#Investors should be fucking happy the thing they invested in gets up and running and that's it

[rikamae]

Capitalists hate me because I simply believe that you do NOT have the duty to increase profits for shareholders at the cost of health of you, your employees, or even your company hope that helps ❤️

[wandaluvstacos]

Chapter 36 of Good Investment is now up on my Patreon!

Good Investment is available at the $5/month tier. People who pledge $5 a month have access to not only Good Investment but The Sponsors series (ongoing), Pretty Things (complete), May the Blood Run Pure (complete), and Kept Man (complete), along with the $1/month tier books, the Reflections trilogy (ongoing) and The Halfwife (ongoing).

Adri Schvaneveldt has always felt split between two worlds. In one world, they are the adopted child of a large and conservative Mormon family. In another, she is the CEO of a burgeoning fashion empire that pushes boundaries. But in order to be the latter, Adri first has to find the funding. After gaining a hefty following as a social media influencer/model, Adri has the potential customers– if they can get a reliable production model pounded out. And that means a bit of groveling at the feet of investors, most of who have never even heard the term “non-binary”.

But Adri lucks out with Gideon Snow, whose youth and open mind bring much needed funds to make Adri’s dream of diverse, accessible fashion a reality. Of course, lifting a newborn company to its feet is no small task, and late nights drive Adri to occasional stays at Gideon’s nearby house, where their relationship begins stretching beyond business. Adri knows they can’t put an entire business venture at risk for the turbulent whims of their heart. But reason doesn’t always win out.

Excerpt:

“Okay,” Tiffany finally said, voice quiet. “I get it. I am happy for you, you know. For once you get to date another ex-Mormon with the same fucked up coping skills as you.”

Gideon chuckled. “Yeah, we understand each other on a level I can’t explain to people who aren’t from Utah.” He inhaled shakily. “She’s so sweet, but not in the way my parents pretend to be. She’s genuine. And talented, of course. She’s… she’s a lot of things.” Again, Gideon glanced at the patio door.

“Aww, Giddy. You’re so cute when you’re in love.” Gideon wasn’t sure if she was making fun of him, but he decided to be generous and assume she wasn’t.

“Anyway, I probably should go. I’m sure it’s late there.”

“Only eleven-thirty. You go and enjoy your sexy vacation with your sexy mistress. Think about what we discussed, but also try not to get food poisoning.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do my best.”

“Good luuuuuuuck,” Tiffany sang, then hung up.

Gideon sank back into the patio chair for a few minutes, just staring out across the ocean. Then he hauled himself to his feet and pushed the sliding patio door back, finally granted a decent look inside the room. Adri’s form was still nestled under the puffy white comforter, one slim arm stretched out across the pillow he’d abandoned. His chest swelled with emotions he struggled to contain, and he stepped lightly across the space between the door and the bed to rest a knee on the mattress and lean over Adri. They were mostly buried in sheets, but their bare shoulders and neck were exposed. Gideon pressed a hand to their skin, reveling in the texture of it before dropping his head and kissing the dip between neck and shoulder. Adri moaned softly and shifted, rolling onto their back before their eyes fluttered open, two warm pools of blackish-brown that Gideon wanted to dive into and curl up with like he did his cat.

“Morning,” Adri said with a sweet, sleepy smile.

“Hey,” Gideon replied, smiling in kind.

Adri reached up with thin fingers and pastel pink claws to push some hair off his forehead, then dropped a thumb to the center of his forehead, teasing out what must be a wrinkle. “Everything okay?”

Gideon braced an arm on Adri’s opposite side, which freed up his other hand to rub their forearm until they dropped it, allowing him to wind their fingers together. The distress that his conversation with Tiffany had rustled up now felt a thousand miles away. Love really had his brain simmering in its own juices like a slow-cooked turkey.

“Everything’s fine,” he told them, squeezing their hand.

[elalmadelmar]

Do you think one can ethically enjoy the svb bank collapse. I KNOW it effects regular people and not just rich assholes but any time I read anything about it my dominant emotional reaction is "lmao get rekt." I know that's not mature, but it's so hard to feel anything else! ESPECIALLY when all the news seems to focus on is how this effects other rich people shit like stocks and investment security. I'm not happy that normal people aren't getting paid, but I am delighted that a major bank was brought down by a bunch of panicking tech bros causing a fucking bank run. Can I keep enjoying the schadenfreude, or should I put on a mourning veil and nod somberly every time it's brought up?

Hey anon, thank you for asking this question. This is an interesting one, and I had a good time chewing on it a bit before I sat down to answer.

In a way, it feels like the inverse of the "thoughts and prayers" issue. There, like here, we -- you and I, and 99.9999% of the rest of the tumblr ecosystem and the world at large -- can't do anything about the current situation. There is nothing particularly useful that we would do if we packed our bags and showed up onsite to "help," and we have our own lives that we need to keep on track.

Do I think donning a mourning veil and nodding somberly every time SVB comes up in conversation would actually improve the situation in even the tinest of ways? Not really, no, any more than posting "thoughts and prayers" on Facebook does. It's not gonna get any startup employees or contractors paid, it's not gonna convince the rest of the larger finance world to stop running around in circles and screaming incoherently, it's not gonna convince the government to maybe let the risk-hungry investors actually feel some of the pain of their risk-taking.

And, let's be real, a little schadenfreude can be cathartic. It's nice to see the guys on top of the world panic-crying sometimes. To be clear, the things that they regard as catastrophic and the things that are catastrophic for us normies down here on the ground are very, very different, and even on their worst day they're much better off than I think I will ever be, but... well, it's kinda nice to see rich assholes have bad days anyway.

But there is a risk there as well; it's entirely possible to take so much joy in the bad day of a rich man that you lose sight of the downstream impacts. One of the things that makes trying to fix our broken world so difficult is that any major event has very wide-ranging impacts, and those impacts almost always fall hardest on the people least able to cope with them. And while Facebook thoughts and prayers do nothing to help or harm others, it is also true that your habitual thoughts become your unquestioned and automatic thoughts. Unbridled schadenfreude can over time lead to a chronic lack of compassion for others, and that, I think, is something to carefully avoid.

My approach, and the approach I recommend in general, is to let multiple things be true at once, and to hold that dualism actively in your mind. Enjoy the schadenfreude -- believe me, I am! -- but don't let yourself forget the ordinary people impacted. Let an awareness of them hang at the back of your mind even while you're laughing. Not with guilt, but with caring, because much like schadenfreude, compassion is a habit you can cultivate.

[maxwell--lord]

Always Been You

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F!Reader

Rating: M

Words: 2182

Warnings: Sexual tension, language, some angst, fluff.

Summary: Maxwell Lord and you were dating for two years when you walked in on him in the office with an investor and you called it quits- now he’s reaching out to you, a year later, to give you some closure before you leave forever, but what he doesn’t expect is that you feel the same way about him as he still feels about you.

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever really written anything other than poetry and I hope this is received well. I’ve also never uploaded anything like this to tumblr before, so hopefully this works out correctly for me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!  

Maxwell groans, gripping the bed sheet in his hand, he's been dreaming of you again- while laying next to another one night stand. He grips the sheet harder before letting out a breathy moan of your name, before he sits straight up in bed and glances at the time. 3:02 am, he's drenched in sweat and the cool air on his skin sends chills down his spine, he sighs and whips the blanket off of him before climbing out of bed. He grabs his phone, tapping the screen to scroll his contact list, selects your name and chooses to send you a text. "Y/N, can we talk? It's been a while- I know. I fucked up- and I wanted to clear the air, before you leave New York forever. I know the timing is bad, I'm sorry. Please give me a call later", he presses send and places his hand to his forehead, squeezing gently and pulling his hand down his face. He looks back at the woman, who is peacefully sleeping, and he thinks that sending you that message might have been a mistake. His eyes widen as he feels his phone buzz in his hand and he thinks "there's no way that she's calling me now, she shouldn't even be awake". He quickly looks down at the phone to see your name across his screen and he scrambles to get out of his bedroom quickly, shutting the door behind him, he swipes his finger across the phone and slowly raises it to his ear "Hello? Maxwell???" you softly speak and his voice trembles "H-hey Y/N" , "Why did you text me? Why do you want to talk? The last time we spoke you couldn't even give me an explanation for what I saw in your office. You literally broke my heart, Max." you say, with pain in your voice and he can sense it, the hurt, still as fresh as it was, a year ago. He sighs "Y/N, I fucked up. I was only worried about how I could keep the business running. I wasn't worried about the one thing that mattered most to me", you cut him off "Oh, and now, suddenly, a year later you want to talk to me about it? Now that I am going to leave to get away from seeing you in everything I look at? Maxwell, please spare me the bullshit" anger now penetrating your voice "Y/N, listen please. What you saw wasn't me- I mean it was me, but it wasn't me. Alice was our biggest investor and I didn't think she was a threat to our relationship, not until that day... Not until she pulled me into her.. I know what it looked like and I know I should have heeded your warnings and your feelings before, but I promise you- I never wanted anything to do with her" he sputtered with anguish in his voice. You softly spoke "Max, a-are you t-telling me that she propositioned you and..." you trail off, your breath hitching as you gasp for air, your throat swelling and your eyes filling with tears. Maxwell can tell you're beginning to cry and he inhales sharply "Y/N, please don't cry. It would be easier to talk to you in person, I know its now.." he looks over at the clock "3:30 am, but if you want to meet for breakfast at the Radio?", your lip trembles and tears stream down your cheeks.. a year has gone by and you're just finding out the truth, learning that what happened wasn't his idea and he wasn't comfortable with the situation and your breath trembles as you speak "M-max, I don't think I can wait- is there any chance we can meet now? You can come to my place" you ask. Max looks over his shoulder at the woman sleeping in his bed and he thinks for a second "Yes, I would like that more than waiting. Let me get dressed and I'll drive over" he says and you can feel a smile crack at the sides of your mouth "Okay Max, I'll unlock the door for you. I'll see you soon."  you sigh and you hang up the phone.

Maxwell walks over to the bed, sighing and looking at the clock, it blinks 3:45 am and he gently nudges the woman until she wakes and softly says "I will have an uber here for you in 15, you need to go, please. I'm sorry I brought you here, it was a mistake" and she looks up at him in the glow of the light from the city "It's alright, Maxwell, I was going to sneak out while you were on the phone, but you were pacing around the room and I didn't want to startle you or make a ruckus, it seemed like you are trying to fix a relationship that meant everything to you, and I truly hope that she is everything you’ve ever wanted" she said, without any regrets or anger in her voice. He walks to his bathroom, flicks on the shower and removes his boxers, slipping into the shower, as his guest shows herself out. Meanwhile, you're scrambling around your apartment, tidying up, you didn't want him to see your vulnerability and the sadness still lingering in your apartment. You set the Keurig up to brew some coffee and place a cup on the machine and press the button, nervously pacing your kitchen as you wait for the brew to finish so that you could make a second cup for Maxwell.

You look over at the clock and it says 4:25 am and you startle a bit as you hear the handle on your front door grind as Maxwell opens it and enters your apartment. You hear his footsteps louder than you've ever noticed before as he walks in and closes your door, turning around and walking towards you in the kitchen. He looks so perfect, so composed and you have your hair up in a messy ponytail, a loose shirt, tired bags under your eyes and you keep staring at him as he crosses the floor to you. "H-hey M-maxwell, you look amazing" you stutter out, holding up his cup of coffee towards him as he approaches, and you sip yours as he gently takes the cup out of your hand and leans against the counter across from you, smiling before saying "You look as beautiful as ever, Y/N, I've missed you so much, it hurts every single day", you blush and shift on your feet, while looking at him "So, what are we doing, Maxwell?" you avert your eyes so he can't see your tears welling up. Maxwell sets his cup down on the counter, gently, with a clink and steps towards you, slowly lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. Your eyes meet his soft brown eyes as they gaze into yours and you tremble, he takes your cup and places it on the counter next to you.

"Y/N, I know you've taken the job in DC and that you'll be leaving in a few days, but I couldn't let you go without telling you what happened- giving you that closure and asking for you to not hate me anymore" he swallows sharply and his lips pull back in when he does "I'm not here to ask you to stay, or to stop you from going, I just want to give you the closure that I've heard you have been wanting." he says as he's looking down into your gaze. Your eyes well up with tears and you place your hand on his wrist to pull his hand from your chin, sighing, "Max, I took that job because I was being haunted by seeing you everywhere, in everything I did. It's been a year and I am still so deeply in love with you, that hearing about your escapades just keep destroying me and I need to get away. I didn't even want this job with the agency, I don't want to work for them. I want to go back to my normal office job, with you. But every time I did something and started feeling happy again- someone came around and rubbed you in my face" you say breath hitching and tears rolling down your face "asking why I ever let you go and shit I just don't want to go back into". He lifts his other hand and gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with a sigh, looking away, you can see the pain in his eyes.

"I told you I made a mistake and I threw away everything we had, to try to advance our companies investments. When you left me that day, my heart broke into a thousand pieces and I went looking for anything to fill that void... the loss of you, I turned to meaningless sex, I've slept with 6 women since then... I've not called any of them again, and I felt sick after each one, always dreaming of you- waking up in a sweat, gripping my bed sheets. Standing here in front of you, is the happiest I've been since you left. Y/N, I am still in love with you. You're all I've ever wanted." he chuckles lightly and cups your cheeks with his hands "remember that song by Blink-182? "All of This".. the one I sent you 6 months back?" he smirks a bit and you nod your head and speak softly “yes, the one that I responded to telling you to not contact me...but contact is all I wanted from you”, still anxiously shaking in his hands "Again, I wait for this to pull apart, to break my time in two, another night with her, but I'm always wanting you" he says- "It's always been you, I want to ask you to give me a second chance but I also don't want to take away from you, this opportunity to work with the agency, even if you say you don't want this, it’s all you’ve dreamed of for years, Y/N." and you bite your lower lip gently, looking away from his eyes and fidgeting your fingers into each other, you inhale sharply "Max, kiss me. Kiss me like you're never going to see me again- please"  Maxwell smiles "I thought you'd never ask" and he leans down and places his lips against yours, his warm but familiar lips send a shiver down your spine as you wrap your arms over his shoulders and place one of your hands in his hair, his hand still on your cheek, his other hand drops to the small of your back and pulls you in close against him and he kisses you with the passion he had the very last time you kissed him. Your hand plays with his hair and he gently pulls away from the kiss, looking at you, holding you against him. Your breath hitching and your heart rate is higher than usual, you lick your lips, longing to still feel his lips against yours. 

"Max, I.. I don't want to go to DC and be away from you, I want to be with you, be by your side" you blink several times and your shaky voice begins to calm "You won't be taking this opportunity away from me. I had the option of staying here and working or going to DC. If you will have me again, I'll request that I stay here for this job, I'll just need to turn a room into an office here". Maxwell's eyes light up at you asking if he'd have you "Y/N, I'll always have you, I love you more than words can express." He glances around your apartment before looking back into your eyes "You don't need to make an office here, you can have a private office, next to mine, in our building". You look at him, smiling and your thoughts racing with how much you've missed him and how right this feels to you. "Max, I love you. I would love to have an office next to you" your breath hitches a little "I will call the agency when the main office opens at 8:00 am, and change my assignment to here, instead of DC." as you run your fingers through the hair at the back of his head still, "I won't leave you again, Max. I don't think either of our hearts could handle it". He chuckles gently and then moves both of his hands down to your butt, lifting you up to sit you on the counter in front of him. " 'll never make another mistake where I could lose you, ever. I promise you, Y/N, I love you- more than any words can express", looking into your eyes, that are now level with his. You pull his lips into yours and kiss him deeply as the sun rises and fills your apartment with orange and yellow hues against both of your flesh, and the sunlight glinting off of the glass buildings surrounding your Skytop apartment.

Tag list:

@starlightmornings

[ratedbangtann]

The Game ~ KNJ (18+)

↳ summary - “Behave yourself tonight, _____,” he warned. “I mean it. Too far, and I’ll be forced to act.” 

“Of course, dear. I’ll play fair, I promise,” you smiled, fluttering your perfectly permed eyelashes at him.

And with that, the game was on…  

↳ rating - explicit/18+

↳ word count - 8.3k

↳ pairing - namjoon x reader

↳ genre - established relationship, alternative universe, CEO Namjoon, angst, smut

↳ warnings - teasing (oh, so much…), flirting with others, angry Joon, rough Joon, manhandling, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, dirty talk (incl. name calling), unprotected sex, rough sex

↳ a.n - okay so yeah hi it's been nearly 5 months since i posted an au please don't hate me life has been ROUGH but here have this little gem that was commissioned by a lovely twitter follower of mine.If you'd like your own commission or to leave me a tip, head over to https://ko-fi.com/ratedbangtann (i just lost my job thanks to corona so anything helps, honestly) **************************************************

Your husband’s words echoed around inside your head, a strangely sadistic little grin on your face that only you knew the reasoning behind.

“Behave yourself tonight, _____.”

You had promised you would, but were you being entirely truthful? Absolutely not. On a night like tonight, how could you possibly not use your charms to get ahead? That was the foundation of your company, after all; the charms you had used on your husband and his clients to merge your small business with his much larger enterprise.

Of course, you hadn’t done this with malice, and you certainly hadn’t expected to fall in love with the CEO of the company you flirted your way into… Not until he called you out on your charm, made light of it, and explained that actually, he saw you as a very smart and beautiful woman with a drive that precluded any other potential businesses he was contemplating to taking on.

Four years of happy marriage later, you had become co-CEO of Kim Enterprises – a main hub for all things fashion and retail, with 32 different brand names coming under the Kim umbrella; including your very own line of gorgeous evening wear.

Tonight, yourself and your husband were holding a company event at a hotel, hiring out the ballroom to bring together the heads of each of these little companies you had dominion over in order to impress a handful of investors to buy shares in Kim products. This was your specialty, and you were certainly going to whip out your charm tonight.

However, in the back of the Bentley that had driven you and your partner to the ball, your husband was already way ahead of you…

*************************************************

He looked handsome, as always. His silver hair perfectly quaffed and styled with a side part, round-rim glasses poised on the end of his nose, sharp grey suit fitted perfectly to his wide shoulders and thick arms. His hand had been affectionately poised on your bare knee for the duration of the ride, the flesh of your right leg beautifully displayed through the slit in your evening dress – from your own company, of course.

Just five minutes away from your destination, you felt his grip tighten a little, and slide a little further up your thigh, enjoying the softness of your skin on the inside of your leg. He was staring down at his own hand, watching his thumb draw circles on your skin with a look of deep thought on his face.

“You look a little apprehensive, Joonie. Are you alright?” you had asked, concern laced in your tone with perhaps a little mischief. He hummed in response, not looking up at you and instead still very much intent on his thumb grazing your skin.

“You look so beautiful in that dress tonight, my love…” he smiled to himself, pride swelling in his chest that it was you he got to call his wife. “No doubt, you’ll turn some heads.”

You smirked; this was the start of laying down his rules… You knew it was coming. It sent thrills through you every time.

“Thank you, it’s from the Fall line. Taking it out on a test run, shall we say…” you smiled sweetly.

It really was a stunning dress; sleek and fitted pearlescent silk with a little fabric tapering in the waistline. The straps themselves were strings of pearls, thin over the shoulders and draping in loops down your chest, cleavage beautifully displayed with the low hanging stones and fabric. The pearl straps continued to drape over your back also, hanging lower than in the front in another loop. The fabric exposed your back to just where your back dipped in, the pearls hanging down over the top of your butt.

It was an extremely sleek and sexy gown, expertly tailored to hide potential flaws and accentuate perfections. And that’s why you picked it tonight.

“It’ll definitely be an advantage in your tactics tonight, I’m sure,” he smirked, his eyes finally darting up to meet yours. “I have mine too though, just so we’re clear.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you laughed quietly, shaking your head with a smile. “But the dress is not the only tactic I have up my sleeve, my love. You’ll see…”

His thumb stopped its rotations then, his grip tightening just a little more in response.

“Behave yourself tonight, _____,” he warned. “I mean it. Too far, and I’ll be forced to act.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll play fair, I promise,” you smiled, fluttering your perfectly permed eyelashes at him.

And with that, the game was on…

************************************************

You stood and laughed with the small group of investors that you had attracted into a corner of the ballroom. The dress and your charming reputation proceeded you and worked like a beautiful spider’s web, drawing in the most naïve of flies until they stuck – it was then that you could make your moves.

Three men were stood in front of you, all of them middle-aged, wealthy bachelors of sorts. Mr Song, CEO of a cosmetics company you were hoping you could persuade to come on board and partner with Kim Enterprises; Mr Kang, an investor who made his money buying and selling shares of companies throughout Korea, and Mr Garcia, a Korean-American entrepreneur looking to invest in more Korean companies to impress his elderly Korean mother, unhappy with his choices to continue his late father’s American legacy.

Frankly, it seemed like an easy sell. You knew you could get Mr Garcia to come around very easily; he was in a rush to invest, hoping to improve his foreign relations and his relationship with his dear mother.

Mr Song had shown an interest in selling part of his company to Kim Enterprises for years, but it had never felt like the right time to introduce a cosmetics line into your empire; Namjoon agreed. Focus on fashion, on the clothing and accessories retailers to begin with. When you had enough, cosmetics could be introduced. You’d kept Mr Song at arm’s length, dangling the carrot in front of the donkey for him to follow you; and he had, willingly.

But Mr Kang? He knew the market very well, he knew his investments, he was careful and very picky with what he chose to buy into. But when he did, he really invested; billions of won at a time, in fact. If you could just crack his outer shell, you were sure he would drop his guard a little, and you could sweet talk him around.

You had a few tactics of course that included, but were not limited to; laughing at their jokes with a coy giggle, fluttering your eyelashes a little, giving them side eye smiles, pushing your hip out and elongating your leg to show it off through the slit in your dress, touching their arms when you were talking directly to one of them, making little provocative jokes followed by a delicate wink and a sip of your champagne flute…

All these things combined? They worked incredibly well, as did the compliments you would slide in, directed at the men themselves or at their business endeavours. They seemed incredibly receptive to you, taken in by your beauty and your confidence as many men often were; including your husband, who had been eyeing you from the bar across the ballroom for a while.

He himself was focussed on his own investors; female, of course. But he wanted to watch you deal with yours first, he wanted to watch his competition – you – claim your prizes before he made any moves on the female investors he was hoping to win over. And of course, keeping to himself was always a viable option in these games you played at corporate events. It kept him mysterious and aloof, striking at opportune moments and asking these women for a dance, or if they would like to join him for a drink; if he kept to himself all night, then these women would feel particularly special. ‘Who, me? He wants me?’ they would think. All part of his plan.

But for some reason, tonight he was distracted. He couldn’t tell why, but his eyes were fixated on you even more so than usual. Perhaps it was the way Mr Garcia seemed to have taken an interest in you, standing a little closer than the others… he kept pushing his hair back too, trying to flip is off his forehead in that typical ‘movie heartthrob’ way, but honestly it was just laughable from where Namjoon was standing. Every time you touched his arm and laughed at his joke, he shuffled a little closer, and it was starting to bother Namjoon.

He wasn’t the one you should have to focus on… He was an easy catch, desperate to invest. So why were you paying so much attention to him? Namjoon didn’t understand… Unless you genuinely were enjoying flirting with the youngest of the three potential business partners. Oh, his blood boiled at the thought.

But what he didn’t know, was that you already had Mr Song hooked on your line. He was in, whether he’d verbalised it yet or not. Mr Kang, however, was a little more reserved, although he did enjoy your attention. You had quickly calculated though that he was someone who got what he wanted, and it infuriated him when he didn’t get it. He would do anything to get what he wanted… So, you paid extra attention to Mr Garcia, starving Mr Kang of your attention that he so clearly wanted.

Doing so made him work harder, would make him eventually think that it was his idea to invest in order to get your attention back on him. So far, it was working. He was trying to land more jokes, make you laugh at his one liners the way you laughed at Mr Garcia’s…

But Namjoon didn’t get your game, didn’t understand what you were doing. He saw you getting closer to Mr Garcia and it enraged him, immediately jumping to a wrong conclusion as men so often do.

Now, he wanted to strike. He was ready to start his game.

Leaning against the bar, he necked back the rest of the expensive scotch in his glass, slamming the glass to the bar and pushing off in search of a particular young lady he knew was a potential investor; So Soomin.

Soomin was an easy target; new money. She was a fashionista, a blogger mostly with a large Instagram following. Her profile skyrocketed when she began dating a famous idol, as did her net worth. And although that relationship came to a sticky end, it was the idol’s career that suffered, and not hers. Hers has only blossomed into modelling and investing. She was new on the scene, fresh and a perfect advertising opportunity, and investment opportunity also.

Namjoon had spotted her sat at a table on the edge of the dancefloor, in a stunning navy blue sequin gown. She was most certainly beautiful in reality also, just as her photos portrayed her. She was sat talking to an older woman, a woman Namjoon recognised from Kim Enterprises as a very loyal board member for the public relations department. She must be working her magic on Soomin too, seeing her as the perfect walking advertisement.

But Namjoon could work his magic too. He strode over to her, confidently stepping through those dancing on the dancefloor to make his entrance. As he stepped up to her table, her head turned to look at him immediately, and her face changed from relatively serious to a very sweet and flirtatious smile.

“Good evening, Ms So,” he bowed nice and low, respectfully greeting her. She dipped her head as he straightened back up. “Kim Namjoon, Kim Enterprises.”

“Ah, of course. Pleasure, Mr Kim,” she chirped, her eyes glittering under the dim lights of the room.

“I wondered if you would be interested in a dance?” Namjoon offered his hand, ignoring the look of ‘here we go again’ from his employee – of course everybody at Kim Enterprises was aware of the marriage between you two, and yet unaware of the games you played at events such as these that kept the fire of need burning hot within you both. They saw you as a pair who used their attractions to get what they wanted, but of course, they dare not speak up.

“That sounds lovely, if you’ll excuse me Mrs Cheong,” she bowed her head to the woman and took Namjoon’s hand, stepping ahead of him to pull him onto the dancefloor in a display of confidence.

It caught your eye; specifically, the sparkle of her dress caught your eye. Clearly, a woman who liked to make a statement. And behind her was… your husband? Smirking and quite clearly checking her out.

Now, it’s fair to note that in your entire relationship with Kim Namjoon, neither of you had ever been unfaithful, and neither of you had ever planned to. There were of course limits, and plenty of trust. This game that you played with each other was to keep that fire lit; and boy, was it raging right now.

Namjoon carefully took Soomin’s hand with one of his, placing his other on her waist, and began to sway to the smooth jazz being played by the hired band. He smiled down at the beautiful woman, and from what you could see, he was enjoying a flirty conversation with her.

She would giggle and hide her face behind her hair a few times, Namjoon tucking it back behind her ear. He would smirk and arch his eyebrows suggestively. But the moment that made you snap? He leaned down and whispered something into the woman’s ear, to which her eyes widened momentarily, and she was grinning and laughing again.

Your boiling point had been reached. The game had now stepped up.

“Hm, you know what?” You started, interrupting Mr Garcia’s little conversation with Mr Kang, bringing the attention of all three men back to you. You quickly necked the rest of your champagne and smiled up at Mr Garcia. “I want to dance.”

“If you don’t mind, Mr Garcia, I would like to take this one?” Mr Kang piped up, seemingly out of nowhere. You looked at him, a little shocked, but smiled and took his open hand that he had offered you.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn,” you turned back to look at Mr Garcia, winking in his direction before allowing Mr Kang to direct you to the dancefloor. As the oldest of the three men you were working so easily this evening, he was most definitely the most chivalrous. He guided you like a gentleman, stepped aside to let you step onto the dancefloor first, gracefully placed his hand high enough on your waist to be respectful, the other in your hand and much like the other duos scattered around, you began to sway to the music. You remained in pleasant silence, dancing with the older man for a few minutes.

“You know, I’m aware of what you’re up to, Mrs Kim,” he smirked, averting his gaze to be interested in something in a far corner.

“Up to?” you asked, remaining calm and collected as if you had absolutely no idea what he was accusing you of.

“Yes, it’s quite clear to me. It’s quite amusing, honestly. I appreciate that you use your strengths to your advantage in business. You most definitely had me for a while, I was definitely very willing to invest for your attention. But you gave yourself away,” he looked back down at you, clear amusement on his slightly aged features.

“How so?” you asked, dropping the innocence and yet remaining charming.

“I saw your face falter when you spotted your husband over there, dancing with the pretty young woman in the blue dress. And now suddenly, you wish to dance? I ask myself, why on earth would you not simply walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder to take her place? Why would you ask Mr Garcia to dance?” Ah, busted… “This is some kind of game to you, isn’t it? Between you and your husband, I mean.”

You were lost for words; no one had caught on before, but the slip in your persona had been noticed. Damn.

“Tell you what,” he began to proposition, “if you can win this little battle with him tonight, make him jealous enough that he is the one to step to you, then I’ll invest heavily into Kim Enterprises. That’s a promise,” he grinned. And suddenly, the gleam in your eye was back.

“You want in on this, huh?” you laughed, stepping just a little closer to him.

“As long as I don’t get a fist in the face, I’m happy to help you win your game Mrs Kim,” he smirked, his hand slowly starting to sink a little lower, resting on your hip.

“We have a deal, Mr Kang. But just so you are completely aware, I am completely loyal to my husband. I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand at all; this is just good sport. Just flirting,” you outlined with a playfully warning tone.

“Absolutely. I’m not interested in separating a marriage. I won’t try to kiss you or woo you in any way. Just good sport,” he mirrored. And now, you had stepped up to Namjoon’s level, with another key player involved.

Across the dancefloor, Namjoon was happily chatting, happily flirting with Soomin. They were discussing business amongst general chit chat, flirting happily and dancing away, when Namjoon caught a familiar figure in the corner of his eye; you.

He turned strategically in his dancing with Soomin to get a better look and low and behold, there you were just a few metres away from him, on the dancefloor with Mr Kang and looking… rather cosy, shall we say.

He didn’t like how low his hand was on your waist, on those curves of yours that he adored so much. He didn’t like that your hand wasn’t on his shoulder or his arm, but snugly half tucked into the inside of his tuxedo jacket, lying flat on his chest. He didn’t like the mesmerised looked you seemed to have in your eyes as you gazed up at him. And he most certainly didn’t like the smirk of arrogance on his face either…

Namjoon was only partly listening to Soomin talking about the timeline of her modelling career, eyes intently focussed on watching you dance with Mr Kang seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was metres away with another woman in his arms. It was like you were lost in the arms of the silver fox of the business world, and it infuriated him.

He noticed the grip on your hip tightening a little as you giggled at whatever poorly constructed joke he must have been telling you. He watched as you lifted your hand from his chest and tapped the end of his nose playfully with a perfectly manicured finger.

It was the tiny little details that were starting to make his eyebrow twitch and his tongue press against the inside of his cheek.

He watched for what felt like hours but could only have been a maximum of twenty minutes, the music changing pace and flowing from one theme to the next three themes, but it was all background noise to him. Until Soomin’s narcissistic bubble finally popped, and she noticed the attention was no longer on her.

“Is everything alright, Mr Kim?” she asked, tapping his shoulder and watching his pupils adjust as he focussed back in on her.

“Hmm? Yes, fine. Apologies, you were saying?” he brushed it off as nothing, managing to convince her enough to start babbling on yet again about herself. But when Namjoon looked up to keep tabs on you, you were nowhere to be found on the dancefloor.

His head whipped around, panicked with anger bubbling in his chest. Where the hell had you gone? Where had he taken you?

A quick scan of the ballroom found you, sat at a lone table in the corner, Mr Kang closely sat beside you. He leaned forward and whispered something in your ear, and Namjoon watched as you swatted his shoulder with a playful giggle, your hand dropping to rest on his knee which had found its way between yours, the slit in your dress exposing your beautiful thigh.

No, this was too far. He had warned you before, and you had promised to play fair, but this wasn’t fair at all… If he had to watch that man touch your knee, your thigh… He couldn’t bear it. His jealousy, his ownership of the woman he loved had ignited his primal self, and he needed to come and claim you again, to show you and everyone else that you were his.

Without so much as a glance down at Soomin, Namjoon dropped his hands from her and began marching towards you sat at the table with Mr Kang.

“N-Namjoon?” she called after him, confused and annoyed that she had been cut off mid-sentence. But again, he paid no mind, intent and focussed on getting between you and the man with his hand on your bare fucking thigh.

At the table, Mr Kang was the first to spot Namjoon, quickly approaching with a face like thunder. His eyes widened momentarily, before settling back on you, a smirk on his features.

“Congratulations,” he mumbled to you smugly just as you heard the stomp of Namjoon’s loafers getting closer to your chair. Your head snapped up to look at him, and there he was – and oh, did he look pissed. You were half expecting steam to be shooting out of his nose and ears.

“Ah, Namjoon! I wondered where you had been all evening. This is Mr Kang. I’m sure you’re aware of his stellar reputation in investmen-“

“May I speak with you privately?” Namjoon interrupted, popping his tongue into the inside of cheek, eyes darkening.

“Is something the matter?” you asked innocently, cocking your head to one side. Namjoon’s eyes darted down to the hand still comfortably laid on you, although now it had shrunk back to just rest on your knee. Your eyes followed his, looking up at Mr Kang briefly – who was smiling sweetly as if nothing were the matter – and then back to Namjoon.

“There’s an opportunity that has come up, I need to discuss with you immediately. It’s quite time sensitive. Mr Kang, if you’ll excuse me, my wife and I need to have a private discussion,” he barked, like a guard dog defending its prey from another equally hungry canine. Then without hesitation, Namjoon took your hand in his with assertive dominance and guided you out of the large double doors to the ballroom.

As you were navigated through the tables you turned back to see Mr Kang smiling and waving at you, giving you a thumbs up. He knew you had won the game. He was going to invest. Perfect.

But now to deal with Namjoon.

Your husband was dragging you now, out of the view of the investors and business partners and alone together in the hotel corridor. You let him take you, thrills already building and anticipation heightening. At the end of the corridor you noticed a lattice shutter and an open silver chamber behind it; a service elevator. Was that where Namjoon was headed?

Apparently so. Without letting go of your arm he pulled the metal lattice gate open and practically threw you in, stepping in himself and slamming it shut behind him, pressing the button to the left hand side marked ‘8’ and there he stood, silent and motionless as the elevator kicked to life.

With his back to you and his hands clasped behind him, you were suddenly very aware of the anger in his demeanour, the dominance in his posture. He stood unmoving, not bothering to look back at you once, not saying a single word as you steadied yourself and hung onto the railing along the back wall. The silence seemed deafening, louder than the chatter and the music that you had experienced throughout the night.

The ride up to the eighth floor seemed agonisingly slow, every silent second dragging. You knew Namjoon had booked a room in the hotel for that evening so you wouldn’t need to go home after the event, so assumed that must be where he was taking you.

The elevator ground to a halt and Namjoon ripped open the lattice gate, letting it slam against the edge before turning and gripping your wrist again, pulling you and pushing you until you were both on the opposite side of the threshold and he could slam the gate shut once again. And then he began walking, leaving you stood in shock that he wasn’t dragging you this time, just expecting you to follow suit.

You folded your arms across your chest for a second and waited, wondering if he would turn and tell you to follow him, or come back to grab your arm but he did neither, simply stomping his way down the long hall with white walls and gold trimmings, luxurious red rug rolled out with gold detailing. Beside each room’s door was a small mahogany table with a white and gold marble vase, fake red arrangements inside. Fancy, but you’d expect nothing less from a hotel of this calibre.

You realised quickly Namjoon wouldn’t turn around, wouldn’t wait for you, and with a huff of annoyance you unfolded your arms and followed behind him, the pearls on your dress rattling as they hit each other in the quiet of the corridor. Three doors from the end of the corridor, he stopped and turned to room 804, slipping a key card out of the inside of his jacket and into the slot as you approached him. He disappeared from view, entering the room and almost letting it shut behind him, if you hadn’t been quick enough to stop it with your healed foot.

“You know, Mr Kang is really a very nice man…” you began to speak as if nothing was wrong, entering the room and closing the door behind you, flipping the lock. But before you could continue, your shoulders were being pulled to spin you around, and pushed back against the door.

Namjoon loomed over you, his eyes dark and angry, arms either side of your head now, trapping you.

“Is he, now? Is that why you looked so cosy with him on the dancefloor, hm?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, his head tilting in mock query.

“Just as much as you and that man-eating model? Don’t try and take the high road, Namjoon,” you defended with a smirk. “We both know the game we play, for good sport…” You leaned in, lifting your lips to his ear in order to whisper to him…

“And I think I won…”

Namjoon closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw locking and teeth grinding, a deep breath quickly exhaling through flared nostrils. He hated losing. He hated it so much. But admitting he had lost was even worse.

He said nothing, but instead you felt two strong hands on the tops of your arms, gripping them and pulling you from the door, dragging you further into the room before he could push you down onto the couch of the open hotel suite. You didn’t have time to admire the royal blue upholstery and French renaissance style before he was slotting his knee between yours and towering over you. You let your back sink into the back of the couch, sat upright with your thighs parted by his.

He ran his fingers through your hair, letting the fingertips gently glide down your jawline and eventually grip your chin with a hold that you couldn’t wriggle from.

“You went too far, ______. I warned you…” His voice was significantly darker than usual; deeper and more threatening than most would have heard from him.

“I was simply trying to get us an investment, Mr Kim. But I think your pathetic little display of dominance may just have ruined that,” you argued, although of course it wasn’t true. You only wanted to rile him up further, to aggravate him into giving you frankly what you can only describe as a good, hard fucking. It was working, too. You saw his eye twitch.

“You just don’t know when to stay quiet, do you?” he scoffed. You simply looked down at his lips and back up to him, as if you say “oh, yeah? Try me.” He didn’t like that.

So instead, he swooped his head down to plant a ferocious and bruising kiss to your lips, his hand coming to push the back of your head into him further. He wasted no time in parting your lips, messily exploring and taking ownership in the way he had wanted to all damn evening. His fingers curled into your hair, short nails lightly dragging at your scalp and adding to all the sensations you felt all over your body.

Namjoon was always so skilled with his kisses, having you succumb to him very quickly like a warlock casting a spell. You felt yourself move to his every whim, sinking further and further. It was when you moaned into his kiss that he knew he had you under his thumb.

He let go of you and moved to stand, seemingly in a rush to get some kind of payback or comeuppance for the way you had teased him tonight. He shook his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders and unfastened the zipper – and just the zipper – of his slacks, reaching in to pull his half-hard length through the opening in his underwear and the hole in his trousers, slowly tugging at it a few times to full arousal.

In this position, with him stood with one leg between your thighs and you sat directly in front of him, you were at the perfect height for what he wanted from you… He squeezed himself each time he came close to his tip, allowing for a small bead of pre-cum to gather. He pushed his hips out until all you could focus on was the sight of his delicious pre-cum.

“For you, Madam,” he smirked when your eyes met, his hand reaching out to run his finger under the length of the straps of your dress and gripping the strings of pearls that gathered in front of your breasts like reins, “seeing as you like pearls so much.”

And then he pressed the little pearl of precum to your lips, coating them like a gloss before pushing the tip of his cock past them and sitting it on the flat of your tongue.

“Let’s see you talk shit with a mouthful,” he smirked, fingers weaving into your hair once again and gripping tight, pulling at the roots to move your head and have you begin to bob on his length, encasing the impressive size in the warmth of your mouth and throat. You gladly took it; you could never deny your man since the first head you had ever given him. He’d practically declared his love to you for the entire twenty minutes whilst you showed him what a blow job was supposed to feel like.

You just had a thing for making your husband feel exceptionally good.

“Fuck, see? You can be a good girl,” he praised, grunting and beginning to piston his hips back and forth whilst still moving your head. “Just needed putting back in your place again.”

The chords of pearls on your dress rattled as they rocked with your body, hitting each other noisily with each forward and back motion. You relaxed your throat easily to take him, although with his girth and length combined it was always a snug fit. You could feel each ridge of the vein on the side of his shaft, the drag of his uncut foreskin on your tongue. It wasn’t common for a Korean man to remain uncircumcised, but it was never something that bothered you. In fact, it seemed to only encourage some more imaginative ways to please him.

But there was no time for intricate details, no space for you to move your tongue and focus on the spots that made him weak when he was moving at such a pace and filling your mouth and throat over and over again. You could do nothing but bob your head the way he was moving it and flutter your eyelashes innocently up at him with a sparkle behind them. It drove him crazy, to see you so pliant and taking him so well. He loved the way your lips wrapped around him, how you took the opportunity to try and hollow your cheeks to vary the pressure you put on him. All of it was so perfect…

“Fucking shit, ______,” Namjoon groaned, his head falling back and his eyes closing in bliss. You hummed against him, sending vibrations through his length and you were sure you could feel the vein pulse harder as his thighs tensed in his slacks. Knowing what you were doing to him, the pleasure you were giving him right now… well, it was turning you on considerably. If he were to peel back the rather beautiful ivory lingerie you had decided on, then he would be all too aware of the arousal this was causing.

“You wanted this, huh?” he asked, gritting his teeth and tightening his grip in your hair. “That’s why you’ve been acting up. My little cock slut was just desperate to get fucked huh, is that it?” His hips increased in speed and power. You were no longer moving, simply kept still by his hold as you tried to keep from gagging. You were good at this, at letting him use your throat like a fleshlight. You’d had plenty of practise after all.

All you could do was hum in affirmation, sending another wave of vibrations along his shaft. A rumbling groan erupted from his throat and he bit his lip, pulling his cock out of your throat completely. You gasped for breath, now able to take in more through your mouth for longer.

“You want my cock that badly, hm? In here?” he reached between your legs with his free hand, using the slit in your dress to his advantage and placing his palm flat over your damp panties. You whimpered a little at the contact, flinching but never daring to look away. Without having to think your head nodded on autopilot, desperate for him to give you what you wanted.

He smirked and stood back, lifting you by gently tugging at your hair to stand. He spun you around, easily finding the zipper on the low back of the dress and unzipping it, letting the straps of pearls fall down your arms and the dress come clattering to the floor with a loud rattle. A beat of silence passed in which you weren’t sure what he was doing, but you weren’t quite brave enough to turn your head to see, let alone ask him.

But had you seen him, you would have noticed the way his eyes were scanning every single beautiful curve of your body, every inch of smooth skin right down to his favourite part of you; that incredible round ass of yours. And in the lingerie you wore for him? Oh, it was beautiful. The ivory tones complimented your skin tone in the most marvellous way, and Namjoon couldn’t help himself from salivating at the sight.

He snapped himself out of his trance quickly though, manoeuvring you to kneel on the couch and bend over the fancy upholstery arm. Before you were really even comfortable, your panties were being tugged down and falling to your knees and a swift and harsh spank landing on your ass. Joon always loved watching that little jiggle…

Behind you, you heard fumbling, the rustling of Namjoon’s shirt being untucked from his pants, his tie being undone, and his buttons being popped open. But the fabric never hit the floor, and his pants remained unaltered.

Waiting was driving you crazy, so to taunt him even more you leaned down fully on the arm of the couch and wiggled your bare behind up in the air.

“Impatient little girl, hm? Don’t worry, you’ll be full in no time,” he growled, positioning himself with one knee up on the couch and pulling on your hips to line himself up with your dripping core.

He dragged the tip through your folds a few times before he pushed in, agonisingly slowly but at least you were finally getting some attention. When buried completely to the hilt, his hips pressed firmly against your ass and his grip on the flesh of your hips tightened, fingertips digging in as he adjusted to your warmth and the pleasure it brought him.

Even after four years of marriage – six since you had begun your office romance – he still revelled in the way you felt around him, still marvelled at how stunning you looked from every angle. He’d never tire of you, completely intoxicated and hooked; and this explained exactly why he was so possessive of you. No other man could have you; you were his.

Now that you finally felt full, your eyes fluttered closed and enjoyed the feeling. By now, you were used to his size and the way it filled you, but it didn’t mean it brought you any less pleasure than that first night you spent together. Your jaw dropped as he dragged himself back out of you, a high pitched moan spilling from your throat. His hands tightened on your hips, digging into the flesh as he used it as leverage to slam back into you harshly, jolting you forward and pushing a cry from your lips.

“Is that better, baby? This what you wanted?” he grunted, his hips now snapping against yours rhythmically. “You wanted my attention, hm? You got it, Babygirl…”

The force he used against you was intense, the slapping sounds deafening despite him never even removing his trousers – he knew you liked it when he was still at least partially dressed in his suits. It somehow upheld his aura of dominance, of power and leadership.

You couldn’t help but moan with each thrust, his length hitting every wall inside you, every sensitive nerve sending pulses of extreme pleasure through your pelvis and spanning out like lightning bolts through the rest of your body. You’d wanted this all night, been doing everything in your power to rile him up and get him to this point. This was the whole point of the game, and whilst he wouldn’t admit it just yet, you knew you had won.

“F-fuck… Namjoon…” you groaned, the upholstery on the couch brushing against your breasts. Hearing you groan his name ignited a fresh fire fuelled by lust in his gut, his hips changing their angle to hit you more directly against that spot inside you that sent you crazy. He pounded into you with an unforgiving speed, over and over and over again until he decided he was bored of that angle, that position. He wanted your full attention just as much as you wanted his.

So without warning, he pulled out of you and sat back against the opposite arm of the couch. You whined in disappointment, turning your head to see him watching you with his arm draped over the back of the couch, his other hand stroking himself slowly, and his lips pulled into an infuriating smirk.

“Come and get it, Babygirl,” he taunted, and rather than fight him on it you did as told, too worked up to deny yourself. You kicked your heels to the floor and pulled the panties draped around your knees off whilst Namjoon shuffled and laid down flat on the couch. The shirt he was wearing spilled open, exposing his well-toned chest and abs to you. You wasted no time, straddling his hips and positioning yourself to take him again, to let him stretch you out so perfectly like before.

Only this time, you were in control, and he didn’t seem to mind that – wanted it, even. Some of his favourite positions included ones in which you were the one moving, using his cock to make yourself feel good. He’d get lost in watching you, the way every part of your body moved, the way your eyes shut, and mouth fell open. And already, he was hypnotised by the way you rolled your hips against him, trying to move as fast as possible and as fluidly as possible to make sure he hit every nerve ending.

Your hands fell flat onto his pecks – those glorious, solid pecks – to keep yourself from collapsing forward, overwhelmed by pleasure. He reached up to your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands bouncing with every movement. He growled like an animal, sitting up and latching himself to one of your nipples, tongue flicking and teeth nipping at the sensitive nub. He continued to growl deep in his throat like a man possessed, his own length throbbing and pulsating inside you.

“J-Joonie… Mm, feels so good…” you practically sang, threading your hands through his hair and messing it up in an instant, holding him against you. You bucked your hips against him as fast as you could, clenching your walls on purpose to make him lose his mind. He did just that, letting go of your breast and falling back against the couch, his hands over his face and a long, wanton moan rumbling from his chest.

You kept clenching around him every time his cock would slide out of you, creating a drag that was absolutely mind blowing and has him sucking air through his teeth every time.

Suddenly his hands slapped down onto your thighs, fingertips digging in and his feet planting themselves flat on the couch behind you for leverage as he bucked his hips up into you. He furiously pounded into you from below, losing his composure. Your head dipped forward and all your weight went into your wrists, still holding you up by your hands flat on his pecks. He gripped your arms then, grunting with rapid breaths from exertion.

“Hey… Hey, ______,” he snapped his fingers in front of your face a few times to get your attention, “Eyes on me, Babygirl. Understand?”

“Uh… uh-huh,” was all you could muster with the force of every thrust and the roll of your hips in time with them. You could only hold eye contact for a moment or two until one particularly perfect thrust and then your head fell forward again. Namjoon didn’t like that, his hand coming to reach for your chin to hold your head up, forcing eye contact between you.

“Naughty girl… can’t follow basic commands,” he grunted, his fingers tightening on your chin and pushing on your cheeks. “I said, eyes… on… me,” he punctuated each word with a thrust, having you biting down on your lip and digging your nails into his pecks. You could only stare into his eyes as the both of you moved in sync. His were dark, so clouded with lust and hooded with passion that the heat in your abdomen started to swell impossibly.

Somehow, he kept up his pace. His thighs – however thick and muscled – must surely have been burning with his movements as yours were. His abs must have been screaming at him to slow down, but he didn’t, not even for a second. And now, he had slipped a hand down between your legs to circle your clit, adding yet another rush of heat.

You could feel yourself growing wetter, a sure sign of an impending orgasm. Namjoon clearly felt it too, judging by the way he looked down at the two of you connected and muttered out a ‘oh fuck…’ followed by a sharp intake of breath. He was starting to show tell-tale signs of his own climax approaching; he’d sucked his cheeks in in that way that made him look pissed off, but in fact was him simply tensing his jaw. His biceps were tensing under the sleeves of his open shirt and you could feel the pecks underneath your hands tensing also.

And my god, were you close too…

“G-gonna cum, please… please let me cum,” you begged between pouted lips forced together by his hand clutching your jaw. With or without his permission it was all about to unfold so quickly you couldn’t hold it off.

“Cum Babygirl, cum with me. Want you to feel the way I fill you up…” With his permission, letting go was easy. You squealed and whimpered as your nerves set alight, the heat spreading and igniting, filling your veins like hot lava. Your pussy clenched over and over, pulsing around his length and sending him further into his own ending, not quite there but so, so very close.

He let go of your chin, letting you break eye contact and fall forward onto his chest. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, still lifting his hips up to ride you through it and get himself off. He held you tight against him, whispering how good you felt in your ear, how perfect you were, how much he’d wanted you all night, that you were his and his alone.

Slowly, the heat dissipated, the fire cooling and leaving you light-headed and breathless, and Joon just kept on going, desperate for his own orgasm. You did your best to help him along, mustering all your energy to purposefully clench around him. Tilting your chin up, you were able to bury your face in the crook of his neck and nuzzle into the skin just under his shirt collar, kissing him just where his mole was. You nibbled and sucked and mouthed at the skin, feeling the tendons in his neck tensing.

And then he was groaning out loud, letting go completely. His hips stuttered and jerked unevenly, and you could feel pulse after pulse along his shaft. A new heat filled your pelvis; his seed spilling inside you, painting your walls white and creating a lude noise as he came to a halt.

His legs fell back down onto the couch whilst his arms loosened their grip on you, but still cradled you close to him; no way would he want to let you go right now.

“Fuck, babe… Fuck,” he sighed. It took a few moments for you to lift your head to see the blissed-out look on his face, eyes shut and sweat dripping from the ends of his messed up hair. You laid together like that for a while, catching your breath and enjoying the high you both felt.

“Hey Joonie…” you whispered, giggling when he opened one eye to look down at you. “Gotcha.”

He sat up a little then, resting back on his elbows as you sat upright, still straddling him. You had to clench a little extra hard to stop from leaking his own cum back onto his lap… You wouldn’t want to ruin such an expensive suit.

“What do you mean, gotcha?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“The game. I won,” you grinned, reaching out to fix his hair sticking up in strange directions.

“B-but… I got you to come with me, I must have made you jeal-“ You pressed your finger to his lips.

“Who felt so threatened by Mr Kang that he just had to intervene, thus, already losing at his own game?” you smirked. He couldn’t argue with that.

“Well be fair, he was getting very cosy, and you weren’t stopping him…” he complained.

“Sure, but um… Mr Kang was in on it.” You got off him then, standing up to head to the en-suite bathroom to freshen up, but he caught your wrist.

“He was what?” he asked, confused and irritated. You turned to face him again and leaned over him.

“In. On. It,” you sounded out slowly. “If I could get you to break, if I could win, he promised to invest heavily.” The smarminess was laced in your voice. You knew you had won. You got everything you wanted tonight; investment, and a decent, hard, jealousy fuelled fuck with your husband.

Namjoon’s jaw dropped, his grip falling from your wrist as he sat back against the couch with a heavy thump. He shook his head in disbelief, a smile forming as he watched you walk away and into the bathroom. But you popped your head out of the doorway, catching his attention again.

“Oh, and uh… as you were dragging me out, he gave me the thumbs up. Mr Kang will definitely be investing in Kim Enterprises,” you winked.

“Oh you, little…” he couldn’t hide his happiness at the investment, a grin spreading across his face. He didn’t mind that he’d been beat, not when such a huge business transaction was about to unfold. He didn’t even mind that he’d been played; not by you at least. Not by his incredibly gorgeous, sexy and genius wife.

“You…” he stood up, jogging towards you and shedding his shirt to the floor, “are impossible,” he laughed, chasing you into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. Your night was only just beginning.

You had definitely won this game.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 20 - In Which Jack is the Life of the Party and Charles is a Wallflower

Councilor Featherstone comes through with planning permission, his personal interest allowing Max's petition to jump to the front of a very, very long and very, very slowly moving list. Glacial is a good description of that list. Full of icy aristocracy impeding any sort of forward progress. Because they all make money when the price of real estate goes up and up and up via the dearth of available properties.

Should someone sell off a property – or, God forbid, build a new one, particularly one meant for the lower class rabble to actually live in – well, they'd lose out on potential astronomic profits. And losing out on potential profit is as good as being robbed.

Not to mention the cut they make if someone has enough name and capital to approach them about buying a potential property, hoping to bolster their own enormous bank accounts with a “risk free” investment. But there's no such thing as a free lunch, particularly to the sharks that swim in the ocean of Britain's current property market. Everyone gets a cut of the pie.

Finders fees, they're called. As if anyone is finding anything in the morass of red tape and stark type on expensive paper. Not if someone doesn't want it to be found.

Jack has actually been granted a sizable finders fee by Max. All part of the massive, technically-legal tax dodge that allows the wealthy elite to remain the wealthy elite. Max makes an obscene amount of money selling her property off to a developer – while retaining a seat on the board of trustees, of course, and majority interest in the company they've formed to oversee the spa. And then she pays Jack a handsome consulting fee for all of his assistance with the planning permission. Which is a business expense – and therefore, a tax write off. And then Jack uses the money to wine and dine the councilor. Which is also a business expense and so another tax write off. On and on and on. Each just a small step in the endless dance of Legitimate Business.

Incidentally, Max is also paying Jack rather handsomely to consult on the design and interior decorating for the spa.

There are, of course, actual interior designers and professional decorators and florists and lighting and sound specialists in Max's company's employ. But it just wouldn't be nepotism if she hadn't found a job for Jack to make a lot of money at whilst doing absolutely nothing of value. And it just wouldn't be a London planning project without nepotism.

Plus, it gives Jack's not quite fake career as a fashion designer a little boost. Soon every rich socialite in London – and elsewhere, hopefully – will be relaxing in a Jack Rackham original spa robe, lounging on Jack Rackham original cushions on a Jack Rackham original divan reminiscent of a swan's elegantly unfolding wing, but in palest peach to complement the spring pink scrubs worn by spa staff – another Jack Rackham original – and soothing seafoam walls.

And if all that weren't enough to keep him and Christine (mostly Christine, if he's being honest) busy, Jack's also got fashion week to contend with. Oh, his projects are all finished, and he hasn't even worked himself into that much of a tizzy over the whole ordeal. Not with as well prepared as he feels – and as buoyed as he is by the positive attention his press releases and Instagram posts have received. No, he's as prepared as he can be and there's little point in wearing himself ragged worrying over the what ifs and wheretofors.

No, what's wearing on Jack in the small hours of the night is something else entirely.

More than Jack's actual fashion show – where half the designers are showing essentially nude models with various decorous scraps of latex and/or lace as opposed to actual outfits, not that Jack's petty or anything – more than the actual fashion show, Jack is required to make an impression on all the “benefactors” of the event. The rich, vapid men and women who decide whose fashions are to die for – and who's dead in the water.

Jack's not a real fashion designer. Just someone posing as one for the cover it gives a (hopefully) international crime empire. But that only makes this gladhanding and wheeling and dealing all the more imperative.

It's not much of a cover if everyone questions how, exactly, Jack's made it into the international fashion world. Hell, even here at home he's required to make the sort of connections that get him into the posh parties and stately homes of the rich and famous so he can case the joint and report his findings back to Max.

All of which necessitates Jack throwing his own party. A night of debauchery so blatant, so tasteless it wraps right around to tastefulness again. A night where he can show the fashion world, business moguls, and investors that he has the money and connections that make him worth their money and connections. And he's been granted the dubious honor of hosting the night of the newcomers fashion show. His debut on the international stage. Followed swiftly by his debut as an international man of quasi-leisure.

Max is, of course, the one actually throwing the party. The one determining the guest list from the half-dozen file cabinets worth of dirt and gossip and just creepily intimate details about London's upper crust.

Max is the one to hire the DJ – the same poor sap she'd blackmailed into playing Jack's first fashion show slash after party. And she's got Eme lording over the caterers with an iron fist.

And Max is the one to insist that Jack put up her ridiculous painting in pride of place, over the main sitting room fireplace where it can be reflected a hundredfold in the mirrors she'd brought in to line the room – and in the disco ball the DJ brought for the occasion. A thousand tiny paintings cover the floor, the walls, the goddamn ceiling. And sure, it's a nice enough painting – although it makes something spark hot and hungry in Jack's breast when he looks at it too long.

Or maybe that's just because a shirtless, glistening, complaining Charles – who just spent the majority of the morning hauling furniture and sound equipment around and hanging mirrors - is the one who's been roped into hanging it. Standing there, arms straining as Max directs him to position it just so.

Jack lets his gaze trail down Charles's biceps, chest, abs and away. He's got too much to do to be caught lollygagging like this. And Anne's amused and too-knowing look from over her clipboard is rather ruining the mood.

--

Anne watches Jack flounce away through the crowd, the heaving throng of party guests parting around him like water.

Jack's fashion show had gone over well. All the rich fucks without an original fucking thought between the all of them had been impressed with the flash fucking jewels and dripping gold. Entranced by the swirl of velvet skirts and silken shirts baring just slightly too much cleavage Which Anne knows cuz she's the one telling all the makeup artists to put fucking glitter on all their tits, like Max told her to.

And all them rich fucker's'd been entranced by Jack, too. Drawn like moths to the dancing flame of his showmanship. Lured by the siren song of wealth and elegance he'd spun on the catwalk.

And here at the party too.

Though it ain't elegance they're after here. Decadence, just like the fucking fashion show. But this ain't some rich old fuck's sitting room. This is a bacchanal. They're the cult of Dionysus tonight and they've got loyal followers high on poppers and coke and half a dozen other designer party drugs, courtesy of some of Jack's now-infamous street contacts, dolled up nearly as much as the party guests. And the drugs are all set out in little gold-rimmed dishes on antique walnut sideboards. K itchy as all fuck. Like candy someone's Nan might set out. All free for the taking.

Well, the first taste is, anyway. You gotta pay for the next dozen.

And they're willing to pay, the rich fuckers. Money's no object to them. And they've sold their souls long ago. What's a little more blood squeezed outta stone? Why give a fuck about tomorrow when you can constantly live in the happy glimmering now? Consequences can't touch them – these golden fucking chosen people.

And Jack walks among them like a prince. Like a god, and all this worship is simply his due.

Even from her secluded, shadowed corner Anne can see how he draws them in. Snares them with pretty words and pretty clothes and the promise that if they just flock to him, follow him, they too can be as effortlessly beautiful and catty and elegant and perfect.

And then, when they're thoroughly caught in his silken web, he directs them towards Max.

She's standing on the second floor balcony overlooking the party, queen of all she surveys. And even though Jack's throwing this party, she's the real mastermind behind everything. Every sweating, glittering, drug soaked body heaving against each other on the dance floor is there because that's exactly where she wants them. And when she turns her gaze to one or another in particular, it's far, far too late for them to run. Cuz even if they wanted to. Even if they weren't snared so tight they couldn't get out of the trap not even if they chewed their own fucking leg off. Even if they escaped, Anne'd chase them down for her. Hunt them down for her, across oceans and continents until they'd been found and bound and delivered back to her feet. Where they fucking belong, the fucking scum.

--

Charles tucks himself further into the corner he's found on the second floor. It's not quiet – nowhere in the house is quiet, not even the fucking bathroom. And his spot overlooks the dancefloor, bass thrumming up though the floor to rumble against the bottoms of his boots. But at least it's private.

Jack's holding court in the middle of the crowd, shining and happy and basking in being noticed, being revered.

He's always been like that. Flash and brash and attention grabbing. So you don't see the knife Anne's slipping between your ribs from the shadow Jack casts.

But even then. Even when it had been half misdirect and half distraction. Jack'd wanted this. Burned for it so bright and hungry you almost couldn't stand looking at him. But at the same time, you can't stand looking away.

Charles isn't like that.

Not that he lurks in the shadows, like Anne – or Max, even. He's a blunt instrument, and not ashamed of that fact. His strength lies in direct confrontation.

Oh, he can be crafty. Strategic. He can turn everyone's expectations of him against them. Jack's not the only one with a head on his shoulders, oh no. And Charles ran a crew just fine without his wiles.

But Charles doesn't want to live in the spotlight either. Hasn't chased renown, it had just kind of happened to him, whether he wanted it or not. More trouble than it was worth, half the time.

And now, something else – a new kind of notoriety – is happening to him. And it's all Jack's fault.

See, people aren't only fawning over Jack. No, there's those who saw the promotional material with Charles's face on it and decided he was some sort minor celebrity. Some kinda object for them to project all their filthiest desires onto.

He'd been poked and prodded and fondled. Offered modeling contracts. Offered sex. Offered money for sex. Like he'd welcome it – feel honored by it. Like he's some kinda doll, dressed up pretty just for them.

Not real.

Not a person.

Just a fucking pretty picture in a glossy program, there for them to get off to and then throw away.

He's been down that road before, though not with Johns as posh as these. The swells so used to getting what they want the moment they want it there's no real way to say no. Especially not when they – Anne and Max and Mary and Jack and him – have got so much riding on this.

Charles isn't going to be the one to ruin this. This bright shining con. This dream world Jack and Max have spun out of gossamer. So fragile – so easily ruined.

Charles isn't going to be the one to let the crew down.

So he'd flirted. Glib and meaningless and pretty. Dumb and flighty and careless. Caressed everyone who'd fondled him. Stood close and whispered low in their ears. Made them feel special, feel noticed. And then when they'd tired of him, cuz they always fucking do, so bored of life nothing can hold their interest for long, especially when he's not trying to keep it, Charles'd escaped to the second floor balcony overlooking the party and he'd put his back to the wall and watched Jack's glittering, fragile, beautiful dream unfold below him.

--

“Hiding up here all by yourself, Charles?”

Charles grunts in response, but not in a way that makes Jack feel like he's unwelcome. So Jack leans against the banister next to Charles and waits to see if he'll say anything more illuminating.

After a few minutes of silence – or silence from Charles, at least, the music's loud enough to be heard from a block away, never mind just upstairs – it becomes apparent that he won't be any more forthcoming. And if he's to speak, someone will need to coax it out of him.

Fortunately, Jack is nothing if not persistent.

“Got sick of the party, I'd imagine. It's a bit over the top, even for me.”

Charles snorts at that, so they're making progress.

“I know you'd be happier with something a little less glam pop.” Because that's never really been Chaz's scene. He's more of the rocker type, really. Not that Jack's complaining about his penchant for black leather on top of black silk. “But you have to admit, it's a good turnout. Especially for our first real industry bash. And Featherstone certainly seems to be having fun.”

Jack looks down at where the councilor and Idelle are grinding together on the dance floor (eughh) with the mirrored reflection of Max's painting shimmering on Featherstone's sweaty skin and reflecting in Idelle's eyes. Drawing him in almost as much as Idelle having exchanged her ornate velvet gown for a sexy little cocktail number - although she's wearing hardly any less jewelry than she had at the fashion show – and that too reflects a hundred thousand tiny sparkling versions of the painting. Of the taste and class and wealth the painting promises.

She's bathed in it.

She's a goddess. She's regal. Elegant. Glamorous. The kind of woman the kind of man the councilor is could have for more than a fun night in the sack. The kind of woman he could have for forever, if he'd wanted.

If he was lucky enough to catch and keep her attention.

Men and women in the crowd, only some of them planted by Max, ooh and ah over Idelle's elegance and poise. Remark, just loudly enough to be heard by the councilor about how much they wish she would deign to look at them like she looks at him. Ask to cut in, only to be cut down by Idelle, who has danced only with the councilor, attended only to the councilor, all evening.

Made him feel special. Feel desired. Feel like perhaps he could have this every night of his life, if he'd only put a ring on it. Something suitably flash, of course. Idelle deserves only the best.

But he's not thinking about any of that right now, not with the way he's got his gaze fixed firmly on her bosom, which is being shown off to great effect by an enormous diamond pendant that only she and Max know is actually cubic zirconium. Marriage is probably the furthest thought from his mind right now. But in the morning – in the morning, he'll remember this night. This wild bacchanal. The way the painting had whispered promises of finally belonging to the elegant, tasteful, obscenely rich world that Idelle navigates so effortlessly. How maybe she could guide him through troubled waters when he finds himself out of his depth. Idelle and only Idelle.

“Wish there weren't so many fucking people,” Charles grits out, shaking Jack out of his dreams of what ifs and might could bes. Back to the man standing beside him, one of the reason's they've had so much success in this venture. “All pawing at you. Like you owe them something.”

“Oh, darling. I've never minded a little manhandling, you know that.” Jack keeps deliberately glib, because Charles looks like he's liable to rip someone's throat out if Jack even hints at discomfort.

And it's true that he'd been somewhat leery of the attention at one point, after so long hiding in shadows out of necessity, even as he'd yearned to step into the spotlight.

It turns out that actually being in the spotlight isn't quite what Jack had imagined. That sometimes people shine it on you for reasons other than simple recognition.

That night at the strip club comes to mind.

That had felt like being used. Like being back in his childhood, father a subject of ridicule too drunk to understand that the whole village was laughing at him.

But Jack had understood. He'd understood the power of perception. The power other's had over you when they were the ones controlling the narrative. The ones making you an outsider.

But today, Jack's the one controlling how people see him. The one directing – and misdirecting – perceptions.

Because there's power there. Because people only see what they want to see. And you can get a hell of a lot done when people are too stupid to believe you capable of anything.

This being in the spotlight, being loved and adored by a fickle crowd, keeping the eyes of the world on him so that they stay off Max and Anne and Mary as they pick their marks. This is just another kind of power. Just another shield to hide behind while the dirty work gets done.

Jack elbows Charles in a way he hopes is reassuring. “And anyway, Anne's been keeping an eye out for trouble. You know she's been itching to stab someone for weeks now. I'm safe as houses.”

Charles grunts and turns away, back to the shadows he'd been hiding in when Jack came up here to talk to Max briefly, introducing a new mark – one who's in international real estate and interested in investing in Max's little property endeavors. And the glint of Charles's eyes in the gloom, the occasional sparkle of the silver charms in his hair and the earrings in his ears, the rings on his hands and necklaces draped against his bared chest, it had felt like a predator looking at him. Some big jungle cat watching him from the tall grass.

But Jack hadn't felt frightened. Because he's stupid and hopelessly in love. And he knows Charles, better than he knows himself, sometimes.

So he'd gone over to where Charles was standing. And he had stepped out of the shadow and into the glaring light of the party to stand at the balcony railing with Jack. To listen to Jack prattle on about inconsequential things with only fond mock annoyance, the way he'd always done. Even when Jack had been considerably more annoying – and Charles considerably more inclined to gut people who annoyed him.

But if he's hiding again, returning to the shadows, clearly that wasn't the right tack.

Jack comes at it from another angle. “Would it make you feel better if you came and danced with me? Just to remind everyone my big tough boyfriend is looking out for me?”

Because Charles trusts Anne. They all do – and with their very lives. But sometimes Charles is a protective, possessive sonofabitch. And if he's in a mood, Jack wants to make sure they deal with it in a way that doesn't end in homicide.

Charles turns back, eyes gleaming. “Stake a claim, you mean. In front of everyone.”

Prove Jack's his. And fuck. Maybe that is a step too far for their pretend relationship.

He's about to apologize. Walk everything back, make a joke, disassemble.

But then Charles says, “Yeah, all right. You're too much trouble for only one person to keep an eye on.”

--

Charles has Jack in his arms. And Jack'd said it was about Charles staking a claim. Making sure all the rich fucks kept their greedy hands off Jack. Make sure he was being looked after.

But it goes the other way, too.

Charles is out here in the middle of the dancefloor, covered in shiny that Jack'd bought – or stolen – just for him. Jack's arms around him, just like he's got his arms around Jack. Like they're one person, bound together, with no beginning or end.

There for everyone to see. To see that he and Jack are one.

That Jack has a claim on Charles. That all their pawing and fawning and come-ons don't mean shit. Just like all the heaving, sweaty bodies surrounding them don't mean shit. Not when him and Jack are like this. Together.

Everything – everyone – inconsequential compared to the feeling of Jack pressing against Charles's front, grinding against his dick, Charles's hands on his ass. Jack's his, if just for this moment. And he ain't gonna waste it.

Charles cups the back of Jack's head, fingers tangling in that stupid mullet he still insists on wearing. “Mine,” he growls into the breath of space between the two of them.

And Jack must be a great lip-reader. Or he's on the same wavelength as Charles, feels the same way as Charles does about all this. Because he grips Charles at the nape of his neck. Pulls his hair until his head tilts back and Jack's teeth are at his jugular.

And Charles feels the threat and the promise pressed so tenderly against his skin when Jack says “Yours.”

[jimlingss]

A Fair(y) Crime

➜ Words: 22k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 45% Crack, 5% Angst

➜ Summary: While you might hate fairytales, it doesn’t change the fact that you are the descendent of the fairy godmother. With a wand in your hand and magic running through your veins, you have to search for your Cinderella and grant them their happily ever after....but things might be a bit more complicated than that when you find out your little Cinderella comes in the form of troublemaker Kim Taehyung.

You hate Cinderella.    Actually, you hate all fairy tales. The storylines are terribly vapid, love made to seem one dimensional, characters awfully helpless that it makes you frustrated. But at the young age of six, none of these thoughts came across your mind nor did you care much for good storytelling. Rather, you didn’t like these stories so much anymore simply for the fact that…   You are the fairy godmother’s descendant.   “What?” You blink in confusion, head lolling to your side. “What’s that mean?”   “It means you have to find your Cinderella and grant them their happily ever after,” your father explains with a bright smile, his cheeks puffing out, eyes crinkled as if he’s trying to convince you to eat broccoli. You are unimpressed, leaning on the table and looking over.   “You know Aunt Yeri?” your mother pipes up.   “Yeah!” You nod enthusiastically, recalling the pretty lady that gave you lots of toys. She visits sometimes with her doggy and you went to her wedding a long time ago. It was at a garden and very pretty.   “Well, she isn’t just my best friend. She was my Cinderella and I helped her to her happy ending.”   You’re silent for a moment, letting it sink in. Your parents wait patiently and you quirk your head to one side. “When will I find my Cinderella?”   “...later.” There’s uncertainty in her voice, unsure. She has the same tone as when she debates if she should give you a snack before dinner. “Maybe in a few years, honey.”   “Will they be my best friend too?”   “That’s entirely up to you.”   “How will I know it’s them?” you ask, firing question after question.   “You’ll just know.” It sounds weird like she doesn’t know herself, and she must read your expression because then she says— “Didn’t you always want to be a fairy godmother?”   “No!” You stand straight on the chair, nearly climbing onto the table even though you’re not supposed to. But no one scolds you, too concerned as you shriek, “I wanna be a princess! Not a fairy!”   “Well….” Your father is at a loss and he smacks his lips together, looking for the right words. “You can still be a princess, sweetheart.”   You pout, suddenly feeling very sad. “I don’t wanna be a fairy godmother…”   “Take a look at this, Y/N.” Your mother draws your attention away before you can burst into a tantrum and immediately, you stop sniffling. You lean fully over, sprawled over the table and the tips of your toes on the chair cushion.   There’s a narrow golden box that she brings up. You’ve seen something before — Valentine’s Day when your father brought you to the store and you helped pick out a gift for your mom.   The necklace you chose ended up in a similar box.   “What is it?” But you’re unsure of what the contents are and you peer over, as close as you can get with your short height.   Exactly as your suspicions, it isn’t gold jewelry. It’s a silver stick. It’s thicker on one end and narrower on the other, coming to a point. The stick seems to shimmer and shine against the fluorescent ceiling light above the table, glimmering as if there are sparkles embedded into the surface.   “It’s a wand.”   “It’s magic?!” Your eyes glimmer, grown wide and your jaw drops.   Both your parents laugh, exchanging relieved expressions. “Kind of.”   “Can I grant wishes then?”   “Only the wishes of your Cinderella. You can’t use it on yourself,” she tells you but you’re too excited to fully understand and be disappointed. “You like it?”   “Yeah! It’s cool!” You take it, waving it straight up in the air like you’re a magician about to conjure a dragon up. It’s heavy, but sits perfectly in your hand.   You were an idiot.   You didn’t know then. At first, it was fun to know you were some sort of secret fairy. That your great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s grandmother was actually the fairy godmother of the fairytale you had read so frequently. You had magic. You had superpowers.   But as you got older, the true gravity of your situation crumbled down onto your shoulders. You were someone’s fairy godmother, forced to serve a random stranger out there. You can’t even grant your own wishes, bring away the suffering that you faced, or fulfill your deepest desires.   You’re someone’s servant.   And with the anger that came with puberty and your teenage years, you threw away that wand. You abandoned it, left it in places, tried donating, throwing it in the dumpster or even a bonfire one summer at camp. But no matter what happened, it always appeared in your surroundings again.   You wish this was an awful prank your parents had set up and continued over the years. But it’s not. And you know that fact deep down — this is very, fucking real. This nightmare is your life.   “Goddammit!”   You’re on the floor of your college dormitory, roommate thankfully out lest she sees the way you’re sobbing and concludes you’re psychotic. The boxes around you circle you, towering like buildings in the city. Yet, on top of all of it, the stupid stick you left back home has somehow appeared in your belongings once more. And you’re aware neither your mom nor dad had anything to do with it.   So here you are, on the ground, gripping it with both hands and trying your best to snap it.   “Break already!”   You’re screaming, teeth gritting down, jaw clenched, face growing red as your muscles strain.    But it won’t. It’s like concrete or made of the strongest material despite being so thin. It’s unyielding, fighting for its survival, not budging or even bending the slightest bit. It mocks you.   You end up flinging the wand to the wall and it makes a dent in the paint. “Who the fucking hell is my Cinderella?!”   The question asked for decades on end isn’t answered and that special someone doesn’t appear until you’re at your absolute lowest.

You needed this.   A vacation, that is.   The stresses of your life were about to eat you alive. It started a little more than half a decade ago — years of breaking your back to get good grades and obtain your degree. Then it was months of unemployment and crippling debt that forced you to trash your beloved History master’s for a job in the candle industry.   It was temporary, you said. But the bills and debt payments weren’t temporary.   So here you were, dealing with a psychotic boss, doing a job that felt like you were selling your soul to the devil.   Needless to say, you needed a vacation desperately.   So this was perfect. Sort of.   “Is there a purpose for this trip?” the reception of the dingy hotel asks with a bright smile that almost cracks her face. “If it’s for pleasure, there are a lot of fun and adventure packages I can offer you. Macau has plenty to do during your stay here!”   “No, it’s okay.” You hold back a sigh. “It’s for business.”   This place was essentially the Vegas of Asia, but for you, it wasn’t so much of a vacation as it was more a business trip. A trip where you had a budget of less than a hundred dollars for — meant for you to solely buy convenience store food and maybe a tacky shirt as a souvenir. A trip that required you meeting some investor and convincing him to invest in thousands of candles.   “I see.” She nods her head in sympathy, reading your exhausted expression and dead eyes. “I hope you enjoy yourself nonetheless. Here’s your key-card for room two-hundred nine.”   “Thank you.” You take the card off the counter, not sparing another glance. Pulling your baggage behind you and letting the wheels roll, you walk towards the elevator. But something stops you, making your feet halt.   Or rather, a feeling.   It’s intense, pulsating through your veins. It’s as if you’ve been shot or had an orgasm, or both things occurred at once. The tips of your fingers tingle, your muscles tense, core clenching and head aching. The overwhelming emotion ricochets through you, giving you whiplash and it rips the air out of your heaving lungs. Euphoria fills every crevice of your body, intuition screaming out, and it’s like you’ve scratched an inch you didn’t know was there.   Your neck cranes over.   There’s a young girl half across the lobby. She’s in a straw hat decorated with a pink bow, wearing a soft sundress that hugs her curves and cools her skin from the heat of summer. The female is tapping on her phone, looking out the window like she’s waiting for a taxi and immediately, you beeline towards her. She’s the person you’re supposed to meet. She’s your Cinderell—   But she walks away.   The girl walks out the glass doors before you can get to her and you halt again, watching her get in the taxi and how the vehicle pulls away from the curb, taking off. And as you stand there, jaw slack, dazed….the feeling you have still lingers, not fading away. The person you’re really here for cuts through the lobby and exits the same doors you’re staring at.   He’s homeless. Or at least, he looks like it. The man is in rags, wearing oversized bohemian clothing with loose bags slung over his body. A five o’clock shadow is plastered around his mouth and it matches his blonde bed hair that’s in a disarray.   The deadbeat dude is your Cinderella.   And he’s leaving.   “Wait!” you scream across the lobby to no avail. Several tourists and workers turn to stare, but you pay no mind, moving based on animalistic instinct, frightened as the feeling begins to fade the farther he gets. Your luggage is pulled until you get to the bellboy and you pass it towards him. “Can you please bring this up to my room? I’m in four-hundred eight— no, I mean, four-hundred nine!”   “O...o-kay…” He’s bewildered, but before anymore can be said, you’re already out the door.   “Wait! Wait!” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs above the roar of traffic and the engines of motorcycles. The sun beats down on you, causing you to break into a sweat. Your shoes are flimsy and your clothes are wrinkled, the same ones you wore on the entire plane ride.    Still, none of this particularly deters you as you run against the grain of people.   He keeps getting farther and farther away despite your shouting. He doesn’t hear you, or at least he doesn’t know you’re the one calling out to him. Frustration eats at you alive and you stop in your spot, inhaling a large breath to scream—   “Taehyung!”   Miraculous, he hears you calling his name. He halts in his sandals and turns around. In the midst of the people, his brown irises lock right onto yours. You stare at him, lashes fluttering before you run again. By the time you get to him, you’re panting and hyperventilating heavily, crouching over as you feel your lower gut ache from the unprompted exercise.   “Do I know you?” His voice is deeper than expected, taller too, and he’s surprised, wondering how you know his name.   “No.” You shake your head. “No, you don’t know me. I don’t know you. But...I’m about to.”   “Alright…?”   “I know this is going to sound completely insane and crazy and you’re not going to believe it, but I’m your fairy godmother.”   “.....” There’s a long silence. It is awkward. In the middle of the bustling morning, there’s quietness between you and him until he says, “Pardon?”   “I...am a descendant of the fairy godmother.” You cringe but without knowing any other way to say it. And with his expression, you know Taehyung doesn’t believe you. If anything, he thinks you’re legitimately crazy, that you escaped out of the mental ward at the hospital. “And I’m here to grant your wishes.”   “I’m sorry.” He backs away. “I’m not interested.”   “I’m not trying to sell you anything!” you yell in exasperation, knowing you sound less like a saleswoman depending on her commission to make a living and more like a scam. You don’t blame him. You even sound insane to your own ears.   “I-I’m fine. I don’t need any wishes granted. Sorry.”   “No. Wait!” You grab onto his arm before he can run off. “You don’t understand. My entire family are descendants of the fairy godmother. You know Cinderella, right? It’s like that. Everyone in my family has their own Cinderella and it’s one of our life missions to grant their wishes and give them a happy ending. You’re mine.”   “....Umm...are you staying at a hospital right now?” His thick brow quirks. “Need me to call someone for you?”   “No! God!” You give up, arms dropping to your side, at a loss for words. But then there’s a last thought that strikes you, a last hope. “Let me show you. Let me grant a wish of yours.”   Taehyung looks at you, staring directly into your eyes. He’s obviously weirded out, skeptical of the nonsense you’re sprouting. And you’re even more embarrassed and horrified. You were here for a business trip, goddammit. Not to run into your Cinderella. But now that’s here in front of you, you’re not letting go.   You’ve been waiting for him for years now.   He is your obligation. As bullshit as this is, you must honour your family and respect what they’ve given to you.   So, you beg him to trust you one time, “Please. Give me a chance.”   //   As you enter the lobby, the receptionist and bellboy eye you warily, especially considering a young man is trailing after you. It looks like you’ve picked him off the street which is technically true. But unlike their suspicions, you are most definitely not inviting him back to your room and paying him for a night of pleasure.    You give him your name, mumbling a bit about your background to relax him and he says nothing as you take the elevator up to your tiny room. The queen sized bed is clean with sheets tucked in, not as sketchy as that time you went to Iceland. It’s fairly nice for it being such a small space, but the bed takes up most of the area, forcing the single-stalled bathroom in the corner and there’s only a tiny window in the other corner.   There isn’t a chair or desk in sight or even a television like usual rooms.   “Sorry, I’m just here on a business trip. Meeting an investor.”   “Uh-huh.”   Quickly, you drop down to your suitcase, tugging the zipper to dig into your belongings. You’re like a wild animal scavenging for food. “W-what are you looking for?” he asks and you know this doesn’t look good. It’s like you’re about to drug him and someone else will enter the room, help drag his body and the pair of you will harvest his organs.   But you would never resort to such a method to make money….no matter how desperate you are.   “My wand.”   “Wand?”   “There it is!” The silver stick is found in your underwear pocket of your luggage and you pull it out. Taehyung’s brows raise once more and you admit to him, “I..I’ve never used this before. It only works if you’re the one who wishes for something.”   “So...I just make a wish?”   You nod. “You should start off with something small.”   “Then…” He steps back, still on alert. “I wish for a flower.”   The blonde male expects nothing while you’re waiting patiently. It takes a jerk of your hand that the wand begins to quiver in your grasps. Dust and sparkles come from the tip like it’s a bubble gun and you both watch in amazement, breaths hitched. The fairy dust falls on the ground and begins to stick together. It glows white, too bright that you’re forced to look away.    It morphs into a perfect red rose, three leaves on the thornless stem. The hue is strong, reminding you of blood and the petals are abundant, flourishing in front of your very eyes.   “Oh my god!” You fling the wand across the room, hands grabbing fistfuls of your hair. You can’t believe it — some part of your brain always had doubts, but they weren’t lying after all. “It fucking worked!”   “Holy shit!” Taehyung’s jaw is dropped, eyes doubled. “What the fu—! You’re my fairy godmother!”   “I’m your fairy godmother…” you repeat him and allow it to sink in, speaking with bitter acceptance. You’ll get this done and over with. The faster you can give him his happy ending the faster you’ll be free from this obligation.   The two of you try again, making sure this isn’t just an illusion or a one time occurrence. “I wish for a hundred dollars.” And just like that, the crisp bill is conjured up. “Oh my god….oh my god...this is real...this is real, isn’t it? It’s not a dream?”   “It’s not a dream.” The ability for you to grant his wishes is both terribly tragic and ironic. Here he is with a hundred dollar bill that you haven’t been able to see in ages. But you shake off your self-pity, something you’ll reserve for later. “I’m here to give you your happy ending.”   “My happy ending….” The realization hits him and a rectangular grin spreads across his face.   “Yeah.” You shift from sitting on your knees to the floor, seated across from him. “So...you have any ideas what is it you want?”   He hums and shrugs. “Can you make me handsomer?”   The question is odd. As...dirty and disoriented as Taehyung appears, somehow up close he doesn’t appear that bad. But you shrug and try nonetheless….though nothing happens.   You try again, flicking the wand as Taehyung wishes for it aloud. Nothing.   “I think….I can only conjure up physical things….so I can’t alter you or your personality…”   “Or give world peace?” He pouts and sighs. “Oh well, guess we’ll have to make do.”   “Uh-huh.” You wear a blank expression, though internally you glare. Make do? God, he doesn’t know how fortunate he is and how envious you are. “Is there a dream or aspiration I can help you with? You...want me to give you a house or...better clothes?”   “My clothes are fine,” he argues in offense. You mutter an apology and he smiles, carefully considering it. “There’s nothing I particularly want….well...I guess there is one thing…”   It’s the best thing you’ve heard all day. “What is it?”   “You should be asking me ‘who is it?’” A soft smile comes across his features, tinged with a bit of sadness and regret. You recognize it well after considering you see it in the mirror. “You told me you’re here because you...work in the candle industry?”   “Y...yeah?” You’re unsure of where he’s going with this.   You’re not particularly proud of your occupation. The company that you work for isn’t Yankee Candle or Bath and Body Works. It’s for some crazy lady that’s passionate about candles and somehow engineers the worst smelling ones that you’ve ever had the unfortunate opportunity of sniffing.   When you’re in the office, you’re constantly getting migraines and headaches, enough that you have headache relieving medicine in your top drawer at your desk. All year round, they light the campfire roasted blueberries five wick candles — which smell more like the sweetest perfume mixed with axe body spray that boys used to spray around their lockers in high school.   The worst part is that you can’t even openly gag, second to the fact that the awful odor always becomes stuck to your clothing. You can leave your work at work, but you always bring home the scents back into your home, making it linger on your curtains and in your bedroom.   The mere thought of the candles brings shivers to your spine.   “I’m here because I’ve been looking for someone.”   “You’ve been looking for someone?” you echo him with a frown, unsure if you heard correctly, but Taehyung nods.   “I...I wasn’t a good guy back in the day. I’m someone who you might’ve called a….fuckboy….but I swear I’ve straightened out.” His hands lower, slowing down his wild gestures and you patiently wait as he explains himself. “I might or might not have dumped, well, no, that’s not the right word...I...cheated on a girl I really liked.”   You’re unimpressed, but the dots are easily connected. “And you’re here to win her back?”   The bohemian-hobo styled man nods. “When she left, I realized how much I love her. It really broke me and made me think a lot about things.”   He came all the way here to find her and win her back.   You have mixed emotions — not sure if he’s an asshole for cheating in the first place, moved that he’s learnt his lesson the hard way and came all this way, or if he’s just a plain idiot to think anyone would come crawling back after being cheated on. He doesn’t look like he’s been doing well either.   But you don’t know their relationship, so you make no comments.   Instead, you eye him up and down. “How long have you been here for?”   You thought he was a permanent resident. He certainly acts very accustomed to the lifestyle here, enough that he travels around with a few bags from this place to the next.    “A year.”   “You’ve been here for an entire year searching for her?!”    He’s definitely an idiot.   “I don’t know where she lives, only that she’s here in Macau. She doesn’t release a lot of info on social media and all my texts and messages to her are ignored. I think she’s changed her number too. Her friends don’t know much about her whereabouts either and they wouldn’t tell me if they knew.”   You frown, at a loss with his situation. “How long has it been since you….parted ways then?”   “Few years?” He shrugs. “Three or four.”   “Huh. Well, okay then.” It’s not too bad — his issue is simple enough. He just wants to win back this girl. Though you’ll admit, it feels more like Taehyung’s the prince than Cinderella. But you don’t mind what’s been presented in front of you. Through love and romance, he can achieve his happy ending and you'll be set free. You were scared he was interested in a political career which would mean you’d have to stick by his side for the rest of your life or until he retires. “D-do you know where she is now?”   “If I did, she’d be here with me.” He smiles.   “So...you have no clue?”   “No clue!” he chirps back and you’re yet again unimpressed.   “Oh god,” you groan, running a hand over your face in defeat. You’ll do whatever it takes to make it a success, but that means his problems are yours.   “I have a few leads though.” Taehyung smiles again, eyes twinkling like you’re his sun and maybe you are. At this rate, anyone who can help his hopeless ass is his savior. “But I’m starting to think based on your reaction that I should take you on that offer of getting better clothes.” A tinkling laugh spills out of his mouth. “I can’t go to her looking like this, right?”   He puts his arms out, staring down at his own body. It’s comfortable attire, but dirty with many stains and holes as if it’s been his only clothes for the past several months. You sigh, nodding. “It’s good to have some self-awareness.”   Taehyung scoffs playfully. “I’ll let that insult slide because we’re going shopping, my fairy. But I won’t let it happen next time.”   His fairy? You guess he’s not wrong there.   //   You quickly learn that Kim Taehyung likes shopping. He enjoys it enough that he doesn’t want you conjuring up clothes for him and wants to make it a full on activity. He enjoys it enough to hop in a cab with you beside him, looking at the driver and saying “Galaxy Macau, please.”   The two of you are driven to the ritziest part of the city where the most affluent tourists are shopping with one another. It’s grand and beautiful, making you stop to take it all in. The place you were staying at was more dingy, part of a suburban area where there were alleyways and stray dogs, streets emptier and only full during rush hour when citizens go to work or return home.   Here, resorts and five-star hotels are all around you. There’s fine dining restaurants and one of the biggest shopping centers towering above your frame. Here, you learn Kim Taehyung doesn’t just like shopping. He fucking loves it.   “Look at this. It’s cashmere.”   “Cool.” You feel out of place. But Taehyung owns it with his confidence. He has an unlimited amount of money anyways, you’ve conjured up two thousand in the proper currency. There’s no reason for him to feel self-conscious, even if he looks like a caveman — his pocket is literally bursting with bills. It looks like he’s robbed a bank. As he walks past clerks and attendants, their eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets from the sight of the side bulge of his pants.   “Hello, do you need any help?”   “Yes, hello.” Taehyung flashes an eager smile. “I was actually looking to get your most expensive suit. Could you tailor it right now too?”   “It might be additional costs to get it done right now, but we can certainly do it for you.”   “Awesome. I’ll do it for whatever cost.”   “R-right this way.”   It feels like you’re a mother-in-law, watching the bride try on wedding gowns. You’re sitting on the plush lounge chair, waiting patiently. Three attendants crowd Taehyung, measuring tapes slung by their necks, convincing him to buy these shoes or that belt. When he has a hard time deciding, he decides to take all of it.   “What do you think of this?”   He pulls on the edge of his sleeve, fiddling with it nonchalantly and you’re amazed. “Wow.” It’s the only thing you can utter. The saying that a fitted suit makes any man look good is all too true. The makeover is drastic and despite his hair being disoriented and he still has a five o’clock shadow, he looks like an aged scientist going to a fancy gala. He’s slimmer and taller than you thought too, and you try not to focus on the bulge in his tight trousers. “Yeah, it’s good.”   “Enough to make her speechless.” He laughs heartily, joking around with one of the attendants like she’s his new best friend. All three ladies laugh loudly and it’s obvious that they’re faking it. “I’ll take it.”   “Great choice!”   As she scatters off, another attendant waltzes up to you and hands you some fancy bottled water for free. “Would you like to look for anything, Miss?”   “Oh, I’m fine. Thank you.”   “Are you sure?” Taehyung turns, halting before he goes back into the dressing room.   “Yeah.” You wave him off. At the end of the day, you’re not here for yourself, even if you want to be the one trying on all of this and go shopping to your heart’s content. You’re here for him.   Taehyung ends up picking two suits, two pairs of socks, one belt, and three sets of ties. He’s already wearing his Italian loafers that are personally hand-stitched by some sixty year old man with fifty years of experience. He’s reeking in wealth and one might believe he won the lottery.   The next place the pair of you enter is a salon. You’re ecstatic when he tells you he wants to get a haircut with a blowout style and wants his face shaven. But as he’s getting himself cleaned up, you sit at the waiting area, tapping on your phone. You’re answering texts back from your boss who’s asking if you’ve arrived yet. You can practically hear her squawking voice in your ear.    “Y/N?”   “Hmm?” You look up and you almost drop your phone. “T-Taehyung…?”   “You looked so focused. What’s going on?”   “N...no...nothing.”   You can’t believe your eyes. His hair is cut and styled, slightly swept to the side with part of his bangs down. His face is shaven, skin clean and smooth underneath, showing his sharp jawline. The cherry on top is that he’s changed into his suit too. Holy fuck. You may or may not be salivating. He looks ten years younger than before — princely too.   “What do you think?” He shows himself off, spinning in slow circles without registering that everyone’s eyes in the salon are plastered on him. Those waiting are gawking over their magazines, folks in their chairs have turned around and even the hairstylists are frozen with scissors in mid-air. One accidentally cuts off a chunk of the lady’s curls without realizing.    “Y-yeah. It’s nice.”   “Let’s go. I wanna look for some cologne.”   There’s no time to waste, no more ogling.    If Taehyung wasn’t going to kill you through envy, then you guess he wants to kill you from shopping till you drop. Anything that he likes, he buys. You end up holding all the bags and it doesn’t help when attendants give you looks of pity. To them, you appear as his poor maid that he’s stringing along. In a way, you are his maid…   Well, you’re more like a servant.   You just have a prettier, fancier title of ‘fairy godmother’.   The name bestowed to you makes you bitter, and that bitterness expands tenfolds with the realization of how fucking unfair it is that Taehyung’s beautiful too. Ever since he got his makeover, transforming from head to toe, hoping that girl he’s looking for will accept him back in a blink of an eye, he’s been even more captivating than before. His clothes are well-fitting, aura strong and confident. Taehyung commands attention simply by walking into a room.   “Are you sure you don’t want anything too?”    He glances at you once he hears the sigh you release. Taehyung’s leaving the spa after getting a facial and naturally, you pick up all the bags to follow him out onto the hot street.   “I’m fine.”   He hums a low note and steals another peek at your profile. “So…….what is the candle business like?”   “You’re curious?” You eye him suspiciously, wondering why he’s trying to make small talk with you. Candles are the most boring subject in the world, but when he nods and insists, you tell him, “Well….you sell candles. Every season there are new candles released. You usually have to go to the lab and try out different scents, test which you want, see what the trends are, try mixing things with each other. There’s the whole marketing and sales aspect to it too….”   “What’s your job?”   “I’m an assistant to my boss. I do whatever she doesn’t want to do...so here I am, about to meet an investor.” You give a lifeless laugh that morphs into awkward silence. It’s now that it hits you — you’re a servant through and through. “It’s….as fun as it sounds.”   “It sounds kind of exciting. You don’t like it?”   “God, no.” You scoff, shaking your head.   “Then why are you working there?”   “I need money.”   “Everyone needs money.” His lips are pouty and his eyes twinkle. “Is there something else you like to do?”   “....history,” you murmur, “I have a master’s in it.”   “Really?!” His brown eyes widen, impressed. “That’s so cool!”   “Actually?” It’s your turn to be surprised. “I thought that would sound….lame…”   “Why would it be? Think of it like this, if you end up in a time machine or you fall into some hole and you’re forced to travel to the past, then you know what’s going on. That’s super cool!”   You laugh, caught off guard with how wholesome he is. “I guess. I never thought of that.”   “Why aren’t you doing anything with that degree since you obviously like it so much? Like...be a historian or something.”   “Yeah, that’s easier than it sounds.” You shrug. “People aren’t looking for people with history degrees.”   “I’m sure you can find someone out there. Opportunities always come and go,” he says and looks off into the distance, slightly wistful. “I don’t have any fancy degrees like you, but I went to an art program for a while and I have a few certificates in photography and painting in photorealism.”   “That’s amazing…” And you really mean it too. You took an art class once and it went so atrociously that you have high respect for anyone who pursues that kind of academics. “Think you can paint me?”   “I’d have to charge you.” Taehyung playfully bumps your shoulder with his own. “But because you’re my fairy godmother, maybe I’ll let you have a discount.”   You scoff and your eyes travel down to the numerous bags you’re holding. “Are you done shopping now?’   “Ummm…..one more store.” He leans down and takes the bags off your left hand. Taehyung ends up sauntering off, holding the bags and throwing it over his shoulder casually.   You smile, a tiny scoff coming from your chest before you pick up your pace, catching up with him.   The both of you enter the last store and this time, it’s not for him. Taehyung insists that you wear something half-decent as well. It’s amusing how he rifles through the racks of clothing and hands you things to try — it feels like you’re a poor girl in a drama and he’s the son of a rich mogul. You both end up choosing an expensive black dress and you can’t remember the last time you had something so nice.   It’s been long since you’ve been pampered and you’re surprised at how thoughtful he is.   “Are we going to go look for her yet, Taehyung?”    He has his clothes, he’s cleaned himself up. There’s nothing else missing.   “We can search for her tomorrow.” His arm drapes over your shoulder. “Once I get my happy ending, my little fairy godmother’s going, so I should make the best out of this, right?”   You open your mouth to say something before closing it. You can understand where he’s coming from. Plus, if he finds her tomorrow then your job is done. Tomorrow it will be over.   “Then where are we going next?”   “To the best place here!” Taehyung hollers and cheers, other arm shooting right up. “Venetian Macau!”   //   You end up conjuring some red, obnoxious sports car upon his request, so you have him to blame with why your hair is whipping you in the face and you have yourself to blame on why you chose to envision a vehicle without a roof.   But your parents would be so proud of you right now — you gave your Cinderella the perfect ball gown to wear and provided the pumpkin carriage...metaphorically, of course.   The drive is less than ten minutes and soon, he’s parking in front of the grand hotel that has fountains springing up in front and the bustling sound of ringing and clanging from inside spilling out. The valet happily takes the key and you two cut through the casino to the lobby, taking the largest room they offer — the Presidente, a 12-bay suite with four bedrooms.   It’s at the very top floor and it’s massive, the size of an entire house. You set all the bags down, staring in awe at the rotating bed, the jacuzzi and bathtub out in the open. It’s all white and glass, the mere kitchen the same size as your apartment back at home. But what takes your breath away is the view of the entire city.   The windows take the entire side of the wall, pristine to the point where you feel like with an outstretched arm, you could touch the city with your fingertips. The towers and buildings surround you, the smoke curling up to the blue sky. The entire world is at your feet.   “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Taehyung approaches, standing at your side as you both look out.   “Yeah…” You’re speechless, mouth full of cotton. “It’s gorgeous.”   “I love this city,” he whispers and then turns towards you. “I’m glad you’re here.”   “Because I’m your fairy godmother?”   “No. Just because.” He walks away, leaving you confused, but before you can ask anything, Taehyung throws a glance over his shoulder. “You should change into your dress. It looks weird if I’m the only one in a suit. Makes me look overdressed.”   “Where are we going now?”   “Down to the casino, silly.” He laughs and his gaze intensifies. “We gotta win some, Y/N.”   Taehyung knows fully he doesn’t need to win anything. He has an unlimited supply of money right now, of wishes for that matter. But you give into his will out of defeat. You change into your own dress which is tighter than you remember, though he tells you it’s just fine. And with your wand, you grant him his wish of a hundred thousand dollars.   No sooner are you walking alongside him in the boisterous casino. Taehyung’s hands are dug into his pants pocket like he owns the place and he throws his money carelessly. He acts recklessly and boldly, but in doing so, he wins.   “This gentleman has put fifty thousand on red! Double or nothing on red!   “Let’s go!” he hollers. “Let’s go!”   It feels like you’re babysitting. Taehyung doesn’t need this — he’s simply playing with his money at this point…..no, money is practically useless to him now that he has an infinite amount. Yet, everyone around you is watching with bated breath, egging him on, cheering and clapping. There’s a crowd circling the table and the hype is infectious, making you nervous too.   You’re frozen as the ball is thrown.   It rolls around as the roulette table spins, ticking like a metronome. It lands on red and black and red and blank until it stops…..   Right on red.   “Oh my god!” There’s sharp inhales before it breaks out into applause and cheers. Immediately, Taehyung turns beside him and hugs you as if it was on instinct. He laughs and squeezes you before lifting you off your feet, arms wrapped around your waist. He spins you around in circles, making you giggle. “We did it! We fucking did it!”   You’re still being spun. “Taehyung!”   “Congratulations! You’ve just won a hundred thousand dollars!”   People are congratulating him, watching with envy and clapping. One man smiles and sips on his bourbon. “Is she your lucky charm?”   He finally sets you down on your feet, wearing a ginormous grin. “Oh, she’s my lucky charm, alright. She’s my precious fairy.”   You’re embarrassed by his declaration and others laugh, seeing how close you both are.   “A fairy indeed. I should get a lucky charm myself.”   The lights in the casino whirl around you, neon lights making you dizzy. Your senses are in overdrive, taking in your chaotic surroundings. Without windows, it’s easy to get drunk off the atmosphere, caught up in it without knowing if it’s day or night. There’s a constant barrage of noises, the pink of slot machines accompanying the jittery fall of chips. Levers are pulled, coins flowing through slots, dealers standing back or shuffling their deck of cards.   You’re mesmerized over the bright colours and it’s Taehyung who grounds you. The way he turns around, always checking up and reading your expression, sometimes calling your name — it helps you from being overwhelmed. And you can only stare at the way the vivid lights glow on his skin, thankful that he’s here to tread in this new world with you, a world you are too unfamiliar with.   He lives it up in the casino, gambling and going crazy, popping bottles of champagne. The minute you leave for a bathroom break and return, he’s somehow gotten to know a crowd of young folks. Taehyung’s charming when he wants to be and maybe that’s how you two end up in a limousine on the way to a club with these people.   While you’ve enjoyed yourself thus far, this was most definitely not a fun part for you.   Your feet ache, you’re sweaty and tired….and some girl is perched right on his lap, directly on top of his crotch.   “You should let me come back with you later,” the doll-like girl whispers seductively while twisting a strand of her curly hair with her finger. She knows what she’s doing, you’ll give her that.    There’s hollering all around you, strangers acting idiotically and pouring vodka down their throats. You feel out of place. Too old for this. You’re a woman with a job who pays her own bills and these kids are acting like dogs in heat or it’s the first time their parents aren’t watching them.   But you sit still, narrowing your eyes onto Taehyung and picking up on the private conversation because you’re his fucking servant.   “Sorry, babe. I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” He flashes a sly smile. “I have someone special to me.”   “But I thought you said she was only your fairy.” The girl gives an exaggerated pout and spins her head around to stare at you. You look back at her impassively and she returns to Taehyung, playing with the collar of his ironed dress shirt. “How about this...if she’s your fairy, I can be your angel. I promise I’m a good girl. I won’t misbehave.”   Taehyung chuckles as he leans back, legs widening a bit more. “No, I have an angel already and it’s not Y/N. This other girl...I love her.”   Despite what he says, you’re beginning to doubt his feelings — otherwise, why would he let some other chick sit on his lap. But you don’t make any comments. Instead, your death glare intensifies and you angrily chew on your chocolate bar that the limousine provided. You haven’t had a proper meal all day and you needed something to bring your blood sugar up.   “Then where is she? She’s obviously not here with you.”   “I’m looking for her.” He grins proudly. “I’m a monogamous man now. I don’t like playing around so much anymore. Sorry to disappoint.”   “Aww...you won’t make an exception for me?” She bats her lashes back and forth.   “I can’t,” he answers and before the girl can huff out and try to coax him otherwise, her friends call her out for being desperate and thirsty. She pouts, sliding off his lap and in the next two minutes, the limo is pulling up at the obnoxious nightclub.   As if the neon lights from the casino weren’t enough, now it was strobe lights flashing to the back of your eye balls and making you see stars. Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind as he dances with his new best friends. On the other hand, you slide up to the bar, making an order of the cheapest drink to sip in. Unfortunately, there’s no food and when you asked to suck on some lemon slices instead, the bartender shot you a weird look and told you they weren’t for sale.   “You’re not gonna dance?” Taehyung joins you briefly, strands of his blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. It was no wonder he was drawing in women and men alike as if he were a magnet — the man looked like a sculpted Greek God that descended from the heavens.    “No!” you shout back, straining your voice against the booming music. The vibrations were shooting all the way up to your bones.   “Why not?! Don’t be a downer! Let’s have some fun!”   You barely finish your drink before he’s pulling you out on the dance floor. It’s terribly awkward and feels like you have two left feet as you stumble out, trying to dance with him. You don’t appreciate others rubbing against you either, so you move close to Taehyung. And he doesn’t have any grievances as he pulls you against him too.   You wish you could shut your eyes and wave your wand around right now. If only your wishes could be granted, you’d hope to be in bed, curled up in the sheets at a cozy house, perhaps a cottage in some secluded place with mountains and a waterfall.    But when midnight strikes the clock, instead of Cinderella rushing back home…..   The both of you end up here.   “Why do you look so sad? Want me to hire a male dancer for you?”   “No.” You’re sitting in the corner with your hands in your lap. It reminds you of when you were put in time-out at home. “And why do you think I look like this? We’re in a strip club, Taehyung.”   “And what’s the issue with that? If girls stripping isn’t your thing, there’s plenty of guys too.” The idiotic boy points off and you don’t even bother looking. “Look, dude’s wearing a thong.”   It was an exclusive booth, the best seat in the house and full view of the stage. Several girls were off to the side, giggling and giving a private show to the ‘friends’ Taehyung had made hours earlier. He paid a lot to get a spot like this in the top strip club of Macau — but of course, money meant nothing to him now that he had an overabundant amount of it.   The more and more you get to know Taehyung, the more disgusted you are. The rich lifestyle doesn’t suit him at all. He was at least cute and somewhat wholesome pre-fairy-godmother-magic. Now that he had endless wishes via you and he’s gotten rich, he’s adopted the ‘fuck bitches, get money’ that rappers promote in mainstream media.    You swear Cinderella’s story had more decency than this.   Should you really be surprised though? Fuck boys never change. And you’re especially witnessing that feat as he cheers on his friends that are trying to slap some asses…..   Before you can get a hernia, you end up falling asleep. The last thing you see is a magician on stage using his thick wand to undo his pants. When you come to consciousness, Taehyung’s shaking you awake, all his ‘friends’ gone and it’s three in the goddamn morning.   Finally, the pair of you are going back to the hotel. Taehyung’s arm is draped around your shoulder as usual and he’s teasing you for being grouchy while petting your bed hair.    But damn straight you’re grumpy. You went gambling, then to a club, then to a strip show. You’re tired and sticky and disgusted with Taehyung. Still, you can’t come to hate him for dragging you around like this or for being an absolute douchebag. He’s too happy with you and the grin on his face is too infectious.   You collapse on the bed as soon as you get in, not having enough energy to wash your grimy skin or peel off your tight dress. Like you, Taehyung simply undoes the top button of his dress shirt and he collapses onto the soft mattress.   There is silence.   You nearly drift off to sleep, but then he interrupts.   “Thanks, Y/N.”   One of your eye opens and you find him staring at you. You stare back at him. “...you’re welcome. Did you have fun?”   “Sort of.”   “Only sort of?”   “It was alright.” The answer takes you by surprise since he seemed to have the time of his life. Taehyung continues to explain, “I wanted to see what it was like — it’s been a long time since I did anything like that. But once you get home….it’s kind of quiet, huh?”   “The quiet’s nice.” You shuffle, getting comfortable and relishing in what he’s most afraid of.   “Makes everything else from earlier seem empty though,” he murmurs softly, but you hear it. He wears a contemplative expression, gazing straight into your eyes. Before your lips can part and you can say anything, he plasters a grin on his face like earlier and changes the subject. “You wanna go eat?”   “Eat?”   “I know you were hungry. I’m sort of hungry too.”   There’s a pause. As tired and sleepy as you were a few minutes ago, you were wide awake again. It was obvious to see that Taehyung’s adrenaline was still coursing through his body too. And he was right — you were starving. You imagine that some food in your system would make sleep even nicer.   So with any determination that you can muster, you haul yourself up, scratching the back of your neck. “Sure. Where to?”   “I know a place.” He tugs on your wrist before you can walk off. “Wait, can I make a wish first?”   “What is it?” You automatically look around for your wand. Of course, it appears on the coffee table, always there no matter where you go off to.   “I was thinking about things and I really want to...travel. I want to make the wish now in case something happens. Y’know, it’s good to be prepared. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”   “Alright.” You grab your wand without a second to waste, not thinking twice. “Where to?”   “Umm…..I haven’t decided. Can you just give me tickets to every destination in the world? The most popular places to visit. Two of each in case I want to visit again. And if it’s possible, they don’t have a set time or date, so I can fill it in later and decide whenever I want to go.”   “Sure.” You shrug, finding his specific request achievable. “But can I also make a request?”   “What?” He grins as you look down at yourself, pinching at the skin-tight fabric of the dress.   “I’d really like jeans and a sweater.”   //   It’s not a fancy restaurant. Not in the least bit. There aren’t any lobsters, fresh crabs or truffle for sale. Rather, it’s a run-down burger joint that runs for twenty four hours. He shrugged and told you nothing could beat a good burger and that he was quite the fan of fast food.   You laughed and slid into the booth across from him after picking up the order from the poor teenager working the night shift.   “Are you going to finish all that?” You’re looking right at his two burgers and his mountain of fries.   Taehyung puts a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Are you shaming me right now?”   “No. It’s just a waste to throw away food.”   “Trust me, I’ll eat this all.”   “If you need any help. I’m sittin’ right here for you.” You give him the hint, pretending to nudge him across the table and he grins, sliding the fries in the middle.   “I thought we were sharing anyways.”   “Oh. We were?”   “Course we can share.” He bites into his burger and hums at the taste, having missed it. You eat as well, food tasting glorious on the palette of your tongue. There’s been too many days and nights of nibbling on instant noodles that even greasy, cheap fast food tasted delicious.   “I was staring,” you mumble past a mouthful.    Taehyung stops. His cheeks are puffed up and he stares at you through his thick lashes without you realizing. Slowly, a soft smile spreads into his face, all too fond of you.   “Sorry.” He looks away the same time you glance up at him. “For dragging you around all night. I know you weren’t having that much fun.”   “No. It was alright.” You set down your burger, dusting your fingers off and picking a fry to dip it into ketchup. “I just got tired and I was a bit….bothered.”   “About?”   “This girl you’re searching for….” You don’t mean to question his intentions, but it’s been pressing on your mind ever since you met him. “.....do you actually love her, Taehyung?”   There’s silence in the restaurant.    The fluorescent lights whirr above you, flies circling the light. Taehyung swallows his mouthful, caught off guard. A knot is made between his brows. “What do you mean? Course I love her. Why?”   “I don’t know…” You shrug, trying to brush it off, but he insists you explain.   “Y/N.”   A sigh leaves your mouth and you look directly at him, deciding not to spare the blonde man from your thoughts. “If it were me, Taehyung, if someone I loved was out there and I truly cared about them and I was looking for them — I wouldn’t waste a single second.”   “Well, I’ve been searching for an entire year now.”   “Macau isn’t that big,” you retort. “Have you been looking for her all this time?”   “Yes! I—”   “Then why not search today? Because you wanted a break? Because you wanted to enjoy what I’m giving you before I’m gone?” You’re breathless and the truth of your anger divulges, “If you were in love, you wouldn’t let other girls sit on your lap—”   “She was the one who sat there!” he argues and from an outsider’s view, it looks like you’re both a couple fighting. The teenager standing at the counter stares and eavesdrops like he’s watching a television drama. “It wasn’t my fault!”   “Doesn’t matter. You let her sit there.” Staggering breaths are ripped from your lungs. You’re fighting in place of the girl that Taehyung’s searching for, a girl you don’t even know. “What about the strip club?”   “What about the strip club?!” His arms are thrown in the air, burger nearly flying out of his hand. “That has nothing to do with anything!”   “What about calling me your—” precious fairy.   But the words catch in your throat, caught in your mouth. You lean back and look away. “You know what? Never mind.”   He exhales in frustration, running a hand through his hair and realizes the ruckus the two of you are making. Taehyung leans over the table and speaks in a low voice, “You’re right, okay? I know how it looks…..I was the one who cheated on her at the end of the day and now I’m going around and it looks like I haven’t changed.”   The food becomes more tasteless as he continues, “The moment she left, I knew I fucked up badly. All his bullshit of partying and drinking and girls, it’s fun. But it was fucking worthless. It still is. I don’t expect her to take me back, Y/N. I just...want to apologize and get some closure. I know I’m an ass, but I’d like to think I’m at least trying to improve myself. I don’t want to be the person I was back then. I never want to go back to being that person.”   You eat again, forcing yourself to swallow it down and let the sugary liquid of the soda tingle your tongue. “Then what do you find fulfilling? Painting and photography?”   You’ll always be skeptical at the whole ‘I’ve changed’ narrative, but you can at least understand where he’s coming from. You know most people can’t keep up with the partying lifestyle. At some point, everyone wants more for themselves. More and more. To make the most out of life.   You’re the same — always wanting better.   The problem is if you can ever fulfill those desires.   A twinkle in Taehyung’s eyes ignites, glad you asked and a cute smile comes across his face. “You remembered?”   “You only told me a few hours ago. My mind’s not that of a goldfish. Who do you even take me for, Kim Taehyung? I’m your fairy godmother.”   “You don’t act like you want to be,” he points out and you’re surprised. You look up at him and he smiles as if his intuition senses more about you than you’ll even realize.   “I...just want you to get your happy ending.”   “You seem stressed.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “That’s all. And I guess, you make me feel a bit rushed too.”   “I don’t,” you murmur, finally admitting it aloud. You called him out on his feelings, brought question to his convictions. It’s only fair if you’re honest as well and you have an inkling he might be sympathetic to your situation. “I don’t want to be. You’re not wrong. I never wanted to be anyone’s fairy godmother.”   Taehyung quirks his head to one side. “You don’t like magic? I think it’s pretty cool.”   “Yeah, but I’m your servant,” you mumble with a pout.   He immediately interjects, “You’re not.”   “I can’t make my wishes come true. Do you know what it’s like when it’s your magic, your wand, but you can’t use it for yourself or your family?”   There’s a pause. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess it really sucks.”   A small laugh pulls out of you. “Psh, yeah. I know that sounds incredibly selfish but—”   “It doesn't. It’s completely understandable.” Taehyung’s expression is blank and he blinks innocently at you. “It’s like your lottery ticket is given to someone else.”   “Yeah…” It’s moments like these that he catches you off guard. When he isn’t so unbearable, but sweet, compassionate and empathetic. It’s no wonder so many people are drawn to Taehyung without needing to know him for long. “Since I was young, my parents shoved down my throat that this is the reason I was born...to serve whoever was my Cinderella. This is supposed to be my life purpose.”   “I don’t think so.” His lips are pouty, gaze intense. “Maybe it’s part of what you have to do, but it shouldn't be your sole purpose.”   “Well it isn’t, but sometimes it sure feels like it.”   He hums a low note and chews on a few fries thoughtfully. “What would you wish for? If the tables were turned and I was your fairy godmother.”   “I don’t know.” You haven’t really thought about it. Coming up with desires that couldn’t be fulfilled would leave you even sadder than before. “I guess, I’d want a house and some money. I’d buy a place for my parents and I wouldn’t have to work anymore. I’d take care of their retirement completely. I’d pay off all my loans too and give money to charity.”   Taehyung acknowledges your choices, finding it pretty close to what he’s going to wish for as well.   A thought comes to mind and your eyes light up. “God! I’d quit my job! Yes, I would actually do that first above everything else!”   He laughs, finding your enthusiasm endearing. “You really must hate candles. But what would you do after that?”   “I’d travel. I’d go see the entire world and then eventually, settle down and work as a historian.” The more you think about it, the more eager and energized you become. This fantasy you’re constructing around you sounds so uplifting that the moment reality sets you, you’re guaranteed to be disappointed. But for now, Taehyung gazes at you, admiring how passionate you are. “I’d lead a research team at a university or at a museum. Or maybe I’d work as an archivist and preserve historical pieces. That would be really cool.”   “That sounds really cool. Would you let me work there too?”   “What would you want to do there?”   “I could paint or take photos and you could put it on display at the museum. I’m not half-bad, y’know.”   It’s pleasant to the ears, the mere idea of it sitting well with you. In this fantasy world, you are the princess and it’s a dream you want to relish in. “Sounds like a plan then.”   Taehyung finishes his burger, stuffing his cheeks to the brim. He drinks his soda, sliding the food down his gullet. He hums, thinking of something and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What about your romantic life?”   “What about my romantic life?” You eye him with feigned suspicion while a smile tickles at the corner of your mouth. “You think I got time for love, Kim? I’m about to make history here.”   He laughs again, heartily and rowdy. His eyes are crinkled, lips spread into a rectangular shape and he nods firmly. “You’re right. I don’t need to find your prince charming when he’s already sitting across from you.”   You grin, finding the situation unbelievable. “Are you flirting with me, Kim Taehyung?”   “I’m stating the truth.”   You scoff. “Aren’t you supposed to be in love with someone else?” The playful question suddenly draws out a silence. He doesn’t say anything, chewing on fries and your brow lifts. “Now that I think about it, you haven’t seen her for years, right?”   “Listen, time makes the heart grow fonder.” His irises twinkle with mischief. “Haven’t you heard of that?”   Another laugh spills out of your body. “Time makes all wounds heal, Taehyung. Time makes you forget.”   “I disagree,” he counters, “I won’t ever forget us.”   Taehyung says it so casually without knowing that the weight of his genuine words makes your cheeks warmer than they should be, You don’t say anything, simply scoffing. But it’s because you’ve been made speechless by him, mouth filling with cotton, caught off guard.    The chatter and banter eventually continues. Conversations come easily between you and him, spilling out without any awkward pauses. He’s charming, a conversationalist that makes you laugh and feel at eased. Soon, the two of you are walking on the street, side by side with synchronized steps. The bustling city is quieter than ever before when it’s four in the morning.   “You won’t leave me as soon as I get my happy ending, right?”   “But what else would you need me to do?”   Taehyung gasps in mock offense. “I thought we were friends!”   “Nah, this is just a business relationship,” you quip.   “Here I thought you were becoming my friend. I can’t believe it’s been one-sided all this time.”   “Thought you’d be used to it by now,” you bite back, this time making him the speechless one.    Taehyung begins to chase you down the street and laughs. “I’m gonna choke you!”   “I bet you like that, huh?!”   Two blocks are made before you’re both tired out from running needlessly. The both of you are less drunk from drinking hours earlier and more off of each other, feeling oddly giddy and happy.   Taehyung walks with his arm draped around your shoulder like that’s the way it should be. At this point, it feels natural even. “You gave me a few ideas.”   “About choking?”   “No! Jeez!” He laughs, the tinkering sound making you giggle. “About wishes. I should prepare more and think about things in the future, not just short-term enjoyment.”   “Wow, Sherlock. You’re a real genius.”   From your sarcastic tone, he pokes your side, tickling you slightly. “I’m being serious here!” He laughs. “I should put some money into my bank. Pay off my loans and buy some stocks or something to make sure my family’s retirement is secure. I want to buy my parents a house and give to charity too.”   “I approve of these wishes.” You bob your head, nodding enough for your neck to break while stumbling in your steps and leaning closer to him without realizing.   “I want to make your wishes come true too,” Taehyung murmurs softly.    Automatically, your head turns and you find him staring down at you. He’s pulled you close and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. You could count his lashes if you wanted, see how his cupid’s bow dips, imagine lines through his freckles and moles like it’s stars in the sky and you’re trying to map out constellations.   You look away from him before you do something worthy of regret. “You don’t have to…”   “But I want to.” Taehyung smiles. “It would be an honour to grant your wishes.”   “How would you go about doing that?”   “Well, your wand listens to me and only me. So I can just make your wishes for you. I can say the word.”   You scoff, elbow jutting out to his ribs. Yet, it does nothing to deter him and only puts a wide smile on his face. “You’re going to travel with me?”   Taehyung shrugs. “Sure.”   “Wouldn’t that girl you’re looking for mind?”   “I don’t know and I don’t care if she does or doesn’t. You’re important to me.” He is warm, not just his skin against yours like this, but also in his personality. “You’re my fairy.”   You don’t detest the nickname so much anymore. It’s kind of sweet when he says it like that.   “That’s a big promise to make.”   “Then I’ll have to step up when the time comes.”   “Alright, Kim. Don���t be all talk and no action.”   “I won’t,” he promises. “We should secure a source of money right now though. I don’t feel safe carrying around so much.”   There’s an ATM approaching to the left and the pair of you slow down. Taehyung lets go of you and your hand digs into your pocket, finding the wand magically materializing there. “How much do you want?”   The man hums and picks a number off the top of his head. “A hundred million?”   “You’re going to put a hundred million in your account all at once? That sounds like a bad idea.”   “No one’s going to notice.” He waves his hand off. “Don’t be such a worrier. You’re going to get wrinkles by the time you’re forty.”   “There’s nothing wrong with wrinkles,” you mutter with a sigh. The want trembles in your pocket and a second later, you hand a cheque to him. Taehyung smiles and turns to the ATM. You watch his back, making sure he doesn’t get mugged.   He puts it into his bank, ready to pay off his loans in one go and eventually transfer it to his family and those who are important to him — to charity and to you too.   It was wrong of you to dehumanize Taehyung and boil him down to some ex-fuckboy. He’s more than that, just a little lost, but he’s a ray of sunshine, passionate and eager, thoughtful and sweet. You can feel your heart softening for him and maybe that’s why you’re turning more into an idiot as well.   //   Ken scrolls through his computer.   He’s bored looking through the records and the numerous spreadsheets that have enough numbers to make his brain implode. He blinks wearily, feeling his eye bags deepen in its purple hue. The man has turned off the fluorescent lights, sitting in the darkness. The bright light of the monitor screen casts on his face.   He exhales in exhaustion and drinks his coffee in the thermostat, leaning back in his chair.   But suddenly, there’s a notification on the corner of his screen.   His eyes grow wide on what he sees on the monitor. And Ken spits out his mouthful of coffee. The brown liquid spews off his tongue and drenches his keyboard and all over his dress pants.   He screams, bloodcurdling at the burning temperature and he dabs the mess pathetically with a crumpled tissue while his other hand grabs the phone, going on speed dial. “Boss? Yeah, I’m sorry. But you’re gonna want to see this.”   It goes through a long chain of command. Phone call after phone call until every department is awoken at four thirty. There are grumbles from each person, but the floor becomes alive again. Though there’s more bewilderment and confusion than outright panic.   The phone rings, blaring. It nearly falls off the bedside table.   Seokjin is shocked awake.   He crawls out of his bed, emerging like a bear after a season of hibernation. “What the hell are you calling me for, Namjoon? Do you know that the goddamn time is?” The dark-haired man’s voice is thick and groggy. He scratches his scalp and looks at the time — the red digits reading four thirty seven a.m.    “It’s an emergency.”   “It always is.” Jin stands up nonetheless and switches his lamp on. He grabs his clothes from the closet and sighs, glancing at how puffy his face is in the mirror. “Is it another murder?”   “No. It’s worse.”   It sounds dire and the detective drives quickly to the station. As he arrives, the floor is bustling with people and he doesn’t waste a second to look at the files provided to him. Except—   “This isn’t worse than murder!” he shouts in exasperation, “It’s just some guy under the suspicion of printing money!”   “Yeah, but we’re still part of the investigation team.” Namjoon leans on the desk and takes a sip of his coffee cup like it’s noon and there’s no reason to be grumpy. “It’s still a job.”   “I didn’t even brush my teeth.” Jin glares narrowly at his partner.   “And you still came late,” Namjoon argues back. “I already took a look at his profile and found where he’s staying at. Let’s go.” The older male follows and Namjoon talks as they both walk out. “His name is Kim Taehyung. Male. Late 20’s. Single. Unemployed. But he put a hundred million in his bank account about an hour ago.”   “A hundred million dollars?! Jesus christ, where did he get that?!”   “Yeah, it’s not something you can get from just spending a few nights at the casino. It’s most likely through some kind of money laundering. They’re suspicions that it’s tied with the Jeon family. That’s why our department took the case,” he tells and it all clicks in Jin’s head.   After all, they’ve been investigating gangs and corruption in the city for the better part of two years now.   Though one thing doesn’t make any sense — “But why would they choose this guy?”   “No idea.” Namjoon is honest and as befuddled as the rest of the team. “He’s completely clean as far as we’ve seen. No connection to the family whatsoever, no criminal background, no relations. He came here a year ago and hasn’t been doing much.”   “Is it possible he could be just a new recruit of Jeon’s?”   “To entrust a new recruit with a hundred million dollars?” Namjoon shakes his head. “I’m not sure. Doesn’t sit right with me. We’re going to get him now since there’s reason to believe he might be a flight risk. This Kim Taehyung may be what we need to bust Jeon once and for all.”   Seokjin nods and they both get into the car.   //   At the same time, half across the city in a high-rise building, a shorter man with black hair and frighteningly cold eyes knocks against the door once. It is eerily quiet and after a second, there’s a smooth voice from the other side.   “Come in.”   Jungkook is sitting at his desk, swirling a cup of bourbon in his left hand. The ice clinks against the fragile glass, liquid inside sparkling against the dim chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The person entering automatically lowers his head towards the younger male.   “What’s the matter, Yoongi?” he asks curiously at why he’s being disturbed at this time of night. The walls are dark, expressionless portraits grand, curtains drawn like it’s permanently a state of night in this office.   The man named Yoongi lifts his head. “I received a message from our informant.”   “And?”   “They’re going after an individual named Kim Taehyung. They believe he has connections to us.”   It’s absurd and the leader is made confused. He searches his mind, but is unable to recall such a name. Jungkook has never heard of him in his entire life. “Why would they?”   “This individual deposited a hundred million into his bank account.”   He almost chokes on air. Instead, Jungkook masks a composted exterior he was taught since he was born and sets his drink down. He sits straight and clasps his hand on top of his mahogany desk. “That’s….bold.”   It isn’t idiotic. It’s a tactic. By doing something so brazen, this Kim Taehyung was trying to send a message to everyone else. “Who is this man?”   “We have no idea,” Yoongi answers honestly. “The police force is as confused as we are. He appeared out of nowhere.”   “Then he must be a rival. He may be from Taiwan….” Jungkook considers it and sharply inhales. Kim Tae from Taiwan. This was the Great Gatsby in real life. This mysterious stranger could perhaps have an empire overseas. In less than a day he’s become infamous in Macau. But whatever the case may be….   “Bring him to me.”   “Understood.” Yoongi lowers his head, preparing to leave.   “And whatever information you receive, tell me.” Jungkook stands. “We need to take each threat seriously.”   //   It’s five in the morning when you and Taehyung finally arrive back at the hotel. All the sleep that you had ached for earlier has left your body. You’re past the state of exhaustion and into the stage of deliriousness. But the diminishing logical side of you tells you that you should go to bed anyhow and rest up before going on the search for Taehyung’s girl.   Unfortunately, Taehyung is still hyper energetic, more so than before now that he has two burgers, a mountain of fries and a liter of sugary soda in his gut. He becomes curious of the twenty-four hour gift shop in the lobby, looking at all the knickknacks and snow globes.   You whine to him enough that he laughs and tells you to go up to the room first.   “—floor is he on?”   “Top floor,” the taller one answers and then there’s a pause.    The two males turn their heads to stare at you and it takes a delayed moment for you to enter the elevator. Maybe it’s deliriousness getting to you but both are incredibly handsome men. The slightly shorter one has princely features, full lips and dark hair, clad in a long taupe jacket. The other is a brunette, dressed in a casual topcoat and wearing thick rectangular glasses that reminds you of what a modern spy would wear.   You realize you’ve been drooling when they smile politely at you. “Uh...what floor are you going to miss?”   “Umm…” You swallow your mouthful of saliva, turning to the elevator buttons and finding the top floor already pressed. It strikes you oddly considering you didn’t see anyone else staying there. And for some reason, your mind tickles and you blurt out— “Thirtieth floor, please.”   “Alright.” The brunette presses the button and you watch the metal doors close.   “You know, now that we’re here, we should check out the Paiza Club and Dining lounge. I heard they have something called Chocolate Brioche Bread Pudding that is to die for.”   “We’re here on an investigation, Jin,” the taller one scolds, whispering under his breath.   “You need to lighten up, Namjoon.” He gives an exaggerated and playful sigh, hand plopping on his partner’s shoulder. “When you can have some fun, you should take it! At this rate, you’ll die a workaholic.”   “I’m not going to go eat Bread Pudding.”   “You’re no fun.” He clicks his tongue and stares straight ahead, speaking lowly, “We went all the way here, but we might not even run into Kim Taehyung. Should make the most out of this trip.”   In the midst of their conversation, you’ve turned to stare at them. This time not because you’re marveling at their handsomeness. The name rings in your ears and you don’t realize just how intensive your gaze is, hardcore even. It doesn’t take three seconds before the hair on the back of their necks raise and they crane their necks over.   “Can we help you?” the man named Namjoon asks.   “N-no, I’m okay.”    You whip your head to look forward again. But it only arouses suspicion and the two experienced detectives exchange an array of expressions with one another.    Seokjin smiles and glances at you. “Did you have a fun night tonight?”   You’re shocked that he’s speaking to you, but you manage to scrape up something coherent. “Me? Yes. I was down at the casino.” The corner of your mouth lifts stiffly. “It was fun.”   Jin steps forward, closer, and you feel cornered. His hand slips into his coat pocket and he pulls out a picture of someone you recognize all too well. It’s a fuzzy photo, one that looks like his driver’s license. “Did you happen to see this man?”   You wear a blank look, mind delayed and then you peek up at them both, quirking your head to the side. “Oh. I met him in the lobby earlier this afternoon.”   “So, he’s staying here, correct?”   “Yes, I think so.” You nod once, not sure where all these lies were coming from. It was instinctual to protect Taehyung and your intuition told you not to trust these two men. “We talked briefly when he sat next to me at a slot machine. He seemed fairly nice. Are you looking for him?”   “We’re just searching to inquire about a case he may have witnessed,” Namjoon says simply without revealing much. He turns his body towards you, narrowing his eyes and watching your every movement. “Did he happen to say anything to you? Anything important at all?”   “Not at all. I believe we talked about the….gift shop and the snow globe sales in there. He left afterwards, but he seemed pretty nice.” It’s a good thing your body is too tired to make any suspicious movements. You feel like you’re having an out-of-body experience. Luckily, your concern for Taehyung comes across as concern for society. “Can I ask what happened?”   “It’s a private investigation, we can’t reveal anything.” — “He’s under the suspicion of money laundering.”   Namjoon and Jin answer at the same time. And as it tumbles out of their months, realization sinking in, there’s a suffocating silence drawn out. The two detectives exchange expressions, Namjoon glaring and Jin knowing he fucked up badly.   You give your best gasp that’s not completely fabricated. “T-that’s horrible!”   “Well, hopefully we can catch him soon and make the streets safer.” Jin offers a tense smile to comfort your worries.   The elevators open to the thirtieth floor. “Good luck and good night then.”   “Yes, goodnight.” The handsome investigator nods and you smile, walking away as the doors close and you hear the two men bickering with each other.   The moment it’s quiet again, you whip yourself into the fire escape, running. Your feet shuffle as if you’re doing drills, step after step, leaping down the staircases. You nearly trip and eat shit on the hard ground, but you catch yourself, gripping onto the banister.   It’s thirty levels you have to dive down and you just hope Taehyung hasn’t gone up yet. Every five floors, you peek out to the elevator, finding the numbers increasing to show Namjoon and Jin are continuing upwards. Luckily, the other elevator remains stagnant and you can only wish for the best.   A deep breath is stolen through the seams of your lips and you pass a few drunk people giggling. Sweat drips down your head. Curses spill out of your mouth. You almost start crying, but you make it to the lobby, launching your body out, startling several strangers as you burst out the door.   The person you’re looking for is standing right there.   Taehyung is innocently waiting in front of the elevators, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes. You don’t waste a second, throwing yourself at him. The second Taehyung sees you, on instinct, a grin spreads across his face. He opens his arms and catches you, hugging you back.   “Y/N? What’s wrong? Did you take the stairs?”   You’re hyperventilating. “T-T-Tae…”   The blonde man has an endeared expression as he looks down at you. His smile softens and he holds your arms before lifting up his left wrist, showing off the plastic bag. “In the end, I couldn’t choose any snow globe or postcard, but I got cat mugs for us. They’re matching and in the shape of a cat! Fifty percent off for the second one too! Cute, huh?”   “T-Taehyung…..th...e….the….p...p-o...lice…”   “What?”   “Th...e...p...o..li….c….e”   “What?”   “The police are here!” you whisper harshly and out of desperation. All at once, his expression falls and he pales.   “What?”   //   The two investigators linger outside the door. They shift the weight of their foot from one to the next, waiting patiently as if they’re trick-or-treaters on Halloween or simply very insistent missionaries who want to enlighten people and lead them away from Hell.   But after a full minute, there’s still silence and no movement made on the other side.   Seokjin leans over and rings the doorbell again. The sound can be heard echoing throughout the suite. Jin rings the bell yet again and this time he knocks five times.   “Police! Open up!”   Silence.   Jin cranes his neck to his frustrated partner. “I don’t think he’s in there.”   There’s no choice and Namjoon’s patience is running too thin. He digs in his pocket, taking the keycard out and he swipes it at the handle. It flashes green and he pushes the door open.   “Ooh, breaking the rules, aren’t we, Joon?” Jin teases, “Look at how bold you’re getting. Barging in without a search warrant? I’m proud. Never thought I’d see the day you’d actually bend the rules a little.”   “Hey…” Namjoon enters the room without looking back.   “Yeah?”   “Can you shut up?”    “Will do.”   The two of them enter, yelling out that they’re police. But like before, there aren’t any responses. They check each room thoroughly, peeking in the closet, looking underneath the bed. It’s empty. There aren’t any suspicious belongings either and when Jin and Namjoon regroup, they suspect this Kim Taehyung must’ve known they were coming and purposely slipped under the radar.   “Damn.”   This person wasn’t to be messed with.   //   “Oh my god, oh my god.” You’re shaking your head, whispering in disbelief. Panic has set over your body and caused you to hyperventilate, blood rushing in your veins, air never staying in your lungs. “We are so fucked, we are so fucked, Taehyung. Holy fucking shit. We’re going to jail.”   “We’re not going to jail,” he counters.   “They think you’re involved in money laundering!” you spit at him. “How are we going to explain the one hundred million dollars?! God, I knew that was a bad idea. I should’ve stopped you. No...it’s not your fault. You wouldn’t blame a four year old for eating candy—”   “I’m not a four year old!”   “—you’d blame the parent that gave it to them. I fucked up.” You’re pacing back and forth, fully aware that it’s not helping, but you don’t know what else to do anymore. In the span of a day, you’ve screwed up your entire life. “I fucked up!”   “Y/N, stop.” His hands drop down to your shoulders, halting you mid-step. “Can’t we just tell them what actually happened? It’s not like you and I did something actually illegal.”   You shove his hands off of you, narrowing your eyes. “You think we can just waltz up to law enforcement and tell them we got a hundred million from magic?!”   “If we show them, they’d believe us.”   “And then they’d take me away!” Your arms in the air, already envisioning you strapped down to a medical table. “They’d take my wand, take my blood and my family, take me in for experimentation! It’s a family secret for a reason, Taehyung! There’s a reason we don’t go around parading we’re the fairy godmother’s descendants!”   The pair of you were hidden in his old apartment. It was a sad and small room, falling apart in the corners. Taehyung was evicted a few months ago, but he knew it was empty and helped you climb the fire escape as he busted a weak spot on the door outside. Despite it being relatively reclusive, there was no possible way that you could stay long.   The police would know this place and come investigating sooner or later. They’d probably pull the floorboards apart to make sure he’s not hiding any money or drugs. And eventually, they were going to find you tied up with him in all this.   There is no escape.   “How do we undo this?” you ask him, completely lost and hysterical.   His eyes spark with an idea. “Can I wish for an invisibility cloak?”   “I can’t grant you something that doesn’t exist,” you sigh out and begin to consider the possibilities. You had magic on your side after all. It was definitely a choice to give him a gun to protect himself, but then that would be an unregistered firearm and could land the two of you in a bigger world of trouble. The car was unregistered as well. Getting a plane or spaceship out of Macau would be impossible as well. If you snuck out of Macau, you don’t know where you’d go.   It’s funny how you can grant any wish, yet you feel so limited.   Cinderella never went like this — she was never chased down by the fucking police.   “Y/N, we’re going to be okay.”   “How can you say that?! We’re not going to be okay. We’re not! That’s a fact! We’re screwed!”   “Can you please just trust me?!” he shouts above you, probably allowing the neighbors to hear. But his deafening volume shocks you to silence and your mouth seals. Taehyung’s gaze is intense and he licks the seam of his lips, swallowing hard. “I trusted you once. So trust me. Can you do that?”   “I...I don’t know….”   The man in front of you reaches down, holding your hand and squeezing it. As he soothes you, he makes a promise, “I won’t let you get hurt.”   “And what about you?”   “I won’t go to prison.” He wears a soft smile. “Why would I? I didn’t do anything wrong but indulge a little with my fairy.”   It’s stupid of you — but you chose to believe him. Taehyung trusted you once. It’s only right if you give him a chance as well, let him prove to you whatever he wants as you once proved to him your abilities.   For now, the two of you have to look for another place to go to and after a bit of rest, he takes your hand and leaves, never once showing any fear for the circumstances ahead.   //   The security room is cozy with monitors all around, staticy screens showing every corner of the casino. The athletic male is leaning over, watching with intensity as the technician delves into the hours of CCTV footage and searches thoroughly.   Namjoon mutters under his breath, obsessed with figuring out this puzzle, “Where did he go?”   Jin hangs up the phone and joins his partner. “Hoseok and Sowon’s patrol car broke down.”   “Again?”   “Yeah. They’re jump starting it now, but the battery might be done for.”   He shakes his head. “Everything always falls on us, huh?”   “Sometimes it can be easier like that.” Jin’s hand plops on his partner’s shoulder, giving a cheesy grin and squeeze. “Remember all those old days when we were new to the department and we dug up cases even when boss said they were done? But we broke the rules and solved them anyhow? Those were the days! Doesn’t it make you feel nostalgic?”    “No.”   “Oh, come on,” Seokjin whines much to the working technician’s amusement. “We solved so many cases with just the two of us! It was fun!”   “We almost got fired.”   “But we didn’t,” he chimes.   “Stop. Right there.” Namjoon’s finger juts at the monitor and the two detectives lean in with their eyes squinting. As far away as the camera is, the features of the male are indistinguishable. He was dressed cleanly, but looked like he had a whole night out, wrinkled dress shirt with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He definitely looked like a man of money, power, and sophistication. “Huh. He’s right there.”   “And that was at five twenty…...what time did we arrive, Namjoon?”   “Five fifteen.”   “What in the—” The footage continues and the two men watch as you come running from the fire escape door and launch into Taehyung’s arms, observing the way he hugs you. “Oh my god. That’s her! The girl we talked to in the elevator!”   They exchange looks with one another.   A radio call is received that helps piece things together. Earlier yesterday, half across Macau in a lower class hotel, Taehyung was spotted. The people in the lobby said they witnessed Taehyung and thought he was a gigolo. And yet again, you were there with him the entire time.   “Jin. Get those arrest warrants.” His partner nods in response and he turns to the security technician. “Can we see what direction they went?”   “Sure thing.” The man smiles. “Our CCTV goes for blocks.”   //   Taehyung has spent an entire year in Macau. It’s needless to say that he knows all the kind spots — even if those are places are underneath bridges or in secluded alleys. You trust him enough to lead you as you figure out what to do or at least evade the police for long enough and buy some time so you two can somehow figure out what to do with all the money in his account.   If there was a way to get rid of it, you could act like it was never there in the first place or it was soft of mistake that neither you nor Taehyung have anything to do with.   So, you go with Taehyung, never once realizing who was following you two.   It’s not until you’re standing at an alleyway, taking cover after hearing sirens and being relieved that it’s just an ambulance, do you truly come to realize the detrimental state of the situation.   “We’re safe,” he breathes out as the ambulance passes and you nod.   “Are you Kim Taehyung?” A deep, rumbling voice comes from the end of the alley and you both jolt with a scream. A short man emerges from the darkness. His black hair matches his dark eyes and the colour of his clothing. He is in a leather jacket, boots and gloves too.   You’re alarmed, his piercing gaze sending chills down your spine. You catch the tattoos on his neck, the only skin on his body revealed, and it appears to be symbols spiraling upwards like the tail of a dragon. He’s not holding any weapons as far as you can see, but his presence still sends goosebumps all over your arms.   He’s dangerous — and it’s not only your instincts that scream it.   You and Taehyung are holding onto each other, backing up slightly. “Who are you?”    “Are you or are you not Kim Taehyung?” Yoongi steps forward, coming more into the light and the man holding you pushes you behind him.   “That’s me. What do you want?”   Yoongi scans him up and down as if he’s looking to purchase a fish at the market and is sorely unimpressed with what he sees. There seems to be a glimmer of uncertainty and confusion before he masks it with impassiveness. “There’s someone who wants to speak with you. Come with me.”   “I’m not going anywhere.”   “You don’t have a choice,” the stranger says pressingly. “You can come with me willingly or not. It’s your choice.”   “Who is it?” you pipe up over Taehyung’s shoulder. “Who wants to see us? We’re not going unless you tell us.”   “Jeon Jungkook,” the man becomes tired of the negotiation and hisses the name in a husky timbre like it is a name worthy of a king’s honour.   But there is silence.    You and Taehyung look at each other. “Who?”   The gangster is gawking in disbelief, appalled at this show of ignorance that might be an indication of Taehyung’s sheer power — to not know Jungkook in this world was to either be deaf and blind or high up enough that he never spared a glance at any rival. Just how powerful was this Taehyung? But why is he curled up in an alley with some girl? None of it made sense.   Yoongi is puzzled.   “Jeon Jungkook from the Jeon family.”    Taehyung nudges you. “He sounds familiar. I think I read his page on wikipedia.”   “What did it say?” you whisper despite Yoongi being able to hear everything.   “He’s the leader of a….a….cart.”   “A cart? Like a food cart?”   “No, wait. I think I remember now. Not a cart….a cartel.”   “He’s part of the mob?!” You’re shouting, eyes almost falling out of their sockets. Oh my god. This just got a thousand times worse and you’re starting to wonder if this is a terrible nightmare you’re having on the plane and you haven’t actually landed in Macau yet or maybe this was a hidden camera and you were going to be famous on a variety show. You hoped it was either one...   There was just no way Taehyung could be wanted by the police and now the mafia in Macau.   “You don’t know who Jeon Jungkook is?” Yoongi inquires with raised brows. “Are you sure you’re Kim Taehyung?”   “Yes, but I don’t know who you think I am,” he tries to reason, but it unknowingly sounds like he’s boasting. “I have nothing to do with your cartel.”   “If you show up on our turf, in our space, you are now.”   “What? No! I’m not part of any cartel. I didn’t know this was your turf, but I’m not dealing with any drugs or anything. I am literally not involved in any criminal activity!”   Yoongi’s blank expression is washed over with bewilderment. “Are...you not from Taiwan?”   “No!”   “You….don’t have an empire?”   “What empire?” Taehyung is at a loss as he tries to clarify. “I’m not related to the mafia whatsoever. Not here. Not in Taiwan. Not in Korea. Not anywhere!”   “Then where did you get the money?” The dark-haired individual steps closer, gaze narrowing in. “Where did you get the hundred million dollars from?”   “I...won it at the casino.” Taehyung backs up, holding you close behind him and you shuffle together.   “A hundred million?” The man scoffs before coldly chuckling. “Doubt it. The biggest winning is twenty one million dollars. Yours is almost five times as much.”   “W-what do you want with us? Do you want the money?!”   “No.” He rolls his shoulders and smirks, tugging his gloves to secure them. “At any rate, you should come meet my boss.”   The true lottery that Taehyung won is Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon arriving in the nick of time.    He’s down the avenue and flips on his police car siren. Everyone moves out the way and he zips through traffic like he’s part of Fast and Furious. Namjoon leans over and turns it off. Jin turns it back on a second later and flashes a glare.   “Leave it!”   “We’re not chasing anyone! We shouldn’t turn on the siren!”   “But we can avoid all this traffic!” He grips the steering wheel tighter. “My car, my rules.”   “It’s the station’s car.”   “I drive, my rules.” Jin turns his nose up into the air, purposely acting snotty. “If you want to drive, then be my guest. But let me remind you that the last time you did, you hit five trash cans consecutively and skimmed against three other cars.”   “They weren’t parked right at the curb!” he argues and in his rage, turns off the siren.   Seokjin turns it back on, face getting red and hot. He screams, “Hands off my fucking siren, motherfucker!” The warbling pitch of the siren is deafening. It wails in the air, drowning out Namjoon and Jin’s arguing inside the vehicle, while red and blue lights fly into the sky, flashing onto pavement. It comes closer and closer and Yoongi curses underneath his breath. He steps forward, but Taehyung holds you back, making it obvious that he’s not giving you or himself up without a fight.   Your hand wraps around Taehyung’s and you take the opportunity to run. It’s risky to go sprinting across the road while the police car is approaching, but you barely make it and Yoongi has no other choice — forced to retreat and withdraw back into the shadows.   It was amazing, really. In just a few hours, Taehyung became infamous and now everyone wants a piece of him. Too bad you come with him like a buy one, get one free package.   //   The four glass walls trapped you, but not necessarily suffocating your spirit with its transparent surfaces. Instead, it makes you feel vulnerable, like the police or mafia could catch you here.   It was a bit better when Taehyung’s body covered one side of the phone booth, his back towards you as he’s on the lookout. You had conjured a face mask and a dark hoodie for him to cover himself up with, sunglasses as well and you wonder if it just makes him more suspicious.   Thoughts pushed aside, you gain the courage to pick up the handle, slide the coins in and dial the memorized number. It was morning now with people beginning to stir and you know the person on the other line was awake too at this time. But considering the number would appear as unknown on her phone, it’s a streak of luck when the dial tone stops and it’s actually picked up.   “Yeah hello?”   “Hello?”   “Who is this?���   “It’s Y/N….”   It takes one split of a second. Your boss’ chirping morphs into rage, dropping into a deep pitch and growly like a monster. “What are you doing calling me on this number?! I texted you last night several times! Do you think you’re going on vacation, Y/N?! I expected better from you! What time is it over there?! Aren’t you supposed to go to the meeting?!”   Shrill screams ring into your eardrums and you have to pull the handset away from your ear for a moment. This had to be considered as some kind of verbal abuse. “Do you know how important this investor could be to my business?!”   “A-a-about that…”   “What?! Speak up!”   “I...I might have to reschedule,” you murmur, “I...I’m sorry. I don’t think I can meet him today.”   “Are you kidding me?! Y/N!” She’s yelling at the top of her lungs. “What the hell are you doing over there?! Why are you rescheduling?!”   You don’t realize you’re crying until your cheeks feel wet and you wipe your eyes quickly with the sleeve of your sweater. “I’m sorry.” You bow from your waist despite her not being able to see you. It’s instinctual as if you’re part of Pavlov’s Dogs, and she’s trained you to be this way. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”   “I don’t need your apology! I need you to meet him! How will my candles sell now?! Will you buy them?!”   Suddenly, there’s knocking on the glass. You lift your head to find Taehyung worries, his brows knitted together tightly. He mouths ‘are you okay?’ and you nod, wiping your eyes.   “I’m sorry.” Truth be told, you weren’t okay. Not in the least bit. You were on the verge of being fired.   The phone call eventually ends when you run out of coins and you’re no longer able to hear her even when she’s still screaming at you and making you face her wrath and fury. You don’t care about your job or about candles. But you don’t enjoy being humiliated by anyone and at the end of the day, it’s your means of survival. Without your shitty job, you don’t have anything and that’s the sad part.   There’s silence as you sit on the bench, facing the Pearl River Delta and South China Sea. From the distance, you can see the docks of Macau and the shadows of the nearby islands. It’s serene and you feel yourself relaxing, giving up. They could come take you now — arrest Taehyung for money laundering and take you to investigation. He’d be imprisoned and they might take you in for experimentation. Or better yet, the Macau mafia could take you first, kill you and Taehyung, and then steal the money….   This is not what Cinderella was like.   You much prefer the fairytale version that you detested for so long.   “What are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the quiet and turning your head to his handsome profile. Taehyung is looking out at the horizon, oddly calm too. No one was freaking out anymore.   “How I don’t want you to get caught up in all of this.”   Even when he’s in this predicament, he’s not thinking about himself — Taehyung’s thinking about you. You admire his selflessness and your hand reaches out, pinky first before your palm slides on top of his. Taehyung gets used to your touch before flipping his hand over and lacing your fingers together. It was comforting to hold his hand like this.   Your gaze softens on his profile and he turns, locking his eyes with yours. “I want to find who I’m looking for.”   “Right now?”    He nods. “If I can get my happy ending, you can escape from all this. You can be free from me.”   “You can’t get your happy ending if you’re being chased by the mafia or by the police, Taehyung.”   He squeezes your palm. “I want to try. I don’t want you to be stuck to me.”   “I can leave, Taehyung,” you tell him in a gentle murmur, “I could leave right now. I’m not stuck to you. I’m choosing to be here.”   “Yeah, but you have an obligation to be with me at the end of the day or at least fulfill my wishes.” The corner of his mouth lifts with a sad smile. “I don’t want you to have to feel that way.”   “I don’t—”    “Let me go find her.”   “Is that what you want?” you question him, searching his expression. “Forget about me for a moment. Think about yourself…”   “I am,” he assures and helps you stand up.   You’re uncertain — you don’t even know what a happy ending means.   //   It’s a slip of paper with an address messily scribbled on it, the blue ink slightly bleeding on the crumpled paper. Taehyung tells you when he came here, he had an old picture of her and asked around the streets of Macau like she was a missing person. He followed faint trails here and there, going on a wild goose chase until someone told him they had seen her before and wrote down where.   And here you were with him — on some dingy street, standing in front of a butcher’s shop.   “She’s supposed to be here?” You stare at the shop, reading the name of it written in bold red.   “Maybe. An old lady at a fish market saw her working here before.” Taehyung glances at you for an extended time and you turn your head, blinking at him.    “Are we going in?”   “Y-yeah….right…” He pulls the door open, letting you in first. The butcher owner is grinning, asking if you two want to buy some meat and what kind, but Taehyung greets him and then slides the picture over to him, explains why he’s here. “Have you seen her?”   “Bae Jenny? Yes. She lives across the street!” The older man points out the window. “Right there.”   You’re surprised. Taehyung seems even more shocked. Her location is finally pinpointed into a definite place, so close. It occurs to you all this trouble so far could’ve been avoided. Heck, Taehyung probably would’ve found her two days ago if you never ran into him….   The man frowns. “But who are you?”   “I...I’m an old friend of her’s.”   He nods in understanding. “She should be home at the moment. I believe it’s her day off of work.”   The bell chimes as you two exit the shop. It’s quiet. Taehyung is contemplative and you’re on autopilot while you cross the street safely, taking the stairs outside the run-down building. You shuffle to the open apartment complex, stopping right in front of the door.   “We’re lucky, huh?”   “I guess.”   You brace yourself with a deep breath, but when Taehyung doesn’t move, you frown. “Well, aren’t you going to knock?”   “Y/N. I need to tell you something.” He turns to face you, swallowing hard like he has something important to say and it’s simply caught in his throat and he’s not used to this kind of thing. “This happy ending that you’re trying to achieve for me. I...I don’t need this. What I want is—”   The door swings open. There’s a girl holding her trash bag. She freezes.   “Taehyung?!”   His eyes are wide, rounded with horror. “Jenny?”   The female is short and petite with long, black hair. She is a doll with delicate features and you wonder if she always looks this amazing at home — dressed like she’s going out, eyeliner and pink lipstick. She is gorgeous and breathtaking. This is what you envisioned your Cinderella to look like.   “What in the ever living fuck.” She glances at you and glances back at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”   He waves meekly. “H-Hi.”   Eventually, the two of you are invited into her cozy home. It’s small, but comfortable. Though you can’t get settled down, feeling too awkward as the third wheel. With a harsh nudge from you, the suffocating silence is interrupted by Taehyung who starts off with, “It’s good to see you.”   “Yeah? Can’t relate. How did you find me in the first place? Last I checked, I ghosted you on everything and I haven’t posted about my whereabouts in a long time.”   “I...I’ve been looking for you. I asked around for a long time.”   “Why?” Her brows raise, genuinely confused and unable to rationalize it.   “I...I’m in love with you…?” The last syllable of Taehyung’s weak declaration has its pitch increasing like he’s unsure of himself and questioning it too. It sounds weird and you don’t know what his issue is. Wasn’t this what he wanted?   Jenny is unimpressed and also unfazed. “Are you serious?”   “I...guess.”   “You know we were together for less than five months?”   “Yeah.”   “You didn’t even consider it official.”   “I..know…”   “And that was four years ago.”   “Uh-huh.”   “You cheated on me, remember?” Jenny looks like she’s five seconds away from slapping him or splashing him with her glass of water and when she puts it like that, your initial disbelief with Taehyung returns. He nods and you realize how ridiculous this all is. It’s obvious — he doesn’t love her. Or whatever he thinks, whatever he feels, it isn’t love.   Jenny sighs tiredly, aged an additional fifty years with him in front of her. “You’re an idiot. An absolute idiot, Taehyung. For coming here. For saying that. I don’t love you. Never had. Never will. We didn’t even have anything special. It was a basic relationship.”   He nods again, unable to say anything.   The girl regards him with narrowed eyes. “If you think it was anything great, then frankly, you’re just idealizing our relationship and romanticizing it after it’s over because you live a fucking sad life. You’re projecting your ideals onto us, onto me, because you’re lonely.”   “That’s….harsh.”   But Taehyung is not surprised. He’s rather unaffected, letting the insults roll off his shoulders, fully aware and even embracing that he is indeed an air-headed dumbass.    “Well, it’s true.” Jenny sets her cup down and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “You’re lonely. Always have been. You just never wanted to admit it, so you found all these girls to try to temporarily fix your problems. And once I realized your issues, I dropped you. I’d understand if you came for me to look for closure, but to announce you love me.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes to the back of her skull. “Are you kidding me?”   “Sorry.” He’s fiddling with his fingers and scratching the back of his neck. Taehyung came all this way. This was most definitely not the outcome you were expecting. You thought she’d leap into his arms, that they’d go prancing into the fields together and get married. But you suppose romance never worked like that in real life.   It’s not your place to say anything either.   “I’m sorry for you too.” She sighs again. “Honestly, I couldn’t love you even if I wanted to, Taehyung. I like girls.”   He quirks his head to the side, mildly interested at the new development. “You like girls?”    “Yeah. I mean guys are fine too, but I prefer girls. I can...tolerate them better.” Jenny steals a glance at you, the corner of her mouth curling. “This one’s a cute one.”   “Thanks..?” You’re sheepish, having stayed quiet and out of the conversation. But all the while, she’s noticed you and read your expression like it’s an open book.   “Is that all?” Jenny looks back at Taehyung. “I gotta get ready and leave soon. I got a hot date scheduled and frankly, I think this conversation is over..”   “Yeah, we’ll get going.” He stands up, waltzing outside without begging to stay or pleading with her to be heard. He acts nothing like a person who wants to redeem himself in front of the woman he supposedly loves.    Jenny leans against her door frame. “Hey, Taehyung. Wait.” He hums, spinning on his heel and she smiles. Between the two of them, there aren't any harsh feelings or emotions of resentment left. You can see it on her face that she’s mostly apathetic about his existence and only slightly annoyed by his antics. “If you ever wanna stop being dumb and go clubbing with an old friend some time, call me up. I know a few places.”   He smiles, a puff of air coming from his nose, having expected nothing less. “Okay.”   “And bring this one too.” Jenny smiles at you. “I haven’t seen someone tolerate your bullshit in a long time and she’s a pretty one.”   “Y-yeah.”   The two of you walk without saying anything for an entire block. You’re reeling, not sure what just happened. But Taehyung isn’t heartbroken at all or as devastated as you thought he’d be. He seems to only be embarrassed for the rejection and having his issues said aloud, all the things that haunted his mind coming to confront him.   “So...that was that...are you hungry? I’m sort of. Maybe we should go get some waffles.” The blonde male turns his head and then freezes up. You’re crying silently, tears shedding down your cheeks as if you just splashed your face with water. “Y/N?”   “Fuck, what are we supposed to do now?!” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. You’ve lost it. Everything was crumbling down onto your shoulders, the weight of what you’ve done heavy. “She was supposed to take you back! But she insulted you and you didn’t even say anything back!”   “Well, what she said was true—”   “No! You’re not that big of a dumbass.”   A smile pulls on his lips, endeared and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”   “I failed.”   “You didn’t.”   “I did. I’m supposed to give you a happy ending, but I can’t even do such a simple thing that the rest of my family accomplished! I don’t even know what a happy ending means! What does it mean, Taehyung? What does it mean?! Things don’t end until we die! Life always continues and there will always be issues. How can you have a happy ending? How can you be happy forever?! Do you even want that?!”   “No. I don’t want a happy ending. You’re right.” Taehyung composes you, calming your turmoil and he grins. “I want adventure and I’m having that with you right now. My precious fairy that makes all my wishes come true.”   You’re catching your breath. “This is what you want?”   “Well, maybe not being chased by the police or by the mob, but being with you. It’s fun, right?”   “Fun?!”   “It’s fun,” he assures and his arm slinks off of you. Instead, Taehyung reaches down to hold your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “And it’ll be better when things are okay again. Right now, I can think of one or two ways to make things better...and to solve our little issue. Do you trust me?”    There’s a pause. You sigh and nod once. “I do.”   As distressed as you may be, lying isn’t easy — you’re relieved that Taehyung’s with you.   //   Yoongi follows closely and swiftly, yet discreetly as he remains in the shadows. He’s been tailing the two of you since he parted ways hours ago and it was curious. So many things he was befuddled about despite being so well-informed about this world. You spoke to someone at a telephone booth, to who Yoongi has no idea. But Taehyung watched your back — that means you had an important part to play in all this, important enough that the man has to protect you.   Then the pair of you also sat on a bench for an extended period of time. Perhaps waiting for someone else or maybe signaling to another person nearby that things were progressing. It’s the most mundane activities that often signify the most.    Yoongi followed you to a butcher’s shop, an innocent little place that has potential of being more, perhaps where the money was supposed to be laundered. And then you went to see someone, a woman who quickly shut the door after you entered.   The gangster is intrigued, that much is clear. He doesn’t know what’s going on and the longer he follows after the both of you, the more he’s learning your techniques of getting around Macau. Though it still struck Yoongi as odd as to why this Kim Tae denied coming from Taiwan, refuting that he had any part of the illegal world, of having any affiliation with a family or empire. Perhaps he wanted to remain discreet, to conduct his business without arousing any attention.   Whatever the case may be, he was a man with a talent in lying.   Yoongi almost believed you and him were innocent for a moment.   But what truly provokes his curiosity is when you disappear into an alley and you both come back with a white envelope and purposely let it fall to the ground, walking away without looking back.   Yoongi picks it up after a minute and he isn’t disappointed by what he finds.   “What is this?”   Jungkook’s own question is answered as he opens the envelope and finds a cheque of exactly one hundred million dollars. He glances up at his right-hand man and finds another slip of paper with an address and time written on it.   “I’ve been following them.”   “And?”   “He denied having any affiliations with anyone and from being from Taiwan. I believe he’s lying since he doesn’t want to draw attention from anyone. He seemed to want nothing to do with us. I don’t believe he’s a threat.”   Jungkook nods, taking it all in and Yoongi continues divulging the information he’s collected, “I think he’s targeting police and trying to taunt them more than anything. Though I’m not sure why. I don’t know the specifics of the business they’re conducting, but they went to various locations around Macau while evading the police.”   “He must have some kind of vengeance against the department if he’s willing to go out personally. I wonder if he works for someone….” The leader’s voice draws on and he ends it in a thoughtful hum. “And you were telling me about a girl?”   “Yes. He protects her. I have reason to believe she may even be the mastermind behind these plans.”   Jungkook rolls his tongue inside his cheek, looking at the cheque and the amount of zeros behind the number one. “This money is a sign of an alliance.” It’s a truce, perhaps a request to join hands and destroy the police department once and for all. While the intentions are still unclear to Jungkook, he knows what to do. “Launder this money properly. I’m going to meet this Kim Tae myself.”   He lowers his head and takes the cheque. “Understood.”    Jungkook fixes his suit jacket, tugging on the sleeves as he considers how respectable a character Taehyung is. He has to see this man for himself.   And in the meanwhile….   The department floor comes alive. The ceiling fan whirrs in rhythm with the coffee machine. Phone calls are ringing and officers greet each other as they pass. In the midst of the usual chaos, Namjoon leans back in his swivel chair, feet propped up on his desk and he sips on his caffeine drink. His feet ache, eyes weary, counting the hours since he’s been awake. But as exhausted as he is, he continues to flip through the file and re-reads the profile of the suspects.   He’s brought back to his senses when his partner plops something down. “Hoseok wanted you to see this.”   Namjoon takes it and sits up, looking through the crisp printed pages. It’s information on the nightclub they've been keeping an eye on and that has suspicions of being linked to the Jeon family. The profits aren’t out of the ordinary but for today’s circumstances, it is.   Seokjin adds, “All the money in Kim Taehyung’s account is gone.”   “A hundred million?! Are they tracing it?”   “They don’t know where it went, but we might be getting a sniff of it soon.”   Namjoon scoffs. “I knew it had something to do with Jeon Jungkook.”   “I’m starting to think Kim Taehyung is a red herring.” He meets his partner’s eyes. “A pawn in the grand scheme of things.”   He nods. “Something Jeon threw out to distract us, huh? He must know we’re closing in on them.”   “It doesn’t make sense otherwise. I keep looking into Taehyung and he’s a nobody.”   “They must’ve had internal issues and transferred the money to him and used him to throw us off his scent. Make it so damn obvious by going to the Venetian and having shopping sprees so we can’t ignore him.” Namjoon slams his fist against the desk. “That damn Jeon. We won’t be tricked!”   It’s not worth going after Taehyung — one shouldn’t capture the pawn when they could capture the king.   Yet, it still makes the detectives frustrated. They detect Jungkook’s play, but an entire night and day has been wasted going on a wild goose chase after someone who’s essentially a smoke screen. While they’re thankful they realized this before wasting any more time or investing weeks into Taehyung, they don’t know what to do anymore.   That is until Jung Hoseok comes running towards them. “We just got an anonymous tip.”   //   Jeon Jungkook stands at the docks. His hands are dug within his dress pants pockets and he faces the sea, allowing the cool mist to carve through his hair and recall simpler days when he was just a child innocent of the world he belonged to. His childhood memories only ever consist of his late mother and the nannies, never of his frightening father, a father who seemed absent from all things until he was fourteen and he groomed Jungkook to become what he is today.   As he waits patiently for the infamous man he’s only heard about, he relishes in all these thoughts of a time that was simpler. His men have circled the area, securing it from anything suspicious and Yoongi is standing by, perhaps more alert than Jungkook is.   Suddenly, a black sleek car pulls up. Its wheels dig into the sand and asphalt from the road, stopping harshly without a lurch forward. The windows are tinted and Jungkook raises his left hand up, stopping Yoongi from walking over. Jungkook allows this Kim Tae to approach him first and he listens to the noise of both sides of the door opening.   Then immediately, without time to breathe the ocean’s scent, the two spin around to Jungkook.   Their pistols are pointed right at him.   “Get down on the ground!” Namjoon is shouting, deep within his stomach. “Hands in the air where we can see them!”   “Hands in the air!” Seokjin screams over top of his partner. “Do not reach for anything!”   Yet with one flick of Yoongi’s wrist, his handgun from his back pocket comes to point at the two officers. He cocks the gun back, preparing to fire if need be, but no one shoots.   “You’re surrounded, Jeon Jungkook! Give up! You have nowhere to go!”   The mafia leader’s hands lift in the air lazily, right next to his head. He spins slowly around on his heel to face the undercover officers and the corner of his lip curls. “Really now?”   “The roads are barricaded off. Your men have been identified and are surrounded. We have our officers all over the docks.” Namjoon remains calm and composed. There wasn’t a single fisherman on the docks, all undercover police officers. “It’s over.”   This was the moment they had been working so hard for. The evidence they had compiled are simply missing a few puzzle pieces. If they get Jeon Jungkook and strike a deal with him, they could shut down a chain of underground businesses and corrupt politicians. Everything could come crumbling down.    The man’s brow cocks. “What are you arresting me for?”   “On suspicion of being involved in solicitation, extortion, and embezzlement.”   “And where’s the evidence?” he mocks them, singsonging the question. “None of it has my name on it. None of it connects to me.”   Seokjin smiles. “Yeah? Well, you’re under arrest for money laundering. The evidence is in the hundred million dollars!”   The police department received a tip, a deep voice that mumbled Jungkook’s name, a time and a location. They were hung up on, but tracing the call, it came from a phone booth. The CCTV footage showed a person in a dark sweater, face indistinguishable, more of a shadow than a human. Perhaps it was Taehyung betraying his mafia family, but that wasn’t important — the information was enough to devise a plan. It was the quickest and most hasty thing they’ve come up with in this investigation, but it worked.    They have Jeon Jungkook cornered.   As the muzzle of the gun is pointed at Jungkook, the tunnel of the barrel that seems endless, a chilling chuckle emits from the man’s throat. He knocks his head back and laughs, scaring the two officers. At the same time, more police cars pull up, siren deafening. They truly have him surrounded…   It hits Jungkook like a freight train — it was a trap.   This is the cost of wondering about Kim Tae from Taiwan. This was the repercussions of digging into his business in Macau, meddling in his work. Jungkook doesn’t know if he respects this Kim Tae or finds him truly fearsome.   “Curiosity kills the cat, doesn’t it?” His cold chuckles end and he shakes his head in regret, murmuring, “I should’ve never poked the bear with a stick.”   They’re confused, but there’s no time to react, much less to make sense of his words or respond. In a blink, Jungkook’s smirking again and with the muscle-memory that his father hammered into his skull, he reaches into his inner blazer pocket and has his own handgun.   His smirk morphs into an eerie grin and like a brat, he says, “You’ll have to take me dead.”   Someone shoots first. No one knows who or from what side, but then bullets begin spraying into the air. They take cover, glass of cars shattering, screams of ‘get down!’. It’s chaos and Jungkook’s men run over, protecting their boss with their own bodies, a full shootout erupting.   “This is your anchor Park Jimin, here to deliver some breaking news. Several miles south of Macau Port, several male suspects have opened fire against policemen. As you can see, shots are being fired as we speak—”   You’re watching the news with Taehyung through the window of a store, standing shoulder to shoulder on the street. Your jaw has dropped, mouth full of cotton and Taehyung’s eyes glimmering in equal amazement. It’s something out of a movie and you’re not sure you can believe this is actually happening — but considering you’re a fairy godmother, you guess anything’s possible.    “Do you think this was our doing?” you mumble out the corner of your mouth.   Taehyung grins. “Let’s just say it is. That would make one hell of a story.”   “Yeah, a story I don't think we’ll ever be able to tell anyone.” You look away from the screen towards him, blinking at how blazing he is and how the sun has kissed his skin, making him glow. “I think you might be a goddamn genius, Taehyung.”   “I know.” His grin widens and the sheer size of it might break his face. He looks so happy with your praise and you don’t care that you’re feeding his ego. “You’re only starting to realize?”   You scoff. “I knew you weren’t a complete idiot.”   “Psh. Your expectations for me are too low. I’m going to have to keep trying to impress you, aren’t I?”   “If you want to impress me, you’re going to have to step your game up, Kim.”   “Will do.” His arm slings around your shoulder as you both resume walking down the street.    The money was gone. None of you had it anymore so that problem was solved. The police should be off your tail and as for the mob...you hope they’re too scared of Taehyung to do anything. But you don’t know for sure. Regardless, the two of you will have to leave Macau as soon as possible for the sake of safety.   “What are your plans now?”   You hum, haven’t had time to think about it. “Probably go back home. Catch up on some sleep on the plane considering I’ve been awake for forty-eight hours now...and then, I’ll go crawling back to my job and apologize to my boss again. Assuming I haven’t gotten fired yet.”   “Why would you go back there? You hate it.”   “Where am I supposed to get money to live?”   “I still have the money that I legitimately won from the casino…”   “That’s yours.” You tease, “And you should keep it — it’s not like you have a job.”   He gasps in mock offense, hand over his heart. “I’ll have you know, I make a decent living selling my picture and drawing people on the street.” Taehyung pulls you closer to him, looking down at you. It’s too intimate and to outsiders, the pair of you appear more like a couple than friends. But there’s no time to linger in the way your heart is thundering in your chest when his smile falls and he becomes genuine.   “I’m serious. You shouldn’t go back to that place if it makes you so unhappy. You should….come with me instead.”   “Come with you? Where?”   “I still have my plane tickets. The ones you gave me,” he reminds you and points to the old bag slung across his abdomen. The two of you had ran to get your belongings in the hotel room and got out as quickly as possible. Everything you need is with you and when he puts it like that, he’s technically right. You could go anywhere in the world.   “I asked you for two not because I wanted to go back for a second time, but because I want you to come with me,” he admits as his cheeks begin to deepen in hue, embarrassed that he had thought about this before and many times at that. “I was even happier when you said you wanted to travel too and...I made a promise, right? I...I just want to keep it.”   You’re speechless. “Taehyung…”   “I have to leave anyways. I want to leave with you.” He stops walking and you halt with him. Taehyung is a scrambling, stuttering, nervous mess and you eat it all up. “I know it’s a lot to ask. You technically met me yesterday and now I’m asking you to travel the world with me and we don’t know each other that well—”   “I think we’ve gotten to know each other a lot in these past two days,” you refute. You can’t think of anyone else that’s been chased down by the mob and police with you. The experience definitely drove you closer together and you’re full-aware of his issues as he is aware of yours. Everything is out in the open. There’s nothing to hide and nothing you want to keep hidden from him.   Taehyung laughs and you add, “Too much actually.”   “Will you still come see the world with me?”   You never thought there would be a day where someone would ask you such a thing. It’s mind boggling to consider that you could’ve been with anyone. Anyone in this world that could’ve had unlimited wishes, that would’ve used you until the last moment, that would throw you away afterwards. But it was Taehyung of all people. You’re the one who’s lucky.    And you’re so glad that he’s your Cinderella.   “It would be my honour as your fairy godmother,” you mean it. Nothing excites you more. As long as you’re not chased by the police or the mob, you’re happy to go anywhere with him.   Taehyung’s smile almost makes his cheeks burst and he nods. “But before we go, there’s something I want to do.”   “You know we can’t stay here for long, right?”   “Yeah, but this will only take a second.” Taehyung’s body is facing you and his arm extends, palm opening and pointing towards the sky. You glance up at his face, trying to decipher his blank features, not knowing what he wants or if he wants you to hold his hand again. But what he says is not what you expect. “Give me your wand.”   You trust him enough at this point to hand it over. “You know you can’t do anything with it, right? I’m the only one that can use it.”   “Yeah, I know.” He holds the silver stick. It shimmers and shines against the light, glimmering as if sparkles are embedded into the surface. Taehyung grips your wand with both hands.   “What are you— Taehyung! No! You can’t break it! I tried—”   But the stick bends. And then suddenly it…   Snap.   Much to your horror, he announces it blankly, “I just broke it.”    “What the fuck?!” Your eyes are wide and your hands are curled around his wrist, trying to see the damage done. It’s snapped in half. And you can’t wrap your brain around it. It never even so much budged in your hands. It was concrete, unbending, unyielding. Yet, he snapped it as if it was an uncooked noodle. “How?!”   “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t hard. Maybe I got the power to do it cause I’m Cinderella.” His brows playfully wiggle, joking around, but you aren’t amused. You’re shocked.   “Why?”   “I don’t want you to feel like you’re my servant. I don’t want you to feel obligated towards me.” A shy smile spreads into his face and he lowers his arms, your grip on him loosened. “Happy ending? I’m already happy with you…”   You’re emotional, stunned to silence. But the words that croak out of your lips first is— “Wh-why are you so cheesy?”   His shy smile becomes another enormous grin. “You’re my fairy either way. I don’t need wishes.”   You let out a breathless scoff, walking away from him and trying to ignore the way a lump has formed in your throat, how your chest feels light and fluffy. He quickly catches up to your pace, synchronizing his steps with yours and he steals glances of your profile like he can’t get enough of you. “You’re paying for our taxi ride to the airport, right? Where are we going first?”   “Mumbai or Italy?” He laughs. “Your choice.”   He throws the wand into the nearby trash can, chucking it away and neither of you look back as you continue on your way down the street of Macau.   You’re still not sure what a happy ending entails, but you wonder if this is it — this contentment and bliss of being Taehyung’s fairy and princess.

[arcticdementor]

In the fall of 2008, America’s wealthiest companies were in a pickle. Short-selling hedge funds, smelling blood as the global economy cratered, loaded up with bets against finance stocks, pouring downward pressure on teetering, hyper-leveraged firms like Morgan Stanley and Citigroup. The free-market purists at the banks begged the government to stop the music, and when the S.E.C. complied with a ban on financial short sales, conventional wisdom let out a cheer.

"This will absolutely make a difference," economist Peter Cardillo told CNN. "Now, if there is any good news, shorts will have to cover.”

At the time, poor beleaguered banks were victims, while hedge funds betting them down as the economy circled the drain were seen as antisocial monsters. “They are like looters after a hurricane,” seethed Andrew Cuomo, then-Attorney General of New York State, who “promised to intensify investigations into short selling abuses.” Senator John McCain, in the home stretch of his eventual landslide loss to Barack Obama, added that S.E.C. chairman Christopher Cox had “betrayed the public’s trust” by allowing “speculators and hedge funds” to “turn our markets into a casino.”

Fast forward thirteen years. The day-trading followers of a two-million-subscriber Reddit forum called “wallstreetbets” somewhat randomly decide to keep short-sellers from laying waste to a brick-and-mortar retail video game company called GameStop, betting it up in defiance of the Street. Worth just $6 four months ago, the stock went from $18.36 on the afternoon of the Capitol riot, to $43.03 on the 21st two weeks later, to $147.98 this past Tuesday the 26th, to an incredible $347.51 at the close of the next day, January 27th.

The rally sent crushing losses at short-selling hedge funds like Melvin Capital, which was forced to close out its position at a cost of nearly $3 billion. Just like 2008, down-bettors got smashed, only this time, there were no quotes from economists celebrating the “good news” that shorts had to cover. Instead, polite society was united in its horror at the spectacle of amateur gamblers doing to hotshot finance professionals what those market pros routinely do to everyone else.

…

The episode prompted calls to regulate Reddit and, finally, halt action on the disputed stocks. As I write this, word has come out that platforms like Robinhood and TD Ameritrade are curbing trading in GameStop and several other companies, including Nokia and AMC Entertainment holdings.

Meaning: just like 2008, trading was shut down to save the hides of erstwhile high priests of “creative destruction.” Also just like 2008, there are calls for the government to investigate the people deemed responsible for unapproved market losses.

…

The only thing “dangerous” about a gang of Reddit investors blowing up hedge funds is that some of us reading about it might die of laughter. That bit about investigating this as a “pump and dump scheme” to push prices away from their “fundamental value” is particularly hilarious. What does the Washington Post think the entire stock market is, in the bailout age?

America’s banks just had maybe their best year ever, raking in $125 billion in underwriting fees at a time when the rest of the country is dealing with record unemployment, thanks entirely to massive Federal Reserve intervention that turned a crash into a boom. Who thinks the “fundamental value” of most stocks would be this high, absent the Fed’s Atlas-like support in the last year?

…

In other words, it was all well and good for investment banks and executives of phoney-baloney companies to gorge themselves on funhouse profits on a funhouse economy, but when amateurs decided to funnel just a bit of this clown show into their own pockets, finance pros wailed like the grave of Adam Smith had been danced upon. The worst was Morgan Stanley CEO James Gorman, who issued a somber warning that those behind the recent market frenzy are “in for a very rude awakening,” adding, “I don’t know if it is going to happen tomorrow, next week or in a month, but it will happen.”

This is the same James Gorman whose company just saw its 2020 fourth-quarter profits go up 51% versus the year before, with total revenues up 16% to $48.2 billion, matching almost exactly the 16% rise in the stock market last year. If you’re going to rake in $33 million as Gorman did last year captaining a firm that just siphoned off billions in essentially risk-free profits underwriting a never-ending bailout, should you really be worrying about someone else getting a “rude awakening”? There are 19 million people collecting unemployment who might be reading those profit numbers. Does this man know how to spell “pitchfork”?

GameStop has prompted more pearl-clutching than any news story in recent memory. Expert after grave-faced expert has marched on TV to tell Reddit traders that markets are complicated, this isn’t a game, and they wouldn’t be doing this, if they really understood how things work.

…

Furthermore, everybody “understands” what happened with GameStop. Unlike some other Wall Street stories, this one isn’t complicated. The entire tale, in a nutshell, goes like this. One group of gamblers announced, “Fuck you!” Another group announced back: “No, fuck YOU!”

That’s it. Or, as one market analyst put it to me this morning, “A bunch of guys made a bet, got killed, then doubled and tripled down and got killed even more.”

Regarding improprieties, leaving aside that the Redditors were doing exactly what billion-dollar hedge funds do every day — colluding to move a stock for fun and profit — the notion that this should be the subject of a federal investigation is preposterous.

…

While it isn’t a complicated story, some of the awesome humor of GameStop is in the mechanics.

Unlike betting on a stock to go up (i.e. betting “long”), where you can only lose as much as you invest, the losses in shorting can be infinite. This adds a potential extra layer of Schadenfreude to the plight of the happy hedge fund pirate who might have borrowed gazillions of GameStop shares at five or ten hoping to tank the firm, only to go in pucker mode as Internet hordes drive the cost of the trade to ten, twenty, fifty times their original investment.

Short-sellers bet by borrowing shares from so-called prime brokers (Goldman, Sachs and JP Morgan Chase are among the biggest), selling them, and waiting for the price to drop, at which point they buy them back on the open market at the lower price and return them. The commonly understood rub is that prime brokers don’t always really procure those original borrowed shares, and often give out more “locates” than they should, putting more shares in circulation than actually exist (as in this case). GameStop is exposing this systematic plundering of firms using phantom shares and locates, by groups of actors who now have the gall to complain that they’re the victims of a “get rich quick” scheme.

…

The home of James “rude awakening” Gorman, Morgan Stanley, got its bank holding company license (and the lifesaving Fed credit lines that came with it) late on a Sunday night in September, 2008, because the firm couldn’t have opened its doors without it the next Monday morning. They’d have been blown to bits, by “fundamentals.” Instead, they got rescued, given a forever pass to keep feeding at the neck of society while claiming, falsely, to be not-failures and not-welfare recipients, better somehow than the “dumb money” they think should be theirs alone to manage.

The rank selectivity of this makes any moral argument against the GameStop revolt moot. There’s no legitimate cause here, just an assertion of exclusive rights to plunder, which will doubtless be exercised now in the form of bans, investigations, and increased barriers to market entry. Probably also, in the political spirit of our times, there will some form of speech crackdown on platforms like Reddit, to protect us from the mob.

About that: there are many making hay of a description found on a Subreddit, to the effect that wallstreetbets is “like 4Chan found a Bloomberg terminal.” A columnist at the Guardian, settling into the rhetorical line sure to find acceptance among the wine-and-MSNBC crowd, admitted to finding the rampaging-id dynamic on 4chan funny as a young person, but strange now to “witness a brief and regretful adolescent occupation re-emerge as a prominent cultural force.” The author wanted to admit to laughing at this “intentionally senseless” behavior, but ultimately decried the “transgressive attitudes” of the Redditors.

This is where society will ultimately come down, of course, uniting to denounce $GME as financial Trumpism, even though it actually comes closer to being an updated and superior version of Occupy Wall Street. It’s likely not any evil manipulation scheme, but ordinary people acting — out of self-interest, but also out of sheer enthusiasm for one of the best reasons to do just about anything, because you can — on a few simple, powerful observations.

They’ve seen first that our markets are basically fake, set up to artificially accelerate the wealth divide, and not in their favor. Secondly they see that the stock market, like the ballot box, remains one of the only places where sheer numbers still matter more than capital or connections. And they’re piling on, and it’s delicious, not so much because they’re right, but because the people running for cover are so wrong, and still can’t admit it.

Buy the ticket, take the ride, nitwits. If you earned anything, it’s this.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

ok-yikes replied to your post: diefordarkseid replied to your post: ...

ok but like thank u sm for the link i’ve been vaguely following your winston/billions content and ive been trying to find the context without having to watch the whole thing lmao so now i can fully understand ur analysis and art that i already enjoy!!

oh first of aw!!!! that’s such a compliment lol ty and yes s/o to @winstonthequant for posting that compilation for 5.5k+ people to partake in, it’s super useful

yeah we Jest that all anyone needs to know to understand the Spirit Of Wynnstanning is to have seen those scenes with winston and taylor from kompenso, ep 3x11 lol.....i mean it’s partially a joke but it’s also partially true, that’s pretty much the Cause of the group of us going “oh my god” and becoming Invested in all of this. winnie n tay baby.......their Dynamique...they are way too good Ugh

and yeah the Broadest Of Strokes of this series overall is that the Central Theme is "insufferable bastard hedge fund ceo damian lewis [aka axe] man Versus insufferable bastard attorney general paul giamatti man [aka chuck],” just these corrupt assholes having a back and forth slapfight power struggle every season. nobody cares what happens in season 1 but taylor is introduced at the start of season 2 as a just-out-of-undergrad intern at axe’s hedge fund. turns out they’re amazing at hedge funding (they have some goddamn sense and strategy and awareness, whereas axe is 100% beholden to the whims of his own Delicate Temper and Ego and is a continually self-sabotaging idiot, nbd) and by season 3, while axe is doing a bit of jail time over insider trading (see: previous parenthetical) taylor is left effectively in charge of axe’s hedge fund, which btw is called axe capital

Our Beloved Quant Winston enters the picture 3 eps into this situation, where taylor is attempting to start a quant team at axe cap, hence interviewing him, then only known as “quant kid 2″ in the credits. [not-that-informed explanation of What Is A Quant: where the Traditional Financial Analysts in a hedge fund try to make profitable stonk trades just via like, reacting to The News and other publically available info / whipping up Strategies / intuiting shit and making judgment calls or whatever the hell they do, a Quantitative Analyst (a more recent development in the high finance world) is taking a more mathematical approach to the whole legal gambling operation which is The Stock Market and might, as winston does, use An Algorithm to analyze finance info and make trades in response. is the vague idea here] Quant Kid 2 was not Originally meant to ever reappear, hence him just messing up the interview and getting sent off after like 30 seconds, but they wrote him in further when William Roland showed up and actually filmed the scene. 

when “i’m a shitty bastard driven by my shitty ego and will self-sabotage if my Pride asks for it on a whim” axe shows back up, tl;dr, he spends the rest of s3 being terrible and unappreciative to taylor, who you might imagine is Threatening That Delicate Ego of his by capably taking care of his hedge fund while he was indisposed. for example, he needlessly wrecks taylor’s relationship with a guy they were having a nice time dating (and will, we’re pretty sure, talk to again in s5ep2!! hoorayy) and does basically the opposite of apologizing, sweeps taylor’s Quant Project into the trash, gets mad at them for failing to land a certain investor which he said they did on purpose which idk they May Have lol i think this was later in the season, and won’t give them the raise they want, and that’s just A Few of the bullet points in this topic. but oops, turns out that taylor has been secretly taking steps to put together their own entirely separate hedge fund! which is where winston comes back in, aka their meeting him in that empty classroom only to summon him to a random basement. that algorithm he ends up creating for them (which he’d Assumed was for axe cap purposes) was used by taylor to entice a Big Investor at axe cap to invest in their own hedge fund, taylor mason capital, which exists by the end of season 3, which obviously axe is not happy about and of course it’s a whole ~betrayal~ even though he did it to himself but no, he decides taylor is his Nemesis, b/c in so many ways he is a dumbass. god

season 4 has winston as taylor’s Main Quant (the one time we hear his name spoken aloud is taylor saying “winston and the quant team). taylor spends the season dealing with all the problems of having a Brand New Hedge Fund and having a Well Established Hedge Fund With An Asshole At The Helm constantly trying to sabotage their fund, which we also call tmc / mase cap for short, just for reference lmao, the latter being how they shorten it in the show’s actual dialogue. the Front Running mentioned in that one clip was an instance of such sabotage. and by the time winston shows up 5 eps later, that Fracking Subplot (lmao...this fucking show) was about taylor being reeeeal sick of axe cap’s sabotage b/c they kinda made it personal, and thus spending the whole episode Completely playing axe for a fool, which was kinda fun, b/c it’s not that hard and he has it coming. it gets a little involved with what’s going on in ep 4x11 with the bonuses lmfao but it's nbd, just know that winston was right, we went frantic about him being Bullied and are still indignant about it, and taylor talking to Everyone in that 4x12 clip does seem to address what winston had said, compare and contrast 4 yourselves, even if this apparently went totally over the heads of any Regular Billions Viewers lmao. and then in 4x12 A Lot Happens b/c it’s the finale but axe manages to self-sabotage himself in a way that does a lot of damage for mase cap though, and axe thinks that he’s successfully blackmailed taylor into returning to axe cap with mase cap as a Supposedly Temporary subsidiary of axe cap, which sucks, but taylor is not as blackmailed as he thinks, which is a secret, Drama and Twists and Shifting / Dubious Loyalties and Stonks are just constant themes here and who cares. we are here for the quant, who is there with taylor

We Have Many Ideas / wise concepts and headcanons, seeing as canon is a nightmare and there’s not That much material re: winston and precious few details about him / he spends sooo much time offscreen and unmentioned and it leaves us plenty of blanks to fill in. for example, maybe u noticed we think he should kiss taylor and also get railed by them, there are extensive ideas about that relationship wherein we happily ignore Finance. also, there is an unusually kind and reasonable analyst over at axe cap named ben kim who we also think should kiss winston, so yeah That idea is sure around as well lol, they have enough Parallels and complementary Similarities and Contrasts and also just like, a normal nice person is a rarity on this show, so ben does Not have a world of competition in our [list of people who’d be Okay to kiss winston, b/c someone should, b/c he deserves that cuz we love him]

yeah that’s my Quick Basic Context summary lmao we hate it here but also we have fun, and really at any time (extending this to anyone lol) feel free to Send An Ask about anything at all b/c i am Not annoyed by random / unprompted asks from anybody, i love interaction! who knows if i’ll answer promptly (for example: sorry @ the person who’s asked for deh/bmc hcs who i havent answered yet lol) but yeah. it’s totally nice that you were already interested even without any Context lmao like. i mean yeah basically the joke still stands that the only context u truly need is that one scene from Kompenso but. yeah #Stonks

[latina4bangtan]

Let’s Make a Deal Pt. 2

Summary: (Y/N) has been told about the deal that her father has made but will she accept it after finding out the conditions....or even better who she will be making a deal with? 

Warnings: Violence, Gang referenceS, Adult Language, eventual (m) rated chapters and I’ll add as I go if necessary

Genres: Angst, eventual smut & fluff

Word count: 1341

Namjoon x latina

Namjoon x reader

All you could do was sit there and try to think and process what had just been said.You had heard the word but no matter what you just couldn’t believe it.

Marriage.

How could they do this.

Minutes passed....maybe even hours...though at this second you didn’t care.

How could they?

Every time this phrase crossed your mind your anger grew with it.

Who makes this kind of deal. Your parents that’s who.

Though you were mad at your parents  more than anything all you could do was think ....why me.

You had been trying your best to keep yourself together but this was not fair. Ok you knew that sounded bratty but why..why...why..why. You took on the second job you tried helping but this was too much.

“We’re meeting with him tomorrow to go over everything,” was the only thing you remember your mom saying before both of your parents left the room.

As the door closed behind them you felt all your self control release.

Tomorrow was going to change everything you ever knew.

(Next day)

“Well I guess this place is big enough right.”

You had honestly been zoned out all the way to the home where you were to meet your fake Mr. Forever....Kim Namjoon or as many knew him RM.

Both of your parents didn’t try to talk to you during the car ride. Granted they wouldn’t have gotten a response out of you anyways.

Since last night you refused to speak to them or even be in the same room as them if you were being honest.

You understood that they saw this as the only way out and they believed that this was the only solution but you were still beyond pissed off but more than anything you were hurt.

Hurt by the decisions that had been negatively effecting your life. To be honest though more than anything it hurt knowing that these decisions weren’t yours to begin with.

How is it that your dad was the one who caused all of these issues but yet here you were being used to fix everything.

“Mr. Kim is ready for you. I’ll take you to his office” one of the maids had said to you and your parents as you had entered the home.

“Well fuck me right.”

As your parents were about to step forward to follow the maid to the office with you they were stopped.

“Actually Mr. Kim would like to speak with (Y/N) alone.”

“Greeeeeeaaaaatttt this only gets better and better.”

You simply nod and follow her until you’re facing the door to the office.

“Well here goes nothing I guess. It’s not like I’m allowed to say no.” You said to yourself.

And then you do it. YOU KNOCK ON THE DOOR.

“Come in”

You step through the door only to feel your heart drop out your ass.

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

It’s the obnoxious dude from the bus. Your fake fiancé is the guy you almost tackled yesterday. Is this a joke? It has to be. Why would he want to marry you?

“I see you’re a little shocked. I mean I can understand considering this isn’t our first meeting and it’s not like you made an amazing first impression yesterday. “ He said as he walked towards you.

“Well apparently I made some type of impression on you considering the circumstances we’re currently in wouldn’t you say....amigo” You snap at him.

“Im not your amigo....I’m your fiancé.”

“Yes without even asking would you look at that your manners seem to have stayed the same.”

He narrowed his eyes at you obviously becoming annoyed as he now stood in front of you.

Once again though you didn’t care. Why should you? He was forcing you into an arranged marriage to get your family out of a very very bad situation.  His feelings really didn’t mean much to you.

“I see your attitude is also the same.”

“What do you expect? You can’t think I’m happy about this.”

“Im just giving your family a way out that works for everyone. So you can take it or leave it no ones making you do anything it’s simply a deal. Whether you take it or not I’ll leave up to you....not your parents.”

So he was going to let you decide? Definitely didn’t see this one coming. Something told you that it couldn’t be that easy.

“Before you decide though let me tell you what’s going to happen if you don’t take it. 1st your father is going to be immediately targeted by Samuel and his gang for stealing from their operation. You think the beating he got was yesterday was bad....that was nothing he’d be lucky if they let him live which I doubt. 2nd his debt is gonna fall on your mom and when she can’t pay it they will come after her or even worse your sisters.”

You wanted to be calm and say it wasn’t true and that you would figure it out. That you guys would be fine without his help but you knew that he wasn’t lying. The more you tried to belittle the situation the worse it was going to get.

“......and what happens if decide to take your deal?”

“In regards to your family I would pay off your fathers debt and relocate your parents to a new home. They would be safe and I promise that they will lead a comfortable lifestyle. Your sisters I think it’s best to keep them in the dark as much as possible so they will stay put but will be given security to make sure they are safe. And obviously you will stay with me so you will not need to worry about your own safety.“

“Why are you doing this?”

“Im trying to grow in my own investments.......If I’m married I won’t have to worry about someone trying to sneak into my bed trying to sabotage my work. I need someone who I know doesn’t have connections to this world. It also looks good to investors to be married. To make it simple you need me as much as I need you.”

“Granted there are obviously other conditions in regards to the marriage aspect of our deal.” He continued

“Such as? You might as well tell me everything at once.”

“Alright. Well it would be best to get married as soon as possible so I’m going to say let’s go ahead and plan for next week.”

“NEXT WEEK!”

Namjoon didn’t pay any mind to your sudden outburst and continued on.

“Anyways afterwards we’ll plan to head back to Seoul as that is where I mainly reside. You will be my wife so you also will be living with me. As my wife you will attend parties, luncheons, you know normal wife things I suppose.”

Sooo many thoughts were running through your head that you thought at any moment it was going to become too much and you were going to black out.  

He wants you to go to Seoul! First of all you’ve never stepped foot out of the US other than to go to Mexico and now you’re being asked to live in Korea. A country where you didn’t even know the language.

Also could you really be someone’s wife? Even better question was could you be HIS wife knowing the kind of work he was in? You didn’t know.

“So what do you say do we have a deal?” He asked as he extended his hand to you.

Feeling as though you were drowning with all this information you didn’t know what to do.

All you could think about was your family. Yes you were in this mess without your consent but regardless you loved all of them and you knew that you would do anything for them. So with that you turned to Namjoon.

“Just promise me they stay safe and I’ll keep my part.”

With that you extended your hand into his.

Author’s Note: Here’s part 2 sorry it took me a minute to post this. Lol i posted it earlier but felt as though it was missing something so reposted it. Also I just read where if you have a link in your writing it doesn’t come up in the search. I went ahead and removed the pt 1 link but it is attached to my masterlist. Please let me know what you think any feedback is greatly appreciated :) 

[wandaluvstacos]

Chapter 19 of Good Investment is now up on my Patreon!

Good Investment is available at the $5/month tier. People who pledge $5 a month have access to not only Good Investment but The Sponsors series (ongoing), Pretty Things (complete), May the Blood Run Pure (complete), and Kept Man (complete), along with the $1/month tier books, the Reflections trilogy (ongoing) and The Halfwife (ongoing).

Adri Schvaneveldt has always felt split between two worlds. In one world, they are the adopted child of a large and conservative Mormon family. In another, she is the CEO of a burgeoning fashion empire that pushes boundaries. But in order to be the latter, Adri first has to find the funding. After gaining a hefty following as a social media influencer/model, Adri has the potential customers– if they can get a reliable production model pounded out. And that means a bit of groveling at the feet of investors, most of who have never even heard the term “non-binary”.

But Adri lucks out with Gideon Snow, whose youth and open mind bring much needed funds to make Adri’s dream of diverse, accessible fashion a reality. Of course, lifting a newborn company to its feet is no small task, and late nights drive Adri to occasional stays at Gideon’s nearby house, where their relationship begins stretching beyond business. Adri knows they can’t put an entire business venture at risk for the turbulent whims of their heart. But reason doesn’t always win out.

Excerpt:

Gideon decided to check his phone for the first time since last night, and he was shocked to find a text from Adri sent just an hour ago.

Happy Halloween! Hope you’re doing well!

This text was followed by a picture of Adri standing in a hallway and looking over her shoulder at the camera, wearing a pleather leotard, fishnets, stilettos, and a furry cat tail and ears. She’d drawn whiskers on her face, as well as a cat nose.

“What is it?” Maxim asked as he attempted to light a cigarette.

Gideon’s throat felt very dry as he set the phone down. “I forgot it was Halloween.”

“You want to dress up? We can go buy some candy.”

“No, it’s just…” Gideon resisted the urge to look at the photo again. Was she trying to fuck with him? Maybe she was drunk. Clearly she was at some kind of party.

Maxim waved a hand. “Let me see the phone.”

Gideon decided against resistance and gave it to him. Maxim choked a little on his cigarette, then gave Gideon a decidedly approving look.

“Who is this girl?”

“Someone who firmly told me we need to stay friends.” Should Gideon correct him? She’s not a girl, she’s nonbinary. He probably might have bothered to clarify if he considered Maxim a good friend, but it was likely they’d never see each other again after this, and he had no clue what Maxim thought about anything outside of drugs and where to get them. Dutch people were generally open minded about queer people and sex, especially people who lived in Amsterdam, but Gideon was exhausted from last night and didn’t want to turn it into a thing.

It definitely wasn’t because he preferred people assume he was straight.

“Ah, so she likes to play games.”

“I don’t think so. I think she’s just drunk.” Hopefully. Adri wasn’t much of a drinker, but he preferred to think she was drunk than she was purposely trying to toy with him. That leotard was going to show up in a variety of fantasies in the coming weeks.

“She’s very cute.”

“She’s a model.”

“And you like her?”

“Yeah.” Best to just leave it at that.

“Hmm. Well. Many women like to be chased.”

“I’m not into that sort of thing. I like easy catches.”

Maxim chuckled. “And maybe that is why you are thirty-seven and still single, yeah?”

Gideon tilted his head and raised his coffee cup in acknowledgement. “Maybe.”

[mmecolbert]

What type of plot lines would you have put in season 7 of Gilmore Girls to improve it?

Oooh, great question! I mean, on a macro scale I was okay with season 7. I getLorelai going to Chris after the Luke breakup. I get Rory starting to worryabout her career future. I get Luke getting more involved in April’s life. It’sthe execution that really bothered me.

In Partings, Lorelai said that she’s never really lovedChris or wanted to marry him. So her going all in with Chris doesn’t make muchsense to me. I would have preferred to see her full-on rebounding with Chris.We’d see the dynamic between them we’ve always seen: Chris loves Lorelai andwill take her any way he can and Lorerai using him when she’s lonely or runningaway from something. Them trying a relationship make sense, but I’d have likedseeing why it is that they can’t ultimately work out: they both revert to theirteenage selves. So maybe Chris, in doing something spontaneous for Lorelai, inadvertentlymesses up with her work somehow and she ends up missing an important meeting orduty. Or the two of them have lots of fun, but Chris doesn’t show up when heneeds to and Lorelai doesn’t want to commit to him. Them ultimately realizingthat Chris will never get “all of Lorelai” and Lorelai realizing that she usesChris (unfairly) as an emotional crutch, and them agreeing that—despite theirconnection—now that Rory is grown, they need to maybe not have each other intheir lives (so that the temptation isn’t there)… that I would have enjoyedbetter than that marriage/divorce bs.

I’d have liked to see more conflict between Rory and Lorelaiover her sleeping and rebounding with Chris. In the later seasons it wasestablished that Rory did not want Chris with Lorelai. She wanted him to stayaway. So her only once mentioning to Lorelai to “be careful” with Chris andthen just being perfectly happy with the CL relationship bothered me. Given howmuch Lorelai disapproves of Rory’s boyfriends and Rory having wanted herparents together in the early seasons, a switch in dynamic where Rory is openlycriticizing Lorelai’s romantic choice in Chris would have been cool.

Instead of that stupid custody story line, I’d have liked tosee Luke get overly invested in April’s life. In the same way that Lorelaioften used Rory as an emotional crutch and couldn’t form good relationshipswith partners because of Rory, I’d have liked to see Luke make April his wholeworld and then realize that this isn’t healthy. Luke, more or less, chose Aprilover Lorelai in S6, and then he kept the “two worlds” separate. Now that oneworld (Lorelai) was gone, he’d overcompensate with April and then see thefallout of that. April’s a teen and she doesn’t really need Luke that much. Hershowing or telling him that she doesn’t need him to the extent that he’d beusing her to compensate for not having Lorelai in his life would have beeninteresting. I’d have liked Luke to realize that he’d been a dick to Lorelai inS6 and realize that him “needing time” and essentially quarantining Lorelai ina corner of his life was fucking stupid. I’d have liked to see Luke apologizeto Lorelai and woo her in some way to get her back. Actually, I really, reallywould have liked to see Luke actively try to get Lorelai back instead of mopingand then waiting for Lorelai to forget him being a dick and take him back afterher marriage to Chris didn’t work out.

I’d have liked for Rory to face more rejection. The girlbarely worked a job her whole life, and when she did it had been handed to her.I didn’t even buy her getting the Obama trail gig (mainly because she’d nevereven been interested in political journalism). While the NYT rejection wasnice, I’d have liked for her to face more career-related challenges and realizethat the only way she’ll be able to get a job she wants is through herconnections to Logan and her grandparents’ world. It would have beeninteresting for me to see Rory maybe get the job of her dreams, but not in the“honest” and “independent” way that she wanted. Rory’s whole life has been theresult of privilege and connections, and her successes have often been murkilymixed with her being handed things by others, so her acknowledging that wouldhave been cool. How interesting would it be if Rory got her dream reporter job,but, say at The Guardian (an NYT competitor a la Harvard vs Yale) in London,thanks to Logan? It would be a bittersweet ending for her to get the job andthe guy, but always wonder if she really earned it through her talents or herprivilege. That, to me, has always been Rory’s struggle in a nutshell. Plus,her moving far away would have been the final emancipation from Lorelai.

The whole Logan S7 storyline bothered me on every level. Inever saw Logan as leaving the family business and becoming some kind ofZuckerberg-esque Palo Alto new media creator or investor or whatever the fuckhe became. I think it would have been much more interesting if Logan began tothrive at the paper in London, proving Mitchum right (that Logan needed to goto London to mature and that he was made to someday run the family business).I’d have liked to see Logan realize that 1) he really is born to do thisbecause he’s a great writer and knows the business well 2) Mitchum was—atleast partially—right in that Logan needed to mature by going to London 3)Logan can follow in Mitchum’s career footsteps without “becoming” Mitchum orliving his life exactly like Mitchum. Because to me, Logan’s big issue wasnever about the family business, but that it was the only career choice that herealistically had, as well as his fear that he’d become Mitchum and have tolive the Huntzberger-approved life. Maybe if Logan stayed in London, he’dbecome mature enough to accept and “choose” to stay in the family business, butdo it his own way and on his own terms. In that way I think he’d have followedthe new-generation-Sulzberger-at-the-NYT comparison that ASP had been making inS5 and 6.

Instead of making Sookie pregnant with that psychoticJackson-didn’t-actually-get-a-vasectomy story line, couldn’t they just haveSookie injure herself and stay on bedrest? Lorelai then having to do more work andher relationship with Chris making Lorelai less on top of things would haveworked, I think.

And um…Lane should have never gotten pregnant and gotten adivorce from Zach ASAP. I would have been happy with literally any S7 story arcfor Lane so long as those two things happened.

[andrewdburton]

Socially Responsible Investing: Is It Also More Profitable?

Since the Dawn of Mustachianism in 2011, the same question has come up over and over again:

“MMM, I see your point that index fund investing is the best option. But when you buy the index, you’re getting oil companies, factory farm slaughterhouses and a million other dirty stories.

How can I get the benefits of investing for early retirement without contributing to the decline of humanity?”

And in these nine years since then, the movement towards socially responsible investing has only grown. Public pension funds have started to “divest” from oil company stocks, and various social issues like human rights, child labor, climate change or corporate corruption have bubbled to the surface at different times.

And all of this has led to the exploding new field of Socially Responsible Investing (SRI), and a growing array of new ways to do it.

So it seems that this is not just a passing trend – people just might be starting to care a bit more. And since capitalism is just an expression of human behavior, the nature of capitalism itself may be starting to change.

This leads us naturally to the question:

What can I do with my money to help fix the world? And even better, is there a way I can make money in the process of fixing it?

The answer is a good, solid “Probably.”

As long as you don’t get too hung up on getting every last detail perfect, because just like real life, investing is a haphazard and approximate and unpredictable thing. But by understanding the big picture, you can make slightly better decisions on average, which lead to slightly better results. And slightly better results, stacked up consistently over time, can lead to a much better life, or even a much better world.

This is true in all of the main areas we care about – personal wealth, fitness and health, even relationships and happiness. And while your money and investments are certainly not the most important thing in life, they are still worthy of a bit of easy and effective optimization.

So anyway, the first thing to understand with SRI is, “what problem am I trying to solve?”

The answer is, “You are trying to make your investing (especially index fund investing) have a better impact on the world.”

On its own, index fund investing is ridiculously simple. You just get an account at any brokerage like Vanguard, Etrade, Schwab or whatever, and dump all your money into one exchange-traded fund: VTI.

When you do this, you are buying a stake in 3500 companies at once(!), which is both impressive and overwhelming. How do you even know what you are holding?

Well, this is all public information, and easily available with a quick Google search. For example, here’s a list of the top 90 holdings in VTI (click for larger):

Top 90 holdings in Vanguard’s VTI Exchange Traded Fund

As you can see, the biggest chunk of money is allocated to today’s tech darlings, because this index fund is weighted according to market value, and these are the most valuable companies in the US today.

Through a convenient coincidence, the total value of the VTI fund happens to be just under $1 trillion dollars, which means you can just throw a decimal point after the ten billions digit of market value to get a percentage. In other words, about 4.7% of your money will go towards Apple stock, 4.4 towards Microsoft, and so on. Together, these top 90 companies are worth more than the remaining 3,540 companies combined, so these are what really drive your retirement account.

And within this list, you will see some of the usual suspects: Exxon and Chevron (oil), Philip Morris (tobacco), Raytheon and Lockheed (bombs), and so on.

But what about the less-usual suspects? For example, I happen to think that sugar, and especially sugar-packed beverages like Coke, is the biggest killer in the developed world – a major contributor to 2 million of the 2.8 million deaths each year in the US alone. Should I exclude that from my portfolio too?

And what about drug and insurance companies – aren’t they behind the political stalemate and high costs of the US healthcare system? Comcast funded some election disinformation campaigns here in my home town in the early 2010s, should I exclude them too? And if you’re part of a religion that is against charging interest on loans, or in favor of pasta and Pirate costumes, or against a spherical Earth, or any number of additional ornate rules, you may have still more preferences.

The higher your desire for perfection, the more difficult this exercise will become. However, if you are like me and you just want to get most of the desired result with minimal effort, you might simply have a look at the Vanguard fund called ESGV.

ESG stands for “Environmental, Social and Governance”, and in practice it just means “We have tried to avoid some of the shittier companies according to some fairly simple rules.”

And the result is this:

Vanguard’s ESGV Exchange traded fund (ETF) – top 90 holdings

The first thing you’ll notice is that it’s almost the same. In fact, the top five holdings – Apple, Microsoft, Amazon, Facebook, Alphabet (Google) and Netflix not far behind, collectively referred to as the FAANG stocks – are completely unchanged – and this means that there will be plenty of correlation between these funds.

It’s also the reason that the stock market as a whole has recovered so quickly from this COVID-era recession: small businesses like restaurants and hair salons have been destroyed by the shutdowns, but big companies that benefit from people staying at home and using computers and phones are making more money than ever. The stock market isn’t the whole economy, it’s just the publicly traded companies, which are the big ones.

But let’s look at the biggest differences between the normal index fund versus the social version.

The following large companies listed on the left are missing in the ESGV fund, in order of size. And to make up the difference, the stake in the companies on the right have been boosted up to take their place in your portfolio.

Main differences between VTI and ESGV (source: etfrc)

The omission of Berkshire Hathaway was a bit of a shocker, as it is run with solid ethical principles by Warren Buffet, one of the worlds most generous philanthropists. And in fact the modern day nerd-saint Bill Gates is on the Berkshire board of directors, another person whose work I follow and respect greatly.

(side note: Apparently the company fails on the “independent governance” category. And Buffet disputes this category, but in his characteristic way has decided to say, “Fuck it, I’ma just keep doing my own thing with my half-trillion dollar empire over here and you can have fun with your little committee” – I’m paraphrasing a bit but he totally did say that.)

Furthermore, both funds hold the factory meat king Tyson foods, while neither holds Roundup-happy Monsanto, because it was bought by the German conglomerate Bayer AG a while back. Nextera is a giant electric utility in the Southeastern US that claims to be the world’s largest generator of renewable energy. Some do-gooders are against nuclear power, while others (including me) think it’s the Bee’s Knees and we should keep advancing it. And all this just goes to show how nobody will agree 100% on what makes a good socially responsible fund.

But What About The Performance?

In the past, some investors were nervous about giving up oil companies in their portfolio, because while it was a dirty substance, it was also what made the world go round – which meant it was a cash cow.

Now, however, oil is on its way out as renewable energy and battery storage have crossed the cost parity threshold – meaning it’s cheaper to make power (and vehicles) that don’t use oil. In its place, technology is the new cash cow, and tech is heavily represented in the ESG funds. The result:

Traditional index fund (VTI) vs Socially Responsible equivalent (ESGV)

As you can see, the performance has been similar but the ESG fund has done significantly better in the (admittedly short) time since it was introduced at Vanguard.

Of course, we have no idea if this will continue, but the point is that at least our thesis is not a ridiculous one – environmentally sustainable companies do have an advantage, if the world gradually starts to care more about these things. And if you look at the share price of Tesla and other companies that surround it in electric transportation and energy storage, you will see that there are many trillions of dollars already lining up to benefit from this transition. And the very presence of so much investment money creates a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Tesla is now building or expanding five of the world’s largest factories on three continents simultaneously.

So What Should You Do? (and what I do myself)

My latest home-brewed ebike project – this one can reach 42MPH / 67km/hr!

First of all, it helps to remember a fundamental piece of economics: your spending dollars will probably have a much bigger impact than your investment dollars. This is because you are sending a direct message to the world rather than an indirect one:

When you buy a new gasoline-powered Subaru (or a tank of gas for your existing guzzler) or a steak at the grocery store, or a plane ticket, you are telling those company directly that consumers want more of these products, so they will produce more of them immediately.

When you buy shares in Exxon, you are only subtly raising the demand for those shares, which raises the average price, making it ever-so-slightly easier for Exxon to maybe issue more shares in the future. In other words, you are making it easier for them to access capital. But capital is only useful if there is demand for their products. And with oil there is a nearly constant surplus, which is why OPEC and other cartels need to work together to artificially restrict supply, just to keep prices up.

Plus, as a shareholder you are theoretically eligible to place votes and influence the future direction of companies – even companies that you don’t like. If you look up the field of “shareholder activism”, you’ll see this is a tradition that goes way back.

So I have tried to take a few simple steps on the consumer side myself, and I find it quite satisfying: Insulating the shit out of all of my properties, building a DIY solar electric array on one of them, and buying one electric car so far to eliminate local gas burning. And a few electric bikes including a super fast one I made myself.

Each one of these steps has provided a very high economic return, percentage-wise, but that still leaves a lot of money to account for, which brings us back to stock investing.

As someone who loves simplicity, I have done this:

Bought almost entirely VTI (or similar Vanguard funds) from 2000-2015

Started experimenting with Betterment in 2015, liked it, and have been adding a percentage of my ongoing savings to that account to that since then. (Note that Betterment now also offers a socially responsible portfolio option.)

Switched the dividend re-investing of my old Vanguard VTI over to Vanguard ESGV, to avoid “wash sales” in making the most of Betterment’s tax loss harvesting feature.

Bought some shares of Berkshire Hathaway separately, and also make a few sentimental investments in local businesses, including the MMM HQ Coworking space.

But you could choose to be more hardcore in your ESG/SRI investing:

Buy your own basket of stocks based on the index, but with different weighting based on your own values

Spend more money on other things that generate or save money (a bigger solar array on your house, better insulation, electric car, an ebike to reduce car trips, etc.)

Invest in local businesses of your choice, rental real estate, community solar projects, or other things which generate passive income – publicly traded stocks are just one of many ways to fund an early retirement!

Like most areas of life, investing is not something you have to do perfectly in order to succeed – even socially responsible investing. If you apply the 80/20 rule to get the big picture right, you have probably found the Sweet Spot and you can move on to the next area of life to optimize.

In the Comments: What is your own investment strategy? Have you thought at all about this ESG / SRI stuff? Did this article bring anything new to the table?

from Finance https://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2020/08/22/socially-responsible-investing/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[jewrocker]

Once Upon a Time in Computerland: A Tale of Grit, Determination, and 10MB Hard Drives

The Personal Computer.  Not since the advent of the automobile has there been such a game changing, life altering experience on a global scale.  And, if you think about it, we’re still in the early stages when it comes to discovering just how much potential these amazing machines have when it comes to shaping/influencing our lives, the lives of our kids, our kids’ kids, etc. etc.

So, when you think about a couple of guys who were in the exact right place at the exact right time, guys who stood at the forefront of the next industrial revolution, it stands to reason you’d think they, like many others who were right where they were at that moment in time, were poised to make a killing.  For all intents and purposes, they were, and they should have.  But, that’s not what happened.  

The names “Rich Fagin” and “Les Rogoff” are nowhere near as recognizable as “Bill Gates,” “Steve Jobs,” or even a  Larry Ellison (look it up). 

Combine a few questionable moves with a bit of bad luck and a little impulsive investing, and Voila!  Instead of your mansion on the hill in South Beach, and a summer home in Amagansett, you’re in a two bedroom condo in a retirement village in Delray Beach.  But, fuck it.  As my dad says, “It was one heck of a ride.”

THE PLUNGE

If this were a screenplay, it would start something like, 

FADE IN:

A sledgehammer SHATTERS the darkness.  Bits of flimsy plaster and sheet rock fly in all directions.  A dusty beam of light pierces through the gaping hole in the wall, revealing several pairs of bloodshot eyes, looking on in disbelief from the other side.

The above seems like the best way to describe “How”, back in the late eighties, my dad, his partner, and a few loyal employees went about breaking into their own warehouse in the middle of the night, with the sole intent of stealing stuff they already owned. The “Why” is a bit more complex. 

In the late seventies, my father, Rich, and his partner, Les, both cogs in the corporate wheel that was Manufacturer’s Hanover Bank in lower Manhattan (now J.P. Morgan/Chase), were itching to get out from under the nine to five grind and go into business for themselves.  After a brief dalliance that almost saw them opening a... wait for it... Sizzler Steak House franchise, (dad even went as far as to choose “The Sizzler” as handle on his C.B. radio), they would eventually come to their senses and stick with what they knew best. Computers. 

Their first foray into being their own bosses - Reserve Systems International - was a consulting/placement firm the two men started on the side while working their jobs at the bank.  Not wanting to give up both of their cushy day jobs right away just in case things didn’t pan out, it was agreed Les would stay on at the bank, while my dad would take the plunge and go full time w/ their new headhunting company. 

Needing office space and furniture, and having virtually no capital, they approached a friend of theirs at the bank who was in charge of all the office equipment for the entire building and asked if he could help them out.  

CUT TO:  Two guys in suits conspicuously pushing large desks on wheels, filled to the brim with office supplies, down Wall Street in broad daylight to an adjacent building the bank owned that was currently under construction.  

Working out of a cramped space in a half-completed building with no plumbing, one working power outlet, and sheet rock constantly falling on your head can be a harrowing experience, to say the least, but it was free.  Long as none of the steel girders or concrete slabs came crashing down, they figured they were fine.  And who knew about asbestos in those days, anyway? 

Now that they had the space, they needed a client.  Landing their first, however, would be a bit more of a challenge than they thought, as the same rules that apply now, re: “What company wants to work with a start-up with no proven track record of success?”, applied then as well.

Thus, in order to land the first systems tech for their fledging company, the guys realized they had to appear as if they were already successful.  So, when a friend over at Chemical Bank had told the men of a brilliant young programmer who was so good, he would turn them into rock star consultants, overnight, they knew exactly what to do.   

As it happened, the guy said he was quite happy in his current gig, but, nonetheless, he agrees to an interview.  Actually, it was more him interviewing them, than the other way around, as no one in the programming field had ever heard of RSI before, so, as to be expected, the guy was more than skeptical.  

Assuming they’d be on the defensive from the get go, especially dealing with a programmer as knowledgeable as this chap, they came up with a plan... Hit him with a list of questions Einstein, himself, couldn’t answer, right off the bat.  

Before the guy could order a Coke, he was scrambling to come up with the correct responses to the men’s list of impossible questions, i.e., and I’m paraphrasing here: “What’s the legal identifier in assembly language if the F coefficient doesn’t match the Python code?”  

Getting their unsuspecting prospect to admit he was unsure of the answers to almost every question, the crafty entrepreneurs came off as experts in the field.  The guy signed on in minutes, to what he thought was a very successful firm.  

It also helped that, before entering the diner, the men made sure to park their beat up ‘67 Oldsmobile - something right out of My Cousin Vinny -  around the corner, so as not to be seen pulling up to the meeting in a piece of shit.  It wasn’t until years later they told the guy he was their first client.  He was stunned. 

THE FUTURE

For all you millennials reading this on your rocket-powered smart phones, keep in mind, just a few decades back, a single, mainframe computer from IBM cost as much as... drum roll... $2.9 million ($18 million in today’s market).  It occupied a QUARTER OF AN ACRE of air-conditioned, water-cooled space, and required a staff of SIXTY people.  Can’t afford a lump sum payment?  No worries, you can rent one for about $63k/month.

Fast forward just twenty years to 1980, and a company called Apple was already making waves with its Apple ll.  IBM’s version of the PC was the 5150.  This was the computer Fagin and Rogoff would wind up selling to the tune of tens of thousands.  For about $4,500.00, this baby would give you a lightning fast 16k of RAM, two floppy disc slots, a monochrome monitor, but sorry, no hard drive.  When the hard drive did arrive, it could hold a whopping 10 megabytes.  One hi-res photo from a digital camera is bigger than that.  Comparatively, the Macbook I’m writing this on has 8GB of RAM, a 1.7GHz processor, a terabyte of Solid State storage, and cost just under $2k.  Be interesting to see what we’re typing on in another thirty years.  If we’re even typing at all. 

(The IBM 5150) 

IBM saw how successful the fledgling personal computer space was becoming and they wanted in on it.  And since Apple was a joke compared to them, they figured they could easily outmaneuver them for the lion’s share of the market.  Which, for a good while, they did.  

Attending a conference on the future of technology in late 1980, Les recognized these babies could be the hottest thing since the Betamax (look it up).  Returning with the excitement of a school boy, he immediately tells my dad what he saw at the convention but, outside from wanting to sell the 5150, the guys aren’t sure how, exactly, to go about doing it.  Other than buying from IBM directly, the only game in town was Sears, and they definitely didn’t want to open a department store just to sell computers.  However, a friend told the men about a guy he worked with named Howard Rosen who was also looking to get into the personal computer biz and who had the inside track on a failing Computerland franchise in Manhattan.    

The guys had heard of Computerland and were intrigued.  Especially if they could own one, or more, in the Big Apple, the center of the global business world.  In the early eighties, Computerland, Inc., founded by an unscrupulous crackpot named Bill Millard, had about a hundred and fifty stores nationwide (by 1985 the franchise would grow to over eight hundred stores, worldwide).  It was considered the fastest up and comer in the new home computer market.  Apparently, the guys running the NYC location were spending the deposits faster than the machines could be built.  Thus, it was nearly bankrupt.

After a few meetings, the three budding tycoons agree to join forces and to try and land the troubled outlet.  There was only one problem: Rosen was completely full of shit.  Turns out, he lied when he said he had the money and the backing.  He had neither.  Rich and Les had some cash, and their credit was good enough for a small bank loan, but nowhere near enough to buy a franchise of this size.  What they did have, however, was Mike Bondy.  

Bondy was a bit of a character - a shady furniture refinisher/investor with rumored mob ties who Les knew through his wife’s bowling league.  Since RSI was doing pretty well, every time Les would show up, Mike would ask him if he had any other ideas brewing, as he was always looking for the next big thing.  This one time, Les told him, he indeed, had something he might be interested in.  Computerland. 

Bondy agreed to come on board with $300k in financing, however, he had one condition; Rosen was out.  He didn’t know the guy, and what he saw he didn’t like.  And, besides, splitting the pie three ways was much more preferable than four.  

Aside from the tip on the failing store, Rosen had pretty much bullshitted the men about everything since day one, so it wasn’t exactly a tough call.  Still, Rich and Les wanted to offer him something, about $25k, for the tip, but Bondy wouldn’t bite.  He wouldn’t give the guy a dime.  Thus, they made their first enemy in Rosen.  One who’d wind up haunting them repeatedly over the years, and he sprung into action right away; threatening to “Out” their consulting biz to their bosses at the bank.  It’s rumored Bondy threatened to fit Rosen with a pair of cement shoes, at which point he agreed to keep quiet, but he lied about that, too.

The morning after they give Rosen the boot, Les’s boss calls him into his office.  He tells him Rosen’s written a letter to the board and is accusing the duo of “double-dipping” with their consulting firm.  Using their side company to place programmers at the bank and, beyond that, they weren’t even certified and shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

When asked if it’s true, Les fesses up, but vehemently disputes the “unqualified” claim, as he explains that the guys who do the hiring are all in other departments and will happily vouch the techs are the best they have.  

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”, his boss inquires.  “Because you wouldn’t have let me do it,” Les replies.

THE TRIP

Both now technically unemployed, and more than half their placements sent packing, the guys were gung ho to get the failing Manhattan Computerland franchise up and running, asap.  While my dad, Les, and their lawyer, Alan Vogle, wait at the airport to catch their flight to San Francisco to seal the deal, my mom receives a call from Computerland Corporate.

“Please tell your husband and his team not to come,” the woman on the other end says.  “We’ve decided to go with another group.”  

Keep in mind these were the days before cell phones, even beepers, so when you get a call telling you your husband’s cross country trip’s been cancelled, just as he’s about to board the plane, you either send a carrier pigeon or hit the PANIC BUTTON.  Unfortunately, no pigeons were available.

Mom had no idea if the guys were still in New York, if their plane departed already, if they were boarding and unreachable, etc. etc.  Desperate, she calls airport security and has them page my father.  “Richard Fagin to the white courtesy phone.  Mr. Richard Fagin to the white courtesy phone.”   Luckily, the guys’ flight was delayed and, possibly even more lucky, my dad actually hears the page.  

When mom tells him what happened, dad calls Computerland Corporate and Bill Millard’s secretary gives him the same story: “I’m sorry, but we’ve agreed to make a deal with another group for the Manhattan franchise.”  To which, my dad, and his giant cojones, replies, “Screw that.  We’re coming out there, anyway.” 

After telling the others about the situation, Alan, the lawyer, refuses to get on the plane unless they write him a check for $10,000.00.  Which they do.  Upon arriving at Computerland Corporate, they see the ‘other team’ waiting in the reception area.  Headed by none other than Howard Rosen.  

When the guys get their chance to pitch, they ask Millard, and his CEO Ed Faber, what Rpsen’s team offered.  “Three hundred grand,” Millard replies.  “We have six hundred,” my dad blurts out, completely bullshitting and hoping beyond hope Mike Bondy would cover it and not break his kneecaps in the process for doubling his agreed upon investment without his approval.  “Plus additional capital, if needed.”  Les gives him his best “Are you fucking kidding me?” look, but it works.  They get the deal.  Only thing is, they have to agree to open another two stores in Manhattan within two years.  Within a matter of hours, the two men go from no franchise at all, to three, and possibly more, in the hottest market in the country.

MOM’S POV

To hear my mother tell her side of this decade-long drama, is to hear her talk about the four hour conversations in our driveway between my dad and Les that kept her up most nights worrying if we were going to lose the house, which was already on its second mortgage.  According to mom, “The guys would go into the office at seven a.m., work fifteen hour days, then pull into the driveway around eleven and just sit in the car talking until about four.  In the early days, they’d do that about three to four nights a week.”  

Keep her talking long enough and the conversation will almost always morph from the dozens of crazy anecdotes to the more somber present tense of...  

“How did this happen to me?  My husband was one of the first computer franchisers in the country.  I should be in a mansion on A-1A.  Not this shitty condo with ants, no garage, and no barbecue.”  Can’t blame the girl for wondering ‘What if’? 

What You Don’t Know Will Definitely Hurt You

One thing to keep in mind in all this is that my pop and Les had no formal training or education in business from any of the respected universities.  They were both City College boys from the Bronx who majored in philosophy, and who pretty much learned as they went.  Thus, when they sign the contract with Computerland, Inc., and agree to part with close to ten percent in royalties and ad budgets - right off the top, every month-, they don’t see a problem.  In reality, while not seeming a lot at the time, the ten percent thing would ultimately turn out to be one of the key factors that would keep the guys from grabbing their share of the ‘Brass Ring,’ as it meant hundreds of thousands a year, for nearly ten years, that could have gone in their pockets.

THE GOOD TIMES

For a while there in the early and mid-eighties things were great.  Their first store was a hit, so was the second, and the third.   And, thanks to the IBM PC Retailers Catalog, the more computers they sold, the more “points” the guys got to buy shit with.  It was like Wheel of Fortune at our house every week.  In what seemed like a daily occurrence, our UPS guy would pull up with box after box of cool swag.  New golf clubs.  Jewelry.  Top of the line stereos.  Even a hot tub.  My friends and I got a lot of mileage out of that thing.  Those were the days.  But, who cares about the good times, right?  You wanna hear about the not-so good times.

THE NOT-SO GOOD TIMES

While it looked good on the surface - the fancy cars, the trips, etc. - unbeknownst to us, the guys were fighting a constant battle to stay afloat.  Outside of the sky high rent for three stores in the most expensive retail real estate in the world - one on Forty-Fourth and Sixth, on one Third Ave, and one down in the Financial district -, they also had a massive thirty thousand square foot warehouse on Eighth Ave that gobbled up a nice chunk of the profits.  Yet, no matter how bad it got, re: the staggering rents, the mandatory ad buys, the insane franchise fees taking huge chunks of their profits every month, etc., the guys were always proud of the fact their employees never missed a paycheck.  A few of those employees would return the favor by ripping them off.  

One time, a shipment of about $200,000 worth of computers destined for somewhere in Bunfuck, PA, was loaded onto one of their unmarked trucks - the guys always used unmarked trucks to transport inventory, as opposed to writing “Computers inside!” -, and out she went.  

As a rule, Rich and Les always made sure there were two guys for every delivery.  However, this one time (you can probably see where this is going), their warehouse manager only sends one.  “Coincidentally,” when the driver stopped for a coffee along the way, surprise, the truck is stolen.

Never mind the truck was running when it was hijacked, or the Ecuadorian driver said it was a “couple of black guys.”  Never mind the cops told my dad the area around their Chelsea warehouse was a hot bed of Ecuadorian gang activity.  Never mind the cops also told the guys that these particular gang members were well known for staking out high-end warehouses, taking notes on what items the trucks were holding, then following them in order to rip them off.  

The case was never solved, but luckily for them the computers were part of an order for one of their biggest clients, so Computerland Corporate, and  their insurance, replaced the entire shipment.  Needless to say, the next shipment that went out had two drivers. Those poor guys weren’t even allowed stop for a bathroom break.  

Another guy, “Avi,” an orthodox Jew who worked in the shipping department had been quietly ripping them off for months.  He would put brand new IBM’s, assorted parts, monitors, etc., in trash bags and throw them out with the garbage.  A friend of his would then come by at night after closing, retrieve them, then sell them on the black market.  

Of course, they were caught.  When Rich and Les, and about three other guys, showed up and surprise Avi and his buddy and their apartment in Queens, they had about thirty grand in stuff spread out all over the place, awaiting buyers who were coming that night. 

The best part was, as he was being arrested, Avi told the police he couldn’t go with them because “It was the Sabbath.”  Ultimately, the guys agreed not to press charges, as Avi’s parents begged them to let their son go.  They went along, but made him promise to return everything he stole.  The parents then wrote them a big check for the rest.  The one policy change that came out of this little episode was that all three stores immediately switched from black to clear trash bags.

THE REALLY NOT SO-GOOD TIMES

Between criminally-minded employees, Ecuadorian gangs, the ginormous royalty, the staggering rents, and the fact that none of their competitors had to part with such high fees right off the top, the two partners were losing their shirts.  And, they had another problem.  To make matters worse, IBM refused to discount large purchases.  Meaning, if Computerland bought three hundred PC’s, and Joe’s Computer Shack bought three, the price was the same.  Factor in, Joe’s virtually zero overhead, no warehouse, no franchise fees, and a fraction of the payroll, and you can see how difficult it was for the ‘big guys’ to compete with the little guys. 

To make things even more fun, Times’ Square chop shops like Forty-Seventh Street Photo would buy truckloads of IBM PC’s on the black market and sell them at a discount, undercutting Computerland by hundreds on each sale. And because they were legit IBM products, if there were any issues, Computerland was contractually obligated to fix them, free of charge, which cost the guys manpower and more wasted dollars.

However, in spite of the myriad of storms the two beleaguered partners were weathering, they were still surviving.  Making payroll, making ends meet, and doing okay. Not as good as they could’ve/should’ve been, but it was what it was.  Then, on one ordinary day in the spring of ‘88 the morning paper arrived:

(A throwback ad for Dell Computer)

At half the price of an IBM, and shipped directly to your door, Dell Computers arrived on the scene with a sonic boom, its business model seeking to destroy all retail space competitors.  To call it a ‘death blow’ would be a bit of an exaggeration, but it was the catalyst that would force the guys into their next phase.  The “Fuck me?  Fuck you!” phase.

IPO - TAKE ONE

To say Computerland founder/CEO, Bill Millard, was a bit of a strange character is like saying Charles Manson had a bit of a problem with authority. I’m still waiting for the day HBO turns “Once Upon a Time in Computerland,” the book that chronicles Millard and the once-promising franchise’s staggering rise and fall, into a miniseries.  After this story, of course. 

Aside from being a devout follower of the self improvement movement, “EST”, a cult-like, multi-day seminar in which participants would be denied permission to go to the bathroom for days on end, Millard would ignore an individual’s qualifications - no matter how lacking they might be -, ignore his advisors, and happily promote you straight to executive management if he simply liked you (remind you of anyone?).  If you were a believer in EST, even better.  You could be a high school dropout and, after just a ten minute interview, literally wind up the CFO.  Which, according to the book, is pretty much what happened.

Frustrated and reeling from the crushing fees, the two men set up a dinner with Millard, and several other franchisees, at which, they begged him to lower the percentage.  Showing him the numbers and telling him, point blank, if he didn’t, due to the ever-increasing competition, lower prices, higher rents, and now Dell’s home delivery, they would most likely be out of business in a year, Millard scoffed.  He refused.  Rather, he proposed taking the company public, something every franchiser dreams of.  However, the catch was that Millard would need to own fifty-one percent of every franchise.  Something none of the owners were prepared to allow.  Especially not a guy as unstable as this fruit cup.  The plan fell apart as quickly as it arose.

With Computerland Corporate throwing them paper towels as they drown, and seeing no way out of their predicament, Rich and Les know the time has come for them to once again, ‘get creative.’  Which they do.  For a minute, the men actually flirt with the idea of taking out a full page ad in the New York Times, announcing Computerland of N.Y. is going bankrupt.  The news of the now-global franchise’s flagship stores going bust would have a disastrous rippling effect on all involved.  Not wanting to cause other franchisees to wind up as collateral damage in their fight, the men abandon the plan for another, more streamlined one.

TIME TO “GET CREATIVE” AGAIN

Along with their long time, loyal service manager and minority investor, Vic Genoli, the pair form a side company called PCSI (Personal Computer Service, Inc.), which they put entirely in Vic’s name so as not to raise any red flags.  The new company is set up to provide service and parts to all computers sold by Computerland, at which point, PCSI will then send the bill for the service to Computerland Corporate.  In a nutshell, the guys figured out a way to get paid to service their own computers, about a $3 million/year biz.  The business takes off.  It does so well, Vic’s head gets way too big for his britches, and, within a few short months, he decides he’s going to kick Rich and Les to the curb, without their knowledge.

One afternoon, another employee, Lou Barry, who worked for both outfits - Computerland, as well as PCSI - comes to the guys and tells them their partner is planning on opening a PCSI store - up til then, the business was run entirely out of their warehouse -, and doing it without them.

Flabbergasted, they ask Barry where Genoli was planning on getting his inventory, to which, he replies, "He’s gonna be selling your merchandise.”  In fact, he informs the men that Genoli is actually in the process of changing the locks on the warehouse doors as they speak.  His plan is to then secretly move all the inventory to another location - the thought being since Rich and Les are already in breach of contract by servicing Computerland computers as a separate entity, they won’t be able to do anything about it.  Thus, the greedy, back-stabbing Genoli figures he’ll simply take the entire lucrative side biz for himself.  Obviously, he had no idea who he was dealing with.    

“When is this prick gonna do the move?” They ask.  “Tomorrow,” Barry says.

Calling a secret meeting at a diner on the west side at midnight, Rich and Les gather a few of their most trusted associates, none of whom have the slightest clue as to what this late-night meeting was about, and fill them in on the plan to break into their warehouse, that night, before Genoli has a chance to move the goods.  

For a moment, the men just sit in silence, looking at each other.  Until one of the guys blurts out, “Fuck it.  Let’s do it.”  Incidentally, it would later turn out the guy who said that was a mole for Genoli, but, as the plan was happening at that exact moment, he had no way to alert him as to the double cross that was about to happen.  

THE BREAK-IN

Outside of the damage to the wall mentioned at the opening, the plan worked flawlessly.  Using a sledgehammer, the guys blow a whole in the sheet rock, open the door, punch in the alarm code (Genoli just changed the locks figuring that was enough), and, under the cover of darkness, the would-be thieves proceed to load their inventory into the waiting trucks.

Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys unplugs a system that’s hooked into the mainframe which sends a signal to Genoli’s security guy, Dan Durman.  Around two a.m., Durman and Genoli show up at the warehouse, only to discover they’ve been cleaned out.  Clueless as to who did it, a stunned Vic Genoli leaves a message for Rich and Les on their machine, telling them they’ve been robbed and that the thieves took everything.  Talk about coincidence.   Upon leaving the premises, Genoli and Durham hear noises coming from the freight area a few doors down.  At which point, they encounter the burglars.

After the initial shock wears off, as well as the expected exchange of pleasantries, Genoli and Durman call the cops.  Rich and Les call their lawyer, Alan Vogle.  Vogle shows up with all the necessary paperwork, proving the ‘thieves’ own the space, as well as the inventory.  There was nothing Vic could do.  So, he sues them.  And loses.  All he winds up with for his greed is the rights to keep the name.

A few months later, the guys are walking down Twenty-Third Street when they notice a sign that says, “PCSI.”  Turns out, Vic opened his own shop after all.  The backing was supposedly provided through a connection of none other than Howard Rosen.  The place eventually went belly up.  Les took the whole experience quite personally, as he had nurtured Vic and treated him like a son.

IPO - TAKE TWO

Not giving up on the desire to go public, and having no other avenue, Rich and Les approach their minority partners and suggest they do it, themselves.  “Too risky.  Too expensive,” was what they were met with.  Controlling eighty-percent of the franchise, with these five other investors owning just four percent each, you’d think it would be a done deal.  However,  the attorneys structured the deal in such a way that any major decision requires an eighty-four percent majority, thereby forcing, Rich and Les, the two main partners, to at least convince one of the five to side with them.  Which they do.  That guy was Vic Genoli.  

Having the majority they need to finally go public, as well as all the necessary steps in place; i.e. attorneys, contracts, offerings, approvals from the NYSE, etc., Rich and Les take their wives to a fancy dinner at Le Cirque to celebrate finally being on the precipice of striking gold.  The mood is pure elation.  That lasts about twelve hours.  The next morning, just days before they are to announce their IPO, the market crashs; sending all the numbers and figures, and their dreams, into a nosedive.   

THE BUY OUT

After a decade of running a franchise whose psychotic CEO was clearly only interested in enriching himself, a twice-failed attempt at going public, and a not-so-silent partner in Bondy who, over the next several months, begins pushing the guys more and more to “Jihad” the whole thing and file for Bankruptcy, the men begin looking for yet another way out.  Almost immediately, they get a bite.  This time, from the Japanese. 

After a brief negotiation, a deal is struck in which the Japanese buyers will pay the three partners about $8 million for the rights to the New York franchise.  After all the sharks and the few smaller partners take their cuts, it would leave my dad and Les with about $1.2 million, each, while as the original investor, Mike Bondy would walk away with the lion’s share - about $1.6 million.  Not bad for an initial investment of three hundred grand (The guys wound up not needing the extra three hundred grand from Bondy my dad originally promised).  Especially considering, over the years, Bondy never had to deal with a single headache, a lunatic CEO, or a crazy employee.  His only purpose was to collect on his investment.  And now he would.  Big time.

But, amazingly, Bondy refuses.  He says he wants profit participation like Rich and Les are getting.  However, he’s just a silent partner, has never done any of the ‘heavy lifting’ of day to day operations, and, on top of that, has no idea how to even use a computer.  You’d think a more than five hundred percent return on your investment, in just under a decade, would please any investor.  Not the case. Bondy kills the deal. 

Seeing the problem they have on their hands, Rich and Les decide the only way forward is to try and force Bondy out.  The fact Bondy may have had mob ties, as well as the fact he was rumored to be sleeping with Les��s wife, didn’t help, either.  Bondy, of course, sues.  In the ensuing melee, a judge winds up valuing “LRM” (Les, Rich, Mike), the holding company the three men are partners in, at only $300k.  

In the end, instead of the $1.6 million, Bondy would wind up walking away with about sixty-thousand dollars, after lawyer’s fees and taxes.  Years later, a broke and desperate Bondy would reach out to his former partners demanding they each pay him a hundred thousand dollars, as he was the one who “believed in them, first.”  Needless to say, after they reminded him of the multi-million dollar pay day they all could’ve walked away with, the conversation ended.

IPO - TAKE THREE

Enter new Computerland CEO, Bill Tauscher, and UBS Warburg, a Goliath investment bank.  Apparently, while Rich and Les were busy lawyering up against Mike Bondy, Computerland Board finally came to their senses and kicked the whack job Millard to the curb.  The lunatic billionaire would eventually wind up on the IRS’s most wanted list to the tune of hundreds of millions in unpaid taxes, as well as millions in defaulted loans and an outstanding promissory note, originally given in exchange for a $250k loan, that a jury would later value at about $400 million.

Tauscher, almost the exact opposite of Millard, a shrewd, savvy businessman who sees a potential windfall in a Computerland IPO, tells the men he and Warburg are going to buy the entire company and take it public.  Something Millard failed to do just a few years earlier.

The guys are offered a choice; 

Behind Door #1, they’ll each walk away with about a million and change in cash, and about $100k in stock.  

Behind Door #2, they’ll get stock only, with the shares valued at about $12 each.  

Les wants to take the stock, but my dad is skeptical.  The board members were given stock valued at $6/share.  Why can’t they get that price, too?  No go.  The offer stands for the stock at $12/share.  Take it or leave it. 

Always being a ‘bird in the hand’ kind of guy, my dad ultimately convinces Les to take the all cash deal.  Besides, with all the competition popping up on an almost daily basis, who knows if the IPO will go up or down upon opening?  Or worse?  What if it tanks?  They’d be ruined. 

Incidentally, the stock would eventually go as high as $32/share.  “Fuck it. It is what it is.”

EPILOGUE

Before going public, Computerland would be folded into Vanstar, which, in a move to compete with Gateway, Dell, and the burgeoning home delivery biz, would then be sold to Inacom for $480 million, of which Warburg owned close to forty percent.  Talk about a “pump and dump.”  

It was a great play for Warburg/Computerland/Vanstar, but a dumb move by Inacom, as the purchase of Vanstar nearly immediately doubled their debt.  On Jan. 4 2000, Inacom, and all its holdings, once the third largest computer distributor in the U.S., goes bankrupt.  Only sixteen months after acquiring Vanstar.

As far as my folks go, they probably would’ve been fine, had my dad not tried to turn his million into ten, overnight.  But c’est la vie.  He invested a small fortune into a company called Florida West; a potential competitor to Fed Ex and UPS’s cargo biz.  Unfortunately, the numbers he was shown that looked too good to be true, were.  Turns out, the CFO was cooking the books.  Thus, while the dishonest accountant was sent to prison, the company went the way of the dinosaurs, along with a huge chunk of my dad’s piggy bank. 

At least now I know where I get it from.  A few years back, I blew close to a million in the market, as well.  Fuck it.  It was one heck of a ride.  

In case you’re wondering, Les is semi-retired, working at a 3D print house, and living in Manhattan.  Dad and mom are fully retired -he from the world of computers, she from decades performing in the Catskills - and living in Delray Beach, where mom sings at the retirement communities and dad runs her karaoke machine. 

(Left: Dad and me, pre-Computerland)  (Right: “Uncle” Les enjoying his retirement)

Post Script: 

I wrote this piece for three reasons: 

1.  The stuff that happened to these guys, to me, always seemed right out of a movie.  However, as I got older, I realized my dad and his partner’s story is more than just a wild, unorthodox “9 to 5″ retrospect.  To me, it’s an incredibly fascinating and gutsy tale of what some of us will do to not only succeed, but to try and provide the best life possible for our kids and our families, while, at the same time, risking it all in the process. Dad’s crazy experiences have also given me the motivation to ‘get creative’ in more than a few instances, myself, as he would just do what the situation demanded.  Which, surprise, is the same creed I follow to this day.

2.  You don’t need to know a thing about computers to appreciate the story of two guys in a start-up, hell bent on success, and willing to do whatever it takes, come what may.

3.  My dad’s favorite thing is telling jokes. His years spent in the Catskills watching the legends of the Borscht Belt was like Ninja training for wanna-be comedians.  He could keep you entertained for hours, reciting, word for word, the best of Buddy Hackett, Jackie Mason, Alan King, etc.  Over the past few years, as he began losing his place more frequently while telling one of his jokes, and his stuttering became gradually worse, we took him to a neurologist.  What we thought at first was a mini stroke, turned out to be a rare disease called “PPA” - Primary Progressive Aphasia.  It’s like a one-two punch of ALS and Alzheimer’s, combined, slowly robbing you of your ability to speak, hear, comprehend, and eventually, move.  While thankfully, my dad presently still has his faculties, and, outside of constantly falling asleep on the couch, can be quite mobile when he wants, his speech and comprehension are rapidly deteriorating; to the point where this story will most likely have to be read to him, very slowly.  I wanted to document his and his lifelong friend’s wild ride while he can still appreciate it.  

Thanks for reading. 

[muthaz-rapapa]

A few thoughts about KiraPuri Ep. 8...

Another long post. I’m sorry. -.-;

It was good episode. Very good episode.

But I hope I wasn’t the only one who was a little disappointed that last week’s preview tricked us into thinking this would be about Ichika bossing the others around and through that, mess up the camaraderie they’re supposed to be forming. Which would then be followed by everyone deliberating what to do to solve this problem and what Ichika has to do to correct her wrongs. Or something along those lines.

Again, how things played out was in fact, a lot better than putting Ichika in the main spotlight like how it was for the past seven weeks. Now everyone has a part in putting this team together, finding ways to work with each other and so on. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better end to the ‘introductory arc’, where we often see the lead Cure taking charge more than the others. 

Because I’m aware that it’s kinda necessary to have the them establish themselves into their leader roles that way (by being energetic and encompassing) so I’m willing to let that slide as far as the first 10 episodes go.

However, I still think it would’ve been interesting to see a flaw (any flaw) of a Pink Cure be portrayed in a negative light.

Mostly because I feel that a lot of times any aspect of the protagonist, even the very less than ideal ones, would rarely be displayed so badly that it would alienate the other characters or viewers from her.

For example, even if she was incredibly selfish and jumped into something without consulting her team members first, the plot would conveniently bend over to accommodate what she wants and then find some cheesy way to justify how ‘right’ she is or beautify her to such an extent that it leaves no room for argument against her. Then nobody would have a chance to call her out on her faults so that she can learn to fix it herself. Whether by virtue of her ‘purity’ or whatever glorified trait she possesses, it’s almost always guaranteed to turn out her way.

That’s one of the major reasons why I had so much difficulty tolerating Cure Flora in Go!Pri. As well as many other hero/heroines in other series and genres but those in Precure, especially, because this franchise seldom operates outside its usual formulas.

Maybe I’m not talking much sense but… it’s just this bothersome feeling I can’t help having on how the writers do their characterizations. Like, don’t just gloss stuff over all the time. Give me their ugly sides, give me unsettling confrontations between friends, give me something that won’t allow me to let her live it down but can also allow me to totally accept it as part of the composition of her character. Because that’s what going to flesh her out. She’ll be more of a person and less of an stereotypical image on paper. Flaws make a person a person.

Yea, yea, I do realize I might be thinking too deep into a children’s show but hey, since I invested myself in watching it, then it’d be dumb not to wonder about these things.

*sigh* Well, anyways, it’s a good thought exercise to have, nonetheless. And it’s still very early in the game for Kira Puri so maybe we will see some clashing development like that later on. Only the next 40 something episodes will tell.

Moving along!

I’m glad Yukari brought up the question on whether it’s true that “everyone” wants to open up this patisserie shop.

It implies that the lot of them might just be pulled in by Ichika’s enthusiasm and the fact that they are all Precure rather than being genuinely interested in participating because they want to.

Akira, in particular, is indirectly called a bit of a pushover which isn’t hard to see why since she often pampers her sick sister so that habit might have extended to their group where the majority of them are still in middle school. In other words, Akira has no will or opinion of her own. She just goes along with the flow to appease everyone and she’s being called out for it.

Yukari isn’t trying to be mean but it’s a question that really needs to be asked because lemme tell ya, starting and managing a business is no fucking stroll in the park. It takes a lot of time and effort and in this case, manpower, to get it off the ground and running.

If nobody but Ichika is 100% sure of really devoting themselves and a good portion of their schedules to this project out of their own volition or desire, then the patisserie is not going to succeed.

Thankfully, they all realize they do in the end but again, I have to say this because Toei is giving too many unrealistic expectations on what it’s like to run a shop. As a working person, I can’t just sit by and not say anything about it.

Another thing that got me concerned was how time management or store hours never entered their conversation and likely never will after this point even though it’s a super important discussion that you must have with your employees.

Because Precure universes have a weird sense of time in general but Kira Puri takes the cake in that I see these girls lounging around town and baking at the patisserie more than doing anything else that they should be doing. Like going to school, doing extracurricular actives, etc. I get that this season doesn’t prioritize those things but then…HOW do they make it work? It’s not like they have a fully-fledged, nontransparent and non-creepy adult to oversee the place when they’re not there.

Also, considering that 3 out of the 5 of them already had other commitments to attend to before the patisserie idea came up, it’s a surprise that nobody mentioned them until the very end of the ep. And even more of surprise when Ichika seems so shocked by it so you kind of wonder how self-absorbed she really is to forget stuff like that about her friends so quickly.

I’m sorry for dragging out these gripes of mine but honestly, things can’t possibly go so smoothly like what I’m seeing here. Not to mention, I hate the fact that they brought this up for comic effect when in hindsight, it’s really not something you should be laughing about.

So I hope at some point later in the season, there will be scheduling and commitment conflicts. Everybody might be on board now since they just finished setting the place up and all but when business is booming (I’m guessing it will anyway) and Ichika needs all the help she can get, how will they deal with it when the others can’t spare the time for the shop?

Anyways, while I do make too much of a big deal out of kid’s show, I also know that that’s not the objective of this episode.

The point of this episode was to see if the girls could learn to cooperate with each other. Cuz that absolutely had to happen first otherwise KiraPati would never have been set up.

And since it was set up, obviously they did find ways to work together.

Which introduces new pair dynamics as well.

We already got a good feel of Ichika + Himari + Aoi and Yukari + Akira based on grouping them by age. Plus Ichika + each Cure in their respective scenarios.

But it’d be boring if it was always limited to those so it’s high time that interactions not involving Ichika was finally delved into.

For Himari + Akira, you can see the relationship as that of an older sibling and younger sibling (cuz duh, this is Akira we’re talking about).

Tol and smol. Cute. <3

But you can also see them as marketing partners, too.

Akira, who’s already been assigned as KiraPati’s main garçon, attracts customers and investors with that welcoming, charming demeanor of hers, making it easier to lower their guard so she can pitch their ideas to them.

Meanwhile the more knowledgeable Himari backs up their proposals with the extensive details, showing how serious they are about their business and assuring people that they will be putting the resources they receive to good use.

It’s very encouraging to watch as they naturally come to bounce off each other in that respect.

Then we have the creative pair. The cool feline pair.

Stylish Mama Cat and Rockstar Lion Cub pair.

Their job is interior design cuz you want your customers to enjoy themselves in a nice setting under a pleasant atmosphere after all, right?

Yukari certainly got the aesthetics for the store down and Aoi, being an artist in her own right, most likely agrees with the concept she came up with. So it’s just a matter of organizing everything up to scale.

And of course, they do.

Yukari makes efficient use of Aoi’s muscle to help her set up the decorations and furniture. Not a space wasted but not too cramped (yes, I wouldn’t put it pass Yukari to be an expert on feng shui, lol).

And Aoi, well, it’s just scary how she manages to throw everything into the right spots with such precision (moral of the story: don’t mess with Aoi cuz she will kick your ass).

To think they were in such a messy state the day before but they can all come together like this and make that much progress in such a short amount of time.

It’s great. Their strengths complement each other well and they’re being productive about it.

It’s just great. ^^

Last but not least, the moment of crowning.

While it’s still debatable if the current Ichika is qualified enough to be a steady manager who puts a 14-year old in charge of a store? AND the cook (oh boy…), there’s no doubt that she definitely did earn her title as the leader of the group.

Ichika was the one who brought them together. She was the one who made the decision to use this space provided to them for a cause. She was the one who wanted to bring something good to others and get them to smile from the sweets they’ll serve.

She may not have Himari’s brains or Aoi’s strong arm or Yukari’s calmness or Akira’s maturity. And it’s true that she’s reckless and clumsy all over the place.

But it’s indisputable that she’s got the heart needed to make all this possible.

And that, I think, is the most critical element in sustaining their patisserie. You gotta have the intention to make people happy. There’s no other way you can open a business without that.

So it’s only fitting that Yukari would be the one to christen Ichika with the important position of manager. Because throughout this whole fiasco of building a shop together, Yukari was the only one who didn’t lose herself to stress over the situation (duh, this is Yukari we’re talking about).

Why? Cuz she predicted this would happen.

She knew that with the variety of people here, it definitely is possible to open a magnificent patisserie. Them getting off to a rocky start is just a minor bump in the road because no one’s going to do everything perfectly on their first try like how she was with the macarons *gets shot*.

And she knew that Ichika had the potential to live up to the expectations of being manager because Ichika has the determination to see it through.

If she didn’t know those things, she wouldn’t have stuck around to help because then it would be a failure and Yukari doesn’t accept failure. She doesn’t function on something flimsy like a whimsical belief. She has to really know there is a winning result at the end to see this as worthwhile.

(True moral of the story: Kira Puri wouldn’t survive with Yukari. Yukari knows all. They’d be lost without her. This season would be nothing without her. Yep.)

So think about what it means for her to entrust this huge responsibility to Ichika. 

“I trust that you won’t bore me so do your best, little manager.”

Yukari, who’s the most capable of them all. Yukari, so capable that she can probably/easily be a better manager than Ichika but chose not to because that would be no fun for her. Yukari wants Ichika to rise up the challenge in overseeing this patisserie.

It doesn’t just imply how much faith Yukari has in Ichika. It also suggests that being manager will mold Ichika into an even better character. All the stuff she’ll have to face as the leader of her team, that is what going to serve as her character development.

And I so hope that is the case here. I really, really do. You’ve got 40 more episodes ahead of you to take this season’s Cures as far as you can, Toei. Don’t disappoint me.

And that’s that, I suppose. 

lol, what the hell is bunnycake looking so tired out for? She didn’t do anything while the rest of them were slaving away to construct her restaurant. :P

Now bring on the fillers~

I can’t do this kind of review every week, it’ll kill me. =A=;

[savetopnow]

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