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[263adder]

Don't Lose Your Vote! UK Edition

Update: Tuesday 18th June 2024 is the deadline to register to vote for the general election.

A snap general election could be called any day. This will be the first general election that requires photo ID if you vote at the polls (postal votes 📫 are unaffected by the Election Act 2022).

If you don't have an approved form of identification (list here), you can apply for a FREE voter ID photo card. Find out more below or use these 5 minutes to register and get your ID sorted instead ❎ because, and this is important to know, the government really doesn't want young people to vote.

The Explanation

Rishi Sunak, UK Prime Minister and Leader of the Conservative Party, may call a snap election in 2023. (A snap election is a vote brought in earlier ⏱ than the one that’s scheduled 🕐) The UK’s next general election (for MPs and the PM) is meant to happen between December 2024 and January 2025.

A snap election happens in as little as 25 days 😨 between the announcement (aka the PM asking the House of Commons’ to approve the dissolution of Parliament) and the vote 🏃‍♀️

You must be registered to vote - currently over 8 million people are not. Unlike other a democratic countries, the UK doesn’t automatically register all eligible voters. You have to do this yourself. Here’s a quick reminder of how to register:

Over the past 15 years, it has gotten harder for British citizens to vote:

Families can no longer register to vote as a household 🏡 so young voters must register themselves (Cameron Govt)

Colleges and universities are barred from registering students 👨‍🎓 (Cameron Govt)

The Elections Act requires photo ID 🤳 for anyone voting in person (Johnson Govt)

Local elections (for city and town governments) in 2023 were the first votes that required VOTER ID. According to the Electoral Commission, over 14,000 people were turned away from the polls because they had not heard about the change.

The House of Lords tried to amend the Elections Act before it passed, to include more common types of ID, such as bank statements, bills, student ID, library cards and much more. This amendment was struck down in the House of Commons. A lot of the IDs included in the approved list are more likely to be owned by older voters than younger ones. For example, a 60+ Oyster Card is acceptable ID but an 18+ Oyster Card is not.

Here’s the important thing to know: voters who don’t have a driving licence or passport or other approved forms of ID, can apply for a free voter ID photo card. Watch the video below to find out how!

And finally, please, for the love of our democracy, vote.

"Democracy is not something you believe in or a place to hang your hat, but it's something you do. You participate. If you stop doing it, democracy crumbles." Abbie Hoffman

[enviedear]

in my head i feel like billy could be a switch, but maybe a hc of how dom!billy and sub!billy are like🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

i should be in federal prison for the amount of edits i have of this man i need to be stopped

nsfw billy bonney hc's

i agree with him being a switch! he's got an ocean depth worth of emotions so i think his preference would honestly change on a daily basis

tw— smut, minors dni 18+

request

as a dom... billy is more demanding. rarely, if ever, does he tell you what to do. but when you're sprawled out on his bed, staring up at him like he's some magnificent constellation, his head is filled with unbridled confidence. he won't feel the need to be so graceful or gentlemanly. his regular requests and plea's turn into orders. he'll tell you that he wants you on your knees, tell you to be quiet, and tell you exactly how to take him. he won't ask, but he won't force you either. he'd never do that— wouldn't even think of it.

"on your knees, darlin" "c'mere and keep quiet, don't want the boy's t'hear" "stop runnin' from it, honey. you can take it"

his main goal as a dom would simply be to make you truly yearn for him. he wants to see it in your eyes, and hear it in your voice. he'll get more and more impatient if you try to fight him or try to hide how crazed you really are for him. he needs to see that you're wild for him, just like he is for you.

"you're my girl aren't you, lemme hear you." "don't be so shy, look at me."

he'd never need to raise his voice to make you listen to him. if you're being a brat he'll just quirk up a brow and stare into your eyes, silent. that's all it would take. he'd hold such a commanding gaze that you'd quickly fix your act.

billy would be pretty hard to annoy, but if you try to be coy and ignore his obvious want for you, he'll be brooding until he can get you alone. he'd have a fair number of 'punishments' for you in his mind; maybe he'd work you up until the morning sun begins to creep into the sky, or better yet, he could bend you over his lap until there are tears in your waterline. but his favorite has to be leaving you high and dry. it's the meanest stunt he can pull without his resolve breaking. billy would be too good with his restraint too, if he says he won't touch you... he's not. at least until he thinks you've learned your lesson.

"does that feel good?" he'd ask, being surprisingly gentle with his touch for how riled up he had seemed earlier. you lay back against his bed, eyes closing in pleasure as he continues to toy with your bulb, "feels so good." with a light chuckle, he pulls his hands away from you, leaving you needy and aggravated, "m'not touching you again until you get that attitude of yours in check."

as a sub... he's almost pathetically needy. he wants your love so bad that he'll beg for it. he'll give you a small smile before kissing your forehead, hands finding a home at your waist.

"god, billy, you're like a bee to honey." you'd mutter, trying to focus back on the shops' books. the latest bank statement had you looking for any way to cut costs. his head rests on your shoulder, body flush against your back, "can't help m'self, darlin'," his voice would drop, "i'll get on my knees and beg for ya."

he'd be more submissive if he's feeling sad. the days he misses those long gone, he'll curl into your embrace, needy for your warm affection. he feels like a man starved for you, and he doesn't mind giving you the reins and being under your spell.

billy tries his hardest not to be a brat, and he's pretty good at listening to directions. but ever so often, he's talking back and riling you up— just to see your jaw clench and eyes spark. and he'll take your domineering actions afterward without refuting.

the buttons on his shirt are too hard to see in the dim light of lanterns and you let out an audible huff in annoyance. in the dark you still catch billy's smug grin, "does my girl need a little help?" you roll your eyes, fighting a smile at his obvious and futile rebellion, "don't get ahead of yourself, outlaw."

he's whiny for you. he'll whine and beg, using the sweetest tone he can muster. he knows you're in control, but he also knows he has his own weapon— his voice. he knows how much you love it and how easily you cave if he uses it.

"please, jus' touch me. i need you s'bad, honey." "just like that. that's my girl, makin' me feel s'good."

loves being marked up! nothing too blatant though, he doesn't want to ride into town with hickeys on his neck. but if you leave red welts along his back or love bites on his chest, he'll spend a few minutes in front of any mirrored surface to see your handiwork. he likes having the proof, for himself, a wonderful reminder that he has you. that you're real, and that he's entirely yours. he hasn't had anyone to belong to for so long, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

[brainrotallthewaydown1312]

I have a personal l&co hc that I can't get out of my head, so now y'all get to enjoy the absolutely riveting content that is the Portland Row budgeting system. under the cut because this is a needlessly detailed post that like 5 people will be interested in

I think that when they are paid for a job, the first thing that happens to the money is that there is a big cut that goes to bills for the house and business. mortgage, utilities, groceries, ghost supplies, advertising, etc. I think it's probably 50-60% of most jobs pay. probably a smaller cut on big jobs that come with bigger checks.

I think Lockwood started out trying very hard to be a "proper business man" and split the remainder evenly and paid them every other Friday because that's what your supposed to do. but I think that would have devolved after only a few months living and working together. between covering each other for dinner or coffee and getting household stuff with their money and everyone feeling a little weird on payday because it was one of the only times there was a clear boss/employee dynamic because they all saw each other as genuine equals, it just didn't make sense to keep doing it that way.

and so I think George (after pestering Lockwood about fixing the budgeting) sat down and set it up so that it was basically automatic profit sharing. first the bills and expenses cut goes straight to an auto pay acct. and then the remaining cut goes to a general house acct, which pays out a small allowance to each of their personal accts each week. most of the stuff they get and do is covered from the joint acct because it makes sense that way. but they do each have their own money and savings.

after the new system is set up George checks on the balances and bank statements once a week but it mostly manages itself. he folds it into the other chores that he does and likes how simple it is to keep running.

Lockwood pretends to be grumpy about not being in charge but is not so secretly very happy to not have to worry about it. he is also very happy that this puts all of them on equal footing with the business because he he like being the leader and the face of things, but he doesn't like the power dynamic of being the boss.

Lucy is worried at first that they will argue about spending from the joint acct, but they very rarely ever run into issues with it, and when there is it is almost always resolved quickly because while they all bicker about smaller things and about everyone's bad habits, they actually get along and manage house very smoothly

---

edit: i have in fact added more domestic head canons in this thread and I have been seeing a lot of people tagging asking for more. they are in the notes if you're interested

[zirawrites]

Fallout 4 companions reaction to sole who used to be criminal back in the old days before the bombs fell? They used to be a pro thief as they would rob banks and jewelery stores.

Cait: "I knew there was a reason we got on so well, Sole!" Cait threw an arm around her companion's shoulders. "So, what was your biggest score? And care to try it again? I reckon caps are easier to nick than jewels."

Codsworth: The Mr. Handy's body rattled in horror. "My word, sir/ma'am! Surely you jest. Our home was purchased with honest money. Why, you had reputable employment. Why would we have needed to steal?" He shook himself in disagreement. "This is a prank, isn't it? Well, it's not very funny. You've been spending too much time with Deacon."

Curie: "The psychology around kleptomania is actually quite fascinating." Curie badgered Sole with questions about their motivations behind their theft; seemingly uninterested in the heists themselves. Sole was so overwhelmed that they eventually lied that it was a joke.

Danse: "And you thought that was appropriate to confess to a Paladin?" Danse crossed his arms in admonishment. "I suggest you recant that statement before it gets noted in your records."

Deacon: Deacon reckoned that being a liar didn't give him the best moral standing to judge his partner for their criminal past. "That'll come in handy when dealing with the Institute." Then he patted his pockets. "Just don't get any ideas about borrowing my things. Tinker Tom does that enough already. This merry band we've got is running me dry."

Hancock: "Get in line with every other drifter who's blown through my town." The ghoul handed Sole a can of jet and gestured to his apartment. "Though I wouldn't mind hearing about some of those scores. Dishonest work makes for some of the best stories."

MacCready: "Woah, nice! What's the most expensive thing you've ever swiped?" MacCready pulled out a lighter from his duster. "Sometimes I help myself to a trinket or two from a target. This here is the best lighter I've ever used. Stole it off a serial killer, so I don't feel too bad about it." Then he shivered. "You don't think it has, like, bad energy, do you? Maybe I should toss it..."

Preston: "I don't think you'd want to admit that in earshot of any other Minutemen," he warned. "Don't think they'd take kindly to knowing our general's loyalties are... questionable." Then Preston checked his coat. "Wait, you haven't stolen anything from me, have you?"

Piper: "If you weren't my friend, I'd interview you for a feature on your greatest pre-war heists." Piper shrugged, her disappointment obvious. "But I'd hate to besmirch the goody-two-shoes image you've cultivated in the Commonwealth. Even if it loses me some sales."

Nick: "That's not exactly something you should brag about, kid." Nick looked the the perfect example of a displeased parent. "Some criminals make for the best detectives. They know how the bad guys' minds work. But don't get any bright ideas about pulling one over on me."

X6-88: "Surely not a common thief, though." X6 frowned. "Are we talking fancy jewelry stores? Big banks? Whatever you stole, I'm sure you got more out of it than a simple raider."

Edit: Just as Sole thawed from cryofreeze, I have returned.

[welcometololaland]

almost uploaded a picture of my bank statement instead of this header! happy days!

thanks for the tags @hippolotamus @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @rmd-writes

@nancygillianmvp @terramous @tellmegoodbye @freneticfloetry @beautifulhigh

@orchidscript @myheartalivewrites and @strandnreyes (don't think that was a real tag but i'm taking it anyway to force you to love me).

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

49 (last time it was 46 but i feel like that isn't enough of a difference? disappointed in myself dfhskjh)

2. What's your Ao3 bodycount word count?

1,119,086 which does include some co-writes, but I also have around 200k of unposted WIP in my google docs so i'm counting it (including a fully written fic - someone put their hands around my neck and force me to edit it PLEASE).

3. Which fandoms do you write for?

red white and royal blue, 911 lone star, top gun maverick (flirting with winter's orbit always)

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

the order of these has changed but not the identity:

Speak for Yourself (RWRB) (you know when eminem said he'd never be able to top My Name Is? this is my version of that)

Fifty First Dates (RWRB) (oodie agenda reigns supreme)

The RIng-In (Lone Star) (otherwise, lone star is in danger of being eviscerated from this top 5 lmao)

(Not) A Cinderella Story (RWRB) (NDAs are hot, apparently)

Cursed is a State of Mind (RWRB) (cursed caffeine is the main drawcard let's not lie)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try my absolute best to. i am currently really behind and i apologise for that (the problem is, i reply to comments before i post anything and i haven't posted anything in ages).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

serious answer - Contaminated

my answer - oh baby i'm a fool for you because we never find out if they actually watch twilight and that's a damn shame

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

literally everything else - i don't really do open endings or sad endings! in the words of the great philosopher, skepta: "nah, that's not me."

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i used to, but i haven't in ages! thank god for that.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, although i have to say i've been moving away from pwp lately. i feel my best smut is written into longer fics where the sex serves a plot or characterisation purpose within the frame of the overarching narrative.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

yes, a RWRB/LS but i never finished it. ALTA is a veronica mars inspired tarlos fic which kind of feels like a crossover at times.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! Phonography (Lone Star) has been translated, as has Baby, Make Your Move (Lone Star) and Warm Whispers (Lone Star). I'm very grateful to the incredible people who have made these translations happen - you are so talented.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

yes, many with @dustratcentral. I also wrote a chapter of a co-written fic with a whole bunch of incredible RWRB authors called never the same twice.

@rmd-writes and I have created (Un)Professional Services and (upcoming) Call Me (By Your Name).

The Rainbow Fish was co-written with @strandnreyes.

I love co-writing so much and I am always open to anyone who wants to give it a go!

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

me + my unposted wips.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

probably the aforementioned crossover which was apparently also my answer last time.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'm allergic to giving myself compliments but i would say maybe dialogue/banter and worldbuilding.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

keeping things short. also, exposition.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

kinda scared to because i don't speak any other languages and i'm so hesitant to annoy my very talented multi-lingual friends with my annoying questions.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

we don't talk about that.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

probably still Love Game because the experience was just so amazing and i never wanted to stop writing it.

heaps of people have already done this so leaving an open tag and also a couple of suggestions under the cut but apologies if you've already participated or been tagged 7 million times:

@bonheur-cafe @theghostofashton @thebumblecee @indomitable-love @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@tailoredshirt @vineofroses @liminalmemories21 @mikibwrites @birdclowns

@ladytessa74 @basilsunrise @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @rosedavid @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @marjansmarwani @dumbpeachjuice @doublel27

@lemonlyman-dotcom @blueink3 @ambiguouspenny @clottedcreamfudge @emmalostinwonderland

@sail-not-drift @inexplicablymine @celeritas2997 @cricketnationrise @reyesstrand

@goodways @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @sunshinestrand @sherryvalli

[official-magnus-institute]

hey Jon can we have that book recommendation I’m curious

STATEMENT OF DONNA RHETTE, REGARDING 'THIS FUCKING BOOK'- VERBATIM FROM TEXT. STATEMENT TAKEN FROM REVIEW LEFT ON www.lionstreetbooks.com/i-spy-housewarming/K-6482749278.html

(tw: stalking, scopophobia, loss of child, arson)

STATEMENT BEGINS.

@_Donnarhette

★☆☆☆☆

do not purchase this book do not buy anything off this website theyre stealing your information. this website is unreliable and customer service does not respond they do not pick up their phones.

i bought this book for my 5 year old daughter. she kept waking me up in the middle of the night for weeks beforehand. it was normal, kids do that, kids are scared of monsters. but i would always read her i spy. we have every other edition, down to the miniature versions and the seasonal ones. eventually, she learned where everything was, though, and the books got boring, so i looked up 'i spy books' for the 80th time this month. it brought me here, and i purchased the book for shipping.

the very next day it was brought here, and i was astonished at first, but once i saw the condition of how it was packed, i figured why it came so fast. it was a wreck, the corners all beat, a handful of packing peanuts and some thin paper tossed cattywompus inside. the shippers mustve played hacky-sack with it before tossing it up to the house

even so, my girl was excited. she had completely forgotten about the supposed monsters, she just wanted the book. it's a unique edition for sure, instead of looking for small items on a small scale, it just looks like pictures of parks or buildings, along with riddles like 'i spy a tricycle, i spy ten cards, i spy a crack in concrete that's hard'. it was a change of pace for me, even- a challenge. but my daughter was doing phenomenally.

the photographer must be local to my area, because i recognized the photos soon. hell, i think i saw the back of my head in the bank one. but it got strange when it came to a picture of a street.

my street of my home.

now im thinking, 'maybe it's personalized, it's google maps, and they look up the address for the buyer before they send it out?' but that was... impossible. after i ordered the book it came the very next day, there was no way theyd be able to just cram this page in last second. not only that, but there was the riddle.

i spy a sewer grate, a baseball, a torch,

i spy a busted-up box on the porch.

i shut the book on that page and told my daughter to go to bed. there was fuss, but something was wrong. i tuck her in and she complains again about monsters in the window. all through the night, theres monsters in the window, and i snap at her when she wakes me up the 3rd time.

at that point she was crying, and i was.. yelling. i dont feel good about it, god, especially not now, but i was tired and scared. thats no excuse. so was she.

after telling her it would be ok, she slept in my bed with me. i held her tight the whole night through, and i would do my research in the morning, i assured myself.

but i didnt het a chance. by sunrise she was gone. not in her bed, in her pillow fort, not in the kitchen, the den, nowhere. i phone the police, and i end up running down the street screaming her name.

as i get back home, though, i felt compelled to that damn book. god, why did i go back to that damn book??

it was a picture of us through the window.

'i spy ten earrings, 2 rings, and a comb

i spy a mom and daughter at home.'

it was like my tears froze from shock. i steeled myself and flipped to the next page.

'i spy a woman, big tears and brown curls

i spy a book, but i see no girl.'

as i said, the police are investigating this store. burn in hell you freak. ill see you there.

Well. It took some digging, but there's your recommendation. We were able to get I Spy: Housewarming from the crime scene - or, more so, the wreckange. Donna was griefstruck, this adding onto the loss of her husband shortly before this, leading to a burst of arson. The book was recovered just fine, seemingly one of the Leitners that can withstand some flames.

J. Sims, The Archivist

[ashleywool]

What would you need from the fans of How To Dance In Ohio for a ProShot to be streamed somewhere like Broadway HD or similar? Would it need to be a Kickstarter or a social media campaign? Is there anyone we can write to? Part of my reason for asking is selfish, since I would love to see the show, but this show is also historic and groundbreaking in a lot of different ways and I also think your amazing performances need to be preserved as a part of Broadway history.

I know this is probably a really sad time for you and the rest of the Ohio cast/creative team and even if a ProShot never happens and nothing ever comes of it, just know that you, all of you, touched more lives and hearts than you could possibly know just by being who you are.

Thanks so much for asking. This is something we have been discussing with the producers, because obviously we'd all love it to happen too.

Warning: incoming info-dump, albeit a grossly oversimplified one:

It would cost about $3M to produce a pro-shot. Here's an incomplete list of where that money would go:

-The regular costs of the venue itself--which, when you include rent, utilities, and staff salaries (security, bartenders, ushers, custodians, all the people who are just in charge of maintaining the Belasco), comes out to about $1K a minute.

-The labor of obtaining necessary permits for filming onsite.

-The labor of the film crew, including load-in, setup, and breakdown of equipment, and coordinating with stage management to make sure their shooting doesn't get in the way of backstage choreography, and making any adjustments accordingly

-The collaboration between the film crew and the in-house sound crew to make sure the audio is captured and balanced properly

-The labor of post-production: editing, color correction, sound adjustment, etc.

-There are also different contracts (and higher pay) for the actors, stage managers, stage crew, sound crew, lighting crew, and wardrobe crew, in addition to our current contracts wherein we're just doing the show as usual. This can get particularly complicated with the actors and stage managers, since our Broadway contracts are through Actors' Equity Association (the union for stage actors and stage managers) but the contract for having our work filmed and distributed in theaters or on streaming platforms is under SAG-AFTRA (the union for film actors).

This is not a complete list, but to give you some context: that's about what it would cost just to make the thing. The costs and logistics of actually distributing it is a different story altogether, and a lot of that would depend on strategizing around future productions and making sure the availability of the pro-shot wouldn't compromise, say, a national tour. I'm not a producer and don't have the numbers and the research, but what I'd love to see happen is, the pro-shot gets a limited theatrical release to coincide with a national tour, and then gets released to streaming platforms when the tour is wrapped. (Of course, as an elder millennial who's genetically incapable of not being financially stressed, I don't care where or how it's released as long as I get those residual checks lol.)

As to your question of crowdfunding: as far as I understand it (and I'm not an entertainment lawyer so I likely have very incomplete information, so don't take my word at total face value): in order to crowdfund for a pro-shot, the producers would likely need to establish a new business entity and it would have to be a nonprofit entity so it could legally solicit donations from the public. Broadway shows are commercially produced, and each iteration of the commercially-produced production has its own business entity. When the show was in workshops and in Syracuse, the business entity was "Amigos in Ohio, LLC." The Broadway entity is "Amigos on Broadway, LLC." The only difference it makes on my end is the name that shows up on my bank statement when I get my direct deposit every week, but the difference it makes from a producer perspective is much more significant and it has a big effect on how productions are legally and ethically allowed to be funded, and again I'm not an entertainment lawyer so explaining what those differences are is beyond me.

I will say, however, Ken Davenport has been a real innovator when it comes to how shows can be produced--in 2010, he launched what eventually became the first crowdfunded Broadway musical with the Godspell revival. I know very little about how all of that actually works, but I do think something like that would be a boon to the industry in the year of our dark Majestic Theater 2024. And it would also give the fans a way to connect with the material and the business on a deeper and more personal level.

Meanwhile, if you want to learn more about how Broadway works from the producers' side, you should check out Sammy Lopez's Producing 101 course on The Business of Broadway. (I'm going to be in an upcoming class myself and it's all virtual, so maybe I'll see you there!)

[ohanny]

pitbabetober whump edition

day 4

HALLUCINATION

HYPNOSIS I SENSORY DEPRIVATION

“YOU'RE STILL ALIVE IN MY HEAD”

pete / way. pg. 843 words.

pete thinks might be losing his mind.

it starts slowly and manifests in small things one could easily chalk up to experiencing a devastating loss. like he walks down the street and suddenly catches a familiar scent or he's at the bar buying a drink and gets chills when a guy next to him orders a shot of blue curaçao. his therapist tells him it's quite normal and part of the grieving process.

pete wonders if she would say the same about the ghost on his living room couch.

except way doesn’t look like a ghost. he appears perfectly solid, made of flesh and bone. there's even a slight flush to his cheeks, the exact kind he used to get after one too many drinks and it makes him look painfully alive. the only difference is in the way he observes pete back. his eyes are keen and missing any of the underlying shame and guilt that tainted their past encounters.

“you're dead,” pete says.

"of course i am,” the apparition answers, uncrossing his legs and tilting his head with a playful smile. ”it’s what i told you after all.”

you didn’t tell me anything, pete wants to scream. you flatlined in the back of an ambulance as i held your hand and begged you to stay. instead he sets his glass of whiskey down and closes his eyes. it’s been a long day, he tells himself. he hasn’t been sleeping well lately and if you combine sleep deprivation with overtime and mixing alcohol with the painkillers he took for a head ache few hours ago, it is reasonable to assume the synapses in his brain are misfiring. grief can affect us in strange ways is also something his therapist tells him all the time, you need to take care of yourself and not let it control your life.

“i don’t like it when you ignore me.”

way’s voice comes right by his ear this time and pete almost knocks the entire bottle down when he twists around. he never heard the younger enigma move but he's standing behind pete’s chair now, clearly amused by his reaction.   

 

“you can't be here,” he murmurs. “you died.”

“i’m not so sure about that. i mean… i think i look pretty alive, don’t you?”

“i buried you,” pete chokes out. “we all did.”

"closed casket” the apparition shrugs, like all of this is just a funny little joke. “could have been full rocks for all you know. what was up with that anyway? it's not like daddy dearest shot me in the face.”

“i was honoring your wishes.”

“and how would you know them?” way suddenly lunges forward and pete falls out of the chair to avoid being touched. “did we ever discuss funeral arrangements over drinks? did i leave behind a will with detailed instructions? how could you possibly know what i wanted?”

pete stares up at way helplessly. because they didn’t, did they? there had been nothing. he'd scoured through way’s apartment when he helped pack everything up and there had been a folder of insurance papers, bank statements and certificates from work and school but that had been it. he distinctly remembers being frustrated and upset about it. he'd even called alan to ask for help because he didn’t know what to do so how could he have known…

his head hurts.

it’s like something’s trying to crawl out of his brain stem, clawing through the soft tissue. for a split second he sees double, the hallucination of way overlapped by the real way as he laid dying. the two images flicker – from an expression of benign curiosity to blood soaked dejection and back – and pete feels nauseous.

“you're starting to get it,” way whispers, crouching down. “tell me… does it hurt? i always wondered what it felt like, going against orders.”

"this is a dream,” pete croaks, a last desperate attempt to make it all make sense. “i’m dreaming.”

“or maybe you're finally awake,” way croons. “maybe you're remembering something i told you to forget.”                                                                       

he looks like an angel, haloed by the ceiling lamp. pete yearns to touch him. he wants to trail his fingers down the curve of way’s neck, kiss those lush lips and do all the things he was too decent to do when way’s heart was still pumping.

“please,” he whispers and reaches out.

“not yet,” way tells him. “but soon.”

pete swears his fingertips touch something warm but then he blinks and way is gone. there’s just the ceiling, the faintest trace of jasmine and the sound of his own heaving breaths.

“way?” he calls out, voice shaking. “are you still here?”

there is no answer and no more ghostly apparitions. eventually pete’s heart slows back down and he manages to drag his ass to the couch where he sits next to where way sat. the cushions look untouched and are cold to the touch. it’s crazy, isn’t it? he's crazy. but the splitting headache persists and there's this nagging feeling he's not only missing someone but something.

[theprettynosferatu]

IV

He had turned his apartment upside down and found no books at all, except of course for his trusty truck maintenance handbook, which he had already almost memorized. It made no sense, and yet quotes came to him unbidden, from authors he had never heard of, let alone read. Still, the man at the bookstore had been adamant. He had purchased Valley Flower. Suddenly, he had the simple idea of logging into his bank and looking at his card statements.

Sure enough, the evidence was there. Several payments, all to nearby small bookstores. Nothing too expensive. Somehow, he knew. The first one was a collection of Byron’s poems. The second one a history of ancient female rulers. The third was, of course, Valley Flower. He had no memory of reading any of them, and no idea where they were. Had he been blacking out more? Doing other things when he thought he was watching the game on sundays? How could he even be sure of anything anymore? Maybe Hayley was… editing his experience somehow. Making him see or not see things, messing with his memories, making him more and more confused…

He wanted to hate her. He really did. But he couldn’t. He knew what she would say, with her big green eyes pleading to him. “Sorry, I just really like to read”. He could almost hear her meek voice inside his head. How could he hate her? Besides, she had become his only true companion. Maybe it was just fair to let her have her little moments, her books. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever know. 

As to where the books had gone… it was obvious.

“I donated them. I want others to enjoy books too, you know?”

How could he be mad at that?

He soon fell victim to a rather nasty flu. He spent day after day swimming in and out of consciousness, being himself for brief periods before sinking again and watching as Hayley’s thoughts occupied his consciousness in a swirl of fantasies, desires, ideas and frustrations to the point that separating what was He and what was Her was a pointless endeavor. He knew the reluctance to call a doctor was all he, though. Things would sort themselves out, as his dad used to say.

On the fifth day he felt well enough to roll off the bed and get a shower. He looked in the mirror through a feverish haze. He had barely eaten, so no wonder he had lost weight. Quite a bit of weight, in fact. His beer belly was practically gone, and… no, no way he had gotten shorter. That was fever talk. No illness could make a man shorter. Still… Whatever. He pushed the fear down and showered before stumbling back to bed.

Had he been more alert, he might have seen the single, long, red hair he had left in the shower.

There’s something special about that moment in which a sickness gives way, when one realizes that one is getting better, that energy is coming back, that the brain fog is lifting. He awoke feeling renewed, a brand new man indeed. He rubbed his eyes and soon noticed something alarming. His goatee was gone. 

He rushed to the bathroom and stared at the face in the mirror. He could hardly recognize it: he had sported a beard as soon as he had been able to grow one. The face looking back at him was smooth, almost child-like in the softness of its skin. It almost seemed to glow, and a spot of panic burned inside his chest. Had he shaved in his feverish state? When? Using what? He had scissors to trim his goatee, but no proper shaver- and the job looked almost professional. Hell, it looked like he had never had facial hair at all. He studied the strange face in the mirror. It looked nice. Soft, even. It was his, no doubt about it, but it seemed… slightly shifted. The angles were a little bit different, the lines of his face just the tiniest bit altered to be… he settled for “prettier”. He needed to settle for “prettier”. He couldn’t bear to utter, even in his mind, the words that would more exactly describe the shape.

More feminine.

Also, there was no denying it: he was getting shorter. Slimmer. Even his fingers looked more dainty, and his nails had grown in a most alarming way. As far as he knew, nails didn’t grow beautifully shaped as if a manicurist fairy had worked on them throughout the night. This was, he decided, a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. Like a child, he rushed back to bed and covered himself with his blanket. Things would go back to normal by themselves, he knew that. He was just having a little bit of a psychotic break. He didn’t want to imagine himself disappearing, becoming…

And he hated that part of his mind was thinking of the clothes he should buy.

He had to go back to normal, regular, predictable life. That was the ticket. He had been too much in his head, looking into the mirror too often. There was a world out there, a solid, real world. A world that made sense- and not a minor concern, a world that paid him for his labor. He was sure there would be someone looking for a simple delivery, something to ease his way back to the comfort of the familiar. And sure enough, there was a simple run requested waiting for him in the system. He almost slammed his finger into the “accept request” button on his phone. It might as well had been labeled “return to reality.”

Emily felt strange. Too big. Her driving wheel intimidating, unwieldy. He looked around, shifted in his seat. It didn’t make sense. He had been inside Emily countless times, had traveled the country with her. She had been almost an extension of himself. That was why he had given her a name, after all. When a trucker moves on from a loaner or a company vehicle, when he finds the right truck to call his own, they named it. And, he noticed after observing his friends, the name had to be a girl’s name. Big Bertha. Dolly. Gladys. All his friends had their truck-wives, so he felt he had to name his own. He wasn’t sure why trucks were girls, or why truckers treated them like close, cherished companions. Sure, he did maintenance and took care of his truck. He knew it inside out. He just didn’t feel that kind of… close attachment to it. But men named trucks, and so, his was Emily. But Emily felt like an unwelcoming behemoth of metal.

He took to the road as he had done so many times before. Normally he would zone out, let his muscle memory take care of the driving, listen to his sport radio and bask in that space between spaces, that special no-land that was the wide, open road. Instead, his body tensed up. His mind was racing, paying close attention to every sign, every other vehicle, every turn. He hated every moment of it, hated the way the patter on the radio only seemed to assault his brain with shrill laughter and screaming and a soundboard of air horns and silly noises. Without even thinking it, he pushed a button and the radio hissed and blabbered before finding another station. Music. That was better.

He had to admit the music calmed him somewhat. He still wasn’t enjoying the drive, not one bit, but by moments he could almost be carried away by the melodies. Maybe he could pull it off. Maybe he was returning to being something like himself again.

Oh oh you think you’re something special

Oh oh you think you’re something else

Ok. So you have a car!

That don’t impress me much…

Suddenly he caught himself. How long had he been singing along? Why were his hips moving in his seat? How did he know all the words? Why did Shania’s voice sound so… right coming from his mouth? What the fuck was going on? And did he almost crash a few miles back? He felt sweat dripping down his face. He checked in the mirror…

It was only a flash, shorter than a second. That was enough to make him pull over and jump out of Emily. He panted, his hand resting on the door, his gaze to the hot asphalt. No way. No way. He hadn’t seen… that. He shut his eyes, tried to push the image away. It was no use. What he had seen was engraved behind his eyelids. 

He had become a strange sight indeed: a petite man, oversized clothes hanging off his slender limbs, propped against a massive truck in the middle of nowhere, baking under the blazing sun. He knew he needed to get a move on, but…

Deep green eyes accentuated by perfectly applied eyeliner. The vaguest hint of tasteful, understated eyeshadow. Playful freckles on his nose and cheeks. A wisp of red hair falling between plucked eyebrows. 

It was impossible, yet that was what the mirror had shown him. He shuddered as he remembered a dream, a conversation in a coffee shop. Hayley. He had seen Hayley. 

He could dispel the fear in an instant, of course. All he needed to do was look in the mirror. And still, he didn’t. His breath came in ragged, short bursts. It wasn’t just that what he had seen was bizarre, beyond all logic or reality. It was that if he were to be honest with himself, even for a second, he would have to admit that for the first time in his life, he had felt beautiful.

How long did he stay there? Impossible to tell. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. Eventually, spurred less by bravery and more by the starting aches of a sunburn. He trembled as he glanced in the rear view mirror.

He was himself. Sort of. It was hard, with the recent changes, to be sure of what “himself” meant. He should have felt relief, and he did- but there was also a hint of something else, a longing he could not name. But there was something else. Maybe the sun had burned him more than he realized… however, the marks didn’t look like burns or irritated skin. He leaned closer to the mirror.

Were those freckles on his nose?   

V

He’d never thought a lot about clothes. Well, that wasn’t entirely true- he had never allowed himself to think about clothes. Fact was he had thought about clothing a lot exactly once, when he had pondered long and hard what his “style” would be. He didn’t think about it as style, obviously: the proper style for a man, he had decided, was to have no style, which in itself was a rather complex style, since any evidence of even acknowledging the concept of style was suspect. Ideally a man’s clothing should embody the very concept of “default”, should be banal to the point of invisibility, should silently scream the word “normal.”

“Normal” was hard to achieve, but he had done so and buried the entire sartorial world deep underground. From that point on, buying clothes had been a functional, gray, dull affair: one punctuated sometimes by the lingering fear that a certain color or pattern was too… out there. Luckily, there were many stores that stocked their shelves with sturdy, practical, utterly boring  shirts, pants, shoes. He had built himself a reasonable wardrobe, one that kept any thought on what to wear to a minimum.

A wardrobe that was of no use to him anymore.

Shirts hung off his back like he was a scarecrow, or a child dressed like a very boring, very practical ghost. His belly was gone, but so were his broad shoulders, his muscular arms (and the hair on them as well), his large back. The only word that came to his mind looking at himself in the mirror now was “petite”. It was a nice word. It was a pretty word. It was an utterly terrifying word. His body was changing and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He felt as if he was a spirit trapped in a black wind, carried away to God knew where. Sure, he could go to a doctor, but what would he say? 

“No, Doc, I used to be a big burly man, balding with a beer gut! I drove a truck! And now I’m becoming… I don’t know what! I swear I wasn’t this short, or a redhead, or freckled, or… and I didn’t have boobs! You have to believe me!”

Yeah, that was a no-go. Which led him to the thing he had been trying so, so hard to avoid.

He was growing breasts. 

There was no other way to call them, and Lord knew he had looked frantically for any other term, any plausible explanation. Remembering his blackouts, the novels he… or Hayley had read, he had looked up the effects of estrogen on the body. If she could make him buy books when he wasn’t looking, who could say what kind of stuff she was making him take? It would be a terrifying idea, but it would be, at the very least, an answer. As far as he knew, grown men did not spontaneously manifest tits, after all. Sadly, even the most superficial research was enough to inform him of the fact that no, estrogen did not work that fast, or change hair color.

The person in the mirror resembled him less and less by the day. He kept turning around, spinning, taking in every angle. He needed to stop it, and he needed to stop it right then and there. But how? Tears pooled in his eyes, and his fists clenched in complete, impotent rage. Rage was good. Rage was manly.

Before he knew it, he was on the ground, surrounded by reflective glass shards, his hand bleeding. He hadn’t meant to punch it. To punch himself. To punch her. 

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not”, she said, an echo in his head.

“Then what is happening?”

“I… I’m not sure. I think I’m starting to become… myself. Just… by moments. They add up, I suppose”

“Well fucking stop it!”

“I tried! I did, at first. But… don’t I deserve some happiness too? Don’t I deserve to exist beyond the cage in which you’ve locked me? The world has so much to offer, so many wonderful things, art, books, music! I can’t just look at it from behind your eyes”

“No. No, no, no. Fuck you. My body isn’t a fucking time share and you sure as shit are not allowed to redecorate it, so take your red hair, and your boobs, and fuck right off! I was fine before you came along!”

“Were you happy?”

“That’s not the point!”

“It seems to me like it should be the entire point. Happiness. How long do you expect to keep living a lie?”

“I’m not… I was fine!”

“Well, change is inevitable. I’m not going anywhere, so you can suffer every day or you can at least try to have fun. Speaking for myself, I’d much prefer it if you didn’t suffer. For instance, you’re going to have to buy new clothes. Why not enjoy it?”

“Fuck. You”

Hayley didn’t respond. He hated to admit she was right, tough. He did need new clothes.

VI

The battlefield stretched before him, infinite. He saw safe areas, sensible shirts and gray pants. He also saw the minefield he would have to cross: rack after rack of yellows, reds, greens and pinks; tops and blouses and skirts, menacing like fanatical enemy soldiers, sharp like spike traps trying to break him, to send him into a pit from which there would be no escape. He took a moment to get his body ready, to make sure his oversized t-shirt properly hid his breasts. He wore a ballcap to somewhat obscure a face that, it pained him to admit, could just very well belong to a woman. The point was to avoid the dreaded Shopping Assistant. 

That particular fear had come from a long, unflinching, objective look at the bathroom mirror, given that he had smashed one in the bedroom. He did his best to push away how he had once looked, the residual image of himself he had been holding onto like a piece of driftwood in a stormy ocean. What would other people see when they looked at him? The answer was obvious. Devoid of his masculine clothing, he looked like a slight, petite, slightly androgynous woman. He hoped that a new outfit, a manly outfit that actually, well, fit him, would push him at least to the level of a slight, petite, slightly androgynous man. He just hoped no one at the store would peg him as a woman and drag him to the women’s section. He was terrified of what might happen then.

He took a deep breath and went inside, heading straight for the safe, masculine blues and blacks.

It took him a moment to understand where he was. The white light overhead hurt his eyes. The miniscule cubicle made him feel trapped. His heart was racing, and he could feel something in his chest, some residual adrenaline… no, not fear. Something else. Something like joy. It was overwhelming, so much so that a full minute passed before he realized he was naked, staring at himself inside a changing room, a pile of colorful clothes arranged by his side.

Hayley, you absolute bitch. Of all the times to give him a blackout…

He looked around. His t-shirt and pants were gone. Hayley had thrown them out the changing room while he was away. Fuck. Check and fucking mate. What could he do? Call for assistance? They would think him crazy- or more accurately, they would think her crazy. Who knew what Hayley had told the workers at the store? And walking out in the nude was, obviously, not a choice. Fine. He would wear whatever the hell Hayley had set out for him, just to fetch his own clothes and get the fuck out. He picked up a top.

Huh.

He couldn’t be sure, but at a glance it didn’t look as bad as he had feared. It wasn’t some pornographic, stare-at-my-boobs top. If anything, it was modest, the emerald green would compliment his eyes, and what cleavage the top did have was tasteful, playful, flirty but not trashy. Of course, there was only so much he could eyeball holding the top. There was only one way to be sure of how it would look…

Wait. What the fuck was he thinking? Tasteful greens? Playful clothes? Those weren’t his thoughts. They couldn’t be. They shouldn’t be. He would just… wear the damn thing, then find his own clothes. Quickly. 

God fucking damnit. Hayley might be some sort of… weird mind… stealing thing, but she did have a good eye. Before he knew it, he was turning, checking the top from different angles. It fit his new body perfectly, drawing tasteful curves on his skin, suggesting a trove of beauty while concealing it. A smile escaped his lips. Coy, yet flirty. Cute, yet slightly provocative. The kind of smile that was a promise and a dare, a diamond half-seen through the glint of morning mists. A smile he had never smiled before. When had he last smiled? Truthfully, spontaneously, not the result of a calculation or social norm? He couldn’t remember. Had he ever smiled like that? Just… naturally?

It just felt… right.

Suddenly, he snapped back. What was he doing? He was being ridiculous. He was being a fool. He was being a freak. Then again, no one was watching. Yes, it was a ridiculous image to be sure. He was wearing a top and nothing else. What was he, Donald Duck? He put on a pair of pants in a hurry, grasping for some notion of normalcy.

Well, that was new. He turned and stared at the mirror in primal fascination, like an ape seeing fire for the first time. He had a butt.

He had always possessed a behind, of course. It just had never been a factor in any aspect of his life, much less on his appearance. Men did not care about their asses. Or at least he didn’t think they did. His friends never mentioned their asses except in the context of working those butts off behind the wheels of their trucks. Did they secretly care about how their asses looked? He now did, that was for sure.

He did a little twirl. It was a thing of beauty, of absolute joy. Cute, not too big but certainly appealing, highlighted by the perfect fit of the shiny, black pants. A part of him was aware that if he came across a woman with that pretty butt he would stare. Would others stare at him? He wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea. He suspected a part of him liked it. He ran his hands over it. It felt so sensitive, so smooth, so firm… and yet it seemed to give him a balance, a sense of truly being on the ground he had never known he had lacked. But how could one miss what one had never known existed?

He felt light. Bubbly. As if he could skip, hop, dance. Instead, he did a little wiggle, and a cute laugh sneaked out of his chest. He didn’t mind. Instead he felt slightly miffed as he looked around the changing room. Where were the shoes? Surely Hayley would have picked out shoes to go with the outfit! Maybe they were outside? He felt almost outraged. Who didn’t choose cute shoes when putting together a wardrobe?

Without a thought getting in the way, he left the changing room. There, on the floor, he saw a dull, brutal heap of cloth. It took him a moment to recognize them as the clothes he had been wearing not long ago. They looked heavy, as if they were made of lead. The thought of putting them on sent a shiver up his spine. A picture of iron chains flashed in his mind. He started sweating. He knew he should put those terrible clothes on. That was the plan, after all. Instead, he stared, paralyzed, shaking.

“Oh. My. God. You look so good! Honey, you were made for those clothes!”

He turned around. The clerk was there, her eyes beaming. Sure, it was her job, but… it felt so sincere. It felt like the blonde woman was genuinely amazed and happy for him, like she was a sister in a world he had never imagined. There was so much emotion in her eyes… and all for a stranger. His friends didn’t show emotion like that. Even their support was usually more… ironic, or clad in jokes or teaseful ribbing. This was different. Unvarnished. Unashamed.

“Girl, I have to say… when you came in, wearing… those things I thought you were a lost cause but damn! You are positively radiant!”

Girl. She had called him a girl. Should he correct her? Could he? Could he really, with a straight face, utter the words “I am a man” after all he had felt? Also… he did feel radiant. He felt as if he was hovering above the ground, surrounded by a halo of bright, white light. He searched for words, any words, anything at all.

“Shoes”, he blurted out. 

“Shoes indeed! Let me show you”

The pile of discarded clothes said nothing as it was left behind.

VII

Horns shook the city air. Angry, shouting voices lodged themselves in her stomach. The shift stick felt stiff, unwieldy. She preferred to stick to the pedals, which the drivers behind her didn’t particularly appreciate. The wheel felt like an enormous monster she was forced to fight at every turn. The truck was a lumbering leviathan, and with every block she realized more and more of the simple, undeniable fact that she hated the damn thing.

At some point she found herself parked on the side of a quiet road. She looked at the trees beside her, the birds above her, the scattered clouds lazily floating along. She looked at the mechanical monstrosity that appeared to her eyes as a sort of disgusting predator. Large, cumbersome, threatening. She sat on the grass by the road. What was she doing driving that thing anyway?

Looking at the sun, it seemed to her as if she had been living inside a trench, toiling, fighting a war with no meaning or purpose. Sure, the truck was her job. Or his job. The distinction grew less clear by the minute. What was evident was that she simply couldn’t keep going. She couldn’t spend her hours inside that awful metal prison anymore. But where to go next? What did she truly want to do? Who was she, really?

Her phone vibrated. She glanced at it, recognized it was someone from work and let it shake impotently in her hand. She supposed the name on the screen belonged to a friend, in a way. He just didn’t feel like a friend. Not anymore. Before, friends and coworkers had been the same thing. Now she saw inside herself, realized how lonely she truly was. She wanted more.

She dreamed of smart conversation, of books, of delving deeper into the world of Literature. She dreamed of cozy coffee shops. She dreamed of laughter, of sharing. But how could she turn those fantasies into more than mere dreams?

The answer was staring right at her.

She could feel the wind picking up. It was something electric, exciting. She knew she had been scared of change, not that long ago. Now her life was growing, flowering, transforming. Her body was never exactly the same by morning as it had been at bedtime, and waking up was an exciting thrill. Why then had she insisted on keeping the rest of her static, trapped in amber? The truck, the apartment, his friends had been essential in the past, but now they simply didn’t fit her. 

Well, what would fit? 

She was looking into the mirror, trying out a new makeup look she had seen on Youtube. A thing that was becoming more and more apparent with each passing day was the cost. Makeup was expensive, that much she had realized immediately, especially since she had resorted to trying out various shades, brands, styles. But that was only part of the cost: the rest was time. She had a foggy memory of waking up, throwing on some clothes and stepping out into the world; such a notion seemed absolutely ridiculous to her now. After a few missed appointments (one to get her nails done, one to buy a particularly rare book from a private seller) she had learned to clear out at least a solid hour to get ready before heading out. She really hoped practice would make things quicker. Besides, once she had learned her… style, she supposed, things would go far more smoothly.

There was a joy, a playfulness to the whole affair. Her face was a canvass in which color, shades, highlights danced and underlined this or that feature, made her cheekbones more pronounced, or her lips look thicker, or her eyes pop. She felt a bit like a newborn fawn, learning what other girls had mastered by age fifteen, but she took to her new hobby with the excitement of a teenager. In a way, she felt like one, like she was going through a second puberty. The right puberty, this time. Back in the day, she… or he, had been afraid of the changes, afraid of what they meant about her place in the world. She vaguely remembered feeling as if she was not ready, silently begging for more time to figure the world out. Those memories seemed more and more distant every day, like a half-forgotten movie. Well, she didn’t have time to reminisce. She could not miss the day’s appointment. 

She had done her homework. She knew what she had and what it was worth. Still, she was a bit shocked by the tone of the man, the way he talked down to her. She understood: a willowy redhead girl who had “inherited” a truck would look to a sleazy auto seller like a prime mark. She was many things, but gullible was not one of them. Politely, always wearing a disarming smile, she refused to budge an inch. In the end she got the proper value for the vehicle. Enough to purchase a small, compact, rather cute electric car. One that felt like her. And enough to kickstart the next step in her project.

The ads went online later that day. So many people had trouble interpreting books, analyzing them… while she could do so quickly, effortlessly, with sensitivity and academic rigor. It made her happy, and she wanted to share that happiness, to teach others to see the wonderful world of words the way she did. Besides, she needed a job. Tutoring sounded just perfect. 

Of course, her plan included a couple more steps. Steps that required certain paperwork. She had been lucky in that the gods of bureaucracy had chosen to answer her requests speedily, and had scheduled the big day for less than a week since she had requested it. She smiled, pondering if ever paperwork had felt so good for anyone else.

Two days later, she walked out of the big, gray building. She was beaming, holding the small piece of plastic. The picture on it was terrible, as such pictures inevitably were. She didn’t care. She looked at it again and again, and every time a surge of energy burst from her chest and made her laugh in sheer joy. Terrible, overexposed, harshly lit photo or not, it was a photo of her. There could be no doubt about it. Surrounded by all the official seals and symbols, made official by the hologram that guarded against forgery, validated by all the boring, subtle aspects of properly-acquired government I.D. Her. And the ink, black, impossible to erase, proclaiming that she had always known to be true. 

“Hayley”, it said in the space allotted for the citizen’s name. 

VIII

The huge man looked at the I.D., then at Hayley, then back at the I.D. She couldn’t help but smile. She had never been carded before. She understood the man’s confusion, given the date of birth on the card and the way she looked. Of all the changes, her apparent youth had been the most surprising one. Sure, her skin had become smoother, softer, more sensitive. Her once imposing frame had become petite, slender. She had grown breasts, a source of endless fascination for herself and others, just the right size to fit her body without looking artificial. She had a shapely butt and a vagina. That last one she couldn’t remember getting, couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened. It just felt… like it had always been there, even if she knew that wasn’t the case. Just like the way she spoke, her thoughts, her dreams. They had slowly made themselves apparent, washing away what had been a false self in a slowly rising tide. Where the past ended and she had truly begun, she couldn’t say. She didn’t much care either. She was in the world now, and she intended to make up for lost time. On this particular night, by celebrating her first batch of students.

She knew clubs weren’t her thing, but… better to make sure. Besides, what was life if not there to be experienced fully?

One minute inside and she knew she was in the wrong place. Or at least not a place that felt… hers. But she did have to admit one thing: she looked amazing. She was proud of that. It had taken a lot of work! Choosing clothes, seeing how they fit, trying out different styles, practicing with endless tutorials to get her hair and makeup just right… in a way the looks of the people around her were invasive, yes, but also… validating. After years of feeling invisible behind the wheel of a truck, she felt seen, physical, real. Sure, she didn’t intend to make clubbing part of her life, but for one night… The books and coffee could wait. Even the new friends she had made at her advanced Literature courses could wait. For one night, she would just… let go.

Hayley closed her eyes and let the music vibrate inside her. She let her body feel light, her hands go in the air, her feet do as they pleased… She let herself fly.

Many saw her that night. They couldn’t know the effort, the pain, the silent suffering that had come before that moment. The dull, heavy years behind her were invisible and growing less and less substantial, leaving not a hint for anyone to observe. They didn’t see the full picture, and yet what they did see was, in the end, what truly mattered.

They saw a woman dancing with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. They saw a beautiful girl letting loose, not caring about the weight of the world, twirling and enjoying herself under the shifting, colored lights. They saw someone utterly comfortable with herself, with her place, her body, her life. They saw sensuality and joy, euphoria and childish abandon. The Universe clicking into place.

They saw, quite simply, happiness.

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[thatonebirdwrites]

I had multiple awful things happen all at once in the past few weeks and it trapped me in a fog. This particular chapter also took much longer to edit because it's content is a bit triggering.

Also, some thoughts on how I structured this chapter:

For Rory/Lena's parts: MID 6.0 is a 180 question assessment used for diagnosing various disassociative disorders, including DID. The following are so often reported by patients that they made their way into this assessment:

"Shrinking" or "getting smaller" or "feeling as if the world is getting larger" (child alters).

Feeling foggy, like one melts away or body parts feel as if they vanish for while.

Unable to see or hear with no known medical reason for it.

Writings, drawings, journal entries that you know you did not write/draw.

Black-outs/amnesia, difficulty remembering things, sections of life can't be remembered.

Trance-like episodes.

Losing time and/or not remembering large chunks of time or large chunks of one's childhood.

Disordered sleep or insomnia (often more drawings or writings you didn't draw will appear during this time).

Rich, creative mental spaces.

Protective alters.

And a ton of others. My therapist was kind enough to give it to me as homework to fill out myself to avoid overwhelming me. We then went over it together.

Rory's sections dig into some of the above and that rich inner world. I wanted to contrast her getting tests done with Sam's worldkiller story; I did this by weaving similar descriptions at the end and start of each of their sections. Sort of like a Ghazal, an Arabic poem, where the last word of the a couplet starts the next couplet.

EXCERPT:

If Sam estimated as to when the Reign horror starts, she’d place it the day she sits in traffic, unable to move thanks to the swarming protesters outside L-Corp. Half are protesting the rise in children sick with lead poisoning, falsely attributed to L-Corps water purification units. The others are cultists announcing the end of the world with the partnership of L-Corp and Supergirl.

She knows the lead poisoning has nothing to do with their products. Kara, herself, and Lena had gone over the units and found nothing. They’d even brought in an independent inspector, who deemed the units safe from lead.

Yet Morgan Edge pushes the narrative, and his inspectors continue to find ‘proof’ that its faulty units from L-Corp. In a few days time, Lena plans to hold a press event, and Sam dreads it. She thinks over the data she’s procured, illegally, for Kara that map the distribution of the affected. It’s not enough to prove innocence, but the map shows the impacted don’t align with the roll-out of the units.

Her phone rings. Sam glances down to see Kara’s name. She swipes it and hits speakerphone. “Sam here. What’s up?”

“So I was looking into that map you sent. There’s got to be a pattern, but it seems almost random.” 

“I know, usually when something like this happens, the affected kids are from a certain area, but those kids are from all over the city. Luke, who I saw today at Ruby’s school, lives down the street, but then there’s a few kids who live across the city and go to Bergen County Day…”

“And there’s several who live all the way in Edgemont. So does any of these addresses you found line up with any personal units you sold?”

“Nope, the roll-out happened in neighboring districts. Personal units don’t go on sale until next fiscal year. We focused on the city contract first. I can't see how our units would even leak lead to start, so I think something else connects them. It’s why I want to meet.” Sam scowls at the crowds. “But there’s a traffic jam of protesters. I can’t even get in the parking garage.”

“I want to do a few interviews of the impacted, see if they give us a clue. Something must connect them. Social media, school, bank statements…”

Oh, that gave her an idea. “Bank statements. Follow the money. That often uncovers what’s hidden.” She leans forward and glares at the traffic jam in front of her. She knows exactly what she needs to search. Tricks she learned from Jack when it came to investigating financial fraud. “But I need more time to dig that up.”

“You sure you can’t talk her out of it?” 

“Believe me, I tried. She’s been…” Sam is reluctant to admit that Lena has been rapidly cycling between at least four alters, and her mental state has disintegrated. “I’m going to have her stay at my place for the next few days. I just don’t think she should be alone right now.”

“Don’t worry. We can tag team this. I’ll see you in a bit. Oh, and there’s a parking spot next street over.” Kara hangs up before Sam can respond. 

Sure enough, when Sam turns onto the next street, she sees several open spots. Pulling into them, she parks, and hurries through the intersection. Darting through the crowds, she nears the front of the building when a cultist slams into her side. She stumbles and falls against the pavement. Pain flares up her arm near where he touched her.

“Pardon,” the man says with a smile. His grey eyes roam over Sam’s body, and she feels like she’s being dissected. Gross. His hands hide in the sleeves of his black cloak, but he extends one to offer her a pamphlet. “Ah, it is a joy to finally meet you, Samantha Arias.”

Sam stares at him. She’s never seen the man in her life. 

He holds out his hand. “I have followed your rise. You too have been touched by the stars. Just as our resident hero.” 

What the hell? She pushes to her feet and tries to push past him, but several other cultists block her way. She’s surrounded. “Please move out of the way. You have the wrong person.” 

“Do we?” The man leers closer, his blue-grey eyes focused on her face, and his smile smarmy at best. “We have long sought you. But not even Patricia Arias could hide you for long.” He holds out a pamphlet and grins. 

A chill swept down Sam’s spine. What the hell did a creepy cultist have to do with her? Maybe she should check on her mother after all. At least to make sure she has some security, because yeah, her mother may not give a shit about her, but Sam can’t do the same. 

“You have the wrong person,” she snaps through gritted teeth. That seems safest at least until she can figure out how the hell this random cultist knows who she is. She jerks away from him and pushes forward. 

Several other cultists block her path. The sweat from their thick robes emit a nasty odor Sam did not need to smell. Hint of claustrophobia starts to sizzle down her spine, and the need to get out amplifies. The shouts from the protesters, plus the soft murmurs of a chant from the cultists ripple through Sam’s ears. 

That’s when a cultist grabs her arm, and her arm burns like she’d been stabbed. Shit. She needs to get away and fast. 

“Move it!” She uses an Aikido move to break free and spin the cultist into another. Darting through the opening, she shoulder bumps a third out of her way and finally bursts free to the front of L-Corp. Security guards rush out finally and start to push the crowd back.

[pettyrevenge-base]

Finesse money from me, I'll finesse more out of you!

I was a using a dating app a while ago and was talking to a cute girl. I had noticed on her profile page she had some statements that raised my eyebrows. Basically it was her saying she was looking for a FWB and she can perform certain sexual acts with her body. Now I get that we all have wants and needs and that they should be properly expressed given the time and place. Wanting sex is fine, but most girls wouldn't put that on their profile out of fear of inviting the wrong people. And for her to do so unabashedly had my warning lights flicker dimly in my head. Still, I put it in the back corners of my mind as she hadn't really said anything weird while messaging each other.

Eventually I asked her about it, which set her off on a tangent on what she was wanting and willing to do to me in bed. Of course I was getting fed into it and ask when she wanted to meet up. She told me that she'd be down to meet up but she needed some money to pay her grandma to watch her child... weird. In the history me dating single moms, I have never heard of someone having to pay their family members, especially their grandma, to babysit for them. I chalked it up to it being some weird family dynamic or she just bugged her grandma a lot to that point. She then asked if I could give her $50 for babysitting. I told her I didn't have that on me. She lowered it to about $30, which I told her I have about $15 in the bank. She said that was fine. I sent her the money via cash app and told her where I'd be. She never responded. After an hour of waiting I saw she accepted the money, but blocked me on the dating app. I realized that the stuff she put on her profile was so she can she finesse horny desperate guys out of their money, which it did work unfortunately. Now, it was just a mere $15, but I was mad that I got finessed.

Some months later, this girl matches with me again. I wondered where she got the nerve to match with me after what she did and was about to dress her down. But during her messages I realized that she didn'teven recognize me! The months after her finessing I edited my profile pictures, updated my bio, and even changed my name to my middle name. My pictures were still me, but this time with a beard, and a lot more mature-looking. Her, however, still had the same provocative bio and pictures. About 3 weeks had passed since then. As she talked, I felt that the energy was much different and pieced together that she was actually feeling this version of me. I didn't ask about her bio this time, which caught her attention. She started saying about how guys always wanna talk about it and that she'll pretend to be interested and trick them into doing "goofy-ass shit." Idk why she thought that was something that needed to be shared with anyone, but hearing it pissed me off even more. She said she liked that I didn't focus on her bio and that I seemed more genuine. This is when I started coming up with a plan.

I started talking about how I wanted to go on a date and started listing a few nice and popular restaurants that she had told me about months prior. It lit up her spirit as she started asking when we should go out. I gave her a time, date, and place and we settled on it. Throughout the week leading up to it I would hype her up, reminding her of the date and telling her things like she doesnt have to worry about paying, she can order whatever she liked, etc etc. On the eve of our date night, I messaged her saying that she didn't need to worry about her paying, I got her. But there was a slight problem, my car battery died on the way to get gas. Asked if she could lend me $45 to buy a new battery from the auto store nearby. Told her that we were still on for the date and that I would pay her back once I got paid the following day as I was using the remaining money to take her out. Honestly, I thought it was a really stupid attempt to get her to send me money. But to my incredible astonishment, she asked me for my cashapp info! I quickly created a new cashapp account and send her the info. Moments later I got the notification that $45 got sent to my account. I thanked her and told her I'll get the battery and meet her at the restaurant. She replied that she was so excited to meet me and how much fun we were going to have and the like. As soon as she said that, I blocked her number and dating profile. Meanwhile, I haven't even left the house or put clothes on.

Hours after our supposed meet up I get a call from an unknown number. I pick up and it's her. She cussing me out crying about how I stood her up, how could I do something like this to her, blah blah blah, then I drop the line, "'How could I do this to you?' I did this to you because you've already done it to me." She was confused and got a bit quiet. I told her that I was the guy she finessed $15 from months ago, and how stupid she was for not paying attention to my pics because I didn't look all that different from before. That's when she realized who I was and started cursing me the fuck out. I ended the call telling her to let it all out, it's good for you, and that's what she gets for finessing people. Also that I was changing my number regardless if she decides to continue reaching out. I felt satisfied, and celebrated playing Fortnite. Won 3 matches straight. Sweet, sweet revenge.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[cash-apps-limits]

How to Increase Cash App Limit: A Complete Guide for 2024

Cash App has certain restrictions that apply to your account when you sign up. These are lower than the Cash App daily limit you might need for larger payments. Unverified users, for example, are restricted to receiving and sending $1,000 per month. Cash App makes it easy to verify your account and increase your limits. Verifying your identity increases your sending limits and unlocks additional features such as the ability for you to sell Bitcoin, increase your ATM withdrawal limit, or even borrow money.

To verify your identity on Cash App, you need to share information such as your full name, birth date, and the last four digits from your Social Security Number (SSN). Additionally for further evaluation and account verification, you will also need to provide photo identification, proofs of address, income, or sources of funds. Cash App will inform you once your account is verified.  So, let’s begin and learn more about it.

What are the different kinds of Cash App Limits?

Cash App limits are based on account verification status. These include limits for sending, receiving, and withdrawing money, as well as limits at ATMs. Below mentioned are the different types of Cash App limits:

Cash App Sending Limit: For unverified users the Cash App daily sending limit is $250. However, this Cash App send limit can be increased by proving your identity. Simply provide Cash App with some basic information and follow the steps. The entire process could take four weeks.

Cash App Receiving Limit: You can only receive $1,000 per month with an unverified account. Verifying your account will remove this limit, allowing you unlimited money.

Cash App Withdrawal limit: Cash App limits also apply to ATM withdrawals and spending restrictions. For instance, Cash App limits daily withdrawals at ATMs to $300 and caps the total withdrawals per week at $1,000. These restrictions are displayed in your Cash App account.

How to Increase Your Cash App Limit?

Contact customer service to request an increase in your Cash App transfer limit. You will need to provide proof of identification, such as a passport or bank statement. Moreover, linking a bank account or debit card also results in higher limits.

Here is a step-by-step method on how to increase your Cash App limit:

Open the Cash App from your mobile device. Install the latest version to ensure a smooth process of verification.

Tap on the profile icon in the upper-right corner of Cash App's home screen. You will be taken to the Settings menu, where you can edit your account information.

Look for the 'Personal" option in your profile settings. You will need to enter your information here to verify your account.

Cash App asks you to provide the following information to verify your identity.

Your full legal name

Date of birth

Your Social Security Number (SSN) is the last four digits.

Submit the information for verification once you have entered all the required details.

Your sending limit will rise to $7,500 a week after successful verification. You will also receive an unlimited amount of money.

FAQ

How do I increase my Cash App sending limit?

You must first verify your identity. To do this, provide your full name, your date of birth and the last 4 digits of Social Security Number. Your Cash App sending limit after verification will increase to $7,500 once you have been verified.

What is the maximum amount I can send on Cash App after verification?

The maximum amount you can send on Cash App after verification is $7,500.

What are the Cash App ATM limits?

Cash App ATM limit is for Cash Card users. The daily ATM withdrawal cap is $310; the weekly limit of $1,000 and the monthly cap of $1,250.

How can I increase my Cash App borrow limit?

As you use Cash App more often, your borrowing limit will increase.

What is the Cash App age limit?

You must be 18 years of age to create an account with Cash App and use its features. This includes sending and receiving money as well as verifying the account.

[kotos-and-smiles]

Chika and Family Resemblance

I find the topic of if Chika resembles one of his parents and which one he does really interesting when compared to other family resemblances in the manga and how Chika has pointed them out. So I’m gonna massively overthink things for a sec. 

Like when Chika first met Chiharu he says “you really are alike, Houzuki.” 

Now, he’s only just met this woman, so I assume this is a comment based on looks and her general countenance being similar to Satowa’s. So he’s commenting both on looks and their actual connection to each other as people. And Chiharu and Satowa do look pretty alike as far as their faces and can act in similar ways even if they are quite different in others, so Chika picks up on that. It’s nice to see the connection between mother and daughter in this case. Two people that, while estranged, still resemble each other. (Edit: In the anime Chika does quite literally say “You really do resemble Hozuki.” And I just think it’d be really interesting to have a similar thing happen with Satowa and one of Chika’s parents, either in the positive, or in the negative saying that he doesn’t resemble them at all.)

Whereas when he learns that Momoya is Uzuki’s brother, he says “you don’t resemble him at all.” 

Again, I’m aware I’m probably reading too much into all this, but I take ‘resemble’ to mean not just appearance but that their personalities don’t resemble each other. Chika doesn’t see the same things that caused problems with him and Uzuki in Momoya. This statement is a comfort in the way that Chika states fully that just because Uzuki and Momoya are brothers does not mean he feels Momoya is the same as Uzuki. This was just the connection Momoya was worried about Chika seeing between them, and after only a moment Chika dispels them by saying this.

Anyway, so whether Chika looks like his mother or his father more, it’s interesting to think of the resemblance and what that means. Will they look alike but be completely different people (likely)? Or will there be deeper similarities and mannerisms that are similar? Even though Chika was 2 when his mom left, I still think it’d be cool if maybe there’s some mannerism of hers that he’s picked up and still does without realizing it’s like her, but that’s also banking on the assumption that she isn’t a complete bitch and has some redeeming qualities so some connection wouldn’t be bad. Also could tie in to Chika’s relationship with his dad in an interesting way if he always reminded him of Chika’s mom. And like, I wanna see what the rest of the club thinks of his parents and whether he resembles them or not. Like, what will Satowa think if she sees his mother or father? Will she recognize some part of Chika in them or will she find them very, very different? I want to know what she’d think.

Anyway, this is just a random thought I’ve been wanting to get out for a while.

[star-my]

berserk tiger - iii. interlocution

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Kim Seo-ah (OC)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 2.2k

CW: characters discuss their relationship (ew, emotions), author's questionable sense of humour leaks through, character is tipsy/has a hangover

A/N: No beta so feel free to point out typos or give concrit. Compliments are always nice. Moodboard photos are taken from Pinterest, edit is mine.

| Series Masterlist & Description | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Taglist (open): @bangtan-famiglia-net@bangtanwritershq @veronawrites

Seo-ah awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the melodic twittering floating in through the window opened a crack.

The heavy curtains were pulled, but a sliver of sunlight made its way through the slit in the middle, showcasing the fluff dancing in the air over her toes.

Covering a yawn, she got out of bed and stretched, noting the wrinkle-free blankets on the other half of the bed. Either Yoongi had made his half when he left or he’d never joined her in the first place. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The shower in the ensuite was large and had far too many spouts for one person, or even two. Lately, Seo-ah had taken to using soap when she washed her hair, figuring she could save the cost of hair products, so she hadn’t brought any with her. She helped herself to the ones on the ledge, inhaling the ginger and mint scent with a pleased hum.

Showered and dressed, she headed to the kitchen to make breakfast and found Yoongi and Jinah cleaning up the island together.

A hint of pink showed on his ears and across his cheeks, and Jinah had a far-too-familiar smugness about her. Seo-ah squeezed her eyes shut, then stepped forward with a cheery greeting.

Yoongi greeted her, seemingly relieved, and Jinah gave her nothing but a pleased smirk. “Your plate is under the dome on the table,” she nodded. “We debated saving you some since you’re such a layabed, but decided you do enough to merit a holiday, so I made you a bowl.”

Seo-ah considered calling her mischievous little sister out on her veiled statements but decided she wasn’t prepared to deal with what that would unleash.

“You could’ve woken me up,” she protested, pulling out a chair and taking the chopsticks Yoongi handed her with a smile.

“No, you deserve to sleep in, unnie. Besides, now I can catch up on knowing my brother-in-law!”

Seo-ah choked on her rice. Jinah was Agust D’s sister-in-law, and was calling him oppa. She needed a nap, or maybe more of last night’s whisky.

“I’m glad my two favourite people are getting along,” she managed.

Jinah smiled serenely and Yoongi made his escape. 

~~~

Seo-ah’s phone buzzed. A text from Yoongi.

Min Yoongi: Can you come to my office?

A moment later, another text popped up.

Min Yoongi: The one in my home, not downtown. It’s the second door on the right off the living room.

Yes, because Jinah had gotten the tour before her, busy as she was having a panic attack on the floor of her new closet, and now she had to pretend to know where everything was.

Kim Seoah: Okay, be there in a minute.

Jinah waved her goodbyes, heading off to school, which Hoseok was driving her to, and Seo-ah waited until the taillights disappeared.

She knocked lightly on the door twice.

“Come in.”

Yoongi’s office was neat and clean, with nothing superfluous about it. Shades of grey and black, with some red thrown in for colour. The carpet was a swirl of red and black, and she immediately diverted any further thoughts about the colour schemes.

Two chairs stood in front of his large wooden desk, one a soft wingback and the other an uncomfortable-looking metal. He nodded at the soft chair in a gesture to sit down, so she sat, folding her hands nervously over her knee.

Yoongi’s long fingers pushed a small rectangle across the clear space on his desk to her. “This is yours.”

She picked it up. It was a credit card. She glanced at him. 

“It’s connected to the account under your name at my bank. Use it whenever. I told you I’d pay you for the jobs you take for me, so I’ll automatically deposit your wages there.”

She opened her mouth to refuse it, then closed it again.. She’d literally married him for his money, why would she refuse it now that she was married? Besides, she would be earning it herself, with her acting challenges. She’d quit her job at the pawn shop, intending to get a job closer to her new home. She needed income somehow, for when their contract was over.

“Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to ask him about the sleeping situation, but remembered his flusteredness this morning with Jinah’s teasing, and thought the better of it. But they were married, and they should talk about it like the adults they were. But the sheer awkwardness! Asking your spouse if they were going to sleep with you, even just in the literal sense!

“Spit it out,” he said dryly, noticing her internal struggle.

He asked. Here goes nothing.  

“What were your thoughts about us sleeping together?”

The arm supporting his chin slipped off his chair’s armrest.

“It didn’t seem like you slept in our bed last night,” she mentioned, hoping to help the conversation along. Horror dawned on her. “Was I sleeping on your side?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to disturb you. We’re still somewhat strangers and I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with a man who’d just admitted he’s a criminal getting into bed with you.”

“We should have discussed this before we got married,” Seo-ah agreed, hoping her cheeks weren’t blushing as red as she felt. “And I apologise for anything my sister may have said this morning.”

“It’s alright. She reminds me of some of my men’s relationships with each other.”

“That’s good.”

“So…you want us to share a bed?”

“I think it would be the easiest thing to do to keep up the ruse, yes,” she said, praying that the blush covering her face would abate. “What if Jinah finds you sleeping on the couch one night, or wherever you slept?”

“I’ll just tell her you kicked me out because we argued,” Yoongi joked. “You have a point. As long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“I brought it up, didn’t I?”

He nodded his agreement at her point. Seo-ah had just felt the flames of awkward embarrassment fade when he turned back to her.

“About our physical relationship–we’ll be required to be somewhat tactile with each other, at least at the VIP events. Holding hands, my arm around your waist, et cetera. Will you be okay with that?”

Seo-ah let out her breath, uncertain if she was disappointed or not. “Yes, that will be fine. We’ll probably have to hug sometimes when Jinah catches us, she’ll find it weird if we never touch. I’m often touching her, just little things, you know? It’s important to me.”

“That will be fine. Is there anything else we need to settle?” “I don’t think so…oh, what are the most important things I should get when I go shopping later? The basics for surviving a society event I might get invited to?”

Yoongi frowned in thought, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure, but I know someone who will know.” Pulling out his phone, he texted someone, his thumbs flying over the keyboard.

“She’ll be here in five minutes.”

Seo-ah waited patiently as Yoongi worked in silence, glancing around the utilitarian office and out the half-window wall.

It afforded a lovely view of the porch and circular driveway, so she saw when a black car pulled in and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a blush-pink pantsuit and white stilettos, a white coat over her shoulders and a cherry-pink bag in hand.

A minute later she appeared in Yoongi’s doorway. “You called, boss?”

“You made it,” he said flatly. 

“Unfortunately for you,” she snipped, turning to a bewildered Seo-ah.

“Yah, be nice. Seo-ah, this is Kim Miran, my second-in-command’s wife. Miran, this is my wife, Seo-ah. She needs the basics for surviving elite society’s scrutiny.”

Miran hugged her quickly, stepping back to squeal in delight and clap her hands. 

“Yoongi, I take back every mean thing I said about you. Come on, Seo-ah, let’s shop until he’s broke!”

Seo-ah pulled back, looking to Yoongi for help. The traitor waved her off with a resigned smile. “I trust you to hold Miran in check, Seo-ah!”

~~~

The floorboard just outside their bedroom creaked, making Seo-ah wince as she opened the door. Sneaking in is fine as long as you don't have two dozen bags on your arms making your width impossible to quietly and efficiently move through doorways.

The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table revealed Yoongi sitting in bed, arms crossed as he stared her down like she was a bird and he a cat. Heh, he was rather catlike, wasn’t he. Imagine calling him a cat to his face. He’d probably be offended it wasn’t a lion or something.

She giggled at the thought, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Did Miran take you drinking?”

Seo-ah tried to raise her hand to pinch her fingers together, but they were full of bags. “Just a little,” she giggled. “I didn’t make you broke though.”

He sighed and got out of bed, revealing the fact that he was wearing nothing but boxers, something that made her hastily avert her eyes to the ceiling.

He chuckled at her preserving his innocence and took one armload of bags from her. The sudden change in balance made her tip into him, sending him sprawling on the floor. She landed on him with an oof, all the air blown out of her lungs.

He stared up at her, his petal-pink lips open in surprise. Seo-ah glanced back up at his round eyes. He really did look like a cat at that moment, and she couldn’t help the giggle that sneaked out.

Yoongi moved her off of him and stood up, letting her laugh on the floor as he hauled all of her now-spilled bags to the closet. “I’ll let you sort those out tomorrow,” he announced, coming out and standing over her as she still laughed.

“I’m glad to see you’re a giggly drunk and not a talkative drunk, but I imagine you’d prefer to giggle in bed with me since you were so concerned about it this morning.” He leaned down, grabbed her wrists to pull her up and hauled her over to the bed.

Seo-ah’s giggles stopped abruptly as he manhandled her between the covers, surprisingly gentle for a big bad mobster. She stared at the strands of hair that fell over his forehead. They looked soft. Was it his spicy shampoo?

The hand that he wasn’t tucking under the sheet smoothed the loose hairs back. He paused and glanced up at her.

She ran her fingers through his hair again. It was as soft as it looked. She hoped her hair would be that soft if she kept using his shampoo. 

“Do you like this?” she asked, scarcely above a whisper. 

He nodded. She kept finger-combing it for several minutes, until he finally straightened.

“Good night, Seo-ah.”

~~~

The dull throbbing in her temples was the first thing Seo-ah noticed when she awoke. With a belaboured sigh, she pushed herself up against the headboard.

The glass of water on her nightstand caught her eye. It was still cool. She drank it in three gulps, her mouth drier than a desert.

Stepping into the closet after her shower, nothing but a towel around her, she saw all the bags stacked neatly in a row on her side as the previous night’s memories came back. With a groan, she stepped past them to pull on some old, comfy clothes before facing her husband.

Really? Petting his hair like the cat Drunk Seo-ah was reminded of? Shivering with cringe, she stepped into the kitchen. It was empty today, with her meal again under the metal dome keeping the dishes warm. The bowl of hangover soup was the first thing she reached for.

Once her dishes were washed and put away, she headed to Yoongi’s office.

“Come in.”

She peeked in cautiously.

“Good morning, Seo-ah.”

“Good morning, Yoongi. I’m sorry about last night, if I made you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s fine,” he brushed it off. “It’s good you got along well with Miran. She can introduce you to people in society more naturally than I can. And she’ll be a good friend, in general. I’m sure she and her husband suspect something, but no one in my ranks can know that we’re looking for rats. Just…be careful what you say.”

Seo-ah nodded. “I’ll do that. And don’t worry about last night. I was able to spill our story and she didn’t sense anything off about it.”

“Good job. Did you get everything you needed, or will you be going out again today?”

Seo-ah thought about it. “Almost everything. I’ll just be out for a couple hours if Miran is free now.”

“Alright, be safe. When you get back, we should discuss bodyguards.”

“Okay. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

He waved her off and she texted her new friend.

Kim Seoah: I thought of something I need to shop for

Kim Miran: Say less

Kim Miran: Be there in ten!