#fuck paris take me to a train station

[frankcastlescumslut]

triple frontier was the best thing netflix could have ever made for a girl like me

[earlgreydream]

shattered. | tommy shelby x reader angst

He promised you.

tommy shelby angst. because my heart aches.

"Where is he?" You demanded, glaring hard at Arthur.

Thomas' brother avoided your eyes, muttering to get back behind the bar at the Garrison. You reached out and shoved his shoulder, knocking him back against the bar, catching him off-balance.

"Don't ya fuckin' lay your hands on me, woman!" Arthur yelled at you, getting in your face.

"Tell me where Tommy is!" you yelled back, feeling dozens of shocked eyes boring into you.

You weren't afraid of anything, not even the Shelby's. You had been looking for Tommy, who had promised to meet you at the train station. You'd waited for him on the platform, suitcase in hand, waiting to be whisked off to France with Tommy.

Thomas Shelby had promised to take you to France.

.

"Tommy," you called to him, walking into his office.

You climbed onto his desk, sitting in front of him as he leaned back, taking a drag from the cigarette between his full lips. His large hand came down to your thigh, squeezing gently and rubbing your leg.

"Come to bed," you whispered, lips hovering over his cheek before pressing a kiss against his warm skin.

"I'm workin'"

You shifted, moving the straps of your slip off your shoulders, the delicate fabric fluttering down to gather around your waist, tempting Tommy with your bare upper body. He leaned back, taking a good look at you as he smoked, dark blue eyes drinking in every inch of you.

"But I need you," you whined, parting your thighs and pulling back the fabric to show him your sex, dripping with desire for him.

"Jesus fucking christ," Thomas swore, pushing your knees open as you tried to close them, teasing him.

"Come to bed."

He stood so abruptly you jumped, the mobster towering over you. After putting out his cigarette, Thomas lifted you up under your knees, carrying you upstairs naked, leaving your flimsy slip on his desk downstairs.

Within minutes, you were writhing on his sheets, pulling hard at his ink-black hair as he ate you out mercilessly. His hot tongue lapped up everything you had to give him, tasting you until you were reduced to ragged screams.

The first time you came on his tongue, but he promised more, moving over you to bury his cock in your soaking pussy, pounding hard and deep as you clung desperately to him. Your nails dragged red lines down his freckled back, your face buried into his shoulder, muffling your moans as his hips connected with yours.

He kissed your neck as you threw your head back, unable to stop a second orgasm from shattering through your body, squeezing tightly around him, pulling Thomas into the chasm with you.

"Don't, don't," you begged hoarsely as he tried to pull out, grabbing his arm to stop him.

"What? You want to warm my cock?"

"Please, stay inside me for a little longer," you begged, exhaling as he settled down, halfway on top of you, buried inside.

"I want to get away from here," you whispered, brushing his hair from his eyes, his head lying on your chest.

"I want to take you away from here," Thomas confessed, squeezing your waist, burying his face in you, fantasizing about taking you away from all of the violence of his job, to live happily together somewhere west of Paris.

"It will be perfect. We'll have horses, I'll paint your barn red," he promised, his fingers gently stroking your bare skin as he spoke.

"I've never wanted anything else other than to be with you," you confessed.

"I'll get you away from here, I promise."

.

You had waited at the train station, and he never came. You watched the train to Paris come and go, shattering the pieces of your heart and dragging them away with it. Your throat was raw as you made the long walk back to the Garrison to look for him, to figure out why the hell he had stood you up and left you alone.

"John! Where the fuck is Tommy?!" you shouted, looking at his younger brother, turning away from Arthur after getting nowhere with him.

John looked at his feet, refusing to answer you. You picked up a glass off the bar and threw it at the floor, watching it shatter - just like your heart.

"Stop it, right now."

You knew the commanding voice anywhere - Tommy walked out from the back, his eyes hard as he stared you down.

"Where were you?!" you demanded furiously, your chest heaving as you forced back sobs.

"You will not continue to make a scene in my bar," he spoke with unwavering authority, stepping back and opening the door, silently instructing you to follow him.

"You will not tell me what to do!" the words burned your throat, your heel hitting the wooden floor with a resounding crack that sent a wave of certainty up your spine.

You could tell he was fighting back emotion as he walked up to you and grabbed your elbow. He was careful not to hurt you, but dragged you into the privacy of the back room.

"Let go!"

He released you, leaning back against the closed door so you couldn't get past him, trapping you in the room.

"Why, Tommy?" you asked, your voice shaking.

"I had to accept an engagement deal to the prime minister's daughter. It's for business, we need it to-"

You stepped back like you'd been slapped, a sharp pain exploding through your chest.

"For your business? Last night, you promised to leave it all behind and get away with me," you were unable to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks.

He leaned forward to touch you, but you drew away, backing against the opposite wall, putting as much space as he could between the two of you. Tommy brought his knuckles to his mouth, exhaling a wounded sigh into his hand.

"I have to do this, for my brothers."

"You promised me, Tommy. You slept inside of me last night! You said you loved me!" you screamed, breaking down into full-out sobs, crumbling into pieces.

The pain in his eyes was evident, but it only made you angrier. He had chosen his business over you, a loveless marriage over you - over all of the promises he made under the moon. Years of love and sex and memories shattered in a day, and you were left with no idea how to pick up the pieces.

"It's not just about me, it's not just about you."

"That's a weak excuse," you hissed, slapping his hand away when he reached out to touch you.

"I do love you," he whispered.

"You broke my heart, Thomas Shelby."

[mclennonlgbt]

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.”  - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

"They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from the Beatles and going off to Spain. En route, they’d stop a day or two in Paris, to size up the Brigittes, check out the kind of clothes Jurgen Vollmer wore, and perhaps see Jurgen himself, if he was around. [Johnny] Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday 30 September. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station with them and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent, and so close.” - Mark Lewisohn, All These Years: Volume One

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

"John’s 21st birthday was a month away, and he knew he was getting money — 100 pounds cash, more than he or Paul had ever seen in their lives. (…) Bob Wooler was party to their planning, and fought with them:

They were bored, and decided they would go away for a month. I thought this was disastrous because they would be away from the scene too long and lose their fans, Fans were very capricious: they moved from one group to another. And anyway, what about the other two members, George Harrison and Pete Best?. What about them, what do they do? We argued a lot about this — we argued in the back room of the grapes pub to a large extent —- and they said ‘Well, we’ll go away for a fortnight only’

(…) Equally, the promoters who paid the Beatles over-the-odds to present them every week had to “lump it” (….). To a man, and woman, they were incensed by it - but John and Paul hadn’t a care. They didn’t mean to be rude about it but basically it was tough shit.

it was tough too on Dot and Cyn, Dot simply had to accept the situation, but Cyn had a greater case of grievance. John was heading off without her when he could so easily gave waited for the art school holidays. (…).

That John was taking Paul, no one else, accentuates the renewed closeness since Stu quit The Beatles. They were the Beatles force, an unstoppable and authentically powerful pair. “Lennon had the attitude”, Wooler said, “and taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were superior human beings”

"You’d always see them together, in the pub or walking along the street", says Johnny Gustafson of the Big Tree. "They were a duo, and seemed each other’s equal". Bernie Boyle, the young lad hanging around with them at every opportunity, says, "They were like brothers, with John as the elder and Paul’s mentor. They were so tight it was like there was a telepathy between them: on stage, they’d look at each other and know instinctively what the other was thinking"

They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from The Beatles and gofin off to Spain. 

Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday, September 30. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent and so close. - Mark Lewisohn, Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years (2013)

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true): 

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.”  - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The Beatles were staying at the George V Hotel at the time. John and Paul composed "Can't Buy Me Love", "I Should Have Known Better" and "If I Fell" on the piano.

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1966: Paul, his girlfriend Maggie McGivern, John and Brian Epstein spend 5 days in Paris. "All of them flew into France separately — Lennon had been filming abroad and Epstein had been away on business. Maggie and Paul, she says, traveled apart ‘as part of keeping the relationship secret’. During the five-day trip the foursome stayed at the same Paris hotel where she and Paul shared a luxury suite. ‘It was a marvelous holiday,’ she says. ‘. . . just walking around the streets of Paris.‘My abiding memory is of me, John and Paul lying under the Eiffel Tower, gazing up at it. We couldn’t go up because we would have been recognised, and we were masters at the art of avoiding people." [x]

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s (maybe 1978?): John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording. Longer version

1970s: John writes "Skywriting by Word of Mouth", a book that would be released in 1986. One story is about sex he had with a woman in Paris. Here it is. As anon noticed here: "...the woman is called Amie L'Nitrate and Amyl Nitrate is a reference to poppers. He talks about grabbing her 'pomme de frites.' Her potatoes? He uses the term 'tread lightly on some loafers' which is an old euphenism for being gay. Amie says they should have sex to God Only Knows. Then John says their relationship ended in a seething rage but he still thinks of 'her.'" @sgtsaltsband concluded in the same post: "so he writes a story about PARIS ( where he and paul went on a trip for his 21st bday and never stopped talking about it ) , in the HOTEL where the Beatles stayed later on [Hotel V in 1964] , names the girl after POPPERS ( a drug commonly used by gay men during sex ) , the girl wants to have sex to PAULS fave song and he uses this PHRASE." Also: this is an excerpt of the story:

"Boogie" is a slang word for sex or dance (also, "Born to Boogie" is a 1972 movie starring Marc Bolan, Elton John and Ringo Starr). "Band on the Run" is a Paul McCartney and Wings' album which John loved. "Sue you sue me" can be a reference to to the Beatles' legal and business disputes and the fact that Paul sued John, George and Ringo in December 1970, and to "Sue Me, Sue You Blues", a song by George.

(thank you @menlove for uploading the story and pointing out interesting words!)

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Thank you for adding, @ringompreg!

(it's like 7 minutes in) Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris.

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

Bonus

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 6 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mutual pining, SLOW BURN, mentions of smoking and other questionable decisions

words: 9.8k (🤐)

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 6 ► the fighting that i keep inviting could lead me to my grave

Two 4 AM trains in the span of 48 hours were more than you or Jungkook could handle, so both of you slept through nearly the entire nine-hour ride from Paris to Berlin. You only woke up for the transfer in Mannheim, but barely—hunger carried you both to the train station where you could buy warm pastries before going back to sleep.

By the time the two of you rejoined the band, you felt exhausted and disoriented. Although you didn’t regret the detour to Paris, you still struggled to imagine how Jungkook was going to manage to perform a show in Berlin tonight. You hoped the exhaustion from the trip would numb him down to just the right level of insanity that he’d be able to pull it off.

In any case, you sent him to get some sleep for a few hours before Rated Riot’s soundcheck, while you went to check up on the crew that you’d left unsupervised while you were in Paris.

Unsurprisingly, everything was under control: Seokjin kept a tight grip on the stage management crew—you probably wouldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it time and time again, but someone who joked around at every chance he got still managed to have one of the strongest work ethics on tour—and Namjoon had kept the remaining members of Rated Riot busy.

If you hadn’t been exhausted to the point of confusion, you might have felt offended about how little you were needed here.

Half an hour later, Luna found you stumbling back into the tour bus.

“How was the wedding?” she asked straight away.

She wasn’t the type to conceal her eagerness when she was particularly curious about something—it was not even the wedding in this case, but your confrontation with Jungkook—but she still made sure to help you climb up the bus steps before you tumbled backwards and broke your neck.

You were far too tired to understand the expectations that hid behind her question, however, as you mumbled dejectedly, “I caught the bouquet.”

“You—” she began to say and then burst into laughter so unexpectedly that the roadie, who’d been unloading the stage equipment outside the bus, flinched in surprise. “You caught the bouquet! Of course, you caught the fucking bouquet.”

You wondered if you were too out of it to understand why this was so funny to her that she couldn’t stop laughing the entire ride to the venue, but you lacked the energy to ask.

“There was no ex,” you said as you glided towards your bunk while your amused friend stood back, covering up the sharp angles on your way with her hand. “Sid was just being an idiot. If I see him—well, I probably won’t do anything because I don’t know what the laws for assault are in Germany—are we in Germany? I’m so tired.”

Noticing your haphazard stream of thoughts, Luna pulled herself together and stopped laughing—but only for a short while—as she helped you reach your bunk.

“We are in Germany,” she confirmed. “Although I’m not sure where you are. How about you take a quick nap while the band does their soundcheck?”

“No, no. I have things to do now that I’m back. To make up for leaving.”

“Things are fine,” she assured you. You knew she was right, but your guilt was persistent. “Nothing fell apart while you were gone. The guys took care of themselves just fine. You’ve raised them well.”

You acknowledged the joke with a small, tired smile. That was good enough for Luna, who was starting to get worried your condition would require medical attention, considering how adamantly you were resisting her attempts to sit you down in your bunk—despite looking like you may fall asleep standing up.

“Are you sure?” you asked again.

“I am,” she said. “Sleep, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Somewhere deep in your exhausted subconsciousness, you realised how unprofessional it would be to take a nap while the band you managed went to the soundcheck on their own. But your eyes were closing without your say so, and you hardly could have helped anyone in a state like this anyway.

When you woke up several hours later, Rated Riot were doing their Meet & Greet according to schedule, and you felt much better—or, at least, good enough to return to your regular duties. You grabbed a Snickers bar from the mini-fridge, and then went out of the bus and into the venue.

As it turned out, it was only the stage management crew and the producers who had kept things in control; they were the ones who hadn’t noticed your absence. Unfortunately, everyone else had.

Luna was kind when she told you that nothing fell apart while you were gone.

Some things wobbled, and there were several rushed phone calls you had to make to fix it—namely, to make up for one of the interviews that Rated Riot missed because they were doing another interview, which wasn’t initially scheduled— but you were grateful for all of it. The sudden rush of adrenaline completely woke you up.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was doing jumping jacks in the changing room to keep himself awake after he managed to survive the Meet & Greet. It wasn’t terrible—it was, actually, very inspiring as these events tended to be—but he couldn’t stop apologising to the fans for his incessant yawning. It just wasn’t right. He was better than that—the fans deserved his complete presence.

The other Rated Riot members were getting snacks at the buffet on the first floor; they planned to go exploring Berlin for an hour or two before the show. Aware of that, Sid, Jude, and Minjun found their way into the changing room.

Their arrival stopped Jungkook’s exercise before they even announced their entrance. For a minute, the four of them regarded each other in complete silence.

Even Jude was quiet this time. As it turned out, his earlier sneezing was a lesser-known withdrawal symptom that one night out in the city seemed to fix—at least that’s what he informed everyone in the group chat. Jungkook wanted to know nothing about it; he rarely drew lines with his friends, but he drew one here. His preferred method of intoxication had always been alcohol and cigarettes, he never needed more thrills.

“Well!” Jungkook finally exclaimed. “If it isn’t my four-thousand dollars.”

Even if his friends hadn’t seen you two leave together the other day, everyone travelling with Rated Riot was aware that the manager of the band was going to be gone for a day, because she was taking a trip to Paris with Jungkook.

Sid mumbled something incoherent while Jude shook his head, and Minjun just stood there, hands in his pockets. He was the one who spoke up first, glancing between the three other boys.

“It seems like he won fair and square,” he said to Sid and Jude, both of whom appeared to be looking for loopholes. “I see no appeals.”

“That’s right,” Jungkook declared. “I did win fair. Even though some of you tried to play dirty.”

He only glanced at Sid as he said this—the insinuation obvious enough—but his friend reacted like he’d been shot.

“I didn’t even say anything to her!” he defended. Jungkook couldn’t help a knowing grin—he hadn’t even said anything about Sid talking to you. Irritably, Sid continued, “and how did you even win, exactly? We bet on a date, not a—whatever the fuck you two did.”

“We went on a date,” Jungkook said again, taking pride in his calm tone and the way it seemed to cause steam to come out of Sid’s ears. “To a wedding. Do I get an extra $500 for how romantic that is?”

Really, he didn’t care about the extra money. He cared about Sid’s reaction—and it was satisfying. The older boy rolled his eyes and kept toying with his hands: crossing, then uncrossing them, stuffing them in his pockets, then resting them on the back of a chair in front of him.

Finally, he said, “you went as friends.”

“She was my date,” Jungkook reiterated. “That’s how weddings work. You don’t bring friends, you bring dates.”

“That’s not—” Jude tried to interject, but Sid extended a dangerous hand and cut him off with this gesture alone.

“Did you kiss her at the end of this date?” he asked, the last word sounding more like a synonym for a massacre than a romantic night out on his lips.

Jungkook frowned at him. “How is that relevant to the bet?”

“It’s the most important part. That’s the one thing that separates your—your outing from actual dates.”

Jungkook swallowed and looked at his other friends. Jude seemed distracted, not paying much attention to the conversation at all, while Minjun just appeared uncomfortable like he had the first time he found out about the bet. Neither of them jumped to his side or even offered a sympathetic nod.

“That wasn’t what we talked about when we agreed to the bet,” Jungkook said. His voice lacked certainty and Sid picked up on it immediately.

“That’s literally how dates go,” he said and broke off into a leisurely stroll around the changing room. His previous resentment had long but faded as he explained, “you spend time together, you talk, whatever—then you kiss.”

“Sid, my man,” Minjun waited until Sid stopped walking, then patted him on the back, mocking comfort. “This reasoning is not on your side at all.”

“Yeah,” Jude agreed, snorting. “By this logic, you’ve never been on a single date in your whole life.”

Sid pushed his tongue into his cheek in annoyance, and even Jungkook grinned as the two boys high-fived over Sid’s head.

“It was a date,” Jungkook repeated once more. “Stop looking for ways out of it and go get my money.”

Jude pushed his hand into his back pocket where he kept his wallet—this didn’t seem to faze him much; for someone who had an abundance of it, this was just money—but Sid extended his hand again, signalling for him to stop. Clearly, it wasn’t just money for him. It was a matter of pride.

“Dude, you have got to stop doing that,” Jude said as Sid’s arm smacked him on the chest. “I’m not a fucking dog.”

Ignoring him, Sid narrowed his eyes at Jungkook. “You went to that wedding as friends and you know it.”

“Actually, thanks to you, I barely went to that wedding at all,” Jungkook shot back. He took one step closer to Sid with each sentence that followed, “but I did. And I took her as my date. Just like I said I would. So, pay up.”

By the time he finished speaking, he was right in front of him—and, therefore, had the best seats in the house to witness Sid actually hesitate, likely for the first time in his life.

Still, Sid clicked his tongue and said, “I don’t think so.”

Throwing his head back with a groan, Jungkook placed his hands on his hips.

“Sounds like you’re too idiotic to admit you lost,” he said. “Now what?”

He’d meant the question for the rest of his friends, but it was Sid who needed less than two seconds to offer a solution.

“We’ll use a referee,” he said, turning around. “Minjun?”

Clearly not having expected to be assigned this role, Minjun opened his mouth in surprise, then closed it again.

“What—why do I have to referee?” he asked after a moment. “I wasn’t even there when you made the bet.”

“That’s exactly why,” Sid said. “Jungkook, Jude and I are involved. You’re the only one who can be impartial.”

Jungkook didn’t protest; he didn’t see the point. Minjun was more level-headed than Sid, so he liked those odds. Not to mention, he’d always had a different friendship with Minjun, one that actually felt like a friendship. So, he only shrugged when Minjun glanced at him as if asking if he agreed with this.

Noticing this, Sid wondered, for a split-second, if Minjun really could be as impartial as he thought he’d be (and he’d thought that, of course, Minjun would swing more in his direction—all of Sid’s friends did, that’s why they were his friends).

“Fine,” Minjun decided, making his way to the middle of the changing room. “Sit down. Tell us about the date.”

All three of them obediently relocated to the couch. Jungkook had to sit on the armrest because Sid and Jude took up the entirety of the loveseat with their exceptional talent at manspreading.

“What else do you want me to say?” he asked. “I already told you everything.”

“That was barely anything,” Sid protested next to him.

Jungkook was about to argue back, but Minjun spoke first, “Sid’s right. I need to know more details so I can make an informed decision.”

Jungkook didn’t know if that was fair—he’d taken you out on a date, he’d won—and he didn’t want to share anything else with them. This seemed like Sid’s way to rile him up even more, and the rest of his friends played along with it.

“We went to a wedding,” he said.

“You already said that,” Minjun pointed out.

“Okay,” Jungkook clenched his jaw. Then added, “we took a train to get there.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Jude was the one who got annoyed first as he groaned and locked his hands behind his head. “If that’s all you did, you definitely didn’t go to that wedding as dates. You barely went as friends, my man.”

Offended, Jungkook shuffled in his seat, trying to throw one leg over the other, but nearly losing his balance on the armrest as he did. He settled back into his previous stoic position.

“That’s—that’s not all we did,” he said awkwardly.

“Okay, so what else?” Minjun encouraged. “Did you talk?”

“No, we mimed to make it more fun,” he deadpanned. “Of course, we fucking talked. We talked the whole time on the train.”

Ignoring his wit, Minjun gave a thoughtful nod. “Okay. So, that’s what? Fifteen hours of non-stop talking? That’s a point for Jungkook.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sid immediately perked up, leaning forward with so much force that he nearly knocked Jungkook off the armrest. “But how do we know he’s not lying to us?”

Jungkook thought he might start throwing things. He wasn’t sure how he felt about whatever this was, but it sure reminded him of an interrogation, and he couldn’t help feeling defensive—to the point of physical violence if that’s what it took. But Minjun took his role as a referee very seriously.

“Because I have to pry information about this date out of him,” he said. Sid leaned back in his seat, smacking his lips in resignation. Minjun added, this time throwing a warning look at Jungkook, “and because if he says something I have a hard time believing, I’ll go straight to the other source.”

Jungkook widened his eyes, near-frantic. “You can’t ask her. She’ll kick me out of the band. She’ll never fucking speak to me again!”

Unsure which consequence Jungkook was more afraid of, Minjun nodded and said, gentler now, “then don’t lie.”

“I haven’t lied once,” he argued, picking up a decorative pillow off the floor—it must have fallen there when the two boys sat down on the couch—and tossing it at Sid, who caught it before it hit his face. “Your distrustful ass needs to shut up and quit whining. You fucking lost.”

“I didn’t fucking—”

“Focus,” Minjun said firmly—like a teacher, trying to discipline unruly kindergartners. “Jungkook. What did you talk about? How many mentions of your feelings for each other?”

Jungkook closed his eyes at the question, pushing his chin forward, an expression of blatant disbelief on his face.

“How many mentions of—what the fuck?” he spoke, unable to repeat the question without scoffing. He opened his eyes to look at each one of his friends. “Have any of you ever been on a real date?”

“I’d be on one right now if we weren’t holding court about a fucking bet,” Jude mumbled, his stare vacant as he clearly shifted in and out of focus on this conversation.

“I take it no mentions, then,” Minjun concluded.

“Of course, no mentions,” Jungkook groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Who the fuck—”

“1-1,” Minjun declared, cutting him off. Cursing under his breath at the ridiculous, almost unrealistic turn that this bet had taken, Jungkook pushed himself deeper into the armrest, his side purposefully digging into Sid’s. Minjun asked, “how much time did you spend together—just the two of you—excluding the time on the train?”

“Wh—okay,” the vocalist inhaled, figuring he’d have to actually answer this one or else his friend would vote in Sid’s favour again. “We took a cab to the wedding. And walked around the Champs-Elysées.”

“Good, good,” Minjun nodded. “Was there any sort of—"

“Wait,” Jungkook stopped him, “don’t I get a point for that?”

“For what?” Sid interjected. “Walking down the street with her?”

“It wasn’t a fucking—”

“You get half a point,” Minjun said. “Now was there any sort of physical touching? Any hugs? Embraces?”

Again, Jungkook was forced to give his friends questioning looks. He felt incredulous—not just because it was starting to seem likely that he’d lose the bet, but also because they were forcing him to share the parts of his life that he’d never shared with anyone other than you before.

“You’re exploiting the shit out of me right now,” he said.

Minjun groaned and proceeded to curse as he spun around his axis, finally losing patience—not with Jungkook per se. He was just tired of being the middleman in a very stupid, childish game.

“We’re literally trying to find out if you were on a date or not,” he said louder. “Why is it so hard for you to just answer the questions and get this over with?”

“Because it’s my fucking business!” Jungkook snapped, jumping to his feet. “We never agreed that I’d have to share any details about the date. Just the fact that there even was a date was supposed to be enough.”

“But we don’t know if there was a date,” Sid argued—in every way that Jungkook appeared agitated right now, Sid came off as victorious. He knew this wasn’t looking good for Jungkook. “That’s the whole point.”

“Why the fuck would I take her to Paris,” he demanded, aware that he was yelling now, “if not for a fucking date?!”

“Because you’re in love with her,” Sid shot back. The relative calmness of his voice in comparison to his only pissed Jungkook off more.

Both of them were standing now, but Sid, who was only taller by a few centimetres, somehow always had the upper hand—not just in this conversation, but in their friendship, too.

In barely fifteen minutes, the tables had turned completely, and Jungkook was the one losing control of himself.

“That has nothing to do with—oh my God,” he covered his face with his hands and turned his back to his friends, giving up. “Okay. Fine. I can’t do this shit.”

“So, you admit defeat?” Sid asked—Jungkook could hear the grin on his friend’s face without looking at him.

“I admit nothing,” he grumbled.

“If you can’t prove it was a date, you lose.”

Turning around to look at him, Jungkook shrugged with exaggerated intensity as he asked through a humourless laugh, “how would I prove it? Everything I say sounds like a joke to you three.”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Jude spoke up suddenly—another return to the home planet—and then mumbled, “you’re not very funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be—” Jungkook stopped and inhaled sharply. He’d grown tired of playing this courtroom drama with the three of them. “Alright. I need to get ready for the show.”

All three of his friends understood the subtle indication that Jungkook was kicking them out of the changing room—Minjun turned towards the door and Jude stood up from the couch. But Sid stood still.

“The keys,” he said.

Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“Hand over the keys.”

Clenching his jaw, Jungkook kept eye contact with him for a minute before saying firmly, “I’m not handing you anything.”

“You lost the bet,” Sid said—his voice gaining a dangerous edge now that Jungkook wasn’t complying. “The Katana is mine.”

Jungkook pursed his lips as he continued to stare defiantly into his friend’s eyes.

“If I can’t prove it was a date,” he said, “then you can’t prove it wasn’t.”

The two of them watched each other for another minute until Sid licked his lips and nodded, signalling that—for once—he agreed to disagree.

“Alright,” he said, looking around the room. Jungkook did not feel relief. He felt tension. “I see how it is. How about we adjust the conditions of the bet, then?”

Even though he was sure he didn’t want to know, Jungkook still asked, “what does that mean?”

“If you manage to get back together with her,” Sid proposed, “we’ll all pay you $5000 each.”

Just as Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, Minjun furrowed his, declaring right away, “don’t include me in your shit.”

“Fine,” Sid agreed. Then clarified to Jungkook, “Jude and I will pay you $5000 each.”

It took Jude a moment to react, and he, too, tried to back out of this. “I don’t think I—”

“You were in the original bet,” Sid said, shooting a warning look his way, “you can’t get out now.”

Jude wasn’t very pleased with having to go through this again—even if the first bet didn’t, technically, cost him anything. He relented, though, because he always did, “fine, you bitch.”

Sid looked back at Jungkook, waiting for his response.

Aware of the predicament that he’d found himself in—or, rather, that Sid had manipulated him in—Jungkook crossed his arms on his chest and took his time before speaking up.

“And if I disagree?” he asked.

“Well, you have two options here,” Sid said, “either you give the keys to me because you lost the previous bet, or you hand the keys over to Minjun, our impartial referee, while I wait for you to lose this updated bet.”

Minjun rolled his eyes again, annoyed that he still couldn’t escape being involved in Sid’s game.

Jungkook, on the other hand, needed another minute. He’d definitely prefer to give Minjun the keys—just because he knew Minjun might give them back to him.

“So, just to be clear,” Jungkook started slowly, “you’re saying that if I get back together with her, I’m keeping the Katana and getting 10K?”

“Yes,” Sid confirmed. “And if you don’t, the bike’s ours. We’ll find good use for it. How does that sound?”

Like signing your soul over for the devil, that’s how it sounded.

Jungkook shook his head. A date was a date, he thought you would find a way to let that slide if you accidentally found out. But his relationship with you wasn’t for sale.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Sid took it well, merely shrugging as he extended his hand, palm up. “Well, then hand over the keys.”

Agitated again, Jungkook smacked his palm against Sid’s. “Get out of here. I’m not fucking—”

“You lost the bet,” Sid repeated, enunciating each word so loudly, it cut Jungkook off. “The Katana is fucking mine, I’m just generous enough to give you another chance to win it back.”

“It’s not fucking yours.”

“He’s right,” Jude spoke up again—very unhappy that he was only remembered when the topic turned to him paying. “It’s technically ours.”

“It’s mine,” Jungkook said, taking a moment to look at both, Sid and Jude, as he repeated, “I didn’t lose.”

“Then you have no choice,” Sid concluded. “The bet is ongoing.”

“How is it ongoing?” he argued. “It’s one thing to go on a date—”

“Which you didn’t,” Sid interjected.

“—which I did,” Jungkook countered, his eyes burning with a flame so angry, it was almost a miracle Sid didn’t immediately catch fire. “But you’re suggesting a completely different thing now. Starting a relationship is not the same. Especially if it’s a relationship with someone you already dated before.”

“I know,” Sid said, seemingly unbothered. Jungkook wondered why, because his friend didn’t look pleased, either. He didn’t look like he’d tricked him, like he knew he’d win for sure.

Clearly then, Sid had to think that the odds of winning this bet were, more or less, equal for both of them. That had to mean that a part of him believed that Jungkook could really get back together with you.

Consequently, Jungkook realised that Sid wasn’t, really, suggesting anything at all. He was simply telling him that this was how it was going to be from now on.

“I can’t do that just randomly,” he said. “I can’t just approach her and ask her this. It’s—”

“Two weeks,” Sid said. “That enough for you?”

Jungkook swallowed.

Even though he wanted this, he knew that attempting to get back together with you now could jeopardize everything that you’ve done in the past two years as Rated Riot’s manager. Jungkook didn’t think he wanted to burn down the same bridges that the two of you had built back from the ground up.

That being said, there was a glimmer of hope—very obscure, barely there, not even visible, really, just faintly humming somewhere about his chest—that you would get back together, and his reward wouldn’t just be $10 000.

It’d also be a future with you; the very same one that he could sense in Paris.

He knew he didn’t need a bet to bring this future to the present. If anything, the bet might hinder the progress of your relationship. But if there was a possibility that he’d get everything: you, his bike, and the defeat of Sid; if there was a possibility that, for once, the idiot would lose and all of his shit-talking would come back to make him miserable… Jungkook was on the edge of considering it.

Smirking as the younger boy bit his lip in anxious contemplation, Sid looked at the other two guys in the room and announced cheerfully, “you’re actually doubting this!”

“I’m not doubting the time frame,” Jungkook said. “I’m doubting if you’ll keep your end of the deal since you’re very much fucking me over right now.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“We can write the conditions down and have Minjun stamp it if that makes you feel better,” he said.

Minjun—the designated lawyer, apparently—groaned, but did not audibly object. This wasn’t a conversation involving him—it barely involved Jude, who was, technically, part of the bet—so he stood back and watched the face-off on the sidelines.

“Stamp it with what?” Jungkook asked, finding this excessive. “Our blood?”

“Anything that makes you feel better.”

Jungkook brought his tongue over his teeth as he thought this over.

He couldn’t do this.

But how could he not? If he gave his bike up now, if he dropped out of the bet, Sid would be free to find you and tell you about it—acting like he didn’t mean it. Like he was just showing off the bike that Jungkook gave him, and the bet simply came up. And then, not only would Jungkook lose his Katana, but he’d definitely lose you, too.

No, he had to be the one who told you about this in hopes that, once your initial anger faded, you would cooperate with him. Not for the Katana, but to make Sid fail. And maybe that could be what brought you together, what made you stay together even after the bet ended.

It’s the only way he could win.

Sighing, he asked. “What are the conditions?”

“First of all,” Sid started—glancing at Minjun who pulled his phone out to write it down. iPhones seemed more formal than bar napkins and Jungkook bit his lip, realising this was serious as Sid dictated the rules, “you both have to be aware that you’re back together.”

“That’s already a given.”

“Not with you it isn’t, you sneaky shit,” Sid disagreed, the seemingly innocent smile on his face concealing his anger about not having gotten his way with the first bet.

“Fine,” Jungkook agreed and immediately offered his own condition, “then you can’t talk to her about the bet or attempt to ruin this for me. Just sit back and wait until it’s over.”

Sid considered this. “Alright. But you can’t tell her anything, either. If I find out that the two of you plotted against me, the deal’s off and the bike is mine.”

Jungkook was the one who needed a minute this time.

Obviously, Sid had single-handedly ruined a plan that, Jungkook now realised, wasn’t very well-developed to begin with. But Sid’s satisfied mug pushed him to clench his jaw and agree anyway.

“Fine,” he settled. “I won’t tell her anything.”

It could still be okay, he hoped. He would just have to find a different way.

Perhaps, he thought suddenly, he could drag this out long enough that Sid would forget about it. Even two weeks could be plenty if enough happened to distract him—or if Jungkook stopped talking about it altogether.

Both boys looked over at Minjun, who typed for two more seconds, then looked up at each of them and nodded.

“The keys,” Sid reminded Jungkook.

Groaning, he pulled them out and passed them over to Minjun who had the decency to look apologetic as he took them from him.

“So,” Sid continued then, grinning mischievously as he extended his hand. “Do we shake on it?”

Jungkook knew he had a big head when it came to talking about this, but he also knew that actually making this happen would be a true challenge. He wasn’t sure if he could do this. He was sure he didn’t want to do this.

But if he succeeded—fuck—he’d get you back. There was hardly anything else in this world he would still want. Maybe a nice meal every now and then, but he’d make do with dry ramen noodles until the end of his days if he had to.

Fuck.

He liked his odds; the date at Kihyun’s wedding went well, after all. But Jungkook could also recall—very vividly—you telling him that you didn’t believe in second chances. Not to mention, you’d been very explicit when you’d asked him not to lie to you again.

Fuck.

“You’re sure taking your sweet time,” Sid teased, his hand still hanging in the air. “Not so sure of yourself anymore?”

It had to get worse before it got better, Jungkook told himself.

He had to agree to this, first of all, to find a way out. Then, he had to win to turn this bet into a distant memory with minimal consequences, to make it almost like it never even happened before—without you knowing, without him losing his bike, without Sid fucking winning.

And, most importantly, through this, he had to find his way back to you.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he lied—he did it well and he could tell, based on the way Sid narrowed his eyes when Jungkook’s palm touched his. “You’re fucking pitiful. But I’m still going to win this.”

Jungkook was worried he’d have a hard time performing after agreeing to the bet, but the concert in Berlin, surprisingly, worked as a distraction.

He sensed the irony: once, he’d used the bet to distract him from the anxiety of the tour. Now he had to perform in order to distract himself from the bet.

Still, once the show finished, Minjun saw the vacancy behind Jungkook’s eyes, and it unsettled him. Wanting to take his friend’s mind off this, he suggested getting drinks once the bus arrived in Copenhagen.

Jungkook took that to assume it’d only be the two of them going out, leaving Sid and Jude to occupy themselves with something else, and he didn’t mind that at all.

But this was where unforeseen circumstances altered their plans.

While the band was having after-show drinks backstage in Berlin, the crew dismantled the stage set: several bars of batten were dropped, causing minor injuries for the staff members in charge of the deconstruction. They didn’t need medical attention, thankfully, but the equipment had been broken—decorative light fixtures with Rated Riot’s logo that were supported on the battens had shattered and the metal pipe constructions had come apart.

You were informed that it would take approximately two hours to salvage what was fixable and load the equipment back onto the buses before you could leave for Copenhagen. Naturally, you were concerned about the state of the staff—if they could even drive after this—but they assured you they were fine. Still, you insisted they rested after having reassembled the equipment and assessed the damage.

Finally, everyone settled on leaving Berlin at five or six in the morning—that gave you, at least, five more hours in the city.

While this might turn out to be a logistical challenge for you and the rest of the roadies, it was an opportunity for Minjun, who immediately pulled Jungkook outside, already looking up the closest bars.

“No time like the present,” he’d said after Jungkook questioned what happened to getting drinks in Denmark. “We grab something here, get some sleep, and then grab something else once we arrive.”

Most unfortunately, Sid and Jude also saw this as an opportunity to get drunk, and did not hesitate to invite themselves to join the other two boys.

Technically, Jungkook and Minjun didn’t even realise that they weren’t the only ones entering the bar until Sid ordered them to get a table while he and Jude went to get drinks.

They were always the ones who picked the drinks for the night, and, for the first time in his life, Jungkook felt a little concerned—Sid and Jude always, without a fail, chose the drinks with the highest alcohol concentration.

“Why do you care?” Minjun asked as the two of them settled in the booth of the bar. “You’ve only passed out drunk, maybe, three times in your whole life.”

“I haven’t slept properly in two days,” Jungkook said. “So the fourth time might be tonight. And if that happens—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll personally carry you home,” Minjun replied. “I’m not getting your girl involved.”

“What girl?” Sid asked, returning with a tray. The question was unnecessary, really; he was already grinning anyway. “Last time I checked, she wanted nothing to do with you and only went to Paris with you out of—”

“One more word about it,” Jungkook said, “and I’m leaving you stranded in Germany.”

“Sensitive,” Sid commented and sat down next to him while Jude climbed into the booth next to Minjun. “Alright. Let’s get you loosened up, you’re awfully uptight.”

Minjun noticed that whatever Jungkook prepared to respond with wasn’t going to be pretty. He wanted to avoid confrontation and pushed the highball glass towards him.

While Jungkook drank, Minjun made sure to shift the topic: staying close enough to the bet so that Sid would remain entertained, but making sure to drift away from you, so Jungkook wouldn’t be triggered, either.

“How’s the engine on your Katana?” he asked. “All good?”

The question seemed innocent enough, but Jungkook saw through this plan as he swallowed his drink. He gave his friend a look—Minjun wasn’t sure if it was grateful or just confused—as he put his glass down and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.

“It’s fine,” he said. “The oil’s leaking, though. I still don’t know why.”

“The gasket has worn out, probably,” Jude offered right away. If he didn’t have a trust fund bigger than ideas what to do with it, he might have genuinely considered becoming a mechanic.

“It couldn’t have,” Jungkook said. “I just changed it.”

“Did you change all the plugs, too?” Sid asked. He could tell from the look in Jungkook’s eyes as he took another sip instead of answering that he hadn’t. “You don’t know how to take care of it properly. I told you that you should have let me look at it. It’s why I’m going to be—”

“You break everything you touch,” Jude accused before Sid could elaborate further. “Let me take a look at it when we get back.”

Jungkook’s three friends – although significantly wealthier than he was – had always had a soft spot for anything that had wheels. It started out with tuning their bikes when they were fifteen and turned into purchasing their own vehicles when they got older: which meant Sid, Jude, and Minjun getting their first cars at seventeen, and Jungkook purchasing his Katana as soon as he made enough money for it. Minjun had known this when he asked the question that started the conversation.

And so, for the next hour and a half, the four of them immersed themselves in a discussion about Jungkook’s Katana, Sid’s vast collection of chevies (nevermind that he’d inherited the first Chevrolet from his grandfather, and the rest were gifted to him by his parents), and Jude’s latest hobby: restoring his 2002 Nissan Skyline after he’d wrecked it drag-racing.

“See, I knew no one should let you drive,” Sid said—he’d already had five drinks at that point and was, therefore, rocking gently in his seat.

“You’re one to fucking talk” Jude heated up, equally as drunk. “You can’t tell the wheel from your ass.”

Jungkook snickered as he sipped his drink.

Minjun took over the argument, “you’re both shit, actually. As far as I remember, Jungkook and I won most of our races. But I was driving in all of them, of course.”

Here, Jungkook raised his head, his eyebrows furrowed in offence.

“Not true,” he said indignantly. “I was driving at least once when we won.”

Minjun gave him a look. “You crashed into a wall that time.”

“We still won, though.”

“Because Sid dented someone’s fence and lost a tire a minute before you!”

“Still,” Jungkook said with a pout that he was not aware of. Then, he added a very important, “I’m not that bad of a driver.”

There was irony in Minjun’s laugh as he shook his head and began to list off the consequences of their win, “both of us had whiplash. The car was totalled. Your girlfriend nearly left you.”

Jungkook put his glass down with more force than intended—any mention of you sent a signal into his subconsciousness, as it seemed. “Okay, that’s—that’s a different thing.”

“How is that a different thing?” Minjun did not relent. “You’d even named the car after her.”

“Are you implying I crashed it because I’d named it after her?”

“I’m saying if you can’t drive a car you named after your girl, then how can you—”

“You know what?” Sid cut in, growing bored. He pulled his phone out and nearly dropped it as he smacked his elbow into the edge of the table. Hissing in pain, he lifted his phone off the settee and clutched his arm, “fucking shit. God. We need a new race to settle it. You and Minjun wouldn’t be on the same team for once. You think we could rent out cars here?”

He was already browsing on his phone when Minjun snorted. “Definitely not at four in the morning.”

“We could do it tomorrow,” Jude suggested. Sid nodded right away. Jude pointed his glass at his friend’s phone and said, “look up rental places in Denmark.”

If Jungkook wasn’t so tired—and the two Manhattans he’d consumed didn’t help, either—he would have been surprised that Jude knew his European countries well enough to recognize Copenhagen as the capital of Denmark. Instead, he pulled his own phone out of his pocket.

“Actually,” he said then. “Maybe we should go. The bar closes soon, and we have to get back to the bus.”

Sid lifted his eyebrows and looked at his friends for support—Jude was already gathering his belongings, and Minjun was already halfway out of the booth, too.

“Wow,” Sid said, despite being the only one who had a problem with Jungkook’s statement. “What’d she do to you? You’re no fun.”

“I agree with him,” Minjun cut in before Jungkook could say—or throw, as he clutched his empty glass—anything else. “We should go.”

Rolling his eyes and grunting about how boring everyone had gotten in Europe, Sid pushed past them to exit the booth and headed to the bathroom before they left. Minjun made him swear not to drink anything else on his way back, and the rest of the boys went outside to wait.

Meanwhile, you had been busy helping the roadies out—before they politely escorted you outside, claiming that they were stressed out by the endless phone calls you were getting from the label after they heard of the problems with the stage set—so you hadn’t seen Jungkook leave with his friends.

But Maggie—friend, tour photographer, social drinker with an alcohol tolerance that could have knocked Jungkook out—had spotted them. And it gave her a wonderful idea the second she saw you lingering by the exit of the venue.

“Since we’re stuck in Berlin,” she had announced to you, “let’s do something with it.”

It had sounded like a suggestion only for a second—immediately after she said it, she grabbed your hand and pulled you after herself to find Luna. It wouldn’t have been a proper night out if the three of you weren’t together.

Not many bars were still open at nearly four in the morning, but Maggie seemed to have a radar—the three of you were in a booth at the very back of some half-deserted pub before the remaining 20% of your phone battery could run out.

“I don’t think I should have left, to be honest,” you said, your hand hesitating around the cocktail glass that Maggie had ordered for you as soon as you walked inside. “We were having kind of a crisis back there.”

“You weren’t doing anything,” Maggie replied. She was sitting next to you and leaned over to pat your back in a comforting manner as she admitted, “I overheard Otto call Seokjin to come pick you up and get you out of there.”

Otto was one of the roadies and Seokjin’s right hand backstage. You didn’t know he initiated your removal from the venue, and you didn’t particularly like being excluded when you thought you could have been helpful. Clearly, the stage management team thought otherwise.

“I’m with Maggie,” Luna said; she knew you’d expect her to back you up, so she spoke before you could. “If something happens, you can still go back. A few drinks won’t hurt.”

“Yeah, and besides,” Maggie raised her glass, “if the boys get to drink, we should, too.”

The two girls laughed at this, clinking their glasses—it seemed like an appropriate toast—but you needed another minute in your managerial role before you could fully detach yourself.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Who’s drinking?”

You directed your attention at Luna—your gaze inquiring about her boyfriend’s whereabouts—and she swallowed her drink before speaking. “I don’t know. Taehyung is asleep on the bus.”

“It’s Jungkook,” Maggie answered you. “I saw him leave with his friends.”

You closed your eyes, realising that you should have expected this.

Everything seemed to have been decided for you – you weren’t required back at the venue and you couldn’t, exactly, stumble around the streets of Berlin in search of Jungkook and his friends, either.

If anything, you were required here as your friends watched you expectantly.

They were right, really. A few drinks weren’t going to be a problem if you’d get a call (that is, if your phone wouldn’t die until then). And you were tired, anyway—to the point where sleep evaded you sometimes, just because you craved it so much. Alcohol might even help in this case.

However, as soon as you finally tasted the cocktail in your glass, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You glanced at your friends first—they were either lifting their eyebrows (in Maggie’s case) or rolling their eyes (in Luna’s)—then you swallowed and turned around.

“What a coincidence!” Sid exclaimed when your eyes met.

A part of you—a dark impulse that you didn’t try particularly hard to control—wanted to toss your remaining drink right at him; like holy water at a possessed child. Begone, demon.

Before you could react, however, Jungkook rushed into the bar from outside. You merely had enough time to grasp what was happening—the bar that Maggie had picked happened to be the same one that Jungkook and his friends had been drinking in—before Jungkook pulled on Sid’s shoulder, forcefully dragging him away from you.

“He was just leaving,” he said briskly.

Sid tried to resist, but Jungkook had more strength—and far more determination. “I wasn’t. I’m actually—”

“He’s leaving,” Jungkook repeated with a strictness in his voice that you weren’t sure you’d heard before.

“What are you even doing here?” Sid whined at his friend as he was tossed to a side that was furthest away from you. “I thought you were waiting outside.”

“You took too long,” Jungkook mumbled. “Go.”

Sid groaned, but allowed the younger boy to literally drag him away. Once Minjun was close enough, he took over and grabbed the side of Sid’s jacket, pushing him through the door of the bar.

Jungkook looked back at you and gave you a small nod—as though encouraging you to stay with your friends instead of going after him to check up on him. You nodded back, thus allowing him to walk outside after Sid.

Jungkook was fuming.

Things had been going well tonight; he’d actually had a nice night with his friends and even forgot that these were the same people who pushed him into this bet.

But then he was forced to watch—in horror—as Sid approached you back at the bar, and he remembered everything.

So, while Sid pushed Minjun off of himself, Jungkook snarled, “I thought it was clear that you can’t fucking talk to her.”

Sid only shrugged and pulled out a cigarette from a pack inside his jacket pocket. “I just went over to say hi.”

“Don’t.”

Sid rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to mention the bet,” he spoke and offered cigarettes to Jude and Minjun first, then to Jungkook. All three of them took one each. Sid lit his up and continued, “you can’t forbid me from talking to her altogether.”

“Actually, I can,” Jungkook replied, still irritated that he hadn’t been there—once again—to stop Sid from approaching you. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing now.”

Despite the argument, Jungkook took Sid’s lighter when he offered it to him. In doing so, he realised that the paradox of this situation summarised their friendship fairly well. It had always been like this between him and Sid: constantly bantering and arguing, but staying friends, nevertheless.

“Why?” Sid asked with a grin, perpetually amused by Jungkook’s protectiveness. He blew smoke out and asked, “scared I’ll steal her from you?”

Jude and Minjun snorted in unison. The mocking sound took Sid’s attention off Jungkook as he glowered at them.

“You’re drunker than I thought,” Minjun commented, bolder than Jude was under Sid’s glare.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sid challenged. “You all know I’m one of a fucking kind.”

Now Jude and Minjun were nearly howling with laughter, and even Jungkook couldn’t resist smirking. Meanwhile, Sid’s frown deepened. He liked to tease others; he didn’t like to be teased—never mind that he was setting himself up for mockery.

“You’re not shit,” Jude retorted, too drunk to come up with a wittier comeback. “She would never go for you.”

“No, he had a point,” Jungkook said. “She’s never hated anyone for as long as I’ve known her. Except for him.” He turned to Sid with a derisive grin. “So, you really are one of a kind.”

“Oh, I see,” Sid laughed humourlessly. He took another drag and then said to Jungkook—not even blinking as he watched him, “tonight was fun. But it’s going to get even better once you lose the bet.”

Jungkook remained apathetic as he removed the cigarette from his lips. “I won’t.”

“You will,” Sid insisted. His intense staring was an intimidation tactic that Jungkook had already grown accustomed to. He did not twitch or back away when Sid leaned in closer. “And you know why? Because you’re in love with her.”

This time, he wasn’t going to argue otherwise. Sid had used this as a weapon, he meant to ridicule him with it. But Jungkook—in this tipsy and tired state—realised that his self-esteem didn’t depend on whether his friends thought he still loved you or not.

Before, he had been eager to show them that he didn’t care about you—he thought that was the only way he could prove that his friends weren’t significantly better than him just because they weren’t in love with anyone.

Now he was going to show them that he did care about you, and caring still didn’t make him inferior.

“This might be disappointing to you,” Jungkook retorted, “but I can be in love with her and still make you lose.”

“See,” Sid said, grinning because this confession was precisely what he was coaxing out of Jungkook. And it was precisely the reason why Sid thought Jungkook would never win against him—be it a bet, or just in life in general. “But I don’t think you can.”

“Sit back and watch me, then,” Jungkook replied, blowing smoke out in Sid’s face. He pulled back immediately and the dissatisfied frown on his face was, simply put, beautiful.

Back inside, the girls chose to avoid discussing what had just happened with you. They had their reasons for changing the topic, too: Maggie had a policy against all boys who dared to interrupt your girls’ night, and Luna simply knew that if you continued to talk about this, you’d be more tempted to go out and check if Jungkook wasn’t getting into trouble.

But not even ten minutes later—just when you’d finished your second glass—Jungkook himself unexpectedly returned to the bar. You’d noticed him from across the room, and the second your eyes met, he made a beeline for you.

“Sorry about that before,” he said to everyone at your table, nodding apologetically at Luna and Maggie. “I, um, wanted to let you know that I’m going to be heading back. The bus is about to leave, right?”

Still surprised by his sudden reappearance, you were slow to pick your phone up. The battery had finally given in; you couldn’t tell what time it was. Both girls noticed this and were about to pull their own electronics out, but Jungkook reacted first.

“It’s four-thirty,” he said helpfully. “The bar is closing soon.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “Yeah. The bus is leaving in an hour, probably. Where’s the rest of your posse?”

“They already left,” he said without a further comment. Instead, he asked, “actually, can I talk to you for a second before I go?”

You looked back at your friends—both of them gave you permissive nods with grins that might’ve made the Cheshire Cat run away in shame.

“Sure,” you told Jungkook and turned your head away from your friends as if you could pretend you hadn’t seen their teasing smiles—that only made them giggle more.

The two of you walked towards the nearly empty bar—reasonable people were asleep this early in the morning—which wasn’t very far from your booth, but you figured the music played loud enough to drown your conversation out.

“So, um,” Jungkook began slowly—awkwardly—as he leaned his elbow against the bar top. “How are you feeling after the trip and… everything?”

There was something endearing about the uncertainty with which he’d asked you this. Pursing your lips lightly to hide your smile, you said, “it should be me asking you that.”

“It’s not. I’m the one asking,” he said so matter-of-factly that your smile only widened. He added, “I’m fine anyway.”

“I’m okay, too,” you said. “Tired to the point of taking a nap right on this bar, but other than that, I’m fine.”

He glanced at the bar after you’d mentioned it—as if assessing if it’d be a comfortable enough place to sleep on.

“Will you, um—will you be okay going back?” he asked then.

Your smile was plain and obvious now; hiding it required too much effort. Maybe the drinks Maggie got you were laced with something.

“It should be me asking you that, too,” you said.

“I’ll be perfect,” he replied, waving his hand around dismissively. “But I can, uh, stay back,” he looked at your friends over his shoulder—you noticed them both turn away, having been caught staring. “But I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, yeah, no,” you agreed, your eyes still locked on the girls. “Maggie has a strict no-boys rule.”

You weren’t sure if she heard you or if her sudden snickering was unrelated to your comment.

“Oh?” this seemed to pique his interest. “Are you going to get in trouble now?”

“Probably,” you said casually enough. Trouble with Maggie usually meant more drinks, so you weren’t particularly worried. “She might already have a penalty for me.”

Despite you making it sound like this wasn’t the first time a boy interrupted your girls’ night to talk to you, Jungkook felt himself smile—he was the boy you’d broken Maggie’s rule for tonight.

“Because of me?” he still asked, a noticeable sense of entitlement behind his words.

“Don’t get excited.”

He snorted. “What’s the penalty? I’ll do it for you.”

“I’ll do it myself,” you said with a sigh as you extended your hands and laid your head on the bartop. “But some other night. I’m shutting down now.” You noticed the flash of concern in his eyes after you’d said that and added, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be heading back soon anyway. Get back to your friends.”

Your last sentence made him pause.

“That’s—” he stopped for another moment to mentally rewind through all the years that he’s known you. “That’s probably the first time you said that.”

You shrugged, having just enough energy to tease, “I trust Minjun.”

“Minju—but not me?” he questioned, offended.

“I’m working on it.”

“Well, how do I speed that up, then?”

“You can’t.”

He watched you for a minute, analysing your face for a possible option. He offered, “another trip to Paris?”

You knew he was joking, but you still grunted in refusal—that only made his teasing smirk widen.

“That’ll do the opposite,” you said. “I’m not going off-tour again. Look what happened tonight.”

You weren’t completely serious, but you couldn’t help but still feel uncomfortable that you had the leisure to travel Europe and drink with your friends, while the rest of the staff had to struggle with a stage set that was, apparently, falling apart.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you genuinely blamed yourself or if this was just an illustrative exaggeration—your tired face was hard to read.

“Our trip to Paris is unrelated to what happened with the stage tonight,” he assured you in any case.

“Related or not,” you said and yawned mid-word, “now I can’t get proper sleep.”

His reaction was immediate—with one hand on your palm that you’d rested on the bar top, and another one on your waist, he encouraged, “come on, then. I’ll take you back to the bus. Let’s sleep.”

You were tempted—not just because his touch was warm and soft, but also because the thought of sleep seemed so satisfying right now that even the music in the bar faded into the background.

Still, you resisted, “the girls—”

“We’re fine!” Luna hollered; her glass raised. She was already tipsy and, obviously, had been waiting for an opening to give you permission to leave. “Maggie and I are going to stay back a while.”

You lifted your head to look at your friends again and caught them both smirking at you. They had seemingly overheard the entirety of your conversation, never mind the music.

“The bar closes in half an hour,” you reminded them with a frown. Jungkook’s hands were still on you—more supportive than before as soon as he felt the gentle sway of your tired body.

“We’ll find a way to keep ourselves busy until it’s time to leave,” Maggie added—which surprised you. Normally, it was the three of you against anyone who dared to interrupt your night. “You two can go ahead.”

You turned to Jungkook, who nodded at the door and seemed to make this decision for you. You really needed that today and you were quite unashamed about it; if anything, you appreciated everyone else deciding what you’d do for once.

You stood up properly and took a step away from him—he had to let go and did so reluctantly—to pick up your phone and your handbag from the booth. Your friends watched you, beaming, and you caught yourself before you began to smile, too.

Then, you allowed Jungkook to take you back to the bus.

It wasn’t a long walk, but you felt too drained to even take your shoes off when you got back. Plugging your phone in to charge, you laid down on your bunk, still in your clothes, and looked over at Jungkook.

Stubbornly, he refused to go to sleep until he was sure you were settled, so he was leaning against the partition wall between the opposite row of bunks.

“I’m still waiting until my phone will charge some,” you said, trying to make him reconsider. You paused to yawn again, then explained, “so I can check on the rest of our staff.”

“I’ll wait with you, then,” he said.

“No,” your firm voice got him to stop unexpectedly—he was already approaching you. “You hadn’t gotten any sleep, either. And you performed a whole gig tonight. Go to sleep.”

He resumed his journey and took a seat next to you on your bunk. “I’ll wait.”

You rolled over on your back to look at him. “You literally don’t have to do that.”

“And I’ll do it anyway.”

You exhaled, far too tired to argue about this. Your eyes could barely stay open enough to make sure he really was sitting on your bunk, and you hadn’t just dreamt him—the possibility wasn’t far-fetched, after all. It’s happened before.

“You shouldn’t,” you said softly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“I’m an adult, right? You said so,” he reminded you. You were worried that your words at the wedding would come back to bite you. “So, I can stay up waiting with you if I want.”

You sighed in response, your mind refusing to think of any more arguments or questions about why he found it necessary to bother waiting with you.

Satisfied, Jungkook scooted deeper into your bunk and crossed his legs, getting more comfortable.

He did as he’d promised—waited with you until your phone charged enough to make a phone call. Then he brought you water, because you called Seokjin and couldn’t say a word, your throat too dry to speak.

And then, half an hour later, when you were already asleep and he was sure you wouldn’t remember, he pulled your duvet over your body—so you wouldn’t get cold—and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your forehead—so he wouldn’t, either.

chapter title credits: palaye royale, “toxic in you”

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[randomishnickname]

I got really mad and saddened this week at the train station. I was approached by a pretty panicked foreign guy who didn't speak French well, and apparently had problems buying his train ticket (it was early morning so the train station's shop wasn't opened yet). He wanted a ticket for Paris (just a 90 minutes ride in that case), but was thwarted by the vending machines that didn't accept cash. I helped him book the ticket (vending machine operated only in French too, at least I didn't find an English menu) and had to put in

his name and birthdate

a phone number

an eMail address

I paid with my card, he gave me the money back in cash, and then he didn't even get a printout of the tickets but instead they were sent to him via eMail 💀💀💀

So in order to take the fast train for less than two hours in France you got to have

a smartphone that works and won't die on you halfway through the journey

internet access on your phone

an eMail address that works

enough technological competences to download PDF attachments from an eMail

or else someone who prints them out for you if you do it from home

an ID card

a working bank card to pay either online or the vending machine

So there's an entire category of people pretty much unable to take the fancy pansy French fast trains (at least unassisted). Even if you have the money to pay for it, there's still this huge list of criteria you have to fulfil just to take the fucking train. I'm glad I was able to help out this poor guy but I still think it's very messed up that he needed my help in the first place.

So yeah. Go public transports. But please not with so much state control mechanisms, what the fuck

[calholic]

Hiii I just LOVE your writing sm omfgg ,hope your having a lovely day rn because rn I'm stuck in a fucking train station in Paris and it's like 92848482°c (help) sooo it gaves me an idea for a request 😇☝️

2007/2008 Tom x fem reader , in a train station like it could be a yn that missed her train and is desperately waiting for an another train then Bam , Tom is traveling with Bill, Gustav and Georg and he see her and just find her super hot and pretty u know , even tho YN is literally a mess idkkk just yeah I trust you ,do whatever you what , you don't even have to do this one if you don't feel like it 😭😭

Love u !!

T. KAULITZ x READER

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: on a hot day in paris you meet a certain someone

★ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: none 😇

★ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hey girl sorry for the late reply but i hope you had a good time in paris 😘 ALSO FINALLY GOT THIS FIC OUTTTT hope you guys like it and hope you guys MISSED meeee kisses and hugs 😘

———————————————————————

you ran as fast as you could to the train doors, but they closed right as you made it. you were now stuck in the train station waiting 30 minutes for another one to show up. you took a seat on one of the benches in the station, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you processed what just happened. you leaned back on the bench and let out a sigh and closing your eyes. you were dehydrated, sweaty, sticky and frustrated all at the same time which made your situation even worse.

you sat, checking the clock every 3 seconds until finally a train showed up along with a group of boys. they all looked around your age and you couldn’t help but notice one of them was just your type. he was wearing the baggiest clothes you’ve ever seen and he had long, dark blonde locs. you brushed it aside since you had a train to catch and you were already late to where you were supposed to be. you took a seat near the door and the boys followed, taking the same train as you. they sat in the seats across from you and one of the boys, the one you doing attractive was staring right at you.

you were a sweaty mess so you got embarrassed about your current appearance since you didn’t look the best. you fixed your hair a bit and reapplied some lipstick, looking up at the boy who was now laughing at something his friend said. you thought he was laughing at you but you noticed he was blushing as well. he looked back over at you and you couldn’t help but blush too. his face was perfect and he looked like an angel, you noticed his lip piercing too which was totally hot. after a few minutes of awkward back and forth eye contact the train finally stopped at your destination. you were disappointed that you didn’t ask for his number or at least get his name.

———————————————————————

before you left though, you heard the boys friends laugh and footsteps behind you. “hey, do you mind if i get your number?” the voice asked. you turned around to see the boy, “oh, uhm sure,” you said trying to hide your giant smile that was forming. you reached for his phone and your hands touched which made your face red and hot. “here, i’m actually late to work so i guess i’ll see you around,” you said handing his phone back to him. “oh, sure,” he said before sitting back down, you were smiling from ear to ear as you walked out of the train.

you talked to your friend alyssa at work about what had just occured. “you will not believe what just happened on the train,” you said to her. “did you meet your prince charming?” she asked. “kind of…” you said. she immediately looked up from her phone and raised an eyebrow. “tell me more,” she said. “okay well i missed the train and sat around waiting for another one and then when the other one came a group of boys showed up and hopped on the same train as me,” you explained. “then, i saw this really cute boy and we made eye contact, but didn’t say anything until the train stopped. i was obviously disappointed but then he asked for my number, i had to leave though so we didn’t talk much,” you finished explaining, catching your breath.

“when is it my turn?” alyssa asked before you heard your phone ring. it was a text message from the train boy. “i think he just texted me,” you said. “let me see,” alyssa said, scooting closer to you. “hey i’m tom, the guy from the train earlier. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner with me sometime,” read the text message. you gasped as alyssa read it out loud. “say yes!” she said, pushing the phone towards you. “okok! this is so exciting,” you giggle before responding. “hey tom, i’m ______. is tonight good?” you replied. “you sound so formal,” alyssa said laughing while looking at your phone. “i’m nervous okay?!” you replied with a defensive but relaxed tone.

———————————————————————

once work had ended you and tom decided on going to your favorite restaurant near your apartment. you gave him a call to let him know that you would be waiting for him before you rushed to get ready. your heart was beating fast as you hopped in the shower, beginning to scrub your hair of all sweat and grease from the subway. you began to daydream about the date and would you would say to this complete stranger, making scenarios about how things could go, like what if i get food stuck in my teeth or what if he doesn’t like your personality. you got got carried away as you realized the time. “shit!” you exclaimed loudly before reaching for your towel and already putting your dress on before you were even dry.

you hurriedly curled your lashes and applied on mascara, making a mess all around your eye. you it up and added some finished touches before putting on some lipstick. looking at the mirror, you felt confident with the hard work and preparation for tonight. you took a deep sigh and smiled before searching for your phone which started ringing. it must’ve been tom telling you he was here since you heard a honk outside. you grabbed your phone and opened the, almost forgetting your purse. you looked up and there he was, waiting for you. he had walked out of his car and stood by the passenger seat just open the door for you.

not wanting to keep him waiting, you quickly ran over to him with a big smile on your face. “good to see you again, tom,” you said as he opened the door. “my pleasure,” he replied with a slight flirt in his tone before quickly making it back to the drivers side. the drive was a bit silent at first but you decided to crack some conversation. “so, are you from here?” you asked. “well actually no. i’m just uh, visiting you could say,” he said a bit nervously. you were off put by that but decided to ignore it since you wanted to keep the spark going. the restaurant wasn’t far from your place so it didn’t take long for tom to find it. he quickly rushed out the car after he airier to open your door which you thought was super cute of him.

“you’re such a gentleman,” you said chuckling, looking in his eyes. “only the best for you pretty lady,” he replied before winking, which immediately gave you butterflies. your face got red and hot as you started blushing and you could tell he noticed too by the accomplished smirk on his face.

———————————————————————

you guys got sat quickly and got to talking, you bringing up what he does for a living first. “well i play guitar in a band,” he said. “that’s amazing! i’ve always wanted to learn. what’s your bands name?” you asked. “tokio hotel,” he replied quickly, somewhat avoiding the question. “you guys popular?” you asked. “i guess you could say that,” he dryly responded. you thought it was a little weird that he didn’t want to talk about it but ignored it anyway since you didn’t want to pry and make him uncomfortable.

the waiter came with the menu and everything looked amazing as you two browsed. “i think i’ll have the pasta, what about you?” you asked, looking up at the menu to him. “the steak looks amazing,” he said. “alright then,” said the waiter as he grabbed the menus. “so what about you, what do you do?” tom asked. “well it’s not as exciting as whatever you do. i work an office job,” you said awkwardly slightly embarrassed as you laughed it off. “there’s nothing wrong with that,” he said sweetly, smiling at you.

his kindness was warm, comforting in a way. you were used to being treated mediocrely in all your past relationships so this was something to get used to. “where do you work?” he asked. “i work at ______ company, the buildings actually right there,” you said, pointing to a nearby skyscraper. the waiter arrived shortly with your food and the pasta looked mouth watering along with tom’s steak. the two of you started digging and with the first bite you fell in love immediately. “this is amazing!” you exclaimed, mouth still full of noodles. tom chuckled, looking at you with pure adoration as the candlelight gleamed in his eyes. you felt embarrassed as you covered your mouth and apologized for the rude outburst.

“mind if i have a bite?” tom asked. “go ahead,” you said, now wiping the pasta sauce off your lips. you pushed the plate his way as he lifted his fork. his face lit up as he tried it, looking as if he had fallen in love with the taste. “it really is amazing, you have good taste,” he said. “thanks,” you said shyly, letting out a little giggle. after dinner was over, tom walked you to the car and as he did you noticed a mob of people outside along with bright camera flashes from what you guessed as paparazzi?

———————————————————————

“why would paparazzi be here?” you mumbled to tom over the loud screams and yells. “uh- i have no idea, that’s strange. maybe there’s a celebrity here,” he said. “TOM!! I LOVE YOU!!!” you heard a voice shout from the crowd. you thought it was strange they were shouting the name of you date and you looked over to tom. “are they cheering for you?” you asked confused. “it couldn’t be, probably just a guy with the same name,” he said. “I LOVE TOKIO HOTEL!!” shouted another voice. “hey isn’t that the name of your ban-” you were cut off with tom dragging you by the hand to his car before you could finish your sentence.

“hey what gives?!?” you asked as he placed you gently but hurriedly in the car. you had so many questions at this point it didn’t seem like they would be answered soon. tom quickly got into the drivers seat and started the car, speeding away. he was silent the ride back to your house and the awkwardness of the car ride made you uncomfortable. when he parked outside your place, the two of you sat in silence for a while. “look i-“ he stared before you cut him off. “what just happened? why were all those girls screaming your name and your bands name? and why were there paparazzi? why did you run away so fast? i have so many questions,” you said shaking a little. tom let out a sigh, “i might’ve lied a little bit about the popularity of my band,” he said nervously.

“go on,” you said. “and i may or may not be here for said bands tour,” he continued. you let out a big sigh as you leaned back and closed your eyes. “why though? i mean i don’t mind if you’re some huge celebrity, it just would’ve been nice to know,” you said. “i understand and i’m sorry but i just thought you would get turned off by that. i really like you after all and i didn’t want to scare you away,” he said with a worried expression on his face as he looked at you. “i really like you too tom, and it’d take more than that to scare me away,” you said opening your eyes and turning to face him, a big smile growing on your face. “is that so?” he said with a mischievous grin, looking down at your lips. “oh?” you questioned.

———————————————————————

before you could say anything, tom quickly pounced on you. you were caught by surprise as the two of you locked lips but you went along with it. his lips were warm but hands warmer as you felt them glide against your cheek, immediately giving you butterflies. he began moving down to your neck before you stopped him. “let’s move this upstairs yeah?” you asked. “ok but i can’t guarantee i can hold myself back that long,” he said. your face felt warm as your cheeks turned red. tom carried you all the way upstairs into your building and you quickly unlocked your door before shutting it just as fast.

he placed you gently onto your bed and picked up where he left off. that night was one of your best and before you knew it the two of you were asleep, arms tangled together. you woke up first from the mixture of sunlight and the sweet chirps of birds. you looked over to see tom, shirtless but you were too. sitting up, you noticed your clothes scattered all on the floor. you got up to pick them up before you felt comforting, warm hands reach for your waist, it was tom. “where are you going?” he asked with a soft whine but deep morning voice before pulling you into his arms. “relax i’m just cleaning the mess we made last night up,” you giggled as he tickled you with kisses. “nghm that can wait,” he softly whispered as you grasped onto your body tightly.

[apuckishwit]

"Sorry! I only speak English."

Steddie

"Sorry! I only speak English." Eddie offers what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic smile, holding his city map a little higher and offering it to the thoroughly unimpressed-looking cashier in the little shop he'd ducked into. "Train station?" he asks, racking his brain for any of the helpful phrases Gareth had tried drilling into him before the guys let him go wandering alone. "See-voo-play? Train? Uh, ho-hotel de...uh, fuck, Grand Vista Hotel?"

If he can get back to the rail station, he knows he'll be able to make it back to the hotel. The cashier tilts her head, now looking a little insulted as well as unimpressed and FUCK. It had seemed like such a romantic idea, exploring the French countryside by himself for a couple days before the show. He's been working on a few ballads for their next album...looking for ways to keep their sound fresh, keep their fans on their toes...and this had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some inspiration. Quiet his head a little, get into a writing mood.

Only now he is lost as shit in this quaint city where there are hardly any signs in English and everybody seems to only speak French and he's supposed to be back in Paris TONIGHT and he has no idea how to fucking get there. And like, yes, he's very aware that he's living up to some very bad American stereotypes right now, but Gareth will actually kill him if he fucks this opportunity up for them (they're in motherfucking PARIS, opening for a motherfucking HUGE music festival...this is big for them) and he's frustrated enough that he thinks he might actually start crying and what is he going to DO???

"Hey man, you need some help?"

He is so startled by the thoroughly American voice behind him that he whips around, fast enough that he dislodges the baseball cap he's tucked his hair up into. He barely catches it before it goes flying, dropping his map in the process.

"Shit, sorry, let me..." The stranger shifts his basket of charmingly-wrapped cheese and wine bottles to his other arm and crouches down, gathering up the map. He looks up at Eddie as he holds it out to him and all Eddie can think is that there is a great deal he would give up in the world if he could have this vision on his knees in front of him every night.

The guy is fucking beautiful. Eddie can feel song lyrics bubbling up inside of him--an ode to those perfect lips, that creamy, mole-dotted skin, the way his jeans stretch enticingly over the muscles of his thighs as he stands, still holding the map out. Eddie's staring, but he can't help it. He takes the map in a daze. The guy cocks an eyebrow.

"Didn't mean to scare you, you just sounded like you needed help." He turns towards the cashier with a bright, charming smile, placing his purchases on the counter and starts speaking with her in what sounds like damn near perfect French. Eddie swallows hard at the lilting, beautiful language in that voice. Fuck. He guesses he has a language kink now. Who knew?

"Um, I do! Need help, that is," he blurts after the stranger has completed his transaction, whipping out a black AmEx card like it's nothing. "I need to get back to Paris tonight, but I'm, um, I'm lost as fuck." He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his now loose curls. His breath catches when the stranger follows the movement, a slight gleam of what Eddie VERY much hopes is interest lighting those honey brown eyes. Fuck, forget the French countryside--Eddie's got a goddamn MUSE standing right in front of him.

The guy smiles, just as charming, just as friendly, but is there a little bit of flirtatiousness in there as well? "Well, it just so happens my friend and I are heading into the city tonight for some music festival she's been dying to go to since, like, before we met. I'd be happy to make sure you get back."

Heaven really is smiling on Eddie today.

"Oh? I'd be...grateful," he says, taking a risk and laying on some innuendo. Wants to fist pump when the smile widens. That is definitely interest in those eyes now. The guy sticks his hand out.

"Steve," he says, his grip firm and sure when Eddie takes his hand to shake.

"Eddie," he says, and God, wandering around the French countryside by himself is the BEST idea he's ever had.

"If you are not going to buy anything else, please step away from the counter," the cashier huffs. In perfect English.

[coffeebanana]

things I am very miraculous ladybug normal about in Paris: Gare du Nord edition

THOUGHTS OF LONDON SPECIAL ADRINETTE REUNITING AAAAAAAAAAAH SHSHSHSHSVSSGSHS

hm. I cannot take an adequate picture. Why is this station so busyyyyyy

actually. What the fuck. I hate this station. This is an awful, awful, train station. Why would anyone willingly—

Random person: “Adrien! Adrien!”

Me: SHJSSHSHHSHSHSVSH OKAY I FORGIVE YOU GARE DU NORD

[paingoes]

Crash Out

Vi and Lorry

hi!!! this takes place the same night as Itch. this part is also nsfw! i dont think it’s wildly explicit but the whole thing is sexually charged and it is depicted briefly. be advised.

(Content: nsfw, mutual intoxication, drunk sex, guns, slight cnc, murder mention)

===================

“Those are my glasses,” Lorelai leaned over curiously, folding her hands behind her back. The girl in the pink sunglasses blinked; nobody saw. She took them off and held them idly in one hand.

“Oh, my bad. I found them on the floor,” she explained, ready to pass them back.

“It’s okay! They look better on you actually…” Lorelai said quickly. She looked really good in them.

“Yeah, on you they would cover up the…” The girl tapped the center of her own eyes, indicating the spot where the diamonds would be but not naming them. “Kind of gilding the lily, you know?”

“Thank you!” Lorelai blushed. “They’re a part of my face!”

“Wow. Can I feel?”

“Sure!”

The girl tapped at the gems. Lorelai didn’t have any nerve endings there, but it still felt strange. She giggled. She used to brag that they were natural diamond, until Paris had warned her not to tell anyone just how much those precious stones were worth.

“Wow,” the girl repeated, “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

She had said nice, when Lorelai was pretty sure she meant rich.

“I’m on a mission.” Lorelai winked. It wasn’t untrue.

“That’s funny,” the girl replied, “So am I.”

=========

Vi danced in such an unaffected, aloof way. Part of this Lorelai found very cool — another part made her feel silly and overeager in a way she didn’t appreciate. Vi smiled at Lorelai’s own dancing; she couldn’t tell if the smile was mean. She knew she was stilted, somewhat, years of ballroom etiquette trained into her and then beat out of her in the pit. It was a funny combination. It was written into her form.

The music was loud enough that their voices were drowned out to everyone but each other. Vi hooked a hand around Lorelai’s waist; she squeaked, then rushed to cover her face, embarrassed by the whole thing. The touch was nice, though. She’d been craving it badly. Paris always pulled away like he was scared of it. Vi was uninhibited — maybe too much. It was so easy to let her lead.

There was nothing about the motions themselves that had any novelty. Lorelai was affectionate often, naturally, easily. She had been with all the girls she knew. But she knew that somehow, it was different this time. It wasn’t a game — or if it was, it was a different kind. This one wouldn’t be half as one-sided. Lorelai wouldn’t lose at it.

She had always wondered.

========

“Guess.” 

“Galatea?” Lorelai’s tone was conspiratorial. One does not yell Galatea in a crowded club.

“Is that the only one you know? Please. If I was with Galatea, I would not be stationed in fucking Myamar.” Vi rolled her eyes.

“Is it Napostle?”

“Colder.”

“DRW?”

“Warmer.”

“CTRL?”

Vi dipped her. “Bingo.”

“Woah.” Lorelai’s eyes lit up. “So you guys actually fight.”

Vi smirked and lifted her back upright. Lorelai spun out.

“…I can fight too, you know.” Lorelai said. There was something a bit uneasy in her smile; she hoped it was not visible. She wanted to drink more.

“Oh yeah?” Vi’s response was disbelieving, taking it as another method of foreplay. Lorelai took offense. 

“I can fight,” She promised. She would if she had to. She thought about it every day.

============

“I can’t find him.” Lorelai came back into the club defeated, a little panicked. She hooked her fingers through Vi’s own, where they hung waiting. “Will you walk me home?”

Lorelai’s voice was slurring. Vi was pretty slumped herself. Still, she nodded her assent and looped her arm over the other girl’s shoulder. They stepped out into the night. Lorelai didn’t taken notice of the blood on the sidewalk, but she scanned the streets just in case she might have missed him. She was less scared than she would’ve been sober. Vi was good for distracting her. They walked loose and untethered beneath the bright city lights.

“He’ll live. This is a safe area. I slept on the streets for two weeks once,” Vi reassured her.

“You did?” Lorelai’s admiration shown on her face, until something like shame covered it up, “I’ve…never been anywhere.”

“Then what are you doing all the way out here?” Vi asked again. Lorelai had dodged the question before. She did it again now.

“Just headed North. On a mission. Out to the border.” She twiddled her thumbs.

“Leaving Empire?” 

“Mm. I’ve always wanted to. I’ve always wanted to. I just didn’t have the nerve.”

“Aw, you’re like a little fugitive.” Vi pinched her cheek between her knuckles. 

The motel’s lights were all on. The hallway smelled vaguely of cherries and grass.

======

“Can I tell you something?” Lorelai asked while Vi was inside her.

Vi looked up sleepily, mouth still open. Lorelai’s hands moved to cup her face, holding her there. In the dead light, she was beautiful.

“I killed someone.” Lorelai’s eyes squinted when she smiled.

Vi nodded. Her tongue moved lazily around Lorelai’s nipple. She whined.

“Two people, actually…” Lorelai corrected herself, “It was so easy. I couldn’t believe how easy it was.”

As if reading her mind, Vi asked, “Could you do it again?”

“I think so. If I had to.”

Vi moved up. She put her mouth to Lorelai’s neck, alternating between kissing and biting. She cried out softly in pain, but didn’t pull away.

“What if I asked you to?” Vi smiled. 

Lorelai shook her head, “No. No.”

Vi’s voice dropped to a whisper. She moved her unoccupied hand moved to trap Lorelai’s wrist.

“If I ordered you to?” 

Lorelai arched her back, taking handfuls of Vi’s long black hair. That had done it. She buried her face into Vi’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the force of it. Vi withdrew her hand from between her legs. She wiped it inconspicuously along Lorelai’s thigh. They fell over onto the mattress. She was still trying to hide her face. Vi kissed her on her crown.

==========

Vi lit up a cigarette, on her knees by the edge of the bed. She glanced sidelong at Lorelai, letting the fumes out through the side of her mouth. The cherry red of the cigarette shone against the inside of her eyes.

“…Was that true?” Vi asked, “You really killed people?”

Lorelai reached into the side drawer and pulled out the handgun. She shook it a bit in her hand, just to show it off. The barrel stayed safely pointed at the ceiling.

“Took this from them. You can see right here where we filed off the serial number. Ours now.”

“Let me see,” Vi said, then added, “Is it loaded?”

“No such thing as an unloaded gun.” Lorelai smiled slyly. She passed the gun to Vi for examination. For a long while she stared at it, not saying anything. Then she looked back up. 

“You said you’re headed North?” She asked slowly. “Would you mind sending a message for me?”

Lorelai’s eyes widened. She didn’t speak. Vi stood up, crossing the threshold to the backpack she had left by the door. She pulled a large manila folder out from the side of it, throwing it on the mattress besides Lorelai. 

Lorelai pulled it open without even asking, carding through the contents. It was all in cipher. She couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face then.

“It won’t mean anything to anyone but the receiver. If you don’t take it, there’s no harm done. But I’d like it if you did. They’d be grateful, too.” Vi slid back into bed, slinging an arm around Lorelai’s waist. She kept looking through the papers as if she might be able to decipher them. After she came up empty handed, she returned them to the folder and placed it right besides the gun on the bedside table.

“Yeah. I can do it.” Lorelai pulled the covers up over the two of them. She thought she was vibrating too much to ever fall asleep, but somehow, she managed.

[nnnyxie]

IZU ANON IS BACK!! So I spent the day in Paris and saw SOOO many couples so I felt inspired (that’s a lie I’ve been lurking around your blog but felt weird requesting so much so close together and didn’t want to overwhelm you so I waited😞) anyways

Hc’s for Soulmate!Izu x Tatooed!Reader because I’m sickly inlove with soulmate au‘s

Especially writing that shows up on the others skin<3 The reader just drawing super ugly cats and doodles all the time- I feel like Izu would be the more artistic one and reader would suck at it but still do it all the time (this is more me telling you my hcs rather than requesting them from you but i literally can’t talk to anyone else about this please bear with me😭) and Izu would like draw SUPER realistic and detailed all might portraits or something and then reader like get’s a villain tattoo because they’re ✨different✨like that and Izu freaks out and somehow finds them through that??? This is like half a fic omg i just got carried away😭 feel free to ignore this I just absolutely went off I’m so sorry ily

izu anon…… your mind….. ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.

i’m utterly in love with this idea.

i feel like the tattoos won’t transfer BUT!! the stencil that they USE for it does!! (ykwim?? the purple/blue ink they use??)

so one silly little day, he’s just relaxing yk. it’s his day off and he is using it to catch up on a show todoroki’s been raving about (which is unusual for todoroki so you KNOW it’s good!!)

our boy has his old ratty blue t-shirt and worn out grey nike shorts on. feet kicked up on his ottoman, his calves exposed. (do you see where i’m headed?)

now— imagine his surprise when he gets up and notices the purple/blue print of a villain on his right calf!!! (im thinking late 80’s)

he genuinely panics— like he’s seen these stencils before— a few were super badass honestly.

BUT A VILLAIN??? A VILLAIN???

he kind of feels sick because like— what if his soulmate is a villain?? (you’re not, you just like tattoos)

he immediately takes a picture of it!! he plans on looking for you— aka stalking every single tattoo artistry page and the people they tag in their posts, also their criminal data bases, and looking at everyone’s right calf when he goes on patrol.

he’s hoping that IF you’re a criminal/villain, he could help you to become— well, NOT that.

he also goes to bakugo about this and asks if he saw anyone get a tattoo of it recently (because bakugo definitely would get tattoos, i just know it. it’d be all skull and fire themes too) (plus he recently got one) bakugo just says, “the fuck? you think i know everyone with a tattoo? what kind of dumb thinking is that?” and poor poor izuku is panicking because he upset bakugo (he actually didn’t, bakugo was just taken aback by the picture) izuku apologizes profusely (bc that’s his thing) and bakugo go just tells him to stfu and that he MIGHT know who tattooed the image because he recognizes the style. sooooo he takes izuku to the parlor and introduces him to…….

YOU!!!!!!! yes, you tattooed yourself!!!!

you’re bakugo’s tattoo artist!!!

“dumbass, show me your right leg” bakugo yells in your small parlor, like an asshole. this makes you roll your eyes— you’re used to him, you’ve been tattooing him since you both were 19, which was when you finished your ‘tattoo training’. “keep talking to me like that and i’ll drop you from my cliental list,” you turn around after you finished sanitizing your station (bc all good artists do!!) “just show me your damn leg for the sake of this idiot,” he points towards izuku, that’s when everything goes in slow motion, and pro hero deku shines bright. he’s omitting a vibrant color and it’s nearly blinding (omg maybe your quirk is seeing/sensing auras)

(also, we’ll just say you’re wearing shorts for the sake of this)

you walk out from behind the barrier of the station and put your right leg on display. that’s when izuku chokes— it’s full of all the stencils he’s seen and… the villain tattoo. “fucking idiot, why would you tattoo a villain on you? you hate them,” bakugo slaps the side of your head, cause he’s an asshole. “cause it’s badass! plus it’s an old school villain, no one really knows ‘em.” you shrug and smack him back, narrowly avoiding his fresh tattoo (you wanted to hit it so bad) “anyways, why did you wanna know? and speak fast cause i have a client coming in twenty.” he forcefully takes izuku’s phone out of his hands, and shows it to you. “why am i looking at a blank screen? bakugo i don’t have time for this,” you push his hand back. “you didn’t let me unlock it,” izuku secretly rolls his eyes, you caught it though. he pulls up his gallery and shows a picture of his leg with your stencil on it.

your eyes narrow— not wanting to believe it cause like, you’re a small business owner and there’s no way a big time hero could be your soulmate. “yeah no, i have no time for bullshit. did someone send you this or something? trying to turn me in for a damn tattoo?” bakugo grumbles bc he’s ANNOYING (i love him) and grabs a pen. “draw something.” “you know i can’t with no reference. i’m shit without one.” “JUST DRAW! ON YOUR HAND! NOW!” “stop yelling all the damn time.” you grumbled and begrudgingly drew a horrible looking bunny. like— absolutely terrible !!! looking bunny onto your hand. bakugo, being the ass he is, RIPS off izuku’s glove and shoves his hand in your face. “bakugo. there’s nothing there. seriously you’re wasting my time, i need to set up. i don’t have time for jokes.” you go back to your station and start getting the ink ready. izuku rolls his eyes again— at his friend, not you. “that was the wrong hand,” he says in a slightly sassy tone, which was funny to hear from a pro hero. izuku takes his OTHER glove off and walks to you. “here,” he places his hand in front of you and you drop your tattooing gun.

“oh,” was all you said before walking into the back of your shop. you screamed a ‘what the fuck’ and walked right back out. “well, hi.” your smile is very awkward because like— how are you supposed to respond to that?? it’s not everyday that your soulmate ends up being a pro hero. “uhm… so can we meet after your uhm, next appointment?” he asks, very very shyly, it was like he was a high schooler all over again. you just give a head nod and write your personal number on the back of your business card. “uhm see you.”

months after that fateful day, you and izuku are officially together! he’s drawn you many designs for tattoos. (either for yourself or your clients)

now— izuku may be a very talented artist but when it comes to tattooing? absolutely not. he tried tattooing a small heart in between your fingers as a little practice thing and— let’s just say, it looks like a jacked star. (pls he felt so bad)

while it was a little ugly, you still loved it because he was the one to do it <3

OMG AND THE FIRST TIME YOU TATTOOED HIM— he tried not to cry. like— THIS MF USED TO BREAK HIS BONES DAILY!!! THIS MF FIGHTS BAD GUYS FOR A LIVING!!!! but it’s okay!! not everyone can handle getting a tattoo and that’s perfectly fine!!

ps most of his tattoos are all might hero based.

IZU ANON!!!!! i thoroughly enjoyed this <3

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 28

(Ch. 27) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: “If we could light up the room with pain, we’d be such a glorious fire.” - Ada Limon

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, the usual.

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me fucking FOREVER to get this out, y'all! A LOT has been going on in these past months (the demise of a longterm relationship, renovations on my house, new jobs etc) but I hope this is worth the wait! 💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu @emmylindersson @flowers-and-fichte

Contemporary: Midnight, December 3rd, 1944. Liart Station, France.

When the door to her private train compartment was opened, Alix made a silent promise to herself: As soon as the war was over, she was turning in her goddamn resignation letter to the OSS and going home. She couldn’t handle any more surprises on the job, not like this one. 

“Sorry, I’m late, gorgeous," a lowered voice had remarked wryly as soon as the compartment door slid shut once more.

"You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

The whisper came from a young man in a heavy coat who casually dropped into the seat next to her as though he belonged there. The dark brim of his fedora was pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in shadow, but she didn’t need to see its entirety to know who it was; she would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded out of the corner of her mouth, making sure to keep her expression neutral as she flipped through her newspaper and fought the urge to smack the newcomer with it. 

“Thought Nix woulda told ya,” Liebgott looked almost amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

He too spoke out of the corner of his mouth; someone had taught him well. 

“Donovan needed an interrogator with an Austrian dialect. Said this one’s gonna be a real doozy. Called me in as a temp.” 

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed, causing her blue contacts to sting.

“You’re the floater? You’re–” 

“Lieutenant Fritz Eberhardt,” he finished with a nod, casually taking his right hand out of his pocket to reveal the worn, silver skull ring of the Werwolf Kommandos, engraved with the tell-tale motto of the SS:

‘Meine Ehre Heisst Treue’. 

My Honor Means Loyalty.

How ironic.

The paratrooper and translator shot her a roguish wink, leaning back with an arm stretched out lazily along the back of his seat like nothing was wrong. 

“I've been assigned to accompany you to your Paris engagement, Fraulein." 

The spy stiffened.

This was the first time that she could recall ever seeing Joe out of uniform and it would be a shame to get blood all over his nice coat but sweet Jesus, Alix was about ready to make that sacrifice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the auburn-haired girl muttered under her breath. “You’re going to get us both killed.” 

“You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Joe chuckles. “Trust me-”

"Right, because that's gone so well for me before," the spy snapped sharper than intended.

Joe's eyebrows shot to the compartment ceiling, his cocky demeanor gone in a flash, replaced by a sudden scowl.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" 

Before Alix could find the words to reply, the shrill whistle of the train screamed out, indicating their departure from Liart Station and the spy took a shaky breath, hearing the rumbling of the wheels on the track underneath them.

She was stuck with him now.

Trying to ignore the ache in her chest at Joe's unexpected presence, Alix tried to force her unfocused eyes to stare at the newspaper in her hands but the words only blurred before her.

"Didja do a bug sweep already?" Joe inquired with a casual yawn as he glanced across her to the window, while Alix flipped the page of her newspaper so hard that she nearly tore it. 

"Of course I did," the spy answered indignantly, unable to contain her irritation.

"That's why you were supposed to come early: to help me look. Listening devices could've been anywhere in here." 

“Don’t gimme that shit,” Joe scoffed in an almost dismissive tone as he tapped the filter of his Reemtsma cigarette.

“Since the liberation, the Krauts have lost a lot of resources and stick to their secret little underground social clubs or whatever. I got the whole rundown from HQ.”

Alix huffed.

Joe was right, damn him. 

While on the surface, France had cleaned up its act, the rotten undergrowth of Nazis and their collaborators remained, festering beneath the surface. 

The chances of them taking the time to bug train compartments were miniscule at best.

“Still,” she responded with a petulant roll of her eyes. “You should’ve been here on time. You never know.”

"Yeah, well you ain't the only one with shit to take care of, okay? I got held up." 

Alix's dark eyes flickered up from her newspaper. 

"Define 'held up'," she said coolly, an undeniably bitter edge to her tone. “What, pray tell, was so pressing?”

Joe crossed his arms and took a long drag off his cigarette before replying snippily,

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tatiana.”

"It's Tanya, Alix snapped before flipping another page on her newspaper as though she were reading it instead of boring holes into Joe’s face.

“And I would like to know, actually. Because I'd like to think you wouldn't be late to your first assignment without a good reason but maybe I don't know you as well as I thought." 

“Fine.”

Joe's warm brown eyes were suddenly as hard as the wood paneling in the compartment they shared but he shifted the side of his coat up nonetheless, just enough to show a huge cherry-red stain that had blossomed across one side of his ribs.

"There, that a good enough reason for ya?" 

“Madonna mia!” Alix exclaimed, all pretense of anger gone in a flash. “What the hell happened?! Are you alright?”

Joe shrugged nonchalantly.

“Somebody did a shit job friskin' the prisoners so ol' Jerry got to bring a fuckin' boot knife with him to interrogation,” he muttered as he readjusted his coat. "'S not as bad as it looks.”

"Did you have Gene take a look at it?" Alix asked, eyeing his red-soaked shirt with concern. "That's a lot of blood…"

"No, I didn't have 'Gene' look at it," Joe shot back, a mocking edge to his voice as he spat the medic's name, biting down on his cigarette.

"’S fine. Barely a scratch." 

The auburn-haired girl snorted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her tone.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

The translator took a long drag, his expression unreadable. 

“Well, I ain’t your problem anymore,Your Majesty,” he remarked sardonically as he let the smoke curl into the air.

"So you can lay off."

  “You’ll always be my problem,” Alix grumbled under her breath and the pair lapsed into a chilly silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of the newspaper under her fingertips and the rumbling of the train on the tracks.

Still keeping her head angled downward to avoid that familiar ache that seemed to rise in her chest whenever she looked him in the face, Alix let herself study the compartment instead.

In truth, their private compartment was borderline ostentatious – plush maroon upholstery upon the seating, rich mahogany paneling upon the walls, thick velvet curtains adorning the windows to keep the outside world at bay– but the spy could barely concentrate on the luxurious decor either.

Instead, she found herself studying Joe's hands. She still had only fleeting memories of him from before her fall but his hands were one of the few things she remembered the most. 

They had been paler back in England, not yet marred by the blood and grime of the battlefield, the blue veins still snaking up the back all the way to his wrist. She remembered tangled sheets and breathless laughter as they each struggled to catch their breath. She remembered her own scarlet-polished nails tracing each vein in the hand resting beside her, feeling the way his pulse would quicken when she smiled at him.

His fingers were still as calloused and long as she remembered, almost graceful in their strength, and she could still feel the ghost of them interlocking with her own like missing puzzle pieces finally finding their way together.

There weren’t any more ink stains on his fingertips, Alix realized, and she was suddenly half-tempted to make a snide remark about chasing two girls and getting neither, but she kept her silence. 

No need to make an already awkward situation worse, she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Like it or not, they had a mission to complete.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

The French countryside seemed to pass by in blurs of green, gold, and blue, like the vibrant swirls of a priceless Van Gogh but Alix hardly noticed. 

The spy had been fiddling with the worn handle of a discarded leather briefcase that had been left behind in the luggage rack under her seat. Beside her, Joe was violently twisting the Werwolf skull ring around and around upon his finger, wrenching it with such ferocity that it looked as though he might tear his finger off in the process.

"I hate this," he muttered bitterly, seemingly more to himself than to Alix as he glared down at his calloused hands. 

"I fuckin' hate this." 

"Hate what?" the spy inquired softly, cocking her head and allowing some of her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.

Joe glanced up at the sound of her voice, clearly not expecting her to speak to him, but he recovered fast as ever.

"This," he replied simply, gesturing to the Werwolf skull ring. 

"Wearing this. Gevalt, it makes me wanna claw my fuckin' skin off.” 

Alix felt a pang of sympathy. She couldn’t even fathom the excruciating cognitive dissonance Joe must be experiencing right now, playing a role he despised…but why bother playing it in the first place? 

Why put himself through the unnecessary pain? He was only a floater– a consultant– for this one mission. He had the power to back out at any time. It didn’t make sense but then, nothing about Joe seemed to make much sense lately.

Alix watched as he lit up another cigarette, his third in an hour, glaring across her, out the window at something unseen. 

He was chainsmoking again, like he always did when he was agitated, and all she could do was let the silence sit and watch him wrench the skull ring harder and harder around his finger.

It was unsettling when Joe was quiet: his rage she could combat; his brooding she couldn’t.

The auburn-haired spy found herself sneaking quick glances over at him out of the corner of her eye, the tension hanging thick in the air around them like the early morning fog.

Surprisingly, Joe was the first to break.

“Look, you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“What is there to say?” Alix retorted, her grip on the briefcase’s handle tightening considerably. 

“I’m perfectly capable of traveling on my own. I don't need a floater and I certainly don't need you.”

Joe crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the seat. 

“Well tell that to Donovan then, ziskeit,” he yawns. 

"'Cause I got orders to watch your six till the job's done." 

Alix opened her mouth to complain but she was interrupted by a light knocking on the compartment door and Joe immediately shoved his right hand deep into his pocket to hide the infamous skull ring. 

A disgruntled train attendant appeared, regarding both Joe and Alix with the same beady, bloodshot stare as he stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Papers,” the Frenchman demanded with an outstretched hand.

Alix nodded with a casual “Certainement” and set aside the discarded briefcase, retrieving her false identification from her handbag and passing it to the man with what she hoped was a convincingly haughty eyeroll. 

The attendant--whose yellowed nametag identified him as Guillaume-- wore a peevish expression almost identical to their old CO, Captain Sobel, which brought a smirk to Alix's face.

The thought of the sadistic superior officer who had made their lives hell for so long being reduced to a glorified bellhop punching tickets and checking IDs was enough to bring them both a smidgen of joy.

Her gaze flickered over to Joe, who returned the smirk with one of his own, the inside joke seeming to almost bridge the gap between them.

The attendant skimmed over Alix's paperwork, handing it back to her without issue, and then it was Joe's turn.

“You, identification.”

Compliantly, Joe dug into his jacket pocket for his passport with his left hand but as he passed the small booklet to the attendant, it slipped from his fingers toward the carpet. 

Automatically, the translator’s dominant hand shot out of his right pocket to intercept them but it was too late: the skull ring on his right hand was in full view. 

The attendant swore as he snatched up Joe’s fake Austrian passport, staring down at it and back to the tell-tale ring as his face reddened with rage.

“Y-You-” he snarled, his lip curled in disgust and a gloved finger shaking as he pointed at Joe. “You are-” 

“Wha- No, no!” Joe protested, immediately reaching out for his passport back in a desperate bid to quiet him. 

“I’m not-” 

But the Frenchman shoved him off roughly and spat an anti-German epithet at him as Joe’s back hit the seat.

“Boche!”

Joe’s eyes narrowed instantly at the slur and he came back strong, lunging forward to seize the attendant by the collar but Alix stood up, trying to shove her way between them to keep the scuffle from getting out of hand. 

The auburn-haired spy could smell the heavy stench of cheap wine on the older man's breath as she separated the pair and she knew there was no reasoning with him.

The drunken attendant spun on his heel, immediately heading for the compartment door, his final words slurred as his rage boiled over. 

“Filthy swine! Nazi pig! You-”

Alix felt a block of ice drop into her stomach as the man’s large, gloved hand reached the door handle. 

It was no secret that since the liberation, people of German extraction weren't exactly welcome in most of French polite society. 

The épuration sauvage was in full-swing, thousands of suspected collaborators being beaten, tortured, and executed by incensed crowds of French people.

If this man went and ran his mouth off about a Werwolf Kommando on the train, Joe could be mobbed as soon as he set foot outside their compartment. 

This chilling revelation seemed to flip a switch in Alix’s brain: If the man left their compartment, Joe’s life could be in danger.

She couldn’t take that risk.

Slipping behind the drunken attendant with the silent ease of a tigress, the world seemed to slow around her as her training kicked in. Hopping onto the seat for a better vantage point, Alix reached out and yanked the attendant backwards into the compartment by the collar. 

The man staggered a couple steps back, thrown off-balance in his surprise, just close enough for Alix to deftly slice the small blade of her lipstick knife across his throat.

The weapon reached the targeted arteries with surgical precision, right below the larynx. Now unable to scream, the man could only gasp and gargle as his legs gave out and he sank downwards toward the carpet in a heap. Following him down to the ground, Alix gathered the excess fabric of her dress's skirt and slapped the material over the wound to stifle the bright arcs of blood that were spurting out like a gruesome fountain.

The pale lace was already growing heavy, turning from an icy blue to a deep, blood-soaked maroon, the arterial spray oozing through the delicate material slower and slower as the man’s heart gradually stopped beating. 

Then the attendant went limp, his jaw falling slack as a sickening gurgle emanated from his cut throat, and the auburn-haired spy knew he was gone. 

No loose ends, she told herself inwardly, repeating the instructions of her superiors over and over like a mantra in her head.

He could have gotten Joe killed. You did the right thing.

But did she? 

She didn’t even remember pulling the knife, not really. 

Not that it mattered: a civilian was still dead.

Alix’s hands were shaking as she stared down at the attendant’s lifeless form, too scared to see the shock and revulsion written all over Joe’s handsome face. 

He’d never seen her kill, after all. 

If he didn’t hate her before, he most certainly would now.

But when she finally looked up, there was nothing like that. 

No disgust, no outrage, no fear.

Instead, there was the same old glint to his gaze and an unspoken warmth in his whiskey-brown eyes that filled her with a strange calm.

“Well ya didn’t hafta do all that, Zees,” Joe remarked finally as a small, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“But I ‘preciate it. Nice to know you care.”

“I don’t,” the auburn-haired girl muttered as she knelt, quickly rifling through the corpse’s bloodied uniform for anything useful. 

A billfold full of francs and an identification card from the train company.

Alix handed the wallet over to Joe, averting her gaze to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the brush of their fingertips.

“He was putting the mission in jeopardy,” she added lamely and straightened up, shifting the thick curtains to the side so she could undo the window’s latch.

“Yeah?” Joe snorted as he dragged the lifeless body by its outstretched arms to the open window and turned back to shoot her a sly wink over his shoulder.

His usual crooked grin quirked up one corner of his lips wryly, almost flirtatiously, and the knowing expression in his whiskey-colored eyes caused a small flurry of butterflies to appear once more in her stomach.

It was like he could see right through her.

“Well Ziskeit, ‘the mission’ thanks you.” 

With a grunt, the scrappy paratrooper managed to haul the corpse half onto the window’s ledge before turning back to his partner.

“Now let's get this mamzer dealt with, huh?”

Alix hoisted the corpse's legs up, giving it a final, unceremonious shove out the window, sending it rolling down into the snowy French countryside somewhere.

That was one problem taken care of...But unfortunately, there were more where that came from.

"Madonna mia," Alix swore as she frowned down at the blood-spattered blue material of her dress.

“I gotta dump this somewhere.”

Joe took his seat again and shrugged, watching Alix's nimble fingers close the window once more and re-draw the curtains.

“So change then." 

The auburn-haired girl balked, nearly losing her footing in her surprise.

“Right now?"

“Nah, next Tuesday,” the paratrooper deadpanned with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. “Christ, Zees, you're actin' like I ain't ever seen ya undress before. Hey, remember that one night at your billet when-”

“Don’t remind me,” Alix muttered, the infuriatingly obvious blush of her cheeks making her grit her teeth as the night he is referring to comes back in vivid colors.

She shook her head to banish the memories, her straightened auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders.

"Besides, it was a long time ago anyway. It doesn't matter now."

The lie tasted bitter as cyanide.

"Yeah?" Joe took another slow drag off his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling before he spoke again, his raspy tenor flat with thinly-veiled hurt.

"Guess that's the difference between you an' me. 'Cause to me, it matters a fuckin' lot."

[jerrykinoff]

Tommy Cash x Deutsche Bahn - Vice September 2023 interview

translation under the cut

Public transport turned Tommy Cash into a train

We visited the trap wonder child at a shoot and talked about his legendary transformations.

Just a while ago he was strolling barefoot on the gray stone floors of Platform 2 at the Berlin Spandau train station, now his feet are being put in the giant Balenciaga rubber boots. Tommy is sporting an old conductor uniform, tight middle part and two braids plaited up until the very ends of his hair when I intercept him for an interview in between the shoots. We are at the set of a rather bizarre ad shoot for the “Zukunft Nahverkehr” initiative with the slogan #mobilityisahumanride. The trap wonder child is playing the main role in it and with the help of a few spritzes of perfume (“Ö de PNV”, get it?), he transforms into a very delighted S-Bahn train which is dispersing the exhaust gas with taekwondo moves and in which people are feeding each other pickles.

What does this all mean? The future will be better, when we use public transport more often. But it also simply means: We can finally look forward for a full dose of TOMM¥ €A$H, in all of his absurd glory in the form of the ÖPNV ad and the trending reels from Paris Fashion Week, and soon, finally, in the form of a new album. He is working on it every second and is now using every break during the shoot to re-listen to a track with an AirPod in his ear and a smile on his face. This week, he still has two video shoots ahead of him and in November he’s going on a tour with Oliver Tree. They both not only like making music together, they also share a tendency for absolute randomness and creating things which nobody could expect. Like turning yourself into a human train, or, a “human ride”. Or a vagina.

VICE: Hi Tommy. Today you are becoming a train. Could you tell us about your first time, about your first transformation?

Tommy Cash: It was in 2016, back then I dropped a music video in which I became the intimate area of a lady. That’s how it all began and since then I have been turning myself into all sorts of things. 

How did playing a role of a vagina feel?

Oh. It was brilliant. It felt good. 

How did you prepare for it?

I was just being myself.

Are you coming up with all these ideas on your own?

For the most part, yes. I am, so to speak, an orange. You can make juice from oranges, you know? But that entails a lot of different types of work. I could probably press out all the juice by myself, but I like having an input from styling, hair and camera people, etc. when shooting videos. The camera person, for example, knows which shots will look the best and can change things, if needed. But it’s still my juice.

And the juice is tasty. When could we look forward to the new album?

Soon. We are working on it in full swing. Somewhere in December, but the rollout begins soon, during the coming weeks. We should know exactly when around my birthday. My birthday is on November 18th.

Ah, you are a Scorpio. Makes sense. Is there a song on the new album, which you are most excited about?

Yeah, especially some collabs. The track for which we are shooting a music video tomorrow became a kind of a proper anthem. Scandinavian brothers who find each other. I’m really looking forward to playing it live. [Author’s note: the feature with Käärijä “It's Crazy It's Party” came out in the meanwhile and it kicks ass.]

When you’re looking for feature partners, what matters to you the most?

They can’t be too clean, polished. For me, art means being free and taking risks. It’s important to me that we have the same worldview, the same sixth sense. They need to be open, for whatever happens. only then something magical can be created.

Collabs or not, you are in fact taking some risks. Do you have any advice for those, who do not trust themselves that much?

Oh yes: just do it! Don't give a fuck about anything. Stop overthinking. Most people are nice. The percentage of people who will try to discourage you or write nasty comments is very small. It’s fucked to not make something because a couple of people said so. They are only scared of what you can achieve. 

There are very few negative things to be found about you on the internet. I looked extra hard, but the people are simply obsessed with you!

Ah, it should be a love-hate relationship. There always has to be a few people out there who hate you deeply. The most should of course love you. The most important thing is that the people feel something when they see you. 

And you offer them quite a lot too. You dress well, you model, you dance and then of course the music. Is there anything you are bad at?

Tennis. And I was a very bad boyfriend for some time. But I’m working on it now. 

Yeah? How’s that going?

Since then I have been pretty good.

What makes you a good boyfriend?

Time. I think, as time passes,  you learn from your mistakes. It sounds cheesy, but when it comes to relationships, I have already grown up. 

I’m glad. I think we should all work on this in the future. Speaking of the future, or rather about the “art of the future”, NFTs - you already have fingers in the game, correct?

Correct, “me in gold”. Sold for 1,3 million. I only played along because I respect the artists a lot. It was for an art gallery in Estonia. Actually I’m not really into the whole NFT and AI thing. Physical art is more of my thing. I like what people can make, not computers. I find that somehow boring. People teach computers to think like people and then they run on some sort of a god complex. That’s why we, people, are much cooler than computers. I don’t get this “virtual art”. There are other advancements which interest me more. 

Like, for example, the future of mobility? What does it look like for you?

I have thought about this already. I’d like to get a horse and a carriage and use it as my only way of transport. I live in Tallinn. The distance between places there is manageable, it could work. Horses are a greener solution than fossil fuels or lithium batteries. We focus so much on the future, that we often forget what used to already work very well in the past. 

What is public transport like in Tallinn?

It’s pretty good. You can easily get to most places with a tram, trolley or a bus. But there is a lot of construction work going on, the streets are dug over. You can barely get from point A to point B. You need to ride around the whole city. But this does not affect me that much, because I’m a homebody. When I’m not traveling for work, I like staying home and being comfortable. But the people there make an effort to use public transport more. This is good. For the planet. 

Like your horse carriage! I’d like to grill you a bit more about your viral moments at Paris Fashion Week. Which outfits, looks, characters were your favorites? How do you even call it?

So some people call it “performance art”, but i just say “outfit”. Sounds better. My favorites? They are all number one. But I can pick a top three for you: paparazzi, bed and the muscle suit. They really stick to your memory. There are, however, looks which were not posted in full. Even more shocking ones. One time I went naked, but as a lady. I just changed a body part.

I’m asking myself which one. Did it hurt?

No, it’s back to the way it was, so all is good.

That’s reassuring. How do you even come up with these outfits?

Mostly because of boredom. Everyone looks the same at shows. Like mannequins. For us, these events are like masquerades. We want to make them exciting ourselves. At the end of the day, we go to these shows to be seen. Paris Fashion Week wasn’t really Paris Fashion Week, but it was “Tommy’s Fashion Week”because we just appeared everywhere. You could not miss us. That was so fun.

Appearances, album, shoots, releases, tour, …With everything that’s going on with you right now: Are you not crazy stressed?

It’s so stressful, all the time. Sometimes I forget everything and then I’m happy. But most of the time I am only stressed. There is always something I’m working on. And everything happens at the same time.

How do you deal with it? Do you have any tips on how to chill out?

You can’t really chill out fully. I would have to be a guru or a pope to rest on my own. I can’t do that. But I would simply say to try to live more in the moment and don’t forget to have fun. Even if this is something I’m still bad at.

I hope that this too will get better with time for you. That leads us back to the catchphrase “better future” and of course you as a human train. [The producer is standing at the door and pointing at her clock] Tommy, I wish you lots of fun during the rest of the shoot!

[url-is-url]

who wants a snippet of a Venom and Miraculous Ladybug crossover

Turn your airplane mode off, we are off the airplane.

What are you so eager for?

I want to look at the map.

For?

Everybody says the chocolate in Europe is better. I want to look for un chocolatier.

Eddie frowned as he trudged through customs at Charles de Gaulle. Venom’s accent was damn good. Where the fuck did you learn French? 

Remember the roofie chemist we ate last year? He was from Montreal. 

Have you just been casually burning skills off of every bad guy you eat?

The interesting ones, yes. Human languages are interesting because you are terrible at using them.

You as in me or you as in humanity?

Yes.

Attitude problems aside, that was helpful, actually. Eddie did damn well in his high school French classes, but, well, high school wasn’t exactly last week. Unfortunately, that still made him the best French speaker in the office, so his boss threw him on a plane to Paris to cover a science conference. Apparently there were some rumors about one of the sponsors of the conference funding less-than-ethical research and after the Life Foundation, mad scientists were Eddie’s beat. 

A customs agent noticed Eddie making faces at himself and decided he needed closer inspection. Eddie rifled through his pockets for his wallet and passport and other things that proved he was allowed to be there and hoped that the agent wouldn’t Google him; he was pretty sure the Lobster Tank Video had made its way to international waters. “You are here for work?” he asked in a light, disappointingly un-cartoonish accent. 

“Yeah.”

“And what sort of work is that?”

“I’m a journalist, I’m supposed-”

“A journalist?” the customs agent grinned mischievously. “Well, monsieur, you have certainly come to the right city.”

He wasn’t even out of the airport yet. Eddie raised one eyebrow and leaned in slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Paris is very interesting these days, even more than it has always been. You’ll see,” the agent chirped, passing his papers back to him. “Enjoy your visit.” 

Okay. That wasn’t ominous at all.

We should visit Notre Dame.

Why?

Because you would enjoy the blasphemy of making out on top of the most famous church in the world.

Venom certainly wasn’t wrong. Charles de Gaulle was way out at the northeast edge of the city, and Eddie’s assignment was all the way in, inside the perimeter highway, so they hunted down the train station and sat on a bench to wait for one heading downtown. They people-watched together. Eddie liked people-watching, and Venom’s host radar elevated the hobby. Between the two of them, they could get a decent bead on who was in Paris for work and who was there for pleasure, and their general… carnivorousness. A family of five, who had been in the rows behind Eddie on their flight, limped into the platform. The parents looked bedraggled, as one would after herding small children through international travel. As Venom decided to take pity on them and make Eddie stand up, the especially wiggly little girl broke containment and raced towards the tracks, presumably deranged with excitement about seeing a train for the first time. Venom heard the next train approaching and the child had a lot of momentum; Eddie darted after her and scooped her up before she bowled over into the tracks. 

The kid’s father was right behind him a few seconds later, just as the train became audible to humans. He paled as he realized that there wouldn’t have been time to pull her off the tracks, if she had fallen. “Thank you, or merci, uh-” 

“It’s cool, man,” Eddie said, handing the girl off. “I hear it takes a village or something.” They shook hands, and the father walked away. 

Is it just me, or is that kid the twentieth person we’ve seen today wearing black polka dots on red?

Must be some kind of fashion trend. There have also been just as many people wearing things with black cats on them.

Maybe some kind of celebrity who likes cats and polka dots? Eddie mentally suggested, but that didn’t add up. Most of the people around them were just visiting Paris, so why would they be emulating a hypothetical Parisian fashionista? Eh, whatever. It could have been an American trend that he was just now noticing, for all the attention Eddie usually paid to that sort of thing. 

Eddie bought a couple of newspapers, a national and a local, at the train station, which he read on the ride into downtown. Most of the national paper was of little interest to him, but he hoped the city paper would have some juicier stuff, given what the customs agent had said. There was one article that… he wasn’t sure if it was juicy, but it was certainly incomprehensible. “Collège Françoise Dupont Most Frequent Site of Akuma Attacks - Is Mayor Bourgeois’ Daughter A Target?” First of all, the Mayor of Paris was named Bourgeois? Eddie believed it, because it was entirely too on the nose to be made up, but Jesus Christ that was ridiculous. Second of all, they were casually shouting in a headline what school the Mayor’s daughter went to? This was a major city, surely that was a security issue. Third of all, what the fresh fuck was an Akuma, and how did it attack people? 

Akuma means demon in Japanese, Venom pointed out. 

Eddie frowned. Some of the cryptid bloggers back home call us the Demon of San Francisco. You don’t think…

Almost certainly not. The others that came with the Life Foundation are dead, and I doubt Carnage had any time to spawn, and Carnage is also dead. When could others have arrived? 

That was a good point, and Eddie relaxed and read the article. It heavily cited data taken from a website called The Ladyblog, and used that data to speculate that somebody called Hawkmoth wished to use the Mayor’s teen daughter as leverage for some sinister purpose, perhaps to do with a desire to obtain something called a Miraculous? It sounded like comic book nonsense and Eddie was half-convinced that it was some kind of kayfabe art, a la War of the Worlds. So, naturally, he got out his phone and looked up this exalted Ladyblog. 

It was written by a high schooler. A smart high schooler, with a strong, if immature, writing style and a slightly unhinged willingness to tread into danger, camera raised, if their videos were anything to go by. Still definitely a teenager, though Eddie found himself respecting the kid quite a bit as he read their coverage of Paris’ own superheroes, whose villains were quite a lot more… flamboyant than the people that kept Venom fed back home. He still wasn’t completely sure this wasn’t a very elaborate kayfabe, but those videos were either made with a Hollywood special effects budget, or they were real, and Eddie couldn’t decide which was more outlandish. Ladybug and Chat Noir, real or not, certainly explained the increasing amount of polkadotted and black cat themed merchandise he was seeing as the train journeyed closer to the city center. 

My name is cooler, Venom grumbled. 

Eddie grinned. Are you jealous that you don’t have merch? 

…No.

[0mega-x]

This disastrous day that the parisian transports is having right now is making me scared about the fact that it's supposed to handle +1.5M tourists for the Olympics on top of us.

Context: my class had a school outing in Paris' cité des sciences (we're in the eastern suburb, on the rer a line), and we were supposed to come back to the school at around 1pm.

So in the morning there is a small incident in the rer a line, but no big deal, its just more packed than usual.

We do the outing, it's nice.

~11h40: we finish the outing and go back to metro line 7 to reach the nearest rer a station Auber/Opéra.

~12h15: we arrive at Auber. Catastrophe. Incident in Chatelet blocks the whole rer a line from Auber to Nation. Our school is stations AFTER Nation, so we're basically stranded on the other side. They estimate the return to normal to be at 13h30, too late for us.

~12h30: Our teacher decides to take an alternative to reach the other side through another rer line, the rer e in Saint Lazare (which is connected to Auber), to reach Val de Fontenay (rer a).

~12h45: We realise the rer e is as frequent as a regional train in other regions. Fuck.

~13h20: we finally get to Val de Fontenay. Hallelujah. But NOPE. Train is in 47 minutes. There are already like so much people on the platform waiting... and also, the estimated time for the return to normal trafic is now pushed back to 15h00.

~13h30: MIRACLE. They (the ratp ig) manages to get a train to our station, shortening the wait time to only 7 minutes.

14h20: we finally get to go back to the school. Woohoo...! (We were supposed to be there more than an hour earlier

All of this is making me wonder how the fuck we're gonna handle all the olympic's tourists next year and how they are gonna handle whatever problem may arise in any line. But this journey isn't ending. Oh no.

18h00: i get to the rer a station to go home. What the fuck. Only two trains announced at a time when usually there a 5/6. But as the next train was in 3 minutes, I wasn't that affected and got to go home without much hassle.

And right now, 18h40 as I'm writing this. I'm home. My friend is not. She's stuck because she has to take the combinations of the rer a, rer b and a tramway to get home. She basically fucked. They announced 15h00 and its still like this at 18h42.

Anyway I hope you had a great day!

[pitlanewrites]

to the wonderful trick-or-treater whose ask i published too early by accident, @after-nine-at-the-oasis, this is for you!

here is a fun behind-the-scenes fact about each of my published fics!

oh, it's just like magic was supposed to be finished by the end of october. it is not.

did you feel that close to god when you had me on my knees almost didn't get published because i was worried that it was too blasphemous

1-800-hot-n-fun was originally meant to be seb slutting around, but kimi basically bullied his way in and said 'i'm fucking this twink now' and who am i to argue with him

if i could choose one dream is loosely based on my own experience with train stations, particularly paris gare du nord.

the weight of a legacy too big to uphold was supposed to be romantic, but i decided with the timeline that jacques was still a teenager, so i cut that out

f1 flash fiction was originally a project for an english paper i was taking. i submitted rather than just saying 'i love you', a multitude of ways in which having a crush can ruin a party everything, and portrait of a lover, across the expanse of sea for the paper. i don't remember what mark i got.

in another life, i would've really liked doing laundry and taxes with you had an entire au written out of what would happen after lewis retired.

and again we go racing had ayrton's dog, kinda, added to it because i saw a really sad post about what she was like after ayrton died.

a sweet tooth for you has a moment where lando puts a sieve over his head. this was inspired by my brother doing the same thing when he was little. sorry for giving you the behaviours of a one year old, lando.

it started with the hayloft a-creakin' ended up with duplicated pierres by accident.

this song is about us starts on the 8th of june because 4 + 4 = 8 and june is the 6th month of the year. little number easter egg :)

in the original draft for i love you like i love being hungry, lewis writes a message in red pen instead of underlining it. this was changed in the final version.

you make me (giddy) was born from a reverse-tropes tumblr prompt that i was originally going to turn into landoscar (at the start of the year before bearnelli really got popular)

pierre stealing esteban's girlfriend, as mentioned in i hope that our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us is allegedly a real thing that happened, if you believe ralf schumacher.

the 'girl with dark hair and wide eyes' mentioned in father first, think later is hamda al qubaisi!

the race the dead drivers were watching in the afterimage of life and death is of course the 2024 australian grand prix.

i did google the actual section of the fia code for the neutrality rule mentioned in it's a love story, baby just say...

hope you enjoyed these silly fun facts!

[ezlebe]

if ur still up for prompts: tom & greg are forced to take the subway/tube/metro/underground

Rome

“Greg, buddy,” Tom says, looking up at the jamb of the subway car with a highly cocked brow, mouth slipped into a sideways grimace, as he raises a brow over his shoulder. “I think this may be another one of those things they build without you in mind.”

Greg nods a few times into his chest, staring at his feet; he is quite aware, and pretty sure he’s ridden more trains than Tom, too, at least recently. “The, uh – the upstairs was nice, though.”

“Rome?” Tom clarifies, sharply, then barks out a laugh while straightening his coat and grabbing at a pole for balance. “Yeah, bud, Rome is pretty damned nice.”

Greg tries to tuck his elbows in closer, inhaling a shallow breath while more riders shove in around him. The train starts to move, a few moments later, and he finds himself grabbing around Tom for the same pole, and then trying not to think about how close they’re standing together.

“It does make me feel like I’m on the run from something in a Bond film,” Tom says, gesturing briefly with both his hands around the pole in front of him, as the train attains speed between stops. “The Italian announcer on the speakers, the terrifically dressed public, the sideways stares everyone and their mother is sending you like you’re in here with a gun to your head.”

“Why can’t we have a car?”

“We do, Greg,” Tom says, mouth flattening and nose flaring, as he looks up to Greg with a cock of his head. “But Hosseini and Furness are quietly strangling all the fun out of being a C-level by only giving us one and stealing it from us.”

“No, I-I mean, you know… just get our own?” Greg says, leaning in a bit closer to Tom, trying to ignore a whole group of teenagers who are, for sure, openly gawking at him. “You have a credit card?”

“You have a credit card,” Tom repeats, mockingly, as his eyes peek briefly to the announcement over the door with a twitch at the corner of his eye. “Why the fuck didn’t you volunteer this bright idea three stops ago?”

Paris

Greg runs a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at the platform, then in front of him at the wall.

“You should ask,” Tom says, his voice rounding around the words in a distinctly taunting manner. “So I can… watch yet another snooty Parisian frown at you like they understand as well as me.”

“It’s, like… just an accent, you know,” Greg says, lifting a hand and scratching his nails along one of his brows, as his eyes trace dubiously from… He thinks this is the tunnel with the – Fuck, could this station have multiple like levels? He glances quickly to Tom, who is, in addition to being really unhelpful, faintly rosy cheeked and loose-limbed with wine. “I-I think they just don’t hear it a lot.”

Tom scoffs under his breath, muttering a mocking taunt. It abruptly leads into an odd sort of hum, attention plainly shifting, as he elbows Greg in the side. “You know that can of worms everyone is always talking about?” He whispers hoarsely, lurching forward and jabbing a finger toward the rail map and tracing down a red line with his fingertip – one that is for sure, at least, not in this station. “This is where they dumped it out.”

Greg exhales a weak laugh, tilting his head in agreement. He looks sideways at a tickle at the back of his neck, catching a flat-mouthed woman about a foot and a half shorter than him glaring at Tom; he presses his own mouth into a tense smile when she peeks toward him. It just earns him a harsher frown.

Tom offers a goofy, spooky sort of hum, grabby hard at Greg’s bicep. “If you stare at it long enough, the lines feel like they move.”

“You’re so drunk, Tom,” Greg mutters, giving up and pulling out his phone, which he probably should’ve done before they even walked down into the tunnel. “And we’re, like… like, so lost.”

Tokyo

“It’s short for everyone, Greg, don’t whine,” Tom says, ducking under the barrier, then pointing at the kanji above the yellows and black padding on the wall. “See this? It says watch your head.”

“This whole like station is short for me,” Greg mutters, reaching up and scratching at his nose with a harsh breath.

Tom raises his brows, slow, glancing up and down Greg with a click of his tongue. “Oh, have we hit the threshold?”

“What?” Greg says, dropping his hand, tucking it under his opposite elbow, as he begins to hunch.

“Are you finally so hungry that you’ve reached pitching a fit levels of surliness?”

Greg rolls his eyes with another near-scoff.

Tom slips his hands into his pockets with a slow tilt of his head.

“But it’s just really – ” Greg makes a pinched, pouting expression, now lifting both hands to hard through his hair. “We didn’t have to go to that like super old hotel, you know? I felt like a-a freak, Tom.”

“It was a piece of history,” Tom says, a bit curious to what point Greg is going to begin to pace; he gives it about thirty to forty-five seconds.  “We should start staying at three hundred year old hotels everywhere to expose you to more culture.”

Greg is quiet for a few beats, then his feet move a step back, then forward, which is nearly a pace. “I-I’ll just stay home. Whatever.”

“You liked that hot spring – stayed in it long enough to make yourself a bit of Greg-stew,” Tom says, feeling a grin curve the edge of his mouth with a quiet huff. He had almost thought Greg had drowned. “That was a good time.”

Greg exhales a deep breath, shoulders visibly slumping, blinking down at the floor. “…Yeah.”

Tom furrows his brow. “What now?”

“You never came down,” Greg mutters, looking up at Tom, then back away, and his bad temper seems to have shifted from broad-spectrum to pretty damned pointed.

“Oh,” Tom intones, as he wets his lips, glancing down the length of the tunnel. “I… didn’t get a chance. Busy, busy.”

Toronto

Greg leans into a pole, arm wrapped around it and hand in his pocket. “It just smells like home.”

“I want you to say that to your mother,” Tom says, from where he’s sitting sideways on the seat, as he sweeps a hand back and forth. “Even she would be offended.”

Greg shakes his head, looking down at the scuffed lines on the floor. “No, I mean, uh – we used to ride it a lot. She like the… I don’t know, but doing it made her feel better?”

“Oh?” Tom says, raising his brows with a sharp tut.

“We used to get off and walk around at random stops, too,” Greg says, turning his head toward the window, watching the tunnel lights whiz by alongside the track. “Grandpa would like send people to get us, sometimes… The one I liked best was this one near a park… Like, Jack Park, or something.”

“Rewind a bit there; you would –?” The train slows to a slightly uneven stop, and Tom jerks up and forward, as Greg loses balance, reaching up and steadying with hands on his waist when he threatens to fall. “Hey, now! You could crush someone, there.”

“Sorry,” Greg mutters, feeling faint heat flush up his neck.

“You good?” Tom asks, peering up with a furrowing brow. “Not finally succumbing to vertigo?”

“Yeah – I mean, no,” Greg says, leaning a little into Tom, who doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he let go. “Just, uh… wasn’t watching?”

Stockholm

“The trains here should be like… bigger?” Greg says, as people pile into the car seemingly without end, truly making the train feel like a sardine can. “Right? They’re a… a larger people.”

Tom rolls his eyes in a glance to where he has an arm wedged along Greg’s back, as the only thing between him and some other big bastard. “I think that might be the problem.”

Greg mumbles something low and unintelligible, then exhales a raspy yelp, as he’s shoved, promptly turning in closer to Tom with his chin practically in his ear. “The, uh – it’s rush hour?”

“Seems that way,” Tom says, tucking his arm more deliberately, holding Greg against him and the pole and acting as balance for both of them. “Would probably help of you were less addicted to that thing.”

Greg blinks down at Tom, then further down at the phone clutched between them in his folded hands. “I’m reading the news.”

“Sure, sure,” Tom says, eyes rolling, looking toward the windows with a low huff. The dumb little puzzle game is literally right under his nose. “What’s the headline then?”

“Uh,” Greg intones, and tucks in somehow impossibly closer, head ducking, as his thumbs swipe plainly to another app. “Uh… The gift-card conundrum: Convenience with an environmental cost.”

“That does sound like your kind of headline,” Tom says, dry, “That a hint – no gift cards for Gregory? You only want diamonds and cashmere?”

Greg huffs slightly, heavy against Tom’s chest, and rubs at his face with the back of his hand. The train lurches and he grimaces, thumb fumbling in the phone. “The sweater from, uh –”

Tom exhales a snort; he knows exactly the one. “Leret Leret.”

Greg looks up with a nod. “– I like that a lot; it’s, like… visually interesting?”

Tom pats with an awkward turn of his squished hand against Greg’s back. He ignores the sideways frown of the other rider that he accidentally elbows in the side. “More cashmere it is.”

New York

Greg frowns down at his phone, sweeping against the street between the stop and the – He swallows a weak yelp, as a hand grabs his ass, and he is a little resigned at himself for the fact he doesn’t even suspect it’s some mystery groper, let alone really flinches away.

“Hey, no –” he mumbles, grabbing Tom’s wrist and tugging the hand away from his ass. “You, like – it’s like super public?”

“You’re the one who wanted to go to this ‘fancy donut’ place,” Tom says, lifting his voice and playing at aloof, wriggling his fingers in Greg’s grip, and tugs his arm in a way that’s plainly more to draw Greg off balance than jerk away. “The least you could do is let me have some cake.”

“Tom,” Greg hisses, feeling his face heat, playing into the movement, like he’s reluctant, while leaning into Tom’s shoulder with his other hand. “Shut up.”

Tom could a brow. “Skipping out on a work day.”

“You’re like the boss,” Greg says, feeling his face heat worse at the sight of a fellow rider plainly bobbing their brows at the comment.

“Does that still apply when I’m following you around?” Tom demands, but it’s teasing, tugging Greg down a bit further, and chin lifted while a toothy smirk curls his lips. “You’re the reason we’re in this tin can instead of a car.”

“It, uh – it’s like quicker,” Greg insists, though he’s not really sure of that this time of day; he just knows the donuts are just a few minutes across from the station. He also – he just… Okay, so he knows Tom gets sort of extra touchy on the subway. He doesn’t ever like lean along Greg’s whole body in a car. “You know?”

“Sure, uh-huh,” Tom says, looking past Greg for a brief moment; he clicks his tongue, then nearly unbalances Greg for real, standing up from the seat while the train slows to a stop with a mechanical whir. His other hand reaches around and finds Greg’s ass, again, at the same time he bodily urges him toward the doors with a check at his hip. “I think you’ve just tricked yourself into liking these little tastes of a hell of man’s own making.”

“I guess, if you mean trains,” Greg mutters, a bit flat, feeling his mouth twitch with a smile when Tom glances up with a narrow look. “Sure.”