#at the great personal cost of one’s own life

[cantareincminor]

Fandom Wrapped (Reader Edition) 2024!

Thanks to the wonderful @kattyelf for creating this template! Links and detailed reviews under the cut.

Disclaimer: I probably read hundreds of SxF fics in the past year, and it was not easy to choose which ones to put in the list above (or below)! This fandom is full of wonderful, friendly creators and I am so glad to be part of it. I also had to narrow it down to only the ones I read and reread in 2024, not 2022 or 2023. Finally...I also happened to read many good fics only once. Sometimes a fic is just too painful or sad to reread, especially if it's not finished.

Favorite fic and author: After peace by @unhappy-sometimes!

I could gush about unso for a whole post and not be done, but I will try to contain myself. Her fic After peace originated from an AU comic she drew where Twilight was forced to retire early due a major injury, and drifted aimlessly until WISE asked him to take care of an orphan they had rescued from Project Apple. There are several things that amazed me about this fic and cemented it in first place for 2024:

The premise. It was original and so full of potential.

How personal Twilight's journey felt to me. I didn't have a life-threatening injury, but I did put my career on hiatus in the past year and have often struggled with questions of -- what am I worth when I'm not "doing" anything? I was so used to going 150% in the rat race and coming out on top at great personal cost to health and family; even if all that was bad, how else can I get that sense of accomplishment? How can I stop wanting that sense of accomplishment?

Her style, which is both vivid AND concise. The fic was around 22K words if I remember correctly, with a well-constructed plot, character arcs, plenty of emotional beats, and a satisfying resolution. I often wonder if my writing is too verbose and when I see something like After peace, it challenges me to do better.

THIS WAS UNSO'S FIRST FIC EVER. THE HELL. It's like a freshman album that gets put up for a Grammy.

Fic(s) I reread (plus runners-up):

That Time Yor Seriously Thought About Leaving by peonydee: This is a WIP with one more chapter before completion, I believe. Peonydee's style is unique in how it's hard-hitting and disarming at the same time. Yor and Twilight find themselves in impossible situations, their relationship tested to the limit (and one of them in a close brush with death), yet there's still an undercurrent of wry humor, almost fatalistic due to the fact both of them have been steeped in death and dirty work for decades, yet still hopeful and reaching for each other. I also cackle every time she makes Twilight go off on a mansplaining tangent without ever using the term outright. A masterpiece of show not tell.

Is It Really All Right? by zyzy1083: This one is tender. A jealous!Loid fic with a fascinating portrayal of Loid from Yor's perspective. The imagery of a dark sea choking down any true thought or emotion from breaking for air will stay with me for a long time. There's also the fact she basically made up lyrics for an indie song as part of the plot and I had to ask whether it was a real song. Finally, there's the fact she was bold enough to portray Loid as less than a perfect, kind, smiley husband toward Yor, but in a believable way. He snaps at Yor at times. He loses his patience. It feels like a real relationship, in the awkward tension when one partner wants to talk and the other absolutely does not want to talk. I admire that courage and wish more authors would take that risk (calling myself out I guess!).

Green-eyed Monster by bigbruja: another jealous!Loid fic that's lighthearted and fun. This is a comfort reread. I enjoy seeing Loid recognize the threat of a supposed "old friend" of Yor's, questioning his own feelings and how far he needs to go to fend this guy off. The guy is a Garden assassin, unbeknownst to him. I also love Yor's own inner struggle of just wanting everyone to get along, but showing steel when she needs to.

dalliance by rosetintednerdglasses: this is a WIP, but it is HILARIOUS and I hope everyone will go encourage this author to pick this fic back up when they have a chance. TLDR, Twilight (in disguise) is sent on a joint mission with Thorn Princess and flips out internally when he sees it's Yor. Handler then orders him to ensure Thorn Princess continues to cooperate. So as Twilight, he has to sort-of honey trap Thorn Princess, while as Loid he has to keep Yor happy. Poor Yor believes she's torn between two different men and close to cheating on Loid! Situational hilarity all over the place, and fun world-building, like this other WISE agent randomly named "Steel Bunny" (LOL).

Not According to Plan by @kyrathel: love you girl! This is a gift fic for me, but that's not the reason I reread it (even though it's a WIP as well!). It's SO FUNNY. Twilight gets it in his overly anxious head that he MUST defend his wife from the bullies at City Hall, so what does he do? HE INFILTRATES CITY HALL AS A NEW FEMALE HIRE. The world absolutely needs more petty!Twilight! The latest chapter features laxative brownies. Enough said.

Let's start living dangerously by @beannoss: I specifically reread the later parts when dumb Twilight gets over his dumbness and finally talks to Yor! And they kiss again! I love the way huhwaku (beannoss) portrays overthinking Twilight AND overthinking Yor. And also, the simplicity of Yor at the same time. The voice she uses for both of them is refreshing, it really puts you in the mindset of the character. Yor's giggles ("teehee!") as she teases Twilight about his little perfectionist habits are a cute touch to a gentle, heartwarming fic about these two highly competent professionals just starting to take baby steps in how to be competent at a relationship.

Fic that made me emotional:

100% Perfect by @sometimesiship. Where do I begin? How about with the gut aversion I initially had to the premise of a futuristic AI dating bot AU, due to all the tragic, dark AI movies I have watched? But as it neared completion, someone convinced me to give it a try and I AM SO GLAD I DID. You can see my gushing comments in almost every chapter. The development of the relationship between human Yor and AI Loid is so natural, funny at times, poignant always, and beautifully written, even though from an objective standpoint not much exciting stuff happens (I mean canon-typical excitement like murders and spy missions). Sometimesiship has a way of describing emotion that is so raw -- she can portray the same emotion a dozen different ways with analogies and setups and dialogue and whatever -- and it still doesn't feel old. And the emotion that dominated the second half of the story was grief. Basically the grief of loving someone you know you're going to lose. Like being the spouse of a terminal cancer patient. I didn't cry while reading, but it was a closer call than I have had in a VERY long time. So much beauty and humanity in this story. And spoiler (?), it's a happy ending. So I hope you all go check it out!

That's a wrap! If you read this far, stay tuned for a Writer version of Fandom Wrapped 2024!

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice.

She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”

- Brienne VII, AFFC

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing. “If Joffrey should die … what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”

“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

- Davos V, ASOS

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

[…]

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Ned. “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.”

“I wish him every success.” Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.”

Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “Out, damn you, I’m done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!”

Ned bowed, and turned on his heel without another word.

- Eddard VIII, AGOT

“I know what I swore.” Jon said the words. “I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Were those the same words you said when you took your vows?”

“They were. As the lord commander knows.”

“Are you certain that I have not forgotten some? The ones about the king and his laws, and how we must defend every foot of his land and cling to each ruined castle? How does that part go?” Jon waited for an answer. None came. “I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?”

- Jon XI, ADWD

Them 🫶🏽

[lilaccatholic]

I am once again thinking about the reluctant ruler whose arc justly and correctly includes assuming the throne and taking responsibility for the people set before them

[analyticallymindedaa]

flaws.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive

strengths.

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

skills & hobbies.

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socialising | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | singing

Tagged by: @kurjaks

[usuallydyinginside]

"No One Mourns the Wicked" is about Glinda, not Elphaba

Okay, but hear me out. Wicked songs are so good at saying one thing and meaning something entirely different once you have more context. For instance, "I'm Not That Girl" is Elphaba singing about Glinda initially, then in Act 2 flips to Glinda singing about Elphaba. Because it turns out, Elphaba IS that girl and Glinda is not. When we meet the Wizard, he sings about how he always wanted to be a father. When you get to Act 2, you get the sad little reprise in the background music as he realizes that WHOOPS, he was one and he destroyed his only kid. "Defying Gravity" starts with "I hope you're happy" in the sarcastic sense and ends with them both using the same phrase to genuinely wish one another well.

"Thank Goodness" is set up as a cheerful engagement song where Glinda genuinely means "thank goodness for how great my life is" and ends in a place where she's insisting that she IS happy even as she realizes her engagement is a sham, her best friend is gone, and she's left with the Wizard and Madame M, who she doesn't even like.

You get the picture.

Basically, the whole musical is about subverting what you expect, starting with the base premise of "what if the Wicked Witch was the hero of the story" and digging in from there.

Honestly, I'd never paid much attention to the first song. It's a good opener, sets things up well, but it has some big competition with later songs. However, in the movie the staging and camera choices made me really notice it for the first time. Because you know what? Someone DID pay attention to that song, and you can really really tell.

For those who need a refresher, the lyrics to the chorus Glinda sings are: And Goodness knows The Wicked's lives are lonely Goodness knows The Wicked die alone It just shows when you're Wicked You're left only On your own I was always so busy noticing Glinda's grief over thinking Elphaba was genuinely dead that I failed to notice Glinda's grief over her OWN fate. The movie did such a good job with this because every time we get to the pink lines about being alone, Glinda IS alone. She is standing apart from the crowd who adores her. Standing above them. Standing at the center of a bunch of people yet still, isolated.

Because in the end, we know that Elphaba DIDN'T die alone. We know she wasn't on her own. We know her life WASN'T lonely ultimately. She had her flying monkey and animal friends. She had Fiyero.

And who does Glinda have?

Everyone, but realistically, no one. She is an ideal, not a person to most of Oz, just as much as Elphaba has become the token scapegoat. Where Elphaba is the "Wicked Witch," Glinda is "Glinda the Good Witch" - she is literally supposed to be the embodiment of goodness.

And what does Glinda have at the end of this whole thing (as of this song at least)? A disastrous end to her engagement, the death of her best friend, a sorceress who has hated her, demeaned her, and dismissed her from the start, and a con man who is also just a symbol more than a person.

I think it really hit me when Glinda throws the fire on the giant effigy of Elphaba. Ariana's acting was SO good there, because I'd expected us to see that private moment of horror or regret. What I didn't expect was the sort of determined and almost angry glare at the effigy.

But it makes sense. At this point, Glinda has realized that she lost everything and everyone she actually cared about.

As she so aptly puts it in "Thank Goodness"...

Though it is, I admit The tiniest bit Unlike I anticipated. But I couldn't be happier, Simply couldn't be happier, Well, not "simply" 'Cause getting your dreams It's strange, but it seems A little, well, complicated.

There's a kind of a sort of cost. There's a couple of things get lost. There are bridges you cross You didn't know you crossed Until you've crossed!

And if that joy, that thrill Doesn't thrill like you think it will Still-- With this perfect finale, The cheers and the ballyhoo! Who wouldn't be happier? So I couldn't be happier, Because happy is what happens When all your dreams come true.

Well, isn't it?

Happy is what happens when you're dreams come true.

It's not Elphaba's fault that Glinda has ended up this way. Glinda chose it every step of the way. Yet, if Glinda had never met Elphaba, (if she'd never known her, you could say), she might have stayed shallow and vain. She might never have been challenged to look deeper and realize how empty it all felt.

So as Glinda sings "No One Mourns the Wicked," she realizes that even if the Munchkins are singing about the "Wicked Witch," she's not.

She's singing about herself.

The one who traded her morals, friendship, and love for a taste of the admiration and power over those who don't really know her. The one who was so worried about being likable that she herself doesn't like who she's become.

Even after she makes things better for Oz and herself by sending the wizard away and getting rid of Madame M, it just leaves Glinda by herself as the leader and source of goodness in Oz. It leaves her on a pedestal she can never step off of.

It leaves her lonely.

Entirely alone.

[pudgedork]

there are so many enjoyable milestones in a feedee’s weight gain journey. of course, there are the numbers and stats: 300 pounds, 400 pounds, 500 pounds, the day you weigh twice as much as someone your height should, or three times, or four…

but there’s something special about the tangible signs of just quite how far you’ve let yourself go. of all of these, the greatest is the day you realise you’re too fat to touch yourself. the moment it dawns on you that you’ve packed so much fat onto your frame, you need to rely on someone else to get you off. so far off the deep end of your kink that you can’t even properly enjoy it independently.

other achievements are great; becoming too heavy for your first scale, outgrowing seatbelts and requiring an extender, or reaching the point where you can’t tie your own shoe laces due to all that squishy belly in the way.

if you squint a bit though - and you’re deep enough in denial - you can convince yourself that these aren’t really your fault. you aren’t that fat, not really. the scale was cheap; they probably cut costs and that’s why the limit's so low. seatbelts are designed for skinny people, so even if you are a little pudgy now it’s clearly an oversight in the design. shoes shouldn’t even have laces actually; we’ve come up with better designs at this point. it’s unreasonable of them to assume everyone has the flexibility to reach down like that!

but getting so fat that you can’t pleasure yourself; there’s no way to spin that. you can’t blame a company for that. you can’t blame cost-cutting. you can’t ignore it. it's all on you. you’ve overindulged so excessively - and so relentlessly - that your gut has swollen to a size that evolution itself didn’t anticipate. how could it? in what scenario would a person ever have such an abundant supply of food – and lack of self-control – for this to become a problem?

yet, here you are. stuffed full of thousands of calories of junk once again, you try to reach over your rolls like normal to give yourself the release you crave; but they seem just a little bigger than last time. it’s fine, you planned ahead for this. your toy can reach the last little part of the way. except this time, it doesn’t. you wiggle it helplessly, but it’s not happening.

you shuffle your mass around on the couch, trying to contort yourself to an angle where you can reach with a pudgy fingertip. every movement makes you more breathless, and the sweat is pouring off you. this is the most exercise you’ve done in who knows how long, and it’s all in an attempt to simply get yourself off.

exhausted, you flop back and give in. you feel defeated. humiliated. what the fuck have you done to yourself? a rare moment of clarity. this was never supposed to get this out of hand. you don’t even know how heavy you are, since you couldn’t be bothered buying another replacement scale after the last one caved in on itself. it’s been months since you left the house; even if you wanted to, you're not convinced anybody manufactures clothes that could contain you.

sure, you wanted to get fat. you loved it. the thrill of watching the number on the scale climb, bursting out of clothes, every inch of your body coated in an ever deepening layer of supple flab. but this… this was too much now. you’d ignored all the signs so far, but this one wasn’t going unheeded. your loved ones were embarrassed enough already by what you’d become, but they hadn’t seen you in at least a year. what the hell would they say now? all that potential squandered for a life of obscene gluttony, entirely committed to hedonism.

the thought's cut short by a deep rumble from your belly. you’ve gone half an hour without shovelling calories down your throat, and it wants to know what the hold up is. you hear a car pull into the drive. your partner’s home from work. the front door opens, and within seconds they’re sinking their hands into your mountainous belly and greeting you with a passionate kiss.

they’re obsessed with you, as you are with them. they always dreamed of enabling a whale to live out their fantasies. you’ve been more than happy to do just that. before you have a chance to air your worries, they jump in first to tell you they picked up food on the way home. family-sized orders from each of your favourite fast food places, plus enough snacks to last an average person a month.

well, maybe you could reconsider. they're already used to helping you with things you can't do at your size, after all. maybe you could get a little bigger, just for them.

[psychotrenny]

I think one of Imperialism's most evil strategies is the national scale torture you'll see inflicted on countries that dare to dream of freedom. Like it's not just about overthrowing the anti-imperialist regime itself, but utterly breaking the very social, economic and in turn psychological foundations it's built upon. Prolonged periods of destruction that are as systematic as they are sadistic with the aim of making life unlivable until the government either collapses or gives in, accepting whatever concessions are forced upon them as the nation is remoulded into an dependent and obedient little neocolony.

Sometimes an imperialist power will act directly to achieve this (just take the gratuitous and deliberate destruction of civil infrastructure during the bombings of Yugoslavia and Iraq), but the preferred strategy is to employ local proxies. Groups like RENAMO in Mozambique or the Contras of Nicaragua. Bands of reactionaries, traitors and general desperadoes are gathered up, trained, armed and transported over the border at the expense of the Imperialists and their local collaborators. These armed groups have no interest in build mass support, of representing an alternative way of life. Their only purpose is destruction; killing, torturing, looting, burning whatever they can in order to bring their country to its knees. Frequently targeting important nodes in the networks that sustain the nation and the people's faith in it (bridges, rail depots, factories, hospitals and schools) but ultimately happy to attack whatever they can; every house burned or person tortured contributes to the climate of terror and corrosion of government credibility. Because when they kill these groups don't like to do it cleanly; their attacks generate countless reports immolation, disembowelment, victims hacked to pieces and left to bleed. But when possible they prefer to leave their victims alive and capable of further spreading their terror, inflicting the most vicious sorts of rape and mutilation on a mass scale

It's not just just evil for the sake of evil mind you. The cruelty has a point; human destruction to accompany the physical. Every person killed is someone who can no longer contribute to the development of the nation, while even living yet physically and psychologically broken victim places further strain on their country's increasingly fragile support systems. Meanwhile the terror of these actions spreads the impact beyond their immediate victims. The murder and torture of peasants makes the survivors too scared to go back into their fields, slowly starving the nation as the rural economy grind to a halt. The gruesome deaths of traders and travelers leaves the survivors too terrified to continue their business, shutting down the distributive networks that make national development and often life itself possible. The terror unleashed on foreign professionals can prompt the survivors to flee and discourage newcomers from arriving, depriving the underdeveloped economic and education systems of the skilled workers they need to improve or even function. And every broken body, ever broken mind, is proof of the government's weakness and ineptitude; a humiliating failure to protect their own people that demoralises supporters and empowers dissenters. The motivated sadism of these terrorist attacks is a microcosm of the motivated sadism displayed by their Imperialist backers

But why go to all this trouble? Why not just send in the paratroopers or organise a coup to end those troublesome regimes quickly? Sometimes it's a matter of possibility. As great as they are, the powers of Imperialist nations are not unlimited. All manner of constraints (domestic unrest, international condemnation which advantages dangerous rivals, the simple financial and human costs of such operations) limit what actions are viable or desirable. This is especially significant when the targets are motivated and disciplined anti-imperialists with a base of deep-rooted popular support, the sort of regime that won't go down to a simple commando raid or bribe to the right general. But sometimes, it's not enough to merely cut down a dissenting government; you have to salt the earth and make sure nothing similar ever grows back. I'll finish with the words of an anonymous Jesuit priest, talking about Nicaragua yet in terms widely relevant enough to be published in John Saul's conclusion to A Difficult Road: The Transition to Socialism in Mozambique (1985):

In Chile the Americans made a mistake. They cut off the revolution too abruptly. They killed the revolution but, as we can see from recent developments there, they didn't kill the dream. In Nicaragua, they're trying to kill the dream

[ybklix]

𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲

dear lord, when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ fr omg

★ pairing: idol!lee felix x fem!reader

✦summary: You got your dream job on one of the most important day for fashion industry, everything seems like a fairy tale, until you meet one of the people you are working for, which complicates your thoughts, a guy with an angelic face, however he is for you the devil wearing custom couture Tommy Hilfiger.

✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / one night stand / use of “y/n”/ handjob / oral sex / soft degrading / dom felix / semi public sex / unprotected sex / etc lol

word count: 5.1k

(masterlist)

♡ notes: 2024 felix at the met gala ♡

a/n: had to write smth ab my man looking this good on a big day, oopsies / all fiction, don't really know how's behind scenes lol / i'm watching the series so i'm romanticizing the carrie type of writing, enjoy!

There’s an old saying… “what happens in Vegas, stay in Vegas”, and for the New Yorkers with enough amount of luck, the equivalent of that would be: “what happens in the Met Gala, stays in the Met gala.”

You either had to be a celebrity with high status, or a very wealthy person… or sometimes, just part of the staff; yes you were in last link, but you were still happy.

There you were, on the first Monday of May, standing outside of the iconic decorated stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, on the also iconic, 5th avenue of East side of Manhattan. Living your dream, because this year, you were inside, and not anymore as a viewer.

Life was going great for you, you’ll graduate from college exactly in nine days, and you were booked as a tour guide in the Met Gala a month ago. It was your dream job, even though you majored in journalism, working for Vogue was always your dream to be, you’ve been applying for the Met ever since you turned eighteen, and finally there you were wearing a vintage YSL black dress, from a vintage store in Soho, whose rent costs more than you apartment’s, with some Manolo shoes, living your little Carrie Bradshaw fantasy. But that didn’t matter, yeah, she was a woman with a steady job and you only a freshly graduated who expected to get hired as soon as you get your diploma.

They prepared you the whole past month, and you picked up your ID last week; this was going to look wonderful in your resume. You loved fashion, arts, writing, you didn’t care there was another 500 people doing exactly the same as you, you were there, living inside your bubble of the gossip girl and devil wears Prada vibes.

A lot of people hated New York; but you never could, you had a nice apartment on west side of Manhattan and an incredible fashion taste. You had to work as a staff for one the most emerging kpop groups, Stray Kids, or at least that’s what you read about online, you did your research: eight male members, only two of them fluent in English and the rest of them just shy to speak it out loud… you weren’t that unfamiliar at all, you recognized kpop is one of the greatest genres these days, but you were twenty one and going through your finals as the provided you that information, so you followed their social medias, caught up a little in their updates, learned their names and faces —which was very important—, but couldn’t fully concentrate in how handsome they were or at least get yourself a little of fangirlism. Once again, you were sinking in the lasts and very important moments of college.

So the thing was simple, they usually bring their own people around but for this event was the exception, once they stepped on the radar of these popular stairs, they were under the Met Gala staff, that’s when you get in.

You were waiting for them standing among the group of people who would be working the same as you, all with their dress code in black-only etiquette, to go unnoticed. It was your first Met Gala, although you didn't want to flatter yourself either in such a big way, but you had chosen a sexy dress with your back uncovered, you wanted simplicity, but not too much. The heels were starting to bother you a bit until, as fate would have it, a stout black man in charge of monitoring, with headphones on his bald head and clipboard in his hand shouted in a strong New York accent to the group of people you were in.

“The following celebrities are Stray Kids, I repeat so you can listen in the back, Stray Kids is coming! Their team step up to lead them in.”

Nerves got the better of you, it was your turn; you had seen your other ‘colleagues’ guide their respective assigned celebrities, so now it was your time. You hurried to the entrance, along with another girl and two other men. The large black van pulled up to sidewalk and finally, just as you had researched, eight pretty East Asian looking men exited one by one.

You tried to identify the one you had previously studied as their leader and one of the English speakers, until he finally emerged just to one side of you.

“It's this way, boys” your coworker, who was a little ahead of you, led the way.

The eight of them walked a bit and met their designer, the legitimate Tommy Hilfiger, while among the chaos of noise and nerves you tried to identify each one you were working for; they were all wearing long coats but you could distinguish that it was just to hide their real attire.

But apparently you were not the only one nervous, it was also their first Met Gala, an incredibly big event, a bit out of what they knew, in one of the countries where the music market was of utmost importance to consider and succeed, each one of them recognized that this was an important day and simply one more step in their artistic career. They were all nervous and excited; but even so you noticed a somewhat monotonous expression on each of them, you thought it was just nerves. You got a good look at them all as they talked to their designer in charge and noticed how each one had their own charm, they were attractive and smelled quite nice. You thought about how much fun this job is for you, being around celebrities.

“And y/n, right?” he came up to you, the man who had previously been giving directions to your boys.

You nodded, confused, he went on to say:

“I’m informed that you will be going into the museum with them, you can take the lead” he said in a strangely kind tone.

You smiled at him, you had forgotten the last time you met a nice New Yorker. It was when you realized it was time, you took a breath with your cheeks and released them, once you saw they finished their little talk, you took a step so everyone could see you and introduced yourself; it was part of your job and you had been trained for it. You started with a “hi, guys”, told them your name and added that you would accompany them to the exhibit. You looked forward to going in there.

You got the attention of all eight of them, after all they were still men, foreign men excited for a new experience. Once you turned around as you led the way you questioned if wearing that open back dress was the best choice, you hadn't really intended it that way; you also didn't expect them all to be 100 times more attractive in person, the pictures you saw on the internet didn't do them justice.

All the members of Stray Kids were with their respective emotions on edge, but especially one of them didn't know how to control himself. Felix, who at all times kept a serious countenance was more than excited and his body was reacting to it, betraying him, he was aroused. He wasn't exactly in the mood for sex, but somehow he felt uncomfortably hard. He was simply an excited little Asian boy with a not-so-little problem. An erection in his pants.

Felix had the experience at these kinds of fashion events, but simply something about this city drove him incredibly crazy. Somehow he was thirsty for sex… but he didn't feel like he was at this very moment. He had to put on his best show and control his body, he slyly checked his pants and it was a relief that the design was perfectly loose so it couldn't be noticed. But it all got worse when he saw his pretty young guide and staff for tonight, with her pretty makeup and perfect hair done, with her back uncovered.

Felix read her name on her ID hanging on her body and checked slyly if anyone else of his friends and colleagues thought the same as him… he could notice it in the look of his friend Bang Chan, however Felix noticed the little importance that Chan himself gave her and continued treating her with kindness and courtesy, who from time to time gave her a certain look was his other friend Seungmin, who was the master of disguise, but not for Felix, not after knowing him so long and living with him.

But that was just the thrill of the moment, as Felix took full control of his body as he approached his final stretch, an interview and then the longed-for Met Gala stairs. Like a pro idol, he knew how to handle it, and everyone had a spectacular and memorable entrance.

You saw them from afar, Bang Chan had introduced you to each one of them and thanked you for accompanying them even though you hadn’t start yet, you thought he was an unreal man, in fact all eight of them were, their perfectly manicured faces and the subtlety of their make-up were to you so…. You were speechless; but if you had to choose one, putting yourself in the shoes of millions of girls around the world even of your age discovering an attractive boy band, maybe among them all… it would be the only blond guy with long hair. You thought between sighs how cute he was, you were down bad when it came to cute boys, also the long-haired ones.

You remembered his name, Felix; a little strange, it sounded like an old name but somehow it fit him so well, you thought; now you were not only fulfilling your dream job, you would be together with eight handsome men, you almost wanted to let out a little giggle, but it was time to monitor how well they took the pictures of your “bosses” as they posed on the carpet.

You waited a moment more before finally entering, it seemed like hours, until finally the doors opened for you and there suddenly you felt your heart burst, not even Felix's pretty face could have impacted you so much, the exhibition of unique pieces in the haute couture of fashion history.

“You can start to separate and see freely” you mentioned to them.

You saw them, they looked totally lost.

“Mm, I don't think so, we like to stay together” Chan answered with a nervous smile.

“Well, if you like, we can start here…” you spoke.

You didn't want to keep them tied up nor did you want to feel like a big deal, you were only going to accompany them and follow their instructions, however they seemed to follow yours; you gave yourself the task of showing them every corner and giving them a little summary of what each exhibit meant, however you couldn't help hiding your excitement, your eyes shone with care and all eight noticed your adorable expression, even those who couldn't fully understand you because of the language barrier, your expressions spoke for themselves. And Felix couldn't take his eyes off you the whole tour.

Felix didn't understand what was wrong with him, whether it was the excitement of the foreigner, the significant change of time zone, his pretty part of the assigned staff, or the incredible urge to have sex. He wasn't normally like that… well, at least not in places like these. He left the dirty thoughts for later when he was in the quiet of solitude. But just now he had those thoughts of how hot it must be to be fucking someone while wearing that perfectly tailored suit, making a mess among all the tidiness that went with it all.

He wasn't like that… but the more he thought about it, the more he was tempted, he thought it would be the only time he would see you, that you had to be professional and not at all indiscreet, that it would only be one night. He was becoming more and more convinced, what was wrong with him? He was handsome, young, successful and very well endowed, he only needed to show his gifts to someone. Felix thought if that someone could be you; this was not Felix who thinks dating and love were important, suddenly something came over him, like a haughty alter ego blinded by his dazzling fame, ready to just have sex.

The main event started, the dinner and the show, you had gotten a table, only confirmed by the exclusively selected staff in perhaps, one of the worst areas, still you were in, from going to see the Met outside on the street, to being seated next to a bunch of celebrities in the same room; you were so happy you could die the next day thinking you made it.

But once the show was over, little by little so was your spark, it was time to go back to your reality and take a cab home; the folks at that table were mentioning something about an after party, among them and a bunch more… but you didn't want the smell of celebrities and fame to leave your pores and get lost in some stranger's apartment.

You were about to check out when a short woman rushes up to you asking if there was any Stray Kids staff at the table.

“Here, me!” you showed her your ID quizzically. “What's going on?”

“What are you doing here? They're escorting you to the after party.”

Puzzled, you mumbled a “what?” and followed her hurried pace as she was leaving.

“After party, with who?”

The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to look at you.

“Well, who are you working for.”

Impossible, you thought. You were supposed to check out and you weren't allowed to go outside the museum, they couldn't just invite you like that, could they? Why would they? Besides you were working for the museum, not for them. Sadly, you had to make it clear to them.

You walked towards them who were already at the main exit leaving with other celebrities, you got up the courage and approached them.

“Nice to meet you guys, but I think it was a misunderstanding, I can't accompany you, I work for the museum… they didn't give me directions to follow you.”

“And what time do you leave?” Chan asked you with a hoarse voice and eyes fixed on you.

“Just now…” you added awkwardly, not knowing what to say as the eight men stared at you.

“Perfect” Chan said in a thick accent with a smile.

“Now you work for us, let's go to the after party” spoke in a cold, distant and arrogant tone the pretty blond boy who had caught your attention.

You had not heard him speak, not until now. You were too surprised by the contrast of his angelic face and his incredibly thick voice.

You were able to register your exit and hurriedly kept up with the boys.

“We liked the way you explained the exhibition, we will have you as translator now” Chan told you as he quickened his pace leaving you behind.

It didn't make the slightest sense what he just said. You don't even speak Korean.

You sighed and could not deny the excitement of living another adventure, it was not like they were forcing you, you were now going to go to the legendary Met Gala after party.

You got into a dark van along with more of their staff and in the minutes of traffic you were finally there. You couldn't believe it, for a moment you stopped thinking that things made sense.

Luckily you were not alone, but accompanied by another girl in the staff, all looked great but it was evident that no one wanted to socialize with you and it was difficult for you to do so; so you felt uncomfortable and out of place, questioning if you should really be there.

After a few minutes you noticed that Felix stood up from his seat, taking the button of his suit and slyly approached you.

“Can you come with me?” he whispered in your ear with his deep voice.

You froze, and followed him without thinking too much, something wasn't right when it came to him…. besides, you thought you had to follow his instructions.

Felix went to a private bathroom, you wanted to think that maybe he wanted you to take care of his coat… if not, why else would he ask you to accompany him; he entered quickly, in a suspicious way and then came out quickly looking around frantically, until he pulled you by the arm and took you with him to that small elegant bathroom, locking the door. You couldn't process the speed of the actions and suddenly, you saw his piercing gaze in front of yours.

What was going on?

Felix had enough, watching you flirtatiously talking to Chan, sweet talking all his friends, there was nothing else to explain but that he was horny and wanted to have you right now. You weren't stupid, you noticed his looks but wanted to ignore them, but it turns out that wasn't what he wanted.

So there you were, inwardly struggling whether to play along with whatever he intended to do or put your ethics above… you analyzed him, he looked so good with his long hair and white suit, you'd probably never see him again, you wanted to bite your lip just thinking about how dangerous and fast-paced some kind of sex like that would be, on the sly. But you couldn't make up your mind, this was about Conde Nast, your dream, not easy access to fuck.

Felix noticed too the early darkness in your gaze, reflecting lust, he was already hard from just thinking about your ass slapping his pelvis as he thrust his cock in and out your pussy mercilessly. You so wet, making a mess, the two of you indulging in passion while a bunch of people decide to party outside.

“I don't normally do this but… I may only see you once in my life…”

Felix said in a voice thicker than what you had heard and came dangerously close to you, who were glued to the door, perplexed.

“Felix…” you wanted to think clearly but his full lips in a perfect heart shape were distracting you.

“If you want to fuck me… you have to promise me to never tell anyone.”

Felix whispered plaintiff in your left ear, losing himself in the scent of you hair. You couldn't take it anymore, if he kept talking, you might cum at any moment.

You understood the situation of things and the importance of his comment, after all he was still a global superstar. But not telling would not only be a beautiful secret to take to your grave and something fun to remember, but it would also be beneficial for you, because under no circumstances should a female employee have sex with her assigned celebrity. You would be banned from all of Manhattan or the city if possible, public enemy number one.

He moved closer to your ear, thinly brushing his lips on it and making you lose control little by little by his approach. You closed your eyes, completely lost, fuck it, you would fuck him and never see him again, at least not this intimacy.

“Why would I fuck and tell...?” you whispered completely lost in desire.

He chuckled, and finally grabbed you by the waist. Felix sought your lips and you kissed slowly, deeply and passionately, the kiss was so strong that you felt the pressure of his upturned nose on your face. You knew it was so wrong at any angle analyzed… but it felt so right, his lips were soft and he moved them with agility, your hands were still glued to the wall in surprise, but gradually you relaxed and managed to hold on to the ends of his jacket.

Felix also relaxed and his right hand moved down to your naked back and slowly and nimbly he moved his hand in until he squeezed and caressed your ass, his actions surprised you that you almost moaned at the touch, separating you a little from the kiss.

He pulled a few inches away from your lips and, as he ran his hand all around your ass, he looked you over with a look of superiority.

“You're such a slut, only wearing a fucking thong, almost like you were ready for me” he said with a husky voice.

This time you felt his noticeable bulge brush against your belly and his soft touch made you wetter and wetter.

“Get on your knees, beautiful.”

He ordered and you obeyed. Felix was sick of feeling horny, he wanted a quick fix, to strip the tight garments off his cock and be attended to urgently, once he had enough of his own, he was going to take over pleasuring you fully.

Your breath was getting shorter and shorter and you felt his member on the fabric, you thought about how good he looked from below and in all possible angles, then you pulled down his pants, ready to give him the best blowjob ever —or at least you hoped so—, you couldn't resist, you simply pulled down his underwear too, finding his throbbing and delicious cock so needy, its tip was bright pink and poor Felix was already showing signs of small droplets of pre-seminal fluid, and to think he had a fine and angelic face…. You had never felt so hungry and desirous, you were totally possessed; you wanted it in your hands, in your mouth, pounding your face, pounding your cervix… so you felt it, that firm hard manly hunk, at the mercy of your hands, feeling every texture of his skin.

Felix gasped, lifting his buttoned shirt a little, revealing a bit of his smooth but working abdomen. You took some of his fluid and spread it all over his length, lubricating it, it felt so good, but you were also so needy and desperate, and the thin fabric covering your intimate area didn't help at all, you felt the garment getting smaller and smaller, you felt your wet pussy growing and throbbing causing a delicious friction; but you thought you had to be more careful, your whole outfit was black, one stain of semen or fluids and you had to pay for the dress.

You moved a little away from him, hoping that no droplets of him fell on your attire, still you held his erection tightly with your left hand, making frantic movements, back and forth.

He was ecstatic, it was all he needed, to be sexually attended to; the New York air suited Felix Lee wonderfully, and the New York girl… he thought… she was out of this world, her hands felt fantastic on his hard manhood. He wanted to cum roughly, but he wanted to do it dirty in his employee's mouth and pretty face… he would never act like the beastly thing he was doing in Seoul, but new place, try new things.

So between sighs and gasps, he lowered his gaze and tried to communicate with her.

“Use your pretty mouth.”

You never thought he was going to ask, you didn't hesitate for a second, and the grotesque sound of your saliva dripping on his cock were heavenly; his sex was hot and smooth, the texture felt so good inside your cheeks but once again, you are desperate for him to take you and start moving your guts.

Within minutes, Felix cum in your mouth amid moans and groans, and the softest but most effective hair pulls, to make you go exquisitely deeper. You never thought he was so vocal, with a voice like that, you were in heaven; and it took you only a few seconds to drink his cum, as a reward.

“I think we need to get rid of that dress” he said trying to catch his breath. “I'll buy you 3 more, no worries.”

He took you by the chin, inviting you to stand up and helped you take off the dress, you were so excited that your vision was blurred and you couldn't think clearly… what was his next move….

You were amazed at how incredibly hard and standing still he was even after he had just cum, you thought, after all kpop idols did have it all, great stage presence, big penis, music talent, and for sex too.

He sat you on the small counter, him facing the mirror, the stone was cold and you were finally, almost, completely naked in front of him, wearing only your thin thong. Felix wasted no time and positioned himself between your legs, kissing you deeply and desperately as you carefully felt the tip of his penis brush your wet center each time they came closer, he moved his kisses down, to your neck, massaged your breasts and kissed and sucked them mercilessly, you wanted to scream with excitement but you were acutely aware that there were people outside, never mind the noise of the party. Once on your chest, he turned his angelic face up, with a dark mischievous look and that's when you felt his thumb caress your clit.

You moaned in relief, finally your exhausted pussy was going to be given attention. His movements were slow until each time he increased the acceleration, you couldn't help but writhe in pleasure and when your body contracted ready to climax, Felix introduced his fingers inside you, he felt the softness of your insides so lubricated and ready to feel his erection beating you frantically.

“Look at me” he asked once he saw that your attention was focused for a few seconds on his right hand playing with your pussy.

“Uh-mm” you murmured, nodding softly, almost in moans.

You weren't thinking clearly but decided to hold back the urge to cum just to feel his fingers inside you for a few more moments. You looked into his big dark eyes; you felt that he looked more calm and serious with that gaze locked on you and his innocent freckled look, unlike you that your eyes was totally submissive and you were almost about to cry with pleasure, oh and Felix loved that, all that mess because of him.

“I'm going to cum, Fe…” you moaned.

But you couldn't even speak, he accelerated his movements and your belly contracted so pleasantly bringing you to your first orgasm.

“I'm not done yet; let me clean up that mess you made.”

And without warning, Felix leaned down, gripping your thighs tightly, two of his fingers still freshly wet from my fluids, marked on your thigh; Felix ran his hot tongue across your cunt, licking all your cum.

He began to eat your pussy carefully, almost accomplishing step by step and you loved the delicacy of what he was doing, you were seeing stars, you didn't want this to ever end, you wanted him on you all the time. You took advantage and also took hold of his tightly tied hair. He did it so well that you had to cum a second time.

And finally, the act you both had been waiting for since he locked the door; Felix had saved the urge and was once again swollen and throbbing, screaming for attention and action. He cleaned the edges of his mouth in a attractive manner.

“Shit, I don't have a condom” he said in annoyance.

“It's okay, I'd never have your baby anyway.”

Felix smiled and you watched his erection in front of your pussy, until he gently pushed it in, until you closed your eyes once again in pleasure.

“I'm going to cum inside you and make sure your pussy misses every part of me.”

Felix whispered hotly in your right ear as you pressed your bodies closer and closer together, until you ended up with your legs wrapped around his waist, crushing bit of his outfit, and your hands on his shoulders. And then, he rammed you fast and as delicious as no one else had ever done, you moaned softly to avoid any strange noises from outside. It was incredible, you thought, his rhythm was strong and constant and when you began to lubricate his penis more indicating your soon orgasm, Felix separated from you and in quick movements he changed your position, lowered you from the counter, turned your body and introduced his penis making you stand still and making you both see yourselves in the mirror.

You couldn't be happier, you loved the fiction of his shirts stuck to your body of the clothes he still had on, and he began to pound more frantically and wildly, giving way to the sound of your skins colliding and your fluids combining. Felix held you tightly by the waist as he pulled your body away and closer, controlling it in his own way, you wanted to help him, moving your ass a little but his grip was too strong. You were with your back arched, holding tightly to the sink, giving choked moans as you felt his strong thrusts. Watching him fuck you in the mirror was fucking hot, he looked so attractive with his half-open mouth letting out soft moans and his concentrated countenance, frowning and his eyes locked on your ass, then on you.

Felix grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled it to pull you closer to him and glued you to his body, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, his thrusts were deeper that way and you were touching the edge.

“Do you like the way I fuck you, little slut, huh?”

You tried to nod between gripping your hair.

“Say it.”

“Yes-yes, Felix, ahh it feels good.”

“You feel good too, sweetheart, you're doing a great job.”

His dirty talk close to your ear were just more elements to make you cum faster and faster and each time you were more and more surprised, as his pace increased, finally making you climax, for the third time.

Felix smiled in victory as he felt your pussy muscles first tighten and then relax releasing more of your luscious fluids, wetting and hugging his hard cock, Felix continued another small moment, until he cum gloriously inside you and a little more above your ass.

You were perplexed. The sexual connection had been real. You both tried to catch your breath, he helped you put your dress back on and as you changed, Felix felt a little bad about just using you for his carnal desires, for you honestly it had been just a good fuck and you had your feet on the ground being aware that someone like him and you could never be together.

“So… Are you officially working on something related for Vogue?”

You smiled, as you tried to touch up your makeup, it was a bit badly retouched.

“No, it's my dream, they just hired me as a one-off for this year.”

“Maybe you should learn Korean and move there, Vogue Korea is still Vogue, isn't it?” he mentioned flirtatiously.

You chuckled again, that implied many things and at the same time none for you.

“Go out first, y/n, then I'll go out. I'll transfer you for the dresses outside, I don't even have my phone here” he said, finally in his deep voice calmer, almost looking tender, in his thick accent.

You smiled and looked at him one last time, before finally leaving for the party. Leaving you wanting more, but also with nothing more than just sex in the city.

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 9: Sink or Swim

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You confront Joel and he struggles to tell you the truth and open up, leaving you with a broken heart.

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, mountains of angst, jealousy, reader has long-ish hair, reader falls down into a shame spiral where she compares herself to a prostitute

WC: 5.9K

Series Masterlist

You had never felt more stupid or naive in your life.

How could you let this happen? How could you allow yourself to be put in this position, knowing deep down you would ultimately get hurt? And the worst part was, you had no one to blame but yourself. Joel was upfront from the very beginning. He was paying you to pretend to be his significant other and he repeatedly drew the line in the sand, refusing over and over again to take things further with you. But you just kept pushing and pushing and he eventually caved, your persistence finally wearing him down. And after everything, after he told you he had never been in love, after explaining he was only with Tammy for vengeance and then convenience, you still foolishly thought maybe you were different. That maybe you could change him. What the hell had gotten into you? Why couldn't you just do the job you were hired to do, collect your payment and go home?

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the tears back as you stood over your bed, packing the rest of your belongings before the plane took off in a couple hours. Most of your things were packed, the clothes and accessories Joel and purchased for you before the trip, but you still had to gather all your own personal items. When you pulled your bag from the closet, forgotten and untouched for weeks, you immediately spotted an old, baggy shirt and your favorite pair of jeans. Without even thinking twice, you stripped off the pajamas and underwear that were purchased for you and replaced everything with your own clothes. When you pulled your shirt over your head and looked in the mirror, you took a deep breath and gave yourself a little smile.

This was the girl you knew. This was who you really were. Not some girl who pranced around in lingerie that cost more than a month's rent or a swimsuit that could cover a car payment.

You should have known this life wasn't for you. Joel had called you a hopeless romantic that day on the beach. The same day he got you the pretty pink seashells you now cradled carefully in the palms of your hands.

Maybe he was right.

"Almost ready?"

You jumped at his deep voice in your doorway and nearly dropped the seashells. With extra care, you wrapped them in an old hoodie and buried them in your bag.

"Yeah, almost," you said over your shoulder, pausing a moment when you saw the two white, unopened envelopes filled with tip money you had completely forgotten about.

Joel's arms circled your waist from behind and you quickly closed the bag.

"Feelin' sad it's over?" he asked, lips pressed gently into the crook of your neck. And you knew he meant the trip, but your heart still wrenched in your chest, anyway.

"Uh, yeah," you said, swallowing down the dejection that threatened to crawl up your throat. You carefully pried his hands off you and slipped away to pack your toiletries, leaving him standing there with a confused look on his face.

He watched you as you busied yourself with packing, taking great care to wrap your shampoo and face wash so it wouldn't leak, and he frowned.

"Somethin's up."

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, focus still fixed on your task. "No. Just... like you said. Sad it's over."

Joel ticked his jaw to the side, still not convinced. Then it dawned on him and he slowly sat down on the edge of your bed.

"We never talked last night like I said we would," he said. "'M sorry, I was thinkin' 'bout the land and all the shit I gotta do to finalize the sale... we'll talk on the plane, alright? Promise, baby."

For some reason, hearing him call you baby made your stomach turn and you instantly bristled.

"Uh, no, it's fine," you insisted, tucking your hair behind your ear when you bent over to shove your toiletries into your bag. "Nothing to talk about, it was stupid."

And now, it really did seem stupid. Admitting you would have come there without being paid just for him to lie and break your heart hours later?

But, shit... it was still true. Even after he lied, you still didn't want any of his money. He could keep it all if it meant he would open up and let you in.

"Wasn't stupid," Joel finally said softly. He was beginning to worry now. Something wasn't right and it was making his pulse race. When you breezed past him to gather the things from your nightstand, he grabbed your wrist and spun you around. Reluctantly, you met his eye and he imploringly gazed up at you.

"Talk to me."

You inhaled a shaky breath and dropped your chin to your chest. "Joel... I still have to pack-"

"I don't care," he said sternly, "I got people to do that for us. Why ain't you lookin' at me?"

Nerves shot through your limbs, fingers beginning to shake so you curled them into fists. You had to bring it up one way or another, right?

The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"Why won't you tell me what happened with your daughter?"

Once the words left your lips, the room instantly felt colder, his grip felt tighter, and your muscles stiffened in anticipation.

"What?" he asked, his voice so low and his tone so icy that it sent a shiver down your spine. You shifted nervously from foot to foot, eyes still pinned to the floor.

"Why won't-"

"I fuckin' heard you," he snapped, dropping your wrists and standing up. "Who told you?"

You swallowed tightly and took a few steps backwards.

"Tammy."

Joel practically growled with rage as he began to pace around your room, the area that once felt so spacious and luxurious now felt so small and cold. He grumbled under his breath and dragged his hand through his hair, curls sticking up in odd directions when he turned on you with a look that could melt steel.

"The hell you talkin' to her for?"

Of all the things for him to say, you didn't expect that.

"What do you - she came at me last night! She threatened to tell Glenn about your daughter and brother and I had to pretend like I already knew!"

Tears welled up in your eyes and your hands pressed protectively against your chest.

"I was helping you, Joel. I stopped her from ruining this deal for you." And you hated the way your voice wobbled when you said, "I was doing my job."

His eyes flashed with anger when he stopped a few feet away from you with his hands propped on his hips.

"You shoulda came to get me. This didn't have anythin' to do with you," he told you. You winced and looked back down at the floor, unable to stop yourself from taking it personally.

"Why does Tammy know more about your family than I do?" you asked, your voice so small and weak it was borderline embarrassing.

"'Cause-" he cut himself off, swiping his palm over his mouth while he stared at you, wrestling with his anger and his feelings all at once.

"'Cause it ain't part of the deal?" you offered bitterly, just as surprised as him at the quick change in your tone. And because he was foolish and always quick to anger, he took the bait.

"Yeah, 'cause it ain't part of the deal," he huffed, narrowing his eyes at you.

"But it was part of her deal," you pointed out. At that, Joel rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

"The hell you want from me?" he asked, voice rising now. "I told you 'bout her, told you what happened-"

"And you told me she was the only reason you felt you weren't a 'good man'!" you shouted with air quotes, your heartbreak bleeding into anger. "You fucking lied to me, Joel!"

"My family ain't none of your goddamn business!" he shouted back, the look in his eye and the sting of his words making you falter for a moment. "If I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you!"

"That's the problem, isn't it? You don't want to tell me anything! It's like pulling teeth with you, Joel, I swear to god..."

You pushed past him to shove the remaining items from your end table recklessly into your bag while he stalked after you.

"You wanna know 'bout my daughter? 'Bout my brother? Will that make you happy?" he yelled, his face growing hot and his eyes flickering with anger as he towered over you. You spun around with your arms crossed, refusing to let him intimidate you. But before you could shoot back an answer, he kept going.

"You wanna know how I abandoned my kid? You want me to tell you how I turned my back on my brother, let him lose his goddamn business? Huh?"

You blinked and shook your head, stunned.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, that's right," he sneered, turning away momentarily before twisting back around to face you. "This is why I don't do shit like this. 'Cause of the look you're givin' me right now."

You were speechless. You couldn't think of a single thing to say to make the situation better, so you kept your mouth shut and held back your tears while he cursed under his breath and tried not to yank his hair out at the root. When it became apparent you had no fight left in you, he twisted his wrist to look at the time with a scowl, then haphazardly picked up your bag from the bed and tossed it on the ground next to the others.

"We're leavin' in half an hour, be ready," he muttered, then slammed your door behind him after he disappeared into the hallway.

You let the tears fall, then. Only when he was gone and couldn't see. You buried your face in your hands and fell to your knees next to your things and sobbed as silently as possible, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you so hurt.

When you found a break in the sadness after taking a deep breath and drying your cheeks, you righted your bag only to hear shards of something delicate rattling inside. You frantically dug around and found the pink seashells all but destroyed and another wave of tears washed over you, only that time you didn't try to hide it. You sobbed openly while clutching the pieces to your chest, rocking back and forth, hoping to ease the pain somehow, but nothing helped.

Nothing could put the seashells or your heart back together.

Panic seized his throat approximately four minutes after he slammed his door, storming into his bedroom and muttering angrily under his breath until the clouds cleared and he realized his mistake.

His huge, fat, monstrous fucking mistake.

The hurt he carried with him about Sarah and Tommy wasn't meant to be unloaded onto you. It was something he was responsible for and something he had to deal with. It wasn't fair to snap at you the way he did just because he felt shame. He was taken off-guard, shocked that you knew anything about them in the first place, and he lashed out. Everything between you was so new, he was too scared to tell you the truth.

But it ultimately didn't matter.

He pushed you away, like he always did. He wasn't honest, you called him out on it, and he fought back like a petulant child.

And now he was going to lose you.

He whipped out his phone and typed out a quick text to his assistant, Liam.

What should I do for a girl when I've fucked things up beyond recognition?

He waited for a response and stared listlessly out the window, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg until he heard something. He rushed to his door and pressed his ear against the wood, brows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint the sound. Then his chest ached when he heard your muffled crying from across the hall.

Are we talking Chanel bag fucked up Cartier watch fucked up?

Joel frowned at his screen before replying, remembering the relaxed outfit you were wearing when he walked into your room earlier. They were definitely not clothes he bought. He already knew, but you weren't the type of person who cared about stuff like that.

I have no idea which one of those is better or worse. I fucked up big time but I don't think designer shit's the answer.

Then something sentimental. Something that means something to her. Or the both of you, if that's possible.

Joel rolled his eyes before tapping out a thanks and sliding the phone back into his pocket. Right before he was about to step out into the hall, his phone buzzed again.

And say you're sorry. Feels like that's a given but who knows with you.

Liam had been Joel's assistant for almost a decade. He knew Joel would never fire him because he was just too damn good at his job, and he loved to wield his power whenever moments arose to do so.

A simple apology wouldn't be enough. He needed to do more. But he was so fucking terrible at this, so rusty, he could hardly even remember what it was like to be in a legitimate relationship.

Was that was this was? He never had the chance to ask. And now he could feel it slipping through his fingers, just like the sand on the beach that day he kissed you in the ocean, or the powdered paint used to decorate your faces.

Joel swung his door open, ready to barge back into your room, take you into his arms and apologize until you either accepted it or screamed at him to stop. But when he stepped across the hall, your room was empty. Your bags were gone.

He hurried into the living room to find you tugging at your luggage, hair all wild and covering most of your tear soaked face as you struggled to get your bags closer to the door.

"Darlin', you don't gotta do that, the crew'll get all this shit," he reminded you, purposely softening his voice. He rubbed at his chest as he approached, ready to apologize, but the minute he got a good look at your face, he knew it was no use. Your eyes were all puffy and filled with rage when your head snapped up to look at him.

"I don't need you or your people to help me," you hissed, angrily swiping at your hair. He held out his hands in surrender, hoping you could see how sorry he was, but you just swiveled away to grab your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

"Wait, can we talk-"

"I'll be in the lobby," you said bitterly, and before he could say anything else, you disappeared out into the hall and the door had swung shut.

Admittedly, you had envisioned using the bed on Joel's private jet for something far more fun than lying there staring at the ceiling with eyes so dry and raw, they felt like sandpaper. Yet that was exactly how you found yourself three hours into the flight, unable to find peace or rest, your argument playing on a loop in your head.

Then, of course, came the intrusive thoughts.

Were you no better than a whore? Technically, you slept with a man who was paying you for your companionship. Wasn't that the very definition of a prostitute?

Joel only carried on a relationship with Tammy when it was convenient and the moment she started to develop feelings, he cut her off. You were certainly convenient, sleeping right across the hall, practically throwing yourself at him. And although he could probably sense you wanted more from him, that you were feeling something more but too afraid to admit, at least you never got to the point where you put yourself out there. At least you still had some dignity intact.

Somewhat.

You rolled over with a frustrated groan, savoring the feeling of the expensive, buttery soft sheets against your skin, knowing in a few short hours you would be back to the worn out cotton set you had bought back in college.

The luxury items were nice, but you could live without them. There was only one thing on that plane you really wanted, but your mind won the battle over your heart: you wouldn't let him hurt you again. He told you exactly who he was, and you didn't believe him.

You wouldn't make that mistake again.

But that didn't stop your heart from splintering in your chest every time you thought about the way his lips felt against your neck, or the sweet things he whispered in your ear - my girl, all fuckin' mine, you got me, or the way he took such gentle care of you after the incident with Brooks.

He was a good man, deep down.

No, he was a fucking asshole and a liar.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up in bed and fixed your hair, bending over to look in the mirror by the closet at your appearance and swiping the pad of your finger underneath both eyes, as if it made any difference, before straightening up and opening the door.

Joel sat with his head in his hands in front of his glowing laptop. He didn't hear the door open at first, so you paused, taking a rare moment to study him when his guard was down. His shoulders looked heavy, fingers curling into his hair as if he were in pain, and his leg bounced wildly underneath the table. If you didn't know any better, he looked conflicted. Like he was wrapped in guilt and self-pity.

You tossed your hair over your shoulder and lifted your chin high. It's not about you. He's working. It's probably about some bullshit with work. Don't do this to yourself again. Don't think you're something to him when you're not.

You stared at him a minute longer, anger bubbling up inside you again, but this time your anger was directed inward. Why, after he lied to you, after he said his family ain't none of your business and if I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you and it ain't part of the deal, did you stand there wishing you could climb into his lap and bury your face against his neck? Breathe him in and let him fill you? Whisper your names into each other's mouths and scrape your nails over his scalp just to hear him groan?

You must have made a noise, or maybe he was developing a sixth sense because suddenly his hands dropped, his leg froze, and his eyes snapped up to meet yours. Your gaze darted nervously around the plane, squinting out the window through the clouds as if you could tell where you were as you flew over the entire goddamn ocean, before finding his eyes again.

"Get any sleep?" he asked. His voice was raspy from disuse and you rolled your shoulders, trying to physically rid your body of the effect those three simple words had on you.

"No," you replied before slumping down into a chair on the other side of the cabin, furthest away from him. You tucked your fist under your chin and gazed tiredly out the window. Joel's eyes could have burned holes into your head from the way he was staring at you, scanning you, trying to come up with the right combination of words that would take back everything he said, until finally he cracked.

"Please talk to me."

Your eyelids fluttered closed at the soft desperation in his tone, throat feeling like someone's fingers were squeezing around it.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Joel huffed and stood, joints cracking from sitting in the same position for too long. In three long strides, he dropped himself into the seat across from you.

"You had questions. Lemme answer 'em."

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at him. Up close, he looked disheveled. A little rattled, maybe. But mostly determined.

"You said it yourself. If you wanted to tell me, you would've. If she never said anything to me, would you have told me you had a daughter?"

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, considering his answer.

"No," he finally replied. You rolled your eyes and turned your head away, neck straining at an impossible angle so you could stare out the window and avoid seeing him in your peripheral vision. "But not for the reasons you think."

"Yeah? You have no idea what I'm thinking," you muttered.

"What happened was... it's a long story, but-"

"But you told Tammy," you snapped, eyes still glued to the clouds.

"I've known both of 'em for years-"

"You said you didn't care for her that way, yet she knows so much about you," you rambled, too lost in your own anger and jealousy now.

"Can you let me-"

"God, I'm so fucking stupid. This was a huge mistake-"

"Will you let me fuckin' finish?" Joel asked, voice rising and purposely cutting you off before you could finish the sentence that might shatter his heart for good.

You whipped your head around, nostrils flaring and brows sewn together into a glare. Joel just stared right back, his chest rising a little faster under his button down shirt, dark eyes looking stormier than usual. When too much time had passed, you raised your eyebrows and wiggled your head from side to side expectantly. Go on, speak. He took a deep breath and pressed his back firmly into the plush leather chair before continuing.

"I've known her and Scott for a long time. They knew 'bout Sarah years ago. And, yeah, when I was younger and fuckin' stupid, I told both of 'em too much 'bout me. But I couldn't tell you, 'cause-"

He cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat as you stared one another down.

"'Cause I care what you think. 'Bout me. I care what you think 'bout me. Don't care what she thinks. Just you."

Sarah. Joel. Sarah and Joel, Joel and Sarah.

Just you.

Your eyes pinched shut and your shoulders sagged, the emotional whiplash finally taking its toll.

"I can tell you, if you want," Joel offered. His hands were fidgeting in his lap as he searched for any possible sign that he was breaking through.

"If I want. But you don't want to, right?"

Your voice sounded so small, you barely recognized it.

When he didn't answer, you lifted your chin and opened your eyes. You watched his throat bob and his lips purse before giving you a defeated look and slowly shook his head. At least he didn't lie again.

You bit your lower lip and nodded. You'd had enough.

"Then don't. Doesn't make a difference now, anyway," you told him. Reaching for your bag, you pulled out some earbuds and a hoodie, muttering angrily to yourself when you found it inside out.

Joel just watched, dejected and lost, too out of his element to undo the damage he caused as you yanked the hoodie over your head and popped your earbuds in. Once you reclined your chair and closed your eyes, he got the message.

He would just have to accept it was over.

When you finally fell into a restless slumber, you dreamt. You dreamt about a pair of soulful brown eyes, strong hands and a smile that made you weak in the knees.

The worst I'll ask is for you to hold my hand and the occasional kiss.

Only it wasn't just that, was it? It was secret touches that blossomed into flirty kisses when no one was around until the tension broke and he turned your world upside down with his deep laugh, sweet touch and torn knuckles.

Then you dreamt of broken seashells, salty tears, and you were hired to look pretty and act like you're in love with me. Everythin' else is none of your goddamn business.

He tried to warn you, you gave him that. He tried to push you away, but you persisted. You were foolish and had no idea what you were getting yourself into, and now you were left with a broken heart, heading back to Los Angeles to an empty apartment.

Joel was unavailable, plain and simple. He had a fortress built around himself that was impossible to tear down, and even though he offered to let you in, give you the grand tour, it wasn't genuine. He didn't offer because he wanted you in, he offered because it was what you wanted. And maybe to assuage his own guilt.

The flight crew woke you up when dinner was ready. You groggily sat up and tried to force feed yourself some chicken, something you assumed Joel had ordered for you, but you hardly made it halfway through before giving up.

He glanced at you occasionally but he kept to himself. He focused intently on his laptop or phone while you tried to find something to distract yourself with on TV.

When the flight crew announced you'd be landing in half an hour, Joel straightened up and began to look a little panicked, like maybe he had been expecting you to cave, trapped on his private jet with him, and you never did. And now you'd be landing soon, his chances dwindling.

"I ain't good at this," he said out of the blue. You just shrugged and kept your gaze fixed on the television.

"I noticed."

His fingers rapped impatiently on the table.

"What if we started over?"

Curiosity got the best of you and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a raised eyebrow, which he took that as an invitation to keep talking.

"We didn't meet on the right terms. This wasn't -"

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I don't do relationships," he began again, and at that you scoffed.

"I'm very aware of that, too."

He narrowed his eyes at your dry tone. "But you do."

You frowned and turned back to gaze blankly at the TV. "Yes, Joel. Like most normal people, I have relationships."

"Alright. What if I'd be willin' to try somethin' like that? For you? Start over and do it right?" he asked hopefully.

"Then I would say twenty four hours ago, that was exactly what I wanted to hear," you said coldly. You saw him stand out of the corner of your eye and find a swivel chair closer to where you sat on the couch.

"And now?"

The deep timber of his voice had you taking a moment to breathe deep and collect yourself. You could smell his cologne, the one you never got the name of but would spend two hours one day in the near future trying to find it in a department store just so you could smell him again.

"And now..." you echoed, your brain tossing around various replies until you settled on, "I don't know."

He inched forward on the chair and glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were alone before saying, "Listen, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so unbelievably fuckin' sorry that it makes me want to pluck by goddamn eyes out. I wanna make this right. Just tell me what to do."

The pilot announced your decent and you sat up to buckle yourself in.

"I'm not going to force you into opening up for me, Joel," you said, clicking your seatbelt loudly before meeting his eye. "You can tell me everything about you. Every ugly, horrible, nasty little thing. But unless you really want to tell me, unless you trust me and care for me enough to not judge you for it, I don't want to hear it."

His eyes dropped sadly to the floor and he nodded. He lied to you already, and he wasn't going to sit there and lie again. But maybe one day he would grow into a better person, someone who would want to share the terrible things they've done with someone they care for and trust they wouldn't think any less of him.

But today was not the day.

He sat back in his chair and you kept your focus on the television as the plane landed and began to screech to a halt. When it slowed, you leaned forward to put your earbuds and book away, then frowned when you saw the pieces of pink seashells still scattered around the bottom of your bag.

You began to scoop them up and Joel watched you curiously, ignoring the flight crew flitting around and doing all their checks.

When your hands emerged from the bag holding the broken pink pieces, he found himself lurching forward.

"They broke?" he asked, feeling far more sentimental about it than he ever expected.

You nodded and dumped them into a small trash can within reach. "When you threw my bag on the floor earlier."

Joel froze and scanned his memory. When did he throw your bag? Then he remembered angrily storming out of your room and haphazardly tossing your bag off your bed to join the rest by the door, not thinking anything of it at the time.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging his palms roughly over his face. Yet another mistake. "Darlin', I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," you told him, cutting him off when you unbuckled your seatbelt to stand. You caught the look he gave you and you shrugged. "Really, it's fine. I'm over it."

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the exit. Joel stood to follow you, glancing forlornly at the garbage one more time before swiping his wallet and phone from the table next to his laptop.

He nodded to his driver, who stood obediently next to the open car door where you had disappeared inside.

"Richie," Joel greeted him with a firm handshake. Richie smiled before holding out his arm and stepping to the side.

"Congratulations, sir. You must be thrilled."

Joel gave him a curt nod and ducked inside the backseat of the car. Thrilled? No, he was hardly thrilled. A day ago he was thrilled. A day ago he had it all. But now? He had the land, sure. He was bound to make a mountain of money off the new hotel, his business would thrive and his hotel would become a household name.

But it didn't make him happy. Not the way it used to.

"Here," you said after ten minutes of driving in silence. He turned and felt his heart skip a beat when you held out your ring. Slowly, he unfurled his fist to open his palm so you could drop it in his hand. Joel gazed down at it, the gold still warm, and wondered how long it would take for the tightness in his chest to ease.

"I'll have someone drop the clothes and stuff off sometime next week," he murmured, sliding the ring into his inside jacket pocket. It felt like a goddamn weight pressing into chest.

"Keep them," you replied, still facing away from him so you could stare out the window at the quiet, dark streets.

"Part of the contract. They're yours," he reminded you.

"I don't care. I don't have the room for them. Besides, where the hell am I going to wear a designer dress? To the grocery store?"

Joel dropped his gaze to the seat, staring at the space between you. It was only a handful of inches but it felt like miles.

"The money'll be wired tomorrow," he said, clenching his teeth when Richie turned onto your street.

"Keep that, too."

His head whipped around, eyes narrowing into a glare. "No."

"I don't want it, Joel," you insisted as you unbuckled your seatbelt. The car came to a stop and Joel shot his arm out to stop you.

"Richie, give us a second."

The driver immediately stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood to light a cigarette. You fixated on the bright orange glow so you didn't have to look at Joel.

"You're takin' the money," he told you firmly. "You ain't got a job and we signed a goddamn contract. Quit bein' so stubborn."

You sniffled and gathered your bag.

"If you send it, I'm asking my bank to reject it," you replied. Joel groaned and twisted to the side to face you.

"Why? Why are you fightin' me on this?"

"Because!" you exclaimed, emotions getting the best of you. Finally, your watery eyes found his. "Because I can't take it! Not after everything -"

Your voice caught in your throat and your lower lip trembled. Joel's eyebrows pulled together, stomach feeling like it was filled with cement as he fought the urge to cup your face and pull you into his chest.

You took a deep, steadying breath and then temporarily collected yourself.

"I signed that contract before I knew you," you said quietly. "But now... I ... I just can't." I don't want your money, I just want you.

You reached for the door handle, hellbent on leaving before he could see you cry, but his voice stopped you.

"The money's goin' in tomorrow. If you feel that strongly 'bout it, give it to charity or somethin'. But you're gettin' that money."

Before you could respond, you heard him shuffle in his seat and open his door, telling you to stay put, that he would walk you up. And in the brief few seconds it took him to round the car and shoo Richie away from your door, you tossed the two unopened envelopes onto his seat.

The door opened and you hurried out, clutching your bag tightly against your side and jogging up the few stairs to your building.

With shaky hands, you unlocked the door and took a step inside. You weren't sure what made you do it, but before you let go of the door, you turned to look at him one last time.

He stood at the bottom of your steps, staring up at you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored pants. It took him no time at all to lose the casual attire and slip back into suits that probably cost thousands. Even after everything, part of you still wanted him. The pieces of you he did allow you to see were good and fun and sweet.

But just pieces wouldn't do.

"Goodbye, Joel," you said, pretending that your voice didn't crack or that a tear didn't sneak down your cheek. He didn't reply. He just continued to watch you from the sidewalk until you turned and disappeared inside, into an elevator and back into your tiny apartment to cry yourself to sleep.

He didn't say goodbye because he wasn't done. He had already decided hours ago.

He was going to do whatever he had to do to win you back.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[morganski-19]

part 1

The next day, there’s someone new to visit Steve. Making Wayne stop in his tracks on his third coffee run. The rumors were true, the Chief isn’t as dead as he was a year ago. Just lost what looks to be half his body weight and all of his hair. Looking gaunt and malnourished. 

But he’s alive. That has to count for something.

Wayne wishes the Chief was there to see him. Give him the key to unlock the chain around Eddie’s wrist. So he’d be able to wake up to a clean slate. That his record will be clear and he won’t get carted off to jail as soon as he’s stable. So Wayne will be able to bring him home. 

Once he has a home to go to. Not just a shitty hotel room that costs more than it should for a night. But it’s right next to the hospital, so Wayne can be here in five minutes if something happens. When his boy wakes up. He has to wake up. 

It’s been five days since Eddie was brought in. Twelve since Wayne saw him last. All he wants is to hear his obnoxiously loud music blaring down the hall while he’s trying to sleep. Or the laughter that could make him smile even when he didn’t want to. Wayne wants his Eddie back, the boy he watched grow all of these years. He’s not ready for the day Eddie wakes up and the light is gone from his eyes. 

Because it will be. Wayne’s seen enough people come back from combat a completely different person. With the scars that are sewn into Eddie’s torso, up his neck, one on his cheek. There’s no doubt that he’s been through something unimaginable. Life changing. 

As much as Wayne wants Eddie to wake up. He’s not ready for him to wake up changed. 

There’s a knock on the hospital door before it opens. Wayne’s expecting a nurse to check Eddie’s vitals, tell him the same shit they have for days. That all is good and he’s progressing. It should be any day now that he wakes up. If the damage to his body wasn’t too much for him. Those words of hope lack their meaning now. 

But instead of a nurse walking through the door, it’s the Chief. 

“Can I sit?” He motions to the chair next to Wayne.

“I suppose.”

The Chief sits next to Wayne, not looking at him. “I hear he’s been in a coma for a few days now.”

Wayne nods, not much in the mood for talking. Civilly at least. Push the right button and the volcano is about to burst. 

“I’ve known a few people who’ve been in medically induced ones like this. They all wake up in the end.”

“I’d like for the cuffs to be off his wrist when he does,” Wayne snaps. Knowing that the Chief has the key to unlock them. “That way he can recover as an innocent man. Like he should.”

The Chief takes a deep breath. “I’m not fully reinstated yet. I don’t have the authority to do anything about that. Even if-”

“Even if what?” Wayne looks at the Chief. Anger filled his voice. “Even if he’s innocent. I know he’s innocent. My boy, my boy could barely hurt a fly, let alone a living, breathing person. He was kinder than people gave him credit for. This town gave him so much shit that he didn’t deserve. Still is. When I’m afraid he might never wake up the same again. So I’d like the cuffs off, so he knows that some part of this town sees him as something other than a villain.”

Finally looking Wayne in the eyes, the Chief takes a second to think. Nodding his head in thought. “You smoke?”

Wayne scoffs. “That really what you're thinking of right now?”

“Answer the question.” Something about the Chief makes Wayne believe there’s more to his words. 

“I do.”

“Great,” he stands, waiting for Wayne at the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

Wayne gets up, mainly because he doesn’t really have a choice but also because he wants to see where this is going. They pass Harrington in the hall, talking to someone on the phone. 

“Yeah, I’m free tomorrow. Can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. No don’t do that. Cause I don’t think it’s time to throw a party yet, not while.” He makes brief eye contact with Wayne as they walk by. Before turning away. “Just won’t feel right without all of us.”

Wayne has no clue who he’s talking about, but it’s probably not Eddie. Hopes it isn’t. He still doesn’t know how he feels about this kid, even if he knows Eddie’s innocent. Doesn’t forgive him from his past, if rumors are true. And knowing who his dad is, Wayne wouldn’t be surprised if they all were true. 

The Chief leads him to the side of the hospital, where there’s no foot traffic. No one around to hear. Wayne suddenly understands what this might all be about. Something not for wandering ears. 

“What I say does not leave this conversation,” he starts, handing Wayne a cigarette. Lighting his own before passing the lighter to Wayne. “Got it?”

Wayne nods. 

“I know Eddie’s innocent. But there’s some weird shit that was happening around then that I cannot tell you about it. All you need to know is that the Feds are involved, and they’re looking for a fall guy. And I’m trying my hardest to make sure that the fall guy isn’t your nephew. So while it might not seem like it, some progress is being made. Your nephew will be a free man when he wakes up. I give you my word on that.”

“I don’t even know how to start processing what you just said.” Wayne takes a long drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke blow out into the alleyway. 

The Chief laughs. “That was all of us the first time this happened. I’d say it gets easier but it really doesn’t.”

“The first time?”

“There’s a lot more to this town than meets the eye.”

“How do I know your word is any good?”

The Chief considers this for a moment. “You don’t really. But who else do you know who can fix this?”

With that, the Chief nods goodbye and heads to the parking lot. Leaving Wayne with more questions than answers, and a little flame of hope he’s wishing won’t get put out.

part 3

I don't know how many parts this will be but I do know they will be posted sporadically whenever I have time to write them. So, no promises of consistency.

also, tag list. I tagged anyone who asked/seemed interested in a part two. please let me know if you would like to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prison-tech company bribed jails to ban in-person visits

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Beware of geeks bearing gifts. When prison-tech companies started offering "free" tablets to America's vast army of prisoners, it set off alarm-bells for prison reform advocates – but not for the law-enforcement agencies that manage the great American carceral enterprise.

The pitch from these prison-tech companies was that they could cut the costs of locking people up while making jails and prisons safer. Hell, they'd even make life better for prisoners. And they'd do it for free!

These prison tablets would give every prisoner their own phone and their own video-conferencing terminal. They'd supply email, of course, and all the world's books, music, movies and games. Prisoners could maintain connections with the outside world, from family to continuing education. Sounds too good to be true, huh?

Here's the catch: all of these services are blisteringly expensive. Prisoners are accustomed to being gouged on phone calls – for years, prisons have done deals with private telcos that charge a fortune for prisoners' calls and split the take with prison administrators – but even by those standards, the calls you make on a tablet are still a ripoff.

Sure, there are some prisoners for whom money is no object – wealthy people who screwed up so bad they can't get bail and are stewing in a county lockup, along with the odd rich murderer or scammer serving a long bid. But most prisoners are poor. They start poor – the cops are more likely to arrest poor people than rich people, even for the same crime, and the poorer you are, the more likely you are to get convicted or be suckered into a plea bargain with a long sentence. State legislatures are easy to whip up into a froth about minimum sentences for shoplifters who steal $7 deodorant sticks, but they are wildly indifferent to the store owner's rampant wage-theft. Wage theft is by far the most costly form of property crime in America and it is almost entirely ignored:

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/jun/15/wage-theft-us-workers-employees

So America's prisons are heaving with its poorest citizens, and they're certainly not getting any richer while they're inside. While many prisoners hold jobs – prisoners produce $2b/year in goods and $9b/year in services – the average prison wage is $0.52/hour:

https://www.dollarsandsense.org/archives/2024/0324bowman.html

(In six states, prisoners get nothing; North Carolina law bans paying prisoners more than $1/day, the 13th Amendment to the US Constitution explicitly permits slavery – forced labor without pay – for prisoners.)

Likewise, prisoners' families are poor. They start poor – being poor is a strong correlate of being an American prisoner – and then one of their breadwinners is put behind bars, taking their income with them. The family savings go to paying a lawyer.

Prison-tech is a bet that these poor people, locked up and paid $1/day or less; or their families, deprived of an earner and in debt to a lawyer; will somehow come up with cash to pay $13 for a 20-minute phone call, $3 for an MP3, or double the Kindle price for an ebook.

How do you convince a prisoner earning $0.52/hour to spend $13 on a phone-call?

Well, for Securus and Viapath (AKA Global Tellink) – a pair of private equity backed prison monopolists who have swallowed nearly all their competitors – the answer was simple: they bribed prison officials to get rid of the prison phones.

Not just the phones, either: a pair of Michigan suits brought by the Civil Rights Corps accuse sheriffs and the state Department of Corrections of ending in-person visits in exchange for kickbacks from the money that prisoners' families would pay once the only way to reach their loved ones was over the "free" tablets:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/03/jails-banned-family-visits-to-make-more-money-on-video-calls-lawsuits-claim/

These two cases are just the tip of the iceberg; Civil Rights Corps says there are hundreds of jails and prisons where Securus and Viapath have struck similar corrupt bargains:

https://civilrightscorps.org/case/port-huron-michigan-right2hug/

And it's not just visits and calls. Prison-tech companies have convinced jails and prisons to eliminate mail and parcels. Letters to prisoners are scanned and delivered their tablets, at a price. Prisoners – and their loved ones – have to buy virtual "postage stamps" and pay one stamp per "page" of email. Scanned letters (say, hand-drawn birthday cards from your kids) cost several stamps:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Prisons and jails have also been convinced to eliminate their libraries and continuing education programs, and to get rid of TVs and recreational equipment. That way, prisoners will pay vastly inflated prices for streaming videos and DRM-locked music.

The icing on the cake? If the prison changes providers, all that data is wiped out – a prisoner serving decades of time will lose their music library, their kids' letters, the books they love. They can get some of that back – by working for $1/day – but the personal stuff? It's just gone.

Readers of my novels know all this. A prison-tech scam just like the one described in the Civil Rights Corps suits is at the center of my latest novel The Bezzle:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

Prison-tech has haunted me for years. At first, it was just the normal horror anyone with a shred of empathy would feel for prisoners and their families, captive customers for sadistic "businesses" that have figured out how to get the poorest, most desperate people in the country to make them billions. In the novel, I call prison-tech "a machine":

a million-­armed robot whose every limb was tipped with a needle that sank itself into a different place on prisoners and their families and drew out a few more cc’s of blood.

But over time, that furious empathy gave way to dread. Prisoners are at the bottom of the shitty technology adoption curve. They endure the technological torments that haven't yet been sanded down on their bodies, normalized enough to impose them on people with a little more privilege and agency. I'm a long way up the curve from prisoners, but while the shitty technology curve may grind slow, it grinds fine:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

The future isn't here, it's just not evenly distributed. Prisoners are the ultimate early adopters of the technology that the richest, most powerful, most sadistic people in the country's corporate board-rooms would like to force us all to use.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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[kawaiijohn]

Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

[cepheustarot]

Random facts about your future spouse

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: Your future spouse is younger than you, but by nature very responsible and mature, quite reasonable and soberly looks at life, objective and honest, not one of those who hides the truth, can sometimes be too straightforward. They may look harsh, cold and unapproachable, but next to you they are very gentle, romantic and caring. This person is very fond of arranging romantic surprises, and in general tends to devote a lot of time and attention to lover. They can often arrange dates or give you gifts, talk a lot of tenderness. They also take great care of their figure, they probably have an athletic physique and they can often exercise and monitor their diet to maintain their figure. Their profession or occupation is closely related to a managerial position, they can work in the field of law, research, in the field of exact sciences, in particular physics and mathematics, in the field of medicine. They are quite educated and constantly improve their skills, in their free time they prefer reading books or listening to lectures or videos on a narrow specialized topic. They may be from a conservative and religious family. They also don't really like stability, they like to change something in their lives, for example, they can often rearrange rooms, they can experiment with style, or they can often get out of the house and do something they like, because they don't like to stay at home for a long time.

Pile 2: Your future spouse is quite an intelligent, erudite person, when talking to them, you may get the impression that your spouse knows everything and can answer any of your questions — and they really understand many topics. Perhaps their line of work is closely related to writing texts, they may be interested in journalism, writing, philosophy, and like to watch documentaries. By their nature, they are very calm, they can be slow, they have a relaxed speech, posture, facial expression and in general they are very relaxed in life, they are probably one of those who do not worry about trifles and live one day. They are quite responsive, kind, talkative and like to chat a lot, but they also like to listen to others. Perhaps in the past they were fond of horse riding or they dream of trying to do it! They are also fond of gardening, perhaps their family has its own farm or a house outside the city with its own vegetable garden. They are not afraid of competition, on the contrary, competition only motivates them, adds excitement. This applies to everything, even games are taken seriously and can perceive games not as entertainment, but as competition, to win at any cost.

Pile 3: Your future spouse is a calm and reasonable person, they cannot be called conflicted, but if make them angry, they always know what to say so that they close their mouth to the interlocutor and that their opponent feels ashamed and regrets that he even started arguing. They have a stable job and a stable income, it's hard to say that they are striving for promotion, they are satisfied with what they have now, they are completely satisfied with their career. They can do charity work, volunteer from time to time, or work in animal shelters. Although they are calm for the most part, they tend to worry about their future from time to time, they can also have a lot of fears and they can panic too much when something does not go according to plan or when they face the slightest setback. By themselves, they are quite detached, they like to be alone, they are thoughtful and carefully choose their words before saying something and think a lot before doing anything. In terms of relationships, they are hardly romantic, but they are very loyal and will be with their loved one until the end, they respect their partner and support him in any decisions. The union with such a person is very strong and long.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 💕

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

please tell us more about your mad theory about the tories getting rid of Sunak?

So the Tories currently have two (2) major problems.

Problem the first: they are about to lose power as soon as the GE rolls around, which it must do by January 2025 at the absolute latest. And the country is baying for one sooner.

This is very much preoccupying their minds at the minute. The rich and powerful will never willingly let you vote away their wealth and power, and to put this into perspective, the Tory party has ruled this country either jointly or alone for over a decade at this point. One of David Cameron's strategies as leader was to focus on recruitment of young and exciting diverse Tories into the party, which is how we got such stellar entries as Liz Truss and Priti Patel and Suella Braverman. These are MPs, therefore, who have never known political life outside of being on the winning side. They are seeing the end of the gravy train in sight, and they are taking it as well as you'd expect.

This is why the infighting is so rife (partly; bear with). The main thing they care about right now is making the party electable again, and fast.

But...

Problem the second: like all good fascist dictators, when Boris Johnson came to power, he fired everyone who said anything bad about him for disloyalty, and promoted all his personal friends. This is how we got such stellar entries as Nadine Dorries and Jacob Rees Mogg and Michael Fabricant. But THAT'S an issue because saying bad things about BJ is basically what intelligent people did, because the man was a useless blundering oaf who killed horrifying numbers of his own electorate via the world's second worst mismanagement of a global pandemic. So removing anyone who criticised him meant, in very real terms, removing the only Tories with half a brain who were even a fraction capable of doing joined up thinking required to run a country. Like, fuck every Tory with a cactus, obviously, but they did at least used to have competent, high calibre politicians, however evil and grotesque they were. David Cameron should die in a cesspit, but he was capable of remembering to put the bins out (before wage cutting the refuse collectors).

And therein lies the real problem: okay, BJ is gone, the party is in ruin, they're staring down the barrel of the most humiliating election defeat in history. They need someone competent that they all like who can take the reins and make people like them again.

But who's left?

There's no one. There's no one left. Not just because the remaining Tories are too low calibre to lead; they're too low calibre to even be able to pick someone without shrieking like cliquey little harridans on the playground about how the wrong in-group got in. Half of them are still BJ loyalists who hate anyone who criticise The Great Brexit Leader. The other half hate BJ for managing to make everyone hate the Tories so much that they're in this mess. Both halves are willing to sabotage the chosen leader of the other, locked in a battle of mutually assured destruction.

So how does Sunak fit into this?

He's unpopular in the party to a truly staggering degree, and not much better in the eyes of the public. He's tried to take a centrist stance on BJ, but that's actually just pissed off both sides. He did manage to stabilise the economy somewhat after the appalling mess Liz Truss threw it into, but he hasn't actually fixed it - we're still mid-cost of living crisis, we're still inexplicably not rich after Brexit like Boris prommied, inflation is still at an all time high as public services crash. The public hates him.

And he hasn't made the public stop hating the Tories. That petition calling for a GE is great, because it won't happen - BUT, it does force the issue to be debated in Parliament with opposition parties getting to stick the boot in, which means the humiliation continues. The Tories are starting to get desperate again.

And because this lot of Tories are, as mentioned, utterly terrible low-calibre political idiots, their response to this pressure has for the last four years been to oust the leader and get another.

And the first letters of no confidence have been sent into the 1922 Committee already. The devil moves fast, but knuckle dragging Tories with a fifth of a braincell each move faster.

And thanks to the absolute fucking state of them all... I cannot believe I'm saying these words, but genuinely the best person they have left who could possibly do the job is, of all fucking people, Michael Fucking Gove, and it won't even be him because he was mean to Boris once.

So yeah. I reckon Sunak may be out in six months. Fuck knows who we get instead. Probably Penny Mordaunt.

[moonphaseswrites]

simon riley headcanons

sorry its not too long!!

sfw

first off, this man is touch starved. not in the 'please touch me' kind of way either. he is so touch starved that he is repulsed by it. tried getting a one night stand at one point of his adult life and deemed that any sexual desires he needed could be sufficed by himself.

drinks his coffee black, no sugar, no creamer, just pure black coffee. claims all he needs is the caffine to deal with the cost of living.

on the other hand, tea is slightly different. when it comes to tea, he will put a little sugar to sweeten it up, only because that was how he was taught how to make it growing up.

this man is such a dog person. he has considered after retiring, to adopt some dogs, he isnt entirely sure which. i believe he would like doberman, great dane, and maybe german shepherd breeds.

despite his ghost persona, hed make a half decent boyfriend. the type to explain that hes just not interested in marriage, but is fine with long term relationships. he always needs some form of escape route, and he would prefer no extra complications.

similarly, he has no interest in kids. between his childhood trauma and his own fear of becoming like his father. due to this, he would be the type to ditch if a girl gets pregnant.

another relationship factor is constant pennames in that british tone.

nsfw

this man is a bit rough in bed if you can even get him there, between inexperience and just the size of him. he cant control the pain it puts you through, attempting to sweet talk you through it.

he would definitely be one to degrade, but in the praising way; "what a pretty little whore" or "taking it like a good little toy, huh?"

calls you things like "my slut" or "pet".

he prefers any position that he can easily see your expression in, including fucking in front of a mirror so that he can see the way you cant help but cry from the pain.

big on shoving you into the mattress, usually by the neck.

[suiana]

I miss the time you used to make actual fics

(yandere! villain x gn! hero's sidekick reader) (idk what this is bruh i wanted to make it heroic but then it turned out like this)

when your world gets shrouded in ugliness and grime, a time will come when a person will light up the torch that guides you through even the darkest of nights.

if you had known that things would be like this, you would never have decided to take on the duty of being a hero. after all, with glory came the overwhelming loneliness of being the saviour.

you were never really the righteous type. always put yourself over others when a life-threatening situation would come. sure, you were a sidekick to the number one hero but you still had to save yourself first, right? well, no.

because for some reason when the gods decided to punish the earth, you had stepped forward to protect everyone when no one else would.

people called you a hero. with tears running down their faces as they thanked you for saving them and their families. the press recorded your selfless act and praised you as humanity's saviour.

you wished you could take your words back. to say that you didn't want to shoulder the punishment of humanity on your own. that if you could reverse time you'd hide in the crowd as god rained his fury down on everyone.

because at least then you wouldn't be alone.

the wind brushes past your face, hair flowing wildly in the cold of the dead night. the road to hell was a long one after all, and god's first punishment was to have you walk the cold path to your death.

it's okay, you told yourself. you're saving people, you tried to reassure yourself.

yet you had never expected the cost of other's freedom to come at such a great price. for here you were, trudging into the lonely night with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

humans are inherently selfish. the only reason they praised you was because they wanted to make themselves feel better for choosing to sacrifice one of their own instead of accepting the punishment. if they were truly grateful they'd have walked down this path with you together, wouldn't they?

but you were all alone. the city was alive as always, people going about with their daily lives. happy chatter and innocent smiles as they walked the streets. the city skyline was beautiful, buildings coloured in bright lights and advertisements. life was normal.

it's not fair.

it's not fair.

it's not fair.

why did you have to suffer when they could walk free of sin? they were the original sinners! why did you have to bear the weight of their actions all on your own?!

looking down at your shivering hands, you walk towards the edge of the building. how high up were you? 50 floors? 55? you couldn't remember. you didn't want to remember. because you knew that it'd be a long way down either way.

you didn't want to die yet. you still had so much to live for, still had so much you wanted to accomplish and do.

but everyone was counting on you to save the world.

so you took a trembling step forward, planning on embracing the cold embrace of death.

"ah... i'm falling."

your body felt weightless as you fell off the building, eyes shut as you tried to bite back the tears that threatened to slip past.

no, you couldn't cry. you had to be brave. that's what a hero does. be brave no matter what, right? even when you were dying?

"if only someone could save me, how nice it would be."

"what are you doing you stupid hero?!"

a shout snaps you out of your trance, his hands reaching out to grab you.

"you-!"

"do you seriously want to die?!"

his hold on your hand was tight, almost afraid as though you'd slip out of his grasp. you take in the way his normally cocky face was now full of fear, face scrunched up in a way that exposed all of his hidden vulnerabilities.

then you had realized he jumped off after you.

"you- you jumped off! now we're both going to die!"

you scream at him, eyes darting all over. no freaking way. you knew that the villain was always stupid but to jump after you after you were going to die? did he cook his brain in the air fryer today?!

"shit shit- no! you can't die too! please tell me this is a dream! only one of us needs to handle divine duty-"

"shut up! who said anything about dying?"

his sharp voice cuts through your thoughts as he wraps his arms around your body.

"i'm the villain, remember? how could i die just like that?"

time seems to slow as he brings both of you to a complete stop. attached to his back was a piece of dark matter rope, probably made with his ability so that it wouldn't break halfway. oh, so he had a backup plan.

you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up as the man slowly brings you back up to the top of the building, his arms tight and secure all the way up. when he had ensured both of you were right back on solid ground, he exhaled sharply and shot you a glare.

"stupid hero. did you want to die that badly?"

he questions, flicking your forehead before scoffing.

"even your damn hero that you worked for didn't want to give up his life, why did you want to do it? don't you know that i like you?"

the villain's words are surprisingly soft despite the hint of anger in them. how cute, he was worried for you? and yes, you know that he likes you. how could you not? he literally shows it every time you meet up to fight with him.

making kissy faces at you, casually flirting while he tears apart a building, beating up random people who had the audacity to flirt with what he thought was his to court, inviting you out to dinner as he avoids an attack from the hero... well, you suppose it worked out in the end? he did save you from dying.

"look, all that god told us to do was to clean up the garbage. don't know why you decided taking on the sins of everyone was a smart idea."

he grumbles, running a hand through his hair before placing a hesitant hand on your waist to tug you closer. your breath hitches as he suddenly rests his head against your shoulder, his breath tickling your skin.

"we could clean it up, you know? i mean, what's stopping us? i know you don't really want to die after all."

wait a second, what was he suggesting? to become god's messengers

"after all... we're the strongest, aren't we?"

well, not really but you suppose so.

you stare at him, a conflicted expression on your face before you huff. you didn't really want to be a villain but... what other option was there? you sure as hell didn't want to die for the sake of people you've never met before. especially when some of them were literal criminals.

"how do we clean up the trash?"

the villain smirks at your words.

"great question, we'll kill them all!"

"no."

"okay, we beat them up and make them all repent. then we kill them!"

"no!"

shaking your head, you let out a sigh. damn it all. looks like you're no longer the saviour.

"hehe, don't look so down cutie. we're technically doing god's work."

you stare at him, eyes narrowing before you roll your eyes.

well, you suppose he's right in a sense... a smile creeps up your lips as you start chuckling softly.

"sure, we're god's messengers now then."

"that's right!"

he ruffles your hair with his other hand, a cocky smirk on his lips.

"so how do you want to start? shall we nuke them?"

"no!"