#i could go into how their agreement actually does meet the legal definition of a contract

[kaurwreck]

Atsushi is implicitly agreeing to undergo the parallel lesson, though. He doesn't tell Akutagawa he'll allow Akutagawa to kill him in six months. He offers him a fight through which Akutagawa should be able to recontextualize the relationship between strength and weakness. Atsushi, meanwhile, commits himself to shedding the ties that bind him and to work with Kunikida to mirror what he's asked of Akutagawa.

Even if Atsushi didn't tell Akutagawa how he would go about training with Kunikida, Akutagawa understands the wager in the context in which it's offered, which is after their learning the others' critical failures of ego through the fight against Ivan. Atsushi cannot, as he is, provide Akutagawa what he's promised; if he weren't committing himself to the same ego death he's asking of Akutagawa, the promise would be meaningless.

Akutagawa trusts that it's not; he has no reason not to trust Atsushi's conviction, based on what he knows about Atsushi and Dazai's faith in Atsushi.

And then we quite literally see him doing the thing he implicitly committed to doing when he made the deal with Akutagawa. Kunikida even lays out the imbalance that Atsushi has to overcome for us, in complete parallel to Akutagawa's overreliance on hyperviolence.

Atsushi knows what the relationship between strength and weakness should be, but he can't access it in himself yet. That is what he offers Akutagawa: that he'll figure it out in himself in time to realize it in Akutagawa.

The terms of the six month deal are so funny to me because only Akutagawa agreed to give up something. He’s gone on a whole arc about learning the lesson Atsushi wanted to teach him.

Atsushi hasn’t done shit.

He went oh you wanna kill me? Fine but you’re gonna have to work for it. And that’s it, Akutagawa has to fundamentally change who he is and Atsushi just has to survive for the next six months.

And honestly respect for Atsushi. He said I don’t have to give up shit this is all on you. And Akutagawa didn’t object to it at all.

[themastaralex]

Your heart and soul is mine (and mine are yours) - Chap 2

Chap summary: The first thing to know about being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is how to control your CE, from there it's just basic manipulation. And also meeting your nephew/not really nephew Megumi Fushiguro.

notes: I'm probably not gonna upload for a solid month after this chapter, or maybe after the 3rd chapter's done idk. maki and the gang pull up in the next chapter, and GODDAMN, she is RUDE. but its funny

she's gonna be like that probably until before yuta pulls up once we get to the jjk0 storyline- another thing to note is that since jjh is a year round school, they likely start school in may because they have a summer uniform, winter uniform, blah blah, you get it

After that first very impressionable meeting with your long-lost half-brother, he wasted no time in gaining guardianship over you.

He gained it rather quickly actually.

Even you were surprised as to how fast he gained it, but he has both connections, proof of his relation to you, and money to make it faster.

So after a month or two and him coming back every week, he could finally say he became your legal guardian, and he talked to both your aunt and you about moving to Japan with him.

Sure, you have no idea as to how to speak Japanese, but you'll go to school, learn there as he helps you as well.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you packed up most of your things and moved to Japan with him.

Tokyo, Japan. 

You don't want to be one of those people who acts all weird with it, but for the first few months of living there, you definitely did. Not to mention that Satoru never once mentioned Megumi and Tsumiki while he was talking all about Japan.

Your first meeting with Megumi wasn't too bad. The boy stayed pretty quiet the whole time.

“So.. Do you like comics?”

You tentatively ask, as he raises his head slightly, looking as if he's thinking about this.

“..yeah. The new 52 Batman comics are my favorites.” You grin, seeing the corner of Megumi’s lips turn up. It seems he's glad enough to have someone new in the house who likes comics.

“Awesome. I personally like the Civil War book that came out a long ass while ago. Cap dies, but I think that's fine. We need more permanent deaths in comics anyways.”

He nods his head in agreement, as you continue to talk about the 2006 Civil War comic.

‘She seems pretty cool.’

He's not going to say that out loud though. Megumi already kind of is starting to like you, and that's saying something. Maybe it's because you're very close to his age, or because you're not hounding him with questions on basically one of your first meetings.

“Anything else you like? ‘Cause I have a lot more I could talk about.”

You smile, and now Megumi can definitely tell you're related to Satoru. Both your tendencies to talk seem similar, even when you're clearly asking him if he'd like to talk more.

And he's glad for that. He's glad you're a little like Satoru, but not enough like him that you're unbearable to talk to or be next to.

Even then, Megumi contemplates your question for another few moments, thinking of something else he actually enjoys. His voice comes out a little quieter than normal, as he scratches his chin for a moment. 

“Well, I also like Iron Man. The movies are pretty cool. The Avengers movie was awesome too.”

Common interests make this bonding with Megumi easier than he would make it normally. He's quiet, sometimes unusually so, but that's fine by you. It's nice to have someone to share opinions with- Even if they're very opinionated like Megumi’s.

You're sure you can get along with Megumi quite easily.

——

A few days later, after Satoru comes back from his business trip, he sits you down to talk to you, one on one. In a serious tone, he speaks, sitting down at a table across from you.

“We need to talk.”

His hands are interlocked in front of him, as his face forms into a serious look. He's really trying not to smile at all.

It doesn't make you nervous per say, but it does make you narrow your eyes at him as you start to suspect something. Satoru isn't very good at being serious in these types of situations, so this is killing him.

“So, I'm sure you have no idea what I do when I leave, right?” He's referring to his “business trips”, so you nod your head. He seems to understand, and keeps talking. “I would guess so. Anyways, you don't know what Jujutsu is, do you?”

At this point, you just stare at him with a ‘Are you fucking stupid?’ look. Of course you have no idea what that is.

“What the fuck is “Jujutsu"? Fightin’ style?”

You narrow your eyes at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. You've only ever heard of Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, and those pretty much sound the same. That's probably what he's referring to, right?

“No, no, it's something else. It's kind of like super powers.” He watches you for a moment, watching you burst out into laughter shortly after his words.

Satoru's serious gaze doesn't falter, even when he already probably would've burst into laughter himself as well, but he wants to introduce you to this, because he can definitely sense a huge amount of cursed energy from your body. Especially a few months ago, when you were still reeling back from your mother's death.

“I want you to take this seriously.”

His words coupled with his tone makes you stop laughing, and instead pay heavy attention to his next words.

He’s never done anything to lose your trust, and he's certainly never lied to you (so far). So when he asks you to take him seriously, no matter the topic.

So after that, he starts yapping all about jujutsu, curses, the Jujutsu society, and the fact that because you have blood of the Gojo Clan in your veins, you have the extreme potential to be one of the strongest Sorcerers of this generation.

In all seriousness, you don't believe him for a good while. Until you try touching him to slap him (as a joke) and you can't touch him.

You can't touch him because of his Infinity. He explains it to you, both Infinity and his cursed technique: Limitless. Not just Limitless, but his Six Eyes technique.

He first explained that the Six Eyes and the Limitless come together in one sorcerer every 400 years. He’s an extremely rare case of a sorcerer: possessing two techniques in one brain. Then he explains it all a bit more in depth, then moves onto you. He’s not sure if you’re like him- in the sense that your eyes sense cursed energy better than a regular sorcerer would. But then again, he has noticed your narrowed eyes around both him and Megumi quite a lot. Your squinting eyes can only lead him to the assumption that you see cursed energy better, like he does.

He didn’t want that for you, but it’s too late now. At least now, Satoru can teach you how to control and harness your cursed energy- not to mention, give you his old high school glasses to help you with the overload of cursed energy, and just overall your eyes being sensitive to many forms of different things. Like him. 

——

And so, as soon as he got some time off and a safe spot to help you start to work on your jujutsu, he got right on it. Honestly, Megumi is slightly surprised that Satoru’s doing all of this, but he knows the man isn’t cold-hearted. Quite the opposite. Satoru took him in, so he knows firsthand how generous he can be, even if he’s a bit childish at times.

Right off the bat, he teaches you how to channel your cursed energy; how to not be wasteful with it, especially considering your overwhelming amount of it- from what he can tell, with his blindfold/glasses on or off. 

It’s not tough to learn it, but the hardest part is mastering it by repeating it over and over. All it is is using your negative emotions and channeling them into a layer of cursed energy over your body.

Over and over. Satoru had you practice channeling cursed energy into your fists, hitting him with his Infinity up, even if it did nothing. After all, it didn't do ‘nothing’. It helped you practice CE manipulation, and helped you control your emotions, especially your grief after your mother’s death.

“The body is the soul, and the soul is the body. If you don’t understand that, you don’t understand the basic principle of jujutsu.” He’s a good teacher when it comes to application and technique. After all, he’s been a jujutsu sorcerer ever since he could use his techniques. And you…

He didn’t even know what cursed technique you had until around a year after the initial start of your training. And when he found out what it was, he was absolutely thrilled. The technique itself was Special Grade 1, and with your mastery so far, how well you’ve exceeded on the minor missions Satoru sent you and Megumi on to test your skills, and the knowledge of jujutsu you have- even after only a year- you’re already definitely top tier Grade 1 material.

Not to mention your skills in martial arts; with boxing as your primary, Muay Thai for more power in the weaker areas, and karate for leg strikes.

As for your CT…

Cursed Technique: Time Dilation.

Your CT is one of the most powerful- but volatile- techniques. A user of Time Dilation hasn’t been heard of or seen since the Heian Era. Already, Satoru knows you’re a slight danger- or at least he knows that’s how the jujutsu higher-ups will see it.

With the power of your CT, you have the ability to slow time to almost a halt, and at your current mastery, only for around maybe 2-3 seconds per usage.

You have potential. Great potential. Just like him. 

Just like Satoru Gojo.

[delicrieux]

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”. 

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing.  word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie​:  y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!” 

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

queen rly went from  🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing. 

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.” 

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live 

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜 

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall. 

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets. 

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout. 

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times  u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

[boymeetsweevil]

Call me maybe

Grouping: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: ~6.59k

Warnings/Themes: Club meet-cute AU, 1% angst +99% suggestive fluff, (legal!) alcohol consumption, language, flirting anxiety(?)

Summary: It all started with a stupid drinking game...

A/N: this is the One Direction wattpad-style fanfic that's been haunting me for so long. beware of that and the fact that this is unedited hahaha...

“You know the rules, girls. Whoever wins this round of rock-paper-scissors is It.”

You and your three friends, warm and bubbly from 2 rounds of shots at this point in the evening, assume your battle stances and stick your hands into the center of your table. Four hands make a square over the scattered layer of empty decorative shot glasses from the bar in the club.

There’s an air of electric excitement that comes with this game, lovingly nicknamed Hunter-Gathering. Whoever is It gets a target and has to pursue that target in hopes of bringing ‘home’ free drinks for everyone the rest of the night. But no matter how attractive the target is, you can't ever bring them home.

“Wait, wait!” Lia chimes in. “I can’t be It this time. I did it twice already and my ass still hurts from the last time.”

Dani nods seriously. “Fair enough. That means the odds are upped for the rest of you.”

“So, we’re just gonna ignore that ass thing,” another friend, Alexa, looks around the table with confused eyes.

“Do you actually want me to give you the details?” Lia smiles slowly at her from across the table.

Alexa’s face brightens with her own smile, worry evaporated. “You know what? I don’t! Never mind.”

The game begins and somehow you find yourself the lone rock amongst two pairs of scissors. Alexa and Dani laugh with relief because they don’t have to put in any work tonight. You roll your eyes to the heavens and silently question your karma.

“Are you ready to pick your target?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Dani grins.

She steps forward and grabs a clean face mask out of her clutch bag and wraps it around your eyes, careful not to muss your makeup or hair. Three pairs of hands rest on your shoulders and you let them spin you lightly around a few times. Not enough to get you dizzy but just enough to make sure you don’t know what direction you’re facing anymore.

“Alright,” Dani’s voice sounds out over the music of the club. “Take your pick!”

You stick your hand out blindly and someone unties the makeshift blindfold. Everyone follows the line your hand makes all the way to a tall figure standing by the side of the bar.

He’s probably the most handsome man any of you have seen in a while. There's an intimidating aura emanating from him. You figure it's the understated all-black outfit complete with the heinously expensive watch he's wearing and the sheer height of him as he towers over people near him at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Dani whispers as you all take in the stranger’s face.

“We can finally get top shelf vodka,” Alexa pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Not bad,” Lia hums in appreciation.

“Okay, why is everyone acting like I bagged him already?” Your voice grows high with nerves. “I'm pretty sure I have, like, a 2% chance of interesting him."

“What are you so worried about?” Dani crosses her arms at you. “Just do whatever you did to get those history nerds to help you out that one time."

"This is not the same thing. Those guys parted their hair 90/10 unironically and thought Diva Cups are for when you don't want to hold your pee when you stand in line for roller coasters."

"You're kidding," Lia gasps. You wish you were.

"Well, just pretend he's one of them anyway." Dani suggests, "Every guy is the same."

You can't argue with that logic.

“I mean, I can try flirting with him, but he’s probably so used to people throwing themselves at him. I don’t think anything I do would, like, make a dent, you know?”

“Babe, no. No—listen to me, okay?” Alexa takes you by the shoulders and forces you around so you can see how serious she is.

“Tonight is the last free night of vacation. After tonight, we have less than a day to get over our hangovers, pack up the Airbnb, and then catch our 6am flight back home to start the spring term. Our last night of freedom lies in your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“No ‘but’s. Do you see yourself? Do you see your skin in this fresh white two piece? Have you seen how your tits look in this off the shoulder top? That poor man doesn’t stand a chance!”

Lia murmurs her agreement in the background and Dani mentions something about fearing for the guy's soul. You think about the freakishly good pictures you all took in the stylish club bathroom when you first arrived.

“I see your point.”

You turn back toward the bar to review your target. He sips from a dark green bottle as he looks around at the people on the dance floor between your table and the bar. As he continues to scan the room, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze even though your instincts are screaming at you to duck for cover. Surprisingly, he gives a small smile and raises his bottle in salute.

"See, you got the hardest part down already. Just fake the rest until you make it."

You chance a look back in his direction only to catch him staring in the direction of the table. When he catches your gaze again, he whips his head away, cheeks tinging pink under the soft yellow lighting at the bar.

Alexa cackles and starts detailing all the drinks she wants made with the top shelf vodka. Lia and Dani discuss leaving early to go back and clean up the apartment so it’s clean in case you break the rules and bring this guy back for the night.

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little fast?”

“Aren’t you moving a little slow,” Alexa counters.

“Hold on, Lex.” Dani turns to you. “You know you don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to, right? Hunter-Gathering is just a game, there's no pressure.”

For all their poking and teasing, you're reminded right then and there that your friends would never put you in a situation where they thought you were actually at any risk. The weight you felt on your shoulders lightens somewhat.

“No, no, I definitely still want to play, I just don’t want you guys to get your hopes up.”

“I believe in you.”

Lia bumps shoulders with you quietly. She’s not the most affectionate, so you know she really means it.

“I’ll do my best.”

You let them tweak you a little bit, fixing stray hairs and wiping away smeared lip gloss and hiking up your skirt, giving you their drink orders, before you grab your purse and phone and push in your stool.

When you finally make it to the bar, he’s in the same spot as you first found him in. He spots you once you get close enough and naturally makes room for you. You set your bag on the bar countertop before hopping up on the empty stool immediately in front of him. The movement causes your skirt to ride up even more and you’re glad you only let Lia hike it up one inch instead of three.

Dani's advice about treating this guy like any other scrub from school reverbs in the back of your head right as the nerves start to set in. With the guys in your art history class, your grade was on the line. There was no room for hesitation when you could barely draw a stick figure, much less write an essay analyzing what an old painting style could tell you about the dairy economy in a certain town like some of your classmates were doing. It was because you were desperate that you were suddenly able to transform into a femme fatale. It also helped that these guys quivered at any interaction with an adult woman.

Tonight's drinks are on the line, you tell yourself. As best you can, you try to trick yourself into entering the same mindset you were in when you would lay on the charm extra thick for the art history guys.

You let the corner of your mouth lift up in a coy smile while you survey the bar. The bartender is moving back and forth quickly to handle the high demand. A second later the girl next to you leaves her spot with a tray of 8 bright pink drinks, practically glowing in the dark. You wonder briefly if you should try to get a round of those for the table.

“—one of those before?”

His voice is deep and pleasant. When you give him a look over your shoulder, you have to suppress a gasp. Up close he's even more handsome. You really have your work cut out for you.

“What?"

"That neon pink drink," he nods back in the direction of the girl who'd taken the cotton candy pink drinks with her. "I was wondering if you'd tried them before."

“No, I haven’t,” you smile, letting your lips part slowly. His eyes dart from your painted eyes to the colored stretch of your mouth and then quickly back up. “Have you?”

“No. But I like to try new things.”

You purse your lips as if in thought, something you've seen other girls do while flirting with guys at school. “You must be pretty unpredictable, then.”

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He stammers a bit and nearly drops his beer bottle trying and failing to put it down. All the intimidation you felt coming from him earlier seems to have disappeared.

“I was just kidding.”

Like it has a mind of its own, your hand reaches out to rest on his arm reassuringly while you continue to laugh at him. His features clear up then and a relieved smile blooms on his face, bringing out an adorable dimple with it.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes with a good natured huff and steps into your touch.

“You seem kinda fun to tease.” You let your hand linger a little longer before finally pulling it back.

“It’s kinda fun. You're pretty good at it.”

Oddly enough, this isn't as difficult for you as you thought it was going to be. In fact, you find yourself naturally tilting your head and fixing him with an intrigued look from under your lashes. He takes the opportunity to look you over as well, a small smile on his lips.

The personal attention does make you a little nervous despite the fact that it’s positive. So you dig in your purse to avoid looking directly at him for too long and to give your hands something to do. You brush up against a tube of lip gloss, pull it out, and reapply some to your lips.

You look back at him when you realize he’s grown quiet, only to find him following the movements of the gloss brush tracing the curve of your lips, cheeks dusted pink and eyes half-closed like he's in some sort of trance.

Experimentally you press your lips together and then purse them to make sure the gloss is distributed evenly. The man doesn't blink once. Suddenly, all his expensive apparel and large stature aren’t so intimidating.

"Is there something on my face," you smirk.

He slow blinks down at your mouth twice before realizing you're speaking again. His eyes grow wide and he raises a ringed hand to rub at the back of his neck. The movement rustles the hair covering his ears, revealing their pink tips. Cute.

"Just looking."

You laugh a little at him again. He marvels at the way the club lighting dances around in your glossy smile.

"So, how come I've never seen you here before?"

"Well...it's the first time me and my friends have come here."

"I see." He pivots to face you and leans his closest elbow on the counter of the bar. "Are you guys new to the area?"

"You could say that, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t elaborate. Without looking away, he raises his hand to signal to the bartender that he wants another drink. When the bartender runs right over, you realize this guy actually might be a big deal. Silently you pull your card out of your wallet as the bartender makes their way over. You figure you’ll have to spend some money before you can really ask someone like him to buy drinks for your table.

"What'll it be,” the bartender asks.

"Two of those pink drinks please," he says and before you can place any order the bartender zooms away.

While the bartender starts preparing the drinks, you turn toward him.

"Who said I wanted the pink drink?"

He grins down at you, a dimple now popping up in each cheek. "Who said it's for you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's for me."

"And what makes you so sure?" He takes a step closer to you.

"Just a hunch," you hum before crossing your legs.

The white fabric of your skirt hikes up your thighs again with the movement. You smooth your palms over the soft material.

"Nice skirt."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I like it," he admits quietly.

"And the top?" You gesture toward the pair of straps on the matching tube top, manicured nails gliding over your décolletage. He wets his lips.

"The top too."

He reaches out one large hand to one of the straps that have fallen over your shoulder. The drag of his fingers against your bare arm as he fixes it makes you shiver. You lament the loss of contact when pulls his hand back.

The bartender arrives with your drinks then, startling the both of you out of the little staring competition that had spontaneously started. The pink drink seems to glow from within, topped with whipped cream and full of little round ice cubes made from some sort of darker rose syrup floating in the liquid like lava in a lava lamp. The color barely prepares you for the thick sweetness that floods your mouth on the first sip.

"Oh, that's kinda..."

He huffs a laugh around his own first swallow and nods in agreement.

"Not what you wanted?"

"It's just really sweet. You like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. But—"

The way he cuts himself off has you confused for a moment before he's reaching towards you cautiously. You're not too sure what's going on until you feel the pad of his thumb swipe over the corner of your lips carrying away some of the whipped topping from the drink. Your eyes widen when instead of wiping the cream on one of the cocktail napkins available on the counter he brings his thumb to his own lips. In a fraction of a second the cream is gone, but you're left feeling a rush of fluttering warmth on the side of your mouth and in the center of your chest.

"You think your friends would like these?” He slides his drink to the side so he can lean on his elbow and turn to you again. Now's your chance.

“Um, I don’t think this is really their style.”

“What is their style?”

You rattle off their drinks of choice, making sure to mention their favorite brands with a sigh. Of course, whenever you play this game, the brands can change depending on the budget of whoever’s buying. This time, you make sure to name drop as much as possible, per Alexa's request.

“Sounds like your friends really know what they like.”

“Yeah, they have really…unique tastes.” You falter a little under his amused stare. “But we don’t always drink that way. I mean, not every bar even carries all those to begin with.”

“That’s true.” He nods. “This bar has every single of them, though. Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yep,” you chirp. You’re not sure if you’re in trouble or not because he’s still smiling. He seems to be onto the game, but doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Well, it would be a shame not to welcome you all to the city. Get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hand on his arm again and squeeze for good measure. You don’t miss the way his large bicep flexes under your touch. After a beat, he brings his hand up to grasp yours and holds it while signaling to the bartender again. You give him a blindingly bright smile and he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

He asks the bartender to ‘take care’ of your table tonight on him, and you realize then that you’ve won the game. The victory isn't nearly as sweet as the pink drinks from earlier. The rules prohibit you from bringing him home or going over to his place. And even if it wasn't prohibited, your vacation is basically over.

“Where are you and your friends from?

You take his hand between yours and play with some of the rings on his fingers. They’re beautiful together in an eclectic way and you wonder if someone chose them for him.

“It’s a kind of small city, not like this one. It’s really just our university and then a few surrounding towns.”

“What made you guys move here then?"

"Oh, Right." You feel guilty. "Me and my friends are just here for vacation."

He blinks at you but takes the news in stride. "Well, if you want—I know the city pretty well since I have a place here—maybe I can give you a tour of the town later this week."

"I'd love that, I really would. But we're actually leaving tomorrow."

"For real?” His eyes grow wide and he looks down at your linked hands before looking over your face. You're shocked to see his features fall.

"Yeah, it sucks."

“Damn,” he smiles bittersweet at the floor. “I wish we’d bumped into each other sooner.”

“I absolutely agree," the sound of Alexa's voice rings loud in your ear.

“Uh, hello. Did you need me for something?" Your voice is high and tight as you fix her with an accusatory stare. You're not 100% positive, but it seemed like you and he were having a moment.

"No, babe, I just wanted to come over and show you my beautiful drink. I wanted to come show my gratitude to you both for making sure we have a good last night. The girls will appreciate that. Thank you, kind sir."

“Name’s Namjoon. And no need to thank me,” he smiles at the exchange between you two and sticks out his hand. Alexa daintily lays her hand in his and he lets out an incredulous laugh before playing along and raising it to his lips.

"What a gentleman," she coos before pinching lightly at the skin of your exposed back. It's a clear message just for you, telling you that there's about to be a change in plans. "What were you guys discussing?"

"I was actually about to offer up our booth. There's more than enough room for your table if you wanted to move. Me and my team—friends definitely wouldn't mind the company."

“You don’t have to do that!” You pipe up, suddenly shy. But it's quickly dashed away as Alexa pulls out her phone and opens up the groupchat.

"Let me just ask our friends if they’d like that."

You already know the answer, so you sigh quietly and gather up your card, phone, and purse. You can’t say you won’t miss the privacy from when it was just you and Namjoon, but you’re glad to be with your friends again as well.

The move from your little table to the VIP booth is lightning fast. By the time you get your own drink, Lia and Dani are already clutching their things and vibrating with excitement near the ropes leading to the VIP booth. A few of Namjoon’s friends are chatting with them from the other side of the ropes.

Once your group trickles in, you don't miss how they all arrange themselves in the booth so you're forced to sit on the end next to Namjoon with barely any space. The only options are to let one of your legs hang off the edge of the booth the whole time or sit practically half in his lap. Alexa winks at you over the first sip of her next very expensive drink.

Namjoon's friends are occupied by your friends re-telling some of the more exciting parts of the beginning of your vacation. Some story about how 'someone' lost their top while trying to jet ski. You send a weak glare to Lia as she tries to get them to guess just whose top it was. That's what you get for experimenting with spaghetti strings, you suppose.

"Do you guys like to dance," one of his friends says after a while of vibing to the music once the chatter cools down. Hoseok, you think his name was.

"Yes, definitely." Dani remarks while re-applying lip gloss. "You know who's a great dancer?"

"Who?" Hoseok looks around excitedly.

"She's gonna say me," you groan. "Which is not even true but let’s just all move down there already, no more 20 questions."

"Just one more," she pouts. "Namjoon, do you like to dance?"

He looks down at you once he's also out the booth, that little amused smile back on his lips.

"Well, it's not really part of my day job, but I don't mind it too much."

"What's your day job," you blurt out.

"I'm a...musician."

"A musician!" Alexa rushes over to you to link arms. "Did you hear that? Namjoon’s a musician."

"I don't recognize you," Lia says and Hoseok and another one of his friends burst into quiet laughter behind her.

"You definitely won't find Joon’s pics anywhere, that's for sure," one of his friends says. The rest of them dissolve into another fit of giggles.

The club lights hide the muted pink tinge his cheeks take on, and Namjoon leads the way to the dance-floor with a chagrined roll of his eyes.

"You think he's really a musician?” You whisper to Alexa and Lia. Dani is somewhere up ahead, already dancing.

"Maybe technically. Going off the way his friends keep laughing, he's probably, like, a failed SoundCloud rapper or something."

"No failed SoundCloud rapper wears Gucci like that," Lia motions with her chin to some piece of Namjoon’s outfit.

"That's true," you hum.

"Rich parents," Alexa says simply.

You and Lia consider it and then nod.

As you settle on the dance floor, you feel the rest of your nerves drift away. Lia comes over to take a selfie with you, and the two of you flirt with the camera until she's satisfied with the photos you've taken. She grabs your hand and makes a show of spinning you around and you figure that this is how the night will go before you stumble out around 2 or 3am and drunk pack for the flight home the next morning. You let her lead you back, further into the crowd before you bump into someone.

Namjoon's large hand comes to stabilize you at your waist and Lia acts like nothing happened before dancing away, phone light illuminating her sneaky smile.

"You good?" Namjoon's voice is soft in your ear.

"Y-yeah."

"You wanna dance, or should I let you go?"

Your friends shamelessly all look at the way he curves himself around you, all with their thumbs up in encouragement. You're reminded of the way you did the same a few nights prior when Dani was getting hit on by some cute guy at a different club.

At that time it felt fun hyping her up and watching her make a move, seeing how enamored this random guy was with your friend. Of course he is, you thought at the time, she's amazing. And you remember that this is probably what's driving them tonight as well with you and Namjoon.

You chance a look at him and realize that he's come to rest his cheek lightly near your temple, a soft look in his gaze as he awaits your answer.

"Sure, let's dance."

Namjoon was telling the truth when he said he wasn't all that into dancing. But he put in enough work to be able to follow you and meet you halfway while you were grinding on him to the music.

Even when you shyly stepped away after the first few dances to return to your squealing friends, you loosened up over time with more music and drinks and found yourself naturally ending up on him again. The first few songs turned into more and more and soon you were face-to-face, with his thigh wedged between yours and a heavy palm on your lower back guiding you to the beat.

You're not sure when you decided to abandon your friends and his, but at some point you did return to the booth under the guise of checking your phones. And you did check your phone first. But soon he was crowding you toward the wall by the booth and leaving you with no air of your own.

"You're really leaving tomorrow," he sighed into a bruise he was trying to leave near the hollow of your throat. "Or did you just say that because I was some creep at a bar."

"I never thought you were a creep."

He looks down at you with disbelief before getting distracted by your kiss-swollen lips.

"I mean it. I'm just a little shy sometimes."

"What do you have to be shy about when you look like this, huh?"

"Stop," you laugh lightly and look away from him.

He'd made a comment earlier about how much he liked the pristine white two piece you wore, but you'd been inching his hand up your skirt then. Now, one of his thumbs rubs an idle pattern just below the curve of your breast.

"No, but seriously. Are you actually leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The new term starts for us all in a few days."

"So, leave in a few days," Namjoon whines.

"That's not enough time to get ready for the term."

"But I'll be so alone without you."

He gives you an exaggerated pout that splits into a real smile when you snort at his stupid expression. He pulls you to him just a smidgen tighter then.

"Does this usually work with other girls?"

"I don't know. Never tried it with other girls," he frowns a little at you.

"Sure."

"You know me and the team almost went to Club BigHit last Saturday?"

"Oh, really? That's kinda funny." You try to imagine what might have happened if he'd come to the same club you went to earlier.

"Yeah," Namjoon's voice grows quiet. "If I hadn't gotten sick then we would have met last week."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You sure you can't miss a few days of the term?"

"Yes, I'm sure." You let out an exasperated laugh. "You can't really be this upset that an actual stranger is just passing through your life."

"No, I know. I just—," he lets his head fall forward until he's touching his forehead to yours. "It was like something clicked when I saw you. I feel like I need more time with you."

"Oh," your voice comes out a little breathier than you expected.

The same look that had flashed across his face when you first came up to him finally gets to rest on his features. You want to let him down gently because you really can't play catch up during the first week of school.

"Tell you what. I can't miss the beginning of the term but if you make a song with my name in it and it gets...say, 50,000 listens, I'll buy a ticket that same day and come meet you. Wherever you are."

He pins you with a look then, inquisitive and dark. His eyes scan your open expression for something, before whatever he finds passes the test. He stands up tall.

"And it just needs to have 50,000 listens?"

In your mind you were thinking it would be too lofty for a failed SoundCloud rapper, but something in his tone sounds like he's rising to the challenge and it makes you nervous. You spent a lot on this vacation, you can't afford to actually fly out so soon if he somehow managed to get the listens and call your bluff. Besides, targets are off limits.

"Um, actually make that 150,000. And it has to have my area code in it too." You rattle off the three digits to him and he quickly types your conditions into the notes app on his phone.

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I guess."

"Deal."

Namjoon pockets his phone and leans back into your space. Any worries you had clawing to the forefront of your mind vanish when he presses soft lips to yours once more.

A month passes.

You don't end up having a one-night-stand with Namjoon because it wouldn't be fair to your friends when they'd clicked with a target but didn't take them home. That and because Dani got sick on the dance floor from mixing strawberry daiquiri with one too many pink drinks. But you do pass on your full number after he very nearly begs you to give it to him while packing into a cab.

And then he never used it.

It's not that you were expecting much, but when a month passes with not so much as word from him, you figure he forgot about you and your little bet.

Then 2 months pass.

Even though you know that you only spent a fraction of a day with him, you can't help thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his pretty eyes and pretty words that made you think there was some sort of connection there. You realize after the first two weeks back that you don't have his number but by the time 2 months pass, you realize that was definitely on purpose.

4 months pass.

You're over it, swamped with end of term work like finals and grading and putting in hours at work. But every time your friends suggest a little fun and hooking you up with someone, every time someone asked for your number at a coffee shop, you said no. Because you're over it and you're busy and not at all disappointed for how hard you fell for the lies some failed SoundCloud rapper fed you on a vacation one time.

19 weeks pass.

You're all in Lia's apartment, basking in the first few days of the end of classes even if it means finals are a few days later. Alexa is playing her favorite playlist on the speakers and you're taking a break to get some coffee going in the small kitchenette.

While the coffee machine starts up you wander back to the main room. Alexa is leaning over to turn the music up, one of her favorite songs just now coming up.

"Who's this again," Dani pipes up from her spot on the couch. "It's that one guy's collab with the Bulletproof Girlscouts, right?"

"Yep," Alexa checks the song title before sighing. "This song is so old now."

"True, but it's my favorite one on the whole album."

"I guess it really has been two years since his last album, huh." Dani muses and then goes back to her practice problem set.

You try not to laugh at how cute Alexa looks sulking because her favorite artist hasn't put out any music in so long.

"Why don't you just play his new stuff," Lia says.

"He's on indefinite hiatus. This is as new as it gets."

Lia picks up her own phone, showing it to the group.

"He released a new single this morning."

"What!"

Alexa scrambles from her seat to grab her headphones and jam them into her phone. You all know how she gets about her music and let her have a moment to soak up the new song while you get up to check on the coffee.

It takes a few minutes to get cups out and put everything together since everyone has different tastes, so you're in the middle of pouring creamer when you hear a chorus of screams.

"Why are we screaming?"

You rush into the main room again only to be bombarded with music from the speaker, this time turned up as high as it can go. What must be the new song comes through the speaker, the bass vibrating on the ground as the speaker pumps.

"Okay, yes, new song. It's good but I don't get—"

"Just listen to the fucking bridge," Dani's voice comes out incredibly shrill as she cuts you off.

The beat surges for the bridge and suddenly the lyrics turn into the artist growling about some girl he met at the club with the prettiest little white outfit he'd ever seen. Saying something that sounds oddly like your name, although you figure that can't be right. But then the next verse has your name in it too, and the next one, and the next one.

Your feet take you to where Alexa's phone is plugged in and you pick up the phone to look at the song. It's indeed a song by her favorite artist, a prolific and mysterious rapper who's never shown his face and who'd been on hiatus from making music. The song title is simple, a small string of numbers that look suspiciously like your area code.

When you let out a tiny gasp, your friends let out more excited shrieks. You ignore them in favor of thumbing through the music app to the artist's page where the new single lies at the top of his discography. To the right of all his songs are the stream counts. Most of his older songs have a few dozen million or so. This brand new one sits at a modest 4 million, but the numbers trickle up as the app updates them in real time.

"What the hell?"

"I know!" Alexa cries, tears shining in her eyes. "I can't believe we sat in a VIP booth with him and I didn't even recognize his stupid voice!"

"What are you gonna do," Dani smiles widely at your stunned face. "Are you gonna call him?"

"I don't have his number," you say simply. Your voice comes out monotone with shock.

"You didn't get his number?" Alexa starts crying for real.

"People are blowing my phone up about this," Lia says once the song ends and begins again on a loop. "You might want to turn off your phone. It's just a matter of time until people start snooping around."

"Right."

You grab your phone from your pocket. On instinct you scan through your socials one last time before turning it off. There's a startling number of texts, calls, emails, and notifications on your social media apps. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open up one of them only to find your name trending as the top hashtag. Clicking on it brings up a bunch of tweets both from fans raving about the new song and wondering who the muse is, to random accounts with identical names in the handle all claiming to be said muse.

"Oh my god, he tweeted!" Dani shoves her phone into your hands.

As of right now [2:38pm] we're at 5.76 million streams. That's more than 150,000...

"What does that mean," she asks you.

"It means...he wants me to fly out to see him. Today."

"Oh my god."

Alexa screams again and at this point you've lost count of how many that is. Lia gets out of her chair and tucks her chin over your shoulder to read the post herself.

"You need to go," Alexa shouts. "I'll help you pack, let's go."

"What about finals?"

"Are you—are you actually thinking of not going because of finals?"

"I mean—"

"If you want me die, just say that," she does something with her mouth that looks like a manic smile.

"What Lex means to say is that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm sure even the profs would understand."

You're not sure what to say. First of all, you still don't have his number. Second of all, you're not sure how to fight through all the other accounts claiming to be you to let him know you saw the song. Third, you don't even know where to fly to. Fourth—

A Twitter notification chimes from your phone and a deadly hush falls over everyone. You go to your DM inbox with shaking fingers only to find a message request from an unknown sender. When you open the request, it's from Namjoon's agency.

Good afternoon,

You are being contacted today because one of our artists wishes to meet you. If you consent to the meeting, please review the flight information and tentative itinerary below and respond with your address and contact information. Please also note that the travel plans are for today [MM/DD/YYYY], so your response at your earliest convenience would be much appreciated. If you would like to go but cannot make it today—

"Do you think they'll send a car or should I book her a ride to the airport now?" Dani turns to Alexa.

"They'll probably send one to make sure the schedule is followed."

"That's true but what about—"

Lia taps you on the shoulder, startling you out of your stupor.

"There's a convenience store two doors down. Whatever you buy we can put in one of my suitcases and you can just take that. There's probably not enough time to go all the way back to your place."

"I—yeah, okay."

7 hours later finds Alexa, Dani and Lia finished with studying for the night. The entertainment channel is playing on the TV and the three of them have their heads bent over their phones and laptops, refreshing all the major gossip sites for updates.

"Maybe she's not even there yet," Dani sighs when the page she just refreshed shows no new posts.

"Yeah, I mean we still don't even know where she is," Lia says while putting her laptop to sleep. "What if they made her sign an NDA?"

"Even if they did, she'd probably still tell us once she got there. She's probably just busy killing time on the plane."

"She's sleeping!" Alexa screams a second later.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"Check his instagram," is all she says before frantically typing a message to you about souvenirs.

Lia looks over at Dani's phone as she pulls up Namjoon's page. The rest of the layout is bare given his up until recent hiatus and the fact that he never posted any type of selfie. The video uploaded a mere 20 seconds ago undoes all the previous minimalism of the entire account.

The post isn't even of Namjoon. It's a black and white 5 second video of the top half of your naked back and shoulders, the rest of your body covered by the sheets. One of your arms is raised to cover your head with a pillow. The only sign of Namjoon is the arm that reaches out from the bottom of the frame, making it clear that he took the video himself. His hand reaches out to trace a heart over the skin of your shoulder blade. The caption reads:

Thanks for keeping your promise

[dameronology]

love in the time of p.t.a meetings {marcus moreno} - 2/5

summary: your kid has taken a liking to marcus moreno - and frankly, so have you {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of divorce & very brief mentions of his wife’s death 

i don’t normally update series this quickly but this was originally one imagine that reached about 11k words lmao so it’s all written, just being split up. i’ve also decided it’s gonna be 5 parts instead of 3, cos i reread the ending and realised i was not done by a longshot. enjoy!

- jazz

Mondays. You hated ‘em.

Everything just seemed so...amplified. The peace and relaxation of the weekend was over and everyone had to go back on the grind. The traffic always seemed worst, the clock seemed to tick backwards and you just wanted to be at home, in bed. After an incident involving the dog, a toaster and a small pan fire, you were already running twenty minutes late and you knew in your soul that your child’s shoes weren’t on the right feet. That, and also he was wearing a Chewbacca onesie to school. It had been a compromise. As in, he was refusing to go to school unless you let him wear the damn thing. It was a compromise. You’d lost. 

On the bright side, the past weekend had been the best you’d had in a long time. Jack had spent all of Saturday afternoon at the Heroics headquarters and he was so worn out, he’d slept through all of Sunday. Marcus Moreno must have a been a fucking wizard, because you’d been trying to tire the kid out for five years. You made a mental note to do something in return, though you sensed there was nothing on God’s green earth that could possibly amount to babysitting the world’s most exhausting child for six hours. You were allowed to say that, because Jack was your world’s most exhausting child and you wouldn’t have changed him for anything. 

‘New week, huh buddy?’ You glanced at Jack in your rear view mirror. He was sat on his booster seat, legs dangling back and forth and a power ranger action figure in his hand. ‘A fresh start.’

‘Can we listen to the song from Cars?’ Jack ignored your comment.

‘You gotta try and behave yourself this week. You’ve seen what happens to people who do follow the rules, right? They get to go work at the Heroics-’

‘- I wanna listen to the song from Cars!’

You wanted to have a deep conversation. Jack wanted to listen to Life Is A Highway. That was...actually, it was exactly how you’d expected that to go. It wasn’t that off of the time you were trying to explain your divorce to him and he’d interrupted you to demand that you put Toy Story on. 

‘Sure thing, kid.’ You rolled your eyes, reaching across to hand him on your phone. ‘D’you know how to spell it-’

Your sentence was cut off by the sound of guitars blaring from the speakers. At least he could work out Spotify.

By some miracle, you managed to make it the school with a few minutes to spare. Because most people had dropped their kids off earlier (see: on time), the lot was pretty empty. That meant you could once again dump your car without regard for the painted white lines -- who had time to park properly on a Monday morning? That was for people who had their shit together.

Leaping out the car, you almost cursed when you tripped over your heels. You didn’t have to wear them, but since you’d started working in a managerial role at your office, you figured it made you look a little more professional. And what was the harm in being a few inches taller? It made you feel powerful.

‘C’mon, J.’ You pulled open the back door, helping Jack leap out the car. 

‘You know, I’m starting to think you can’t park your car at all.’

‘Marcus!’ Jack practically flew out the car, his tiny body suddenly jolting with excitement. 

‘Morning, buddy.’ He replied; he then moved his brown eyes to gaze at you, offering a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, how you doing?’ You greeted him. ‘I don’t normally see you here in the mornings.’

‘Yeah, I normally drop Missy off at the front but it was one of those mornings, you know? She was taking a little more convincing than usual to go in.’

‘My kid is in a Wookiee onesie and backwards Thomas the Tank Engine shoes and you have the audacity to ask me if I know those mornings? I am those mornings.’ You replied.

Marcus chuckled. ‘I think it’s a look. I especially like the Lightning McQueen sunglasses.’

‘Do you have a super suit?’ Jack asked. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘C’mon, Jack. You’ve already managed to get a tour of the HQ.’ You ruffled his hair. ‘And we gotta get going to school.’

‘But I wanna ask more questions.’ He muttered. ‘I have over a hundred.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But school is more important.’

‘I don’t wanna go anymore.’

‘I let you wear the onesie. That was our agreement, remember?’

‘All good superheroes have to get an education.’ Marcus reasoned. ‘And if you go in, maybe I can show you my suit at some point?’

'Okay!’ Jack grinned. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a quick hug, before peering up at you with a toothy smile. ‘See ya later!’

He turned on his heel and ripped his backpack from your hand, suddenly speeding up the path and towards school. Had...had that just happened? For once in your life, had you not had to wrench him from the car and wrestle him through the school gates? Move aside, Harry Potter, because Marcus Moreno was the new wizard in town. You might have been a little jealous that he was so good with your son but at the same time, it made you like him even more. He was the first parent at the school that had leant into Jack’s wild tendencies. And, whilst you tried not to think too much about it, even his own dad had struggled to do that. It made your heart warm a little. 

‘You are seriously my favourite person.’ You chimed, leaning back against your car. 

‘Kids with character are way more fun than kids who are well-behaved.’ Marcus replied.

‘I spent forty-five minutes scraping string cheese out the USB port of my computer yesterday, but sure.’ 

He chuckled. ‘No, I’m serious. I don’t encourage Missy to misbehave but she does get herself into some situations. I choose to see it as a testament to her intelligence rather than disobedience.’

‘I refuse to believe for a second that Missy ever misbehaves.’ You shot back back. ‘She seems so well-behaved.’

‘What you see in the parking lot is not a reflection of our whole lives.’ He reminded you.

‘Right, because despite appearances, I’m actually a very put together parent.’ You snorted. ‘But I get what you mean.’

‘I gotta get to work now, but it was good to see you.’ Marcus pulled his car keys out his pocket. ‘I was serious about that suit thing, by the way. He saw my katanas on Saturday.’

‘Katanas?’ You spluttered. ‘My kid managed to start a fire last week out of nothing and you want to give him katanas?!’

‘Maybe I can show you how to use them.’ He flashed you a smile. ‘And then you can pass on the knowledge.’ 

‘That’s probably an even worse idea.’ You shook your head with a laugh, pulling open your car door. ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘You as well. Have a good day, pretty lady.’

--

Did you stop thinking about your exchange at any point during the day? Absolutely not. In fact, you’d already written an email to the local deed poll office to change your legal name to Pretty Lady. 

No, but in all seriousness, you’d been a little giddy about it. Had he been flirting? That didn’t seem like a long shot. You got on well, you’d hung out a bit over the weekend and not to toot your own horn, but you were by no means bad looking. Tired and a little frazzled, sometimes? Yeah. But anyone would have been lucky to have you and you were doing a better job at recognising that, especially since your divorce. 

You were almost ecstatic when it got to 4PM and you hadn’t received a single call from Jack’s teachers. That meant that he had behaved, and what Marcus had said had worked. Because you worked past his finishing time, he usually went to the after-school club till you could come to collect him - it had been a lifesaver, especially since you couldn’t always leave early. He usually came home with some kind of weird arts and crafts. Last week, it had been an unidentifiable item made of dried macaroni and glitter. He’d placed it pridefully on the old fireplace in your lounge. 

After saying goodbye to your co-workers, you headed out the building. Your office was right in the city centre and not too far out from the school. It was a nice place to be; your lunch hour, when you could head out to a street cart and eat your food in the local park, was usually the highlight of your day. It was when you could exist just as you. When you were at work, you were in charge on your entire department. When you were home, you were a parent 24/7. That time to yourself was vital.

As you were heading to your car, your phone began to ring. Your heart almost jumped out your chest when you saw Marcus’ name - he hadn’t called you before, only texted to sort out the previous weekend’s plans with Jack. You quickly organised yourself (he couldn’t see you, dumb ass) and cleared your throat.

‘Hey, everything alright?’ You brightly greeted him.

‘Hey! Are you out of work now?’

‘Yeah, I’m literally just leaving. What’s up?’

‘Look, I hate to do this but I’ve had an emergency at work - superhero related, you don’t wanna know - and I’m not gonna be out for hours.’ Marcus sounded stressed. Yeah, I feel that you thought. ‘Would you be able to pick up Missy and possibly have her for a few hours? If not, that’s totally-’

‘- I’d be glad too!’ You interrupted him. ‘I owe you one anyways for the weekend. And this morning, actually.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’ He sounded surprised that you’d even imply it. ‘But I will definitely owe you for having Missy.’

‘Hey, it’s cool!’ You insisted. ‘Do you want me to drop her off at yours later?’

‘I can come and collect her if you text me your address?’

‘Perfect.’ You smiled. ‘I’ll see you later then?’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll text Missy to let her know to find your car instead of mine. I would ask for your plate number, but your car is...’

‘...bright red, covered in dents and hard to miss?’ You finished his sentence.

‘Exactly.’

You’d been in the same situation before; pulled between work and parenting, with Jack stuck at school and an important meeting that felt like it was never ending. It was hard to get a sitter on such short notice - or afford one, sometimes - and it was just another one of the million, stressful situations that single parenting could get you into. If you could help Marcus even a little bit, of course you were going to. You knew he’d do the same for you. Heck, he had done the same for you.

Jack and Missy were both chatty on the way home. Given that she was a little older than him, her conversational skills were strikingly better. It was nice to ask someone about their day and not get where are my Cheetos? as an answer. From what you gathered, she hated science class, enjoyed gym, and her favourite subject was lunch. That didn’t come as a surprise to you - her dad was a literal superhero and probably encouraged physical activity.

(You’d seen his arms, okay? They were more than enough to go on. I digress).

The only thing that made you wish you’d had a little more notice on having her for the evening was the state of your apartment. The place wasn’t bad; you’d lived there for the better part of eight years, and it was crammed with soft furniture and millions of blankets, as well as photos of you and Jack and his questionable art projects. It was just that you hadn’t done the dishes that morning, there was a mountain of shoes by the door and the pancakes from the previous night were still stuck on the roof.

Missy barely blinked an eye; the minute she saw your dog, she’d abandoned her bag and was playing with him. 

‘Hey buddy!’ She grinned. ‘What’s he called?’

‘That’s Oppy.’ You replied, hanging your jacket up. She didn’t need to know that it was short for Optimus Prime. No guesses on whose idea that had been. 

‘He’s so cute!’ Missy continued. ‘I’ve been asking dad for a dog for ages but he won’t budge.’

For some reason, that surprised you a little. Marcus might have been the leader of a super-hero team and a public figure, but you could tell he would do anything for his daughter. You knew because it was the same for you with Jack. He might have ruled your whole life but you would have hung the damn stars in the sky for him if he asked 

‘They’re a lot of work.’ You reasoned. ‘I have to wake up every morning at 6AM to make sure he gets a walk. Then there’s the matter of-’

‘- mum! Optimus Prime pooped in the bathroom!’

‘The matter of that.’ You murmured under your breath.

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. You fed the kids some leftover takeaway and between the dog and Netflix, they were easily entertained. Jack seemed to take a liking to Missy, which was good because it meant he wanted to sit with her the entire time instead of bouncing off the walls. She had the same patience as her dad, especially when he asked her a million questions about superheroes. It took her twenty minutes to convince him that Batman wasn’t her uncle, and a further fifteen to make him believe that she hadn’t met Captain America. 

Jack had asked you a few times about whether or not he would get siblings. Of course, it would be different to any interactions with Missy because he would have been the oldest, but it did get you thinking. You were finally in a place where you were moving past your former relationship and healing from the wounds. Time wasn’t much of an issue either - you’d had Jack when you were young and barely out of college. You couldn’t possibly imagine having any more kids right now, not when it was just the two of you, but in the future? You’d never rule out meeting somebody new. If anything, you were hopeful. Your first relationship had been your only one, and it had ended badly. You wanted to experience love for what it actually was, and not what you thought it was supposed to be. 

Not long after 7PM, there was a knock on your door. By that point, both Missy and Jack had passed out on the sofa with Star Wars playing quietly in the background. It had been her idea to watch it - she had good taste. Marcus had clearly done a good job.

‘Hey!’ You greeted him as you pulled open the front door. ‘Come in quick, it’s fucking freezing out there.’

‘Thank you.’ Marcus came inside, dusting a few snow flakes out his hair. ‘Seriously, I can’t say it enough-’

‘- it’s fine!’ You shook your head, offering him a smile. ‘Missy’s been great. She’s really chatty and it was nice to have a coherent conversation with someone that isn’t about Paw Patrol. But was everything at the office okay?’

He was quiet for a minute. ‘Yeah. We uh, we lost someone. A hero.’

‘Shit, man. I’m sorry.’ Your voice fell quiet. ‘You wanna come in? You look like you could probably take a moment.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! Missy and Jack are both asleep on the couch anyways.’ You pointed through to the living room. Marcus leant over to have a look, smiling slightly at the sight. 

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

He took a seat at the kitchen counter. Your old bar stools were a little old and wobbly, but Marcus didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he admired the place. It was cluttered as hell and filled with useless, old items - cook books you didn’t use, random magnets, assorted toys - but it was nice. His house always felt a little cold and clinical. He’d moved a lot over the course of Missy’s life and now that he was retired from the field, he’d sworn to her that their current house was going to be permanent. Whether or not it felt like home was another question entirely. 

‘I would offer you a drink but all I have is..’ you paused, opening the fridge. ‘Nesquik, vodka or apple juice.’

‘You know what? A Nesquik doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘I like your thinking, Moreno.’

After quickly fixing up the two drinks, you slid into the seat beside him and handed him one. You had never in a million years imagined a situation where Marcus Moreno would be in your kitchen drinking chocolate milk, but here we were. It had clearly been a long day for him and you had enough of those to last a lifetime, so you knew how it felt. Coming home after a day that had beat your ass into the ground and having to put on a brave face for your kids was difficult at best. 

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ You gently asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll be okay - it just always fucks me up a bit.’ Marcus murmured quietly. ‘Hits a little too close to home.’

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you knew what had happened to his wife. You knew why he’d retired, and why he and Missy had moved away from their original city six years ago.

‘Sorry, that was too deep-’

‘- it wasn’t!’ You quickly cut him off. ‘I’ve had random women come up to me at pick up time and say they’re sorry to hear about my divorce. People I don’t even know. So really, after that, nothing is too much.’ 

He smiled slightly. ‘They always say they’re sorry but why would you bring up a subject if you have to apologise for it?’

‘Exactly!’ You replied. ‘Especially when I’ve moved on. It’s been a year.’

‘It’s the same with me. Missy and I miss her everyday but we don’t mope about it. We just...we look back with fondness on the good memories we have. You can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past, no matter how much it sucks.’

‘That’s...that’s wise.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘S’pose that means I should take down the dartboard I have with my ex’s face on.’

‘From what I’ve heard, he seems like he should have more than a dart board.’ Marcus snorted - then he froze. ‘Wait, not that I’ve heard stuff, I mean...I don’t listen-’

‘- Marcus!’ You whacked his arm. ‘It’s fine. One of the other kid’s mums started telling me about the terrible divorce someone was going through but she realised she was gossiping to the one who was going through it.’

‘I don’t know how much of what I’ve been told is true, but it sounds like it was bad.’ His hand hovered over where yours was rested on the counter. 

‘The rumours pretty much get the gist of it.’ You replied. ‘But we were talking about your thing, so I don’t wanna take away from that.’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He finally moved his hand, fingers gently curling underneath yours to intertwine them. ‘If even half of the whispers are true, he sounds like an asshole. You and Jack both deserve better than that.’

Whatever people had said, it had sort of covered the gist of it. You’d married too young and had a kid too young - your ex had been a terrible husband and an even worst husband. He’d chastised Jack for being...well, being Jack. He’d stay out late with his friends, spend money on things neither of you needed and tried to make you take the blame for it all. After giving him a few too many chances, you’d finally reached breaking point and kicked him out. Filing for divorce and taking on being a single parent was single-handedly the hardest and bravest thing you’d ever had to do. In a way, you were glad you’d done it when Jack was still so young - he didn’t really understand any of it, even when you’d try to explain it in child friendly terms.

‘I think people judge me for it a little sometimes.’ You confessed. ‘They see me struggling but they know I made the choice to separate from him, like I brought it all on myself.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ Marcus plainly stated. ‘Parenthood isn’t a dependent thing based on whether or not you’re still married to the other parent. It’s unconditional and permanent.’

‘I should tell him that, but I also don’t want him back in our lives.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, but he doesn’t deserve Jack. He’s one of the best and brightest kids I’ve ever met.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad he doesn’t seem like a complete lunatic.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you either.’ Marcus continued. ‘Again, I might be out of place saying this but you are...you’re amazing. I was a wreck when I was suddenly on my own and you’re still holding everything together and working your ass off.’ 

‘You’ve noticed?’ You quirked an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, in passing.’ He admitted. ‘I remember I once saw you carrying three separate science projects at once and then Carol made a passing comment that you were on your own and...I just kinda admired you from afar.’

‘You, Marcus Moreno, admired me?’ You blinked at him in disbelief. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I wish I’d had my shit together half as much as you did when I lost Missy’s mum.’ 

‘But the difference is you didn’t have a choice in your situation. I chose to boot his dad out-’

‘- you gotta stop discrediting yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘And stop blaming yourself. You did what was right for your kid and that is the most admirable thing of all.’

‘You really think so?’

‘I know so.’

The conversation slowly drizzled away, leaving you two to just look at each other. It was hard to tear yourself away from his brown eyes - there was a lot going on behind them. Fear, pain, anguish, admiration. He was one of the most mind-blowingly impressive people you’d ever met; single dad, superhero, electric car owner. He probably didn’t have a mortgage too and that was kinda hot. You were none of those things and yet, here he was, with you, managing to connect on a level that you never had with anyone. Both of your situations were tough, but they’d brought you together. 

Marcus Moreno was pretty fucking fearless (came with the job, you figured), and he wasn’t afraid to make the first move. He slowly inched his head forward and in return, you gravitated towards him. Your lips met halfway in a soft kiss, his hands moving to firmly hold your waist as he pulled you closer.

You almost stumbled out your chair with the movement, but his grip on your hips meant you didn’t slip. Instead, he placed you up on the counter, standing up as he did. It took you a moment to adjust to the position, but with your legs resting on either side of his, you could reach forward and lean on him. You had one hand tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck -  you’d surprised yourself with that. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, but you weren’t as rusty as you thought. 

‘Oh my god, is the superhero gonna be my new dad?!’

Marcus suddenly jumped backwards at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was stood in the doorway, post-nap hair covered by a lopsided Chewbacca hood. His eyes were like dinner plates, even though he was grinning from ear to ear. 

‘Uh...’ you glanced between him and Marcus. ‘We were just...we were...’

‘I had something in my eye.’

‘He had something in his eye.’ You quickly agreed. ‘But now it’s out, so Marcus is gonna go home.’

He knew you didn’t mean it rudely - it was more of a desperation thing. The longer he stayed, the more questions Jack would come out with. Missy could have overheard too and that would have been twice as much to explain. So really, the sooner he got out, the better.

‘Yeah. I’ll uh, I’ll grab Missy.’ Marcus said, scratching the back of his head. ‘Thank you again for looking after her.’

‘You don’t need to keep thanking me.’ You shot back. 

He disappeared into the living room for a moment, reemerging with a sleeping Missy in his arms a moment later. Your eyes met again, and he gave you a soft smile.

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Yeah, sure.’  You nodded. ‘See you, Marcus.’

--

True to character, the next hour was spent being pelted with questions from your over-curious son. He didn’t shut up once when you were bathing him and he got even louder when you were reading him his best time story. On the bright side, you’d managed to get him to change out of his slightly manky Wookiee onesie and into a clean Buzz Lightyear one. Normally, you would have argued that he couldn’t live in pyjamas, but if it kept him quiet? It was a price you were willing to pay. 

‘Night, kiddo.’ You pressed a kiss to his forehead, switching on his nightlight. ‘Remember our deal, yeah? If I buy you a Happy Meal tomorrow, you won’t mention what you saw to any of your friends?’

‘You said library was bad.’

‘No, it’s bribery.’ You corrected him. ‘And do as I say, not as I do.’

‘Sounds bad, but okay.’ He sleepily murmured. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’ You stood up, flicking out his bedroom lights.

‘Wait, mum!’ Jack suddenly sat up, as though he’d remembered something. ‘You never said no.’

‘No to what, buddy?’

‘When I asked if the superhero was my new dad.’

Well, fuck. 

taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @lyanna-the-giantsbane @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles​ @bitchin-beskar​ @comphersjost​ {message me to be added!}

[popatochisssp]

Hello Poppy! I hope you slept well! Here is the reminder you requested to create a mob au hc post like the cowboy post. Have a wonderful day!

Thank you, it’s finally time! I’m gonna put it under a cut immediately because having twenty skeletons makes every post with all of them automatically a long one!

Full disclaimer-- none of the boys are bosses, that falls on the monarch(s) of their universes... but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own roles to play~

(Warnings: mentions of crime, drugs, violence, sex, brief sexism [probably not the way you’d think] and ableism, plus all the usual mob-tropes I may have forgotten to mention)

Sans (Undertale): He’s a...humble purveyor of items, quality goods produced economically in order to pass those savings on to the crafty consumer who might not want to pay full, exorbitant price for ‘name-brand’ luxuries... Yeah, he’s the ‘you wanna buy a watch?’ guy and he spends most of his days (strategically) wandering around the city looking for customers to hock knockoff, lookalike watches, wallets and bags to. The fuzz know him by name but can never seem to find anything to hold him on, so he’s mostly just a harmless nuisance to be shooed along elsewhere if there’s been any complaints. (He’s real good at making friendly conversation with the law enforcement and keeping all eyes on him, and frankly, if there were any real shady business going on somewhere nearby... well, the cops certainly wouldn’t know about it, too busy hustling him along down the street, now would they?)

Papyrus (Undertale): An upstanding citizen, unlike his brother who’s always in some little trouble with the law or other. He is gainfully employed at a fitness center, and he commutes there by car, because paid for his license to operate one and practiced his driving skills and saved up until he could afford a very beautiful, shiny car of his own! It’s a very nice vehicle...so nice, even, that he doesn’t like to drive it for...recreational outings with friends, in case the paint might get scuffed. That’s why his friends let him borrow their cars when they go out, and let him drive very fast (but safely!) all over the city, even at strange hours or by ‘suspicious’ locations. He’s certainly never seen anything suspicious going on, he just waits outside, and if he happens to keep a First Aid kit in his glove-box, that’s just taking precautions, isn’t it? Accidents happen, you know! (He’s the best getaway driver in town and he knows it, but plausible deniability--the less he ‘knows,’ the better.)

Sky (Underswap Sans): Just your average, ordinary businessman, running a nice little bar for average, ordinary folks of all kinds. Well... he co-owns the place with a buddy of his, Grillby, but Grillbz is a free spirit and a real man about town, so really most of the ‘running’  is down to him. And he loves it! So many people (monsters and humans) to meet and chat with and serve... human food and alcohol, of course. Monster food and alcohol isn’t legalized yet to serve to humans, and a black mark like that against his little establishment would be just awful. He adheres fully to the rules and regulations set forth by human governmental agencies, no magic in anything he passes across the counter, skeleton’s honor! ...Total bullshit, obviously-- he’s running a speakeasy for humans who want to partake in a little monster food or booze, because it’s not harmful to humans and that makes it an even stupider regulation than prohibition was. Grillby taught him most of the menu and cooks on the rare occasions he’s in, while Sky handles the liquid menu and keeps an eye-socket out for snitches and inspectors trying to catch him in the act. He’s never missed a rat yet.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He works at his brother’s place. In the back. Only part-time, though, Sky’s got it mostly buttoned up there, so Paps has a lot of leisure time to wander around the city, hit up his favorite joints, chat with friends--and strangers that can become friends, he’s a friendly sorta guy. And if he’s ever seen sharing a cigarette or two with one of those friends, of course it’ll be a totally normal tobacco cigarette, and no exchange of money or anything else incriminating about the interaction. ...Doggo is the one that does the deals, he’s got the Dog Treat supply and a client base that’s steadily starting to include humans--but since Dog Treats are classed as Monster Consumables and illegal to distribute to humans, in spite of being non-addictive, only mildly affective, and non-irritant to lungs, things get a little more convoluted. Paps hits up Doggo at Muffet’s (a wholly monster establishment) for the Dog Treats and a client list, ‘refurbishes’ the Treats to resemble cigarettes, and then meets up with anybody who prepaid for their order real casual-like to fence ‘em. He gets a little cut of the profits, and a discount when he’s picking up for pleasure instead of business--like a (slightly) more illegal girl scout cookie racket.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Him? He’s just an average joe in all respects. He’s got a little auto shop, spends his days tuning up cars and bikes and such as the like, and most evenings out having fun with anybody else who’s out looking to have a good time--food and drink and maybe a little gambling, but small games, low stakes, for charity, yanno? Nothing illegal, he’d freely assure anyone concerned about the law. Yep, he’s a perfectly normal, law-abiding citizen...as far as anyone can tell. If he does a little work on the side, when specifically requested to, by perhaps one of his monarchs or one of the parties they’d approved to ask for his...services... Well, he’s certainly too quick and clean about it to leave any hard evidence behind, and he’s always far away from...whatever may have happened...with too many witnesses all in agreement that he was there and couldn’t have been anywhere else, unless he could somehow make it across town in the blink of an eye. (His side-gig is as a hitman. He keeps his shortcut ability very tightly under wraps to make for perfect alibis, and takes his targets out with magic bullets which he can disappear afterwards. If he’s ever somehow implicated in anything, he’s happy to point out to the nice officers that he doesn’t even own a weapon. They’re free to look, but all they’ll find is a set of knuckledusters he keeps on his person, purely for protection--and look how shiny the brass is, never even been used, officers! Guess they’ve got nothing on him, after all...)

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A law-abiding citizen. He must be--surely one can’t get more law-abiding than a lawyer...right? He actually does keep his (lack of) nose clean, but studying the convoluted mess that is human law doesn’t leave time for much else--even when your studies are funded by royalty and you’re given everything you need to open up your own practice as soon as you’ve passed the bar. Still, his skill and knowledge in arguing the law is very valuable and his services are in high demand, so he’s well-compensated for his chosen career and lives his life outside of it both comfortably and legally. His clients...are innocent until proven guilty and it would be an extreme failing of his duty to give any of them anything less than his best in the courtroom, regardless of their character, their associations, and what they happen to have been accused of. (Yeah, he’s a mob lawyer, used almost exclusively by Asgore and Toriel to protect them and anyone they send to him and all of their collective...interests. He respects the law, but values justice above it, so in spite of having a lot of clients who are definitely criminals in one way or another, he has no trouble sleeping at night.)

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He’s an accountant, nothing more, nothing less. ...For Toriel, of course, so he’s paid well for his services. And he has quite a head for numbers and figures, so he plays the stock market and does quite well there, too, smart investments and reading the writing on the wall, and all that. It���s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his very healthy finances and his lavish lifestyle--fur coats, fine suits, fancy cars, shiny gold pocket-watches-- it’s all expensive and almost over the top, but hey, he is the money-man and all the numbers check out. It seems that he’s just very good at handling and investing his capital, it’s no wonder the monster-queen herself hired him on... (He is, of course, running several money laundering schemes at any given time, taking all the less-than-legally-obtained money earned by constituents of the [former] Empire and layering it through official channels to make it look legal in such a convoluted, complex web that it doesn’t raise any significant red flags. He’s got his claws in a lot of pies, and he takes what he needs off the top to live a little luxuriously, with Toriel’s knowledge and permission-- a perk for the necessary service he provides.) Whatever else may be true, it’s a simple fact that he’s very, very good at his job.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): With the lucrative career his brother has, the lucky SOB doesn’t have to work a day in his life if he doesn’t want to, but he’s using the safety net to pursue his passion in art. Subjective as it is, it’s hard to say if he’s really any good, but people seem to like what he produces well-enough--not a household name, but people passionate about the subject might recognize his work and his pieces sell with at least moderate success. For all that it’s probably not going to make him famous or rich(er than his brother), he’s dedicated to his craft and regularly makes bulk purchases of his supplies, canvas and reams of paper and paint and ink and the like, to keep up his steady work and art sales. He seems like an altogether normal and down-to-earth sort of guy, nothing suspicious about him at all. (He’s a counterfeiter and works in tandem with his brother--they even hit a Bureau together to lift a set of plates for the one and only active crime he was involved in--and his art is just a really good cover for why he needs so much ink and paper and other supplies on a regular basis. He does love and care about his art career, that part’s not fake, but he’s also got a good eye-socket for detail and steady hands to replicate it, and if fake human money that looks really real can help monsters, he doesn’t really see why he shouldn’t.)

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s...been through a lot. All monsters have, really, but he was hit kind of especially hard and... Whatever Gerson, or Undyne, or whoever’s running things now up on the Surface are getting involved in...he doesn’t really want any part of it. He gets regular stipends for some unspecified ‘service’ he performed for the Queen, Underground, and while no human (alive) knows what that was, it’s apparently enough to live off of relatively comfortably without being employed himself. He has a nice little place with his brother on the outskirts of the city and he lives there quietly, peacefully. He rarely goes into town, just the occasional walkabout, stopping at restaurants or scoping out the architecture. (Part of his one concession to being left out of whatever illegal, mob-type business may or may not be going on: he needs a good mental map of the city and at least a few landmarks that he’ll definitely remember, because he’s the emergency evac should...anything...go especially south. The house phone doesn’t ring too often in the middle of the night, but when it does, he needs to know where he needs to be, and quick.)

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s, ah... not involved in any ‘business’ either, but he does spend a little more time out of the house, at the local hospital. He was allowed to make a study of human medicine and become a nurse by Very Special Exception--mostly due to some friends (or at least one) in high places, and some very backwards human attitudes about parts that constitute a ‘man’ and how a skeleton without any parts could perhaps be allowed into nursing--and he’s proven himself a valuable member of staff and even made friends with all of his coworkers. He’s happy at his job, and with his life, and returns home to his quiet, peaceful house every night with a smile. (He has a go-bag ready by the phone for those late night calls, though, full of healing items and medical equipment he may have subtly nicked from the hospital, just so he has everything he needs to treat a monster or a friendly human that may have gotten hurt...somehow...and for reasons they have no need to specify, can’t risk going to a doctor.)

Ash (Undergloom Sans): Just a poor street musician...or at least, that’s what most people figure, ‘cause he doesn’t dress too well and the trombone he plays while sitting out on the sidewalk looks like it’s probably the nicest thing he owns. He gets a couple bucks from time to time, but rarely any second glances, and that... That works in his favor. You’d be surprised how much people talk about when they think nobody’s listening (or at least...nobody important) and he can pick up a lot of interesting information of what’s going on in the city just by setting up in the right spot and waiting for folks to talk business. He’s pretty quiet when he’s not tooting the ol’ horn and great at blending into the background, and that’s made him the guy to go to when you want to know something--like how much somebody else knows, or if there are any plans in place for say, a raid or a sting or some kind. (Law enforcement is the worst about keeping proprietary information ‘proprietary’ when they think their only audience is some nobody monster bum sleeping on a bench...) He’s also got something of a whole information network going on with the actual homeless people in the city, since he gives great tips about places who are hiring or somewhere to get a meal or a bed for the night and he always gives his earnings from busking to those who need it more than him. He’s paid for the service he provides and he’s got a home to go back to, it just seems right that the music-money goes to help somebody else.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a nanny for the Queen! Not too long ago, she might’ve opted to just stay home and look after her newly adopted child herself, while Asgore handled business with the humans, but... They’re freshly split now, and Toriel wants to be just as involved in things as Asgore as much as she wants to s l o w l y ease into being a full-time mother again. Yrus is the solution, already fond of little Frisk and a very warm and trustworthy soul who stayed bright even in the gloom of the Underground. He happily takes the job when asked and splits his time between supervising and caring for Frisk, and tutoring them in all the important subjects (math, history, magic, et cetera). He finds he has a passion for teaching and thinks he might go into that someday, when Frisk is older and Toriel has a little more time and confidence to no longer need him as a buffer. (Whatever it is, specifically, that takes up so much of Toriel’s time and keeps her out so late that he sometimes has to wait around well past Frisk’s bedtime for her to come back and ask after them... Yrus couldn’t fathom a guess and isn’t going to ask any questions. That would definitely be out of his scope as a simple child-minder and even if he knew anything, it would be an extreme violation of the family’s privacy for him to tell tales, which he’s happy to point out to anyone with a lot of questions for somebody so close to two of the Dreemurrs.)

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s on his brother’s payroll. It seemed like the best way to kill two birds with one stone: he’s a big, scary-looking wall of bone who isn’t well suited to a regular-joe sorta job, and his bro’s a very high-profile guy who needs somebody big and scary-looking to stand next to him and be a deterrent. Nepotism, maybe, but they’ve been looking after each other their whole lives already and it’s something Brick knows he can do--he’d do it for free, but if King thinks it’s better (and safer) to have it as his job description, he’s probably right, so Brick’ll take the paycheck for it. King’s also very likely the only one who could stop him if he...lost control...somewhere out and about, so sticking close to him makes Brick feel better and hey, maybe they’re actually killing three birds with this stone of an arrangement. Still, he mostly just goes about town with King, standing around and watching his back and staring people down when he needs to while his brother carries on with his conversations and business. He hardly ever has to do anymore than that...almost never. (One of his favorite places to go is a little hole-in-the-wall craft shop, where King always pretends to take longer than he needs so Brick can peruse the yarn and try to pick up a little sign language from the nice old deaf lady who owns the place.)

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Yes, yes, he’s very high profile--he did lead monsterkind for a time, getting everyone up to the Surface and settled there--but he’s since stepped down. He’s retired, and anything his successor may be involved in... surely, he couldn’t say. He and Toriel are barely in contact and the money he receives from her on the regular is a gift of goodwill, mostly for medical expenses (his leg, and his brother’s...well). All he does these days is collect for a charity, a pet project of his, Monster Reparations. Lots of people give such generous donations when he goes around to ask for them, maybe impressed a little by his fame, but he can’t feel too terribly about using it for such a worthy cause... (It’s a thinly veiled protection racket and the people and businesses who buy into it tend not to fall victim to ‘mysterious’ criminal activity. Toriel may be officially calling the shots now, but King, as the monster who put her back there, is in a very unique position of power in having her ear, an unofficial underboss totally off the books. Some ‘donate’ more than necessary when he comes collecting, hoping to earn preferential treatment, and sometimes they get it and sometimes they don’t--it’s entirely down to King’s opinion of them personally. ...The old woman who runs the craft store pays about half the going rate, and the immigrant who imports the miniature trees he likes gets a heavy discount, too. The deli-owner he overheard hurling discriminatory epithets at a customer, however, pays triple. You get the idea.)

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a researcher. Highly confidential, he’s sworn to secrecy and even mentioning that he’s being funded by Elder King Shroomba is pushing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to talk about. Still, he has his own facility, and several assistants, monster volunteers and sometimes human ones--but they have to sign papers swearing not to talk about what goes on in the lab, too. From what they are allowed to say, the gist is just that it didn’t seem like anything sinister was going on; not even a blood-draw... Merc seems pretty happy to leave at the end of every day, though, and whenever it comes up, he talks very fondly about being able to finish the project. (He’s researching DT, specifically how it can be used to enhance monster physiology and make them more resistant to damage from intent. Merc’s misadventure with DT destabilized him, but from 1HP he’s now more durable than ever, and his second attempt with his brother had less dramatic but still noticeable and successful results. The king wants that safety net for more monsters, especially ones who are on the front lines of...potentially less than legal dealings...who could really be at risk. Merc is reluctant, but with the stipulation of informed, willing volunteers for DT extraction and infusion, he can’t bring himself to turn down the resources and funding to research his own condition and bring the possibility of being normal again ever closer. He still has a hard time with the idea of ‘enhancing’ monsters, but the fact that it’s at least being done safely, willingly, and with a whole team behind it this time helps a lot.)

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): He’s in a wheelchair but not letting it keep him down, and he’s running a modest little newspaper stand on the corner--papers and magazines and cheap books--nothing all that special but boy, what an inspiration, good for him that he’s got a job and can run the place by himself! All kinds come and go from his stand, and sometimes he closes it up for a little bit in the middle of the day to take a...er...roll, with some people who must be friends of his, but he’s never gone too long, so nobody says anything to the poor guy about the inconvenience. He’s a dedicated businessman, or trying to be; won’t even let people help him with those heavy-looking boxes of deliveries he gets, and for a fella with no legs, he seems to be doing his best! (...The whole thing is a low-key smuggling operation and he is making bank off it. There’s a system of code-words in place related to the publications he sells for a ‘customer’ to indicate whether they’re buying or selling, and what--magic consumables, stolen/hot items, imported goods, the works--and where and when they want things to go down. There’s even hidden compartments in his custom-built wheelchair for some of the riskier stuff, because he knows no cop in their right mind would force a guy with no legs out of his chair just to search it with witnesses around. And that’s presuming any law enforcement were to even catch wise to his set-up, which he kind of doubts: he’s sly and subtle and even if he weren’t, he knows people see the chair before they see him. Why not take advantage of that?)

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He makes his living as a boxer, and a subsequent minor celebrity. Pretty much any match he’s in is an exhibition match--not just a monster, not just a little guy (...relatively), but a short skeleton monster who’s blind, wow! You don’t see that every day, that’s a spectacle! Plenty of ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s in the packed stands every night the sightless skeleton scrapper is in the ring and nobody can figure out how he bobs and weaves so well that he hardly ever gets hit. He loses some matches, that’s to be expected, even for a ‘normal’ fighter, but hey, people love an underdog story, so when he wins, it’s an uproar every time. (For his part, Pitch hates most of his ‘fans’ who think of him the same way they probably think of a silly little dog who learned a funny trick, but the fame in general, and the thrill of the fight... Those are enough to keep him in the ring. Just... maybe not quite enough to keep him fighting clean. He’s as dirty as sportsmen come and he and a few other monsters regularly play his own odds with the bookies: he’ll subtly use magic to cheat and stay in longer, or go down when he could easily keep fighting, whatever’s more profitable with the over/under from match to match. If he’s going to be a circus act doing what he loves, he may as well get hazard pay for his dignity... and y’know, a couple of idiots who think being able to fight is a ‘trick’ because you’re blind aren’t nearly so annoying when you’re being driven away from them in a luxury car, to your expensive house in the hills decked out with all the amenities.)

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s got a place he looks after, keeps things running. Just a small joint, nothing fancy, a little cabaret variety show type place--singing, dancing, drinks on tap, that kinda thing. After dark, some of the...performances... might get a little more risqué, stuff that titillates like burlesque and striptease, but rest assured, his permits are all in order and everything’s on the up and up. Nothing illegal whatsoever going on here, just a bit of singing and dancing and everybody having a good time. (Most of the performers are sex workers--monsters, but some humans too--and patrons can negotiate private shows or off-the-clock ‘meetings’ at their discretion. Nemo opts to not know too much of the details of what his dancers do when he’s not looking, for legal reasons, but he makes sure they have a safe place to do it, are paid for their services, and don’t have repeat problem-patrons if any slip through. Being one of the gentlemen running such an establishment in the city that doesn’t happen to touch or steal from or mistreat the performers, his place is the place to get hired if that’s your line of work. He’s mostly just happy to be able to provide the job security and the job safety for a group that really seems to catch a lot of hell up here on the Surface just for how they make their money.)

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He’s a busy guy, bouncing around from place to place, job to job... Being so scattered, you might think he’d be having money troubles by now, but while he may not be the type to stick with one thing and stay there for a good few years, nobody who knows him would say he’s unreliable--he’s the type of guy that you can give him a call anytime and if you need help, he’ll be right over, and he’ll get the job done well, too! Of course he lives with his fancypants brother, and the King and Queen probably spot him a loan or two now and then, since they’re friendly, so all in all, no one really wonders how he makes enough money to live so comfortably. The answer’s right there in their face...isn’t it? (Yes and no. He is the kind of guy you can call anytime to get a job done, and he will do it well, but the money he gets from Asgore and Toriel is less of a ‘loan’ and more of a ‘payment for services rendered.’ He’s a cleaner, the guy you call to make things go away, things that aren’t supposed to be there: stains, papers, weapons, evidence... He’ll get rid of it for you, and if you need a convincing coverup or an alibi for...whatever it is that you weren’t there doing, he’ll take care of that, too. If somebody’s calling him up for his special brand of help, they probably just want to put it all behind them and forget all about that nasty business. He’s happy to facilitate--after all, what are friends for?)

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he gets on well with the King and Queen. (They both feel like they’ve known the monarchs much longer than they actually have...somehow...) But in any case, unlike his brother, Aster is very well-organized and thoughtful, so he’s a natural choice as an...advisor, of sorts, when monsters surfaced and it was...decided that perhaps there would be some...activities and...ways of doing things that...should remain unknown to the humans. Not unknown to Aster: he keeps track of everything, reminding the monarchs of little details they may have forgotten, pointing out things they may not have noticed, making educated suggestions for courses of action with likely positive outcomes based on past experiences... He’s the linchpin between Asgore and Toriel that makes them terrifyingly more efficient than they would be without him, a consigliere-equivalent who certainly isn’t a boss himself, but he has the bosses’ trust and their ears and that makes him a person of great interest. But...no one can get anything useful out of him: he’s loyal, above all, and much as he values truth, he also realizes that perhaps not everyone deserves to know the full truth of everything, especially not those who might use that truth to bring some sort of harm or misfortune to his friends...or to monsterkind at large. ...And trying to directly seize his extensive notes on the private and personal business-doings of the Dreemurrs is an even more doomed endeavor--he writes them all in a strange jumble of symbols that no one’s ever seen, and the code-breakers never have it long enough to decipher anything useful before its back in his hands, reclaimed quite speedily after unlawful seizure of private property containing confidential information. Lots of well-meaning law enforcement have their sights set on him as some sort of criminal white whale, but the simile is all too accurate-- they’ll never catch him, and even if they do, there’ll be nothing to hold him on. He simply has too many friends (and family members) in very high, very useful places.

[panda-noosh]

Poor Little King {BotF Mini-Fic}

Words: 3.4k 

Summary: Takashi is ill, and you are determined to keep him in bed - meaning you have to take on the jobs he usually does himself. 

Genre: Fluff 

Notes: masterlist - well hello there everyone. 

+++

    Takashi groaned, rolling over as he attempted to bury his head in your skirts.

    Once again, you were forced to push the poor king away, folding your arms over your chest; you had work to get done. You had merely dropped by to check up on your ill husband before you were due to head out and, once again, get back to work with helping Coran sort through the trading agreements.

     Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but deny the slight flicker of disappointment that came with the realisation that you would have to leave Takashi like this. It had only been a few days since he had come down with the flu, and yet it was ripping him apart by the looks of things.

    “How are you feeling?” you asked, winding your fingers through his in your attempts to stop him grabbing onto your skirts again.

    He grunted into the pillow, answer enough for the question you had asked.

    “Oh, Takashi,” you tutted. “I wish I could do something to help.”

   “You can stay with me,” he suggested, voice muffled by the fabric covering his face.

    You smiled sadly, reaching down and gently running your fingers through his shock of black hair. A low grumble rumbled up from his chest at the sensation of your fingers brushing deep into his scalp, and you had to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from giggling.

    “I’m afraid I can’t,” you replied. Takashi frowned, finally turning his head to meet your eyes. “You’re ill. Takashi, but there’s still a kingdom to look after. Plus two children that need attention all the time.”

    “Coran and Esmay are fine,” he said. “I, on the other hand, am far from it. Which is why my lovely wife should-”

    “Oh, stop trying to charm me.” You swatted his back, to which he groaned and went back to burying his head in the pillow. “I’ll be back later on to make sure you’ve eaten, okay? You just stay bundled up and rest.”

    “I don’t sleep well without you beside me.”

    “You don’t have to sleep. Complete a crossword puzzle or something.”

    “Honestly, with how little you know of me, it’s amazing that we’ve been married for nearly six years.”

    You grinned, leaned down and pressed a gentle but risky kiss to the space just below his ear. He grumbled at the sensation, turned his head just enough so you could see the small and grateful smile that he had put on specifically for you.

    You smiled back, and with a heavy heart, span on your heel and exited the bedroom.

     You hated seeing him that way, so defenceless and weak. The illness had stemmed from a trip to Voltron he had taken with Coran Jr only a few days prior; apparently a bug had been going around during his trip, and it was only by the good grace of the Lions that Coran Jr hadn’t gotten the illness; it had instead went straight to Takashi.

    He had come home to you and Esmay Jr a few days later, sniffling, bones aching, barely able to hold himself upright. You had ordered him to bed almost immediately, despite his protestations and his insistence that he was fine. Anybody with two eyes and a bit of common sense could see that he was far from it, though.

    However, now that Takashi was bundled up in bed for the next few days, you had the added task of actually being Queen for a little while - a task which you did not see yourself being thrown into. Though you had legally been queen for a very long time now, the duties that came with the job were very rarely actually given to you - Takashi was aware that he had thrown you into the role of queen purely against your will, that you had absolutely zero knowledge of what it was like to run a kingdom. He had been nice enough to take the burden of royal life off of your shoulders, instead trying to make you as comfortable as possible.

    You were confident that you would be able to figure it all out in the end, though.

    You wandered into the office with your shoulders pulled back and chin held high; anything to radiate a confidence that you did not have. Coran Senior looked up when you entered, raised a ginger eyebrow as a smile of amusement pulled across his features; having been closer to you than a brother for the majority of your life, Coran could certainly tell when you were faking your emotions.

    You frowned at him.

    “Takashi hasn’t dropped dead yet, has he?” Coran asked, ignoring your faux confidence for now. You had no doubt in your mind that he would tease you for it later on.

    You sauntered up to his side and started shuffling through the trade contracts littering the table top. “Nope. He’s still kicking.” 

    “Kicking is a strong word,” said Coran. “Whenever I went to check on him, he was more rolling than anything else.”

    You hollowed your your cheeks, shaking your head slowly  “He doesn’t look like he’s getting any better.”

    “Because he isn’t letting himself get any better,” Coran pointed out, tossing a piece of paper onto your pile for later inspection. “He just complains all day and then goes to sleep. He isn’t even drinking the orange juice that Esmay told him to drink.”

    “He doesn’t like orange juice.”

    “Lions, my heart breaks for him.” Coran shot you a blank look. “I bet he likes having the flu even less.”

    “Well, yes, but-”

   “We’ve all got to make sacrifices. Honestly, the man is as stubborn as his father was.”

    You snorted, shaking your head despite your agreement to the statement. Akihiro had been a vile man, but he was still Takashi’s father at the end of the day - you would be a fool to claim that Takashi had gained absolutely nothing from his fathers side of the family - and the stubbornness was definitely that attribute.

    You and Coran continued working later than you had originally expected. Hunk had come in and asked if either of you wanted any food, but his offer was politely declined as the two of you got lost in a mountain of contracts that had long since started to jumble into one huge heap on the edge of the table; Takashi would have an aneurysm if he were to see the state the two of you had left it, him so tedious with his organisation.

    It was getting dark by the time Coran finally looked up and yawned. He glanced towards the clock in the corner, and his eyes immediately widened.

    “Oh, Lions!” he hissed. You started, hand clenching around the piece of paper in your hand with the suddenness of his exclamation.

    “What? What is it?” you demanded. He was bolt upright now, his papers thrown left right and centre as he struggled to remove his coat from the back of the chair he had previously been seated upon.

    He darted his eyes towards you. “I promised Thace I’d be home by dinner time.”

    You glanced at the clock; dinner time had long since passed.

    “Oh, right,” you said, calming down now that you were assured nothing was really wrong. “Well, get yourself off then. I’ll stay in here for a little bit longer.”

    Coran paused, his coat half on his body. You looked up at him, giving him what you hoped was a reassuring smile; you still had a fair bit to get done, and you weren’t prepared to leave it all until the morning. You had promised Takashi that you would have everything under control whilst he took his bed rest, and you were determined to keep that promise.

    “Y/N,” Coran said gruffly. “It’s nearly ten o clock at night. You need to go to bed and check on your husband.”

   You waved a dismissive hand. “He’s fine. He’s either reading to Coran and Esmay right now, or he’s asleep. Either way, I’m perfectly fine staying in here for another few hours.”

    It was clear in his hesitation that he was not fully prepared to leave you here on your own, but he had a husband to get home to, a family that you were well aware would always have his attention first and foremost.

    Once again, you waved a dismissive hand. “I promise you, Coran, I’ll get some sleep later on. I just want to finish a bit more of this and then I’ll go to bed.”

    Although he did not believe you, he left the room nonetheless. After giving you a comforting peck on the cheek and a final warning glare, he sauntered off and disappeared for the night, leaving you to your own devices.

    You would be lying to claim you weren’t exhausted. You had been up at six am that same morning, seeing to Esmay who had decided to climb up the bed sheets to check on her father, bright and early. She had recently turned two, and the phrase Terrible Two’s was really being proven in the way she refused to sit still now that her legs were strong enough to hold her up, now that she had finally figured out that she could indeed stand up and scatter anywhere she wanted to.

     But you refused to leave just yet; the work would be finished at the end of the night, and then you could curl up next to your ill husband and get some well-needed rest. But until then, you had duties to see to and a kingdom to care for.

    All on your own.

    +++

    You weren’t entirely sure what time it was. In all honesty, you weren’t even sure who was awake anymore. The inhabitants outside of the office had long since gone quiet; you could no longer hear the scuttling of maids outside the door, the happy humming of the cooks as they packed up the kitchen for the night. The outside world had seemingly gone silent, though you couldn’t quite complain. It gave you more room to concentrate on the very, very tedious task of filing away the trade agreements you had just read through.

    They were stacked in their hundreds, surrounding you in messy heaps on the desk. You had to read through each of them, label them with what kingdom they had come from, and then file them away into their appropriate place. 

     You couldn’t quite understand how Takashi had done this so quickly in the past.

    You grunted, slumping against the desk once and for all. Your vision was starting to go a little blurry, and you could barely keep your head up, let alone stand to read the papers around you. You closed your eyes for only a minute, allowing yourself that moment of solice until you would force yourself to get back to it and finish the job you had been assigned. If Takashi could do it-

    “Mummy?”

    Your eyes snapped open, motherly instinct immediately driving the exhaustion from your body. You hastily stood up, peeked your head over the desk towards the door where tiny little Esmay popped her own head of large black curls round the doorway.

    Your heart immediately lightened at the sight of her, and you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face.

    “I’m here, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

    She slowly crept in, still teetering slightly but managing to close the door and clamber towards you nonetheless. You sat back down on the seat behind you, held your arms out just in time to catch her and scoop her up onto your knee. There, she nuzzled her head into your neck and started sucking deftly on her thumb.

    “Are you alright, Esmay?” you repeated softly.

   “Daddy’s ill,” she replied.

    You stiffened. “Yes, he is. Have you seen him today?”

    She shook her head. “Uncle Thace said me and Coran would get sick if we went and saw him, so we’ve stayed away. But I miss him, Mummy. I miss you, too.” She looked up then, grey eyes so like her fathers. “You look tired, Mummy.”

   You pursed your lips; coming from any other person, and perhaps you would have grown hostile. But Esmay was definitely telling the truth, and you knew that much simply from the drag your body was currently experiencing.

    You reached up and awkwardly patted down your hair, which was growing frazzled with the growing heat in the room.

    “So do you, baby,” you replied. “It’s late, you know. You shouldn’t be out of bed at this time.”

    “But you’re out of bed,” she shot back.

    You chuckled. “Well, i can’t argue with that. But you’re much younger than I am, which means you need all the rest you can get.” Slowly, you set her back down on the floor. She teetered on her heels, giggled when she finally caught her balance. “You go off to bed and I’ll come down and see you later on to make sure you’re asleep, okay? I’ll be in here if you need me - tell your brother that, as well.”

   Esmay nodded vigorously, overjoyed with the idea of having a task to fulfill. You watched as she darted towards the door, flung it open and fled the room, yelling out her brothers name as she did so. You chuckled, closed the door behind her and got back to your work.

    The productivity did not last for long, however, before the door was creaking open yet again. You sat still, waiting for the telltale name of “Mummy?” being called out into the darkness, but it didn’t come. 

    You frowned, glanced over the stack of papers - you didn’t need to stand up to see who was standing in the doorway, though. Not whenever he towered over the desk, leaning against the door frame with a frown pulling on his face.

    Your eyes widened and you hastily stood up. “Takashi! What are you doing out of bed?”

    “I could be asking you the same thing,” he replied, kicking the door quietly closed behind him. “It’s nearly one in the morning, my love. You should be in bed.”

    “So should you,” you hissed, completely hysterical that your ill husband had decided to risk his health, yet again, to come and check on you. “Oh, Takashi, what are you doing? How are you ever going to get better if you refuse to rest?”

    He raised a brow down at you when you finally managed to clamber over the array of files littered beside the desk. You grabbed onto his arm, attempted to pull him towards the door, but he was much stronger than you and the attempt was fruitless at the end of the day.

    You sighed in defeat, slumping against the wall and glaring at him through your eyelids. “You are a pain in the backside.”

    He didn’t grin like he usually did, but merely continued frowning. “Esmay came in and told me that you were still working in the office. She even added on that Mummy looked particularly tired.”

    You pursed your lips. “Well, you know how two year olds get. Exaggerating everything and -”

    “She most definitely was not exaggerating.” Takashi reached an arm out, inviting you into his embrace. Part of you wanted to pull away, to walk back to your seat and get stuck in the paperwork again - you had so little left to do. Another few hours would see you finished.

    But when it was a matter involving Takashi, you found yourself unable to resist. And so, you stepped forward and hugged him round the middle, him wrapping his arm around your back and gently rubbing his fingertips along your spine in that way that always managed to send shivers coursing through your entire body.

    “You don’t have to get all of this done in a day, you know,” he mumbled, lips pressing into your hair. 

    You cuddled closer to his warmth, inhaling the scent of cough medicine which was strongly radiating off of him right now. “I want to. Then you don’t have to do it later on.”

    He chuckled, the noise vibrating in his chest. “You do realise that it’s my job, don’t you? I’ve been doing it for a good number of years by now.” 

   “But you’re ill, and I-”

   “And I’m extremely grateful for your help, but I’d much rather have a wife who is well rested and healthy than a free schedule.” He pulled away then, keeping one arm on the small of your back as if afraid you would scatter back behind the desk if he let go.

    You looked up into his grey eyes, a slight pout on your face; you were disappointed. You had wanted to get things finished for him, to clear his schedule so he could rest up without worrying about the tasks awaiting for him when he was finally at full health again. Even looking at him now, his grey eyes were sunken with illness and his skin was pale, his black hair sticking up from where he had laid funny on the pillows; he didn’t look like himself. 

      “I know I say this all the time,” he whispered suddenly. “But I truly am confused as to how I got so lucky with finding you. And then finding you again.”

    You closed your eyes, laughing breathily at the memories of your and Takashi’s extremely wild love story - how you had gone through a forbidden romance for a while, before you were exiled from the very country you now ruled over. You had broken the law to come and see Takashi be crowned king, only for him to find you and wed you then and there.

     “I think I’m the lucky one,” you replied. “I could have easily been imprisoned on the day of your coronation.”

    He scoffed. “You think I’d allow that to happen?”

    “I don’t think the kingdom would have given you much choice.”

   He shook his head slowly, continuing to stare down at you as if you were the stars and the moon and he was holding you in his hands so tight and safe. You felt safe, tucked up against him despite the heaving of his chest and the slight rattle to his breathing, the stuffiness in his voice.  

     He sighed and leaned forward, pressing dry lips to your forehead. “I don’t want to get you sick. Just come to bed so I don’t have to drag you there myself.”

    You closed your eyes, leaning your head on his chest. “I only have a few more-”

    “Are you going to make me drag you?”

    “Takashi, if you-”

    “Well, if you insist on being stubborn.”

    Your eyes snapped open, panic darting through your system as Takashi immediately swept his hand by your knees and scooped you up bridal style. He grunted with the effort, his weakened body straining, but he still managed to pull the door open and start down the hallways towards your bedroom.

    If it weren’t for the sleeping children in the other room, you would have been making a fuss. Instead, you had no choice but to wrap your arms around Takashi’s neck, whispering curse words in his ears that did nothing but make him grin and chuckle.

    He kicked open the door to your shared bedroom and set you down upon the double bed, kicking the door closed again behind him. You landed on the mattress and continued to glare up at him as he made his way towards the bed again, undoing the top buttons of his night shirt as he did so.

    “See, that’s better, isn’t it? You can get comfortable now, if you like.”

    You shook your head slowly. “Once again-”

    “You are a pain in the backside,” he quoted, raising his voice in mock impersonation of you. He grinned at your glare, tossing himself onto the bed and wrapping his arms around your middle. “Truth be told, my love - I also just can’t sleep without you beside me, and I’m getting very tired.”

     You grunted, trying to squirm away from him. Despite his illness, he managed to hold onto you until you finally gave up and slumped back against the pillows. He hummed in approval, laying his head on your stomach and nuzzling his nose into the fabric of your shirt.

    “Much better,” he whispered. “I might just be revived back to full health after tonight.”

[prorevenge]

A rental agent tried to punish me for ending my lease. Madam Chair wasn't having it.

This happened a few years ago. I'm South African and we have very rigorous tenant protection laws. There's a body called the Rental Housing Tribunal that handles disputes between landlords and tenants, free of charge. At the time that this story takes place, South Africa had just introduced a new law called the Consumer Protection Act, which stated that all contracts could be cancelled with 30 days' notice, but that a "reasonable cancellation fee not exceeding 10% of the value of the remaining contract term" could apply. I might not get all the legal jargon right. Apologies.

Because of reasons, I had chosen to cancel my lease 5 months early, and provided the rental agents with more than 30 days' notice. They acknowledged receipt of my email. After I moved out I requested that my deposit be refunded, and they refused, stating that I had forfeited my deposit by cancelling the lease. They sent me an invoice for a further 2 months' rent, as well as for the costs of advertising to find a new tenant, and they stated in the email that I was responsible for finding a new tenant and that I would have to pay additional rent for every month that the house was vacant. This was all pretty illegal, and I couldn't afford to lose my deposit and definitely couldn't afford a lawyer, so I contacted the Rental Housing Tribunal. They set a date for us to meet in a public building a week later.

Cast

Me: shabby looking guy, alone, wearing cheap broken shoes

Agent: fancily dressed middle-aged woman

Lawyer: Arrogant middle-aged guy in full formal robes

Madam Chair: Short modestly-dressed woman, Head of my province's Rental Housing Tribunal

Tribunal members 1, 2, and 3

Madam Chair: Thank you all for coming and being on time. Wow! We drove such a long way to be here. It was nice. And it's nice to see you all. Is everyone comfortable?

All: nods and murmurs of agreement.

Madam Chair to me: You are the tenant?

Me: Yes Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: OK dear, we received your complaint. Have you ever spoken to the Tribunal before?

Me: No, Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: OK dear, many people do not know about the Tribunal. How did you hear about us?

Me: I read the Rental Housing Act, Madam Chair.

Madam Chair: Very good! You must know your rights, my dear.

At this point I was kind of amazed at what was happening. I had been terrified of what was about to happen, but here was this important woman calling me "dear" unironically and generally just being really sweet. I was starting to feel a bit better when suddenly...

Enter stage right, Lawyer, walking fast, carrying a briefcase, robes billowing out behind him.

Lawyer: I move to dismiss this case.

Madam Chair: Hello Sir. You are?

Lawyer: I am representing my client, (Estate Agency Name).

Madam Chair: Oh, OK, well this isn't a court. We are mediating here.

Lawyer: We don't agree to mediation.

Madam Chair looking confused: You don't have to agree. We are empowered by the Rental Housing Act.

Lawyer mumbles something and sits.

Tribunal Member 1 to Lawyer: Have you received the written complaint?

Lawyer: I have. The tenant claims that the Consumer Protection acts makes these invoices invalid. The Consumer Protection Act does not apply to lease agreements.

Tribunal Member 2: Actually sir, the act refers to authorised governing bodies and empowers those bodies to make determinations individually.

Lawyer: You are not authorised!

Madam Chair: Excuse me sir, we are in a library. The librarians have been kind enough to allow us to meet here, but we will need to be quiet. Librarians can be dangerous.

Tribunal Members chuckle

Lawyer: If he [points at me] wants to fight this he can take us to court.

Madam Chair, not losing her smile at all: Sir, firstly, you will address me as Madam Chair. Second, whether you personally recognise our authority is irrelevant. We are authorised to make this decision. If your client wants to keep her license she should listen very carefully to what we are about to say.

Lawyer: The CPA does not apply! I'm not going to debate this with... you people!

Tribunal Member 2: We are not debating sir, we are ruling.

Tribunal Member 3 chuckles.

Madam Chair to Agent: You have acted illegally, ma'am. You will refund the tenant's deposit.

Agent: I am within my rights to

Madam Chair cutting her off: Order, please. You will refund the deposit within 48 hours. Furthermore...

Lawyer interrupting: My client will do no such thing!

Madam Chair: Your client will comply with our ruling or we will garnish her income and she will lose her license.

Tribunal Member 3 to Madam Chair: She won't have an income without a license.

Madam Chair: That is true. It will be for the court to decide how her obligations are to be met in that case. We would advise that she sign.

Tribunal Member 2 handing A some documents: You will notice that we have been lenient with the penalty.

Agent: So he will still pay the penalty? Good!

Madam Chair: No ma'am. You will be penalised. We are authorised to award 2 months' rent as compensation, and as penalty to you. The deposit will also be paid in full, plus interested at the standard rate.

Madam Chair to me: You were there for 7 months correct?

Me: Yes Madam chair.

Madam Chair: 7 months interest then. Thank you all. This meeting is adjourned.

Lawyer and Agent sign the forms and storm out.

Me to Madam Chair: Thank you so much.

Madam Chair: My dear, we are all from (Province). We are not rich people. I am black, you are white, but we are citizens together and we know what it means to suffer. These people who take advantage of us must know that we are not powerless.

Me: This sort of thing happens a lot in this town.

Madam Chair: Really? If you know of any other cases, please give those people our details. Many people do not know about the tribunal, and I really enjoyed driving here.

(source) story by (/u/parechha)

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Remember Me ~ Worick Arcangelo x Reader

Disclaimer: This is going to have mentions of past abuse and supposedly illegal behaviour, but considering it’s Gangsta we’re talking about, I don’t think anyone should be surprised by darker themes addresses.

Birthdays...Have always been tedious. A drag. More work than they are worth...So, I wonder...Why do I actually bother doing a party at my home?

I mean, it’s true, I get it, I’m 21, I’m of age...Legally an adult, legally allowed to drink, legally everything whatever...The same as it has been for the past 3 years...

And MAYBE it’s fun to sometimes gather around with your friends and do the same things everyone always does at parties, loud music, alcohol, cigarettes and gossips...

But there is always that annoying anxiety feeling surging through my veins whenever I have to be around more than 3 of my friends, considering this is a party organised by me, and everything has to be done perfectly, everyone must feel good, and at home, not to be left out...

I can already envision myself being the only outcast, anyway, but that’s besides the point.

It’s already evening, the alcohol is sitting on the table, the pizza boxes are stacked up in a mountain on the floor, plastic cups everywhere, ash trays placed strategically, dim lights, coloured light projectors to make the room look like a disco...

And then there’s me. Sitting anxiously on the couch in the living room, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a long plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, along with some silver rings and a necklace. Casual, comfy, yet pretty elegant in its simplicity.

My friends arrived soon, very loudly congratulating me on aging one more year, fantastic...But they had a mischievous smirk on their faces...

And they brought in a tall, blond man who looked very macho, and I could only blink in confusion as everyone walked inside.

“Uhm...Who is he? One of yours boyfriend or something?” I asked, eyeing everyone attentively. “Nooo, silly! He’s our gift for you!” my best friend grabbed the man by his arm, shoving him towards me. “I’m...Not sure I follow.” I spoke with even more unease, not wanting to believe what I was hearing. “He’s Ergastulum’s most wanted Gigolo! And tonight, he’s all yours to do with as you please! C’mon, you deserve to let loose and have fun once in a while, y’know? Forget about all those jerks and enjoy pleasure like you’ve never felt before~!” my other best friend grabbed me by my shoulders from behind, putting her chin on top of one of her hands, slurring seductively. “...I see.” I muttered, looking away, trying to mask my displeasure at what I was hearing. “Anyway, let’s get you drunk! You won’t get to enjoy anything if you’re so cold and reserved with everyone, y’know? Maybe that’s why you’re always alone! Now c’mon, let’s have fun!” she dragged me to the drinks table, and we started playing drinking games like never have I ever...

Gotta say, Vodka and Bailey’s has always been a shot combination that I adore, and I’m grateful that it takes a long time to get me drunk, because these girls are wasted, while I’m not, so I can escape their grasp. Drunk dancing isn’t that fun, even to watch, and they were making fools of themselves, screeching, giggling...More or less sounding like pained donkeys.

Or maybe I’m just too judgemental and mean because I’ve been in a bad mood and spiraling since they got in my home. To be fair, I don’t even care what is the truth. These are my feelings and I’m not going to play them off as insignificant or non-existent.

Eyeing them carefully, I take a pack of cigarettes and make my way out of the house and sit on the stairs, taking a deep breath of the cold winter night air, I light up a cigarette, taking a drag and staring up at the sky, letting my endless train of toxic thoughts overwhelm me.

I was so long in my own mind that I didn’t notice the door opening until a shadow blocked my vision, and I noticed the platinum blond man sitting down on the stairs below me, resting his back on the wall on the side.

“Y’know...I haven’t been to many birthday parties before, but I’m pretty sure the birthday girl is supposed to be pampered and the center of attention, and yet, here you are, outside, alone and sad.” the man spoke seriously, with his usual light glint. “How much did they pay you?” I muttered, lighting another cigarette, realising that the other one burn without taking another drag of it. “Hmmm? What do you mean?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m tipsy, not stupid. You think I can’t think rationally after 8 shots? You’re dead wrong. Now, tell me, how much did they pay you and what exactly did they tell you to do?” I asked in a pressed tone, side-eyeing him. “You’re certainly perceptive, I give you that. T’was quite a lot of money to spend the night with you.” he tilted his head in a playful way. “Not only they have no faith in me to get someone to even remotely like me...They have to pay someone to do something that I dread with a burning passion. Do you even know my name? I don’t know yours.” I shrugged, hanging my head, gritting my teeth in annoyance. “I see your friends screwed up a bit. Name’s Worick, nice to meet you.” he extended his hand towards me. “...Y/N. Nice to meet you too...I think.” I sighed, staring reluctantly at his hand, before slowly shaking it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl. Wanna talk to a guy you’ll never see again? I heard that venting and letting out pent up emotions helps.” he offered, making me look at him with a weird face. “You know you’re not gonna get any action, so you try to do something for the money you earned, huh?” I snorted, raking my fingers through my hair. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. Contrary to my profession, I’m a pretty chill guy. What do you have to lose, talking to someone you’ll never see again? And besides, I have little room to judge you, so if that’s your worry, you can throw it away.” he lit up a cigarette, puffing up into the sky. “You’re...Not wrong here. Okay, fine, Pretty Boy. Imagine this. You’re not even of age, you get your first lover and you’re happy. You finally feel superior. Someone gives a fuck about you...That’s the definition of a lover, after all, I guess...But here’s the deal. Barely one month into the relationship, the person starts getting very pushy and pressures you, without you realising. Words and actions. It goes to the point that they force you to do things that you don’t want to and you’re not ready to, mentally or physically...And you can’t do anything except for denying, since they don’t listen and they overpower you. How is that, so far?” I spoke, taking a few breaks in between sentences to keep myself grounded and lucid. “Very suckish. Does any of your friends know that?” Worick asked in a gentle voice. “They do...My two best friends do. The ones who apparently paid you. I don’t know what’s in those tiny brains of theirs, but I don’t think a one night stand is going to somehow magically get me rid of all problems, traumas, self-issues and nightmares I’ve been having for the last years. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. I don’t know, and at this point, I can’t stay that I care.” I shrugged, leaning back on the stairs. “Maybe you have the wrongs friends. I heard words about you that I don’t think friends should speak like that about their so called best friend who trusted them enough with their bad experiences.” he pointed out nonchalantly, as I shifted my gaze towards him with a frown. “After today...I...Think the same. I...Just...Wasn’t expecting something like this. What more can I say. I am disappointed. And if that wasn’t enough, my second boyfriend, who was a virgin, saw my own virginity as a prize. And the third pity-dated me. Can it get any worse? Because, if yes, I honestly give up.” I sighed, ruffling my hair, obviously done with life. “Life sure sucks, huh? And most people don’t make it any better. All we can do is get stronger, carry on, and fight our nightmares.” he nodded in agreement, clearly sympathetic. “...I see you’re speaking from experience. I wonder what happened to your eye...It may sound insensitive, but after what I just told you, I don’t think there’s any more need for caution.” I smirked at him with a dark sort of self-deprecation that I could also sense in him. “Well, y’know...Sometimes parents aren’t the safe haven they ought to be.” he shrugged, extinguishing the finished cigarette on the stairs. “I see. Yeah, life sucks. I guess I can see why you become a Gigolo. An attractive guy selling his body for money...By what they said, you are the most popular. I can see why. I feel sorry for you.” I gave him a sympathetic smile that disappeared as fast as it came. “You have a pretty smile, y’know? I always thought that people who can smile despite all they’ve been through are the strongest.” he commented, smiling back. “Is that why you appear to be so cheerful? You’re strong, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally too? Wish I was the same. Maybe people won’t find me such an easy target to take advantage of.” I snorted sarcastically, making him chuckle. “It’s a pity people are shit to the few remaining ones who don’t give in to society’s awfulness. But what is a sweet girl like you doing in a shithole like Ergastulum? Doesn’t quite add up.” he asked, getting in a better sitting position. “Life happened. Dad left us, and mum is abroad working to get me enough money to go to university by the end of this year. This place, despite how scary and dangerous it is, was the cheapest place I could afford.” I bit my lip, trying not to worry too much about the future. “I’m sure you’re gonna nail it, so don’t worry too much. You seem like a smart girl, so just study hard and don’t forget to enjoy life. By your standards, not others’.” he smirked, tilting his head towards the door. “You’re funny, Worick. I wish we met under different circumstances.” my voice became lower, only to get interrupted by the door slamming open and the girls leaving the place. “Well, look at you two, lovebirds! You look so cuuuuuuuute! Hey, Gigolo, better take good care of her, got it?! The night is still young for you two! Awesome birthday party, as usual, Y/N, see ya next time!” the girls left, making me blush from embarassment, looking away. “You’ve got very sensible friends.” he muttered ironically, shaking his head. “I’ll...Go tidy the apartment. Maybe I’ll be able to focus on something else. Come one, I’ll warm up some pizza.” I shrugged, getting inside the house. “I didn’t think you’d want me around in your home.” Worick pointed out, leaning on a wall. “You got paid to spend the night with me, correct? Then you’ll do what you got paid for. Keeping me company. You have no idea how refreshing it is talking to someone with some fucking brain in their head.” I plopped down on the couch, putting my feet on the table, turning on the TV to a rock music program and patting the seat next to me for him to join. “It’s an honour to spend time with you.” he chuckled, taking a slice of pizza, leaning back on the couch and mimicking my position.

For the rest of the night, he was gracious enough to help me tidy up and clean everything, and when we were finally done, I went to change in my nightgown, taking a book and getting in bed, only to see the man leaning on the frame of the door awkwardly.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget. Let me find some larger clothes for you to change into.” I put the book down, going to the wardrobe and finding some oversized clothes in which I sometimes sleep. “Are these yours?” he chuckled in amusement. “Yep.Gotta be comfy when you sleep, right?” I shrugged, getting back in bed. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s why I sleep naked.” his grin grew wider, making me frown in confusion. “Sleeping naked is comfy for you?” I put the book on my lap, looking at him for an answer. “Did you try?” he asked smugly. “Yeah. I felt incredibly uncomfortable and anxious the for hours and couldn’t sleep. At 4 AM I couldn’t stand it any longer and I put a nightgown on.” I scratched my cheek, looking away. “That’s adorable. What were you reading?” he asked, getting closer to me. “Get changed and you can come over. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. You got paid, you deserve better.” I waved my hand at him dismissively, only for him to leave the room, get changed, take the book from my hand, flip through all the pages, and return it. “Ah, Picture of Dorian Gray. I’ve been wanting to read it for a while, thanks for the opportunity, I have to say, I rather appreciate his monologues.” he gave me a shit-eating grin, plopping in bed next to me. “I...You...Huh?! You can’t tell me you just read THIS book, right now, for the first time in your life, by just flipping rapidly through the pages!” my expression was that of pure shock and disbelief, which clearly amused him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, sweet cheeks.” he smirked, laying his head down on the pillow. “You...You have an extraordinary visual memory?!” I asked in a voice that I wasn’t sure was heard. “You’ve got that right, darling.” he chuckled with a satisfied smile. “...WHY THE HELL ARE YOU A PROSTITUTE?! YOU ARE A GENIUS! YOU COULD DO SO MUCH MORE WITH YOUR LIFE! EARN AN UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF MONEY! DO YOU HAVE NO AMBITION AND SAFE-LOVE?!” I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him, until he stopped me. “Calm doooown, Y/N, calm down. Thanks for looking out for me, but life is life. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got all I need here. You, however, have the whole life ahead of you, so don’t waste it like I did.” he advised in a soft voice, making me look at him for a few seconds, before sighing, getting up, and picking another book. “We won’t be seeing each other again, will we? Well, if that’s the case, take this. It’s a thanks for being nice to me today...But promise me you will take your time reading it, unlike now. Rest, relax, drink a hot cup of tea, and read each page carefully. Enjoy it, live it, feel it. Can you promise me that?” I asked, handing him the book. “The Hobbit, huh? Pretty cover, intriguing summary on the back...Fine, Y/N. I can’t 100% promise you, but I will try. Are you really willing to part with this one? It seems special for you.” he asked, more serious this time. “...Maybe sometimes the stupid ideas that your heart gives you are better than the rational ones from your brain. Now go sleep, I want to read.” I looked away from him, opening my book and pretending to read, away from him.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and fifteen, all of them in a deadly silence, almost awkward, until a chuckle split the atmosphere, making me turn around, looking at the man with a confused look.

“Usually, when people read, they turn the page after five minutes. What’s on your mind?” he asked, taking a strand of my hair and loosely twirling it with his finger. “..Well...You’re a stranger. And...We’ve only talked for a few hours. I know it makes no sense to ask this of you, but...I won’t be seeing you tomorrow anyway, so...Uhm...Do you think...I'm...Cold and mean...And unapproachable?” I mutter, looking away from him. “Not at all. I find you very endearing. The quiet ones are always the ones who have the best surprises once you get to know them. People deal with problems differently, it just takes the right person to want to understand you.” he kissed the strand of hair, making me bite my lip and turn off the lap light so my possibly pink cheeks won’t be noticeable. “Great. Thanks for the info. Now...How about you earn the money you got paid? You can do that by holding me and playing with my hair until I fall asleep.” I try to keep my voice from wavering. “You don’t have to put that pretext as a front, I would do that even if I wasn’t paid.” he chuckled lightly, holding me close to his chest, his fingers masterfully soothing my senses as he caressed by hair. “...Thanks.” I muttered, hiding my flustered face in his chest. “I have insomnia and general sleeping problems, including sleep paralysis and nightmares...And the only thing that used to be able to put me to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night would be mum holding me and playing with my hair until I fell asleep.” I confessed, my voice becoming softer and more emotional. “Thank you for trusting me with this precious memory, Y/N. It’s going to be okay. Now close your eyes...Sweet dreams, Y/N.” his peaceful, velvety voice was the last thing I heard before falling into a restful and calm sleep, for the first time in ages.

When morning came and I woke up, the bed was empty on the side that Worick was and I almost feared I imagined the whole thing...Until I noticed a piece of paper on the pillow where he slept.

“You’re a beautiful person, don’t let the darkness take over you. I hope to hear from you again, in the future, under better circumstances. ~ Worick”

To that, a phone number was written, and the first thing that came into my mind was to get that it tattooed on my body so I won’t lose it.  Of course, that will never happen, so I’ll settle for writing it everywhere I can.

For some reason, I wanted to make him proud, and I still had no idea why, so I only called him once a year, on my birthday, and on that day, we would chat on the phone all night, in memory of that night.  Finally leaving Ergastulum to go to University and get a better life for myself was something revolutionary for me, but after over 6 years, I managed to do just that. However, there was something that never left my brain, and that was the platinum haired man that completely changed the way I viewed life and how to approach it.

And I returned to Ergastulum after almost a decade.

I was dressed in a cute dress, and this time, unlike last time, a confident smile was on my face. Even though it’s fake, I adopted the “Fake it till you make it” motto, and nobody has to know about my problems.

I vibe.

Asking around for Worick, I find out he works as the Benriya with another man called Nicolas, who’s a tag, and even better, I got his address, so I knew just where to go.

As I entered the shabby apartment that was, for some reason, unlocked, I see a meek looking woman sitting on the couch, looking down.

“Did Worick get a girlfriend?” I leaned on the wall, a playful smirk on my face. “Wh-What?! G-Girlfriend?! W-Wait, who are you?!” she shot up to her feet, looking at me with big, blue doe eyes, frightened, might I say. “You’re adorable. What’s your name? And can I ask where Worick is? I’ve been told this is where he lives.” I played with a strand of my hair, trying not to intimidate the girl...Too much. “U-Uhm...He...He’s in his room...Who are you, miss?” she asked, trying to get some courage. “A friend, I’d like to think. From about ten years ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” I was ready to go look for him, only for a door to open, and the man in cause to appear, wearing only black boxers, and stretching...He obviously just woke up. “Ally? What’s all the noise?” he yawned loudly, rubbing his eyes. “Do you have a cute nickname for me too, Worick?” I smirked at him, as he widened his single eye, his jaw dropping in shock. “Y/N...?” he muttered my name, making me grin widely. “Glad you remember me. It has been quite a while since we’ve seen each other...And you age like fine wine, I’m telling you...You’re a sight for sore eyes.” he chuckled softly, only for him to come and pick me up, spinning a bit, before putting me down, cupping my face and kissing my forehead, leaving me a surprised and flustered mess. “And look at you! Can you get prettier than this? I told ya, you have a beautiful smile!” he grinned childishly, pinching my cheeks, making me yelp in pain and slap his hands away. “Jerk! That hurts! Ahem...Anyway, dear Gigolo, how are you? I heard some stuff about you working with someone named Nicolas...But I doubt her name is Nicolas.” I chuckled, pushing him softly away. “Oh, yes! Y/N, this is Alex, our new friend. You can say she’s kinda...Our secretary? I guess? Anyway, come over, we have a lot to catch up on!” he guided me to his bedroom that was, unsurprisingly, messy. “Wonderful and clean, just as expected. Have you ever thought of opening the window?” I teased him, plopping on his bed that was unexpectedly soft. “You, lazy little vixen...Here. I bought it years ago, after finishing the book you gave me, and I wanted to find out more. Now, I’m giving it to you. Are we even?” he smirked, handing me a copy of Fellowship of the Ring book. “We’d be even if I’d spend the night over as well. And if you gave me drinks and pizza. Basically a date. That will do.” I told him, looking dearly at the book I got gifted, although I already read it before. “My God, since when are you so bold?” he asked, getting on the bed, resting his chin on my knees, looking at me like a happy puppy. “Did you miss me, Worick? I hope you did, otherwise that little piece of paper you left would be incredibly disappointing and misleading.” I pointed out, booping his nose. “I’ve been thinking about you since then. By the looks of it, so did you. Are you sure you want a date with someone like me? You are beautiful, you are brilliant, your attitude in endearing as hell...And I’m still a Gigolo and my life is here, in Ergastulum. Don’t regret it later on.” he asked with a more serious tone, only for me to scoff and pull on his hair playfully. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Besides...Unlike you, I don’t need to be paid to spend quality time with you, doing nothing but chilling and chatting.” I teased him, making him laugh, as he plopped next to me, poking my cheek. “Great, problem solved! You’ve got yourself a parasite latching on you. Good luck getting rid of him now.” he grinned cheekily, only for me to cup his face and pull him into a kiss. “Why would I wanna get rid of a parasite this cute? Now shut up and hold me, it’s been ten years and I’m touch starved.” I grinned, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. “Damn, how I missed you.” he held me tightly to his chest, occasionally peppering my face with kisses.

It was definitely worth coming back to this God Forsaken place, even if it is for only one person. There’s place for everyone in this world, and in others’ hearts, and I found my place, in Worick’s warm arms, where I feel safest and most loved.

[wonder-womans-ex]

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Seven

Sirius stands there for what seems like hours—though it’s probably only a few seconds—just standing there, staring through the window. Maybe he should forget the whole thing and leave now.  

But Alice pushes the door open, waving when Remus and Lily look up. Before he can protest, Dorcas pulls him in by the elbow. 

It’s like time slows down when Remus’s gaze flickers past Dorcas and settles on him. He blinks, as though trying to clear his vision, and then he does the last thing Sirius expects. 

He smiles. 

It’s like Sirius’s brain just glitches. He imagines James’s voice in his head—as he so often does when he’s faced with situations similar to this one—saying ‘Padfoot.exe. has stopped working,’ and the thought is so ridiculous it actually shocks him back into the here and now. 

“This is Sirius,” says Dorcas for the second time in under ten minutes, and he waits, practically holding his breath, for Remus’s response. 

He’s prepared for anger. He’s prepared for indifference. He’s prepared for maybe, just maybe, ‘Yes, I know.’ 

He is once again surprised, because he is most certainly not prepared for Remus to lean across the table with his hand out and say, “Nice to meet you.” 

“I—um—nice to meet you, too?” 

It’s clear to Sirius that no one else—save Lily, of course—has any idea of the significance of this moment, especially because he’s not actually sure what that significance is. Obviously, they’re wiping the slate clean, but is it so they can start over again?

Or so they can pretend there was never anything written there at all? 

This is the only thing he can think about as Dorcas slides into the booth next to Lily, motioning for Sirius to sit across from her, and he does, even though it means he’s right next to Remus. Frank squeezes in beside him, and Alice behind Frank, and Mary hesitates a moment before she sits down, too, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dorcas. For a moment, he wonders where Fabian and Caradoc are going to place themselves—there’s no way two more people are going to fit in the booth—but then Fabian pulls two chairs out from a nearby table. He sits down in one, then abruptly stands up again. 

“I’ll grab menus,” he says, gesturing with one thumb towards the counter, and Sirius watches him go, if only for something to look at. 

Dorcas grins. “So, Sirius, tell us a bit about yourself.”

“Um—”

“Invitations to these get-togethers are rare, you know, but you know what’s even rarer? Second invitations. So start talking, buddy, and let the high council judge your crimes.”

“Dorc,” Alice reprimands, “you’re scaring him.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. My brother’s pretty, um, intense, too.”

Sirius’s confidence swells slightly at the laugh that earns him from the rest of the group. “I’m Sirius—I’m twenty-two, but I’m only in first year university because reasons. My favourite food is butter chicken. I was kicked out at age sixteen after I came out as bisexual, and I moved in with my best friend, who also happens to be my brother’s ex-boyfriend. Oh, and I’m an actor. I think that’s the basics? 

Except for Remus, who knows most of this already, everyone stares at him, expressions ranging from stunned to well then. Remus is either trying to break the tension or goad Sirius into something embarrassing when he says, “An actor? Have you been in any movies?”

Deja vu smacks into Sirius like a cement truck. If he recalls correctly—and, honestly? There’s no way in hell he doesn’t—that’s exactly what Remus said the first time Sirius introduced himself. So, of course, he responds in the same way he did then, too. “Ew. Absolutely not. Stage life all the way for me, dude.” 

Immediately, he wishes he could pull up google. Key words: is it socially acceptable to call your ex ‘dude’? Is that, like, legal? 

But Remus just grins and tips his head back in laughter. After a moment, the others follow him in ways that range from a distracted smile (Mary) to a laugh so explosive he imagines Frank would have spit out his tea if he had any.  

They’re still laughing, all eight out of nine of them, when Marlene arrives at their table, one pencil tucked behind her ear and another between her fingers as she taps it absentmindedly against her coil-bound notebook. 

“Hi,” she says, glancing from person to person. “What can I get you tod—Sirius?”

“Hiya, Marls.” 

“Fancy meeting you here.” They both smile a bit at this, because it really isn’t that surprising—neither of them ever spends a whole lot of time away from Frankie’s, really. “Where’s James?”

Sirius gasps, pretending to be affronted. “I do have other friends, I’ll have you know. He and I aren’t joined at the hip.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well,” he says, deciding to change the subject, “I’ll get the, uh…” it feels wrong to order fries without James there, and he’s only just now realizing that he hasn’t actually tried anything else on the menu. “The BLT. And a Nanaimo bar, please.” 

“Branching out a little, are we?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, okay. And for you?”

Without even thinking about it, he, too, turns to look at Remus, who’s got his nose buried in the menu. “A croissant,” he says, just like Sirius knew he would. “Wait, no. Two croissants.” 

“Plain? Chocolate? Cheese?”

It seems as though Remus sits up straighter. “Chocolate?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Marlene jokes in typical Marlene-fashion. 

“Telling. Croissant. Chocolate. Yes.” 

(A month ago, Sirius would have leaned over and whispered that he thinks the embarrassed blush colouring Remus’s cheeks and nose is cute. But now is not a month ago. Now, everything is different.)

Lily orders a Greek salad and an iced coffee, but Sirius isn’t paying attention to her. No, he has eyes only for the way Remus, seemingly out of sheer boredom, takes his phone out of his hoodie pocket and unlocks it, grinning at whatever he sees. Sirius wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, whether that’s the same way Remus used to smile when he got a text from him. It doesn’t matter anymore, but he can��t help but hope that once upon a time he, too, made Remus that happy. 

He doesn’t speak again until everyone else has ordered, too (grilled cheese and a sundae for Alice, poutine for Dorcas, and bagels for both Mary and Frank; Fabian and Caradoc say they’ll share a banana split (could those two get any cuter, honestly)) and even then it’s only because Dorcas asks him a question. 

“What?” he says, shaking himself out of his thoughts. 

“Marlene—is she your friend? Girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for years. Community theatre, mostly, and I see here when I come here, which is probably way too often. But no, we’re not together—Marls swings completely the other way.”

Dorcas nods. “Cool. Think I have a shot? Am I her type?”

“Depends. Do you like Titanic?” 

“The movie? No.”

“Then yes, you’re her type.” 

He laughs under his breath when she adjusts her collar and tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s the classic ‘Preparing-to-ask-a-girl-out’ routine—he’s gone through it himself on many an occasion; here’s to hoping she has more luck—and he looks away to one side to hide a smile. Unfortunately, Remus has had the same idea, and their eyes connect for a few painful seconds. 

This time, Sirius makes himself look away first. 

He finds his gaze drawn to Lily, who’s scrolling through something—probably Instagram—on her phone. He tongue flicks out every once in a while to nudge at her lip ring, and he finds the movement almost mesmerizing.

Just out of curiosity, he thinks about kissing her. Her hair would be soft between his fingers. For some reason, he imagines it smelling like citrus. Her lips look soft, but in his head they’re slightly chapped, cool and warm at the same time as they press against his, and he pulls away to look into those shining amber eyes—

Wait, Lily’s eyes are green, not amber. He is most definitely thinking about someone else—someone with twelve freckles on his nose and golden hair that curls around his ears. 

Three guesses who it is. 

But no, he scolds himself, he is not here to mope over cute boys he used to date. Or any cute boys at all, for that matter. He’s here to have fun. To make friends. To eat good food. If Remus wants to play strangers, they’ll do just that. 

“So,” he says, turning his head sideways. “You’re John, right? John Lupin?”

Maybe, just maybe, someone will explain the whole fake name thing. 

And for once, his prayers are answered. 

“Well, no,” Remus says, and Sirius searches those beautiful eyes for any trace of the fact that they both know he knows this already. He’s not sure whether to be bitter or hurt or simply sad when he finds none, so he settles for a bit of all three. “Actually, John’s my middle name. My first name’s Remus. But if you’re a literature student with a name like Remus Lupin, the only people who are going to take you seriously are the ones—well, the ones with names like Sirius Black. So I started going by John, and it just sort of stuck.”

“Remus.” Sirius twists his mouth around it, enunciating both syllables carefully, like he’s saying it for the first time. He supposes he is, in a way—after all, by unspoken agreement they seem to be starting over. 

“It’s like—do you ever get—do people ever think your name’s just a stage name? 

“All the time.” He can’t quite be sure whether or not they’ve had a conversation like this before; it does seem familiar, but most things do these days. Even if they haven’t really discussed this already, they almost certainly have in Sirius’s head. Or something similar to it, anyway.

 “It’s like that. People assume it isn’t my real name, so I changed it.” 

“Huh.” Tilting his head slightly, Sirius puts on an ‘innocently curious’ air that he knows Remus will be able to see right through. “Anything else I should know about you? 

“I turn into a bloodthirsty werewolf on full moons,” Remus says without skipping a beat. It’s impressive, really, how long he holds a completely straight face, and Sirius watches carefully to try and catch even a glimpse of a smile. “All right,” he says when it becomes clear none will appear. “Monsters are people too, I guess.”

And there it is—that wide, oh-so-brilliant grin that still makes his breath catch in his throat. No, he reprimands. No. Absolutely not. You are not going to fall in love with him again. It will only end in pain. Your pain. 

That’s right. He’s not in love. He’s not even in crush. He’s just becoming friends with someone he used to date. No biggie. Plenty of people do that, right? James and Regulus broke up almost a year ago, and they still hang out. 

Sufficiently reassured, he plows bravely on. “What else? Have you, I dunno, killed anyone?”

“No, but I do have three tattoos.”

Sirius blinks slowly. He can picture one of them—the crossed ski poles on the inside of Remus’s ankle—but he doesn’t think he’s seen the other two. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got a pair of ski poles on my foot—I’m from Whistler; practically grew up on the hills—and here, on my wrist—” he pauses, rolling his sleeve up to expose his inner arm “—I’ve got the Illuminati symbol.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sirius waits for the ‘just kidding.’ None comes, however, and apparently none will, because now he can see the small triangle inked there, plain as day. 

“I was eighteen, okay?” continues Remus. “And I hadn’t slept in like four days and I might have been slightly drunk. Everyone who has tattoos also has tattoo horror stories, and this is mine. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.” And he’s really not. He knows what it’s like to make bad decisions when one is young and tired—he fights off the flashbacks of a sixteen-year-old James piercing his left ear for him at two in the morning—and hey, at least Remus has learned to laugh about it now. “What’s the third one?” 

“The third tattoo?”

“Yeah.” 

Pulling up his sleeve even farther, Remus points to a patch of tiny lettering on the inside of his elbow. “It says ‘Leviticus 18:22.’” 

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bible verse. You’ve probably heard it before, or some version of it—'thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind, ‘tis an abomination.'”

Sirius feels as though his thought process has been unceremoniously dumped into a blender. What? Remus can’t be a homophobe. Remus dated him, for heaven’s sake. 

(He’s also right—Sirius has heard that before. As soon as she found out he was queer, his mother pulled a bible out from he’s not sure where and read that verse out to him. It was, like, a whole thing.)

The only thing he can think of to say is ‘what,’ so that's what he says. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Remus hurries to assure him, “I’m not a bigot or anything. I like guys, too. I just did it for the edge factor, y’know? It’s ironic; it’s supposed to be funny.”

“You have a really weird sense of humour.”

“I know.”

Slowly, Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. “So three tattoos—ski poles, Illuminati, and bible reference?”

“Yep.”

Then he hears, from the end of the table, “And the one on your neck.”

Both Sirius’s and Remus’s gazes dart to Fabian, who has stopped fiddling with the salt shaker and is looking over at them quizzically. “That constellation thing. The one you only got a couple months ago. 

Remus does not look like a deer in headlights. He looks like an escaped criminal caught in the flashlight beam of a police detective. 

Matters are only made worse—or better, Sirius reasons, depending on how you look at it—when Alice joins in. “Yeah, Moony! That’s the coolest one, if you ask me.” 

Remus blushes. It’s only because of the close proximity that Sirius hears his mutter “No one did,” under his breath. 

“This fucker here,”Alice says, seemingly oblivious to humiliation radiating from Remus’s corner of the booth, “Came home—we live together, Lily and Remus and Caradoc and me—in… what was it? January? With yet another tattoo, and he wouldn’t tell us why. My guess is that he just walked by and saw the design in the window and decided he liked it. Impulsive one, our Moony.”  

Sirius decides that he’s not going to ask where the nickname comes from. He has a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t particularly want to know. 

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Took him like a week for us to bully him into letting us see it, and it turns out he’s got the Sirius constellation right there above his collarbone.” She pauses. “Sirius. Huh. I guess Remus just, like, subconsciously decided you two should be friends, even though he hadn’t even met you yet. Maybe he’s psychic or something.” 

Even if his life depended on it, nothing in the world could make Sirius look at Remus right now. If he does, something terrible is almost definitely going to happen—one of them will drop dead of a rare kind of heart attack, or Frankie’s will blow up and kill them all before their food gets there, or Sirius will start crying. 

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo. It doesn’t make sense to him, no matter the number of times he adds it up in his head, because tattoos are something for people who are forever. 

It’s one of those things you just grow up learning—you don’t get tattoos of another person’s name (or the thing they’re named after; potato, potahto) unless you’re absolutely sure, and sure does not mean kissing other people at parties. 

Unless, apparently, you are Remus John Lupin. 

“Really?” Sirius asks. “Huh. That’s cool. Aren’t neck tattoos supposed to hurt, like, a shitton, though?”

There’s a pregnant pause, like the universe is holding its breath. Finally, Remus smiles tightly and says, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear, “It was worth it.”

***

If Sirius was held at swordpoint and told to recount what the rest of their conversation entails, he would say ‘stab me.’ All he can say for sure is that whatever discussion is had, it stops as soon as Marlene arrives with the food. 

“Two croissants for you, Sir,” she says, placing Remus’s plate in front of him. “And an iced coffee and Greek salad for you, my lady; a banana split for the two utterly charming earls here; a grilled cheese and triple hot fudge sundae for our duchess and one whole grain toasted bagel with cream cheese for her duke, a plain untoasted bagel with cream cheese for the princess with the colourful hair, and one serving of poutine for the absolute queen I see in front of me.”

Sirius is positive Dorcas actually swoons a little at the ‘queen’ comment. Were this a cartoon, her eyes would now be comically large pink hearts. 

“Oh, and how could I forget. A BLT and Nanaimo bar for our resident court jester.” 

He sticks his tongue out at her. What can he say—he’s immature. And dramatic. The best combination, truly. 

Dorcas watches Marlene turn with a smile and walk back to the counter, and, once she’s sure the object of her affections is safely out of earshot, she sighs. “I think I’m in love.” 

“She snores,” Sirius tells her, to no avail. “Like a pig.”

“I love pigs.”

“No, Dorc.” Fabian’s eyes are glittering. “You love bacon.” 

“You guys are teaming up on me! This is homophobia!” 

“I’m literally gay.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Sirius catches Fabian’s eyes across the table. The ginger waves his ice cream spoon around his ear in a ‘crazy’ motion, and Sirius agrees wholeheartedly. Dorcas is, indeed, crazy. 

“You’re crazy, Dorcas.” 

“Crazy in love.” 

(At this point, he could probably tell the whole story about the tomatoes—acting out the best parts, no less—and it would not change her mind in the slightest.) (That’s a good thing, actually; no one deserves Marlene unless they can accept the tomato story in full.) 

Beside him, Remus is already halfway through his first croissant. Some would say he must be hungry, and those people clearly do not know Remus Lupin. He’s not hungry—well, he might be—he just loves chocolate that much. There were times during their relationship that Sirius joked about Remus loving chocolate more than he loved Sirius himself. 

Well. He supposes that now, after everything, it’s probably true. 

(No! Bad Sirius! No moping!)

His sandwich, he finds, when he takes a bite, isn’t actually that bad. It tastes—well, it tastes like bacon and lettuce and tomato and bread, which it is. It’s quite a good combination, he thinks, and he wishes he’d thought of it first. 

Finally, Dorcas motions for Mary to move out of the booth into the aisle. “I’m going for it,” she says, holding her hand up like a microphone. Sirius can’t help but laugh at the announcer voice she uses, and laugh more when she adds, “Wish me luck, my friends.”

“You won’t need it,” Remus assures her through a mouthful of croissant. 

“Who cares if I need it? It’s about the principle of the thing.”

“Good luck, Dorcas.”

“Thank you, Lily.” 

It would seem fitting, Sirius reasons, if they had popcorn right now. They’re certainly all watching intently, as if it's a movie, the shy way Dorcas and Marlene smile at each other before they start talking too quietly to hear. When Marlene starts twisting her blond hair around her index finger, Remus leans over to him.  

“You’ve certainly come on the right day—episode one of ‘Dorcas tries to woo the girl of her dreams.’”

‘You’re too close!’ Sirius screams in his mind. ‘How am I supposed to not fall in love with you when you’re whispering in my ear and your breath is warm on the back of my neck and if I turned my head we would be kissing and—’

“Look, she’s handing her phone over,” he says instead, and Remus moves away to rest his elbows on the table. 

“Would you look at that. It seems that Operation: get Dorc a girlfriend has progressed past stage one,” Alice jokes. 

Sirius leans forward to look over Frank at her. “What’s stage two?”

“Make sure said girlfriend doesn’t find out about the cactus shrine.”

“...I don’t think I want to know.” 

“No, you really don’t.”

But now Dorcas is walking back over to them, and she’s beaming, and she holds out her phone excitedly. “I got her number! She saved her contact in my phone, too—’Marlene; red heart emoji; parrot emoji.’” 

The first one to start is Lily, and Remus follows soon after. When Alice, too, brings her hands together, Sirius joins in, and soon they’re all slow clapping. He can’t quite be sure whether this is a sincere slow clap or an ironic one, but, judging by the way Dorcas’s grin only grows wider, he’s going to go with the former. 

“Thank you, thank you!” She bows dramatically, and Sirius looks around him at the other smiling faces of booth seven, and he can’t help but think, ‘Oh my god, I have friends.’

[jeonggukingdom]

splinters of love • day X [myg]

pairing  ⟶ min yoongi x fem!Reader

summary  ⟶ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site. Specifically  ⟶  • day X ↳ in which you’re both single parents and your kids have turned into best friends in the past few weeks but your child is misbehaving again and Yoongi decides to make a comment on your parenting skills that may or may not break you down to tears. For which, he decides to make it up to you.

genre  ⟶ angst, fluff, parents!AU

rating  ⟶ G

word count ⟶ 1.901 words

warnings  ⟶ a little bit of angst because Yoongi doesn’t know how to phrase stuff, also Yoongi being an absolute heart-melting softie. Mentions of death and cheating.

series masterlist  ⟶ here  (links on mobile may not work, if you’re looking for all the works in this series, you can click on the “!splintersoflove” tag and you’ll find them all there!)

Suzy’s laugh is crystal clear as she runs after her friend Mina, her little arms outstretched to grab her, capture her and win the game and possibly claim the little toy in the other little girl’s grasp.

A small smile graces your lips as you watch her like this, all happy and carefree under the spring sun, her long raven hair swept away by the gentle breeze.

She looks so much like her father it hurts to look at her most of the times.

The thought of him turns your thoughts bitter, makes bile rise from your stomach up to your throat, almost making you gag onto thin air.

You are barely aware of the mellow voice talking to you, definitely not registering what he is saying but you know he is there, you can sort of feel the warmth of his body even though he is not even remotely close enough to do so.

You haven’t been with a man in four years, ever since he left you. You are touch-starved and the man standing right next to you has a charming smile, a softness to his features that makes your insides twitch every single time.

But you never let your gaze linger for too long. You can’t do relationships anymore, that is what you decided, and especially not with someone that has just as much, if not more, baggage as you do.

Min Yoongi has a soft smile on his lips and you hate how that brings heat to your cheeks as you meet his eyes and he tilts his head a little to the side.

Your kids have become friends pretty quickly and spending time together at the park as become something like a routine for the four of you and you are happy she has finally made a friend and that, well, she happens to be the daughter of a single father that at least can understand the struggles of being a single parent.

Sometimes you see the pain in his eyes, the worry reflected in those dark irises that in some occasions look so much like your own it startles you.

His pain, though, must be thousand times worse than yours. He lost his wife, the love of his life, in a tragic accident and he has been mourning her ever since.

You, on the other hand, have lost your love one to a younger and prettier girl.

You shift your gaze to your tangled fingers as thoughts of him start filling your head in a way that cuts your breath out of your lungs.

You are so engrossed in your own bitterness that you don’t see it happen, you only hear the aftermaths.

Suzy has not only reached Mina, she has pushed her down and stole her toy and sadly, it is not the first time this has happened.

You rush to them, try to pacify Mina while apologizing to Yoongi, your eyes stern on your own daughter.

She cries too in the aftermath of the mess that she created, hitting all your nerves in the right places.

It takes a few minutes to calm both of the kids down but when they are smiling again, it seems like nothing has happened and you watch your daughter grasp Mina’s hand and force her into a little jog that has them both giggle.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you stand up, Yoongi still standing right next to you with a frown on his features.

“Sometimes I wonder if Suzy is just seeking some attention when she does stuff like this.”

It’s a simple comment yet it sends you reeling because it strikes a nerve, it cuts through an already open wound like a sharp knife and then it twitches and twitches inside of it until you are out of breath and on the verge of tears.

The thing is, when you were younger you used to say you didn’t want kids. Why? Because you didn’t think you’d be a good mother.

And now… now you know you aren’t a good mother, that you aren’t giving your daughter enough, that you are not enough.

Doesn’t matter how much you try, how much you read about being a parent it just doesn’t seem to work, it doesn’t seem to be enough.

You tried to be a stern parent, you tried to be a lenient one and nothing works and maybe Yoongi is right, you do not give your kid enough attention but how are you supposed to when you have a full time job and nobody to help you with her?

The tears break through your control before you can stop them and you hear Yoongi take in a sharp breath and then his feet move, slide across the gravel so that he can stand in front of you, peer inside your eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, did I cross a line? Of course I crossed a line I… I’m sorry I didn’t meant to,” he rambles, his voice soft as he looks at you in utter panic.

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault, it’s me.” The words tremble on the tip of your tongue, they come out as a strangled whisper and he grimaces at the pained expression you offer him, shaking your head as you try to gain some composure back.

Pathetic.

“I know I’m not a good mother,” you don’t know why you say it but you do and saying it out loud breaks your heart in thousand of pieces and before you can register what is happening, Yoongi’s hands are tenderly grasping your face so that you have no choice but look inside his eyes.

“No.” He says, firm, “That is not what I meant at all. You are a good mother, _______. But sometimes we are not enough because they only have us and they need both a father and a mother.”

He sighs as you nod your head in agreement because of course, you know this. But you can force your ex-boyfriend to be a father. You can’t if he doesn’t want to because even if you legally could, you don’t want to make Suzy feel like she’s a chore, like she’s unwanted. She deserves better than the hurt that would come from that.

“When Seohyun died I had no idea what to do with Mina, not a single clue. And I seek help. That’s what I wanted to suggest, _____.”

His true intentions sink in then and you ponder over them and you quickly realize that you need it. Hell, you need all the help in the bloody universe and so you nod your head, take the number he gives you almost in a trance and at the same time, you take up his offer of making it up to you over a cup of coffee.

It all happens in an instant and next thing you know, two weeks have passed, you’ve had your first session with the therapist and now you are standing in this Cafe waiting for him to show up.

You don’t know what to expect, you don’t know what this sort of date actually means and nervousness ties your guts into deep and convoluted knots.

But when he shows up and offers you one of his gummy smile, those insides seem to melt and you find yourself smiling for him, relaxing to the point you simply cannot stop talking.

You talk about Suzy, Mina, your therapy session, all the things you’ve learned already thanks to him, you talk about how hard it is to be alone in all of this, you talk about work and so many other things and time absolutely flies. So fast you don’t realize it’s getting dark until your phone chimes with an unread text and you glance towards it and notice how late it is.

“Would it be too out of line for me to walk you home?” Yoongi asks and you should definitely say yes and retreat before your heart starts beating all funny in your chest but you realize a little too late that it is already doing it.

So you say yes, against your better judgment, and he offers you one of those heart-melting smiles that has your lips turning upwards in return.

You walk in silence and it is comfortable, you walk side by side and his shoulder sometimes brushes against yours and even that, is comfortable. Familiar, in a way.

You feel like a teenager all over again and it is both exhilarating and absolutely terrifying because you are afraid of falling in love, of letting go and lose control because what if you get hurt again? What if you let a man inside your life and then he leaves you and Suzy behind as well? What happens then? How do you pick up the pieces of your heart and mend it back together alongside with the one of your daughter?

Your mind is reeling but when you come to a halt in front of your house, your resolve melts away the instant you turn to look at him and you find his soft eyes already fixed on you.

You should tell him goodbye, thank him for everything he has done for you so far and turn around, forget whatever this was but you don’t.

You don’t step back when he leans forward, you don’t stop him when he silently asks you with his eyes if he is going too far or not, you don’t push him off when his hand comes to caress your cheek and you don’t turn your head to the side when his lips come in contact with yours.

It happens so slowly and yet so fast at the same time and then your mind is spinning, spinning so fast you might actually be sick right here, right now.

But you don’t, oh no. You grasp his shirt, you pull him into you with a need that could only come after years of deprivation and he clings onto you just as badly, just as desperately until you are breathless, panting in each other faces with shock reflected in your eyes.

“Wow,” he whispers and you whisper it back, a shy smile on your lips as your eyes drift to the ground.

“I haven’t kissed anyone after Seohyun…” his voice trails off and your heart skips a beat.

“Me neither,” is your meek response and it makes him smile, nod his head a couple of times.

“I’m scared, Yoongi.” You admit after a few seconds and you expect him to laugh at you or maybe try to convince you that you shouldn’t but instead, he nods again and then sighs as if understanding where you’re coming from completely.

“I know,” he bites his bottom lip, his eyes closing for a second, “I feel it too. That and guilt for wanting to move on from her, to build another family without her. Frankly, I am terrified,” he laughs at his words, shakes his head and you instantly know he is talking about his daughter. Of course, your fears are mirrored inside his heart and mind too, how could they not?

“What do we do, then?” You ask in a soft whisper that sounds too hopeful to your own ears but that grants you a soft smile from his part.

“We take it one day at a time.”

And so you do.

Copyright © 2020 by jeonggukingdom. All rights reserved. Do not repost, do not steal, do not translate without consent.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 7

Word count: 2077

Clayton and I spent the night catching up on all of the time we’ve been separated for the past week or so. When I wake up in the morning I’m utterly exhausted and my body is sore as hell yet I feel euphoric of a sort.

The arm wrapped around my waist feels familiar, even welcomed, and I lay with Clayton’s face buried in my neck with contempt. I’m staring up at the bare white ceiling as I feel him shift beside me, his grip tightening. He groans, the hot air touching my skin.

I don’t move my gaze from above me as he pulls back from my neck, his hand using my hip for support as he pushes himself halfway up to be able to look at me. The blanket falls down his chest a little bit, revealing his fit torso.

“Morning,” he greets me, his voice groggy from sleep.

“Good morning.”

He collapses back onto the mattress beside me, moving his head so that his head is touching mine. “What are you looking at?”

“Do you see that spider web in the corner?” I ask, lifting a hand lazily to point at it.

“Yeah.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to get it down. I bet you could get it for me,” I tease.

“So now I’m just here to do your manual labor?” He jokes.

“Come on, Clayton, just do it!” I whine. “You’re 5’10, you can reach.”

“I’m actually 5’11,” he corrects.

“That’s not what Google says.”

I turn my head at the feeling of his movements to find him glaring at me playfully, reaching over to tickle my sides. I giggle at the action, the giggles turning into screeches for him to stop because I can’t breathe.

“That should teach you to mess with me again,” he huffs, puffing out his chest proudly.

I roll my eyes. “Okay. Just as long as you pull that spiderweb down.”

We enjoy each other’s company silently, grateful for the rare morning where we just get to lie in bed beside one another. I can’t help but take this time to think about how my relationship with Clayton has evolved.

I still think that I’m too busy to be in a relationship- a relationship takes time and effort, too much time and effort for me to give right now. But there’s something interesting about Clayton.

Maybe it’s the way he makes me feel. He makes me feel giddy whenever he’s around, like I’m back in high school trying my best to act cool when my crush walks down the hallway I’m in. He makes me feel comfortable, like I can be myself when I’m around him and all he would do is cheer and support me.

Clayton makes me feel like no man has ever made me feel before.

But, at the end of the day that doesn’t matter. At the end of the day he’s the one signing my paycheck and we aren’t a couple, we’re actually in a contractually obligated agreement and life isn’t a Disney fairytale.

“Guess what?” Clayton whispers.

“What?” I whisper back. I don’t know why he or I am whispering. Maybe he’s afraid that if he speaks too loud, it’ll break whatever spell we’re both under.

“You let me stay over last night.”

“So?”

“Guess what else?” He continues.

“What?”

“That’s not allowed, according to our contract,” he points out.

I roll my eyes but my heart beats faster at his remark. I guess neither of us realized that last night after all of the strenuous activity that went down.

“Screw the contract,” I lamely respond, unsure and unconfident in other answers that I could give. I’m afraid of telling him that I liked spending the night with him, even if we’ve done it in his place it feels different doing it in mine.

It makes us feel like more of a couple, which we aren’t.

“Screw the contract?” He repeats, letting out a dramatic gasp. “But Y/N, that’s a legally binding document! I could tell my lawyer about this.”

“And your lawyer would say you’re just as much at fault, if not more,” I point out.

“Whatever,” he turns back to me, burying his face in my neck again. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”

The man begins to place light kisses up and down the column of my neck, slowly replacing them with stronger kisses, then begins to suck a hickey into the sensitive part of my neck.

I moan at the feeling, tilting my head to give him more room. My eyes flutter closed at the sensation. I know this is going to be a pain in the ass to cover up but it feels so good. Spending time with Clayton feels so good.

He moves until he’s gently straddling my body, brushing his hands up and down my sides lightly.

“Do you have anywhere to be today?” He asks quietly once he’s removed his lips from my skin.

“I have to meet my friends later, for lunch,” I breathe out.

“So we have all morning?” He inquires.

“We have all morning,” I confirm.

The grin on his face is one that I’ll never forget.

~

“Look at that smile, someone got laid,” Tyler jokes as I approach the table.

“And that new purse, holy shit,” Betsy adds, eyes widening at the sight of the Louis Vuitton bag on my arm.

“How can you afford that shit, I thought you were broke?” Tyler questions as I pull out the chair beside him, sitting down and resting my bag on the chair beside me. It’s too expensive to sit on the floor.

“You never told him, did you?” Betsy gasps.

“Oh man, I never did,” I groan, knowing that Tyler will dislike that he’s been left out of the loop.

“Never told me what? Y/N, are you withholding tea from me? You know that’s practically a crime, right?” He commands.

I roll my eyes at him. “So, I have a sugar daddy.”

“You what?” He exclaims, causing practically the whole restaurant to turn and stare at us.

“Quiet down,” I smack his arm, “Yeah, it’s been going on for like two months now. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

“You forgot to tell me that you were getting laid and rich?” He raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.

The waitress drops by, an amused expression on our face, clearly overhearing our conversation. She takes our order before heading off to the back, allowing the conversation to resume.

“And look at that top, is it Gucci?” Betsy questions teasingly.

“You would know if it were Gucci, Betsy,” I respond. I’m not sure how to feel about all of the teasing. I like the nice things Clayton’s getting me, from the beautiful jewelry to the fashionable pieces of clothing, and even the money he’s giving me so that I can pay for school and rent.

But another part of me can’t help but worry about what other people are thinking. I wonder if anyone besides my friends have noticed my change from resale shop clothes to designer brands. And how they think that I got this money…

I’m not ashamed of having a sugar daddy. My body is made to make money and I’m doing just that, plus Clayton’s getting something out of this situation too, it’s not just me. But it’s definitely not something that I would tell my mom.

“So what kind of sugar daddy is he?” Tyler inquires.

“What do you mean?”

“Like does he need you to help him with his phone or change his bedpan or-”I scoff as Betsy bursts into laughter.

“He’s twenty two, Tyler.”

“Twenty two?” His eyes practically bulge out of his head. “What twenty two year old can afford to be a sugar daddy?”

“He’s an athlete,” the blonde informs him.

“An athlete? Is it a figure skater? Can you introduce me to Adam Rippon?” An excited smile shoots across his face.

“No, it’s not a figure skater, plus Adam Rippon has a boyfriend. He plays hockey for the Arizona Coyotes,” I explain.

“Arizona has a hockey team?” He sounds genuinely shocked.

“Why does everyone always ask me that?” I sigh.

“Well, that’s fun.” He gives me a supportive shove and I practically fall off of the chair. Sometimes he doesn't know his own strength.

The food arrives shortly after and we catch up with each other as we eat our meals. I find out that Betsy has a date in a couple of nights and we tease her about settling down and abandoning her wild years that she’s supposed to spend with us.

She gives us a “we’ll see how it goes” so we settle down.

“I’d love to meet your hot sugar daddy, if you’re up for showing him off,” Tyler tells me as we pay our bills and rise to leave the restaurant.

“We’ll see,” I respond vaguely. I’m not sure how I feel about Clayton meeting my friends. I’ve already met his friends and a couple of their partners, but that’s kind of bound to happen seeing as how he works with his friends.

And I go to a lot of his work events- the games- so I was going to meet his friends eventually. But to meet my friends, I’d have to plan a day where me, Clayton, and my friends will be at the same place for an extended period of time to get to know each other and chat.

He’s technically my employer, so that seems kind of inappropriate.

~

“I brought cookies, Christian.” I set the bag down on the counter, pulling out the package to proudly display the package of cookies I stopped by the store to buy.

“My trainer doesn’t allow me to eat cookies,” he states, staring longingly at the package in my hands.

“And do you listen to everything your trainer says?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

He hesitates but nods, causing Clayton to laugh. The brunette grabs my hand, tugging me towards his room. As we pass his roommate I lean closer to him and whisper, “Teacher’s pet.”

“Hey!” He shouts after me. I don’t have the chance to respond before Clayton closes his door, throwing himself onto his bed. I climb up beside him, curling up at the headboard.

“How was your day today?” He asks, voice muffled by the sheets he’s buried his head in.

“Good. How was your day?” I stare out his window at the beautiful desert sunset. Arizona really is a wonderful state.

“What did you do?”

“Um, I studied this morning after I left, then I went to lunch with Tyler and Betsy, then I studied some more and grocery shopping this afternoon,” I answer.

“You went to lunch with Tyler and Betsy?” He repeats, leaning up on his elbows.

“Yeah,” I begin to laugh, “I actually found out today that I never told Tyler about you.”

He gives me a toothy grin. “Really?”

“I guess I just never got the chance to tell him,” I confess.

“So you told him today?”

“Yep.” He moves up the bed until his head is in my lap. I absentmindedly twirl his chestnut strands through my fingers, watching as a car passes by.

“What are your friends like?” Clayton asks me.

“Didn’t you meet them at the bar the night we met?” I pause my movements, waiting for an answer.

“Maybe faintly? I barely remember that night,” he admits.

“Me neither,” I laugh. “But they’re basically just like me, except Tyler is gay and Betsy is prettier.”

“Not possible,” he mumbles.

I don’t respond, unsure of what would be an appropriate response.

“If you want to meet them, I’m having a party this weekend at my apartment. It’s a surprise birthday party for Tyler so everyone’s pretty much going to be wasted the whole night,” I say it before I realize that I’m inviting him.

It’s not that I’m worried that he won’t fit in, I know he will. He’s an attractive male in his twenties who has been to plenty of parties in his day. But I don’t know if he knows how truly wild my friends can get…

Plus, we would be crossing that boundary between sugar-daddy-and-sugar-baby and into, I don’t know, something more.

“I’d love to go to the party,” he accepts my invitation before I can overthink anything much longer.

We’ll just have to see how this goes.

[kiarcheo]

It’s All Coming Back to Me Now    3/?

On tumblr : Part 1 here  and Part 2 here

This chapter is more than 3000 words so if you want to read it on Ao3 click here.

The changed relationship between Catalina and Katherine remains pretty much a secret, even if not on purpose. It's just that nothing really changes for them. They are already living together (they will realise later on that nobody mentions it because they don’t know). Katherine calls Catalina mum or mamá only occasionally, and only when they are alone. She is working on the irrational fear that by showing how close they are, how much she loves Catalina, she will somehow lose her, but habits are hard to break. And while it always gives them a thrill to refer to the other as their mother/daughter, it’s something rarely needed as they don’t meet that many new people. Their now legal bond is as cherished as much as it is not talked about.

If you were to ask them why they never said anything to the other queens, they would just reply that it simply never came up. And it’s not like they don’t talk to the others. Things are much more relaxed since moving out. Distance and space definitely made for better relationships in their case. Of course, some grow closer more than others. Katherine, in particular, made an effort to stay in touch with all the others and build a relationship with every single one, but she quickly made it an unofficial rule not to talk about the other queens. Tired to spend half of their meetups providing updates about the others, she had finally sent a message to the group chat very politely saying that if they wanted to know how someone was doing they should ask the person in question and not her.

And it’s on that very group chat that Cathy requests a meeting, the first time they would get all together since they moved out of their shared house.

They are catching up when Catalina speaks up. ‘Not that this isn’t nice-’

‘Try not to sound so surprised. I’m a freaking delight to be around.’  

Catalina’s glare at Anne lacks any heat. Just because she made Katherine laugh. You are supposed to be merciful towards the court buffoon, after all. It’s not like she suddenly likes her.

‘But is there a specific reason we are all here or....?’ all remaining chatter peters out  and attention turns to Cathy.

‘Have you looked...read what they say about us? Yourself,’ she corrects herself. They have a sort of implicit agreement not to look into each other’s lives. As much as possible, at least, considering how interconnected some of their stories are.

Everyone nods, mood getting sombre.

‘From your faces I guess you don’t necessarily like what you found?’

‘It’s not about liking. Some things are just plain wrong.’ Jane’s comment gets another round of nods.

‘I agree. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you...Since we got a second chance, why don’t we make things right. Tell people what really went down. Like, I was not a glorified, old nursemaid.’

‘I was not ugly.’

‘You have always been stunning.’

Anna’s scowl turns into a soft smile towards Katherine.

‘I was not a witch. And I had a normal amount of fingers. And I definitely never did anything weird with my brother and-’

‘We get it, babe.’

Everyone – Catalina included – stops, surprised by the term of endearment. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.

‘What if we could change that?’ Cathy jumps in, recovering. ‘If history remembers us wrong, we have the chance to make it right. Give our own version of the facts.’

‘I thought we were not supposed to talk about it? Like, tell people who we are?’ Jane points out. ‘We made a deal.’

‘A limited-time deal.’ It’s Anna who seems to catch on what Cathy is saying. There is still quite some time before it expires, but still...

‘Exactly. And when the gag order is done...I think it’s time we speak up.’

‘How?’

Everyone nods. They are not against it in principle, not at all, but they haven’t actually thought about the possibility before, so it’s a brand-new concept for them.

‘At first I thought about writing a book.’

‘Of course, you did.’

It might actually work, Cathy thinks looking at the queens, who all said it at the same time and are now sharing amused glances. And she’ll happily takes the teasing if that is what is needed.

‘But then I thought...how many people are actually going to read it? And what kind of people?’ Cathy continues. ‘I would like to think that nobody already interested in...history? The period? Us?...well, actually believes that Anne was a witch, for example. What we need is to change popular misconceptions and as much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think books would do the job. Then I thought...interviews. They surely would have more reach. But how would we choose? How many? Would we have control over the questions? And then Kat gave me the perfect idea. A fun, engaging one to take control of our narratives.’

‘Me?’ the youngest queen asks surprised.

‘Hamilton.’ It’s all Cathy says.

Catalina groans. ‘She got you too?’

Cathy has to guess that she has been subjected to the topic one too many times (Cathy doesn’t know that in the Trastámara house there is a limit of once a day per soundtrack...because Catalina appreciates music as any normal person does or even more, but Katherine gets obsessed. For weeks she had listened to those 46 songs – yes, she counted them – on repeat, and she had to put a stop to it. Once a day is enough, thank you very much). The other queens are nodding, so it seems that everyone has at least heard Kat talking about it.

‘You want to write a musical about ourselves?’ Anne asks, sounding intrigued.

‘I want us to write it. But yes. If we do it well, it would have a bigger audience than an interview or a book could ever reach.’

‘Except that not anyone can write a musical.’ Anna points out, sceptical.

‘I seem to remember some people having quite the musical skills.’ Cathy didn’t read up on the others, but being the last queen means that she had heard stuff about her predecessors. And while she knows to take with a pinch of salt (or a whole handful of it) what people were saying, even at the time, she doesn’t think that would be something worth lying about. What’s the point of spreading false rumours about Catherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn being accomplished musicians and talented singers? Cathy herself had vocal and instrumental music training, just like them and Kat too.

Cathy chances a glance at the youngest queen. Hopefully the others will think that it’s knowledge from the past – which mainly is – and not related to anything Kat had shared with her. Like the fact that despite some hang-ups, she had decided to take up music again, not wanting bad memories to ruin forever something she loved. She had started with the ukulele figuring it was the most similar she could get to a lute, before moving to guitar. Then on keyboard…money and space wise a piano was just not feasible for where she lived, Kat had explained. Similar issues, along with the noise, are the ones keeping her away from drums (Catalina has been extremely supportive but putting up with her learning how to play drums might be a bit too much even for her). So she had settled on a woodwind instrument as the next one to pick up. Kat credits her past life’s experiences with flute, lute and virginal, and the wonders of internet for her ability to teach herself. She is even considering whether going for it more seriously. Well, not that she isn’t taking it seriously now, she spends long hours practicing, but more like...academically or professionally. They had various conversations about it, about her maybe joining a school or getting a degree or if she should just try to get a jig or something like that. Cathy won’t lie and say that their chats didn’t play a part in her proposing the musical idea, knowing that at least one of them had enough music knowledge and talent in this new life of theirs to pull it off, but she isn’t sure how much Kat had told the others so she doesn’t want to bring it up if Kat doesn’t.

While Catalina and Kat are looking thoughtful, and Anne interested, Jane and Anna still look unconvinced.

‘We can always ask for professional help.’ Cathy concedes. ‘But we should be the one deciding what to say. That’s the whole point. Let’s just try writing something. Ideas. What we want people to know. Type of music. Inspirations. Then we can see what we have and go from there.’

‘What are you proposing exactly?’

‘Let’s try to write a song each.’

.

They all agreed on going in order but now Catalina is deeply regretting it. Because she has to stand up in front of the others and tell them that she doesn’t have her song ready. She has been dreading the meeting. She knows she doesn’t have to be perfect all the time in this life lest something terrible happens. She knows she can’t be perfect all the time. But she still feels uncomfortable showing any kind of weakness. Especially in front of her fellow queens. And the only one whom she allowed herself to be vulnerable with is not currently there. Katherine had texted the group chat saying that she was on her way but was going to be late. Indeed, the catching up part is now over and all the attention shifts to Catalina.

‘So...’ Queens do not fidget. That has been drilled into her and any instinct to do it eradicated centuries ago, which is the only reason she is not fidgeting as everyone looks at her. ‘I have some words,’ she doesn’t dare to call them lyrics, ‘but I don’t really have anything music-wise.’

‘I do!’ Kat bursts into the room, panting. ‘Sorry I’m late, I lost track of time.’

‘You do?’

Kat smiles at Catalina sheepishly. ‘I had some ideas when you showed me what you wrote and thought I’d try them out. I wanted it to be a surprise, but not like this. I was planning to let you listen to it first, but I sort of just finished it? That’s why I was late. Of course, you don’t have to like it. Or listen to it at all. You know what? Let’s forget about it. I’m sure you’ll come up with something much better yourself and you don’t need-’

‘Breathe.’ Catalina waits until she sees the girl taking a couple of deep breaths, short-winded both from running there and then her ramblings. ‘Let’s hear my song.’

‘Are you sure? Because-’

‘I trust you.’ She does. Katherine has talent, she knows it better than anyone else. She is the one witnessing the ease with which she picks up new instruments or how she can play music by ear after listening to it a handful of times. The one who has the privilege to listen to her playing and singing around the house (and now she knows why lately it had happened less, if Katherine had been working on the song for her). But most importantly she trusts her because Katherine knows her. Better than anyone else. She knows her tastes, musical ones included. And she knows her story. Her side of the story.

Katherine takes out her laptop. ‘It’s quite rough, obviously. And the key is-’

‘Just let us hear it.’

Kat nods. She looks down at the papers full of scribbles in front of her. Takes a breath. Then starts the music.

You must agree that, baby, in all the time I’ve been by your side I've never lost control, no matter how many times I knew you lied Have my golden rule Got to keep my cool, yeah, baby

And even though you've had your fun Running around with some pretty young thing And even though you've had one son With someone who don't own a wedding ring No matter what I heard, I didn't say a word No, baby

Katherine looks at Catalina to gauge her reaction at the first part of the song. She has a small smile and she is nodding to the rhythm. Encouraging.

I've put up with your sh- like every single day But now it's time to shh, and listen when I say

It’s Katherine’s spin on Catalina’s words. She isn’t sure she will want to leave the ‘swear’ in, but she just had to do it and try. She knows it’s not something people would expect from the first queen, but she had in mind the Catalina she knows rather than the one people think they know. And her Catalina is not shy about swearing as long as they are alone.

You must think that I'm crazy You wanna replace me, baby there's N-n-n-n-n-n-no way If you think for a moment I'd grant you annulment, just hold up, there's N-n-n-n-n-n-no way

She had needed something to make the tempo works, and then she had remembered Catalina calling Anne babe during the last meeting, and she decided to try it out. Also it makes for a slightly condescending tone towards Henry, calling him baby, which Katherine likes and thinks Catalina will do too.

So you read a bible verse that I'm cursed 'Cause I was your brother's wife You say it's a pity 'cause quoting Leviticus "I'll end up kiddy-less all my life" Well, daddy, weren't you there, when I gave birth to Mary?

That had been a struggle to work out, but Katherine had really wanted to include it because it was so important. The reason Henry adduced seeking the annulment was completely unfounded and people had to know it.

You're just so full of sh-, must think that I'm naive I won't back down won't shh, and no, I'll never leave

You must think that I'm crazy You wanna replace me, baby, there's N-n-n-n-n-n-no way If you thought it'd be funny, to send me to a nunnery, honey, there's No way

Catalina doesn’t seem to hate it and the others are nodding along to the beat, Katherine notices as she looks up from her notes.  There will be work to be done for sure, but maybe they have a good starting point.

‘Dance break?’ Katherine speaks up as the music continues.

‘You always loved a good dance.’ Anne points out, remembering her time at court with her, Jane nodding along.

It’s true. What they don’t know is that she had taken it up again. Encouraged by Katherine pursuing her love for music, she had decided to do the same with her passion for dancing. It’s not something she could see herself doing seriously as Katherine does with playing instruments, but she is loving attending classes and practicing on her own in the privacy of their living room, sometimes making up new routines, sometimes involving Katherine when she needs a partner.

You got me down on my knees Please tell me what you think I've done wrong Been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along If you can just explain a single thing I've done to cause you pain, I'll go No? You've got nothing to say? I'm not going away

You made me a wife, so I'll be queen 'til the end of my life

Catalina had considered herself married and the legitimate queen until her last days…and Katherine with her. It’s only recently that she had considered how her life would have been different – if at all – had she joined Anne’s household like her step-grandmother had been planning. She is quite sure that at the time she would have been less than happy to be around the ‘usurper’ of what she still thought of as her queen, even months after her death.

There's no way

‘Not sure about the end. Maybe another chorus? Or...I don’t know. Like I said, it’s quite rough, I rushed it a bit, especially the last part, I can think about it more and see-’

‘This is rough?!?’

‘Well...yeah? I just took what she wrote and tried to put it in music, but it could be so much better. Like harmonies! Or, you know, add stuff, take it out...change it completely if you don’t like it.’ She is now talking to Catalina.

‘Some bits and bobs, but honestly? I loved it.’

‘Really?’

‘Do I make a habit to say things I don’t mean?’ Catalina looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She shakes her head with a smile at the mumbled sorry she gets.

‘How did you do it?’ Anne interrupts the exchange. ‘Like, the backing track?’

‘Oh. Well, I recorded each instrument separately. Then overlapped the individual tracks. Which was honestly the hardest part. Learning how to use the software.’

‘Would you mind giving me a hand?’ Anne asks her cousin. ‘Once I have the lyrics down, I mean. I’ve been messing around with a keyboard and got myself a guitar, but it was going to be a stripped-down version, like, acoustic, with whatever it worked better for the song. But if you can do the other instruments and put everything together...’

‘Of course! Just let me know what you need and when!’  

‘I might look into some practice rooms. Possibly with instruments. I’ve been dying to get my hands on some drums!’

‘Me too!’

‘Really?’ Catalina hopes her dread isn’t too obvious. She isn’t going to stop her, but she isn’t looking forward to it, if she has to be honest.

‘It’s not going to happen, don’t have the space. Or soundproofing.’ Kat reassures her.

‘We can learn together!’

‘I have been thinking...about a possible structure.’ Cathy says, encouraged by the enthusiasm of the cousins. ‘We said one song each, then I’m thinking maybe one for introduction and one as conclusion? An introductory song to explain what we’re doing? And one last song so that we don’t end with my song. Kind of a final message? About us reclaiming our stories or something?’

‘We could sing them all together!’

‘Oh!’ Kat perks up at Anna’s words. ‘We could add some chorus and stuff in Catalina’s song, like backup singers?, so that it’s not just her singing and us waiting around-’

‘Wait. Her. US? Are we supposed to sing ourselves?’ Jane stops her.

‘I thought so?’ Kat looks around. Jane does the same. It does seem like that’s what the others thought too.

‘Let’s worry about that later.’ Cathy can see that Jane is not particularly convinced about that, but she doesn’t want her to worry about it now. ‘We can get professional singers just like we can get professional writers, if needed.’

‘Another thing…not sure if it’s relevant now, because Kat sort of already did it. But I was going to say that we should make it modern?’ Anna suggests. ‘If it’s just a history lesson, it’s gonna be boring. Not saying that Catalina’s song was boring. At all. But. I don’t know. It’s something I wanted to bring up before hearing it, so...’ she shrugs.

Upon Catalina’s suggestion, they agree on not having set deadlines for when a queen is supposed to deliver her song. It had stressed her out quite a lot having to come up with something by a fixed date, especially when she couldn’t. And without a delivery deadline, Kat would have had the time to show her what she was doing, and they could have worked on it together. They are going to do it now, so it’s not that much a problem, but there is no reason they have to do things in a hurry.

 ________________________

As usual, started as something turned out so much more…included a take on how the musical was born. I always love reading fics about it…guess it was inevitable I’d take my shot at it too. I don’t know much about music and I’m aware that’s probably not how writing a musical works…but this is fiction so please bear with me.

[herpronuonsarefemslash]

Do Not Tap the Glass - TEASER

Enjoy an ABO Supergirl / Jurassic Park (barely) crossover where Alex is a scientist for the Luthor Institute studying a mysterious "creature" that was found in the arctic ice, her wife Maggie definitely thinks pregnant Alex is sexy Alex, they go to a sex club together, and Lex throws Lena in with the beast...that maybe isn't a beast at all. Chapters 1-5 are public and Chapter 6 is Patreon exclusive.

Chapter 1 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qpiYG0XLyuUU79_P2YTwG6IYR6GISse3/view?usp=sharing Chapter 2 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1EJlb75hUbGXdNAkkwPzW691XFS9AXx-d/view?usp=sharing Chapter 3 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jE-f6E4McfFWKUXCX-ZhJWAg0XvHn1el/view?usp=sharing Chapter 4 -  https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HEcDBzNaB6qmZ2JkzInx46INWOyawfdC/view?usp=sharing Chapter 5 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SQaoF7H2aG1kVyhA35zFfQ5ZfK86lU3Z/view?usp=sharing Chapter 6 - https://www.patreon.com/posts/54672610 Alex has a ritual when she starts a new job: ride the bike in for confidence. Sadly, the list of 'required tools' she was asked to bring would never have fit in a bike. It would never have fit in Maggie's beloved 'princess plug' either, that silver Subaru with a bedazzled back hatch and two surfboards eternally attached to the rack.

Hence, renting a small U-Haul that drives like a dead whale. Maybe the Luthor Institute isn't really hiring her for her mind, maybe they just want her and her mom's research and devices. Lex Luthor has a scary rep in the academic community. He's probably just going to have someone shoot her as soon as she's buzzed in the gate.

Still. It's an interesting job because the not-interesting jobs don't come with 200-page non-disclosure agreements she signed, being watched by lawyers so clenched a punch-press and a vat of KY couldn't help them. It's a lot of money. It's enough money to put aside a million for their daughter by the time she graduates college. Once she finishes developing a spine, organs, and nervous system, that is. Alex was too busy puking to nickname the fetus, so Maggie stepped in.

Regrettably. Cervix-Kicker is just not something Alex can tease her slowly-swelling belly with, at least in public. Maggie's turn, next time. She's pretty sure there will be a next time. Alex suspects that pregnancy sex makes the case for the pregnancy itself, in Maggie's view.

Her phone lights up and a bonobo's shrieking voice comes out. Eliza recorded it during the early days of her fieldwork. Alex taps answer.

"Hey, Mom."

"Morning, sweetie.  How's the new job?"

=====

Nia rolls her eyes with such exaggeration it makes her fairy-dusted eyeshadow sparkle a bit in the sun.

"Come on, new girl," Nia teases. "I'll show you around."

"She will. She's basically in charge of the pep squad here," Frank teases. "When I started, I gained five pounds from all of the bonding lunches Nia organized."

"Did you complain?" Nia demands.

"I did not. And I do not regret a moment of it, kid. Someone will come unload the truck, doc. Thanks for bringing all your gear."

Frank tips his ball cap at Alex and goes back to the main group by the door.

"My mom's designs too." Alex mumbles. One accidental touch and she's blubbering out self-deprecation to near-strangers.

"Right," Nia chuckles. "The infamous Doctors Danvers. So is your kid going to be a world-renowned psych researcher does the third generation end up a bunch of losers who like, found the next Google?"

"Um, not sure. I have to meet them first."

"Shut the front door!" Nia exclaims. Her smile just went up about fifty thousand watts. "I was just joking but you're actually preggers."

"How ca-"

Alex glances at Nia's nametag. In the lower right is an omega symbol with an F beside it. Curiously, it even has the sub-status there even though that's unnecessary in the case of female omegas given the extremely low variation rate. Alex has never heard of subtypes being used outside of therapy or a doctor's office. Using them at work is legal--probably--but it's also downright bizarre. As an omega, Nia can not only smell the tiny changes in Alex's scent indicating she's pregnant, she can probably tell Alex what soap Maggie uses, along with her age, ethnicity, and most recent rut.

"They categorize us by status?" Alex asks. "How 1890s."

Nia sighs.

"Well, it's actually not so bad. There was a dude in maintenance who I thought was taking notes on my heat cycle. I mentioned something and the next thing I know there was this absolute unit of a woman from HR sort of shadowing me. Eating lunch, printing stuff to the copier we use, so on. Being obvious about it to, making sure he knew she had her eye on him. So they do use the information for the right reasons."

Any competent HR department could handle all that. Nia must realize that too.

"The creature. The creature can sense human genera and reacts to them."

Nia makes finger guns.

"Bingo. Got a nose like a bloodhound, that one. Even with the enclosure being vacuum-sealed and using completely different air, the creature catches it somehow."

=====

She nods towards the ruined hard drive, which has been ground and punctured and shaved to produce the bearings.

"I'm afraid I never made a backup."

"Fuck," Lex snarls.

She got Lex to curse in front of his men. Victory enough for one lifetime.

"Take her."

She lets the goons cuff her.

"Oh, and I injected myself with an agent that reacts violently with truth serum drugs. Violently and fatally."

"Which ones?" Lex demands.

"All of them. And I put an implant in my teeth with 2 grams of high explosive. So electrocuting me is out. We'll have to make a deal the old-fashioned way, brother."

Lex's pained bellowing is so sweet. ===== Lena's gurney is tilted back vertical and she's wheeled down a long hallway. A pair of armored doors buzz open.

It's a goddamned zoo enclosure. Gorilla enclosure, from the look of it. It reeks of alpha. Almost human. Almost sweet, even. A scent she wouldn't mind nuzzling into at night if she didn't know it was a beast's. Lex himself unclips her and tilts the gurney forwards, spilling her onto wood chips.

"Quite the specimen, I hear. She's used up three omegas so far," he sighs. "Maybe you'll fare better. Maybe you'll live long enough to get a pup in you. When you are ready to talk, press the red button."

Classic good old boy alpha thinking. Like many a single omega, Lena has guiltily indulged in rut non-con fantasies. So that's not quite the threat he thinks it is. Loss of control over the body and second-guessing whether it was consent or just surrender to the heat is Female Omega 101. She could maybe power through that. Close her eyes. Remember boarding school. Andrea and her flashing blue eyes and her exquisitely shaped cock -- ladylike, somehow -- long enough to slam the breath from Lena's lungs and her long hands closed over Lena's neck. Her affected machismo. Taking Lena like she was a mafia boss and Lena was some worthless whore from the back streets. Fulfilling that and any other roleplay Lena wanted.

This is a goddamned gorilla though. That's beyond the realm of kink.

She's in a puddle of light but the rest of the enclosure is dark. Too dark to see anything past her ankles.

That's when she hears it. Huffing. Panting. Too loud and to big a noise to be human lungs. Squelching. Grunting. Moaning.

A face spills out of the dark into the light. Matted blonde curls. Blue eyes glazed over with orgasm, drugs, or maybe in shock. The grunting increases in pace.

"So good, so good..." the blonde mumbles, throwing her head back and forth.

"Hi, Lena."

"Eve Tessmacher? Fuck. I thought you got fired."

=====

"Hey, Nia?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you go to my desk..." Alex begins before shame clamps her jaw shut. She's going to have to say it. Say it to a friend who is her employee and she wonders if the fancy toilet can be reprogrammed to drown her.

"Go to your desk and?" Nia prompts.

"Target bag. Sweatshirt and pants," she huffs.

"Copy that."

Alex catches her breath, then spanks the toilet paper roll over and over. She starts cleaning up. Nia's a good kid. In both the psychological and physical sense had painful days herself--phantom ruts colliding with her desired heat cycle--and she and Alex worked out a system. With it, Alex could sneak her pot chocolate from the cooler in Nia's car, sign it in on her behalf at security, hit the vending machine, and meet her in the breakroom like it's nothing.

Their friendship started out the way a thousand five-minute friendships do in bars. Nia asked for an opinion and Alex assured her she looked cute and that her blind date would love it. The guy turned out to be a moron but the resulting debrief cemented their dynamic.

She's not sure how someone can go from acquaintance to best friend, to kid sister in less than a month. She only knows Nia did.

=====

The member lot is small and the gold member lot is smaller still. Perhaps thirty stalls and mostly full.

Maybe when you spend this much on VIP access to a sex club, it makes sense to spend every weeknight there. Eliza didn't volunteer a number for the membership she bought Alex and Maggie but both she and Alex assumed that down payment on a house would be Eliza and Jeremiah's contribution. She probably went with this out of fond memories of her own years studying at UC National City. If she and Jeremiah ever shared an omega playmate, it would've been somewhere like here. Somewhere deniable.

"Look, babe," Julia whispers, pointing at the engravings in the concrete of the marked stall that Maggie is gradually working their Prius into, sliding it between a Range Rover and a Suburban.

"AD and MS, sponsored by EG?" Alex mumbles.

"Founder sponsored," Julia adds, pointing out something in smaller print and filling the right half of Maggie's vision with creamy cleavage and her lungs with candy-sweet scent of a willing omega.

"I fucking knew it," Maggie chuckles. "Your mom was one of the people that started this place."

"No!" Alex squawks. "Absolutely fucking no!"

"You park," Julia chuckles. "I'll distract her from herself."

[bug13underscore]

transmasc Luke anon - I was interested in the scene in which he goes to get the piercings and Reggie's there with him and holds his hand and Luke is like "I can totally do this on my own" while wincing and Reggie's all smiles like "I know you can, baby." anyway, Luke is 100% short-but-will-fight-you transmasc vibes and I love it

You’re correct about his vibes, we love a fighty-boy lol, and this was an amazing idea thank you so much for this Anon!! 

Small disclaimer, I’ve never had my nipples pierced or top surgery so this is all info I got from a few google searches soooo be warned 

“Sometimes it just feels like we’re the grey sisters.” Julie huffed, slamming her lunch tray down as she slid into the bench beside her girlfriends. 

“What the fuck is a grey sister?” Carrie raised an eyebrow, poking at her school lunch. 

“A group of three sisters in Greek mythology. They share one eyeball and one tooth between the three of them.” Julie rushed out, quickly digging into her food.

“Ew, why would you liken us to them?” Flynn whined, resting her head onto Carrie’s shoulder. 

“Cause it feels like we all get to share brain cells. Obviously there’s six of us, and usually us girls have them.” 

“Only usually?” Carrie laughed, elbowing Julie lightly. Before Julie could explain further, the other three of their group come slamming full-force into their lunch table, panting and wheezing. 

“Alex, inhaler.” Julie clicked her tongue, motioning for one of his boyfriends to get into his fanny pack. The two boys were quick to help him get it out, all slowly gaining their breath back. Julie used this moment to shoot her girlfriends a pointed look. 

“Reggie, explain.” Flynn leveled her gaze to the boy, knowing through practice that out of the three he’s more likely to give up the story. 

“We may have been making out in the janitors closet, and they may have walked in on us.”  

“Luke, excuse.” Carrie sighs, tiredly placing her hand against her forehead, the brunette letting his gaze drift towards his two boyfriends. 

“They’re just so cute! Look at their little faces, they just need to be kissed all the time.” The boy reasoned, his arms thrown out dramatically, as if showcasing valuable antiques to a buyer. 

“I don’t know who’s face you’re calling little, munchkin.” Alex snarked, reaching over to pinch Luke’s face. “We’re older than you, in case you need the reminder.” 

“Ow! Hey!” Luke pulled away from the blondes fingers, rubbing at the offended cheek. 

“Alex,” Reggie pouted, drawing Luke into his arms. Luke smirked triumphantly. “Leave our baby boy alone.” The smirk quickly left his lips, replaced with another pout as the group began to laugh around him. 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Molina. You’re the youngest here.” Luke snarked, reaching over to poke her nose. 

“Yeah, but I’m fine with being the baby, it just means you’re all suckered into my cuteness.” Julie laughed, swatting at his hand before poking his nose in retaliation. His hazel eyes lit up slightly, his gaze shifting to his boyfriends who were now in a conversation with Carrie and Flynn. 

“Suckered into cuteness you say?” 

Fuck, here we go, Julie thought to herself, what’s he gonna get himself into this time? 

~

Luke, much to Alex’s displeasure, was the only one of the boys who had a car. Luke and Alex both had their licenses, endlessly teasing Reggie about being the oldest without his, but they both knew why Reggie avoided getting one. 

This though, was Luke’s favorite part of the school days. Meeting his boyfriends at his car, getting to spend time with the two where they’re more alone than they are when they’re stuck in the school building. 

“I can’t hang out too long today, Moms still pissed that I skipped physics the other day.” Alex hummed, sliding into the backseat and allowing Reggie to take shotgun. 

“Lame.” Reggie hummed, pulling out Luke’s CD collection to shuffle through and decide on what disc today. “What’re we feeling today?” 

“Something soft?” Alex offered, grabbing his water bottle from his backpack as he took a sip. Luke hummed in agreement, noticing Alex’s slight nerves. Reggie nodded before picking out After Laughter for Alex. 

“It's cool if me and Reggie hang out after we drop you off then? Totally fine if not.” Luke shot him a wink through the rear view mirror as he pulled out of their schools parking lot. 

“Of course it’s fine,” Alex’s voice is soft as he reaches up to give Luke’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, doing the same to Reggie as well. “Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” 

“Of course not! We’re not idiots.” Reggie snorted, earning an eye roll from the blonde in the backseat. It’s just a few more minutes before they pull into Alex’s driveway, him only living a few minutes away from their school. Both of his boyfriends make sure to give him a kiss goodbye as he walks up the path to his house. 

As soon as Alex made it through, the door shutting behind him, Luke spun to Reggie with a wild look in his eyes. 

“I have the best idea.” 

~

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Reggie laced his fingers through Luke’s comfortingly. The brunette gives a sharp nod, sliding his phone into Reggie’s jacket pocket. 

“Totally. Doc gave me the green light.” Luke nodded, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. “Besides, Alex is totally attracted to piercings so this is totally worth it.” 

“I know this, baby, but are you sure it’s something you want?” Their piercer looked between the two of them silently as they sanitized the needle and tools they’d be using. 

“Trust me, hun, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this piercing over the years.” Luke sent a wink to his boyfriend, squeezing his hand as he did so. 

The prepping for the piercing takes longer than the actual piercing, with how Blake, their piercer, insisted on talking with them to ease their nerves for a little while before they got into the piercing part. 

Reggie’s piercing was pretty quick, only getting his left nostril pierced. Luke’s fingers were threaded through his for comfort, although it wasn’t really needed. A little pinch and he was done. 

Luke’s in comparison took a little longer, given he was getting both nipples pierced and Blake had to adjust clamps on him to make the process a little faster and easier. 

As Luke sucked in a few shallow breaths he felt a hard squeeze on his hand, causing him to shift his gaze to his boyfriend. 

“I can totally do this on my own.” Luke forces out in a haughty tone, sucking in a breath as the first needle makes its way through the clamp. His grip on Reggie’s hand tightened, causing the leather clad boy to laugh. 

“I know you can, baby boy.” Reggie teased, giving his hand a gentle and loving squeeze back. “You’re the strongest person I know.” 

Luke shot him a dopey grin, wincing loudly as the second needle pierced his skin. Blake finished up, making sure to wipe at Luke’s piercing and handing them both instructions on how to properly clean their piercing, with notes of their gauge sizes and Blake’s email in case they had any further questions. 

They thanked Blake, following them back to the front of the shop. The couple paid, tipping Blake in the process with plenty of smiles and waves as they exited the shop.

The short walk to Luke’s car was silent, their hands intertwined once again. The brunette stopped Reggie before he could pull away and circle around to the passenger side. 

“Hey, thanks for that back there, it means a lot that you’d do this and say that for me.” 

“Of course, baby, it’s no problem.” The boy grinned at him, the new silver hoop in his nose catching the light. 

“No, no. Really, I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before.” Luke wanted to fold in on himself, not used to the nervous feeling that filled him. 

Reggie pulled the smaller boy into his arms, carefully avoiding getting too close to his chest, letting out a small laugh.

“I completely meant it, you’re definitely the strongest person I know. Well, maybe the mentally strongest I know? Alex does have to lug his drum kit around a lot.” 

“Shut up and get in before I leave you here.” Luke pushed away from him gently, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Reggie grins and gives him a mock salute before running around the car and climbing in. They begin their trek back to Luke’s house, the boy starling when they pull into the driveway. “Fuck.” 

“Fuck?” 

“I’m going to have to tell my parents about this so they don’t accidentally fuck up the piercings.”

“Fuck.” 

“We’re fucked.” 

“What do you mean we?” 

“Well I couldn’t have legally got this without you there, Mr. I’m-Eighteen-Now.” 

“Yeah, we’re fucked. Let’s hope they’re in a good mood.” 

“You go in first, they like you better.” 

It was obvious that Emily wasn’t pleased with this outcome, but she did ease up once Luke assured her that he had checked in with the doctor beforehand and once they promised—numerous times—that they had gone to a legitimate, well reviewed shop and that Blake had sanitized all of the equipment. 

Finally, after dinner and Emily’s many questions, Mitch being very quiet and mostly indifferent on the matter, the boys made their way to Luke’s room. 

“We’re skipping school in the morning because you’re gonna wake up whining in pain, I already know.” Reggie laughed as they changed into their pajamas. 

“I am so not going to do that!” 

“Luke, honey, baby boy, my love,” Reggie leveled a look to the boy, full of love and honesty. “You skipped an entire week of school when you broke your wrist plus an additional week when you finally managed to convince me to stay here with you. You already know Emily is calling us in tomorrow.” 

“Yeah okay.” Luke conceded after a few moments. “I’m going to whine because I can’t sleep on my stomach or be big spoon right now though, that’s the worst part of this all.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Reggie grinned at him. “Shirtless for both of us, less of a chance for my shirt to catch, right?” 

“You’re a genius.” Luke grinned up at him. “You know that tomorrow when we do our prank, Alex is gonna find out and be pissed, right?” 

“Oh yeah, no for sure. Well just suck up to him after, it’s fine, he can’t stay mad at us for too long. Our puppy dog faces paired with our piercings are gonna win him over forever now.”

“These piercings just keep getting better and better.”

[hatari-translations]

Skattsvik Development Group - review

Yesterday I went to see Skattsvik Development Group. It was pretty great!

It’s less of an actual play per se and more of an artfully presented, frank account of an act of performance art: these five guys taking their paychecks for the production (standard monthly pay for artists in Iceland, times five) and attempting to hide it from the tax man using the sorts of schemes used by shady millionaires. The outcome is satirical, educational and often just plain hilarious.

Before the show even starts, in the stairwell leading to the small room where the performance took place, they’ve hung up a bunch of the actual documents that they prepared for all this; I took a couple of pictures that I included below.

The guys start by introducing themselves; none of them know all that much about money or taxation, but one does really enjoy making spreadsheets in Excel. Matthías in particular talks about how in doing this he discovered there are a lot of polite, helpful people out there willing to assist you with this sort of thing; one way or another, everyone believes in what they do.

They explain the basic idea of the scheme, as seen in the video I translated the other day: living in country A with a ~40% tax rate, you want to pay ~0% taxes on it, like in country C. Preferably, though, you’d need a double taxation agreement between the countries, which may not exist - so instead you need a country B, with maybe a ~20% tax rate, that has double taxation agreements with both A and C. Then, once the money is in country C, you get an anonymous credit card from the bank in country C, bring it to country A, and withdraw money from the card using an ATM (discreetly, so that you personally can’t be connected to the account).

Two of them go over the various options that they had for countries B and C on a slideshow while the other three dance behind glass. Cyprus sounded great, and they got an offer from a company in Cyprus that handles this sort of thing... only for them to calculate (in an Excel spreadsheet, of course) that setting it up would cost more than the taxes they would’ve paid on their paychecks in the first place. (The total amount they’re paid isn’t that much money, all considered - some ~2 million ISK. Convert to your currency of choice.)

Just the slideshow going over the options is revealing (and delightfully sarcastic). Dubai is amazing; you don’t pay taxes on anything except oil or banking... but you have to actually relocate to Dubai, and they just didn’t have time or money for that. Other places you don’t have to live there but you do have to show up in person to found the accounts and they had to rule it out. They ended up settling on Ireland as a country B and Panama as country C - Ireland has a double taxation agreement with both Iceland and Panama.

Then they go over the process of founding an Irish company. Luckily, there’s a company in Ireland called “Sigtax” that’s all about helping foreigners get through the legal hurdles of founding a company in Ireland, complete with microscopically detailed instructions on exactly how to fill out all the various forms. You have to submit CVs for the founders; the guys worried surely their CVs as random Icelandic artists would set off some alarm bells when they suddenly want to found an Irish IP consultancy company, but luckily Sigtax included CV templates suggesting useful terms to use, such as “entrepreneur”. (Matthías added “positive attitude” under his skills, not because it was on the template but because it’s true.)

Also, you’re supposed to explain the structure of the company, with Sigtax helpfully noting that you can draw it; Matthías filled it in like this:

Possibly the high point of the show is the thoroughly photographically documented day that they mailed out the documents to their contact at Sigtax, where they have various misadventures, as they think there’s a post office in the mall where the theater is, only to discover there isn’t one, get some ice cream for their trouble, stop for some kids who want selfies (presumably having recognized Matthías despite the suit; it was Ash Wednesday, which is the day Icelandic kids dress up in costumes, and they mentioned feeling it was appropriate that they were wearing costumes too), head to the actual post office, buy an envelope and seal it only to discover you can’t send courier mail through the regular post office, so they have to go to DHL instead, only when they get there that’s only an office and not an actual DHL location, so they have to take yet another trip.

Once they’ve mailed the documents, they wait for an answer, only to be told that they’ve been rejected... because they can’t have “Group” in the company name when it’s not an actual group of companies. Sigtax suggests “Skattsvik Development Limited” instead. They do that and mail the documents again; this time it’s fine. They officially own an Irish company.

Following this, they manage to buy a shell company in Panama as well, through another company specializing in this sort of thing. They offer a list of pre-established companies you can buy (defunct ones that they bought); it costs extra to change the name of the company, so they bought “Eldest Fire, Ltd.”, which is just extremely metal.

Unfortunately, though, founding an actual bank account in Panama is a bit more difficult. The company they bought Eldest Fire from does have a bank they work with, but something goes wrong there - it’d take more time than they had, or they needed more money in the account than they had, or something (I can’t recall exactly what it was). In the meantime, they’re trying to found an Irish bank account with the Bank of Ireland, but to do that they need to prove that they’re, you know, an actual company operating in Ireland and not some Icelanders’ tax haven shelf company. Luckily there is also a company that will assist you with that! So they get a physical address in Ireland, some random building, and even a landline phone that just forwards everything to one of their Icelandic mobile phones, providing them with a utility bill (meant to be provided as proof that they really are operating an actual business at this address). Even then, though, they’re informed they have to show up in person to open an account - so they instead try to get an account with Fire.com, an online bank, which would not require that. They, too, want proof that they have a legit business - and ask for a website to show this. The guys quickly set one up with a Wix template, very professional-looking apart from the big Wix banner at the top... but unfortunately Fire.com does not take the bait.

That’s when another bank gets in touch with them, though, one with branches in both Ireland and Panama. This bank insists on a video chat, so the guys raid the theater’s prop department for anything they can think of that’d be at an office (printer, table fan, half-full bottle of Coke, potted plant...), dress up in their suits again, project a Reykjavík skyline onto the wall... and talk to the guy.

The bank guy seems noticeably a little awkward after they tell him very frankly that the point of this exercise is to avoid paying high taxes - but he still advises them, and explains what they’ve got set up is actually unworkable (largely because they used their actual real names to found the Irish company), but they can totally make it work legally by going through the US instead. The guy wants to meet up in London to continue making arrangements, and suggests a date after the slated premiere of the show - but even here they’re going to need a lot more money.

In the end, then, they don’t actually manage to complete the scheme, but there’s every indication they totally could have if they weren’t trying to do this with the paltry amount paid to five guys putting together a play in four weeks. Matthías also ventured to ask the guy, at the end of the chat, just how much money is being handled this way, and he answered that 70% of the world’s capital is held in offshore accounts.

There was a Q&A afterwards, where I asked how they responded to the guy about the London meeting. They hadn’t; “We just ghosted him.” They also added that any further meetings or video chats with him would’ve been several hundred pounds per hour. My husband also asked what would’ve happened if they had successfully pulled it off - to which Matthías explained that they talked to a couple of lawyers, including his father, and this performance would not constitute legally valid evidence of tax evasion, because it’s a play. It’s not tax evasion if it’s for the art.

Overall, I learned a lot about the particular shameless absurdities of global capitalism, and had a thoroughly good time in the process - and so did my husband, who was initially very ehhh about coming along. Definitely recommended... although I don’t expect most of you guys are in any position to see the final performance tonight.