#when was this letter sent? or when will it be sent? who's to say!

[docholligay]

So for all of you who think nothing matters:

We have a local, I guess I'll call it an events complex. It's where concerts and the fair go. It's owned by the city.

When Trump started the whole ICE thing, our commissioner sent a letter to the local representatives, telling them they could use it as a detention center for illegal immigrants. Our event center. Where the 4H kids show their fuckin' lambs.

"The fuck you will" was the resounding reply.

So, when I talk about coalition-building, and working with people you do not agree with or maybe even like, this is what I'm talking about. There was an immediate and vocal show of disapproval, from all sides. We all contacted people we knew would dislike this, REGARDLESS OF HOW THEY FELT ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. The meeting was packed with people yelling at the commissioners. Of all political stripes. Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Prairie Populist, Independent.

Some were, of course, the tumblr-style arguments about inherent humanity, but--I think more compellingly if you're actually trying to put the pressure on--there were questions of, 'How are we gonna get paid?" "Are you aware of how, as the only event center for more than two hours, much fuckin money this brings into the community? ANd that immigrants of all types make up less than 2% of the population of the entire state?(my argument), "Do we trust the government to pay us?", "Isn't there a fuckin' empty prison in [town about an hour from here]? Are you just being a kiss-ass?' (offered up by a man I know to be very conservative indeed. BUT HE DID NOT WANT OUR SPACE USED FOR THIS) and, an argument that was so good I was infuriated I didn't come up with it, "DO you think the bank is gonna want to be known as the sponsor of "National bank Detention Center?" (Which caught on and the bank had to offer up a letter saying how they hoped the commissioners would use the event center as intended.)

They folded. A letter came out a few days ago from the manager of the event center, saying it was decided that the events center would rescind the offer, as "more acceptable alternatives could be found." They blinked.

That's the thing. All that happened is that a bunch of people got mad an went to ONE TWO HOUR MEETING. It changed everything.

SHOW. UP.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Rain, But No Thunder

Part four of The Rain series

Synopsis: The word gets out about The Prefect's condition after Ramshackle collapsed + Malleus visits The Prefect in the infirmary

TW: Aftermath of The Prefect getting caught under a collapsing Ramshackle, Malleus Cries, Discussions of Death

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (here), Part 5 (coming soon)

The story of what happened was kept relatively under wraps until about a week after when the staff finally had to explain to the students what had hapened.

The newly hired school counselor was swamped after that.

The staff had explained the collapse of Ramshackle, the condition you were in (vaguely as not to cause a panic), and that Professor Crewel would be taking on the role of Acting Headmage for the time being. He'd still be teaching his classes of course, he'd just have to do all the work Crowley had been letting pile up as well (with the help of the rest of the staff, of course).

Despite the attempts made to keep the campus calm, mayhem broke loose. Some of your friends tried to break into the blocked off hallway leading to the old infirmary (they kept you in that one so you could have a calmer environment in which to heal), but were ultimately stopped by Crewel and, surprisingly, Leona.

"D'ya think they'll be able to rest with all of you herbivores making a ruckus in there?"

It took a bit of convincing (and some force), but the mob was quelled.

The campus continued to be a bit more rowdy than usual for a few days, but after those days passed, and the news had time to set in, the campus went silent. Even those who hadn't liked The Prefect shut up in fear of getting pummeled by their many friends and supporters.

The news, of course, leaked outside of the campus after the students were informed. You began receiving gift baskets and flowers not only from your friends at NRC, but also those you'd met from RSA, your friends' families, and so many more people you had met in your time here.

The media found out about the incident pretty quickly as well, but they were barred from entering the school. Any letters they sent you were promptly thrown away or responded to in a manner that told the senders (rather passive aggressively) to leave you alone.

On the 3rd week it was announced that Crowley had officially been fired.

"Hey, Pup." a familiar voice called to you from the doorway.

You could tell by his tone that he was nervous. "I heard the news"

Professor Crewel pales at your scratchy admission. "I-. . .I see."

He crosses the room to sit next to your bed. "Look-"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all upset, but I think I'm okay."

A moment of silence stretches out between you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

You no longer need to focus on the ticking of the clock to keep your mind off the pain. It hasn't completely gone away, but you've gotten used to what pain you currently endure.

"I. . .I know you probably saw him as your only way home. . ."

The man trails off, unsure of what to say next and you make no move to alleviate the awkward silence.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When you do finally speak it's in a soft, barely audible tone "--------------------"

On week 4, you're finally allowed visitors. You're given a list of all the people who signed up saying they wanted to see you and told to sift through it to decide who you do and don't feel up to seeing (the ones you don't, the staff make an excuse on your behalf to avoid hurt feelings). From there, the order they get to see you is decided by the order in which they signed up (you were given an option to pick an order, but you had no real bias).

You were rather surprised by your first visitor. In the doorway to your room loomed none other than Malleus Draconia. The man who was never clued in on events, somehow managed to get his name on your visit sheet first. Needless to say, you were astonished.

"May I enter, Child of Man?" The usually regal and sometimes smug sounding Malleus sounded almost meek when he spoke.

You nodded as a way to tell him to come in and he did so, rather unsteadily. When he got to your bed, he just stood there watching you.

A nod to the chair didn't seem to do anything so you opened your mouth to tell him he could sit down but he stopped you in your tracks when he sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't say a word, and neither did you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The whole time he was sitting there all he did was stare. His gaze roamed over your body, but not in a way that was distasteful. He looked at you in a way that made it obvious he was simply assessing and trying to process the state you were in.

"We fae live long lives." he began. "I do expect that I'll have to watch you leave this world and return to your own or see you die someday, but I will not accept it being so soon."

"Nobody can dictate when I'll die-" Not the right thing to say! Not the right thing to say at all!

Clouds rolled in outside and the sky became unnaturally dark. You had seen this before when Malleus got mad, and any moment now, your eardrums would quake at a boom of thunder.

But. . .the thunder never came. The clouds poured buckets of rain, but there was no lightning in sight.

You glanced away from the window and up at Malleus. He was crying.

"I. . .I do not wish to lose you so soon."

That cold feeling you felt a few weeks back returned to your body and you shivered. "Tsuna-. . .Malleus. I don't want to die anytime soon either, but it may very well happen." The sound of rain pelting against the window got a bit louder. "When that day does come, whether it be soon or in the distant future, I don't want you to be sad."

Malleus took one of your bandaged covered hands in his before he spoke "You know I value your happiness dearly, but I'm afraid you may be asking too much of me, Child of Man."

"I guess so. . ." your gruff voice tickled at your throat. You had been speaking too much. However, you put that aside for the time being, "But I would at least like to ask that even when I die, you continue to remember me fondly, and not let my death taint the time we've spent together as friends. I don't like the idea of nobody wanting to remember me. . .but I guess that's kind of selfish-"

"I promise, Child of Man" Malleus cuts you off.

"Thank you."

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"May we please change the subject." Malleus asks softly as we wipes his tears with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

You nod. "So, uh. . .you managed to get your name on the list 1st, huh?"

He gives you a quizzical look as he hands you a glass of water. Guess you weren't doing a very good job at hiding the worsening rasp in your voice. "No. There were many other names on the list when I signed mine. I just wrote mine above all of theirs."

You listen to him talk until the sun has set. He insists you not say another word as not to hurt your throat, so you don't get a chance to ask him about the severe storm that started the day the Staff informed everyone about what happened and raged on for that entire week.

Blog Navigation Page

TWST Masterlist

Request Information

The Rain Tag List:

@fancyhawk45 , @chloemari-e , @jester-party , @dykyun , @chidorichild , @kaidragonclaw , @arie2faced , @darling-5yndrome , @pebble-bb , @entidy13, @owl778 , @phoenixiaxia , @blvdmrcnry , @twistedcece , @lunatheroyal , @heartz4aqours , @yukixies , @sugarxrt , @noncreativepage-blog , @sheepchansstuff , @lucky-whispers , @mc-cos-charm , @bluedmonsst , @kyxmlii , @nilladrawsstuff , @abeltownshipslittlebitch , @pro-cat-stination , @creativecupcake , @wishicouldart , @gloomikaze , @marsinrain , @thesarcasticpersonwhoneedss-blog , @pinkytoxichearts , @avalordream , @shatiyuh , @coffee-or-hot-cocoa , @boredselkie , @savanaclaw1996 , @furioussharkcat , @nightshade-clown , @tsxukikami , @itspeanutlove , @mysterypotatoink , @hieratic9 , @91062854-ka , @paintbrushofanimeuniverse , @m1lly69 , @error-raccoon-404 , @the-annie-clark , @madilynnylidam , @losingmybrain , @kittentine , @yourfriendlyartist , @luuuuu002 , @qaxdea , @darklink-xoxo , @zombii-writess

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒚/𝑴.𝑳𝒆ó𝒏

Mapi was slumped into her chair, arms crossed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. She had barely spoken a word since you both left the house which was concerning in itself because Mapi never shut up. Normally she’d be teasing you or complaining about how early it was, or making some ridiculous joke that only she found funny. But today? Nothing. Just the occasional sniffle and a dramatic sigh every five minutes.

You nudged her gently. “You okay?”

Mapi turned her head slowly, eyes half-lidded, and pointed to her throat before dramatically pretending to cry.

“Oh no, poor baby,” you cooed, biting back a smile as you placed your hand on her thigh and squeezed softly.

She glared at you and grabbed her phone, typing something before holding it up. There, in big capital letters, read,

THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

You gasped. “How is this my fault?”

She sniffled loudly and typed again.

You stole my blanket. I got cold. Now I am dying.

“That is not how sickness works, amor, and you’re not dying, just dramatic.”

She squinted at you like she was contemplating murder, but thankfully, before she could, the media team called her name and she let out the most pathetic attempt at a groan before pushing herself up from the chair. You followed, because you knew she was going to need help. She was supposed to film an interview, answer questions, be her usual charming and slightly ridiculous self. But that was hard to do when she sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker.

As soon as the cameras were ready, Mapi cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing. A horrible, scratchy wheeze came out instead, making her sound like a broken door hinge. The crew exchanged glances, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Mapi looked horrified.

One of the interviewers hesitated. “Uh…do you want to reschedule?”

Mapi shook her head quickly, grabbing her phone again.

No, I am professional.

You snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

She sent you a withering look and started typing furiously. Then she handed you the phone.

You do it. Be my voice.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

She nodded firmly, crossing her arms.

The media team seemed amused by the idea. One of them spoke up. “So…you’ll answer her questions for her?”

Mapi pointed at you, then gave a thumbs-up.

You sighed. “Fine. But if you make me say something stupid, I swear-“

She grinned,,which was probably the first real sign of life you’d seen from her all morning since you’d dragged her ass out of bed.m

The interview began, and the first question was a simple one. “How are you feeling today, Mapi?”

You glanced at her, and she immediately typed on her phone before shoving it at you.

You read it aloud. “I feel amazing. Very strong. Possibly the strongest I have ever been.”

The interviewer looked at Mapi skeptically. “You…don’t sound amazing.”

Mapi scowled, typing furiously for a second.

You glanced at the screen again.“I am perfect. I am unstoppable. Only weak people get sick.”

Mapi nodded sagely.

You rolled your eyes. “She’s literally dying.”

Mapi nudged you sharply with her elbow, and you yelped.

“Okay, next question,” the interviewer said, clearly entertained. “Who is the funniest person on the team?”

Mapi smirked and started typing.

You took the phone and read, “Me, obviously.” Mapi grinned,and you continued reading. “Also, my girlfriend is very funny, but only on accident. Most of the time, she is just dumb.”

You looked up in outrage. “MAPI.”

She was shaking with silent laughter, and the media team too, was losing it. The interview went on like that, with Mapi answering every question through you, except half the time she was using it as an opportunity to make fun of you.

Finally, the interviewer asked, “Okay, last question. What’s the best part about being in a relationship with your teammate?”

Mapi’s smirk softened slightly, and she typed slower this time.

You took the phone and read, “She makes me happy. Even when she is annoying. And even when she steals my blanket and makes me sick.”

Your heart melted a little. “Oh, Mapi.”

She gave you a tired smile.

Then she grabbed the phone again and typed one last thing.

Also, I am much better at football than her.

You groaned. “I take back every nice thing I was about to say.”

Mapi just laughed well, wheezed- and rested her head on your shoulder as the interview wrapped up.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[flwrkid14]

Love Like a Gothic Novel

Tim doesn’t think of himself as particularly romantic.

Sure, he loves Danny—loves him with the kind of devotion that could make or break empires, loves him with a ferocity that could shake the stars from the sky. But romance? That’s always been something more suited to poetry, to grand gestures in old films, to couples who carve their initials into tree trunks and murmur sonnets beneath the moon.

Romance isn’t for people like him. It's for people like Danny.

Danny, who looks at Tim like he’s the first and only wonder of the universe. Danny, who says beloved with a reverence that makes Tim feel like something sacred, like a prayer answered in full. Danny, who looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky and named each one after the sound of his heartbeat.

Tim never stood a chance.

(Neither did anyone else who has to witness it.)

The first time it happens, they’re fighting a group of goons in an alley, and Tim hears the telltale sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Before he can turn, Danny appears—cloak billowing, eyes glowing like the ghosts in old fairytales.

“How dare you,” Danny says, voice rich and dripping with venom. “You would dare raise a weapon against my heart? Against my soul? Against the very breath that fills my lungs?!”

The gun is on the ground before the goon even realizes he’s dropped it.

Tim barely has time to blink before Danny grabs his wrist, pulling him close like they’re about to waltz. The fight is still going on around them, but Danny lifts Tim’s gloved hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles like they’re in the middle of a ballroom instead of a crime scene.

“You are safe, my love,” Danny murmurs. “Always.”

Tim is mortified.

The rest of the family is delighted.

After that, things spiral.

Danny starts leaving handwritten notes in his cape like love letters sent from the battlefield—ink-stained scraps of paper folded carefully and tucked between his gauntlets, slipped into his utility belt. Sometimes, they’re poetry, verses that read like something stolen from the pages of a forgotten novel. Other times, they’re dramatic declarations of vengeance.

(“My dearest Polaris, I have heard troubling news that someone—someone—has made you sad. Rest assured, I will handle this. I will destroy them. I will salt the earth in your name.”)

Tim never figures out how Danny gets the notes in his suit.

And it’s not like Tim doesn’t return the feelings. His love isn’t something grand or sweeping—it’s in the way he fixes Danny’s gloves when they start to fray, in the way he absentmindedly tangles their fingers together while he’s working. It’s in the late-night coffee runs when Danny’s had a bad day, in the way he memorizes Danny’s favorite food spots just to surprise him later. It's in the way he looks at him like he’s something divine.

Danny notices.

Danny always notices.

And if the family wasn’t already insufferable about it before, they’re unbearable now.

Dick sighs dramatically whenever Danny dips Tim during fights just to kiss him. Cass watches with open delight whenever Danny calls Tim darling in that rich, old-fashioned tone. Jason still won’t stop muttering about how is this our reality? Where does Timbo even find these people?

The only one truly suffering is Damian, who looks like he’s considering self-exile whenever Danny sighs, “Mon amour,” and Tim just… accepts it like it’s normal.

(It is normal. Danny has been like this from day one. Tim is just used to it.)

And when Tim presses a kiss to Danny’s temple after a long night, when he rests a hand over Danny’s heart like he’s grounding himself there, Danny’s expression softens into something unbearably fond.

“My heart,” Danny murmurs. “My shadow, my light, my love—”

“Go to sleep, Danny.”

“…Yes, Polaris.”

(They are ridiculous. It is perfect)

[heartsriki]

CUPID'S CHAOS ⌇화살

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Lee Heeseung | next

pairing ᝰ heeseung x fem!reader

— featuring.. n/a | word count: 4k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au, fluff, bickering, misunderstandings, obliviousness, 2000’s rom com vibe, kisses, pet name use (?), reader is a writer!

synopsis — You accidentally become the campus’s cupid, delivering love letters to everyone— no exception to the one meant for Heeseung even though you had the biggest crush on him. When he asks for help finding his secret admirer, You scramble to keep your own feelings hidden… until you realize that love letter was your own.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I’m not sure if I like this but… I hope you guys do… guys fair warning these oneshots will be extremely corny and fluffy but its valentines month so i cant control it fr! MY FIRST HEESEUNG FIC WHO CHEERED, also happy birthday jw my baby :(

Seriously just what did you get yourself into?

The first incident or “love letter” arrived onto your doorstep on a random Wednesday. It was just a soft pink envelope sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. At first, you thought it was for you until you saw the name of the girl in your english class. Maybe someone had the wrong dorm number. But when another letter shows up the next day, and then another, you start to realize two things:

1. Someone on campus has a serious crush problem.

2. You have somehow become their personal delivery service.

By Friday, you had a whole collection of letters meant for people you barely know. With no better plan, you start slipping them into the correct mailbox, dropping them onto desks, and handing them off with a whispered, “This is for you.”

Before you know it, people started calling you the ‘Campus Cupid’.

It’s kind of fun—watching couples get together, seeing people’s eyes light up when they read something sweet. That is, until you find his letter.

Lee Heeseungs letter. The guy with the lazy smile and unfairly good hair. The guy who always seems to be exactly where you don’t need him to be. The guy you have been crushing on way more than you meant to.

It was no surprise that he would get sent a letter. He was the darling of the campus, he was a charmer, talented in sports and without a doubt extremely handsome.

You examined the letter. It was morally right to give it to him… right?

Frowning, you place the letter in his usual seat. Just because you liked him didn’t mean you can take his right of knowing that someone else does.

The day passes without you thinking too much about the letter you placed on Heeseung’s desk. Or at least, you try not to think about it. It’s not like it matters, right? Someone else likes him. No big deal.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

But then, right after your afternoon lecture, Heeseung finds you outside the lecture hall, love letter in hand.

“Hey, Cupid.” His voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He holds up the letter between two fingers. “Any idea who wrote this?”

Your heart stops.

You stare at the letter, forcing yourself to keep calm. You knew this would happen. Of course, Heeseung would be curious. You should just tell him you don’t know. That’s what you should do.

But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you hesitate.

Frowning, you take the letter from his hands, pretending to examine it like if you hadn’t stared at it for hours before handing it to him. But when you open it and your eyes scan the page, confusion settles in.

There’s no name. No initials. Nothing.

That’s strange. Most of the letters you’ve delivered always had at least a tiny clue. An initial, a signature, sometimes even a number with a name.

“What’s with that look? You must’ve seen who gave it to you, no?” Heeseung asks, raising a brow.

You look back at the letter, skimming over the heart felt words. It was weird intruding someone’s feelings like this but with Heeseungs intense stare you couldn’t say no. The letter said:

I don’t know when it started, but you’ve always been there. In the background, in the crowd, just close enough to notice, but never close enough to reach. It’s frustrating, liking someone like this. Sometimes I wish I never met you in that cafe because now you’re all I ever think about, I hope I can confront you someday.

Your stomach twists.

The handwriting. The way certain letters are slanted. The way some words are scratched out and rewritten.

It’s… familiar.

Too familiar.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Oh no.

It was yours.

See, the first time you met Heeseung, it wasn’t in a lecture hall or at some college party—it was at a small cafe just off campus, the kind of place students flocked to for overpriced lattes and last-minute study sessions.

You had been there first, tucked into a corner seat with your laptop open and a half-empty cup of coffee beside you. The cafe was packed, the usual rush of students scrambling for caffeine before their next class, and you were too focused on your work to notice him walk in.

That is, until you heard a voice—smooth, slightly out of breath—directed at you.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, and that was the first time you saw Lee Heeseung up close.

Messy brown hair, a hoodie thrown over a plain t-shirt, dark eyes filled with something playful yet sleepy at the same time. You recognized him vaguely—he was in one of your general electives, though he always sat near the back, half-hidden behind his laptop. He was the kind of guy people noticed without him even trying, whether it was because of his reputation on the basketball team or just the effortless way he carried himself.

And now, he was standing in front of you, waiting for an answer.

You blinked. “Oh, um—no, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, sliding into the chair across from you. He set down his coffee cup, then pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages lazily. “You’re in my media studies class, right?”

You hadn’t expected him to recognize you, much less strike up a conversation.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I sit near the front.”

“Right, that’s why I never see you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I usually get there late.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse him. Heeseung leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. “So, what’s got you looking so serious? Studying for something?”

You glanced at your laptop screen. “Not exactly. Just… trying to finish an article for the campus paper.”

That caught his interest. “You write for the paper?”

“Kind of. It’s just an opinion column. Nothing major.”

Heeseung tilted his head, considering. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel your face growing warm. Heeseung had this way of making everything sound lighthearted, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like he actually meant it—that made your stomach flip.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment—him sitting across from you in a crowded cafe, lazily flipping through his notes while keeping light conversations, smiling at you like you were the only person worth paying attention to—that was the moment it started.

The quiet, unshakable feeling of a new beginning forming.

You blink rapidly, snapping back to reality, only to find Heeseung staring at you with a curious tilt of his head.

“You good?” He waves a hand in front of your face, and you realize you’ve been gripping the letter like it personally offended you.

“Yeah!” You blurt out, a little too quickly. “Fine. Super fine.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes, but instead of questioning your suspicious expressions, he leans against the wall next to you, arms crossed, the picture of casual confidence. “So? Any idea who my secret admirer is?”

Your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

Yeah, actually, it’s me. Surprise!

Obviously, you can’t say that.

You force a laugh, shoving the letter back into his hands like it’s a ticking time bomb. “No clue! There are so many love letters I deal with around campus, you know? Could be anyone.”

Heeseung mockingly pouted. “Come on, Cupid. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

You freeze. Oh no.

Heeseung grins, nudging your arm playfully. “Please? be my lead detective I need to know who has this much of a crush on me.”

You stare at him, trying not to look as horrified as you feel. He’s practically pleading, eyes shining with excitement. He wants to know. He’s curious.

And you?

You want the earth to swallow you whole.

But instead, you swallow down your panic and give him your most confident, totally-not-dying-inside smile. “Yeah, sure! I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

Great. Now you’re investigating your own love letter.

Romcoms make this look so much easier.

In your defense, the love letter was never supposed to see the light of day.

It had been one of those late-night, caffeine-fueled brain dumps—the kind where your emotions got the best of you, and instead of focusing on your essay due at midnight, you had decided, hey, why not write a dramatic love confession you’ll never actually send?

It started off as a joke. A harmless what if?

What if you had the guts to tell Heeseung how you felt?

What if you weren’t just the campus Cupid, but actually someone worth writing about?

What if, for once, you weren’t just the messenger in everyone else’s love stories?

So, you had poured your heart onto the page. You wrote about how frustrating it was, liking someone from a distance—watching him laugh in the campus café, seeing him glide effortlessly through every class, always just out of reach. You let yourself be honest, because no one was ever supposed to read it.

And then? You stuffed it into your notebook, forgot about it, and went about your life like it never happened.

Until now.

Now, it was in Heeseung’s hands just because you thought it was written by someone else, and now you were stuck in the worst romcom of all time—investigating your own love letter while trying desperately to keep your crush a secret.

Honestly?

You were so, so doomed.

“So, what do you think?”

You try to keep your face neutral as Heeseung waves the letter in front of you, looking more confused than anything.

“About… what?” You ask cautiously.

“This.” He gestures to the paper. “The letter. My so-called ‘secret admirer.’”

Your spoke before you could stop yourself. “So…you figure out who it is. What happens then?”

He thinks, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, i’ll turn them down, it’s really flattering but it’s also kind of a hassle.”

A hassle?

You force out a laugh, even as your stomach twists into knots. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Someone clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

“That’s the problem.” Heeseung exhales sharply. “I wasn’t expecting this. Im interested in someone else, and now I have to figure out how to let this person down without making things awkward.”

Your face heats up. You want to disappear.

“So, you’re not interested in them…? You like someone already?” You ask hesitantly, barely able to get the words out.

Heeseung shakes his head. “I don’t even know who they are. But I hope they don’t take it the wrong way, Y’know?”

You stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

He has no idea.

And now? You definitely can’t confess.

Not when you already know his answer.

And if there was one thing worse than knowing Heeseung didn’t want a relationship, it was actively helping him investigate your own confession.

Every day, he’d bring up new theories about who could’ve written the letter, and every day, you’d have to nod along, pretending to be just as clueless.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Heeseung didn’t seem to be taking it too seriously, mostly brushing it off whenever it came up. But as the days passed, something shifted… just slightly.

“Okay, so hear me out,” Heeseung said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and muffled whispers. “What if it’s someone from one of my classes?”

You kept your eyes on your laptop screen, pretending to focus on your assignment. “You already went through that theory. Twice.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking—what if they’re too nervous to say anything in person? What if it’s, like… someone who sits far away from me?”

You bit your lip. “And yet, you’re still expecting me to figure it out?”

“Well, you’re good at reading people.” Heeseung grinned, nudging your arm. “You always seem to know what’s going on with everyone.”

Your heart stuttered. If only he knew just how right he was.

Heeseung sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t get it. They wrote all this deep, meaningful stuff, but they didn’t sign their name. What’s the point of confessing if you don’t want the person to know?”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe they were scared.”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, looking at you in that way that always made you feel like he could see through you. “Scared of what?”

You hesitated. “Of ruining what they already have.”

His expression shifted. “You think they know me?”

You forced a shrug. “Probably. Why else would they write all that?”

Something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable. He held your gaze for a second too long before clearing his throat. “Huh. I never really thought about it like that.”

You turned back to your screen, desperate to focus on anything else. But then Heeseung moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in to look at your laptop.

“What are you even working on?” he asked, voice quieter now, like the space between you had shrunk to something more intimate.

You could barely think straight. “Just… an essay.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

His voice was too close. His scent—clean, with a hint of something warm—was too distracting. It was stupid, so stupid, how easily he got under your skin without even trying.

The next few days started to get a little weird.

Heeseung had always been playful, always teasing and leaning in too close, but now it felt… different.

It was in the way he started remembering the little things—how you liked your coffee, how you tapped your fingers when you were thinking, how you always fixed your hair when you were nervous.

It was in the way he kept looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long before he caught himself.

It was in the way his teasing changed—less casual, more intentional. Like he wanted to see how you’d react.

And then, one night, things got dangerous.

You were in his dorm, flipping through the list of names you had pretended to compile for the investigation. Heeseung sat on the floor beside you, his laptop balanced on his knees, absentmindedly chewing on a pen cap as he read through the letter again.

“You know…” he said, tilting his head, “whoever wrote this is actually really good with words.”

Your blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s, like… weirdly personal.” He frowned slightly, scanning the page. “I feel how much they mean it.”

You held your breath.

He let out a soft laugh. “Honestly, it kinda sounds like your writing.”

Your heart stopped.

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What?”

Heeseung blinked at you, startled. “I mean—you’re good at writing, right? I read your papers, You’ve always been good with words.”

He reads your papers?

You forced out a laugh, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your voice shook. “Right— Well, I didn’t write it, obviously.”

Heeseung studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your horror, he smirked.

“Why do you look so guilty?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’m literally just existing, Heeseung. Shut up.”

He laughed, but there was something behind his eyes that made your stomach flip—something like curiosity. “Stop freaking out im just kidding.”

The investigation had led you and Heeseung all over campus, following false leads, and ultimately getting nowhere. You had been walking back toward the dorms when the sky, clear just moments ago, suddenly turned gray.

And then—of course—it started to rain.

Hard.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, pulling your jacket over your head as you and Heeseung ran toward the nearest cover—a small wooden gazebo near the campus library.

You both skidded to a stop under the roof, breathless and drenched. Heeseung shook his head like a wet dog, flinging water everywhere.

“Really?” You scowled, wiping raindrops off your face.

He laughed, ruffling his already-messy hair. “My bad.”

The sound of rain drumming against the roof filled the space between you, the cool breeze making you shiver.

“Here,” Heeseung said, shrugging off his hoodie.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re cold, Cupid” he pointed out, holding the hoodie out to you. “Take it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “Just take it before you get sick.”

You hesitated, but he rolled his eyes and stepped closer, draping the hoodie over your shoulders himself. The warmth of it, of him, surrounded you immediately, and your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, ready to protest, but he was already watching you—his expression unreadable, the usual teasing glint in his eyes nowhere to be found.

“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” he murmured suddenly.

Your pulse spiked. “What?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, studying you in a way that made your stomach twist. “I don’t know. You just…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the hoodie tighter around you.

The rain kept falling around you, blurring the world outside the gazebo, making this moment feel like it existed outside of everything else—outside of reality, outside of whatever mess you had gotten yourself into.

For a split second, it felt like you weren’t just Heeseung’s reluctant investigation partner. Like you weren’t the person holding onto a secret that could ruin everything.

Like, maybe, he could actually like you back.

But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should probably wait this out before heading back.”

Just like that, the moment passed and you were left standing there in his hoodie, drowning in warmth, drowning in him, pretending you weren’t completely, helplessly falling apart.

After the rain, the campus felt quieter, the usual chatter dampened by the lingering water in the air. You walked alongside Heeseung, both of you with your hoods up, trying to shield yourselves from the leftover drizzle. It was awkward but comfortable — the kind of silence where you weren’t sure if you were supposed to talk or if it was okay just to exist in the same space.

Heeseung was the first to break it. “You know, you really don’t have to walk me all the way back to my dorm. It should be the other way around—.”

You glanced at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. You were worried about your own feelings, and now, Heeseung had a way of making your heart flutter with the smallest of gestures.

“I don’t mind,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “I just figured I should, you know… make sure you’re okay.”

Heeseung chuckled, a low sound that made you feel warm despite the cool rain. “You’re acting kind of weird. Usually, you’re so naggy. I thought I’d never see you get flustered.”

You looked away, trying to hide your face. “I’m not flustered.”

There was a brief pause as Heeseung watched you. His eyes softened, the usual teasing light in them dimming a little. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

You slowed your pace, nervous now, your heart pounding as you tried to look calm. “I’m not trying to fool anyone.”

“I think you are,” he replied, stepping a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours as the two of you continued walking side by side.

You swallowed hard. The proximity felt different now, more charged. Your voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the ground, the rain creating ripples on the wet pavement. “It’s just… you’re always so careful with what you say. Always so in control. But sometimes… I wonder if you’re hiding something.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. You glanced over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. The air between you felt heavier, and the tension seemed to stretch out longer than usual.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you murmured, even though part of you wished he could know the truth — or maybe, just maybe, that he could feel the same way.

Heeseung’s voice was quieter now, his tone almost teasing, but there was something else in it, something deeper. “Then why do you always look at me like that? Like you’re holding back?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He finally met your eyes, his gaze intense. There was a flicker of something — was it vulnerability? — in his look. “Like you’re scared to let me in. What are you afraid of?”

Your breath hitched. For a split second, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to answer. Was it possible he was starting to see through your walls?

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he noticed the look on your face, sensing something unspoken. He took a step back, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Forget it.”

But you couldn’t forget it. Not now. You could feel the space between the two of you shifting, the weight of his words lingering. Something was different, something had shifted, and you weren’t sure if it was just your heart racing or something more.

For the rest of the walk, neither of you spoke much. But every time your eyes met, it felt like there was a new understanding between you two — a shared secret that neither of you was ready to fully admit, but both were beginning to feel.

It had been a long day, but when you stepped out of your last class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. It wasn’t just the cold air or the approaching dusk; something was off, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. That was until you spotted Heeseung standing by the bench outside the library, his gaze fixed on you as if he’d been waiting for a while.

Your heart skipped a beat.

He looked at you for a moment before he spoke. “Cupid, we need to talk.”

A nervous flutter danced in your stomach, and you forced a smile. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, stepping toward you, and you noticed the letter in his hand — the same one you’d written to him, the one that had been slipped anonymously into his mailbox just a few days ago. Your heart pounded in your chest, the realization of what was happening dawning on you.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment, just held the letter between his fingers, glancing down at it. “I know this is from you,” he said quietly, his voice gentle but filled with a soft surprise. “I figured it out after I read it again.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You had hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t find out this way. But here it was, and you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“How… How did you know?” you asked, trying to hide the nerves creeping up your voice.

He smiled slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A few things gave it away. The way you worded everything… It just felt like it came from you.”

“Also I found some of your notebooks while we were at your dorm and I matched the handwriting…” He blurted out.

Your heart sank. You had spent so long hoping he wouldn’t realize it was you, but now it seemed impossible to hide the truth.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Heeseung’s expression softened. “Why would it be awkward?”

“Because I’ve liked you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted, looking down at your shoes. “So I thought if I wrote the letter, I could control it. But then I accidentally gave it to you and everything is just— I don’t know It was never meant to reach you.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, and something about the way he looked at you made your stomach flip. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I kind of wish you’d just told me sooner.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I wasn’t expecting it to be you but now that I know… It’s kind of a relief. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been acting so weird around me.”

You blinked, taken aback. “I’ve been acting weird?”

Heeseung laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague. Always a little too nervous when we talk.”

You felt a wave of warmth rise to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

He took another step forward, the distance between the two of you shrinking. “You don’t need to explain. I get it.” He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an almost teasing glint in them. “Honestly, I’ve kind of had a feeling you liked me. You just never said it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Wait… you knew?”

He grinned. “Not for sure, but I wasn’t completely blind. I just didn’t want to make assumptions.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you felt your nerves ease a little. The tension that had been building between the two of you melted away, replaced by something lighter, something more familiar.

“So… this doesn’t make things weird?” you asked cautiously, unsure if you were reading him right. The last thing you wanted was to make things uncomfortable.

Heeseung shook his head, his smile softening. “No. Actually, I’m kind of glad. Now I don’t have to turn anyone down because I like someone else.”

Your heart raced as he closed the gap between the two of you, standing only a few inches away. He looked down at the letter in his hand, then back at you, his expression serious but warm. “I don’t think I ever really realized how much I liked you until now. I think I’ve been too caught up in my own head to notice, but hearing this from you? Yeah, I think I feel the same.”

For a moment, everything seemed to pause — the sound of people passing by, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, even the thumping of your own heartbeat — until Heeseung’s words sank in fully. The shock of it left you speechless, and the only thing you could manage was a soft, almost breathless, “Really?”

He chuckled, the sound light and comforting. “Really. I like you too, Cupid— I mean, Y/N.”

A smile spread across your face, and you couldn’t stop it. Your heart felt lighter than it had in days, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest. You had been so afraid of how things might turn out, but now, with Heeseung standing here in front of you, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Heeseung held the letter out to you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “You know, you could’ve just told me. But I guess this works too.”

You took the letter from him, glancing down at the words you’d written once more, a smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it was a bit dramatic. But… I was too scared to just say it. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “You didn’t mess anything up, Cupid. You just… made everything clearer.”

And just like that, all the tension and uncertainty you’d been feeling seemed to dissolve. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. You were standing here, with Heeseung, both of you finally understanding the feelings that had been simmering for so long.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice playful again, “How about we skip the letters next time and just go for a dinner date?”

You laughed, your heart full as you squeezed his hand. “That sounds perfect.”

Heeseung smiled, his gaze soft and filled with something genuine. “Good. Let’s not wait any longer, I really want some ramen.”

And with that, the two of you walked off together, the air between you light, and the promise of something more ahead.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Dating Heeseung felt like stepping into something familiar but entirely new at the same time. The comfort of your friendship was still there—the teasing, the ease, the way you could talk about anything and everything—but now there was something softer, sweeter, laced between every interaction.

Like right now.

It was late, the two of you curled up on your dorm room floor with a half-finished pizza between you, an old playlist humming softly from your phone. The world outside felt quiet, like this moment only belonged to the two of you. Heeseung was leaning against the bed, his legs stretched out, while you were sitting cross-legged beside him, picking at the crust of your pizza slice.

His hand, which had been resting casually near yours, suddenly slid closer, his fingers tracing the tips of yours absentmindedly. It was such a simple thing, but it sent a shiver up your spine nonetheless.

“So,” Heeseung started, voice slow and teasing. “How’s it feel? Finally dating the guy of your dreams?”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing where this was going. “You’re impossible.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning his head back against the bed. “No, but really. You had a crush on me for so long, and now look at us.” His fingers fully laced with yours now, his touch warm and effortless.

“I wouldn’t say I had a crush that long,” you mumbled, taking a sip of your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Are you kidding? You literally wrote me a love letter.”

Your face burned. “Okay, one letter—”

“One?” Heeseung gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning toward you. “So you’re telling me there aren’t, like, ten versions of that letter somewhere in your notes app?”

You choked. “There absolutely are not.”

“Oh my god.” He laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “There are. You rewrote it a bunch of times, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “I am not having this conversation.”

Heeseung was grinning now, having way too much fun at your expense. He reached over, gently prying your hands from your face. “No, no, let’s talk about it. Tell me, how long did it take you to get the perfect wording? Did you, like, pace around your room dramatically?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “For your information, I wasn’t that dramatic.”

Heeseung smirked. “Mhm. So you didn’t dramatically sigh and go, ‘No, this isn’t right, I need to capture his essence’?”

You picked up a stray piece of crust and chucked it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing as he caught your wrist, pulling you toward him slightly.

“You’re the worst,” you mumbled, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Heeseung was still grinning, his fingers now playing with yours absentmindedly. “You love it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I really don’t.”

“You do,” he countered, tugging you even closer until you were practically pressed against his side. His voice dropped, softer now, almost teasing in a different way. “Did you mean everything you said in that letter?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “What if I did?”

Heeseung tilted his head, his gaze locked onto yours, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere melted into something else—something quieter, more intense.

“Then,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, “I’d tell you that I think about it a lot.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression unusually serious now. “I mean, do you even realize how… nice it is to know someone felt that way about me? And not just anyone—you.” He exhaled, his lips curling into something softer, more affectionate. “I don’t think I ever told you, but when I first read it, before I even knew it was from you, I remember thinking… whoever wrote this really cares about me.”

Your heart was thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“And then,” he continued, “when I found out it was you? It just… it all made sense.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “It did?”

Heeseung hummed in response.

“You’ve always been there,” he said softly. “I just didn’t realize how much I wanted you to be closer.”

You felt your throat tighten, emotion bubbling up in your chest, but before you could even think of a response, Heeseung leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

His eyes flickered to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again, as if silently asking permission.

You didn’t need to think twice.

Closing the small distance between you, you kissed him.

It was soft, slow—like both of you were still memorizing the feeling. Heeseung sighed against your lips, his hand sliding to your jaw, tilting your face toward him just slightly.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and heart pounding, Heeseung smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours.

“So,” he murmured, eyes twinkling, “if I ask you nicely, do I get to read those other drafts of the letter?”

You groaned, shoving him away playfully. “Absolutely not.”

Heeseung only laughed, pulling you back into his arms with ease. “Fine, fine. But at least let me know—was I always this irresistible in them?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Shut up, Heeseung.”

He grinned, pressing another soft kiss to your temple. “Love you too.”

Series Taglist — next

@saphiranishimurashan @m1kkso @taesanoreohair @elairah @baribaaari @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @mbsnow @moontyun @manuosorioh

- if you weren’t tagged you need to fix your visibility!

[nilla03]

“ 𝐴 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“ 𝑃𝑇 2

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡：𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ： 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥， 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒， 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝐼𝑇

Your hands shake as you zip up your tiny pink skirt, adjusting it in the mirror before smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s short—too short for a prison visit—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you know who you’re going to see.

Ever since you sent those pictures—posing all sweet and shy in the mirror, nothing but lace hugging your curves—you’ve been waiting for a response. A letter. A call. Something. But days passed, and there was nothing.

You swipe a glossy pink lip oil over your pout, pouting at your reflection. Your lashes are long, curled just the way he likes them. Your little off-the-shoulder top hugs your curves, the lacy fabric delicate against your skin. Even your nails—freshly done, soft pink French tips—are perfect.

It’s a little embarrassing how much time you spent getting ready. But Toji always notices.

His voice echoes in your head, teasing and dark. You can already hear him smirking, already see the way he’ll lean back in his chair, eyes dragging over your figure like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grab your purse, slipping on your pink platform heels before heading out the door.

As you drive to the prison, anticipation coils in your belly. You know he’s been thinking about you. Know you got under his skin. But what you don’t know—what makes your breath quicken—is what Toji’s going to do about it.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. It’s not like it’s your first time visiting Toji. But today… today is different

Your heart pounds as you sit in the cold prison visitation room, your manicured fingers anxiously tracing the hem of your tiny pink skirt. The guards had already given you side-eyes when you walked in, but you didn’t care. You knew exactly who you were here for—and exactly what you did to him.

Toji steps into the room, his towering frame making your breath hitch the moment he locks eyes with you. He looks hungry.

He drops into the chair across from you, forearms resting on the table, his gray jumpsuit stretching over thick muscles. His gaze flickers down—your soft thighs peeking beneath your skirt, your little off-the-shoulder top hugging every curve. And then, finally, he speaks.

“Got your lil gift.” His voice is low, a dark rasp that sends a shiver up your spine. “Those pictures you sent me.”

Your stomach flips. You can barely hold his stare.

“Oh?” His smirk deepens, licking his teeth as he leans in closer. “Where was all that attitude when you were spread out for me in those pictures ?”

You swallow hard, gripping the table, your face burning. “I—I just thought you’d like them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep. “Like them? Nah, baby, I loved them.” He tilts his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Made it real hard to focus in here, though. You know that?”

You shift in your seat, thighs pressing together under his heated stare. “I… I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

He exhales through his nose, his tongue clicking. “Yeah? Then why’d you leave me hanging, huh?” His fingers drum against the table. “No letter after? No call? Thought maybe my pretty little girl was feelin’ guilty for teasing me like that.”

You shake your head quickly. “N-No, I wasn’t—”

“Mm. Good.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “’Cause when I get out, you’re gonna be giving me a lot more than pictures, baby.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can say anything else, the guard signals that your time is up.

Toji leans back, smirking. “I’ll be callin’ you later. Pick up fast, yeah?”

Later that night, your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, still warm from the memory of his voice. You don’t even check the caller ID before answering.

“Y—you’re calling already?”

A deep chuckle rumbles through the speaker. “Of course I am, baby.” His voice is even darker now, thick with something dangerous. Something you might not be ready for.

“think you can just look all pretty for me and sleep all peaceful, huh?” His tone is almost mocking, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your thighs squeeze together.

Toji chuckles, and you hear a slow, deliberate exhale through the speaker. There's a rustling sound, and then a quiet, low groan that makes your skin prickle.

Your stomach flips. "Toji... what are you doing?"

"What's it sound like, baby?" His voice is thick, teasing, taunting. "Got my hand wrapped around my cock, thinkin' about how fuckin' sweet you looked today."

Toji exhales sharply, the phone picking up the faint sound of skin dragging over skin. "wearin' that little skirt, like you didn't want me to be thinkin' about this all day."

You press your thighs together, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I wasn't—"

“Mm-mm.” He cuts you off, voice like gravel. “Nah, pretty girl. You got me all riled up. So now? You’re gonna keep me company while I take care of it.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice sending a thrill down your spine. “Be a good girl. You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your hands shake as you press your phone to your ear, barely able to breathe as Toji’s deep, raspy voice slides through the speaker.

“You didn’t really think I was just gonna let you get away with that, did you?”

You shift under your blankets, body already heating up. You know exactly what he means—those pictures you sent him. The ones where you wore nothing but the tiniest lace panties, posing so sweetly for him, biting your lip like you were waiting for his hands on you instead.

You hadn’t heard from him after sending them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you went too far. But now? The dark amusement in his tone tells you everything.

“I—” You swallow hard. “I didn’t know if you liked them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep, like he can hear the way your breath stutters. “Liked them?” He tsks. “Baby, I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about them since I got ‘em. You know how hard it is sittin’ in a cell, knowin’ my pretty girl is out there touchin’ herself instead of waitin’ for me?”

Your thighs squeeze together. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice drops lower, all rough edges and dark promise. “I know you, baby. Know you got needy after takin’ those pictures. Bet you played with that cute little pussy right after, huh?”

You let out the softest whimper, your face burning. You did.

“That’s what I thought.” His breathing is heavier now, a slow inhale like he’s savoring the sound of you unraveling. “You like teasin’ me, don’t you?”

“N-No,” you whisper, but it’s useless.

Toji chuckles, voice like sin. “Mm. You sure about that, pretty girl? Walked into that visitation room today wearin’ that little skirt, actin’ all shy after what you did. Like you wanted me to sit there and think about it all night.”

You shudder, fingers twisting in the sheets. You had worn it for him, just to see that dark gleam in his eyes, just to feel small under his hungry stare.

“Toji…” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but the need in your voice is obvious.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “You need me?”

You nod before realizing he can’t see you. “Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my girl,” he hums. There’s a rustling sound on the other end, the faintest hitch in his breath. “Then keep me company, princess. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you touch yourself.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“You heard me.” His voice is calm, dark. Commanding. “Made me sit in my fuckin’ cell, thinkin’ about you all damn day. Now you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n let me hear what’s mine.”

You whimper at the possessiveness in his tone, your fingers already trailing beneath the covers. “Toji, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, almost coaxing. “You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your breath is uneven as you slip your hand between your thighs, gasping softly at how wet you already are. Toji hears it immediately.

“There you go,” he praises, voice thick with approval. “Knew you wanted this.

You let out a shaky sigh, fingers moving slowly, teasing yourself the way you know he would if he were here. The thought makes your head spin—Toji’s big hands holding you down, his rough fingers spreading you open, making you feel small and helpless underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans through the speaker, his breathing heavier now. “You touchin’ that pretty little clit for me, baby?”

You whimper, nodding before whispering, “Y-Yeah…”

“Mm. Bet you wish it was my fingers instead, huh?” His voice is getting rougher, raspier. “Bet you miss the way I stretch you out. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Your back arches, a needy whine slipping past your lips. “Toji—”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

“Such a Messy Girl”

Your breath is unsteady, thighs trembling as your fingers tease slow circles over your clit. Toji’s voice is thick in your ear, rough and wrecked.

“There you go, baby,” he groans, the sound of skin dragging against skin sending shivers straight through you. “Knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

Your head tips back against the pillows, body heating up at the low, ragged sounds slipping through the speaker. He’s stroking himself to you, thinking about you, the same way you’re touching yourself for him.

“T-Toji,” you whimper, your other hand gripping the sheets.

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rasps. “Say my name again, baby. Let me hear how pretty you sound when you come for me.”

Your fingers move faster, your body tightening as his voice keeps pushing you further.

“Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good right now,” he grits out, his breath hitching slightly. “Bet that cute little pussy’s just drippin’ for me. You know how bad I wanna be there, huh?”

Toji groans, voice all dark and heavy. “Then go ahead, baby. Make a mess for me.”

Your back arches, a high-pitched moan slipping past your lips as pleasure crashes through you. Your body tenses, then melts, thighs shaking as you come hard, making a mess on your sheets, your skin burning with heat.

Toji’s breathing stutters, a rough grunt catching in his throat. Then—

“Fuck—” he growls, voice strained, and then you hear it. The low, deep groan of his release, the ragged way his breath catches as he spills over himself.

You shudder, body still sensitive, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of him falling apart.

There’s a beat of silence, both of you catching your breath. Then, Toji lets out a low chuckle, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs. “Made a fuckin’ mess, didn’t you?”

You let out a shy little whimper, curling into the sheets. “I—”

“Mm.” He tuts, voice dripping with amusement. “Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

Your breath is still shaky, body warm and spent, when Toji hums through the receiver.

“Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

A tiny whimper slips past your lips, your face burning as you shift against the messy sheets. Your body is still tingling, oversensitive, your fingers curling into the fabric.

Toji hears it—of course he does. His low chuckle crackles through the speaker, rough and smug. “Aww, baby,” he coos, mock sympathy laced in his voice. “Got you that fucked out, huh?”

Before you can respond, the automated voice cuts in.

“This call will end in one minute.”

Your stomach sinks. “No…” you whisper, the thought of losing his voice too soon making your heart ache.

Toji exhales sharply, like he hates it too. Then, his tone softens. “Shh, baby. I know.”

You swallow, blinking up at the ceiling, feeling too small without him.

His voice dips low, gentle, something tender lingering beneath the roughness. “You listening?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it.

“Love you, baby,” he murmurs, and your breath catches. “Ain’t a damn thing gonna keep me from you.”

Your lashes flutter, warmth blooming in your chest. “Love you too, Toji…”

The call cuts off with a dull beep.

2𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 <3

@valariexo @sunasgf1 @ourfinalisation

[corishadowfang]

            One of the Foretellers had come for Mary’s daughter, today.

            It wasn’t often that they did; most children were sent off to Daybreak Town on the promise of sending money back to their family, or of getting a better future, or because the village had no magic users to protect them and they needed someone.  There were no big ceremonies or flashy goodbyes; there were small farewell parties, sometimes, or tiny little familial blessings, asking that Light may guide them safely and Darkness hide them from all that would do harm.  But a Foreteller had come, for Elaine, for Mary’s little girl, and the town had scrambled to put something together.

            It was—an honor, really.  Mary knew this.  It was why she’d set the table with the finest dinnerware they owned—an old set, heirlooms, from a time when there had been less strife—and asked her mother to help her prepare a large dinner, and had wrung her hands as she’d tried to stay polite and proud and keep her wringing hands underneath the table.

            Master Ava had been a polite and accommodating guest.  Mary had thought, at first, that she’d seemed almost awkward at the attention—but that seemed an absurd thought, when Master Ava was a Foreteller.  Everyone had heard the stories—of the heroes who had risen from a town on the edge of daybreak, wielding weapons borne of themselves and slaying the monsters that had so long seemed impossible to defeat.  She was more than human; how could Mary expect her to feel something so normal as uncertainty?             (She’s young, some part of her whispered—some part of her that could not quite stay quiet—and she did her best to hush the thought.  It was dangerous; she could not afford to think it.)

            “I’ve heard that you’re interested in magic,” Master Ava said, turning her focus mostly to Elaine.

            Mary’s skin prickled, and across the table, her mother shifted, like she wished to interject but thought better of it.

            Elaine either didn’t notice or didn’t care; she beamed, eyes brightening as she said, “Yeah!  I’ve been studying.  Mister Gavin says he thinks I might replace him one day.”

            Mary squeezed her eyes shut.  They are not taking our only mage, she thought, and it was close enough to the truth that she didn’t have to think about the consequences.  Gavin was old, but alive; they would not be left defenseless if Elaine became a wielder.  If anything, this was a better opportunity for her; she would go and train with some of the best mages in the world, and then she could bring back her knowledge here, to fend against the shades that encroached on their borders.

            (Elaine was still losing her baby teeth; Mary could hear the lisp.  She tried not to think about that, too.)

            “That’s good; I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Keyblade wielders are good at magic, right?”

            Mary could not see Master Ava’s face, and it chafed.  “Some of us are.”

            That was a lie; all of them were, compared to the average person.  Most mages trained for years, and even then, they might only be average at best; a newly-fledged wielder could use magic on par with the best almost instantly.  ‘Some’ was only relevant in comparison to other wielders.

            “So if I go with you, I could get better?”

            “Yes.  Good enough to keep your whole village safe.”

            (“You heard about Marty’s kid, didn’t you?”

            Mary hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she’d stalled, hesitating just out of sight as she’d come to collect Elaine from Gavin’s shop.

            Gavin’s expression had hardened, and he hadn’t said anything.

            “Went off to Daybreak Town—that’s what he said.  Got letters for a while, and then things slowly just…stopped.  They haven’t heard from him since.”

            “I think,” Gavin had said, glancing back toward the shop—toward Elaine, who was still studying inside, “that you’d best stop spreading rumors.  All you’re going to do is scare people.”)

            It was a given, that Elaine would go; Mary couldn’t reasonably deny a Foreteller (even if Elaine was a child, even if they needed as many mages as they could get, even if things were dangerous), and Elaine was too excited to even consider turning down the invitation.  But still, a pit opened in Mary’s stomach as she knelt in front of her daughter, tangling a stained glass pendant around her neck.  It was one they’d made together, and Mary was only willing to part with it because she hoped it would grant her daughter some sort of protection.  “May Light’s blessings fall on you,” she said, because if she said anything less formal, she might sweep her daughter back into her room and refuse to let her go—even at the demands of a Foreteller.  “May Darkness guard you from the eyes of all who would seek to do you harm.”

            And may the Great Heart welcome you, should you find yourself in need of rest.

            She couldn’t bring herself to say the last part.

            Elaine’s nose scrunched, like she thought it was funny that her mother was saying such things, but Master Ava’s hand landed on Elaine’s shoulder and tightened, and Mary, strangely, got the impression that she understood.  “I’ll take care of her,” she promised.

            Mary didn’t know if it was true.  She didn’t think it mattered.  In the end, she still had to watch her daughter walk down the road, bouncing excitedly as she chattered to a stranger in elaborate robes.

            “It’ll be alright,” her own mother said, even if she didn’t entirely sound like she believed it.  “The Foretellers are blessed; they’ll protect them.”

            (They did not hear from Elaine again.)

[jackiesunshines]

IN ANOTHER LIFE, MY DEAR | I.ENGEN²³

summary: you read over the collection of letters your ingrid has sent you over the year of your love. her words make your grief calmer.

contains: retelling of romeo and juilette in gay, letter form, juilet.ᐟingrid x romeo.ᐟreader, mentions of homophobia & death/suicide, set in an unspecified time in norway, ingrid is the only daughter of wealthy family while reader is apart of a poorer family of farmers, this is wlw!!, implied masc.ᐟreader, inaccuracies of the romeo & juilet story i'm adapting the story to fit what i want this to be, ingrid and reader are around eighteen to twenty years old, unhappy ending.

author notes: i just had the idea for this and was like might as well write it. hopefully you guys enjoy 💞

from lady ingrid of the engen family,

i saw you the other night at lady frida's gathering. you were wearing such a stuffy dress and i could tell by your expression that you hated every second of it, but oh you looked stunning. in your usual garments that i see you in, you look always look so handsome. is that weird to say of a woman? i hope not because the word suits you. i think stunning suits you as well. maybe one day we can try on dresses together? only if i can see the cute pout you had last night.

━ june 2nd

from lady ingrid of the engen family,

do you know i am sending my letters in secret? relying on the bribing of the men who work on my family's estate grounds? every time you write back, my heart feels warm. my parents don't believe in being close to ones "below us," whatever that means. i don't see you as below me. not at all. i made my riding teacher take me all the way past your family's farm, so i could see you. it was late in the afternoon, and i was worried that you would be resting inside, but no, you were out working like one of the men. if someone saw you and your brothers, they wouldn't be able to tell you apart, but i can. your brothers aren't as beautiful as you, no offense to their looks. you're like a rose amongst a bunch of flower less stems. you didn't see me, but i saw you. those few minutes felt like getting a taste of heaven. please write back sooner than last time.

━ june 14th

from your friend ingrid of the engen family,

are we close enough that i can call you my friend? is it strange that i complimented you various times but only now asking for your hand in friendship? i loved seeing you today, down by the river with your dog. if only my brother didn't take me away, i would have talked to you longer. i pray he didn't tell my parents about what happened, but they keep things from me, so what do i know? do your parents do the same? i doubt they do with the way they allow you to work on the farm. however if they do then they would be hypocrites. i ate a very sweet strawberry cake today as a treat and it reminded me of you. when the taste fleeted me, it reminds me of you the most.

━ june 23rd

from your friend ingrid,

how did you find a way to send me a gift? you are so clever. it just draws me to you more. i'm wearing the dress you sent right now. it's so soft but not as soft as your skin. that night, i snuck out and came to see you for those few minutes, i can't get it out of my head. please, may we do it again sometime soon? you said in your last letter that i hugged like someone yearning for something. it is true. i yearn for you.

━ july 1st

from your dove, ingrid,

no one has ever compared me to an animal before. especially not a bird, but when i came to your family's farm with my father, i heard you whisper to your friend who was there at the time that i was as angelic as a dove. thank you. i would compare you to an adorable animal as well, but that would be underselling your beauty. so for now and hopefully forever, you are my angel.

━ july 9th

from your dove, ingrid,

sorry for not writing back in ages. i'm having troubles here at home. my parents want me to get married. can you believe them? they say it would be worthwhile to get married now when my beauty isn't fading, but you always told me that my beauty would never fade. who shall i believe? am i only worthy if i am gorgeous? please help me answer this question of mine. you seem to be in a better state than me when it comes to marriage. your parents don't seem to care about your romantic life, but mines are stuck in the restricted standards of our class. i don't want to marry anyone who isn't you. is that too big of a confession?

━ october 24th

from your dove, ingrid,

we kissed last night. i can't believe it. forget any marriage to some man who can't even have half of the strength and smarts that you do and none of the beauty. i love you

━ november 1st

from ingrid,

my parents called me into their room and sat me down and told me that i would be getting married by the summer of next year. somehow, some way, they have found out about our letters. those disloyal men of my family's estate must have ratted me out. we are too close for my family's comfort. women shouldn't write like this to one another. my mother told me i should put my serenading skills to use for a man as that is the way of nature. if that is the way of nature, then why does it feel so unnatural? i'll find a way to write to, my love. hopefully, this is not my last.

━ december 2nd

from ingrid

happy new year, my angel. they can take me away from our hometown, but they can never take me away from you.

━ january 1st

from your dove,

putting my name on these feels risky now. i don't know how long the couple i pay for will continue doing this for me. i don't know the next time my family will try to tear me away from you. i have not met my husband yet, we will meet on our wedding day, but i promise you that day will not be a happy one. let's plan something together. take care, my angel.

━ february 16th

your dove,

i will send the couple with the amount of money we need and the documents i have forged. you are so handsome that i hope that when this plan happens, people will take one look at you and just believe you are a man. hopefully, they don't look closer because then they will see that your beauty is something a man can never achieve. i had to put a compliment into here, i would say sorry, but i know you love it. i love you, take care.

━ april 4th

your dove,

can't wait to be with you, my angel. see you in a month.

━ april 18th

your dove,

my family and his family have decided to get us married earlier than planned. i think my parents are worried that i am still thinking of you, and of course, they are right, but that doesn't mean it makes me any less angry. i will never be wed to him, i swear on my life. i love you, and we will be together, whether in this life or in death. if i can not run away, then i promise i will never let him take me away from you.

━ may 22nd

to my angel,

is it true? there are rumors that you have died of an illness, i don't believe that for one second. my wedding night is tomorrow, and my family is feeding me lies. i kept telling myself that, but then they showed me a letter from your father that stated your death right there in ink. i don't know what to believe, but i do know i do not want to be wed to this man. not for one night or for the rest of my life. i told you i would love you forever, and that is true. we promised to be together, but i never thought it would end up being in death rather than in life. i am only writing this in hopes that my family will find this and see that they have driven us to madness. i'll shall see you in heaven, my angel. i will ignore the sharp pain of the dagger by thinking of the sweetness of your kiss. i love you.

━ june 1st

author notes: this might suck? idkkkk 🙂‍↕️

[scotianostra]

On February 8th 1587 Mary Queen of Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay Castle.

The Queen was heard to repeat 'Into thy Hands O Lord, do I commit my Spirit' many times as she went to her death.

Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantome was a member of the French nobility who accompanied Mary during her internment. He provides us with a sympathetic account of Mary's execution that begins with the arrival of a delegation from Queen Elizabeth announcing that the former Queen of the Scots is to be executed the next day:

"On February 7, 1587, the representatives of the English Queen, reached the Castle of Fotheringay, where the Queen of Scotland was confined at that time, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon. In the presence of her jailer, Paulet, they read their commission regarding the execution of the prisoner, and said that they would proceed with their task the next morning between seven and eight o'clock. The jailer was then ordered to have everything in readiness.

Without betraying any astonishment, the Queen thanked them for their good news, saying that nothing could be more welcome to her, since she longed for an end to her miseries, and had been prepared for death ever since she had been sent as a prisoner to England. However, she begged the envoys to give her a little time in which to make herself ready, make her will, and place her affairs in order. It was within their power and discretion to grant these requests. The Count of Shrewsbury replied rudely:

'No, no, Madam you must die, you must die! Be ready between seven and eight in the morning. It cannot be delayed a moment beyond that time.' " It was that sudden, very little time for Mary to prepare, a brutal way to spend the last few hours on this earth........Mary spent the rest of the day and the early hours of the next morning writing farewell letters to friends and relatives, saying goodbye to her ladies-in-waiting, and praying.

At 2 am on Wednesday 8 February 1587, Mary Queen of Scots picked up her pen for the last time. Her execution on the block at Fotheringhay Castle was a mere six hours away when she wrote this letter. It is addressed to Henri III of France, brother of her first husband. The letter was written in French, the following is a translation and is a fascinating insight into the mind of our Queen hours before her murder. Mary had only learnt her fate a few hours earlier.

Note, even though she had been forced to abdicate, and had been a prisoner of her cousin for 19 years, she still called herself, Queen of Scotland.

Queen of Scotland

8 Feb. 1587

Sire, my brother-in-law, having by God's will, for my sins I think, thrown myself into the power of the Queen my cousin, at whose hands I have suffered much for almost twenty years, I have finally been condemned to death by her and her Estates. I have asked for my papers, which they have taken away, in order that I might make my will, but I have been unable to recover anything of use to me, or even get leave either to make my will freely or to have my body conveyed after my death, as I would wish, to your kingdom where I had the honour to be queen, your sister and old ally.

Tonight, after dinner, I have been advised of my sentence: I am to be executed like a criminal at eight in the morning. I have not had time to give you a full account of everything that has happened, but if you will listen to my doctor and my other unfortunate servants, you will learn the truth, and how, thanks be to God, I scorn death and vow that I meet it innocent of any crime, even if I were their subject. The Catholic faith and the assertion of my God-given right to the English crown are the two issues on which I am condemned, and yet I am not allowed to say that it is for the Catholic religion that I die, but for fear of interference with theirs. The proof of this is that they have taken away my chaplain, and although he is in the building, I have not been able to get permission for him to come and hear my confession and give me the Last Sacrament, while they have been most insistent that I receive the consolation and instruction of their minister, brought here for that purpose. The bearer of this letter and his companions, most of them your subjects, will testify to my conduct at my last hour. It remains for me to beg Your Most Christian Majesty, my brother-in-law and old ally, who have always protested your love for me, to give proof now of your goodness on all these points: firstly by charity, in paying my unfortunate servants the wages due them - this is a burden on my conscience that only you can relieve further, by having prayers offered to God for a queen who has borne the title Most Christian, and who dies a Catholic, stripped of all her possessions. As for my son, I commend him to you in so far as he deserves, for I cannot answer for him. I have taken the liberty of sending you two precious stones, talismans against illness, trusting that you will enjoy good health and a long and happy life. Accept them from your loving sister-in-law, who, as she dies, bears witness of her warm feeling for you. Again I commend my servants to you. Give instructions, if it please you, that for my soul's sake part of what you owe me should be paid, and that for the sake of Jesus Christ, to whom I shall pray for you tomorrow as I die, I be left enough to found a memorial mass and give the customary alms.

This Wednesday, two hours after midnight.

Your very loving and most true sister, Mary R

To the most Christian king, my brother-in-law and old ally.

We rejoin de Bourdeille's account as Mary enters the room designated for her execution and is denied access to her priest:

"The scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large room. It measured twelve feet along each side and two feet in height, and was covered by a coarse cloth of linen.

The Queen entered the room full of grace and majesty, just as if she were coming to a ball. There was no change on her features as she entered.

Drawing up before the scaffold, she summoned her major-domo (steward) and said to him:

'Please help me mount this. This is the last request I shall make of you.'

Then she repeated to him all that she had said to him in her room about what he should tell her son. Standing on the scaffold, she asked for her almoner, (chaplain) begging the officers present to allow him to come. But this was refused point-blank. The Count of Kent told her that he pitied her greatly to see her thus the victim of the superstition of past ages, advising her to carry the cross of Christ in her heart rather than in her hand. To this she replied that it would be difficult to hold a thing so lovely in her hand and not feel it thrill the heart, and that what became every Christian in the hour of death was to bear with him the true Symbol of Redemption."

Standing on the scaffold, Mary angrily rejects her captors' offer of a Protestant minister to give her comfort. She kneels while she begs that Queen Elizabeth spare her ladies-in-waiting and prays for the conversion of the Isle of Britain and Scotland to the Catholic Church:

"When this was over, she summoned her women to help her remove her black veil, her head-dress, and other ornaments. When the executioner attempted to do this, she cried out:

'Nay, my good man, touch me not!'

But she could not prevent him from touching her, for when her dress was lowered as far as her waist; the scoundrel caught her roughly by the arm and pulled off her doublet. Her skirt was cut so low that her neck and throat, whiter than alabaster, were revealed. She concealed these as well as she could, saying that she was not used to disrobing in public, especially before so large an assemblage. There were about four or five hundred people present.

The executioner fell to his knees before her and implored her forgiveness. The Queen told him that she willingly forgave him and alI who were responsible for her death, as freely as she hoped her sins would be forgiven by God. Turning to the woman to whom she, had given her handkerchief, she asked for it.

She wore a golden crucifix, made out of the wood of the true cross, with a picture of Our Lord on it. She was about to give this to one of her women, but the executioner forbade it, even though Her Majesty had promised that the woman would give him thrice its value in money.

After kissing her women once more, she bade them go, with her blessing, as she made the sign of the cross over them. One of them was unable to keep from crying, so that the Queen had to impose silence upon her by saying she had promised that nothing of the kind would interfere with the business in hand. They were to stand back quietly, pray to God for her soul, and bear truthful testimony that she had died in the bosom of the Holy Catholic religion.

One of the women then tied the handkerchief over her eyes. The Queen quickly, and with great courage, knelt dawn, showing no signs of faltering. So great was her bravery that all present were moved, and there were few among them that could refrain from tears. In their hearts they condemned themselves far the injustice that was being done.

The executioner, or rather the minister of Satan, strove to kill not only her body but also her soul, and kept interrupting her prayers. The Queen repeated in Latin the Psalm beginning In te, Damine, speravi; nan canfundar in aeternum. When she was through she laid her head on the block, and as she repeated the prayer, the executioner struck her a great blow upon the neck, which was not, however, entirely severed. Then he struck twice more, since it was obvious that he wished to make the victim's martyrdom all the more severe. It was not so much the suffering, but the cause, that made the martyr.

The executioner then picked up the severed head and, showing it to those present, cried out: 'God save Queen Elizabeth! May all the enemies of the true Evangel thus perish!'

Saying this, he stripped off the dead Queen's head-dress, in order to show her hair, which was now white, and which she had been afraid to show to everyone when she was still alive, or to have properly dressed, as she did when her hair was fair and light.

It was not old age that had turned it white, for she was only thirty-five when this took place, and scarcely forty when she met her death, but the troubles, misfortunes, and sorrows which she had suffered, especially in her prison."

The account of Pierre de Bourdeille was originally published in 1665 and republished many times thereafter.

There are many different illustrations of Mary's execution......

[felixcloud6288]

Dungeon Meshi Chapter 76

It's him! It's our boy!

Here's some ideas I got based on the title image:

The Lugantes appear to be dwarfs. They have a connection to the gold peelers. Maybe they hire people to assist with mining operations.

One of the gold peelers is dead. He kind of looks like the corpse retriever from chapter 31 who cast that illusion on Kabru's party but I'm probably not right.

The half-foot next to the Shadow Lord looks like the one from the bar in chapter 9. If he is, then that bar was likely owned by the Shadow Lord. I wonder if the people the orcs killed were ever resurrected.

The Shadow Lord appears to have some connection to the corpse retrievers Kabru killed. If true, then the Shadow Lord may have been helping them track adventurers and cover up their actions for a cut of the profits. Maybe he even sent his own men to kill adventurers and sent the corpse retrievers to "discover" the bodies.

That informant isn't an elf, but they're wearing the same cloak the Canaries wear. The informant has a connection to Fionil so I double-checked her appearance and she's also wearing the same cloak the Canaries wear. Fionil and the informant might be working for the Canaries, but the informant might also be acting as a double agent by giving information to the Lugantes as well.

Had to review the last few chapters cause I wasn't sure why Lycion was okay and just chilling with Laios's party.

He wasn't able to help the other canaries last chapter cause he was busy restraining Izutsumi.

Enough time passed since the end of chapter 74 that Izutsumi was able to get dressed. I don't know if I'd rather take the reasonable assumption that Kabru convinced Lycion and Izutsumi to stop fighting and she got dressed after, or if I'd rather take the silly approach and say the two of them just decided to stop fighting on their own and were just sitting around eating the leftover bavarois until Kabru showed up.

Izutsumi's scarf is tied in a bow and I refuse to believe she would have done that, and I am therefore going to headcanon that Lycion tied her scarf into a bow.

Fleki isn't dead so the lion obeyed the letter of Marcille's command to not kill anyone but not the spirit.

Mithrun survived by teleporting into a giant spider. The thing that hit the wall last chapter was the spider's guts.

That's...really gross.

And the teddy bear spider had teeth.

Mithrun can't teleport when making a lot of contact? So this means a grappler opponent is a hard counter if they can manage to grab and pin him before Mithrun teleports them.

Did Kabru choke Mithrun out? And was Mithrun the one who made the cuffs?

The giant spiders having non-spider heads really does just make them creepier. Especially when their bodies get crushed. Spiders have a decentralized nervous system, so limbs can react independently even after the brain is destroyed. And the rabbit-head spider's ears can still move despite being dead.

Is there a name for the way Laios is carrying Cithis? The best comparison I found was the piggyback carry where the rider is supposed to wrap their arms around the carrier. But since she's unconscious, Laios is holding her arms criss-cross to secure her.

Don't ever think Laios is stupid. He had enough intuition to figure out what happened after Cithis hypnotized him.

I don't know why, but I feel like Lycion would get along great with Laios's party. If they didn't have opposing goals, he and Fleki would probably be best buds with the gang.

I keep forgetting that Lycion is a beastman. I jokingly said he was the Canary's Senshi (because of fanservice), but he's actually more like a reverse Izutsumi.

On that train of thought, I'm going to assign Mithrun as the anti-Senshi (Doesn't care about his health or well-being at all), Fleki as the anti-Chilchuck (She seems like a snarker who complains about everything), Pattadol as the anti-Marcille (both are really high-strung and by-the-books), and Cithis as the anti-Laios (She's just evil). I don't know where to fit Otta in this so I'm just going to call her the anti-Namari cause why not?

On a completely pointless note, we can say that Cithis and Pattadol are heavier than Otta because Izutsumi could carry Otta but Laios and Senshi had to carry Cithis and Pattadol.

This image is really disorienting.

The dungeon doesn't adhere to Euclidean space but this just lays bare how nonsense the layout was. In particular, we can see the entrance to the fourth level on the left center of the image. You have to exit out of the bottom of a tower with no other discernible entry points.

The secret town on the sixth floor is in the background and we can see the top layer of the dwarf city ruins under it.

Falin's body has been moved.

Several early chapters in the series brought up the ecologic balance of the dungeon. In particular, I remember Senshi explaining that the golems on the third floor serve as a deterrent to keep the stronger monsters from moving to higher levels.

With all the levels now on the same plane, we're seeing something like that scenario play out. The natural bottlenecks the old dungeon structure had are broken and flying monsters have immediately attempted to expand their territories.

Some monsters can't survive in the upper levels because the mana concentration is too thin. If monsters are managing to move across different environments, that could mean that the amount of mana in the air is increasing as well.

I can't tell if the reason Laios is worried is because Marcille's actions will get people killed or because she's doing a bad job building the dungeon.

Fleki got brain damage when her familiar was killed, but Marcille wasn't affected by her familiars' deaths. It's probably because Marcille's familiars were constructs while Fleki's aren't.

Marcille's familiars were more like drones she was piloting remotely. When the first two were killed by the hippogriff, she had a stressed look to her eyes so the sudden disconnection might be mentally taxing, but it doesn't actually affect her.

Fleki's familiars are conjured by her. She has at least two familiars: the raven familiar she uses in battle and white dove familiars she uses for scouting. I want to guess that the white doves are more similar to Marcille's familiars; they're drones that let Fleki scout in wide areas and likely won't harm her if they get attacked.

Her raven familiar is definitely an extension of her. I mentioned in chapter 74 that she has a tattoo of some sort on her chest. That might be what lets her summon her raven. And she's able to control how much her soul exists in the raven. In chapter 73, she was unconscious until the raven flew back into her. But in chapter 74, she was just remote piloting it.

I realized while talking about Fleki that she wears a hawker's glove.

And again, the Canaries refuse to actually work with non-elves. It might be beneficial to work with Laios, but Lycion told him to not get involved. And as soon as Laios said no, Lycion immediately escalated to violence. Laios doesn't even know why the situation is worse than it seems.

Initially, Laios was in shock when Lycion showed off his power but then he was enthralled.

Kabru does not have a weapon. And I'd say he hasn't had a weapon since returning to the surface. He probably thought he wouldn't need one since he was just going to try negotiating with the Shadow Lord. And then everything happened.

Kensuke was all confuzzled and curious because someone else was holding it.

It's probably a mix of urgency and only recently meeting Kabru, but Laios got over Kabru lying to him really quickly. It's probably happened plenty of times where he met someone, thought they hit it off and quickly learned that wasn't the case. Shuro hurt far more because they'd been together for years. Laios had only known Kabru for about a month, so he could just brush it off as another failed interaction.

Kabru is a manipulator, and Laios is the one person he's never been able to successfully manipulate. He took an interest in Laios because Laios's party had been the most successful at navigating the dungeon, and Kabru wanted to know what might happen if he were to conquer the dungeon.

But at some point, that interest turned into an obsession, especially since he could never ensnare Laios with any of his usual methods. Kabru's conspiracy board shows how all the other figures, adventurers, and organizations tie together; but the Touden siblings sit in the middle of that board because Kabru can't figure out how they connect to anything.

His only avenue to getting close to Laios was by eating monsters, which he hated and it drove him so crazy that Kabru started picturing Laios as a deranged madman who is a threat to mankind.

And with the charade revealed, Laios is figuratively and literally slipping out of Kabru's grip.

Apologizing for his deception gave Kabru one chance to plead with Laios, but he had no idea what to say because none of his manipulations and honeyed words will work. He tried to explain the situation but he knows deep down that Laios doesn't care about the world or the greater good. Nothing Kabru says about the situation will convince Laios to leave a friend behind.

So Kabru decided to be genuine.

Laios's obliviousness to how others feel about him works in two ways. Not only was he clueless to Shuro not wanting to be Laios's friend, he was clueless to Kabru wanting to be his friend. Shuro dealt with a lot of grief because Laios thought they were friends the whole time. And Kabru suffered a lot in his efforts to become Laios's friends.

And they both did the same thing when they reached their tipping point.

And then he airs out all his grievances about Laios's obliviousness.

CANNONBALL BREAKER!!!

It's been a serious chapter and the tension got broken up by Kui reminding us that Izutsumi and Lycion were fighting each other right off-screen during this entire heart-to-heart.

Kabru didn't manage to stop Laios, but he managed to get his point across. While Laios is determined to save Marcille, he will not side with the lion. And when this is over, he and Kabru will sit down and get to know each other.

They all forgot that Thistle's house was converted into a floating island.

back

[a-hell-of-a-time]

Andrealphus watched as she cautiously approached, as if he were a skittish animal who would flee at the first sign of danger. Such caution around him was good; it was something he had tried to stress to her for a while, along with the fact that the goetia were too dangerous to let your guard down. One could not be as brazen as she with the members of Hell's noble court for long without paying for it.

As she spoke, the marquis turned prince regent found himself slowly sinking into his seat. Every word she spoke ran true, and she hadn't been the first to say so. Vassago and Caim both had told him numerous times how foolish this all was, but it wasn't until Jillian put it all together that it started to truly sink in.

All of his life he had sought the approval and affection of a man who could not, and would not give it. He had wanted to make his family and his father proud, and had grown cold and ruthless in the world of goetian politics to climb and prove himself worthy of his station. Yet every little thing he did was met with scorn and derision, even when done to the letter.

Furthermore, having taken possession of everything Stolas owned had left him with more responsibility and stress than he was ready for. In fact, he had half a mind to give it all to Octavia now and be done with it. However, the girl as far from ready to take up such a mantle, which meant that he was stuck with it until he gave it up willingly, or Paimon took it from him.

And what did his father have to say about all of this? 'About time you did something right,' which was uttered with as much disdain as the old man could muster. There was no pride to be found, no confident smirk, no congratulations.

Nothing.

Andrealphus had worked hard and attained a position his father could only dream of, and not one ounce of acknowledgement was sent his way.

Jillian was right: Fuck him. If he wanted the respect and acknowledgement he deserved, he wouldn't get it from his father, nor his mother. He had it from his sister and the very few he had in his circle.

"...you're right."

It was only upon Andrealphus' admittance of how tired he was, that a soft knock could be heard upon the doorframe of the study's door. Jillian stood there, decked out in the usual winter coat and gloves she often donned when she was coming to visit Andrealphus. "I was gonna surprise ya by stoppin' by. But when I heard ya were on a roll, I figured I should let ya finish before comin' in." Jillian said, her voice noticably soft and delicate as she walked over to Andrealphus. Her movements were slow and unthreatening, as though she were approaching a skittish animal that could either bolt away or bite into her should she make a wrong move. Only after she'd gotten within touching distance to Andrealphus, did Jillian speak again. "...I need ya to stop this. Before it kills ya." Jillian picked up the bottle of wine, looking at it with a kind of angry understanding. "This need to impress an' get respect from people who don' matta an' neva will...it's gonna be the end of ya. An' ya aren' even happy with what ya have gained from it! That should show ya it's time to stop." Jillian set the bottle of wine down with a loud clank, before turning to look at Andrealphus again. "I kept tellin' myself that ya knew what ya were doin'. An' that ya would be smart enough to stop before ya completely crumbled into a mess of resentment an' valid anga. But I can see now ya won', so I'll jus' say it to ya face an' hope ya get it- this will neva get betta. Ya can' fix it, an' ya need to take a stand now, while ya still got enough sanity to do it." Jillian reached out, taking ahold of Andrealphus' face. "Take a stand an' eitha give those who don' give a shit about ya the verbal shreddin' of a lifetime, or tell 'em ya won' be party to their disrespect anymore. Ya wan' respect? Stop bein' a doormat to people who wouldn' spit on ya if ya were on fire!"

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[glittertimes]

I think I finally understand what’s at the root of all my weird little problems and why I have such a hard time connecting with my body.

I do so much work to read and be smart as a defensive mechanism because I’m a really kind caring person and that makes me a little naive and I look a lot younger than I am so I feel like people think I’m easy to manipulate.

But then there’s a part of me that feels like it’s not safe to be smart, and that sounds so weird and counterintuitive but I realized it’s because I’m terrified of being seen.

Like if I’m smart I’m going to have to act on it and challenge people and that’ll bring attention on me that I don’t want to deal with so I’ll continue to be the kind naive nice girl even if people are mistreating me because it’s not safe to be seen it’s not safe to be smart.

Like my body will not use basic protection methods like setting boundaries, saying no or standing up for myself because that requires me to get over that fear of being seen. Like my body fears being seen more than it fears being mistreated and that’s kind of terrifying.

[acotars]

(I have no idea if this will make sense—sorry I’ve had some wine this evening and so I’m rambling)

I think this is a “popular” opinion but not widespread—people need to understand that there is so much nuance to reading. Obviously there’s the “you can like things I don’t like” and vice versa, but also in HOW people enjoy things. Like take Fourth Wing (I know I know), but while I also agree with a lot of the complaints, I still was just like “that was a fun time, I totally ignored all the sex scenes bc I hate how they were written, but I was vibing the whole time.” And I feel like some people would still respond to my opinion like “okay but it was so horrible how did you even enjoy it at all??? Lame”

Like okay Betty, I love high fantasy as much as you, but sometimes I want something that just fucks, okay?

(and not to say you aren’t allowed to not like things, but there seems to be a fine line between “hey! I didn’t like this but that’s okay” and “I hated this and I CANNOT comprehend why ANYONE could find even an inkling of fun from this + I’m going to subtly implicate that I think people who like this are stupid”) (obviously not for books that are objectively hurtful or offensive)

And of course you can go so many different ways than just that example, but it’s a mix of gate-keeping, prejudice, lack of empathy, and a bit of a superiority complex that makes it so hard for the reading community to really be united.

[long-anti-covid]

if you have the ability to edit the pre-written letter (especially the subject line), please do so! it doesn't need to be long or super eloquently written, it just needs to be different from the form letter!

Help win cleaner indoor air!

The Airborne Act (H.R. 9000) creates incentives to clean up indoor air! It offers tax credits to commercial building owners for conducting indoor air quality assessments and making upgrades to ventilation and air filtration.

Indoor air quality upgrades can reduce substantially airborne diseases—protecting our health and decreasing health care expenses, lost wages and lost productivity.

[leebrontide]

Ok so my kid had an ear infection, right? As kids often do.

The doctor scraped out a bit of earwax to have a better look inside.

I was sent a bill for $200 PER EAR for this 5 second procedure which I did not give permission for them to do.

That was key- they did not ASK me if they could do this "procedure". And, as I OWN a medical practice (it's me. The medical practice is me, sitting in my house on video calls) I knew to call them when this bill came in to be like "You did not obtain informed consent for this procedure, and it was not en emergency procedure. You had full ability to gain my consent and didn't. I'm not paying."

And the massive hospital who owned the bill said "yuh-huh you do have to pay."

And I said "I own a practice. I know these laws. I do not owe you money for this."

And they conducted an "internal review" and SURPRISE! Decided I totally owed them money and they had never done anything wrong ever.

And so I called my state's Attorney General office, and explained the situation because, as I mentioned, I know the law. The AG got in touch within a couple days to say they were taking the case and would send the massive hospital conglomerate a knock it off, guys letter.

Lo and Behold, today I have a letter where said hospital graciously has agreed to forfeit the payment.

"How not to get screwed over by companies" should be part of civics class.

Know your rights and know who to call when they're infringed on. This whole process cost me $0 and honestly less effort than I would have expected.

May this knowledge find its way to someone else who can use it.