four months, and they've already invented the telephone and internet, you know?" You try to joke, but Wanda hugs her own body and faces you.

"Why are you here, then? You've traveled before."

"Not for that long." You say, taking steps toward her, and mentally thanking heavens that she doesn't pull away. "And not... not since we made the divorce official."

"Y/N..."

"I know, I know." You murmur with a sad smile, raising your hands to her arms uncovered by her dress. "Maybe it's stupid, but I wanted to make sure we're okay. That it won't be something...I don't know, that hurts us."

"More than a divorce? I find that difficult." She replies with restrained emotion in her husky voice. You sigh.

"Wanda..."

"No, you're right. It was stupid." She cuts off, pulling away so you don't see the tears welling up in her eyes. "Of course it's okay. But I appreciate that you respect the concept of shared custody. I imagine the kids already know?"

"Yes, I told them before I took them to the airport." You mutter upset, watching Wanda walk away to the window. "But Wands, I wanted to tell you in person..."

"And why is that, huh?" she retorts with an impatience that makes you flinch. And for this, Wanda loses it for good. "You know, I don't understand you! You left me! You filed for divorce, you wanted to break us up. But you keep showing up here, and at home, and everywhere, and now you want to come here and say you care-"

"I care, Wa-"

"Then why did you leave me?" she shouts back, almost regretting it when she sees the tears in your eyes. You laugh tearfully, shaking your head.

"We've had this conversation dozens of times, Wan." You say, much calmer than she is. "But you just can't accept that you're wrong, can you?"

"Right, I forgot that I'm the villain in your story." She sneers, wiping her face with the back of her hand. You give another sad laugh.

"I wish it were that simple, darling." You tell her, taking slow steps toward her. "If you were just the villain, the bad wife, the evil boss, everything would be easier. I could hate you, curse your names to all my friends, and spend all the divorce money on expensive, empty things out there, but it's not like that. You forget the part that I love you and tried to fight for us until the last second."

Wanda sobs quietly, looking down at the floor, "Don't do that, Y/N."

"But it's true, baby, you know. I'm not the one who broke any promises, Wands. I just got tired of begging for crumbs of attention from the person who swore to spend the rest of her days with me."

Wanda lifts her chin, and the determination in her gaze doesn't do justice to the tears. "You knew how much my career meant when you said yes."

You smile sadly, taking one last step to get close enough to hold her face. Wanda shudders as you wipe away her tears, as you have done so many times before, as if no time has passed and everything was fine.

"I am so proud of you, Wands, for all you have accomplished with your work. I only wish I had been as important as this building." 

You place a long kiss on her forehead, pulling away afterward. You offer her one last sad smile before closing the door on your way out. Wanda starts to cry as soon as you have done so, even though she tries very hard to keep her tears away.

–//–

You burned a pancake to answer the door, but all the irritation over the ruined dish vanished when you saw Wanda standing in front of you.

It had only been a few days since you had last seen her, and now all the furniture in your apartment was already packed away and covered with rags, prepared for the time you would be away. Wanda's party dress gave way to a casual suit that made you swallow dryly and become self-conscious of the sweatpants and sports top you were wearing. Wanda wouldn't have picked anything better.

"Are you going to let me in, detka?" Wanda asked with some teasing for your moment of shock. You immediately recovered, making room for her to enter and closing the door once she was in the hall. "Sorry for disturbing your breakfast. I wanted to see you before your flight."

"Oh, don't worry about it. And I'm not going until the afternoon." You clarified somewhat clumsily by her presence, one hand still holding a spatula and the other adjusting your hair. "I made pancakes if you'd like..."

"I would love it." Wanda assured with a smile that made your stomach twist. It wasn't fair that your ex-wife got more beautiful every time you looked at her, honestly.

Wanda followed you back into the kitchen, and to both your surprise, you fell into a light conversation about work and the boys while preparing and serving food, completely different from the tone of the conversation the last time you had seen each other. 

But it was a time bomb, of course, so you weren't surprised when Wanda suddenly bit her lip, assuming a more tense posture. 

Finishing chewing your pancakes, you asked:

"Why are you here, sweetheart?" 

Wanda raised her eyes to you, and you stared back at her, patiently for her to clarify. 

"I wanted to say goodbye to you properly." She said, spinning her own stool around first before tipping her hands around yours to spin you toward her. You raise a brow in curiosity, but the question of what she was doing dies in your throat as she leans in and brings your lips together. 

It has been exactly three months, eighteen days, and sixteen hours since you last kissed Wanda, and you only realize how much you missed the feeling when she does it again. It's as intoxicating as it is overwhelming, and you gasp into her lips, breaking the kiss at once as you stand up, taking good steps away from the countertop.

"Wanda, we talked about this." You remind her in a husky voice, pressing a hand over your face. It's ridiculous how much your skin is burning and your heart is racing for something that lasted less than three seconds. "No relapses. You promised-"

"It's not a relapse." She assured, reaching up and grabbing your hands to place them around her waist. You grunted at the sensation, closing your eyes as Wanda slipped hers over your shoulders, too close for you to think about anything other than her. "It's a parting gift. So you'll have a reason to come back."

"W-what...?"

Wanda presses closer and brings her mouth to your ear. "Just stop overthinking it and accept the gift, detka."

With encouragement, she bites the lobe of your ear, and you give up resisting.

With a tug on her waist, you bring your mouths together in a kiss much hungrier and more passionate than the first, which elicits loud, almost primal moans of need from both of you. Wanda pushes and pulls, and by the time you stumble to the back of the living room couch, your pants are already open and there's nothing covering your torso; much like the woman in front of you, who as soon as she throws you sitting up against the cushions, your breathing out of rhythm and your lips swollen from kissing hard, makes a show of removing the rest of her clothes.

She has time to smile mischievously at your look of pure adoration at her completely naked body in front of you before you pull her onto your lap by her thighs. Wanda climbs on you with a needy grunt, burning from the inside out in anticipation for you to touch her again.

Your touches are almost desperate, your kisses mark her skin. It is your gift, but you also seem determined to make sure that Wanda has the memory of this morning for quite some time. 

When your mouth closes around her nipples, she whimpers to the ceiling, arching her back and steadying her hands in your hair, a soft plea that you not stop.

"Yes, baby, just like that." She encourages over the stimulation on her nipples, breaking into an excited whimper when you simply use your free hand to masturbate her. At any other time, you would have taken your time to work her up until she was begging for your touch, but now, in the urgency you two were sharing, it wasn't necessary. She was ready for you. 

Your fingers penetrate her without delay, and Wanda digs her nails into your shoulder, breaking into a breathless moan. You give one last hickey on her hardened nipple before you move your face back up to hers, kissing her with intensity as your fingers dance inside her walls with the mastery of one who has done this a dozen times, one who knows her like the palm of the hand she so deliberately grinds against in the intention of relieving herself.

"G-god, detka! Right here!" She breaks the kiss into an affected moan, practically meowing as you repeatedly hit that sensitive spot inside her. The wetness grows in your palm, Wanda oozes into you, and to help her, you bring your free hand to her hip, coordinating her movements as she begins to fail. "I-I'm going to..."

"Don't talk, show." You interrupt her with a proud little smile, moving your mouth down to bite the sensitive spots on her neck. "Come to me, baby, I've got you."

That's all she needs to reach the first climax of the morning, and she is not surprised that you don't stop at the first. Or the second, or the third.

You are on your knees on the living room floor when your first alarm goes off. Breathing as out of breath as Wanda, on the couch with her torso exposed and her legs spread from which you against your will need to remove your face to turn off the alarm when you pull away.

She covers herself when you disappear to the kitchen because she knows it's because of the flight, and when you return, the cell phone goes on the coffee table and you sit on the floor next to her on the couch. 

There is a long silent pause, where only your breaths can be heard. Wanda skirts a hickey on her own thigh and you sigh.

"We shouldn't have..." But you can't complete, it because your voice fails you as if you are going to start crying. You look away, and Wanda lets herself fall to your side on the floor, where she reaches for your hand.

"Detka, look at me." She asks, and you have to wait a moment until you sniffle and do so with difficulty.

"I told you it hurts me, Wands. I can't-" You take a deep breath. "I can't heal if this keeps happening. There’s no getting over you if we keep doing this”

She shakes her head. "I don't want you to get over me." She says and you huff, trying to pull her hand away, but Wanda squeezes. "I love you, you know I do."

"Love is not enough." You retort bitterly, your eyes filled with tears. "Loving me doesn't mean you won't hurt me. Nor that you won't ignore me. Those are just words, Wanda. I haven't felt loved by you in a long time."

She releases your hand from the shock of your words, and watches you create a physical distance between you as you walk away. You slip away to the bedroom, muttering that you need to get ready for the flight, and she tries to make a decision the whole time you are in the shower.

When you return to the room, wearing a set of travel clothes, Wanda is wearing your sweatpants and her own dress shirt. Your chest aches to see her wearing your clothes again.

"Wanda, you'd better go, my flight-"

"I love you, detka." She cuts you off with eyes bright with determination as she stares at you. You swallow dry, but can't resist when Wanda reaches up to touch your face. "I will make sure you know it. You'll know it so deeply that you'll be able to feel it in your bones. And you'll never doubt it again."

You sniffle lightly. "Wanda..."

"Don't worry about it now, detka." She interrupts you more gently, caressing your face. "Have a great trip. I'll be here when you come back home."

You sigh, and Wanda doesn't let you say anything more, kissing you in a calmer, but somehow much more intense way than before. 

She leaves the apartment before you, with a wink and a request that you call the boys before and after the flight. 

And even before she gets to the first floor, Wanda has already texted Natasha about her early retirement procedure after her well-deserved family vacation.

[fumblingbuffoon]

On Our Own Side

Lots of Good Omens fans are looking for ways to show their support for the women who spoke up about NG.

Some simple actions are listed below, gathered from Tumblr and Reddit.

Which do you think is most effective? Please add any more ideas in the comments 🩷

Send a message of support to the women who spoke up via Reddit's #neilgaiman-uncovered, where a mod is passing on messages (link below)

2. Donate to the On Our Own Side fundraiser linked below (or any other SA support service). Whatever you can afford: $10 or $1000, it will help and send a message.

3. Make a post to share the On Our Own Side fundraiser (or similar) with others.

4. Subscribe to Vulture (just $1 per month via the New York Mag, linked below). That journalist clearly put an immense amount of time into researching and crafting the article. Let the media bosses know we value it.

5. Request a refund for audiobooks (Audible is allowing this, others my be now too)

6. If you are posting fanart etc, consider adding a link to the fundraiser (or maybe the Vulture article with strong trigger warning)

7. If discussing NG, tag so that survivors can avoid triggers when they need to. Tags are #neilgaimanallegations, #tw: neilgaiman, #fuckneilgaiman

8. Above all, be kind. Many fans are survivors themselves, and this is tough.

REDDIT:

https://www.reddit.com/r/neilgaimanuncovered/comments/1i3054l/this_post_is_dedicated_to_the_brave_and_wonderful/

FUNDRAISER:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/on-our-own-side-a-good-omens-fandom-fundraiser

VULTURE:

https://subs.nymag.com/magazine/subscribe/official-subscription.html#/

[starwrighter]

Dude, get a restraining order

(Masterpost) (Ao3 link) (Previous) (Next)

(As promised Damian falls in love at first sight!)

Minutes ticked by like hours as his English teacher droned on about topics he’d learned years ago. Surface-level information dumbed down to its simplest form. Todd had already given him the assigned book years ago. A classic written sometime in the 1950s. He’d claimed it’d be a book he could relate to. He’d quizzed himself, writing an essay to prove he actually read it when Todd came around again. 

He guessed that’s why when the discussions of symbolism and deeper meanings started, his interest plummeted. He focused on a worksheet, only half listening as the teacher read aloud. Vocabulary and its context, all of it so dull. painfully easy, but still father wouldn’t allow him to skip grades, nor would the school. Something about him having “Poor social skills,”

Tch, lies and slander. It wasn’t his fault his classmates were too cowardly to speak to him face to face. They’d been the ones to label him as intimidating and cold. If not being a spineless pushover made him intolerable, then he didn't want to be friendly. He wouldn’t allow himself to be taken advantage of, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone talk down to him without facing the consequences. 

He didn't need to be social with these hooligans. A waste of time! Plus, he’s certain everyone in class already held a certain distaste for him. It’d be better if he was homeschooled, but father said he needed to be seen by the public so the media wouldn't talk. Journalists and tabloid writers were like vultures they'd squawk regardless if he was in school or not. Father hadn't seen his argument valid so he was stuck with yet another year of this dull nonsense.

A new transfer student from a small town in Illinois should be here today. An outsider spending a whole seven months in Gotham, it should be equal parts entertaining as it’d be inconvenient. The backlash that’d hit them if they let said transfer student die within city borders would be tremendous. He could only hope this Daniel Fenton wasn’t just late and instead backed out like any sensible person would.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case as the teacher stepped outside, coming back with a smile of faux sweetness on their face, waving her hand, signaling someone inside.

A boy with eyes blue like sapphire stones stepped into the classroom. His shoulders lax but the way he fidgeted in place screamed he’d rather be anywhere but here. His features were soft, electrical scaring running down the left side of his face, creeping down the boy’s chin and neck. Hair pitch black with short splotches of white-ish gray framed his face. A small silver necklace shaped like Saturn hung from his neck, a clear dress code violation, but clearly, he hadn’t been accosted for it yet. Their teacher encouraged him to introduce himself.

“Hi, My name’s Danny and I hope I don’t die here,” Daniel joked, his posture jovial despite the morbidity of his words.

“Though, I wouldn’t be shocked if I did,” He finished, earning a quiet chuckle from those who could see the boy’s scars. 

Daniel glanced around the front row, eyes landing on the empty spot beside him. Daniel quickly took this spot without hesitation, ignoring the multiple students who waved him over with a simple gesture to the left side of his face.

With a closer view of Daniel's left eye, he could see the slight milky discoloration of the pupil and iris. He's likely blind in that eye, but the circumstances of him being born with the impairment are unlikely, judging by the damage around his eye socket. It had healed well for what he could only infer was a grievous injury. The scar tissue looked fresh, no older than a year or so, signaling this partial blindness was relatively new.

He seemed relieved that the teacher was reading out loud like nobody had offered him any sort of accommodation for his disability. Considering Daniel came from a small town in Illinois, he doubted any school accommodations were made for him besides maybe a week or so off school when he was recovering. Gotham wasn’t much better, but Father poured a decent amount into the city’s healthcare and educational systems. 

“Tuck your necklace under your shirt,” He whispered to his new seatmate when the teacher turned her back. “It breaks the dress code, you’ll never get it back if a teacher spots it,” A warning deadly serious, a bit stern for something as frivolous as a piece of jewelry, but Daniel looked as if that simple warning had saved his life. Daniel shoved the necklace under his dress shirt with alarming speed, tucking the thin, bronze chain beneath his collar, making the boy’s neck look deceptively bare. 

They both continued their work in silence, mutual respect between the two of them to stay out of each other’s way. When Daniel’s pencil lead broke, Damian offered him a sharpener. When their teacher called on him despite his hand being down, Danny answered instead, giddy that “he” was called on. Giving the English teacher the easy choice of admitting she was targeting students or playing the part of a welcoming teacher eager to have the half-blind kid engage with her class.

Daniel did it on purpose too, that was sure. He made class time more bearable that was certain as well. The way his seatmate engaged the subject in an intelligent manner despite frequent mutters of English not “being his subject,” was admirable.

When brought into discussion, Daniel meshed with his new peers relatively quickly, quick to snap in with a clever quip when the opportunity arose. He was by no means a social butterfly but fell into the rhythm of a conversation with practiced ease. 

Often, when not writing he fidgeted, picking at black and white polish on his nails or twirling a pencil between two fingers. He’d rest his face on his palm and pursed his lips when confused. Though his mannerisms were somewhat awkward, some might call them cute.

It wasn‘t long until class was over, the bell calling all the students to coagulate by the door, slowly filing into the hallway. All except him and Daniel, who stared at a schedule and a map with furrowed brows. They shared their next class too, an idea that filled him with an odd giddiness.

Damian pulled a copy of his own schedule from his bag, tapping Daniels's shoulder and showing him their matching second-hour classes.

“It would be easier if we went together,” 

Daniel smiled, canines sharpened to a point. His heart boomed in his chest, a strange but…Pleasant experience. It was too early to tell, but he thinks he’ll enjoy having Daniel here for the next seven months.

[coffeeandstrawberries]

Good Omens and NG's fans are so baffled and annoyed some people only now are learning about the credible accusations against Gaiman and start questioning their devotion to a piece of media partially created by a disgusting human. How dare those people attack OG fandom when OG fandom had already processed it? And moved on? After all, the accusations came out the spring last year (it was summer, actually).

(Medium Is The Message. I wish more people read Marshall McLuhan).

Are you really that surprised an article from a serious publication is making more waves than a fairly unknown podcast? Like, for real? Because I fail to see anything suspicious in the fact that a lot of people are learning about NG's horrific actions just now, when a reputable magazine ran the investigation piece on him. Of course more people read New York Magazine and Vulture than are aware of Tortoise Media (no disrespect to the latter, just facts). Of course more journalists specifically take stuff published in New York Magazine more seriously.

There is no conspiracy behind the fact this story getting traction now. And yes, a lot of people are learning about it for the first time.

That is why GO's fans who are making it about them, about their god-given right to hyperfixate on a piece of media don't look great. Right now is not the time to profess your deep love to a silly little show or to mediore books.

Let people have conversation about power and fan culture and parasocial relationships and how all those things made the abuse possible. It is not about you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Vice surrenders

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in LA with Adam Conover at Vroman's, then on MONDAY in Seattle with Neal Stephenson, then Portland, Phoenix and more!

Vice died the way it lived: being suckered in by smarter predators, even as it trained its own predatory instincts on those more credulous than its own supremely gullible leadership. RIP, we hardly knew ye.

For those of you who don't know, Vice was a Canadian media success story. It was founded by a motley clique of hipsters, one of whom – founder of the Proud Boys – has since grown to be one of the world's great fascism influencers. Another perfected the art of getting young people to work "for exposure" even as he built a massive, highly lucrative media empire on their free labor:

https://www.canadaland.com/podcast/vice-oral-history/

Eventually, Vice transitioned to a string of progressively worsening corporate owners, each more dishonest, predatory – and gullible – than the last. The company was one of the most enthusiastic marks for Facebook's infamous "pivot to video" – in which Mark Zuckerberg destroyed half the media industry by tricking them into thinking that the public was clamoring for video content, based on fraudulent viewing numbers:

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

Vice went all-in on video, spending hundreds of millions to finance Zuckerberg's doomed attempt to conquer Youtube. But unlike other the rubes who got zucked, Vice found greater fools to scam, convincing giant, slow-moving meidia companies that the best way to get in on the Next Big Thing was to shower them with vast sums of string-free money:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viceland_(Canadian_TV_channel)

And yet, at every turn, through a succession of increasingly incompetent owners who bought the stumbling, declining Vice at fire-sale prices and then proceeded to hack away at the wages and tools its journalists depended on while paying executives salaries so high that they beggared the imagination, Vice's reporters continued to turn out stellar material.

This went on literally until the last moment. The memorial posted by 404 Media rounds up a selection of major stories Vice's beleaguered, precarious writers produced even as Vice's vulture capitalist leadership were pulling the rug out from under them:

https://www.404media.co/behind-the-blog-vices-legacy-and-the-idea-that-the-internet-is-forever/

True to form, those private equity scumbags locked all those workers out of the company's CMS without notice – and then forgot to lock down the podcasting back-end. That allowed a group of Vice veterans – Matthew Gault, Emily Lipstein, Anna Merlan, Tim Marchman and Mack Lamoureux – to gather for a totally unauthorized, tell-all session that they pushed out on an official Vice channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKT4OtDEJRA

It's a hell of a listen. Not only do these Vice veterans have lots of fascinating history to recount, but they also describe the conditions under which those blockbuster stories of Vice's final days were produced. As the "visionary leaders" of the company paid themselves millions, they halted payments to key suppliers, from Lexisnexis to the interview transcription service the writers depended on. Writers paid out of pocket to search PACER court records.

Not only did Vice's reporters do incredible work under terrible and worsening circumstances, but the Vice writers who got out ahead of the total collapse are also doing incredible work. 404 Media is a writer-owned investigative news publisher founded by four Vice escapees – Samantha Cole, Jason Koebler, Emanuel Maiberg and Joseph Cox, which is both producing incredible work and sustaining the writers who founded it:

https://www.404media.co/

All of which leads to an inescapable conclusion: whatever problems Vice had, they didn't include "writers don't do productive work" and also didn't include "that work isn't economically viable*. Whatever problems Vice had, they weren't problems with Vice's workers – it was a problem with Vice's bosses.

Which makes Vice's final, ignominious punishment at the hands of those bosses even more brutal, stupid and inexcusable. According to the leaked memos emanating from the company's investors and their millionaire C-suite toadies, the business's new strategy is abandoning their website in order to publish on social media.

This is…I mean, this,..

This is…

Wow.

I mean, wow.

The thing is, the social media business model is a giant rug-pull. They're not even bothering to hide their playbook anymore. For social media, the game is to encourage media companies to become reliant on third parties to reach their audiences. Once that reliance is established, the companies turn down – or even halt – the ability of those media companies to reach their audience altogether. Then, they charge the media companies to reach their audiences:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

Now, this wasn't always quite so obvious. Back when Vice was falling for Facebook's "pivot to video," it wasn't completely obvious that the long con was to take your audience hostage and ransom them back to you. But deliberately organizing your business to be reliant on social media barons today? It's like trusting your money to Sam Bankman-Fried…in 2024.

If there was ever a moment when the obvious, catastrophic, imminent risk of trusting Big Tech intermediaries to sit between you and your customers or audience, it was now. This is not the moment to be "social first." This is the moment for POSSE (Post Own Site, Share Everywhere), a strategy that sees social media as a strategy for bringing readers to channels that you control:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

Predicting that a social media platform will rug the media companies that depend on it today doesn't take a Sun Tzu – as cunning strategies go, the hamfisted tactics of FB, Twitter and Tiktok make gambits like "Lucy and the football" look like von Clausewitz.

The most bonkers part of this strategy is that it's coming from private equity bosses, who laud themselves as the great strategists of the 21st century, whose claim on so much of our global capital and resources is derived from their brilliant insight, which allows them to buy "distressed assets" like Vice, "restructure" them to find "efficiencies" and sell them on.

The reality is that PE goons – like other financiers – are basically herding animals. Everyone's hit on the tactic of buying up beloved media companies – from the 150-year-old Popular Science to modern publications like CNet – and then filling them with spammy garbage in the hopes that Google will fail to notice and continue to award them pride-of-place on search results pages:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

The fact that these billionaire brain-geniuses can't figure out how to "turn around" a site whose workers a) produce brilliant, popular, successful work; and b) depart to found successful firms that commercialize that work tells you everything about their ability to spot "a good business opportunity."

PE – like other mafiosi – only have one business-plan, the "bust out," where you invade a business that produces useful things, force them to pay your chosen suppliers sky-high fees for things they don't need, extract massive fees for your "management" and then walk away from the collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck