#except having money part. I like having money

[pickingupmymercedes]

Salt and Starlight - Lewis Hamilton

Lewis's 40th birthday special part 1

warnings: none

genre: fluff

wordcount: +2k

a/n: It's a '3 times y/n's made Lewis feel like a teenager (on the brink of turning 40) and the one time he did' (except that last bit is the part 2 coming later)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

What do you give someone who has it all? He is Lewis Hamilton, after all.

I’d been asking myself that question for weeks.

Lewis isn’t exactly the kind of guy who needs another watch, another car, or another piece of art for his collection.

He’s got it all—trophies, fame, money, and a closet full of designer clothes that probably cost more than my first car.

So, what do you give that man ?

The answer came to me one night when we were lying in bed, talking about nothing and everything.

I’d been reminiscing about growing up by the beach, about the stupid, reckless things I did as a teenager that made me feel alive. Lewis had laughed, that deep, warm laugh of his, and said, “God, it’s been years since I’ve felt anything that… teenagery.”

And there it was. My gift to him.

“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate ploy to embarrass me?” Lewis asks, tugging the brim of his bucket hat lower over his sunglasses. The hoodie he’s wearing makes him look like a man trying to sneak out of a high school reunion unnoticed.

Which, okay, is kind of the vibe I was going for.

The drive to Santa Barbara was… well, let’s just say Lewis loved being a passenger princess, most times, and that wasn’t one of them.

He kept fidgeting, adjusting the seat, and asking if I was sure I knew where I was going. (Spoiler: I did. Mostly.)

But by the time we pulled up to the boardwalk, the sun was setting, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, and he finally stopped asking questions.

The amusement park was exactly how I remembered it—bright lights, the smell of cotton candy and fried food, the sound of laughter and screams from the thrill rides. It was chaos, but the good kind.

The kind that makes you feel alive.

“You’re not serious,” Lewis said, staring at the roller coaster like it might bite him.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the line. “Come on, old man. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

He glances down at me, a boyish smile breaking through his mock-suspicious expression. “Always.”

And there it is—the grin I was waiting for.

The one that reminds me of the Lewis who still feels like a kid sometimes, who loves the thrill of life just as much as his achievements.

For once, Lewis doesn’t have an itinerary. No obligations, no pressures. Just us.

We hit every ride that promises to throw us around like ragdolls. Rollercoasters that make my stomach drop (and Lewis laugh at my shrieking), bumper cars where I play dirty and spin him into the wall, and that spinning thing that got me questioning my life choices.

By the time we got to the Ferris wheel, the sky was dark, the stars just starting to peek through.

The Ferris wheel was… different. Slower. Quieter.

As we climbed higher, the noise of the park faded away, and it was just us, suspended in the air. Lewis was quiet, staring out at the ocean, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d pushed him too far with this.

“This was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” he says as he leaned into me. His voice is light, but there’s that knowing look in his eyes.

I feign innocence. “What plan?”

“The Ferris wheel. The whole night was a setup for this.”

I smirk, settling into the seat beside him. “You’re giving me way too much credit.”

The wheel begins to turn, the car gently rocking as we rise above the chaos below. The lights from the boardwalk blurring, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

The world feels smaller up here, quieter.

He shifts closer, and I can feel his gaze on me, warm and intent. “This was a good idea.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “I have those sometimes.”

And then he leans in, his lips brushing against mine.

It starts softly, like he’s savoring the moment, but it deepens quickly, and suddenly the air feels electric. My mind goes blissfully blank, except for the thought that this—this might’ve been what I wanted all along.

When we finally break apart, his forehead rests lightly against mine, and he’s grinning like a teenager who’s just stolen his first kiss. “This feels straight out of a cheesy rom-com.”

“Good,” I manage, still catching my breath. “It’s meant to.”

He laughs, and it’s the kind that bubbles out of him, genuine and unguarded. And I think, there it is again.

That boyish smile I’d give anything to keep seeing.

“You know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “this is exactly how I imagined love when I was a teenager.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against my skin. “Yeah? Did you imagine me too?”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Shut up.”

And then the Ferris wheel started moving again, and we were laughing, and for the first time in a long time, Lewis looked… free.

We were still laughing as we stumbled off the Ferris wheel, my hand in his, the cool ocean breeze brushing against our skin.

Lewis had that look in his eyes—the one he gets when he’s trying to play it cool but is secretly having the time of his life.

It’s rare, these days, to see him so unguarded.

“You know,” he said, pulling me closer as we walked, “I haven’t done anything like this in… I don’t even know how long.”

“What, ridden a Ferris wheel?” I teased, bumping my shoulder against his. “Yeah, I can tell.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “No, I mean… this. Just… being spontaneous. Letting go.”

I stopped walking and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Lewis Hamilton, are you telling me you’ve never been spontaneous? Because I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smirk playing on his lips.

“What?” I ask, bumping my shoulder against his as we weave through the crowd.

He gives me a sideways glance, lips twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “Nothing. Just you, scheming. Don’t think I don’t know you planned that whole Ferris wheel moment.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that sneaks out. “Oh, please. Like I can predict what’s going to happen in the heat of the moment.”

He hums noncommittally, but the way his hand slides into mine, fingers lacing tightly, tells me he’s not buying my act. And I’m not about to argue with him on that. Ever

We walk aimlessly for a while, the neon lights of the boardwalk fading behind us as we drift toward the quieter streets. It’s one of those perfect in-between moments—neither here nor there, where everything feels suspended, and nothing needs to make sense.

That’s when he says it.

“You know,” he starts slowly “you were right earlier. About the Ferris wheel. It did feel… teenagey.”

I smirked. “Told you.”

He hesitated, then said, “So… what’s next?”

I blinked at him, surprised. “What do you mean, what’s next?”

He shrugged, but there was a glint in his eye that made me suspicious. “You’re the one who planned this whole thing. What’s the next stop on the nostalgia train?”

I stared at him for a moment, then grinned. “Well… there is one thing” and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “We should get that tattooed. Like, right now.”

For a split second, I expect him to laugh, to brush it off with a comment about how I’m clearly delirious from all the carnival food. But instead, he just raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What, the ferries wheel?”

“No, ‘40,’” I say, half-joking, half-serious. “Something simple. For this moment, for you.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately shut it down. Instead, he tilts his head, considering. “You’re serious about this?”

“I mean… why not?” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve got plenty. One more won’t kill you.”

He hesitated, and I could see the wheels turning in his head.

Lewis doesn’t do things on a whim—not anymore. His tattoos are works of art, carefully planned and executed by the best artists in the world. The idea of walking into some random parlor and getting inked on a whim was probably giving him hives.

He looks at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. And then he smiles, that slow, deliberate smile that makes me feel like he’s about to say something I’m not ready for. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Wait, what?”

“You said it yourself. Why not?”

And just like that, we’re standing outside a tattoo parlor that looks like it hasn’t seen a renovation since the early 2000s. The buzzing sound of the needle greets us as we step inside, along with the unmistakable scent of disinfectant and a tattoo artist who looks thoroughly unimpressed with our arrival.

“What are we doing?” I whisper as Lewis fills out the paperwork, his calmness somehow making me more nervous.

“Living like teenager, apparently” he says simply, handing me the pen to fill out my form. “You know, like… spontaneous, stupid, matching tattoos. The kind you get when you’re young and dumb and think it’s a good idea.”

The design we settle on is simple: the number 40, styled in a subtle, abstract way that could mean anything to anyone else. It’s perfect.

Mine goes on my wrist, tucked just under my watch strap. His ends up near his elbow, seamlessly blending into his sleeve, the one he’s spent years building.

When it’s my turn, I flinch at the first touch of the needle, earning a quiet chuckle from Lewis. “Don’t start,” I warn, gritting my teeth as the artist works.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he says, his voice entirely too amused.

When it’s done, we step back to admire our matching tattoos. They’re small, subtle, and utterly reckless in a way that feels right.

“40,” he says, his voice soft but laced with meaning as he looks at the ink.

I glance at him, my chest tightening in a way I wasn’t expecting. “The big four-oh.” I echo.

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at me. “Here we go.”

I grin, nudging his arm with my shoulder. “What? It’s a big deal. A milestone. People throw whole festivals for this kind of thing. They buy sports cars.” I pause, then laugh. “Well, I guess you’ve already got the cars covered.”

“Funny,” he says, finally glancing at me. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, but it fades quickly, replaced by something softer, more reflective. “It doesn’t feel like a big deal. Not really. It’s just… a number.”

“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head, studying him. “And how many times have you told yourself that the past month?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Too many.”

By the time we’ve grabbed more food—a greasy basket of fries—it’s late. The boardwalk is still buzzing behind us, but we’ve drifted to the sand, away from the crowds.

The ocean stretches out before us, vast and dark, lit only by the moon and the occasional flicker of a far-off boat.

Lewis sits beside me,  his hands occasionally finding their way onto my back his hoodie pulled up against the chill of the night. I watch as he unwraps his burger with careful precision, like the fate of the world rests on not spilling ketchup.

“Not bad for a last-minute dinner date,” I say, popping a fry into my mouth.

He looks at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Not bad at all.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the waves filling the gaps. I can feel him thinking, though.

The way his fingers drum lightly against his knee, the slight furrow in his brow—it’s all there if you know where to look.

“You’re being suspiciously quiet,” I say, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

He glances at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

He takes a bite of his burger, chewing slowly as if buying time to form an answer. Finally, he swallows and looks out at the water. “About this. About everything, really.”

“Everything?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… vague.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “My birthday. Turning 40.”

I pause, the fry I was about to eat halfway to my mouth. “Oh, you’re having a midlife crisis?” I grin, trying to lighten the mood.

He gives me a look—half amused, half exasperated. “I’m not having a midlife crisis.”

“Sure sounds like one.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, his gaze still fixed on the ocean. “It’s not that I’m worried about turning 40. I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”

I stay quiet, letting him take his time. You don’t rush these kinds of conversations.

“It’s funny,” he continues. “I’ve spent my whole life in this sport. Every year, every decision—it’s all been about racing. And now I’m here, about to hit 40, and…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Hm?” I prompt gently, not pushing, just giving him space.

“And I thought I’d feel more certain about where I am.” He exhales, a long, slow breath that seems to carry years of weight. “I’ve told myself so many times I wouldn’t still be racing at this age. But here I am, and I don’t want to stop. Not yet. And now, with Ferrari…”

His voice breaks off again, and I see his hand flex slightly, like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.

“You’re scared,” I say quietly, not as an accusation, just an observation.

He laughs, but it’s more bitter than lighthearted. “Terrified…. Not of the racing—I know I can still do that. But of… everything else. Of failing, of not being enough. Of proving the people right who think I’m too old or that I should have stopped like Nico.”

I set my burger down, leaning toward him. “You’re not afraid of proving them right, Lewis. You’re afraid you might believe them.”

That gets his attention and his gaze snaps to mine, something flashing in his eyes.

“It’s not that I doubt myself completely,” he says after a moment. “But it’s there, in the back of my mind. This little voice asking if I’m trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping away.”

I take a breath, my heart tightening at the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not just holding on. You’re still building something. And you’re allowed to want that, even at 40.”

He looks down, his jaw tightening briefly. “I want to believe that. I really do… But then I think about all the things I’ve given up along the way—time with family, relationships, moments I’ll never get back. And I wonder if it’s selfish to keep chasing a dream.”

I nod, my chest tightening. “I get it. And I think it’s good that you’re thinking about these things. It means you care.”

His head tilts slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple. It’s messy, and ugly, and complicated, and terrifying. But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just watches me with an intensity that makes my chest ache.

“I’ve never been good at slowing down,” he admits finally. “Even now, there’s so much I want to do. So many dreams I’ve had since I was a kid that I’ve never had time for. And part of me wonders if I ever will.”

“You will,” I say softly. “Maybe not all of them at once. But you will. We will.”

He sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Sometimes I wish I still had that recklessness, but with everything I know now.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works; you know that don't you, grandpa?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckles, the sound warmer this time. “Fair point.”

After a beat, he smirks, glancing at me. “You keep calling me old though, but I don’t remember you complaining last night.”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “Oh, shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

He grins, and just like that, the heaviness of the conversation lifts slightly, replaced by something lighter but no less real.

As we get up to leave, I brush the sand off my hands and glance at him. “For the record, I like vintage Ferraris better anyway.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it. There’s another teenager dream I’ve always had.”

He laughs as he reaches for my waist, and this time, it’s full and unrestrained. The sound carries over the waves, as he turns me around on the sand and captures my lips with his once again.

There, under the moonlight I know how much I love this man—even when he’s scared, even when he’s uncertain.

Especially then.

_____________________________________________________________

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[lauren-no-why]

Oh fun! Man this post is long haha, took some scrolling to get here. I have only just rolled out of bed, hopefully my answers are coherent.

Last song: Want to be Free, British Sea Power. Looks like I didn't quite get to the end of the album before I put a stop to it so I could focus on something. Let the Dancers Inherit the Party is a fun one. (ALSO SHIT I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A NEW NARCISSIST COOKBOOK ALBUM OUT? HELL YEAH THANK YOU FOR MENTIONING THIS)

Favorite color: Blue, generally, but especially the darker blues toward indigo.

Last book: That I finished? Always Running by Luis Rodriguez. Honestly this is one of the books that should be on those lists of things kids need to read in high school except it keeps getting banned. Extremely influential, so glad I read it. Autobiography of a teen in the Lomas gang in east LA in the late 1960s-early 1970s, who becomes deeply involved in making his community better in the midst of the new Chicano rights movement.

And now I'm back on my usual beloved bullshit with Absolution by Jeff Vandemeer (so glad my held copy finally came in haha I had it on hold since October...)

Last film: Uh... hm. I don't watch a lot of movies. Might have been Late Night with the Devil? Which I recommend but with the caveat that you should pirate it because they used genAI in the movie a couple of times and that was fucking stupid of them and everyone noticed. It's a shame too because if they hadn't I'd be in the "throw money at these people" camp, it's a great little horror film otherwise.

Last show: My beloved PBS SpaceTime. I have a few videos to catch up on. Super excited about the next one about the news that came out recently about the shape of an electron.

Sweet/spicy/savory: They all go together. Gochujang rules. Why would I pick one of my precious best and favorite children?

Relationship status: lmao (always single and loving it)

Last thing I googled: Well now it's the new Narcissist Cookbook album. Because I just woke up and am braindead and googled instead of just going straight to bandcamp.

Current obsession: The World Enders. The Phantom Riders. The Redmayne boys. Just Lord Huron things.

Currently coexisting side by side with how fast my heart was pounding during The Big Final Loop in Outer Wilds, especially That Part With The Teeth but also the whole thing really. That last loop is going to be with me for a while.

tagging: uhhh feel free to ignore but I must pass it along! @long-lost-soul @spectromagic @leucrotta @yarrowace

Ten People I’d Like to Get to Know Better

tagged by: @orphiclovers

last song: It’s all been Christmas retail crap or if you count the radio on the drive home playing Avril Lavigne

fav color: this pale seafoam green for things or white for clothes

last book: Eclipse by Wilder (poetry)

last movie: Deadpool & Wolverine

last show: N/A

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet and savory 

relationship status: 4 people proposed to me this year. 1 meant it fr 🥹 (engaged irl) otherwise I have a harem on AO3 going.

last thing i googled: how big is a wintermelon?

current obsession: cooking and Infinity Nikki

looking forward to: I’m planning a road trip with the girls later this week!!

Tagging: @auuwmk, @ssunfish, @ajhaijma, @stoneclaw, @quiteboared, @kiwiandmint, @dgeneralacc, @rex44201, @readingdreaming4951, @thottykunikida

[wtfaniii]

Thank you for all your support in the first part of this one shot! Here I bring you the second one as you requested, I hope you like it💗

Paparazzi

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warning: Some harassment, angst and violence.

Note: I'm open to special requests and constructive criticism! Sorry for the delay with this second part but I just got back to college and have been a little busy.

—I'm sorry for hitting you like that.

As they walked back to the room, the girl apologized embarrassedly, perhaps she had gone a bit too far and the best way to calm him down would have been to talk.

But it was the tension of the moment.

—Don't worry, I think I needed it —He replied with a soft smile.

They felt the judging glances of the other players for surviving but that didn't bother them, yes, maybe it was a little uncomfortable but the smile and a happy greeting from player 149 made the entrance more pleasant.

After sitting down and talking a little, each one introduced themselves with their respective names. They were a team from now on and they preferred to call each other by their names instead of a simple number that they had on their jackets.

—I’m sorry for that behavior earlier —Young-il apologized to the two girls on the team.

Uncontrolled behavior was common among men, they knew how easily lost their sanity if failed to achieve a goal, especially if it was the life at stake, but having done so in front of two young ladies was frowned upon.

—And Jun-hee, as soon as we get out of here you should go see a doctor, stress is not good for you.

The way he expressed that feeling of concern and empathy for the pregnant young woman was charming to the girl sitting next to him.

She had only known him for a few hours, but the fluid conversation they had managed to make them agree on several things, she was delighted with that player, but the cherry on the cake was the laugh that appeared on him face when he made a joke about Gi-hun's name, no one shared his moment of happiness except for her.

It was impossible for her to remain serious when she noticed that despite the circumstances they were in and the fact that were about to die a few minutes ago, Young-il maintained his humor.

After a few minutes, voting began once again to decide whether to stay or leave, however the majority of participants voted for the blue circle, condemning the rest of the players who refused to continue playing.

The girl continued terrified, this was not her job, Mr. Seong Gi-hun had not hired her for that.

In-ho just watched her, noticing her lips pressed together in a grimace and her brow furrowed, a sign that was frustrated at not being able to get out of there.

While the food was being distributed, In-ho sat next to Gi-hun in complete silence, player 456 was further away from his target and that disappointed him, but his eyes drifted slightly towards 455, the detective was sitting on her bed accompanied by Jun-hee, the disappointment and fear of staying still etched in their expressions.

When Jung-bae came over to apologize for pressing the blue circle he stood up and walked towards the two girls.

—Take it Jun-hee —His voice caught her attention —You need to eat more to maintain your strength —Seeing that she was going to refuse, he insisted with a smile —Besides, I don't drink whole milk.

222 took the little box and thanked her with a slight bow.

—You have to eat too —He said looking at the girl.

She hadn't even gone for food, she was nervous about the next game and more than out of fear, preferred to think about how to get through the next round.

—I'm not that hungry.

—I'll go with you.

In-ho wasn't asking if she was hungry or not, it was a request for her to go get his food and eat it later.

She couldn't refuse and he made that clear when held out his hand for her to take, Jun-hee watched the act with wide eyes and a slight smile, he was quite the gentleman.

—I'll go with the others —222 said, starting to feel like was in the way.

—Come on —In-ho repeated, taking her hand and gently pulling up from where she was sitting.

Her smiled at him and went for she respective portions. As night fell, Gi-hun began to make a kind of fortress where they could stay. They would take turns sleeping or staying awake to stand guard.

—¿Don't you think you're exaggerating? I don't think these people are capable of killing each other —Said 001 with a grimace.

—You haven't seen these games before —Gi-hun argued.

—He's right —the girl said. —We must be alertm

The way she seemed to be able to be afraid and brave at the same time was curious to In-ho.

During the night, everyone was asleep except for Jung-bae and Dae-ho because it was their turn to keep watch, but seeing that the girl was also awake, Dae-ho approached her.

—¿Aren't you going to sleep? ¿What are you doing?

Watching her try to break the zipper of the jacket, he arched an eyebrow.

—¿What are you doing? —Him ask for the second time, this time more curious.

—The bathrooms have ventilation, with something metal I can open the gate.

It wasn't a great plan but it would be useful, or at least that's what she thought.

—¿Are you going to escape? —Dae-ho asked in surprise at her plan.

Those words caught the attention of the man who was barely trying to sleep in his bed, In-ho opened his eyes and listened attentively.

—I hope so —she agreed not very convinced that those ducts lead to a safe exit without guards. —If I manage to do it, I will go for Gi-hun's team and come back for you guys

—¿What if he finds out?

—Well... The worst thing that can happen to me is getting a bullet in the head.

In-ho twisted his lips, it seemed that the detective who was afraid of dying had disappeared, leaving behind a girl who now only wanted to survive but without seeing anyone else die.

That was honorable, he admitted, but still didn't understand how she would risk his life for people she barely knew and for his boss, accept that she escape without looking back but come back for them?

¿For him?

Or at least that's what he thought when he felt her gaze on him.

—None of you deserve to die in here, you are good people, if I am going to die... I will not do it playing, I will do it trying to do something good.

Those words were enough for In-ho to recognize her worth, finally there was the girl he had been following for a whole year who planned her moves well.

It was nice what she wanted to do.

It was also a complete shame that him had to ruin it for her.

Thanks for reading!! 😸😸😸I think the third part will be full of angst and will be somewhat cloying. I love romance sorry

Tag list:

@lucinda-reads @deathsmellzz @autmn4lvs @cvbi @ava-cjkk @ari200027 @claristary

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. ��I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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[greyeyedmonster-18]

Five Times Sirius Black Fucked James Potter and One Time He Didn't

(in a slytherin!sirius au...part 3/5. read parts one, and two here)

-

James could hear his mother's voice in his head telling him to stop fidgeting as he continued to adjust the shoulders of his new Healer’s robes. Allegedly, this was how they were supposed to fit, the typical loose sleeves of other robes an occupational hazard. Apparently. As he waited in front of the double doors past the reception of St. Mungos, he was already counting the days until he was no longer a trainee and respected enough to show up to St. Mungo’s in robes far more comfortable.

But as it was, today was a special occasion at St. Mungo’s, the entire hospital buzzing around him, in preparation for the arrival of a donor--investor?--someone who wanted to sign over too much money St. Mungo’s to support the development of a children's ward. Most of the trainees were given the sage orders to stay out of the way and not do anything stupid. One of James’s colleagues was actually given the day off in lieu of coming it at all, to avoid any major catastrophes, everyone eager and anxious to impress. 

Except James.

Not you, Potter. People like you. You have that kind of face that people like. And James was given two orders from his supervisor in preparation for greeting the donor at the entrance of the hospital: 1) look presentable and 2) be charming. 

Both of which would’ve been a lot easier to do if he hadn’t felt like he was crammed into his robes like stuffed sausage, and if the mysterious donor wasn’t already ten minutes late. Nearly fifteen. He sighed, glancing up at the clock on the wall for the hundredth time.

“Did I miss them, Grace?” he asked the receptionist witch, leaving his position behind the desk to stand in front of it.

“Who, Mr. Potter?”

“I’m not exactly sure, I wasn’t given specifics,” he said, “Only to be here at 10 am sharp to greet some…old, rich, prat, and they are the ones who are late.”

“I’m not--”

“And why wouldn’t they be? It makes perfect sense. They can just buy back the time they lost, and surely everyone else has nothing better to do than wait for them.”

“Sir--”

“I’m sorry, I know, this isn’t your fault,” James sighed, “It’s just the principle of it all. I understand they’re giving us money, doing us a favor even. All that gold in a vault, and they couldn’t buy themselves a watch?” 

“James--” she stressed, dropping formalities to give him a look with wide eyes and a polite smile.

“Sorry, you’re just trying to work. I’ll keep my mouth shut, don’t worry,” he teased, turning back around to resume his waiting for the selfish, rude, prick, he was supposed to be meeting, but his pasted-on smile quickly faded from his face. “No.” he whispered under his breath, so soft James barely registered he had spoken at all. 

The years had been kind to Sirius Black. 

Too kind. Too. Kind.

Dark curls skimming his shoulders now, and skin more golden than James remembered it being five years ago, like he had just finished a holiday. Well-fitted grey suit and a black tie, expensive robes draped over his shoulders with casual elegance. The same dark eyelashes. The same cocky smirk. The same burning in his finger tips, confident voice suddenly caught in his throat at the sight of Sirius.

Nearly twenty-five, and James felt all of seventeen again. Or nineteen.

“By all means, please continue. I am eager to hear what was coming next after old, rich, prat,” Sirius said, counting off the descriptors on his fingertips, “Unfortunately, only two of those things are correct.”

“So you admit you’re a prat,” James said instantly, unable to stop himself.

“I was admitting to being old,” Sirius responded, rolling up the sleeve of his robes to reveal a gold watch with a handsome teal face. “As you can see, I do own a watch, and I am perfectly on time, early even. My correspondence indicated I would arrive at half-ten.”

James felt insane staring at Sirius, starched Healer robes becoming hotter and more stifling by the minute, “Your correspondence said ten.”

“Did it?”

“I--” James didn’t have a rebuttal. He did not see the letter, he hadn’t even known who this investor was going to be and was merely following instructors from Healer Bones. For all James knew, he was sent to stand out at reception a half-hour early just in case. For all James knew, no one was expected until noon, and he was just supposed to say “yes!”. 

“No matter. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Sirius Black,” Sirius said, grey eyes twinkling with unreleased laughter as he put on a show for the receptionist, extending his hand to James as if they had never met. Meanwhile, Grace had made herself quite busy with paperwork, keeping a smile on her face, cheeks tinted pink.

“James Potter.” James extended his hand to meet Sirius’s, shaking it briefly. Black didn’t break eye contact, their warm palms meshing together. “Welcome to St. Mungo’s, we are so…honored to have you,” he managed. If Sirius was going to put on a show, so was James. 

“Are you a Healer here?”

He pulled his hands away from Sirius’s, carefully placing both behind his back, “Trainnee, and given the responsibility of greeting you. If you can follow me, Mr. Black, Healer Bones, and Healer Fletscher are waiting for you, and will be thrilled to speak with you further.”

“Oh, but we were just getting to know each other.”

“What a shame,” James replied, with a fake smile, and watched as Sirius rolled his eyes in response now that they were further away from reception, walking through the double doors together. 

It was primal.

But James could smell him. Feel him as they walked in pace, shoulders brushing against one another, perhaps intentionally. Every inch of James was screaming, and he barely contained his sigh of relief once he saw the faces of his supervisors, rushing to greet Sirius and make a good impression.

“Mr. Black, we are so pleased you could make time for us today,” Healer Bones said, presenting her hand to Sirius. James had to stifle his own eye-roll as Healer Bones’s cheeks even flushed as Sirius began speaking. Because why wouldn’t they?

The charm.

The smile.

James knew. Of course, James knew. Even after five years, of no contact-- not a letter, not a run-in on the streets of Diagon Alley, nothing-- James knew how disarming Sirius Black could be without saying a single word. 

James had made a vow, though, at the front of an aisle, his family and friends gathered around him, holding hands with a beautiful, kind, caring, woman, that the night before his wedding was the last time. And it was. 

A marriage.

A war.

A child, who was now almost five years old. 

James kept his vow, staying clear of Sirius, no matter how many times a tiny thought crept into the back of his mind, wondering where he was, how he was, what he was doing, who he spent his time with, every question under the sun. And now Sirius was here, wiggling his way into his supervisors’s minds the way he had done with James. 

Good luck getting him to leave.

Healer Bones turned into puddy in Sirius’s palm, Healer Fletscher seemed to be standing up straighter, gesturing proudly and broadly to the conference room, talking in a voice much louder and lower than he usually did. Did James look the same when he began to unravel around Sirius? 

Absolutely foolish?

“I hope you’ll forgive my lateness, I was merely engrossed in conversation with Mr. Potter here, and completely lost track of the time,” Sirius’s voice cut into James’s thoughts.

So he was late. Bloody prick.

“No trouble at all. I am glad to hear Mr. Potter was a pleasure. He is one of our finest trainees, has a bright future ahead of him,” Healer Fletscher said. 

“Is that so?” Sirius asked, tilting his head and looking at James. “Well, then I’d love to take this opportunity and have Mr. Potter give me a tour of the hospital. Hear more about this bright future and, of course, the future of our collaboration together.” 

“I really don’t think that's necessary,” James said quickly, “Healer Bones, didn’t you say you wanted me--” but James stopped short, noticing the expression on his supervisor’s face that clearly indicated shut up, if he wants a tour, you’re giving him the tour.

“Nothing that can’t wait until this afternoon, if you don’t mind, Potter,” she said, unblinking. 

James smiled, thinking he would rather die than be left alone with Sirius Black, “Of course.”

If Sirius heard the nearly pathetic, whispered whine James made in the back of his throat, sounding an awful lot like his toddler when he didn’t get his way as he walked back down the hallway to begin the tour, he didn’t say anything.

Just smirked.

Dragon hide boots clicking on the tile floor as they made it past the double doors once more.

“You know who I am, you twat.” James remarked, as soon as they were out of earshot and heading into the magical elevators to the second floor. All facades dropped.

“Sure, I do, Jason.”

“You’ve been to the hospital before, you don’t need a bloody tour,” ��

“Maybe,” he mused.

“And I knew you were late. Fifteen minutes! You’re such a bloody arsehole.”

“Now, that’s no way to speak to someone who is about to generously donate hundreds of galleons to this hospital.”

“What are you doing here anyway? Sudden change of heart and surge of kindness? Quarter-life crisis? Finally got bored of tucking yourself in with your piles of money and thought you’d take pity on some sick kids? Good publicity? Need to clear the Black name? Or did you just come here to see me?”

“Your ego is showing, Potter. Careful, someone might notice.”

“You’re one to talk. People have jobs to do, you know. This is a hospital, with sick people. Who need us. We can’t just drop everything to cater to you--And this is the Magical Maladies and Injuries Wing, it has approximately 200 beds, and is usually our most impacted unit.” James said, half-heartedly gesturing to the wing as a small group of Healers walked by them, nodding to Sirius, “--and your empty promise to build a new bloody ward or cure Dragon Pox, or whatever else you told them you would do. It’s rude, and it’s cruel, and--”

“Are you going to let me speak?”

“Not if I can help it,” James said quickly, and louder than he intended. 

It was a strategy and the best of options James could think up in such a short time. The quickest tour known to man, and stop Sirius from talking to him. Because that was the problem.

He had been just fine. With his wife, and his kid, and his home in Godrics Hollow, and his blossoming career.

He was fine.

Sirius was the problem, and they were both better off.

Except.

“Okay, fine, this one time, you can talk because I actually do want to know the answer of how you got here, but after that…”

Sirius laughed softly, slowing down the pace of his steps, and the sense of urgency James had to get this done as soon as possible. “My parents have both passed, my Uncle is deceased, which means the Black vault finally belongs entirely to me, and I get to choose what to do with it,” he said, “I’m looking for some worthwhile investments, and this seemed like a good place to start.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Sirius asked back, shrugging, “As you might say, I can tuck myself in with my bags of gold and donate to a hospital that is in need at the same time. There’s more than enough to go around.”

“...Galleons?”

“Yes,” Sirius stated simply, “Merlin knows I don’t need all of it.”

“Well, now I feel like the arsehole.”

“Good.”

“I take it back.”

Sirius grinned, as they stepped into the elevator to the third floor, and his heart turned upside down in his chest. It was just a smile.

This was just a tour.

You have a life. You have a wife. 

“You really didn’t know I worked here?” James asked cautiously, all too aware of how stupid he sounded. 

For Merlin’s Sake.

“No,” Sirius said, “That was a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh.” pleasant. 

“Why did you decide to become a Healer?”

James swallowed, taken aback at the question, and looked down at the floor, running a hand through his hair, “I was forced to go into hiding…and it’s a helpless feeling to know people are out there fighting and you’re trapped inside, and so many people were injured and killed…I just told myself if I got out alive, I’d try to save more lives in the future to make up for it.”

“How noble.”

“I was being sincere.”

“So was I,” Sirius stopping their walk in the middle of the hallway, just outside a group of patient rooms. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you're okay.”

“Not worth anything,” James replied briskly, tugging at the stiff collar of his robes, and pulling down the sleeves. 

“Stop pulling. They look good on you.”

“On the right, you’ll see a wing dedicated in the name of Griselda S. Harrington, she was a Healer who--” James began loudly. 

“It’s just you and me now, Potter.”

“Exactly.”

“How’s your wife?” he quipped.

“Exactly,”  James repeated and stopped in his tracks at the end of the hallway near the annex. “Can we just…can I just give you a tour? Can I just fulfill this obligation I have to appease the hospital, and you can give us your money, and we can go back to…”

“Pretending the other doesn’t exist?” Sirius finished, with a raise of his eyebrow. James closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Was that what he was doing? “That was…nice, wasn’t it?” 

He felt Sirius’s hand on the side of his face and opened his eyes again. Sirius’s robe sleeve was hanging down his arm, and just beneath the cuff of his shirt sleeve, at this angle, James could make out the beginnings of a tattoo. That was new. 

What else is new?

“I don’t need nice,” Sirius said, but James grabbed Sirius’s wrist, taking his hand off his face and pushing it down. “Hm. I guess I didn’t realize you did. Guess somethings change, Potter…”

Forgive me.

“Let’s take the stairs this time around,” James offered, inclining his head to the door they were closer to, rather than making their way back toward the elevators.

“I can’t care, Potter.” 

Forgive me, please.

James pulled Sirius’s arm roughly through the doors before shoving him against the wall of the stairwell. It was satisfying to see grey eyes grow wide with surprise; to hear Sirius’s breathing hitch just slightly. James slotted one of his legs between Sirius’s, grinding his hips into Sirius’s and biting at his ear. 

“P-Potter,” Sirius gasped, head inclining backward onto the wall. Five years later, and maybe this time James could finally have the upper hand. 

James’s hand moved slowly down Sirius’s chest, expensive dress shirt beneath his fingers, until he reached the waistband of his trousers secured with a dragonhide belt. Gold buckle. 

He pulled the it upward, unhooking it, the metal prong clanging against the frame of the buckle.

“Potter,” Sirius said again lowly, head still against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly. One of his hands on James’s forearm. 

“Hm?

“This is--” James undid the fly of Sirius’s trousers. How easy they fell to the ground, sitting crumpled around Sirius’s ankles, undoubtedly expensive material simply ruined, collecting Merlin knows what else from the stairwell floor. Bare thighs covered in dark, dark hair.

“You were saying, pretty boy?” James asked, before pressing his hand firmly against the visible bulge in Sirius’s briefs. “About not needing nice? You think I need nice?”

“I don’t, I didn’t--” Sirius breathed, but couldn’t manage the rest, James’s mouth cutting off his words. Tongue darting deep into Sirius’s mouth with such force, he felt Sirius’s grip tighten around James’s arm. 

This was better.

The moaning, the dark curls sticking to the wall behind his head, crisp white shirt pulled halfway up his torso. 

“You’re going to be death of me, I think, Black,”

James wanted nothing more than to make a mess of this man. 

“I can live with that.”

[burningembers91]

The Debt Collector - Choi Woo-Seok x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Choi Woo-Seok spends his days collecting money from people who can’t afford to pay. But when he meets you, he can’t help but bend the rules

A/N: the love I have for not only this character, but for the actor plays him in unbelievable. I love every character he plays and I adored his character in Squid Game. If you haven’t watched the Kdrama Kingdom, on Netflix I urge to immediately watch it. This man plays the most selfish, most cowardly, but most loveable person I have ever seen grace my screen.

Choi Woo-Seok had wanted to be a lot of things in his life. His parents had wanted him to be a doctor, but the sight of blood made him queasy. He’d thought about becoming a lawyer, but he was terrible at arguing. He’d trained as a chef for a short while, but that came to a swift end when he set the kitchen on fire just 2 weeks in. He loved photography, but there was no money in it, and if he was going to have a family of his own one day, he’d need a job that could support them. He wasn’t quite sure how he became a debt collector; he just sort of fell into it one day. What had started off as friendly conversation at a bar with a stranger had developed into a friendship, which developed into a job offer and before he knew it, Woo-Seok was knocking on the doors of those who owed his boss money. He wasn’t a violent man, he actively tried to avoid it at all costs. But, luckily for him his boss had plenty of hired muscle, so Woo-Seok could keep a happy distance from the beatings delivered to those who couldn’t pay.

It wasn’t the fanciest job in the world, but his boss was nice, the pay was good, and he didn’t haven’t to wear a stuffy suit to work. Being a debt collector didn’t give him much of a chance to meet women though. He had barely any free time, and when he did, he could never seem to land himself a date. Women tended to go for guys that didn’t look like him, that didn’t tell cheesey jokes, or trip over their own feet when walking. He longed to be a father and husband though, to be a provider for a family he hoped would cherish him as much as he cherished them.

When his boss gave him your name as the next person to visit, he hadn’t expected to be so taken aback by you. It was mostly men who owed money, but the few women who did were often just as violent and brash as their male counterparts, and Woo-Seok had been slapped more times that he’d like to admit by an angry woman who couldn’t afford to pay.

When he met you, you were so timid and shy. It was your husband who had borrowed money from his boss, who had gambled away every penny. When the money ran out, and he wasn’t able to borrow more he fled, leaving you to pick up the pieces. You didn’t deserve to pay for something you’d had no part in. You were already working 2 jobs, trying desperately to keep your head above water. You had no idea where your ex had fled to, and had no desire to find out. That man had been nothing but trouble from the moment you’d met him, but love made people blind, and you’d been no exception.

Woo-Seok pled your case for you. Begged his boss to write the debt off.

“You’re a softie,” his boss had sighed, but he chose to let the debt go. He had bigger fish to fry and he trusted Woo-Seok with his life. If he saw something in you, his boss wasn’t going to question it. “Don’t go trying to play the hero though,” he warned him. “It’ll only end in tears.”

But Woo-Seok couldn’t stay away. He’d only gone over to tell you the debt had been wiped clean, but when he found you scrambling to pick up the groceries that had fallen from your split carrier bag, he couldn’t help himself. He carried everything into your apartment for you, replaced the milk that had splattered all over the concrete, and bought you a coffee and a cake from his favourite cafe.

Woo-Seok made you laugh. You loved his cheesey jokes, his bashful smile, his selflessness. He was your knight in shining armour.

You made Woo-Seok smile so much his jaw ached. He was lighter on his feet, he whistled as he walked, he was so happy when he was with you it was like he was walking on a cloud.

He’d asked you out a few months after you met. There was a new open-air movie theatre coming to a park near your apartment. But you’d been left so broken by your ex, so fearful of letting someone in that you declined. You didn’t want to say no; you wanted to go on a date with the man who made your heart sing, but you couldn’t risk getting hurt. Not when you’d only begun to heal.

So the two of you stayed friends, Woo-Seok coming to check on you whenever he could. He didn’t know how to help you heal, didn’t know to take away the pain that was so evident in your eyes.

To Woo-Seok, you were perfect. And if he had to, he would spend every day for the rest of his life helping you to see what he did: a wonderful woman who he loved with every fibre of his being.

[randomfoggytiger]

Hello Tiger,

I've never spoken out on this subject and I'm not going to again, but seeing Sunday's discussion, I can't remain silent. We have different concepts of what it means for a young woman to “thrive” and what it means for a man to assume a relationship openly, without looking like a deer in the headlights every time he is seen with his partner. So far, so good. As for the glaring age difference, it's controversial, but it's not the end of the world either. But what about the fact that a 55-year-old rich man goes after a 22-year-old girl, enters into a sexual relationship and brings her to live with him? 22 years! Do we have a different concept of that too? Is a 55-year-old man with a 22-year-old girl acceptable to you? For me, there's no justification - I'm still a fan of Mulder, but only of the character. For now. Please don't be offended: I'm a long-time reader of your site and even though I don't agree with your position on this subject, I enjoy reading it very much and I appreciate your willingness to write about the series. I wish you a happy 2025!! 🙏

I'm not offended, don't worry. :DDDD Age gaps relationships boil down to whether an individual can stomach that sort of dynamic or not; and no amount of logic or reasoning is going to dissuade a gut reaction. So, I get it when others can't stand it.

And thank you for the compliments! I try to keep church and state (my irl opinions and the series' meta) separate. ;)))

My Thoughts

I don't mind age gaps because I've seen/heard them done successfully-- however, those successes are incredibly rare. Stereotypically, it involves someone younger with someone older, and there's usually money to some degree. Exploitation is a huge risk to watch out for; and I've found the toxic relationships have two prominent factors in common: A. they quickly lock down a younger individual by knocking her up, thus making it harder for said individual to leave; and B. they dangle and lie and push off the type of commitment the younger individual expected, dragging on the process as long as possible while demeaning and belittling the younger person's sense of identity.

Why am I okay with David and Monique?

First off, we don't know how old Monique was when she and David began dating. She first appeared publicly at The X-Files premiere (with her friends and boss from the smoothie shop) in 2016. The two didn't appear publicly together until 2017; and I'm pretty sure she was on set a time or two while S11 of the Revival was filming. She would have been 24 or 25 then.

However, let's assume they began dating in 2015 when she was 22 (after she followed Brad on Twitter or Instagram, I can't remember which): I would immediately raise my eyebrows and go on the defensive. That would lead me down a long rabbit hole of questioning and double questioning; and I would have to arrive at a final conclusion with some sort of evidence to indicate if this was a predatory, creepy, weird, neutral, positive, or healthy relationship-- part of that process would include looking at relationships outside of the two primary "targets": kids, family members, exes, etc. Which I did, because there was a lot of ruckus (on Tumblr, sometimes Twitter) about the nature of their relationship. Next, I would look at the individuality of the people involved: was there an improper balance between the two-- was one beholden to the other? Speaking of which--

Secondly, I long suspected Monique had independence of some form apart from him-- her Instagram posts didn't change substantially after they moved in together except to now include him; she hangs out regularly with her friends; she has hobbies and interests outside of the relationship; etc., etc.-- and confirmed my suspicions yesterday with an old interview. Her parents, per the interview, were well-off enough to give her horse riding lessons... and ice skating lessons... and tennis lessons... and violin lessons... and soccer lessons, all at once (?) She traveled the world for tournaments before meeting DD.

Regardless, I just don't see David as the type to leave an ex high and dry after they part ways-- he went above and beyond to pay alimony and his kids's expenses post divorce (at apparently higher rates than is usual for his $$ bracket in NY, if I recall), and he brings all his past associates, exes, and family forward in his projects. Even if one wanted to write off their relationship as a sugar baby transaction, MP would still have the ability to network as DD's ex after taking the assets both would split post- (potential) separation.

Now, for the moral/ethical aspect: while many are against and few for the idea of age gaps, I-- personally-- weigh each case individually. Most celebrity age gaps are based on transaction, but knowingly. Leonardo DiCaprio, for example, dates only women younger than 25; but his girlfriends seem aware of that fact, and he markets them and their careers pretty generously (comparatively) so that they're established as models or socialites or etc. etc. etc. by the time the relationship comes to a close. (I've never heard one speak badly of him, but there's always that possibility.) If there is exploitation there, it's at least propagated by both parties.

In David and Monique's case, she hasn't used her relationship with DD to market this or that venture-- despite speculation that she would-- but doesn't hide it, either. He, meanwhile, brought her everywhere with him; introduced her to friends, acquaintances, and professionals along the way; and snapped countless photos of her and let her snap countless photos of him. They seem-- on a surface level-- to be attached, in love, and secure in each other. Not to the same degree that he and Tea had, but he's not the same man post- public "sex scandal" and (especially) divorce. And having gone through countless paparazzi pics of the two of them over the years, I've noted that he doesn't treat her differently than any previous "private citizen" ex, and initiates more physical contact in public than she does.

Swinging back around to the moral/ethical argument, is it right that a man thirty years MP's senior should date her-- one with kids, no less? It depends, to me. What is the health of the relationship? What is the health of their relationships outside of that relationship? Are they growing and changing or stagnating and regressing? I've seen both seem to progress rather than regress-- he and his directorial and podcast efforts, she and her arts and crafts and flower business. He and his kids seem to have a solid, loving, loyal relationship even after she joined his life; he and Tea have a cordial, publicly supportive, even loving relationship after their divorce; and he never seemed to abandon his responsibilities to his mom in her last years on earth. As for Monique, she and her friends and family seem (don't have too much information to glean from here) to still have a solid, loving, loyal relationship; she seems to keep out of business that doesn't concern her (DD and Tea's co-parenting); and she seems to not push his kids into compromising or uncomfortable situations.

As far as age gap relationships go, this appears pretty drama free, even-keel, and seemingly positive and healthy-- 'healthy' as in there are numerous signs of personal growth from both parties.

Personally, I think people settle into relationships where they feel most at home, or ones that reflect where they are in their personal lives. Those dynamics could be healthy or wickedly unhealthy; but they're where the person wants to be. (It's up to family and loved ones to rescue an abuse victim, of course, but that person picked someone who reflects how they feel about themselves in their minds, for example.) I don't know what initially drew Monique and David to each other-- maybe she makes a mean green smoothie. Maybe he has a ton of money she likes to spend (though their rather unglamorous lives, factored in with her parents' more-than stable finances, leads me to take this with a grain of salt.) All I know is what I've seen written up on the internet-- that Monique "saved him, in a way" (said a close friend-- who was not a bootlicker, because she also had biting criticisms of David to share)-- or leaked online-- that DD is MP's world and she loves him.

So, in conclusion: I'm very skeptical of any relationship-- age gap or otherwise-- and need to see proof before I believe that two people are actually in love or thriving. Furthermore, it's their business; and as long as his kids aren't feeling neglected, abandoned, or "less than", and as long as there isn't abuse, manipulation, or control, then I figure let the two in the relationship sort themselves out. ;))))

[misterspectacular]

MY ASSESSMENT OF EP 1 OF MEGAMIND RULES! - MEGAMIND VS DUDE MONKEY

I'm going to be going through each episode of MEGAMIND RULES! to review them! Basically state my opinions and talk about how much I love Megamind and the things he does and stuff

Starting with episode 1, obviously.

S1 E1: Megamind vs Dude Monkey

I love the Megamind DreamWorks intro. I'm so happy we have one that was made specifically for him, at long last. It's perfect, too -- Megamind is the man (kid) on the moon, fishing for Chum. Brilliant! And the fact Megamind gets pulled down pahahaa

--

The theme is incredible, everyone knows it. I particularly love when Megamind throws the bags of money, we do a little spin around him, and then he kisses us. If I'd never seen him before, this would be the moment that I succumbed to his handsome-ry.

--

"You've met your match, Evildoer! For I, Megamind, am the hero of Metrocity! And you will feel my… steely justice with the force of a… an angrly llama!" -- Megamind working on his new act. He's used to spouting villainy, this is hard! "I think you're improving, sir! That's way better than attacking their mothers personally!"

--

"Villains, beware! For I am the White Knight of --" I assume he was going to say 'Metrocity'. I love the Batman references (The Dark Knight of Gotham). I am a huge Batman fan so to have Batman peppered throughout Megamind content is truly delighful.

--

Dude Monkey reminds me of Ron from Kim Possible. Except horrible. HAHA the subtitles when Dude Monkey says "shall we stop another crime?" are actually "shall we SCHTOP--" which is exactly how he pronounces it, HAHA! That's hilarious.

--

Megamind: What IS that thing?! (I love that he doesn't realize Dude Monkey is a person.)

--

Dude Monkey is so annoyingly obnoxious! Megamind: What in Hades' hamper just happened?! (That's such a good exclamation.)

--

Roxanne saying "I don't have actual control over the sun" feels like a Mr. Burns reference. Would that make Christina Christo Smithers? You know, I can see it.

--

Megamind breaking through the window and innocently Ollo-ing only to get a monitor thrown at his face is pure gold. Roxanne really has a thing for throwing things at people, doesn't she? She did it to Music Man in the original film too HAHA! She calls it "muscle memory", I wonder if she means "back when you were Evil and I had to defend myself". But DID she really even defend herself physically from Megamind back then? Hmm… we really need more content from the old Evil days.

--

Megamind likes tacos! Important! He also likes toquitos, chocolate milk, coffee, kombucha, and donuts, as I recall! Perhaps I missed something. If so, I'll find out soon enough (since I'm going to be going through the entire series again with Notice-Things Goggles on).

--

Megamind @ Nighty-Knight: "If he pops his Halloween head up again, I have just the treat for his tricks!" These lines are TOO good.

--

Megamind using the word "bombastic", PFFT! It fits right in with the others words often tied to him. "Mega", for example, and "Swag" (promotional items). "Uber" was also a popular word in the live-action script. I feel like all these words are a part of the same package. Also -- Bombastic apparently doesn't mean what it SOUNDS like it means. I was thinking "bomb" as in "amazing" and "tastic" as in "fantastic" but it's actually more of a negative term. I have a feeling Megamind didn't realize that either.

--

"Why hire a second-rate wanna-be when you can have a first-rate is-a-be?" Oh my God, Brent and Alan, I know they're the ones coming up with these lines, they're hilarious. This episode is super funny, every one of Megamind's lines are pure gold. You can really tell how much effort they put into writing the characters, especially his.

--

I love when Megamind nee-nah nee-nah nee-nah's Christina, maahahaha!

--

"What about that icèd cream you promised?" It's interesting, in the subtitles it has a little dash over the e (è) to convey the pronounciation. "Primarily used in languages like French, Italian, Catalan, and others to represent a slightly open 'e' sound." Fascinating! I just watched an episode of the Simpsons where Mr. Burns refers to it as icèd cream, as well -- I do think the creators were inspired!

Oh, ice-cream! He likes ice-cream, as well!

Food Megamind Eats (will be copy+pasting this to other posts if he eats other stuff and I need to add to it): Tacos, toquitos, chocolate milk, coffee, kombucha, donuts, ice-cream

--

"Time to get my blue bod ripped" pahahaha, I love that he can go from using the dialect of an elderly man from the 1920s to talking like a teenage boy who's been living in a frat house amongst his peers for the past 2 years.

--

I love that Megamind thinks Dude Monkey looks up to him and is inspired by him -- seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, I love that about him. (Have I mentioned that I love things Megamind does yet?)

--

"What's with this troll business? They've been extinct for decades!" I'm really curious if there are actual trolls in their world (wouldn't be far-fetched, there are aliens and shadow-people), or if Megamind just THINKS trolls existed in their world. If they did exist, I'm imagining it's something he learned when he was still on his home planet (maybe mom was telling him a bed-time story about the long-lost troll and then clarified that they are extinct once he expressed fear. I realize I'm totally making this all up but let's go with it).

Keiko really is a necessary addition to future (technically present) Megamind content, because Megamind himself has been so sheltered and secluded that he would have NO idea what's going on, ever. Her being there to assist him is pretty important!

--

Hehe they used an edited version of one of my favorite promotional images of Megamind! "It's big for a reason!"

--

"I went viral on Metrocity once! Gave everyone dance fever!" Hahaha I love that, it'd be great to see that. I hope the next theatrical Megamind movie is a prequel and we get to see more of Megamind and Metroman's battles, and get to see Machiavillain training him, and also get to see how Megamind met Roxanne! What a dream that would be! Also, giving everyone dance fever reminds me of Rachett and Clank with the Groovitron (a floating disco ball that, when thrown, plays disco music that mesmerizes anyone near it to dance uncontrollably until it expires)!

--

Megamind's little dance when he "wins" the point-battle is great (I giffed that)!

--

"Make me virulent on the onternet!" (Virulent: (of a disease or poison) extremely severe or harmful in its effects.) Hehehee

--

Chum being entertained by a baby dancing just like a grown-up is pretty funny, given that's what baby Megamind was doing in some old commercials HAHA! Also, there was apparently a dancing baby meme back in 1996 that was/is really popular, I wonder if that's what they're referring to. I bet so!

--

"Villains are red, heroes are blue. Stop robbing that bank, or feel my Kung Fu! Or, you know, I'll think of something later." I love that Megamind can seem egotistical at times, but he's actually quite self-conscious and self-questioning. He puts on the 'I'm the best' act to cover up his insecurities. I also think it was his way of giving himself what nobody else would (except Minion), considering he was looked down upon and was alone for so long!

--

"Treading the boards" is a term that originated in the 1700s. The question we've all been asking -- IS Megamind geriatric? Technically, no, but he definitley does have a tendency to use out-dated terms/phrases. Which makes him all the more lovable! (I love Megamind, by the way)

--

Megamind Before He's On Camera: Hello, my biggest fans! Megamind here!

Megamind Once He's On Camera: Hello, my biggest fans! Your little fannies will shake as you worship the splendor that is --

So real. You know how it is, when you're just existing, and then suddenly you're existing but on camera? It changes everything you ever knew about how to exist!!!

--

De-ep Freeze, De-Sintigrate, De-Gravity, De-Moralize, De-Lock, De-hydrate! Those were some of the features on his De-Gun that I was able to see! (I'll update this as we go, too.)

--

Dude Monkey: Say "Megamind's Cheugy!" (That apparently means "something or someone out of date or trying too hard.")

--

Megamind being obsessed with views, man I've been there! When you're trying to make a living off the onternet, and rely on views to make said-living, you get kinda obsessive! I love that Megamind puts his all into learning how to be up-to-date with slang terms haha! He really did learn quite a lot!

--

"Only 100 views?! Why haven't I become a virus yet?!" He's so adorable. I would rewatch his stuff a THOUSAND times if I could! … Oh, wait, I do. (I imagine Megamind just coming into my room and being like "kinda creepy, but flattering…!")

--

Megamind being scared that he's become "unpopular". That's interesting to think about, even when he was a villain, he was loathed, but he wasn't unpopular. They LOVED loathing him! He was Metrocity's Number One Supervillain!

--

Keiko then tries to help him, and he shuts her down! He decides to take matters into his own hands! He's too impatient to do as she requests and just wait it out! He's on his way to seek INSTANT gratification!

--

Oh my Gooodd, Dude Monkey is the wooorrrssstttt! And Christina is a bully! I have to assume she's cruel to Megamind out of jealousy, but jealous or not, that's my man she's bullying! Cut it out, woman! And I don't know why, but it's super funny to me when Megamind refers to her by name. "Heelarious, CHRISTINA!" I think it's so funny because they're acting like a couple of highschoolers who are fighting over the hunky football player.

--

Oh, this is the best part! Megamind trying out all the different disguises and personas haha! This is him using everything he learned whilst browsing the onternet!

"If this is the hero Metrocity wants me to be, THEN SO! SHALL! I! BE! IT!"

"Crimes a-poppin'! Daaang!" HAHAHA he's such a dork, I love him. "Scope that! Crime much, am I right?" HAHAHA "You'll LOL as I trick-shot these handcuffs right on Nighty-Knight's wrists!"

"Nah! Crime-stopping rocks!" "CRIME-A-DOODLE-DON'T!" (best line ever hahahaha)

Oohh, cowboy Megamind is delightful, he's been my phone background since this episode came out last year on March 1st (I can't believe it's almost been a year already, 2024 FLEW by)! BACKSLASH RAD!

--

So funny that Chum gets obsessed with memes hahaha, new special interest activated!

--

"Imagine her telling me I don't know what I'm doing!" (-RECAP- Keiko really is a necessary addition, because Megamind himself has been so sheltered and secluded that he would have NO idea what's going on, ever. Her being there to assist him is pretty important! -END RECAP-)

--

Roxanne: I need a 30 minute nap after eating three chicken wings! (Paahhaha)

--

Another incredible line: "On my way to the hospital. My back is LOUSY with stab wounds." This is Megamind's way of calling Roxanne a back-stabber HAHAHA

I do love that Roxanne WANTED to pick Megamind though, and that it was just the city that preferred Dude Monkey. She agrees Dude Monkey is dumb! Yay! "Dumb-ocracy, am I right?" "You can't unspoil my sour mood with mayoral dad jokes, Roxi."

--

"I posses super intelligence, otherworldly handsomeness, and selfless humility. Yet, I am felled by a bananalamadingdong." 1.) The first sentence has such "I decided to pick something a bit more humble; MEGAMIND! Incredibly handsome, criminal genius and master of all villainy!" vibes, 2.) HE'S EATING CHIPS! HE ALSO LIKES CHIPS! ADDING THAT TO THE LIST OF FOOD MEGAMIND EATS

Food Megamind eats: Tacos, toquitos, chocolate milk, coffee, kombucha, donuts, ice-cream, chips

There's also a Chinese food box, an applejuice box, and a soda cup on the floor! I wonder if that was from him or from Keiko? We later find out Keiko throws her garbage right on the floor of the Lair so I'm not sure! It wouldn't surprise me, though, if Megamind was the one to consume those things. He eats to comfort himself, as later episodes prove.

--

Megamind truly fears people laughing at him! He really doesn't want to come off as a "bafoon" in any way. He prides himself on his Mega-Mindery, for a while that's all he felt he had going for him -- plus, I mean, his very NAME is based on how intelligent he is. He expresses fear at being laughed at in the original film, too -- being in his jammies in front of Roxanne terrifies him! Running away from the pieces of Metroman's statue after he blew it up "I hope no one's seeing this!" Also there was concept art of Megamind as a kid being laughed at by all the students at school because he dressed up as a superhero and wore a wig. MEAN! I think it's part of why he doesn't like being laughed at and does what he can to ensure he isn't. Trauma!

--

Little Terry Sasko Says: I love that Megamind messes up just like me. In a weird way, that's inspiring. (So real)

This whole episode ties in really well with the original film, with Megamind wanting to be something he's not. He always has trouble with that; he wants to be perceived in a very specific way -- and that way is whatever gets him the most positive attention. My boy has trauma and he needs hugs (from Roxanne. Also kisses).

--

It's kinda funny, but what Nighty-Knight's up to is obvious if you pay attention to HIM during his scenes earlier in the episode. I… was not paying attention to him, at all. Had no idea what he was doing. Too busy looking at Megamind. ALSO -- it's hilarious how Megamind is coming off as a genius as he explains his thought process, but it's more like everyone else is just dumb (looking at you, Chum). HAHA!

--

Roxanne: Please give me good news, like a meteor is heading this way so I don't have to listen to this speech. (HAHAHA ROXANNE, she can have a dark sense of humor, it's great.)

I just heard Dude Monkey in the background saying "fish don't have lungs like humans do. They have gills!" (SHOCK AND AWE!!!)

--

Nighty-Knighty: You dare talk confusingly to the Duke of Darkness?? (Nighty-Knight is by far my favorite member of the Doom Syndicate, he's hilarity shadowified.)

--

Dude Monkey saying "we so do not have the budget for this!" when Nighty-Knight starts using his powers -- I bet the writers added that in there because it was an actual concern! I mean, really, can you imagine being given only a certain amount of money, and having to know what you can/can't do based on the amount you have? That sounds like it'd get really complicated. (I think that's why sometimes in movies, in one scene the CGI will be fantastic and in the next scene it'll be sub-par, more of the money went toward one scene than the other.)

--

"Welcome to MEGAMIND'S RULES FOR DEFENDING YOUR CITY!" That's the name of his channel, apparently! That was also the title, or at least the working title, of this series when it was first announced!

--

Dude Monkey and his friend remind me of the guys from "Dude, Where's My Car?"

--

WOAH, I just realized Megamind said "Metro City" instead of "Metrocity" for the first time this ep! Ha! We do know he's capable of saying words correctly, he just tends not to, or forgets to. But when on camera, or when he knows he shouldn't, he changes it (such as right now, where he is on camera for his channel)! That happened in the original movie, too, where he's about to say "shool" to Roxanne as Bernaard, but quickly changes it to "school". It also happens in a later episode, when Megamind and Roxanne swap bodies. I think he categorizes things in his brain, and when one folder is open, the other is closed, so he is on and off with things depending on which folder is open. Kind of like he goes into modes. THIS Mega-mode doesn't say that, but the OTHER Mega-mode does.

--

OH, more features on the De-Gun revealed! I know some new ones were added, or some were replaced, so I'm going at it as if it's a gun with new features. Meaning I'm not going based off what I know to be true about the De-Gun in the original film.

So now we have: De-ep Freeze, De-sintigrate, De-Gravity, De-Moralize, De-Lock, De-hydrate, De-stroy, De-bilitate.

(ignore that I focused on "de-bilitate" twice)

--

Megamind after he freezes Nighty-Knight: Pretty chill, home boy! (HAHAHAA)

--

crowd goes wild

Megamind: "Thank you, thank you! Oh, please no, you're too much! But it is fitting." (HEHEE)

--

Chum making his own meme, and it's just a picture of Megamind with the words "Inspirational Hero ROFL"

--

1.) Nighty-Knight looks cool without his armor. He's literally a shadow person.

2.) I love holographic-brain Machiavillain. It's fun that our introduction to the character was him as a holographic brain. It makes you wonder what he really looks like! I'll bet he was peeved at being a holographic brain when he's so obsessed with his hair.

--

I'd say it's my 11th favorite episode! There are 16, so 11 of 16.

1 - Thrilling Conclusions 2 - Extra Credit 3 - A Cake for Keiko 4 - Villain City 5 - Who Wants to Save a City 6 - Game Over 7 - Mission: Machia Fest 8 - The Art of Destruction 9 - Blue Prison 10 - MegaMayor 11 - Megamind vs Dude Monkey 12 - Roach Hard: With a Vengeance 13- Hero for a Day 14 - The Villanous Origin of Mr. Donut 15 - Of Mice That Are Men 16 - Too Much Chum

[artsyagnostis]

So for Christmas I have a friend whose favorite movie is Howl's Moving Castle, so I decided to sew him a drawstring bag based on Calcifer.

Aside from occasional mending I haven't sewn anything except one very simple drawstring bag from elementary school, but for some reason I wanted to take on this project anyway, and I actually really like how it turned out???

I was so excited during the process I took a bunch of photos - the first one was a mock-up I cut from paper to help visualize before actually cutting the fabrics. So uhhh, here's the process!

(Unfortunately I think I may have mucked around with my camera settings, the bag is pretty vibrant in color, and not as faded as the yellow in particular looks.)

The biggest set-back I came across was I had bought a nice leather cord to use for the drawstring that I could not rope through for love or money so I had to use embroidery thread for the drawstring instead. But besides that I'm pretty happy with the result, especially for a beginner!

I used embroidery thread around the eyes and mouth because I felt the black outlines was actually a crucial part in Calcifer's character design. And used it around the flame as well but that's more because the yellow fabric is a cheaper fabric and I didn't want it to start fraying. 😅And I didn't take a photo but it's two layers and the interior fabric matches the mouth.

It's hardly professional looking but despite its imperfections I think it's honestly pretty darn cute! I really hope my friend likes it, or at least finds the effort endearing. Personally I might have to make a second one for myself - it was always intended as a gift but I'm actually gonna be sad to see it go!

[variousqueerthings]

keep thinking the Enduring Image of their relationship for me isn't the romantic-looking her reaching for him on the train. it's before that at the peep show

she emotionally fucks with him to such an extent (and for so many days -- i need to think of how much sleep he gets because i think "barely any" about covers it, that man is operating on a loopy fucking brain by the time the train scene happens) that he breaks down sobbing (on his own, the first - and so far last - time we've seen him that broken up) and then gets him to come to a Peep Show to see her -- something that is totally outside of his code of being and his comfort level, and makes everything seedy and transactional between them -- and then the way it's framed puts her in the seat of objectifying him, which was such a narrative and visual Choice

it's the way she's always framed as watching him by the presence of her reflection, but outside of the opening few lines and when she says "i need you" she's always shot like this:

in control of the scene, because after all, she set it all up to be exactly like this and he's doing everything she tells him to. she is objectifying him and not the other way around

(which, is the "i need you" framed with fraser in-shot because she's performing for him as an audience and not for us-the-audience only, and it reiterates that she's not for real....?)

compared with fraser throughout the whole conversation:

on re-watch there are several parts of victoria's side of the dialogue that focus on fraser's reaction to what is being said to him -- the camera is on his tired, distraught face for well over half of the scene. we are watching him like victoria is watching him, through the glass reacting to her words, like he's on display... at a fucking peep show that she made him come to!

meanwhile most of the time when he's speaking we don't know what her in-the-moment reactions to him are, because all of his lines also focus on him. we're deliberately kept as much in the dark about her reactions as possible. it's not an equal back-and-forth, it's her digging in the knife and enjoying his distress (again, and i just cannot get over this, at a peep show)

AND THE SCENE PROPER:

VICTORIA: Hi.

FRASER: You must really hate me for what I did.

VICTORIA: Yeah. Hate. Love. Those two emotions about cover it. FRASER: The girl in the car wreck was your sister.

VICTORIA: She borrowed my car. The police just assumed it was me. I had an opportunity. I took it. Fooled everybody. FRASER: Except Jolly. VICTORIA: Except Jolly. There were only two ways to end that relationship. One of them was with me dead.

FRASER: What do you want, Victoria?

VICTORIA: You. FRASER: No, you don't.

VICTORIA: Why do you think I did all of this?

FRASER: Revenge.

VICTORIA: Maybe. But I need you. I want you to go away with me.

FRASER: You know I can't do that.

VICTORIA: Why not? You don't have much to stick around here for. You won't like prison.

FRASER: I'm sorry.

VICTORIA: [her voice shakes] I'm sorry, too.

[her voice immediately hardens] Because I need you to make an exchange. If you don't, there's a key. This key fits a locker. In this locker is twenty-five thousand dollars in sequentially numbered bills. The key is at your friend Ray's house. You have one hour to decide, and then I call Internal Affairs and tell them where to find it.

[the money runs out and the screen goes down]

also, in my heart, this woman killed her sister. she loves the drama of the Narrative, she came back into fraser's life full of stories she was telling about how she'd take away everything in his life that distracted him from her and she'd leave him no choice but to come with her or go to jail and all of this was definitely love... so yeah, her sister dying in a tragic accident and people just assuming it was her not long after she was released from prison..... doesn't sit right with me considering how much she plans these narratives out + i think fraser's subtle headshake after she tells the whole story suggests that he doesn't buy it either

victoria: my sister mysteriously died and then i just had to kill my old partner in a way that would implicate you so you don't have any choice but to love me, which you owe me anyway because you feel bad about putting me in jail back in the day *bats eyelashes* anyway I'm gonna send your best friend away for life if you don't commit crimes and run away with me... also you're definitely An Object to me

(all of this on the back of a show in which fraser is objectified constantly anyway.... wild)

i guess where i land on the victoria x fraser dynamic is that i wanna notch it up juuuust that little bit more to make it fucked up in a way that i feel like the show was dancing around a bit and not quite committing to, although it did lean on it a fair few times (especially when taking in the conversation with his dead dad where he confronts him). i do feel like -- setting aside that she was a big-time criminal from the beginning -- considering she:

fucked with fraser's head by making him think he'd seen her several times before she actually appeared (and then pretended it was a coincidence, and the thing about fraser is... he trusts people too much, he's an overly literal autism-coded takes-them-at-their-word guy, it's such a good gauge for how easily she can mess with him afterwards, like damn girl, how much did you learn about him back in that snowstorm??)

shot diefenbaker (with intent to kill)

manipulated fraser pretty much the entire time -- pushing his buttons (first playing soft and flustered, then going hard on the guilt which was immediately followed by taking him to bed WHICH IT WAS TRIGGER!SNOWING DURING DAMN, then disappearing and making him desperate to find her, constantly having him running for her right up to the train...)

fucked with his head again by getting rid of all her fingerprints + presumably hair in his flat so that everyone thought he was lying, crazy fucking level of going about all this

destroyed his father's cabin

blackmailed him into putting himself in serious danger, and then attempted to blackmail him further in order to, essentially, force him to come with her (so... attempted kidnapping, with the addition of trying to frame him as a criminal in order to further force his hand)

attempted to frame ray and get him arrested for her crimes, despite promising fraser that she wouldn't do that if he helped her (which, to be fair, at that point he no longer trusted)

there's a lot suggesting that she's just pretty straightforwardly a villain, there's no reason why she wouldn't keep fucking with fraser if he had assented to come with her. there's a lot suggesting that her little "you'll regret not coming with me" is as much a game as everything else she does. there's a lot of material to play with where one could lean into fraser as a deeply lonely person who was easily taken advantage of (after all, it's established he doesn't really "get" what love is supposed to be about -- so why not about all of the above?)

it's just unfortunate that the show ultimately framed as this ships in the night thing or something, and not... just a straightforward fucked up violation on her part. it weakens her presence in the story, assuming she never returns. like i'd want her to be this Force that eats into him and his sense of identity, not as a "what if I'd gotten on the train to run away with my one true love"

(and I like @pigtailedgirl's read of the train as self-destruction in terms of his speech in the episode letting go: "i think you do care. i think you care so deeply that when he betrayed you, you tried to do the only thing that made sense, you tried to destroy yourself. don't let him do that to you." -- it makes that train ending sooo much more full of Stuff)

i can play with it, for sure

[malenjoyer]

I just had a passing thought about my own stuff from an outsider POV. I wondered if anyone who’s not a huge fan of dick questions why Dick Grayson in most of the stuff I post…

Why all of a sudden Dick Grayson is the bus driver- because I hired him!!! I want to see him! I’m gonna put him in everything!

[gloriousmonsters]

ok listen. listen. hear me out. what if Angel was the one to propose the contract

like.... the intensification of heartbreak and guilt when Val tells him 'I own you, or have you forgotten that?' as Angel looks at his signature, the heart he drew next to it. the extra layer in 'what's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself'. and above all it plays well with my observation that their contract had to have been composed with some level of input from Angel, because... why on earth/in hell would Val have given him control of his life outside of the studio; and while Val invokes the contract to put Angel back in 'his place', Angel invokes it to remind Valentino that he can defy him. It's actually similar in composition to a kink contract/agreement--if I'm in this specific place, you hold all the power and call the shots; but outside of it, I don't give you that level of control. Angel can straight up tell Val to fuck off in front of a crowd and all Val can do is say he'll make Angel regret it next time he's in the studio (and isn't that an extremely dark variation of the classic kinky romance beat of 'sub misbehaves when they're in public and can get away with it, dom promises they'll pay for it later'?)

so like. all of that about the contract also works if Val proposed it, but I love headcanoning that their relationship was on the rocks around the time it was signed, and one of the factors was Vox coming onto the scene... and so now i'm just thinking about Angel in his peak era of both-sides-ing their relationship problems, knowing his 'commitment issues' (partly real, partly consisting of val's 'you know other men??' issues) are a major cause, furious and disconcerted at someone else drawing so much of Val's attention, wanting to make a stupid desperate Hail Mary pass to save their relationship but devoid of the usual options of 'have kid' or 'impulsively propose marriage' or 'move to a new house that's inevitably haunted' i watch too much horror, going for the option of '...hey do you want to make the kind of binding contract that is accessible to us?'

and surely it's not that stupid! he's only really giving Val a formal version of the power he gives him already, right? Val's his dom and his director and manager, and maybe there's... problems but it's mostly been great for Angel so far, so if having it on (magic eternally binding) paper would make Val happy and make him understand that Angel really wants him, wants them, the risk is toooootally worth it. just, best not to tell Cherri about it she'd definitely think it was insane.

(and when, much later, she learns about the contract and berates him for being an idiot and not telling her when Val brought it up, maybe don't correct her assumption. just keep it to yourself and feel even worse.)

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

Some mild existential dread in the house today

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

What the food pantry on campus does:

- gives me snacks and drinks to supplement my regular groceries, breakfast stuff, maybe ingredients for 1-2 actual meals

What the food pantry is really bad at doing:

- giving me food I can make into proper meals for the week

Oh you want juice? Here’s 2 little juice boxes. Nothing else; they’re limited. You want pasta sauce? 1 can; limited. You want produce? 2 produce item limit, except for the apples which are starting to spoil. You can have all of those. You want frozen chicken? One container only. Oh, they’re all stuck together and frozen? Sorry, you can’t have two; no chicken, I guess. Pasta? One box only. Rice? Two small bags, max. Breakfast bars? Yeahhhh, those are a snack, and you can only have five snacks, total. But if you put those pop tarts back, you could have some! Oh, you want donuts instead? Sure! But that’s a bakery item, and you can only have one baked good, so you’re gonna need to put that bread back. You want ziploc bags? Here, have two. Not two boxes, two bags. Item limits. Sorry. You can come back next week!

How the fuck are people supposed to actually *use* these things for weekly meal planning if there’s not enough to last a week???

I swear I am grateful for these resources I’m sure they’re doing the best they can with what they have I’m just *frustrated*. I’m trying to spend less on groceries bc I can’t really afford them. It’s nice that the food pantry gives me these small portions to last me a couple days. But that still leaves several days with not enough food unless I’m really creative or go grocery shopping, and I simply do not have the energy or time to be really creative.

[shmowder]

first I'm forced to learn about stocks just to manipulate the market in this stupid rpg maker game (affectionate) and now I'm having stupid thoughts like "huh wonder how bitcoins are minted" and "So it's just GPUs playing lottery?" while brushing my teeth or taking a piss

[thegreatyin]

who is the scoundrel? I see you posting about them(it? Idk) all the time but I haven’t figured out who they are

my fallen london OC! i made them by accident a few months ago and as you can tell ive very quickly developed scoundrel brainrot. it's a terminal illness for which there is no cure and the symptoms are instead of brain there is scoundrel.

in terms of actual character rundowns, their full moniker is The Bandaged Scoundrel, though i tend to call them "the scoundrel" for short. their real name is D█████, but they'd sooner die permanently than respond to or even acknowledge its existence.

they are! a bastard! a rat! a son of a b___! a motherf______! they are vain beyond your wildest imagination and they think they're the most infallible perfect being in all of existence and they have the exact attitude of a saturday morning power-hungry cartoon supervillain on cocaine.

and also, perhaps most importantly, they're Really Fucking Stupid. because of course they are.

they are resplendently awful. they are inevitably going to cause their own demise in an act of pure karmic retribution. they are a speck of dust in history that desperately keeps trying to insist they're actually a tornado. i love them dearly.

in loose conclusion while also acknowledging ive explained literally nothing; my goofy silly victorian london browser game player character that deserves to get timetraveled against their will to the 21st century specifically so they can get hit by a truck