#like please king i have less than a thousand dollars to my name

[jade-gemstone]

I've decided to start a new stardew valley farm and I'm trying to marry Elliot but this man has such UNGODLY EXPENSIVE TASTES.

You're great Elliot, but please can you just like normal things so that I can romance you quickly.

[flowerpowell]

Until You Hate Me (Liam x MC)

PART ONE - THE DEAL

A/N: I am so nervous posting this since Liam is not my LI and I might accidently mess everything up. This series is an AU and doesnt follow canon at all. I dont know what else to say, I’m going to hide somewhere once I post it lol but if liked it please make sure to leave some feedback cause it makes my day! Characters belong to Pixelberry!

Rating: G

Word count: 2430

Taglist: @gardeningourmet @delightfullypinkglitter @brightpinkpeppercorn @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cora-nova @client-327 @desiree-0816 @jared2612 @princess-geek @emichelle @ao719 @badchoicesposts @sunandlemons @cordoniantrash @kinggliam @needalittlerain @flyawayboo @nazariortega @jlpplays1 @kimmiedoo5 ♥

(((please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list! I’m well aware most of my perma tag are Drake stans so if you dont want to read a Liam series just tell me and I’ll remove you from this series’ taglist!)))

Regina spat with contempt when she looked around the bar she just walked in. She was sure that if she caught any bacteria or virus here, Liam would be to blame. It was his idea after all.

When her step son was choosing the table for them, Regina was reminiscing about the circumstances that led to this ridiculous situation.

When Constantine died suddenly, Liam had to be coronated quickly but the rules were clear – he needed to have a wife or at least be engaged by that time. The coronation was in two months and Liam still hadn’t chosen his bride. None of the noble ladies that Regina introduced to him were ‘good enough’ for him.

“Liam, I beg you. You need to choose one of them before your coronation! I’ve just sent lady Penelope home, she was the last suitor left!”

“Regina... I told you I wanted to marry for love. All of the ladies are truly amazing but they are not for me.”

“How about lady Olivia? Maybe we can ask her again?”

“She’s a good friend of mine but that’s all.”

Regina sighed. “Liam, I’m afraid there are not many noble ladies left in court. And my vote is still on lady Madeleine. She’s very well prepared to be a Queen and maybe you two will grow to love each other at some point.”

“Lady Madeleine would indeed make a good Queen but a terrible wife.”

“Liam, we ran out of suitors. You’ve sent them all home.”

“Maybe... maybe my wife doesn’t need to be a noble...”

“What?” Regina raised her eyebrows. “You want a commoner to be your wife, to be a Queen?”

Liam ran his hand through his hair, “My mother was a commoner too. And I just... don’t think status is important.”

“Well, you are wrong then.”

Liam shot her an annoyed look before straighting himself. “It was nice talking to you, Regina, but I won’t change my mind.” He bowed slightly before exiting and Regina rubbed her temples. That boy was giving her so much trouble.

“I think this table should do,” Liam extended his hand to Regina and led her to the table he chose. She grimaced as she sat down and took out a tissue to clean the table at least a little. She couldn’t believe she agreed for that. Today was the day she brought up the engagement topic again, a week after their last conversation. They were in New York for a business meeting, Liam as a future King and she still as a Queen, before Liam would be coronated. It was their last day here and Regina came up with a plan on how to make Liam marry a noble suitor.

“Liam, I have a proposition.”

“Hmm? About that deal with France?” He didn’t even raise his head.

“No, about your engagement,” she said and Liam turned to her.

“Regina, we talked about it and--”

“Let me finish. Let’s have a deal. You can choose a commoner that will catch your attention and if she agrees, we’ll teach her all about the Royal protocol and rules. If after six weeks, that is one week before the coronation, that woman will be well prepared to be a Queen, that is, will pass the test at the dinner with the whole Court and the press, you’ll be free to marry anyone you want. This will prove that you can indeed make a Queen out of anyone. However, if you fail, you’ll marry Madeleine. That’s the least I can agree on. We need to think about Cordonia first and foremost.”

Liam looked at Regina with an unreadable expression on his face. He knew it wasn’t a perfect deal but she was trying, at least. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Okay. I—I think I can try.”

“Splendid!” Regina clasped her hands. “Once we get back to Cordonia I will find some ladies from good famil--”

“No.” Liam said firmly and Regina looked at him, surprised.

“But... You just agreed...”

“And I intend to keep the deal. But I’ll choose someone myself. And I’ll start today.”

“An American?! Liam, you can’t be serious!”

“I am. You said anyone so let’s have it. In fact, I’m heading out right now,” Liam closed his laptop and took his jacket. Without saying any more words, he opened the door and Regina quickly followed him.

“Liam, I don’t think anyone here knows what occupational safety and health is. This place is dangerous. Besides, it’s a waste of time, we’ve been looking for a suitor for you for hours and you still haven’t found anyone. Do you think you’ll find someone here?”

“Regina--”

“Hello! My name is Riley and I will your waitress for tonight. Are you ready to order?” A waitress showed up interrupting Liam.

“Yes, young lady. I would love filet mignon and a glass of your best red wine.”

“Umm, I don’t think we have it but we do have burgers and they’re really good too. And we do have wine, but I don’t think it fits your criteria.” Riley smiled apologetically.

“We’ll have burgers,” Liam interjected and smiled back at Riley.

“Sure! Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just water, please. But not tap water, or whatever you Americans drink.” Regina said without even looking at the waitress. Riley nodded and left the table.

“Regina! Can’t you be at least a little nicer?”

“What for? We’re in some obscure bar in New York City, about to eat burgers! And she’s just a waitress, she’s not gonna remember us tomorrow!”

“Well, you’re wrong because I’m choosing her,” Liam stated and Regina’s face fell.

“You’re not serious, Liam. She’s a waitress! And there is no chance she’ll agree to fly to Cordonia!”

“I can always ask her.”

“You don’t even know her! How can you choose her without knowing her at all?”

“I don’t know none of the Noble ladies either. I just... felt something.”

“You felt something!” Regina repeated, “This isn’t happening...”

“I’ll ask her after we eat.”

“No! I will do it. I will ask her, it will be more believeable.”

“If you insist,” Liam shrugged slightly, his eyes locked on the waitress pouring the water into the glasses. “Just don’t tell her about our deal.”

“Of course I won’t.”

---------

Riley was trying as hard as she could to keep her eyes open. She had been working for almost twelve hours straight, fifth day in a row. She couldn’t complain though. She asked for it herself as she really needed the money. The situation had never been more desperate.

“Brooks! Look where you’re going!” Her manager jumped back as she absent-mindedly bumped into him and spilled the water.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She took a towel from under the counter and started wiping the floor.

“Excuse me.” She heard a voice and hit her head when trying to stand up.

“The burgers are almost ready,” she said, rubbing her head and trying to smile at the lady.

“No, I wanted to talk to you about something else. May I steal you for a minute?”

“Ughh, sure,” she threw a towel on the floor and led the lady to a room for staff only.

“I wanted to offer you a job. A well-paid job.”

“Yeah, thanks but I have a job,” Riley answered and opened the door to get out.

“I’m serious. I can offer at least a hundred thousand for six weeks.”

“A hundred... thousand? Dollars?” Riley asked confused. It felt like trap but she’d lie is she said she wasn’t interested.

“I wanted to say euros, but dollars can be as well.”

“If this is a joke then I am not laughing.”

“It’s not. I never joke.”

“Umm and... what I would supposed to do?”

“Here is the thing. I’m the Queen of a small country in Europe, Cordonia. My husband passed away a few weeks ago and now his son, Liam, who is here with me, will be crowned in less than two months. But the protocol clearly says he needs to be at least engaged before that. I found him suitable matches but he insist on courting someone... aside nobility.”

“Okay... And what do I have to do with it?” Riley asked confused.

“He saw something in you and chose you to be his suitor. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I know you probably know nothing about Cordonia and even less about being a Queen but my stepson is an idealist. I would pay you money for going to Cordonia with us and being his suitor for six weeks. Your job is to be the worst suitor the world has ever seen. I want you to make him hate the idea of marrying someone who’s not from nobility, make his teaching you so hard that he will never think of that again. You see,” Regina smiled at Riley, “Liam needs to marry someone who will make the best Queen. And I have a perfect match but he still lives in a fantasy.”

“Wait, stop.” Riley took a step back before looking at Regina. “You’re telling me that you are a Queen, Liam is about to be a King and you’ll pay me to be his awful girlfriend?”

“I would use different words but yes, that is somehow what I meant.”

“You’re sick. No offence but I’m not buying this.”

“Then google for yourself,” Regina took out her phone. Riley narrowed her eyes before taking her own phone and typing ‘Cordonia’ into Google. It didn’t take long before everything Regina said was confirmed by Wikipedia and other sources.

“I—I don’t know what to say and whatever game you two are playing I... I want to be out of this and please find someone else.” Riley wanted to leave the room but Regina grabbed her hand.

“I understand your confusion. I’d like this conversation to remain between the two of us only. Liam can’t know.” Riley nodded and Regina went on, “Here is my phone number should you change your mind. I assure you I was not joking and the offer was real. I’d have you sign a contract so everything would be legitimate. I can raise the pay to two hundred thousand if a hundred was unsatisfactory.”

“I need to think, I need... air.” Riley said and Regina nodded opening the door for her.

-------

After a few more hours, Riley was finally going back home. It was a long and weird day and Riley couldn’t stop thinking about the proposition she got. She needed money desperatly and pretending to be someone’s girlfriend, especially if that someone looked so good, didn’t seem like an awful job. But still, wasn’t it a little bit too low for her? Pretending to be the worst girlfriend, or suitor, wasn’t it a bit too mean?

“If it wasn’t my life I’d think I was in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days,” she thought to herself when opening the door to her building.

“You’re finally here! Where’s my money?” Mr Johnson, a man who rented Riley an apartment jumped out of his office before Riley could even take a step.

“I told you I would pay you by the end of this month!”

“I’m done waiting! You keep repeating this but never pay me anything. I think I need to kick you out.”

“No, please, Mr Johnson, I will pay everyhing, I promise. This month has been a bit tough and I--”

“No excuses!” Mr Johnson yelled causing Riley to flinch. “You haven’t paid me in three months. I want your money. Now.”

“I... don’t have much. I only have twenty seven dollars at the moment but I need something to eat too--” She was cut off by the man yanking the money from Riley’s hands.

“That will do until tomorrow. Good night,” he said closing the door behind him. Riley bit her lip trying to suppress her tears.

She just walked into her small apartment when her phone rang.

“Jeremiah? Why are you calling me so late? You should be asleep!”

“I can’t sleep, Miss Riley! I overheard Mrs Dulay talking with someone about closing the Children’s Home and now I’m scared they will take me away from Sophia, Jack, Simon and Patricia!” Jeremiah was sobbing and Riley’s eyes widened.

“Closing the Children’s Home? I’m sure you heard something wrong! It will not be closed, okay? I promise.”

“O-okay. Will you visit us tomorrow Miss Riley?” He asked and Riley smiled involuntarily. She loved visiting the kids and Jeremiah was her favorite, maybe because he was so similar to her when she was his age. Any time she had some spare money she would take him, and his closest friends, for ice cream.

“I wish I could but I’m working. Another time, okay?”

“Okay,” she heard him sigh.

“Go to sleep, honey. It’s super late, you’ll be a zombie tomorrow!”

“Then I’ll eat your boss’s brain and you’ll come here!” Jeremiah said and Riley chuckled.

“Goodnight, Jeremiah!”

“Good night Miss Riley,” the boy said before the line went silent. She quickly messaged Mrs Dulay, who was also Riley’s closest friend.

“Is everything ok at the children’s home?”

Her phone beeped a few seconds later:

“How did you know? Jeremiah...? Ah, this boy! But no, it’s not going too well. There’s plenty of kids and not enough money to feed them all. Today I was told we might need to send the kids to other homes if we don’t ‘fix’ the situation.”

Riley felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. Why does everything has to be so hard?

“Got it. I wish I could help but yeah, I have no money -_-”

“Don’t worry, darling, we’ll figure somethig out.”

Riley fidgeted with her phone while considering her options. Maybe... it was a sign? Without thinking too much about it, she retrived a piece of paper with a phone number on it and typed a message.

“I agree but I need more specific instructions.”

The answer came almost immediately:

“Great! The Royal jet leaves at 6. Don’t be late.”

[gotham-ruaidh]

Truth to Triumph

Previously…

Chapter 19: Intermission

October 15, 1904

“A Madcap Princess” ran on Broadway to rave reviews in the summer and autumn of 1904.

Fully electric hansom cabs such as these debuted on New York City streets in the late 1800s.

--

“I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, Jamie – but my God! What an impact you’ve made.”

 Jamie blushed as Aidan McCallum, third-in-command in the New York City Police Department, pumped his arm in a strong handshake.

 “It’s the least I could do, Chief – you know how greatly those victims suffered. How much they’re still suffering.”

 Chief McCallum sniffed, his thick, walrus-like mustache shifting amid the deep-set lines of his face. “Oh, I know about that all to well. My wife, Amy – she’s volunteered for almost every charity initiative to support the orphans.”

 A soft touch on his shoulder – Jamie turned to smile at Claire, who had returned from the bar with two glasses of Champagne.

 “Chief McCallum – may I introduce my fiancée, Dr. Claire Beauchamp?”

 The chief bowed, resplendent in his navy blue dress uniform.

 “A pleasure. May I assume you’re the Dr. Claire my wife keeps hearing about, from her work with the Slocum victims?”

 “The pleasure is all mine, Chief. And you may. I’m fortunate to have treated a fair number of them – I work at the quarantine hospital on North Brother Island.”

 “Where the ship wrecked. My God,” the chief gasped. “That must have been a sight to see.”

 “Nothing short of hell on Earth, to be honest.” Jamie carefully sipped his Champagne, watching his fellow theatergoers mill around the lobby.

 The chief shook his head. “Anyway – those articles you’ve been publishing in the World? Those bastards at the Knickerbocker Steamship Company have blood on their hands. You’ve single-handedly proven that.”

 Jamie shrugged. “I’ve had help. But I’m grateful I’ve been given the platform. Mr. Pulitzer says that he got a call from President Roosevelt himself this morning. He’s eager to get the Department of Justice involved.”

 “One of the more meteoric political rises in recent years,” Claire remarked, as Jamie’s arm tightened around her waist and settled on her hip. “New York City Police Commissioner for not quite two years. Then Assistant Secretary of the Navy for just over one year. Then Vice President for just six months, until poor President McKinley was assassinated – and now, he’s President of the United States!”

 “You missed his two-year stint as Governor of this great state,” Chief McCallum interjected. “But you’re right, Dr. Beauchamp – Teddy has certainly gone places, these past few years. But he’s never forgotten his roots, here in New York. I hear at the Department that he’s been regularly checking in with my boss. Wants to make sure we keep an extra eye out in the neighborhoods where the Slocum victims now live.” He sighed. “It’s my job to keep people safe – and I can’t understand the thought process of those criminals at that company. Playing with people’s lives.”

 Four notes in a quiet chime. The group looked up to see a young woman strolling through the lobby, hitting the xylophone – clearly the intermission was over.

 Claire smiled at the Chief. “We better be getting back to our seats, Chief. So lovely to meet you – I’d love to meet Amy someday.”

 The Chief touched the brim of his cap. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Doc. And Jamie – well done. My department backs you up, one hundred percent.”

 Jamie nodded his thanks, and Claire steered him back towards their seats.

 “That’s the fourth man who’s buttonholed you tonight,” she remarked as they approached their row.

 “All positive, thank God. Their praise is worth every ounce of effort we put into it.”

 They sat back down, watching the heavy curtain draped across the stage.

 “Do you like the show, Claire? I know we got the tickets at fire sale prices, since it’s closing in less than a week – ”

 Gently she settled her free hand on his knee. “I love it. I love how ridiculous it is – it’s so nice to spend an entire evening laughing. Don’t you agree?”

 He did. So much that during the entire second act of A Madcap Princess – a hilarious mélange of screwball comedy and musical theater, set at King Henry VIII’s court – he watched her smiling face, rather than the farce unfolding on stage, and knew he was the happiest man on earth.

 --

 “I know you told me earlier, but – what happens now?”

 Jamie slung his arm through Claire’s as they exited the theater at Broadway and West Thirty-Eighth Street. “It’s all up to the lawyers now. Railroad Randall’s lawyers, and Silas Hawkins’ lawyers, and Mr. Jerome, the District Attorney.”

 “He’s made a name for himself as an anti-corruption crusader, from what I recall.”

 “Yes, he has. He knows this is the case of a lifetime. Mr. Pulitzer says the criminal charges – criminal negligence – are certain, with the documentation Mary provided.” He stopped on the corner and raised his hand for a cab.

 “I’m so glad Joe was able to help her out. Some time with his sister in Bergen County will do a world of good.”

 An electric hansom pulled up – and Jamie and Claire eased into the open cab, Claire pulling her shawl around her shoulders against the October evening chill.

 “Third and Twenty-Second, please.”

 “All right, pal. You and your lady just hold on tight – this goes faster than the horses!”

 Claire had just enough time to grip the side of the cab before they sped off, wind whipping her face, clutching Jamie’s hand tight.

 They didn’t speak during the journey back – they didn’t need to.

 Jamie knew his work with the Slocum was nearly done – all that remained was to cover the charges that would be filed, and then the trial, should Randall and Hawkins be foolish enough to not broker a plea.

 As for Claire – she still treated Slocum victims as patients, and she still diligently made house calls both in what little remained of Kleindeutschland as well as uptown in Yorkville. That would always continue – but already there were new patients. New lives to heal; new stories to tell.

 Somehow they both knew that this very strange chapter in their lives was ending.

 And yet, another chapter was beginning. For five days hence, on her birthday, they would be married – not by a justice of the peace in the brownstone’s parlor, as she had originally planned, but in a small private ceremony at the Church of the Epiphany, just one avenue over from the Beauchamp family home. She had grown up attending Mass at the church, and Father Kenneth had been so kind and understanding when he had baptized Henry in a closed-door ceremony just days after his birth – no questions asked.

 So Father Kenneth would marry them; her parents, and Henry, and Joe and Gail Abernathy, and Mrs. Crook and Lizzie, and Nanny Fitz would all be in attendance. Mr. Pulitzer had declined the invitation, saying that he’d be busy on a Thursday afternoon, and had sent the happy couple a check for one thousand dollars and a voucher for three nights at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, all expenses paid.

 They would remain at the brownstone at least until the springtime. Settle in to their new lives together. Above all, make sure Henry became acclimated to the new arrangement.

 Though truth be told, Henry had been the most excited when the three of them had visited Jamie’s dusty rooms on Stanton Street, the day before. For Henry took the lead in helping Jamie pack his boxes and move his furniture downstairs and into the apartment of his very grateful Irish neighbors. He had played with the five children until Claire announced it was time to go, sadly saying goodbye but happy to carry a small bag containing Jamie’s books.

 Henry deserved a sibling. Jamie, thankfully, shared her enthusiasm in this regard.

 New beginnings all around. It was all Claire could think of as the hansom driver careened down Broadway, dodging horse-drawn carts and weaving between tram lines and steering clear of the handful of other automobiles on the road. The wind blowing in her face reminded her of the summer she and her parents had spent on the beach when she was a girl, and she had insisted on riding the Whip and Steeplechase over and over again.

 She and Jamie had to take Henry there, come springtime. Perhaps there would be another child on the way by then…

 “Ah! Great work.”

 Jamie jumped out of the cab and onto the pavement in front of the Beauchamp family brownstone. He helped Claire up, and together they fished for cash and coins to pay the three dollar fare.

 “Thanks ever so much!” Claire waved as the driver doffed his cap and silently whizzed down East Twenty-Second Street, toward Second Avenue.

 “That was fun!”

 Jamie gathered Claire close, and kissed her smile.

 “Come on. Let’s kiss our son goodnight.”

[artificialqueens]

Afraid of Hights. (Branjie) - Kite

A/N: I’m on mobile so I have to post this anonymously but you can find me on tumblr at youre-a-kite. Please hit me up with any prompts or requests, I’d love to hear them!

Summary- Brooke wakes up in Vegas with a strange, captivating young woman in her bed, and a gold wedding band on her finger. They have to fix this mess as soon as possible. If only they could keep their hands off each other for long enough to do so.

Panic sets in before Brooke even opens her eyes.

Fuzzy memories of the night before flash through her mind.

Poker. Expensive whiskey. Brash, loud laughter.

A chapel.

She’s having a heart attack.

Her chest seizes up and her breath hitches in her throat. Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, as though blocking out the memories will make them any less real.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This type of thing doesn’t happen to people like her. It’s just can’t be real. It can’t be.

Her eyes open and she takes a deep breath as she carefully lifts her left hand towards her face. The gold band on her ring finger her is a cruel taunt at her stupidity. It glints in the sunlight. She can hear it mocking.

A groan from beside her snaps her from her thoughts and she turns around to see the woman laying in her bed.

The bed is king-sized, but somehow the five foot two woman beside her manages to take up three-quarters of it. Her petite, very naked body is stretched out on the sheets. Her voluminous brown curls are splayed out on the pillow around her head, framing her face like it’s a priceless work of art. Love bites litter her neck and chest. Brooke feels a pang of arousal in her abdomen as she recalls putting them there.

Memories of the night before flood her brain once more. Brooke rememberers how the woman’s soft skin felt against her own. Legs wrapped tightly around her waist and neck. She only knows the woman’s name because she remembers whispering it, moaning it, screaming it. Multiple times over.

Vanessa.

Shit. If she absolutely had to be a drunken stereotype and get married to a stranger in Vegas, at least she’d picked a smoking hot one to do it with.

-x-

Vanessa moans loudly as Brooke sucks on the exposed skin above her collarbone. Her legs are wrapped around Brooke’s waist, her small hands grip the porcelain rim of the sink that she’s perched on.

“What are you?” Brooke growls into her neck, then runs her teeth over Vanessa’s rapidly bruising, sensitive skin.

A small whimper escapes her lips.

“What are you?” Brooke repeats, more firmly this time. She drags her fingernails teasingly over Vanessa’s inner thighs.

She whimpers again. “I’m yours.” She whispers.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours.”

It’s what Brooke wants to hear, but it isn’t enough. Vanessa can say the words. Brooke can mark her skin. But she needs more. She pulls back from Vanessa’s grip. “Get down.”

“Why?”

“We’re getting married.”

-x-

As Brooke showers, more memories come.

Vividly, she can see Vanessa sitting on her knee at a roulette table. How they’d gotten there, Brooke couldn’t recall, but she could picture that moment so clearly. One arm draped lazily over the armrest, delicately balancing a martini glass in her hand and Vanessa tucked firmly under the other, purring words of utter filth into her ear.

Brooke isn’t a gambler. It’s not how she makes her money, it’s simply how she chooses to spend it. She doesn’t get a rush from the uncertainty or the prospect of winning big. No, what she likes is the power. She relishes in all eyes being on her. Watching as she puts a cool thousand on eleven, just because it’s Vanessa’s favourite number.

She’s at a point in her life where its the only real fun she can have with her wealth.

She likes to be bold. Make statements. Be unashamed.

Last night was supposed to have been a chance for her to let her hair down. Forget about the company. Forget about deadlines and designers and Paris Fashion Week. Put on her sultry red dress with the slit that reaches the top of her thigh and let herself feel like the whole world revolves around her. Given the trajectory of Brooke’s career at present, it won’t be long until she’s unable to enjoy anonymity in a crowd. She needs to make the most of being a rich, alluring stranger whilst she still can.

She had wanted to find just the right girl to show off on her arm then drag up to the penthouse suite. Young enough to be coy and innocent, old enough to have her wits about her. Confident enough to tell Brooke what she wants, but submissive enough to lay there and take it. Vanessa had been the perfect choice.

Fucking Vanessa was part of the plan. Marrying her wasn’t.

-x-

“You’re sure you want to do this, Mami?”

Brooke doesn’t want to answer that question. This is a terrible decision. It’s the most reckless, poorly thought through, fucking insane thing she’s ever done. There’s no reason for it. She can’t think of a single positive thing that will come from this. She’s drunk, but not drunk enough for it to be an excuse.

Then she sees Vanessa looking up at her. Big doe eyes full of excitement and passion and desire. Eyelashes fluttering delicately. Endless possibilities.

“I’m sure.”

-x-

Brooke’s robe hangs open, draped loosely over her shoulders. She’s proud of her body. It takes hard work to look as good as she does.

When she gets back to the hotel bedroom, the bed is empty.

Her eyes flare wide with anger, and she inhales sharply. She’s about to grab her phone to call her assistant and have him launch a city wide manhunt for this woman that thinks she can run off whilst they’re still married, when she notices that Vanessa’s skimpy black dress from the night before is still on the ground. Unless she’s run off naked, she’s still in the suite.

Brooke finds her in the lounge. The rising sun outlines her perfect silhouette where she stands in the floor to ceiling windows, looking outwards. The glass is still faintly smudged from where Brooke had fucked her against it the night before.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?”

She has her left hand on the glass and Brooke can see her ring. It’s lavish. Gold band, glinting white diamonds. In a twisted way, she’s proud of herself for choosing that ring. It’s not exactly Cartier, but it’s a good choice given the circumstances. Don’t let it be said that Brooke Lynn Hytes doesn’t treat her ladies right.

But Vanessa isn’t talking about the ring, she’s talking about the view. They’re so high up that they can see the city stretched out before them, then the expanse of Nevada desert beyond it. The sun is only peeking over the horizon, threatening to expose all of their mistakes in the light of day.

“It’s something.”

-x-

“Do you believe in aliens, Brooke?”

They’re laying on their backs on the balcony of Brooke’s hotel bedroom, gazing up at the stars. Three hours since they got married. Three minutes since they’d most recently fucked.

The ring on Brooke’s finger burns.

She hasn’t answered the question. She isn’t going to.

“What about fate?”

“Hmm?”

“Fate. You believe in it?”

Brooke sighs deeply. “No, baby.”

She doesn’t believe in fate or astrology or a bigger game at play. Logic and reason, sure. But the idea that really, everything in her life could be beyond her control, no. She can’t accept that. Things happen because she wants them to.

This has happened because she wanted it to.

Vanessa shivers beside her, so Brooke scoots a little closer and drapes her arm protectively over her waist.

-x-

They stand there, looking everywhere except at each other, the silence growing more tense by the second, as if they’re both waiting for the other person to break it.

“So,” Brooke finally starts, walking across the floor towards Vanessa. “You’re my wife.” She stops when there’s less than a foot between them. Vanessa has to crane her neck to look upwards and meet Brooke’s eye.

The younger woman swallows and her breath hitches. Anticipation? Arousal? Fear? All three? Brooke can’t tell.

Vanessa nods. “And you’re mine.”

Her chest tightens again, like all the air has been sucked from the room. This is real. This is really fucking happening. She clenches her jaw and resists the urge to lean down and brush the stray hairs from Vanessa’s face.

“Who should I call first: room service or my lawyers?”

There’s a glint in Vanessa’s eye as she chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head. Slowly, but boldly, her hands raise to the lapels of Brooke’s robe. Brooke doesn’t resist as Vanessa pushes the material away from her. It falls to the floor by her feet. “I don’t think you should call nobody, Mami.”

Brooke’s fingernails dig into her palm but she can’t look away. They shouldn’t do this. Fucking isn’t going to solve this problem. Fucking will only make this worse. It will complicate things. Without intending to, she ghosts her fingertips up Vanessa’s sides, relishing in the feeling of her impossibly soft skin.

A beat passes. Then another. Fuck it.

“Get on your knees.”

-x-

“So you’re like, rich rich?” Vanessa slurs as the elevator opens up into Brooke’s hotel suite. Penthouse at the Bellagio.

“You could say that.” Brooke smirks.

Vanessa looks around as though she’s only just realising how extreme this is. As though Brooke’s careless gambling, hundred-dollar martinis and the giant diamond ring she’s wearing on her finger weren’t enough to tip her off already.

As Vanessa drags her fingers along the lavish upholstery of the sofa, Brooke is struck with a thought that takes the breath from her lungs.

They didn’t sign a prenup. Fuck, she didn’t even think about it.

Vanessa may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’s savvy. And she’s probably smarter than Brooke’s giving her credit for. Before too long, she’s going to connect the dots and realise that she can use this marriage to gain wealth beyond her wildest dreams.

Her mind starts reeling, thinking of all the things she can do to as damage control. Maybe she could transfer her shares in the company over to a trust, or spread them between the board of investors? Liquidate all of her personal assets and move the proceeds to an offshore account? If she doesn’t, the petite Latina currently gazing out of the window at the dazzling lights of Vegas could bring Hause of Hytes to its knees.

Then she sees Vanessa reaching behind her back to grab the zipper of her dress. She’s still facing away from Brooke, looking out of the window, as she slides the zipper down.

Fuck it. Everything else can wait until later.

Brooke crosses the room with purpose and grips Vanessa’s waist from behind. Stoops down so that her mouth is millimetres from the shorter woman’s ear. “Are you afraid?”

She’s talking about the height, it’s a long way down. The cars look like fireflies beneath them. But she could easily be talking about so much more. Are you afraid that you’ve just married a woman you’ve only known for the night? Are you afraid that you’ve stepped into a world so unfamiliar to you? Are you afraid that I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name?

“A little.” Vanessa breathes out.

Brooke tugs at the material of Vanessa’s dress so that it falls away from her body. Vanessa shudders as Brooke drags her nails down her naked back. She squeezes Vanessas ass gently, then uses her knee to nudge Vanessa’s legs apart. Her fingers graze over the woman’s inner thigh, then she rubs her softly through her panties.

“Brooke.” Vanessa moans as Brooke drops a line of hot wet kisses along her shoulder and up the slope of her neck.

“Yes, baby?”

“What if the window breaks and we fall.”

“Then we die.”

-x-

Realistically, Brooke can’t spend the rest of her life fucking Vanessa to avoid all her problems, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t give it a try. The sex is rough and needy and right on the cusp of pleasure and pain, so by the third round of mutual orgasms, Vanessa practically begs for a break.

She purrs an invitation to join her in the shower into Brooke’s ear, but Brooke declines. It’s time to start taking this seriously.

Brooke chain smokes three cigarettes out on the balcony before she can even pick up the phone.

Three missed calls. One from Scarlet Envy’s agents, enquiring about the possibility of a collaboration for fall 2020. Hard pass. One from her mother. She can deal with that later. One from the publicity team for Paris Fashion Week, asking for a statement about the inspiration behind her spring collection for the brochure.

Yesterday, all of these issues would’ve sent Brooke spiralling. Her workload was pressing on her like a vice clamped around her chest. She would’ve agonised for hours over the exact wording of her statement for Fashion Week or chewed the skin around her nails in anxious anticipation of returning her mother’s call. But today, none of it seems to matter.

She deletes all three voicemails and calls her lawyers.

-x-

Brooke stands of the fringes of the casino floor, sipping her whiskey, looking for just the right woman to be her companion for the evening.

There’s a petite asian girl sitting at a slot machine on the fringes of what looks to be a bachelorette party. Stunningly beautiful. Looks like the type of girl that would benefit from a woman’s touch. But she’s not Brooke’s type at all. She’s too polished and perfect. Brooke likes her women to be a little rough around the edges.

Two machines down from the woman, there’s another. Latina. Gorgeous, too. She’s getting more and more frustrated with the game. Brooke smirks. She’s got a temper. But she needs a little more. Come on, Brooke dares, show me that you’re worth my interest.

As if on queue, she slams her fist against the machine and starts spouting profanities like a sailor. She’s a brat. Bingo.

Brooke needs to make her move quickly before the woman gets herself kicked out. Like a lioness on the prowl, she moves across the casino floor.

-x-

Her lawyers are taking the company jet from Toronto. They will arrive in just over five hours.

Considering the scale of the fuck up, the legal team had the good sense to maintain a very firm air of professionalism throughout the phone call. Most likely due to the fact that Brooke would have them fired before they even opened their mouths if they had decided to issue their judgment.

The two pieces of advice they gave her were very clear. Don’t let her work out who you are. Don’t let her out of your sight.

The fact that her lawyers seem to be treating Vanessa like some kind of scheming mastermind doesn’t sit right with her. It makes her feel a certain amount of guilt that she isn’t ready to deal with.

Brooke was the one that sought Vanessa out. She pursued her. Brooke was the one to propose. Brooke dragged her into this mess. It’s her fault.

She’s a terrible person.

Maybe she should just step aside and let Vanessa take half of everything she owns. It’s what she deserves for letting her possessive, almost predatory side, rear its ugly head. Jesus, what kind of person marries a woman she’s only just met to prove a point?

Nausea hits her like a wave.

She panics as her vision blurs, until she realises it’s because she’s crying.

A small hand on her lower back guides her back inside and towards the bed. “It’s okay. Everything gonna be okay,” whispered over and over again.

They huddle together beneath the sheets and Brooke thinks this may be the first time she’s cried in front of another person in her entire adult life. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes out.

“You don’t gotta be sorry, baby.”

Brooke shakes her head. “This is my fault.”

“It takes two to tango, Mami.” Vanessa chuckles. “We’re in this mess together. I’ve got you.”

A lump forms in Brooke’s throat.

All her life she’s looked after herself. Handled her problems alone. She doesn’t have a best friend. No siblings. Her relationship with her parents is cordial at best. Her pathetic excuse for a love life amounts to nothing more than a string of one night stands. The closest thing she has to a person that looks out for her needs is her assistant. How fucking pathetic.

But now there’s Vanessa. They’ve known each other for less than twenty four hours and already she’s prepared to tackle this problem as a team. Together. It’s wrong and foolish and crazy, but Brooke isn’t ready for this feeling to end.

She pulls the covers up over her their heads, blocking out almost all of the light, and rests her face on the pillow beside Vanessa’s. Noses tip to tip. They’re the only two people in the world.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

Vanessa’s lips are hot and needy against hers. Her tongue probes against Brooke’s lips insistently, but Brooke pulls away. “Gently,” she clarifies.

This time, it’s slower. They’ve kissed a lot over the short time that they’ve been in one another’s company, but never like this. Closed mouth. Delicate. Almost chaste.

She’s going to cry again.

-x-

“Do you love me?”

The question is almost accusatory.

If she says yes, she’s the fool that believes in love in first sight, but if she says no, she’s the fool that’s now legally bound to spend her life with a woman she doesn’t love. Answering the question is a lose-lose situation.

They’re sitting in the parking lot of a ice cream parlour, sharing a sundae. Their first official date as wife and wife. Brooke stares at the bright, artificial blue and pink flavours swirled together as she tries to think of her answer.

“You married me. You must love me,” Vanessa tells her, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Brooke doesn’t love her. She can’t love her. They’ve known each other for six hours. This isn’t love.

And yet.

She feels something that she’s never felt before. She feels something tugging her towards Vanessa, like an invisible tether between their two souls. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen.

And yet.

It has.

“I love this,” Brooke tells her. It’s an evasive answer, but it’s the only thing she can say for certain.

“I love this too.”

-x-

Vanessa is asleep against her chest. Their limbs are tangled together beneath the sheets and Brooke stares at the ceiling trying to unravel the knot in the pit of her stomach.

It’s two in the afternoon. Where the time went, she doesn’t know, but she wishes that it would stop moving so quickly. Because as soon as the lawyers arrive, the spell is broken. Their fairytale like dalliance will be over and they will move on with their lives, like two ships passing in the night.

Vanessa stirs slightly and nuzzles into her, and idly Brooke raises her hand to stroke Vanessa’s hair. It smells like cheap hotel shampoo, but it’s soft between Brooke’s fingers. When she drags her fingernails lightly over Vanessa’s scalp, she sighs in content.

A sharp knock at the door to the suite startles them both. A beat passes and neither move. Brooke squeezes her eyes tightly shut, but she doesn’t know why.

Another knock.

“So, this is it then?” Vanessa says, her voice barely above a whisper.

-x-

“She wears her heart on her sleeve you know.”

Brooke turns to face the woman that’s speaking to her. Well, they’re the only two people in the bathroom, so she assumes the woman must be talking to her.

Brooke quirks her eyebrow questioningly.

She recognises the woman from the bachelorette party she’d seen Vanessa with. Sophie? Silky? Something like that. Not that it matters.

“Vanjie wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s easily hurt. She got this idea in her mind that she’s gonna find ‘the one’ and everything’s gonna fall into place.”

Brooke is assuming ‘Vanjie’ is Vanessa. A twinge of annoyance overcomes her and her face sharpens into a scowl. This is supposed to be a one night stand. Vanessa’s feelings aren’t supposed to be something she has to take into account.

“Why should I care about that?” Brooke challenges.

“Cause you’re gonna fuck her then dump her ass on the curb before the sun comes up. She deserves better than that.”

Brooke rolls her eyes as she pulls out a paper towel to dry her hands. Who does this woman think she is? Cornering her in the bathroom to give her a lecture about hurting feelings. “Vanessa is an adult, she can look after herself.”

“Bitch, if you’re gonna be up in here letting her sit in your lap, making her feel all special and shit, then it’s your responsibility to look after her too.”

“I’m not responsible for her. I don’t need to look out for anyone but myself. She’s a grown woman and she knows what she’s doing. If she gets hurt, that’s her problem.”

-x-

Sharp suit. Stiletto heels. Red lipstick.

Soft, emotionally vulnerable Brooke is gone. Now, she means business. It’s time to stop fucking around.

Her two lawyers sit on either side of her on the large sofa. Her assistant is in the armchair, ready to take notes.

Vanessa sits across from them, on a sofa alone. She’s wearing Brooke’s leggings and an oversized t-shirt. It was all Brooke had to give her and since there was no fucking way she would be able to do this with Vanessa sitting in her skin tight black dress and thigh high lace up boots from the night before, it seemed like the best option. But now, Brooke is regretting Vanessa’s clothing choice.

It makes her look small, vulnerable and afraid. Brooke is half an ounce of self restraint away from calling the whole thing off.

When she is handed a sleek black folder with Hause of Hytes embossed in gold lettering on the front, she looks up at Brooke questioningly. Brooke can see the moment the penny drops. The look of realisation as she understands the exact identity of her new wife.

Brooke nods curtly in confirmation.

“Miss Mateo,” the lawyer on Brooke’s left starts. “Enclosed in your folder, you’ll find divorce papers and a non-disclosure agreement. Please sign and initial at the relevant tabs.”

She opens the folder and, in that moment, a multitude of emotions pass over her face. All of them negative.

Confusion. Anger. Hurt.

She takes something from the top of the folder and holds it in both hands. “The fuck is this?” She laughs in discomfort and shakes her head.

The lawyer clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s a cheque.”

“I can see that, I ain’t blind, Papi. One hundred thousand dollars. I mean what the fuck is it in here for? I know you rich but surely you don’t wanna be leaving this shit laying around.”

“We trust that is a satisfactory amount for your cooperation and discretion on the matter.”

Brooke’s fists clench in anger. They hadn’t talked about this on the phone. Vanessa shakes her head in disbelief as she realises what the money’s for, but seemingly the lawyer misinterprets her meaning.

“Miss Mateo, I can assure you that we won’t be going any higher,” he says in a disgustingly patronising tone.

It’s like a knife to Brooke’s heart. They think she’s some kind of gold digger who’s here for Brooke’s money. They don’t know that this was all Brooke’s idea. She was the one that proposed. She dragged Vanessa into this, not the other way around. She opens her mouth to defend her, but Vanessa is quicker.

“Fuck you,” she spits venomously. “How fucking dare you? This really what you think of me, bitch?” There’s no build up. She goes directly to a ten.

She isn’t directing it at the lawyers, she’s screaming at Brooke.

The folder is hurled across the room and a vase shatters with its impact. Divorce papers are showering down around them. It’s mayhem. But Brooke doesn’t care, all she can see is Vanessa running for the bedroom.

She has to go after her. This can’t be how it ends.

-x-

“Vanessa Mateo, do you take Brooke Lynn Hytes to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Vanessa is rocking on the balls of her feet, likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol she’s been drinking. “I ain’t never been to a wedding before.” She hisses beneath her breath to Brooke. “Do I gotta some romantic shit? Cause all I can think about is how badly I want to fuck, but I don’t think you’re allowed to say that in a church.”

Brooke snorts an ugly laugh and the minister glares at them both. They aren’t in a church, it’s brightly lit, tacky room attached to a casino that claims to be a chapel. She’s sure the minister has heard much, much worse.

“No baby, all you have to say is ‘I do.’”

“Right. Okay. Yeah. Okay, Mary, ask me again.”

The minister clears his throat. “Do you, Vanessa Mateo-“

“I do.”

Brooke cackles. “Let him finish!”

“Do you, Vanessa Mateo, take Brooke Lynn Hytes to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I sure as shit do.”

Close enough.

“And do you, Brooke Lynn Hytes, take Vanessa Mateo to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Oh fuck. Well, it’s significantly different when the tables are turned and the question is on her. It seems that someone has sucked all of the air from the room.

“I…”

“She does!” Vanessa interrupts. “She really fuckin does. Cause she wants to get all up in this fine Latina.”

She’s not wrong.

God, is she making a terrible mistake?

Of course she is. She really fucking is.

The minister asks her the question again. He’s getting impatient, she suspects this is the last time he will ask.

“I do.”

-x-

“Fuck you.” Vanessa yells as she gathers up her things from the bedroom floor.

“Vanessa-”

“Fuck you,” she screams louder. “You think you can make me out to be some sorta sluty hoodrat that’s tryna take all your money? Fuck you.You’re such an asshole, Brooke.” The laces of her boots are tangled but her hands are shaking too much to loosen them. She’s making it worse.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were going to do that.”

“It don’t matter that you didn’t know. Whatever you told them about me clearly wasn’t the truth, if they thought they needed to give me money to keep me quiet or whatever. I didn’t even know who you were last night, you really think I did this so that I’d have a story to tell or some coin in the bank? Look me in the eye and tell me that’s what you thought this was.”

The words sting because they’re accurate. Brooke didn’t actively tell her lawyers to assume the worst about Vanessa, but she didn’t correct them when they had.

“I’m sorry.” Brooke says softly, stepping closer. She covers Vanessa’s hands with her own, to stop her fumbling with the boots. “Let me help you.”

Vanessa stops and looks up to meet Brooke’s eye. Her breathing is heavy and she looks so distraught and confused that Brooke is heartbroken. “I don’t wanna just sign some paper and never see you again. It’s complicated and we fucked up big time, but that don’t mean we have to just pretend it didn’t happen. I really like you, Brooke. I don’t want this to be over.”

Neither do I.

Brooke drops Vanessa’s hands like she’s been burned and takes a step back. She needs to keep her head straight. She doesn’t want this to be over, but it has to be. “Well, it is.”

Vanessa moves her hand to cup Brooke’s cheek. “Baby-”

Brooke pushes her hand away harshly. Pushing Vanessa away will make this easier, she’s sure of it. “Listen, if you think this is some sort of fairytale romance where we get married on a whim, then drop everything in our lives to be stay together, then you’re fucking delusional. This is real life.”

It’s nasty. Way more harsh than it needs to be. But if it gets Vanessa to stop fighting the inevitable, it’s what has to be said.

Tears are streaming down Vanessa’s cheeks, but she makes no move to wipe them away.

“Why did you marry me?” she asks quietly.

“Because I wanted to fuck you.”

“You knew I wanted to fuck you from the moment we met. That’s not why.”

Brooke clenches her fists tighter. “Because I have an obsession with power and I need to be in control. I wanted you to be mine. Is that what you want to hear?”

Vanessa shakes her head and takes a step closer. They’re inches apart. “No,” she whispers, “because that ain’t it either.”

“Then do please enlighten me.” Brooke is looking away. Desperately trying not to cry.

“I think, deep down, you married me cause you wanted to convince yourself that you’re the type of person that can be spontaneous and romantic. You picked me up cause you wanted an easy fuck, but as soon as you realised that it could be something real you acted on whatever rash, stupid ass impulse was going through your mind.” She cups Brooke’s face again and forces her to look down. “I think you wanted to believe in the fairytale.”

Brooke shakes her head. She’s wrong. She has to be wrong. This fucking woman, after less than a day, can’t know Brooke better than she knows herself. Brooke keeps herself sealed off like a vault, but Vanessa can see in without even trying.

“Why did you say yes?”

“Cause I wanted to believe in it too.”

Brooke shakes her head again. It’s too much. It’s crazy. Insane. Not happening. She tries to move away but Vanessa catches her arm. There’s a brief struggle between them as Brooke tries escape but Vanessa won’t let her, then suddenly, they’re kissing.

It’s needy and desperate. It’s everything.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Brooke growls against her lips as she pushes her towards the bed.

“I know.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. As soon as this is over, you sign the papers, we go back to our real lives.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Clothes are peeled off in a frenzy. Brooke’s lipstick is smudged across Vanessa’s face. It’s messy and frantic.

This isn’t how Brooke likes sex to be. She likes every move to be precise and accurate. Vanessa’s hands tug at her, pulling her down onto the bed and guiding her to where she wants her to be. Controlling her. She doesn’t usually like that either.

But somehow, she needs it.

The fact that she needs it scares her more than it should. Fuck this. She’s retaking control.

Vanessa is flat on her back, wrists pinned above her head before she can realise what’s happening. Brooke pauses briefly, searching her face for a signal that she can go on. Vanessa nods gently and it’s all she needs to see.

It’s as though Brooke only understands what she wants as she’s doing it. She straddles her knees on either side of Vanessa’s head. “Fuck me,” she demands.

The first press of Vanessa’s tongue is like fire. She lurches forwards and grasps at the headboard to steady herself, and Vanessa’s hands curl around her thighs. It’s fast and hard and uncoordinated. Somehow it’s the best sex that Brooke’s ever had. Maybe it’s because she needs it so fucking badly.

She moves her left hand from the headboard and arches her back, reaching behind herself to toy with Vanessa’s clit, thanking the gods for her own flexibility. When she does, Vanessa bucks upwards to reach her touch. “Harder,” she gasps against Brooke’s thigh.

Lost in her own bliss, Vanessa’s head falls back into the pillow, but Brooke takes the fingers of her right hand and winds them through her hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

She isn’t sure which one of them comes first, it’s too close to call. A moment or two of dazed silence passes before Brooke gets down to lay beside Vanessa.

Brooke begs herself not to complicate things by doing something romantic. Like pull Vanessa in close to her chest. Or delicately brush the stray hairs from her face. Or ask her if she wants to tell the rest of the world to get fucked and run away together.

She turns away.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she reminds Vanessa, as she lets herself succumb to sleep.

-

-

When she wakes up, the crumpled divorce papers are on the pillow beside her.

They’re signed.

Vanessa is gone.

-x-

The months that pass in the run up to Paris Fashion Week happens in a blur. She tries to put everything that happened in Vegas behind her, but it’s still there. Chewing away in the back of her mind.

Constantly.

She wishes she could switch off the memories and save them for only when she wants them. She wishes there was something she could do to stop the crippling pang of guilt in her chest that she gets every time she thinks about how it ended.

She would give anything to not be in love.

It’s opening night. So much is riding on this. She moves with purpose from model to model, checking every last element of her garments are perfect. Throwing herself into her work, being high on adrenaline and fear, it makes her forget about Vanessa. Almost.

Show time.

-x-

At the end of the night, she sits alone in the backstage area. All the models have left to celebrate their first night of freedom. Most of the designers, makeup artists and support staff have gone with them. All the rest have the good sense to leave Brooke alone.

The collection was a success. Her agent has been taking calls for interviews and collaborations all night. She was on the map before, but this will really send her to the top. It’s everything she’s ever wanted.

And she feels fucking nothing.

She’s empty. Numb to the joy. Numb to the pain. This is not how she’s supposed to be feeling. She tells herself that as soon as the shock wears off and reality hits home, she’s going to start feeling the elation, even though she knows it isn’t true.

All she can think about is how much of a terrible mistake she made.

What if Vanessa was the one? She’s been the only woman to make Brooke feel like she believes in love. What if nobody can make her feel that way again? What if she’s thrown away her shot at happiness? She gambles to take risks. Be bold. Be daring. So why couldn’t she have taken the chance on Vanessa?

It’s not like they were going to stay married and live happily ever after, but why did that have to be the end of it? Why couldn’t they have just gotten to know each other like two normal people? There’s so much about Vanessa that she doesn’t know. That she will never know.

A knock at the door breaks her from her trance. A man from security, wearing a black suit and an earpiece, enters.

“Madame Hytes?” he asks, in a thick French accent.

She nods her head.

“A woman claiming to be your ex-wife has tried to enter the building three separate times. You ought to be aware, in case she accosts you in the street.”

She blinks rapidly and shakes her head in disbelief. It’s a crazed fan. It’s a joke. It’s not her. It can’t be.

“I understand.” Her voice is trembling. “What does this woman look like?” She’s not hopeful. She rationalises the question by thinking that, if this is some kind of stalker situation, she’ll at least know who to avoid. She definitely isn’t hopeful.

“Very small. Brown hair. American-”

“Let her in.” She cuts him off.

That description fit millions of women, but there’s no doubt in Brooke’s mind that it’s her.

“Madame Hytes-”

“I said let her in.”

He nods sharply and leaves the room. Leaves Brooke to wait alone. She prays to a god she doesn’t believe in.

The seconds tick by like hours.

It’s her.

The door opens and she’s standing there. Drenched from the rain, trailing a suitcase behind her, grinning like a fool.

Brooke shakes her head and laughs. This isn’t real. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you, Mami. You know, they make it damn hard for a person to get into one of these things without a ticket.”

“You couldn’t have just called?”

“I wanted to see your face. I didn’t even know what city you live in, but I heard you talking on the phone about Paris Fashion Week so I figured you’d be here.” She shrugs as though it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“How could you afford to-”

Vanessa cuts her off. “I pawned the ring you gave me. Coulda flown to Paris and back again with the money.”

Brooke narrows her eyes. “What do you mean ‘and back’? Did you not buy a return ticket?”

“Hell no, Mami. Fuck going home. Not when my wife is here.”

“Ex-wife.” Brooke chuckles.

“Right.”

This is insane. Neither of them can speak and the tension is thick in the air.

Vanessa drops the case and takes a few steps closer. “I had to see you,” she says softly.

“You’re shivering.” Brooke points out the obvious and Vanessa nods with a smirk.

Fuck. This can’t be real. She shakes her head again and takes a step backwards. “You’re insane.” She breathes out through a smile. “You’ve flown halfway around the world for… for what exactly?”

“I told you. I had to see you.”

“Why?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she chokes out. She doesn’t know if she’s laughing or crying. “This is crazy,” Brooke whispers as she raises her hands to cup Vanessa’s cheeks. “Normal people don’t do this, you realise that?”

“I know.”

Brooke has spent months thinking about what she would say to Vanessa if she ever saw her again, but the words won’t come.

“Are you gonna kiss me or something? Cause I wanna get outa these wet clothes. Fuck coming all the way to Europe just to die from the flu.”

She can’t do anything but laugh. She’d expected Vanessa to have some movie-quality speech prepared about taking chances and love at first sight and all that other bullshit. But she really did just come all this way to say ‘I miss you’.

“We know nothing about each other.” Brooke tries to keep a grasp on reality.

“We know enough.”

“What if we can’t make it work?”

“What if we can ?”

Her chest tightens as her walls come tumbling down around her. “I’m scared.” She whispers.

“I am too.”

That’s all Brooke needs to hear. She lowers her lips to capture Vanessa’s in a kiss. They melt into one another’s touch, pulling each other closer.

Maybe it’s destined to fail, but Brooke is sure as hell going to give it everything she’s got first.

[achtung-attitude]

Chapter 29: Hotel California - Part 1

“Marsellus!” cries a woman’s voice. The big-eared black man turns towards the reception desk, where a middle-aged woman is stationed. “What are you doing standing around for? Go and collect our guests’ luggage!” She claps twice, quickly, “Luther! You come out here and help as well!”

At the call, an elderly white man appears, wearing the lobby boy uniform, with a large red birthmark over his right eye, uncannily shaped like the state of California. He and Marsellus rush to take the luggage off the hands of the grateful driver. Even between the two of them, it is a lot to carry, arranging them into a tower of cases. The old man struggles especially, breathing heavily, shaky on his feet. He must be at least 80 years old.

In spite of Marsellus’ help, the tower inevitably begins to topple, just as the pair pass Kilo, the bags threatening to land on his head. Their descent is suddenly halted as SATURN BARZ appears, pushing them back in place with its back and shoulders. Kilo walks past, following Jerome and Shizuka, who are still rapt in awe of the hotel.

Kilo looks all around the lobby, frowning at the immaculately polished tile floor, the fine art, the architecture that seems to glow. Even the small decorative pool is gorgeously clear, without a single flaw. He wrinkles his nose and sniffs, catching up to his friends at the reception desk.

“You’re in luck, honored guests,” says the receptionist, “This just so happens to be our last vacancy for tonight. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Ohmygosh, Jerome, I can’t believe we’re gonna stay here!!” Shizuka exclaims in awe and excitement. “It’s such a lovely place!!”

“What did I say?? Is this place tight or what?” Jerome says, chuckling to himself, happy he’s bringing number one fan somewhere nice. He collects the room key from the woman standing behind the reception desk. The pin on her magenta blazer says the name “Martha”.

“If you say so,” Kilo assents, “Yo, you said you booked at the last minute right? Between this and getting your house fixed, what kinda dollars are you spending?”

“Don’t ask questions when you ain’t prepared for the answers, my man…” Jerome says slyly, keeping his golden grin.

The elevator dings open, and the trio catch their breath at this sight within. The occupant of the metal box ducks under the rim of the entrance and stands to his full height, towering over Kilo. The man is big in all directions, his crisp blue suit failing to contain his protruding bulk. He may have trampled right through them had he not spotted them at the last moment, his leathery face darting down. 

“Well!” he booms, “new guests! Pleasure to meet ya!” His hand shoots down and grabs Kilo’s hand, shaking it with the grip of a champion. Talking the whole time, he moves to do the same to Jerome, rattling his whole body with the force of his greeting. “Real genuine pleasure to meet my future constituents! I’m sure you don’t need me to introduce myself, but why shouldn’t I, this being our first official meeting!” He pauses in his stream only to stoop and plant a kiss on Shizuka’s hand. “Paul Mann’s the name. Businessman, and future governor of California! Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourselves?! What brings to this lovely establishment?!”

“Oh uh, we… my crib’s getting refurbished so we hanging out here for a while…” Jerome stutters.

“Ah, I’m visiting from New York…!” Shizuka chimes in.

“Are you real?” Kilo asks.

“I’m as real as you are, my friend! Well, if it’s a vacation you’re after, you certainly came to the right place! I’ve lived in this great state my whole life, and I’ve stayed in every hotel from San Francisco to San Diego, and this is without a doubt the best I’ve ever been in! It really is a lovely place! The penthouse where I'm staying at is unlike anything in this world!! Listen, I’m heading off to supper now! If any of you find your way down to the dining hall, you be sure to come on over, so we can have a proper conversation!” 

“Uh… sure, we’ll do that…!” Jerome says, raising a thumbs up.

“I’m looking forward to it!” declares Paul Mann, who it seems to only declare things, not say them. He leaves, waving at them as he heads across the lobby. It is Marsellus that breaks the trio out of their daze, beckoning them into the elevator.

“We are not eating with that guy,” Kilo says as they step inside, making a declaration of his own.

The bellboy presses the buttons Kilo catches sight of two people entering the hotel: a man and his son. They are the same man and son that have appeared in proximity to the gang the whole time, though neither party is aware of this.

“I can’t believe any of this!” the man mutters loudly, storming towards the empty reception desk, “So we broke one TV, they can just buy another one... Where do they get off kicking us out…? Hey, hello?! Anybody there?! I need a room for me and my son, right now!”

The woman, Martha, quickly slides behind the reception desk. “Apologies for the delay, sir,” she says, “How may I--”

“A big TV!” the kid shouts, “I wanna big TV, tell her Daddy! I wanna watch Fist of the North Star!”

“I got it, I got it!” His father responds, “You heard him, big TV. And thick walls, while you’re at it. I don’t want to have to listen to the neighbours banging in the next room, comprendé?”

Kilo, watching this scene unfold from the elevator, scoffs silently. “Too bad for you,” he thinks, “They booked out just about now.”

“Certainly, sir,” Martha says in her phonograph tones, “We have a room exactly suiting your needs. You’re in luck, it so happens to be our last vacancy.”

Kilo frowns and starts to say something, but then the elevator doors slide shut in front of him, closing with a metallic crunch.

                                                             ***

Shizuka’s first action upon entering the room was to bound inside, throw off her shoes and leap onto the king-size bed, squealing as it rebounded her two feet into the air before landing again, sinking into its soft embrace. All this, before Marsellus the bellboy could finish saying “Welcome to the Presidential Suite.” 

“Dope,” Jerome says, immediately running to open the mini fridge, then flicking on the television.

“We didn’t ask for a suite, we wanted a double room,” Kilo says, grimacing.

“I’m afraid this was the only room we had available, sir,” Marsellus explains, never dropping his photographic smile, “And after all, we have nothing but the best for the one and only C-King.”

“Word! This is the good life, Kilo!” 

“Indeed. As your companions have already found out, the Presidential offers a king-size bed, and interactive multimedia system, a fully stocked drinks cabinet. In addition,” the bellboy continues in a speech that is clearly rehearsed, “you’re provided with complimentary 4G WiFi and panoramic views of the Beverly Hills area. Last but not-”

“Inglewood.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“We’re in Inglewood,” Kilo says, “Not Beverly Hills. You’re off by 10 miles.”

“... My mistake. Please forgive me.” Kilo says nothing in response, as Marsellus produces a bottle of wine from one of the cabinets underneath the TV monitor. “As a final feature, a bottle of Châteauneuf Du Pape 1969, a premium French red, compliments of the house.”

“That sounds so fancy!” Shizuka exclaims, rolling off the bed and skipping towards him. The bellboy produces three wine glasses and places them on the table next to the TV. He pours with practiced efficiency an equal amount into all three. 

The bellboy places the bottle on the table. Jerome and Shizuka pick up their glasses. “The Hotel California invites you to enjoy your stay. If there’s nothing else, I will take my leave--”

“Hold it,” Kilo says. Marsellus stops in his tracks, and turns to see Kilo raising the wine glass in his face. “You drink first.”

“Kilo--!” Shizuka protests.

“Hold it. Go on. Drink.”

Marsellus raises a hand. “Ah, sir, the wine isn’t for me. As I said, it’s complimentary for guests--”

“Call it a tip. How often do you get a break, anyway?”

“Sir, I appreciate it, but drinking is strictly prohibited on the job. I’d have to consult my supervisor if I were to--”

“It’s one sip. You ain’t gonna fall down drunk…” Silence falls, for a moment. “Either you drink, or we’re out of here.”

Silence falls again, tenser than before. Seconds tick by, agonizingly slow. Kilo levels his glare at the bellboy’s photograph face, which betrays no emotion at all.

“If you insist, sir,” Marsellus says finally, taking the glass. Without hesitation, he tilts his head back and sips the wine. He savours the taste for a moment, then swallows. He exhales, handing the glass back. “A gorgeous vintage. Will that be all then, sir?”

“... Sure.” Kilo says after a moment, taking the wine back and laying it on the table.

“In that case, if you have any further need of me, I’m one phone call away. Please don’t hesitate.” Marsellus exits the room on this note, closing the door behind him. 

“What the hell was that about, man!” Jerome yells, punching Kilo’s arm. Shizuka follows suit, kicking his shin. “You made us all look bad! I gotta be sure to give that guy a huge tip…!”

“I was making sure there wasn’t anything in the wine.”

“There was no need to be so rude. You have to be nice to the service staff!” Shizuka yells.

Kilo grits his teeth. “Do I need to remind you that we are in the middle of some gang war shit?”

“War?” Shizuka asks.

“Don’t tell you’ve forgotten already! Less than a day ago, you beat down one of the leaders of the Congregation! There could be Stand users in this hotel right now, waiting for the order to kill us all! We don’t have time to relax!”

“You’re being paranoid, Kilo!” Shizuka talks back. “What are the odds that there’s a gang assassin that just happens to be at this hotel, out of thousands in all of LA? This hotel is such a lovely place, there’s no way anything bad could happen here.”

“Bad shit can happen anywhere, at any time, to anybody…” he replies, somewhat melancholic.

Jerome sighs and steps forward. “Alright, alright. Tell you what, we stay the night, then come morning we find a new place. That sound good? If we move around, it’ll be harder for them to track us down, right?”

“…It’s a start.”

Jerome nods, smiling kindly. “Well, while we here, let’s try out that fucking restaurant the big guy was talking about!”

“I want fried rice and butter chicken!” Shizuka chimes in.

Kilo can only continue to grimace.

[arthurmorganthings]

Love in The Sky

Pairing: Arthur x Princess Margaret

Summary: A party hosted by Angelo Bronte turns into a magical night.

Warning: Explicit content

Princess Margeret was never one for balls, contrary to the popular belief of socialization in gatherings full of aristocratic beings. White, elitist men all the same with their ideals of what superiority they have from privilege and social status alone, they’re untouchable to anything opposed to them—or so she heard from the ignorant bullshit spewed from the mouth of Angelo Bronte. Had her daddy been away from these group of men, she’d give him a taste of what Monocan woman can do.

Her corset sinched tightly around her waist and crown placed gently above her crimps. She graciously held her hand out to shake Bronte’s. Emphasis on graciously, had it been any other way, his face would be in a body bag. Begging for repentance. He smiled in return, “Princess! Look at how you’ve grown. How old are you now?”

She held her tongue, tight lipped. “Twenty.”

“You’re at your peak you know? You should be considering possible suitors that you can keep warm at night.” He trailed as the men around him laughed, savagely. She grits her teeth behind her lips as her father sensed her discomfort, asked to be excused.

Margeret followed bellow the stairwell, as she frowned. “Such elegance your, magesty.” Sarcasm dare escape the princess’s mouth. “Had I known you associate yourself with subordinates of such discourse, I wouldn’t have agreed to come with you to Saint Denis.”

“Well I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but your coronation is due within a year from now. You must find possible suitors that befit the throne. Why not mingle outside of Monaco?”

Princess Margeret’s frown worsened. She never asked to be apart of royal linage, she longed for adventure beyond the white walls of her castle—she yearned for the West. Perhaps this trip was for her own selfish gain because as a child, she always read about America in westerns. Now that she arrived in a country full of outlaws, bandits, and conman—she still so happened to associate herself with bourgeoisie people.

“If it happens to be a big deal, why can’t you hold off the wedding until I’m ready?” Her hypothetical question didn’t sit right with her father. He points a finger in her face to announce who the man of the House was.

“You mustn’t speak to your father this way. Now go mingle and do not linger. You are to report to the guest room by midnight. Understood?” One thing Margeret learned—her father always had the final say, so she nods innocently, his demeanor returning to his regular plesant mood, “Good! I shall see you soon, my beloved.”

He pivots on his heel to return up the banister to continue his conversation with Mr. Bronte himself.

Margeret exits the mansion and into the backyard where her potential “husband” lied.

“Ha.” She scoffs, arguably tired of rich folk flaunting their riches. As she sauntered past folk that were star stuck, or eager to play matchmaker—Princess Margeret made it to the table filled with an assortment of champagne.

She pours some for herself, standing to observe. She notes a group of men that seem to stand out in a peculiar way.

A man in white satin gloves, moustache primped neatly with hair pomade, a gruff looking feller, an older man with a wise aura, and a handsome young prince so it seems.

His eyes were enchanting to look at, even at this distance as he lit his cigar—though they didn’t stick out nearly as much as they should have, Margeret seen right through them.

Outlaws.

She read about them in stories. The tall tale of gunslingers that suddenly finds sense of morality as they fight through a perilous journey through civilization. One of many outlaws fear the most.

She wonders if she can aid in any pick-pocketing of sorts as she saunters past suitors vying for attention, but she sees right through them. Money can make any fool fold without noticing she has the upper-hand. Royal flush.

“Hello gentlemen.” She says, clearing her throat, making herself less scarce of the group. They stare collectively in confusion as she feigned ignorance.

“Hello ma’dam.”

“Dutch, you fool! Do you not know who this woman is?” The older man hiss. “That’s the Princess of Monaco!”

“Is she now?” Dutch response with mischief in his voice, as he held his hand out. Her glove happened to make it across his lips with finesse. “And what do we owe the pleasure of such a presence tonight?”

“Well I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking for a suitor to rule a country. But.” Looking right at the man she’d been eyeing since he first arrived with his entourage. He glanced at her as her heart swelled in glee. “I can see right through you boys, you’re transparent.”

What was meant for the man across from her, was mistaken to said people.

A beat of silence followed as a baritone chuckle made by Dutch. Not once had Margeret budged in her not so indirect staring contest with the man she’d soon have in her private quarters. She’d write about her escapades with an outlaw in her diary.

Dutch notice the interaction, and brings light of it. “Your majesty, have I introduced you to my friend Arthur Callahan?” His hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder

“No sir, you haven’t.” Her smile that of diamonds in Sierra Leone. “Hello, Arthur.”

The accent alone added a bit of flare to his southern charm of a name. He gulped, nervously as he nods his head respectfully. “Princess.”

“Now If you could excuse us for a minute, we have a—business meeting.”

“But of course.” She smiles again. Her wispy lashes looking back at Arthur with such sultry before sashaying away.

Giving the group of boys something to look at upon her departure.

“What a woman.” Dutch trails off as he discusses what said party has to do before the soiree was over.

Princess Margeret helps herself to the hors d’oerves. Caviar with lamb-fry on a stick—your classic Europe meets hilbility ensemble. She feasts the appetizers down with wine before making her way back to her private sectors, as she makes her way into the grande foyer, she notes one of the Mayor’s head huncho antagonize a maid harshly—the woman could barely speak any English!

Margeret fumed. “Hey!” Enough to cause him to whip his head to her. “Leave that woman alone.”

“What business of it is yours, your majesty?”

“I will have you know, I’m due to run a country in less than a year. Had I been queen by now—I’d take joy in seeing them go off with your head in the gallows.” Her voice taking on a tone to invoke fear.

It did. Oh how it did. Perhaps she does take after her father after all. “Leave her alone and get back to work.”

“Y-yes, your highness.”

She smirks, nodding at the maid. She thanked her in her native tongue before top returning to her job. Margaret smiled before crossing her arms, her back facing Mr. Callahan from the shadows.

“I never pegged you for an errand boy, Mr. Callahan.”

A tense silence followed before the sound of russelling ensued. She pivots to him with an amused smile. “Your transparency, I see right through you.”

She left little space betwixt them, the smell of woodsmoke and cologne filled her nostrils. “You realize guests aren’t allowed past this quarter, Mr. Callahan.”

“Just tryin’ to relieve myself, princess.”

“You must have me mistaken for a fool.” She replies, hands roamed the small of his back before gently tugging at his tuxedo. “Your men, are bad business.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about miss.”

She was exhilarated her lips grazed his teasingly, the thrill of laying with a wanted man was a high she couldn’t get enough of. “You can bullshit all you want. I want in.”

She took his breath away, perplexed as to why a woman that could buy the whole city twelve times over, would want to partake in a robbery. Removing her silver pendant, she hands it to him in hopes to earn his trust. “Hopefully this clears things. That is a four-thousand dollar necklace, do with it as you please. I wish to join you now, Mr. Callahan.” There was a beat of silence before sighing.

“Come on.”

Her core clenched at his gruff tone as he saunters up the stairs next to her. Lifting her dress to make walking up easier. Upon entering the Mayor’s private sectors, Margeret announces her plan.

“You stand watch.” She mumbles, Arthur’s brows furrow.

“You’re searching for files only where I know, sits.” She pulls a key between her buxom breasts. “Trust me.”

The operation didn’t take long, showing him files in regards to an oil company owned by Leviticus Cornwall. Margeret has met him one too many times to conclude her disdain for him. A man that sat in his bedroom full of money, and privilege—an asshole for better words.

“Here.”

Handing him the documents as he stared in awe at how swift she moved. As he grabbed for them, she moved the said folder teasingly, still in her hand. “I didn’t say getting the files would be, easy to come by.”

His smirk widens. “But of course.” His chest against hers. “You drive a mean bargain, your highness.”

“Please. Call me Margeret.”

He chuckles. “Sure. Well, what a sticky situation we find ourselves in, Margeret. You see, I need those files. Perhaps, there could be a way to get them from you?”

She masks her impending smirk. “Now that you inquire, there probably is one.” Her figure sauntering past him like an apparition. She beckons him with her body and how it flows beautifully in her custom-made dress.

He follows.

Her private quarters locked privately as she teases him. “Wait here.”

Her orders were firm, Arthur placing himself onto the beautifully sculpted, King-sized bed. He observed the fine jewels sitting on her nightstand, a barrage of dresses that lined neatly on a wooden chair. The room alone was enough for him to disappear from a life of mischief.

From the walk-in bathroom, Princess Margeret calls.

“So, Mr. Callahan. What’s your line of work?”

“I don’t think you wanna know.” His gruff tone says, scratching at his beard filled with aftershave. “I’m a bad man, Margeret.”

His eyes widens as Princess Margeret reveals herself. Christ, Dutch was right indeed—what a woman.

Her body removed from her custom-made dress into a lace chemise and matching bottoms, a clear negligee from the finest seemstress in France. Arthur’s body betraying him as his dress pants grew tighter. Her wispy lashes beckoned him as she crawls up the soft, silken sheets—straddling him.

“You know, I dreamed of laying with an outlaw. But I’d never imagined him to be as handsome as you.” Her voice softly spoke as she kisses at his jaw. Arthur goes slack in that second before groaning in pleasure.

His hands finding their way to her bottom, giving it a firm slap—earn a sound of approval. In Arthur’s years of living, would he ever imagine to be in a position to say he made love to a princess. This woman must see men younger, wealthier, and more cunning than he was—perhaps the thrill of a sheltered home could be the reason.

“Look at me.” Her hips grind at his crotch as he stares into her emerald orbs, captivated by what he saw. His lips found her’s, now caught in a languid make-out session. Lips tasting that of the finest wine and champagne as he gripped at her bottoms tightly. Once removed by the kiss, said lovers gasped before Princess Margeret urged he removed his clothing.

Once his black tuxedo, and tie was removed. All was left of him was his union attire. Arthur wasted no time taking off her negligee, each touch brought her content until she laid stark naked, grabbing his jaw again, she kissed at his neck, betwixt kisses, Margeret says. “I. Want. You.” Causing a short chuckle from her lover.

“Okay. You can ‘ave me, Princess.” Unbottoning his union suit some more, Arthur lined at her wet heat while sucking in a breath. “Shit, you feel so good.”

The princess sighed now relieved of her pleasures being denied for so long. She missed both the pain, and the yearning.

An outlaw was shameless, least in the eyes of her father—yet something about how he looked her in the eyes. His thrusts were deep, not hard as he placed his elbow on both sides of her head, taking her for who she is. Her moans grew in volume as he shushed her quietly.

“We don’t want your daddy hearin’ what we do.”

Daddy.

It brought something in her to say it, seemingly. “Daddy?” She whispers.

Arthur groans, “Yes, your daddy.”

His thrusts began to piston as he wrapped her legs around his shoulder—the princess’s eyes fluttering closed.

“On your back, hn. But somethin’ tells me you live for that kinda thrill.”

“Fuck, yes—yes.” He sushed her again, at bit harsher punishment this time. His hand wrapped around her throat.

“You got a mouth on you, your majesty.” He groans, her guts turning inside-out as his cock thrusts into her pelvis in tandem to her cries of pleasure.

She said it again, this time consciously aware of her onslaught. “Yes, daddy.” She doesn’t understand the sudden fondness of the petname, given the context used, but it seemed to fit Arthur so well.

“That’s a good girl. So good for me.”

She was close, painstakingly enough Arthur pulled out of her before flinging her body to her stomach as a pool of wetness trailed down her thigh. His thick fingers protrudes her before landing a firm smack across her ass. Biting down her cry, She wiggles a bit—beckoning him with every move.

He chuckles smugly, “I musta hit the jackpot, getting to lay with a princess.”

“Don’t get arrogant, it’s beneath you.”

That remark earned anouther hard slap from Arthur. “Hm, I’ll be the judge of that darlin.’”

She never could get the final say, his cock roughly pushed into her walls, pulling at her brown locks as her gaze made contact with the chandelier that hung beautifully over them. Her jaw went slack, eyes rolled to her skull as Arthur’s lips marked her neck. Margeret cried out in glee.

She felt like a cortesean in silken sheets, how could a man that inflicts pain to others, make a girl feel so—alive? She knew his type. The man that he was, to him this would be a memory to tell his friends.

“Haaah.” She screamed.

He asked, “Who’s making you feel this good?”

Her body was in nirvana, her impending release on the precipice.

Arthur tugs at her hair harder, “I asked you a question.” His voice husked in her ear.

“You.”

“And, who am I?”

Oh. He wanted her to say it. “Daddy.”

He smirked as his thrusts grew sloppy, indicating that he was going to come soon but fought against it as he grabbed her by the neck, "That’s my girl." Arthur affirmed.

Fluttering her eyes opened, she felt his girth make pace at her cervix as she threw her head back helplessly, "Oh my god." She screamed, her body growing numb while her eyes rolled back again, “Oh,"

Arthur lets out a grunt as perspiration accumulates across his forehead.

She squeals, her toes curling from the friction. She gasps, "Ugh, I'm coming Arthur, I'm coming."

"Don't hold back. Let it out," He retorts, his tempo increasing three times-fold as Margeret saw white, releasing one final cry upon Arthur withdrawing from her core, spewing his seed all over her back. Her body shook at the aftershock of it all, while feeling the weight of Arthur’s body be placed on her. They laid there for quite sometime before Arthur removed himself.

The faint sound of items moving filled the room as Margeret stayed limp on the bed she fornicated in. A sudden feel of a wet rag be placed on her back, cleaning up his mark.

Her eyes grew heavier but knew their time together would come to an end. She knew when Arthur cleaned himself up, now presentable—they’d both return to their own lives.

“Stay.” Margeret whispered. “Come to Monaco with me.”

“You know I can’t do that girl. My loyalty is here.” His voice responds with the same tone, his ring finger trailing at her naked back. “But, I enjoyed every second of tonight. So much that I’ll remember this for the rest of my days.”

Her heart swelled, earning a smile from him.

The last she seen before trailing off into a deep slumber.

—

“Princess Margeret! Are you done packing?” One of the Mayor’s servants call from behind the door as Margeret stares at the window that overlooked the industrialized city. She couldn’t bring herself to cry. She got what she wanted after all. One of the greatest nights she’d ever had.

A sigh escaped her lips, “Yes, give me one moment please.”

Before her departure she made sure to clean as much as she could so that the maids wouldn’t have to work so hard. Margeret checks everywhere again to assure nothing was left behind—what she didn’t expect was what seemed like a drawing of Margeret. Naked, as the day she was born.

She’d presumed this was Arthur. As she flipped the sketch, a note read:

Remember these sheets. -A.M

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 9

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Tuesday, April 9th (continued)

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have been surprised when the car didn’t stop, and Graham merely said “Sir?” while looking in the rearview mirror.

“You can stop,” the King nodded, and the car immediately pulled into the next parking spot.  “What is it?”

“Do you trust me?” Rose asked simply, blinking up at him and doing her best to look responsible and trustworthy.  Given his unhappiness at her initial hiring, this would be a good test of if his feelings had changed, and if he was truly ready to play ball.

After a moment a smile spread across his face, and he nodded.  “Aye.  Are we getting out?”

He emerged first, before turning to help her out of the car.  His hand was inordinately warm against hers, a pleasant feeling given the cold air around them, and he held on for far longer than was strictly necessary; they were several steps down the road before he let go, though she could still feel his touch like a phantom.

“Where are we going?”

“Come on,” Rose just grinned, heading up the steps of the Children’s Center to the main entrance, the King at her heels and Sarah Jane not far behind.  A large knocker sat on the front door and Rose tapped it, fighting back nervousness as she waited for the door to open.

After what felt like a small eternity but couldn’t have been a minute at most, it was opened by an older gentleman with sandy blond hair, whose eyes widened at the sight of them before his brow furrowed.  “Can I help you?”

“Hi,” she said brightly with far more confidence than she felt, “my name’s Rose, I spoke with Polly on Saturday, she said I could stop by today for a tour of the place.  Is she available?”

The man nodded, blinking, before calling over his shoulder, “Pol, it’s for you!”  Stepping aside, he gestured for them to enter. “She’ll be right down.  Please, come in.  Welcome, Your Majesty,” he bowed his head to his king.

“Thank you,” King Ian said graciously, before turning a curious eye to Rose.  “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Mel and I- my assistant- we came into town for the start of the festival on Saturday,” Rose hurried to explain before the woman arrived, “and the Center- City of Arcadia Children’s Center, I believe- was hosting a bake sale.  I got to chatting with the girls and Polly, and I had a thought. When you choose your wife, she should have a cause, right?  Obviously because of timing she won’t have much time between the proposal and wedding, and I thought her first thing as Queen could be to sponsor the Children’s Center.”

The King arched an eyebrow at her, face impassive, and Rose held her breath.  “You think this is an organization deserving of Crown funds?” he asked neutrally.  “You know nothing about them, really.  Or if they would even accept it.”

“That’s why we’re here!” she explained, as Polly hurried up.

“Sorry, love, I was changing a nappy- oh my word!  Your Majesty, welcome!”  She dropped into a deep curtsey, and Rose had to hide a smile at her obvious surprise and bewilderment.  “How may I serve you?”

“Miss Tyler is assisting with planning the Coronation,” he said vaguely, “and thought I should stop by.”

Rose bit her lip, taking in everyone’s lackluster expressions and wondering if she’d made a huge mistake.  Again.  Shit.  “It was just a thought,” she mumbled, backtracking, her face flushing.  “But if there’s a more pressing engagement…”

“I did promise her a tour, Sir,” Polly cut in.  “Please, it would be an honor.”

The King’s jaw clenched, but he nodded in agreement, making Rose feel worse.  “I suppose we have a few minutes,” he allowed, causing Ben and Polly to both brighten considerably.

“That’s wonderful!  Please, if you’ll follow me,” Polly said, turning towards a room on the right-hand side, and Rose waited until everyone else followed to fall in line, shoulders slumping and biting her lip to keep from crying.

Shit, shit, shit!  Why do I keep fucking this up?

-

By the time they were done with the tour of the Center Ian’s jaw ached from clenching it so tightly in an attempt not to smile or laugh.  Rose had stuck to the back of the group, looking miserable, which made it easier to keep up the façade.

In truth, he was slightly amazed at her talent – somehow, with no guidance or hint from him, she had managed to key into one of the causes most dear to his heart, after healthcare.  That she would see a somewhat run-down building where children would go for free care and think this is a cause a Queen should support, this is the first cause a Queen should support amazed him.  When the subject had come up at various times throughout his life, most of the women he asked What would be your first priority as Queen? would respond with some variation of the fine arts.  Music, dancing, painting, sculptures, preserving history…  All fine things, he would admit, but not his top priority – that was his subjects.

And somehow she had seen that bit of his heart, had translated it so perfectly.

He managed to keep his expression severe until they climbed back into the car.

As soon as the doors had shut and Graham had started driving again she blurted, “I’m so sorry!  I should have asked first, that was so stupid of me.  I hope you weren’t offended, or annoyed.  It was just an idea, and a terrible one.  Please forget about it!”

She looked terrified, the poor girl, and he could contain himself no longer, letting out a snort that soon turned to a fully belly laugh, as he truly let loose for what felt like the first time in ages.

“Your Majesty?”  Rose’s small, scared voice snapped him out of it, and wiping at his eyes with his shirtsleeves, he fought for composure.

“You did nothing wrong,” he rasped out, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from Sarah and sipping at it.  “Quite the contrary.”

“So… you’re not going to fire me?  Again?”

Any remaining humor fled immediately, and he made sure to meet and hold her eye when he said, “No.  I have no intention of doing so. You’ve been doing an… adequate job,” he allowed, not quite able to say what he really felt, suddenly worried that if he did, the whole sordid truth might spill out.  “No, I’m quite afraid you’re stuck here until I marry, Miss Tyler, and not a second less.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, a tentative smile playing at the corners of her mouth.  “What did you think of the Center?”

He smiled warmly, digging in his jacket’s inner pocket for a moment before pulling out what he was looking for.  Flipping it open to the right page, he held it out towards Rose in offering.  “My personal checking account – Ian Docherty, that is, not ‘the King’.  Funded by my work as a doctor- that bit’s not important though.  See the last entry?”

Rose took it, reading aloud, “A thousand dollars paid to- oh.”

“You see?”  He accepted his checkbook back with a nod.  “You’ve managed to find the cause most dear to my heart, after medicine.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”  Ian blinked, unsure of her question.

She raised an eyebrow, looking more relaxed now that she knew she hadn’t mucked up.  “Why is the Center so important to you?”

That was an unexpected question, though he supposed perfectly reasonable.  “Polly was our nanny,” he said slowly, “when we were young.  Once we no longer needed her she went to start the center, with my parents’ blessing.  She wanted to give children who had less than ideal childhoods a safe place.  Polly was always firm though, she didn’t want the Crown paying for the Center – private donations only, though we tried to convince her otherwise.  We have grants and other programs that would help support her, but she still refuses.  I write her a check every month, but most go uncashed – I know they’re struggling when one is.  Most over the last year have been.”

A ball of worry twisted his gut, as he let himself think about the Center.  Polly and Ben were both dear to him, people he’d known and loved his entire life, and the thought of them struggling made his soul ache.  He did all he could to help, continuing to write them checks and sending workers around when he caught wind of a problem.

“Donna actually sends her twins there, twice a week,” he shared unexpectedly.  “She hadn’t before, but once the fancy agency opened she started to, to try to encourage others to support it.  The rich couples who care about status and money were the first ones to pull out, and she had hoped that the chance to rub elbows, or more specifically share toys, with royalty would be enough to tempt them back.  Their donations had been what kept the Center firmly in the black, but the building’s so old that it’s difficult for Ben to maintain on his own.”

The it wasn’t enough went unsaid, but Rose picked it up loud and clear it seemed, based on her sympathetic expression.

And then her face lit up.  “What if you hosted a fundraiser?”

“What?”

Rose nodded excitedly, eyes gleaming.  “Oh, it’s perfect! It might be last minute, but it could work.  You host a ball, or dinner, or whatever, with the price of the tickets going straight to the Center.  Ben and Polly would be honored guests.  We’ll be doing in-person interviews by then, so whoever is still on our shortlist can attend.  We have them mingle – it gives them a chance to meet your subjects, and understand the sort of causes that are important to you.  Quite frankly, their opinions afterwards might be quite telling.  Especially if it’s not so formal!  Host a casual dinner, and see how the candidates react.  I know being normal is important to you, and it gives you a chance to see them that way!  If they can’t handle it, or sneer, or go over the top, then that helps weed the list down further!  Oh, that’s brilliant,” she gushed, digging a notebook out of her purse and starting to scribble in it.

“I think it’s a fine idea,” his aunt offered with a smile.  “And the money won’t be coming directly from the Crown, so I think we can twist Polly’s arm into accepting it.  We can have it this weekend!”

Ian raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two madly-smiling women.  “You think you can pull this off?”

Two heads bobbed enthusiastically.

He let out a sigh, before nodding.  “Then do it.”

Rose’s answering beam was enough to make it worth it.

It’s official.  I am fucked.

-

Thursday, April 11th

Naturally, that meant Rose spent the next day and a half running around like a crazy person, trying to accomplish a thousand things at once.  Wednesday was the first round of interviews, each of the twelve getting forty-five minutes with Rose.  Seven were sent home that day, and the five spent Thursday morning in more intensive interviews with Rose, an hour each.

Now, for a little happy hour get to know you, the King would meet the remaining women for the first time.  From there, he would hopefully narrow it down to three, and then finally one.

Rose walked him towards the ballroom where hopefully his future bride and queen waited, doing her best to encourage him.  “Look, you chat with them, try to find some common ground.  All five are, on paper, if not perfect, then very well suited to you.  But only you can feel a spark with one of them, and make your choice.”

“How will I know?” he asked tentatively, as they walked arm in arm down the hall from his apartments to the minor ballroom hosting the small cocktail party.

“Know?”

“Who to keep.”

Rose shrugged, wrinkling her nose.  “Whoever gives you butterflies.”

“Butterflies?  Is that like indigestion?”

She laughed.  “You’ve never had them before?  Blimey. Uh, yeah, I suppose, but… happy.”

“Happy indigestion?”  He looked so baffled she had to smile despite her own nerves.

“Exactly.  It’s okay to be nervous though – this is just a first pass,” she tried to reassure him with a pat on his forearm, privately marveling at the softness of his suit jacket.  “Anyone you absolutely don’t click with, or can’t possibly see a future with, we send home.  Those left will get an hour or two of your time tomorrow, and attend the fundraiser Saturday night – which is pulling together beautifully, by the way.”

“Right.”  They reached the ballroom then, stopping outside the doors, and he let out a deep breath.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Rose inspected him carefully, adjusting his already-straight tie and brushing off his shoulders just for an excuse to touch him, though she refused to allow herself to dwell on the why of that particular desire.  “The most important thing is be yourself.  They’re evaluating you as much as you are them – if you both pretend to be something other than you are, you might run into another ‘River’ situation.”

“You think they’ll be pretending?”

“Of course.”  She snorted.  “One of the women in there will almost definitely become a queen in two weeks.  They will do and say whatever they have to in order to get the crown.  So, trust your gut, follow the butterflies, and let fate do the rest. Okay?”

He nodded slowly, still looking rather unsure.  “I hate this.  I wish she would just let me abdicate,” he whined, making Rose smile.

“Obviously, your sister believes you can do this.  And for the record, so do I.”

That, at least, seemed to mean something to him, because the deep crease in his forehead mostly smoothed.  She didn’t let herself wonder if, perhaps, it was her confidence in him more than Princess Donna’s that was the cause.

“Thank you, Miss Tyler, for everything,” the King said softly, genuinely, raising her hand to his lips, pressing the most fleeting of kisses to her knuckles and sending her stomach into a riot.  “Wish me luck.”

“You’ll know,” she promised with a confidence she didn’t feel, tone matching his.  “Maybe not the moment you meet, but you’ll know.  One of those women will be her.  Just have faith.”

With a final nod, he tugged at the hem of his jacket to straighten it before nodding at the footman waiting, who opened the door.  Shoulders back and head high, he walked into the room like the King he was, leaving Rose standing outside alone.

God, please let me be right.  Please let her be in the palace tonight.

[otomeonfleek]

Imagine: KBTBB and Budgeting

As someone from a less well-off financial standing, the way he spent his money was horrifying. Sure, there was a slim chance that he would ever be dirt-poor, however your frugal mentality itched to improve his senseless spending. From himself or his circle of friends, the mentality of grabbing items first then carelessly dropping nearly a million dollars to pay them off was not uncommon. You however were the type of person to invest half an hour contemplating whether it was okay to spend $45. 

Ota:

Managing to convince the young artist to show you his recent spendings, you found yourself slowly turning pale and developing an eye twitch. 

He was pacing around the room as you ran through each of his purchases from that week. You paused before mumbling, “Are you telling me that these paintbrushes are $100,000 a piece?” With that knowledge, your eyes shifted to the metallic container laying unassumingly on his desk and housing the most ordinary-looking brushes ever. 

There was a small pause as the blonde turned on his heel, “...If you think that I’m going to Michael’s to buy cheap-ass synthetic brushes like the ones you use on your face for what you consider makeup, then you have another thing coming.” 

Without fail, the spite and ever-lasting sass of his stung you. You knew that him being especially nasty was a defense mechanism to distract from the fact that he was spending hundreds of thousands on brushes. Yes, art was his livelihood and passion which enabled him to make millions. However, there had to be more affordable brushes to consider. 

“Sweetie, are you sure there aren’t any other types of brushes you can try?” You gave him an uneasy smile at how his complexion suddenly darkened at your suggestion. 

Shooting you a mockingly sweet smile that earned him the title of ‘Angelic Artist’ in spite of his more sadistic nature, he countered you with, “Honey, are you sure there aren’t any other types of concealer you can try?” 

In horror, your hands automatically shot up to your under-eye area as you felt your insecurities slowly being unravelled by the savagery of Ota Kisaki. “Ota, you take that back!! You’re being especially rude.” 

Needless to say, that day and beyond you never re-opened the discussion on his brushes’ price points. Your pride was too great for it. 

Eisuke:

The both of you were seated on one of the many Italian and custom leather couches in the vast living area of the penthouse. His latest model of laptop was placed in front of you as he explained his finances with a rather bored expression.

Your lips were pressed in a tight line as you processed what he was saying and were internally screaming. “Tax evasion is illegal, Eisuke.”

The familiar and piercing sepia orbs of his rolled as leaned back to cross his arms defiantly in his infamous purple dress shirt. “So are the auctions and more than half of the other things we do here, but I didn’t see you complaining about it when I bought you.”

Sharply inhaling through your nose at how ridiculous he was, you growled, “What are you talking about?? I COMPLAINED. A LOT. The whole time and process, I complained!!! At one point, I think I even tried to run away!!!” 

Exasperated, you threw your arms in the air when you noticed him tapping away on one of his many smartphones. 

“Oh, were you saying something? I just bought another island using my off-shore account. That reminds me, I want coffee.” Not taking his eyes off his mobile device, he blindly reached for and held up his half-empty mug. You noted how it was encrusted with Swarovski crystals and decided this was a fight for another day. 

Thick and through, Eisuke Ichinomiya was a diva. A tax-evading diva with selective memory and a knack for buying islands in the middle of arguments that was somehow your boyfriend. 

“MC, I am still waiting on that coffee.” 

“Coming, Eisuke!” Maybe you wouldn’t ever stop him from technically being a criminal or help him be more reasonable in terms of finances, but you could give him decaf. Right on, MC! That will totally show him. 

Mamoru:

You were logged onto the desktop in your shared apartment with the detective’s banking statements pulled up and him lazing on a couch behind you. His feet were propped up as he sipped at a canned beer in his wrinkled work suit. Periodically, he commented on the muted game playing on the living room TV.

As you scrolled through the reports and did separate calculations on your smartphone, you grew more horrified. “Mamoru, you spend nearly $400 on cigarettes a month.”

Without even turning around, you could already envision his deadpan as he mindlessly commented, “What’s your point?” 

You swiveled the office chair and glared at the back of his mop-like head of hair, “My point is that you can’t be spending like this. You’re a cop and you don’t make nearly as much money as the other guys!” Sure, he assisted the bidders with the auctions and received a percentage, however he was hardly of millionaire status. If he was, would he really dress like that? The thought passed through your mind as you nearly snickered before snapping back to reality. 

“It’s my money and I can do what I want with it! If I damned please, I could buy a ticket to Cuba, buy my smokes there, and come back in one trip just to spite you! Hell, I could even buy myself a new suit from Macy’s for that same trip to Cuba!” Growing impressively heated, he finally sat up and shifted to shoot you a harsh glare. 

You briefly wondered if he somehow picked up on your silent judgement of his fashion choices and about how awfully specific he was being about Cuba along with Macy’s. 

Turning to face the computer screen, your fingers hovered above the mouse to a certain bit of his banking report and stopped. With a rather smug grin, you stated, “Babe, I’m looking at your checking account right now, and you can’t even afford a decent suit with that money. So what makes you think you can afford to go to Cuba?” 

From behind, you could hear him scrambling to his feet and nearly knock over the ratty fabric couch as he rushed to the computer. “THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT!!! I HAD AT LEAST A HUNDRED LAST TIME I CHECKED!!” In his desperation, he nearly shoved you to the side as he gazed at the screen. Any hope left soon was drained as he realized the truth. 

“Do you think if I started vaping I would save more money?” 

“I think if you started vaping, I would leave you.” 

Baba: 

The two of you were sorting through your shared walk-in closet and deciding which clothes needed to go. Unlike most of the bidders, Baba was very receptive to your ‘normal person’ customs and seemed eager to donate any unused items to charity. As his partner, you wanted to help in any way possible and were working towards maximizing his finances. 

That mission was on your mind as you started to note the extensive fedora collection owned by the international thief extraordinaire. They were some with the most blinding patterns (ie. zebra stripes) and most ridiculously resembling the iconic burgundy hat he was known for. Your hands wandered to check the brand names and also realized that many were still new with their price tags included. You choked at the several zeroes accompanying each tag. It was undeniable that you loved the man, but his fedoras were so damned tacky that their cost made no sense. 

From his corner of the closet, the older male glanced up from his pile of old shirts and asked, “Is something wrong, pretty lady?” The affectionate pet names was always pleasant to hear, but almost fell on deaf ears to you as you started to do mental math. 

“...Mitsunari, you don’t need all these fedoras, you just want them.” It was a harsh revelation that you admittedly winced at when delivering because of how dear the accessory was to him. You felt your heart pang when you saw his light demeanor fall. 

With his broad shoulders drooping, he asked in a rather small voice, “But don’t you think they look nice?” His thin and long digits reached up to run along the rim of his current and burgundy hat, almost as if to comfort himself. 

On the inside, you screamed how tacky you truly thought they were. However, you constructed a careful response for the sake of his feelings, “Dear, don’t you think you should cut back a bit on these...investments? You have dozens of fedoras here that you’ve never even used.” 

After several moments of silence in which you sweated bullets, Baba nodded with a suddenly cheerful grin. “Aww, you’re right! I’ll even wear this one to dinner! It’s Chanel!” He crossed the room and plucked one of his many pieces from the shelf with a rather victorious smile. 

You felt your very essence shake at how the hat looked exactly like the one he was wearing now and at the knowledge that a revered brand like Chanel would produce such a heinous accessory. In a way, you won. However, in another way, you still lost. 

Soryu: 

Out of all the bidders, you felt Soryu was fairly reasonable. If you omit his bad habit of brandishing his gun in public at rude waiters and Mamoru, he was pretty okay. When it came to checking his spending habits, you felt there wouldn’t be anything too outrageous. With that, you nearly lost your shit when you noticed a rather costly trend from his most recent statements. 

“Soryu! Sweetie, can you come here for a sec?” You called out to your mobster boyfriend from your comfy position on your side of the king-sized bed. Placing the Macbook on your lap, your face twitched at the numbers glaring across the screen. 

In a few moments, the rather tall and raven-haired male entered the room. He was still in his work suit and had been working in his office when you called. “Is everything alright?” His smooth baritone cut through the silence as he moved to sit at the edge of the bed by your feet. 

You noted how impossibly handsome he was and forced yourself to quit checking him out. This was a topic that needed to be addressed and his fine cheekbones would not stop you. “So I was looking at your recent statements and...how much money do you think you spend on hair gel?” Your eyes were suddenly glued on his shiny and slicked back hair. 

He seemed suddenly self-conscious as he shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. Pursing his thin lips, he tried to seem casual as he replied with, “I’m not sure. In a year, probably only a few hundred. I have tried some brands here and there.” 

You unintentionally squinted at him, wondering if he was knowingly lying to you. “Hmm. I hate to break it to you, but this past year you’ve spent several thousand on hair gel.” 

The more you thought about how much volume was in a typical container of hair gel, the more you wanted to break into laughter at how your partner was likely dousing his whole being in it. He had only so much hair and the idea of investing so much into it seemed ludicrous. Yes, it was nice hair, but how much product did he realistically need? 

Although silence was not uncommon for the Ice Dragon Boss, you still grew a bit nervous. He finally sighed and slightly dropped his shoulders, “I didn’t think I was that bad. It’s just that this brand I use now is imported from the Middle East with essential oils and...has extra holding strength.” 

No matter what, you could not laugh. You were biting down on your tongue so hard that you were sure that it was going to rip off. The way he was being so bashful about damned hair product made it morally painful to make fun of him. 

“...I can start using generic again, if you want me to.” He offered despite the obvious frown on his pale visage, eyes seeming pained at the idea of using low-quality gel. 

Although this entire situation was meant to minimize his extravagant spending, you did not have the heart to take this away from him. Damn it all, Soryu is a mobster boss and he deserves proper hair gel!

You reached forward for one of his hands and he easily allowed it. Rubbing soothing circles onto the back of his hand, you shake your head, “I won’t take this away from you. There are worst ways to spend your money like on cocaine or gambling which I’m sure Mamoru does.” 

Soryu seemed to flinch at the mentioning of his faux arch-nemesis but ultimately softened at your display of affection. “I’ll try to get help one day.”

[emberglowfox]

hi my name is boo boo the fool and i decided that literal midnight was the best time to try my hand at writing the sick supehero au that i totally fell in love with

ill prolly draw some stuff for this too once i manage to pry some free time back from life’s clammy hands

@actualbird @pastelmogar​

enjoy, i guess? haha

It had started with an accident.

Jeremy swears that he didn’t mean to take anything. He just has a bad habit of sticking things in his jacket pockets and forgetting about them, and unfortunately ‘a bottle of Mountain Dew that he definitely did not pay for’ falls under the category of things. He’d just been browsing the local gas station on the corner of the street, slipped a drink he was considering buying into his pocket, and walked out without realizing what he’d done.

He’d been all the way down the street when his clammy fingers had brushed the bottle, and he’d jolted with the realization that oh fuck, I just stole something.

Not that it was difficult, really. He doubted the cashier even knew he was there. He’d known going to the store on his own was a bad idea, but Jeremy Heere, King of Bad Ideas, had done it anyways.

He’d been so caught up in his morose ‘Guess I’m a villain now’ spiel that he’d failed to notice the figure behind him, watching him with a beady pair of ice-blue eyes.

Mistake number one.

“That’s an interesting power you’ve got there,” the figure had said, and Jeremy, articulate as ever, had spun around and asked, “Y-you can see me?”

“I can,” the figure had said.

“Who are you?” Jeremy had demanded, definitely not shaking and attempting to hide the stolen bottle behind his back.

“I’m many things,” the figure had said, tilting their head thoughtfully. “But you can call me the Squip, if that is what you wish.”

Jeremy, who’d been bleary from being up studying for a few nights in a row- possible also the reason he’d taken the bottle in the first place- had failed to connect that name with the name of the mysterious supervillain sweeping through the city like a plague.

Mistake number two.

“You know, your power is an incredible gift,” the Squip had said, and Jeremy had swallowed and looked at the ground.

“It- It’s really not.”

“Is it not? The ability to be seen whenever you wish and only then? Is that not a powerful ability?” The Squip had said.

“Nobody ever sees me,” Jeremy had said.

“Do you want them to see you, really?” The Squip had asked.

Jeremy hadn’t been able to answer that question. The one person who’d always been able to see him- Michael- was probably the only person who wouldn’t grind him into the ground for simply existing. Did he really want to be seen?

“You know,” the Squip had said. “That ability of yours… If you really do want to be seen, we could put it to excellent use. If you truly want to be known by all,”

Jeremy, in the darkness, had been unable to see the malicious smile that had formed on the shadowy figure’s face.

“I can help you.”

“What’s the catch?” Jeremy had asked, because nothing came for free. He knew that even before he’d slipped and fallen headfirst into the world of supervillainy.

“No catch,” the Squip had said. “You’ve already proven yourself.”

Jeremy had glanced at the bottle in his hands, then back up at the figure.

“And if I accept… Everyone will know my name.”

“Every single person in this city. You have my word.”

Jeremy, the fool that he was, had accepted.

-----

Jeremy whoops as he guns it down the street, the Squip trotting at his side and Comedy sprinting at the other. In his backpack, he can feel the weight of a few snack packs and several thousand dollars worth of bills. Comedy carries the same amount, if not more.

It’s the usual routine tonight; no grand heists or scheming, just hitting the local gas stations and grocery stores and running off with whatever loot they can jam into their backpacks. It’s the last heist of the night, so the Squip has informed him to put on his mask.

The tragedy mask, a thin white half-mask that Jeremy can only assume is made of metal, covers half of his face with a sad frown. It’s fitting, really. It’s a part of his costume, but he only wears it when he wants to be seen. When he wants everyone to see him and know his name.

A part of him, deep inside, twists in sickening agony, shrieking at him that what he’s doing is wrong, wrong, wrong. But that’s just what he’s been trained to think. Jeremy knows that. The Squip’s told him so, time and time again.

The Squip whistles and Jeremy catches a glimpse of the sleek black car that pulls up like a dog running to its master. As the Squip slides into the front seat, Jeremy and Comedy hurl themselves into the backseat and slam the doors behind him.

“Drive, Squip, drive!” Comedy howls, although they both know that now they’re not in any real danger of getting caught. Once they’re to the getaway car- lovingly and ironically dubbed the Batmobile- the cops can’t touch them.

The Squip tsks indignantly, icy blue eyes flashing dangerously in the rearview mirror, but presses down on the gas. The car shoots from its stopped position with a screech, slamming both Jeremy and Comedy into the seats with the force of its acceleration.

Outside of the tinted windows, the city bleeds into a blur of crooked shadows and bright streetlights, as well as the occasional red-blue flashes and wails of police cars trying in vain to drag them out of their ecstasy.

“How much did you get?” Jeremy asks Comedy, who has his legs kicked up on the seat in front of him- no small feat, considering his stature and the dimensions of the Squip’s car. Comedy is short- shorter than Jeremy, easily, with light brown hair punctuated by a shock of red. It looks cool; Jeremy considered getting a stripe of his own, maybe blue, but what if Michael noticed? What if Michael saw?

“Not much,” Comedy says. Even under his mask, a grinning plate which mirrors Jeremy’s own, Jeremy can catch his crooked grin.

“I got a thing or two of booze from the Publix. Want some?”

“No drinking on the job,” the Squip says from the front seat, and the frosty underlying threat is enough to make Comedy go tense and shove the bottle he’d began to pull out back in.

For a moment, there’s silence, before Jeremy asks, “Gummy bears?”

“Fuck yeah, hand ‘em over,” Comedy says, and Jeremy tosses him a few packets of Haribo he’d snagged in his earlier practice run.

“I hope you’re not wasting our time with stealing gummy bears, Tragedy,” the Squip says. Jeremy has to force himself to speak.

“I stole them on my own time, Boss.”

That’s thankfully enough to keep the Squip off of him, and he breathes an almost silent sigh of relief.

“What in the-”

The car swerves, and Jeremy barely has time to latch onto the seat in front of him as the world tilts dangerously sharply. The Squip, thankfully, does not flip the car, but they do skid to a less-than-graceful stop.

The Squip swears angrily and throws open the door with more force than is probably necessary, and Comedy and Jeremy scramble to follow. Confusion and a little bit of fear knifes its way through Jeremy; they’ve never had to stop, never been stopped, like this before.

As Jeremy steps out of the care and onto the pavement, fingers coming up to fiddle with the edge of his mask, he hears a familiar voice that makes his heart stop.

“Holy shit, I did… Not expect that to work.”

Jeremy’s head snaps up and he scours the direction of the voice, mind racing because no, it can’t be.

And thankfully, it’s not.

The newcomer, who presumably managed to get the Squip to almost flip their car, is not who he thought they were. They’re just a random strangle, decked out in a dull brown hoodie, a disposable face mask, and what appears to be some sort of weird blindfold.

“Another hero wannabe,” the Squip says flatly, and Jeremy internally cringes at what he knows comes next. “Tragedy, Comedy, take care of this.”

They step to the side with a flick of their dark blue cape, a ripple of bright blue static sliding across it and sparking at the tips. Jeremy waits for Comedy’s lead; Comedy’s been doing this way longer than he has, and he has the upper hand.

Comedy opens his mouth to speak, and the newcomer stutters, “Oh, fuck,” and rips off of his blindfold.

Of all the possible outcomes of this situation, Jeremy did not expect this at all. He’s not upset in any way. How could he be?

Staring at him is the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen. The very world around him pales in comparison to the sight in front of him, he realizes. Nothing else matters but those eyes and the beautiful person they belong to.

Where others’ eyes are simply brown, these are different. They carry the weight of the earth, brown like the soil from which men so desperately sought to pull gold. Jeremy thinks he can see it; flecks of silver and copper dappled across a sea of earthy tones. They’re beautiful, and Jeremy can’t think of a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for them.

“Stop,” the newcomer with the beautiful eyes commands, and Jeremy does. How could he not? It feels so right to do as the newcomer says. He’ll do whatever is asked of him. He has to. So he stops. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

As his lungs begin to burn, he sees those beautiful earthly eyes widen in horror.

“Wait- Fuck, no, I didn’t mean- I mean go! G-get out of here, and don’t rob this store again. And do all of your bodily functions, please. Holy shit.”

Jeremy breathes, air filling his lungs, and he does as the eyes say. It fills him with a deep sadness to leave them, but if it’s what they desire, it’s what he will do. At his side, Comedy leaves in a run, sprinting towards nowhere but what can be called away, and Jeremy follows.

He gets almost half of a mile away when the trance breaks, and Jeremy crumples to the ground like a cheap paper doll.

At his side, Comedy hunches over and stares at the ground, eyes wide.

“What in the everloving fuck was that?” He says, panting. Jeremy doesn’t know.

It’s a superpower. It has to be. Still, what the fuck kind of power is that? Mind control with eyes? Holy shit, that’s an overpowered ability if Jeremy’s ever seen one.

“Now that’s interesting,” the Squip says from where they’ve appeared behind Comedy and Jeremy, and Jeremy freezes. Oh, fuck. They left everything behind. The Squip is going to be pissed.

Oddly enough, they seem more thoughtful and upset. In the dim light, Jeremy sees the Squip’s permanently distorted form shift, face twisting into a thoughtful frown.

“Very interesting indeed.”

Jeremy had no idea what that would mean for him. He wishes he could have realized, and then the whole thing could have been prevented.

But… Could it really?

[krystalclearfashion]

Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt

I want to give a Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt shout out to the honest company back in february I ordered their prenatal vitamins I didn’t receive them and eventually looked through my emails they had been sent to my old house address assuming I forgot to update my address on file I figured it was my loss after awhile I recalled having a delivery to my current address here it is nearly may and I finally called the honest company it turns out that I had added my current address but somehow it was not set as default customer service made the address change for me and is sending me the prenatals I ordered back in february anytime I have called for help with an order the honest company has gone above and beyond to help me and btw the organic breathe easy rub has been a miracle for my baby’s chest congestion. Want to join opening night of springsteen on broadway this week bid on front row center orchestra seats plus invitation to the after party in support of the kristen ann carr fund here ️ the auction closes tomorrow afternoon. Why is victoria’s secret paying for tests on animals again animals used for testing live in small or overcrowded cages with little to do but wait and wait in panic and constant fear of hearing the cage door open because when it does they are forced to ingest or inhale cosmetics ingredients or substances are rubbed onto a raw patch of skin on their back or dripped into their sensitive eyes then they are made to suffer without painkillers for up to two weeks while these cruel tests are conducted and they are eventually killed please stop contributing to animal cruelty thank you

Source: Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt

Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Longsleeve T-Shirt For Men and Women

Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt

See more: Don't Ever Give Up Vintage T-Shirt

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So this is going to be a bit long but bear with me I had what I believe to be a pointless and incredibly frustrating experience with the assistant manager jamie at your auburn hills great lakes crossing location today I have been coming here for three years I frequent your orlando san marcos and new jersey locations as well at least once a year when we stop we usually spend 5 to 10 thousand dollars on your products the system is simple I go in park in a corner and bring bins to my corner sort them bag them move them to the front register and repeat today I brought a personal duffel bag as it holds about 8 to 12 of your bags worth of stuff I get told that i’m not allowed to use it because it’s policy not a big deal at all I say okay i’ll do that for the rest rather than rebag all of this i’ll just go up in line and pay for it and it can sit behind the counter seems pretty reasonable to me nope I got obstructed suggested that I might be stealing something and not allowed to pass stating if I don’t want to follow the system I can leave he then takes my entire duffel dumps it onto the floor and then rebags it into victoria secret bags then moves it to the front counter so it can be rang in I thought this was a little odd but hey he was doing all the work rebagging it so whatever i’m like dude i’m going to be spending about 8k today all I want to do is come in spend some money get out without any drama what’s the problem whoevers in charge should be thrilled with a sale like this we’re spending 8k keep in mind that I told him that I would do what he wanted and it wasnt’ a big deal and the response was to the effect of stop being lippy and just listen I told him what do you want from me I just agreed with you and said I would use your bags i’m not being lippy at all I know this because I said okay dude not a problem i’ll use your bags his response was maybe if you get to buy it i’m like what are you suggesting that an 8 000 order is something you guys don’t want he’s like yeah if you buy it i’m like dude we are spending 8k today why would I bag up a bunch of stuff and spend 2 3 hours picking our your fabulous product to not buy it anyway so I had 4 credit cards one card had 2 000 one had 3500 one had 2000 and one had 1000 because I am buying for multiple people I had 4 different cards all in my name I wanted one receipt for each card not a big deal to me right wrong again he cited some policy and said if the order is more than 750 items that they aren’t allowed to ring in under 750 items on any one receipt id like to point out that that amount is higher than your employees said they could take as a cash payment I asked him to please show me that I would understand better if I could just read it he was willing to do so he brought out the policy book and to my surprise what it actually said was words to the afffect of cash payments cannot be split up or over 750 items I forget the second half my immediate reply was so what’s the big deal im using credit not cash he snatched the policy book away from me at that point and said you know what you can just listen to me or I don’t have to let you buy anything it’s up to my discretion I then called your orlando outlet and your new jersey outlet and talked to the store managers and cited your policy I was given I asked them to confirm if that was accurate and both said if it was a policy it was news to them I then asked if they would let me buy my order using 4 cards and 4 receipts the woman at orlando said oh my gosh yes we do that every single day I asked if I went to her store if I would have any trouble with this in the future and was told no then she said you can always come down here if you’re in the area and i’ll be happy to take your order after that phone call I tried again here’s the video of that attempt I said listen I have 4 credit cards your register girl said you told her she can’t ring up an order under 750 items that’s 3500 if it’s 5 items not all of my cards have that much I have done multiple receipts every time I came here heck I can even supply them to show it he tells me that because I am order so many items that I can’t have less tan 750 items per receipt so I point around to everyone else and ask what about everyone else you aren’t forcing them to spend a minimum of 750 items what about the final charge i’ll have 750 items for two tickets but the leftover isn’t going to be 750 items you’re not going to let me buy them he shrugged his shoulders to say no at this point I haven’t yelled ive been a bit snarky and sarcastic because I know he’s just giving me a hard time two people ring in our order almost every time I am up there and we were there 3 times in the last 6 months spent a bunch each time so at 730 8pm or so we are done shopping assuming that two people could ring us up ended up being a fantasy he forced one employee only to ring us up later on he comes up when its now close to 9pm and says hey you mind if we ring you up on both registers I chuckle and say no I don’t but you do you don’t want to be breaking that 750 rule do you he glared at me and then sent the employee away and walked off after blinking a few times I laugh because after telling me over and over he couldn’t do it he just got caught trying to do what should have been done to begin with a short while later after 9 I find out that everyone is standing uip front except for the one girl and another associate because none of the rest of them are allowed to help her ring us up the only two people left in the store with about 700 more items to be rang in if that’s not enough since it was a holidy all of these employees are apparently being paid overtime to stand around and wait at a bit after 10 all but two girls leave and one girl is waiting to count cash while the other girl sits and keeps ringing stuff in we apologize profusely we expected two employees to ring us up like always and timed our visit to be out around 9 if this had happened instead of having one literally stand there and watch her for 1 hour and 47 minutes after close we would have all been out on time and no overtime or extra hours spent so finally at 10 47 pm our orders are done we thank the lovely girl lauren and jasmine who got stuck staying 2 hours past close because a manager made up some random policy and had to double down when I pointed out he really needed to follow that 750 rule when he was going to toss another girl on the register if this is policy fine it doesn’t seem to be no manager at your other outlets knew what he was talking about the orlando one insisted that the only restrictions are on cash payments and verified I was paying cash or credit it’s a pretty humiliating experience to get hassled trying to buy panties and bras by someone who’s on some type of power trip the only thing I said sideways to him was that I flat out didn’t believe his policy and that credit absolutely is not the same as cash I didnt call him any names scream at him or did anything to disrupt the store beyond what you see in the videos if this is not policy i’d like an apology from that manager in person or over the phone admitting he was mistaken I would hope that the next time I go there I am not hassled but if not I guess there’s always orlando or new jersey who seem to be quite friendly I also want to give recognition to jasmine and lauren lauren is the poor soul who got stuck ringing everything in alone because of the manager’s silly rule and not allowing anyone to help because it would be in violation of the 750 item rule jasmine was the cash counter who had to wait until we were out of the store to count cash even more interesting is that I had a former employee with me helping me buy and she said she never heard of this policy either but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t added since she left she was just as confused because the manager spent over 30 minutes trying to explain and defend this when that time certainly would have been more efficiently spent doing productive things instead of hassling someone who literally sits in a corner and speaks to no one while sorting through your products one bin at a time id love a call back about this or to find out what exactly is going on ive never been hassled like this before and it was a little frustrating and very trying to keep my cool joe rossetti alexandria gunn See Other related products: Walk Away I Suffer From That Disorder Where I Speak The Truth T Shirt

[usashirtstoday]

I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt

I want to give a I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt shout out to the honest company back in february I ordered their prenatal vitamins I didn’t receive them and eventually looked through my emails they had been sent to my old house address assuming I forgot to update my address on file I figured it was my loss after awhile I recalled having a delivery to my current address here it is nearly may and I finally called the honest company it turns out that I had added my current address but somehow it was not set as default customer service made the address change for me and is sending me the prenatals I ordered back in february anytime I have called for help with an order the honest company has gone above and beyond to help me and btw the organic breathe easy rub has been a miracle for my baby’s chest congestion. Want to join opening night of springsteen on broadway this week bid on front row center orchestra seats plus invitation to the after party in support of the kristen ann carr fund here ️ the auction closes tomorrow afternoon. Why is victoria’s secret paying for tests on animals again animals used for testing live in small or overcrowded cages with little to do but wait and wait in panic and constant fear of hearing the cage door open because when it does they are forced to ingest or inhale cosmetics ingredients or substances are rubbed onto a raw patch of skin on their back or dripped into their sensitive eyes then they are made to suffer without painkillers for up to two weeks while these cruel tests are conducted and they are eventually killed please stop contributing to animal cruelty thank you

Source: I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt

I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt, Hoodie, Sweater, Longsleeve T-Shirt For Men and Women

I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt

More than Awesome other products

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Face narsskin luminous moisture cream stick concealer soft velvet loose powder eyes black valley eye paint black moon eyeliner pencil via veneto larger than li a I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt eyeliner pandora duo eyeshadow iskandar eye paint brows oural brow gel brow perfector lips red lip mysterious red velvet matte lip pencil nihiwatu velvet lip liner nude lip stick concealer narsskin restorative night treatment. Glasgow king tuts show on tues will be supported by midnight lion miaoux miaoux tickets have gone very quickly if you would still like to come along then get a ticket before the night. So this is going to be a bit long but bear with me I had what I believe to be a pointless and incredibly frustrating experience with the assistant manager jamie at your auburn hills great lakes crossing location today I have been coming here for three years I frequent your orlando san marcos and new jersey locations as well at least once a year when we stop we usually spend 5 to 10 thousand dollars on your products the system is simple I go in park in a corner and bring bins to my corner sort them bag them move them to the front register and repeat today I brought a personal duffel bag as it holds about 8 to 12 of your bags worth of stuff I get told that i’m not allowed to use it because it’s policy not a big deal at all I say okay i’ll do that for the rest rather than rebag all of this i’ll just go up in line and pay for it and it can sit behind the counter seems pretty reasonable to me nope I got obstructed suggested that I might be stealing something and not allowed to pass stating if I don’t want to follow the system I can leave he then takes my entire duffel dumps it onto the floor and then rebags it into victoria secret bags then moves it to the front counter so it can be rang in I thought this was a little odd but hey he was doing all the work rebagging it so whatever i’m like dude i’m going to be spending about 8k today all I want to do is come in spend some money get out without any drama what’s the problem whoevers in charge should be thrilled with a sale like this we’re spending 8k keep in mind that I told him that I would do what he wanted and it wasnt’ a big deal and the response was to the effect of stop being lippy and just listen I told him what do you want from me I just agreed with you and said I would use your bags i’m not being lippy at all I know this because I said okay dude not a problem i’ll use your bags his response was maybe if you get to buy it i’m like what are you suggesting that an 8 000 order is something you guys don’t want he’s like yeah if you buy it i’m like dude we are spending 8k today why would I bag up a bunch of stuff and spend 2 3 hours picking our your fabulous product to not buy it anyway so I had 4 credit cards one card had 2 000 one had 3500 one had 2000 and one had 1000 because I am buying for multiple people I had 4 different cards all in my name I wanted one receipt for each card not a big deal to me right wrong again he cited some policy and said if the order is more than 750 items that they aren’t allowed to ring in under 750 items on any one receipt id like to point out that that amount is higher than your employees said they could take as a cash payment I asked him to please show me that I would understand better if I could just read it he was willing to do so he brought out the policy book and to my surprise what it actually said was words to the afffect of cash payments cannot be split up or over 750 items I forget the second half my immediate reply was so what’s the big deal im using credit not cash he snatched the policy book away from me at that point and said you know what you can just listen to me or I don’t have to let you buy anything it’s up to my discretion I then called your orlando outlet and your new jersey outlet and talked to the store managers and cited your policy I was given I asked them to confirm if that was accurate and both said if it was a policy it was news to them I then asked if they would let me buy my order using 4 cards and 4 receipts the woman at orlando said oh my gosh yes we do that every single day I asked if I went to her store if I would have any trouble with this in the future and was told no then she said you can always come down here if you’re in the area and i’ll be happy to take your order after that phone call I tried again here’s the video of that attempt I said listen I have 4 credit cards your register girl said you told her she can’t ring up an order under 750 items that’s 3500 if it’s 5 items not all of my cards have that much I have done multiple receipts every time I came here heck I can even supply them to show it he tells me that because I am order so many items that I can’t have less tan 750 items per receipt so I point around to everyone else and ask what about everyone else you aren’t forcing them to spend a minimum of 750 items what about the final charge i’ll have 750 items for two tickets but the leftover isn’t going to be 750 items you’re not going to let me buy them he shrugged his shoulders to say no at this point I haven’t yelled ive been a bit snarky and sarcastic because I know he’s just giving me a hard time two people ring in our order almost every time I am up there and we were there 3 times in the last 6 months spent a bunch each time so at 730 8pm or so we are done shopping assuming that two people could ring us up ended up being a fantasy he forced one employee only to ring us up later on he comes up when its now close to 9pm and says hey you mind if we ring you up on both registers I chuckle and say no I don’t but you do you don’t want to be breaking that 750 rule do you he glared at me and then sent the employee away and walked off after blinking a few times I laugh because after telling me over and over he couldn’t do it he just got caught trying to do what should have been done to begin with a short while later after 9 I find out that everyone is standing uip front except for the one girl and another associate because none of the rest of them are allowed to help her ring us up the only two people left in the store with about 700 more items to be rang in if that’s not enough since it was a holidy all of these employees are apparently being paid overtime to stand around and wait at a bit after 10 all but two girls leave and one girl is waiting to count cash while the other girl sits and keeps ringing stuff in we apologize profusely we expected two employees to ring us up like always and timed our visit to be out around 9 if this had happened instead of having one literally stand there and watch her for 1 hour and 47 minutes after close we would have all been out on time and no overtime or extra hours spent so finally at 10 47 pm our orders are done we thank the lovely girl lauren and jasmine who got stuck staying 2 hours past close because a manager made up some random policy and had to double down when I pointed out he really needed to follow that 750 rule when he was going to toss another girl on the register if this is policy fine it doesn’t seem to be no manager at your other outlets knew what he was talking about the orlando one insisted that the only restrictions are on cash payments and verified I was paying cash or credit it’s a pretty humiliating experience to get hassled trying to buy panties and bras by someone who’s on some type of power trip the only thing I said sideways to him was that I flat out didn’t believe his policy and that credit absolutely is not the same as cash I didnt call him any names scream at him or did anything to disrupt the store beyond what you see in the videos if this is not policy i’d like an apology from that manager in person or over the phone admitting he was mistaken I would hope that the next time I go there I am not hassled but if not I guess there’s always orlando or new jersey who seem to be quite friendly I also want to give recognition to jasmine and lauren lauren is the poor soul who got stuck ringing everything in alone because of the manager’s silly rule and not allowing anyone to help because it would be in violation of the 750 item rule jasmine was the cash counter who had to wait until we were out of the store to count cash even more interesting is that I had a former employee with me helping me buy and she said she never heard of this policy either but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t added since she left she was just as confused because the manager spent over 30 minutes trying to explain and defend this when that time certainly would have been more efficiently spent doing productive things instead of hassling someone who literally sits in a corner and speaks to no one while sorting through your products one bin at a time id love a call back about this or to find out what exactly is going on ive never been hassled like this before and it was a little frustrating and very trying to keep my cool joe rossetti alexandria gunn See Other related products: I Go Camping To Burn Off The Crazy Campfire T Shirt

[thatshighlyoffensive]

That’s Highly Offensive: 2018 Golden Globes

Y’all know I only wear all black all the time, so I find the fact that Hollywood is "uniting" against whatever tonight by wearing all black to be kind of a stupid way to pussy foot around the issue, but who asked me? This should have been a night when the carpet looked the way I think it should at all times, but honestly, a lot of stuff looked makeshift and cheap to me. And WHAT was with all the skirts-over-pants nonsense?? I thought that was over. Also, forgive the overuse of the funeral garb schtick but what choice did I have?

Wow. It's rare that the first look I see ends up being the worst dressed of the night, but Debra Messing has just taken the cake, eaten it, made another cake, eaten that, made another one, and took that too. I know it's cliché but MESSing says it all. #thefacesofmeth That emerald eyeshadow and those Elvira for Family Dollar false lashes!!  And WHAT is that dent in her forehead?? I’ll tell you what it is… bad Botox. Or Juvaderm. Or whatever expired baby bunny cartilage her dermo found in Karen Walker’s dumpster. Oh and also, she’s wearing the dress version of Liza’s putty kkk hood shoes and it’s  all HIGHLY offensive.

Kelly Clarkson- "From Justin to King Midas" if King Midas was a lizard...

Kristin Cavallari went as 1999 Oscars Angelina Jolie but with a ballerina's bun and I'm not ok with it.

I honestly have nothing bad to say about Tracee Ellis Ross’s outfit. The phrase ‘Charmin Noir’ comes to mind, but let’s not bc you know how much I love a turban/wrap!

Meryl Streep: You bore me to tears. I like your glasses.

It seems to be literally KILLING Giuliana Rancid that she can’t ask “Who are you wearing?” bc she is incapable of NOT pointing out the fact that she’s not asking that question to every person she's interviewed. And as always, she looks like the Queen from Antz but this year her skin is a particularly orange shade of Oscar Meyer all beef frank. She also has one of the most bulbous horse hair dino ponytails I’ve ever seen. She's like the anorexic version of Starla from Napoleon Dynamite. AND HER TAN LINES! I didn't know you got those from bottled self tanner...

Catherine Zeta Jones: I am still obsessed with CZJ even after recently rewatching Ocean’s Twelve for the first time since Cat and I fell asleep in the theater. Her face, her body, her dress, her earrings, her love for her thousand year old father in law… I am fully behind all of it!

Penelope Cruz: See above. #stunning

I don't know who this woman from Outlander is but I do know she better be on her way to audition at Tweetsie Railroad.

Connie Britton: NO.

Jessica Biel and J. Tim- don’t NO ONE CARE. I don’t know one person who watched ‘The Sinner’ (most people didn’t even know what I was talking about when I asked if they’d heard of it), so the fact that she is nominated is a testament to that Sexy Back money and nothing more. Just her talking about being a producer of the show is like… We get it…you’re the only one who would pay you to be an actress anymore. PS, your arms are fabulous.

Mandy Candy Moore: Olé!

Holy shit Diane Kruger looks amazing.

Unfortunately, Sarah Paulson is one of those I feel looks like she's in something cheap. Really cheap. Like she stole a leotard from the Xanadu Mourning collection and wrapped a table cloth around herself. And I can't say I love the choppiness of her bob.

Michele Williams- I’m still not over how ridiculous you looked on Dawson’s Creek, but your pixie has grown on me over the last few years but OHMYGOD what is that shelf in the back? Lloyd Christmas called…

Seth Myers looks like the singing sword and a foot had a baby and named it Cheremy.

Jamie Chung- First of all, why are you here? Secondly, you look like the winner of a ‘Grunge Bride’ themed stripper contest sponsored by Hefty in 2002. Those shoes….

Alexis Bledel- Let’s get this out of the way: I can’t stand you. You’re a mumbler with creepy Kewpie doll eyes and mouth. But as for what you’re wearing, GASP you’re not wearing solid black so you obviously don’t care about women!! But also, you must not care about yourself either because you look like one of Ariel’s sisters and Dionysus had a baby and it came out haunted.

Why is Dave Franco wearing so much rouge????

Alison Brie- Ok, you can channel Audrey Hepburn, I guess. Although her dress does resemble my senior prom dress from Cache. Oh wait- there’s a pants leg. You’re trash.

William H. Macy: Did Grubby die? That’s the only reason I can think of for Teddy Ruxpin to show up to the Golden Globes in all black…

Gal Gadot is clearly going to an audition for "A Chorus Line" after the Globes. Why else would she steal a maitre'd's jacket and cut it in half?

Saoirse Ronan looks perfect all around. I need all of it immediately, even though I’d look more like Bruce Villanche dressed in drag doing a David Bowie tribute than her svelte awesomeness…

Eva Longoria looks like a pregnant Sharpie.

It took me a solid 3 seconds & a glance at the caption to figure out I was looking at Halle Berry and not some mixed berry bag of Skittles from a prom themed episode of the CW’s Gossip Girl revival. And her bangs look gross and ridiculous. #whywontsheage??

I take it back: Reese Witherspoon looks like the pregnant Sharpie. Or maybe her daughter has decided to become a fashion designer and this was her first foray into an origami—inspired collection? #blacktobasics

Nicole Kidman (or Nicky Kickin it in the Moulin Rouge, as Jack McFarland calls her) looks flawless, as always. The one negative thing I will say is that I find flutter fly cap sleeves to be among the most offensive things in adult female fashion (mainly because the only humans that can pull them off are pre-teens, anorexics and Kate Moss (not that she’d ever wear them).

Viola Davis wins everything. Omg that hair and makeup and jewelry and dress. ⚰️⚰️⚰️

Did Zac-without-a-K Efron want people to mistake him for Milo Ventimiglia? Is that the reason for the mustache? Why is he even there? GASP! Are they already remaking High School Musical (because you know that’s in the works…) with him starring as Troy again?!? #prayerhands

Why exactly is Naomi Campbell at the Golden Globes, must less in a piece from the never-to-be-seen sketches Vivienne Westwood did for Guy Richie’s new pandering remake starring Madonna as Herlock Holmes?

Lily James- You are gorgeous perfection and I mean that because anyone that stars in a live action Disney remake is automatically on my shit list (I’m looking at you, Emmas Stone and Watson…) but what the actual hell are you wearing? You look like a Project Runway contestant’s submission on the theme “Maleficent’s entrance to the party.”

Octavia Spencer looks like the teacher who got to play Glinda’s role in a #metoo fundraising, high school production of Wicked after the lead was stricken with mono.

Greta Gerwig- I’m tempted to allow it, but only if you’re intentionally channeling Marchesa Luisa Casati.

Angelina Jolie- oh. my. god. I know I’m biased (as one of her long lost, adopted children she’s never acknowledged or heard of) but I cannot say one bad thing about this, especially since I’ve been in 100% Bombshell  Manual mode lately and anything with feathers or frills or femininity is giving me LIFE. #bestdressed

Elizabeth Moss: from Polly to Pollyana. Anyone that gets that is my lifelong friend and anyone that doesn’t please never talk to me again. But seriously honey, that waistline is not your friend.

Jessica Chastain- I think I love everything about this but am i crazy or does it make her look a little bulky? Tell me I’m crazy. I’m crazy. (Narrator: She was definitely crazy.)

omg Maggie Gyllenhaal is wearing the same Castle Greyskull, droopy-sleeve of wizard-vagine garment as Debra Messing! Is this a thing?? Gross. And those earrings are stupid too but I don’t know why.

Emilia Clarke is perfection (minus the bow but moving on) and I don’t even love GOT.

Geena Davis stole one of CZJ’S costumes from Chicago and i can’t say that I’m angry. I will say that I’m angry that the head designer at LOFT got hold of it and added a few of those filthy lace panels before she walked the red carpet, but since she still looks pretty flawless…I’LL ALLOW IT.

As always, Lena Headey looks like the drunk, badass aunt who was a groupie before falling into acting so I love her even more than when she gets drunk and sets people on fire on tv. The dress does look like something a goth would make to wear to a Renaissance fair, but who cares when she looks that cool in it?

I love Margot Robbie more than almost anyone in Hollywood today (even though she stole my life’s dream of playing Tonya Harding. Seriously, I’d started writing a short right before they announced that movie and I’m not even kidding), but I can’t say i know exactly what she was going for with this look… an Elsa-possessed mistletoe over her womb to subtly announce she’s expecting? A tribute to the portion of Fantasia where fairies ice skate to ‘Waltz of the Flowers’ as a nod to the ice goddess she plays in ‘I, Tonya?’ I’ve been staring at it for a few minutes now and can honestly say I have no clue.

Gwendolyn Christie- I have no idea what you are wearing but I do know that I am obsessed with your GOT character so you have my permission to do whatever you please.

Kerry Washington unfortunately looks like some anorexic basic at her junior prom. And those floral net booties are what a leprechaun wears to a funeral. wtf. Oh but her hair is on point.

Kate Hudson- Je refuse.

Chris Hemsworth can do no wrong even in a suit made from a brocade table cloth and VELVETEEN shoes so don’t even worry about it, honey.

Michelle Pfeiffer- omg i am heartbroken over how matronly you look!! As anyone who knows me knows, my mother could pass as your identical twin, so I take it kind of personally when you show up on the red carpet dressed as Marian the librarian’s widowed sister, Ovarian.

Zoe Kravtiz- Sweetie, it’s already been done and its name was Natalie Portman. A chunky, funky  emerald earring does make you look like Audrey Hepburn's edgy cousin though. Whatever- you still look gorgeous and I love you.

Kendall Jenner- There are so many things wrong with your look, much less your existence, but I’ll just sum it up with this: T. STRAPPED. POINTY. TOED. SHOES. Also, lay off the brow botox before you look like Debra Messing, or worse, Kylie Jenner. #gasp

Sarah Jessica Parker literally went as her character from Hocus Pocus attending a funeral.

Isabelle Huppert wins the night! Nope, spoke too soon. Her dress has those damned flutter sleeves on it too! What IS that? It’s trash, is what it is…

Roseanne Barr forgot to put a dress over her Spanx…

Ok, that's all I got. I barely watched any of the actual show bc I can't with most of those self important a-holes, so I can't comment on anything "exciting" or "interesting" that might have happened. Let me know if I missed anything highly offensive🥂

[kdfrqqg]

French Perfume Part 8

Crowley X Reader

Summary: Female reader receives a package from an admirer.   She also learns about her special gifts. This part of the story she and Crowley are together and parts may not make sense unless you catch up.

Warnings: angst, language, Dean being an ass, heavy petting.

Catch up: French Perfume Series

“Hello boys!” You announced strolling back through the War room from Hell like it was just a normal Tuesday or something. Your arms were loaded up with items that you swung on the table. “Sammy, here! These are from Crowley’s personal collection. There has got to be something on how I can control the siphoning.” Sam took the three large spell books off your hands, “we’ll get right on it, ok.” You nodded, grabbing up the rest of your things before walking down the hall to check on Crowley.

You knocked before pushing the half open door all the way. “Hey baby!” You cheerfully greeted and shut the door with your heel.

“Love, your back so soon. How was Hell?” His tone was almost mocking.

You chuckled as you hung his five thousand dollar suits next to your thrift store finds in your​ closet. Turning towards him, “Hell was fine, Jarrell sends his love. I do hope we weren't​ too mean to him on the phone, he was really sweet.” You pouted a little slightly changing your tone to a soft voice.

“Well I am the King of Hell and being nice to demons isn’t really my thing.” He explained.

You walked towards him and sat next to him on the bed, “I see. I guess it will have to be my thing since I am The Queen. They​ can love me and fear you. Deal.” You suggested.

His expression changed from playful to proud. He had only given you control of Hell less than a few hours ago and now you were already starting to think like a queen. “Deal!“ He pulled you into him, lips gliding over lips so vigorous and passionate then he quickly pulled away. “You, Love, are going to make a wonderful Queen.” He proclaimed.

“Someone’s feeling better?” You giggled.

He yanked the thick blanket back, that still covered his naked body showing you his hardening member, “I’d say so!”

You stood, “That is so not fair!” You protested his actions, with a smirk, not because you didn’t want him but you knew that you couldn’t. “Baby, please. You almost died because of me. Sex is off the table until we can figure this out.” You walked over to his bag and pulled out a pair of red silk boxers and a black undershirt and sauntered back to his side. You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, “Get some rest, I’m going to do research with the boys and I’ll sleep in another room tonight.”

“Love please.” He whined.

“I’m leaving now, Baby.” You said coyly, grabbing some pajamas out of the dresser before walking to the closed door. You blew him a fast kiss, which he caught and you left your bedroom.

You went to the bathroom and changed from your couture dress into your PJs before joining the guys in the War room. Sam and Dean both had their heads down on a pile of books, while Cas was skimming through another book. You looked at the clock on the wall it was almost 4 am, the night had gone by so fast, you really had no idea what time it was. “I guess you guys should be tired.” you chuckled. Both boys woke up and greeted you. “Did you find anything?”

Sam scratched his head, “No nothing but we’ll find something, (Y/N/N).”

“I know. I was just kinda hoping this would be easy.”

“He isn’t going to love you once you stop siphoning him.” Dean argued.

“Really, Dean! I know your not jelious, but are you upset that I didn’t fall in love with Sam or someone like you guys.” You barked. As soon as you raised your voice, Cas quietly​ left the room, he hated when you two quarreled.

Dean’s arms flailed, “You could have had any guy you wanted. You could have chosen anyone else and I would be happy for you. Yes, I wanted you and Sam to be together but Crowley’s only with you because your intoxicating to him. One that’s gone, he’s going to drop you. Think all these powers you have gotten have gone to your head and you can’t see straight.”

“I can’t believe you. He loves me and I love him. Sam and I are just friends and at least he’s happy for me. I know it isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Ideal, (Y/N), Ideal! Nothing about this is ideal. He isn’t just a demon, he’s the fucking King of Hell. Why can’t you see that?” Dean raised his voice even louder. 

You were angry, you were about to punch him, “Well we all can’t be in love with an angel. An angel, mind you, who has probably done worst things than Crowley ever has.” You gritted your teeth bringing up the truth and immediately regretting it.

Dean couldn’t believe that you would go there. He stood up walking out yelling back at you, “Maybe you two are perfect for each other. You think he is going to make you his Queen, your wrong. He only thinks about himself.”

“Dean! He already has.“ This made him turn around, “You really think I’d go to Hell all by myself without some kind of authority.” He just turned around and continued to walk away, “Dean! Dean!” He just kept walking as you shouted his name. “Jackass,” you said under your breath. You turned to Sam “well you were no help!”

“I know better than to get involved when you guys fight and this is going to be WWIII.” Sam informed you. “I’m off to bed, we’ll work on this in the morning.” He gave you a sweet kiss on your forehead.

Your mind was a jumbled mess, your best friend was mad about your new relationship. You wanted Crowley to rest but you had to hold him and needed to be in his arms. You turned the knob and with your head lowered, you walked through the door. He wasn’t sleeping, you knew he wouldn’t be, demons don’t really sleep.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He asked.

You threw yourself in his arms, “Dean and I fought about us.” Holding back tears.  

“I heard the both of you yelling. I had feared he wouldn’t understand.” Crowley tried to calm you.

“I’m sorry to bring you into all this family drama.” You let yourself cry.

He wiped your the tears from your face, “I consider that stupid stubborn Squirrel as much my brother as you do. You and I are family now. He’ll come around.”

“Are we, meaning this relationship, are we worth it? Your demons are going to hate us together, and I can tell the guys don’t like to this at all. Sam is putting on a good show but I know better. Then​ we have to control my powers, I want you so much and we can’t even be together without me killing you.” He let you rant.

“Love, you are more than worth it.” His soft dark eyes looked directly at you, tilting your lips to his. “I can’t take you sad, did you open the gift I had Jarrell give you yet?” You shook your head no. Crowley started to move from the bed.

“Where do you think you are going?” You stopped him.

“To get your gift.”

“Allow me Babe.” He didn't​ protest, you brought the small gift bag over to him. You smiled, realizing he had never seen how your face lit up from all the other gifts he had showered you with. His eyes were locked on your face as you cast aside the tissue paper. You reached in and pulled out a long rectangular black velvet box. “Oh!” you gasped holding your breath, your eyes went wide, you had never seen a bracelet that shiny before. “Crowley, oh my…” Still not able breathe fully.

“I’ll take that you like it.”

“Like it. I love it! They can’t be real?” You questioned.

“They better be.” He joked.

“This is too much, Baby.”

“Darling, a Queen should have jewels. I have half a mind to have a tiara made, something modest, maybe a hundred carats or so.” He raised his eyebrow to you. “Here, let me help you with that” he expertly undid the safety catches and gently put the diamond tennis bracelet on your wrist. You looked into his eyes, your emotions took over you grabbed his shirt and drew him into you, his lips crashed into yours, moving at a frantic pace. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, you lifted your arms and then threw your shirt in the floor. It was then you felt it for the first time, all your hesitation, fear and anger from the day fell away, all you felt was love, his love, the energy was faint everytime you kissed making you feel like a head rush. As you straddled him, you knew it was wrong, but his lips and body felt so good under you. His hands cupped your soft supple breasts. As he felt you up, you ground down on his hard length arching your back and a moan escaped your mouth. “That’s right, little girl moan for Daddy.”

His words brought you back to your senses, “We need to stop, Baby. I’m draining you, I can fell it and you are already weak.”

“You can feel it, now?”

“Yes and we need to stop before I hurt you again.” You got up while he huffed a little but he understood. You slid your shirt back on over your head, kissed him good bye before walking to a guest room on the other side of the bunker.

Honestly, I really do want your feedback!! It may determine how I write my next fic.

“Give it to me! You know you want to!” Writer winks at reader.

MY MASTER LIST Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged.

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[sugas-kookies]

Cosa Nostra (Pt. 2)

Summary: You were just a girl who took some odd jobs from the Min Syndicate to make some extra cash. When Min Yoongi himself sends a request for you to come to his mansion, any semblance of your normal life gets thrown out the window. What sort of dangers will face you once you become associated with one of the biggest mob bosses?

Mafia!YoongixReader

Angst/Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 4k

Part [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] 

Preparing for the meeting with Min Yoongi was a thousand times more stressful that you could have possibly predicted. At first you had worried about how you were to pay for an extravagant get up for this so called “meeting”, given that you were knee deep in debt. Luckily for you, a random lump sum of cash had mysteriously made its way under the door of your apartment. You didn’t know what was more worrying: the fact that the Min Syndicate knew exactly where you lived, or the fact that they just so casually handed you over five thousand dollars in cash. You didn’t even want to think about how they got that kind of money.

Even with your newfound temporary wealth, you didn’t know the first thing about how to dress appropriately for a meeting with the mafia. Despite your uncertainty in shopping for a formal dress, you managed to pick out an ankle length semi-form fitting black dress. The back of the dress was almost completely cut out, the fabric ending just below the small of your back, and with a slit down the side of the dress to show even more skin. It was a little risqué for your taste, but you figured that this was the sort of thing that mafia people wore to things like this. At this point you were clueless, so you might as well look like a fucking goddess.

Besides shopping for a suitable dress and accessories, the days leading up to the meeting went rather smoothly, well as smoothly as they could with you being paranoid about the Min Syndicate probably watching you like a hawk as you worked your measly coffee shop job.

You sighed for the hundredth time that day, taking off your apron in the employee room since your shift was basically over. ‘I know that they’re organized crime leaders...but are they all this fucking extra?’  You thought, irritated as you hastily waved goodbye to your coworkers and left for your apartment. At least this time you weren’t leaving in the dead of night, so you didn’t have the paranoia of someone following you like a few days ago.

The initial fear of meeting the head of the Min Syndicate had faded after the first day. You had managed to convince yourself that he would have killed you by now if he had wanted to, and you were determined to not come across as a scared little girl when you met him that night. Danger be damned, you weren’t going to bend over backwards just because this mysterious Min Yoongi was a mob boss.

‘I say that now,’  You chided to yourself as you unlocked the door to your apartment, ‘but do I really think I can have a backbone against a mafia leader? He could kill me on a whim…’  You shook your head; having thoughts like that at this point wouldn’t change anything. It would just make you lose that much more control over the situation, and you needed every bit that you could get. You glanced at the oven clock in your kitchen and noticed that it was already 4:30, giving you only about an hour and a half to get ready.

“Shit, why did my damn shift have to run so late?” You grumbled to yourself as you hurriedly began to get ready for the evening. Within an hour you somehow managed to slip into your dress and made your face and hair presentable enough. It wasn’t the best since you rushed yourself a little, but you thought back to the words that the man who followed you said, “You don’t want to find out what happens if you show up late or stand him up.” Even though you didn’t want to be a complete pushover, you knew it was basically suicide not to take his advice.

Grabbing your keys, you hurriedly left your apartment and got into your car, entering the address given to you into your phone GPS. As you had suspected, it was in one of the richest parts of the city. You didn’t expect any less of a crime boss, but the idea of being in such a ritzy area with dangerous people mad you incredibly nervous. Regardless of your feelings, you began to drive to the location, but it’s not like there was much of a choice anyway.

It took you about twenty minutes to get to the location, which lucky enough for you left you with about ten minutes to spare. Even knowing how high end the area was, nothing could have prepared you for just how grandiose the place actually was. If anything it looked like the mansion was ripped straight out of The Great Gatsby, the house just seemed to drip with money as you pulled up the driveway near the huge set of stairs leading to the front door.

You had barely had time to get out of your car before you saw a man walking down the set of stairs to greet you. You stiffened, straightening your back to look taller and a little less fearful than you actually were. As the man approached, you noticed just how handsome he was; he couldn’t have been that much older than you, but with his flawless features you really couldn’t get a good estimate on his age. His wardrobe matched the luxuriousness of the mansion behind him, a sleek black tuxedo fitting to his toned frame quite nicely.

The man gave you a soft smile as he approached, “Hello, I assume that you’re Ms. (Y/L/N)?”

Blinking a little in surprise, you stuttered out, “U-uh…yeah I am. Why does everyone know my name?”

Apparently the guy thought your response was funny, because he let out a squeaky laugh for a few moments before replying, “Ah, since Yoongi is expecting you, naturally anyone of importance was notified. Please follow me inside, I’ll show you to where he is waiting.”

Huffing a little in frustration, you cautiously followed the man inside the house. If you had thought that the outside look spectacular, it didn’t even come close to how the interior looked. It was almost a place fit for a king, not some crime lord in a regular city. You couldn’t help but look around in awe as the man led you upstairs and towards a huge set of wooden doors.

He paused at the doors, his hands resting on the handles, “If I may, I’d like to give you some advice before you go in there.” You turned to him, surprised at his words. At first you thought he was just mocking you, but the look in his eyes showed the utmost sincerity.

“Why would you want to give me advice?” You asked, eyeing the man suspiciously, “I don’t even know who you are, how do I know that you won’t-“

“Kim Seokjin,” the man interrupted you, “But you can just call me Jin. I want to give you advice because you seem like an honest, good person, and I’d hate for something to happen to you because of a misunderstanding or a mistake.” He looked at you with such seriousness all you could do was nod for him to continue, “First and foremost, do not interrupt Min Yoongi, it’s a sure fire way to get him really angry. Second, make sure that you speak clearly when you do speak, because he will take muttering as a sign of disrespect. And last but not least, be as polite as you can, he will more than likely try your patience, but just go along with whatever he says.”

You frowned at the idea of just easily submitting to the man beyond the doors. You didn’t plan on picking any fights, but you certainly weren’t just going to simply comply with whatever outrageous demand came out of his mouth.

Jin saw the defiant look in your eyes and sighed, “I know the situation isn’t ideal but…just try, okay? I’d hate to be the one disposing of your body because you were too stubborn to listen to my advice,” With that, he pushed the doors open and gestured for you to walk into the room, closing the doors behind you.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the man sitting behind the large desk. He didn’t even say a word or spare you a glance, and yet his presence not only demanded attention but also respect. The man got up from his seat when he noticed your arrival, his face expressionless as he made slow steady steps toward you. You knew it was an intimidation method, and yet you couldn’t help but feel fear course through your veins as he approached. It was like he was a predator circling his prey, completely and perfectly cornered and waiting to be killed. He was dressed in a dark black suit with a vest and a deep purple necktie. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but there really was no denying how sexy he looked in that outfit; but even with his handsome visage, his dark eyes seemed to show the devil hidden behind his appearance. This was a man who would do anything to get what he wanted; this was the infamous Min Yoongi, living up to all expectations and then some.

“You’re (Y/F/N),” the man said, more of a statement than a question, “I have to say that I’m surprised you actually came. Usually people try to at least put up a fight coming here…”

Clenching your jaw, you glared him down to the best of your ability, “It’s not like I had much of a choice…why did you call me here?”

Yoongi let out a low chuckle, “You got some attitude in you… I like that. You’re definitely going to need it…” He paced around you, eyeing you up and down in a way that suddenly made you self-conscious of the dress that you chose to wear, “Long story short, I’ve called you here to act as my date for a…special party. Now that you’re here, we can get going.”

He began to move towards the doors when you protested, “Wait! That’s the only explanation you’re going to give me? That doesn’t make any sense, why not ask some other upper class girl or whatever to be your date? You haven’t even told me what I’m supposed to do! Either tell me the information I want to know, or I’m leaving.”

The man froze for a second before spinning on his heel and walked straight up to you, his body almost uncomfortably close to you as he smirked, “It’s truly adorable how you are trying to act like you have some sort of control here, little Miss (Y/L/N),” Yoongi’s smirk vanished as soon as it appeared as he grabbed your arm, his voice cold as ice as he hissed, “Let me make this crystal clear for you: I don’t owe you shit. You work for me and my syndicate, and you’ll do as I say, when I say it. Do you understand?”

You gaped at him, your mind reeling in fear. The grip he had on your arm was firm enough to get his message across but not enough to leave any marks, but regardless he already had you scared shitless. The pressure around your arm seemed to gag you, leaving you to only be able to stare into the deep, dark brown of his eyes that were narrowed in irritation.

“Glad we have an understanding,” His face relaxed back into a bored expression as he let go of your arm and motioned for you to follow him, not even turning around and waiting to see if you actually would.

You reluctantly followed, but with his hand not on you threateningly you gathered the courage to talk again, “I’d at least like to know a little of what’s going on. How am I supposed to do a good job if I don’t even know what the job is?”

“Damn you’re a chatty one, aren’t you?” Yoongi grumbled as you two left his office, motioning for two men waiting outside by the door to follow behind, “Like I said before, you’re going to act as my date at a very important party, so try not to do anything embarrassing. Stay close to me, don’t wonder off, and try not to talk to a lot of people if you can avoid it.”

‘That still doesn’t explain why you chose me…’ you thought to yourself as you followed Yoongi out of the mansion and into a sleek black Tesla. The car was so stereotypical of a rich asshole it took all you had in you to not start laughing on the spot, but you didn’t want to push your luck any more than you already had with Yoongi so you kept silent. As you got into the back of the car with Yoongi you took the opportunity to observe the other two men who filled the front seats.

The man in the passenger seat looked vaguely familiar, and it took you a minute to realize he was the same man who had stalked you on your way to the apartment a few nights ago. Now in a better lighting and a slightly more comfortable situation, you had more time to look at the man. He also looked pretty young to be in the mafia business, and far too happy for it as well with a shining smile seemingly plastered on his face. The guy honestly just looked like your regular happy-go-lucky stranger, save for the fact that from your position you could see the gun hidden in the waistband of his pants.

You couldn’t get that good of a look at the driver of the car since you sat directly behind him, but he seemed to be a little more serious than his coworker next to him. He had short silver-ish hair that was cut into an undercut; the color was unusual to see even on a regular person, much less someone who apparently worked as a chauffeur of sorts for a mafia boss.

Sighing, you nervously settled in your seat as the man drove off, trying to act as casual as you possibly could so that no one would notice how nervous you were to be in the car with three men who just so happened to be criminals. Your nervousness must have shown through more than you thought, because Yoongi side eyed you for a minute before stating, “If you’re worried about your safety, don’t be. It’s just a fancy party, nothing is going to happen.”

His words caught you by surprise. Was Min Yoongi, the notorious mob boss, actually attempting to be nice? You let out a small laugh, “Right, like being associated with the mafia isn’t dangerous to begin with, now I’m forced to party with them.”

The beautiful laugh that left Min Yoongi’s mouth made your heart do a flip, it definitely wasn’t befitting of someone who had a reputation for being heartless. He grinned at you before saying, “Oh you don’t even know, going to these events is the most dangerous part of the job, (Y/n).”

The joking smile on his face and his tone of voice made his statement sound like a joke, but the look in his face and the look on the other guys’ faces made you feel that there was some truth to their words. You nervously fidgeted as you watched the town race by out the window, trying not to think of every possible thing that could go wrong at this party.

You got so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn’t even realize that you had reached your destination until the driver got out of the car and opened your door for you. Reluctantly, you stepped out of the car and looked up at the building in front of you. If Yoongi’s place was a mansion, this place was more like a palace. You weren’t even sure if this was actually someone’s home or whether it was just some sort of public dance hall, but either way you could tell by just one glance that this is where the richest bastards in town gathered.

The driver nudged you slightly, jolting you out of your gawking state. You smiled apologetically as you walked around the car and stood next to Yoongi, wrapping your arm around his. He looked surprised at your forward action, but didn’t say anything as the four of you began walking towards the entrance of the building, the music humming faintly from within. The silence between the four of you was deafening in your opinion and you wanted to break it somehow, but you weighed your options and deemed it best not to say anything. After all, you weren’t here to make friends with them, you were just here to play the part of Yoongi’s pretty little date for the night, and that was it.

The men standing by the front entrance seemed to recognize Yoongi almost immediately, because they opened the doors as soon as your entourage approached. You were surprised a little by this, you would have figured that there would have at least been some sort of security check given that the Min Syndicate was invited. ‘Do they just have that much confidence that a fight won’t break out, or is it just that they don’t know what it is that Min Yoongi does?’ You thought to yourself, but you knew there was no way these people didn’t know just what the Min Syndicate did for a living. If anything it was probably their powerful influence that kept them from being searched like any regular guest.

“Stay close to me so that you won’t get hurt…” Yoongi mumbled in your ear as you entered the party. To you, it looked like any regular formal event that you had seen on television, so you really didn’t understand his cautionary words. Your eyes scanned the large open room, trying to look for any potential signs of danger, but you really didn’t see any reason to fear. Everyone was just happily chatting away or getting drunk on wine that was probably worth more than an entire year’s worth of rent.

Yoongi motioned with his hands in an indecipherable message to the two men who had come here with you. They apparently knew what it meant, because they immediately dispersed into the crowd, blending in so well until it truly was hard to see them. You looked at Yoongi questioningly but he ignored you and held your hand as he pulled you towards the dance floor that you just noticed.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” You protested as he continued to lead you, “You never told me dancing was involved, I don’t even know how to dance.”

“I don’t either,” He pulled you close to him as you both reached the dance floor, “All we’re going to do is just sway slowly like what every couple does at every bullshit dance. Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have appearances to keep up.”

“Appearances of what, being lovable?” You snickered a little as you rested your arms on his shoulders, your wrists crossing behind his neck as he gently placed his hands on your waist. Yoongi just blinked at you in response, but the look in his eyes told you that you struck a nerve within him. ‘Wow, did he actually just ask me here to make it look like he has a girlfriend? That’s...pretty sad.’ You thought to yourself as you both swayed gently to the music playing softly in the background.

“If I’m being completely honest, I needed a female companion to keep the rest of the females here off of me,” Yoongi shrugged, eyes scanning the crowd as you two danced, “Me being the genius that I am, naturally women are drawn to me. Although I suspect that my wealth has an even greater influence…”

You burst into giggles at his statement, “Wow, you make yourself sound so amazing and yet…so pathetic at the same time.”

The coy smirk he had on his face was enough to make your face flush a little, the close proximity of his face making you realize just how handsome he was, “It’s not every day people dare to call me pathetic, considering I have the power to ruin people’s lives and all. You’re truly a fearless girl, aren’t you?”

“Me, fearless? Nah, I’d say it’s more stubbornness than anything,” Upon his questioning look you elaborated, “It’s because I know you have all these resources and connections that I say stupid shit. I’m determined to not be some sort of little pawn in whatever games you mafia bosses play.”

He let out a low chuckle, the vibrations of which sent small shivers down your spine, “But aren’t you playing the role of one of my pawns now? You practically came running when I called.”

You frowned at him and shot back, “I came because I know when it’s appropriate to make enemies and when it’s not. Besides, it’s not like you asked me to kill anyone or put my life in danger, you just invited me to a party.” Yoongi’s eyes shined in amusement as he hummed in response, but he didn’t say anything more on the matter. Irritation bubbled in you, feeling that he was acting all cocky because he knew something that you didn’t, but you knew you’d never get any hints from him.

Yoongi opened his mouth like he was about to say something when one of his men, the one that approached you a few nights ago, taped on his shoulder nervously. Yoongi immediately let go of you and turned to the guy, annoyance written all over his face at being interrupted.

“What is it, Hoseok,” He said curtly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. The man, Hoseok apparently, leaned toward his ear and whispered something unintelligible no matter how hard you tried to pick up on what he was saying. Whatever it was, it seemed to be pretty big news because Yoongi’s eyes grew wide in shock.

Yoongi quickly grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side of the dance floor, “Something came up, I need you to stay right here for a while. Don’t move an inch, understand?” He didn’t even give you a chance to respond or ask any questions as he briskly walked away with Hoseok, leaving you in the middle of the crowd confused and alone.

“What the fuck was that about,” You whispered to yourself as you watched his figure disappear into the crowd. ‘How the fuck could he leave me in the middle of this party alone? I don’t know anyone, what the hell am I supposed to do…’ You thought angrily to yourself as you looked around for at least a refreshment table or something. What you did find was a pair of beautiful brown eyes staring at you from a distance.

You froze, not really sure what to do in this situation. Should you talk to that guy, should you ignore him completely? Yoongi had made out this place to be relatively dangerous, but you saw no reason to outright avoid everyone. You settled with flashing the stranger with a shy, sweet smile, unsure as to why he was staring you down.

‘Smiling might have been a dumb decision,’ You realized as the man began to make his way toward you. He didn’t looked to be a bad guy though, in fact he looked very young, definitely no older than twenty one years old. You watched as the man approached you, questioning whether you should stay and have a chat or run away and hide. There was really no guaranteed safe spot for you to run to even if you had wanted to and you didn’t really feel threatened by him, so you deemed it best to just stand your ground. You couldn’t help but secretly hope that Yoongi would come back quickly and get you out of whatever it was that you had even gotten yourself into.

[toastedwrittenthoughts]

Funny Work Emails.

I have a story to tell.

So, when I was working at a new publishing company, I found myself in a very interesting predicament. That being that I found my boss extremely attractive, but the man was a downright Prick and it was very hard being his executive assistant, so it kinda cancelled everything out. I had also been applying to jobs everywhere and had a few that looked promising, and after he caught wind of it, he offered to extend the contract that I was nearly finished at the company I was currently working at. He increased the pay, offered me a town car and my own driver, since sometimes my car wouldn't work and access to the company credit card. For what, I don't know.. Now, I have a friend and her name is Amy. I have known her since we went to university together and she and I have emailed each-other probably thousands of times. It started with school projects, boyfriend problems, planning date nights, work frustrations and so on. They would often help me by letting out some steam before the sides of my ears whistled. Until, I made the mistake of sending a certain email.

And this is how it goes.

The second I pulled into my spot at Leighton Publishing, my phone buzzed with my boss's usual morning email.

Subject: What I Need Today.

Coffee. Stephen King’s new book. Reports for the two o’clock meeting. Your signature on the employment extension contract.

You’re welcome.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I sighed as I thrust my phone into my purse as I unbuckled and got out of my car. I’d done my best to avoid that last line on all of his task requests, simply not addressing it via email or simply saying “I need more time to think about it,” if he brought it up during one of our meetings. And even though the sexual tension between us was at the highest levels it’d ever been, I couldn’t afford to let that cloud my judgment.

His overbearing sexiness was not a good enough reason to stay, and the odds of us having sex were slim to none. (Not that having sex with him was a good enough reason to stay either.)

After securing a copy of Stephen King’s newest book from Barnes & Noble and a cup of his favorite expensive coffee, I rushed inside the building and headed right up to his office.

I knocked against his door five times and waited for his familiar, “Yes?” before opening the door.

The second I stepped inside, I felt his eyes watching my every move, and I tried not to make eye contact as I walked over and set the book and the coffee on his desk.

“Is there something on your mind, Miss London?” He waited for me to look at him, and I finally gave in. “Any particular reason why you’re currently mumbling?”

“No, Mr. Leighton. It’s just—” I decided to be honest, to finally get this over with. “I’m not interested in signing the extension contract.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you referring to right now, or ever?”

“Ever.” I stepped back, waiting for his reaction, but there wasn’t one. His face remained stoic and he simply picked up his coffee and took a long sip.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you for telling me. After you settle into your office, I need you pick up my dry cleaning from Midtown. There should be fifteen suits and twenty shirts in my name.”

What the hell? “Would you like me to pick up anything else?”

“Not at all.”

I forced a smile and headed toward the door. “Thank you for being understanding about the contract, Mr. Leighton.”

“Anytime, Miss London.”

I left his office and took the steps to my own, quickly printing out the two o’clock reports so I could save time since I had a new dry cleaning mission. As I was stapling the first set of sheets together when my phone buzzed with a new email from him.

Subject: Something Else I Need Today.

My Jaguar needs to be washed. Take it to the place I like in New Jersey, ten miles across the bridge.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

Is he being serious?

I dropped my reports to the floor, barely getting a chance to reread the message to see if my eyes were playing tricks or me or not, because he sent me another email.

Subject: And Also...

I forgot to pick up a particular watch I ordered weeks ago on my way to work this morning. You’ll need to stand in line at Audemars Piguet on 57th Street by noon to ensure that I receive it today.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I slammed my office door shut to prevent myself from screaming. I had reports to write for next week, calls to make for meetings for our next quarter and a few companies to call about job interviews for myself. And he wants me to run around and collect his shit like I was a fucking intern?! Dammit! I paced the floor a few times before responding to him with a curt “Ok.” Then I headed down to the private parking garage.

I took the keys from the lock-box and tried my best not to think about using them to leave major scratches against his car, and I quickly slid behind the wheel. Instead of immediately heading toward the dry cleaners, I did something that would have made Amy's face pale if she saw me. I took his Jaguar for a half hour joyride first.

I took my time driving through the city streets, stopping for ten-dollar coffee and charging five cups worth to his card every time. Might as well use it, since he gave me the right too, and I have worked there for nearly 2 years and not once touched the thing. On my way out, I noticed a new line of fashion at the nearby lingerie store, so I took his precious credit card and purchased ten matching sets of overly priced panties and bras.

Screw him...

Still feeling reckless and far less professional than I’d ever felt in my life, I picked up his dry cleaning and tossed it in the back seat. I drove across the George Washington Bridge and sat in the back of a café for half an hour.

I checked my email and saw that my bastard boss had emailed me yet again.

Subject: Timing.

I refuse to believe it takes three to four hours to pick up an order of suits and a watch. Even considering getting my car washed, you should be back by now.

Michael Leighton

CEO, Leighton Publishing

I immediately deleted it and noticed that there were several other new emails in my inbox. Emails I actually wanted to see.

Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon all sent positive, personal messages that all read to the likes of, “Congratulations! You’ve made it to the final round of interviews! We simply need to verify your information and references. Afterwards, we’ll make an internal decision behind closed doors.”

I nearly jumped up from my chair, screaming about my pending freedom. I knew there was no way in hell that I wouldn’t receive a formal offer from at least one of those jobs, and since I was still awaiting to hear back from twenty more, I felt more emboldened than ever before. I felt like I could quit Leighton Publishing right now and leave Michael’s Jaguar in the middle of New Jersey for him to find by himself tomorrow.

It took all of one minute for me to realize that I wasn’t that bold. That, and I needed a way to get back to New York City.

Annoyed, I vented all of my frustration in a long ass email to Amy, and per her previous advice, I deleted it the second I hit send.

Subject: My Boss.

Have I already told you that I hate my boss today?

Sexy as hell or not, this pompous, arrogant, ASSHOLE asked me to pick up his dry cleaning the second I walked through the door. Then he told me that I needed to take his Jaguar to a car wash that was ten miles outside of the city, but only after I needed to stand in a never-ending line to buy some type of limited, hundred-dollar watch.

I honestly can’t wait to see the look on his face two months from now when I tell him that I’m quitting his company and that he can kiss my ass. KISS. MY. ASS.

All those former fantasies about him kissing me with his “mouth of perfection” or bending me over my desk are long over. OVER.

Your bestie,

Mya

PS—Please tell me your day is going better than mine...

SENT.

After driving around and retrieving a watch that dripped with the title TACKY MONEY WASTER, I head back to my bosses newly washed and waxed Jag and pull my phone out and frown at the lack of email's from Amy. Maybe she was busy and hadn't read it yet. Opening up my email, I sent her another one.

Mya

Subject: My email.

Did you get my email from this afternoon?

Your bestie,

Mya

After I got into the car, I heard a ping from my email, it was Amy.

Subject: Re: My email.

No...What email?

Your bestie,

Amy

Subject: Re: Re: Re: My email.

The one about my boss and all the shit he asked me to do today. . I would resend it to you, but I deleted it...

He’s so ridiculous, Amy.

Can I call you in like twenty minutes when I get back to the office?

Your bestie,

Mya

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: My email.

Of course. I’ll be waiting.

Your bestie,

Amy

I slumped in my office chair minutes after returning Mr. Leighton’s Jaguar to the garage. I didn’t bother bringing any of his dry cleaning inside, though. If he wanted those suits, he could go down to the garage and get them himself.

Now, more than ever, there was a huge part of me that wanted to pack up all of my things and never come back. Yet, I knew I couldn’t leave this place without personally telling him to go fuck himself first. I’d more than earned that.

When I’d finally let go of enough anger, I picked up my desk phone and dialed Amy’s number.

“Hey there!” She answered on the first ring. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not at all.” I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the two-month mark anymore, Amy. I really don’t.”

“You can do this,” she said. “This is just one bad day and I’m sure by the time you get home later you’ll feel differently. Don’t let him get to you. Ever.” There was a sudden loud banging noise in her background. “Ugh! Let me call you right back, Mya. The neighbors are being ridiculous with their music today.”

She ended the call before I could say goodbye, and I heard a ping from my inbox seconds later, knowing she’d sent me one of her usual “Stay Calm” emails.

I opened my email—expecting to see something inspiring, but the second I saw the subject line and the sender my jaw dropped to the floor.

Subject: Re: My Boss.

No, you haven’t already told me that you hate your boss, today, but seeing as though you’ve sent me this email directly, I know now...

Yes, I did ask you to pick up my dry cleaning the second you arrived to work to day. (Where is it?) And I did tell you to take my Jaguar to the car wash and pick up my thousand-dollar watch. (Thank you for taking five hours to do something that could be accomplished in two.)

You don’t have to wait two months from now to see the look on my face when you tell me you’re quitting. I’m standing outside your office at this very moment. (Open the door.)

No comment on your “fantasies,” although I highly doubt they’re “long over.”

Your boss,

Michael

PS—Yes. My day is definitely going far better than yours...

Oh. My. Fucking. God!

I felt all the color draining from my face, and I swear I didn’t breathe for over a minute.

I shook my head in utter disbelief, refusing to accept that I’d sent my rant to him instead of Amy. I refreshed my computer screen again and again, hoping that this was some type of joke.

A loud and sudden knock came to my door and my heart nearly fell out of my chest, but I didn’t get up. I didn’t make a single move.

The knock came again, much louder this time, and this time I heard his voice. “Miss London?” He knocked once more.

I slowly stood up from my desk and looked outside the peephole. Mr. Leighton was looking down at his watch, his face still impossibly perfect and flawless. His lips pressed into an angry flat line.

He looked up from his watch and stared through the peephole, letting his eyes meet mine.

I jumped back from the door and considered my options. I could open the door and listen to whatever he had to say, or I could leave through my office’s side exit door.

It was a no-brainer.

I grabbed my coat, my laptop, and shut down my computer. Then I rushed out of my side door and took the freight elevator down to where I parked my car in the garage. Thinking, It would just be a straight shot from there, right? Nope. Car didn't turn over. It gurgled and then puked. Shit. Thinking I could call A cab I take out my phone and remember that I had access to a town car, which, though I never used it, waited everyday out in front of the garage. Perfect! My driver eyed me suspiciously as I literally ran through the garage, but he didn’t protest when I begged him to hurry up and get me home.

I didn’t wait for him to open the door for me or wish me a good day when we arrived. I practically jumped out of the car and rushed straight into my building—making a beeline for Amy’s place.

“Amy?” I knocked on her door. “Amy!”

“Coming!” She swung open her door immediately and pulled me inside. “No need to bang on my door like that, Mya. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I think I just got fired.”

“What? How do you think you just got fired? You either did or you didn’t.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t get fired yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to fire me. He’s definitely going to fire me. Oh god, oh god, oh god...”

“Mya, slow down.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Speak English, slowly. Very slowly.”

“I accidentally sent him one of my complaining emails, a complaining email that was one hundred percent meant for you.”

“Was it worse than the one you sent me yesterday morning?”

“Way worse. I I called him an asshole and mentioned how I used to fantasize about him wanting to bend me over his desk.”

Her face turned red as well, and she opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of my phone ringing caught both of our attention.

I pulled it out of my pocket and damn near dropped it at the sight of Mr. Leighton’s name on my screen. Unsure of what to do, I tossed it onto her couch.

“Is that him?” Amy asked.

I could only nod.

“Do you plan on answering it?”

“No.” I stared at it until it went to voicemail. But then it rang again.

And again.

Rolling her eyes, Amy picked up my phone and hit ‘answer’ before tossing it to me.

“Hello?” I answered, my voice was basically a whisper.

“Hello, Miss London.” The sound of my name falling from his mouth made me take a seat. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I shook my head as if he could see me.

“Are you there, Miss London?” His deep voice sent warmth through my face, I felt shame. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not really...”

“Good. Where are you right now?”

“Oh, um...” I looked to Amy for help, but she was smiling, looking as if this shit was actually funny. “I just ran down to the copy room.”

“So, you’re still in the building?”

“You could say that.”

“I saw you getting in your town car half an hour ago.” There was a smile in his voice. “You’re definitely not in the building right now.”

“Yes, well...Is there something you need from me right now?”

“There is actually, I came to your office this afternoon because I needed to discuss something private and very important that pertains to you and me, but I missed you somehow. So, I need you to come into work an hour early tomorrow so we can have this private and important conversation. Can you do that?” I simply stared at Amy, feeling my impending doom take a large seat in the room.

“Miss London,” he repeated. “Can you do that?”

“Yes...”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.” He ended the call, and a large glass of wine was immediately thrust into my hand via Amy.

Shit. Shit. Shit...

She tried her best to distract me from today’s epic mistake by making me watch terrible Netflix shows, and letting me crash on her couch for hours, but it was no use.

As I headed to the office one hour earlier like he requested, I noticed his Jaguar wasn’t in his designated spot. Somewhat relieved, I took the elevator to my floor and unlocked my office—unsure as to whether I should start organizing my things for an upcoming termination or not.

Whenever he decided to bring up my email, I knew I was going to have to choose between three options when I responded. Plan A: Deny. Deny. Deny. Plan B: Deny more. Deny more. Deny more. Plan C: Suck up my pride, admit I was wrong, and hope he doesn’t fire me because I haven’t received an official job offer from anywhere else yet.

It has to be Plan A...

Just as I was about to sit down, my desk phone rang and his office number appeared on the screen. Taking a deep breath, I picked up the receiver. “Yes, Mr. Leighton?”

“Come up to my office.” He hung up without a single word, leaving me confused.

I locked my purse in my drawer and took the steps, knocking three times until his familiar, “Yes?” greeted me and made me open the door.

He was sitting in his chair, his back facing me. At the sound of my heels clacking against the floor, he slowly spun around, like some type of Bond villain.

His suit today was one I hadn’t seen before, a dark grey one that perfectly complemented the new silver watch on his wrist. The watch he’d far too recently made me stand in line to get.

“Have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in front of his desk.

I sat down and he picked up his coffee, taking a long sip.

“You know, Miss London,” He emphasized every syllable of my name. “I honestly thought you and I were on better terms, especially after working together for over 2 years. But it seems I was clearly mistaken.”

He looked as if he was waiting for some type of explanation in regards to my email, and I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to go for Plan A, B, or C. As if he could sense that I was weighing my options, his lips curved up into a smirk.

I tried to avert my gaze away, even for a second, but I couldn’t look away from him at all.

“Are you going to say something?” he asked. “Or are you going to continue sitting there as if you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“Is this about me leaving early yesterday?” I settled on Plan A. “I was feeling a little ill, that’s all.”

“This is about a particularly inappropriate email where you make a mention of me fucking you.”

My cheeks were on fire and I knew he wasn’t going to let me avoid this at all. I wanted the earth to swallow me up.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words rushing out. “I had no idea that I’d accidentally—”

“This is also about...” he said, cutting me off as he raised his hand. “Me possibly needing to go to human resources and file a complaint. A sexual harassment complaint.”

What?

“Sexual harassment is a very serious offense here at Leighton Publishing, Miss London.” He looked me up and down. “I’ve had people fired for far less egregious offenses, and I technically should be doing the same to you right now as that would only be more than fair.” He didn’t let me get a word in. “Especially since I don’t think you fully understand why what you did was so offensive.”

“I do...” My voice was a whisper.

“Don’t you think there would be an uproar with serious consequences?” I don’t honestly know what possessed me to say the word;

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? No, definitely.” He adjusted his tie. “In fact, there would be such an uproar that I think the IT department would be forced to go through all the emails I’d ever sent on any company device since nothing sent on a company server is ever truly deleted. In fact, they’d probably have to investigate and see if this was a one-time offense or a particularly interesting pattern...”

I felt my jaw dropping and struggled to keep my lips together.

“I mean,” he said, looking somewhat serious. “Depending on what they found, they’d have to personally address me and assess the damages. And if the person I was talking about ‘fucking’ in my emails wanted to, I’m sure she could make my life very miserable.”

Silence.

He picked up a folder from his desk and slowly set in on my lap. “Three hundred and sixty-seven emails between you and your ‘bestie’, Amy.”

The first thought wasn’t, Oh no. It was actually ‘That’s it’?

“That’s this month alone.” His voice was clipped. “I didn’t have time to read more than a few of them, but I’m assuming we won’t be seeing anymore of these in our IT database. Or will we?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Good. I had them all permanently deleted. You’re welcome.” He stood up and glanced at his watch. “Those Roberto files are due before our morning meeting with Lockwood.” He walked over to the door and held it open, waiting for me to leave. What. The. Hell. Just Happened?!?

Avoiding his gaze, I stood up and headed into the hallway. I stopped for some unknown reason as a thought popped into my head that had me asking;

“Can I ask you something personal?” I looked up at Michael.

“Yes.”

“Were any of those stories in the tabloids from last year about you and your.. dates, true?”

“Some of them.”

“Oh.” I frowned. “Really?”

“What are you really asking me, Mya?”

“Is there any reason why you haven’t been featured in one for a very long time?”

“Yes...It’s because I haven’t done any of the things I used to do for a very long time.” He trailed his finger against his lips. “I promised my adviser I would tone down my ‘activities’ for the sake of the company going public in the future.” He paused. “I also happened to accidentally hire a very compelling and sexy distraction working on the floor right below me.” Wait.. Whut? 

“In other words, you slept with your usual groupies in private.”

“I tried to.” He admitted. “But I was honestly too damn attracted to someone else to waste my time on other people.”

“I don’t believe you.” I blushed. “There’s no way you haven’t slept with anyone else since I started working for you.”

“You should, and I haven’t.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I have no reason to lie to you. I even tried getting rid of you when you first started since you were such a distraction, but that clearly didn’t work out.”

“You were purposely being mean to me in the beginning to get me to quit?”

He smiled, silently confirming it.

“That is so...” I couldn’t believe he could look so genuine while saying that. “That is so fucked up.”

“It was.”

“No, is.” I looked into his eyes. “You still act as if you’re trying to get me to quit.”

“Sign the extension and I’ll be a lot nicer.” He smiled at me and I feel a small flutter in my chest. It was genuine. And I smiled in return.

“How about treat me better first and I’ll consider thinking about it?”

“How about both? I haven’t truly been ‘mean’ to you in the past six months. Demanding? Yes. Slightly unreasonable with the scheduling time and getting upset about you refusing to sign my contract? Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Fine,” he said. “But I haven’t been ‘mean’ to you.”

“You’ve just done your best to keep me out of your sight and far away from you, because... Why? I ask. He shifted a little before responding.

“Because you were thinking about having me as much as I was thinking about having you.” And I nearly moan.

“Is that so?” I echo, a small flirty smile gracing my face.

“Exactly So.” A smile spread across his face. “I was only protecting myself.” He let me pass and walk out the door with a simple, “See you at 2 o’clock.” I had made it to the stairwell before I hear him call out again.

“And if you have anymore questions, complaints and.. Other things, be sure to email me.” He smiled and walked back into his office. 

[starlitsequins]

Masterpost of historical Hamilton facts

oops my hand slipped so now i have a masterpost of little facts for almost every hamilton character. I tried to source most of it (or the ones not found in the biography), but take all of them with a grain of salt.

Alexander Hamilton:

He tried to steal British cannons sick

He tricked New York into thinking he could speak to ghosts

He was thought to have drowned at the Schuylkill River and was announced dead to Washington by Henry Lee (not Charles Lee!)

He misspelled “Pennsylvania” on the Constitution

He supported the Alien Act, which was basically anti-immigration (which was kind of ironic)

He chided both Eliza and Laurens for not writing to him often enough (x, x)

He also invited Laurens to a threesome on his wedding night (x)

He loved to garden and planted dogwood trees, strawberries, cabbages, roses, asparagus, etc

He was actually very family oriented and tried to make time for his children

He hid behind Henry Knox when a British shell headed their way

Once he was so delirious with yellow fever that he agreed with Jefferson on something

I feel like the last bullet should be something really cool but i think you all should know that he carved a unicorn into his powder horn (just search an image. he was not exactly an artist)

John Laurens:

We all know he was super gay so I’m just going to list some quotes Hamilton and Laurens wrote to each other (x)

“Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.”

“You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent.”

“Ternant will relate to you how many violent struggles I have had between duty and inclination—how much my heart was with you, while I appeared to be most actively employed here…”

“I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.”  

He was possibly suicidal, as Hamilton wrote in a letter to him “…and have recourse, neither to the dagger, nor to the poisoned bowl, nor to the rope” (x)

He was sent to France to get loans and directly asked the king for money at a reception (where you were supposed to pay your respects to the king). He did get a ten million dollar loan though (x)

He was older than Burr. Think about that.

He spoke English, French, Latin, Spanish, and Greek

He kept on fighting even when shot in his right arm

Lee called for another round after neither of them was killed in the duel. Laurens agreed to it, but their seconds (Hamilton and Edwards) talked them out of it

When he got out of bed in Valley Forge, he would hit his head on the ceiling

Washington wrote this of Laurens after his death:

“In a word, he had not a fault that I ever could discover, unless intrepidity bordering upon rashness could come under that denomination; and to this he was excited by the purest motives.” 

Marquis de Lafayette:

He became an officer at age 13 and joined the army at 19

He didn’t want to be paid for his service in the army

He bought an entire ship to go to America

He was brought back to France, but then boarded a cargo ship disguised as a pregnant lady to try and go to America again. Not wanting the ship to stop, he bought all the cargo on it so it wouldn’t stop on the way to America

Once he, Hamilton, and Washington picnicked together beside a waterfall

He fell asleep with George Washington under a tree, using Washington’s coat as a blanket

He and Adrienne bought a plantation just to free the slaves

He was imprisoned during the French Revolution and Adrienne and his children joined him there

Adrienne died of lead poisoning, her last words to Lafayette being “I am all yours” (x)

Lafayette was offered dictatorship of France but turned it down

He gave John Quincy Adams an alligator because he didn’t know what to do with it

Hercules Mulligan:

Mulligan was the one to turn Hamilton from loyalist to patriot

He saved Washington’s life twice

One time a British soldier told him he was planning to capture Washington at his store so he warned Washington and he evaded capture (x)

There is a 17 year age gap between him and the youngest member of the revolutionary set, Lafayette 

Actually there’s not much about Mulligan

He was a pretty chill guy I guess

George Washington:

He started the French and Indian War by firing at a French force. It turned out that the French force was on a diplomatic mission, not a mission to attack him (x)

He then signed a document that said he took responsibility for the assassination of Jumonville (the leader of the French mission) because it was in French and he didn’t want people to know that he couldn’t read French. 

He died December 14, 1799, just before 1800 and missed the election of 1800. Whether that’s a blessing or a curse, I don’t know

He took Jefferson and Hamilton on a fishing trip once

There was a rumor that Hamilton was his illegitimate son

He had to borrow money to attend his own inauguration

The worst day of Martha Washington’s life was when Thomas Jefferson visited her (x)

Once, a dog was found on the battlefield which turned out to be General Howe’s. Washington returned the dog with a letter that was probably written by Hamilton

He also refused Howe’s letter when he didn’t address him properly (x)

Eliza Schuyler:

Literally everyone loved Eliza. She was known for her kindness

She and Martha Washington had a mother-daughter relationship

She was called “Betsey” by Hamilton

She was actually friends with Dolley Madison, even though their husbands were rivals

She had to deal with the loss of her son, Peggy, her mother, her father, her husband, and the mental breakdown of her daughter 

She thought that the government owed money to Hamilton so she waited for Madison to be president (who was more forgiving than Jefferson) and managed to get about ten thousand dollars

She helped Hamilton in his writing (including the Federalist Papers)

She wore a package around her neck that held pieces from a sonnet. When they started to crumble, she sewed the pieces back together

“I am so tired, it is long, I want to see Hamilton.” 

Angelica Schuyler:

Instead of growing jealous, she and Eliza actually grew closer over their love for Hamilton

She was married to John Church before meeting Hamilton

She eloped John Church because she was afraid her family wouldn’t approve of them

All of the letters between her and Hamilton speak very fondly of Eliza

She was also very close to Thomas Jefferson and she sent him…an urn??? (x)

Angelica was also friends with Lafayette, and helped him escape when he was imprisoned in France (needless to say, Lafayette got lost after he escaped and was recaptured)

Maria Cosway might have been gay for her?? You decide

“Now this will Come accompanied by One from the Most charming of woman, My Angelica, I love her so much that I think and am persuaded she must be beloved by every One who know her, therefore give value to every thing which Comes from her Or she Notices with her regard. I will think she has Some attachment for me and I value it much. My great fear is that soon I shall loos her” (x)

“You will soon have the pleasure of seeing the Charming Anjelica. I loose her with Much regret she is the woman I love Most, and feel Most happy with in this Country.” (x)

She and Hamilton actually did comma sext (x)

Peggy Schuyler:

Her real name was Margarita

She was very vain and sarcastic

Hamilton rambled about Eliza to her in letters (and the size of this one is way too long)

James McHenry commented that she needed to “please the men less and the ladies more” (x)

There’s one story where Native Americans and Tories broke into Philip Schuyler’s house and everyone ran upstairs but they forgot a baby, Catherine, downstairs. Peggy went to get her and was confronted by a Native American, who asked where Philip Schuyler was. Peggy said he went to warn the town, so the men fled, but one threw a tomahawk at her, which missed and hit a banister. The mark’s still there today.

Thomas Jefferson:

He told everyone how Hamilton manipulated Washington into siding with him when, in reality, Washington just liked Hamilton more

He and James Madion were very interested in biology and once they met up together at Monticello to watch an eclipse (x)

Jefferson also loved architecture (x)

He was very socially awkward 

He delivered his inauguration speech so quietly only a few could even hear it 

He had a headache after behaving awkwardly in front of a girl

There was a twelve year age difference between him and Hamilton

He broke his wrist jumping over a fence to impress a girl (probably Maria Cosway). He wrote a long love letter to her using just his left hand (x) 

He loved macaroni and cheese and helped popularize it in the us. He had a diagram for a macaroni machine

HE ORDERED 70 POUNDS OF MACARONI IN TWO MONTHS (x) 

Not many people shared his love for it though…”Dined at the President’s – … Dinner not as elegant as when we dined before. [Among other dishes] a pie called macaroni, which appeared to be a rich crust filled with the strillions of onions, or shallots, which I took it to be, tasted very strong, and not agreeable” (x)

He called Hamilton a “hypochondriac” when he had yellow fever 

He told Lewis and Clark to look out for giant sloths

James Madison:

Madison was 5′4 and Jefferson was 6′2

He was the first president to ask Congress to declare war

There was a “Madison Room” at Monticello because he visited there so often

During the war of 1812, when the British were going to burn down the White House, they stopped and ate his dinner beforehand (x)

Dolley Madison’s favorite ice cream flavor was oyster. I don’t know why that’s important, but it is.

Madison and Dolley were actually introduced to each other by Burr

There was an 8 year age gap between him and Jefferson (and a twelve year age gap between Jefferson and Hamilton)

Philip Hamilton:

He was the pride of the Hamilton family, with both good looks and intelligence. Hamilton had a daily schedule for him that included reading, writing, church attendance, and recreation

The duel was called when he and Richard Price taunted Eacker about a speech offending Hamilton in a theater. Eacker called them rascals, which was, at that time, was such an insult that it almost always came before a duel (I still dont understand that)

Hamilton first fainted when he learned his son was shot

Their eighth child was named Philip in memory of him

That sounds sweet, but Philip Schuyler wrote, “May the loss of one be compensated by another Philip”. Just…huh

Angelica Hamilton suffered a mental breakdown and would talk about Philip as though he were alive. Hamilton would do everything to help her and would send her parakeets because she liked birds

Philip is buried in Trinity Church along with his parents, but no one knows exactly where

Maria Reynolds:

She had a pamphlet written telling her side of the story, but it was never published

Her divorce lawyer was Aaron Burr

Maria was literate though mostly uneducated 

She apparently wrote a pamphlet telling her side of the story, but it was never published (x)

Aaron Burr: (or, more accurately, National Disaster Aaron Burr. Just read his journal.)

He tried to conquer Mexico and was arrested for treason (x)

He almost set himself on fire lighting a candle

“My umbrella hung heavy at my heart”

He had a knife hidden in his umbrella

“Have spent 14 shillings and 6 pence magnificently, i.e., like an ass”

He kept rolling off a bench on a ship trying to sleep

Referred to Hamilton as “My friend, Hamilton, whom I shot” 

His wife (not Theodosia) sued for a divorce which was granted when he died (x)

“Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me" is an actual quote from him but it’s less sweet when you realize he’s alluding Hamilton to a fly

well that came out a lot longer than expect. I just want to note that I didn’t address a lot of issues on slavery since it’s kind of hard to find clear information on that and I don’t want to get any of that wrong (but i think it’s safe to say most of the characters did own slaves). Again, please be aware that I might have made mistakes!