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chosos-mascara · 9 months

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gojo's bride

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - as part of the ryomen clan, your life revolves around organised crime. when your father tells you you're destined to marry naoya zen'in, you're left with little choice but to run.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - mafia au, violence, arranged marriage, guns, killing/shooting in one scene, you're on the run, bounty hunter toji, marriage

side characters: suguru, sukuna and toji

5.4k words

Throughout childhood, an image of marriage is painted by your family. A contract between soulmates; a display of love to a person. Notes of a traditional wedding decorated with chairs of close friends and relatives, smiles wide and eyes glassy. Or, maybe you were better suited to a romantic elopement followed by a getaway, littered with intimate moments before announcing yourself a wife. In the end, the outcome is the same, one drilled into you by your parents since a young age. Perhaps while innocent, you had indulged within the images of a princess-like gown and florals winding around an ornate staircase - though with age and your growing understanding of your father's business values, you'd understood this wasn't a day to look forward to.

When those in your clan would mention a prospective husband, someone your father would pick by hand, your heart would race excitedly, hands grasping over your chest as you swooned in adoration. There had been a semblance of what you'd pictured your future husband to look like, though that had since dwindled. When hitting twenty, reality setting in that this was another thing you would not experience normally, you tried to push the idea away. To your family, you were a pawn, and your marriage would be nothing other than an advantage to them; because when born as a woman within the world of Japanese illegitimate business, there were more hurdles than most. Your life had been seemingly filled with one sacrifice after another, and marriage was looking to be the largest one yet.

Which is why, a courthouse wedding planned only twelve hours prior hadn't been what you'd envisioned. Despite the loss of formality and tradition there had still been anxiousness bubbling within the pit of your stomach, hands clammy as you took hold of the man you'd barely known while reciting an unbreakable oath. Instead of a dress, you'd been in cargos and a long sleeved top, though Gojo had displayed a little more care over the ordeal - a crisp blue shirt and slacks, black lenses over his eyes an a Rolex on his wrist. He slid the ring over your finger, delivering vows that had meant very little to either of you, and you'd repeated the action moments later, heart racing when the officiant had announced that you were now bound by law. Geto and Sukuna signed the certificate, and the four of you left to return to the shitty apartment you'd been hiding within for the past week. A weight had been lifted, but a new one had only taken its place.

"Now, the reason we're gathered here is due to an important announcement within the family." Your father spoke, lips curving upward into a smile as his eyes darted to your own. It had been obvious when your parents had requested your presence for dinner there had been an ulterior motive, with yourself being left alone unless there had been news, or you'd been in need of discipline. It had usually been the latter, with being in your twenties and having a powerful father while being rebellious to his rules, there had been frequent fall-outs. Though within the moment his cold stare met yours, you'd understood exactly what he'd been about to say.

"I've picked a partner for my daughter, finally." Through his thin smile, jagged teeth had shown. "Next week, she'll become a Zen'in, and our clan will reap the benefits of being united with one of the top three." For such a disgusting statement, he spoke with confidence, watching through beady eyes as the chatter of close and distant family members erupted, though mostly from excitement. "What?" The quiet protest fell between conversations of others, any further objections died on your tongue. He looked down at you, a vacant stare before continuing. Your gaze fluttered to your mother to ask for a semblance of empathy, yet you were met with the same ruthless eyes.

"Naoya Zen'in, my future son in law, will aid in managing business, merging with his father's company." The name had rang alarm bells through your already cascading mind, oblivion on the horizon. Naoya, a bigger misogynist than any man within your clan, a person referred to as scum by anyone with half a brain.

There had been an uncomfortable cough opposite you, your panicked gaze meeting the dark eyes of your cousin. He's raised a brow, placing serviette beside plate as his head tilted toward large wooden doors - the only exit from the dining hall. You took a moment to think, mouth agape and heart racing, before standing. A large push through your daze of emotion had been all it had taken to activate the flight response, leaving your seat to run toward your room.

Once your head had hit pillow, tears flooded through your eyes, face plush to soft sheets in order to drown out the sobs raking over your body. The Zen'ins had been one of three leading clans within the mafia, alongside Kamo and Gojo. Three lineages known to be the dirtiest of all, though due to honor had been treated as if royalty. You'd heard Sukuna speak of Naoya in passing, and his disgust with the man he'd only met in passing.

"Hey," Sukuna's voice filled the air between muffled cries, body shaking and breaths heavy as you'd turned to face the figure walking through the room. Shifting, you sat with your back against the headboard, a pillow in your lap as the mattress dipped to allow space to your only friend. "I'm so sorry-" Sukuna began, bringing a hand to his face and sighing. "This is bad."

The weight of the situation before you had grown heavier when your cousin had admitted his own alarm. Sukuna feared no one, and had taught you to follow him on the same path of callousness; jobs executed with little remorse or care. Your partnership had resembled siblings to outsiders in the sense that you'd been family no one would cross, even if Ryomen had been a relatively new name within this world. With the company founded by your grandfather, there had been just enough time to spread word of the name, though when comparing feats to that of Gojo or Kamo, Ryomen had appeared ant-sized.

"I can't," You stuttered over words between labored breaths, a harsh squeeze over the pillow clutched within your grip, pressing into your stomach. "Sukuna, I really can't do this." Brown eyes scanned over you once more, concern riddled within the pupils, down turned eyebrows creating a crease at his forehead. He hadn't seen you like this before; distraught, scared. Since childhood, the pair of you had pushed emotion from your psyche, swearing vow to be honest only with the other. Each of you had promised to be the only person to trust in the harsh world you'd been brought into. In adulthood, you'd met with him significantly less, and Sukuna had built a name for himself as the Ryomen with the dirtiest hands. Yet, the vow would not be broken.

"There's a place downtown," Sukuna's voice had been hushed, a sigh from his lips before continuing. "Tonight, we'll leave. You can stay until I find a way to get you out of this mess." The statements he'd spoken had been frantic as he'd tried to make sense of the visions in his head - if he would've simply been born with more intelligence, perhaps he'd have been better aid when you'd needed him most.

"What's that going to do?" You laughed through helpless sobs, rolling eyes at the promise he'd made - though with trembling lips and fingernails scratching anxiously over the skin of your arm, your body had demonstrated the true terror within you. "Dad's not going to cancel a deal halfway through, not with the Zen'ins." Reiterating your point, you tried to push him away from an ill-planed escape, however much you'd needed him to give his all. "We'll figure this out, okay?" Tattooed fingers smoothed through his hair, dullness within his gaze as he watched over your deflated form.

It had been midnight when you'd left. With only a backpack for belongings, you'd stuffed it to the best of your ability before slipping through the bedroom window, prayers whispered as you'd absconded the building. Hopefully, your family would notice your disappearance after you'd left their surveillance lines.

Sukuna had waited a block away, engine running as he'd awaited your presence in the passenger side. It hadn't taken much pleading before Suguru had agreed to house you, only having to hear the Zen'in name before allowing you to seek refuge, though he couldn't deny his concerns of being found even while in a safe house. After holding his breath while waiting for you, you'd finally emerged, slumping against the passenger seat. Sukuna had now been in control of your fate, shifting into drive.

The journey hadn't been long, reaching the building within a half hour, though concern riddling your mind upon entry. A run down apartment block, ivy curving into single-pane windows to grow along the white-washed brick inside, cracked tiles beneath your feet left unwashed and elevator jolting upon movement. Your travels had been led mostly in silence, each remaining expressionless despite the mental hellfire you were wading through.

Stopping at a wooden door, a brass 206 nailed into the middle of the wood, Sukuna had only had to knock once before it had opened. Stomach dropping, you stepped back, frantically looking to your cousin to voice your shock and betrayal when seeing the blue eyes behind the door. It hadn't made sense why Sukuna had brought you to a Gojo hideout - one of the leading clans alongside the Zen'ins.

"Don't worry." The familiar brown eyes met your own, stern countenance and monotone voice as he'd placed a hand over your shoulder, a light push forward. "Satoru isn't like his family." After Sukuna's reassurance, the Gojo had opened the door wider, stepping to the side to accommodate both you and your cousin as you passed through. The apartment's interior hadn't reflected the halls outside, being well decorated and clean. Following Sukuna through to the kitchen, you watched as he seated himself at the table, inked hand reaching to his pocket to fish out a carton of straights, pulling one from the pack and setting it to his lips. The amber of his lighter emerged after only one flick of the steel, lighting the end of the cigarette and taking a drag.

"This is Gojo Satoru." Sukuna broke the silence, gesturing toward the white haired male you'd met with moments prior. The smoke drifting upward from the end of his cigarette wafted as he waved his hand, stopping as a painted nail pointed behind you. "That's Geto Suguru." Turning, you were met with a new face, though a name you'd recognised.

Both males introduced had been tall, differing builds yet similar black ink etched into their skin. Satoru had been lanky, yet his height and demeanour gave an aura you hadn't often experienced, one of importance. Gojo's limbs had been decorated, though the most notable artwork had been the clan mark of Gojo: an eye on the right side of the neck. An immediate sign of strength for those who understood its meaning. Geto had been much broader, manner radiating from physical build rather than an intense aura. His physical strength had been clear.

"Goes without saying that you can't leave the apartment." Sukuna's words had been low, eyes fixed to you with an intimidating stare. The heartfelt and honest personality he'd shared with you had switched when in the presence of others, Sukuna instead watching through an emotionless gaze as you reacted to his words. The instruction had been one that had your brow furrowing and arms crossing, though Geto had interrupted before you'd had the chance to counter. "Naoya Zen'in is dangerous." Geto leaned back on a countertop, both hands supporting his weight as he continued. "Not because he's strong - it's because he's weak. People follow him only through fear." Geto shifted, eyes straying to the floor before meeting yours once more. "Naoya doesn't kill - he tortures, molests, creates hell for those who don't give him his way. Even then, he's too cowardly to do anything with his own hands." Suguru's statements had your blood running cold, a lump forming within your throat.

"If he finds you, it's over." Sukuna continued from his friend, another puff of smoke passing his lips. He leaned back, usual stoic expression saddening you after the anomaly of sympathy he'd displayed earlier that evening. "It's not just your life on the line right now; if they know we're involved, there's consequences-" One thing you'd despised throughout your life had been being treated as if a child, awfully long explanations from those who'd considered themselves smarter than you; almost always describing words of common sense. "I know." Quick to interject, you'd stopped Geto's lecture, straightening yourself. "I'll stay here." You met your cousin's eyes as he stood from the chair, opening the window situated behind the sink to throw the smoked-cigarette through, closing it once discarded.

Sukuna had departed shortly after, cautious as not to raise suspicion. Between his few visits, you would be on no-contact, careful not to expose your whereabouts to your own family, or any clan allied with them. After twenty hours, your parents had reported you missing, stomach churning when details of a bounty had been explained in grueling detail by Gojo. He'd sat through an uncomfortable conversation within his own clan's meeting, reciting the disdain from the Zen'ins when the topic of Ryomen had been brought up in passing.

It had been three days before Sukuna had visited once more, tense body radiating nothing other than intense stress. He'd attempted to appear un-phased by the events surrounding you, but when seeing the tired eyes and hunched back, you'd understood he'd been suffering. He'd slumped down in the kitchen chair once again, lighting up a cigarette before beginning to formulate words. The actions had mirrored that of your first evening in confinement, a feeling of deja-vu as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"They're getting restless." He spoke, deep voice much rougher due to lack of sleep and an increase in his smoking habit. Gojo sighed, taking a seat beside him. You fiddled with your thumbs above the table, helpless to the strains both you and your cousin had faced. "Sukuna." Speaking his name had caused his eyes to flicker up and land to your expression. "I don't think there's anything we can do." His stop-off at the apartment had been limited, agreeing between the four of you that his visits should not exceed ten minutes. His departure had grown closer with every passing second, but a conclusion had yet to be found.

"We'll find something." His reassurance had fallen to your deaf ears, instead of bringing comfort, his statement had instead made you feel as if your concerns were brushed off. He'd began to slip away, leaving yourself seated at the table, still helpless to the world surrounding you. There was nothing you could do in the small apartment, even if you'd wanted to aid in finding a loophole, or a solution.

The following morning had marked four days missing, in which you'd grown increasingly depressive and bored. The new roommates you'd gained had often left for jobs and abandoned you to your own devices - which had been daytime television and chores. Being on the run had meant you were unable to use a phone or computer, and being alone most of the time had eradicated the chance of passing time through conversation or games.

On the odd occasion only one of the males had been home, there had been one you'd preferred to the other. Gojo's presence had felt much greater than Geto's (even if he'd been more annoying). Gojo had at least made attempts at conversations. When overcoming the sense of pity Gojo had displayed toward you, he'd been pleasant to talk with, speaking of shared interests such as movies and music. Gojo had been passionate, often becoming excitable when remembering certain scenes or moments within his favourite media - though he could become equally as shut-off. There was a darkness within Gojo you knew he'd held close, and when childlike wonder had worn off, there was a very different person beneath.

Geto had been mostly silent, though you could feel the heavy judgement through his body language. His gaze had been heavy on your skin, eyes narrowing with each movement and shoulders tense. It had been clear Geto did not trust you, and had more reluctance toward befriending you than Gojo had.

Bringing a damp garment to hang over metal pole, you threaded fabric through the bars of the indoor clothes-horse, hanging them to dry. Much of your time spent in the apartment when both men had been home had been within the kitchen, mostly as not to burden the others with your presence. Though as you grabbed another shirt to dry, you'd noticed a tall figure at the door.

"Are you doing laundry?" Gojo questioned, shoulder pressed up to the frame as he watched your movements. You nodded, returning back to the task at hand. "My bag was small so I've run out of clean clothes." Exhaling, you drooped the cotton over, straightening out a few creases. He smirked, finally pushing himself from the wood to waltz toward the cupboard, pulling a bag of sweets from a shelf and tearing it open. Placing a hard-boiled candy between his lips, he gestured the bag toward you. "Want one?" The query had been muffled and accompanied by a few clicks of the sweet against his teeth. You shook your head, a small smile as if to thank him before he'd shrugged and brought the bag back toward his chest.

Instead of leaving, Gojo had seated himself at the table, the perfect view to the chore you'd been partaking within. His eyes had burned into you, yet you'd attempted to continue as usual, facing away from the blue eyes to push cotton over wire. But after hanging another garment, you sighed, head over shoulder to lock your gaze once more.

"Am I entertaining you?" He hadn't replied until you'd finished, your body turned to face him fully, eyes locked onto yours as he shrugged, a crack of the candy between his molars. "Never done it." He commented nonchalantly, picking another sweet from the bag. The rustling lasted a few seconds before he was back to eating, a dramatic exhale from his nose. "That's cause you were a trust-fund baby." Walking toward him, your bare feet tapped against the tiled floor as you brought an arm upward, fingers outstretched and sight locked onto the bag within his hand. Just before you'd been able to dive a hand into the plastic, he moved it to the side, leaving your fingertips bare.

"Feisty for someone who's living in my apartment." He commented, blue eyes narrowing as he watched you roll your eyes yet admit defeat through your gestures, instead flopping down on the chair beside him. You sat in silence for a few moments, eyes wondering to the window above the sink - the only window within the apartment that hadn't been covered by curtains and allowed some semblance of light to cascade through. Although you'd appreciated this, there had still been some annoyance to the reminder of the outside world, and how you'd been unable to step foot within it.

The fifth day, you'd finally brought yourself the courage to ask.

At the table during breakfast, the opportunity had arisen in which you had both men seated with you, coffee situated before each body. "Can you bring me shopping today?" The request would likely be denied, a faint memory of Geto's obvious distrust and worry that you'd be seen and captured if stepping foot outside. But, you'd hoped that being on the outskirts of Tokyo, you were unlikely to be recognized, and with both men beside you, you'd be well-protected. Perhaps the idea had been completely idiotic, and when met with Geto's stern expression and furrowed brow, you'd understood the likelihood had been slim to none.

"Well," Gojo had began first as expected, the less stern presence easing your anxiety. "We're meeting Sukuna first-" "She's not coming." Geto had been quick to shoot the idea down before Gojo had allowed a semblance of hope to form. He stood, bending over the table to gather the plates from breakfast. As he leaned across, his shirt had lifted upward, revealing a handgun against his stomach that he'd had tucked into his trousers. You hadn't allowed your sight to linger too long on the weapon, though it had crossed your mind when pleading with him. "I'll keep my hood up, please Geto-san." You bowed your head, squeezing eyes closed while trying desperately to find an excuse. Swallowing back your pride, you continued. "I need tampons."

You hadn't looked up until you were sure Geto's expression would have softened, though when returning your gaze upward, he'd been visibly taken aback, eyes wide and lips parted. "Whaddya say Geto-san?" Gojo's added emphasis on the term had caused you to outwardly cringe, a reminder of one of the lower moments in your life. "Be quick." Short and spiteful, yet the words you'd wanted to hear most. You'd fought to hide the growing grin across your face, undeniably shocked by the permission you'd been granted. Gojo laughed at the display, hand languidly laying itself upon your shoulder before giving you a light shove. "Get your coat, sweetheart."

When approaching the pink haired Ryomen, you'd expected a foul expression, rant, or some form of physical punishment - yet instead he'd remained still, face unreadable. He'd been leaning against broken brick, cigarette in hand, pushing himself from the back-wall of some run-down establishment to stand upright. Seeing him like this had feared you more - Sukuna wasn't one to be lax over broken rules. There would be a significant reason he hadn't reacted to your presence.

"She insisted-" Geto had began his defensive speech, though had stopped when Sukuna had raised a hand with the shake of his head. Holding the half smoked cigarette had been bloodied fingers, cuts decorating pale knuckles. "Probably better she's here for this." The words had your chest tightening, drop within your stomach when your gaze lingered over the wounded hand, being left to imagine the face that had been on the other side of his fist. "They've got a bounty on you. Saying we owe them money - the Zen'in's own you now."

There hadn't been long to process his statement as he'd taken a step forward, another drag of his cigarette through stiff lips. "They've got Toji on her."

Although you hadn't understood the weight of this comment, you could feel the men beside you tense, a quick glance toward Geto telling you all you'd needed to know. His skin had paled, and eyes widened.

"Are you armed?" The question had added mass to your shoulders, a realization that your freedom had been coming to a close. Toji would have to be bad for all three men within your vicinity to be uncomfortable.

"Sukuna, we can't-" Eyes watering, you'd traced over the handgun tucked within your waistband, metal cooling trembling fingertips. "You can't do anything. This is it."

Sukuna shook his head defensively, quick to begin a bitter reply and deter you from a path of righteousness. Though, the pop of a gunshot had taken stage before he'd had a chance to stutter more than a syllable, hands flying toward belt. Your fingers wrapped around the grip of the weapon you hadn't intended to use as you searched the alleyway for a body, adrenaline fueling your faster reaction time. Two men had stood at the entrance, the taller of the two aiming his own pistol in your direction. As he took steps toward you, the sunlight had hit his face, revealing a tilted smile, lips kissed by a thick scar.

"Hands up, pretty girl." His voice had been rugged and deep, teeth bearing as he'd awaited your movement. You'd hesitated before raising both hands, persuaded only when his friend had taken a step forward, shotgun between his hands aimed toward Geto, who had been stood closest to the alley's entrance.

"Toji. She's not armed." Sukuna's monotone voice didn't waver as he'd glanced at his allies. He'd hoped his lie would pass - you could sense his tension if the other's hadn't. "Ryomen. This your cousin?" Toji exhaled in amusement. "Been looking for her. Healthy bounty on your head, kid." His laughter had been entwined with malice, blood running cold as you'd met with green eyes.

"You hate the Zen'ins. What changed?" Sukuna had asked, though had been shut down through Toji's quickfire response. "Money's money. Hand her over, 'n we'll let you live." He'd used his left hand to usher you toward him, jagged smile increasing the panic you'd felt frozen by.

Sukuna had withdrawn his own weapon, and Toji's expression soured at his movement.

It had been a split second decision.

You pulled your pistol from your jacket, aiming toward Toji's chest and pulling trigger. His eyes had widened in shock as he'd stumbled backward, wounded. It hadn't been fatal, though enough to stun him as your barrel aimed toward his partner. His body had fallen backward much faster than Toji's had, a clear display of you accuracy. Before the black haired half had time to react, you'd ran, left hand instinctively grabbing hold of Sukuna's wrist.

Only when Sukuna had slumped against the kitchen table, drops of blood dripping over the aged wood, had realized he'd been wounded. Your eyes set over the bullet hole in his bicep, a crimson patch darkening his jacket sleeve.

"You were shot?" Your concern had been evident as the question had came to fruition through a concerned shout. He'd smiled in amusement, a gentle shake of head and pained laugh through chest. "When you shoot someone who's aiming a gun, they'll pull the trigger." There was a tightness in his voice as Gojo had pulled his arm through the final layer of clothing, revealing the injury over skin. Geto had already placed a few items over the kitchen table, latex gloves stretched over hands after pushing his sleeves back, inspecting the wound.

"Satoru, tourniquet." With Geto's voice quiet, Gojo disappeared for a brief few moments before re-emerging with a tie in hand, wrapping it over Sukuna's upper arm and pulling it tightly. "You're lucky that Zen'in had started to stumble before he shot, or you would've had Sukuna killed."

"Zen'in?" "He doesn't like the name, goes by Fushiguro. But, he's a Zen'in." Gojo explained while taking a seat at the table. Sukuna had leaved forward, wincing as a needle threaded through the wound. "And, you're lucky there was an exit wound." Geto had added to the statement. "Though, your quick thinking likely saved one of us - so thanks, I guess." It had been obvious that the gratitude had pained him to say, though you'd accepted it anyway.

"Do you think they'll find me soon?" You questioned, picking at the hem of your shirt as Geto finished the stitching. The fact you had little control over the outcome of both you life and your allies lives had irked you, a heaviness residing in your chest. "It's likely they're already narrowing it down - Toji will tell them what he knows if they offer him enough money." "You should just give me over, Sukuna. Get the money." A half joke, an attempt to lighten the mood. Though, when the tired, annoyed eyes had met your own, you'd realized the words had only hurt him more than intended.

"What if you returned home with a husband?" Getou's abrupt inquiry had caught you off guard, but you considered the scenario nonetheless, fighting the urge to question why he'd asked, instead manifesting an educated answer.

"My father would have him killed." You spoke with a sourness, eyes remaining to cling to the floor. His attempts at a solution mirrored thoughts you'd had over the past week, though no fix had been found. The only options you'd had were to remain in hiding, or to accept your future as a Zen'in, benefiting everyone other than yourself.

"What if you married someone they couldn't kill?" His suggestion left you dumbfounded, a muddled flurry of stutters as you'd exhibited your confusion to his ask. "Good luck finding someone powerful and willing to marry me."

A person the Zen'ins couldn't touch would be a rarity within this world. Now your name had been made known to them, your place as a pawn in the Ryomen and the Zen'in's game, there had been an impossible chance of escape. You were raised purely for the benefit of your clan.

"I know someone." Geto's comment pulled you from your thoughts, another bought of self-deprecating laughter and rolling eyes shot toward him. There had been a glimmer of hope within your mind, yet you wouldn't display it to the men before you, instead residing back into refusal to protect your own ego. If you'd taken his words as banter, you would suffer less pain than to cling onto the premise of false-hope.

"Satoru." Geto stated, gesturing to the pale, white haired and blue eyed friend beside him. Gojo's reaction had reflected your own; bewilderment. The brunette glanced between the two of you as you'd remained in mutual silence, awaiting his explanation. "Satoru, think about it." Your eyes met Gojo's briefly before he'd returned his attention to his friend. "You'll be in her position soon - the strongest of you family and heir of Six Eyes; do you think your father will die before you give him a grandson to continue the business?" His theory had weight to it, but you brushed him off, watching Gojo's expression change from confusion to thought. "Geto, come on-" You began, voice gaining his attention.

"I'll do it." Gojo spoke through upturned lips, both gazes returning to settle over his face. "I couldn't turn down the opportunity to mess with affairs that weren't mine to begin with - and fucking with my family is an added bonus." His playful grin paired with the prospect of being legally bound to him had sent heat through your body, mouth ajar while you'd lost yourself within the vision of a wedding day between yourself and Gojo Satoru.

"Gojo, this is serious." You began, narrowing your expression when looking into his own. "This is your future on the line." You took a sharp breath inward. "Not to mention, marrying me would mean having children down the line-" The rant had started, and Gojo had allowed a playful smirk to etch over his features. "I'd be happy to fu-" His interruption was much to your distaste, the unwanted suggestion causing your stomach to churn. "Use your brain for a minute and think about this as an adult!" The sudden outburst caused his eyes to widen before relaxing, mouth still curved upward as he leaned into the back of his chair. "I've already decided, sweetheart. We'll go to the registry office tomorrow - Suguru and Sukuna can be our witnesses."

For a marriage planned with less than a day prior, it had been executed with ease. The four of you had been brought into a small room, a registrar stood to your left as you'd taken Gojo's hands within your own. As he'd held your fingers between his, a cheap ring Sukuna had sourced from a nearby jewelers slid over your finger, you'd swallowed back your anxieties and listened as he'd recited his vows.

You'd repeated the action, his calloused hands maintaining the gentle contact between your own as you had spoken much more timidly than he had. Though you'd done so with some reluctance, you had looked into his eyes as you'd repeated after the registrar, a fluttering in chest. Even if this wasn't real, nor was it love, there was some form of excitement within your fear. Though, you wouldn't tell a soul.

After only ten minutes, you'd left bound by law' a much larger meaning within your families than to yourselves. From this day forward, you were to be labelled as a Gojo. You had expected that crippling weight to ease as you held the wedding certificate in your palm, yet somehow, it had just changed into a new anxiety.

You had gone against your parent's wishes, as had Satoru, and for that, you knew there would be a cost.

reblogs and comments help creators more than just liking <3

a/n: after posting the teaser for this in MARCH, i have finally finished it!! i hope you enjoyed :,) i'm putting tags below, i'm so sorry if you forgot about this and are confused by the notif !!

tags: @ritsatoru @tomiokas-lunchbox @outrofenty @cherryblossiren @thisbicc @obitohno

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dabislittlemouse · 9 months

Note

𝔅,

Congrats on the follower milestone, you devilish genius. If you still have slots…

“If y’keep undressing me with those eyes… I’ll catch a cold.” // SMUG, FLIRTY BASTARD DABI

Ahhhhzjsjs I can’t wait to see what your beautiful mind conjures~

- heiny

“𝐈𝐟 𝐲’𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐰��𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬…𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝”

Dabi x Reader smut- MDNI +18

contains: seeing Dabi for the first time at ReDestro’s big event, Dabi being a flirty bastard, thick tension in the air, thrill and new feelings blooming, cunnilingus, possessive Dabi. Mentions of long hair since I tried to make it specific for Heiny

A/N: HELLO- posting this today as a little birthday gift for yew🥳 and it turned out a full fic :3 Everybody come wish Heinous a happy birthday or I’ll come for your throat 😡

Enjoy your dance with Dabi~

The invitation letter to ReDestro’s big event found itself in your hands that day. The PLF had organised this event to celebrate a new beginning, the League of Villains that had supposedly taken charge and became one with ReDestro’s army. To celebrate for their future success and goals, to become one, united and indestructible, so it would be a pleasure for you to join as well on this glorious event, the invitation said.

You were kind of cautious about everything at first; you were familiar with the League of Villains and their doings, though the sudden dedication and admiration ReDestro had towards them, to the point of lending them all his power and people, made you feel skeptical.

But let’s give it a chance. There had to be a reason why ReDestro saw them as fit and trustworthy allies.

Though what you did not expect was to find yourself trapped and captivated by them as well, or to be more specific by him.

The dress you wore was striking, kissing your body so well, the crimson color having everyone’s eyes glued on you. Your hair curled up, falling down your shoulders, red lipstick on your plump lips and smokey eyeliner to bring out the sharpness of your eyes, it was all you needed for you to radiate nothing but magnificence as you walked on the stairs of the big fancy mansion.

The ballroom was undoubtedly huge and glowing, already crowded with people, filled with nothing but cheering, laughing and talking. There were citizens, villains and powerful people; all invited to celebrate one singular cause. Eyes were peering at you as you headed inside, the tap of your heels and your fragrance making heads turn. The waiter approached you and you took a glass of champagne, smiling at the strangers and being friendly. You didn’t do well on crowds, especially when you barely knew anyone, anxiety would already fill you from the inside. The invitation could’ve easily been declined but something inside of you was urging you to go.

Not after too long ReDestro decided to give a speech, along with the new leader, Shigaraki Tomura by his side. It was followed by loud cheering and applauses, everyone already seemed devoted to Shigaraki, accepting him as their new supreme leader. The lieutenants came afterwards on stage, you recognised some of them, the little blood-obsessed girl, with a big cheerful smile on her face, the gecko, the magician…

Your gaze was stuck on the raven haired man, who you immediately recognised. His mauve burn scars painting half of his face and hands, decorated with metallic piercings all over, as his eyes lingered around the ballroom. You knew the pyromaniac named Dabi, and heard of his doings. You’ve heard that he was a cold-blooded murderer, a rude, arrogant and merciless villain that burned down towns and people. Not someone you’d want to cross paths with.

And here he was, in front of you, and the mere sight of him gave you chills down your spine. He stood tall, radiating confidence, power, his presence was enough to make anyone quiver. Dabi was wearing a dark blue, lavish looking suit, the tie almost loosened, holding a cigar on his hand. Attractive was an understatement when it came to him. ReDestro’s speech was inaudible in your ears as your brain turned mush, your eyes glued to the man, not realising you were biting your lower lip too.

Your breath hitched the moment his eyes locked with yours. You thought he’d avert his gaze and ignore you, but no. He was staring right back at you, his eyes taking in all your sight, from head to toe, his face expressionless but those eyes..

Fuck, even from this far you could feel that piercing gaze burning you from the inside out entirely. Dabi licked his lips in anticipation, a slight smirk gracing his face, not breaking eye contact with you. You swallowed hard, immediately averting your gaze somewhere else, heat creeping up your face.

God, what even was that..

As the speech was over, the celebration began, everyone took their drinks, some started dancing, swaying with the music, some enjoying the finger food. Though you noticed Dabi was approaching you the moment he came down from that stage. Slow, almost predatory steps.

Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck he’s coming my way…

You tried to keep yourself calm, but your breath hitched as he came to you up close. He was taller, looming over you, his strong cologne mixed with smoke intoxicated your senses and his gaze was too much to handle. Not knowing what to say, you gave him an awkward smile while he took a puff from the cigar.

“If y’keep undressing me with those eyes, I’ll catch a cold..” he said with a teasing tone in his raspy voice, making you flush in embarrassment. Damn, he was a flirt wasn’t he? You could feel your heartbeats getting faster, but your face expression remained neutral.

“I’m sorry about that” you replied back, taking a sip from your drink while giving him a sultry look. Usually, eyes were all that it took to seduce men and make them obsessed. And your eyes were your strongest weapon. “I’d offer you a… warm up, in case that happened. But I’m sure your quirk is enough for that”

His smile grew wider, more wicked, while he thought of all the meanings this warm up could have. You felt like crawling away and hiding into the furthest corner. One more word from him, one more look, and you’d turn into a puddle on the floor. He came closer, eyes focused on your cleavage, decorated with a diamond necklace.

“Never seen ya around here, dollface. You new?”

The nickname made your voice almost come out quivering. “Y-Yeah pretty much. I’m not a villain or a hero but.. just an acquaintance. I hadn’t been in touch with ReDestro for a long time though”

“Ah”

After that, the both of you stayed silent, it felt kind of awkward at first while he continued smoking.

“Y’wanna try?” he asked, handing you the cigar. You immediately shook your head.

“No thank you, I don’t smoke”

“You afraid of hurting those pretty lungs of yours or somethin’?” he said and before you could even comprehend, his eyes were looming over your half exposed chest. The blush on your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed as he let out a chuckle.

“Relax will ya? You gettin’ heated up already..”

“I am relaxed” you snapped, your eyes looking around the crowd, anywhere but him.

“You didn’t come here with anyone. A pretty thing like you, and you don’t have a man?” Dabi asked, and you watched his finger reaching to twirl some of your hair.

“No man. Surprised? Why is it a necessity for a pretty girl to have a man?” you frowned, this time staring right back at him. Though your tough facade was easily broken whenever you locked eyes with his.

“Didn’t say that. Was kinda hoping in fact that you didn’t have one” Dabi smirked as you bit your lip nervously. “Would be a shame if I turned them to ashes”

Your eyes widened at the continuation of that sentence, blinking twice and processing what you just heard.

“Huh?!”

“What?” He a wrapped hand around your waist. It felt warm and sent tingles on your body. “Is it wrong for me to want someone I feel very…captivated by? Y’know dollface, nothing, and I mean nothing, can grab my attention that easily. It’s hard to please a man like me”

Whether you knew or not, Dabi was already captivated the moment he landed his eyes on you, it’s like those eyes of yours lured him into a trap that he could not get himself easily out of. Just the way he lured you in too. And here the both of you were, tension thick in the air.

“..wait. So you’ve taken an interest in me? And if I had a man, you’d burn him to ashes, that’s what you’re saying?” you mumbled, gathering the pieces together. “That’s vile!”

“Atta girl. You’re so clever, aren’t you? ” Dabi chuckled and you rolled your eyes. He licked his lower lip, wanting to make those eyes of yours roll more from other reasons.

“I’ve always been vile, baby. I got a reputation out there, that’s brought me where I am now” he grabbed your hand, pulling you in for a dance as you both walked to the center.

“And in this world you gotta be merciless and vile to get what you want”

He didn’t even have to ask you appropriately if you wanted to dance or not, you were now swaying with him to the music, his hand on your back as yours were on his shoulders. Your face was mere inches away from his, the others around you had to stop and stare. Dabi was not known to associate with people often, let alone dancing. So everyone’s heads now were filled with questions as to who you were, and how weren’t you afraid of being this close to Dabi out of all people?

“So you think you can make me yours? Very bold of you. And you barely even know me” you smirked. The audacity of this man.

“Think? Nah doll, I will make you mine” he whispered in your ear as your breath hitched. “And I’ll have plenty of time to get to know every single part of yours”

Someone who’d be looking at the both of you from far away, would think that you two were kissing. That’s how close he was to you.

“Y-You’re too close..” you stuttered, but the expression in your face was almost blissful. As if his heat made you totally drunk on him.

“Too close huh.. is that bad?” he pressed his lips on your cheek, your body pressed hard against his, you could almost feel his toned body through his clothes. And something else.

“You don’t like me being close to you? It makes your heart feel all fluttery?“ he chuckles “Does it make you feel some type of way, maybe? What type of way would that be, sugar bun~”

You let out a gasp, your belly swarming with butterflies. “Y-Yeah..I feel kind of dizzy, um sorry I just- I think I need some fresh air.

You backed away from Dabi and headed out of the ballroom, leaving the dance in half. Though this did not discourage him, you could already feel his heavy steps coming from behind you. You inhaled a sharp breath, your face sweating and your heart pounding out of your chest.

The long corridor was empty and gloomy. Only your heavy breathing and his steps from behind you could be heard, along with the faint noises of the party.

“Where you goin’ huh?” he laughed, his voice echoing in the corridor. “I can’t let the newbie wander around freely around here now can I? That’s not what a good lieutenant would do. Especially when there are different kinds of villains wandering around here as well, who knows what they’d do when seeing a pretty thing like you all alone..” he says, grabbing you by the waist again and pulling you towards him. The look in his eyes is dark and twisted, almost possessive, as if he found the rarest gem in the world and no way he’ll let anyone else get it. He took in your scent, burying his head on your neck and letting out a soft moan.

“A-As if you’re different from them..” you snapped back, trying your best to not let any whimper come out of your throat.

“Ah.. You wound me with your words doll, I could never be like them” Dabi stared at you, a scarred hand wrapping gently around your delicate throat. “I’m worse”

Without a warning his lips crashed against yours, roughly and possessively you could barely call it a kiss. His tongue slid on your lower lip before entering inside, almost making you choke on that feverish sloppy kiss. He let out a low groan that made your whole body vibrate, his breathing and grunts as he devoured your mouth sent you to pure bliss, to the point you whimpered and moaned on his mouth too. His hand grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing it as he slammed you against the wall.

“You like that don’t you huh..” he whispered between kisses, and all you could do is hum in response, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Mm yeah?” he hummed back. “I’ll make you fall f’me. Completely”

He backed away from the kiss, leaving you there fucked out and panting before going down on his knees. One of your legs was thrown on his shoulder before he lifted your dress. You were in pure bliss to even protest, your body needed this so you just let it happen. The thrill and danger this man’s eyes promised you, you wanted to taste it all.

“Wanna see you try” you responded, wanting to provoke him further. He smiled mischievously as he roughly tore off your laced panties.

“Hey! Those were pretty!” you cried out.

“Don’t worry baby, Dabi’s gonna get new ones for ya, alright?” he kissed your inner thigh and going further, leaving a trace of kisses and small bite marks behind.

“If you’ll be my girl, I’ll burn everything down to the ground and get you whatever you want..”

And with that, his tongue lapped on your cunt, sweet ambrosia making his eyes roll as he savoured you. You let out a high pitched moan, your hand covering your mouth.

“God, your taste..” he hummed, circling his tongue around your clit and down to your folds agonisingly slow. “Weeping for me sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmmm” you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Good. I will make this pussy cry for me”

He placed his mouth against your cunt, his tongue sliding deep inside of you, then sliding out to lick and suck on your puffy clit. The wanton sounds you let out were music to his ears, encouraging him even more.

“Mmmhh that’s it princess, grind on it, just like that” he whispered as you continued to move your hips, riding and grinding his tongue, your head falling back in pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, so fuckin’ sweet”

He plunged two fingers deep in your cunt, curling and scissoring them while his tongue continued to lap your clit.

“Dabi!! S’too much!” you whined but he didn’t stop. The knot forming in your stomach was ready to snap anytime soon.

“Yeah? C’mon I know you can do it” he teased, his chuckle against your cunt sending vibrations through your body. His gaze never leaving yours as he admired you above him. “Cum for me, baby”

Your moans got louder, not even caring if someone would walk by to see you two like this. His groans got louder too as he sloppily made love with your pussy, his stitched muscle not letting a single part unlicked.

“Dabi.. M’gonna… gonna cum!” you called out.

“Yes, baby. Do it. Be a good girl and cum for Dabi”

That’s all it took for you to reach your high, cumming all over his tongue and fingers while your legs shaked violently. It felt like your soul almost left your body as he continued to lick you, moaning at your sweet taste.

“That’s it.. shit, so good” he growled, eagerly slurping all the juice dripping down your thigh before pulling away with a loud ‘pop’ and a satisfied expression on his face. As if he just ate the most delicious meal in the world.

Dabi stood up, admiring your blissful expression, your eyes unfocused and legs still shaking. He made a mess of you, and he loved it.

His hand grabbed yours, placing it on his hardened bulge that made your heart skip a beat.

“I think it’s time we continue our dance, doll” he said smugly, kissing your lips and making you taste yourself. “We gonna dance together all night long.. and we won’t stop. Until I make sure you’re completely mine”

Tags: @mostlyheinous @shadowsandshapes @daniidil @mossy-opal @doumadono @highbats69 @spltbtch @bubblegumsblog @awalkingshame @dabislittlebeaniebaby @holydayaria @arinexeisnotworking @dabihawksluva @syrenkitsune @sukunas-bitxh @cherrykisssess

#2k milestone event #Heiny 💎#happy birthday to you <33 #dabi #touya todoroki #mha dabi #dabi x reader #x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #dabi smut #tw: smoking #tw: drinking #x reader fanfiction

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tikkunolamresistance · 3 months

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On Houthi and Yemen, and Antisemitism in revolutionary spaces...

We've been observing the response to our statement showing support for Yemen's aid in Palestinian resistance- specifically where we said "Glory to Yemen", as there's certainly a lot more to it than that.

Houthi and Yemen are not mutually exclusive: the country of Yemen and its people, civilians, have been bombed and murdered by the western nations for decades- in which the last FOUR United States Presidents have sanctioned and bombed Yemen.

Houthi, more officially known as Ansar Allah ('supporters of G-d'), are a militant organisation that emerged in the 90s but rose to prominence in 2014 when the group rebelled against Yemen's government. The rebellion caused the official governing body to step down, in hand causing a demobilizing humanitarian crisis.

You can read more about Houthi here:

And more on why they are attacking ships entering the Red Sea here:

It's true, Houthi are Antisemitic and we do NOT support Houthi. Their slogan is quite literally "curse the Jews"; Houthi are not our revolutionary comrades for there is no revolution in hatred and division. Their direct action on Israeli ships subsequently disrupting trade is undeniably important to disrupting the flow of capital and aiding the Palestinian resistance movement- but Houthi deserve no special recognition. Yemen has seen expulsion of Jewish people from the land for centuries, and the Antisemitism that Houthi carries forth is the same hatred that displaced Jewish people within Yemen's history.

Web archive from the Yemen Times about the treatment of Jews in Yemen and Houthi's views.

Within revolutionary spaces you must approach everything with a critical lens, and it goes without saying, especially now more than ever. Whilst we can recognize Houthi's direct action in hindering trade, and the promise there, aids the Palestinian cause by putting pressure on the Capitalist hegemony- we must equally affirm that antisemitism is unacceptable. To punish every Jewish person for Zionist crimes is unacceptable and a hinderance itself in revolutionary spaces. We cannot and will not allow Houthi's Antisemitic ideology to be regurgitated.

Leftists, Communists- recognising Antisemitism within Leftist spaces does not automatically corelate to giving grace to Israel- you must recognise that Judaism, Zionism and Israel are not mutually exclusive. The use, and bastardization of, Jewish symbology by Zionism and it's propaganda machine has long since blurred those lines, and thus it's integral to remain critical and vigilant. Even when Zionists proudly conflate the two to endorse the State of Israel's brutality- you should not deem the acts in and of itself Jewish. There is absolutely nothing Jewish about apartheid, colonialism and hatred.

Antisemitism is an age-old hatred, with the oppressive colonial state of Israel depending on it for survival. When we uproot Antisemitism, when we uproot oppression, division, hatred- we uproot the State of Israel and the Capitalist hegemony itself.

Antisemitism has no place in revolutionary spaces, and as is the case for any other form of discrimination and hatred- it cannot be ran from, only faced head-on. The solution to uprooting Antisemitism from global social infrastructure is not to enforce a new hatred, it is not to oppress another- for the cycle will only continue. We believe that society must educate one another to thus educate our future generations; we must ensure we remove division and hatred from social order, and that includes all forms of hatred.

Division itself must be dissolved to truly revolutionize social order.

#yemen #palestine #tikkun olam statement #free palestine #antisemitism #jumblr #antizionism #critical thought #critique #essay #media literacy #geopolitics

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 days

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This is The Farming Left: these land workers share a politics, united by the concept of food sovereignty: the right to control of local food systems, which originated with farmers in the Global South. ‘We’re talking about equitable access to resources to enable localised food supplies’, explains Fernandes. These organisations are tackling the challenges of access to land in an unequal landscape: the Ecological Land Cooperative, for example, purchases large plots and obtains planning permission for dwellings before parcelling them up into affordable smallholdings. The Kindling Trust in Manchester is also seeking to foster a new generation of agroecological farmers. The Trust, which was established in 2007, has a veg box scheme and a community garden, and also offers training to new entrants, but there has always been a long-term plan to establish a cooperative farm. Since raising over a million pounds from more than six hundred investors last year, the Trust is looking to purchase a 120-acre farm in the Manchester area. ‘We want people to feel ownership in whatever way they get involved’, explains co-founder Chris Walsh. Whether they are founding members, workers, investors, or tenants, they will all be represented equally on a governing board. There ‘is a need for a rural radicalism’ of this kind, argues Chris Smaje, farmer and author of A Small Farm Future (2020). ‘It’s about trying to de-commodify land and take it out of speculative ownership’, he explains. For Smaje, who plans to purchase a 20-acre plot to be divided up among several small-scale farmers, the goal is ‘to build a land-based community’ and ultimately ‘generate more of what we need within our own communities’. While the radical agrarian community in the UK pales in comparison to the strength of conservative farming interests, this fight for land – and the right to use it – is happening on a global scale. The international peasants’ movement is connected through the 200-million strong La Vía Campesina, linking groups such as Brazil’s Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra (MST), or ‘Landless Workers’ Movement’, which has, since the 1980s, been occupying land to their counterparts across the world. The world’s farming Left is a David to big agribusiness’s Goliath, the latter having been bolstered by states, major international institutions, and the liberalising of global political economy since the Second World War. From Zapatistas to Scottish crofters, the peasants’ movement is fighting to turn the tide on our social and ecological future before it is too late.

#uk politics #food #farming #land

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loving-n0t-heyting · 1 month

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Fwiw, i think the realistic answer to scott aaronsons question of "how would we prevent a surge of antisemitic violence afterwards?", given my fantasy ~end state of a unified multiethnic palestine with generous redistribution of land and wealth, is probably the traditional solution for transitions to democracy after the ouster of despotic regimes marred by ethnic-sectarian bloodshed: a foreign peacekeeping force, probably administered by an international body like the UN. This would be in keeping with the coercion by the intl community that would be necessary anyway for any satisfactory resolution to the havoc israel has contributed to the region since 1948

This state of affairs would have benefits beyond the direct goal of preventing outbreaks among the victorious arab population of revenge against random former israelis (and, even more importantly, quashing any recrudescence of violent jewish supremacism and separatism among ex-israeli citizens and their immediate descendants). It would have the salutary psychological effect of impressing upon the former citizens of the local hegemon their dependence on the intl community at large, and facilitating the dissolution of an israeli national identity. The sight of armed convoys in tel aviv emblazoned with the insignia of the UN mission in united palestine would signal that the post-apartheid jewish palestinian population, while worth defending, was not worthy of self-defence as a distinct cultural/ethnic unit, any more than it would be tolerable to organise internal security along racial lines in the US or religious lines in Ireland. It would, hopefully, be a bridge to acknowledging the legitimacy of an integrated and democratically controlled law enforcement wing of a secular and multiethnic successor state, and a funeral for any dreams of a sectarian ethnostate

Obviously this comes with problems. No occupying power, even the most transitional and well intentioned, has ever been devoid of misconduct. But its hard to see how israeli society could otherwise be trusted to accept the terms of secular democracy, given its amply evinced intransigence otherwise in the face of even moderate palestinian demands, or how this envisioned occupation could hope to match up to the horrors of the ongoing one. Plus none of this is particularly likely to happen in the foreseeable future so i might as well daydream

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communistkenobi · 7 months

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This is going to be an extremely messy post, but I’ve been grappling with the argument that “fascism” is nothing more than an exceptionalised label for the cyclical political crises of capitalism, as opposed to an actual historical force in and of itself - just as capitalism has cyclical economic crises which are necessary for its continued functioning, fascism represents the political crises of capital, a bulwark against class consciousness and socialist organising which threaten capitalist rule. Fascism does this by instead emphasising a racial or national consciousness, using white supremacy and the promise of property to divert people away from class consciousness. In Anatomy of Fascism, Paxton talks about how important the promise of property ownership to Italian peasantry was to establishing fascist rule there - class mobility up into the middle classes was used in concert with racial/national politics to stop people from identifying with the proletariat (“homeowners are too busy to be communists,” to paraphrase that American housing developer I forget the name of atm). This is especially weaponised against Jewish people, who are framed as having no national affiliation and are thus eternal outsiders to the bourgeois Christian homeland.

I have encountered a lot of definitions of fascism. The most productive and evocative definition I’ve found is Cesaire’s - colonialism come home. He was speaking of Europe when he said this, saying that Hitler was only doing what Europe did overseas. But what does this mean for settler colonial states? There is no “home” for colonialism to return to for countries like the United States or Canada, because this colonial process has to constantly and at all times maintain itself upon indigenous land in order for the state to continue to exist. The colonialism is always home, always domestic (while also obviously being exercised globally through imperial domination and violence, especially in the case of the United States). Are these states essentially fascist in conception? If this conclusion is true (which I’m leaning towards yes), is “fascism” a useful analytical category at all? If we speak of the political processes of capitalism when we speak of fascism, can we simply just call it all capitalism? It would be like if we called all periods of economic crisis “collapsism” and partitioned these periods of depression or economic instability into exceptional circumstances divorced from the history of capitalism (which we already have done with The Great Depression in the 1930s, or the 2008 Financial Crash - these are exceptional periods where something “went wrong,” where the system “failed”). Sitting with this conclusion for a moment, calling these processes fascist is to divorce them of their material history, to decouple them from the violence and exploitation inherent to capitalism, and to ensure that any analysis of fascism does not conclude with a call to abolish capitalism - for if fascism is merely an interruption of normal capitalist democratic functioning, then preventing future fascisms does not require the abolition of the current economic and political system.

I’ve been engaging with this essay recently, which calls liberals the “left wing of fascism,” and argues that liberalism, far from providing an alternative to fascist rule, instead provides a stabilising quality to it, acting as a stop-gap to the more destabilising right-wing bourgeois elements of capitalism. And despite these conclusions I still find fascism a useful label, both because I think it has a lot of strategic value to engage with particular historical periods (such as right now) as fascist - fascism as a label has widespread recognition, if not widespread understanding - and also because it provides a neat shorthand for the historical process of capitalist political decay.

Anyway I’m talking this all out publicly because I’m in the process of reviewing a lot of literature on the subject for my PhD, and I keep coming to this conclusion - that fascism is not “real” in the sense that it cannot be divorced from capitalism itself, and in fact is a necessary process to the continued functioning of capitalism - but I’m having a hard time seeing what analytical limitations this conclusion produces. I have so far been the most persuaded by post-colonial and Marxist accounts of fascism, but I wonder if multiple definitions of fascism are still strategically or analytically useful to use in concert with one another, even if I disagree with them

#book club #anatomy of fascism #.txt

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workingclasshistory · 1 year

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On this day, 4 April 1968, civil rights activist, socialist and advocate of nonviolence Martin Luther King Jr was assassinated while in Memphis supporting a strike of Black sanitation workers. His ideas had become increasing radical in recent years, and in addition to opposing racism he had begun opposing US imperialism in Vietnam and elsewhere, as well as capitalism itself. King had also begun organising a Poor People's Campaign, to unite working class and poor people, Black and white. Though he is widely lauded by establishment figures now, at the time he was hated by the rich and powerful as well as most white Americans. Fuelled by negative media coverage, only 22% of Americans approved of “Freedom Rides” for the desegregation of public transport, and 63% disapproved of King. The FBI's domestic intelligence chief called him "the most dangerous Negro of the future in this Nation from the standpoint of communism, the Negro and national security", and later sent King an anonymous letter attempting to blackmail him into suicide. His murder left many disillusioned with pacifism, and riots broke out across the US in the biggest explosion of social unrest since the civil war. More information, sources and map: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/10400/mlk-assassinated https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=603307621842457&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 10 months

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Prologue.

Styling Mr. Styles Series Masterlist.

word count - 5.7k

authors note - hiya! welcome to my first series, i hope you all enjoy!! this may not be the best thing you have ever read as i’m still fairly new to this whole thing but please go easy on me, i’m hoping my writing will improve as more chapters come out <3

SUMMARY -

in which, harry is in desperate need of a hair stylist, so when his good friend recommends you, with a lot of persuasion you decide to take the job. having no idea what the future will have in store for you and for him.

In the vibrant world of music, the boys of One Direction found themselves backstage in Montreal for the Canadian leg of their tour, amidst a flurry of activity. The air crackled with anticipation as the stage crew scurried around, meticulously preparing every detail for the upcoming concert.

It was going to be a big one.

Amidst the organised chaos, the distant sound of the Icona Pop, the support act reverberated through the corridors. Melodies filled the air, intertwining with the excited chatter of fans and the occasional burst of laughter from the boys themselves.

Backstage was a sight to behold—a tapestry of colours, textures, and energy. The walls were adorned with posters, reflecting the band's journey and connecting the present moment with their glorious past. Soft lighting bathed the area, casting a warm glow on the bustling crew members, who moved with purpose and precision.

Equipment was meticulously arranged, wires coiling like serpents as they connected instruments, amplifiers, and soundboards. The hum of machinery and the occasional clink of metal blended harmoniously with the distant soundcheck, creating a symphony of backstage ambiance.

As the boys prepared themselves for the stage, their tour crew darted around, ensuring their attire was impeccable. Mirrors became portals to self-reflection, as each member meticulously adjusted their appearance, adding the final touches that would captivate the waiting audience.

The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the sweet fragrance of flowers and cologne, creating a unique backstage scent that lingered in the air. And amid this vibrant backdrop, the energy surged, fueled by the shared excitement and the knowledge that magic was about to unfold before a sea of devoted fans.

In this atmosphere, the boys of One Direction found solace and camaraderie. They shared laughter, words of encouragement, and the unspoken bond that had been forged through years of shared dreams and experiences. Amidst the buzzing energy and the carefully orchestrated chaos, they stood united, ready to embark on another unforgettable journey on the stage they called home.

And so, against the backdrop of a backstage aesthetic, the boys prepared themselves for their performance, drawing strength from the charged atmosphere and the unwavering support of their dedicated team.

Harry Styles, with his shoulder-length, tousled hair, caught Liam's eye as he playfully ruffled his locks.

Liam's brow furrowed with concern as he approached his bandmate. "Hey, Haz, something troubling you, mate?"

Harry's gaze met Liam's, a hint of frustration in his expression. "You know, Li, it's getting warm right here, isn't it? And m’hair ain't helping none. It's like a bloomin' sauna on me 'ead!"

Liam chuckled softly, understanding the struggle. "Ah, I get you, mate. Can't have them curls wilting under the heat, can we?"

Harry nodded earnestly. "Exactly! I've been thinkin'... maybe it's time for a trim. A little snip-snip to keep it manageable, yeah?"

Not a huge trim, just something to sort out the humidity his head was currently experiencing.

As they chatted and laughed, Niall glanced over at Harry's shoulder-length curls and playfully teased, "Ey, Hazza, ya know what? I reckon you should get yourself a personal hair stylist just for you!"

That didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused by the suggestion. "Oh, really? And why's that, Nialler?"

Niall grinned, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, mate, your hair's a lot longer than mine or Li and Lou’s, but it's still a fair bit to manage, innit? Plus, with all the styling and primping we do before every show, you deserve someone who can give your lovely curls the special attention they need!"

That was true, the band did have a hair stylist and her name was Lou Teasedale. She was good, don’t get Harry wrong but he needed someone who could do a bit more than just some hairspray and a brush.

Louis chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Besides, you're our resident style icon, Haz. Having a personal hair stylist would only enhance your legendary image!"

That was true.

Harry chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You've got a point there, lads. I do love m’hair, and sometimes it can be a bit of a handful. Having someone who knows how to handle it just right would be fantastic."

Liam, ever the practical one, added, "Well, it's settled then. We'll find you a talented stylist who can cater to your hair's needs and make sure it's always looking its best."

As they exchanged ideas and banter, their dear friend and renowned hair stylist, Lou Teasdale, entered the room, cradling her four-year-old daughter, Lux, in her arms.

A playful grin adorned her face as she overheard the boys chatting about Harry's hair.

"Ey, what's all this fuss about Harry's hair then?" Lou chimed in, her voice filled with a teasing tone.

Startled by her sudden appearance, the boys turned their attention to Lou, a mix of surprise and delight on their faces. "Lou! Didn't expect to see you here with Lux," Liam exclaimed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Lou smirked, adjusting Lux in her arms. "Just thought we'd drop by and see what's happenin'. And it seems I've arrived just in time for some serious hair talk."

Harry chuckled, running his fingers through his tousled locks. "Seems like my hair's become the center of attention today. What do you think, Lou?"

Lou's eyes twinkled mischievously as she leaned against a nearby chair. "Oh, you know how it goes, Hazza. Can't have One Direction without some major hair game. But speaking of which, I've got someone in mind who can take your locks to the next level."

The boys leaned in, their curiosity piqued. "Alright, Lou, spill the beans. Who's the lucky stylist?" Louis asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Lou flashed a sly smile. "Well, her name's (Y/N), and she's a real gem. Works at this quaint little salon in London. I've known her for years, and let me tell ya, she's got the skills to pay the bills."

Niall raised an eyebrow. "Skills, huh? What makes her so special, Lou?"

Lou's voice was filled with admiration as she spoke. "Oh, lads, where do I begin? (Y/N) knows her stuff, no doubt about it. But what sets her apart is that she's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. Genuine, down-to-earth, and always up for a laugh."

Harry's interest was piqued, a smile tugging at his lips. "So, she's not just a talented stylist, but she's an all-around great person?"

Lou nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. "Absolutely, Hazza. She's looking to spread her wings a bit, gain more experience, and I thought she'd fit right in with our crazy crew. Plus, I reckon she'll give your hair that extra touch of magic."

The boys exchanged excited glances, the thought of having someone skilled and easygoing on board filling them with anticipation. Harry beamed. "Well, if she's as amazing as you say, Lou, I'm all for it. Let's reach out to (Y/N) and see if she's up for the challenge."

And so, with Lou's recommendation and their shared enthusiasm, the boys embarked on a mission to connect with (Y/N), the talented stylist from the bustling streets of London. The prospect of bringing her aboard their wild journey filled them with excitement and the promise of even more unforgettable hair moments.

After an exhilarating performance that left the crowd in awe, Harry and the boys of One Direction stepped off the stage, their energy still electrifying the air around them. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, testament to the passion and intensity they had poured into their show.

As they made their way towards the backstage area, they were met with a wave of congratulations from the dedicated tour crew. Hands clapped on their backs, voices filled with excitement and pride. The energy was infectious, an outpouring of admiration for a job well done.

Harry's face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. He exchanged high-fives and heartfelt hugs, expressing his appreciation to the crew members who had worked tirelessly to ensure a flawless show. Their camaraderie was a testament to the tight-knit family they had become on the road.

But amidst the jubilant celebration, Harry turned to his bandmates, a sense of urgency in his eyes. "Hey, lads, I need to have a quick chat with Katie," he explained, his voice filled with determination. "I'll catch up with you in the car in just a bit, alright?"

His bandmates nodded, understanding the need for his timely conversation. They exchanged knowing glances, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in their expressions. With a pat on Harry's back, they bid him farewell, allowing him to venture off to seek Katie's guidance.

Harry manoeuvred through the bustling backstage area, a trail of vibrant memories and shared triumphs lingering in his wake. The hum of excitement filled the air as the crew members continued to revel in the success of the show, their cheers echoing in his ears.

With each step, Harry's anticipation grew. He knew Katie, the tour manager, held the key to transforming his desires into reality. She was the one who could orchestrate the logistical magic necessary to fulfil his request. And he had an inkling that his conversation with her would set a plan into motion, a plan that would bring about a new chapter for his hair and his journey as an artist.

As he neared Katie's office, his heart beat a little faster. The moment was ripe with possibility and the promise of change. And with a deep breath, Harry stepped through the door, ready to embark on the next phase of his hair transformation journey, knowing that his conversation with Katie would pave the way for the exciting path that lay ahead.

With a determined knock on Katie's office door, Harry waited for her response, anticipation bubbling within him. The door swung open, revealing Katie, the tour manager, engrossed in her work.

Katie glanced up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Harry! Come on in. What can I do for you, love?"

Harry stepped into the office, his voice filled with eagerness. "Hey, K, I've been thinking... about what the boys said earlier. And I reckon it's time I have my own personal hair stylist."

Katie had overheard parts of the conversation and just before the boys were about to go on stage, she pulled Harry aside quickly and told him that it may be a good idea, that if he wanted to talk he should come to her if there’s any questions about how to go about it.

Katie raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Oh, really? You want to take your hair game up a notch, huh?"

Harry nodded, his curls bouncing with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, K. The boys were onto something. I want someone who can help me take care of my hair, bring out its best, and try out new styles. Just like we do with the music."

Katie leaned back in her chair, considering his request. "Well, if that's what you want, Haz, then you'll have to go and see her. If you want a personal hair stylist, it's time to make it happen.”

His eyes widened with excitement, a grin spreading across his face. "Y’mean, you'll support me on this?"

Katie smirked mischievously, reaching for the phone on her desk. "Of course, Haz. If you're serious about having your own stylist, then I'm here to make it happen. Just give me a moment."

With a sense of determination, Katie dialed a number, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. "Paul, it's Katie. I need you to come to my office, please. It's urgent."

Within moments, Paul, the head of security, arrived at the office, a puzzled expression on his face. "Katie, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

Katie motioned for Paul to take a seat, her excitement barely contained. "Everything's perfectly fine, Paul. I just have a little request that involves you and the security team."

Paul raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A request? Alright, spill the beans, Katie. What's this about?”

Katie leaned forward, her voice brimming with excitement. "When we head to Europe, I want you to clear Harry's schedule for a day. We've got a special appointment lined up for him."

A smile crept across Paul's face as he caught onto Katie's plan. "Ah, I see. A special appointment, eh? Well, let's hear it then. Who's he going to see?"

Katie's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "He's going to visit a hair salon in Hampshire, and meet (Y/N), the stylist the Lou recommended. We want to give Harry the chance to have his own personal hair transformation."

Paul grinned, his excitement matching Katie's. "Ah, I get it now! Well, if that's what the lad wants, then consider it done. I'll coordinate with the security team and ensure everything goes smoothly."

Harry's face beamed with joy, gratitude welling up in his heart for his supportive team. "Thank you! Thank you!”

Katie chuckled, her eyes gleaming. "You're welcome, Haz. We're here to support your creative vision, and if this is what you want, then we're all in. Get ready for a hair transformation like no other!"

With plans set in motion and an agreement among them, Harry left Katie's office, a spring in his step. The thought of meeting (Y/N) and experiencing a personal hair transformation filled him with an overwhelming sense of excitement. As he walked back towards the waiting car, his mind whirled with possibilities and visions of the new looks that awaited him.

The vibrant energy of the backstage area enveloped Harry as he made his way through the corridors. The crew members he encountered congratulated him once again on the outstanding show, their words fueling his anticipation for the upcoming salon visit.

Reaching the coach, Harry found his bandmates waiting, their eyes gleaming with curiosity. They couldn't contain their excitement any longer and bombarded him with questions.

"Hazza, what did Katie say? Are they really letting you see (Y/N)?" Louis exclaimed, a grin stretching across his face.

Harry beamed, his heart filled with gratitude for the support of his friends. "Yes, lads! Katie and Paul are on board. They've cleared my schedule when we head to Europe so I can go and see (Y/N)."

Niall's eyes widened with excitement. "That's brilliant, mate! I can already imagine the incredible hairstyles she'll create for you."

Liam chimed in, his voice filled with anticipation. "I can't wait to see the transformation, Harry. Your hair is going to be even more legendary."

The moment one stepped into the quaint Hampshire salon, a symphony of sounds and a feast for the senses enveloped them. The air carried the gentle hum of hair dryers, creating a rhythmic harmony with the soft snip-snip of scissors diligently at work. Amidst the buzz, the warm and inviting ambiance was further elevated by the soft strains of classical music that wafted from hidden speakers, casting a soothing spell upon the space.

As customers entered, their eyes were drawn to the bustling scene before them. Behind the front desk, Kyle, the owner of the salon, meticulously attended to the administrative tasks on his computer, his focused demeanor a testament to his dedication. His passion for the craft emanated from him, infusing the salon with an air of creativity and professionalism.

The salon itself was a sight to behold, designed with meticulous attention to detail. The walls adorned with elegant artwork and vintage mirrors, reflecting the soft glow of warm lighting. The combination of earthy tones and pops of vibrant colors created an atmosphere that was both trendy and inviting, a sanctuary for self-care and beauty.

Amongst the stations, where skilled stylists worked their magic, was Clarissa. Her disinterest was palpable as she sat behind a station, her attention consumed by her phone, seemingly unbothered by the customers around her. It was a stark contrast to the warm and engaging environment crafted by Kyle and the rest of the team.

Yet, despite the lack of interaction from Clarissa, the salon thrived with an undeniable aesthetic. The atmosphere buzzed with creative energy and a sense of community, where customers and stylists alike found solace and inspiration. The scent of fresh hair products mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, creating a sensory experience that was as comforting as it was invigorating.

Within this picturesque setting, (Y/N) stood out like a gentle star. Her shy demeanour and anxious nature were almost imperceptible amidst the vibrancy of the salon. With a constant smile on her face, she worked her magic, transforming hair with precision and care. Her presence added an extra layer of warmth and a touch of magic to the already aesthetic environment, captivating those around her.

As clients settled into the plush salon chairs, entrusting their locks to the skilled hands of the stylists, they were enveloped by a sense of tranquillity. The combination of the symphony of salon sounds, the visual splendour, and the dedicated professionals working with passion created a sanctuary where beauty and self-expression flourished.

In this realm of artistry, where style and innovation harmoniously danced, the salon became a haven, an aesthetic oasis where one could escape the world for a brief moment and emerge transformed, both outwardly and within.

Amongst the energetic ambiance, (Y/N) meticulously worked her magic, her hands gracefully maneuvering through a client's hair. As she cut and styled, she engaged in a conversation, her shy and anxious nature subtly evident.

With a soft smile, (Y/N) focused her attention on the woman whose hair she was transforming. "H-hello, Mrs. Thompson. How are you feeling today? Are you ready for a new look?"

Mrs. Thompson smiled warmly, her eyes filled with trust. "Oh, hello, (Y/N). I'm excited for a change! I'm putting my trust in you, dear. You always do wonders with hair."

(Y/N)'s fingers trembled slightly as she combed through Mrs. Thompson's hair, her voice hesitant. "T-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I appreciate your trust. Let's discuss what you have in mind."

As Mrs. Thompson described her desired hairstyle, (Y/N)'s anxiety became more palpable, causing her words to stumble. "S-so, you want a bob with layers, right? I-I can definitely do that for you."

Mrs. Thompson nodded, her confidence in (Y/N)'s abilities unwavering. "Yes, that's right, (Y/N). I believe in you. You have such a talent for creating beautiful hairstyles."

(Y/N)'s smile grew, her voice softening further. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I'll do my best to give you the look you want.."

As (Y/N) began cutting, her hands displayed steady precision despite the underlying nervousness. She engaged in conversation, her voice often faltering with hesitation. But her dedication to her craft shone through as she meticulously crafted each layer and brought Mrs. Thompson's vision to life.

Mrs. Thompson watched the transformation unfold in the mirror, her eyes filled with admiration. "You're doing an amazing job, (Y/N). I can see your passion and dedication in every movement."

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. Your words mean a lot to me. I'm glad you're happy with it."

With a soft smile, (Y/N) once again focused her attention on the woman whose hair she was transforming "S-so, how are you liking the new style, Mrs. Thompson?"

Mrs. Thompson, a kind-hearted and chatty woman, gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, (Y/N), I absolutely love it! You're a true artist. You always know just how to make me feel beautiful."

A gentle blush graced (Y/N)'s cheeks as she thanked Mrs. Thompson, her voice slightly faltering. She was known for her attention to detail and the care she put into each client's hair. Yet, despite her talent, (Y/N) carried a timid demeanour, often hesitating and stuttering when speaking to people.

Mrs. Thompson, noticing (Y/N)'s reserved nature, continued, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "You know, (Y/N), you have such a gift. You bring more than just skill to this salon—you bring kindness and genuine care for your clients. It's one of the reasons I keep coming back."

(Y/N) lowered her gaze, a mix of gratitude and anxiety washing over her. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. Y-your words mean a lot to me."

As the blow dryer whirred and the scissors glide through Mrs. Thompson's hair, (Y/N)'s shyness seemed to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of dedication. She may be hesitant with her words, but her work spoke volumes.

Despite her anxious disposition, (Y/N) wore a constant smile, channelling her passion and love for her craft into every hairstyle she created. Each snip, each brush stroke was executed with precision, leaving a trail of satisfied clients in her wake.

As Mrs. Thompson admired her new look in the mirror, (Y/N) carefully removed the hairdressing cape, her hands gentle and her movements calculated. "There you g-go, Mrs. Thompson. Y-you're all set. It was a pleasure as always."

Mrs. Thompson beamed, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you, (Y/N). You truly have a gift. don't ever doubt yourself."

(Y/N) nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, her stutter more pronounced in her nervousness. "I'll try, Mrs. Thompson. Th-thank you for your kind words."

As (Y/N) put the finishing touches on Mrs. Thompson's hair, she gently guided her towards the front desk where Kyle, the owner of the salon, stood. With each step, (Y/N)'s heart fluttered with anticipation, her anxiety causing her words to stumble even more.

Approaching Kyle, (Y/N) managed a shy smile. "H-hey, Kyle. Mrs. Thompson's all done. I'll let you handle the payment."

Kyle beamed at (Y/N), his eyes reflecting a deep friendship and understanding. "Thanks, (Y/N). You did an incredible job as always. I'm lucky to have you here."

(Y/N) blushed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Th-thank you, Kyle. I-I appreciate your support."

Mrs. Thompson handed her payment to Kyle, who graciously accepted it with a warm smile. As she reached into her purse, she discreetly slipped an additional bill into (Y/N)'s hands, her eyes twinkling with gratitude for the exceptional service she had received.

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed even deeper, her voice quivering with surprise. "Mrs. Thompson, y-you didn't have to do that. Thank you so much."

Mrs. Thompson chuckled softly, her voice filled with affection. "Consider it a little something extra for you, (Y/N). You deserve it. Keep up the amazing work. Kyle, tell her that she’s deserves it, if anyone knows she does it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Kyle nodded, pushing some hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear, making her smile. “She’s my bestie after all and there’s no one else that knows her better, you deserve the tip (Y/N) trust me.”

Touched by the kind gesture, (Y/N) managed a heartfelt "Thank you" before turning her attention back to Kyle, her anxiety causing her words to stumble once again. "K-Kyle, I...I appreciate everything you do for me. You're...you're the best."

Kyle's eyes softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Right back at you, bestie. You're not just a talented stylist; you're an invaluable friend. I'm grateful to have you by my side."

As (Y/N) and Kyle exchanged a knowing look, their unspoken bond spoke volumes. Through her stuttering and anxious nature, (Y/N) found solace in the unwavering support of her best friend, Kyle. He had seen beyond her insecurities and embraced her for who she was—a talented stylist with a heart of gold.

As Mrs. Thompson left the salon, (Y/N) watched her go, a mixture of pride and apprehension swirling within her. Though she may be shy and anxious, her dedication to her craft and the ability to make her clients feel beautiful pushed her to overcome her insecurities.

Later that day, As the soft melodies of classical music continued to fill the cozy Hampshire salon, the entrance chimed with the arrival of three unexpected guests. Harry, Katie, and Paul stepped inside, the energy in the room shifting as heads turned in recognition of the famous face.

The warm glow of the salon's lighting seemed to caress the contours of Harry's face, casting a golden halo around his wavy locks. His charismatic smile illuminated the room, his presence instantly captivating. The soft whispers and curious glances exchanged among the customers and staff hinted at the excitement that pulsed through the air.

Kyle, the owner of the salon, fought to maintain a composed demeanor, despite his excitement and slight nervousness. He approached the trio with a warm smile, his voice attempting to exude normalcy. "Hey there! Welcome to our salon. How can I help you today?"

Harry's emerald eyes sparkled with intrigue as he glanced around, taking in the salon's aesthetic. His charm and genuine nature put everyone at ease, creating an atmosphere of familiarity. "Thanks! I was wondering if anyone named (Y/N) works here?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Kyle's face before he quickly composed himself, not wanting to reveal the inner excitement that threatened to burst forth. "Ah, (Y/N). Yes, (Y/N) does work here. Why do you ask?"

Harry's gaze locked with Kyle's, a sense of eager anticipation in his voice. "Well, my friends have been raving about (Y/N)'s talent, and I was hoping to meet them, maybe get a haircut."

Kyle's excitement mixed with a touch of disappointment as he spoke, his voice laced with anticipation. "I'm sorry, Mr. Styles, but (Y/N) is currently on her break. She'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Would you mind waiting for her?"

Harry's warm smile remained unwavering as he nodded eagerly. "Of course, I'll happily wait for her. Take your time."

As the minutes slipped by, the anticipation in the salon grew thicker. The melodies of classical music seemed to harmonize with the gentle whispers of excitement among the stylists and clients alike. The door chimed softly, announcing (Y/N)'s return from their break.

(Y/N) stepped into the salon, their demeanor exuding innocence and a hint of shyness. Clad in a delightful summer dress and a cozy cardigan, their eyes hidden behind a pair of earphones, they seemed oblivious to the presence that awaited them. Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Harry Styles himself sat patiently in the corner, his gaze fixed on the doorway.

Kyle, unable to contain his excitement any longer, subtly nodded his head in Harry's direction, silently urging (Y/N) to turn and discover the surprise that awaited them. As if sensing the unspoken cue, (Y/N) turned their head, wide-eyed and innocent, their gaze meeting Harry's.

And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The collision of their unsuspecting eyes sparked an undeniable connection, an intangible thread weaving between their souls. The air crackled with electricity, anticipation hanging in every breath.

And there, in the cosy Hampshire salon, the stage was set for an extraordinary encounter that would forever alter the course of (Y/N)'s life. The moment held infinite possibilities, as two worlds collided in a collision of fate and destiny.

“Hi…excuse me…(Y/N), right? m’names Harry,”the singer smiled at her politely. “— I was wondering if I could possibly speak to you somewhere in private? It’s okay if not.”

As the weight of the moment hung in the air, Harry's eyes locked with (Y/N)'s, a silent request passing between them. Sensing Harry's desire for privacy, (Y/N) glanced at Kyle, their trusted confidant and supporter.

(Y/N)'s gaze pleaded for guidance, and Kyle, understanding the unspoken need, smiled warmly. "Of course, Sir. (Y/N) would appreciate speaking with you in private. I'll make sure they're comfortable."

A mixture of apprehension and curiosity danced in (Y/N)'s eyes as they nodded in agreement. The safety net of Kyle's presence and the knowledge that they had someone they trusted nearby provided a sense of reassurance.

With a gentle smile, Harry gestured towards a quieter corner of the salon, away from the prying eyes and curious whispers. The anticipation swelled as they found a secluded space, cocooned from the busyness of the salon.

In the secluded corner of the salon, Harry's gaze was filled with anticipation as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of recommendation. "(Y/N), my friend Lou, who happens to be a dear friend of yours too, recommended you. She told me about the incredible talent you possess."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and nostalgia washing over them. Their voice trembled with the remnants of their anxious personality, stuttering as they spoke. "L-Lou? Oh, yes, I know her. She used to teach me when I was learning to be a hairdresser. We've kept in touch since."

Harry's expression softened with understanding, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Lou speaks highly of you, (Y/N). She mentioned how talented and dedicated you are. That's why I'm here. I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to be my personal hair stylist."

The weight of the decision bore heavily upon (Y/N), their anxiety surfacing as their voice faltered. "I-I'm honored, Harry, but I'm... I'm really hesitant. It's such a big responsibility, and... and I'm not sure if I'm ready."

Harry's eyes reflected empathy as he placed a comforting hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder. "I understand, (Y/N). It's a big ask, and I don't want to pressure you into anything. You don't have to say yes right away. Take your time, think it over. Your happiness and comfort matter above all else."

Feeling torn, (Y/N) turned to their trusted friend Kyle, who was sat behind the desk and pretending not to listen in on there conversation, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Kyle, what do you think? Should I take this opportunity?"

Kyle's smile was filled with unwavering support as he met (Y/N)'s gaze. "Oh, (Y/N), I've seen your talent and dedication firsthand. You've grown so much since those early days with Lou. This could be an incredible opportunity for you. I believe you're ready for it."

The weight of Kyle's words, coupled with the encouragement that had always surrounded (Y/N), began to lift the fog of anxiety. Though their voice still stuttered, a newfound determination crept into their words. "Th-thank you, Kyle. Your support means the world to me. Maybe... maybe I should take this chance."

In that moment, (Y/N) felt a surge of resilience and bravery, ready to step into the unknown and embrace the possibilities that lay ahead. With the reassurance of Kyle's wisdom and the memory of Lou's guidance, they were prepared to embark on this journey, even if their anxious nature continued to accompany them.

As the sun rose on a new day, the cozy Hampshire salon brimmed with anticipation. The air hummed with excitement as Katie, Harry, and Paul returned, ready to discuss the next steps with (Y/N).

Katie, with her warm smile and approachable demeanour, took charge of the conversation. Her voice carried a reassuring tone as she explained the details to (Y/N). "(Y/N), I'm here to talk about the next phase of your journey as Harry's personal hair stylist. Before we proceed, there's a requirement we need to discuss."

(Y/N) listened attentively, their anxious nature momentarily overshadowed by the genuine kindness radiating from Katie. Their voice quivered with curiosity as they asked, "W-what is it, Miss?"

Katie's eyes sparkled with understanding as she explained, "We'll need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement (NDA). It ensures that the collaboration between you and Harry remains confidential. You won't be able to share that you're working with him, except with your immediate family and close friends."

A mix of excitement and nervousness welled up within (Y/N) as they processed the information. Despite their apprehension, Katie's warm demeanour made them feel at ease. They could sense a genuine connection forming, a glimmer of a friendship that had the potential to blossom.

"I-I understand," (Y/N) replied, their voice tinged with a blend of enthusiasm and caution. "I’ll happily sign, Miss. I want to make this work."

Katie's smile widened, her encouragement palpable. "That's wonderful to hear, (Y/N). I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine. Together, we'll navigate the journey ahead and create something truly amazing."

As (Y/N) engaged in conversation with Katie, discussing the details and signing the necessary documents, Harry couldn't help but find himself captivated by her presence. With each word, each gesture, she exuded a certain grace and beauty that resonated with him.

He watched as (Y/N) delicately held the pen, her fingers gliding across the paper with a mixture of confidence and a hint of nervousness. There was an air of sincerity that surrounded her, her genuine nature shining through every interaction. It was in these moments that Harry found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

(Y/N)'s choice of attire only heightened Harry's admiration. The light blue cardigan draped gently over her shoulders, contrasting perfectly with the pristine white summer dress that flowed around her figure. The casualness of the ensemble, combined with the pair of vans on her feet, gave her an effortless allure. Her hair, neatly styled into two French braids, framed her face in a way that accentuated her features. With minimal makeup, her natural beauty radiated like a sunbeam.

To Harry, (Y/N) was like a burst of sunshine in a world that often seemed dim. Her genuine personality and the way she carried herself resonated deeply within him. As he watched her sign the document, he couldn't help but be captivated by her presence.

A sense of awe washed over Harry as he quietly observed, his heart fluttering with a newfound appreciation. In that moment, he recognized the remarkable blend of beauty and authenticity that made (Y/N) so captivating. It wasn't just her physical appearance, but the way she effortlessly exuded warmth and kindness, making those around her feel seen and valued.

As the ink dried on the paper, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for this unexpected connection. (Y/N) had become more than just a talented hair stylist; she had become a beacon of light in his life. And in that moment, he silently acknowledged the beauty that resided within her, both inside and out.

tag list: @kaverichauhan @teamspideyman @victoria-styles

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adventure-showdown · 6 months

Text

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

ROUND 2 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Spearhead from Space

Synopsis

Forbidden to continue travelling the universe by his own people, the Time Lords, and exiled to Earth in the late 20th century, the newly regenerated Doctor arrives in Oxley Woods accompanied by a shower of mysterious meteorites. Investigating the occurrence is the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce (UNIT for short), an organisation which had previously been associated with the Doctor during the Cybermen's invasion.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Ark in Space

Synopsis

The TARDIS lands on a space station orbiting Earth in the distant future. It's seemingly deserted, but the Doctor, Sarah and Harry soon discover that they are not alone. Thousands of humans are in cryogenic sleep, and while they've slept their Ark has been invaded. A parasitic insect race, the Wirrn, have taken control and threaten the very future of mankind.

Propaganda

you’ve got to do it for the most iconic use of bubblewrap in the show, nay all of television, nay human history. (no but seriously it’s a very good story, even without the bubblewarp) (anonymous)

#round 2 #this is a personal attack against myself #as much as it pains me #if i don't support the bubblewrap and it loses #i would never be able to forgive myself #i can forgive myself for voting against spearhead #it will take time but i'll manage it

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saddayfordemocracy · 2 months

Text

Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny (4 June 1976 – 16 February 2024)

Mr Navalny was a Russian opposition leader, lawyer, anti-corruption activist, and political prisoner.

He organised anti-government demonstrations and ran for office to advocate reforms against corruption in Russia and against Dictator Vladimir Putin and his government.

Mr Navalny was founder of the Anti-Corruption Foundation (FBK). He was recognised by Amnesty International as a prisoner of conscience, and was awarded the Sakharov Prize for his work on human rights.

Through his social media channels, Mr Navalny and his team published material about corruption in Russia, organised political demonstrations and promoted his campaigns. In a 2011 radio interview, he described Russia's ruling party, United Russia, as a "party of crooks and thieves", which became a popular epithet.

Mr Navalny and the FBK have published investigations detailing alleged corruption by high-ranking Russian officials and their associates. He twice received a suspended sentence for embezzlement, in 2013 and 2014. Both criminal cases were widely considered politically motivated and intended to bar him from running in future elections. He ran in the 2013 Moscow mayoral election and came in second with 27% of the vote but was barred from running in the 2018 presidential election.

In August 2020, Mr Navalny was hospitalised in serious condition after being poisoned with a Novichok nerve agent. He was medically evacuated to Berlin and discharged a month later. He accused Putin of being responsible for his poisoning, and an investigation implicated agents from the Federal Security Service.

In January 2021, Mr Navalny returned to Russia and was immediately detained on accusations of violating parole conditions while he was hospitalised in Germany. Following his arrest, mass protests were held across Russia. In February 2021, his suspended sentence was replaced with a prison sentence of over 2+1⁄2 years' detention, and his organisations were later designated as extremist and liquidated.

In March 2022, Mr Navalny was sentenced to an additional nine years in prison after being found guilty of embezzlement and contempt of court in a new trial described as a sham by Amnesty International; his appeal was rejected and in June, he was transferred to a high-security prison.

In August 2023, Mr Navalny was sentenced to an additional 19 years in prison on extremism charges.

In December 2023, Navalny went missing from prison for almost three weeks. He re-emerged in an Arctic Circle corrective colony in the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Okrug.

On 16 February 2024, the Russian prison service reported that Mr Navalny had died at the age of 47. His death sparked protests, both in Russia and in various other countries. Accusations against the Russian authorities in connection with his death have been made by many Western governments and international organisations.

Rest in Power !

Lyudmila Navalnaya, the mother of late Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny, attends a funeral service and a farewell ceremony for her son at the Soothe My Sorrows church in Moscow, Russia, March 1.

People attach a banner to a tree near the Borisovskoye cemetery after the funeral of Russian opposition politician Alexei Navalny, in Moscow, Russia, March 1. A slogan on the banner refers to Russian President Vladimir Putin and reads: "Putin killed him but didn't break (his spirit)"

People walk towards the Borisovskoye cemetery during the funeral of Russian opposition politician Alexei Navalny in Moscow, Russia, March 1, 2024. A placard reads: "We remember, we love, we won't forget".

People walk towards Soothe My Sorrows church in Moscow, Russia and Borisovskoye cemetery during the funeral of Russian opposition politician Alexei Navalny in Moscow, Russia, March 1.

Courtesy: REUTERS/Stringer

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noturvlentine · 10 months

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a stranger under the skin (pt3)

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Leon Kennedy x reader series

Summary [series]- after Chris Redfield has requested for your transfer from the BSAA, you’re tasked with uncovering a chain of bio-terrorist attacks alongside Leon Kennedy. Destruction, duty and your untold past brings you spiralling into an unlikely bond with your partner, as efforts are made and promises are broken.

I APOLOGISE FOR TEMPORARILY GOING AWOL!!!! I’m back now and this series is gonna keep up bc I really want to write for it and have been!!!

OKAY, I know Chris didn’t technicality command SOUs before 2009, but for the sake of the story let’s pretend that it fits in somewhere with the plot- or history, because it makes sense somehow that there’s this loss dynamic or prior stoicism from her job. And because why not- but yea that’s it.

alcohol, pills, violence in the near future and basically all that stuff

1.3k words

previous part (2)

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Target Location

Eastern Europe

2009

11:00AM

You had arrived to your escort well into the dawn of the next day, probably because of the subsequent European timezone but the sudden change in light wasn’t of your concern as time was measured strictly in numbers, as you’d say. It had been a good while since you got the chance to admire the sunrise, it was quite late for the tail end of winter and last you could remember, it definitely looked better than the clouds of sand swallowing your view in South America. This sudden breeze of peacefulness also had you wondering when the last time you flew out in a civilian aircraft was. Maybe that’s why you never slept on transport because you were always shoved into the stomach of an Osprey or a CH-47 and what not. Leon had remained quiet, there was something brewing between the two of you that lacked of mutual understanding. Maybe it was better this way, the only important thing is that you needed to work well enough together to get the job done. That’s all. No hard feelings.

Somewhere in Eastern Europe

STRATCOM Safe house

2009

11:30AM

The car ride to the safe house was surprisingly uneventful. You’d half expected the car to explode and flip over some ten times and this operation would backfire with you and Leon heading home early, in comfortable black bags to no one’s condolences. At least that was how it was for you. God knows about Leon, the guy can’t seem to catch a break yet refuses to die. The city was well kept, not modern enough to suite the Americans yet not of great heritage at the heart. Another disposable sight for terrorism, seeing as no one expected to get a great amount of attention in a small Eastern European city, yet they only seemed to have sent the two of you. Your escort, a quiet man of no specific organisation at glance, cleared your departure through the back alley to a modest, yet somewhat unoccupied apartment building. The back entrance was between two large bins and a couple water tanks servicing the unit. The door was heavy and swung shut behind you, there wasn’t an elevator, only the quiet hum in the upward staircase lit by a square, graticule skylight around six floors up. You stepped into the beam of light and stared straight at it, the sky turning grey and boring by the time the morning fully rendered. Leon stopped beside you, following his gaze upwards to inquire yours. You could hear his hand fishing out the set of keys to your unit from his jacket pocket.

‘So they gave you the keys huh?’ You joked, breaking the silence, somewhat offended that no one had filled you in about breaking in and entering. You simply received a short laugh back as Leon headed up the stairs, his boots tapping softly and rhythmically up the stairs. Your unit was on the fourth floor, a one bedroom flat facing the street, which was mostly empty despite it already being well into the day. All the equipment was already packed into heavy duty cases stacked up in the corner, a replacement Christmas tree with everything you could possibly need- tactically that is, along with supplies that was meant to last you both for more than enough time. None of you bother to turn the lights on as your bags are dumped onto one of the couches facing the window, a cloud of dust flakes up from the couch but Leon doesn’t think twice before sitting down. You turn your back to him as you make your way closer to the windows, standing just around the frame enough to have a full view of the area, scanning your surroundings. Funny how the first thing that stuck was planning out your escape from a possible war zone, or apartment block or whatever. By now you’ve got it all mapped out-

The alley by the corner store, a fire hatch to the left of your window, another route behind the sixth parking meter and-

‘I could get used to this you know,’ you tried to ignore Leon’s statement of amusement. But instead, to your own surprise and credibility you reply with a sarcastic ‘yeah?’ and receive a hum from Leon.

‘Yeah, they got nice damn equipment and a comfortable place to hide out, best they’ve done if you ask me. Mustn’t be an easy job then.’ He’s casual, and it doesn’t sit well with you.

‘This is such a fucking domestic job.’ You snark, flicking your head around and turning back away from the window.

‘And does that make you uncomfortable?’ Leon questions, or rather, rhetorical, because he knows you’d rather be suffering out in the field under the scorching sun carrying 10kg of solid gear trying your best not to catch a bullet or two. You don’t reply, but simply glare straight at him heavily, arms crossed, to which Leon only returns a friendly smile ambiguous of sarcasm but ultimately understanding. You blink once, then turn on your heels over to the stack of heavy duty cases to fetch the debrief. The pile of documents slaps the glass coffee table hard as Leon glances at the memo before turning his head up to look at you, standing on the other side.

‘Do we wanna start or wait until someone blows our door down?’

It was probably around 21:00PM when the two of you had finished assessments and any additional planning after going through the memo a few more times. Dinner was a couple of protein bars and some green bottled substance probably beneficial to your health, who knows. All your belongings and sheets of paper was piled up on the coffee table, at some point you had gotten up to close the curtains and switch on the lights, but that felt like an eternity ago. You were staring at the ceiling with your head over the back of the couch when you head Leon rattle something metal in his hands. Your head was heavy and you’d blinked the rest out of your eyes and sat up to face Leon, who was now taking a swig at something from a small flask. Leon let the lid hang out to the side which for some reason your eyes settled on to, then back up to meet his gaze. You couldn’t blame him honestly, you’d taken something to numb the nerves some short hours ago to which the small capsule containing those pills were now peaking out under a few sheets of paper.

‘I’m not an alcoholic, don’t worry.’ He said, satirically over a warm grin.

‘You know you shouldn’t be drinking on the job’ you implied, signalling at the vessel tucked between his hands.

‘Oh yea? Well you aren’t any better there’ he nodded towards the bottle of pills on the coffee table.

‘Well don’t worry, I’m not a drug addict.’you teased. Leon laid back into the couch, his hand with the flask resting between his legs, staring at you comically, eyebrows raised and all.

He wasnt convinced

‘We all have our excuses Leon.’ You smiled, half heartedly.

He took another sip of his liquor, this time, resting it on the table before leaning back again.

‘And for the record, im not insane either.’ You added jokingly.

‘Well I sure disagree with that.’ He laughed. ‘No one willingly goes through the same hoard of papers six times in the same afternoon.’

AN: I’m back, and I didn’t know what to do with that chapter but hope it kicks things off again. I’m on vacation early atm so updates will be coming!!!!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x oc #leon kennedy angst #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil x you #chris redfeild x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy x you #resident evil angst #leon s kennedy x y/n #resident evil

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maximumwobblerbanditdonut · 4 months

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Sam Heughan’s Sassenach whisky brand loses the final legal fight in a trademark dispute in the European Union 🇪🇺

Sam Heughan launched his whisky brand "The Sassenach" in 2020, nickname his character uses for his on-screen love interest in the time travel drama "Outlander". Since 2021, Heughan has been embroiled in a legal battle with "Sasse" a German distillery over the name of his whisky brand, arguing that the Sassenach whisky would confuse customers who might think he is linked to them.

The European Union Intellectual Property Office (EUIPO), which resolves trademark disputes, ruled in favour of the German company and issued a decision upholding the opposition saying The Sassenach could not use the name as a whisky brand. After losing the initial decision at the Fifth Board of Appeals in 2021, Heughan's legal team appealed in 2022 to overturn the decision.

His legal team said there was no risk of confusion as Outlander was popular in Germany. Lawyers for the Sasse distillery, however, said: "The television series may be as popular as the other side claims, which we deny, nonetheless it is not sufficient to assume that the average consumer knows the meaning of that term. Both parties in litigation were given time to present evidence and arguments in their defence and after the Examination period, the Opposition Division’s decision was taken this year 2023.

Great Glen Company or its representative never commented on the EU decisions until last October, in New York when Sam Heughan was asked about Sassenach whisky situation in the European Union in a chat with Mark Gillespie at the Whisky Cast podcast and Heughan's response was very limited, deflecting the question talking about the name in dispute but not the EUIPO's decision, regarding Sassenach whisky that was supposedly aware of the official communication from the European Union Intellectual Property Office - Opposition Division- sent to Great Glen Company in July 2023, which considered that the disputed trademark 'The Sassenach' must be rejected for all the contested goods.

It's a bit curious that after the EUIPO decision, Sam Heughan appeared on a surprise visit to New Orleans, which included podcasts, and events with @sgwinespirits on Tales of the cocktail with an unscheduled tasting of his drinks at the Ritz-Carlton in Nola. Later on, he began his Sassenach sales tour around the United States last summer. If these people had known what had happened with his Sassenach brand in the EU would be different?

In addition, Great Glen Company (GGC) applied to register a new trademark with the World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) and the EU, following the EUIPO decision, following its earlier idea to build on all the Outlander ideas, the new trademark is called "LALLYBROCH SPIRITS" (Lallybroch means "lazy tower" in Gaelic). It will not use Midhope/Lallybroch as a distillery. This new trademark has nothing to do with or relate to the grounds of Midhope Castle, the site of a new whisky distillery with a different brand and ownership. Its new application is already registered in the United States.

It's pending resolution in the EU, Canada and the United Kingdom where Heughan requested its registration.

WIPO

EUIPO

THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS

The Great Glen Company, Sam Heughan’s firm, applied to register the brand name Scotch whisky THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS as a future trademark to sell the whisky across Europe, but Theo Sasse e.K brand distillery in Schöppingen-Germany, objected claiming the name was too close to its trademarked name, which it uses to sell whiskies and brandies spirits.

On 20th July 2023 the Opposition Division takes the following:

DECISION

1. Opposition is upheld for all the contested goods.

2. International registration is entirely refused protection in respect of the European Union.

REASONS

On 24th November 2021 the opponent Theo Sasse e.K filed an opposition against all the goods (Class 33) of international registration designating the European Union. The opposition is based on, inter alia, German trademark registration ‘Sasse’ (word mark). Also, the opponent invoked Article 8(1)(b) EUTMR and Article 8(4) EUTMR.

LIKELIHOOD OF CONFUSION — ARTICLE 8(1)(b) EUTMR

A likelihood of confusion exists if there is a risk that the public might believe that the goods or services in question, under the assumption that they bear the marks in question, come from the same undertaking or, as the case may be, from economically linked undertakings.

The opposition is based on more than one earlier trade mark. The Opposition Division finds it appropriate to first examine the opposition in relation to the opponent’s German trade mark registration.

a) The goods

The goods on which the opposition is based are, inter alia, the following:

Class 33: Alcoholic beverages, excluding beers. Alcoholic beverages, except beer are identically contained in both lists of goods (including synonyms).

b) Relevant public — degree of attention

The average consumer of the category of products concerned is deemed to be reasonably well informed and reasonably observant and circumspect. It should also be borne in mind that the average consumer’s degree of attention is likely to vary according to the category of goods or services in question. In the present case, the goods found to be identical are directed at the public at large.

c) The signs

The relevant territory is Germany.

Contested sign The global appreciation of the visual, aural or conceptual similarity of the marks in question must be based on the overall impression given by the marks, bearing in mind, in particular, their distinctive and dominant components. The earlier mark is the word mark ‘Sasse’. The protection of a word mark concerns the word as such and not the specific graphic or stylistic elements accompanying that mark.

The verbal element ‘SASSENACH’ of the contested mark has, contrary to the allegations of the holder, no meaning for the relevant public and is, therefore, distinctive. Likewise, the unicorn device of the contested sign has no particular meaning in relation to the goods and is distinctive.

THE SASSENACH’ in the contested sign are the dominant elements as they are the most eye-catching.

Visually, the signs coincide in ‘SASSE’, which represents the entire earlier mark. The signs differ in the representation of a unicorn and the additional letters ‘-NACH’ (after SASSE) and the non-distinctive elements ‘The’ as well as ‘UNIQUE SPIRITS’ in the contested mark. Thus, the single word element of the earlier mark is fully contained in the most distinctive verbal element of the contested mark. That fact alone is a clear indication of a visual similarity. Therefore, the signs are similar to a below-average degree.

Aurally, the signs coincide in the syllables ‘Sas-se’, which is the sole and distinctive element of the earlier mark and the beginning of the most important verbal element of the contested sign, ‘Sas-se-nach’. The signs differ in the last letters of this word (one syllable), ‘nach’, and in the first verbal element of the contested sign, ‘The’. The fact remains that the earlier mark is entirely included at the beginning of the most important verbal element of the contested sign.

Conceptually, the signs will always be dissimilar as the contested mark will be understood with at least one meaning, namely the unicorn in the contested mark. As the signs have been found similar in at least one aspect of the comparison, the examination of likelihood of confusion will proceed.

d) Distinctiveness of the earlier mark The distinctiveness of the earlier mark is one of the factors to be taken into account in the global assessment of likelihood of confusion. In the present case, the earlier trade mark as a whole has no meaning for any of the goods in question from the perspective of the public in the relevant territory. Therefore, the distinctiveness of the earlier mark must be seen as normal.

e) Global assessment, other arguments and conclusion The goods at issue are identical. They target the general public, who possesses an average degree of attention. The earlier mark has a normal degree of distinctiveness. The signs are visually similar to a below average degree and aurally similar to an average degree since the sole and distinctive element of the earlier mark, ‘Sasse’, is entirely reproduced at the beginning of the contested sign’s only fully distinctive verbal element, ‘Sassenach’. Evaluating the likelihood of confusion implies some interdependence between the relevant factors and, in particular, a similarity between the marks and between the goods or services.

Considering all the above, especially taking into account that the earlier mark is entirely reproduced in the contested sign and used for goods that are identical, the Opposition Division finds that there is a likelihood of confusion on the part of the public. Therefore, the opposition is well founded on the basis of the opponent’s German trade mark registration It follows that the contested trade mark must be rejected for all the contested goods. As the earlier right German trade mark registration leads to the success of the opposition and to the rejection of the contested trade mark The Sassenach for all the goods against which the opposition was directed.

The trademark status was "totally refused", meaning that THE SASSENACH UNIQUE SPIRITS trademark cannot be registered in the EU. If SH's trade mark application is refused, he can file an appeal. He must file his notice of appeal within 2 months from the date of the refusal decision (August-September) and the grounds of appeal must be filed within 4 months from the same date of notification (October-November). But, He did not appeal and last November the EUIPO confirmed by letter the provisional refusal of his trademark and refused its protection in the European Union. The final decision was published on 14 December 2023.

Conclusion

The EUIPO’s decision of the Board of Appeals, regarding its whisky has a “displacement” because Sassenach whisky cannot be registered as a trademark in the EU, the Sassenach trademark was refused. SH must be aware the significance of the total refusal decision regarding its whisky brand. If he was planning to recover from a legal dispute by putting his gin on an impromptu Sassenach tour around US last summer, proving that his recent EU legal battle was a mere bump in the road, he should have thought twice. He lost a legal battle to register his Sassenach whisky brand as a European Community trademark ® in 27 states. It is a big difference. It seems that if Heughan wants to continue selling its whisky, it will have to change the name.

LALLYBROCH SPIRITS registration:

United Kingdom

Canada

USA

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