#i was fully expecting the other email guy to show up late in the book or something but that was just. never mentioned again

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread  

Never Been Kissed

adult demi mm romance

a film studies graduate managing his town’s dying drive in theatre is desperate to save it, and tries to convince a reclusive local director to show her lost media film

also his ex crush/best friend is the new social media manger there

[itwoodbeprefect]

Inge! sorry I'm a little late to the party, but do you still take prompts? if yes, I'd like to request a friendship piece for either Rodney&Teyla or Rodney&Ronon (w/ or w/out a dash of McShep is good for me) pretty please? thanks! <3

Not that late at all, and what a lovely warm prompt! Thank you. :D

I went with Rodney & Ronon, but also kind of Rodney & Teyla and maybe Ronon & Teyla, and also John is around, and it’s almost teamfic? Also, Jeannie.

---

The door to John’s quarters slides open exactly like his own would, which he expects, but he stops cold after two hasty steps into the room anyway. He turns back to the door to check, and in the process has to look past the Johnny Cash poster above the bed and the surfboard leaning against the wall and the giant brick of a Tolstoy book on the nightstand, so yeah, he decides in the end, without stepping out to doublecheck - these are John’s quarters. There’s not a single thing out of place, except, well, the obvious.

“McKay,” Ronon grumbles. It sounds like a greeting. Like Ronon, sitting fully clothed on the edge of John’s made bed, is saying hi.

“What are you doing here?” Rodney asks, by way of saying hi back.

“Meeting Sheppard.” Ronon grins, in a way that looks a little dangerous. That’s a good sign with Ronon, who has no problem looking a lot dangerous, if he wants. “Unless you want to spar with me.”

Rodney does not. Rodney thinks that’s a little too predictable for him to say out loud; quite honestly, he thinks John is crazy for endangering his life that way voluntarily every week.

Rodney looks back at the door again, which has slid closed, and in front of which the person he’s been looking for has not suddenly materialized in the last ten seconds. “Where is John?”

“Not here.”

Rodney’s nerves make him skip the snappy comeback. “Any idea where he might be?”

“Why?” Ronon asks.

Which is more than enough to make Rodney spill his guts. He was barely holding it in, anyway. “I think Jeannie’s mad at me, and I’m not sure why.” He frowns and starts to pace back and forth and rub his hands together. He’s a multitasker. “I don’t think I did or said anything rude lately, but her emails are shorter than usual, and she didn’t even sign the last one. It’s really not like me to overthink these kinds of things, because I don’t care what people think of me anyway-” That’s a lie, he’s come to realize in recent years, but it’s a comforting one to repeat out loud, sometimes. “But, you know, I think I was the bad guy for not contacting Jeannie all those years and we’ve only just started being brother and sister again, so I’ve been trying to put in the effort, and now I think she’s mad at me.” He stops marching and gives the too long, didn’t read version. “So I need someone to tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”

Ronon levels a look at him. “And you need John for this.”

The look says more than the words, and it has a point, of course. John’s not known for his exceptional social grace and skill. Rodney wags his head a little, considering how to justify his choice. John is his best friend, but he’d feel a little pathetic saying that to Ronon, who he’s pretty sure is also John’s best friend. “He had some surprisingly clever insights about my relationship with Jeannie last time she was here,” is what Rodney lands on, reluctantly. He spots John’s golf stuff in the corner, and wistfully thinks back to being able to just ramble at John without Ronon sitting there, judging him.

Ronon leans back, planting his hands behind him on the mattress. “I could help,” he offers, out of the blue.

Some deep, deep blue. Blue enough to make Rodney stare, hands stilling mid-wring. “You?” Rodney’s not trying to be offensively puzzled, but he thinks he’s allowed a little surprise. If John is dubious in his social grace, Ronon is a tripping hazard. “You could help?”

Ronon stares back like a challenge. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Rodney says. He waits and looks at Ronon expectantly, but nothing happens. Ronon just looks back at him mutely. “Please?”

“What would Teyla do?”

“Huh?” She’s not here, either - if Ronon’s help is just sending him to chase someone else around the city, that’s not very helpful at all.

“Ask yourself,” Ronon says. “What would Teyla do? And then do that thing.”

Rodney is right back to baffled. He’s not sure he ever left - he’s talking to Ronon Dex about feelings. “Is that how you handle a problem?”

“No.” Ronon leaves a pause there. Rodney finds himself unexpectedly distracted by the question if Ronon talks so little because he really just doesn’t have much to say, or because finding words takes effort. “I glare at it until it goes away.”

Rodney huffs a laugh out of pure surprise, because that almost sounds like a joke. It may not have been, but either way Ronon doesn’t glare at him, which Rodney takes as a sign that he hasn’t just become a problem.

“And if that doesn’t work-” Ronon continues, which Rodney feels is surprisingly talkative of him, until he lets that sentence hang unfinished.

But Rodney can do that, now. Finish Ronon’s sentence. “What would Teyla do?”

Ronon nods. He looks a little smug, like there’s a dead Wraith around here somewhere. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Rodney says, both because he would have guessed that Ronon’s backup plan would involve a lot more knives (though it could, potentially, still involve knives sometimes - Teyla’s very good with those) and because that’s actually good advice. If there’s one person who would know how to get someone to tell them what’s wrong, it’s Teyla.

And if Teyla thought somebody she loved might be mad at her, but she wasn’t sure why, she would... ask. She wouldn’t go into a tailspin and try to guess at the answer while assuming it had to be her fault, she would ask why and listen and then talk it out.

“Oh my God,” Rodney says, feeling like a whole new world just opened up to him. “Words.”

Ronon pulls a face. It looks a little like a sympathy wince.

Rodney flings a hand out at him. “Thank you!”

“Thank Teyla,” Ronon says, which Rodney thinks is a little weirdly modest for the galaxy’s greatest Runner who just counseled him through a family emergency, but they can work on Ronon’s ability to accept gratitude later, over lunch or something.

For now, Rodney sweeps out of the room, because he needs his computer so he can type so he can get Jeannie to tell him what’s bothering her so he can be a good brother, and apologize only once he knows what he’s apologizing for. God, Teyla’s smart.

As luck would have it, John is just stepping out of the transporter when Rodney storms towards it. “Hey,” he says, slowing to a stop when Rodney doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“Asking you for help.” Rodney brushes right past him with a pat to his arm; no time.

“You’re going the wrong way,” John calls after him.

“I’m fine! Ronon helped me by making Teyla help me help myself with Jeannie.”

“What?”

The last thing Rodney sees before he steps into the transporter is John’s bewildered face. It’s clear John is left with some questions, but Rodney doesn’t need to hang around for that. Ronon can take over; that’s what Teyla would do.

Or, Rodney thinks, what a friend would do.

(Turns out, in the end, that Jeannie was never even mad at him to begin with - her next email is much longer, and details all the mundane little circumstances that piled up and left her very stressed last month but that she didn’t think Rodney had wanted to hear about (it involves a flu and lice and a car that wouldn’t start and visiting in-laws and school play preparations and a lost teddy bear and half a dozen other little things Rodney is glad he doesn’t have to deal with in Pegasus), and then she calls him very attentive for picking up on her mood and sweet for thinking to ask if everything is okay.

The next day Rodney bribes one of the botanists to cut a bouquet for him and gives it to Teyla, and he hoards one of the last pieces of pie at dinner until Ronon shows up. “What’s happening?” John asks, suspicious. Maybe Ronon’s explanation wasn’t all that comprehensive after all.

“Emotional intelligence,” Ronon says around a full mouth, spewing little pieces of pie across the table, and Rodney nods solemnly.

That’s not what Teyla would do, because she’s smiling at them both, but close enough.)

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

Yixing sat at the kitchen table as the others finished up their breakfast. Minseok took the now empty plate that had belonged to Ji Yeon and rinsed it off in the sink, scrubbing away at the bits that had caked onto the white porcelain. Yixing continued to stare at the newspaper article. He’d read it so many times in the last fifteen minutes that surely he had it memorized by now. Worry pounded in his ears and not simply because of the rise in wolf-related deaths in the area. It had been his professor that was killed this time.

The same splitting headache that had been plaguing him for weeks now came back in full force. Dropping the paper, Yixing rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. It didn’t do any good.

“You okay?”

Yixing looked up at Baekhyun, who stood on the other side of the table. He smiled. “Of course. Given the circumstances. I’m just hoping I can catch up in this new class.”

“It sucks that it had to be one of your pre-med classes,” Baekhyun said, shaking his head.

“It’s terrible that it had to happen at all.”

“You know what I meant. We’re already worried enough about these attacks, but now you’re connected to one of the deaths. We’ll have to be extra careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Yixing isn’t the one we have to worry about.” Junmyeon said pointedly. Baekhyun feigned a wounded look. Snickers echoed around the room, except from Minseok’s mate, Ji Yeon. Her eyebrows were pinched tight with concern. And she had every right to be. Perhaps she should even be more worried than she already was.

The headache still throbbed behind Yixing’s eyes. Relief didn’t seem to be coming soon. He stood up from the table, excusing himself quietly as he left the kitchen for his bedroom to be alone.

“Yixing?”

He stopped a few steps up.

Ji Yeon stood just inside the short hallway, arms folded in front of her with the fingers tucked underneath. Yixing thought of her as a strong person, someone who stood as a good foundation for Minseok. He didn’t know her that well yet, but he already say her as the strong type, the sturdy kind.

“Yes?”

“You guys will catch this omega, right?” She glanced off to side, probably to check that Minseok hadn’t overheard her question. The eldest wolf was more than aware, Yixing was sure of it. The connection between a mate and their wolf was strong, indescribably so from the stories he’d heard. If he was honest, he was a bit jealous that Minseok was the first to be mated. The hope he had, however, was that she would not be the last. Once a pack started finding their other halves, it was a domino effect. His time would come, sooner or later.

Yixing mustered up a smile that he hoped came off as reassuring. “There’s nine of us and one of him. Eventually, we’ll find him.” Accepting that answer for the time being, Ji Yeon nodded and walked back into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Yixing dropped the smile and swallowed thickly. He headed up the rest of the way to bedroom and shut the door.

Tense energy tingled through his feet as he sat on the edge of his bed. They were aching to move, to pace in hopes to work out the nerves, but he didn’t want to concern his brothers who would certainly hear it from the floor below. A run was out as well. As soon as any of the others got a whiff of someone shifting to wander through the woods, they jumped in to join. Only Minseok had the talent to get away clean.

Honestly, that was the least of his worries if he were to go running.

He wasn’t a killer. He wanted to help people. That was why he was studying medicine, why he wanted to be a doctor. But lately… These headaches were never ending, plaguing him over the last several weeks. And then there were the blackouts. Moments of time where he couldn’t remember what had happened. No one saw him during those times. Though he didn’t have to ask when he saw the pack after an episode. He was usually questioned where he had been himself. And he never had an answer. Not a truthful one.

No. This couldn’t have been him. There was another explanation for what was happening, both with the killings and with himself. It would just take time to figure it out.

**

Your fingers clenched tightly to the textbook against your chest. All morning you had been spending time at the library, reviewing last week’s vocabulary in an effort to distract yourself. Unfortunately, in a place like this with a wild animal running around killing people, escaping the whispers and rumors was not an option. It seemed that everyone was discussing the latest tragedy. And it made sense with how close it hit to the university.

“I hear her body was found in pieces.”

“I’m surprised they even found a body with all the animals that live in the woods.”

“Some of the hunters are talking about going out to kill the animal before it kills someone else.”

“No way. Did you see the pictures someone took of the paw prints in the dirt? That thing has to be huge. Like a bear.”

“There’s no way its as big as a bear.”

“I didn’t even know there were wolves in the forest.”

“What? Did you think it was all bunnies and squirrels?”

Unable to take it anymore, you’d slammed the textbook shut (gaining annoyed glares from those around you as if they weren’t the cause of your inability to utilize the library in the way it was meant to be used) and headed out. It was mystifying to you, the way others would talk about what was happening, like it was sports game or a thriller on TV.

Professor Xui was strict and stern, but she was also admired by the students. The “tough love” type. Though you personally had never been in any of her classes, you did know who she was, and you’d cried when you’d heard the news. Naturally, the university was on top of how to move forward. You’d groaned audibly when you’d read the email that the classes would be combining. Your human physiology class was already close to capacity. They had moved your session into one of the larger science rooms where freshman chemistry classes typically took place. Goodbye uncomfortable wooden desks, hello overly tall lab tables and bar stools with no back support.

You were one of the first to arrive at the lab, giving you the pick of the lot. One of the front tables was free so you settled there. You continued to clutch to the textbook that should have been opened to the page written on the white board in front of you. It was hard to let go. This thick, overpriced book wasn’t going to protect you from anything. And besides, you had no reason to be afraid. You didn’t go into the woods. You weren’t the kind to hike or camp or go near the trees for any reason. The flannel shirt you wore was simply because it was comfortable. You were absolutely fine.

Rolling your eyes at yourself and the silliness that was the track of your mind, you let go of the book and flipped to page thirty-four. Other students filed in as the seconds ticked closer to the allotted time. Professor Jiang, a short, salt and pepper-haired man with wired-framed glasses and a dad-level sense of humor, walked into the room with his old school briefcase, corners wearing thin and the metal on the push latches showing the brass base until the silver coating. The duet of the latches still made you jump even after fully expecting it.

“Good morning, everyone.” Professor Jiang adjusted his glasses. A nervous twitch he completed at the beginning of every class. All it took was five minutes into his lecture and he developed the steel nerves of an alligator wrestler. Pulling a pencil out from your bag, you barely paid attention to the rest of Jiang’s announcement. “I know it's difficult to process, but we’ll all get through this together. For the new students, I will be available for anyone who needs help adjusting to the new teaching style. And I- Oh. Hello.”

You looked up to see what the interruption was.

A late comer had entered the classroom, the door slowly closing behind him. Slim yet athletic, the newest student wasn’t overbearing or imposing, but he still captivated your attention, holding on to it as if his life depended on it. And he was staring right back at you with an intensity that matched your own. Mouth hanging open by the slightest of centimeters, he didn’t move or pay any attention to the professor or the other students staring at him. The muscles in his hand strongly gripped the strap of his backpack that hung off one shoulder. He was going to misalign his back if he kept doing that.

Professor Jiang cleared his throat pointedly, ending the staring contest. “New student?”

The new student blinked rapidly as he turned to the teacher. “Yes. Sorry. I got lost with the new room assignment.”

“One of Xui’s students?”

He nodded.

“That’s alright. We all need an adjustment period. Please, take a seat.”

You stiffened as Professor Jiang held his hand out in the direction of the empty seat right next to you. And that’s exactly where the new student sat. You forced yourself to keep your eyes straight ahead, concentrating a little too hard as Professor Jiang started his lecture of the circulatory system. But his words were drowned out by the shuffling beside you as the new student took out his textbook and other necessities for notes. You leaned forward, holding your neck up by your palm as you mentally repeated the highlights of the pulmonary circuit in order to be productive. The scratch of the pen against your notebook seemed louder today. Your heart seemed to be working in overtime as well. Was everything louder today? Or were you being overly sensitive to noise due to the current circumstances?

“Alright. Please, take a few minutes to go over the review questions located at the end of the section,” Professor Jiang said. It was almost a relief for his short lecture to be over. “Feel free to check with your partner at the table. To make things easier for all of us, the seats you chose today with be permanent for the rest of the semester and who you are seated with will be your constant collaborator.”

Oh, joy.

You were not the best at getting to know new people. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t think. The other person always wanted to start off with the weather or their job or some other subject that you found difficult to bounce off of to continue the conversation. It was like your mind wasn’t built for small talk. Somehow, you’d missed the installation of pre-programmed responses that everyone else carried around. You had a tendency to go a little too deep a little too quickly. Those were the conversations you wanted to have. Those were the kind that you found easy responses for. But people tended to find your passion about Rosalind Franklin and her forgotten contribution to science a little much.

“Hi.”

The cool voice that broke through your scrambled thoughts made you jump. You hit your knee against the lab table. Careful to hide it from view, you rubbed the sore spot to make the throbbing go away. Your new lab partner must have heard it given the shy smile that pushed up left corner of his mouth, revealing a deep dimple in his cheek. As much as you wished it wasn’t, your heart beating rapidly against your ribs.

For several seconds, you said nothing. No greeting back, no “I’m trying to focus on my work”, not anything. You were silent, staring back at him like he was walking around with a windmill on his head.

“I’m Yixing,” he continued in an effort to get you to speak.

Right. Conversations were two-way streets. “(y/n).”

His smile spread even wider. “It’s nice to meet you, (y/n).”

Words had apparently abandoned you today. All you could do was nod. He didn’t take it offensively. A small chuckle pushed passed the silence.  

“Do you want to do the questions together?” he asked. “Or maybe when we’re both finished, we could compare what we got?” he suggested when you still didn’t answer.

“Compare,” you finally spat out. “I think it would be better if we compared. Afterwards, that is.” Not that you were usually the most articulate person, but this was becoming painful.

Yixing nodded. ���Okay.” And with that he turned to his book, numbered the lines down on his paper and read over the questions. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your own station to do the same. Big mistake.

His natural scent hit you like a gust of wind on a previously calm day. You weren’t expecting the soft pine smell that he radiated. It wasn’t an overly musty, too-much-cologne type smell. It was subtle; the reason you didn’t catch on to it until this moment. Glancing over at you, Yixing frowned.

“You smell nice.” Oh, gosh, someone kidnap you now. Get you out of here in a fashion that would give reason as to why you didn’t come back. Did those words actually just leave your lips? Turning away from him, you reprimanded yourself for the slip up. Yixing laughed softly, making you turn to face him again.

“Thank you,” he said sweetly. “I appreciate the compliment. Especially since this building has a tendency to smell bad between the chemicals and dissections. I’m always worried that I’ll leave with some of it on me.”

You smiled at his joke. And that was where your thought train stopped. Instinct told you that an additional response was appropriate, but none came to you. You tried to rifle through the possibilities. Before you could find one, though, Yixing had turned his back down to his work.

With the awkward exchange over, you were able to make it through the five questions, writing down the answers with confidence.

“Do you want to compare?” Yixing asked as soon as you wrote the last word.

“Sure.” You slid your paper closer to the middle and shifted your body so you were partially facing him. One by one, you went over what each of you had gotten. Physiology of the human body was a strong suit of yours, more so than of your other science classes. That little bit of pride you had was perking up. It was ready to show off its penchant for knowledge. Unfortunately, this was not going to be one of those times for showing off. For the most part, you were evenly matched. Your answers were close, nearly identical in some parts.

“Professor Jiang might think we cheated,” Yixing teased.

“Well, he did say to collaborate with each other.” Good response. Appropriate response. You nearly patted yourself on the shoulder with that one. You even gave it the kind of tone that said you were merely teasing back.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“That concludes today’s class,” Professor Jiang announced. “As you leave, please stack your answer papers on the corner of the desk up here.” He patted the black top for emphasis. “Have a good day, everyone.”

Standing up, the sounds of stool legs scraping against the scuffed tile echoed through the large room behind you. Once your textbook was zipped up safely in your bag, you reached for the paper. Yixing swiped it up first.

“I’ll take it up there for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You might not have been the only one blurting out thoughts before you stop them. A slight pink hue bloomed on Yixing’s cheeks. You were left there speechless as he hurried to the front, dropped off the papers, and left the classroom.

Dazed was an understatement. You didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. So, you ignored it. It was probably nothing anyway. Checking your watch, you calculated the amount of time you had until your afternoon sessions. There was a long break in between. The smart decision would be to hang out somewhere on campus to ensure that you actually went to your afternoon classes. But you needed quiet. Somewhere with no whispers about the woods or comments about the college’s new schedules. The only place you were guaranteed to find that was in your apartment. The building was a couple blocks away, a short walk no more than five minutes. You would have plenty of time to head there and back.

The front door was unlocked when you arrived. A bad habit from your roommate. She didn’t see the need to lock it if she was home and awake. You, on the other hand, clicked it tight and double checked it before stepping in deeper to the apartment.

Ran was sitting at the table, eating noodles and scrolling through a site on her laptop while her phone played a soft melody led by a pipa. It was a dreamy song, soft and comforting, like what your parents used to play for you after a nightmare.

Sighing to yourself, you sat down across from Ran and let your bag fall off your shoulder and to the floor. You hadn’t taken your computer with you, so the loud clump wasn’t one to panic over.

“How was class this morning with the new students?” Ran asked over the music.

The two of you weren’t extremely close. Friends, but not blood sisters. Ran had been your roommate freshman year and when you started talking about moving off campus, you’d offered her the other room to cut down on cost. She’d taken it rather than risk getting a new roommate that she didn’t like. You were similar some ways and vastly different in others. It balanced out, though, and you got along to the point where neither of you kicked up a fuss about cleaning the rooms or washing the dishes. You simply cleaned up after yourself. It was a co-habitation of convenience.

You shrugged. “It was fine. We’re all partnered up now, which is a little awkward, but I’ll survive, I guess.”

“Are they cute, at least?” Ran said with a smirk.

Yes. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Reaching over to the stack of envelopes, Ran plucked the one off the top and handed it to you. “I picked up the mail this morning. Thought you might want to see what came for you.”

Your stomach whirled like it was in a tumble dryer. The envelope had a familiar red emblem of a brick clocktower stamped in the top left corner. With a shaky hand, you took the envelope and ripped open the top. The nicely folded letter slipped out easily. Your eyes scanned the black letters. When they finally sunk in, you slumped back in your chair with a sigh.

“Oh, no.” Ran frowned. “They didn’t reject you, did they?”

You shook your head. “No, not out right. They want to see how well I do this semester before giving a final decision.”

“Well, that’s not too bad. It’s not a no.”

“It’s not a guaranteed yes either.”

Closing her laptop, Ran crossed her arms. Her lips were pursed, eyes down on the table. “You could just stay here. I mean, they have a pretty good medical program and you said that this was where your parents had met-”

“I don’t want to stay here,” you stated firmly. “There’s no reason to.”

“Your aunt is close by.”

“She wants me to do what I want. If that means going to medical school far away, then so be it. I’ll stay in touch with her. Visit when I can.”

“Well, I hope you get in.” Ran stood up and stretched. “On a brighter note, Hae In and I are going out tonight if you want to join us.”

You shook your head. “I’m good. Thanks for the invite, though. I appreciate it.” Whenever Ran and Hae In went out, things tended to get a little crazy. You were sure they had fun and they always came home safe. You just didn’t think that it would your kind of scene. She left a few minutes later and you were finally granted that peace and quite you had been searching for. Well, the quiet, at least.

Peace was nowhere to be found. Stress was rearing its ugly head as you stared at the letter. Ran was right, it was wasn’t a flat rejection. They were, at minimum, interested in giving you a chance. As one of the most prestigious medical universities in the country, you were eager to walk their halls.

The fact that it was far away from any reminders of your life was the bigger incentive. Releasing all the air your lungs were holding on to, you folded the letter back up and tucked it away in the front pocket of your bag. All you had to do was make it through this semester with no hiccups and you would be fine.

Shouldn’t be too hard. There was no reason for any of your plans to be derailed or for you to change your mind.

As long as you survived the next few months, that is.

[captainjimothycarter]

Drabble idea: Steve and Peggy meet each other when they get assigned as lab partners in college.

So I uh never did something in college or HS that needed lab partners sooo this might be lacking. This might not be what you expected.

--

“You like him,” Angie giggled behind her blueberry muffin. Her eyes were bright with the glee of a new topic to gossip on for that hour.

Peggy, for her sake, rolled her eyes as she stabbed at a piece of chicken with her fork and waved it threateningly in front of her roommate’s face. “We are lab partners. That’s it. Mr. Gregg, just thought it was a good idea to pair us together to be lab partners for this upcoming project. That’s it.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Pegs. You don’t see what I do. You go googley-eyes on him!”

“I do not.” 

“You talk about him all the time.”

“Because he’s in four of my six classes so I see him ninety percent of the week. It doesn’t mean I have some school-girl crush on him.”

“And,” Angie continued, promptly ignoring Peggy’s rebuttal. “You sit next to each other in class, even French. Face it, Pegs, you have a grade-A crush and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s adorable.”

Peggy had no response as she bitterly shoved the chicken into her mouth for one reason - Angie was right and she hated how right she was.

--

“Whose the girl?” Sam asked Steve on his second day of classes after he’d waited for the blonde outside the room.

Steve peered up from the last-minute notes he was reviewing, watching Peggy walk by him after meeting her roommate. “Oh, uh, Peggy.”

“Peggy, huh? You sure spending lots of time lookin’ at her.” Sam was teasing, he could hear it dripping in his voice and Steve hated it. This would of course find its way back to Bucky to tease him about during his weekly phone call while out of state in the military.

“Sam, stop it. We’re just friends, ain’t nothing to it.”

“Sure, buddy, whatever you say but sooner or later it’s turnin’ into something else. I can see it happening. Just make sure I’m the best man at your wedding.”

“Please, you know that spots reserved for Bucky when I wound up marrying my easel.”

Because who’s gonna want to marry a 5’4, asthmatic, 92-pound guy that can’t even see straight without glasses? Not that Steve minded, he was happy alone and with friendships, but sometimes that loneliness did catch up to you.

And damn Sam to hell and back for being right.

A month and a half later, as Peggy walked away after promising to email him the extra credit assignment for Art History, Steve was fully aware that he had a crush on her.

And it was pathetic.

--

“So,” Bucky sighed over the phone three months later. “Sam says you got a date with your lil’ crush tonight.”

He was going to kill Sam. “No, I have a lab assignment with Peggy tonight. It’s not a date. And she’s not a crush.”

“Even over a thousand miles away, Rogers, I can tell you’re lying. Sam, are his ears turning pink?”

Goddamnit, Steve regrets putting Bucky on speaker. Or even introducing Sam and Bucky. 

“Yeah, man. Bright shades of pink, oh his cheeks too. And his neck - hey you’re a full-body blusher. Pegs is gonna love that!”

As the boys laughed, Steve drew the hood of his jacket over his head and grumbled, shoving his books into his bag. “You two are idiots. I’m going to Peggy’s, don’t wait up.”

Before Bucky could respond, he hung up on him and then three minutes later sent him a text about how he missed him and how Sam really seems into him.

That’ll shut him up.

--

Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late.

That’s what Peggy had told the asthmatic blonde when they met up after Astrology 101 to discuss the lab. Steve would be coming over to her place, they would go over their notes, the assignment, and then head down to the lab at their scheduled time.

It was not a date, no matter what she told Angie. This was not a date. This was just two friends, no two co-students, acquaintances getting together to complete an assignment. 

So who cared if she couldn’t stop thinking about him? Or if she wondered at times if his lips looked as soft as they felt. Or worried about him when he wasn’t in class or late and looked so flushed and yet relieved when he saw her there. Or the time she skipped class because her period cramps were too much and Steve looked so relieved to see her the next day. 

She thought about that look in his eyes often and hated how it gave her goosebumps, she hated how it made her stomach clench and butterflies to form. She tried to talk to Michael about it, but the man was just as hard to get ahold of and when he wasn’t, he teased her as all big brothers did.

Then proclaimed if she fell for a Yank, he was gonna revoke her English rights.

The prat.

8 o’clock and no Steve.

Peggy thought about calling him, a little worried because he wasn’t the type to be late. She decided to wait until half an hour. Half an hour and if Steve wasn’t’ here, she’d call him. Luckily, she didn’t have to because at 8:18 Steve showed up, face flushed, wheezing, and his hair sticking up in all directions.

“Oh you poor thing,” was the first thing out of her mouth, the worry and anxiety melting off of her. She should be mad that he was late or mad that she thought he stood her up, but she was just relieved. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

Taking him by the arm, she leads him inside and straight on her couch, bustling off to the kitchen to get him a glass of water and a snack cake. The guy looked peckish.

“Oh, I…” He shouldn’t like the fact she was doting over him, in fact, he should hate it, but by her doting, over him, it meant she was touching him and he liked that. “I had an asthma attack.”

It sounded like it took everything in him just to admit that and Peggy tried to ignore how that kicked-puppy look tugged on her heart. Steve hated pity and she wasn’t pitying him, she was worried. There was a difference.

“I’m okay now,” he continued, sipping on the water. “I guess I just got worked up and kinda lost and…” His thin shoulders shrugged as if to brush the fact he has a medical emergency off. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re sorry?” The words came from her before she could help it. He was sorry for what? Having a medical emergency? 

It didn’t do any good when Steve flinched at her accusing tone.

“Steven, by no means should you be sorry. Yes, I was worried but you’re here now and you’re okay. It’s behind us. Do you still want to go to the lab? I could just reschedule us.”

“If we reschedule now it might take us two weeks to get a spot and we’ll be crunched for time.” He looked genuinely worried, eyes wide. “I’ll be fine. We can head over now.”

There was little argument from Peggy on that end. Steve was right, if they rescheduled then it could take them a while but that’s not what sold the deal. The fact she got more time with him as of right now was better than waiting.

--

“How’d you get lost?” Peggy asked, driving a stoic Steve from his thoughts as they braved the cold air after spending three and a half hours in the lab. It was now officially Saturday, meaning they could sleep in. Angie wasn’t home and wouldn’t be home until noon tomorrow, so she was looking forward to peace and quiet. 

Steve drew his scarf tighter around his face, looking up at her with cocked eyebrows. It was going to snow, he could feel it in his aching bones. “Oh. Uh, when I get an asthma attack I get...disorientated. Everything looked the same, I didn’t wanna call for help cause I was fine.”

Peggy couldn’t help herself in rolling her eyes. “I think we both have a different definitions of fine, Mr. Rogers. You are certainly not fine. I can still hear you wheezing and you had a hard time concentrating on the measurements tonight.”

She frowned as she watched him pat his pockets, obviously searching for something. “You okay, Steve?”

“My inhaler! I thought I had it on me, but I think I left it in your dorm. I-I’ll be fine without it, I can get it in the morning.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are not waiting until morning to get a life-saving device because of...what? You don’t want to be seen in my dorm? It’s co-ed, I can assure you that it’s fine!”

“I just don’t...want...people to assume or-or get you in trouble. Or...or…” His cheeks were heating up bright pink, Peggy found she adored the color on his cheeks.

“Or…” She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, her hand snatching out to grab at a lamp post to keep from falling on a section of ice. It was already starting to snow around them, the ground cold enough to make it stick.

Steve cursed as he wrapped his arms around her chest, preventing her from falling. Both of their faces flushed, Steve’s more than Peggy’s at this point. The second they both were stable, he let go and took an unnecessary step away from her.

“Thank you,” she breathed, clearing her throat. “I think that decides that Steve, you’re staying with me tonight. Don’t worry, Angie is out tonight with her gal. I’m not risking you out in this storm.”

There was no point in arguing with Peggy, Steve knew this by now. He’s seen her debate lesser and greater minds than his in class and absolutely destroy them. Besides, part of him liked this idea, staying with her for the night. Maybe if he got enough courage he could ask her out, tell her how he felt or something. 

If he was anything like Bucky, he knew what he’d do. He’d whoo her and kiss her. But he wasn’t Bucky or Sam. He had no social skills with girls but he liked Peggy. 

“Home sweet home,” Peggy sighed when they were finally inside, their wet clothed stripped off and drying on the heater now. She sat Steve on the couch and bundled him in a bunch of blankets, coming back from the kitchen with two steaming cups of hot chocolate.

Sitting on the couch, she wiggled under the pile of blankets, not to much of Steve’s protest. Her thigh was touching his at this point. “Oh, you’re warm,” she breathed, sounding surprised. 

“Amazingly,” Steve laughed, rolling his eyes. “I think it’s the third cup of hot chocolate you’re forcing in me.”

He yawned as he said this, his face was suddenly drawn in a show of how exhausted he was. He looked so adorable when he yawned, his nose wrinkled up. He still had a smudge of ink on his forehead from when he was rubbing his brow in frustration.

“I’ve always said hot chocolate is good for the soul. Much better than any tea you have here.” Tapping on her laptop screen, she was happy to get Netflix up and hit the next episode on Chopped. 

Steve didn’t even make it to the second round of the episode, unsure of who was sent home for an overcooked risotto or missed basket ingredient. He was asleep, slumping into Peggy.

He was quite warm, Peggy noted, easing Steve down to her lap. He was warm and looked so adorable when asleep. That walk and asthma attack must’ve taken a lot of out of him, regardless of what he told her. At least he was resting now in her arms.

This isn’t where Peggy thought she’d end up tonight, but it’s a place she’d glad to be.

[creatingdocumentaryperformance]

Syllabus: Creating Documentary Performance

Course Title: Performance Composition: Creating Documentary Performance PERF-UT 201 (4 points)

Course Description The term documentary theatre is often used interchangeably with verbatim theatre. Theatre scholar Carol Martin would advise us to beware and keep tabs on Documentary Theatre, a slippery little devil which claims to present the truth. Yet, in truth, the world of Documentary Theatre (and Art) seems to be expanding. New works of live Documentary Art challenge the documentary form by loosening the grip of journalistic objectivity and responsibility. Documentary performance now takes on a variety of forms which we will examine in this course.

This course will begin with ways of observing a range of performances (live, filmed, quotidian, and archival). We will then integrate this heightened awareness into an hybridized archival call-and-response. We will have daily in-class creation workshops designed to respond to research and performance materials. Through this process students will learn to integrate research questions and aesthetic performance elements. Participants will engage in documentary writing techniques, performance techniques such as vocal duplication and movement vocabularies, creation of composition scores, and docu-fantasia (a methodology pioneered by Guy Maddin in his film “My Winnipeg” combining personal history, civic tragedy, and mystical hypothesizing), among others. The result of these searches will be cumulative. At the end of this course, students will have created several short-form documentaries.

Participants in this course will come from various performance backgrounds: some (like me) will be based in theatre practice, others will be more comfortable writing, composing music or movement, directing, acting, or filmmaking. This course is designed for much of the creation of our projects to take place in the classroom itself with students sharing their skills with one another as they learn new skills together. 

Course Objectives

to become familiar with the field of documentary performance

to develop and deepen investigative research skills

to learn to create performances from disparate elements (learn processes of meaning-making)

to generate “speculative” material from “factual” remains

to move archival materials from the page to the stage (or lens/screen as the case may be) 

Requirements

You need a notebook or loose paper. We will do writing exercises that will be edited and presented during class. It will not be possible to participate fully in movement/writing work on a laptop.

You will need scissors and a glue stick.

Please see the class schedule below. Please come to class having completed the listed requirements (read, watched, and prepared performance elements) and come prepared to share your findings and contribute to discussions, workshops, and rehearsals.

There will be four assignments due during the course: a) construction paper photo journalism Using lessons on image composition from Molly Bang’s “Picture This,” recreate one image from one of the documentaries or images we viewed during weeks 1-4 (or an image of your choice). Write a brief but vivid description of the scene you hope to capture. Upload both the original and your version of the image as well as the description. This image is due on February 21, 2021. b) 360 degree video (maximum 5-minutes long) Create a three-minute long 360 degree video of your own living space (use Ackerman’s video for inspiration). Research the history of your living space (What is the history of that land? When was the building constructed? Who owned it? Who lived there?) and then write a two-minute monologue from the point of view of someone you image to be a previous tenant. This is the basis of the performance. You may choose to incorporate other performance elements created in the course thus far (movement vocabularies, musical elements, etc.). The video should be submitted via email on week 5, a 500 word summary of building history including sources is due on week 6, and the final performance is due on March 21, 2021. c) Documentary Étude (maximum 10-minutes long) Seek out your own musical archive (this might be something personal, something you amassed yourself or something you discover out in the world) and using strategies developed in class (ex. haikus, nightstand writings, movement vocabularies) and other techniques learned from docs we’ve seen (vocal re-enactments, karaoke, performance re-creation, etc.) create a live documentary étude to the song or recording of your choice. This étude should include research into the song and, based on that research, some theories we have discussed in class that help analyze your findings. The way you structure this presentation is entirely up to you. Due April 26-May 3, 2021 (exact date to be decided upon by in consultation between students and instructor). d) performance review The final assignment for this class is a 1000-1200 word review of another classmate’s documentary performance. The point of this assignment is to constructively critique a colleague’s work while integrating the texts and theories we have discussed during the course. This is to be submitted to the instructor via email on or before the final day of class (May 10, 2020).

Attendance in this class is critical. Much work takes place in-class and this cannot necessarily be made-up through subsequent assignments. More than three unexcused absences will result in a failing grade. Absences must be excused in advance, please make your request via email. Likewise three unexcused latenesses will count as one absence. Assignments are due on the date specified unless a change is discussed in advance with the instructor. 

Class Schedule

Week One: February 1, 2021

Introduction to Documentary Theatre

A short documentary performance: Devotional Space

Course Introduction, Expectations, and Agreements

Week Two: February 8, 2021 Truth, Objectivity, and the Truth of Fiction

Read, Carol Martin, “Bodies of Evidence” and Walter Benjamin “The Task of the Translator” 

Watch, Lynn Sachs, “Your Day Is My Night” https://vimeo.com/58024122  and “Your Day Is My Night” (live performance) https://vimeo.com/191185422

Week Three: Thursday February 18, 2021 Objects That Talk

Read, Roland Barthes “Studium” pg. 23-28, “Punctum” pg. 38-47 in Camera Lucida, Ariella Azoulay “The Spectator Is Called to Take Part,” and Molly Bang “Picture This: How Pictures Work”

Watch, Yuval Hamieri “I Think This is the Closest to How The Footage Looked” https://www.nytimes.com/video/opinion/100000004383825/i-think-this-is-the-closest-to-how-the-footage-looked.html and Vaginal Davis “This Is Not A Dream” https://youtu.be/A03i57f53E4

Week Four: February 22, 2021 Interpellation and Composition

Read, Joshua Whitehead “On Ekphrasis and Emphasis” and Louis Althusser “Ideology and State Apparatuses” pg. 162-177

Watch, Kirsten Johnson “Cameraperson” https://stream.nyu.edu/media/Cameraperson+-+DML+Film+DC04692/1_6j3rpjc7

DUE February 21, 2021: Construction Paper Photo Journalism Assignment

Week Five: March 1, 2021 Memory and Repetition

Read, Diana Taylor “The Archive and The Repertoire” pg. 16-30 and Richard Schechner “Restoration of Behavior” pg. 35-55

Watch, Caveh Zahedi “The Show About The Show"

PREPARE AND UPLOAD before class: 360 video

Week Six: March 8, 2021 Docufantasia: Speculation, Narrative, and History

Guest Speaker: Farihah Zaiman

No readings this week.

Watch, Farihah Zaiman “Nobody Loves Me”, Guy Maddin “My Winnipeg” https://stream.nyu.edu/media/t/1_3fuaywbk/157165221, and Chantal Ackerman “La Chambre” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AGakyb3eBU

BRING TO CLASS: Write, a few notes on building/land history

Week Seven: March 15, 2021 No Class

Feedback sessions on Building History text/monologue available during class and office hours

Week Eight: March 22, 2021 Presentation Day

Guest Speaker: Alison S.M. Kobayashi

Watch, Alison S.M. Kobayashi Showcase, please be sure to watch “From Alex to Alex” and “Music Is Magic” 

DUE March 21st: 360 videos & monologues assignment (uploaded to shared site)

Week Nine: March 29, 2021 Psychodrama and the Politics of Space

Suggested Read: Ngugi wa Thiong’o, “Enactments of Power: The Politics of Performance Space”

Watch: William Greaves, “In The Company of Men” https://stream.nyu.edu/media/In%20the%20Company%20of%20Men%20(William%20Greaves%2C%201969)./1_13usuirk

Week Ten: April 5, 2021 Creating a Performance Plan

Read: Barbara Browning “The Gift” (read Part One available in NYU e-books) and Doris Humphrey “Check List” pg. 159-166

Watch (we will watch segments of this in class): Okwui Okpokwasili “Bronx Gothic” available on NYU Kanopy

Week Eleven: April 12, 2021 Listening as Research

Read, Martin Daughtry “Acoustic Palimpsests”; (suggested but not assigned Alexandra T. Vazquez “Listening in Detail”)

Listen, Reply All (podcast) “The Case of the Missing Hit” https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/o2h8bx

Week Twelve: April 19, 2021 No Class

Week 13: April 26, 2021 Documentary Étude

Read, Jacob Wren “The DJ Who Knew Too Much” and “Every Song I’ve Ever Written”

Re-watch, Alison S.M. Kobayashi “Music Is Magic”

Students workshop elements of their final performance

Create final performance schedule

Week 14: May 3, 2021 Final Presentations

Week 15: May 10, 2021 To Be Announced

Additional Performance Links

Choosing performances to share with you was both a joy and an agony. There were many great works that didn’t make it onto the syllabus proper. I wanted to share some of those with you here in case you wanted see more work. You are more than welcome to come to office hours to discuss any works you may have seen (on this list or in your own searchings). Additional performance viewing is not a requirement of this class and is meant solely for your enjoyment.

The Wooster Group, “Rumstick Road”: https://vimeo.com/88116889 

Nature Theatre of Oklahoma, “The Life and Times of Kristin Worrall, Episode 8”: https://vimeo.com/145414310 

Caveh Zahedi, “The Show About The Show": https://www.bricartsmedia.org/tv-shows-videos/show-about-show

Walis Johnson, “Jessy’s House of Styles”: https://vimeo.com/193445572

Nadia Ross “What Happened To The Seeker?”, Part one: https://vimeo.com/147670008 , Part two: https://vimeo.com/148387633 

Wellness 

Your health and safety are a priority at NYU. If you experience any health or mental health issues during this course, we encourage you to utilize the support services of the 24/7 NYU Wellness Exchange 212-443-9999. Also, all students who may require an academic accommodation due to a qualified disability, physical or mental, please register with the Moses Center 212-998-4980. Please let your instructor know if you need help connecting to these resources.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

-----------

“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

+

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day. 

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately. 

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes. 

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut. 

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists. 

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him. 

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her. 

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks. 

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @tnhmblive @greedydevil

[sunsetinmyvein]

I Know That I’ll Lose - Chapter Six - Give it a Rest, I Could Persuade You

It had been about a month since she last saw Matty. He and the band had to fly out quite early the morning after the festival, so there wasn’t really a chance to catch up again once they parted ways at the bar. But that was okay, because he was considerably more talkative this time around than what he had been the last time. It wasn’t quite the same as getting to properly hang out, and she missed seeing the rest of the band as well, but it was still better than nothing and made the distance more tolerable. She found herself holding her phone in her hand, contemplating if she should call Matty or not. Their last proper phone call was a while ago now – roughly a week she thought – and she wanted to tell him about the dumb thing that happened today that she thought he’d appreciate. She knew that it wasn’t too late yet where he currently was, and the show that they had played earlier that evening should’ve finished by now. But she was always wary that he was a busy guy. As she deliberated on this, her phone started buzzing in her hand. For a second she thought maybe he really did have some form of crazy mindreading skills. But it wasn’t Matty, it was her brother.

“Hey! How’s things?” She asked as she answered the call. 

“I…” He sighed through the phone. “I got an email about you.” Her brother started saying, his tone sounding unsure.

 “What sort of email?” She asked with a frown, sitting up properly on the couch. This conversation was clearly important.

Before her brain had a chance to jump to the worst conclusion, he continued, “A job offer. For you. To tour internationally with a band doing merch.” He answered.

There were a few moments of silence on the line as she processed this information. “Shit, what?” She asked incredulously.

“Some guy called No Rome?” It was more of a question than a statement, he clearly didn’t know who that artist was. “Their label emailed me.” He continued, but she had sort of tuned out of what he was saying. She had heard that name before but couldn’t remember where… “They said that they had received high recommendations about you or something.”

“That’s so crazy, I don’t even-” The metaphorical lightbulb went off as she remembered that band name. “Wait...” That was the regular support act for The 1975. The gears started turning at this point. “Did they say who the recommendation came from?” She questioned.

“No. Why?”

“I’ll call you back.” She replied instantly, knowing more than likely who had caused this email to be sent.

  She hung up the phone before promptly starting another call. “Matty,” She began as soon as he picked up, skipping the pleasantries.

“Yes?” He asked, an innocent tone to his voice.

“What is this job offer thing that you’ve done?” She accused.

“What job offer thing?” He asked back.

“I know it was you.” She stated, not wanting to beat around the bush with something like this. This was a big deal if it was true.

“Did you get offered something interesting?” He continued. The amusement was starting to seep into his voice at this point.

“Just fucking tell me.” She said with a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

He hummed thoughtfully, waiting a moment before responding, “Maybe you should just accept the job and I can tell you next week in person.” Well, at least that confirmed that he knew about it.

“You really expect me to just drop everything I have here and come gallivant around on tour with you?” She questioned.

“Kind of.” He answered bluntly.

  Okay. So, it was a real job offer then. A real job offer that had probably been suggested by Matty, which did lower the legitimacy of it a little bit. But it was still a job offer that wanted to pay for her to travel internationally. That was still a lot of information to handle. The first question that floated to the top was definitely the elephant in the room, “Why on earth did you get them to ask me to do No Rome’s merch? You’re fucking on tour together. It’ll be 1975 merch for the majority.” She pointed out.

“No, you only have to do No Rome.” He replied.

“But that…” That didn’t make any sense whatsoever. “Why isn’t that just included in whoever does your merch?” She asked in confusion.

“I thought he deserved his own merch person.” He answered.

  “But they’re going to be sold from the same place? How am I meant to only serve people who want No Rome stuff?” This job offer was so far only raising more questions than solutions.

“Oh no, no, no. You don’t have to sell to anyone.” He laughed like it was entirely too obvious. “You just have to do the counts and setup.”

That made even less sense. Just the setup? That was like telling someone to drive to work, set their desk up, turn their computer on, log in and then just go home to let someone else do all the work on your account with all your settings and preferences. They wouldn’t know where anything was or what your methods were. There was no point in preparing everything if you weren’t the one dealing with it. “Matty… That’s not how working merch works.” She tried to explain.

“That’s how this job works.” He corrected. “You essentially do prep work.”

“And then what?” She asked.

“And then you can watch the shows and hang out.” He answered.

  Right. That’s what this was about. The job offer was clearly just a front so that he could socialise with her without her work getting in the way. “Are you just shitty that we didn’t get to hangout all day during the festival?” She asked with a chuckle.

“No.” He shot back instantly.

“Liar!” She retaliated loudly with a laugh.

“Fuckin’ take the job, love.” He sighed tiredly.

“And if I don’t want to?” She challenged.

She was just met with his loud laugh in response. “You want to.” The level of certainty in his voice, that cocky tone. Fuck. She hated to admit that simple things he did like that were enough to pull a reaction out of her. He was attractive when he was confident. At that moment, she was thankful that he couldn’t see her because he would no doubt make it much worse in person. But he was right - it was a crazy good opportunity. It added a ridiculously good reference to her resume, and she was going to get paid good money to hang out with her friends. She would be insane to say no. But she was also well aware that being in close capacity to Matthew Healy for so long was probably going to be difficult. She weighed up the pros and cons briefly in her head as she tried to come to a decision.

“Fine.” She agreed eventually. “Send me the details.”

  A contract was sent to her within a matter of minutes. It outlined that she was going to be on tour with them for a month and a half and would fly out late next week. A free holiday spent in good company? It was an offer too good to be true, really. And she was going to get paid to do it! Just over a week wasn’t much time to get everything sorted to be away from home for six weeks, but it would have to suffice. Before her flight departed, they had sent her the details of a taxi company that would take her to the lot that the tour buses were waiting in. They also sent through which bus number plate to meet them at with the code to get into it to dump her luggage. The only issue was, it was a huge lot. There were at least fifty odd tour buses in this place. It took a good deal of searching to work out which bus was the one that she was meant to go to, and lugging her suitcase through the lot was starting to get tiring. When she finally spotted the plate that she was after it was like the lagoon in the middle of a desert; she was worried that it might just be a mirage. But she started walking over to the No Rome tour bus, only to feel a hand land on her shoulder. She turned, half anticipating to see a security guard asking her why she’d been wandering around for the last half hour, only to see Matty standing behind her.

  “Oh, hey.” She smiled up at him, not having expected to see him so soon after getting here.

“I have some unfortunate news,” He said with a crestfallen expression as he began steering her away from the bus. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Rome’s tour bus is a fairly small bus, and was actually already fully booked by the time you were confirmed to come with us.” He admitted.

“Oh.” She said with a frown.

“So, you have to stay in the other bus.” He continued. She could see the stupid smile on his face that he was trying to hide.

“Oh.” She repeated with an eyeroll, suddenly realising where he was going with this. “And I suppose that everyone else on that bus has already picked out bunks?” She asked with a deep sigh.

“Yes.” He answered.

“And the only one that’s left free is conveniently right next to yours?” She questioned.

He let out an exaggerated gasp, “How could you possibly know such confidential information?”

“Call it a hunch.” She muttered under her breath.

  The tour bus that he led her to was indeed considerably bigger than the one she had been told to go to originally. He punched some code into the keypad next to the door before holding it open and ushering her inside. The bus was empty save for all the suitcases and bags strewn across it. It reminded her of a fancy caravan; everything was sleek, black and designed to save space. It seemed to have a few fancy add ons, namely the impressive coffee making setup in the kitchen, which Matty assured her George couldn’t leave home without. As she was taking in the space around her, he stepped behind and walked through the kitchen to the bunks in the middle of the bus. He called her over, snapping her back to reality as she walked across to where he was standing. They were a lot more spacious than she expected them to be. All of the bunks except for two had bags already tucked away in them, a few had the curtains pulled shut. She recognised Matty’s backpack sitting in the one on the bottom right hand side. She looked down at the bunk next to his with disdain. This was only going to end badly.

  “You don’t have to take that one.” He began. She looked back at him, urging him to continue with what the other option possibly was. “You’re welcome to be on top of me.” He offered. He tapped his fingers against the empty bunk above his as he said it, but the look in his eyes was definitely getting at a different angle.

“I’ll take this one.” She answered quickly, turning away from him and gesturing to the bottom bunk next to his.

“I assure you that I don’t mind.” He added with a suggestive smirk.

“I know you don’t. That’s the problem.” She huffed as she put her bag into the bunk.

“Or we could switch and I could be on top-”

“Stop.” She interrupted as she spun to glare at him. Had he always been standing that close behind her? It suddenly seemed far too close. “Stop talking.” He couldn’t help but grin at the flustered look on her face.

  He left her to her own devices after that, figuring that he would wait in the front lounge while she got her bearings. At this point in his career, he’d spent a good portion of his life in tour buses. But he remembered having to find his way around them at the start; all of the tiny compartments took a while to figure out. Also, he’d probably overwhelmed her enough considering that she had just stepped off of a plane all of two hours ago. It wasn’t long before the rest of the band and the small amount of crew that were on their bus started filing in. Introductions were exchanged, luggage was stowed under the vehicle, a few snacks to get them through until the next stop were stored, and then their convoy were on the way to show number one. He hadn’t lied when he mentioned that Rome had a smaller bus. His bus only slept six, whereas The 1975 had two buses of twelve. It did make more sense for her to stay on one of the bigger ones, he just made sure to have a say in which of the two bigger ones she was placed on. The bus that they were currently on mostly housed the performing crew, and the extended crew behind the scenes stayed on the second bus. Typically, the latter had considerably earlier start and finish times for their working day than the former did, so it made sense to split the two to avoid people running on next to no sleep. These three buses in combination with the few trucks that were used to cart their stage, lighting rigs and merch across the country for the whole tour resulted in a fairly impressive operation. It was pretty astounding for Y/N/N to think that she was a part of it.

  After the festival had ended, Matty had spent a good deal of time sending texts, writing emails and having meetings in an effort to try and coordinate what ended up being a considerably more extensive plan than what he had expected. Her comment about how she’d ‘never get anything done’ if he was her boss set the idea into motion that maybe if she had a role within Dirty Hit, he’d be able to see her more often. If he saw her more often, there was a pretty decent chance that he’d be able to get her to fess up to being into him. Because try as he might to just ‘let it go’ as George had suggested, he couldn’t drop it when he knew full well that she was. He hadn’t thought that arranging someone else to come on tour was really going to be that difficult, but apparently it was. It was less about money and more about the logistics of having another person to account into every single plan for a six-week schedule. However, now that she was actually here, all of his efforts felt worth it. Regardless of the bet with himself, regardless of the needier part of him wanting her around as an emotional crutch for when things got hard, it was just nice to have an extra friend around to bounce off of within the confines of the tour bus. It felt comforting to have another presence about to keep him grounded, George had probably done enough of that over the past few years to last him a lifetime. But being grounded and rational wasn’t the way to start off a tour. The way to start off a tour was with shots.

  “Tequila? Really?” Adam groaned as the shot glass was forced into his hand by the eager singer.

“What’s wrong with tequila, Hann?” Matty asked with a frown as he continued pouring and handing them out.

“Nothing is wrong with the tequila itself, but you drinking tequila is a different story.” He elaborated. “And we’re only on night one of forty-six. You really wanna set the bar so soon?” Ross gave a nod of agreement as Adam spoke, and it was clear that George was hesitant as well.

“Look lads, we have someone on this tour who has never experienced the thrills of touring with us before.” As he spoke, he happened to be pouring the shot of the exact person he was referring to and he smiled fondly at her as he passed it across. She found herself suddenly feeling like the fifth wheel as he threw her under the bus like that. “We need to put in at least a little bit of effort, yeah?” He spun back to the group; his own tequila shot in hand. “To a brilliant tour.” He grinned, holding his shot glass up in toast. The boys all shouted a few words of agreement as the five of them downed their shots. But the burn of that tequila was only the beginning. As Adam had predicted, what started as one shot quickly turned to two, which turned to more, which turned to drinking games, which turned to everyone drunkenly stumbling into bed at two in the morning after a solid eight hours of drinking. To the bus driver’s dismay at his suddenly rowdy passengers, the rest of the crew had also rapidly gotten involved and suffered much the same fate. Y/N/N had quickly discovered when their celebrations finally wrapped up that getting into a tiny bunk on the floor while inebriated wasn’t as easy as it would’ve seemed. But she was very grateful that her bunk was at least level with the ground, as opposed to George who promptly rolled out of his and crashed against the hard surface when he tried to reposition himself in his bed.

  A part of her understood why Matty had insisted on drinks on the first night. Once everyone was drunk, any awkwardness was quickly forgotten about. It was a lot easier to bond with people when you were too drunk to be self-conscious. Now that everyone on the bus had a friendship base to go off of, a funny story to reminisce over, there was no reason for anyone to be pushed to the wayside for the sake of cliques or not having anything to talk about. But as expected, Matty had to take it a step too far and was definitely the most hungover out of everyone the next morning. The tour bus had arrived at their first stop at about six that morning. Everyone else on the vehicle had been up at a fairly decent hour, the band a little bit later than the rest of the crew as they weren’t needed until later in the day. But not Matty. It was after ten by the time someone figured that they should do something about it.

“You should go check on him.” Ross urged, looking across the small kitchen table at Y/N/N.

“Why me?” She frowned.

“Because I’m sure he’d prefer to be woken up by you than us.” He explained, a small chuckle escaping despite his best attempts to hold in.

“The last time I had to wake him up for a show when he was hungover, I threw a glass of ice water on him.” George said. “But to be fair, the last time he woke me up, he did it with a fucking megaphone and I smacked my head into the bunk above mine…” He scowled at the memory, rubbing his forehead as he reminisced about the pain. “I’ll go get the ice cubes.” He offered as he motioned to stand up, suddenly motivated that only one glass of freezing cold water wasn’t enough payback for that event.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get him.” She sighed, motioning for George to sit back down.

“You’re too nice to him.” Adam said, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Yeah, probably.” She agreed with a laugh as she stood up.

  She made her way down the bus towards the bunks, slowly opening the sliding door that connected them to the kitchen to try and prevent any excess noise making its way through. As she did, the other boys decided that they’d make themselves sparse, just in case. The three of them were well aware of Matty’s intentions about bringing her on tour, and they had seen his track record with girls when he put his mind to it. As much as what they knew of Y/N/N would lead them to believe that she was pretty stubborn, they didn’t want to stick around to hear the results if Matty’s plan succeeded. Also, it was as good an excuse as any to start their day. “You alive in there, Matty?” She asked quietly, knocking softly on the side of his bunk above where his head would’ve been with her shoe. “You need to function at some point today.” The curtain slowly pulled open, revealing what appeared to be a very tired Matty. The five o’clock shadow he had going on highlighted the small amount of stubble that he had neglected to shave the day prior, and the bags under his eyes made him look like he’d just suffered an entirely sleepless night. He winced at the sudden amount of light flooding into his bunk, rolling over onto his back.

  “I need a coffee.” He groaned, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and dull how bright the artificial lighting was on the bus.

“I told you that you’d regret playing that drinking game.” She sighed. “Do you need me to go make you one?” She added with a laugh, staring down at the hungover man in front of her with amusement as he rolled his way onto the floor between their bunks.

“No, not that instant shit that we have here.” He huffed, slowly pulling himself to his feet. He pulled a hand through his unruly hair, trying to sort out how messy it had become in his restless sleep. “I need a real coffee.  And George hates it when I use his contraption without askin'.” He continued as he started grabbing a few things out of his bag, throwing a jacket on over the top of the clothes that he had passed out in last night and slipping some shoes on. “C’mon.” He mumbled as he started walking towards the door.

  He let out a grunt of dissatisfaction as he stepped outside into the morning sunshine. Even through his sunglasses it was still far too harsh and made his head pound ten times worse. The jetlag probably wasn’t helping his state of mind, either. But he knew from their last tour here that there was a café nearby that would give him a decent coffee. Once he got that into his system, it would start to get him back on the road to recovery before he had to play tonight. He looked behind him briefly to verify that she was following before starting down the street in the vague direction that he recalled his source of caffeine being in. She trailed behind him, mostly taking in the scenery around her rather than really focusing on anything else. Being in new locations always gave her such a feeling of unending potential. There was so much to discover and explore, so many nooks and crannies that you’d never find if you didn’t go hunting for them. The two of them walked to the café mostly in silence, except for the few ‘ow’s that escaped from the singer at the odd exceptionally loud noise that they passed.

  Matty chose to sit down outside at the table closest to the café entrance, eager to have a smoke, get some sustenance as quick as possible, and then get back in time for a shower. Maybe a nap too if he was lucky. A server quickly made their way over to them, menus in hand and a friendly customer service smile on their face. He declined the menu, waving his hand dismissively as the server offered it out to him. “Just a black coffee, thanks.” He said with a nod. “Oh, and some toast. Dry toast.” He added as an afterthought. Experience had taught him that the sooner he could stomach food, the quicker he’d be out of this hangover. They seemed a bit taken aback by his abruptness, but took note of his request and her order of a cup of tea and toast anyway. Given the simplicity of their meal, it took all of a few minutes before it was placed in front of them. Matty took an eager sip of the hot beverage, feeling a much more comforting burn in his throat than the ones he had been feeling last night.

  As they ate their meal, he found himself watching her carefully as he absentmindedly chewed at the dry carbohydrates that he knew he needed. It had been a while since he’d had a hungover breakfast with anyone other than the band. Partially because they were who he was around for 90% of his time, but also in part because he wasn’t comfortable enough around anyone else in his life to still want to hang out with them the morning after drinking. In fact, it had been a while since he’d properly felt comfortable around anyone except the band. And yet here he was. Again. He hadn’t really expected a few offhand flirty comments to turn into a friendship that he enjoyed so much. “It’s nice havin’ you out here.” He said casually around a mouthful of toast. The genuine tone in his voice set off the butterflies in her stomach for a brief moment. She looked back at him, feeling the need to verify if this was a joke or leading to a sleazy remark, but he seemed entirely serious.

“It’s weird being out here. Feels like stepping into a different world.” She replied honestly.

He nodded in agreement, “You’ll get used to it pretty quick.” He said as he took a sip of his coffee. The drink was slowly starting to take effect. “At least I hope so. I’d hate to have dragged you along only for you to have a shitty time.” He added with a laugh.

“I couldn’t have a shitty time.” She said, shaking her head slightly. He raised an eyebrow in question. “I came out here to hang out with four guys who I consider friends, and I get to do that every day.” She shrugged. He couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Good to know.”

  They finished up their meal, and once Matty had decided that the caffeine had finally put him in a good enough mindset, he lit up a cigarette and suggested they head off. “The day is before us. We have endless possibilities.” He said as he gestured broadly at the city around them.

“No, we don’t. You have a show to sort out, and you need to show me what I’m meant to be doing with this merch, given you were so insistent that I take this job.” She pointed out.

He let out a long sigh, nodding slightly in agreement. “I should probably introduce you to Rome first so that you know whose merch you’re setting up.” He conceded, starting to walk back in the direction of the tour buses. She started following him, mulling over what he had said. Eventually she realised why he’d want to introduce her to Rome before showing her the actual job she was out here to do.

“You just wanna stall so you don’t have to start work.” She accused.

“Me? Avoid working?” He gasped. “Never.” He added sarcastically as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “Come on, now.”

  He seemed to have entirely too much enthusiasm for someone who had been incredibly hungover not more than an hour ago, pointing out every building he recognised on their walk back to the tour bus. It was abundantly clear with how expressive he was that he was legitimately interested in teaching her about these things. She had to admit that it was nice seeing him passionate about things, even little things like the fact that he was able to kind of show her around a city he’d been in once or twice before. When they reached the bus, he held the door open and gestured for her to step in. On the inside, Rome’s bus did appear to be pretty much exactly the same as the other two buses that everyone else was in; it just simply had six less beds which made it considerably shorter than the others. As Matty stepped in behind her, he spotted Rome sitting in the open lounge at the back of the bus. He stepped around her, taking a few quick paces to close the distance and leaving her to follow.

  “This right here is my good buddy Rome.” He said with a broad grin, his volume increasing with each word he spoke as he all but ran over and tackled the blue-haired boy into a hug. Matty hadn’t left very much time for Rome to react, pretty much only looking up from his phone in time to defend himself at the last second. It was reassuring to see that he was overly enthusiastic with his affection for all of his friends, not just her. The boy laughed loudly as Matty tormented him for a few moments before he was finally able to free himself, stand up to take a few steps towards her.

“Nice to finally meet you.” He smiled as he held his hand out to her. “I was a little surprised to hear that there was gonna be someone else doing my merch this tour.” He added as she shook it and returned his smile.

“That would make two of us.” She agreed with a light laugh, glancing at Matty standing behind him.

“I just figured that you finally deserved some of your own crew instead of stealin’ mine all the time.” Matty offered with a shrug, wrapping an arm around Rome’s shoulders. She noticed that Rome made Matty seem a lot taller than he actually was as they stood next to each other like this. It was a stark contrast to seeing him with his own band members who practically dwarfed him.

  “So, should we sit down, maybe have a joint?” Matty offered in an attempt to play gracious host, gesturing back towards the lounge.

“Can’t. Meant to be working.” She reminded him. He rolled his eyes at her excuse.

“Fine, get to know each other a bit, then?” He rephrased.

“Adam was telling me you guys had soundcheck at twe-” Rome started saying, until Matty just spoke over him.

“Let’s sit down. How’ve you been, man?” He interrupted, trying to shut Rome up and pull him towards the couch.

“If that’s true then you only have fifteen minutes to get inside.” She reminded him. “And you still have to show me where my stuff is.” Matty groaned loudly at this, checking his phone to confirm that they were both telling the truth about the time. George had mentioned something last night about a midday soundcheck once the stage was set up so that the lighting guys could continue without being interrupted. He supposed it was sensible to be on time for that.

“Fine. Let’s go.” He huffed, starting to head towards the door. “Not much of an introduction, though.” He added under his breath. After shouting a quick goodbye to Rome over his shoulder, they headed back out of the bus and inside the venue. She assumed that Matty must’ve known where he was going because he beelined through the hallways like a man on a mission. This arena was a bit bigger than the one that she had seen them in the first time and she tried to retain the corners they were taking in her head so that she didn’t get turned around again. Eventually they stopped at a pallet towards the back of the building absolutely loaded with boxes.

  “This-” He started as he scanned through the pallet of stock, eventually pulling a box down from the very top, “is yours.” He held out the box. “And you set it up in that van that we passed near the front entrance.” He added.

She looked at him, then at the box. Was he done..? Maybe they were waiting on extra boxes? Or there was more to grab somewhere else? Surely this couldn’t be it? “A box? One box?” She asked in confusion. As she looked back to him for clarification, he seemed unphased by this information. “For the whole tour?” She continued.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“This is really it?” She asked incredulously as she took it.

“Yep.” He confirmed, still nodding.

“Oh my god, Matty. I’m going to die of boredom being out here with only this.” She groaned, opening the box to see if it was even full. Knowing him it was probably empty, anyway. Maybe she should take back her comment about not being able to have a terrible time while she was out here.

“Payback for the festival.” He chuckled as she was able to verify that it was, indeed, full of shirts. Thank god.

“Don’t you fucking start.” She said with a glare, turning to point at him. “You chose to do that.” She reminded him.

“And you chose to do this.” He quipped with a smirk. “Unless you had some ulterior motive?” He asked nonchalantly. She knew full well what he was trying to get at, but it wasn’t going to work in this instance.

“Seeing my friends was, in fact, the primary motive.” She answered with a smug look.

“Mmm… sure.” He replied in a disbelieving tone. “I have to go soundcheck, I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” He said, turning on his heel and walking back in the direction that they had come from.

  She trusted Matty - well, mostly trusted Matty - but she still read the labels on every box on that pallet just in case there was secretly more stock hidden somewhere. Once she had finally resigned herself to her fate of having next to no work to do at every show, she carried her one, single box back to the empty merch stand. It took her all of twenty minutes to set up merch for Rome. There were only sixty shirts in total to count in, and folding them was nothing compared to the amount of stock she had been forced to fold at other events. Rome had ducked in to the van once she was done to chat and keep her company, explaining a bit of the meaning behind the shirt design he had chosen and telling her about how he had met Matty. He seemed to be a really nice kid; she could see why Matty got along with him so well. They carried on chatting in the merch van until Ross came to find them and show them to the backstage waiting area so that the rest of the merch crew could set up. Everyone else had already made their way over there so that they could kill the time until it was finally time to play. Matty seemed to intentionally take his time getting ready for the show, asking her opinion on just about every little change that he made. Despite the confident bravado, he did seem to have a good deal of nerves bubbling away under the surface. He knew that he was setting the bar for what the whole tour would have in store. Kids would spread photos online of what they’d seen, what he’d done, what the setlist was. First impressions mattered. But as expected, the show was an astounding start to the six weeks that lay ahead. The band came off the stage buzzing with excitement and adrenaline, ready to tackle everything else that was thrown their way.

  The next week was pretty much spent establishing a rough routine for the rest of the tour. It only took playing the one show for the band to get a feel for it again, and once the rest of the crew had set up and pulled down a couple of shows, everyone was back in the groove of what to expect. The band were also starting to get readjusted to doing interviews and social media releases while on the road. It was a gruelling schedule at times trying to fit it all in to one day and still somehow manage to get enough sleep for the next, but not one they were strangers to. However, what Y/N/N was quickly finding out in her daily routine, was that there was absolutely no personal space on a tour bus. She had been under the impression that bands generally took a few days here and there to have breaks between shows, but not this band. Nope. The thing about The 1975 was that they just did. not. stop. If this band wasn’t about to play a show, they were on the road to the next one. So, if they weren’t in a venue organising the day ahead, or pit stopped somewhere for an interview or similar, they were in the tour bus. They had a good mentality of everyone just being able to chill out and do their own thing when on the bus, which mostly consisted of trying to talk to people back at home or watching a movie wherever you could find space. But that many people crammed into such a tiny area who all shared conflicting schedules meant that you rapidly learned things about your roommates that you didn’t think you’d ever know. It hadn’t crossed her mind that she would have to quickly learn the bathroom habits of everyone else on this vehicle if she ever had a hope in hell of using it herself. On the plus side, it did mean that you also had to be comfortable in each other’s space for the sake of your own sanity.

  As a result of needing people to vent to about this lack of space, she had found herself dragged headfirst into the chaos and hilarity that was Matty’s close friend circle. Having their stable company and friendship made dealing with the little issues about living on a tour bus a lot easier. Someone eating the last of the cereal was a lot less annoying when she could turn and laugh with Ross about it. She was finding out the more she got to know them that George was definitely the sensible one of the group who kept everyone else - namely Matty - in line, Ross was proving himself to be the funniest of the four of them - when Matty wasn’t around to try and one-up him - and Adam was a lot more reserved in bigger groups – especially when Matty was in them and just spoke over everyone else (there seemed to be a common theme appearing about how it was easier to get to know Matty’s friends without Matty present) - but more than happy to chat one on one when you got him onto a topic of mutual interest. And where she had already been fairly comfortable around the egocentric frontman, she was now finding that he was almost essential to her daily survival. From their in-jokes about dumb things, to having someone to talk to who knew her a slight bit better than everyone else, to just being able to have him around to watch TV shows with; the longer she spent trapped in the tour bus with him, the harder it was getting for her to be able to deny being into him. But there was no point in telling him any of this, because admitting her feelings wasn’t going to get her anywhere. It would just give him the satisfaction that he’d won and she’d be putting herself on the line with no reciprocation. However, Matty was also finding their time together to be having an overwhelmingly positive effect. It was incredibly convenient for him to have someone around who kept him in such a good mood all the time and who provided such good company. He hadn’t felt this happy in quite a while.

  One afternoon on the bus she was trying to find something to occupy her time, deciding that maybe watching a movie would fill the void until they arrived at the next venue and she could get out and explore a bit. She knocked on the closed door of the back lounge, slowly pulling it open after she didn’t receive a reply. Upon peeking her head around the door, she was met with the curly haired Matty sitting on his laptop, a single headphone sitting in one of his ears and an open notebook on the table next to him. He didn’t look up as she stepped in, and it took her a moment to realise what he was doing. “Oh my god, are you working?” She asked in surprise.

“I do that sometimes.” He mumbled, not tearing his eyes away from his laptop.

“I have to admit, I was starting to think that you didn’t.” She laughed as she shuffled around the couch to see what he was doing. He was clearly fiddling with audio tracks in an editing program, but her knowledge beyond that was pretty limited. The notebook next to him seemed to be full of half-formed ideas that didn’t offer much context. She watched him in silence for a few moments before he decided to explain what he was doing.

  “I’m trying to edit the bridge of this song and get it to sound how we want in our heads. George had a go at it this morning but couldn’t quite get the right sound, he asked if I could take a look at it.” He clarified. She nodded in understanding.

“It’s nice seeing you do something productive instead of just hindering the work of everyone else around you.” She teased, nudging him slightly with her elbow.

He flashed her a sarcastic look. “You know that I’ve spent the better part of two decades working to get this band where it is, yeah?” He asked bitterly, the sour mood he was in from not being able to sort this song out seeping into his tone.

“So I’ve heard. But most of the time you act like the cliché rock star that you tell everyone you’re not.” She shot back with a challenging look.

  He opened his mouth to argue with her point, before realising that from her perspective, that was pretty much all that he did. She hadn’t had the chance to see him in the studio, in the label offices planning things out with Jamie, doing a serious interview, or do anything that was work related really other than perform and show off. He imagined that must come across as pretty arrogant of him to claim he got the band to where it is when he acted like he’d been at this point for all of his life. “How do I explain this…” He hummed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back into the couch to think of the right words to say. “I don’t often get the chance to fuck about anymore. I used to a lot when I was younger. I fucked around and partied enough when I was younger for all of us guys combined, really.” He gave a short laugh, “But as we got bigger, I had to get my act together. More people were watching us, social media was a very prevalent thing in regards to marketing a band and our image, I had to knock it off for the sake of the band as a whole. Even just how much time I was wasting on it started to affect how much effort I could put into where we were going, and I didn’t want that. But people don’t change until it’s too hard not to. I was sort of required to shift into a more serious place in my life, when… y’know, it all got drawn out into the spotlight. But I miss it. I miss the freedom that came with getting to fuck about all the time.” He explained, glancing across at her to verify if she was understanding him correctly.

  “So… you fuck around now because you haven’t for ages?” She asked, not really following where he was going with this.

“No, I…” He let out a sigh, trying to make his thoughts more eloquent. “It’s nice not having to be on my best behaviour around you, is what I’m getting at. It’s just a breath of fresh air amongst constant press and being recorded.” He simplified. “And the band doesn’t let me get away with as much as you do. That’s why you don’t see me serious very often.” Ah. She got what he meant now. “But, for the next six weeks you’re stuck living with me.” He chuckled. “Which means you’ll get to see all sides of me, not just the ones that I want you to.” Matty seemed to have a good knack for making jokes out of comments that were probably more serious than he thought they were. He looked down at her once he was satisfied that she was following along with his reasoning, only now realising that she was wearing his hoodie that he had given her the day after they’d met. A grin slowly spread across his face at this. “Nice hoodie.” He said with a small nod of approval. She had to look down to remind herself of what he was referring to, before meeting his gaze again with a slight blush dusting her cheeks. “It looks good on you.” He added, keeping the ‘better than it did on me’ part of that sentence to himself.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, unsure of what else to say to the compliment.

  He went back to working after that, still trying to shuffle around new samples into the audio file to get the sound perfect. She figured that it would be pretty rude of her to put a movie on while he was working, so she decided to just watch him instead. It became considerably easier to follow along with what he was doing when he unplugged the headphones and allowed the laptop speakers to play aloud what he was working on. The track sounded like a less bass-y version of Depth from the small snippets she was hearing. It was interesting seeing his creative process and watching the looks that crossed his face as he tried to get the thoughts out of his head and into the song. As they got closer and closer to the next venue, Matty was beginning to take note of just how long she had actually been watching him work. All he was doing was messing with files in a program, surely there was no way in hell a girl would watch him do that for over an hour if she wasn’t interested in him. The fact that she refused to tell him just ate away at his mind.

He slammed shut the laptop suddenly, forcing her attention to him and away from the screen. “You should just tell me.” He said.

“Tell you what?” She asked in confusion, but the look he threw back at her in response made it click.

“You’ve fuckin’ been watching me all afternoon.” He laughed loudly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, “Just admit it.” He added lowly.

“In your dreams.” She scoffed.

“Every night, love.” He shot back with a smirk.

  As more time progressed on the tour, Matty could feel himself edging ever so slightly closer to getting her to crack. His plan to establish what the right buttons were to encourage a reaction was working well. He was already well aware that she enjoyed seeing him play guitar. During soundchecks he had seen the way that she watched his fingers move across the frets and how she got distracted by it, and she was always pretty enthralled whenever he was on stage. So, that was one item off the list that he could play to his advantage. The other week she had told him that she liked his hair when it was messy, that was another. He was pretty confident that she liked the physical attention because she had stopped pushing him away now and tended to sit next to him before she sat next to anyone else. She was only ever becoming more receptive to the comments and actions that he was trying to use to fish for what worked and what didn’t. But she was still so damn stubborn about it. The two of them were both getting more resistant the more the other pushed. He refused to let up until she admitted the truth, and she refused to say it to him purely on principle at this point. If she caved now, he’d lord it over her for the remaining four weeks of the tour. But this constant game that they were at was starting to grate on the rest of the band, mainly George. He was beginning to find that this girl’s company was actually very enjoyable and he didn’t want to see Matty go and fuck it all up when he finally won. He also didn’t want to find himself caught in the middle trying to console both parties of a messy situation while trapped on a tour bus with the both of them. But at this point, he knew that Matty of all people should know better. He figured that maybe he should take the time to remind his best friend that there was a time and a place for everything, and that maybe on a tour bus wasn’t the time for this.

  On a fairly dismal afternoon, Matty had found himself sulking at the kitchen table for the last half an hour or so. He had opened one of his social media apps to check on how things were doing at home, only to find a picture of his ex kissing some other guy plastered across the front of it. It had been about six months since she’d left him, but seeing her move on didn’t sting any less. It still felt like a blow to his self-esteem that she’d move on before he had. He was knocked out of his daze of staring at his phone in discontent when the bus door suddenly flung open and a very determined George stormed inside. 

“What’s your plan with all this?” George asked bluntly as he sat down across from him at the table.

Matty stared across at his best friend blankly, trying to catch up to whatever train of thought George had caught that he’d apparently missed the call for. “What do you mean?” He asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“What happens if she turns around and says that she’s into you?” He questioned.

“When.” He specified with a pointed look.

“Whatever, man.” The drummer huffed in annoyance. “What happens after you’ve conned this girl into falling for you?” He rephrased.

  Matty wasn’t overly fond with the choice of words that George had used. Conned? That wasn’t what he was doing. He was just having a bit of fun, wasn’t he? But what did happen when she finally told him..? He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, he was too focused on accomplishing step one to work out what step two was. “Matty.” George called, clicking his fingers in front of the singer’s face to drag his attention back to reality. “All I’m saying is, don’t fuck her over, yeah? She deserves better than that.”

“Oh, I…” He scratched at the back of his neck nervously, suddenly feeling like a kid being told off by his parents. “Well, I wasn’t intending on it.” He mumbled.

“Good intentions only go so far,” He clapped a hand down on Matty’s shoulder. “and I’ve seen your track record. Be careful.” He warned as he stood up from the table and started heading back towards the door of the bus. “Oh, and,” He spun back around, pointing across the bus at his friend with a serious expression. “keep it to a minimum when the rest of us are around, wouldn’t you?”

Last Chapter

Next Chapter

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {10/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Will my posting schedule ever make sense? Probably not. Anyways, thanks for reading, my pals! You guys are the best, and I love love love you all for loving this story and these two crazy people💜

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her love and support and artwork!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list:  @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

No part of her understands why their cable bill is mailed to her. They’re a cable company. They provide TV and internet and yet they’ve never heard of paperless online billing. It’s ridiculous. And yet the minute she’s late with her payment she gets an increasingly nasty series of emails that shows they obviously know how to use the internet. And since Storybrooke Cable is the only company that provides internet in a sixty-mile radius, it’s not like they don’t have the funds to set up a website. Hell, she’ll take a class and learn how to program the website for them if she has to.

Well, probably not. That’s all a little dramatic, but she really hates having to go down to the mailboxes in the basement to get her mail so that she can go upstairs and write a check and buy a stamp to mail the payment in. It’s not the biggest deal in the world, but she hates it.

She obviously would not have lasted in a world without internet.

The old stairs creak beneath her, a sound that she’s used to when she’s carrying her laundry downstairs (it’s how she knows when she’s on the unsteady step since usually she can’t see over the full height of her clothes which is what procrastination gets her), and she quickly descends downstairs to the row of mailboxes that rest against the wall in front of the washing machines and dryers that work at least ninety percent of the time.

She and Belle need to move to a nicer place. They can afford it, but then again, if Belle moves, it’ll probably be with Will. It’s a constant thought every time Emma thinks about it, so she never quite works up the courage to bring up moving somewhere else. This place is just fine, they’ve made it their home, and so what if she has to walk to a bit of a creepy place to get her mail to pay her cable bill. It’s not like anyone in this town is actually going to do something to her.

They’d have hell to pay.

The stairs could use a little work, though, maybe a few new light fixtures for the hallways too.

Pulling out her key, she twists it in her box, opening it and grabbing the few envelopes that lay flat against the metal. She closes the box, locking it back up, and as she walks up the stairs, she shuffles through the mail, tripping on a loose board as she sees neat black script inked across the white in the upper left corner.

Killian Jones.

What the hell?

What the hell is he doing sending her a letter? Even though her toe is still stinging from how she jammed it, the pain worse than some of her injuries she’s gotten on the job, she stops in the middle of the staircase and rips the letter open.

Dear Emma Swan,

You’ll have to forgive me because it’s been awhile since I’ve written a letter that’s not an e-mail. I’ve been told by a rather reliable source that it’s a bit old-fashioned to write like this, but I do like a bit of a challenge. So, Swan, I’m sitting at my desk writing you a letter on stationary that Ariel found me and with my very favorite pen. And while I don’t expect you to write back, I have included several stamps to encourage you. You wouldn’t want me to waste money, now would you?

Anyways, I find myself wondering about you because you intrigue me. There are things I’d like to know. For instance, how long have you been a secret nerd watching the History Channel and National Geographic? I, for one, have been a fan for years. It’s fascinating to learn about things that have happened in the past. What other interests do you have? Do you enjoy sports? Read any good books lately? What is your ultimate favorite baked good? Do you like cooking them yourself? Are you one of those people who have a favorite flower? I am partial to sunflowers over roses, preferring the brightness of yellow, but then again, there are yellow roses.

I’m simply but a curious man who enjoys knowing the answers to my questions, and in return, you can feel free to ask me anything you want. I’d even tell you what kind of underwear I wear since you seem to be averse to answering that particular question.

Sincerely,

Killian A. Jones

“Oh my God,” she mumbles, scanning over the words one more time before opening up the envelope to see several stamps with pictures of sailboats on them.

A part of her absolutely cannot believe that he wrote her a freaking letter, but then again, she’s not really shocked. That’s exactly something that he would do just to annoy her, and the fact that he included stamps is really over the top. She’s not going to complain. She needs stamps, but damn, the man is persistent.

But she’s not going to write him back.

Absolutely not.

She folds his letter back up and puts it in the envelope before walking up the rest of the stairs and turning in the stairwell so she can get back to her floor, quickly moving into her apartment to write a check so she can send off the cable bill before she gets to work this morning. Belle is still sleeping, so she tries to stay quiet as she grabs her purse and walks right back out the door, all of her mail in the front pocket of her purse.

All day she ignores the letter that seems to be burning a hole through the leather material of her purse that’s hidden under her desk, but it’s more of an attempt at ignoring it than actually ignoring it, because when David leaves to go question a fight that broke out down by the pier, she grabs a piece of paper out of the printer and starts writing something back.

Damn it. Has she lost control of her limbs?

Jones,

You’re ridiculous. Seriously. I can’t believe you took our texts as a challenge, but then again, it is you. I have no idea why I’m writing you back, but you did say that I could ask you any question I want, and, well, I simply can’t pass up that opportunity.

So tell me, what is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you? And spare no detail.

Sincerely,

Emma Swan.

PS: I am a mean ping pong player, and I agree with you about the roses. If you’re looking for a good book recommendation, though, I suggest Belle. She gives me all of mine.

Oh, and bear claws.

And I want to know what the A in your name stands for.

Quickly, she stuffs the paper in an envelope, seals it, writes his address on it, places a stamp in the corner, and puts it in the mailbox outside of the station so that she literally can’t take it back without tampering with federal law. She’ll bend a lot of rules, but she’s not going to break federal law over something as dumb as a letter.

Two days later, she gets a letter back. There’s no formal address this time, and she kind of likes that…not that she likes this.

Really went straight for the kill then, eh Swan? It took me a bit to remember what exactly my most embarrassing memory is, simply because I’m so suave that I don’t have many embarrassing moments.

However, when I was a young lad of twenty-three, I had the night off and left base to go out to a pub with a few of my mates. This was something we did often, something we’d done for our five years together, but on this particular night I indulged in a few too many glasses of rum. My tolerance wasn’t quite what it is now, even if I do wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck now, and while I don’t remember the night but in a few glances (particularly me telling the lasses that I was the Captain when I was not), I do remember waking up in the flat of a woman I didn’t know without my clothes anywhere in sight. Either she stole them, my mates somehow stole them, or something else happened, but my options to get home were either walking in the streets of Birkenhead in the nude or wearing this lass’s mother’s nightgown. It was this billowing, flowery thing, and while I fully believe I can wear anything I want, let’s just say my actual Captain did not take too kindly to me walking back onto base in something that was not approved. I was written up three times for one incident, and I’d just like you to imagine me having to explain why to my superiors why I was wearing a nightgown when I had no idea myself.

I have to say, though, nightgowns are quite comfortable. Lots of air to breathe. It’s likely a good thing that my mates thought it would be funny to buy me a nightgown when I was promoted. It was much more my taste. Silk is wonderful, though I don’t think I ever wore it. I much prefer my briefs.

So, there’s a story of one of the brightest moments of my youth, and while I’m sure you’ll somehow use it to torture me, it’s yours to know.

My middle name is, Andrew, by the way, and the lovely Belle has recommended me to The Guest Book as reading material. It’s rather good. Feel free to borrow my copy if you’d like. Speaking of Belle, I hear Mr. French makes rather delectable bear claws, but he’s in a fierce rivalry with Mrs. Lucas over who makes the best. Personally, I think they’re using pastries as a bit of foreplay, but that’s simply a theory from an observer.

Now, Swan, I’ve metaphorically shown you mine, so you should show me yours.

Have a good week,

Killian Andrew Jones.

Emma doesn’t realize it, but by the time she’s finished reading the letter, she’s got tears streaming down her face, just a few of them, from laughing at the thought of Killian running around in a nightgown. That’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, but for some reason, she has no issue imagining him walking into base in a flowery nightgown that hits at his knees and shows off all of the hair on his legs with the shoulders being a little tight. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and she’s glad that Belle is still at the library so that she doesn’t ask what in the world Emma is laughing at.

It would be a little hard to explain.

Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to explain. Because her explaining any of this would make her have to explain other things, and since Belle already knows that Killian sent her the basket of baked goods months ago. So it would be too difficult to explain her...having to explain. This is kind of like some sort of bad inception.

But Belle’s not even here, so it definitely doesn’t matter.

While she’s still laughing, she gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass out of the cabinets and pouring her a glass of the wine that she and Belle didn’t finish drinking last night. If she’s going to spend her time writing letters to Killian, which is a ridiculous concept in and of itself, she should at least have some alcohol in her.

Not enough to make her have to wake up without clothes and have to borrow an ugly nightgown from the mother of the person she’d slept with but some alcohol all the same.

She doesn’t have any paper here, so she has to shuffle through some of the old notebooks Belle keeps on their bookshelves, and takes out a lined page from the back, settling down on the couch with her wine and paper and pin while Drain the Oceans plays on the TV.

Killian Andrew (Asshole) Jones,

I’ve added the “asshole” because I really did think that was your middle name. You did say you would respond to it, but I guess Andrew is okay. Is that a family name? Your father’s maybe? I don’t have a middle name, didn’t even have a last name, only my first, but I’ve always kind of thought it would be something classic since my first name is.

Shit. I just got wine on the paper. Oops.

So you and that rum, huh? You seem to be a fan of it. And also nightgowns. Are you sure you don’t sleep in one of those? Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? You scare them all away with your nightgown. I imagine it makes easy access to...things, so really, they should like it better than the briefs. It’s just a great mystery that may never be solved.

Granny’s bear claws are better than Mr. French’s hands down, but Mr. French has better pastries overall. Plus, he’s like my dad, so you implying that they have a thing going on is really kind of freaking me out. I bet Granny wears a nightgown, though, which makes my earlier joke about easy access so much creepier.

Some things simply shouldn’t be imagined. But if you’re going to, make sure to tell Ruby to scar her for life.

I haven’t read that book, but if Belle recommends it, it must be good. I’ll have to check it out. I’ve been very into historical romances lately, which isn’t really on par for me, but there’s simply something about Jane Austen, you know?

Thanks for telling me your most embarrassing story. You’re right. I’m totally going to use that against you, and no, I will not tell you my most embarrassing story. It involves karaoke, though, so it’s a good one.

Emma

If she hadn’t had the wine, she probably would have realized that she revealed a bit too much in her letter, but after she seals it that night and sends it off in the morning, still using the sailboat stamps Killian provided, she doesn’t think about it.

Not at all.

What she does think about is the fact that eight days go by without a new letter. She didn’t even realize that she wanted another letter, that she got a weird sense of excitement over them, until she wasn’t receiving one in her mailbox.

Who has she turned into that she’s checking her mailbox daily?

What decade is this?

But her week has gone by as normal, spending her days at work, reveling in the hour break she gets to eat lunch with David or Ariel, and her evenings at home, sometimes with Belle, sometimes not. On Saturday she, Ruby, Belle, Mary Margaret, and Ariel all spent the day at the beach, waking up early enough to beat all of the tourists there, and settled down with blankets and umbrellas with bags full of food and a cooler full of drinks. They didn’t bother moving, not unless to dip into the ocean to cool themselves off or to run up to the pier to use the restroom, and even if her eyes constantly trailed down to the pier to look at the fleet of ships and boats and what not resting outside of the Jones’ office.

And if her eyes kept checking her texts even if most everyone she spoke to was already there, no one had to know. Though she does think that Ruby noticed.

She wasn’t very subtle in her desperation.

But she didn’t see him, not that she wanted to, and she tried to push it all to the back of her mind to enjoy the day as the sun beat down on her skin so that she got the slightest bit of a tan that she hopes stays with her until the fall.

Okay, so she thinks about the lack of a letter a lot.

However, she wasn’t thinking about it when she was driving home from work, but now that she’s standing next to the door of her apartment with Will holding a stack of their mail, it’s all she can think about.

Shit.

Why didn’t it occur to her that she and Belle share a mailbox and that Belle could see one of these letters? How could she have missed that?

“Hey,” she cautiously greets, placing her keys down, the clanging loud in her ears, on the table and stepping further into the room, “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Belle and I are going to dinner. Why do you have a letter from Jones?”

“Huh?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart is beating wildly in her chest, the sound louder than it has been in a long time. She can feel it all the way down to her toes. “I have a letter?”

Will raises his eyebrow, obviously not believing her, and as casually as she can, she steps forward and takes the letter from Will, stuffing it away in the back pocket of her jeans.

“So where are you guys going for dinner?” Emma asks to change the subject.

“Eric’s place. He gives me a discount.”

“Ah, yes, because everyone wants discount fish.”

“Oi, it’s not like he’s giving us the old fish.”

“So you think. If you guys die in a few days, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“We’ll be dead, and you’ll be bragging about it.”

“Exactly.” She steps around Will and sits down on the couch, reaching down to unlace her boots and kick them off. “I guess I’ll miss you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Emma,” Belle shouts, and Emma leans her head back to look down the hall to see Belle standing in the hallway, “can I borrow those teal heels that you wore last week?”

“Yeah, they’re in my bathroom.”

Belle doesn’t say anything back, but less than a minute she comes into their living room wearing the teal heels and a little black dress, fluffing out her hair over her shoulders while Will grabs his coat off the chair, stepping up to her and kissing her cheek, whispering something that Emma doesn’t pick up on, which is good. It’s private, and she doesn’t need to hear things about their private life.

Her hearing thing has been wonky lately anyways. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

“We probably won’t be back until late,” Belle tells her, and Emma reaches her hand up over the couch to let Belle grab onto it. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nah, you two go have fun. Don’t do anything that I’ll have to investigate.”

“Well, that just takes all of the fun away.”

After the two of them leave, she leans up on the couch and pulls the later out of her back pocket, hoping that Will forgets about it and doesn’t mention it to Belle, and quickly opens the sealed envelope, her nerves running over every inch of her skin and making her fingers shake the slightest bit as she straightens the creases out of the paper.

Emma,

I apologize for my late reply, but you seem to have caught me at a bad time. I had a client call and request a refurbishment on his seafaring vessel (his words, not mine), and I’ve been consumed with it. I love this job. It’s a way to keep me connected to the ocean, a place where I spent so much of my life, but this is different. And it certainly didn’t help that my wrist decided to act up a bit this week. It’s the weather and all.

Regardless, I do wish you would have told me your most embarrassing story. I feel like it’s a real ice breaker, and I love karaoke....if I’m drunk. But then again, bad things seem to happen when I’m drunk. So wine? That’s your vice? I always took you more as a tequila or whiskey type, but then again, I’m learning that I know very little about you, love. Though, I like that it’s changing a bit, if I may be so bold.

Jane Austen is bloody brilliant, and it’s nice to hear of someone else appreciating her. Mr. Darcy and I have a lot in common, you know? I, too, screw up with strong-willed women and then have to realize the error of my ways to have them allow me back into their lives. Or, at least, I hope. Tell me, if you’re a fan of historical romances, how are you not a fan of letter writing when that is such a core piece of the story? Is it simply that you don’t like modern day letter writing because it, for practical reasons, doesn’t make any sense? We could have had this entire conversation in ten minutes, but it’s taken eight days. Yet, this is a bit more fun, even though talking to you does incite other kinds of fun.

As to my middle name, it’s my mother’s maiden name. My father’s name is Brennan, and the only thing I carry from him is the Jones name, which is likely a good thing. He wasn’t a good man. He was a drunk, and he abandoned us when I was ten. I’m proud to be a Jones because of my brother and my mum, so like you, I suspect that my last name carries a weight that most don’t.  

Anyways, that’s much too much information about me. Tell me, Swan, there’s a Summer Regatta coming up in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be at the festival? I know someone who can get you a free ride on a boat.

Killian.

He’s got a screwed up family too.

That’s what she gets out of all of that. It’s not that he loves the same books that she does, not that he correctly guessed her drinking vices, not that he practically invited her to be his date to the regatta in over Labor Day weekend. It’s the fact that he has a screwed up family, a drunk deadbeat dad and a dead mom. She knew his family life wasn’t great, if only because Elsa never mentions having to take the kids to go see Liam’s parents.

Huh.

She can kind of see it now, can see that he is a bit of an orphan too, and even though he had parents, it breaks her heart. No one should ever have to grow up without having people love them, and she’s thankful that Killian had Liam and their mom. That’s a nice thing for them to have a family, even if it’s not what most people would call complete.

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that she suddenly understands Killian in a way that she knows only a few people can, but she pulls out her phone and lets her fingers move without thinking about it too much.

Emma: So not a fan of karaoke then? Is your voice that bad?

The three dots pop up almost immediately after she presses send only for them to disappear, only coming back every few seconds. He’s either trying to think of what to say or realized that he’s texting back incredibly fast. It’s nice to know some things never change.

Killian: For someone who is incredibly attracted to my voice, that’s a bold thing for you to suggest.

Emma: Touché.

Emma: So it’s not bad then?

Killian: I’ve been told that it’s actually pretty good, but I find that karaoke does nothing but bring embarrassment unless you’ve been drinking all day.

Emma: Okay, but say you have…what’s your go-to song?

Kilian: Easy. Anything Elton John. He’s so easy to understand.

Emma: You’re kidding, right?

Killian: Nope.

He definitely has to be kidding.

Emma: I figured you’d be more of a Queen or Beatles guy. I’m pretty partial to Queen.

Killian: Well, I could do those too. Or pretty much anything from the eighties. I feel old, but I don’t know a lot of the new songs.

Emma: That’s because you are old.

Killian: Being older than you doesn’t make old. And as you can tell, I’ve retained my youthful glow.

Emma: Sure, we’ll call it that.

She takes another sip of her wine and turns the volume up a bit on the television so that she’s not simply staring at her phone waiting for him to text her back. That’d be pathetic. Then again, she’s sitting at home drinking wine and watching the History Channel while her roommate is out on a date. That could be considered pathetic. Or very, very smart depending on who is asked.

Killian: What are you up to tonight, love?

Emma: Watching Drain the Ocean, though I’ll be honest and say I have no idea what’s going on.

Emma: You?

Killian: The same, actually.

Emma: Creepy.

Killian: Believe it or not, I think we have similar taste in television shows.

Emma: Ugh, I know. I can’t believe I have so much in common with an old man.

Killian: If you keep flattering a man like this, he might get the impression that you like him.

Emma: Never.

Emma: At least we don’t like the same foods. Unless you secretly like junk food.

Killian: I enjoy certain kinds, but I don’t think I have the same propensity for grilled cheese, onion rings, and bear claws like you do.

Emma: I also like poptarts and brownies. Oooh and lots of icing.

Killian: You’re a child.

Emma: Oh, come on. You don’t like icing?

Killian: If there’s cake attached, yeah.

Emma: No, no. You’ve got this all wrong. Straight out of the can.

Killian: You also eat raw cookie dough, don’t you?

Emma: Duh.

Killian: I do like cookies, though. And mostly pastries that involve fruit. It makes it all feel a little healthier.

Emma: You’re in shape. I think you’ve got the healthy thing down.

Killian: I knew you liked staring at my ass.

Emma: I said nothing about your ass.

Killian: Just my general body then? The abs? The biceps? My collarbone? What about my left ankle? You’re into period romances. I bet the left ankle really does it for you.

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, putting her glass down on the coffee table and standing from the couch, smiling to herself as she reads the message and walks to the kitchen. He’s such an idiot.

Such an idiot.

And now she really wants something sweet to eat, so she presses up on her toes and gets a can of chocolate icing out of the pantry popping open the top and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer so she can at least be a little civilized about the whole thing. Without putting much thought into it, she holds the spoon full of icing up to her mouth and takes a quick picture, not checking to see what she looks like before sending it to Killian.

Emma: See? This is the way to eat sweets.

The three dots pop up before they disappear just like before, and she doesn’t really have time to think about it before the front door is swinging open and Belle is walking inside, an obviously bright red flush on her pale cheeks.

“I’m engaged,” she squeals, holding her left hand up as she walks into the apartment, a small diamond ring resting there.

“What?” Emma gasps, nearly choking on her icing before she puts the spoon and the container down, running her tongue over her teeth to wipe up all of the excess icing. “You’re engaged?”

“Yes! Will asked at dinner. Oh my gosh. You know, I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those girls, but I did the thing where I put my hands over my mouth when he got down on one knee.”

“Of course you did,” she laughs, reaching forward and wrapping Belle up in a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she can while she sees Will walk into the apartment, bags of takeout in his hands and a smile on his face that tells Emma he’s just as happy as Belle is. Good. They deserve all of the happiness. “I’m so damn happy for you. Both of you.”

“And you’ll be so much happier when you know that I brought you earplugs for tonight,” Will tells her when she hugs him.

“That is so gross.”

“I’m simply trying to be helpful.”

“Babe,” Belle laughs, walking over to the two of them and leaning into Will to press a kiss into his cheek, “stop grossing Emma out and give me five minutes to tell her what happened before we can let her put the earplugs into use.”

“Nope, nope, no,” she refuses, putting her hands in the air, “you guys just go. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Perfect.”

“Please ignore him.”

“I promise you I’m trying.”

Will and Belle go back to their room, and she takes the opportunity to grab her phone, her icing, and plant herself in front of the television, turning to volume up so that she doesn’t have to risk hearing anything else. Tonight will probably be the night that her weird hearing thing picks up again.

She is so damn happy for the two of them, a bit of a buzz of happiness spreading over her skin, but she can’t help the little voice in her head that wonders what’s next for her if the two of them are getting married.

She hates that she thinks that.

Her phone dings, and she looks down at it, forgetting that she was texting Killian before Belle and Will came home.

How long were they texting for her friends to get engaged during that time? That’s…a lot of time. Did it really all go by that quickly? She didn’t even notice.

Killian: I mean, there’s definitely something sweet in that picture that I’d like to eat.

Emma chuckles under her breath, unable to help herself, especially when accompanying the text is a picture of him holding a banana over half of his face, the scars on his wrist and the chain around his neck visible even in the dimness of his apartment. And damn it. This was not supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

She likes Killian Jones. 

[its-ya-boi-autumn]

Butterflies/Chapter 2

Here's chapter 2 for you! I took a long time (all day-) to write this out. I hope you guys are enjoying everything so far and Chrollo will pop in very soon I promise~

A light buzzing zipped around in Celestia’s skull. It sounded like a fly hitting itself against a wall somewhere in her room. The buzzing stopped for a moment, then returned. Strange. Celestia opened her eyes, blurry shapes and colors coming into her vision as her eyes tried to adjust to the dim lighting. The buzzing stopped again, then came back. What was it? When she pushed herself up, Celestia felt gentle vibrations rumble through her worn pillow. She moved the pillow to the side. What she found there was her phone, buzzing insistently. Bright numbers flashed on her screen.

Finally, her eyes fully adjusted so she could see. 4:00. It took a few seconds, but once her realization settled in, she jumped. Her alarm for school!

“Oh shit...” she mumbled to herself, tearing the blanket off of her and making way for her closet. Once she opened the doors, her hand scanned through the darkness in search of her uniform. She didn’t have many items of clothing, but she usually hung her stuff towards the front more so she could hide her blades where her parents wouldn’t see them. A pile of dirty clothes pooled at her feet, nearly falling out when she stepped over them to reach for her skirt and uniform shirt.

The grey fabric of her skirt felt soft in her hands. Yesterday while her parents were away, she managed to wash her school uniforms for the week. Normally she wasn’t allowed to wash anything since her parents took up most of the time doing laundry even if their clothes weren’t dirty. She dressed herself, finding the black school jacket that went over her shirt. Silver Sycamore was embroidered on the jacket, the gold lettering stitched neatly onto the breast.

Despite her parents not having much money, for some reason they still sent her to Silver Sycamore, a public school that was actually pretty good. Despite the kids that went there. She’d been bullied for a while now, though she didn’t say anything to anyone about it. Not that they’d care. Celestia had thought about telling Mr. Nymph, her AP Literature teacher, about it a few times. However, for some reason, she could never bring herself to do so. He was one of the few teachers there that actually listened to her when she talked.

Another buzz interrupted her thoughts. 4:30. She had to pick up the pace a little. The bus didn’t arrive until sometime after 6, but she couldn’t have her parents yelling at her for being late. She couldn’t risk them having to drive her. She may not make it to school.

Wasting no more time, she buttoned the white shirt up on her torso and pulled the jacket over her arms, quietly moving to the bathroom near her room. Her parents room was right below this bathroom, so she had to be careful. She shut the door so no noise would travel through the house. The click of the lock signaled she was safe for now. Celestia didn’t bother to turn the light on. Though it was still dark out, she could still see enough to do what she needed to do.

She plucked her makeup bag from the hidden slit in the wall. Just a few things. Mascara, eyebrow pencil and some light lip gloss. Quickly, she focused on filling in her dark eyebrows and then fixing her already long eyelashes a little bit, running a sheen amount of lip gloss over her plump lips. Once she finished, she hid her stuff away in the little slit again. It was probably around 4:45 to 5:00 now, so she closed the cabinet and took a last look into the mirror. Everything looked even.

Celestia tried to open the door without making any noise, not bothering to shut it. She checked her phone again. 5:03. She took a deep breath. Everything was fine. She wouldn’t be late. A couple thumps from downstairs startled her. Her parents must have been awake by now, her dad getting ready for work and her mother most likely just awake to make him breakfast. She would wait to go downstairs. 

She heard her parents talking.

“Where were you last night?” the deep rumble of her dad’s voice sounded through the flooring. There was no answer.

“Well?” he tried again. She heard a muffled reply. Then a loud smack.

“How many times have I told you-“ he stopped mid sentence. A hushed voice scurried to silence him. Celestia didn’t know why, maybe her mother thought she was awake. The thought made her hands shake. There were no signals that her father was coming upstairs though. She must have been safe. 

Celestia waited until around 6 to even move from her spot on the mattress, playing some games on her phone while it was still on the charger. She checked out her window to see if the bus was at her house. The dull yellow flashed by as it passed her house. She must have had a substitute driver, as the bus stopped immediately after her house and then backed up. She grabbed up her bag and rushed herself down the stairs, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice her leaving. They hadn’t, of course. If they did, then they didn’t show it.

The bus was cramped, everyone taking their friends to school since they had stayed over the weekend. Just when she thought she couldn’t find a seat, some girl moved over for her.

“You can sit here.” her voice was deeper than Celestia had expected. Thick and sweet, almost like honey. Celestia obliged to this offer, taking her seat next to her. She took a glance at the girl. Her skin was a lovely dark brown, black hair braided tight against her scalp and huge brown eyes like moons. She was gorgeous. Celestia felt like she’d seen her before, maybe at lunch with friends. She’d never spoken to her though. Arya, was that her name? 

Arya didn’t talk to Celestia after that, just stared out the window. Just as Celestia would have expected. She sighed quietly, plugging in her earbuds for something to entertain her until she got to school. Celestia didn’t listen to lyrical music. She enjoyed classics that just had instruments. Beethoven was one of her favorites. His music made her body relax, Für Elise flowing through her head and fluttering down into her stomach. The sound of the piano curled around her body, holding her close. She smiled to herself. 

An abrupt stop caused her to fly forward, barely catching herself as she came into contact with the back of the seat in front of her. Arya fell onto the seat in front as well. Celestia peered up from the seat in front of her. The substitute bus driver nearly collided with the bus in front of theirs. Her hands were waving up, asking for forgiveness. Everyone was laughing at her. She must have felt awfully embarrassed about it. Arya just scoffed, almost pushing Celestia out of her seat to leave. Celestia moved so Arya could go and then sat back down, waiting. 

Some kids started getting off the bus, so Celestia followed. Of course, she was the last off. She held her skirt down so the strong wind would push it up for anyone to see. She thought about how she should have put on spandex shorts or leggings before she left the house. Once Celestia was inside, she set her backpack down on the nearest table, alone. She didn’t plan on eating anything since she felt like nothing would stay down. Not that her school lunch was bad, she actually enjoyed it. 

Celestia pulled out some homework that she forgot about over the weekend. AP Literature. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be in that class until her next year in high school. However, her English teacher from last year said she could take it since she had done exceptionally well with her work in that class. Celestia just had some minor vocabulary to finish. Why she was doing vocabulary in a literature class was beyond her, but she didn’t think about it too much. 

The bell rang its shrill screech through the speaker. Students groaned about as they now had to get to class on time. Celestia packed up her bag, her vocab worksheet now finished. Her first hour was, of course, her AP Literature class. Mr. Nymph wouldn’t mind if she was tardy or anything, she just didn’t want anyone to stare while she walked in late. Despite her legs being short, she still took long strides down the hall. By the time she made it to class her calves burned with the strain. Mr. Nymph was already sitting down at his desk staring at his laptop. He must have been sending emails. 

Another screech rang in her ears. Class was started. Mr. Nymph wasted no time, standing up right away.

“Good morning Juniors! How was your weekend?” he started, moving to turn on the projector. Nobody said anything. Mr. Nymph chuckled. 

 Not good huh?” he continued to smile. Mr. Nymph was always optimistic. His smile never failed to brighten a room. Even now, some of the other students around Celestia started beaming as well. Mr. Nymph was a little older, he’d been teaching at Silver Sycamore for several years now and always had interesting stories to tell from when he lived in Spain. 

“Alright, well then we’ll just get started. As you see on the board up here, I have a list for you. It's a list of books you can choose from for your upcoming book report. It’s not due for a few weeks of course.” he explained. On the board, the projector showed a piece of paper that Mr. Nymph must have taken a photo of and saved to his laptop. There were about 40 books or so to choose from. Celestia was already setting her eye on one. Endurance. She didn't know the general summary just yet, but it sounded good. 

"Once you have this book chosen, you can just pick it up at the library or the bookstore to read it. We might even have some here at the school…" Mr. Nymph placed his forefinger on his chin thoughtfully, making a weird face. Celestia chuckled in her head at him even though it wasn't meant to be funny. He had the tendency to be very animated. The entertainment was relaxing compared to how she felt at home. 

Mr. Nymph continued his class, mostly talking about the report they were supposed to be doing and how they were going to do it. A presentation. Celestia hated presentations as much as the next person, but the days leading up to it would give her panic attacks. She hoped she wouldn't end up having one right when she went up to present her book. That wouldn't be very graceful of her.

Class ended and her day continued like normal. Going through Algebra and Space Science. Nobody bothered her or even spoke to her. Nobody messed with her in the hallways like they usually did. She was pretty much safe for the day. Once lunch came around, she didn't sit at the table with anyone. Rather, she moved past the cafeteria to Mr. Nymph's room again. She usually talked to him at lunch everyday since she didn't have any friends in school. 

Mr. Nymph was sitting at his desk again, a sandwich in his hands while he typed on his laptop. Celestia knocked on the open door. 

"Ah! Fae, how does it go?" he asked cheerfully. Celestia smiled, walking into the classroom. She set her stuff down in the desk in front of his. 

"You don't mind if I eat in here again do you sir?" Celestia's voice was quiet. Weak. Mr. Nymph didn't seem to notice though, nodding in approval as he chewed. 

"Of course not dear." he spoke with his mouth full, making Celestia chuckle. He shut his laptop and set his sandwich down. Pushing his glasses up, he eyed her through the lenses, folding his hands on the desk. 

"Have you already chosen a book for your presentation Fae?" he asked. Her last name sounded sweet coming out of his mouth. He liked to use his kids' last names in class in case someone had the same name. And if they shared the same last name, each kid got a nickname. He was a chill teacher, very likeable. Celestia nodded. He tilted his head quizzically. 

"Endurance." she stated simply. Mr. Nymph's eyebrows shot up. He seemed to be surprised. 

"Interesting… I don't think we have that here at the school sadly." he replied while taking another bite of his sandwich. Celestia averted her gaze from him, fiddling with her tiny hands. She was hoping she wouldn't have had to leave the school for this book. That she could have saved her parents the money and wouldn't have to risk getting hurt in the process of simply trying to do school work. She pondered the fact that she could just not do it. She wasn't much of a reader anyway. 

Her focus was broken as Mr. Nymph started speaking again. 

"Why don't you try the public library after school today? Or even the bookstore by the mall? One of the two if not both is bound to have it." he suggested, throwing away the wrapper his sandwich came in. Again, Celestia loathed the thought of having to come home late and explain herself. Even if she told the truth about where she'd be going, it wasn't like they'd believe her. But, she had to get a good grade. She'd feel terrible if she disappointed Mr. Nymph. Especially after all he'd done for her without realizing it. She hasn't had him as a teacher for very long, and he could have his moments and bad days, but he was better than most teachers.

Celestia considered her options, weighing them carefully before nodding. 

"Okay."

[blameblamebts]

I wish I never met you

Pairing: Jimin x You

Genre:  99.9% of angst and pinch of fluff

A/N: after so long i was motivated and wrote this in one go, please show her some love🤧

Wish I never met you

I hate the way you smile.

The way your lips part into a toothy smile, cheeks raising, eye crinkling,

I hate the way you laugh.

The vibration of your chuckles are enough to tug at anyone’s heartstrings.

I hate your gaze.

The way your eyes glimmer as you look towards the guy who you’ve met two years ago at some stupid book signing.

I hate it.

I hate him.

But I wish I was him.

   “—Jimin.”

The way you whisper my name, the way your fingers graze against my hand as if it means nothing to you but means everything to me is what I hate the most.

“Good luck, I love you” the mouthed magical words aren’t so magical when I have to take a stand and express out all the wonderful things I can say about you and him to a crowd you’ve invited, looking over to you and the man I wish I was, telling him how lucky he is that you were in his life telling him

   “—Jungkook you are a lucky man, and I wish you two a wonderful life together.” I smile, the audience cheer at my words, the newlyweds share a kiss, and I look away.

I wish I never met you.

The years away from you are no better than the years spent pining over. Somehow they’re even more agonizing. And when I think back to our college days, the first day we had met, I want it all undone. I keep trying to remind myself about how much I should hate you, but still the thought of your stupid smile, your loud laugh and your piercing gaze drive me crazy.

I wish I never met you.

It’s almost four years after you cried at the airport hugging me because I was going away so far for work, that I see you. I know that I made promises to keep in contact, to call, FaceTime and everything else that allowed me to hear your voice. But I didn’t. Because I wish I never met you.

I wished I never met you.

When I see you standing in front of the flower shop, my first thought was to run away. But my legs had betrayed my mind and stood rooted in place. My eyes take in the sight that is you. You’ve grown much more in the past years, yet I could still spot you from miles away. There’s no sight of your lucky man. Just you.

It feels like we stood there forever, you watching the assortment of flowers, and me watching my very own flower. You.

I have to remind myself that I hate you, mind and heart battling yet once again, when your hand grips my arm. I hadn’t notice you walk over, mind in a sudden frenzy, unable to utter anything.

   “Jimin!?” Your surprised voice and the beautiful smile that spreads on your lips suddenly make me feel warm and it doesn’t take me a second longer to pull you into an embrace.

The crowd around us continue to move, time seems to go on, but you stay in my arms forever. Your body slowly begins to shake, hands balling up the fabric of my coat. You’re crying.

   “I missed you” you whisper.

I missed you too.

…

Almost a decade ago we had first met. Freshman semester of college. The memory was still fresh in my mind, second by second, something I had wished to forget but would never forget.

You were wearing that bright red oversized hoodie I had stolen one day and still had stacked away somewhere in my closet. You stood lost in those halls, crumpled schedule in hand and deer-in-headlights eyes, when I asked if you needed any help. We had walked into the same lecture hall, sat right next to each other, sharing awkward smiles. You had breathed out a sigh of relief

   “I thought I’d never find this class, thanks—“

You had looked at me with awaiting eyes. But before I had replied, you had read my notebook and smiled wide

   “Jimin!”

…

It felt like I was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Longer hair, slimmer structure, you seem different. You’re wearing a grey coat, nowhere near anything like that bright red hoodie.

   “So have you been?” You ask looking up from your cup of coffee.

You voice is much lower, much different.

You’ve changed. I wish you didn’t.

I smile as I shrug,

   “Nothing much, just been busy.”

A look that I can’t fully understand rests on your face, a soft smile etches your lips.

   “You’ve gotten so busy you’ve forgotten me huh?”

The way you say your words breaks my heart. How do I tell you? How can I say I’ve stayed away because I hate you, because I wish I never met you. Instead I say

   “You have Jungkook! There’s no way you could’ve felt my absence” I laugh, but you don’t.

In fact the soft smile that you did have falls as well. My heart begins to beat rapidly when you utter your words and I wish I never met you.

   “Jungkook passed away in an accident three years ago.” You try to mask the hurt in your tone, but I hear it.

   “I tried calling you Jimin— I needed you.”

I wish I never met you. That way I would’ve never hurt you.

There are a thousand feelings within me when I sit in utter disbelief, my throat suddenly dry, unable to say anything else at all.

You clear the tension. Sniffing back you wipe the few tears that managed to slip, breathing in before smiling that faint smile I didn’t like.

   “I’m sorry I didn’t want to make you feel bad. You don’t owe me anything. I’m sorry.” Your voice trails into a whisper.

We sit in a never ending silence thereafter, but I finally manage to take a stand. You think I’m leaving so you too take a stand.

   “Well I guess you're busy-“ you begin to say, but I cut you off with my embrace. This time it’s sudden. This time it leaves you frozen for a few seconds before your tense body relaxes in my arms and you hug me back. Your soft cries return.

   “I missed you.” You cry.

   “I missed you too.”

…

We’ve kissed once. But both had sworn it was nothing but a stupid mistake at one of the crazy college parties. We were sophomores then, still growing, still naive. But you didn’t know I’ve had my fingers crossed, that I had been on cloud nine when we kissed. That I lied and it did mean something.

And I wished I never met you.

We’ve dated our fair share of partners, but I always came back to you, expecting nothing but comfort and company. I’ve poured out my everything to you.

But I didn’t let you pour our anything at all. I didn’t purposely ignore all those calls from you. All those emails those voicemails, probably hidden deep or erased. No I didn’t at first. We had kept in contact as I had promised, for the first few months but soon our lives got in the way and the calls distanced from twice a week to twice a month, soon once three months until they stopped. However you’ve tried to reach out. You invited me for get-togethers,  

   “You’re allowed breaks buddy I promise you.” Your voice had exclaimed in the voice memo. But I never got back to you. I was busy. I wished I hadn’t met you.

…

   “Jimin is that you?” I hear your voice from somewhere in another room.

   “Yeah!” I exclaim closing the door behind me, eyes looking around your apartment that I’ve never seen.

There are pictures of you and Jungkook lined up on the wall, and a cozy setting of furniture in the living room with your favorite magazines splayed on the coffee table, reminds me of when you had first discovered them. You rush out from the bedroom, looking as beautiful as ever.

   “Was the place hard to find?” You ask as you smile wide, hugging me softly.

I shake my head and you take the bottle of champagne I had picked up from somewhere on my way, though I don’t think we would be drinking because neither of us like champagne.

The evening goes smoothly, you tell me about your job, what you’ve gotten into recently and how you’ve been holding up ever since Jungkook left. You tease me after finding out I’m now working alongside a girl we both had gone to college with and one day assumed I had liked her back then. I guess that assumption never died. But I couldn’t tell you that you were wrong, so I laughed it off.

I wished I never met you.

But I couldn’t stop meeting you. We went out for lunch, had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants from back in the day. We spent a day at the beach, watched a dumb movie we both made fun of on the way back home. I was falling deeper in love with you. I wasn’t sure what you felt.

Our friends had said you’ve changed, I hope it was for the better.

They say you smile more. You leave the house more. You crack stupid jokes again, which I never knew you’ve stopped ever since Jungkook. I was glad I was the one bringing change. I was letting you pour out.

You cried one night about Jungkook, the night of what would be your fifth wedding anniversary. So we went out and rented a boat. Neither of us knew how to sail so we stayed at the dock.

…

A year and some more had passed suddenly, I’m waiting for you because we have plans for a movie, but you haven’t arrived. Time ticks and I get anxious by the minute so I call you.

You don’t pick up.

I try again.

But before I could try a third time the call of my name makes me turn.

   “Jimin, hi!”

It’s my coworker. The one who you thought I had a crush one. The one who I definitely don’t have a crush on.

   “Great to see you here, what movie are you here to watch?” She asks.

I smile and tell her and she narrows her brows telling me the movie had already started.

I’m aware it had started but I tell her

   “I’m waiting for someone.”

She questions who and my lips part

   “His girlfriend.”

Your arm links into mine and my mind is blank, still stuck on the words you had just uttered. You continue talking with my coworker but I hear none of the conversation. And when she leaves you suddenly smile at me shyly.

   “Sorry I was late, got held up at a meeting.” You say

A thousand thoughts float in my head, but none in the form of words. My eyes look down at our arms and your gaze follows. I watch as you steadily bring your hand down to mine, your fingers slowly wrapping around my own. They’re so much warmer. Much softer. You clear your throat. Realizing something and suddenly pulling away.

  “I’m sorry is this too weird? Oh my god I should’ve asked you first!” You begin to ramble.

You’re in an attempt to bang your head against a wall when I pull you in. Palms resting against your cheeks, my lips meet yours. Your wide, surprised eyes slowly relax and close. Lashes grazing against my skin, you kiss me back.

…

    You had gushed and gushed about the “beautiful—No!—the most gorgeous man” you had ever seen. You rambled on, heart eyes as you recalled your encounter with the man I would envy in the days coming.  

I hated it.

I hated him.

I had wished I had gone with you, I should’ve ditched what plans I already made and gone along with you. Maybe you would have never met him. I wouldn’t have let you.

When you had gone on your first date with him, I was on my way to your place. I had seen the two of you. Parked in front of your building entrance, you two stood in a silence that was in no way awkward, the smiles on you faces giving it away.

I had gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, a bitter feeling washing within me.

I hated it.

I wished I never met you.

Eight years later I would have never imagined, would have never thought we would be here. We’ve kissed before, and we’ve promised to forget. You’re kissing me now, a blissful feeling taking over me.

We’d continue to kiss. Continue to make memories.

In the coming year I would ask you to be mine forever. You would cry and pull me into your arms whispering “yes” a few times before you kiss me again.

We’d call each other cringey names, know each others old habits.

I’d wish time would stop, I’d stop wishing to never have met you.

...

   “I love your smile” I whisper, my lips slowly pecking yours.

You break into a giggle, the silence in the bedroom broken.

   “I love your laugh” my nose brushes against your neck, lips trailing soft kisses down the expanse of your skin.

Your fingers grasp my shoulders, your skin warmer against mine.

   “Park Jimin. Please.” You whisper, meeting my eyes.

You lie underneath me, awaiting.

   “I love that gaze.” I whisper before kissing you properly, and we become a tangle of limbs on our bed.

   “Fuck I love you.”

You laugh as I pull your bright red hoodie over your head and toss it somewhere behind us. Your fingers trace against my jaw and down until they rest at my chest.

   “I love you too.”

You leave a lingering kiss on my forehead, looking into my eyes with your beautiful gaze.

   “Happy anniversary baby.”

You kiss me.

And I don’t let go.

________

Fin.

Check out the Masterlist!

[taeyongtime]

soleil luna

genre: ceo!au feat. long distance relationship | three dashes of angst | four tablespoons of fluff

group & member: NCT / Doyoung

word count: 4.2k

a/n: sun and moon-esque for LDR vibes 

“You’re not taking me with you?”

Doyoung catches onto the disappointment in your voice, reaching a hand over to grasp your fingers tightly. He eases the clipboard out of your grip and places it on his desk, first thinking over the best way to deliver the upcoming news. 

“I need you here to keep things from sinking in my absence.”

“But…”

“I trust you,” he continues quietly. “I wouldn’t let just anyone work as my substitute, you know.”

“You’re planning to make me your replacement?”

“You’ve been here long enough to know how things work.” His voice is firm as he slides over a manila envelope. “You’re the acting CEO now whether you like it or not.”

You wiggle out of his grip, fingers fumbling once your eyes scan the contents of the envelope. 

“Doyoung!”

“Come here.” 

Pulling you onto his lap, your boss and current boyfriend buries his face in your neck, arms tightening their hold around your waist.

“Let me go,” you scowl, squirming to free yourself from his hold.

He shakes his head and you adjust your position just enough to face him while remaining seated on his lap. 

“How long will this so-called business trip of yours last?”

“… Six months,” he begins with a sigh. “And don’t scream.”

“SIX MONTHS?”

—

Six months was a long time of not seeing Doyoung.

It wasn’t that you hated him for going away for business. You were fully aware that sometimes excursions were necessary for the company to flourish via activities overseas. Simply relying on local sources for revenue was not enough to maintain the economic success of the Kim Conglomerate, and truthfully you had wanted Doyoung to tell you that you’d be joining him on the trip rather than having to step up as acting CEO while he was gone.  

“This is it,” Doyoung tells the driver as the last of his luggage is packed into the back of the vehicle. “We should get going before traffic becomes a problem.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

The familiar frown makes its way on your face again and Doyoung spots it right away, reaching for your hands and swinging them lightly to lessen the tension in the air.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t want you to go,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eye. “Six months is such a long time.”

“I have to go, it’s for the company.”

“Can you… Can you at least call me every day so I don’t miss you too much?”

A snort of disbelief leaves his mouth. 

“I’ll call you every hour if you want me to.”

“No,” you whine, shaking your head. “International calls are expensive.”

He smiles at your small fit, finding it endearing that you were still looking out for him despite not being a fan of the current arrangement of things. 

“Then I’ll make sure to video call you at the end of each week. Fair?”

“Mmm. I’ll also give you weekly reports then.”

“Text me about yourself, too,” he adds right before letting go of the hands he was still swinging. “I have to go now.”

“Watch me end up bankrupting the company,” you joke, making light of missing him for the next six months.

“If that happens, you know that’s only going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

—

Two weeks into his first month away and you were already swamped with a workload five times more chaotic than your daily duties as head secretary. Having to oversee practically everyone and everything running in the office, you didn’t have enough hands for all the documents that needed signing and to hold all the folders of records from past years to make accurate predictions on this year’s budgeting. Two eyes weren’t enough to read through every word on the pages and not even two legs were enough to get from department to department for progress checks and demanding reports from each manager and their teams. Now you knew why Doyoung practically went through each day drinking coffee like it was water.

“The annual midnight gala is scheduled for this Thursday, should I RSVP to the committee’s invite now or would you prefer to do that yourself?”

You look up from your papers and frown. 

“Doyoung won’t be here to attend that.”

Your secretary smiles apologetically. “Yes, but as acting CEO, it is still expected of you to attend… Boss.”

A heavy sigh leaves your mouth and you end up nodding away your Thursday night, making a mental note to pick up a proper dress to wear at your favorite boutique before the event. 

“Anything else?”

She shakes her head and you ask her to shut the door on her way out, burying your head into the open folders of company records and other archival documents clamoring for a second of your time. Too many things piled on your plate when this wasn’t what you had been hired for.

“I wonder if he’s asleep yet,” you mumble, opening the video calling app on your phone. Fingers hovering over Doyoung’s contact, they press down just when the notification of an incoming call shows up on screen and you manage a smile at seeing Doyoung sitting in bed with his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Whatcha reading?”

You arch an eyebrow in question at the offered paperback. 

“Really? The Great Gatsby?”

“What?” he replies defensively, hugging the book close to his chest. “It’s a worthy read!”

“Did you receive any of my emails? I need replies on at least five of them asap.”

“I’ll answer them after I finish reading tonight’s chapter.” He picks up his phone and and turns the camera so all you can see is text rather than his beautiful face.

“I don’t want to read,” you protest. “Turn the camera back.”

The sound of turning pages is all you can hear as Doyoung stops speaking to read his book instead, glancing back at you for a while before his attention is reclaimed by the novel.

“I forgot to tell you, but I’m going in your place to the gala this Thursday.”  

The phone camera reverses back and Doyoung takes off his glasses, mouth twisted to a frown. 

“Are you going with a date or what?”

“I was going to ask your brother if he’d like to go with me since he’s really the only person I know who would be willing to go.”

“Thank goodness you’re not going with that one guy from finance. God, do you remember how—”

“No, Doyoung, we’re not going to talk about how he walked in on you getting ready to fuck me in the conference room.”

The scowl on his face brings a chuckle from your end. “I’ll let you sleep now, I have more work to do.”

“Send me a picture of your dress Wednesday night.”

“My Wednesday or your Wednesday? There’s a difference.”

“Mine,” he laughs. “Since when did you start giving sass to your boss?”

“Since I became my own boss,” you reply with a playful shrug. “Good night.”

“Good night. I’ll dream of you and good luck with the rest of your work.”

—

Some days Doyoung would wake extra early to catch you after you ended work at six.

“How early is it over there?” you ask him, frowning at his constant yawns.

“4am?” he mumbles incoherently. “Yeah, 4am.”

“Please go to sleep.”

He sits up, shaking his head as he blinks furiously to shake off the sleepiness. 

“I’m good.”

“You look like you’re about to collapse at any moment,” you say bluntly to your camera. “Just sleep.”

“Hey, I need to make sure you’re doing your work properly,” he shoots back, voice regaining its signature snappiness after the barb. “And make sure you’re eating well.”

“I eat well.”

“What’d you have today?”

“Toast for breakfast, a BLT for lunch,” you recite, counting off your fingers in tow. “Two chocolate bars at 3:30 and now I’m going to get fried chicken for dinner.”

“Where are your vegetables, don’t you know what a balanced diet is?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what that is.” You angle your camera at the sign outside the restaurant. “I can smell it from outside, it’s so good.”

The jealous groan from the other end of the line fails to make any impact as you put in an order for chicken and add mashed potatoes to the side, flaunting off the receipt at a sleepy Doyoung and making sure he received the perfect view of freshly fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes once your order was ready for pick up.

“It’s so good, Doyoung,” you say through a mouthful of perfectly crisp chicken. “Juicy and the sauce! I really wish you were here to eat this with me.”

“You’re the worst, I’m going back to sleep.”

—

Other days when Doyoung called, you had to cut things short since that was usually when you needed to get ready for another day in the office.

The most memorable instance would have to be the time he called you while you were in the bathroom taking a shower, your phone practically blowing up with missed notifications until you called him back without even putting on your day clothes.

“Are you out?” he asks once your face enters the frame.

“I was taking a shower,” you groan. “Jeez, I have to get to work in an hour and I didn’t even change yet.”

“Oh, let me see.”

“Fuck off, you nasty rabbit.”

You call him again after changing and stay on the line while commuting to work, chatting animatedly during the 30-minute subway ride amongst the sea of people also heading off to start their days, occasionally sneaking pictures of passengers to him and giggling quietly as he rambled about how weird they looked or compared them to some of your coworkers in his familiar sharp humor that not many could relate to. It was like having Doyoung right next to you as you stepped off the train and headed upwards through the appropriate exit, stopping just before the entrance to the office building to start your day.

“I have fifteen minutes to get up there,” you say as you show him his office building.

“You can afford to be late,” he snorts. “You’re the CEO, for goodness sake.”

“No, I can’t, I have to set an example.”

Doyoung snickers at your goody two-shoes attitude and turns the camera away from his face, giving you a view of his window from his hotel room in France. 

“For you.”

“It’s beautiful, Doyoung.”

“I’ll take you here someday,” he promises. “We’ll go up the Eiffel Tower and explore the Parisian streets like all the couples here.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I know. Now get to work before it’s too late.”

“Bye,” you mumble. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Doyoung smiles, his sharp features softening as he points at his cheek. “A kiss before you go?”

You blow a kiss at the screen and he pumps a fist triumphantly in the air.

“You’re such a nerd, Doyoung.”

—

Not everything is rosy and golden in long distance relationships, especially not when the distance between you and Doyoung seemed to grow with each passing day.

The video calls dwindled from once a week to once every three weeks. Any quick texts from either you or him led to curt replies of “Busy” or “Talk later”, usually resulting in missed opportunities altogether since you were almost a full day ahead of him. Busy work upon busy work loaded up on your end, you haven’t kept in touch with Doyoung for almost two whole months now and it was starting to take a toll on your emotions after he hadn’t responded during your first mental breakdown as acting CEO.

“Boss, we need to respond to the staff from marketing before 6. It’s already 5:30.”

“Give me a minute,” you hiss at your secretary, rubbing at your temples as you shuffle through the stack of papers on your desk. 

“Where is the file for 45A?”

“On your right.”

You locate the folder you wanted and quickly skim through its contents, not finding the information you needed to reply to the secretary’s request. 

“Give me ten minutes.”

“But…”

“Ten minutes.”

She leaves the office without another word and you dial Doyoung’s number, not even caring about international fees as your foot taps anxiously underneath your desk, waiting for him to pick up your call.

“Please pick up, oh my god, please.”

The dial tone rings endlessly until you force yourself to come to terms that he was too busy to pick up. Hanging up, you toss your phone to the other side of the room, ignoring the sharp clatter of the device against the wall as you take a deep breath and step out of your office.

“Tell Marketing they can stop. We’re scrapping that entire project.”

—

Six o’clock comes around in a blink of an eye and you are just about to put on your coat to leave when your phone rings, the screen blinking furiously with Doyoung’s name at the very top.

“Not now,” you groan, shutting it off completely.

An hour of running errands leaves you tired as hell as you step through your front door at fifteen past eight; you remain slumped on the couch for a good thirty minutes before you remember your phone and the missed call from your actual boss. Turning the power back on, your eyes roll at seeing the 40 notifications of missed calls and urgent texts demanding for your reply. Not in the mood to touch anything work-related, you turn your attention away from the phone and head to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower, feeling warm after the fifteen minutes of indulgence before your phone twiddles its ringtone again.

You finally pick up the phone after pouring a cup of hot coffee to help with the upcoming scolding. 

“Hello?”

“Where have you been?”

You immediately hold your arm away from your ear. 

“Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Doyoung echoes, furious at your indifference. “I’ve been trying to reach you nonstop for the past two hours and you’re telling to me to just calm down?”

“What do you want?”

“It’s 9am on my end and is it true you scrapped the library renovation project today?”

“What’s it to you that I scrapped it?”

His voice raises two octaves. “I’ve been planning that renovation project for the past year and you just… toss it out? Why didn’t you ask me beforehand?”

“You think I didn’t try?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you the entire day yesterday and guess who didn’t answer? You.”

“I was out the entire evening,” he retorts. “It’s not easy trying to keep up with all these executives from the companies over here. I had to sit through so many—”

Your ears pick up what sounded like feminine giggling, blood practically running cold at the brunette that suddenly comes into frame,. Her arms loop around Doyoung’s shoulders as she peers curiously into the camera, large eyes blinking rapidly and lips pursed into the biggest pout you’ve ever seen.

“Is this your girlfriend, Doyoungie?”

“Who,” you begin curtly, “Is that?”

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it, tilting her head to the left playfully. 

“Hello! My name is Chisato! One of Doyoungie’s new friend!”

“New friend.” Is this fucker seeing someone new overseas? “How did you and Doyoung meet?”

She turns to Doyoung in confusion and he puts the phone down, the faint murmur of conversation inaudible before you can see the two of them again. 

“Party yesterday!” Chisato answers enthusiastically. “Doyoungie is very good at guessing games and can drink so much sake!”

“It’s not what you think,” Doyoung begins. “Chisato is calling it a party, but it was really more of a—”

“He was very cute!” She squeezes Doyoung tightly and places a loud kiss on his cheek. “Like a bunny, cute!”

“I gotta go,” you say through gritted teeth. “Bye, Doyoung.”

“Wait, you still didn’t…”

You hang up before he can finish. Nine in the morning and he calls you with some random girl hanging off his arm. 9am and your evening had taken a downward spiral for the worse as you watch her kiss him like he was hers. You were on one end of the ocean while he was on the other side, a stretch of distance in between that made it hard for you to do anything about the issue simply because the only effective method of confrontation would be to fly over to talk to Doyoung yourself. There were clearly problems in the current workings of things, taking its toll on your relationship both professionally and privately. You weren’t just his secretary, but also his girlfriend as well, and right now it didn’t seem like this long-distance thing was working when you had so much to handle from your job and your boyfriend potentially not loving you anymore after finding someone new overseas.

“God, I fucking hate this.”

—

You and Doyoung operate at opposite ends of the same planet, one always ahead of the other despite the efforts from both sides to reconnect as one.

He wanted to talk it out with you but you’d be sleeping when he was awake. You had an inkling to listen to his explanations but always chickened out last minute, not wanting to disturb his sleep when he was already so busy during the day meeting with people and negotiating deals for the company. The timing was off and truthfully you didn’t know how to even fix it when he wouldn’t be back for another three months. You didn’t know if you could last that long before breaking down again from the exhaustion that came with running an entire company by yourself.

“Meeting adjourned,” you announce once all the departments finish presenting their monthly progress. “I’m not feeling particularly inclined to wake up early tomorrow, so morning meeting will be changed to an after-lunch meeting.”

Shouts and whoops of delight at sleeping in echo across the conference room and you roll your eyes at your coworkers. Those working on the bottom rungs of the ladder were easily pleased with the smaller things in life when they didn’t have to worry from the things going on at the very top.

“If even one person from any of the teams shows up late because I pushed the meeting time back tomorrow, that person is getting fired,” you finish. “No excuses.”

As the line of people trickle down to zero persons, you stare at the empty conference room and sigh, standing up from your seat at the front. If only Doyoung were back to take hold of the reins.

“Do you do this all the time when I’m not here?”

Your head snaps up, weary eyes glowing just a bit brighter at seeing your boss give you the stinkeye from the doorway. 

“Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Nope.” Doyoung places a hand on the table and knocks twice. “I’m actually here.”

“I thought there was still another month before you came back.”

“Decided to return early.” He brings his hand back to his side and stares at the floor. 

“I missed you.”

You freeze and mumble something inaudible, not getting past the door at all when a firm hand holds you back.

“Can we talk?” Doyoung asks quietly.

“Sure, I guess.”

—

The conversation leaves the office and resumes at one of the flats owned by the Kim family, a quaint little place that was by no means little as Doyoung takes your coat and hangs it by the parlor, nodding to the butler who greets him before informing the staff to start dinner in two hours.

“Come in,” he speaks up as he opens the door to his room. “Sit down.”

You shake your head and remain standing by the doorway.

“I won’t bite.”

“You say that now,” you mutter. “But then you’re going to nag me for abusing my power as acting CEO.”

A sigh leaves Doyoung’s mouth and he opens his arms. 

“Can’t you let me hold you? I haven’t seen you in five months.”

You reluctantly take a step forward, then two more until Doyoung is just able to brush his fingertips against your wrist. He leans forward to grab hold and you let yourself be pulled to the space next to him.

“I need to talk to you about Chisato.”

“Can we not,” you begin, spitting bitterly, “I didn’t come here to hear you talk about how much fun you had with some random—”

“Her father runs a publishing company and I was trying to befriend her so she could put in a good word for my library renovation project.” 

He takes out his phone and clicks on the screen, the high-pitched voice speaking all too familiar to your ears.

“Hi, Doyoungie’s girlfriend! He said you might be sad at me for kissing him so I’m very sorry! I just really think Doyoungie is cute and he is very nice person, please forgive me! Me and him only friends, promise! I help him tell Father to give books for his little library and in return Doyoungie take me around Europe! That’s it!”

“I had to nag her to act proper throughout filming the video,” he adds. “She kept giggling when she messed up a word and it took her ages to calm down.”

“Isn’t she bubbly,” you deadpan.

“That’s just her personality.” Doyoung puts away his phone after the video comes to an end and nudges your side. “She’s really just a friend, Y/N.”

“Did you fly back just to apologize?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re losing out on a whole month’s progress just for me, you know.”

“Well, you’re worth it.” He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

“Move your hand,” you complain. “It tickles.”

His arm remains locked around your waist and you sigh, already giving in before you could even try to remain mad at him. 

“Okay, I’m not mad at you anymore.”

Doyoung’s mouth widens to the gummy grin you love so much and he rests his head against your shoulder. 

“I love you.”

“You’re unusually clingy today, Doyoung.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Just an observation,” you tell him, running a hand through his soft hair. “It’s endearing.”

The two of you remain in such a position until the call for dinner sounds from downstairs, neither of you in the mood to move.

“Wait here.”

Doyoung gets up and the facepalm is all too real when one of the maids enters with a tray full of food, your lazy boyfriend opting to have both your meals delivered upstairs instead when the silverware and trays had already been set up in the dining room downstairs.

—

“First item on the agenda,” Doyoung begins as he scans the clipboard before him. “Marketing, I want to hear how you aim to advertise for the new library that’s scheduled to open mid-August.”

The tension in the conference room is palpable as a representative from Marketing stands up, voice quivering as he begins to present his team’s idea to Doyoung. You scan the seats around the table and take note of the stiff backs pressed against the chairs, fingers tightly clasped and eyes expertly looking at everywhere else but Doyoung’s direction. Still as intimidating to his subordinates even after being away for so long.

“Take a deep breath and relax,” he says crisply. “You’re mumbling so much I can barely hear a word you’re saying.”

The employee does as asked and Doyoung gestures for him to begin again. 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“That went better than usual,” you comment after the meeting ends an hour earlier than expected. “Where’s the real Kim Doyoung?”

“The old Doyoung can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead.”

“Please tell me you did not just quote what I think you just quoted.”

A smirk plays around his mouth and you roll your eyes at his supposed joke. 

“Not funny.”

“Guess someone’s not getting that bonus at the end-of-the-year.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t dare cut my bonus.”

“Maybe I will. Since you scrapped my project and all.”

“Doyoung, I didn’t know what to do! We were tight on funding and you—”

He shuts your blabbering mouth up with a quick kiss and you practically melt at his touch, frowning when he pulls away with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“No, we’re not going to fuck in the conference room.”

“No one’s going to walk in this time,” he insists, getting up to close the open door and pulling down the blinds. “I already told everyone to go home and end the day early in the email I sent out yesterday.”

“Doyoung, no.”

His fingers bravely creep along the hem of your blazer and tug at your skirt. 

“Come on, don’t be such a party pooper.”

“If you want it that badly,” you sigh, letting his fingers slink into your skirt, “At least fuck me in your own office where the walls are soundproof, you idiot.”

[lessawildmoon]

Together - Chapter 2

Title: Together

Summary: Emma and Graham escaped Neverland to Emma’s world together as teenagers and despite being separated, they later managed to find each other and build a life together.  So what happens when her biggest secret from their time apart knocks on their door?

Pairings: Gremma and Snowing

Rating: T

Notes: This is a S1 AU that was plotted and planned during 3a. I may incorporate some later canon, but I also may ignore later canon that does not fit. Also, as I usually only post complete fic, here’s your warning that this is WIP.

Beta thanks to @arianakristine

AO3

Chapter 2

Emma woke up alone the next morning. She and Graham had stayed up for a while reading about the curse and her supposed role in breaking it. She still wasn’t quite sure she believed she was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and she didn’t even know if the part of her that did wasn’t just wishful thinking that there was a good reason why her parents abandoned her. They had finally called it a night and settled down to sleep, both very firmly on their own side of the bed, silently agreeing to avoid the fight they knew was coming for the moment but still not able to come together. They usually slept as close to each other as they could, by the time they woke up either she would be sprawled over him, or he curled round her, but not this night. It had taken a while for either of them to get to sleep.

She assumed he had gone out to get some air. They had driven through plenty of woods on their way into town so he wouldn’t have a shortage of places to go to help him centre himself. Even after his time here, he still felt most at home in the wild, and she honestly wouldn’t change that, despite how inconvenient it got living in the middle of nowhere. But usually he would leave a note if he was going out, so she knew he was still pissed at her. She reminded herself that he had every right to be and wished for not the first time since last night that she hadn’t kept this a secret. But that ship had sailed and she was just going to have to live with the consequences and hope she could make it up to him.

Once she was ready, she went downstairs to the diner where she let Ruby know that they might be staying a few more days before ordering some breakfast. She knew it was likely to be a while before her husband returned so she took a seat at the counter and started people watching, idly wondering if she could work out people’s supposed fairy tale identities.

She spotted the Sheriff around the same time he saw her and he approached her.

“Miss Hunter. I’m surprised to see you still around. I would have thought you would have been back home by now.”

“It was late last night so we decided to stay the night before leaving. And it’s Mrs. Hunter.”

“You’re married.” He seemed surprised. “Well you might want to leave as quickly as possible, the mayor does not like disruptions.”

Ok, she had no idea who this guy could be but he was giving her seriously skeevy vibes. She was about to tell him that they would leave when they felt like it when the mayor burst in calling for him.

“Sydney! Henry’s run away again. We have to…” When Regina saw her stopped and looked at her in shock for a moment before continuing. “What is she doing here? Do you know where he is?”

“Honey, I haven’t seen him since I dropped him at your house.” The last thing she needed was to get accused of kidnapping the kid.

“Mrs. Hunter was just explaining how she and I assume her husband decided to stay the night given how late it was when they got here.”

“You’re married?” Derision and disbelief virtually dripped from her voice.

“Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?” Wanting to get the conversation off her marital status and back on the missing kid, she asked. “When did you last see him?”

“Last night, he wasn’t in his room this morning.”

“Did you try his friends?” Emma knew that if he didn’t show up soon she would be the prime suspect so figured it was in her best interest to help find him. She was starting to wonder how the mayor was having so much trouble keeping track of one ten year old kid.

“He doesn’t really have any. He’s kind of a loner.” The words reminded Emma of her own to her fake date the previous night and her she felt a pang in her heart at the thought of the kid growing up as lonely as she did.

“Every kid has friends. Did you check his computer? If he’s close to someone, he’d be emailing them.”

“And you know this how?” Regina really didn't seem to think much of her ability to help and Emma reminded herself that these people had no idea who she was, they wouldn’t know that this was the one thing she was really good at.

“Finding people is what I do. Here’s an idea. How about you guys let me at his computer and I’ll help you find him.”

The computer had led them to his teacher and Emma couldn’t help but notice the unusual amount of malice that the mayor directed at Miss Blanchard. She supposed it could be due to her role in finding Emma, but it seemed more than that. When it became apparent that the teacher didn't know anything Regina stormed out, knocking a pile of books over on the way.

Emma stayed to help her pick them up. There was something about this woman that she couldn’t quite identify but she felt compelled to stay and try and figure it out.

“Sorry to bother you.” Emma said, feeling bad that Henry had dragged the poor woman into the middle of this. “I’m starting to see where he gets the whole Evil Queen thing from though.”

“It’s okay. I fear this is partially my fault. I was the one who gave him the book. I thought it might help, I wasn't expecting him think it was real. Henry’s such a special boy, so smart and creative, but so lonely. ”

“How’s the book supposed to help?” She was glad to see that the teacher obviously cared about the kid, but she wasn’t sure how a book of fairy tales was supposed to have helped, even if it may not actually be fiction.

“What do you think stories are for?” She asked as they left the classroom to make their way down the hall. “These stories are classics. There’s a reason we all know them. They’re a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn’t always make sense. See, Henry hasn’t had the easiest life.”

“Yeah, she’s kind of a hardass.” The more time she spent with Regina the less she was happy with the situation. But she had make her choice and had no real right to interfere now.

“No, it’s more than her. He’s like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face – why would anyone give me away?” Miss Blanchard seemed truly horrified when she realised what she had said, and to whom “I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean in any way to judge you.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not like she didn’t know that feeling, she’d spent her whole life wondering why her parents had left her at the side of the road. And it sucked. But part of the reason she had given him up was so he wouldn’t have to grow up like that, so he could be raised by someone who did want him.

“Look, I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

“You might want to check his castle.”

 She followed Miss Blanchard’s directions to a playground near the coast and saw Henry sitting on a castle themed slide looking dejectedly into the distance.

“You left this in my car.” She handed him back the book as she slid in to sit beside him, strangely reluctant to let go of it. If he and Graham are right, then that book was the closest she had come to her parents in, well, ever. She follows his gaze and realises that he is staring at the clock, still stubbornly stuck and 8:15. “Still hasn’t moved, huh?”

“I was hoping that when I brought you back, things would change here. That the final battle would begin. Because it’s your destiny to bring back the happy endings.” The kid’s faith in her was touching, Graham had been the only other person to have that kind of belief in her.

“I wish it was that simple, kid. But if I am this saviour, I doubt it’s going to be quite that easy.”

“Don’t humour me. I may be a kid, but I’m not stupid. I know you don’t believe me!”

“Hey, don’t tell me what I do or don’t believe.” That annoyed her, the kid travelled all the way to Boston on pure faith but didn't think she could believe? “I may not be fully on this whole curse bandwagon yet but you’ve already got my husband on board. My husband who, by the way, I met in Neverland, so you’re doing pretty well so far.”

“Really?” She could see how much even the thought of someone believing him meant to him in the way his face virtually lit up. “You’ve been to Neverland? Will you tell me about it?”

“Maybe someday. It’s not something we like talking about though.” That was putting it lightly. “Come on, we need to get you home.”

“Please don’t take me back there. You don’t know what it’s like with her. My life sucks!”

“I’m starting to get that, kid. But look at it this way, if she is the Evil Queen, then we need to make sure that she doesn’t suspect we are onto her. And that means I need to take you home.” She hated the thought, but she was sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger staying with Regina and at the end of the day, she was legally his mother, Emma couldn’t keep him from her. Luckily her argument seemed to have swayed him.

They were both pretty quiet as she drove him home but after he explained his plan to break the curse she did ask if they could keep the book for a little longer.

“Sure, it’s probably safer if you have it anyway.” He said as he climbed out the car. Regina opened the door before they got there and the kid ran past her and upstairs.

“Thank you.” She wasn’t sure what it was about this woman that made her so hard to read. Sometimes she was convinced that that the kid was right and she was evil, and then sometimes she seemed so genuine.

“No problem.”

“He’s seemed to have taken quite a shine to you.” She couldn’t help but smile at that, despite her efforts he had grown on her as well.

“You know what’s kind of crazy? Yesterday was my birthday and when I blew out the candle on this cake Graham bought me, I actually made a wish. In fact I always make the same wish.  That he’d be ok, and happy. And then, Henry showed up.” She wasn’t sure why she was sharing so much, maybe she just needed to talk to someone about the impact of having Henry suddenly walk back into her life.

“I hope there’s no misunderstanding here.” Emma was startled out of her thoughts by the ice in the mayor’s tone.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t mistake all this as invitation back into his life.” Not from you at least, Henry on the other hand was begging her to stay. “Ms Hunter, you made a decision ten years ago. And in the last decade, while you’ve been… Well, who knows what you’ve been doing. I’ve changed every diaper. Soothed every fever. Endured every tantrum. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son.”

“I was not…”

“No! You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to do anything. You gave up that right when you tossed him away. Do you know what a closed adoption is? It’s what you asked for. You have no legal right to Henry and you’re going to be held to that. So, I suggest you get in your car, and you leave this town. Because if you don’t, I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do. Goodbye, Ms Hunter.”

And she back to being convinced she was evil, cause while she did get where Regina was coming from, that was way over the line. Regina had turned to re-enter the house but there was one more thing Emma had to know.

“Do you love him?”

“Excuse me?” The mayor turned back round and the venom in her voice might have put off a lesser woman but Emma was not so easily intimidated.

“Henry. Do you love him?” She asked again, there was no way she was leaving until she had her answer.

“Of course I love him.” And there they were, the alarm bells that always went off in the back of her head whenever someone lied to her. She’d been truthful up until that point, but that was lie. “Not that it is any of your business.”

“That is where you are wrong Miss Mills. You were right, I did give Henry up. And you know why, because I wasn’t even 18 and I knew that I couldn’t be what was best for him. So I put his best interests first and gave him up so he could be raised by someone who could. But in the 24 hours he has been back in my life he has run away from you twice, so while I might have been putting his best interests first, I’m not so sure you are, and I am not going anywhere until I know Henry is going to be OK.”

“Of course he is going to be OK.”

“Really? Cause that’s one troubled kid, and trust me, I know something about troubled kids.”

“He’s fine, dear. It’s all under control, any problems he has are being taken care of. That’s why I have him in therapy. Take my advice, Ms Hunter. Only one of us knows what’s best for Henry.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re right about that.”

“It’s time for you to go.” Regina said as if she really thought it was that easy.

This woman was crazy if she thought she was going to be able to intimidate her into leaving. She’d cut her teeth facing off against Peter Fucking Pan, it was going to take a lot more than vague threats to get rid of her.

“Or what?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Ms Hunter. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

Emma realised that things were only going to get uglier if she stayed any longer so turned to leave. But only this house, she wanted to go see Dr Hopper.

Emma really supposed she should ask for her phone call. But on top of the embarrassment of falling for such an obvious set up she also wasn’t completely confident that Graham would actually answer the phone to her at the moment.

“You know the shrink is lying, right?” She was trying to argue her case the Sheriff without much luck.

“To the right, please. Why would she lie?”

“The Mayor put him up to this. She’s got to have something on him. He’s terrified of her like everyone else in this town.”

“Regina is a dedicated mayor who only wants the best for her people. You should be careful about throwing around baseless accusations.” Sheriff Glass had obviously drunk the Mayor’s kool aid so she gave up trying to convince him. She was about to suck it up, take her chances and demand her phone call when Henry ran into the station followed, to her relief, by her husband.

“Hey!” Henry seemed rather too cheerful at finding her under arrest and she could sense Graham’s amusement from across the room.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” Emma asked him.

“Apparently his mother told him that you had been arrested.” Graham filled in.

“Of course she did.” As she went to try and explain to Henry, Graham pulled the Sheriff aside to sort out her bail. It turned out Henry was fine, he thought she was gathering information for Operation Cobra, which she supposed she kind of had been in a way.

When she was finally out of handcuffs, without a single bad joke from her husband, something she would never admit to missing but did, Sydney insisted that Henry stay with him so he could return him to the mayor. Given how late it was getting they couldn’t really complain, so they started to walk back to the inn.

“So, less than one day in town and you already managed to get on the wrong side of law. I think that’s a record, even for you?”

“Shut up.” The brief return to their usual banter was comforting, even if she knew it was only temporary. “She set me up. She doesn’t know who she is messing with. I don’t care what it takes, that bitch is going down.”

“So, we’re staying then?”

“Hell yes. I am getting my son away from her if it is the last thing I do.”

“Well, let’s try and make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

“Emma look” Graham said as he caught sight of something behind them. She looked up to see that the clock in the clock tower was moving again. “Need any more convincing?”

“No, I’m on board. In fact, she’s the one who convinced me, if she hadn’t been quite so, well evil, we’d probably be on our way back to Boston by now.”

They carefully kept their conversation to the curse and the practicalities of them staying in Storybrooke for while. While she worked on commission so could drop everything on a whim, his job as a forest ranger didn’t give him the same freedom. But she was surprised to find he had already made some calls and managed to get himself temporarily assigned to the area, as they were apparently short staffed. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had just gone home and left her to deal with this on her own, and instead, without even asking, he was making arrangements to be there for her.

When they got back to the inn it was to find Granny pacing nervously outside their room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hunter. Oh my, this is terribly awkward. Uh, I need to ask you to leave. I’m afraid we have a ‘no felons’ rule. It… It turns out it’s a city ordinance.” Of course it was and of course she did, so much for the hope of a peaceful night.

“Let me guess – the Mayor’s office just called to remind you.”

“You can gather your things, but I need to have your room key back.

“Actually no, you don’t. I may be out, but he,” she pointed at Graham, “hasn’t got so much as a speeding ticket, so you have no grounds to kick him out. I’ll grab my stuff and go sleep in our car.”

“Oh dear, I really wish I didn't have to, and you are still welcome in the diner. And while you can’t stay the night there is nothing to stop you visiting your husband during the day, if you need to use the facilities or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I understand.” With that, Granny bustled off and Emma went to pack her bag.

“Are you going to be OK?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve slept worse places. And it’s not like you want to be sharing a bed with me anyway.”

“And whose fault is that?” He spun her round to face him, the anger clear on his face. “I’m not the one who has been lying for the last 6 years.”

“I know! I know this is all my fault, and I’m sorry. I screwed up big time and I don’t know how to fix it.” It was taking everything in her not to cry. She was so scared that nothing could fix it. Neither of them trusted easily and she knew that there may not be any coming back from this one. She wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to forgive him if their positions were reversed so she didn’t know if she could expect him to, and she knew she certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I know you’re sorry and I wish that could be enough. But it isn’t, not yet. It’s going to take some time.” Sadness and weariness started to take over from the anger in his eyes, though not chasing it away completely.

“Yeah.” She finished gathering her stuff and rushed out of the room. As much as she wanted to stay, she knew better than to push him when he said he needed time, it would only make things worse. But he had left her with hope that they could fix this, and she clung to that as tightly as she could, because she didn’t know what she would do without him.

She grabbed the blanket out of the back of his car before curling up on the back seat under it and crying herself to sleep.

[arbitrarygreay]

Morning Musume in NYC 2018, Friday

In the wee morning hours, I took the various trains to my hotel, and the walk from the nearest station to the hotel was a miserable affair, slogging through the slush on the sidewalk as rain poured down and the wind blew in what seemed like every direction at once, with my arms and hands in awkward positions, as I had to handle an umbrella, luggage, and a cane all at once. I met up with my friend at the hotel around 7AM, and we checked in our luggage (which cost money, because NYC), and had a discussion that, surely, no one would be mad enough to queue in this weather this early. The con had even issued an email saying that no one should queue until 9, due to the weather. I decided to scout out Javits, though, because I knew that wota gonna wot, meaning queuing stupid early no matter what. Sure enough, there was a nice line already growing at the convention center, so we joined the line around 7:30. This still put us in a good position, within the first 15-20 of the Mega line. We got to talking with a girl from Texas, and it became fairly clear that mosmt of the early queuers were MM fans, though though there were a few fans of the other artists. During all this time, rain and wind waxed and waned, so sometimes it wasn't too bad, and other times there was a bad chill. Friday did not get off to a good start, for setting impressions of Anime NYC. We had a cramped schedule, as the MM autograph session and the concert guests panel were nearly back-to-back, and then our press interview with MM was scheduled almost right before the autograph session, and all of that was almost right after doors would open. So it was going to be critical that we got into the doors to get our autograph tickets ASAP, or we might lose the window to get our press credentials and hold the interview. Well, doors opened significantly late. And then they had the Mega holders sit in line for the autograph tickets for about half an hour until all Mega and General attendees had been admitted and General had picked up their badges and then gotten in line for autograph tickets, so they could have a guy orally tell us the rules for tickets just one time (even though obviously people would show up after he did so). This meant we nervously watched the clock tick by and they refused to let us get autograph tickets for no good reason (just post the rules right by the table! It was all already in the con app, website, and booklet anyways!), getting ever closer to the time were we would just have to forfeit getting autograph tickets or forfeit the interview. Finally, they let the ticket gathering begin, and it's a damned good thing we queued early, as we grabbed our tickets and sprinted to the press office with just minutes to spare. Our fellow press members, who had waited until 8 or so to queue, did indeed arrive a few minutes late, though the guest staff handling us for the interview was extremely gracious to allow the delay. Apparently, the complaints about this nonsense were so noticeable that the con issued an apology that night and said that they would be changing their procedure for the autograph ticket queuing for the next day. So that shows that they do take feedback, which is much more promising. We were informed that we would only be interviewing a subset of the group, as they were rotating members amongst the various press outlets. And then we did our interview, and it was pretty magical. Will link the result when it comes out. UFA retained editorial power over anything we'll publish, as usual. But one of the things that happened was that my friend was wearing a 12th gen FC shirt, which Chel honed in on and gushed over a bit. My friend and I then rushed to prep for the autograph session: getting into cosplay. She went as Yokoyan in Minmin Rock n Roll, complete with pinning printouts of the cartoon cicadas from the MV all over. There are pics of her on Twitter! Originally, I was going to match her as an improbably tall Funaki, but then the Furari Ginza MV came out, and I just knew that I had to take advantage of the timeliness to be dapper!Dii. Unfortunately, having to change from "camp in miserable weather" clothes to cosplay clothes in the half hour between the interview and the autograph session meant that we couldn't bag-check, and couldn't get through the merch line, either. I ended up having the girls sign a Houston shirt. My friend, though, stole the session just about, by having the girls sign some musical photobooks. As the line was in seniority order, she started by explaining to each girl that they had signed the Lilium photobook last time (in Houston), but she wanted to finish it out with Dii's signature, so in the mean time, they could sign this year's Snefuru book instead. And not only did every girl recognize my friend's cosplay (many even starting to sing the Minmikimikimikimiki intro lol), they just lost it every time at the photobook pic of baby!KSS!Lilium!Dii. It was great. Chel also had a moment of "wait, you were wearing a 12th gen shirt before???" and my friend reassured her that she was still wearing it under the safari shirt. The girls did recognize my cosplay as well, but I didn't have much to say to them, to my regret. I did ask Chel if she watches any American TV, and she said she had watched Spongebob just that morning. And I got Sakura to do the Furari Ginza dab with me. Talking to everyone else about the autograph session, it appears that the girls (and management) were surprisingly accommodating, and most of us had really great interactions with them. Unfortunately, this meant that the line moved slowly, and they ended up running out of time, and some people with tickets could not get an autograph. Ultimately, I feel that I would have been okay with going down the line faster, so that more people would get their time with the girls, so I hope the managers keep stricter track of time in the future. From there, we spent some time with the merch (they were selling the new single, fall tour T-shirts and towels, a NYC exclusive photoset, and member key holders), before queuing for the panel. We were early enough to get within the first 3 rows, and I sussed out from looking at the chair setup on which side that MM was going to sit, so we were very very close to the girls for the panel, and I feel like the girls recognized us. Plus, an audience member brought their baby on our side, so the girls kept looking over in our area. I liked most of the decisions the con took with the panel. A moderator (an ANN writer) asking her own questions, and then selecting from a shortlist of questions submitted by audience members earlier. In the first rounds, she asked the same question of each guest (picking a single member from MM to answer each time). When MM introduced themselves, they each gave their names, and then their favorite anime. Maachan said "My favorite anime is Disney Channel," L O L. Later, a non-MM fan said that they had mass respect for the girl who said Re: Zero was their favorite, as most of the other picks were mainstream rather than late-night stuff. Shokotan really showed why she's a fan favorite, being so very enthusiastic and earnest with every answer, fully engaging the audience and sweeping them up into her energy. More importantly, she and Harunan professed their love for each other as fellow otaku. None for you, Dii. Eripon talked about how, in contrast to the other guests, this wasn't their first time in NYC. But they were still surprised by the snow, lol. She also noted that MM doesn't really have anisongs, even though this concert was Anisong World Matsuri, lol. Ayumi talked about what we should expect at the live, and especially pointed out the fist raise gesture she wanted us to do for not-Furari-Ginza. Maria talked about what makes the Colorful lineup unique within MM's history, and she said that it was about the hot energy of their lives. Hagababy talked about the hardest bit of dancing she had to learn, which was how to do turns properly. And SOMEHOW they didn't let Chel talk. What. Maachan was heavily jetlagged. And despite not getting to answer a question, she still stole a few great moments, besides the above meme-worth introduction. At one point, when they were passing the mic from Ayumi to Maria, the cord got in her face and she let out a cute squeak. Later, when the panel was discussing how Kageyama had been in the industry for decades, he mentioned that he first joined a band 40 years ago, and Maa started trying to count on her fingers what year/decade that would be, and Sakura was like "just stop that, that's embarassing," lol. One thing that tainted the panel, though, was that all of the translators weren't great. Lots of answers were really clearly truncated, missing half of the material or more, and a few were outright bungled, giving the opposite of what the guests had said. Bleh. And that concluded the MM activities for the day! We browsed the dealer's hall a bit, including picking up some Lady Kaga onsen flyers, and taking pictures in our cosplays with the big MM picture set up there. I was just beyond pooped and sleep deprived at that point, so after having a mid-afternoon dinner, we retired to the hotel.

[greatdrams]

No longer lost in translation, a Whisky Tourist’s Guide to Japan

Tokyo has long had a special place in my heart, when I visited the first time I was a whisky fan who was exploring a city that had long been a fascination to me, now a decade later I returned with work and my experiences were a little different this time. Here is the GreatDrams whisky tourist's guide to Japan.

Check out the GreatDrams Ultimate Bar Guide to Tokyo too

Also see the detailed look at the Hakushu Distillery

Finally check out the most unrepeatable Japanese whisky tasting I've ever taken part in

Japan is more westernised now, easy to navigate and easy to communicate. Only time I needed my Google Translate app was in Duty Free to explain the concept of a flight transfer. Last time I was here it felt like another world, now it feels like my world; easier to navigate and communicate than France was when last there a year ago.

But has this westernisation come at a cost? I’m not sure in truth, but there were obvious let downs for me; I had spent ages pre-trip relearning business customs, phrases for getting around and how to order various sushi and drinks, but none of that was needed. And only one bar, Bar Butler, hand carved the ice balls whereas last time I was in town every bar did.

Maybe I have a romantic view of my last trip here a full decade ago, tho unlikely as I remember it vividly as I was ill for much of it with a form of Guillaume-Barre disease that effectively paralysed all the muscles in my face, meaning I had to manually chew and drink all drinks including neat whisky through a straw (would not be able to do that in the West now, but straws and plastic bags are everywhere here) which set in six hours after I landed in Japan and lasted until ten days after I was home. It was scary but I was so convinced I’d never be back here, and I am not one to really dwell on stuff like that, that I travelled the whole city, saw it and experienced it all. Who knew; the face freeze might have spread elsewhere as Guillaume-Barre often does, but it normally starts from the legs up, so I had to get on with things whilst I could.

Hence why I don’t think there is a huge amount of romantic rose tinted glasses retrospection here… although last time I did get to meet a monkey and have a photo with him, though like most photos from that trip I look miserable despite having an absolute belter as my face muscles could not raise a smile… I must have been the moodiest-looking tourist ever.

What hasn’t changed is the how busy and the extreme individuality of nearly every citizen within a culture of extreme conformity.

One of the things I was most impressed with was the people; they are so approachable and gentle, even if they cannot speak English they do their best to work out what you are saying.

The best example of this was when I was bar-hunting I kept getting to the address on Google and then drawing a blank as the addresses are so random and there are so many floors to each building with very few properly sign-posted that it is so hard to work out how to get in there unless you know the area. With that in mind I had to ask a LOT of people for help with directions and two in particular were incredible. If they can’t direct you they will walk you where you need to go, as noted in my Ultimate Bar Guide to Tokyo, “there was one guy who walked five blocks in circles asking people until it was clear it was impossible to find the place, then there was the guy who walked back from where he was going to discover the bar was on the 8th floor of his apartment block and he never knew. Be prepared to clock the steps in trying to hunt them down”.

Unbelievable.

[divider]BARS[/divider]

Japanese whisky was once the pride of each bar, now a selection of limited edition and single cask Scotches haves replaced that as they cater more for locals - which is understandable, but a challenge for tourists.

If you’re looking for bars, firstly check out my Ultimate Bar Guide to Tokyo, but here are the ones I would highly recommend:

Butler Ginza Branch

8 Chome-7-7 Ginza, Chūō, Tokyo 104-0061, Japan

Le Connaisseur

〒104-0061 Tokyo, Chūō, Ginza, ８丁目-４-２６

Tokyo Whisky Library

〒107-0062 Tokyo, Minato, Minamiaoyama, ５丁目5−24 南青山サンタキアラ教会

[gallery type="rectangular" link="file" ids="33051,33052,33053"]

Bar Benfiddich

〒160-0023 Tokyo, Shinjuku, Nishishinjuku, 1 Chome−13−7 大和家ビル

El Calvador

SK Bldg 4F, 1-3 Maruyamacho, Shibuya-ku, Tokyo

Shinagawa Highball Bar

Exit Shinagawa Station using the East Exit and walk about 300 metres straight ahead of you, you cannot miss it

[gallery type="rectangular" link="file" ids="33047,33048,33049"]

.

Hibiya Bar Whisy-S II

8F Noco Building 5-6-5 Ginza, Chuo-ku

[divider]BUYING WHISKY IN JAPAN[/divider]

No whisky tourist's guide to Tokyo would be complete without a list of retailers you should try to visit if you’re looking for interesting whiskies, although there are no guarantees that there will be any gems, but you simply never know and ranges seem to change daily in some of them:

Liquors Hasegawa

http://www.liquors-hasegawa.com

〒104-0028 Tokyo, Chūō, Yaesu, 2 Chome−1, 八重洲地下街中4号

Liquor Mountain

1-2-16, Kabuki-cho, Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo

Shinanoya World Wine and Foods - Shinjuku

Absolutely brilliant range of bottles - including limited edition Scotch and Irish whiskeys, as well as standard Japanese bottlings. 〒160-0021 Tokyo, 新宿区Kabukicho, 1 Chome−12−9 タテハナビル

A family-run liquor store about 300 metres down the road (east)

Just down the road from World and Liquor Mountain, I’m pretty sure it was a mom and pop store and was crazy cluttered, but at the back of the shop was a glass-fronted cabinet with a load of local bottles as well as some Scotch offerings and various interesting Japanese bottles too.

Isetan Department store

Great store, like the Harrods of Tokyo, and not only has it got a few great bottles there you can buy samples of many of the bottles they sell so you can try the stuff as well as buying it.

〒160-0022 3-14-1, Shinjuku, Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo

Isetan Duty Free store near the Ginza Station

Address: 104-8212 4-6-16, Ginza, Chuo-ku, Tokyo

The best part of this store is that, whilst their range is super-limited, you can buy the bottles and pick them up at the airport once you are past security to save on your luggage packing, given you will probably have other bottles to pack in as well!

  [divider]MOVING AROUND THE COUTRY VISITING DISTILLERIES[/divider]

Tokyo, and Japan a whole, is really easy to move around, make sure before you travel you get a JR Pass from jrpass.com, it will cost £206 with special delivery and arrives super-swiftly. This will be your gateway to Tokyo and the whole of Japan as, as long as you use any of the JR lines which take you all over the place.

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Make sure you get a SkyRoam device, I hired one for around £115 plus £7 per day I was away and it was invaluable; it is effectively ‘internet in your pocket’ and actually felt like I was carrying ‘the internet’ each day. Good battery, allows you to connect five devices at once to it and mimics a local 4G network which you then connect to without paying more than your daily fee through SkyRoam. Marvellous. At times I got better connection than I do in my office! Buy here, and yes for this one I have an affiliate link as I was so impressed with it. Use coupon code GREATDRAMS to save 10% on your booking... win-win. 

One thing to say up front; don’t expect many, if any distillery exclusives to add to your collection, Suntory do not seem to see the value in them and the distilleries I visited were too young to have mature spirit, although Asaka had bottles of their spirit that had been aged in various casks for up to six months available for around £28 - £40.

Gaia Flow

Travel on the Bullet Train from Shinagawa Station, which takes about 50 minutes - I would advise going to the ticket booking office and reserving a seat free of charge as these trains get really packed and you do not want to stand all that way.

Once you arrive at the Shizuoka Station, take a 35 minute taxi to Gaia Flow. Taxis will be outside the station to the left, and they are unlikely to know where you are going so show them the address and if you have a GPS device pre-load it so they can have a look.

Definitely call or email ahead of your visit as their visitor centre won’t be fully open until mid-way through 2019 but they are set up for brief tours if you so desire but it is courteous to let them know before you arrive so they can be free.

Asaka

From where you are staying take the JR line to Tokyo Station, which is MASSIVE, and take the bullet train to Kohriyama Station which will take about 80 minutes if memory serves. Then get a taxi to the Asaka Distillery. Again get in touch before going to ensure they are available and able to show you around. They have a shop which take cash only, but where you can try numerous young versions of their spirit including one maturing in Mizunara wood. They usually have limited edition whiskies in for purchase too that are limited to around 300 bottles each.

Hakushu

[gallery type="rectangular" link="file" ids="33044,33045,33046"]

Nearest station: Kobuchizawa, 1 hours 59 minutes from Shinjuku station in central Tokyo, then a 15 minute taxi to the distillery (or use the courtesy bus put on by the distillery at the weekend if it works with your itinerary). Simple.

[divider]IN SUMMARY[/divider]

Check out the GreatDrams Ultimate Bar Guide to Tokyo too

Also see the detailed look at the Hakushu Distillery

Finally check out the most unrepeatable Japanese whisky tasting I've ever taken part in

Japan is a phenomenal country with awesome people and an amazing amount of things to see and culture to experience so make sure you plan well and pay attention to train times as they are NEVER late.

The post No longer lost in translation, a Whisky Tourist’s Guide to Japan appeared first on GreatDrams.

from GreatDrams https://ift.tt/2NJgEkA Greg

[theartificialdane]

Blue ain’t your color

Rewrite of chapter 34. Sometimes I get ideas that won’t leave me. Not Galactica canon, but still a fun idea.

To @imanationalphenomenon and @talkaboutartassholes <3

Violet was sitting on the bed, checking her phone, gently biting down on her lip. She had so many emails, most of them from Fame asking for this and that, but what actually made her stomach twist was the ones from Courtney, who was left alone back in the New York office. The only thing that made Violet feel somewhat comforted was that every important person at the company was here in Paris. Violet was just about to call Courtney, ready to help out her fellow assistant and give her the information she needed while there was still a chance she was up, when Violet heard a knock on the door.

Violet’s head shot up, her brows wrinkling in confusion. She quickly checked her phone, it was only a little after 8, so it was unlikely it was any of Sutan’s friends. From what she had seen most of them weren’t exactly early risers, and those who were where most likely already in hair and makeup.

“Sutan? Are you expecting anyone?”

Violet called out and waited for a few seconds, but the only reply she got was the sound of water from the bathroom. Violet stood up, assuming it had to be some kind of room service. She stood up, realizing she was only wearing a pair of panties, her body covered in marks from Sutan’s hands, his mouth, his beard. She quickly grabbed the silk robe that was hanging on the back of the door, wrapping it around her, running a hand through her hair, hoping she looked somewhat responsible.

Violet opened the door, coming face to face with a woman who looked like she was in her late 30’s, a big poof of blonde hair on top of her head, her body wrapped in a flowery dress that clung to her.

“Umh.. Hello?”

“I have some papers for Sutan.”

“Oh. Well, you can just give them here-“ Violet held her hand out, ready to take the documents, but the other woman kept them.

“So you’re the slut he’s been sleeping with?”

“… What?”

“Are you, the slut, he’s been sleeping with?”

“Excuse me, do you work here?”

Violet didn’t understand what was happening, the woman attacking her for no reason at all. She had never seen her before in her life.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave! Right now.”

Violet was about to close the door in her face, her heart hammering in her chest. What the fuck was happening? She had never experienced anything like this before from any hotel staff anywhere in the world.

Just at that moment, Sutan came back into the room, only wearing a pair of boxer shorts, a in his hair as he was drying it, his skin still damp from the water.

“Did you call earlier Vio- Oh! Mimi. Good morning!” Sutan smiled, wrapping the towel around his neck, taking a few quick steps over to the door, Violet’s hand falling away as he opened it fully, letting the woman who had just called her a slut walk straight in, as if they knew each other.

“Do you have the papers I asked you for?”

“Of course.” Mimi nodded, handing Sutan the thick stack of glossy pictures she had kept from Violet just a few moments before.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Your sister called and asked you to join her and Raven for brunch in the hotel restaurant. I also found the numbers of the models you spotted yesterday, none of them have agents in America yet, so it looks like it will be quiet successful.”

“Good, yes, sure. Did you get the redhead I saw at the Kenzo show? The one from The Netherlands?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll remember this on your bonus.”Sutan smiled, flipping through the pictures.

“You don’t need anything else? Anything at all I should take care of before I leave?” Mimi looked at Violet, a raised eyebrow to Sutan, clearly indicating what she thought of the fact that there was a half-dressed woman in his hotel room.

Violet bit her lip, wrapping the robe even tighter around her. “Actually I should get to my room-“

“You don’t have a room-“ Sutan looked at Violet, confusion clear on his face. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t Mimi- Mimi, didn’t you tell Violet she has been booked with me for the trip? No, wait. I never introduced you guys, right?”

Violet couldn’t help but smile, the entire situation painfully awkward, but Sutan was so sweet, the man rambling away. Was this what he was like whenever he worked?

“Violet, this is Mimi Imfurst, my personal assistant, Mimi, this is Violet Chachki, my…” Sutan trailed off, clearly not knowing how exactly to introduce Violet.

“It’s okay Sutan. Violet and I have already said hi, haven’t we girl?” Mimi smiled, and Violet almost couldn’t recognize the woman who had looked at her only moments before with clear disgust in her eyes. “I was just surprised. I haven’t seen a woman who stayed the night since Valentina.”

Valentina? Who was Valentina.

“Mimi, remember what you promised. We don’t speak of that.”

“I’m sorry.” Mimi laughed, clearly pleased that she had made Violet uncomfortable. Sutan not even noticing as he was already talking a million miles an hour about the photos Mimi had brought over.

“I’m.. I’m going to take a shower, take all the time you need.” Violet looked down, quickly escaping the easy chitchat that Mimi and Sutan had fallen into. Violet took her time in the bathroom and in the shower, afterwards carefully drying her hair, letting the natural curls stay and doing her makeup, waiting for the strange woman to leave so she could come out and get dressed. She cursed herself for not bringing a change of clothes into the room, now needing to put the robe back on again. Violet didn’t know how much time had gone by, but when she opened the door bathroom door it felt a little like a punch to the stomach to see the blonde woman was still there.

“Umm, Sutan?” Violet smiled a little, trying not to seem too anxious about the fact that there still was what was essentially a stranger in their hotel room, Violet’s eyes darting between Mimi and Sutan. “How is everything?” Sutan was standing by the wardrobe, his shirt open as he was closing his cufflinks, Sutan clearly getting dressed while Mimi was still present, which Violet found almost as weird as the fact that he had essentially been naked earlier.

Fame’s boundaries was sometimes weird, but Violet had never seen Fame more undressed than the few times she had helped her zip up a dress.

“We’re almost done! We just need to do a few more things.” Sutan finished closing his shirt. “Do you have anything you need to do today? Or can you come to brunch?”

“I already finished my work for Fame, she didn’t need much, so, I’m free.”

“Oh really?”  Said Mimi with a slight snarl. “I heard that Fame is quiet demanding, so it’s a wonder how you have time to do anything but help her, but I guess it takes a lot of energy to go shopping.”

Mimi was clearly being sarcastic, but Violet wasn’t going to take that lying down.

“If you are efficient and you spend your time wisely, even the most impossible of tasks become possible. If you ever need any help managing your work schedule, I’d be happy to step up and give you a hand.”

“I wish more people had your work ethic.” Sutan kissed Violets hair.

“Well, if that is all”, started Mimi, standing up. “I’ll see you later.” Mimi left the room, Violet still feeling weird.

“Sutan?”

“Yes darling?”

“Why did Mimi ask if I was going shopping?”

“Are you starting it too?”

“Starting what?”

“About Valentina.” Sutan sighed and sat down, his long legs crossing. “I know it was a stupid mistake, but we all make mistakes.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Sutan’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know about Valentina?”

“Should I? Is she a designer or?”

“When we met you said you knew who I was.”

“I know you’re Rajas brother, and that you work in modeling.”

“… So you really don’t know? You haven’t read anything about it? Detox blasted it on every magazine cover he could, the asshole. He was almost more excited about my divorce than my marriage. You really really haven’t seen it? If you’re not telling the truth, I’ll be very upset with you.”

“No.”

“Valentina is my ex-wife.”

Violet gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “You were married?! When? Did we?” Violet’s mind was reeling. She knew she had technically been on a date with Pearl when they had first met, but did Sutan have a wife? When did that happen?

“Three years ago. We dated for 4 months and where married for 6. It was terrible.”

“Do you… Do you still talk to her?”

“Not unless I absolutely have to. We don’t get along.”

Violet bit her lip, nodding slowly. “Okay.” Of course Sutan had an ex-wife. He was 18 years older than her. It was natural that he had a past, but it still felt weird, knowing that someone else had actually been married to the man she had started to consider her boyfriend.

“Okay?”

Violet had her own past, her own wounds and her own secrets. Things she didn’t want to, things she couldn’t tell Sutan about, at least not yet, so there was only one thing to say to Sutan.

“Okay.” 

Violet realised she meant it. The past didn’t matter. Not when they had the future, and a chance to get to know each other.

Sutan smiled. “Violet Chachki, you impossible woman.”

[cryptofmadness]

Interview (excerpts): CRACKED magazine’s Dick Kulpa

Crypt of MADness interviews Dick Kulpa on his tenure at CRACKED magazine and more.

(Note: The following is excerpted from a much lengthier interview published in the print edition of Crypt of MADness magazine #5 (May 2018.) The full interview as printed is much longer and contains much more than published here.

(Interview conducted by Chet Reams for Crypt of MADness magazine

Reams: Tell us a bit about your background before taking over…

Kulpa: I could fill a book with all that. Suffice it to say, I worked in virtually every facet of publication: Editorial, art, production, printing, advertising, distribution, sales...even janitorial.

My original aspiration was to be a cartoonist, enjoying some degree of success in that as a "self-taught" illustrator in local and national levels. However, what could be termed as "real training" occurred during my 12-year (pre-CRACKED) tenure at the supermarket tabloid Weekly World News.

It was that tabloid editorial training which prepared me for CRACKED. After all, I had a big hand in the creation of a publication (Editor's note: the satirical/humorous print tabloid "Weekly World News.) that sold well over 200,000,000 copies during my time there.

Reams: How did you end up getting the CRACKED magazine brand from AMI?

Kulpa: I offered to buy it when it was folded. They accepted. That was "too easy,” I thought back then.

Reams: I read somewhere that there were plans for a CRACKED mag TV show/DVD around 2004.. .what happened to cause it to fall through?

Kulpa: It didn't have to fall through.

... Suffice it to say a semi-retired graphic artist with national aspirations (and no experience above a local level) declared my TV deal, which allowed the television people to market and profit from ancillary CRACKED merchandise for two years as “not good enough.” He blurted this out at the initial investor meeting held prior to my relocation to Rockford, Illinois.

... a national TV show would considerably enhance the CRACKED property, and I retain strong connections with key people who still see this as viable.

Also, past contributors would have seen residual payments for any work used.

Reams: What happened in Rockford, Illinois (where the last three issues were published) - with the investors there?

Kulpa: The amount “invested” in CRACKED was termed as “pocket change” by my main ombudsman there, and that money ran out by the third issue. The investors declined to recap it.

Oddly enough, that third issue bounced back in sales (which was usually the case during my tenure - I’d get three out then wait for money).

However...I don't fault the investors. As one advised me in a letter, they were "tickled pink" with my performance. However, they were unhappy with the performance of the company appointed to oversee the business end of it.

…

Reams: In Mark Arnold’s CRACKED book,(second volume, ) you are quoted as stating “in every case” the contracts you signed during “the CRACKED debacle” “..were breached…” Care to elaborate?

Kulpa: To my knowledge, nobody has ever challenged that statement.

We did not get all CRACKED documents as provided for in the original contract, as then-current distribution records were suddenly deleted from the seller’s company computers. I was advised of this minutes after that occurred by a major company insider (with a witness present.)

...

Reams: You also state “the CRACKED sale was never fully closed.” What exactly did you mean by that… were you not fully paid by the CRACKED dot com buyers, or more than that?

Kulpa: The principle attorney involved with the purchase (on the buyer's side) committed a "no-no", ethically. This prohibited me from fulfilling certain obligations. I did not receive the expected sum and was left holding the proverbial bag.

…

After that, my stored email evidence had suddenly disappeared back then (though I had saved THE one critically important email elsewhere) and at times it was exceedingly difficult to continue to “play dumb.” However, my prime goal was to unload what by then had become a debilitating albatross and return the investors’ money to them.

...

Reams: What would you do differently if you got CRACKED back today?

Kulpa: First off, I would not have lowered the bar. We had some great stuff in our first four AMI editions, but suddenly functioning on a zero editorial budget gave me little leverage in maintaining high standards on contributors. In short, I had to take what I could get…

2. Swing the axe. You cannot operate properly with loose lips — particularly whiners — who have no clue as to realities relative to your efforts. “Placating” doesn’t work. EXAMPLE: if a management staffer is delegated the task to make sure a price appears on the cover, that should be done. In one case, it wasn’t...and that cost an additional $10,000.

EXAMPLE 2: It takes sales to pay bills. One edition lost its scheduled racking because two knucklehead staffers charged with okaying the proofs buried them in an office desk drawer...costing CRACKED its proper rack placement. Most editions never left the trucks during distribution, and that edition subsequently bombed.

Given ongoing anomalous distribution issues, we just handed the bad guys a cracked CRACKED on a silver platter.

And freelancers wondered why it was tough to pay them.

3. Speaking editorially, my biggest mistake was in taking “me” out of “managing and creating editorial content” early on. I was too focused on distribution, dealings and ancillary issues. That, and I wound up as Weekly World News editor for a year, relinquishing basic editorial control of CRACKED. …

In terms of my own creative involvement, I pulled off some heavy stuff earlier in my career. That should have occurred here.

Reams: Why did you change CRACKED’s format?

Kulpa: I was appraised of CRACKED’s sales woes and presented a six-figure salary with a year to “turn things around.” At that time our in-house distribution people were “unenthused” (as seen in my first meeting with them.) I had to diminish the logo because my overseer wanted to change its name altogether, due to the drug connotation.

In publications, there is an established (but rarely used) concept of “throwing the current readership away” in order to expand, and Weekly World News did just that around 1984, dumping its 200,000 readership and growing it into over a million weekly sales. Egos had to be checked at the door. Sadly, they weren’t.

In closing: For a brief period in history, a major, iconic and classic entity was under the direct control of us “little guys”, and we so terribly muffed it. That’s why corporates will always control the action.

There are many people nostalgic for the CRACKED they grew up with, but the problem is, not enough.

And there’s a whole lot more to the CRACKED story...check out my Wordpress blog.

Reams: Looking back, would you say you made mistakes? You did say you believe your later lack of "managing and creating editorial content" was one, but were there others?

Kulpa: 2. My biggest mistake? As I debated whether to take the plunge - and sought direction, I failed to heed it when it came. One evening my girlfriend had me watch “Man of La Mancha,” and the scene featuring Don Quixote and his partner on a wooden horse - as entertainment for the aristocrat - struck me. “Look, that’s me and (Barry) Dutter” I exclaimed.

I should have listened to myself, because in essence, that’s what occurred.

…

On a practical front, I should not have delegated “important” functions to staff. As a result, a price was left off an edition cover, (costing $10,000 -CRACKED was shut down three weeks later by the previous owner), editions were sent to print a week late on several occasions, and freelancers “may” have gotten erroneous info.

Further, I regret not doing more editorially, as said before.

That, and bowing to staff pressure and trying to present new material. I should have gone to reprints for a time.

All that being said, I (and staff) functioned in unnatural and unprofessional conditions. We wanted CRACKED and instead, got “crazy.”

...

I should have never sounded off to a potential investor who finally emerged...as that killed the project. All in all, CRACKED Magazine boasts a proud legacy. Unknown to most were my efforts to maintain the magazine’s name, and at one point, stopping an AMI company official from selling its archives on eBay. A number of now-prominent artists got their springboard via my CRACKED, (because I saw things that MAD didn’t, perhaps?)

And the hope is that someday, someone will actually take the time to fully research this era. They will be in for some surprises. In my 1979 case, however, I knew who the culprit was.

In THIS case, it wasn’t me, but for some reason it’s convenient to maintain that fallacy.

…That being said, CRACKED (Editor's Note: CRACKED dot com, not the magazine) as been at the center of rather unusual financial activity for some time now, and I hope this gets thoroughly investigated.

Crypt of MADness magazine thanks Dick Kulpa for allowing us to interview him for Crypt of MADness issue #5!!

Excerpted from Crypt of MADness magazine #5, May 2018. There’s a lot more of this interview in the print zine - copies can be ordered from the Facebook page