#learn the role a the vice president

[thashining]

They're in desperate mode. People who support felons, cant convince me of anything.

[joelhoney]

#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads. 

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.” 

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?” 

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past. 

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.” 

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages. 

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately. 

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts. 

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous. 

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained. 

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom. 

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on. 

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his. 

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight. 

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—” 

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him. 

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small. 

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.” 

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts.  The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever. 

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

[yukioos]

hiii honey!! can i request a leon and ada drabble kinda like ur ashley and leon one? but this time reader takes a liking to both but leon and ada don’t like each other?

BE MY BABY

SUMMARY: leon kennedy x reader x ada wong // on september 29, 1998, you first met leon kennedy and ada wong. six years later, you are sent to rescue the president’s daughter from a town in spain. the last people you expect to be there are leon and ada, who both seem to have an attraction to you. unfortunately, they seem to hate each other more than ever.

WARNINGS: not proofread, cussing, reader’s in the military, ada and leon literally hate each other

AUTHORS NOTE: hi guys! please send resident evil asks because i had so much fun writing this! this is kind of like my ashley and leon writing, so it’s not necessarily a full-on oneshot. it’s basically just ideas. this is 1.1k words.

being in the military is hard work. hours on the field and time-consuming training and meetings have tired you out quicker than you expected. but there is one thing you know for sure: being in the military isn’t for everyone.

september 29, 1998 was the day that changed your life. living in raccoon city was great, it had a supportive community and historical sites to visit once and a while. you’d just gotten home from a mission that took half a month to complete. you quickly became a lieutenant, and ever since then, your days have been filled with leading troops through missions.

however, you didn’t have much time at home before you had to evacuate to the police department because of the zombies. on your way to the department, you met a man who claimed his name was leon kennedy, and he was a police officer who was supposed to start his job that day. he was a sweetheart, far too kind and caring to be deserving of dealing with a traumatic outbreak.

for the hours you spent together, you learned a lot about him, and vice versa. he was a sweetheart, but you could see the sadness and pain behind his eyes. this certainly wasn’t how he expected his first day to go. unfortunately, it was as if the zombies were perpetual, almost every time you’d turn a corner, a hoard would be walking toward you.

the two of you then met a supposed fbi agent, who introduced herself as ada wong. she was mysterious, leaving randomly with no answers, leaving you feeling annoyed. there was something different about her, something wrong. you believed there was no way an fbi agent would randomly leave an officer and a lieutenant on their own to do their own thing, especially not in that situation.

you eventually parted ways with the two of them and found yourself safe for a short period.

six years later, you still remember leon and ada, secretly hoping they’re still safe or in touch. the trauma had followed you, and when you were sent by the president to find his daughter, you of course accepted. it seemed iffy that she was kidnapped by a cult, in a rural town in spain, but nonetheless, you did what you had to do.

he stated you would be accompanied by an agent, who he didn’t name. only when you saw another person standing by the police car to drive you to spain, did you realize who the man was.

leon fucking kennedy. he was actually alive.

your heart flutters as he gently says your name, “y/n?” and you softly smile, you feel exhilarating, and happiness runs through your veins.

instead of a quiet ride, like you would have preferred with anyone else, you and leon discuss what had happened the past six years. he had become an agent with the role of protecting the president’s family, and at the same time, you were moving up the ranks as fast as lightning. the president wanted the best and most talented people to save his daughter. luckily, he chose the perfect team.

you ask what happened with ada, and your heart drops once he tells you she’s a spy.

she seemed genuine, but your suspicions were proven right, she was just trying to get the g-virus and bring it back to her boss.even after hearing all that, you still feel sad for her. she went through so much, and the only two people who went through exactly what she did probably hate her.

but when exploring spain, you never would’ve expected to see her again. you persuade yourself to trust her again, because, in the end, she desires the best for the world.

leon feels the opposite about ada. he hates everything she does, every little word she oh-so confidently says, and how she’s always doing so much for you. she left the two of you, she doesn’t deserve you, as he thinks. he doesn’t want you and him to get manipulated again, and he thinks the two of you share the passion of hating ada.

leon took in all the words you said in the car ride to spain, but was mostly focusing on your plump lips. the way your lips would stretch into a smile, the sides curving upwards, would make his body feel warm. he missed you so much, more than words could describe. every day, he thought about seeing you again. he didn’t even know you were still alive until he heard the president mention your name once. as he spoke highly of you, pride bloomed in leon’s chest. he knew you before you became a very well-known military asset.

leon knew he fell in love easily. hell, he fell in love with you the first time he saw you at the police station. you were in the prettiest outfit, and once you escaped the department, he saw your necklace that had been lying on your chest, dropped on the ground. he kept that necklace for the next six years in hopes of bringing it back to you one day.

he gave it back to you in the police car, telling you straight up, and how he had hoped he would see you again someday. the gratefulness and red cheeks made him quietly chuckle. he secretly relished in the idea of you being flustered and touched because of him.

in 1998, ada felt the need to protect you and leon, she thought she felt attracted to him at one point. she then realized the idea of being with you would be much more wholesome and better for you. leon was just a rookie who didn’t know anything! there was no way you would warm up to him quicker than her

the rookie hardly knew anything, he clearly wasn’t taught to be weary of other people. he was too gullible, in ada’s opinion. there wasn’t many good things about him. his jokes weren’t funny, he didn’t have many appealing qualities, so clearly she was a much better partner for you.

seeing you in your cute, dark blue button-up blouse and black skirt makes her eye you like a dog eyeing a cat. she wants you all to herself, and will do anything to gain that. she would gently lift your chin or tease you while talking to you, asking “are you listening? seems like your mind is somewhere else.” and hook her arm around your waist to redirect you to a different path.

but she and leon knew the other won’t give up on attaining your love. i mean, who wouldn’t want you? you are the most perfect person ever, perfect qualities, perfect beauty, perfect skills, and that’s something they can both agree on. the spy and agent both want you to have the best partner, but both believe they are the one for you.

you hate how they can’t see eye to eye on what you think about the two of them. you love both of them. leon’s chuckle and jokes make you feel like you have a heart attack— in the best way possible, though! he always finds a way to brighten your mood whenever you are feeling upset and will voice his concerns about you. he was straightforward, and you love that in a person. another reason why you love him is that he’s one of the most handsome people you’ve ever seen. whenever his eyes wander into yours, your cheeks feel a little too hot beyond comfort.

ada is beautiful, and you are sure of one thing. red is her fucking color. i mean, god, you’ve spent days just thinking about who could wear red better than her, and that wasn’t even one of the main reasons why you love her! the way she does everything in a confident matter makes you adore her, she seems so sure of herself. she was so strong and far more talented than anyone you’ve known. the way she effortlessly avoids danger like the back of her hand, and protects you from it as well, makes your cheeks flush.

how were you supposed to choose between two of the best people in the world? the hours you spend with them are supposed to be calm, besides finding ashley, but instead, it’s stressful. all that time you only think about finding the president’s daughter, and the two love interests that cloud your mind for eternity.

[honeydewandcake]

Currently reading Komi Can’t Communicate due to the recent Twitter topic, and immediately I thought “How can I make this about Dandy’s World?”

So I already have some ideas, I will list them down

— Dazzle as Komi, Astro as Tadano

— Razzle and Dazzle are separated in this, they’re still twins just not conjoined

— Both Razzle and Dazzle are very popular. As Komi, it’s self explanatory for Dazzle. Razzle is more like Najimi but doesn’t take their role

— I think Dazzle used to cling onto Razzle up until their first year of high school, Dazzle decided he needed to be more independent so he’s not a burden for Razzle

— I’m changing the story a bit, just keeping the original idea

— Dazzle will later join Astro and Brightney in the book club

— Dazzle is only comfortable with talking to Razzle without stuttering or anything (he’ll learn to speak with Astro and Brightney soon)

— Just like in Komi Can’t Communicate, Dazzle is now labeled ‘God’ in his class (same with Razzle in a different class, they’re both perfect after all). Brightney is Class President and Astro is Vice President

— I still think Razzle and Dazzle are both beautiful in canon, so they both became popular fast

— Razzle is in the Theatre Club

Ok, enough rambling!! Here’s an extra silly doodle

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Rare women have in ancient republics risen to the height of public virtues; they knew how to combine the modesty of their sex with the civic courage which is a duty for ours. Republican France, during the first storms of the revolution, saw these glorious examples multiply in its midst, a single one of which would have made another people proud. It crowned the heroines of October 5; it saw French women in popular societies, eager to hear, from the mouths of their brothers and their husbands, the interesting lessons of patriotism that they had to engrave in the souls of their children. The homeland, in the crises of liberty, smiled on the generous efforts of a few intrepid citoyennes. The cowardly architects of our discord have despised this type of merit; they wanted there to exist among us a permanent society of women clothed exclusively with the modest title of revolutionaries, nobly separated from the male sex, like long ago, in the mysteries of the good goddess. They reduced to silence the estimable citoyennes whom the love of the public good had led there, they entrusted the scepter to the hands of some female Demosthenes, inspired by these English and Austrian sylphs. Their primary occupation is to cry out for famine, to push the people into despair, to denounce the imperturbable friends of liberty. They are the ones who came in the wake of Jacques Roux and Leclerc, to insult the Mountain and the Jacobins, to insult and threaten the representatives of the people. They are responsible for teaching the universe that modesty is a prejudice, that the distinction between the talents and occupations of the two sexes is nothing other than an invention of the aristocracy; that men must abandon the tribune and the seats of the senate to women; and all men's clubs must appear before the tribunal of revolutionary presidents. Porcia was only an imbecile, with her virtue revered in Rome; she should have played the role of Cato. Cornelia only played a vulgar role, instructing her sons, still children, to defend the rights of the people; Cornelia should have mounted the rostrum for harangues: instead of offering their jewels to the homeland; they will not cry out when they learn of their glorious death: I had given birth to him to serve the homeland; this merit is too vulgar; they are sterile like vice; but on the other hand, they will declaim against the founders of the republic, and slander the representatives of the people. Such is the sublime instrument that the agents of the enemies of the homeland keep in reserve to incite trouble if necessary, at the first moment of embarrassment or disaster with which the republic would be threatened.

Rapport écrit de la main de Robespierre, sur la faction de l’étranger, cited in Pièces trouvées dans les papiers de Robespierre et complices (24 September 1794).

[deadpresidents]

Interesting that there's tension between Obama and Biden since leaving office. Did any other recent presidents have issues with their vice president?

Ummm....Trump legitimately almost got his Vice President killed on January 6th, so let's not forget that. Especially since Mike Pence was one of the most subservient, ass-kissingest (I made that word up, it's okay) Vice Presidents in American history up until the last two weeks of their Administration.

Pretty much all of the POTUS/VP partnerships this century ended kinda badly. Bill Clinton and Al Gore were barely on speaking terms for a few years. Gore felt that Clinton cost him dearly with the whole Lewinsky scandal right before Gore made his own bid for the Presidency in 2000. Clinton felt that Gore should have sucked it up and used him more as a surrogate on the campaign trail because even with the scandals, Clinton was still a wildly popular President in his last few years in office, and a top-notch campaigner. Gore tried to put as much distance as possible between him an Clinton during the 2000 campaign and considering how razor-thin the margin was in 2000, Clinton's presence on the campaign trail probably would have sealed the deal and made Gore the President.

George W. Bush and Dick Cheney were growing apart in Bush's second term. Bush started to bristle at all the talk that he was an empty suit and that Cheney was the power behind the throne, and he sidelined Cheney in the second term compared to Cheney's aggressive role in the first term, particularly during the run-up to the Iraq War. The breaking point was when Bush refused to pardon Scooter Libby, Cheney's chief of staff, who was indicted and ultimately convicted for leaking information about Valerie Plame's role as a CIA agent. Cheney thought President Bush should give Libby a full and clear pardon, but although Bush commuted Libby's prison sentence, he refused to give him a full pardon and it infuriated Cheney. They've reconciled over the years, but it's still a sore spot whenever Cheney talks about it. Of course, Donald Trump eventually pardoned Libby.

I think we'll learn more about the relationship between President Biden and Vice President Harris after the election, but it doesn't seem like they were particularly close, although there wasn't the outright tension as in the other partnerships I've mentioned. Biden has always had an extremely tight circle of close advisers, and I don't think Kamala ever was a part of that insular world around Biden. It seems that, instead of tension between the principals, there were issues from the beginning between the two staffs. I'm not sure they were ever completely on the same page, but those stories won't fully come to light until after November.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

"excuse me, is killer-kun here?"

killer looks up from his phone to see a neat-looking student standing at the door. he hears dust murmur derogatory words next to him, and he couldn't help but agree. standing there is cross, formerly of class 2-c but now moved in class 2-a like the traitor that he is.

nightmare, the class president, is nowhere to be found, so logically as the vice president it's killer's role to deal with this monochrome fashion disaster.

"yes, cross-chan?" killer moves to stand face-to-face with cross. "is there anything you want?"

cross has a light stern scowl on his face and crosses his arms over his chest. "color-san is not at the council meeting today, and the last person to see him is you. so i'm here to ask."

"okay, tantei-kun~" killer says sweetly with a hostile smile on his face. (a/n: tantei means detective) "what do you think i have anything to do with color-senpai's absence?"

"delta-san came to me with a knife injury."

"ah, i knew i should have killed the guy." damn horror.

"so it is you," cross sighs. "i should go to the student council to report this. but i'll give you a chance, killer-kun. release color-san from whatever basement you have in your house and i won't tell anyone about what happened."

"how about," killer grins, "we have a sword fight to settle this? if you win, i'll release color-senpai. and if i win, i'll get to kill you."

killer is brimming with fantasies of fighting off all prospective rivals in his battle for color-senpai's love. right now, he's seeing cross as one, which would make sense. cross is always with one of color's best friends, epic, so he must have a lot of access to color whenever he wants to.

"i'm not fighting someone who is in the kendo club," cross replies to killer's offer with an even heavier scowl.

"what? so you're saying all that sword learning from anime doesn't amount to anything?"

"how about a cooking contest?" dust says unexpectedly, appearing behind killer's back. he eyes cross up and down with an intense look that killer knows he means business.

"a... cooking contest?" cross asks, dumbfounded.

"i see you making bentos for others all the time, don't you?" dust sneers. "let's settle this with a cooking contest. i think the home ec club won't mind being the judge."

"yes! excellent idea!" killer exclaims. "and the winning prize stays the s-"

dust interjects again before killer can finish his sentence. "and the winner will go on a date with epic-senpai."

(a/n: yes all the murder time trio is in love with epic trio uwu yippee)

killer gasps, hand over his mouth. in fact, the whole classroom erupts in chaos over the declaration. dust-kun, the loner of the class, is in... love???

judging by cross' flushed face, he must be indignant about this. without much thinking, he replies steely, "deal. after school today, at the home ec club."

"sure," dust shrugs. and cross stomps away with a determined look in his eyes. after he's gone, killer turns to dust with an excited grin.

"dust-chan! when would you tell me you have an itty-bitty crushy on epic-senpai?!"

"none of your business, killer," dust scoffs, but then he gives killer a calculated look. "although... i would like to cash in that favor now..."

(a/n: change your pfp @toffeebrew)

[orionsangel86]

Lucienne/Lucien - How the Librarian Became the Chief.

In The Sandman Netflix adaptation Lucienne is a stand out character and second only to Morpheus in importance, screen time, and centrality to the story. Lucienne is Morpheus's loyal Librarian, second in command, ruler of the Dreaming in his absence, and often times a voice of reason and advice for our dutiful King of Dreams. She is so well respected in her position that the other castle residents consider her their boss and would rather go to her for guidance and command than Morpheus himself. She takes care of Dream's ravens and even appears to have the power to create new ravens from newly deceased mortals like she did with Matthew. She is clearly extremely close to Morpheus, and is one of very few people he seems to actually listen to and trust. Lucienne's role in this story can not be underestimated.

So it may come as a surprise to any fans of the show who haven't read the comics to learn that Lucien (as he is called in the comics) is afforded very few of the above traits. In fact Lucien is no where near as close to Morpheus even by the very end of the story, as Lucienne is at the beginning. It is this difference that has fascinated me since I first started diving into the comics after falling in love with the show, and its something I view as extremely important when considering how the story is being adapted into a kinder, more sympathetic universe surrounding our central protagonist.

Lucienne's role is expanded greatly from her comic counterpart, and her relationship with Morpheus is shown to be much deeper. This is evident practically right away at the end of episode one when Lucienne comes to greet Morpheus upon his return to the Dreaming following his escape.

The way she runs over to him as soon as she realises he is back, and lovingly takes his hand and is so pleased to see him is a far cry from the comic where the first thing Lucien does is bow.

So right at the start we see a very different form of relationship here. Where Lucienne is already displaying a level of care and devotion beyond the expectations of a servant, Lucien however, is exactly that.

The servant thing has caused a bit of contention among fandom in the past. I think the confusion could come from whether or not you see Lucien or Lucienne first. Lucien IS a servant of Dream. Lucienne is more like a vice president and royal advisor. Those are two very different things after all and that difference only becomes more obvious the further you go into the story.

Lucienne accompanies Morpheus throughout his return to his crumbling kingdom, helps him as he attempt to repair the damage, follows him to Cain and Abel, and watches over his meeting with the Fates. She is by his side from the moment he returns until the moment he leaves again for the waking world to begin his quest to recover his tools, and she is responsible for Matthew's reincarnation as the new Raven and instructs Matthew to stay with him because of her concern for Morpheus's wellbeing on his quest.

I cannot stress enough how much none of this is in the comics. Lucienne shows a level of care towards Morpheus that just isn't present in Lucien in the comics. After the first meeting with Lucien at the gates of the Dreaming, Lucien doesn't appear again until he is instructed by Morpheus to conduct the census of the Dreaming. He only appears again in the Doll's House very briefly and has no involvement in Morpheus's decisions during that arc, which takes place very rarely in the Dreaming.

That's not to say that Lucien isn't a very trusted servant of Morpheus. He is the closest to Morpheus of all the residents of the Dreaming except only Matthew. But I think a lot of what we see in the show of Morpheus and Lucienne's dynamic is inspired by much later in the comics. I also think that it speaks loudly to the change in Morpheus as a character. Show!Morpheus has people almost right away who care about him and want to help him, whereas comic!Morpheus is extremely isolated. It is clear in the early comic stories that comic!Morpheus keeps himself at arms length from basically everyone. He does not have a bond with Lucien, he did not have Jessamy, and at that early stage, he didn't even have Matthew. All of this of course was primarily to make show!Morpheus a more sympathetic and likeable character - you gotta give your protagonist people who care about them, it helps raise the stakes after all.

Taking Charge - Lucienne is the real boss

One of my favourite parts of the Dolls House episodes in the Netflix show is the conflict between Morpheus and Lucienne due to the other residence and Dreaming servants going to her for advice and instruction first rather than Morpheus. Bearing in mind this only takes place less than a year after Morpheus's return from imprisonment, it speaks volumes as to how Lucienne has taken the role of leader of the Dreaming in her stride.

But it also indicates how Morpheus' change in the show is coming at lightening fast speed compared to the comic. In the comic, Mervyn doesn't make these observations until the Brief Lives arc, and this is indicated at that point to be a very new thing - triggered by several years post fish bowl of having to face his past decisions and mistakes (and a string of scorned ex lovers one after the other ending in a horribly matched rebound relationship with a murderous witch that subsequently rejected him and triggered him literally seeking out destruction). Lucien was only put in charge of the Dreaming when Morpheus left to go on his trip with Delirium. It is during that trip that Morpheus realises how competent Lucien is and capable of running things without problem in his absence.

Mervyn's insights are made clear here:

This is the only time in the comic that anyone dares mention that someone other than Morpheus might be the boss - and it is in no way as directly spelled out as it is in the show. "You're practically running the place" and "you secretly run this place" are quite different statements. The first only makes an observation about Morpheus's current lack of interest (in Brief Lives) in actually running his realm. It implies that Lucien is doing Morpheus' job for him, but does not go as far as to outright call Lucien the boss. Whereas in the show, that's exactly what Mervyn does.

In the comic, Morpheus overhears Mervyn's speech and immediately points out his reasoning for leaving Lucien in charge, for promoting him and giving him more authority.

Because no one ever technically undermines Morpheus in the comic, there is no conflict here. Morpheus trusts Lucien as his loyal servant and gives him the power to rule in his stead (but only when he is absent) and there is no "secretly report to Lucien first" attitude among Matthew and Mervyn. We can perhaps interpret that this might be happening behind the scenes by this point in Brief Lives, or even just before the BL arc when Morpheus was distracted by his rebound murderess, but it is never actually directly stated that this is going on.

The tension between Morpheus and Lucienne in the show is born out of the conflict over Lucienne's position and Morpheus feeling undermined by his subjects, and its storytelling gold. But the only reason such a story works in the show is because Lucienne is so important to Morpheus in the show, because their relationship goes so much deeper than the relationship in the comic. Lucienne is not a servant, she's his god damn vice president and she knows it, and he knows it too. Throughout episodes 7 and 8 specifically he reaches out to her for her opinion and advice on the Vortex situation. He talks things through with her and seeks out her guidance. It is clear that he relies on her and it is only at the end of episode 8 when Lucienne disagrees with his punishment of Gault, that in his anger, he dismisses her.

Lucien/ne the Royal Advisor

Where Morpheus in the show seeks out Lucienne's advice and opinion frequently especially during the Doll's House arc, I have to stress that this never happens in the comic. Comic!Morpheus just does not have that kind of relationship with Lucien and does not seek his counsel at all, even though Lucien does try to give it on occassion, usually when Morpheus is about to do something extremely stupid and probably damaging to himself and the Dreaming. To name a couple times:

Season of Mists - before Morpheus returns to Hell:

Brief Lives - before seeking Destruction:

You'll note that in both these times Lucien's words of caution are completely ignored.

You'll also notice that in both times Lucien is taking a path of polite caution. Lucien very rarely speaks his mind to Morpheus, because he knows it won't get him very far to do so. The only time Lucien truly loses his cool and speaks freely is in The Kindly Ones (spoiler alert)

At this point in the comic story Morpheus has basically all but given up and accepted his fate and its fucking depressing AF. Lucien is well within his right to shake the bastard HARD and snap him TF out of it. I STILL think he was too restrained here tbh!

My point here is that Lucienne already speaks her mind quite freely around Morpheus in the show. She expresses her opinions and thoughts and gives him her advice. This is such a well established dynamic by the point of the argument that it is clear that Lucienne is offended by Morpheus's dismissal of her.

Take this exchange from episode 9:

Lucienne: "Rose is weakening the walls between realms" Matthew: "You gonna tell the Boss?" Lucienne: "No." Matthew: "No?" Lucienne: "It's none of my business." Matthew: "Er, since WHEN?" Lucienne: "Since Lord Morpheus reminded me that I'm merely a librarian and should concern myself with my books from now on." Matthew: "He said that?! What's wrong with him!" Lucienne: "Nothing is wrong with him. He's always been this way. He's just been away so long I'd forgotten. He's determined to deal with the vortex and the missing Arcana by himself. Without anyones help. So any news must be reported directly and exclusively to him."

It's worth pointing out here that whilst this is framed as Morpheus being a stubborn idiot, in the comic, he does in fact deal with the vortex and the missing Arcana by himself mostly and is not so much helped but saved at the last moment by Unity Kinkaid who realises what is happening in a dream and goes to save Rose, which also saves Morpheus from Desire's trap.

In the show, Morpheus has people who care enough about him and his realm to want to get involved and help him, not out of a desire to undermine him, but simply because they care about him. That is a drastic change from the comic at this point. Morpheus in the comic is constantly shown to be struggling under the burden of his own responsibilities and this is highlighted by the fact that he doesn't really get any support or assistance, and is far too prideful to ask for it. Lucien gets the promotion and chance to rule in his absence, but it is never framed as a job he shares with Morpheus - at no point does Lucien take the burden of his responsibilities off of him. This is no Samwise Gamgee "I can carry you" moment unfortunately. Lucien does not have the power nor the bond with Morpheus to undertake such a task because Morpheus keeps him at arms length throughout the comics - but Lucienne? Well, time will tell how that may change.

An Apology from the King

In a shock horror twist that comic!Morpheus would sooner die than do himself (ha) the great emo King of the Netflix universe gives Lucienne an apology for his behaviour (sort of).

Episode 9 displays the tension between Morpheus and Lucienne following their "break up" perfectly. Morpheus is clearly in the wrong, and Lucienne is clearly hurt by his dismissal of her support. Yet even after the fight, he still seeks out her advice in determining the cause of the disturbances in the Dreaming. He goes to her first before investigating himself (something that comic!Morpheus wouldn't even consider doing) and is surprisingly capable in swallowing his pride here even though it is clearly a struggle for him.

Later in the episode, once he realises that Lucienne was right about the disturbances, he seeks her out to tell her so, and to confirm that she was right and he was wrong. This is again something that I can't fathom comic!Morpheus doing, even nearer the end of the story I don't believe he does so, certainly not to Lucien. Fiddlers Green drums this point home when he says this:

Fiddlers Green: "... still his time there appears to have changed him as it has changed me." Lucienne: "How so?" Fiddlers Green: "Lucienne, he came to you and told you he was wrong. It was very nearly an apology. The Morpheus I knew was incapable of that."

This further reinforces not just how much Morpheus has changed in a short time, but also how much he respects and cares about Lucienne and their continued relationship.

Platonic Life Partners? Co Ruler and Closest Confident of the Dream King

When I set out to write this meta, it was with the aim to highlight Lucienne's elevated role from her comic counterpart. To try to stress the importance of her character in the show and what this means for the future of the story in the show. By the end of the last episode, Lucienne is practically granted co-ruler status of the Dreaming while Morpheus works on his creations. He asks her if she can "take care of things while he works" which she agrees "with pleasure".

I just... I can NOT stress ENOUGH how much comic!Morpheus needed this person in his life. Even though Lucien looks after the Dreaming whilst Morpheus is away in Season of Mists and Brief Lives, it is always as a last resort with Morpheus continuing to check in on Lucien during Brief Lives as if he expects trouble, and he always seems a bit confused when Lucien tells him all is fine. As if he can't quite understand how the Dreaming could be okay without him there (and I mean, after the trauma of watching your realm which is also technically a part of you crumble to dust I suppose you would be a bit attached to it!).

Comic!Morpheus constantly struggles under the weight of his responsibility. His entire thing is that he is desperate to step away and not be who he is but he simply does not have it in him to do that. He is far too bound by his rules and responsibilities. For Morpheus in the show to be given someone to support him in his rule as King and assist him with the burden of his responsibilities is actually a hugely mindblowing change to the comic, and could honestly have huge repercussions on the story going forward. Not only that, but the Morpheus in the comics is painfully lonely. He desperately needs companionship but he keeps everyone at arms length. He never allows his subjects to get too close to him, even Lucien. Even Matthew isn't afforded the same level of closeness in the comics as he is in the show. In the comics, the ONLY character who Morpheus is close to is Death. Which says a lot by itself. The second character he gets closer to as time goes on is Delirium. Which also says a lot. Think of the characters in terms of their concepts. Morpheus has no close friends in the comics (even his relationship with Hob Gadling in the comic doesn't have half the impact it does in the show) and keeps all those he interacts with at arms length except for Delirium and Death.

But show!Morpheus? He has a Matthew who is already so very devoted to him, a Hob Gadling who waited an extra 33 years on hope alone that he would return to him, and a Lucienne who rules by his side, offers him support, guidance, counsel, companionship and probably a good helping of love. How can this Morpheus possibly carry the same deep loneliness as his comic counterpart? How can this Morpheus be buckling under the weight of his duties when he already has his Samwise Gamgee right there by his side? It poses an interesting question for how the show will handle future story arcs, though it could all prove to simply make for a much more painful story, where we happen to have many more characters to react and show the deeply painful grief that we all feel at his eventual passing - or maybe, just maybe, this is a universe where Hope never died...

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

WASHINGTON — The FBI source who reported President Biden’s alleged role in a bribery scheme said that a Ukrainian businessman claimed to keep as “insurance” 15 audio recordings of first son Hunter Biden and two of Joe Biden, a Republican senator revealed Monday.

Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) made the staggering claim in a Senate floor speech after FBI Director Christopher Wray last week allowed House Oversight Committee members to see a redacted informant file about the claim that Hunter and then-Vice President Joe Biden received $5 million apiece to serve the interests of Burisma Holdings owner Mykola Zlochevsky.

“Congress still lacks a full and complete picture with respect to what that document really says. That’s why it’s important that the document be made public without unnecessary redactions for the American people to see,” said Grassley, accusing the bureau of needlessly redacting information about the recordings from the file shared with House lawmakers.

“Let me assist for purposes of transparency,” the 89-year-old went on. “The 1023 [form] produced to that House committee redacted reference that the foreign national who allegedly bribed Joe and Hunter Biden allegedly has audio recordings of his conversations with them. Seventeen total recordings.

“According to the 1023, the foreign national possesses 15 audio recordings of phone calls between him and Hunter Biden,” Grassley continued. “According to the 1023, the foreign national possesses two audio recordings of phone calls between him and then-Vice President Joe Biden. These recordings were allegedly kept as a sort of insurance policy for the foreign national in case he got into a tight spot. The 1023 also indicates that then-Vice President Joe Biden may have been involved in Burisma employing Hunter Biden.”

The senator concluded: “So, as I’ve repeatedly asked since going public with the existence of the 1023, what, if anything, has the Justice Department and FBI done to investigate? The Justice Department and FBI must show their work. They no longer deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

Grassley learned of the informant file this year from a whistleblower and told House Oversight Committee Chairman James Comer (R-Ky.), who issued a subpoena to the FBI. The informant is a longtime paid FBI source.

Grassley said the FBI’s alleged disinterest in the Biden bribery allegation contrasts with its treatment of former President Donald Trump, who on Tuesday will become the first former president arraigned on federal charges for allegedly mishandling classified information after he left office.

“It’s clear that the Justice Department and FBI will use every resource to investigate candidate Trump, President Trump and former President Trump,” Grassley said. “Based on the facts known to Congress and the public, it’s clear that the Justice Department and FBI haven’t nearly had the same laser focus on the Biden family.”

Hunter Biden earned up to $1 million per year from 2014 to 2019 to serve on the board of Burisma, despite having no relevant energy industry experience.

Then-VP Joe Biden met with a Burisma executive at a DC dinner in April 2015, which featured in The Post’s explosive first report on Hunter’s abandoned laptop.

As vice president, Joe Biden also allegedly pushed US support for Ukraine’s natural gas industry during a trip to Kyiv just days after Hunter quietly joined Burisma in April 2014.

(Text source: New York Post)

[brujawrites]

✧ ˚ · . 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 — 

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: "𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞," | masterlist | next chapter

contains: suguru x female reader, shoko ieri, college au, modern setting, college!suguru, english major!suguru, pining, slow burn, inspired by lana del rey lyrics, 18+ ONLY MDNI

synopsis: meet reader! see how suguru and reader's paths have crossed before and why we're especially excited to see him in class this final semester. chapter 1 of a series so there's alot of background being set up!! ao3 - kofi - playlist - pinterest

"sometimes I feel like i've got a war in my mind, I wanna get off but I keep riding the ride, I never really noticed that I had to decide to play someone's game, or live my own life -- and now I do. I wanna move out of the black, into the blue,"

— "Get Free", Lana Del Rey

Suguru Geto was so cool to you. He just exudes an air of captivating mystery, a quality that draws you in. You found a reflection of yourself in him — the curious, introspective soul that found joy in dissecting and analyzing literature and movies for the sheer pleasure of finding a deeper meaning in art. This was a stark contrast to the persona you currently inhabited. Ever since you got everything you thought you wanted by joining the sorority, there’s this “hot girl” facade you’ve been keeping up. You had to, at least you tell yourself that. Being Vice President of the sorority, the hair and nail appointments every couple weeks, the packed schedule every single week, consumed by obligations at work, for the sorority, date functions, or mixers with fraternities — it was everything you thought you wanted. 

The past two years had been hard in an unconventional way. You were suddenly best friends with over 60 girls, learning about what it meant to be a ‘sister’, navigating your academic life, new found social life, & trying to not fail miserably. 

Meeting Suguru in Spanish class two years ago may have actually been around the time things started to get overwhelming. The sight of him walking into the bustling lecture hall remains etched in your memory. His raven black hair gracefully framed his cheekbones, a striking contrast to his fatigued expression. He calmly looked around the room for a potential seat when his gaze suddenly met yours, his velvety dark eyes sending what felt like a jolt of electricity through you. Immediately, you looked away, intimidated by such abrupt intimacy. As the moment drifted away, you couldn’t help but steal more glances, mesmerized by the effortless allure of his hair half-tied, and admiring the contrast between his hair and the crisp white of his band tee. Your hungry eyes lingered on the sight of his strong, lightly tanned forearm, the muscles flexing as he set his bag on the ground in front of his feet. 

A small smirk played on your lips as the facts informed the fiction, aligning your romanticized narrative with reality — you liked him. You wanted him… right? It seemed like a recurring pattern, a new infatuation added to your roster each semester, you were starting to hate how your mind went to those places when looking at complete strangers. He settled into his seat a few rows ahead, to your right. The rest of the hour-long class went by as your attention wavered from the professor's lecture to the constant pings of the pledge class' group chat on your laptop, all while thoughts of this enigmatic boy swirled through your mind. What was it about him? Obviously, his looks played a role — he was undeniably attractive! But there was an unspoken allure about him that resonated with you. Something remarkably genuine.

He was attractive, but not like the frat boys you had started to learn — those confident, almost arrogantly charming boys supported by the rowdy group of self identified brothers. Suguru stood apart in that way, his demeanor stoic, shrouded in enigma. You, on the other hand, were no different than those frat boys. Donning your Greek letters, surrounded by sisters at parties or on campus, you exuded a confidence that was empowering. But when you’re all alone, face to face with a cute guy, maintaining prolonged eye contact feels like you’re in over your head. 

A twinge of disappointment grew inside you as the realization set in; you haven’t changed. You hadn’t felt the profound shift you had envisioned when justifying your sorority membership to friends back home. College was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to compensate for feeling like a loser in high school. Encountering someone like Suguru served to remind your of your discomfort within your own skin, in your clothes. Despite this, you pressed on, going through the motions because you thought that was what would make you happy. You thought it was what you wanted. 

That concern quickly snowballed into a full-fledged personal identity crisis, intensifying by the time you were twenty-one. Everyone your age experienced that overwhelming anxiety about the trajectory life seemed to be going in, right? You were pretty aware that these insecurities stemmed from your less than wonderful experiences in grade school. The desire to be accepted, to belong, felt deceptively straightforward but in reality, it was complex. Seeking validation through association of status started to overshadow authentic connections, a realization that took two years to hit. Stepping down from the exhaustive responsibilities of the exec board of your sorority, a position that took way too much time and stress, you now craved a final semester dedicated to your genuine pleasure. No more putting on a facade, no more living for appearances. 

So, when you trudged through the cold, grey January air to your senior seminar to find three or four other students, you immediately slipped into your unnatural facade, feigning interest in your phone screen instead of others around you that actually held your interest. So much for not living up to appearances, you thought silently to yourself when he walked in. 

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent a jolt through you, so seeing him walk into the room sent a surge of excitement swiftly followed by a pang of panic. Today, he looked impeccable. His hair effortlessly framing his features, a brown flannel that accentuated out the deep hues in his eyes, paired with a white crewneck & off-white khakis. Simple, but something about it brought on a flush of warmth over your body. As he moved closer to your side of the classroom, the facade threatened to crumble. Buried in your phone, pretending to text your roommate, Utahime, just trying to avoid the prospect of awkward eye contact or embarrass yourself by speaking to him. 

Your attention is lifted from the screen when the desk in front of you starts to shift. Suguru stood before you, unfastening his backpack, meeting your gaze. You silently hoped your flushed cheeks weren’t betraying your emotions as you offered the boy a friendly grin. After all, the two of you knew each other. A soft smile grew on his lips before he turned away, settling into his seat before class.

Yeah, you think to yourself, recalling that you and Suguru had crossed paths before, that it wasn't a fantasy you made up. Last Spring you took that boring poetry theory class together. That professor was super strict & everyone in the class realized it at the same time when he revealed the daunting project: reconstructing a Wikipedia page for an ancient poem. You got a B for the midterm, Suguru got a D and was shocked to see your grade so much higher than his. “Everyone got a super low score,” you remember him rationalizing, a touch of defeat in his tone. There was nothing you could really say back to him thanks to the slight intimidation that comes from talking to someone so effortlessly cool. Handsome, even. 

“Yeah, I’m not entirely sure how I managed that score either. I didn’t really know what I was doing.” You admitted, not intending to mislead, but also recognizing you had no actual insight to give.

“I’m gonna call Shoko and see what she got. See ya later,” he waved before strolling over to the bike rack, phone already at his ear with Shoko on the dial. You tentatively wave back, feeling a peculiar sensation settling in your stomach. You noticed Shoko and Suguru in class together, but they’re dynamic never struck you as particularly flirtatious. They were definitely close though. It was funny for you to think back to the immense crush you had on him the spring semester one year before, only for fall semester to roll by — out of sight, out of mind. And then, there you were a year later.

The digital clock on the wall hit 9:30 right as the professor entered, exchanging morning greetings before setting up the projector. The first class of your last semester is starting now, causing a subtle flutter in your stomach. It was surreal that just four years ago you got lost in this exact building during orientation week. You had experienced a myriad of changes within yourself since starting university. Why did you feel such shame about it? Because it’s not you, you quietly reasoned to yourself. As Suguru adjusted in his seat in front of you, his hair and big shoulders encroaching on your desk space, the subtle whiff of his black-cherry scented cologne served as a gentle reminder of your conundrum. 

Okay, so you’re into him.

This time, you silently told yourself, you’re actually going to do more to get to know him. Usually, your interest in men gravitates towards fraternity-affiliated boys, but after two years of mingling with them, nothing felt truly authentic, worthwhile, or genuine. Reflecting on the time an upperclassman in another sorority was gushing about her parents meeting through Greek life at a mixer — you could barely mask your dismay at the notion of finding a lifelong partner within that circle. Gradually, you learned to adapt to navigate those environments with copious amounts of alcohol among other substances. They served as a mask, veiling the disdain some of those young men would bring out in your expression. Their thoughtlessness with their dicks and carelessness with their words often left you repulsed and disheartened..

“Alright,” the disappointment in your professor’s voice snapped your attention back to the room. “Well, you were expected to have had that reading done for today’s discussion. Given that only two of you have actually taken the initiative of checking their emails before class, we’ll need to end early. Check your email for Thursday’s assignment as I’ll be sending it out briefly.” The sound of zipping bags and shuffling papers filled the room as the Professor’s words trailed off, students preparing to leave. Both you and Suguru remained seated, attentive. Hot, you thought. A man with respect for women speaking. “Thursday’s discussion will cover today’s missed discussion along with the planned agenda for our second meeting. See you then.”

She nodded briefly in your direction, and a faint warmth spread across your cheeks from the unexpected attention. Only two of you completed the reading? That caught your curiosity, and it seemed Suguru shared that sentiment. Pivoting in his seat to face you, his grin returning with your flush. “Hey,” his voice, smooth and gentle, made the corners of your mouth instinctively curve upwards. 

“Hi,” you replied with a playful smirk, casually tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Did you do the reading?” Suguru’s voice lowered, his gaze discreetly scanning a few classmates nearby. You responded with a nod and a soft giggle. 

“Did you?” You teased back, your own voice barely above a whisper. You felt like jelly when he rewarded you with a chuckle. Oh man, you thought silently.

“Yeah, I did. It’s just... none of it really made sense. Wondering if you might have some notes or something you could share,” he admitted as you both gathered your belongings, preparing to leave. You suddenly felt self conscious about your outfit, conscious of his attention. You and Suguru were unintentionally matched with your puffy, white turtleneck and shades of brown from your plaid mini skirt complementing his flannel. The leather knee high riding boots didn’t exactly match his black Converse in style, but certainly in color — you just worried it was too… girly. You hoped he wouldn’t write you off for your affiliation to Greek life. 

“Um, I did read it, but I have a bit of a weird approach... Do you have a class next or are you free for a bit?” the words spilled out before you could second guess yourself. Yes, keep going, you urged yourself silently as you led the conversation with Suguru into the hall. He can’t make assumptions without knowing you, you reminded yourself. He nodded agreeably, indicating he had some time to spare, then suggested grabbing a table at the coffee shop near campus. As you exited the building together, you decided it was time to let him see the real you. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Breaking the Rules: Manny x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @darqchilddaydreamz @theesirenteller @wnbweasley @sisinever @bonni-98 @skyesthebomb @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @redpool @trublu2u @fleureeee @thiashazzywriting @lauraaan182 @hatersaremymotivators @fanfic-n-tabulous @ravennaortiz @just-a-throw-away @yousigned-upforthis @kabloswrld @keyweegirlie @@katymae12344 @rampsen @pansexualhailstorm @wabi-sabi1090

LongDistance!Series:

Part One: Melina - Manny x Reader - Manny’s daughter wants to meet you.

Part Two: Club Business (feat: Hank Loza) - Manny finally sits down with Hank Loza to discuss his relationship with you.

Part Three: Home  - Manny realises what home means to you.

Everyone in Yuma knows that Manny has a woman. They have ever since he stopped sleeping with club girls as a way to vent his stress. He doesn’t get high, he doesn’t drink to excess, fucking was his only vice and even that had come with a set of rules.

Never take them home.

Never fuck them on a school night.

And none of them got introduced to his daughter.

He wants Melina as far away from that world as possible. He wants her to have positive role models, aspirations that go far beyond Yuma. He’s thinking NASA, curing cancer, building robots, the kind of shit she’s going to learn at Science Camp this summer.

What he doesn’t want are people like the club girls filling her head with ideas of how she needs a man to establish herself, to give her status.

The ideology is the product of a bygone era, one that Yuma is still struggling to find it’s way out of. He figures it’ll fade out the same way it did in Santo Padre with all the changes he’s been making but it’s slow going.

When it comes to you Manny breaks all of the rules. The moment you roll into town you’re staying at his place, the girls overhear Downer talking about the three of you having breakfast together, the crepes you make, apparently, they are out of this world. It becomes a regular thing on a Sunday because Downer and his wife, want to try everything you make because you’re ‘cultured’.

They see you around town with his daughter, the ice cream shop, the roller rink, the library. Most times with Manny but sometimes without and that’s the part that stings. Some of the club girls they’ve known him for years, you’re an outsider, an interloper and you fit into his life as if you’ve always been there.

Manny can tell your appearance in Yuma has ruffled some feathers. A few of the girls get extra attentive, lingering touches and salacious words, he’s dismissive of it. Most of them get the message, however there’s one, Tiana, the de facto leader that just doesn’t seem to get the hint. The two of them had fucked once before you’d come on the scene, he’d regretted it almost immediately. She’d been Canche’s favourite girl; looking to take up the mantle with him after he’d taken over the presidency.

He's having a smoke outside when she approaches him. He takes a drag of the cigarette, and she reaches out, tucking a hot pink, lace thong into the inner pocket of his kutte.

“I’ve got a girl.” He reminds her, plucking the underwear from his pocket and handing it back to her.

She pouts as she snatches them from his hand with a flourish.

“You used to like taking these off.” She reminds him, balling them up in her fist.

“Now I’d prefer it if you put them back on.” He says firmly, blowing out a stream of smoke. “And if you’d spread the word, I’m off the market.”

“You know things are getting real boring around here, no coke in the clubhouse, no weed, all the good dick is taken. Me and some of the girls have been talking about moving on from this shit hole.”

It’s meant to be provocative, a jab at his presidency but what Tiana doesn’t get is that he wants that. He wants every single one of those girls to either get their heads on straight or fuck off because he’s issuing in a new era, one where every single one of his brothers can earn safely without reprisal.

“You should do that.” He tells her taking another drag of her cigarette. “This place is only gonna become more boring moving forward.”

“Canche was a lot more fun.” She tells him and it riles something inside of him.

Canche had damn near run this club into the ground. He’d been unpredictable, unstable. He’d almost beat one of their prospects to death for not changing the oil in his bike fast enough. The drugs, the gambling, the violence, all of it had been dragging the club down, bleeding it out.

Manny shoots Tiana a dark look.

“Canche also used to beat on you.”

He’d seen the bruises, hell, he’d patched her up once or twice after Canche was done with her. She remembers that, he can tell.

“If you and the other girls want to move on, there’ll be no repercussions. You know I’m not about hurting women.” Manny tells her, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister of the porch before tilting his head towards the clubhouse. “Most of these guys are family men, they’re not looking for a side piece…”

“And Yuma’s most eligible bachelor has just gone off the market.” She says with a tight smile.

“Yea.” He says shrugging his shoulders. “You ain’t gonna be making old lady anytime soon, not in my club.”

Because that’s what Tiana wants, the status that comes with being someone’s old lady. She wants to be provided for, taken care of and if she has to endure men like Canche to get it, she will. She can see that her options are limited in Yuma.

“I want out.” She tells him as she leans back against the railing. “I’ll spread word to the other girls, tell them it’s an option.”

“You do that.” Manny says as he looks out into the darkness. “I don’t want anyone here who doesn’t want to be.”

Love Manny? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[oleicim]

i wanna be a hayakawa child too pls can u write gn reader living with aki denji and power (mainly focusing on aki being a dad cuz it's funny to me LMAOO) and if you feel like it can the reader be a bit younger than denji and power maybe 14-15? just some random kid they picked off the streets and who aspires to be a devil hunter like aki

PART OF THE FAMILY

PAIRS: p!denji hayakawa x reader ,, p!power hayakawa x reader ,, & p!aki hayakawa x reader

WARNINGS: mention of starvation and uncleanliness ,, angsty attributes overall. reference to suicide, but not detailed at all-no character death. poor self-esteem (aki)

CIELO'S NOTE: this is so over the place but i hope its still okay!! there is no makima in this okay so we are all happy and living together in #peace because thats what everyone deserves... i seriously need to start proofreading

ONE ASSUMPTION MANY SHARED ON WHAT TYPE OF PERSON AKI HAYAKAWA WAS THAT HE WAS HEARTLESS. he seemed so, with that stoic expression and nonchalance of his in many situations where he should’ve shown distraught. but aki was the direct opposite of everything that word conveyed, all the antonyms of it gathered because aki wasn’t heartless, he was compassionate, just discreetly so.

although when the rumors of aki being heartless were asked to him, he’d say he was. it was only because he truly dreamt of being that disconnected from the world so he could just feel the immense pain and sorrow that continuously flooded his veins every minute of the day just disperse just for a second. but even this plain out rejection of the true caring quality he had; it could never be erased. as much as he agreed to the rumors and attempted to force this indifference people assumed of him, he did a number of selfless actions in the shadows that would always prove that he just couldn’t be that person.

so, even as he tried to still yet again close himself off from being humane, he couldn’t help but feel that familiar quality of caring when he had saw your malnourished body shivering in the alleyway. you were just a kid, younger looking than the idiots he’s grown to love. your eyes gleaming still, and it guffawed him that you still had that light in your eyes.

seeing you also reminded him of himself, when the gun devil massacre occurred and had left him as lonely and shivering as you were now. that’s what ultimately led him to stretch out his hand towards you. he wouldn’t allow anyone suffer the same fate he had been bestowed of, not when he has the choice to prevent that. he took the part as your sort of saving angel, despite his personal belief that he was still more of a corrupted being.

he told you then that you could only stay with him till you could pick yourself up, ideally a week to get some food in you and hydrate as well as bathe. but that week ultimately turned into two weeks, then three to four until it turned into months and to the point where the days are still counting.

you’ve got a drawer of clothes in aki’s dresser now, pair of shoes fitted in-between the space of denji’s and aki’s at the front door. you even have your own home slippers, a different color from the rest of the residents in the hayakawa household.

you were part of the family.

now it wasn’t hard to warm up to power, and in a short time you both were so close she said you will be her right-hand when she becomes president, learning that the role she deemed for you is actually called vice-president from a tired aki during dinner.

she's certainly overwhelming, with her shameless antics and loud boasts, but you don’t mind. it's better than the loneliness the streets gave you.

she uses you as her alibi or brings you in when she gets a scolding from aki so you could defend her, and because aki blatantly has shown that he favors you more than others she always gets off the hook.

besides that, “abuse” which aki calls it, power has her own way of doting on you and showing she does truly care, such as throwing out your vegetables during meals, so you won't endure its “nastiness” (that's what she says.)

she lets you play with meowy, and there are times you two and the kitty fall asleep together on the sofa, which has become your favorite pastime. power is unbelievably warm, and oddly soft to the touch. she crawls and latches onto you like a koala, and cradles you like she’s protecting you from the outside world. she lets you in on pranks and dangerous activities that lead aki to give her another scolding, and a firm warning to you.

denji is different, but not in a bad way. he at first was annoying and rejected you, but that was till he learned why you live with them, and then he started to warm up because you also reminded him of himself. he treats you now like power, doting on you with a faux annoyance at first to the action. he bathes you if you're too tired, and lets you poke and prod him and gives you a goodnight kiss on the forehead before you slip in the sheets of aki’s bed for the night.

he honestly looks after you more than he does for himself, making sure you're fine and well before he thinks about what he needs to do for him. that ends in late nights where he comes back from a mission and is so exhausted and weak that you help him swallow down a meal aki cooked earlier, as he hadn't eaten in many hours but made sure he begged aki to make dinner your favorite meal before he left.

what he does for you makes you choke back a sob at night when you think about it and how truly kind he is at heart.

but neither the softhearted but unhinged siblings of yours could take the place of aki’s as your favorite out of everyone in the unofficial family. aki hayakawa gave you everything, the normalcy of a domestic life that you were sure you wouldn't have been able to gain back out in the dirty alleyways. no one can ever top the amount of gratitude and admiration you have for the stoic man.

there’s also something special about how aki treats you, it's a contrast from how he is perceived. he treats you softly. you at times have to pout and tell him you're not a toddler because of how gentle he is, which he always gives out a breath of a laugh and a ghost of a smile in response.

he buys you anything you see, within certain extents, when he brings you out with him for mundane things like grocery shopping. and even then, any expensive item you like will end up in a couple weeks' time in a gift bag by your side of the bed.

theres also the fact of when you first came to live with them, and when everyone, including yourself, warmed up, he learned how to braid your hair. he wanted to help you out, as your hair had grown out a lot from the amount of time of you were out there. he learned the simple braid and that was your hairstyle till he reluctantly picked up scissors and watched a video on the decided hairstyle you wanted, even buying other products to keep up the maintenance your hair needed.

he was ultimately the father figure you dreamt of on those cold nights on concrete, and you couldn't have asked for anyone better so that's why even with denji’s selfless acts and power’s constant love nagging he still remained your favorite. even with his grumpy and nonchalant attitude, you loved him.

and aki equally loved you, so hearing your new boasts of how you wanted to be just like him made his heart stop and his breathing hitch. it was quite clear that aki didn't have a great self-image of himself, he was a man previously living solely on avenging his family, he was rage and depression bottled up and living on the brink of breaking, until you and the others came along. but that inner turmoil still left its fragments inside of him, and aki didn't ever want you to feel or be the same way as him. he doesn't want you to endure the mornings where he has to remember he has people that truly care for him now, that he has people to live for, to protect, so he won’t make a life altering decision.

he knows your words come from a good heart, aki knows that you see him as your savior and he feels a little better at the thought of being a saint to someone such as you. but he still grimaces internally when you state you’ll be as great as him, he loves you so much that it hurts in good and bad ways when he hears your idolization. he’s not what you think, he tells himself, but you do. you’ve grown to know who he is underneath that tough facade and still continue to want to be like him.

you admire his strength for what he has endured, and want to be like him in that aspect. you want your compassionate quality to be as large as his so you could help people like he helped you. he’s your favorite, through in and out and you want to be everything he is.

this all brought you here, standing in front of the television and blocking the comedic show from your unofficial siblings and father figure. they all stared at you, denji’s brows furrowed with an open jaw that you guess is about to let out an annoyed question to what you're doing, whilst power just stared at you with the same intensity denji had, while aki just bored his attention onto you.

“hey! what are you-”

before he could finish the sentence, you had predicted to note, you looked straight at aki, a newfound determination set on your features as you clenched your fists.

“i wanna be a devil hunter jus’ like you!”

your words reverberated against the walls of the apartment, and you could see the eyes of aki and denji widen in reaction, but to your surprise you could see more shock coming from aki. you had thought about this decision for a while, your admiration blossoming for aki as each day passes and it's become so overwhelming that you couldn't just not take an actual step towards being just like him.

denji smirked, puffing his chest as he let out a sigh. “ah, i knew you’d want to be as good as me!” he exclaimed, and your own brows furrowed, and you drifted your attention from aki towards your brother who took the direction of your statement to himself. “what!? not you, idiot!!!!” you rebutted, which resulted in an obnoxious laugh from power, her body falling to the floor as she held her stomach and kicked her legs, spurting out words of insults to denji as he started to argue with power in frustrated embarrassment.

the bickering got louder as the two started to fight, and you chose to ignore them like always and looked back at the stunned aki. the man sat there still with crossed legs, but his gaze seems clouded as he was lost in thought.

“aki?” you said, moving to sit down on the floor next to him, his glossed over eyes moving with you as he kept his stare on you. the man then blinked, once, twice, before he seemed to snap out of his world.

aki knew you’d eventually start to take steps towards your admiration, but not this soon. it was endearing and scary and oh so overstimulating to think about your decision. but he knew you long enough that the determination of yours could never die out, the proof being the light that still gleamed in your eyes on that day he found you.

“really? are you sure?...” his words are soft but had a firm tone, and his seeming acceptance to your words throw you off a bit. you nod after a few beats of silence between you two, the bickers of your siblings drowning out in the background as you focused on the conversation with aki. “yes. i want to be jus’ like you aki.” you confirmed, and before he can refute that he isn't everything you say he is you speak again. “i wanna be able to be strong enough to protect people i love jus’ like you, to save others so they dont leave behind people who will be on the streets like me.” the explanation that falls off your lips made aki’s bustling mind quiet for seconds, your words being drunk in by him.

then, he nodded, slowly, then reached out, moving your body to rest against his side as your head found place in the crook of his neck and your body unconsciously melts into a cradle position beside him. his left hand stretches to rest on the arm that's tucked in front of your body, and the other is placed on top of your head. it was his last chance to properly shield you from the world before throwing you back in it.

“okay, we’ll start with basics, no devil contracts or actual battles just yet.”

CIELO'S SECRETS !!

aki legally adopted you so your last name is actually hayakawa! your siblings are still waiting to gain their actual hayakawa last name :P

i rewrote this 5 times and i still cant seem to like it >:( but this one was the best version! i liked writing about the siblings tee hee.

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday Kenneth Campbell "Ken" Stott, born on October 19th 1954 in Edinburgh.

One of my favourite actors, as hard-drinking Detective hero of Ian Rankin's popular book he was Inspector John Rebus to me. Ken's Father was Scottish and a teacher, his mum a Sicilian, he went to the famous George Herriots school before going onto to Mountview Theatre School, where the distinguished actor Sir John Mills was president. Fellow Scot Douglas Henshall was also a student of the school. Before leaving Edinburgh Stott had been in a band called Keyhole some of the members of the group would later join the Bay City Rollers.

Ken went on to work with the Royal Shakespeare Company but the pay was poor and he subsidised his earnings by selling double glazing. His first TV role was in Secret Army for the BBC, parts in TV shows throughout his career have included, Taggart (of course) The Singing Detective, London's Burning, Your Cheatin' Heart and Silent Witness. He was insome good films too, The Debt Collector (with Billy Connolly) , Shallow Grave, (with Ewen MacGregor) and Plunkett & Macleane (with Robert Carlyle).

My favourite shows of Ken's have been the brilliant BBC Scotland series, Takin' Over the Asylum in which starred as Double Glazing salesman, but aspiring disc jockey

with David Tennant and Angus Macfadyen,The ITV series The Vice was also a cracking series where he played DI Pat Chappel and The BBC show Messiah, where again he played a cop, DCI Red Metcalfe where he learned sign language for scenes with his screen wife,and Rebus of course, when the show was resurrected in 2006, Stott was a first choice for many as D.I John Rebus, John Hannah had the role in the first incarnation, mainly due to it being made by his own production company.

On film Ken is probably best known for his role as the Dwarf, Balin in The Hobbit trilogy. He is a popular choice for voice work, as narrator for series such as Trawlermen, a documentary following North Sea trawlers, and Send in the Dogs, following the work of Police Officers and their canine partners.

One of my favourite stories about Ken Stott echoes the no nonsense approach of Rebus, on stage during Arthur Miller's A View From The Bridge, he halted the play when a group of teenage schoolkids were misbehaving and disturbing the show, switching from his stage American to his native Scots accent he told the teacher responsible for the children to remove them, or the play would not go on.

The house lights were switched on and there was then a 15-minute stand-off as discussions took place with the offending youngsters.

The audience took the side of Stott and even resorted to chanting 'out, out, out' in extraordinary scenes. Eventually the three culprits and an embarrassed teacher was forced to creep away before the play resumed at the Duke of York's Theatre.

Of his recent stuff check out The Dig,, it a decent film and based on a true story of an archaeologist embarks on the historically important excavation of Sutton Hoo in 1938.

I can't see anything happening on Ken's IMDb page, but there is a third series of the Irvine Welsh show Crime in development, so I expect he will reappear in that.

[youreyeson1y]

ii. JYP ACADEMY

a leading private academy located at outskirts of seoul, south korea, JYPA is the dream institution of many talented individuals all over the country, and even overseas.

JYPA takes pride in having an unique approach to learning — they put as much importance in extra-curriculars as they do in academic education. one of the few performing arts academy, they give the students full freedom to pursue or engage in whatever craft they're drawn towards.

but for such an unique system to be sustained, they also need some rules. thus, the academy has their own democratic student council, with students from the third and fourth year being able to elect themselves for the role of president and vice president.

the current student council body is lead by their president, PARK JIHYO, the vice president, KANG Y/N, assisted by the respective class representatives and club leaders.

PREVIOUS < MASTERLIST > NEXT

MI'S NOTES — okay so this was kind of important because i wanted the story to be set in kind of like a high school-ish system with councils and clubs and all, but also wanted the characters to be aged up, so here is like a short introduction to jypa, to make sure there isn't much confusion in the future

STEAL THE SHOW. a kim seungmin smau

SYNOPSIS — kang y/n's focus was divided between the looming competition and the obnoxious and infuriating kim seungmin. his mocking and sarcastic online jabs sparked her retaliation, entertaining the university with their petty banter. but as their online repartee became routine, curiosity supplanted irritation, threatening her priorities and composure.

TAGLIST — open! (send in an ask to be added 🤍)

@babrieeee, @starlostastronaut, @charlieg1rl, @queen-in-the-shadows, @estella-novella

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

If Baji was still alive during the Kanto Manji Arc ..

...let's say that his wound was so important that he was in coma for few weeks rather than die, missed the Christmas Arc, was still in recovery at the hospital during Tenjiku Arc (and would have learned Emma's death at this moment, outch)

So he has recovered during the last arc, and join Brahman with Draken to find Mikey and KICKS his ass. also kicking Sanzu's ass.

I can see him congratule Senju everytime she is awesome and Senju blusing because he's a better brother figure than the two others.

Baji is pissed when Draken dies (not against Takemichi or Senju, but against South) and screams at Mikey to not react at all. He's traumatized by the dark impulses, because he has a flashback of the day Sanzu was disfigured. He tries to stop Mikey to kill Takemichi but is kicked and is KO so it's still Senju who saves Mitchy.

Baji joins Toman 2.0, and is proud of Chifuyu who is vice-president.

During the last fight, Baji suddendly appears behind Sanzu after the guy knocked out his sister and Sanzu wonders why he hears boss music.

I love this! Baji would be like like towards Senju and definitely join her gang to go after Mikey. I could definitely see him fitting the older brother role for Senju and them having a bond, knowing it's the two of them vs the two other prominent figures in their childhood, Mikey and Sanzu. Ngl I feel like Takeomi wouldn't like him I'm brahman much though since Baji would just call out his behaviour as a brother, and not try to spare his feelings like Senju.

[mariacallous]

Three days after Kamala Harris was sworn into the Senate in early January 2017, the U.S. intelligence community released a stunning declassified report that concluded that Russian President Vladimir Putin had ordered an influence campaign meant to sway the previous year’s presidential election in favor of Donald Trump and undermine faith in U.S. democracy.

The revelations spurred three high-profile investigations into Russian election interference by lawmakers and special counsel Robert Mueller and would come to dominate headlines for much of the Trump presidency.

As a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, which conducted a wide-ranging three-year investigation of Moscow’s interference efforts, Harris had a front-row seat to reams of highly classified material about Russian intelligence operations targeting the United States. The experience left a long-standing impression on the vice president, according to current and former aides who characterize it as a highly formative experience that left her with few illusions about Moscow’s intentions.

“I see those first few weeks as pivotal, because those were both her and Donald Trump’s first few weeks in Washington,” said Halie Soifer, who served as national security advisor to Harris in the Senate.

A Republican source familiar with Harris’s time on the committee said that during the Russia investigation, members were exposed to “borderline raw intelligence” on Moscow’s interference efforts, which they described as an eye-opening experience, even for long-standing members of the committee. “I think it was sobering for everyone,” said the source, who requested anonymity to share their insights.

The Senate’s final report, which spanned over 1,000 pages across five volumes, is generally regarded to be the most detailed look at aggressive Russian intelligence efforts to make inroads with the Trump campaign and to sway the election in favor of the former president.

The report did not reach a conclusion as to whether the Trump team had actively sought to collude with Moscow for its own advantage.

As part of its investigation, the committee reviewed over 1 million pages of documents and interviewed more than 200 witnesses.

While much of the day-to-day work of the probe was carried out by committee staffers, senators from both sides of the aisle have described Harris as a quick study whose advice on questioning witnesses was sought by seasoned committee staff, according to a 2019 BuzzFeed article.

In public hearings on both the Intelligence and Judiciary committees, on which she also sat, Harris developed a reputation for her prosecutorial style as she interrogated senior members of the Trump administration.

“Members get out of it what they put into it, and she put a lot of time and energy and effort into it,” said the Republican source.

Former aides to the vice president have spoken of how her background as a lawyer also informs her view on foreign policy, placing particular emphasis on the importance of international laws and norms. In a 2019 interview with the Council on Foreign Relations, Harris described the U.S. role in building a “community of international institutions, laws, and democratic nations” as America’s biggest foreign-policy achievement since World War II.

While the House Intelligence Committee Russia investigation was beset by political infighting, the Senate investigation remained bipartisan and largely free of public drama—something Harris has spoken fondly of.

“Every week, members of the Senate Intelligence Committee would walk into that wood-paneled room—no cameras, no public, no devices,” said Harris during a memorial service last year for the late California Sen. Dianne Feinstein, who had been a long-standing member of the committee.

“Senators of both parties who would take off their jackets and literally roll up their sleeves, putting aside partisanship to discuss what was in the best interests of our national security,” she said.

Harris served on the Intelligence Committee, which, alongside the House panel, provides oversight of the sprawling U.S. intelligence community, throughout her four years in the Senate.

In 2018, Harris backed an amendment that would compel law enforcement to obtain a warrant before accessing the communications of American citizens inadvertently gathered under a controversial program that enabled intelligence agencies to conduct wide-ranging foreign electronic surveillance.

She also used the perch to stress the need for greater investments in election security in light of Russia’s attempt to sway the vote, co-sponsoring bipartisan legislation on election cybersecurity.