#which is the key to success for people even in today's time.

[ipseitydelrey]

your lips, my lips ☆ s. reid

ship sub!spencer reid x fem!reader

content/warnings smutty smut (mdni 18+), mutual masturbation, mommy kink, accidental voyeurism, he sounds like a slut you can’t blame yourself

word count 2.5k

summary after spencer returns home early from a case, you come back home after work to find him in an incredibly compromised position.

a/n ignore the accidental hiatus, but hi !! im probably not going to be able to post at all in may bc im going to be in europe for the entire month. i’m posting this before going in a cave so…enjoy this as a treat!

To put it briefly, Spencer was…awkward.

That’s not to discredit him, though. You can tell that he loves the team and you (especially you). Although he’s less awkward around people he trusts and has known for longer, he still can’t really speak up for what he wants.

And the poor boy is just so touch starved. It’s clear he’s practically clueless when it comes to other forms of intimacy aside from sympathetic hugs to friends or victims in a case. Hell, it even took a month since you started dating for Spencer to be comfortable huddling next to you on the couch; it took even longer for him to be fine with sharing the same bed.

You had barely done anything sexual yet. The closest you had probably gotten to something intimate like that with him was him involuntarily jutting his hips up into your ass when you were making out on the couch. You had hoped that he would continue to do that, especially with how you could feel his hardness pressing up against your core, but he got so flustered and started stammering out high-pitched apologies before moving away and retreating into the bathroom. You imagined that he probably took care of it, but knowing him, maybe he doesn’t jerk off.

You went with that assumption for a while since you — and especially him — hadn’t initiated anything potentially steamy. For him, makeout sessions were enough and although you wanted more, you were okay with indulging in him. You figured that with how touch starved he was, you should take it slow before moving on.

You got to leave work early, and you’re usually glad when that happens but today you’re especially happy because Spencer had just gotten back from a successful case a couple hours ago. When he landed, he immediately texted you, letting you know where he was. When you left your workplace, you had forgotten to text him that you’ll be home earlier than expected, but you’re sure that he wouldn’t mind.

After all, he’s probably just as excited to see you, if not more.

You don’t call out to him when you unlock and open the apartment door; he should hear that you’re home with the locking of the door and the tossing of the keys, as well as the rustle of your coat as you take it off and hang it up.

It’s quiet, but that isn’t really saying anything since it usually is. But you’d figured that he’d meet you at the doorway, which he didn’t.

Odd.

You’re just about to call out to him when you hear a peculiar and out-of-place sound: a moan.

Although it startles you a bit, you think that it was probably the neighbours; that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense consdiering it’s coming from inside the apartment, but it’s more believable than…

Then you hear another one, and this time you can finally pinpoint its location. It sounds like it’s coming from the bedroom. Spencer? It’s not impossible, but you had just figured that he wouldn’t be the type to pleasure himself, especially with those sorts of reactions.

You slowly make your way towards the room in question, seeing that the door is slightly ajar, leaving a sliver for you to peer in.

What you find is a heavenly sight: Spencer, fully unclothed, splayed across the bed with his length in his fist. His pace is slow, but it’s still enough for him to whimper and moan quite audibly. His other hand is gripping tightly onto the sheets as his head pushes back against a pillow.

It’s perverted, but you feel as if you can’t tear yourself away from watching. At this point, you start to wonder if he knows you’re here or if he even heard you come into the apartment. You struggle to keep quiet as your panties grow damp, and you end up biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning at the sight.

The sound of his fist moving up and down his leaking cock is lewd, his precum dribbling down and even slightly coating his hand.

“o-oh m-mommy—” Him saying that is your breaking point, and you push the door open and enter the room.

He finally notices you and he pulls the sheets he was just grasping onto for dear life up to cover his throbbing dick. You were expecting him to do that; although what he was just doing was insanely hot, he’s still shy, even around you.

He looks away from you, clearly embarrassed he was caught. “Uh, I was— I— ah…” he attempts to explain himself but it leads nowhere. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, sounding defeated.

“Why are you sorry?” It’s not a needed question; you know exactly why he thinks so. You move to sit on the edge of the bed as he moves away, still having the sheets pulled up to cover himself. He stammers, but no words come out. He’s so flustered and red in his cheeks, you fear he’s about to pop.

He squirms in his position slightly while a tiny noise that you can barely hear escapes from his lips. A noise of discomfort, you recognize quickly, but you’re not sure if it’s because you just caught him in a private moment or if it’s because his cock is starting to get achy from the lack of stimulation.

“Baby,” you say in a more serious tone, leaning into the notion of his fantasy of you as his mommy, “why are you sorry?”

You stare at him, though you wish he could return your gaze. “Y-You probably feel…uncomfortable b-because—”

Softly, you shush him, holding a finger up against his lips, and you smile. “I’m not uncomfortable,” you assure him.

“You’re not?” he asks, his words vibrating against your index.

You shake your head as you pull your finger away from his lips, instead moving to grab his chin with a soft grip. His cheeks squish against your fingers softly, making his lips look even more plush and kissable. You push your lips against his gently, though it’s obvious that he’s eager from the way he pushes against your mouth to chase the kiss.

The way he whines when you pull away from him is so cute, you feel as if you want to give in to his need to have you closer to him. But he can tell that you want to do something else to satisfy him, so Spencer quiets down. Your hand, however, remains firmly yet softly gripping his jaw.

You look down at the sheets covering his lower half, his erection not-so-subtlety poking the thin fabric, and you glance back up at him. “Do you want me to…” you trail off before looking down at his boner again.

In all honesty, it takes Spencer a good second or two before he gets what you meant by that offer. “U-uh, well, ah…” he stutters. You’re not exactly sure what he wants and frankly neither is he. Based on his previous experiences with intimacy, you decide to not give him a blowjob, or even a handjob.

You both sit there in silence; you can practically cut the tension in the room with a knife. As you think of what to do — since you don’t just want to ignore it, nor do you want to leave him unsatisfied and awkward — Spencer squirms uncomfortably, shifting ever so slightly. His thighs accidentally clench together, squeezing his erection under the blanket, causing him to whimper softly. He silently hopes that you didn’t catch that noise he made, but you did…and it gave you an idea; one that will satisfy both of your urges.

“Do you wanna keep going?” You ask. He would probably much rather do this himself, although you don’t know how he would feel if he were to masturbate right in front of you.

He hesitates for a second, but he does nod shyly. You notice how he’s not meeting your gaze with his own, avoiding eye contact almost entirely. Instead, he’s looking in the direction of your waist.

Without informing him, you stand up and your hands quickly find their way to the buttons on your pants undoing them. Spencer watches with an air of anticipation and slight anxiety as you pull your pants down, a bit hastily and it definitely shows just how eager you are at this moment. Your underwear is certainly damp with how much this situation has you turned on and he can see it clearly too. You couldn’t pinpoint his expression as he sees the wetness, whether he’s nervous or intrigued, until you see him lick his lips — a motion that he only does when he’s excited.

At last, you peel off your soaked panties, but you keep your eyes on his face, wanting to see his reaction at seeing you half-naked. Sure, he’s seen you in your bra and panties before, but that was never sexual and only when you were changing clothes in front of him. He’s always looked away, the gentleman that he is, but he couldn’t resist taking a peek or two at your near-unclothed state. Just like how now, where he can see your bare pussy, glistening and wet, he just can’t resist staring.

He doesn’t mind it; no, not at all. In fact, it’s just making him even more excited, to the point where he slightly pulls down the sheets that are covering his dick — not enough to actually show his arousal, but enough to clearly see his happy trail, which has you salivating.

You get back on the bed, not bothering to take your shirt off as well. You just want to get started already, but you think it would be better if you know he’s comfortable with this whole situation first.

“Is this okay?” you ask, alluding to your nakedness as your thighs are slightly spread, giving him a nice view of your cunt.

He swallows and nods feverishly as his gaze continues to bore into your pussy; all of his attention seems to be focused there, which amuses you.

Deciding to take the initiative, your hand makes its way towards your core. You dip the tips of your fingers in your wet folds, collecting some of the slick and bringing it up to your clit, where you start to gently rub it in small and slow circles.

You hear Spencer’s breath hitch as you do this. It’s like you’re subtly encouraging him to do the same thing and start masturbating again, which is exactly what you’re going for.

He ends up pulling the covers off his pelvis completely, allowing you to see his cock-filled hand. You bite your lip at the sight of him starting to slowly stroke his length again, although timidly, as if he’s being judged. You’re not doing that, of course; you wouldn’t dare judge him for doing something so pleasing in front of you.

He keeps avoiding your gaze so you lean forward as you continue to massage your clit gently and you bring your other hand to tilt his head up by his chin to look at you. The eye contact you both have now is both awkward yet erotic. You’re not really doing anything with each other, you’re just two people touching themselves in front of the other.

A couple minutes into this shared experience, Spencer is starting to get more confident and less self-conscious. His strokes are getting longer and faster, making him produce more noises from his throat; mostly small whimpers with the occasional moan but by god, those small moans just get you going. You end up quickening your pace too and you let yourself make tiny whines too.

Eventually, your fingers move from your clit and back down to your folds, where you insert a finger into your cunt. The sound that falls from your lips after you do so is more motivation for Spencer to speed up again. You thrust your finger in and out at the same pace as his hand and you’re sure you both are imagining something more intimate at this point.

You add a second finger and then later on a third and now, a few minutes later, you’re both moving in sync and moaning up a storm. His moans are louder though, but you don’t mind at all. They just give you more reason to speed up and keep going.

Nearing the end, you’re wondering who’s going to cum first. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Spencer did so before you since he’s been jerking off for longer than you have but with the way the pleasure is building up in your stomach, you’re not entirely sure anymore; your mind is just focused on the intense pleasure and nothing else.

“O-oh god…” you hear him whine. Now you know who is going to finish first.

“You gonna cum, baby?” It takes you some effort to ask that question, especially since for the past ten or so minutes, you’ve just been touching yourselves without even talking.

“Mhm,” he hums in response as he nods. His hand is going at such a quick pace that you can clearly hear how his precum-coated palm is moving up and down his cock. “S’much, I…”

“It’s okay, honey,” you stammer out. Then, in your pleasure-fueled haze, an idea forms in your head. “You can cum. Cum for mommy~”

The use of that nickname for you really gets him going and he can no longer hold himself back. “M-mommy!” he cries out with a gasp for air as cum spurts out of the tip of his cock. He lets his head hang back and his eyelids flutter as his orgasm hits him and it’s beautiful for you to watch. It only motivates you to speed up even more, wanting to reach your peak as fast as possible. You probably shouldn’t rush it to savor the moment but in this case, rushing is fine to you.

After his intense orgasm, Spencer watches with bated breath as you cum. Your hips rock forward, practically riding your own fingers while your back arches and your murmurs grow incoherent. If he wasn’t tired, Spencer is pretty sure that he would be turned on again immediately just from watching you finger yourself. He is almost positive that you’re thinking of riding him instead of your fingers, and he would be correct in that assessment.

The pleasure slowly dissipates until you’re left with the incredibly awkward feeling of having just jerked off in front of your boyfriend. Both of you aren’t really sure what to say or what to do considering this was technically your first shared sexual experience since you had started dating.

“Um—” “So—” you both say at the same time. You don’t know how to move forward in a gracious manner, so you shyly get off the bed and put your underwear and pants back on. He still sits in the bedsheets, which are slightly damp from the sweat accumulated from the experience.

He moves towards the edge of the bed — towards you — and sits up straight, trying not to feel embarrassed that he’s still naked. And even though he felt uncomfortable about being touched while nude prior, he plants his lips on yours.

You weren’t expecting this but it’s a welcome surprise, as you chase his kiss with all the energy you have left; which isn’t a lot, but is enough. He breaks from the kiss, but leaves his forehead against yours as he looks at you like a dog.

“Thank you, mommy.”

hopefully it wasn’t that bad <3 join the taglist

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Paul Blest at More Perfect Union:

Thousands of workers at a Volkswagen plant in Chattanooga, Tennessee have voted to join the United Auto Workers, defying an all-out union-busting effort from the state’s political leaders and marking a key victory for the United Auto Workers in their renewed effort to organize the South and non-union plants.

Unofficial results tallied Friday showed that after three days of voting, more than two-thirds of workers voted to join the UAW. The win in Chattanooga is the first successful attempt to organize a non-union automaker in decades and comes after multiple failed attempts to organize the plant, including in 2014 and 2019. More than 4,300 workers were eligible to vote this week.  “I can't explain it. It's not like the first times,” Renee Berry, who has worked at the Chattanooga plant for 14 years and through two prior facility-wide votes, told us in the lead-up to the election. “The first few times was hell…now it's like we can roll our shoulders back, because we got it.”  Volkswagen is the world’s largest auto company by revenue, and until today, every one of its plants around the globe has been unionized except for one.

"This is going to be in history books down the road. This is huge—forever huge,” Robert Soderstrom, a worker at the plant, told More Perfect Union. “People recognize for the first time in a long time, on a mass scale, that there's got to be some changes. And some of the power and stuff that's gone to the corporate world needs to come back to us little guys.” The victory in Tennessee continues a winning streak for the UAW, which negotiated record contracts at the Detroit Three of Ford, GM, and Stellantis last year following a lengthy “stand-up” strike. After passing the contracts, UAW President Shawn Fain announced a $40 million effort to organize non-union U.S. plants, largely based in right-to-work states like Tennessee and owned by auto companies based in Europe, Japan, and South Korea, as well as EV manufacturers like Tesla and Rivian. 

Since launching that new effort, more than 10,000 autoworkers around the country have signed union cards, according to the UAW. Earlier this month, workers at a Mercedes plant in Vance, Alabama became the second group to file for an election, which will be held from May 13 to 17. Alabama Gov. Kay Ivey and the state Chamber of Commerce have forcefully opposed the unionization effort, claiming it would hurt Alabama autoworkers—who, even before the pandemic, were making less than they did in 2002 when adjusted for inflation. The same dynamic has played out in Tennessee. Gov. Bill Lee, who denounced the last unsuccessful union campaign in 2019, said it would be a “mistake” for workers at the Chattanooga plant to unionize and boasted about the state’s “right-to-work” law. 

🚨🚨 BREAKING:🚨🚨 Workers at the Volkswagen (VW) plant in Chattanooga have voted yes to join the United Auto Workers (UAW) after 2 failed attempts in 2014 and 2019. #UAW #VWChattanooga #1u

[suplicyy]

Hii, i saw your requests are open, so i'd like to make one, headcannons. Tsukishima, kuroo and lev timeskip x male reader, it can be gn reader too, where they're dating very famous actor or singer reader, they don't have problem of their partner being famous, but they get jealous some times.

Sorry if i'd made a mistake on my writting, english is not my firts lenguage.

All Eyes On Me

Timeskip!Haikyuu boys x Famous!Reader

— Summary: They date a very well-known actor/singer, who has recently been very successful and consequently receiving more fans, which makes them a little jealous.

— Characters (timeskip!): Tsukishima, Kuroo, Lev.

— Fluff | Male!Reader

Tsukishima Kei

You were the lead singer of a band, but when it split up you decided to pursue a solo career. And sometimes it even seemed to be more famous than when you were in the group, to be honest.

To put it in context, Tsukishima started dating you at the end of your old band, so he was able to see your entire solo career process up close.

During this period you were depressed, because the band members had gone their separate ways due to conflicts between them, so he was the one who supported you and gave you the strength to continue your dream at this moment.

And you are so grateful for all his support at this time, that you even wrote and sang a song especially for him. Every letter, every verse, was all dedicated to him.

And coincidentally this became one of your most famous songs, so much so that it started to go viral again on all social networks. And that was also how people started looking for who had made this divine melody, and came across your ig.

Not only were you a great songwriter, but in addition to having a mesmerizing voice, you were also, in fact, very beautiful. This resulted in a lot of success and, of course, many passionate fans.

With the two of you choosing to reveal your relationship only to those closest to you, most people didn't know you were dating. But Tsukishima was starting to regret not telling the whole world that you were his.

The last straw was when you received flowers from a secret admirer in your studio; and you had even assumed that it was Kei who gave you the gift, but you dismissed your doubts when you asked him about it.

He was very jealous. Of course he didn't admit that to you, but his attitude said completely otherwise. And this was confirmed the day after you received those flowers.

Tsukishima and you generally didn't like to have dates in busy places, due to the fact that you were both introverted and preferred the tranquility of your home, in addition to the fact that you always had fans who recognized you.

Of course you adored all of your fans, but the constant interactions could get tiring from time to time.

Returning to the subject... you went for a walk on a pleasant afternoon to a coffee shop that had recently opened.

What you didn't realize was that a paparazzo had sneaked into the place, sitting at a table further away from the two of you, but still keeping an eye on your actions, waiting for the perfect moment to take an exclusive photo of you on a date with a "stranger".

Perceptive as always, of course Tsukishima noticed the person's presence, but he didn't talk about it with you.

He saw this as the perfect opportunity to give you a sweet but lingering kiss on your lips.

Which gave the photographer images that would yield an entire week of the most talked about topics on social media.

Kuroo Tetsurou

With the release of a new album after 3 years on hiatus, the group you are part of has become one of the most popular today.

And with the emergence of new songs, you were one of the members who gained many fans in the process.

During the period when the group was inactive, you met Kuroo through mutual friends, and it was almost like love at first sight.

In less than a month you were already dating, but you only revealed it to your social circle, which means the rest of the world had no idea you were in a relationship.

So of course Kuroo would be jealous to see so many fans talking about how attractive you are, or how a TV presenter blatantly hit on you in the middle of the recording.

But of course you never paid attention to that, you only have eyes for your only love (which is clearly him), and you made a point of making that clear to him every day.

Even though you assured him that everything was fine, he still felt slightly jealous.

But he promised himself that one day the entire Galaxy would know that you were his, and of course, that he was all yours.

One day, you and your group were invited to participate in an exclusive interview with a renowned reporter.

She was well known for liking to talk about her interviewee's personal life, so of course you wouldn't be able to escape all the questions she would give you.

But you weren't worried at all, it seemed more like you were confident.

"So [Name]... a lot of your fans always wonder if you're in a relationship since you're pretty private, so it seems like they're curious about it!" "Oh yes, I don't really like exposing my personal life, you know, I've always been known for being the more closed type." you say in a polite tone, which makes the reporter laugh slightly at your response.

"Well... so does that mean you're already committed? Or maybe you're looking for romance?" you laugh a little embarrassed at his question, but soon compose yourself with a proud expression on your face.

"Actually..."

You show your hand to the reporter, then point to the golden wedding ring lightly hugging your ring finger.

At that moment, everyone knew that you were already committed, but many didn't know that your beloved was none other than Kuroo Tetsurou.

Lev Haiba

You are an actor who recently completed a triology of a very famous action film.

Your great acting mixed with your appearance worthy of a Renaissance painting helped you to win the role of antagonist in the movie.

Furthermore, it was in this environment that you managed to meet Lev, the love of your life who has been with you for 2 happy years.

You were once asked to participate in a photo shoot along with several famous actors and models, which included Lev and his sister.

That day you struck up a conversation and discovered many things in common, and in the end, Alisa encouraged the tallest one to ask for your number, which you immediately agreed to.

Everyone was already aware about your relationship, as Lev once accidentally told about you in an interview.

But it's not like you were worried about what would happen due to the revelation, you loved him too much and would do anything to stay by his side, and he thinks the same.

Even though everyone respects your relationship and the two of you live a peaceful life together, Lev still can't contain his jealousy, especially given the current situation.

Due to your angelic appearance, you were called to be a protagonist of a romance film. The actress who would be your romantic pair in the movie was also very handsome, and some people on the internet who were oblivious about your relationship with Lev assumed that the two of you were attracted to each other.

You really wanted to deny the rumors, because you were completely faithful to your loved one, but the film's management told you to wait until the recordings were finished, so as not to cause a scandal.

He knew you loved him, but seeing other people say things they didn't know about you made him sulk all day.

But then he had an idea.

You were called at the last minute to take part in a photo shoot for a men's fashion magazine.

You were aware that you would have to take photos with someone else, but at no point was it revealed to you who that person would be. But when you saw a familiar silver hair peeking out over the curtain that clearly couldn't hide his bizarre height, you knew exactly who it was.

Even after doing the photo shoot and it was coincidentally released a week after that rumor that you were dating the other actress, he still confesses with a straight face that he begged the magazine to allow you to participate in the photo shoot with him.

And he also shamelessly asked for a photo of the two of you to be placed on the cover of the magazine.

— A/N: Apologies again for the delay!!! Some urgent things happened here at home and I needed to reserve most of my time to resolve them, so I ran out of time to finish writing this😓

[lululandd]

part-time psycho;

pairing: yandere!ghost x f!reader

wordcount: 1,921

warning: mentions of murder, implied cheating, jealousy, possessive behaviour

note: please understand this is fiction, i do not condone any of these behaviours irl (also on ao3)

summary: 

He’d be out drinking with his work friends, he said. Won’t drink too much because he had to drive home after, he said. You don’t have to pick him up because he doesn’t know what time he’ll be back, he said. Some of his friends might get super drunk and he might have to drive them home, he said.

Those were the things you remember him saying before he kissed you goodbye. 

You were roused from sleep by the sound of the front door slamming, and then people talking. There was an unfamiliar voice besides Simon’s, but you try not to listen too hard. But even your sleep-addled brain noted how odd that there were giggles and chuckles one moment and then… dead silence. Something felt wrong, the little voice in your head—the voice that kills people in horror movies, Simon would say—tells you to go check to see what it is. Groaning a little to shake the lethargy from your bones, you get out of bed and walk towards the stairs, but you only made it halfway down.

A woman was sitting on top of him, on the sofa. The woman Simon introduced you to months ago. His co-worker, his teammate, the person that has taken a bullet or two for him and vice versa. You can’t lie, she intimidated you from the very beginning. Their apparent closeness, their easy banter that you can never follow, the countless inside jokes, the way her hand always landed on him when she thought you weren’t looking, and her features. They were so similar to yours, and you don’t know which is worse, whether you came into his life first, or her.

Drowsiness left you as anxious dread seeps in. They spoke too quietly for you to hear, but you don’t care. Friends don’t sit on each other's laps like that, and certainly not facing one another. Feelings of inadequacy filled your mind as you walked briskly towards the front door and took off, grabbing whatever coat was on the hook. You just had to get out of there, far away from what you had just witnessed. Wiping the tears that blurred your vision, you notice your feet take you to the nearest pub, and you stand outside dumbly for a couple of seconds. 

That night was bitterly cold, and you wished you had taken a thicker coat. Putting your hands in your pocket, you realise you have no money. You didn’t take anything but the spare house keys, your phone, and the coat on your way out. The slippers you're wearing are the fuzzy kind meant for indoors. Digging in your pockets, you hoped past you left a couple of quid in there. You found two tenners in the inner pocket, and you shuffled inside to get a drink or two.

The pretty bartender with the large earrings noticed you immediately and asked whether you need help and if she should call the police. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, you saw you were a complete and utter wreck and she was right to be worried. You made sure to convince her that you were just sad and not some victim of domestic abuse before ordering some shots. She gave you a worried look before grabbing the drinks.

You downed both drinks in quick succession as soon as they arrived. The first burn hadn’t even registered fully before you chased it with another one. Today’s not the day for sane choices and comfort, you need to dull the pain as quickly as you can.

It’s funny, being tipsy. Your brain doesn’t even know when it started, you suddenly are. It doesn’t matter much anymore that Simon had brought a woman that looks much like you home, you can live just fine without him. It’s not like he’s the best boyfriend anyway, he left so often and so long sometimes you don’t feel like lovers. Maybe he had already demoted you from that position long ago and you were too stupid and blind to notice.

It took you a while to realise someone was sitting next to you. Letting out a deep sigh that definitely lasted longer than you thought you could, you didn’t even have to look to know it was him.

“Will you be coming home tonight?”

You’ve heard this tone before. It’s the careful one he uses when he knows you’re upset. The voice that is laced with sympathy and understanding. But this time you don’t know if that question was borne out of malice or legitimate concern, so you ignored him. The glass of water that the pretty barkeep gave to you looks very interesting right now.

The silence stretched for a painful amount of time before it was Simon’s turn to sigh. “Would you believe me if I told you I was drunk and rejected her advances?”

You were bitterly reminded of how she was sitting on his lap earlier. How close her face had been to his. How her hands had been curling on his neck, and his hands probably sitting on her waist. You didn’t see or didn’t remember, but that’s where your mind placed it, the only logical place it could be.

He slid his car keys your way. “Wherever you’re going, at least take the car. Don’t take cabs this late at night.” And when you didn’t react, he left.

You left the pub after your fifth glass of water and a repeated play of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’—the staff were laughing while you heard one yell out profanities from the backroom—to check on the car. It suspiciously had your wallet, his hoodie, some cash haphazardly thrown on the front seat, and a large knife when you checked the glove box. You looked at your phone and mass texted your friends to see which one of them was awake and kind enough to let you crash at their place for the night.

One of your best friends replied, and you decided to go there immediately. They kindly offered their place for a week or two, but you ended up leaving on the second day. You had calmed down a little, and your friend suggested you talked this out instead of just making more and more assumptions in your head.

“The longer you’re not talking, the more your brain makes shit up.”

You joked that they just wanted you out asap and it ended up in a pillow fight that made you forget about your problems for a little while.

Driving home was the hardest. The scene keeps replaying in your head and your brain racks up the jealousy. How long have they been going behind your back? Is he just dating you because he can’t have her for some reason? Was whatever he was saying true, that he rejected her advances?

You found a parking spot not far from the house because for some reason you didn’t want him to see you coming.

As you opened the front door, you were met by two set of eyes looking bewildered at your direction. Simon’s arms were still on her waist while hers were draped over his shoulders.

Fuck these people.

Fuck him.

You threw Simon’s car keys on the floor and walked out, ignoring his pleas for you to wait and listen.

There was only one place to go now. Your parents. They welcomed you graciously, knowing you had a fight and wanting some space from your boyfriend even when you didn’t tell them at all about what happened. A week went by without any calls or texts from Simon, you decided it was time to go back and pack the fuck out of your stuff to live with your parents for a while. Why should you even think about being with him when he doesn’t even try to apologise. Living with your parents has reminded you what love could–should–be. Waking up next to each other every day, knowing they’re safe and within reach and not whatever it is you have with Simon where he goes missing for months at a time without contact. It was nice waking up to the sight of your parents chattering about, jokingly telling you to not burn the house down as they go to work, reminding you of your teenage years.

Thankfully Simon wasn’t home when you went to pack. It’s decided that you’ll only take your clothes for now and leave the paraphernalia for later. If you’re lucky, his job called while you were away and you can pack in peace.

But you weren’t so lucky.

“You’ve lost weight.” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Simon was a deathly quiet man when he needed to be. You didn’t hear the front door being open and shut or even his footsteps. He looked awful, his face unkempt with bloodshot eyes, his hair mussed, and his clothes dishevelled.

“I’m not wearing makeup so I look shit.” You retorted.

You had to look away as soon as you saw him bristle. He stayed silent for a while, his gaze focused on every facet of your face before going back to staring you down.

“Why are you lying?” His voice came as a quiet snarl, a low gruff that sounded like it hasn’t been used in days. 

“Because that’s also what you’re doing.” You threw the meanest look you could towards him, and you’d like to think that’s why he broke eye contact with you. Unable to help yourself, you continued, “Rejecting her advances my ass, Riley.”

Hearing his last name, he proceeded to cut across the room and reached for you, strong arms instantly curling around your waist as he turned you around to face the open armoire. You felt the need to run, to fight back, but what else could you do but submit? The man is 193 centimetres of pure trained muscles that can hold you full nelson for however long it takes him to fuck you in front of the mirror until he feels satisfied, while you run out of breath carrying the neighbour’s fat tabby for two minutes. You are a little rabbit at the mercy of a wolf.

Weak.

Pathetic.

“I'm truly sorry you had to see me when I tried to lure her into a false sense of security.” He pulled you even closer, your back gently bumping against his chest. “If I drove you to where her head is buried will you finally believe me?” 

Only half the words registered in your mind, “Simon this isn’t funny.”

Trying to wriggle away awarded you with a hiss and him nuzzling on the crook of your neck. 

“Wasn’t joking, love.”

“Simon.” You pleaded desperately. You felt sick. You knew he was a dangerous man, but he had told you, convinced you, that he would never hurt y–

Realisation hits in a revolting wave of nausea. He had never said he wouldn’t hurt others. “Simon?”

“Yes, dear?” He muttered, lips pressing intently against the sensitive parts of your ears.

His hold no longer felt safe, there’s desperation and a dangerous kind of hunger lingering underneath his touch. “D-did you keep a trophy? Of her, I mean.”

You think if he could just show you some sort of proof, you could somehow take it and just start running.

“Why the fuck,” Simon’s voice was suddenly laced with seething fury that you flinched in his arms. “Would I keep trophies of people that caused you pain?” His statement chilled you to your core and you stopped trembling for a moment. 

A choked, terrified whisper escaped you. “S-Simon?” Sickness curled your stomach, your knees buckled as you swayed. You don’t know when your Simon had left and replaced with this monster, or whether there was a Simon at all in the first place.

You felt his lips twitch and curl into a smile on the junction of your neck. "Yes, love?"

“Why was that plural?”

[ambermotta]

Protection Magic: Some Important Concepts

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Long post based on my experience and research. Meant to be informative. I don't claim to know the absolute truth.

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Protection magic is any type of work meant to protect A from B, and there are many ways that this can be done: prayers, charms, talismans, tokens, casting circles, setting up wards, visualization. The list can go on and on because it can be done in many different ways and combining many different methods.

But methods are not the topic of this post today. No, today I would like to talk about some key concepts to keep in mind before getting started on making protections and keeping them effective.

The Importance of Cleansing

Before doing any protection work I like to do a cleansing. Imagine you have an open water bottle, and because it was open, a lot of dirt has found its way into it over time. You decide to seal the bottle so no dirt comes in, but you don't pour out the old water, so you end up sealing it in. Yes, you'll keep more dirt from coming in, but the muck is still there.

It is easier to see this being applied to a physical location, but I personally also apply this to personal protective tokens. I feel they work better when you are taking care of your energies by doing regular cleanses and managing internal negativity.

Important Definitions

Protection ≠ Banishing ≠ Cleansing

I feel a lot of people are under the impression that these are all the same. I think they all work together towards a similar goal, but their jobs are different.

Protection: protecting something from something

Banishing: driving out entities

Cleansing: clearing out energy

You can do cleansing, banishing, and protection at the same time, but that doesn't mean they are the same. You can do a ritual including all of them, but you can also just do a cleansing or just do warding (which is a form of protection).

Note: cleansing is not restricted to “negative energy”. You can cleanse any kind of energy. Exemple: a friend of yours decides tarot is not for them and hands down their deck to you. If you wanna work with that deck it is highly advisable that you do a thorough cleansing of it and then infuse it/consecrate it with the energies you want. It's not that your friend has “bad” energy, it's just that you might not want to work with the same energies they have, or use a tool that has someone else's energy in it.

Not Necessarily a Lazy Job

One important thing with protection magic is that no matter how strong or how successful are at doing it is that it is not failproof. I have yet to see protection work that lasts forever, and there may be a few reasons for it.

Negativity also comes from within

Imagine you have a fish inside an open fish tank. Just like the bottle example earlier, you decide to put a lid on so you prevent leaves from falling into the tank and polluting the water. However, there's a fish, a living being in there, and it produces waste. It is impossible for the fish to live without producing waste. If you don’t regularly clean the water, ammonia and fecal matter will build up.

In this analogy, you are the fish. I am the fish. Humans literally cannot live without ever having a negative thought or feeling, it is part of our existence and we have to live with it. No one lives in constant bliss.

That doesn't mean we have to live in the muck though. That's why cleansing yourself is important.

No one is immune to the environment

Here I have another analogy for you. Imagine you're facing a harsh winter, but you are safe in the security and warmth of your house. Your house is protected from the cold so you don't even mind it. However, you have to go outside. You dress up, go out and you feel very, very cold. You could perhaps wear something warmer, but it will never feel the same as home. Yet it is better than going outside naked, no?

Same thing for energies. You can have protection, but depending on how strong the energy in the environment is you are sure to feel it to at least some degree. However it's best to have some protection than no protection at all.

And there is a difference between Feeling an energy and dwelling in it vs Feeling an energy and not letting it latch onto you.

Energy can wear off, and new energy can build up

Energy is ever changing, ever moving. If you do a strong protection spell once, it can last for a long while, but if you forget about it it will likely lose a lot of its strength over time. Some of what you put out there might wear off and be substituted by something else. The energy can also grow stale, which means it becomes less effective.

But if you do a strong spell every month you will not only make your protections stronger, but also constantly renew the energies and not let them stagnate.

So keep doing cleanses and every now and then give a boost to your protections so they are refreshed and recharged.

Note on "Negative Energy"

One of the main reasons someone might choose to do a protection ritual and a cleansing is to ward off negative energy. But is that really needed? What is "negative energy"?

Negative energy might feel like a sense of heaviness, dread, pain, sadness, feeling ill, angry, sad or anxious. Emotions produce and attract what we can call "negative energy", the same way it can make us feel those things.

And while I personally think nobody wants to feel them, we must understand they are not always bad at their core.

The uncomfortable feelings they can cause may also be a gateway for healing and transformation. Pain tells us there is something that needs to be worked on, that needs change.

If you are feeling negative, ask yourself why. Why does this bother me? What makes me feel this way? What can I learn from this pain?

If you happen to feel negative energy, it is good to cleanse and protect. But I advise you to always look for the source to see what can be done about it or what you can learn from it. Don't just try to use spellcasting to run away from your shit. Own your shit. Deal with it.

Otherwise, it will keep coming back no matter how much protection you have.

Conclusion

It is impossible to always be free from “negative energy” all the time, no matter how strong your protections are. But protections can absorb some of the blows that you would otherwise take and ease the ones you were going to take no matter what.

Protection magic alone will not solve all your problems. It is a great tool to help you keep your center and remain grounded, but it is not usually something you do once and forget. It is a continuous, ever evolving work, meant to be used in conjunction with other types of spellwork.

And most importantly, it can give you some comfort through the many trials of life.

Thank you for reading, and good luck on your path! ♡

[jennamoran]

The Far Roofs: Systems

Hi!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit more about my forthcoming RPG, the Far Roofs. More specifically, I want to give a general overview of its game mechanics!

So the idea that first started the Far Roofs on the road to being its own game came out of me thinking a lot about what large projects feel like.

I was in one of those moods where I felt like the important thing in an RPG system was the parallel between that system and real-world experience. Where I felt like the key to art was always thinking about the end goal, or at least a local goal, as one did the work; and, the key to design was symmetry between the goals and methods, the means and ends.

I don't always feel that way, but it's how I work when I'm feeling both ambitious and technical.

So what I wanted to do was come up with an RPG mechanic that was really like the thing it was simulating:

Finding answers. Solving problems. Doing big things.

And it struck me that what that felt like, really, was a bit like ...

You get pieces over time. You wiggle them around. You try to fit them together. Sometimes, they fit together into larger pieces and then eventually a whole. Sometimes you just collect them and wiggle them around until suddenly there's an insight, an oh!, and you now know everything works.

The ideal thing to do here would probably be having a bag of widgets that can fit together in different ways---not as universally as Legos or whatever, but, like, gears and connectors and springs and motors and whatever. If I were going to be building a computer game I would probably think along those lines, anyway. You'd go to your screen of bits and bobs and move them around with your mouse until it hooked together into something that you liked.

... that's not really feasible for a tabletop RPG, though, at least, not with my typical financial resources. I could probably swing making that kind of thing, finding a 3d printing or woodworking partner or something to make the pieces, for the final kickstarter, but I don't have the resources to make a bunch of different physical object sets over time while I'm playtesting.

So the way I decided that I could implement this was by drawing letter tiles.

That I could do a system where you'd draw letter tiles ... not constantly, not specifically when you were working, but over time; in the moments, most of all, that could give you insight or progress.

Then, at some point, you'd have enough of them.

You'd see a word.

That word'd be your answer.

... not necessarily the word itself, but, like, what the word means to you and what the answer means to you, those would be the same.

The word would be a symbol for the answer that you've found, as a player and a character.

(The leftover letters would then stick around in your hand, bits of thought and experience that didn't directly lead to a solution there, but might help with something else later on.)

Anyway, I figured that this basic idea was feasible because, like, lots of people own Scrabble sets. Even if you don't, they're easier to find than sets of dice!

For a short indie game focused on just that this would probably have been enough of a mechanic all on its own. For a large release, though, the game needed more.

After thinking about it I decided that what it wanted was two more core resolution systems:

One, for stuff like, say ... kickstarter results ... where you're more interested in "how well did this do?" or "how good of an answer is this?" than in whether those results better fit AXLOTL or TEXTUAL. For this, I added cards, which you draw like letter tiles and combine into poker hands. A face card is probably enough for a baseline success, a pair of Kings would make the results rather exciting, and a royal flush result would smash records.

The other core system was for like ... everyday stuff. For starting a campfire or jumping a gap. That, by established RPG tradition, would use dice.

...

I guess technically it didn't have to; I mean, like, most of my games have been diceless, and in fact we've gotten to a point in the hobby where that's just "sort of unusual" instead of actually rare.

But, like, I like dice. I do. If I don't use them often, it's because I don't like the empty page of where to start in the first place building a bespoke diced system when I have so many good diceless systems right there.

... this time, though, I decided to just go for it.

--

The Dice System

So a long, long time ago I was working on a game called the Weapons of the Gods RPG. Eos Press had brought me in to do the setting, and somewhere in the middle of that endeavor, the game lost its system.

I only ever heard Eos' side of this, and these days I tend to take Eos' claims with a grain of salt ... but, my best guess is that all this stuff did happen, just, with a little more context that I don't and might not ever know?

Anyway, as best as I remember, the first writer they had doing their system quit midway through development. So they brought in a newer team to do the system, and halfway through that the team decided they'd have more fun using the system for their own game, and instead wrote up a quick alternate system for Weapons of the Gods to use.

This would have been fine if the alternate system were any good, but it was ... pretty obviously a quick kludge. It was ...

I think the best word for it would be "bad."

I don't even like the system they took away to be their own game, but at least I could believe that it was constructed with love. It was janky but like in a heartfelt way.

The replacement system was more the kind of thing where if you stepped in it you'd need a new pair of shoes.

It upset me.

It upset me, and so, full wroth, I decided to write a system to use for the game.

Now, I'd never done a diced system before at that point. My only solo game had been Nobilis. So I took a bunch of dice and started rolling them, to see ... like ... what the most fun way of reading them was.

Where I landed, ultimately, was looking for matches.

The core system for Weapons of the Gods was basically, roll some number of d10s, and if you got 3 4s, that was a 34. If you got 2 9s, that was a 29. If your best die was a 7 and you had no pairs at all, you got 1 7. 17.

It didn't have any really amazing statistical properties, but the act of rolling was fun. It was rhythmic, you know, you'd see 3 4s and putting them together into 34 was a tiny tiny dopamine shot at the cost of basically zero brain effort. It was pattern recognition, which the brain tends to enjoy.

I mean, obviously, it would pall in a few minutes if you just sat there rolling the dice for no reason ... but, as far as dice rolling goes, it was fun.

So when I went to do an optional diced system for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG, years later, to post here on tumblr ... I already knew what would make that roll fun. That is, rolling a handful of dice and looking for matches.

What about making it even more fun?

... well, critical results are fun, so what about adding them and aiming to have a lot of them, though still like rare enough to surprise?

It made sense to me to call no matches at all a critical failure, and a triple a critical success. So I started fiddling with dice pool size to get the numbers where I wanted them.

I'm reconstructing a bit at this point, but I imagine that I hit 6d10 and was like: "these are roughly the right odds, but this is one too many dice to look at quickly on the table, and I don't like that critical failure would be a bit more common than crit success."

So after some wrestling with things I wound up with a dice pool of 5d6, which is the dice pool I'm still using today.

If you roll 5d6, you'll probably get a pair. But now and then, you'll get a triple (or more!) My combinatorics is rusty, so I might have missed a case, but, like ... 17% of the time, triples, quadruples, or quintuples? And around 9% chance, for no matches at all?

I think I was probably looking for 15% and 10%, that those were likely my optimum, but ... well, 5d6 comes pretty close. Roughly 25% total was about as far as I thought I could push critical results while still having them feel kind or rare. Like ...

If I'm rolling a d20 in a D&D-like system, and if I'm going to succeed on an 18+, that's around when success is exciting, right? Maybe 17+, though that's pushing it? So we want to fall in the 15-20% range for a "special good roll." And people have been playing for a very long time now with the 5% chance of a "1" as a "special bad roll," and that seemed fine, so, like, 20-25% chance total is good.

And like ...

People talk a lot about Rolemaster crit fail tables in my vicinity, and complain about the whiff fests you see in some games where you keep rolling and rolling and nothing good or bad actually happens, and so I was naturally drawn to pushing crit failure odds a bit higher than you see in a d20-type game.

Now, one way people in indie circles tend to address "whiff fests" is by rethinking the whole dice-rolling ... paradigm ... so you never whiff; setting things up, in short, so that every roll means something, and every success and failure mean something too.

It's a leaner, richer way of doing things than you see in, say, D&D.

... I just didn't feel like it, here, because the whole point of things was to make dice rolling fun. I wanted people coming out of traditional games to be able to just pick up the dice and say "I'm rolling for this!" because the roll would be fun. Because consulting the dice oracle here, would be fun.

So in the end, that was the heart of it:

A 5d6 roll, focusing on the ease of counting matches and the high but not exorbitant frequency of special results.

But at the same time ...

I'm indie enough that I do really like rolls where, you know, every outcome is meaningful. Where you roll, and there's never a "whiff," just a set of possible meaningful outcomes.

A lot of the time, where I'm leaning into "rolls are fun, go ahead and roll," what it means to succeed, to fail, to crit, all that's up to the group, and sometimes it'll be unsatisfying. Other times, you'll crit succeed or crit fail and the GM will give you basically the exact same result as you'd have gotten on a regular success or failure, just, you know, jazzing up the description a bit with more narrative weight.

But I did manage to pull out about a third of the rolls you'll wind up actually making and assign strong mechanical and narrative weight to each outcome. Where what you were doing was well enough defined in the system that I could add some real meat to those crits, and even regular success and regular failure.

... though that's a story, I think, to be told some other time. ^_^

[niphredil-14]

TMNT Rapael/Reader- "Held Space"

A/N: this took me absolute ages and is unedited because i got lazy. shoutout to my now ex-gf for dumping me which gave me the inspiration to finally finish this fic Pairing: Best-friend!Raphael (i imagined this as 2003, but frankly could be any of them)/reader Content Warnings: cheating, insults, toxic bf, best-friend raph Word Count: 2.1k

She stood on the subway, arm reaching up to hold onto the handgrip as she quickly switched her gaze between her phone and her surroundings. There were too many people around, and so little space, but she did her best to shuffle around to keep some semblance of a personal bubble. She was lucky that she didn’t have too many stops between her work and home, and though it felt like much longer to her, within fifteen minutes of hopping onto the train, she was stepping off, eyes flicking down to her phone when it chimed. Unlocking her phone, it opened up to her text thread with one of her best friends, the contact name, raphie, followed by a ninja emoji, a turtle emoji, and a red scarf emoji. She had promised to text him once she had got off work and was heading home. Most of the thread had been meaningless rambles, a few memes, and lots of complaints about the horrors of customer service from her, and even more complaints about Leo from him. It was the newest additions to the thread that captured her attention.

You: I mean, at least my bf’s on cooking duty tonight. I don’t think that I could handle having to cook after today lmao

raphie: yeah, so long as you trust him to not fill it chock full of nuts and not know where your epi-pen is again.

You: yeah that sucked

You: But that was one time! And I feel like it can he easy to forget someone’s allergies if it wasn’t all that important before. And he’s been better lately!

raphie: better as in actually good? Or better as in just not ghosting you for weeks at a time even though you live in the same apartment??

She sighed as she looked down at her phone. Raph had insanely high standard for anyone that was close to the people he cared about, and she was sure that it was just his protective side showing a bit. She figured that if Raph just knew him a bit better, that he wouldn’t be so harsh on him. She thought that it was just because Raph didn’t know him like she did, and that, really, Sam hadn’t been all that bad recently. Things seemed to be looking up. There was a brief time that he wasn’t being so loving, but in the past month, he had really turned around, he was amicable and affectionate, and kept up his side of the chore chart, he was really putting in an effort. And Raph, she thought, just didn’t know what he was talking about. She pondered all of this as she walked the few blocks from the train station to her apartment. With every step, her exhaustion grew, until the reached her door. She struggled with her keys for a moment, before finally getting them into the lock and turning the handle, letting the door swing open. She took a step into the apartment, shutting the door behind her, and dropping her purse down on the floor beside her. It was when the purse did not land flatly as it normally would that she looked down, and found that another purse had gotten in the way of a successful landing. Confusion wrote itself across her face, as her eyes then trailed around the room, finding several feminine items that most certainly did not belong to her. She experienced a strange sense of extreme clarity and clear-headedness that was always so unexpected in moments of great pain and betrayal. She let her gaze travel all over the room a few more times, as she then noticed the sounds emanating from her bedroom. She pulled out her phone and opened her most recent text thread.

You: raph

raphie: ?

You: I need you to come to my apartment now.

She slid her phone back into her pocket, not waiting for a response, and quietly opened the door again.

“Baby! I’m home! I thought you were gonna start on dinner?” She called out as she slammed the door shut. The noises from the bedroom ceased, and she imagined the panic on the lovers’ faces. She waited a moment by the door, and heard a voice yell from the bedroom.

“You have a girlfriend?” A feminine voice spoke. His voice was muffled through the door, though she could tell that the girl with him cut him off. “You fucking asshole!” She heard the two of them moving about in the bedroom, and moved to the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and grabbing a wine glass. The bedroom door slammed open, and a flustered woman stormed out and up to her. “I am so sorry! He told me that he was single, I had no idea, I swear.” She looked at the woman, and despite her anger, couldn’t logically stay mad when she knew that they had both been wronged.

“Not your fault that he’s a lying piece of shit.”

“No kidding.” The woman replied. They both stood there, somewhat awkwardly for a moment before the woman apologized again and left. She was given only aa moment of peace before her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend came stumbling out of the bedroom, evidently only just having finished putting on pants. He was paid no heed, as she reached for a corkscrew in the far back of a cupboard.

“Baby, I can explain!” The words flew out of his mouth, and he took a large inhale, as if preparing to ramble. She cut him off before his lungs had filled.

“There’s no need. You shouldn’t waste the little time that you have to gather your essentials.” She spoke, her voice calm and even.

“What?” He asked, incredulous.

“You can come back for the rest of your things Saturday at 3pm, as for now, just fill a bag or two with your most immediate essentials and leave.”

“The fuck?! You can’t kick me out! This is my home too!” He stepped towards her, and she looked at the clock. She knew Raph wouldn’t ignore her text.

“Not according to the lease. Which has only my name on it.”

“Bullshit! That doesn’t mean shit. And you didn’t even gimme a chance to explain!”

“There’s clearly nothing that needs to be explained. Despite what you may think, I’m not stupid. I’m fully capable of putting two and two together.” She cut off another one of his fruitless attempts to argue. “Sam. My name is on the lease, I, alone pay for the rent and all the bills. On top of my full time job, I also do a solid ninety-percent of the cleaning and chores, and pay for all of your stupid subscriptions. As far as the law, or anyone with basic common sense is concerned, I own this apartment and everything in it. Now, round up your shit, or at the very least your wallet and car keys, while you still have time to get out of my home.”

“The fuck do you mean,’still have time?’ I’m not going anywhere. You can’t force me out of my own damn house.” She could hear the bedroom window be forced open, and the thud of two feet landing on the ground.

“You will leave, or you will be forced to leave.” She said, doing her best to not allow her emotions to show in her voice. He continued to step closer to her, still yelling.

“You really think you can force me to do anything, bitch?” She turned to face him, and looked past him, seeing Raph quickly approach. A smile beautifully matched the cold look glowing in her eyes.

“I don’t need to. You’re leaving.” She said, firmly. He lurched, but a much larger arm than his came around his neck, and applied heavy force, forcing a choked out wheeze to fall from his lips. Sam was pulled backwards into a firm body, his hands unsuccessfully clawing at the arm around his neck.

Raph spoke with a large smirk etched across his snout. “This guy botherin’ you, ma’am?” Humor dripped from every syllable. She returned his smile kindly.

“As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Well, then, lemme take care of that for ya.” Raph said, sliding his arm away from Sam’s neck, and grabbing onto his thumb, twisting so that his body would follow as Raph dragged him to the door and threw him out, leaving him crumpled on the ground, gasping for air. She walked up beside Raph, and tossed Sam’s wallet on the ground in front of him, before retreating back into her apartment once more. Raph gave the pained man a cruel smile as he spoke. “And stay out!” After slamming the door in his face, Raph turned and walked farther into the apartment, reentering the kitchen once more, where he found her finally pouring herself a glass of wine.

He stepped towards her slowly, careful to not startle her. “Hey, uh, you okay?” She stood with her back facing him still. He saw her take a large sip of her wine, looking out the kitchen window. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke, her voice losing its conviction by the syllable.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks, Raph.” He took another few steps until he was only inches away from her. She still kept her back to him, and so he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her upper arm, carefully turning her to face him. As soon as they were face to face, she crumpled. Her lips pulled tight in a grimace, and her eyebrows scrunching up, the skin of her nose and cheeks already flushed and rosy, and her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Oh sweetheart.” Raph said, bringing his other hand up to her un-held arm. “What happened?” Her head lolled slightly to the side, and a heavy sigh escaped her.

“You were right, and I should have listened to you.” She said, her voice breaking at long last. “I just-“ She stuttered. “I just wanted to believe that we were happy and that everything was good, you know?” He nodded along, and rubbed gently strokes on her arms as she told him the events of the night. “I don’t understand why he would do that. I did my best to be a good girlfriend. I did everything for him. Why wasn’t I good enough?” She was rambling, just letting all of her negative and untrue thoughts come barreling right out of her mouth. Raph’s grimace grew as he was forced to listen to all her depressing self-talk.

“Stop that.” He cut her off sharply, more so than he meant to. He attempted to correct his harshness by giving her a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a dick, you did nothin’ wrong, it wasn’t you.” She inhaled, and he continued to talk before she got a chance to argue with him. “You were perfect, and he didn’t deserve you. I know how much work you put into the relationship, and how much effort you put into planning special things for him. You were not the issue. He was just the biggest piece of shit around, and you were unfortunate enough to fall for him.”

“Raph,” She said, quietly.

“’m not done.” He continued. “He was damn fuckin lucky to be blessed with your presence, let alone to have you as a girlfriend. You got any idea how lucky any man’d be to have you, huh?” She sniffled, and he pulled her in tighter, letting her hide her face in his shoulder. “I wish I coulda convinced you to leave him sooner. You deserve way better than that garbage, you hear me?” She burrowed her face deeper into the scaly skin of his shoulder. “You hear me?” He repeated, and waited until she nodded into his shoulder before he continued. “I know that it hurts now, but believe me when I say that you don’t need him. You could do so much better than him, Sweetheart, you don’t even know.”

The only sound that came from her in response were sniffles, routinely interrupted with a hiccup as she sobbed into his skin. He held her there for several moments, not offering any more words, simply sharing the experience with her and holding space for her pain, but he couldn’t just stand there for long. Gently, he adjusted his hold and lifted her off of the ground, holding her tight to his body, and began to steadily walk into the living room, dropping the both of them down onto the couch. He continued to hold her close, as he rubbed large, slow circles on her back, allowing her to push all of her tears out, uncaring of the slight dribble of snot beginning to drop onto his skin.

“You’re gonna be okay, Hon, I’m here, I’ve gotcha.”

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with NBC News (2024)

Jonathan Bailey admits he’s still grieving the loss of Tim Laughlin, the wide-eyed congressional staffer turned fervent gay rights activist he played in Showtime’s groundbreaking limited series “Fellow Travelers.”

“Playing a character who is always searching for truth and has something to fight for that is meaningful and important made me really think, ‘How do you want to leave the world behind?’” Bailey told NBC News. “It’s a tiring thing for everyone to be like, ‘I want to make the world a better place.’ But Tim is an example of someone who’s a normal guy. He didn’t come from wealth, and he lived life to its fullest, including loving in a way that was just spellbinding.”

That love is the animating force of “Fellow Travelers,” which chronicles the decades-spanning romance between Bailey’s Tim and Matt Bomer’s Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller against the backdrop of key moments in queer history. After falling in love at the height of the Lavender Scare in 1950s Washington, D.C., Hawk and Tim weave in and out of each other’s lives for years at a time, unable to sever their bond. But after learning of Tim’s terminal AIDS diagnosis in the ’80s, Hawk drops everything to take care of Tim in San Francisco, where the former lovers are forced to address the true nature of their volatile relationship.

“Fellow Travelers” was nominated for three Emmys in limited series categories last month: Bailey (who also won a Critics Choice Award) for supporting actor, Bomer for lead actor and creator Ron Nyswaner for writing.

Following the success of Netflix’s romantic drama “Bridgerton,” in which he played a rakish viscount looking for his viscountess, Bailey expressed a desire to tell a sweeping gay love story. He booked the coveted role in “Fellow Travelers” six weeks before the start of filming in Toronto, following an electric Zoom chemistry read with Bomer — one of the most prominent openly gay actors working today — that even brought one of the executives to tears.

While he said he inherited the “inherent shame” of the AIDS crisis as a gay man who came of age in the early aughts, Bailey, who is English, knew very little about the Lavender Scare. He credited the writing of Nyswaner for helping him capture the spirit of Tim, a devout Catholic struggling to reconcile his faith with his growing infatuation with the emotionally unavailable Hawk, who is adept at playing the system to avoid getting outed.

“There’s something so childlike and full of wonder and unadulterated kindness about Tim that never leaves him,” Bailey noted. “When you see the huge effects of the societal pressure and control on gay people and how it affects Tim, I thought, ‘How do you tell a story of someone who’s bruised, battered and frayed by relentless, unforgiving control?’ I think the older he gets, the more painful it is for him.”

Bailey, like many queer people, has had a complicated relationship with religion. He attended a Church of England school and, at 11, was a scholarship student at his local Catholic school, where he “was completely aware of the lack of education around sexuality and gender identity.” Like Tim, he began to question his own “inherited beliefs” in his 20s, when he came to terms with his own identity.

While Tim’s religion makes him believe that something is innately wrong with him, it also gives him the capacity to believe in a love that he has felt but cannot always see with Hawk, who complements him in a way that is both “beautiful” and “painful,” Bailey said. “I think to say that they broke up a few times somehow assimilates it to a heteronormative relationship — they were completely not afforded that.”

“What Tim realizes is that the act of loving is the thing that you want to survive with and live alongside and to die with, and to be the more loving one is sometimes easier,” added Bailey, who thinks “there was no other” man whom Tim loved as deeply as Hawk. “I think the power of their dynamic — the brilliance — is that they met at that time, and it’s just a genius way of discovering and exploring how political and social attitudes really can’t kill love.”

Bailey and Bomer, who have both acknowledged that a show like this might not have even been made a few years ago, see “Fellow Travelers” as a kind of love letter to the queer actors who came before them.

“The way we look at each other is also about the opportunity that we’ve got that wasn’t there before,” Bailey said of his and Bomer’s palpable on-screen connection, which has evolved into a close off-screen friendship. “There’s a weight that comes to telling your own story or other people’s story that are similar or shares elements of your identity.”

On the day of the Emmy nominations, Bailey was in Malta — where he has been shooting the new “Jurassic World” film — with one of his best friends. They had already planned to find somewhere to grab a celebratory drink together in the late afternoon. But by the time they had settled in and tuned in to the livestream announcing the nominees, Bailey’s phone began to ring off the hook.

“The thing that was special, if a little ridiculous, is that we took a little selfie, and I realized there was just a pride flag that was in the distance,” Bailey recalled. “Having now spent a lot of time in Malta, you realize there’s only a few.”

Now on the precipice of superstardom with his roles in “Wicked” and “Jurassic World,” Bailey is redefining what is possible for an out gay actor in Hollywood, becoming a heartthrob to male and female audiences alike — even if he doesn’t often think about that label. “I’m excited to play more roles the older I get, and we will see what the heartthrob status is when I’m in my 50s,” he said cheekily.

As his profile has risen, Bailey has wrestled with which parts of himself he is willing to share publicly. His Olivier Award-winning turn in a gender-swapped West End revival of “Company” gave him an opportunity to speak openly about his sexuality — something he didn’t feel the need to reveal unless it was tied to his work. Now, he feels much more confident in interviews to volunteer certain stories about himself, including a harrowing experience in which a Pennsylvania man called him an anti-gay slur and threatened his life in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop.

For Bailey, who is still adjusting to the privilege of being able to choose his next projects, the company he keeps going forward is just as important as the material he is given to work with. He will return to the stage next year in Nicholas Hytner’s London production of “Richard II” and will reprise his role as eldest sibling Anthony in the next season of “Bridgerton.” He will next be seen as Jack Maddox, a charming academic and celebrity crush of protagonist Charlie Spring (Joe Locke), in the sixth episode of the third season of “Heartstopper,” which premieres in October.

“I recognized in the show something that I obviously didn’t have growing up, which is aspirational, generous storytelling about queer identity and gender identity that wasn’t necessarily a gay [show],” Bailey said of his initial reaction to watching “Heartstopper,” which, like many older queer viewers, made him feel slightly melancholic. “There’s so many people of that generation who just love it, because it’s brilliant and so well-performed by such an incredibly talented young cast.”

But truth be told, Bailey doesn’t think he will ever be able to let go of Tim Laughlin, who he likes to believe had “a very happy end of his life” fighting for AIDS awareness with the ACT UP movement without Hawk by his side. After having spent a year unpacking the life-changing experience of playing the character in post-screening Q&As and media interviews, Bailey has grown to feel the power of his work “more than [he’d] ever known.”

When playing a character who is confronting his own mortality, “you just think about how life is futile and quick,” Bailey said, “and if I can live a life as front-footed and as curious as Tim, then I’ll be a lucky man.”

Source

[cazzyf1]

The other day on my tiktok I created a simple post about how James Hunt is more than just the Playboy persona that is associated with him. This flew over someone's head who commented about how he was a Playboy. I responded explaining the point of the video but instead they doubled down saying that James didn't care about F1 only about partying.

So today I went through some of my books and gathered a load of quotes to show the James Hunt that most people do not know about, the one outside of the Playboy perception. I've posted it on tiktok but figured I'll upload it here as well so the true James Hunt can reach more people and slowly we can dismantle the reputation 'Rush' gave him ❤️

TW: Depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms/addictions

When you think of James Hunt you think of the 'playboy'. The guy who partied, drank lots, took drugs and slept with lots of women. Its true he did that, and a lot but to dismiss him as just that is wrong. He was a good driver, a person who tried his best, a kind man who cared for human & animal rights.

The next few slides I've compiled quotes from a few books and website to show what kind of person he actually was and what he went through in life and that less people will dismiss him as just a Playboy.

James Hunt's first marriage was rocky because James was already very involved in his addictions and he knew he didn't love Susy because he felt that he wasn't capable of love. But he felt responsible for her and wanted to look after her. Here is his own opinion from his book ->

"It was really THE problem. I thought that marriage was what I wanted and needed to give me a nice stable and quiet home life, but in fact it wasn't and the key mistake was mine. I really wanted to go racing on my own, and it wasn't much fun for Susy to sit at home and wait for me all that time. It was also a terrible hassle for her to come racing because race meetings were probably the most relaxing time in my schedule. The rest of the time you tend to be leaping on aeroplanes once a day and that made it even worse because it's bad enough organizing one person to get on an aeroplane. Organizing two gets to be twice as much hassle. It got to the point where it was a problem for Susy to come travelling and a hell of a deal for her to stay at home. It was making life miserable in the extreme for her and since I felt responsible for her it was making me miserable too. So we had agreed to split up and then Richard Burton came along and solved all the problems. We had had an immensely successful marriage because I learnt an awful lot about myself and life and I think Susy did too. We all ended up happy, anyway, which is more than can be said for a lot of marriages" - p14 Against All Odds

Much is said about James Hunt and the ladies he kept company, and without knowing anything about James you might assume the worst, but here's some quotes about what he was actually like with the ladies ->

"I don't usually have sex before a race because I am very definitely concentrating -I find that it is the communication between two people that makes it worth- while, and before a race I am pretty uncommunicative. However, if say I have an hour or so to spare before dinner on the night before a race then I can enjoy the physical release. But I will only do it with someone who is fully understanding" - p15 Against All Odds

"He was always attentive to his partners needs. Indeed much of his satisfaction came from giving pleasure. The only problem, some of them confessed, was that his desire to please often out-stripped their needs" - p264 James Hunt: The Biography

"I was sure he was gay, because he never made a move on me for so long" - p278 Jane Birbeck, long time partner, James Hunt: The Biography

"He missed the actual skirmish - he was inside getting drinks at the bar - but had to be forcibly restrained from going after the policeman who hit his girlfriend" - p284 James Hunt: The Biography

James Hunt had many affairs in his time, because he had become an addict to many things including women (more on this later) He was aware of his and it plagued James that he couldn't control it ->

"One evening she returned to their London home to find James in tears. He was tormented by feelings of guilt caused by his lust for other women. He confessed the full extent of his unfaithfulness, that it was unfair to her and that for her sake they couldn't remain a couple. It wasn't that he was bored with her, but that his desire for other women was insatiable and uncontrollable. He held Jane in his arms and they both wept" - p320

One thing that helped James in his life time was his love for animals especially his pet dog Oscar. Here are some quotes about his love for animals and how far he would go to help protect them ->

"I think in a way Oscar was the child James never had at that stage. He was a remarkable dog, no question, but James thought a lot about animals and their requirements and was very concerned about their needs. He gave Oscar the very best treatment and also was keenly intrested in the welfare of other dogs. He would look at a dog, wonder if it's owner was treating it well and bringing it up properly and if the dog was getting everything out of life that it could" - p281

"Before he came to know James better, the journalist Nigel Roebuck was pleasantly surprised by an incident involvinged stray dog. It was late in the evening after a Grand Prix and tha teams were packing up to leave when James, while talking to Roebuck, saw the dog wandering around the paddock, shiver-ing and obviously very hungry. Roebuck, also sensitive to the needs of an animal in distress, went with James to several of the team motorhomes where they got food and fed the dog. But that wasn't the end of it as far as James was concerned. He insisted that they should take the dog up to the race control centre.

Roebuck: 'He took the dog in there and would not leave until he was sure it would be looked after. James actually made this official sign a piece of paper saying he would take care of the dog and see that it was housed and properly cared for. I was very impressed with this. James was probably one of only a handful of people on this entire planet who would even give that sort of thing a second thought." - p281

"He also thought the wild animals residing on his estate should be left alone. If vermin had to be controlled it should be done in the most humane way possible, and he strongly dissaproved of blood sports. The very thought of fox hunting he found horrible and he vowed not to allow it on his property" - p308

James was also incredibly caring towards the young people in his life such as his sons and his younger siblings. Here’s an extract from his first GF about James and his siblings ->

".. the way he expressed his concern for the emotional youngest members of his family:

He really enjoyed looking after them, and just seeing the way the behaved with his little brothers and sisters you knew was instinctive in him. He was always going to be a good father.

One evening he invited her home where he was babysitting Jo Jo, Dave and Tim. When James had tucked them in he left Ping to read them a bedtime story. When Ping came downstairs James asked her if she had helped them say their prayers. When I said no, James said: "Right. You've missed out hugely there. Come on, we'd better go and do it." So they did. His attitude was that he was taught to do that by his parents and it simply had to be done.'

But he also practised what he preached, and he believed in the power of prayer. In the troubled years to come James would pray to God for strength and help, and he eventually passed on the bedtime prayer ritual to his own two boys, to whom he became completely devoted.

During his time with Ping he had talked about having children, and she thinks fatherhood earlier in his life would have prevented James from sinking into his period of decadence.

I felt so sorry for him then because I knew underneath it wasn't the real James doing this. I think he was trying to make life happy, the wrong way. If he had settled down earlier, had a more normal home life with children of his own when he was younger, one could have seen a totally different James.' - p26

James Hunt cared for human rights especially taking a stand against the Apartheids in South Africa. The Apartheids in short was a system of racial segregation. In protest most sports were not going to South Africa but Formula One still was, and James Hunt made it clear his thoughts

->

“We were once covering the South African Grand Prix during the days of apartheid. All of a sudden, and for no particular reason, he launched into an attack on apartheid.

“It was nothing to do with the Grand Prix, nor would it do British-South African relations any good. Our producer pushed a piece of paper across saying: ‘Talk about the race!’

“And then James blurted out on air: ‘Thank God we’re not actually there!”

But simply calling out Apartheid on the air wasn’t enough for Hunt. He sought to have his race commentaries blocked from being broadcast in South Africa, but was unsuccessful.

When that didn’t work, he instead — and secretly — gave financial support from his income as a race broadcaster to groups struggling to end Apartheid in South Africa."

"His deeply compassionate and loving nature was something that, unfortunately, wasn't adequately conveyed to the public, who only ever heard about the sensational side of James Hunt" - p282 John Watson

As mentioned earlier James Hunt was an addict. His playboy lifestyle was his addictions and this is all rooted back to the fact that James Hunt had depression which grew stronger and stronger. He relied on his additions to get rid of his depression which meant he kept doing more and more. Here are some quotes about his struggle with it and eventually how he overcame it ->

"At home James became increasingly introverted, uncommunicative and reclusive. He gave up golf and spent more and more of his time in the aviary tending his budgies. While the parties continued he would often leave the guests to Sarah and closet himself in the aviary for hours on end.

It became obvious that James was very troubled, but only Sarah and his closest friends knew the full extent of the anguish and despair James suffered during his bouts with what he called his 'dippers'.

Black dog' was the term Winston Churchill used for the recurring 'depressions which afflicted him throughout his life. Bubbles Horsley thinks James was 'born with a "black dog" on his shoulder. His racing pushed the "dog" away far enough so that it was no longer visible. But underneath that wonderful joie de vivre, the laughter and enjoying life, he was given to black moods. He was fearful of them and maybe it was that fear that drove him on. Perhaps without it he would never have been World Champion.

'And I think after the initial "honeymoon" of retirement from racing the black dog came and sat on his shoulder and wouldnt go away. So he became more fearful and sought distraction in various ways, through sex and drink and drugs and rock and roll, as it were." - p323

"At home Sarah watched her husband's condition worsen and desperately sought to help him. She thought his depressiond might partly be due to a chemical imbalance that James was born with, a theory that James explored himself. Then, too, to keep his dippers at bay he consumed too much alcohol and marijuana, both of which can temporarily bring relief but over the long term on have depressive effects.

Like others, Sarah felt that another reason for his 'dippers' might have been because he cut off his emotions early in his life and never learned how to open up to people, or to need them. He was essentially a lonely man and his inability to form close relationships made him despair. His depressions further deadened his feelings, and when he was unable to respond emotionally to marriage and children he grew progressively more despondent.

Sarah: 'He was at war with himself. His depressions became Intolerable and towards the end he stopped trying to fight them coming on because he knew they would take over for two days or week. His face would go black and he would take to his bed and stay there, even on Christmas Day. He'd gone to bed two days beforehand and we had Christmas stockings for the boys. I said, Come on, Beast, the boys are waiting." And he said, "Beast, i can't do it." And he was crying" - p333

"When James felt a "dipper" coming on he would go on two- or three-day benders, mostly drinking vodka. He would just keep going and going, which was always a bit terrifying, and after these deep, dark blank days he would suffer real self-loathing. He could forget his trouble with drink, but it always came back.

For many years trying to get rid of his depression was his major concern, which is why he got the budgerigars. He thought it would be such a huge amount of effort that it would distract him and they became an obsession rather than a hobby. He would sit in the aviary for hours, but he would come back still in the grip of gloom. And for a long time he was so down it was very hard to even converse with him." - p326

"He tried different treatments acupuncture, Chinese herbal medicine and looked into every possible theory. He went to different healers, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, the lot, to try and find the root of his depression. And in the end he cracked it" - p337

"He began to become more diet-conscious and to eat healthy foods. He also consumed information, in books and magazines, on overcoming addictions, and sought more professional help.

He knew he should stop smoking cigarettes and reduce his marijuana consumption, and he told some friends he thought he might be an alcoholic. He worried that his need for women was another form of addiction and feared he might contract AIDS and infect someone else.

John Hogan: 'So he stopped it all. Straightened himself out by absolute willpower. The strength of character of the man enabled him to get out of it. He cut out the cigarettes, the dope and drugs. the booze and the womanising and his sense of priorities became more well-balanced.' - p338

As he started healing himself of his addictions he became serious about F1 again. He always cared for the sport, doing everything he could to race when he was younger and now though he was retired he still commentated and took part in other ways to stay close to the sport ->

"James became serious about strengthening his position in the media side of Formula 1 racing. He took on an internationally syndicated newspaper column and spent many hours gathering information for it. Working with a journalist he applied himself conscientiously to making sure that every word was written to his satisfaction" - p338

James started to heal his relationships as well, becoming an amazing parent to his two boys and finally meeting a woman who helped him feel loved and be able to love after so long of not being able to ->

"The boys were real handfuls to look after but he was awfully good with them and he really fathered and mothered them extremely well. He was always up early in the morning cooking their breakfast and then the four of us would go off salmon fishing. James would fish properly and I would fool around fishing with the youngsters. And then in the evening we used to settle down and he would tell them stories." - p343

A letter James sent to his girlfriend Helen:

"I went to the parents' 50th in a totally negative frame of mind, feeling very much an outsider and wanting the floor to swallow me up. As the day went on, although I remained 'out- side', I could see and feel lots of generous, undemanding love around me. Something changed for me there with my family. Everyone was exuding love and I saw the wonder of it and want to be part of it, but firstly with you.

I realise now that the feeling of not being loved as a child made me close up to any incoming love projected onto me. I do see that I cannot live on without love. You brought it home to me when you pointed out how well I'm doing with the boys. Well I have had to work at that and I've got better at it and I have to do it with you. You are the girl of my dreams. Without you I have no future. I want to make you happy and continue to do so until I die.

All my love for the love of my life,

James"

- p350

Finally James was happy. He was healed from his addictions, in a healthy relationship, had two lovely sons and a job he loved. And best of all he was able to be open with Helen ->

"James confessed to Helen that he was unable to be faithful to anyone in the past because sex was for him just another addiction and he needed women to get his highs. He disliked social gatherings and only had parties or went to them to pick up women. Helen was willing to forgive and forget what went on before, but told him she wouldn't tolerate it in their relationship and he agreed to be faithful to her." - p350

Helen went away on a girls holiday before her and James were going to start trying for children. James proposed to her over the phone on the holiday to which she said yes. But she would never see her finance because he passed away from a heart attack. Unfortunately the previous life he lead caught up to him.

Thank you for reading all of this and I hope you now know more about James Hunt than you already did! It's sad that James is best known now for his unhealthy coping mechanisms for his depression, especially with the film 'Rush' romanticising it. But even if just one person reads all of this it means one more person knows the truth of James Hunt and that makes it worth it ❤️

[notiddygothgf]

1. Fucking Great

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ You're desperate. It's not attractive. ❞

★ c.w.: drinking

★ a/n: finals have been literally beating me to the ground like a dog but. im finally free. OMFG!!! to celebrate, i wanted to drop a lil special sum sum for u guys, even though i wasn't planning on updating again so soon. Make sure to comment and interact and whatever, I love hearing from you guys!!!

★ w.c: .4.2k

call out my name ; chapter index

PEOPLE SAY DIVORCE never gets easier. That simply is not the case. In fact, after your fourth or fifth one, moving on became second nature. Then again, that’s easier said than done – especially when it’s your job.

A little background – you were a Temporary Wife. You worked for an organization called NewlyWeds, through which bachelors, lonely men, those with far too much time (and money), and the like could “rent” wives… so to speak.

The reasons for needing a fake wife were as varied as the men themselves. 

For some, it was a matter of societal expectations—warding off nosy relatives at family gatherings or appeasing traditional parents who couldn’t bear the thought of an unmarried son. Others needed a polished facade for their careers, a stable "marriage" being the key to promotions or winning over conservative clients. Some wanted a sexual companion (which was not your area of specialty – in fact, you had never stooped low enough to actually sleep with any of your so-called husbands). And then there were the lonely ones, men who craved companionship without the complications of real commitment. 

What better way to fill the void than with a year-long marriage contract?

Whether it was to silence judgmental whispers, project an image of success, or fill an emotional void, the demand for a temporary wife was steady and unrelenting. It was your job to play the part flawlessly. And you were damn good at it. Five happy husbands – four, if you don’t count the dead one – were a testament to that. 365 Days per contract, and not a single unhappy customer so far.

Marriage was a way to pay the bills. Nothing more.

So why did this one make you feel so nervous? 

As you crossed the threshold to your new husband’s house, you couldn’t help but feel a little… well, anxious, to say the least. Your suitcase rolled to a stop behind you – a sizeable one, one that had your clothes and essentials. Of course, you would more than likely purchase more a little further down the road. For now, though, a suitcase was all you needed. 

One year. One suitcase. One ginormous house.

You had to crane your head all the way back to look at the ceiling. House is a bit of an understatement… Grey walls opened up into the foyer, where a grand staircase spiraled up to the second floor. A sleek, minimalistic design with tasteful decor. A chandelier hung in the middle of it all, what had to have been hundreds of glass pieces glimmering with light. 

Mansion would have been a better word. In all of your 5 marriages, you had never stayed anywhere so lavish. Then again, you supposed you had to have a lot of money to afford a fake wife.

He knew I was coming at some point today, you thought to yourself. It was dead silent in the house. I wonder where he is?

You towed your suitcase over to the door perpendicular to the stairs. According to the briefing you had read on the way here, you would be setting up shop in the guest bedroom, that way you could make room for all of your stuff (not that there was much of it). The guest room allegedly was tucked away near the staircase, so you tried the handle.

When it gave, you pushed the door the rest of the way open. The guest bedroom was pretty sizable. A queen sized bed with neatly tucked black sheets, a sleek, dark-oak closet with a matching furniture set, and a nightstand with a pretty lamp and a vase of flowers on it.

This is one hell of a guest room, you reasoned. It put the measly back room in your old shithole apartment to shame.

With a great amount of effort, you hauled your suitcase onto the bed, unzipping it and viewing its contents. Then, slowly, you began to unpack – setting neatly folded clothes aside, organizing them by season and type.

You changed out of your travel attire, a tailored suit and pencil skirt, which now felt constrictive and far too formal for the empty house. Digging through your suitcase, you pulled out a pair of comfortable leggings and an oversized sweater—neutral tones, soft fabric, nothing too flashy. Something “homely,” as your job often required. Sliding into the cozy ensemble, you felt the tension ease from your shoulders, the weight of first impressions temporarily set aside.

With your outfit taken care of, you turned to the task of settling in. The guest bedroom was pristine, almost unsettlingly so. You hadn’t expected a mess, but the level of order was borderline clinical. Not a single speck of dust marred the dark wood surfaces, and the flowers on the nightstand seemed freshly arranged. You suspected they were artificial, the kind that stayed perfect forever. It gave the room an impersonal feel, as though it belonged to no one in particular. Temporary, like you.

“Well,” you muttered under your breath, running your hand along the smooth surface of the dresser. “Guess I’m not the only one passing through.”

After organizing your belongings in the spacious closet, which felt like overkill for the modest amount of clothing you’d brought, you decided to explore. The house was massive—mansion, you corrected yourself again—and you figured you’d better learn your way around before embarrassing yourself by getting lost.

Starting in the foyer, you took in the grandeur once more. The chandelier overhead sparkled like a constellation, its light refracting across the grey walls and polished floors. You wandered into the living room, where sleek furniture—a monochrome mix of black, white, and grey—was arranged with a precision that felt more suited to a showroom than a home. A massive flat-screen TV dominated one wall, but it was spotless, devoid of fingerprints or smudges. No cozy throw blankets, no scattered magazines, no signs of life.

The kitchen was similarly sterile. White countertops stretched endlessly, interrupted only by high-tech appliances that gleamed under the recessed lighting. Not a single mug or dish sat in the sink, and the pantry—when you dared to peek inside—was meticulously organized, though oddly sparse. A few boxes of cereal, some canned goods, and a row of bottled water. No clutter. No warmth.

“Does anyone even live here?” you wondered aloud. The silence was your only answer. No photographs adorned the walls or countertops, no hints of personality or history. It was as though the house existed solely for appearances.

Your unease deepened as you ascended the grand staircase. The second floor was just as immaculate, the long hallway lined with closed doors. You passed a library—if you could call it that—a room filled with books arranged in perfect alphabetical order, the spines unbroken. It smelled faintly of leather and wood polish, not the warm, musty scent of well-loved pages.

Finally, you reached the master bedroom. Aki’s room.

You hesitated at the threshold, hand hovering over the doorknob. This was his space, his sanctuary. You were here to do a job, not invade his privacy. But then you remembered the briefing. Part of your role was to ensure everything ran smoothly, to maintain the illusion of a harmonious household. That included housekeeping duties. Squaring your shoulders, you turned the knob and stepped inside.

The room was as impersonal as the rest of the house, though it carried a faint trace of its occupant. The bed, a king-sized monolith with crisp, white linens, was unmade, the only imperfection you’d seen so far. The furniture matched the sleek, dark aesthetic of the guest room, but there were no personal touches. No photos on the nightstands, no trinkets or mementos.

Your gaze shifted to the walk-in closet, its door slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at you, and you couldn’t resist taking a peek. Inside, you found rows upon rows of clothing, organized with military precision. Suits dominated the space—tailored jackets, crisp dress shirts, and neatly pressed trousers in shades of black, grey, and navy. Sweaters and casual wear were tucked away at the back, their softer fabrics and muted colors almost an afterthought. Everything was of impeccable quality, from the silk ties to the polished leather shoes lined up along the floor – everything except for the lone pair of beat-up converse hidden just out of plain sight.

So he’s got an edgy side, you thought, stepping back to close the door. Whatever picture you were beginning to form of Aki was still incomplete, but one thing was clear: this man valued control and order.

You decided to mind your business and focus on your task. Returning to the bedroom, you stripped the bed, bundling the linens into a neat pile. The mattress beneath was bare and spotless, further testament to the house’s almost eerie cleanliness. As you worked, your mind wandered.

Why had he hired you? The briefing had been thorough, but it was always the practical details: the contract, the expectations, the rules. It never delved into the personal motivations behind the arrangement. Was he one of the lonely ones, craving companionship without complications? Or was this a calculated move, a facade for career or family? This place was unnerving in its perfection. You’d lived in luxurious homes before, but they’d always carried a sense of life, of personality. This house felt like a stage, a beautiful but hollow set piece.

None of my business, you reminded yourself firmly. You’d learned early on not to pry. The men who hired you weren’t looking for therapists or confidants. They wanted a wife, and you were here to play the part. Nothing more.

With the sheets bundled under one arm, you headed to the laundry room.

Aki always looked forward to Fridays. It was her day. Every Friday at 7 o’clock sharp, his wife – yes, not yet ex wife, because they hadn’t actually started the process of a divorce yet – would meet him at Prime Cut for a steak dinner. They would undoubtedly catch up, talk about the week they had spent apart, and Aki would inevitably try to convince her to take him back like the pathetic man he was.

His watch read 6:59. She was always punctual. 

Anxiously, he fiddled with his appearance – smoothing his hands over his suit jacket, his slacks, his hair. He couldn’t see how he looked, but he hoped he looked put together. His eyes darted around nervously, searching for signs of her.

And there, at 7 o’clock sharp, she walked in. He caught a glimpse of her hair first – pink locks braided into that signature hairstyle of hers that he had grown to love. The one he had seen her do in the early hours of the morning before they had to leave for work; boar-hair brush combing through the rosy strands while she braided them. He would sit on the bed and watch her like the lovestruck fool he was.

Makima looked as polished as ever.

Aki stood up, walking over to the other side of the table and pulling the chair out for her (again, like the dog he was). She took it, muttering a soft, Thanks, and Aki’s heart soared at the sound, at the smell of her. She carried the aroma of something floral and fresh, a new perfume, no doubt. Aki, as desperate as ever, wore the same cologne he wore when the two of them were still husband and wife (as opposed to whatever they were now) in the selfish hope that she might be reminded of those days.

He cleared his throat, heart racing against his ribcage. “How was your trip over here?” He asked. “You look lovely.”

Makima smiled, adjusting the hem of her pretty red dress, the one with a low-cut neckline that revealed a tasteful amount of cleavage and accentuated the beautiful curves of her body. “It was provincial.”

"Provincial?" he echoed with a faint smile, his attempt at humor falling flat. "Did you walk here?”

"Why would I?" she teased, her tone light but her gaze sharp. She picked up the menu without waiting for his response, flipping through it leisurely. "Let’s not waste time, Aki. Order for me. You know what I like."

"Of course," he murmured, signaling the waiter. His hands trembled slightly as he recited her usual order—A glass-and-a-half of merlot, and a beer for him.

The silence between them stretched thin as they waited for their food. Aki cleared his throat again, desperate to fill the void. "Work’s been… busy. I had a case this week that reminded me of the ones we used to handle together."

Makima arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Still clinging to the past, I see."

They had only been apart for six months, in his defense. Compared to the eight years they had spent together, it wasn’t nearly enough time.

"I’m not clinging," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "Just… reminiscing."

"Hmm," she hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of her water. "And how’s your health? Still smoking like a chimney?"

"I’ve cut back," he said quickly, eager to please. "Only a couple a day now."

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Progress, I suppose."

The tension between them was palpable, and Aki felt himself floundering. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he’d been carrying all week. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it out and set it on the table between them.

Makima’s eyes flicked to the box, her expression finally betraying a glimmer of curiosity. "What’s this?"

"A gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "For you."

She hesitated for a moment before picking up the box, her manicured fingers deftly undoing the clasp. Inside was a pair of delicate diamond earrings, the stones catching the soft light of the restaurant. They were understated but elegant, just like her.

"They reminded me of you," Aki said, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. "I thought… I thought you might like them."

Makima studied the earrings for a long moment before closing the box with a soft click. "They’re lovely," she said, her tone neutral. 

“Try them on,” Aki implored her.

“I’ll try them on later,” She replied, and Aki visibly deflated at the words.

A tense moment passed, and then, finally Aki acknowledged the elephant in the room, “How is everything with your… your husband?”

The words felt like knives in his chest.

Makima tilted her head slightly, a faint smile gracing her lips. "My marriage is… good. Stable. He’s dependable, attentive, and he listens." Her tone was measured, almost clinical, as though she were describing a well-functioning machine rather than a relationship. "Everything I’ve always wanted."

Aki felt his stomach drop, her words a cold slap to his face. He tried to smile, nodding as though he could be happy for her, but the ache in his chest told a different story. "That’s good," he murmured, his voice hollow. "I’m glad."

But he wasn’t glad. Not even a little. 

The image of her with another man, sharing the moments that had once been his, twisted like a knife in his gut. He wanted to be the bigger person, to wish her well and mean it, but the truth was, he couldn’t. Not when every word she spoke felt like another reminder of how he had failed her. 

Instead, what came out was, “I don’t know why you want to go through with this fake marriage stuff. It doesn't make sense. How long are you going to drag this out?”

“I’m happier this way,” She answered calmly, like she was talking about the weather and not her other marriage. “And you’re desperate. It’s not attractive.”

Her words hurt. Bad. The slightest flinch in his expression probably betrayed that much, but he couldn’t help it. She always knew exactly what to say to keep him up at night. 

With a frown, he retorted, “You’re punishing me. What do I have to do to show you I’m sorry?”

Makima’s demeanor shifted enough for Aki to know he had pissed her off – even if she didn’t explicitly say it. Her eyes darkened, glazed over with that apathetic haze he hated as she asked, “I’m punishing you?”

Aki said nothing, letting his gaze fall to the floor. She was right. For what he did, he probably deserved this.

“Do  you really not understand the gravity of your situation?” She added, as if asking him to reiterate didn’t hurt enough. Her hands were folded neatly atop the table, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes full of nothing but apathy – yet her words bore a sharpness that cut deep. “Every day that I had to wake up and look at you was my punishment. I’m doing you a favor.”

When he said nothing, she continued, “If you don’t go through with this, Aki, you will never… see me again. I can promise you that much.”

His stomach was tied up in knots – a heady feeling of nausea burning its way up the back of his throat. It felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest. Still, though he felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, he built up the strength to nod.

He deserved this, didn’t he? 

“Let’s wrap up early,” Makima sighed, dusting off her lap and standing up. “I can eat at home.”

Aki’s gaze flitted up to her, heart racing. “What?” He tried, “Sit down, let’s eat. You’ve only been here for a little while.”

She didn’t even look at him as she shouldered her bag and gathered her belongings – including his earrings. “No, thanks,” She replied. “I lost my appetite,” When she was ready to go, she finally looked at Aki (and made him wish she hadn’t). “My husband is waiting outside.”

I’m your husband.

Not him.

Me.

Aki didn’t miss the way she put emphasis on the word husband – as if this little infatuation wasn’t a contractual one. Six months of this shit was enough to have him at his wits end. Again, the thought of her happy with someone else, even if it wasn’t real…. It was enough to drive him up the wall, keep him up at night.

He furrowed his brows, “I only get to see you once a week, Makima. Can’t we–”

“That’s more than enough,” She interjected. Again, her words cut deep. 

“We’re married,” He reminded her, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Could he even call their relationship a marriage? They lived in two separate homes, had two separate lives, and – as of today – had two separate spouses. “We’re supposed to see each other every day, if you want to be technical.”

“In principle, yes,” She added. Her voice was calm, calculated, but the message was harsh, “In practice, I can hardly bear to look at you. We’re not husband and wife anymore. If you want to keep seeing me, then that’s something you’ll have to come to terms with.”

Then, without so much as a goodbye, she walked away.

Aki sat there long after Makima had left, the cold, untouched plate of food mocking him as the restaurant buzzed on around him. His heart felt like it had been ripped to shreds and left on the table beside her empty chair. He tipped his head back, letting out a quiet breath, the warmth of the restaurant doing nothing to stave off the chill settling in his chest.  

His fingers brushed the rim of his glass, and before he could think better of it, he motioned to the waiter. "Another round," he said, his voice gruff.  

The drinks kept coming, and with every sip, the edges of his heartbreak dulled just a little. He told himself it wasn’t to drown his pain but to find clarity in the haze. Makima's words echoed in his mind, over and over: “We’re not husband and wife anymore."

By the time he paid the tab, his limbs felt heavy, his thoughts muddled. The world tilted slightly as he stood, stuffing his wallet into his jacket pocket. At least he didn’t have to drive, he thought, as he stepped out into the cool night air. The bar was only a few blocks away from his place, and walking was safe—safer than going home and facing the emptiness waiting for him there.  

But instead of heading to his apartment, his feet carried him somewhere else. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he stood at the corner near Makima’s building, the faint glow of her apartment windows visible against the dark sky.  

His better judgment screamed at him to turn back, to leave her alone. But drunk, heartbroken, and full of misplaced determination, Aki walked toward her building. The thought of her with him—her so-called “husband”—gnawed at his insides.  

His lips on her hand, her skin, her neck…

His stomach twisted. That box had meant something. He’d agonized over it—picked out the perfect earrings, wrapped it carefully, written her name in his cleanest handwriting. And now it sat here, abandoned, like it meant nothing at all.  

Aki’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked up to the second-story window, drawn to the warm glow spilling out onto the street. She was there. Makima. Her silhouette was unmistakable, standing close—too close—to the man beside her. Aki’s breath hitched as she leaned in, her head tilting just enough for him to see the way her lips pressed against the other man’s.  

Not just a kiss. A deep, lingering one.  

The world around him spun as nausea clawed its way up his throat. His chest burned, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and without thinking, he pulled out his phone, fumbling to unlock it with freezing, clumsy fingers.  

He tapped her name. The phone rang. Once. Twice. His eyes stayed glued to the window, hoping—praying—that she would step back, check her phone, and answer. But no. The call went to voicemail.  

“Ah, shit,” he muttered under his breath, tapping redial with shaking fingers.  

It rang again, louder in his ear this time, but it ended the same way. No answer.  

He let out a bitter laugh, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. Of course, she wouldn’t pick up. Not now.

He called one more time, his voice barely a whisper as he stared up at that now-dark window. “Pick up, damn it. Pick up.”  

Nothing.  

His gaze dropped back to the car, and the box sitting in the backseat felt like a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost—or maybe everything he never really had. His breathing quickened, the alcohol amplifying the surge of anger and humiliation in his chest. He spotted a rock near the edge of the driveway, half-buried in dirt.  

The rational part of him—the one that normally reined in his impulses—was drowning in whiskey and despair. He stumbled over, grabbed the rock, and staggered back toward the car.  

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, raising the jagged stone. “She’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.”  

The rock crashed through the car window with a deafening shatter. Glass sprayed across the seat as the alarm screamed into the cold night air. Aki winced at the sound, his heart pounding as he shoved his arm through the broken window to grab the box. The shards scratched his hand, but he didn’t care. He yanked the box out and stumbled back, clutching it tightly in his arms like it was some kind of trophy.  

But before he could even catch his breath, he saw it: the unmistakable flash of red and blue lights cutting through the darkness.  

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his stomach dropping.  

A patrol car rolled up slowly, its headlights illuminating him in harsh, unforgiving light. He froze, his grip on the box tightening as two officers stepped out. One of them shone a flashlight directly into his face, and he squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes.  

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” one of them said firmly, their voice sharp and no-nonsense.  

Aki opened his mouth, but his brain was too foggy to form a coherent excuse. “Uh... I can explain—”  

“It looks like you broke into a car,” the other officer cut in, their tone laced with skepticism.  

“Yeah, okay, fine, it is what it looks like,” Aki admitted, the weight of the situation crashing down on him all at once.  

The officer sighed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”  

“Come on,” Aki groaned, his voice slurred as he stumbled forward. “This isn’t... this isn’t even about the car, it’s—it’s personal.”  

“Personal or not, you just committed a crime,” the officer replied.  

Aki felt the cold steel of the cuffs bite into his wrists as they clicked shut. His head swam as they guided him toward the patrol car, the box slipping from his grasp and falling onto the pavement. He glanced back over his shoulder, his heart sinking further when he saw her apartment. The lights had gone out, the window now dark and empty.  

As they pushed him into the backseat of the car, Aki leaned his head against the window, closing his eyes. “Great,” he muttered bitterly. “Just fucking great.”

a/n: if you haven't already, you should totally read my other aki story, Shameless! okay thats all, bye lovelies, hope you enjoyed! stay tuned!!! x

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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[calmlb]

one of my favorite headcanons is that Dazai defected right around Chuuya’s birthday

we don’t know exactly when he left, but we do know it was after october 26 & before june 19, & according to clues in dark era it sounded like it was around springtime in yokohama

idk enough about yokohama weather to know exactly what month it was but imagine…

Chuuya had been sent on a mission in the west for 6 weeks. he returned late in the afternoon on April 28th– just in time to ring in his 19th birthday with his shitty partner.

because why not? he’s got nothing better to do.

he’s even got a bottle of 1989 Petrus waiting to be popped open.

he reports to Mori for debriefing & all he can think about is how beating the mackerel in that racing game they’ve been playing while he was away would be the perfect way to start off his 19th year.

but when he turns to leave, the Boss stops him, telling him there’s something that he should know…

Dazai disappeared 2 weeks ago, & has now been declared a traitor to the mafia.

Chuuya’s blood runs cold. he doesn’t know how he made it back to his apartment— head muddled by hurt. shock. confusion. exhaustion.

he tosses his coat on the back of the couch & the first thing he sees is the bottle of vintage Petrus— still waiting for the celebration.

and celebrate he did.

Chuuya celebrated his liberation from that waste of bandages he called a partner.

he celebrated the success of the solo mission he’d just returned from.

he celebrated the end of the reign of the infamous double black.

he celebrated the fact that he’d survived 4 years of partnership with that shitty Dazai.

he celebrated Dazai’s freedom, which would likely save his life… the freedom Chuuya hadn’t been able to attain. he’d been left behind in the darkness by the one person who got it.

the one who believed in & fought for Chuuya’s humanity when no one else did.

Chuuya celebrated his 19th birthday. alone. again.

(he hadn’t even said goodbye— hadn’t asked Chuuya to come with hi-)

no.

Chuuya shook away those thoughts. he needed to clear his head. he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes & stumbled drunkenly across the room to grab his keys.

he made his way to the garage where his car was parked, clicking the button to unlock it as he approac-

BOOM!

Chuuya was thrown backwards onto his ass, barely able to catch himself in his drunken stupor. he blinked through bleary vision at the flames that were engulfing his car.

and wasn’t that just par for the course? the icing on his nonexistent birthday cake.

so much for that drive.

Chuuya watched the flames burn, & maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it felt almost symbolic— like closing this chapter of his life. all he could do now was move forward. just like he always did.

but not tonight.

tonight he would stumble back to his apartment & collapse into bed.

(in his inebriation, he hadn’t even noticed the black fabric burning up right along with his car)

he woke up the next morning, freshly 19 with a killer hangover, a smoldering car, & a missing ex-partner.

when he found the nearly empty wine bottle, he was kind of glad he hadn’t taken that drive…though his memory from last night was a bit fuzzy— what the hell had happened to his car?

his phone chimed with a text from Kouyou.

happy birthday, lad. don’t do anything stupid.

Chuuya couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. there were still people here who cared about him.

not long after this, he would be promoted to executive & decide that the Port Mafia was his family.

but for today, he would nurse his hangover & curse a certain mackerel’s name as he beat every high score between them in that stupid racing game.

happy freaking birthday to him.

the car bombing was inspired by this post bc it’s canon to me <3

[itscherrylipsforme]

The missing piece: Oliver Quick x fem!reader

Part 2 here

Summary: A few months after Saltburn becomes completely his, Oliver still feels like something is missing. Without being able to put a finger on it he decides to pay a visit to Oxford, where all started, trying to find the answer between his old memories. Fate believes that a pretty and sweet student he meets in a bookstore is the piece of the puzzle he needs right now. After all everyone wants to be showered with love, don’t they?

Warnings: Post Saltburn fic, a little bit dark (it’s Oliver, what you expected?), age gap (he is around 15-17 years older), slightly innocent kin? (nothing sexual)

Words: Around 1700

Author's rambles: Okay, I feel in love with him the movie and I am kind of embarrassed about it (It’s not my fault hat the actor has pretty eyes and a gorgeous accent, fine?) For your own good, don’t aspire to have a boyfriend as toxic as him in real life. Also this is my fic on Tumblr, please be nice

Masterlist Characters I write for

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ

I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

There is a psychological phenomenon that claims that after achieving something we have been longing for some time instead of the sense of satisfaction we were expecting we feel incomplete, hopeless and already looking forward to our next success. After having the Saltburn's keys just for himself, Oliver experienced that piercing emotion for the first time in his life. If he was painfully unaware of it or simply decided to ignore it remains as an open question until today. The only thing that was certain for him at that time is that he needed some action, a new goal, maybe some entertainment, and specially he needed answers. That’s why he decided to go back to the place it all started nearly sixteen years ago

Oxford hadn’t changed a lot since he graduated, as he had the chance to notice it. Different names, different faces, different decades… But still the same social scheme it was back them. Groups of rich daddy’s and mommy’s children swarming around the campus, pubs where you had to drink to be accepted, and poor little nobodies who had to adapt or die in the process

He rented a large flat not so far away from the university, and in the café just below it he rediscovered a hobby he had always had, but which have been almost forgotten on those last months on the mansion. Looking at the students, being able to read through their facades while accompanied by a cup of coffee, became his new pastime. But people always talk and after some weeks spending the afternoon in the café terrace just lost in his thoughts he realized the odd glances the staff shot towards him, so he decided to hide his true interest behind a less complex and unique one. The next day he went to the closest bookstore to buy any novel that would help him with his purpose, after all, people just ask fewer questions when you are reading on your own. That was when he found you sitting on a couch, legs crossed with a book between your small and soft hands

Pretty, beautiful, gorgeous even. Young, probably still studying at Oxford. On the shy aspect, lovely and smart as he guessed correctly. Sweet smile. Bright eyes. Oh, and some soft curves he was able to peep while he seemed to be looking at the shelves by your side. Wait, was that a blush, what he saw on your cheeks? Another scholarship student as he was back then. The fact that your clothes weren’t from big and expensive brands and that you spent your afternoons in the bookshop without really buying anything was the clue he needed to be sure about it. God, you were adorable, perfect, just what he needed right now and he decided to start working on it

Time had shown him that patience and a good plan could take you far away, this is the reason why, although he was eager to come to you and straight-forward mesmerize you with his tricks, he waited. He spent the next five weeks going to the library more or less daily hoping to see you, and luckily (since he was used to building his own luck) your schedules always matched. He always sat on an armchair to read next to yours, close but not enough to be suspicious. Just after he had made sure you have not so subtly looked at him a few times, he decided to make the move

“The Secret History” a deep silky voice said from behind your seat. His face slightly near to your face which made the words linger in the air for some honey-like seconds “You have a good taste”

“Thanks… Thank you” you manged to say in sweet and shy whisper

“First time you read it?” he asked and a shake of your head was the response he got

“No, I have already read it a couple of times in pdf. But I have never owned the physical book”

“We can have that keep happening, can’t we?” he grinned, and you couldn’t remember if he was the first man who had smiled and looked at you in that way “May I have a look at it?” his large and firm hands came to hold the cover as he stood up and went straight to the cashier “Follow me, darling” the nickname rolled in his tongue, sweet as candy, and before you thought about it, you did as he said. You were obedient, good thing, he thought to himself. He pulled the money out of his wallet in merely seconds, paid for it and hand it back to you

“Thanks, but I can’t accept it” you said slightly embarrassed

“Of course, you can! It truly is an amazing novel, you deserve it” he smirked. His words have had just the reaction he had expected from you, cheeks covered with a tiny hint of pink “I have always found myself relating to Henry Winter, I just need my Camila now”

You were taken back, was that an attempt to flirt? Because if it was, he had your attention. While you tried to make any sense out of your thought, he spoke again

“I am usually on a café nearby, if you are interested you could come sometime” Another smirk, and at that moment you knew that this man was going to be the death to you. Things like this only happened to the main characters in romance movies

“I don’t even know your name”

“ You can call me Oliver, darling”

“I am y/n”

“Beautiful, beautiful y/n, it was a pleasure to meet you. Hope we see each other again”

And you did. Between coffees, books, conversations and more, he had you wrapped around his finger by the time your classes ended. Oliver was sweet, devoted, intelligent… all you could ever ask for in a man. He was straight out of your dreams, and damn he felt you were straight out of his. Innocent, easy to make blush, could keep with his ramblings and most important, you were eager to love, and he was eager to be loved

Yesterday it had been your graduation, when you left the ceremony in that beautiful dress he had insisted on buying you and wrapped your arms around him, he felt like his plan has almost completely succeeded. Almost, you wanted a fairy tale romance, and he was going to give you one. Keeping things slowly and delicate. But when he woke up and felt you laying on his chest sleeping peacefully, he couldn’t help but want to make you his. That had been the only night you had spent in his apartment in your months together. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't rush, so he didn't. At least he was glad you were coming with him to Saltburn for a few weeks in the summer and you could bet he wouldn’t let you leave the mansion again if he could. After all, you were all that he wanted. His missing piece

Part 2 here

[mask131]

The thing that I always found abominably fascinating and insanely mind-blowing with the Earthsea series is that it breaks all the worn-out, over-used, “seen everywhere” cliches of fantasy people complain about today and try to avoid. 

Tired of your typical Europe-setting? Here is a world of islands influenced by a lot of various non-European civilizations!

Tired of having a white-predominant cast? Here is a series where people of color are the dominant ethnicities and the white are the minority and bizarre barbarian foreigners from far away!

Tired of having the heroes go on grand and perilous monster-slaying quest to fight some dark overlord or fetch a magical item? Here are books where the villains are elusive, abstract and philosophical threats, where the quests to defeat them are very down-to-earth, solitary and rely more on self-search and the understanding of human nature rather than great exploits. 

Tired of seeing the same old-worn out fantasy races tropes? None of this here! 

This book series was created with the intention of subverting, avoiding or breaking the new tropes and stereotypes that were rising up with the success of Tolkien’s work. It was made to be different and ground-breaking and stereotype-crushing, and it worked extremely well, becoming a classic of fantasy literature and influencing the genre massively... And yet, people only rediscover it today, and know about it today somehow. (Well a “large” today including the dozen of last years of so).

This series is the perfect example of the “new” fantasy that rises up in the modern era, as an attempt to “break off” from the “traditional” or “cliche” fantasy... And the first book has been sitting there since the END OF THE 60s!!! 

There are more examples I could point out of books that present to us a completely out-there, trope reinventing, stereotype breaking form of fantasy - and that yet have been there since the 70s or the 80s, or even before! As I went back in time to see several of the “classics” of fantasy literature, I came to understand something - a lot of the “cliches” and “stereotypes” and “over-used tropes” of fantasy people complain about today were not at all dominant for a very long time. If you believe the words of many people out there, you imagine fantasy never had black characters or queer characters or non-European settings or non-Tolkienesque plotlines until the 2010s or something... Which is not true. Fantasy was such a varied, bizarre, diverse genre in its literary form all throughout the 20th century, and many “old” works of the first generations of the post-Tolkien fantasy are basically what people want to see today as “pattern-breaking and fresh new fantasy”. 

The Tolkienesque-fantasy and all of its cliches and stereotypes were not so much dominant as just present in a handful of massively popular and widespread works - the case of the Shannara series can be pointed out, as its first book was PRAISED at the time for being able to recreate a Tolkien story in the 70s, and it was because it was mostly a copy of the Lord of the Rings that it got so popular (and why it is not well-liked today). And then the 80s rolled and early D&D reignited the flame of the Tolkien-inspired fantasy. By the 90s, it seemed Tolkien had been used and over-used to death, and people didn’t trust it all anymore... Which is why David Eddings’ Belgariad series was created. Its key point was to take back all the elements of the traditional epic fantasy story, but reassemble them, freshen them up, twist them slightly, all of that to re-create a by-the-book BUT fresh, new and interesting series. It was an attempt at prooving that, with innovation and some twists and modernization, the Tolkienesque fantasy would not die - and it worked massively well. And then in the 2000s, the Lord of the Rings movie sealed the deal. 

All these works make it look like fantasy had always been copying or taking inspiration from Tolkien. But it is false. It is true that most of the classics are tied to Tolkien, but not always in imitation or re-creation - in the case of “Earthsea”, there was a willing attempt at getting away and inverting the Tolkienesque fantasy to create a fantasy that went the very opposite direction. Same thing with the Elric Saga, also designed to be the reverse or opposite of The Lord of the Rings, and which in turn became the classic of another new genre of fantasy: dark fantasy. And Conan in all that? People forget that the Conan the Barbarian series were just as influential for fantasy works as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings was. The Elric Saga, again, was created to completely reverse and avoid the Conan-like fantasy. A similar thing was done with Leiber for his “Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser” series, which was designed to break away from the Conan “heroic fantasy” style and reinvent the genre in a new direction. 

There are so many “old” and “classic” works of literary fantasy that actually do not feel like a “classic” at all because they have all the vibes, elements and expectations one has from a non-classic, non-traditional fantasy... BUT THEY ARE THE FOUNDATIONS, they are the basis and classics and inspirations of fantasy. And it all shows this huge gap between what people think fantasy is, and what fantasy really was - it is a fascinating case study of how one specific trend somehow got over the entire genre. Imagine a world where people think Gothic novels can only have a vampire or the ghost of a judge, and must be Bram Stokers-inspired, and that everybody points out they are tired to see Dracula-expies everywhere... Only to discover the stories of Edgar Allan Poe and be baffled by them and their “inventivity” and “breaking of patterns”. I’m sorry, that’s the fastest comparison I can make, but this feels just like that. There is this strangely specific idea of what fantasy is today forged on a few items... I think, beyond the massive success of Tolkien and imitators, D&D probably is also to “blame” for how people see fantasy today.

But even then, D&D took inspiration from so many non-conventional works of fantasy... Yes many became “classics” now, though often ignored by the masses - The Elric Saga, and Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser were big influences. But take the Jack Vance series “The Dying Earth”, another big inspiration on early D&D. Take that. This series is from the 50s - FROM THE 50S - and yet it is a unique genre of sci-fi fantasy that I haven’t seen much being done around, and it creates such a weird, whimsical, bizarre, surrealistic fantasy world, it feels completely unique. And again, it is a classic of the 50s and 60s. 

I don’t really know where I try to go with this but the important thing is: when someone wants to read “non-traditional” or “non-Tolkienesque” fantasy, or “non-stereotyped” fantasy, it is possible, instead of searching for every new author nowadays (not a bad thing to do that though), it is possible to just go back in time, look back at the books of the 70s, 60s and 50s, and find there a novelty, a freshness and an inventivity that is lacking in a mass production of modern day fantasy. And that such a thing is possible is truly crazy for me. I don’t know if such a thing happened with other literary genres, but it is insane that sometimes in fantasy, to see “new” things you just have to look back into the past. 

[shrimpys-log]

Shrimpy's Log 001: Sleep-Talking

✎ Concept/Headcanon ✎ Characters: Azul, Ace, Rook ✎ Gender-neutral

『Mumbling in Your Sleep, but Not the Romanticized Way』

It's not unusual for you to fall asleep in impractical places around campus, such as in the common rooms or the library or during study sessions... which, really, you should be a bit more cautious about, considering you know you talk in your sleep... and judging by your dreams, you don't have anything particularly intelligent to say when unconscious.

When with your favorite person, the moment does have the potential to be cute. Too many times have you been exposed to those cute scenes in various romantic media, wherein a lover confesses their feelings in their sleep, mumbling their truest and most vulnerable words of love without fear of consequence---and unbeknownst to them, their lover is privy to it all.

...if only you were one of those people who had anything remotely romantic to say...

『Azul』

When Azul catches you sleeping, it's not nonsense you're mumbling--then again, it's nothing romantic either. Instead, you're mumbling about something that makes Azul end up loving you even more: plans.

Even when asleep, you're buzzing like a little worker bee, mumbling about due dates, time slots, objectives and priorities. It comes out in short bursts--key words that give him minuscule insights into what you're dreaming about--but he pieces it together soon enough, and it's beyond endearing.

You're truly someone after his own heart, aren't you? All ambitious and organized, even as you sleep. You'd probably forget it all by the time you wake up, but it was adorable to him nonetheless.

As far as priorities go, you're his number one--though of course, number two is chasing success, and he's glad he's found someone who shares that ambition. You two were truly made for each other.

『Ace』

Ace doesn't know what in seven's name you're even saying as you sleep, but that doesn't stop him from taking out his phone and recording a nice, long clip to tease you about later.

He's practically vibrating with excitement as he waits for you to wake up and realize you fell asleep in the middle of a study session. He's smiling at you like you'd given him the best gift in the world, and by the time you finally open your eyes, it almost seems as if you had babbled about how much you loved him in your sleep, with how delighted he is and all.

"What are you, the wizard?!" He cackles, practically rolling on the ground. "I didn't even know what you were saying! It sounded like you were chanting spells! Pfffft--your droning is worse than Trein talking about eras of magical prosperity. What's that one wizard fellow from your world you talk about... uh... jigglypuff? Rumbleroar?"

"Dumbledore?"

"That!" Ace snickers. "We got Dumbledore over here, muttering some expect-a-patrol-bus nonsense. Bahaha!"

You personally thought his complete butchery of your world's pop culture references was more embarrassing than anything you could have mumbled... but whatever. If it meant waking up to see Ace smiling so brightly, it was well worth the embarrassment.

『Rook』

You were slowly picking up some French phrases from hanging around Rook so often, and unbeknownst to you, they were slowly seeping into your spontaneous sleep-talking.

Rook was rarely caught completely off-guard, but he certainly hadn't been anticipating you to burst out with a particularly passionate 'Aujourd'hui!' in the middle of your nap. Aujourd'hui - 'today', of all things to say.

"What about today, mon amour?" He asks with an amused smile, fully aware that you were merely sleep-talking, You go silent after that, and he seems to decide that's the end of it, because he goes back to focusing on whatever he was focusing on before.

Then, you hit him with another curveball.

"Filet mignon." You say, before letting out a soft snoring sound. "Mm... mignon..."

"Tu es trop mignon(ne), ma trésor," Rook coos in response. "Cuter than any filet."

Silence, once more, and then...

"C'est bon!"

He can't help it--he starts laughing.

"I love you more than anything, mon ange," he replies--not loud enough to wake you, of course. He didn't mean to disturb your sleep; he just couldn't contain his affection for you any longer! You may have been the one sleep-talking, but in this scenario, he was the one confessing his love for you (again)--and he would happily repeat the sentiment as many times as you want, once you wake up.

[bbobpul]

break my heart again 2 — njm

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader SUMMARY.how's jaemin gonna give back for all of y/n's efforts now that he finally can? it's been years—just how much has everything changed? GENRE. angst, fluff, she fell first 🤭 W/C. 3.5k NOTE. hello, part two is here! so sorry i couldn't make a taglist. i didn't have time to make one. nevertheless, i hope this fic make its way back to you. love u all and thankies sm !!!! also, my requests are open !!!

(⁠☉⁠｡⁠☉⁠)⁠!⁠→ my other works !!!!!! part one here!!

i find it hard to picture myself ever being as dedicated to something or someone again, just like how i dedicated my entire college life to na jaemin.

lately, i've been feeling like i forgot what it's like to actually have a dream. back then, na jaemin was my dream, he was my driving force. i would force myself to wake up so early in the morning just so i could see him (or his car) enter the gates of the university. i would go to school even though i am sick and feel a lot better when i get home because i saw na jaemin. but now two years after graduating, i still haven't found a decent job that i actually enjoy.

it's a common experience that many people go through, and i suppose i shouldn't complain about it. maybe i need to put in more effort and push myself harder. part of me wonders if having na jaemin back in my life would rekindle that same sense of dedication that i once had. but as i say these thoughts out loud, they sound absurd, even to myself. why would i wish for my first love to return just so i could find a decent job? why would i long for na jaemin to come back merely to feel that spark in my life again? it's puzzling why i'm even dwelling on thoughts of him and wondering if he holds the key to my happiness and success.

oh, to dream.

oh, for that old dedication to still burn within you.

if only you hadn't acted so dumb that day. could life have taken a different path? are you even happy now? if you hadn't let fear hold you back back then, if you'd actually been brave enough to listen and follow through, would you be happier today?

but no matter how much you keep bothering yourself with that memory, if people come up to you and ask if you feel bad about everything that happened that day, you'd say no. you don't feel bad at all.

deciding to let him go was one of the best things you did. he seemed happy when you left, and after that, you never heard anything about him. he's like a touchy subject in your group of friends, which can be tough sometimes since you share friends. but does it really matter now? him not being in your life probably means he's happier and more peaceful, right?

are you feeling peaceful? is being stuck in a 9-5 job that hardly brought you joy a happy situation? scratch that. did being in that job make you happy? clearly not, as you've just mustered the bravery to quit. and in doing so, you've never felt more joyful.

did you really make the right decision?

just as you were pondering your own question, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. you grabbed it and saw that the caller was renjun, your incredibly patient best friend.

"y/n," he said, his tone becoming unusually serious. "what's up?" you asked. "do you need money?" "yeah?" "here's the deal: our college is putting together a documentary film, and they've chosen your department. but guess what? your old classmates are bombarding me with messages because it looks like you're ignoring them all. frankly, i can't believe you even answered my call," he griped. "wait, hold on. what film? and why would they pick me? are they searching for someone with a post-college life so sad that it belongs in a documentary?" "well, you were practically a legend back in college, so… and apparently, the director specifically wants you, which leads to… well, another issue…" "what's the problem now?" "it's going to be directed by jaemin."

and just like that, you ended the call. but a few seconds later, renjun's call came in again.

"i'm not going to do it." "you stubborn brat." "why him?" "i have no idea!" "why is he even directing? wasn't he studying architecture or something?" "i don't know, y/n. i haven't heard a single thing about him since your graduation." "what do you mean?" "that's not important now, y/n. you're in need of money, right? seize the opportunity. do it for the cash." “so will you do it or will you do it?” “for the cash.”

...

"y/n, you've moved on, haven't you? what's done is done. i'm pretty sure jaemin has forgotten all about it. this chance is coming your way, so just accept it." "i guess i will."

you're drawn in by the idea of making some extra money and the possibility of catching the eye of potential agents or employers. right now, you're at a crossroads, thinking about how this documentary could be a stepping stone to more job opportunities down the line. this situation is different from what usually drives you – this time, it's not about others, it's about focusing on your own goals and aspirations.

you're deliberately avoiding dwelling on your past. just as renjun mentioned, you've moved beyond it. what's done is done. right now, your focus is firmly on the present and the potential that lies ahead in the future.

what's in the past is behind us, including whatever existed between jaemin and you.

from renjun

tomorrow at lunchtime, they'll be going over the schedules and discussing what to film. if you want, you can chat with the director now. his number is 0825 813 2000.

in response, you simply replied with a "okay."

the night before the lunch meeting, a jumble of emotions has you in its grip. the idea of reconnecting with jaemin, who used to be your best friend and is now someone distant, fills you with a sense of awkwardness. you tell yourself that this is about working together and the chance to grow professionally.

after taking a deep breath, you decide to shoot jaemin a text. your fingers hesitate as you type, and the uncertainty you're feeling seems to seep into your message. you finally press send, and your text reads, "hey, it's y/n. heard we're meeting tomorrow for the documentary. just wanted to check in before that."

in almost no time, your phone buzzes with a response: "hey y/n, good to hear from you. yeah, looking forward to our meeting. let's catch up and chat about the project."

the conversation is polite, but beneath the surface, there's an unspoken layer of complexity. you can feel the hesitation in your exchange, a silent recognition of the shared history that's now a distant memory. as you talk about the meeting and the documentary, the easy flow you once had is noticeably absent.

as the texts go back and forth, a sense of tension seems to hang in the air. it's as though the years of friendship you once had are casting a shadow over your conversation. the effortless connection you once shared now requires effort, and both of you can sense the change.

as the conversation wraps up with a simple "see you tomorrow," you're left with a mix of excitement and anxiety. the idea of seeing jaemin again, especially in a professional context, stirs up a range of emotions. this situation is a stark reminder of just how much things have changed – and maybe how some things can't go back to the way they were.

you believed the conversation had concluded, only for your phone to ring once more, bearing yet another message from him. as you read the words on the screen, "i missed you, y/n," a rush of emotions floods over you.

"what's going on with him?" you mutter to yourself, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. your gaze remains fixed on the message for a moment, your attention drawn to the three blinking dots in the corner – a sign that he's in the process of typing a response. several more seconds tick by, the dots eventually vanishing, and in response, you shut your phone off. you make an attempt to settle into bed and get some rest, but truth be told, it's hard to claim you managed to sleep soundly that night. an undercurrent of thoughts and emotions keeps your mind restless.

the day of lunch lunch finally arrived. you sat across from jaemin, his words forming a distant hum as your thoughts remained clouded and preoccupied. the lingering impact of his recent message kept you in a state of unease, making it difficult to fully engage in the conversation he was leading.

then, something inside you snapped, and you found yourself abruptly interrupting him with a question that had been gnawing at you, "why me?"

he looked at you, his gaze steady, and his response was quick, "why not you?"

your frustration simmered as his words hit you. he was choosing to be cryptic, and it was only adding to your confusion. pushing past your exasperation, you pressed on, "listen, i know we didn't part on the best terms, but why come back now and act like everything's fine? i mean, sure, it's better than hostility, but why choose me? i'm the one who's no longer part of your life."

his expression remained neutral, void of any emotions as he replied, "that's not true."

you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to elaborate. "what's not true?"

"that you have nothing to do with my life, y/n," he stated firmly.

the weight of his words settled heavily between you two, the gravity of the situation growing more apparent. the lunch table had transformed into an arena for confronting unresolved issues.

you scoffed, unable to hold back your disbelief. "jaemin, i made one mistake, and now you're trying to imply that my actions shaped your entire life?"

his eyes held yours, unwavering. "y/n, it's not just about that one mistake. everything that followed, everything that shaped who i am today… it's all connected to you."

your mind reeled, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was suggesting. the complexities of your shared history seemed to crash over you, leaving you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions and a tangled web of unspoken feelings.

the weight of his words left you momentarily speechless, and in an attempt to shift away from the intensity, you sought to change the subject. "where are the other producers? why is it just you here?"

"y/n…" he began, his tone suggesting he wanted to continue the previous conversation.

however, you opted to sidestep the discussion entirely. you pretended as if the profound exchange hadn't just occurred. "i notice you're taking on the role of a director now. quite the career shift, huh?" you inquired, masking your internal turmoil with a casual demeanor. you acted as if there hadn't been a two-year gap in your connection, as though things between you were perfectly ordinary.

he met your gaze, a faint hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "i pursued another dream when i felt i'd lost the chance for my first one."

"your first dream… not architecture, then?" you prodded, curious about the direction he had taken.

he shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him, leaving you puzzled yet again. "no, not architecture. well, i suppose that just wasn't meant for me back then, but maybe it is now."

the cryptic nature of his response only added to the layers of confusion and intrigue that surrounded him. there was something about the way he spoke that hinted at deeper currents beneath the surface, emotions and experiences that he hadn't fully revealed. you found yourself torn between the desire to push for answers and the instinct to allow him his privacy. the lunch meeting had transformed into a stage for untangling not just the complexities of the documentary but also the intricate web of emotions and history between you and jaemin.

leaving the restaurant, a whirlwind of unanswered questions dances in your mind. yet, for now, you choose to tuck those thoughts away, focusing instead on the looming filming date just a few days away – next saturday.

in the span of time between that lunch and the upcoming shoot, jaemin proves consistent in his attempts to bridge the gap between you two. he regularly reaches out, updating you about his day and proposing get-togethers, which you consistently decline.

the days pass, marked by a series of messages and missed opportunities. despite the undeniable tension, there's an undeniable persistence on jaemin's part, a determined effort to reconnect and reestablish a sense of familiarity. however, your apprehensions and the memories of your past dynamics hold you back, keeping you from embracing his overtures.

as the countdown to the filming day continues, you find yourself in a delicate dance – balancing the unresolved history between you and the prospects of the future. the lines between your personal and professional lives are blurred, and the documentary project becomes a backdrop against which the intricacies of your relationship with jaemin play out.

you find yourself constantly pondering what his intentions could be. his actions leave you wondering, and you can't help but question what he's aiming for. in your perspective, you're merely a negative aspect of his life – a streak of misfortune. you would have expected him to have learned from the past, but his determination remains unshakeable.

as you contemplate these thoughts, your phone lights up once more, bearing yet another message from him. his name on the screen triggers a whirlwind of emotions – a mixture of uncertainty, annoyance, and a hint of curiosity. opening the message, you brace yourself for whatever he might convey this time. the consistency in his attempts at communication only serves to deepen the intricate web of emotions you hold for him, leaving you caught between your shared history and the unpredictability of the present.

"the offer's still there, y/n. :)" "jaemin, let's be real. just because i'm on board with your documentary idea doesn't mean we're suddenly best buds again. a lot has changed." "i want to reconnect, though." "actually, scratch that. i want to get to know you all over again." "jaemin, i appreciate the effort, but let's keep things professional, okay?" “i’m sorry, y/n. goodnight.”

after your straightforward message, his responses ceased. a silence settled in, stretching on until saturday – the day you were set to see him again. the anticipation and uncertainty had been building, and now the moment was finally at hand.

you stepped into the studio and immediately noticed that you and jaemin were the only ones present. your confusion must have been evident on your face, prompting him to address the situation promptly.

"um, the team thought having fewer people in the room would create a more personal atmosphere," he began, his voice carrying a hint of unease. "and, well, they decided to keep me here, you know, being the director and all, and also because we have a history…"

his words trailed off, and there was a subtle vulnerability in his tone. it was as if he was acknowledging the intricacies of your past connection, while simultaneously recognizing the complexities it introduced into your current dynamic. the studio, usually a place of creativity and collaboration, had transformed into a space laden with the weight of your shared history.

"it's okay," you responded, your words carrying a touch of reassurance. as your reply registered, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips – a detail you couldn't help but notice. after all, it was that very smile that had ignited four years of your life, a smile that held memories and emotions you had both shared.

"um, i'll just ask you a few questions, and then you're free to go," he stated, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness that didn't escape your notice. this new facet of his demeanor felt unfamiliar to you, a departure from the confident jaemin you had known.

you found yourself disliking this uneasiness, and a thought occurred to you – maybe it was time to rekindle something within him. as he began asking you questions, you decided to respond in a way that would evoke a certain familiarity between you two. it was a subtle attempt to bridge the gap, to draw out the person you once knew.

you had believed that his silence was what you wanted. you had convinced yourself that distancing yourself from him would protect you from the past mistakes. but now, facing the reality of the situation, you realized that perhaps a certain selfishness was ingrained within you. maybe, just maybe, you yearned to erase the distance, to defy your own rationalizations.

in this moment, you found yourself yearning to rekindle what had been lost, to bring back a connection that once meant so much. the conflicting emotions within you painted a complex picture of your desires – a battle between self-preservation and the longing for something more.

however, as you locked eyes with him and saw the lack of any discernible emotion in his gaze, a haunting wave of fear resurfaced within you. in that moment, it was as if time rewound, taking you back to the day of your graduation when your heart and spirit had felt shattered. the memory of that painful experience rushed back, accompanied by the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued you.

if you were to truly confront your own feelings, you'd admit that what you witnessed that night had left you questioning your own worth. the events had stirred up doubts about whether you had ever been deserving of taking risks for, whether you had ever been someone worth fighting for.

"hey, good morning, y/n."

"morning, director."

"how's today treating you?"

"pretty good, thanks."

"hmm, and what's life been like after college?"

"…"

"take your time."

"at first, i felt okay. my friends were all getting closer to their dreams, and i was genuinely happy for them. especially…"

"especially who?"

"especially the person i left behind."

"…"

"i was content being happy for someone else. then another year went by, and i wasn't feeling so great anymore."

"do you really think they're happy?"

"hmm?"

"the person you left behind."

"yeah. and my other friends seem happy too. they've got jobs they love, they're with people they care about, and i only had… renjun *laughs* … but sometimes, i can't help but feel like i'm the one who got left behind, you know? even though i was the one who walked away."

"let's talk about your person."

"oh *laughs* he's not my person."

pausing for a moment, you glanced at jaemin behind the camera. the question lingered in your mind: what was he trying to do? his actions and intentions remained a puzzle.

his expression grew serious, his gaze fixed intently on you. it was as if he had something to convey, something he was holding back.

"the last time i actually saw him was in an instagram post. he was with some girl. it happened on my graduation day. i waited the whole day, hoping he'd appear in the midst of the crowd. when he didn't, i held onto the possibility of seeing him by the gates. but that didn't happen either. my last hope was maybe he'd send me a single message, but by the end of the day, nothing came. then i went on instagram and saw a photo – a warning, i guess. a warning that i should just stop hoping. that… happened a few weeks later, i think. or maybe it was just a few days after our argument, the one where he told me he couldn't love… yeah."

you met his gaze and once again, his face was serious. his eyes were furrowed and his mouth was slightly open. a few moments passed, and he let out a shaky breath. screw it, you thought, it's out there now and i don't care anymore.

your silent exchange was interrupted as he shifted the camera away. confusion clouded your thoughts as you watched him move. he turned back to you, his expression still serious, and then he grabbed a chair from the nearby table. he sat down with his back facing you.

the room felt charged with unspoken emotions, leaving you to question his intentions and actions. it was as if he was peeling away layers, searching for something beneath the surface.

"did you know that…" he began, his voice breaking the silence. "she was his sister?"

"i never told you about her, that's on me," he admitted with a chuckle. "that was her last day, y/n. so i decided to spend the entire day with her. i'm sorry."

you were taken aback. "i'm sorry–"

"it's okay, y/n."

"i know i left you with so many questions that night, but let me tell you… every effort you made, every cookie you baked, i cherished all of it. i loved you. i'm sorry if my actions made you doubt yourself."

another pause filled the air.

"i left when you left."

"you were my dream. architecture wasn't really my passion, you know? i was struggling a lot, but luckily, you were there with me. i decided to chase after what i truly loved when you left, because i realized if i wanted you back in my life, it should be when i'm at my best, right? i wasn't lying when i said i couldn't love. i didn't want to love you when i was broken. i wanted to be the best version of myself for you. i thought that if i wanted you to be with the best person, then that should be me. so i became that person, a director, and then i planned all of this." his eyes finally met yours.

"i was always looking at you."

tears welled up in your eyes, and he seemed to notice. he took a step towards you and enveloped you in his arms.

"i'm sorry for not holding onto you back then, baby. but i promise, i won't let go of you now," he whispered.

"i'm sorry for leaving, jaemin," you sobbed.

"shh, you did what you thought was right."

"do you want to have lunch with me now?" he asked.

a mixture of emotions flooded your heart, and with a nod, you replied, "yes, jaemin."

[bigairplaneblog]

Who Invented Big Airplanes: The Minds Behind the Giants of the Sky

Do you know how the big airplanes were invented? It's a fascinating story that spans decades of innovation, engineering breakthroughs, and sheer determination. Big airplanes, also known as large aircraft models, have become a cornerstone of modern aviation, revolutionizing how we travel and connect with the world. But who were the brilliant minds that brought these aviation models to life?

The journey of the big airplane model began in the early 20th century when aviation pioneers first dreamed of creating aircraft that could carry more passengers and cargo over longer distances. It was a time of intense experimentation and competition, with inventors and engineers racing to build the next big thing in aviation.

One of the key figures in the invention of big airplanes was Igor Sikorsky. Born in Kyiv, Ukraine, in 1889, Sikorsky was an aviation visionary who designed the world’s first multi-engine airplane, the Russky Vityaz, in 1913. This aircraft model was groundbreaking because it demonstrated that it was possible to create a large airplane model with multiple engines, which was essential for carrying heavier loads and flying longer distances. The success of the Russky Vityaz paved the way for the development of even larger aircraft, leading to Sikorsky’s later designs, like the Ilya Muromets, which became the world’s first four-engine bomber.

But Sikorsky wasn’t alone in his quest to build big airplanes. In the United States, Donald Wills Douglas Sr. played a crucial role in the evolution of large airplane models. Douglas founded the Douglas Aircraft Company in 1921, and it wasn’t long before his company became synonymous with innovation in aviation. One of the most significant contributions from Douglas was the DC-3, introduced in 1935. This airplane model revolutionized air travel with its ability to carry 21 passengers in comfort, a feat previously unheard of in commercial aviation. The DC-3 set the standard for modern aircraft and remains one of the most iconic aviation models ever created.

Another major milestone in the history of big airplanes came with the Boeing 747, often referred to as the "Queen of the Skies." The 747 was the brainchild of Joe Sutter, an engineer at Boeing, who led the team that designed this enormous aircraft. First flown in 1969, the Boeing 747 was a true game-changer, capable of carrying more than 400 passengers across the globe. This large airplane model not only made international travel more accessible but also solidified Boeing’s position as a leader in the aviation industry. The 747 remains one of the most successful aircraft models, with variants still flying today.

These early innovators laid the groundwork for the modern giants of the sky we see today. Today, the Airbus A380 holds the title of the largest passenger airplane model ever built. Introduced in 2007, the A380 can carry over 800 passengers in an all-economy configuration. The development of this behemoth required a multinational effort, with teams from across Europe contributing to its design and construction. The A380 represents the pinnacle of what large airplane models can achieve, offering unparalleled capacity and comfort for long-haul flights.

The invention of big airplanes wasn’t just about building larger aircraft; it was about pushing the boundaries of what was possible in aviation. These pioneers didn’t just create bigger planes; they created new opportunities for people to connect, explore, and experience the world in ways that were once unimaginable.

As aviation continues to evolve, the legacy of those who invented big airplanes lives on. From Sikorsky’s early experiments to the modern marvels of Boeing and Airbus, these aircraft models have forever changed the face of travel. So the next time you board a flight, take a moment to appreciate the incredible history behind the big airplane model that’s carrying you to your destination. The sky’s the limit, thanks to the visionaries who dared to dream big.