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discordantwritings · 9 months ago

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The Sand Dragon and I Pt. 1 (Dragon! Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: this chapter is SFW but the next one won’t be so still MDNI 18+, gn afab! Reader, Dragon Shifter! Sir Crocodile, the power dynamics are whack in this one not gonna lie, canon typical violence, Crocodile calls you pet

WC: 4.6k

Summary: You’re set to be sacrificed to the fearsome Dragon of the Sands as a tribute for your town. When you get down to the caves and get face to face with him however- you make a different choice.

Notes: this fic is for me ngl this is just me fully shoving my monsterfucking dragon loving desires onto sir crocodile and I hope other people like it

You knew long before your name was called that you were going to be the tribute to the sand dragon. No living family, you worked a non-essential job, healthy enough to make the journey to his cave- you checked all the sacrificial boxes. No one else seemed surprised either, very few people made the effort to even look sad for you. It was something that you were used to since you never made the effort to connect with anyone in your town.

You were independent- a symptom of your parents dying young and you having no family to take you in. No one else made the effort to help you, so you made no effort to help them whenever situations came up. You didn’t hate anyone, and no one hated you, but there was a large gap that you accepted a long time ago.

So when it was time to select a human tribute for the terrifying sand dragon that made his home in the caverns miles from your town- a ritual that happened once every 5 years to appease him on top of the annual gold tribute- everyone knew it was you. You had your bags packed at home already- not that you needed to pack much. The journey would take a day on horseback and as you strapped your bags to the horse’s saddle you couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

A sacrifice to be eaten, just like you.

A few people saw you off, mostly to be polite. A small token of appreciation to the person who was going to die so they could live worry free for another few years. It meant nothing to you.

The journey was painfully uneventful. Miles of sand dusting over craggy rocks with no other life in sight. You had hoped for something- anything- to keep your thoughts away from your impending doom but you never got that reprieve. So you stirred, and thought, and stewed until resentment and anger came bubbling up.

Why did you have to die? Just because your life sucked already? Because there was no one to stick up for you? Years of being alone suddenly tore through you- sadness hardening over into anger.

And then something else.

You don’t know what it is yet but it drives you to continue your journey until you reach the giant cavern opening jutting out of the dunes and rocks. You leave the horse at the entrance just underneath the lip of the cavern for some shade. Giving her your remaining water you leave her untied, hoping she’ll have a better chance than you.

It’s a long and dark journey down into the caverns below the desert, a single torch lighting your way. At first it was just rocks and sand lining the path down but soon it turned to bones and dented armor. You don’t look down for too long, knowing you’ll lose your nerve if you have to look at the discarded bodies knowing your skeleton might soon reside with them.

It takes you an hour, maybe, time is hard to gauge down here, to get to the first opening. Your torch lights only a fraction of the vast cavern but you quickly find you don’t need it- golden braziers line the stone walls and flicker with fire illuminating the space.

Initially you wonder if you were somehow transported somewhere else- because a place this nice existing in a deep underground cavern was vexing. The stone floor was covered in the most luxurious rugs you’ve ever seen. Deep reds, golds, and blacks overlap and you fight the urge to run your hands over the fabric. Mismatched furniture liters the space- all expensive in their own rights but seemingly misplaced as none of them are quite set up in a logical formation. A pleasant humidity hangs in the air and you look and see a small natural fountain in one of the far corners of the cave. On the opposite side of that there’s another tunnel that seems to continue down further into the earth.

What use does a dragon have for a living room?

“Seems like a little morsel has arrived at my doorstep.” A low voice echoes off the dark stone walls and practically shakes the ground you’re standing on. It’s hard to deny the deep instinct to run away- all of the cells in your body signal to you that this is a predator and you are prey.

From the far tunnel you hear the distinct sound of claws against stone and you know he’s coming. You hold your breath as a giant crocodile-esque head slides into view. If it wasn’t for the sheer size of this creature you think you could mistake him for a crocodile- the long flat snout and smooth scales resembling a mosaic across dark green skin. But the way the scales shine like emeralds flecked with gold set him apart. As his legs come into view your eyes are drawn to his front left leg. In contrast to the dark green of the rest of his body his front left leg from the elbow down was a bright shimmering gold. It almost seemed liquid the way it connected with his body but the way it landed with a hard thud with each step solidified its hardness. A deep gash ran across his snout, dull and long healed over. Bat like wings folded against his long body as he finally made the last few strides into the cavern with you.

It’s hard not to be in awe of a creature so terrifying yet stunning- fear overloading and loosing all meaning and giving way to appreciation. Colorless eyes lock in on you and his pupils contract into slivers. You truly and deeply feel like prey under his gaze.

“Your heart is beating so fast little tribute. Will you run? Will you fight? Or are you just going to stand there and let me eat you? I do love seeing how your little human brains scramble…” His maw opens and you see large, shining teeth- each probably as big as you. You’re not sure if a dragon can smile but you get the impression from his voice that he is, there must be something deeply amusing to him to see you falter under his gaze.

You don’t know what comes over you. That emotion that had puzzled you for the last day now rips up and into your throat, saying works your brain hasn’t even processed.

“What if I can make myself useful to you.”

Defiance.

That catches him off guard, his large head tilting slightly. He’s only confused for a second before he chuckles, a deep sound that shakes your ribcage. “Well this is new. And what do you think you could possibly do for me?”

And now your brain has caught up, desperately searching for good answers. “I can cook, I can clean, I can organize- I’m sure a dragon as important as yourself has much better things to do than worry about the day to day.”

There’s a painful silence as the dragon mauls over your answer, terrifying eyes dragging over your form. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“I have to admit, it is an interesting proposition.” He steps closer and lowers his head to the ground, jaws only a few feet from you. “It wouldn’t be a good life, serving under me.”

“It would be a life.”

“I guess it would.” You feel the heat of his breath wash over you. “If you ever underperform I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“I understand.”

“And you will do whatever I ask?”

“I will.”

“Then we have a deal.”

You feel like you’ve just sold your soul to the devil. In a way, you probably have. But you don’t feel bad about it at all.

His head swings up and away from you, standing up and nearly scraping the ceiling. “You’ll stay in here until I clear out a space for you. I’ll lay out where you can and cannot go and what your daily routine should be.”

You nod, knowing he probably doesn’t need to hear much more from you.

“Get some rest. I’ll start working you to the bone tomorrow.”

And with that he leaves you, thundering steps disappearing into the depths of the further tunnels. When you can no longer hear and feel the steps you collapse to the ground, exhausted from bargaining for your life. Every muscle in your body had been tensed and you work your way through your body, individually willing your body to relax.

This was your life now. You needed to get used to this fucked up situation very fast.

Gathering yourself you find the largest couch and drag it over by the fountain and begin putting together your makeshift bed. It was surprisingly comfortable and the sound of running water did a lot to block out your worst thoughts.

You shut your eyes and before you know it a sleep of sheer exhaustion catches you, dragging you down into unconsciousness.

You’re not sure how much sleep you got, there was no way to tell the time this deep underground. But you feel as rested as you probably could get under the circumstances and quickly move the couch back to where you found it before the dragon could come and see you’ve disturbed his room. Piling your stuff neatly behind a rock on along the wall of the cavern you wait for your instructions.

You pace the heavily rugged floor trying to keep an ear out for the distinctive sound of a dragon approaching. You don’t have to wait too long for some noise- but it’s not what you expect. You hear regular human foot steps echo through the far tunnel- are you not the only human here? Did someone sneak past you in the middle of the night? All your questions are stopped in their tracks when a man walks out of the tunnel.

Well, not quite a man.

He’s mostly human, standing on two legs with tanned skin and slicked back black hair. Dressed in an immaculate suit with a fur lined cloak covering his broad shoulders. But of course- there were the other features. You first notice his hands- one covered in green scales and ending in sharp claws, the other a molten gold molded into similar claws. His ears are longer and more pointed than a humans and across his face is a long dark scar. And of course you can’t miss the thick crocodile tail dragging behind him, the same deep emerald green scales of the dragon you faced yesterday.

As he walks closer you notice that he’s still so much bigger than you- towering over your form by three feet or more. His eyes had the same reptilian slit to them as he looked you up and down.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d think you’d be remiss not to call him handsome. But the fear for your life drowns out most of those traitorous thoughts.

“Surprised to see you didn’t try and scamper off during the night.” His voice, while certainly not as loud, still resonates deep in your chest as it echoes off the tall stone walls of the cavern.

“I made a deal, I intend to see it through.” You make the choice not to look him in the eyes out of fear of disrespecting him.

“Good to see you have some sense. Here.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a rolled up piece of paper. You take it and unfold it and see a map. “This is your map of my lair. I’ve labeled the caverns you can go in and which ones you can’t. You step a single foot into somewhere you’re not supposed to be- I’ll kill you.”

“Understood.” You reply, looking over the map. You knew this place had to be massive but looking over the paper in your hand it was so much vaster than you imagined. Dozens of caves and tunnels interlinking, going over and under each other. It made your head swim.

“I’ll guide you to the important rooms so you don’t get lost. But after that I expect you to be able to navigate on your own.” He starts walking and you follow close behind as you try and track where you’re going on the map.

You travel down deep, following him as he quickly navigates the tunnels. Thankfully everything is lit by the same type of flaming braziers that are in the large entrance cavern.

“You don’t need to worry about preparing food for me- I only eat every few months and I eat more than you could possibly physically handle. You’re here to keep my lair neat and organized. Initial cleaning of the caverns I indicate and then if you do a good job- and only if- you can begin cataloguing my hoard.” He doesn’t make any effort to speak directly to you or to make sure you’re matching his pace.

“Yes my… lord?” It comes off more of a question as you quickly realize you have no idea what to refer to him as.

He stops in his tracks so abruptly you almost collide with his tail, but thankfully you’re able to stop just short. “This is the dry food storage, silly human foods that they leave as tribute. Should be enough for you to live on.”

You peek in, expecting a sparse and dingy space but are pleasantly surprised when you see all manner of foods. Beans, grains, dried fruits, spices, and probably more in the dark wooden cabinets and shelves. You only have that brief moment before he is walking off again and you hastily follow.

“Sir Crocodile. That’s the best name you humans have given me, so you can refer to me as such. My true name is unpronounceable for human forms.”

You nod, not like he can see you but better safe than sorry. Only a few tunnels later he stops again and points to the smallest cavern yet. It’s not actually small by most definitions of the word but as you gaze in you might actually call it cozy.

There’s a mismatch of elegant furniture piled in there- a dresser, a cabinet, a large bed, and rugs covering the stone floor. The bed is unmade but linens sit on top of it and even from this distance you know they are higher quality than you have ever even seen.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping and existing when not performing your duties. I don’t want you out wandering when I haven’t assigned you something.” And then he’s back to walking. You were expecting to just be thrown in a bare room but seemingly he put forth some effort… you’re not sure what to think about that.

The next stretch of your journey is long and you purposefully make sure your eyes don’t wander into any caverns you’re not stopping at. You focus on tracing your path, finger dragging along the rough paper of the map as you go.

“This is the last cave you’ll be allowed in until you prove yourself trustworthy.” He stops and finally fully turns around to face you. “This is my surplus- the stuff left to me that I deemed not worthy of my hoard. It’s been sitting and collecting dust for too long. I need to know what exactly is here and if I should keep it in storage or dispose of it. After you’re done cleaning the previous spaces and the tunnels between you can get to work on organizing and cataloging everything in here.”

To call this place a mess would be kind. Layers of junk and books haphazardly thrown into a cave that you honestly can’t tell the size of. There’s only room to get maybe five feet through the entrance before the wall of stuff is piled nearly as high as the ceiling. And on top of everything is a thick layer of dust and dirt. This might take your lifetime to sort through.

You turn your glance back to Sir Crocodile and realize he’s been carefully watching you this whole time, sharp gaze dragging over your body. Suddenly it’s ten degrees hotter in the tunnel and you force your eyes back to the ground. Did he purposefully make his human form attractive or was that just the default? And why did you even find the creature that could kill you without a second thought attractive. Stupid stupid base instincts.

“I suggest you clean the tunnels first so you learn your way. Then the entrance, food storage, and lastly here. You clean your room on your own time. I expect you to work at least eight hours a day- keep track with this.” That golden clawed hand extends out and you see a pocket watch settled in his palm. You reach out and take it, fingertips gliding over the cold metal of his hand.

“Thank you sir.” Pressing the small button on the top you find out what time it is- just before noon.

“Do your best not to make too much noise. If there is something so completely wrong you cannot deal with yourself just yell. I will hear. Just like I will hear if you try to leave, understood?”

“Yes.” Silence hangs awkwardly in the air and you look upward for a second to see him glaring down at you.

“Yes sir.” You correct, and his face returns to neutral.

“Alright, don’t make yourself too comfortable. I’ll check back soon.” And with that he turns and walks away, down a tunnel that you don’t have permission to tread into.

You let out a long breath, taking in all of the information he’s just given you. Using your map you (slowly) make your way back up through the tunnels to where you started. As you passed by the few spaces you were allowed in you couldn’t help but think about how much better this whole situation was than you expected.

Sure, scrubbing rock for weeks wouldn’t be fun but you expected much worse like cleaning his scales or butchering meals. You even had a space of your own that rivaled your room back home. Of course there’s no sunlight and you have the hanging threat of being eaten alive but you can’t help but feel a weird sense of relief. It’s not like you have anyone that you miss or responsibilities that you’ve left behind. This was just the newest (and incredibly bizarre) chapter in your life.

Well.

Time to get cleaning.

It takes you two weeks to clean the entrance, food storage, and the tunnels connecting them all. You worked more than your mandatory hours- what else were you going to do anyways, stare at stone walls? The work wasn’t fun by any means, dragging water to and from the fountain in the entrance cave was a serious workout, but there was something fulfilling once you were completely done with a space.

The entrance was the easiest given the water source was right there. You had taken one of the worse looking rugs and ripped it up to use as you cloths figuring you shouldn’t pester Sir Crocodile for cleaning supplies when you could figure out something on your own. Once everything had been as cleared of sand and dust as it could get you got to organize out the room- something actually a little fun.

You matched together furniture and set it up perfectly for gatherings. Not like there was actually ever going to be a gathering but at least your arrangement will never be messed up. You made sure to leave ample room for a dragon sized being to make it from the far tunnel to the exit- he probably leaves at some point.

The food storage wasn’t that bad either. You worked your way through it in between cleaning the entry cave and the tunnels, mostly when it was time to eat. There was a huge variety of food, most expensive and long lasting. It made sense, given that it was meant for Sir Crocodile and that no one would offer him anything less than their best for fear of being eaten. You were eating better than you had been in a while.

Throwing yourself into the work you could nearly forget why you were here in the first place. You hadn’t seen Sir Crocodile since he gave you that initial tour- you hadn’t even heard or felt movement deeper in the tunnels. Despite having no signs of him you could still feel his presence somehow. Every time you turned around you expected to see him standing there, judging you. But he never was. Maybe it was a sign you were doing a good enough job but you had no confidence in that.

No matter if your job was up to the correct standards or not you were onto your final task- cleaning and organizing the overstock. Far away the most daunting task. You have your bucket and cloths but honestly you have no idea where to start.

“From the top.” That deep voice comes from right behind you and the yelp that leaves you as you jump is mortifying.

You whip around and see Sir Crocodile in his humanoid form, clearly pleased with the reaction he got from you. He’s got a nasty grin, showing that his teeth are just as sharp as they are in his draconic form.

“I’m sorry sir?” You do your best to return your heart rate to its normal rhythm as you straighten yourself out.

“You were trying to figure out how to start here. From the top. Taking anything from the base even if it seems loose might cause the whole pile to collapse and crush you to death.” There’s a few terrifying seconds where you think he can read your mind but you shove that away- it was probably incredibly obvious how lost you were.

“Thank you sir.” It was probably simple advice but getting a clear starting point was relieving.

“Of course, I couldn’t have my new pet getting killed after they’ve done some decent work.”

Your brain struggles to process that statement, a weird mix of emotions swirling in your stomach at his words. You shove it all down for now- you can parse through that later.

“I’m glad my work is up to your standards sir. Was there something you needed?” Your hands grip your water bucket tight as his gaze bores into you.

“I’m just making sure that you are still aware of my presence. For a human though, you do seem pretty competent. You haven’t even tried to run away once.” He steps closer to you, invading your space. “Why is that?”

“I-“ You suck in a breath as you try and fight the urge to cower. “I have nothing to go back to.”

His pupils are narrow slits as they rake over your face for a few painfully silent moments. He then straightens up, barely exiting your personal space. “Interesting.”

He turns and slowly walks away, a clawed hand waving in the air. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

You finally exhale when he leaves the space, able to relax just a bit. Shoving down all your thoughts for now you focus on cleaning in a way that doesn’t destabilize the pile and crush you. It works for a while as a distraction but you slowly lose your focus and need to stop for the day.

It wasn’t until you were tucked in bed that you allowed your emotions to surface.

“I couldn’t have my new pet getting killed after they’ve done some decent work.”

It should disgust you to be called a pet. It should be dehumanizing and humiliating to have someone else look at you and see you as something so small, something they own. You search and hope that’s what’s churning deep in your stomach.

It’s not.

A shameful realization washes over you as the words repeat in your head, that low, terrifying voice somehow praising you while putting you down. You weren’t disgusted.

Heat pools in the pit of your body, a sick reaction you couldn’t will away.

You loved when he called you his pet.

You were fucked.

For the next few weeks your work slowed considerably. Not because you were less motivated- but because the overstock room had so many wonderful things. Sure there was a fair share of junk- broken porcelain dishes, rotting wooden statues, things that are so beaten you can’t even hope to identify. But the things that aren’t junk are fascinating.

You find trinkets and toys that spin and dance in ways you can’t figure out. Jewelry that despite being dusty, rusted, or dented was still gorgeous. Hand woven blankets and rugs that you could see the time and energy put in despite the holes and fraying edges. And then there were the books.

Most were non-fiction and on topics you could have only ever hoped to have learned about. From science to history to mathematics and everything in between every single page was fascinating. Every day you collected all the new books you would find and saved them for yourself later.

You’ve made yourself a reading corner in that cavern- cast off rugs and blankets folded and placed over the stone so you can sit somewhat comfortably. You fall back to only working your exact hours so you can spend the rest of your time reading. Pages old and new fill your head and you can only wonder that if these were the books dismissed by the sand dragon- what books lay in his true hoard?

“And what are you doing?” How someone so large continues to sneak up on you you’ll never understand.

You jump up, fear gripping your chest as he catches you decidedly not working. His face is decidedly unamused and you think that maybe you’ve really fucked up.

“I-“ For a second you debate lying, debate saying that you were thumbing through the pages to properly organize the book. But you aren’t the best liar- certainly not in the face of someone so terrifying. “I’m spending my off time reading through some of your books sir. I figured asking if I could read through some of your spare books was a question I shouldn’t have bothered you with.”

“Smart move pet.” Your body relaxes slightly, having made the right move. “What are you reading?”

That question catches you off guard, not expecting him to care. “Oh, this is a book on astronomy.”

“And is that interesting to you?” You can’t tell if it’s just his natural tone that makes it sound almost like an accusation or if he’s judging you.

“It’s something I never had the chance to learn about before so I decided to take the opportunity to educate myself.”

Crocodile nods, seemingly pleased with your answer. “A good use of your spare time. Just don’t get carried away.”

“Yes, of course sir.”

And like that he’s gone again. The conversation lingers in your mind until the next day when you come back to the cavern to see a plush chair situated where your rugs had been set up.

You can’t stop yourself from flushing as you look over your gift. You try not to let your thoughts and emotions get away from you, there was probably a banal reason he put a chair in here for you. I mean, sitting on the floor was probably bad for your back and if it was bad for your back then your work could be impacted.

It’s that and not that he might care about you.

No matter what, reading is a lot nicer when you’re not sitting on a stone floor.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #discordantwritings #x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #dragon x reader

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janananarei · 3 months ago

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Gojo x Reader

Alternative Ending To...

Part 1 , Part 2

Genre: Angst with happy ending :D

Warnings: none

a/n: the long awaited happy ending Gojo deserves after the pain I put him through. Sorry this took so long!

≿━━��❀༻━━≾ ༻✧༺ ≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

It had been months since you and your daughter's disappearance, but Satoru still feels the emptiness and pain in his heart. Ever since he got his six eyes back, he had returned to work at Jujutsu High, hoping that being a sorcerer again would distract him from the painful memory of losing his family.

It worked at the beginning. He focused on missions and paper works, he even got to catch up with his old colleagues and students. Ever since the Jujutsu world was short on sorcerers, Satoru had to cover more missions than last time. Travelling across the world and sleeping in luxurious hotels, but he would always end up dreaming about his wife and daughter. Everything reminds him of his family. He can't go on day without having thoughts about them.

Satoru was tired. He hated being reminded every single day of the grave mistake that he did himself. He wants to claw his eyes out, pretend that he never gave up his family for the gift of sight. He tried everything to forget about the grief for just one day. He even thought about dating again, but quickly forgoed it and hit his head for even thinking such idea.

It was another night of staying up late in the office. He was down to his last batch of reports when someone knocked on his door.

"come in."

The door creaked open and Kusakabe came in with a piece of paper. He placed it on the table, right infront of Satoru. "What's this? Seriously gonna make me do more work when I was already in my last batch?" He asked as he picked up the paper and looked at it. "Got this report just this afternoon, it's for special grade sorcerers only. I suggest you finish this one as soon as possible." Kusakabe said, walking out of the office and shutting the door.

Satoru scanned through the document. His heart stopped and his eyes widened when he saw the familiar face of a curse user.

xxx - xxx

A special grade curse user was seen in Fukui. Wandering around and "granting" citizens their greatest wish. Due to this, many people have gone missing. Most of the victims were connected to the people who had an encounter with this curse user.

Location: Fukui, Takahama

He is to be eliminated on sight.

'It's him'

He stood up quick, letting the paper on his drop to the floor.

'He needs to go now, he can get his family back'

He tries to teleport to Takahama, not wanting to waste time, but he realizes how tired he is from his lack of sleep. His mind is a bit fuzzy and his body is tired, teleporting would only lessen his energy more. He can't risk it, the curse user may challenge him to a fight. So he quickly pulls his phone out and calls Ijichi.

The car passes through many street lights and buildings before it comes to a stop. Satoru exits the car, "AJust wait for me here. I'll be back in a minute." He said with seriousness in his voice. Ijichi felt goosebumps up his arms as he only nodded hesitantly.

Satoru goes around the small village, asking residents around if they've seen the curse user. After walking and asking around, he ends up infront of an old looking manor by the seaside. He invites himself in, slamming the door open. The sound reverberates through the hall, as he steps inside to investigate. Floors creaking under his footsteps as he looks from room to room to find the wanted man.

"Ah. I knew you'd come here."

Satoru comes to full stop infront of an open door. Revealing a dimly lit room that has the moonlight as its only source of light. A cloaked man stands infront fo the room, his back turned onto Satoru, basking in the moonlight.

"Then you know why I came here for." Satoru grips his hands tighter as he walks in the room. "Why of course, it's the reason why anyone even dares to look for me. You're here for another wish." The curse user turns to face him, his face hidden, as he looks at Satoru's vibrant blue eyes. "You come here for another wish after you just got one! And you sacrificed your family for it, mind you. Sure humanity is greedy. But look at you standing here, with those once more vibrant eyes, you are the greediest one of them all!" The curse user slowly walks around Satoru- like a predator surrounding it's prey, making sure it won't escape.

"I came here to get my family back." Satoru said with finality, looking at the man in the eyes. "Ah, so that's your wish! You're family, of course! But sad to inform you, you can't get them back." The man stands infront of him, grinning at him, mocking him. "Let me explain further. You can't get them back because there's no other thing that you put a higher value on. Your family is what you consider your most prized possession, sweet aren't you? But sadly wishes are granted by taking something of much importance from the wisher." The man continues to grin at him

Satoru feels his patience running low, grabbing the man by his collar and lifting him up. The man tsk'ed, "Ah, ah, ah. Killing me would mean your family is gone forever. And you don't want that, right six eyes?" The man mocked, Satoru hesitantly puts him back down and controls himself. "There has to be something that I can give in return for my family. Anything!" Satoru said, desperation leaking into his voice.

The curse user thinks for a second before smirking. "There is one thing!" Satoru perks up, all ears as to what he has to say.

"Give me all your cursed energy and I'll bring your family back."

Satoru's eyes widens as he takes a step back. "Shocker, I know! what an absurd deal. Losing all your cursed energy would mean that you would lose all your techniques, prestige, and titles. You would no longer be acknowledged as the strongest, and you would be vulnerable to curses. You would lose all your ever worth. But that is the only thing that could take your family back." The curse user explains, looking into Satoru's contemplating eyes.Satoru feels sweat drops on his forehead.

Should he accept this?

'You must work to be the strongest. It is your only reason for living.'

'You are gifted. You must always be ontop'

'You are nothing without your limitless and six eyes.'

He feels his hands shaking.

Should he really accept it?

His mind wanders to a familiar memory, blocking out the voices. He hears crackling from the stove, and little footsteps approaching him at the coach.

'Daddy I drew something! It's a drawing of us three! This is you at the right, this is me in the middle, and this is mommy at the left!'

He looks at where his daughter presumes to be. He reaches his arms out, settling it on his daughter's soft cheek, he smiles at her. He hears your footsteps approach him, and your daughter turns to look at you. Proudly showing what she drew.

"Wow! That is so good! We should hang it up on the fridge! Nicely done my little artist" you said softly as you ruffle your daughter's hair and take the paper from her hands. You go to the kitchen to hang it up, as your daughter stays with her dad. Your daughter turns to look at Satoru once again.

"Next time, once you can see again, I'll show you what I drew!"

He needs his family back

Satoru snaps out of his thoughts.

He's made his decision.

With determination in his eyes, he stretches his arm out to the man. And with finality in his voice,

"It's a deal."

Satoru looks at the man, not breaking eye contact. The man stares back, amused, but he stretches his arms out and shakes Satoru's hand.

"How truly surprising you are six eyes." The man says. Satoru blinks his eyes for a second, but is then met with an empty room. No curse user on sight, it's as if he just vanished.

"Shit did I get scammed?" Satoru scratches the back of his head. He was about to leave the room when his phone started to ring, alerting him on an incoming call.

He pulls out his phone from his pocket and checks the contact. His heart stops beating for a second as he looks at the screen.

Wifey💕 is calling...

He immediately answers and puts his phone onto his ear. "Satoru! So glad you found your phone this time. Where are you? We couldn't find you the whole day! You didn't get lost did you?"

It's your voice

The voice that he misses so much

He feels tears starting to build up from his eyes- It's really you. You call him for a bit more before he snaps, "Oh-! Uhh yeah, sorry I just got iffy staying home, I'll be there!"

"Alright, come home safe!" He hears your voice one last time before you hang up on him. Satoru puts his phone away and tries to teleport to Ijichi, but nothing happens.

'Oh right, I can't'

He shakes his head and quickly bolts out to the car. The car door opens and slammed close as Satoru sits at the back. "Ah! O-oh Gojo-san, i-is the mission done?" Ijichi says in surprise as he was awoken from his nap. "Drive me to my house immediately!" Satoru says with a big smile on his face. Ijichi looks a bit unnerved but timidly nods and starts the car.

The way back felt so long, and Satoru wished he still had his technique just so he can teleport out of the traffic. But his anticipation and annoyance quickly stopped as the car pulls on a familiar driveway. He looks at his house, he can see light through the windows.

They're here, they're really here

Satoru waits no time until he gets out of the car and sprint to the front door. He gets the front door key from his pockets, jiggling keys heard as he fumbles to find the right one. Once finding and inserting it in the keyhole, he opens the door to a bright and noisy house.

"Daddy you're here!"

He looks forward and sees his daughter running to him with arms wide open. Satoru feels like tearing up again as he finally got to really see his daughter. She looks just like her photos, but so much livelier.

He kneels down and catches his daughter in his arms. Holding her close as he stands up while carrying her.

"Woah! How did you know I was gonna surprise hug you? Wait- daddy can you see me?!"

His daughter gets out of the warm hug to look at her father. Her surprised face slowly turns to one overfilled with joy as she shouts with happiness.

"What is all this commotion about?"

You enter the room after hearing your daughter's shouts of joy.

Satoru locks eyes with you before he gives a big smile and walks toward you. Once he was close enough, he puts his arms around your waist and pulls you close to his chest. Keeping his family close as he feels their warmth again.

"Satoru, wha-"

"Mommy, mommy! Daddy can see again!"

Your daughter interrupts you, announcing the joyous news. You look at Satoru confused before you see it- his eyes as vibrant as ever and filled with light. Your eyes widen and you cup his cheeks, leaning his head close. "Is it true Satoru? Can you really see us?" You ask, feeling tears start to brim in your eyes.

Satoru looks at you, and places his arm that was around your waist to hold your outstretched arms. He nods with love in his eyes.

"You're as beautiful as I imagined."

You feel a tear drop from your eyes as you hug Satoru close, squeezing him as hard as you can. Your daughter also joins you, and hugs her dad once more. Satoru feels his smile widen, as he returns the hug, holding you two close to him.

He's home

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾ ༻✧༺ ≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Taglist: @luns-exlipse @artist1936

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk fluff #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru fluff

136 notes · View notes

ceruleanchillin · 10 months ago

Text

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all.

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you.

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft.

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct.

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms.

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time.

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you.

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart.

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey.

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.”

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge.

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle.

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual.

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more.

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats.

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him.

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back.

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you.

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him.

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin�� mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him.

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members.

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again.

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy.

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break.

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs.

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn.

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes.

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that.

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.”

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment.

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there.

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him.

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back.

His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration.

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.”

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain.

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that.

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone.

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back.

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.”

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It’s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap.

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense.

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him.

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you.

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.”

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound.

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings.

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave.

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length.

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss.

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth.

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

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novella-november · 2 months ago

Text

Fantasy Discrimination, and The Implications

A post on my dash reminded me to share some more writing advice, so here is a very good article by @mythcreantsblog , about how to make sure you're not dehumanizing a species or culture in your writing, which is a good guide on how to avoid accidentally writing racist or ableist tropes:

In particular, I want to talk about the ever-present racist trope in a lot of fantasy and scifi fiction, and that is the decision a lot of creators make where the villains are not just a single person, a faction, or a kingdom -- *its an entire species* who is not only the villain, but are outright, inherently *evil*.

To start out, here's a political cartoon by Tom Gauld you've probably seen all around tumblr with the name cropped out:

[ID: a political cartoon by Tom Gauld, showing two identical cities and boats mirrored on a river, each with a purple or yellow flag; one side is labled "Our Blessed Homeland, Our Glorious Leader, Our Great Religion, Our Noble Populace, Our Heroic Adventuerers", The other side is labled "Their Barbarous Wastes, Their Wicked Despot, Their Primitive Superstition, Their Backwards Savages, Their Brutish Invaders. End ID]

This political cartoon is a very good tool for testing your writing for the trope of demonizing/glorifying your fantasy/scifi species.

Let's use a classic example: your fantasy setting is made up of the following species: Elves, Dwarves, Humans, and Orcs.

Your Elves are a long-lived, ethereal people who live in secluded, perfect cities, all of them tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, who are extremely wise and making plans that can stretch out over dozens of human generations, and they're the deciders of 90% of politics in your world. Your Dwarves are a short, squat, species who spend their lives working in forges, mines, and laboratories, tirelessly toiling (because they enjoy the hard work, of course!) and selling their products to the Elves who are their largest and wealthiest customer base; Dwarves work hard and studiously for decades at a a time to complete a piece of work in order to fufill the intricate orders from their Elven customers, which is how the majority of them provide for their families, working 16 hour shifts each day for decades per order. Your Humans are far more seperated, and often live on the fringes of what their longer-lived compatriots consider "Civilized Society", often living as Subsistence farmers and hunters, not out of choice, but often due to poor land and lack of resources; the wealthiest of Human cities are usually the capitals where the royals reside and may live in luxury with rich markets and high-quality products and running water, but the vast majority of Humans live in small, poor villages that must rely on traveling merchants to sell what produce and livestock they can spare from their farms in order to buy the supplies they need to live out another year. Your Orcs.... well, they don't really live anywhere, do they? Orcs strongholds can only maintain their grip in hellish wastelands where living is nigh impossible, with all food and water only obtained from outside sources; occasionally, Orcs will attempt to establish base camps in more fertile land, invading neighboring Human, Dwarf, and Elven territory to do so, who quickly unite to expel these vile, dark, brutish invaders lest they steal their daughters, destroy and taint all of the natural resources and steal the few jobs available to the Humans in Dwarven and Elven cities as manual labour and servants.

And Now, take a step back from this world, and take a long, hard look at these species (outside of humans who are just kinda there in the middle and the only ones capable of change because Humans Are Always Special) and societies and what ideas are being reinforced here, especially when the above descriptions are framed as Hard Facts which are both Just and True?

(archived read-more Here)

Elves are morally superior and are always Perfect and Correct,

Dwarves are happy to spend their entire lives toiling in the forges and mines to please their Elven patrons,

and Orcs are Evil Monsters who will rob, murder, and rape any hapless victim who comes their way, so it's better to slaughter them all on sight and kick them out of your cities and towns, and this is the 100% correct morally right choice every single time and the narrative and characters themselves support this?

Did you spot them already, or does the above just seem like a cool, fun fantasy world where Elves are the cool wise good guys and Orcs are the devil's army and can be used as canon fodder any time your main character needs to mow down some enemies for a Badass Scene?

Let's retrace our steps a bit, shall we, and examine this "perfect" world through a critical lens?

When your elves are all portrayed as Perfect Ethereally Beautiful Blonde and Blue-Eyed wise leaders of the civilized world, what idea is being reinforced here? Who does it harm, and what real world ideas is this mirroring and enforcing? Who is going to have their own biases reinforced by this narrative?

When only the longest-lived people are allowed to decide politics, what group biases are being enforced? Is portraying "young people" as "being incapable of making political decisions" as a correct, logical choice in your story something you wish to enforce? Are there any real world issues this trope mirrors?

When your Dwarves are all Happy Workers and Slaves, bound to and reliant on the superior Elves to live, spending the majority of their life purely in service to these Superior Beings while happy to do it, what idea is being reinforced here? Who might see themselves in the plight of the Dwarves and feel alienated and insulted by the Dwarves happily slaving away in the dark? Who might have biased ideas reinforced by seeing the Dwarves treated in such a way?

When your Orcs are portrayed as evil, dark skinned, brutish savages who will kidnap and rape poor helpless women from the "pure" species, when Orcs are incapable of creating anything of their own and can only steal, what racist messages are being enforced and upheld? Who are the real people and cultures being demonized when you perpetuate this? What real world peoples and cultures have faced *decades of propaganda framing them as such*?

If you spotted these harmful messages in the initial indented description, good job!

But if you didn't, it's time to find and read critical reviews and essays written by marginalized communities of works that include these damaging tropes, because if it your Evil Species are Weird Aliens, because when you characterize and describe your Evil Species, you are undoubtedly going to be drawing heavily on your own internal biases of what makes people Other and Wrong.

Are your Evil Species all dark-skinned, physically-strong and animalistic? Congrats, you have just regurgitated centuries-old racism that justifies slavery, segregation, and discrimination *to this day*

Are your Evil Species all nomadic ~cannibals~ who are incapable of creating anything of their own and have to loot and steal from others to have anything of value? Congrats, you are once again regurgitating racist propoganda that has been used against countless cultures and minorities for centuries.

Are your Evil Species reknowned for kidnapping and raping the women of your Good Guys in order to create Evil Twisted Halfbreed Offspring for ....uh, reasons? Congrats, once again, this is literally just racist propaganda being reinforced by your writing.

Anything you come up with to make your Species Inherently Evil is going to most likely be something that is weaponized against real world minorities that you are now reinforcing with your writing, from racism to ableism to queerphobia and all the ways they intersect.

How do you fix this?

It's incredibly simple!

Don't make an entire Species be Inherently Evil.

They need to be just as varied as real living people.

Your Species should not be a Monolith, let alone of *Evil*.

Your Species should not have their only "decent/civilized/kind people" examples come from ""crossbreeds"" [and this term itself should be used only by bigots as a deragatory term] or random orphans who were raised by one of the Good Species(tm)-- this is how your story starts advocating for *eugenics*, which is not something you want to do!

So, instead of having an entire Species be "Inherently biologically" Evil, consider instead:

Making your villain group diverse instead of all one Species.

if your villain group is a Species Supremacist, they're probably still going to have underlings and lower castes who do their dirty work, or have been taken in by the cult ideology.

Making the villains of this Species be a small fraction of a larger whole, who are part of a violent cult, ideology, or political party that not only puts them in conflict with your main characters, but also with the rest of their Species.

Having your main character or their friends be the same Species as your villain group, and they represents the vast majority of the Species, instead of hailing them as "the Paragon of Goodness who emerged somehow pure from of a species forged in hell" or anything similar.

You should also sit down and not only think about the harmful, racist tropes that would come from writing Inherently Evil Species, but also consider:

Why do you want to include an entire species of people who are inherently evil in your novel?

Is your novel gaining anything for including these tropes uncritically?

Does it make it a better, more interesting story to include these tropes uncritically?

What message are you trying to send with your story?

Does including these tropes uncritically in your story *undermine* your intended message?

Another trope in the opposite direction, is talking about "Oppression" and "Fantasy Racism" from the perspective of a character who is part of the oppressed minority, only to spend the entire novel talking about how your Opressed Class are Literally and Factually threats to the population that "discriminate" against them, usually by being rightfully wary in their prescence.

if the Oppressed Minorities in your story in anyway resemble the Orcs in Bright, the Predators in Zootopia, or the Khajiit in the Elderscrolls, where the Racism these peoples face in based on hard proven facts that these people have been and still are threats to most of the population..

... you're less writing a story about how "Racism Against Vulnerable Minorities is Bad"

and sound more like you're saying

"It's bad to be "mean" (afraid of) Nazis who literally want you dead and who can kill you with impunity and no consequences."

If you are writing a story about Fantasy Discrimination, and the basis of your Fantasy Discrimination is based on *cold hard facts that your narrative supports and upholds*, instead of actually basing it on and talking about what leads to discrimination in the real world

(xenophobia and the fear+hatred of The Other, economic gain, mainly),

then you are not making the progressive stance that you think you are, and instead are enforcing the ancient propoganda that racism is based on fact, that racism is "for a good reason", and you need to take care that you are not upholding this idea in your works.

TL;DR:

Instead of making an entire Species of people a trope of Wise Good Guys or Evil Incarnate, consider using *Factions not Races* for your groups, and think long and hard about the implications of your world's politics and how it mirrors our own world, especially in ways *you may not intend it to.* If your story is meant to be progressive and inclusive, but your villains are an entire race of black orcs who slave and rape the good guys species, you need to go back to the drawing board.

#long post #very long post #writing advice #rape mention #bold text #ask to tag #racist tropes #harmful tropes #racism in writing #tldr #tl;dr #archived read more

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storytowrite · 3 months ago

Text

|Veiled desires| ~ Yang Jeongin

————————————————————————

Paring: Yang Jeongin x Y/N

Genre: angst/fluff

Word count: 6048

Warnings: blood, shooting, murder, obsession, danger, stalker

————————————————————————

In a dark office, where the rising cigar smoke seemed to sting the eyes, two powerful families gathered around a round table. At the head of the table sat your father, carefully dressed in a dark suit, with a face that seemed to be carved from stone. Across from him was IN's father, equally elegant, with an icy gaze that betrayed no emotion.

The silence was broken by your father's heavy voice.

"I think we both agree that our common enemy has become too powerful."

IN's father nodded, taking a drag on his cigar.

"It's time for us to join forces. And I have a proposal on how to do it."

A grimace appeared at the corners of your mouth. You didn't want to hear it, but you already knew where they were heading. IN sat on the other side of the table, equally uneasy, although his face betrayed no emotion. He knew that whatever his father proposed, he wouldn't like it.

"Our children." IN's father said, breaking the silence. “Y/n and IN. They should pretend to be together. It will unite our families enough to weaken the rival. No one suspects such an alliance.”

You felt your heart start beating faster.

“You can’t be serious!” You exploded, no longer controlling your emotions. After all, you had been told your whole life that this family was horrible and that you had to hate them.

Your father looked at you coldly.

“It’s not a matter of what you want, Y/n. It’s a matter of our family’s survival.”

IN was silent, but his fists clenched under the table betrayed his growing frustration. He knew that defying his father was out of the question, but the thought of pretending to be in a relationship with you, someone he could barely stand, was like a blow to him.

You stood in front of the large mirror in your bedroom, staring at your reflection. You put on the navy blue dress that your mother had specially ordered for tonight. You were supposed to look elegant, flawless – like a girl who was in love. But there was no love in your eyes, only frustration and anger. This meeting was the beginning of a plan that had to be perfect.

A knock on the door tore you from your thoughts.

"Y/n, ready?" IN's voice was quiet, almost shy.

"Come in." You replied, not taking your eyes off the mirror.

The door opened and IN entered the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He lingered on you for a moment, but quickly looked away.

"You look... appropriate." He mumbled, not knowing how else to compliment you.

“Thanks.” You replied dryly. “You don’t look bad either.”

For a moment, you both stood in silence, as if neither of you knew what to say. The silence was too thick, too uncomfortable. Finally, you were the one to break the silence.

“Listen, I know this is sick. We don’t have to pretend more than necessary.”

IN nodded.

“Yes, it’s… it’s just a transaction. But we have to play our parts well, or everything will fall apart.”

You turned away from the mirror, now staring straight at IN.

“What if we can’t handle this? What if they find out that this is all fake?”

“They won’t, if we’re careful.” IN replied. “We just have to learn to work together, if only for the good of our families.”

You sighed heavily, feeling a weight grow in your heart.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” IN stepped closer, his gaze hardening.

“Just like you.”

The evening was cool, and the moon gently illuminated the city streets as you and IN approached the large, elegant residence. The building, resembling a palace, gleamed in the glow of numerous lights, and the entrance was swarming with luxury cars. It was one of those occasions that attracted the biggest names in the business world - people who had the power to change the course of history with a single stroke of a pen.

You adjusted your dress, feeling your heart beat faster with each step that brought you closer to the entrance.

“Ready?” IN asked, his voice sounding as cold as it always did when you were together. He held your hand, his grip more formal than affectionate.

“As ever.” You replied sarcastically, trying to hide your nervousness. You knew that much depended on your skills at pretending tonight. You entered the hall, and your appearance caused an immediate silence. The gazes of the gathered were full of surprise and disbelief.

IN, seeing this, made a move you would never have expected - he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You felt his closeness, and your body involuntarily tensed with reluctance, but you had no choice. You had to play your part.

"Please, sit down, honey." The boy said, pulling out a chair for you, as if you were the most important person in the world.

The crowd watched you in silence, as if they were trying to decipher what was really going on here. You felt that all eyes were on you. This was a test. They were checking if this relationship was real. It didn't take long before the son of the enemy CEO, Yunho, approached your table. He was known for putting others against the wall, and now he had the perfect opportunity.

"What a surprise." He started with a fake smile. "I didn't expect you two to be together. How did this happen?"

You felt panic take over you. You didn't know what to say. The words escaped your mind as if someone had suddenly closed the door on your thoughts. But IN was as calm as ever. He smiled with obvious confidence and replied:

“Fate can be fickle, Yunho. Sometimes the biggest surprises are the ones that change everything.”

Yunho looked at him in disbelief, then moved his gaze to you, searching your eyes for the answer you didn’t want to give him.

“Forgive me, but this all looks too... perfect.” His voice carried a hint of suspicion. “Prove it. Show that you’re really together.”

Yunho’s words swirled in the air, making you feel like the ground beneath your feet had shifted. You felt your face burn with embarrassment and anger. How could you possibly prove something like that? You looked at your partner, but IN didn’t seem concerned. On the contrary, he moved closer to you, and you felt his presence so close that you lost your breath for a moment. Suddenly, you felt his lips on yours.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and at the same time full of something you would never expect from the man you considered your greatest enemy. You were shocked, and your heart froze for a moment, only to speed up at a frantic pace later.

At first, you wanted to pull away, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the awareness that everyone was looking at you, or maybe something else - something you couldn't understand. Finally, you gave in to the kiss, letting IN deepen this unexpected gesture. All thoughts disappeared, leaving only this moment. When your lips finally parted, silence reigned in the room. Everyone looked at you in disbelief, and you felt like you were in a trance. IN stood up and offered you his hand.

"Come on, love, let's go home. I won't waste any more time on them, when I can spend it better with you." He said with a mischievous smile that looked so convincing that for a moment you believed it was real.

You left the room together, leaving the shocked guests behind. As soon as you were in a safe place, away from curious eyes, IN immediately wiped his mouth with his sleeve, as if to get rid of the unwanted taste.

"What was that supposed to be?" You exploded, pissed and confused. "We didn't agree on anything like that!" IN looked at you indifferently, as if your question was meaningless.

"It had to look realistic, so I had no other option. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to cauterize my lips." He said with a cold smile, turning on his heel and walking away, not paying attention to you any longer.

You felt anger flood your body. Red with shame and anger, you headed towards your car. The driver was already waiting for you, but when you sat inside, you felt something inside you change. The kiss, which at first seemed to be just a means to an end, now couldn't get out of your head. It was your first kiss, and despite all the anger you felt towards IN, you couldn't deny that you liked it.

After that memorable party, which caught the attention of not only your friends, but also the media, your names were appearing in newspaper headlines and internet forums. Photos, speculations and rumors - you became the hottest topic of the day. "The perfect couple" - that's what they called you, although you knew the truth.

However, your families, encouraged by the media reaction, decided to take steps that would bring you closer together. They decided that since everyone around you saw you as a perfect match, you should spend more time together to actually get to know each other, to be more credible.

And so IN started coming to visit you regularly, although you both knew that these visits were forced. From the very beginning, IN's visits had the same scenario: he would sit on your couch, pull out his Nintendo and immerse himself in the world of games, completely ignoring your presence. And you, forced to spend time with him, tried to find a way to break the awkward silence.

Hours passed, and the only sound in the apartment was the quiet music from his headphones and the occasional clicks of the pad. You felt frustration growing inside you. Was this really how you were supposed to "get to know each other better"? At some point, you decided to turn on your favorite music, hoping that it would bring at least a little life to this dead atmosphere. When the first sounds of your favorite band filled the room, you didn't expect any reaction from him. But suddenly IN stopped playing. He raised his head, clearly surprised, and approached you.

"Do you listen to them?" He asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes, they're my favorite band, why?" You replied, equally surprised by his reaction.

"You've got to be kidding. I love them too, I even bought VIP tickets for their concert."

You were speechless. It was a real surprise, especially since you tried to get those tickets yourself, but unfortunately without success. You couldn't believe that you had just discovered something that connected you, and something that you both really loved.

The conversation continued surprisingly lightly. You talked about the band, about concerts, about your favorite songs. For the first time in a long time, you were really getting along. Time flew by, and you forgot about everything that had divided you before. When IN finally had to get ready, you walked him to the door. Standing in the doorway, he looked at you uncertainly, as if he was wondering if he should say what was on his mind.

"Listen, Y/N, maybe you'd like to go to this concert with me? I have one spare ticket," he asked, clearly unsure of his proposal.

Surprised and excited at the same time, you agreed almost immediately. In a surge of emotion, you threw yourself around his neck, unable to believe that you would actually spend this concert together. You spun around together as if you were actually together. As soon as the boy put you down, he froze, and his smile disappeared.

"Paparazzi." He muttered, noticing the man with the camera across the street.

Before you could react, he pulled you closer and connected your lips in a kiss. This time, however, it was different than before. The kiss was tender, full of emotions that were clearly different from what you felt at first. At first, you wanted to pull away, but you quickly realized that you didn't mind what was happening. The amount of photos the man was taking of you was so big that you could clearly hear the sound of the camera.

When IN pulled away, he looked at you with a smile that seemed sincere for the first time.

"See you at the concert, darling." He said with a slight smile, then walked away, leaving you on the doorstep. You stood there, staring at the empty street, your heart beating harder than ever before. You knew that something had changed in you, IN didn't bother you as much as he always did. You were excited about the concert, but also... about him.

As soon as you lay down in bed, you couldn't get the image of IN and his kiss out of your head. You touched your lips, still feeling his taste on yours, and then you felt your heart start to speed up. You imagined IN in front of you, caressing your cheek, his eyes lovingly fixed on you. However, you quickly shook your head to push away those horrible thoughts. A shiver ran through your body when you realized that you were thinking about him in such a way. You had to remember that he was your enemy, who had only become your friend for a moment.

On the day of the concert, you sat down to a family dinner as usual, but this time you had a goal that you wanted to fulfill. The servants brought a carefully prepared meal - juicy roasted meat with a crispy crust, delicate mashed potatoes and steaming vegetables. The smell of food filled the room, but it did not bring you comfort.

You sat on the edge of the chair, as if on stilettos, staring at the plate in front of you. There was a tension in the air, the source of which only you knew. Your father, straight as a string, took the silver fork and knife, then carefully cut the first bite of meat. You waited until he put it in his mouth, and only then did you reach for your cutlery. Those were the rules in this house - your father always ate first.

You tried to concentrate on eating, but your heart was pounding. In your head, you repeated the words you were going to say.

“Dad, I want to go to a concert... Dad, I'm eighteen, I want to make my own decision... Dad...” But in none of these scenarios did you see your father reacting positively.

When the last piece of meat disappeared from your plate, you took a deep breath. You knew it was now or never.

“Dad...” You began uncertainly. His cold, blue eyes wandered to you from the other end of the table. “There's a concert...” Your voice trembled, but you couldn't back down. “My favorite band... I'd like to... could I go?” The words swirled in the air before they reached your father's ears.

His face froze, but you saw anger in his eyes. Your father's fist landed on the table with such force that the cutlery clattered and the plates shook.

“What do you think you're thinking?!” He exploded angrily. “Concerts are entertainment for the commoners! People like you shouldn't be hanging out with the rabble. I won't let my daughter stoop to their level! You come from a respected business family and you have to behave like one.”

You felt a wave of heat rush to your head and your heart almost jumped out of your chest. Your mother, as usual, didn't say anything because she was too obedient to your father. Seeing that there was no point in saying anything anymore, you jumped up from your seat. Tears welled up in your eyes as you ran into your room and slammed the door.

You were frustrated so you reached for your phone and dialed IN's number, s

“IN…” Your voice was choked with tears. You didn't want to show weakness in front of him but you couldn't hold back your sadness. “They wouldn't let me. They said I couldn't go to the concert because it was for commoners…” IN was silent for a moment, listening to your sobbing. When you finally finished, he replied quietly but with certainty in his voice:

“Be ready tonight.”

“But... What do you mean?” — You asked confused.

“Trust me. Just be ready. And now sorry I have to go.” IN said, and then he hung up, leaving you in even greater confusion.

However, you did as he asked and started getting ready, because after all, finding the perfect outfit wasn't easy.

Time passed slowly. All the time you nervously walked around the room, listening to every sound, wondering what IN was planning. Finally, just before the concert started, you heard a quiet knock on the balcony window. With a trembling heart, you walked up and opened the door to the balcony, leaning out. There, below, stood IN, looking at you with that inscrutable smile of his.

He told you to lower the sheet so you could climb down it. At first you hesitated, but you took the risk. When the sheet ended and there was still a slight distance between you and the ground, your eyes froze in fear.

“Jump Y/n, I'll catch you. " Jeongin said, spreading his arms.

You had no choice but to trust him, you closed your eyes expecting a painful fall, but IN caught you firmly in his arms. For a moment you looked deeply into each other's eyes, and you felt your heart speed up.

You went to the concert together. It was a night you will never forget. You laughed, you danced, you enjoyed every moment. It was an escape from the reality you were both trapped in. When the concert was over, you used your VIP tickets to meet the band backstage. It was a dream come true. But at some point you split up to talk to different band members. After a while, your throat felt dry, so you went to get something to drink. When you were halfway there, you noticed that someone was watching you. You wanted to turn around, but before you could, someone grabbed you and pinned you against the wall. It was a maintenance man who was looking at you with a disturbing lust. He tried to kiss you, telling you how long he had dreamed of meeting you . He was obsessively fascinated by you.

You screamed, but the music drowned out your voice. Fear paralyzed you. You thought no one would save you when IN suddenly appeared. His blow was precise and strong. The attacker fell to the ground, and IN pulled you to him. You were shaken and crying, but you felt safe in his arms. The police took the man away and IN walked you to your car. You were silent on the way home, both lost in your own thoughts. IN looked worried, as if he blamed himself for what had happened. . He finally broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. This is all my fault. If I hadn't brought you here, you wouldn't have had to go through this."

You wiped your tears and looked at him with a warm smile.

"Don't even say that. Never in my life I've never had so much fun. I finally got to do what I wanted to do, not what I had to do because my parents wanted me to. Thank you." You smiled softly.

“But this man…”

“Let’s not talk about it, please. I want to forget about it.” You interrupted him as soon as he started talking about your attacker.

Jeongin ended the subject immediately and just placed his hand on yours, letting you understand that he was with you. On the way back you caught yourself glancing at him. Eventually you started to notice his handsome features that perfectly highlighted his person. However, IN didn't look at you even once, he was focused on driving and only occasionally made another circle on your hand.

When you got there he gave you a boost so you could climb onto the balcony of your room and then he climbed up.

"I really haven't had this much fun in a long time." He said and placed one warm kiss on your cheek and came back to the car.

You stood on the balcony for a moment, watching IN drive away. You immediately started looking for some glitter, looking out for hidden paparazzi, because why would Jeongin kiss you if there were no cameras. But you didn't see anyone. You gently touched your cheek, where the boy's lips were a moment ago, and went back to your room. . You felt something new being born in your heart, something you didn't know before. You were almost certain that you were starting to have real feelings for IN and you knew that it wouldn't end well for you.

Over the next few weeks, you appeared together more and more often at various events, banquets and business meetings. IN perfectly played the role of a boyfriend head over heels in love, but as soon as you disappeared from the cameras' field of view, he turned into an asshole again.

However, despite this, every gesture of his, every kiss, every embrace was something wonderful for you. You couldn't stop the blush on your face when he grabbed your hand. Your heart sped up every time he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him. You wanted it all to be true, but it seemed to you that Jeongin made you realize every time how wrong you were, and that everything that happened between you was just a game.

One time, you were both invited to a fancy dinner at your biggest competitors and only out of politeness you agreed to come. You knew that this meeting would be crucial in your parents' intrigue. You had to show your best side and get the biggest investors on your side.

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, trying to button an elegant, white dress. Every movement seemed more clumsy than the previous one, and your nerves were getting to you. With all this excitement, your hands were shaking and you couldn't zip up your dress.

At some point, the door to your room opened and Jeongin stood there. You saw his reflection in the mirror. He was dressed in a beautiful white suit that emphasized his features.

"Can I help you?" He asked, leaning against the door. His voice was soft and warm, in which you felt a hint of feistiness.

You didn't protest when he stood behind you, gently moving his hands on your back to zip up your dress. His touch was incredibly gentle, even addictive. When he zipped it up, you felt him plant a gentle kiss on your shoulder. His warm lips brushed your skin, and a shiver ran through your body, unable to hide your reactions.

Jeongin turned you towards him in one movement, and your eyes met his. You looked deeply into each other's eyes, as if for a short moment the whole world had ceased to exist. The tension between you was almost tangible. You felt that one move, one word would be enough to cross a boundary that you had never crossed before. The boy slowly started approaching, as if he wanted to place a kiss on your lips, when suddenly the door opened again.

Your mother entered the room. You both quickly moved away, trying to control your embarrassment. She didn't seem to notice the tension between you, only said sternly.

"Just don't embarrass me. " She said coldly and left, leaving you alone.

This whole situation was so absurd that the only thing you could think of to relieve your emotions was laughter, but you knew that what had happened between you would keep coming back to your minds throughout the evening.

When you were finally ready, you went downstairs and got into the car. The drive to the residence of your mutual enemy was short, but long enough for you to think about what had happened in your room. You knew that Jeongin was playing the role of your boyfriend, and your relationship was just a means to an end, but what was happening between you, or rather what you felt for him, was starting to overwhelm you more and more. When you finally arrived at the venue, the eyes of all the gathered guests immediately turned to you. You felt the weight of their gazes on you, each of them full of curiosity, and maybe even jealousy. However, it was the gaze of Yunho's father, the host of the evening, that sent shivers down your spine. He looked at you with ferocity, as if he wanted to pierce your soul, and you knew that the dislike of this family was more than just political intrigue.

However, Jeongin, as always, played his role perfectly. He smiled, hugged you gently, placing his hand on your waist, and his closeness gave you a sense of security. He was like a shield, protecting you from sinister glances and unpleasant comments.

Thanks to him, you felt more confident, although deep down you knew that your closeness was just lies.

The evening dragged on endlessly. Every conversation was a game of pretense, every exchange of words carried hidden meanings. You felt the tension grow, and the smiles that the other guests gave you were just a mask hiding their true intentions. When it was time for dinner, you breathed a sigh of relief, glad that you would finally be able to sit down. However, before you could take your seat, you felt Yunho's father's gaze on you again. This time it wasn't just coldness, but something much more sinister.

You swallowed hard, afraid of this man. You didn't know what he meant, if he was jealous, or maybe you were just annoying him. However, no matter what it was, it gave you shivers.

After dinner, you felt the need to escape the hustle and bustle of the party. The laughter, conversations, and music suddenly became too overwhelming, as if the weight of the day was starting to weigh on your shoulders. You went out to the terrace, where the air was cooler and more refreshing. The place was in the shade, away from the lights, and the sounds of the party reached you muffled. You wanted to rest for a moment, collect your thoughts, maybe even take a deep breath and free yourself from the worries that were somewhere deep inside you.

You didn't notice Yunho's father appear behind you. His eyes were cold, full of some undefined hostility that immediately made you feel uneasy. Without a word, he stood in front of you, blocking your way back inside. He frowned and with unconcealed reluctance began to speak.

"What are you doing here, alone?" he asked, although the tone of his voice suggested that he didn't care about the answer at all.

You fell silent, feeling the tension grow. You were used to his cold manners, but tonight something was different. With every word he spoke, you could feel his reluctance more and more clearly. The conversation, if you could call it a conversation, was becoming more and more one-sided. The man began to speak louder and louder, and his words became more and more aggressive.

"You shouldn't be here. This is no place for someone like you. You're just a child who knows nothing about the worldHe said, his voice filled with anger.

Your heart sped up. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't expect what was to come. You started to answer him, trying to stay calm, but as your voices became louder and louder, your argument drew the attention of the other guests. You noticed from the corner of your eye how some were starting to wonder what was going on, and IN was among them. He stood up from the table, his face expressing serious concern.

Finally, Yunho's father exploded. His face reddened with anger, and his eyes flashed with rage.

"You should withdraw from the market before it's too late!" He shouted. His words were like punches, hitting you with full force, but you weren't going to give up.

"I'm not going to back down." You replied, trying to stay calm, even though your heart was pounding.

Then something happened that you didn't expect. The man pulled a gun out of his coat pocket and aimed it straight at you. Time slowed down, and you felt all your courage drain away. You froze in fear, unable to move, and tears began to fill your eyes.

"You have one last chance to back down, or I'll get rid of the problem. Some girl who knows nothing about business won't win against me." He said, his voice now icy and unrelenting.

You didn't know what to do. You felt fear paralyze you completely. In an instant, Jeongin stood in front of you, shielding you with his body. He was only a step away from the man who was still holding the gun.

"Just try to hurt her and I swear I'll take everything you care about away from you. I'll destroy your company, your career and you," IN said, his voice low but full of unshakable strength.

"IN..." It was the only word you could say.

Yunho's father smiled widely, but it was a smile full of cruelty. He slowly put his finger on the trigger. You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at it, and a moment later you heard a loud gunshot.

The shot echoed through the street. Time seemed to stop as you felt warm drops on your face. You looked down and saw red stains on your clothes. Blood. Your heart stops and your breathing becomes shallow and irregular. IN lay motionless on the cold ground.

You couldn't hold back your tears, feeling the despair seep into your soul.

"No... IN, please, don't leave me!" Your voice trembled as you hugged him tightly, trying to stop what seemed inevitable.

But then, through the weight of the moment, you heard something that was so out of place that for a moment you were confused. IN... was laughing. Softly, at first, but louder with each passing second. You held your breath, slowly realizing that something was wrong here. You looked up at him, seeing a mischievous smile on his face.

"You’re a dick." You exploded as you realized what had just happened. "I thought you were dead and left me alone in this fucked up world. I hate you!" You hit him pretty hard in the arm.

Jeongin stood up with difficulty, holding back laughter.

" Haha you don't know how to joke. I had to see your face. You were so scared as if you were actually worried about me " He wiped away the tears that were starting to form in his eyes, then dusted himself off and stood up from the ground.

It was only then that it began to dawn on you that it wasn't his blood on your dress, but Yunho's father, who was lying in a pool of blood on the ground. There was a crowd of people around you, including your parents' bodyguard, who had come to protect you at the party. He was the one who killed the man who had threatened you.

When the adrenaline that had previously fueled your body finally subsided, all the suppressed emotions hit with unbridled force. Your body began to tremble, and the tears flowed harder and harder. Your legs refused to obey, and before you could realize it, you fell to the ground.

IN, who had been smiling confidently just a moment ago nonchalance, now he stood before you, serious and worried. His face changed, as if he noticed something he had missed earlier. Without a word, he took off his elegant jacket and wrapped it around your chilled body. When you felt the soft material on your shoulders, your trembling eased a bit, although your heart was still beating too fast.

He lifted you gently, as if you were the most precious treasure, and hugged you to him. You felt his warm breath on your cheek, and his scent mixed with your tears. You buried your face in his neck, trying to find in this gesture the peace that you needed so much right now. Every move he made was deliberate, careful, as if he was afraid that he might hurt you, even by accident.

Slowly, step by step, he carried you out of the residence. In his eyes, you saw something new, something you hadn't seen before. This was no longer a game, no longer the mask he so often put on. In his gestures, in the care he surrounded you with, you felt that he cared, he really did. After a few minutes, you were at his house. Even though you had calmed down a bit, he still wouldn't let you go alone. He lifted you up in his arms again and carried you to his room. He personally prepared a warm bath for you, so you could wash off the blood and relax in the warm, aromatic water, and he went to take a quick shower, to be ready when you came out of the bathroom.

After a wonderful and relaxing bath, you put on his shirt that he prepared for you. It was soaked in his scent, which was like an aphrodisiac for you. You couldn't get enough of it. When you came out of the bathroom, the boy was standing by the bed, drying his wet hair. He looked particularly good, although you had the impression that it was impossible to look even better.

You sat down on the bed shyly, feeling your heartbeat quicken. You didn't know what to do, and the uncertainty made you feel strangely small and defenseless. After a while, Jeongin sat down next to you. You felt his hand gently fall on yours, and the warmth of his skin brought relief. You looked at him, seeing that his gaze was already resting on you. His eyes were shining, full of care and tenderness.

"I wanted to thank you for everything..." You started, but before you could finish, IN leaned in and connected your lips in a perfect kiss. He was full of emotions, gentleness, but also passion that made the world around him disappear. His hand rested on your cheek, gently, as if he was afraid that you would run away. He deepened the kiss, and you felt that you were losing touch with reality, immersing yourself in the feelings that you had been suppressing for so long.

When the boy finally pulled away, you looked at each other for a moment in silence. Your heart was beating like crazy, and thoughts were swirling in your head.

“You need to stop kissing me like you mean it. I’m gonna read things wrong and end up breaking my heart.” You whispered, lowering your gaze. You were afraid that this was a game again, that you would get your hopes up again.

“That’s because I do mean it every single time. You’ve just been too dense to realize.” He said, and his words reached you with a slight delay. As if your mind didn’t want to accept what you had just heard.

You looked at him, confused.

“I don’t know when it happened, but I fell in love with you, Y/n.” He added quietly. “Every moment with you was the happiest moment of my life.”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, this time even more gently, but with such emotion that you felt all the barriers you had built around your heart begin to crumble.

“I love you too, Jeongin.” You said, smiling shyly, as if you were ashamed of those words, but at the same time you felt that you were finally in the right place.

You spent that night in each other’s arms, cuddled like two lost pieces of one puzzle that had finally found each other. In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight began to shine through the window, you felt that now you could face anything. You knew that there were many challenges waiting for you, but together you would manage everything.

____________________________________________

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homestuckreplay · 5 months ago

Text

EOA1 ==> Media, Agency and the Suburbs in Act 1 of Homestuck

It is April 13, 1959. Mr. Egbert, Sr. has recently made the move out of the city into a newly built house in the suburbs, because clowning isn't paying so well after the recession. His son John hasn't seen his friend Rose since they moved. Staring out the window at 4:13pm and glimpsing nothing but the neighbor's wall, John goes downstairs to catch the second half of a black and white episode of Truth or Consequences, losing himself for fifteen minutes in their world of pranks, hilarity and emotional family reunions. Hopefully for his birthday, his dad will get him that cool new board game and its all-important hours of distraction.

We pick up the daily newspaper, and flip to the funnies to see John's new antics.

(Essay below the cut - about 5k words.)

==> I: John’s Suburb in Historical Context, or: Johntext

During the 1940s and 1950s, mass expansion of the American suburbs was accompanied by a ‘best of both worlds’ promise. Families who moved there could enjoy easy travel to the city via car for work and leisure, but wouldn’t have to deal with the ‘undesirable’ parts of city life, such as noise, pollution, or people from marginalized groups. Suburbs were characterized by detached, single family houses that guaranteed each family their own bubble of space away from neighbors, but also promised a community of likeminded people with whom to form neighborhood associations and PTA committees. Residents could enjoy independence from city governance and increased control over their own living spaces, but anybody who might push back against current social norms would be quietly excluded. Utopian promises and attractive prices encouraged many Americans to make the move, and many of them have never left.

Here in 2009, it’s not uncommon for people to have lived their entire lives in the suburbs - often in a single house. Promises of progress and innovation within households have remained strictly cosmetic, while the values guarding suburban families and communities have changed very little. Although people of color comprise an increasing percentage of suburban residents, white people are still overrepresented. The same is true of married couples’ overrepresentation compared to other family structures. Suburban architecture remains centralized around the car as the primary means of transportation, and the separation of residential from commercial areas. Opportunities and reasons to leave the house are both minimized.

With the growth of the suburbs came increased criticism of their designs and ideals. Their dream of a spacious home for each family has led to feelings of isolation, while the promised communities have primarily formed around churches and strict Christian ideals. Residents lack trust in their neighbors, and as such, children are no longer left to their own devices outside of the house. The suburban goal of easy car accessibility to cities has ended in highway congestion, air pollution and lack of public transport or pedestrian access. And while the percentage of Americans living in the suburbs continues to increase, not everyone has the luxury of choosing where they live - particularly children and teenagers.

Homestuck’s main character John Egbert doesn't directly express a hatred of the suburbs - he seems more conflicted, showing fondness for the tire swing in a kid's yard (p.27), the fireplace (p.50) and the father smoking a pipe (p.74), while also expressing that he feels stuck in his home (p.30, 253), that he avoids his father's company (p.30), and that he feels something missing from his life (p.82). He doesn't seem aware of the source of his emptiness, just that he's always felt it, and we can only guess the source through incredibly subtle context clues, such as the work's title and the way John longingly gazes towards the outside.

It's certainly possible for someone with an otherwise privileged life to feel alienation in the suburbs, but those who differ from the white nuclear family ideal tend to have these feelings heightened, and may be ostracized by the community or threatened into conformity. Similarly, the gulf between John and his dad, and their separate perceptions of that relationship, could be simply generational, or could suggest bigger, unseen differences between them.

One interpretation I and others have discussed is that John is a transgender woman who has yet to actively realize her identity, but knows on some level that she can’t achieve the strict gender expectations of a suburban community. This loss of self-understanding would contribute to John's feelings of absence and lack of control, and strain her relationship with a father who expects her to fit a male gender role.

This might be my favorite possible explanation, but there are lots of others, any or all of which could be true. John being queer in any sense would mean he might not fit into the nuclear family structure of the suburbs as an adult. John being a person of color in an otherwise white neighborhood would visually distinguish him from his neighbors and cause them to judge him based on stereotypes, and if John is mixed race and Dad is white, this distinction could highlight differences between them too, the absence in John's life marked by a disconnection from a culture he's a part of. John being neurodivergent could impact his ability to interact with other people in the neighborhood, or to replicate the rules and performativity of daily life. Single parent family structures are more accepted in 2009 than they were in 1959, but it's still possible that some past scandal involving Dad and John's family life is hanging over them, fresh in the minds of their neighborhood - perhaps one that just like Nanna's death, Dad 'never wants to talk about'. Any of these factors could lead to John being ostracized by his community and mean that even at a young age he didn't 'buy in' to the idea of the happy suburban family.

I believe it is intentional that Homestuck hasn’t defined John’s location more specifically than ‘west of Kansas’. Although research has shown that different suburbs have their own individual characters, critics tend to emphasize their similarities. We’re supposed to think that John would have broadly the same experiences if he lives in Arizona or Colorado, Texas or Georgia, maybe even England or Belgium. The externalities of John’s life are the same as countless other kids in the Western world, not because of John’s choices or even his dad’s choices, but due to the larger structures that organize families into houses, houses into suburbs, and suburbs into sources of constraint.

==> II: If You Love Your House So Much, Why Don’t You Never Leave It?

The suburbs walk hand in hand with advances in technology. The 1950s saw a boom in the sale of household appliances, with devices for cooking and cleaning promising to lighten the housework load for women, and television providing entertainment for the whole family from the comfort of the living room. Various corporations created model homes to display the futuristic properties of their fantastical appliances, promising consumers that in the future, all homes would look just like this. This was a marketing tactic primarily benefiting the corporations - but in some cases, they were successful. General Electric’s ‘New American’ home in Denver featured a dishwasher as early as 1935, and these increased in affordability and domestic popularity across the 1950s and 60s. Disneyland’s Monsanto ‘House of the Future’ boasted a microwave oven. The house opened in real world 1957 but was ‘set in 1986’, and by 1986, one in four American homes owned a microwave. The Westinghouse ‘Home of Tomorrow’ contained the first ever portable radios - six of them, with radio outlets in every room to grant every family member a constant supply of media.

This idea of constant, individualized media consumption may have been the greatest called shot of these houses. In 1959, John would be limited to a handful of TV channels on a fixed schedule, fighting over the tuning dials with his dad, but in 2009 he almost certainly knows the delights of Megavideo on top of having a video game collection, DVD collection and TV on demand service.

Televisions were marketed to families in the 1950s claiming that they would keep families closer, as parents and children alike would want to stay home and watch together instead of going out to separate places, and many parents at first expressed relief at always knowing where their teenage children were, and consequently, being able to keep an eye on them. Television altered the boundaries between public and private space, allowing people to experience a public activity such as a trip to the movies, a performance from a live musician, even witnessing the moon landing, without leaving the home or interacting with strangers.

Increasingly, media is marketed with the promise of interactivity and agency. Television provided a world to passively escape into, but video games allow the player to actually embody a character in that world. They present fantasies of control, of being able to explore a virtual map according to the player’s whims, and offering in-character choices that allow the player to control the narrative itself. Players are compelled by the possibility of media they can customize to their own specific tastes, and media they can master and bend to their will instead of simply observe. In this way, the Nintendo Wii isn’t so different from the fridge-freezer that promised greater mastery over the family’s diet, or the modern microwave oven and its dozens of settings and options for preparing food.

As our society moves from home televisions to home computers and video game systems into an age of portable, all in one smartphones, we and the media become more dependent on each other, and we expect to have access to it more of the time. John Egbert has found connection with a close friend who lives multiple timezones east and stays in regular and real time contact with her. That friendship enriches his life, and wouldn't have been possible without today’s high speed internet and instant messaging services. John’s computer opens up an incredible social world, but - as we’ve seen with Rose losing power - if he lost that technology, he’d also lose that community.

So, advertisers ask, what possible reason is there to leave? Why would you go somewhere mundane, like a park or a youth club, when you could go up on a plane surrounded by dangerous criminals and outsmart them all in time to save your friend? When you can bike down the highways from Missouri to Virginia to save the girl you like from natural disasters? You can be a hard boiled detective, a monster's best friend, a scientist making contact with aliens, an oil magnate turned savior of the world, a FBI agent surgically given the face of a terrorist, and a world leading expert on ghost slime - and you’ll never get dirty, you’ll never get hurt, and your dad will be right in the next room with a constant supply of fresh baked cakes and fatherly affection. What possible reason do kids have to complain, or to feel like anything is missing from their lives, when they can master reality from couches and computer chairs?

John Egbert embodies constant media consumption. Two of his five stated interests are consuming media - specifically movies and video games - and even when he’s not actively watching or playing something, he’s surrounded by media. His room is filled with movie posters, the television in the living room is switched on even when nobody’s watching, and the first thing he does after loading his computer is check for webcomic updates. Even his thoughts are consumed. He’s constantly replaying his favorite scenes in his head, which seems to bring him genuine joy, fixating on the next game he wants to play, and filling his social interactions with references to his favorite franchises. Even before actually entering Sburb’s virtual reality, John already wasn’t present in his material space. He’s digitally transitioned from what Lynn Spigel describes as ‘the home address to “home page”... computer generations rather than genders’.

==> III: Kids These Days Just Don’t Respect The Cultural Idea Of Childhood We Created For Them

The suburban home loves technology, but the reverse may not be true. A significant amount of mass media depicts the suburbs as the place where creativity and individuality go to die, reflecting the cultural criticisms instead of the promises. Some of the earliest sitcoms, such as I Love Lucy and The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show, predated widespread criticisms of the suburbs and presented an idealized suburban life. These soon gave way to the ‘fantastic sitcoms’ of the 1960s, including Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie. These shows have implausible premises, featuring supernatural creatures, aliens or futuristic settings while still depicting mundane suburban realities. This juxtaposition opened up new questions about the real world, asking why we exclude certain people from communities and playing with the strict roles within the nuclear family.

Media aimed at young people often presents a world where kids are in control and regular power structures are inverted. 1950s and 60s comic strips aimed at kids, such as Peanuts and Dennis the Menace, were also set in the suburbs - but an idealized version of the suburbs where kids could roam freely, not confined to the home and able to disobey the instructions of adults without consequences. Some parents restrict these from children, not wanting them to ‘get the wrong idea’ and copy the bad behavior they see in comics or on TV. Popular music is a site of rebellion amongst teenagers - The Kinks in the 1960s, Talking Heads and Bruce Springsteen in the 1980s, Green Day and Blink-182 in the 1990s and 2000s, and uncountable other acts have put criticisms of suburbia to music and created a cultural dream of escape by getting on the road, joining a rock band and never putting down roots again.

In a time of rapid technological change, parents fear the impact technology and new media will have on their children, partly because they didn’t grow up with those technologies themselves. Television was feared because it gave children access to knowledge, different worldviews, and the realities of the adult world that parents wanted to keep from them, lessening parents’ control over their kids. It was also feared for its all-consuming nature, for making children want to watch constantly at the expense of homework, chores and family meals. More recently, video games have been feared for these same addictive properties, and for the belief that they negatively impact social interaction and cause increased aggression and violence.

But John isn’t like other teenagers. His taste is striking for being exclusively movies that reinforce ideals of the nuclear family - usually suburban, with the exception of New York City-based Ghostbusters II - which suggests he doesn’t only want to escape his current life, he wants to legitimate it to himself. John’s movies end with family reconciliation, not with the kids getting one over on the parents. If John feels like he doesn’t fit into suburban ideals, he can try to connect with them by seeing them through the eyes of a character he likes. In a world where John’s primary source of agency is the media he chooses to consume, he could easily choose to reject his unsatisfying life altogether and live vicariously through outlaws and exiles, getting really into Westerns or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but he doesn’t. He chooses characters who are fundamentally conventional, despite their rough edges, suggesting he’d really like to just fit in and be content with what he has.

Sburb, however, is the game that actualizes parents’ worst fears, inverting the power structures of the house, giving Rose and John dominion over the space while Dad - formerly both the breadwinner and the homemaker - has been relegated to an unseen location. John has access to a physically dangerous inventory system and a strife specibus that encourages him to solve problems by hitting them with a hammer.

Media promises us an escape, and it undoubtedly has the power to teach us and open our eyes to new perspectives, but in many cases provides nothing more than a filter over our lives. Encouraging people to live in a state of distraction, a TV show or video game gives us an easy way to hide from reality. People look for a new technology to solve their problems instead of a social solution, placing parental controls over their children’s television and internet usage instead of having honest conversations among families about media consumption, and designing security systems to keep ‘undesirable’ people from trespassing in middle class neighborhoods without questioning why those people are excluded from suburban society in the first place.

==> IV: There’s A Fine Line Between Fantasy And Reality And My House Is Built There

In the 1935 movie Murder by Television, a money-hungry scientist manipulates the interference between telephone lines and television broadcast signals to create the ‘death ray,’ and murder somebody on the other side of a television screen. Released less than a decade after the world’s first television broadcast, this movie demonstrates our cultural obsession with the boundaries between electrical and real space, and our dream of making those boundaries permeable. The 1950s presented TV families (such as the Nelsons from The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet) as normal families whose lives just happened to be televised, but who behaved the same way on and off screen to the point of forgetting the cameras were rolling. To this day, reality television such as Big Brother and The Bachelor promise to show us contestants’ authentic private lives, and even when we as viewers know the show is staged, we choose to buy into the fantasy.

More recently, 1998’s The Truman Show literalizes our dependence on the media, its ubiquity in our lives, and the impact this has on our personal relationships by showing a man whose whole life has been orchestrated by a TV production company that broadcasts him 24/7. Through a lucky accident with a time portal I obtained a copy of 2023’s Barbie, in which a plastic doll lives the dream life promised by her marketing, but starts thinking about mortality and the ‘real world’ when her owner’s mother starts drawing pictures of her with typical adult problems.

In both of these movies, the characters are happy until they are forced to confront the constructed nature of their worlds. By understanding the production and design processes controlling their lives, they become disillusioned with the simulation of perfection and begin searching for something more authentic. Even though Truman and Barbie both escape synthesized worlds and achieve full human agency, their endings are bittersweet. Their ‘escape’ lands them in present day Los Angeles, with all the social constraints, local mass produced suburbs, and constant diet of blockbuster media that this implies.

Blurring these boundaries is an effective advertising strategy as well as a narrative one. Adverts invite players to ‘become’ the main character of a video game, such as a Kid Chameleon promotion inviting players to ‘change personalities faster than they’ll change helmets’ and ‘transform’ themselves into a variety of mavericks. A Mortal Kombat arcade machine advert showed real men bursting out of the machine to attack the player. Promotions for The Sims 2 featured real photographs of people with the Sims interface added digitally, presenting the controllable Sims within the game as more than just pixels.

Following in this grand tradition, Sburb takes the permeable boundary between electrical and real space and smashes a meteor through it. Sburb answers the question of ‘can technology transform our society?’ with a 'yes' loud enough to shake the neighborhood houses from their foundations. Sburb represents the greatest and most utopian promises of technology, as well as the worst of our cultural fears around it.

The appeal of Sburb as a game is that it promises teenagers control over their lives in a world where they’re otherwise powerless. It’s a way to speedrun growing up - alchemy mechanics offer the chance to manipulate space and create all the material goods the player wants, but the game also bestows responsibility for tackling a crisis, for maintaining the home, perhaps even saving the world. And the players who are going to want this badly enough to fight through the impossible challenges Sburb presents are the kids who really can’t wait, the ones who aren’t doing well, and who feel trapped enough in their everyday lives that they would risk it all on an experimental technology to escape.

In truth, many scholars challenge the concepts of interactivity and agency in video games, arguing that these are players’ perceptions and not their realities. Games invite players to participate in the creation of art, but the relationship is never equal, with the creators always having the final say on exactly how much free will the player is allowed. Even a game that aims to be open world and allow for as much free play as possible is bound by the limitations of processing power and how many options a human can reasonably write and code for.

Sburb also puts restrictions on its players. Most likely, there are limits on what objects can be created via alchemy, and Sburb would likely restrict any item that could be used to work against the game. Players being controlled by commands which are interpreted by a computer also ensure that only commands coded for in the game are transmitted to the player. When a command is incorrect, the narrator steps in to help the player (p.253). And so far, the game has dramatic ways of keeping John on a very linear path - first starting a clock so he had no choice but to focus on stopping the meteor, then cutting him off from the world so that he has to stay in his current location. It’s impossible to have agency while living within a game that can and will end your life with four minutes and thirteen seconds of notice.

The ‘homes of tomorrow’ discussed at the start of part II were designed as sentient spaces, responsive to their inhabitants and able to almost anticipate their needs. John Brehm said about MOMA’s 1999 Un-Private House exhibition, ‘one can prepare a meal with the help of a virtual chef from a favorite restaurant and have dinner with a virtual guest or friend through the liquid wall’ and suggested that the house was ‘an extension of the body or a transparency of the mind… that both protects and transcends the limitations of the body’. In 2000, the Microsoft Home in New York City showed a future where people could control the lights, thermostats, security systems and stereos directly from their phones, even from another location. The home of tomorrow promises it can be anything its owner wants it to be, without questioning the idea that the privately owned, individualized home should exist and be desired.

Of course, the houses of tomorrow are always singular, prototype homes built with no thought of neighbors and community, but perhaps sacrificing a whole neighborhood to build the perfect home is a tradeoff some people have to make. Far from the static, impersonal houses of the suburbs, Sburb allows players to create their dream houses, offering bigger bedrooms, additional floors, and an endless void to throw your father’s harlequin statues into. It’s another technology that offers transformative potential for the family home, but is ultimately still driven by it, forming an individualist utopian bubble within a larger, far more conservative and restrictive structure.

==> V: If I Die, I Wanna Die In The Suburbs

The remote control, the video game joystick, and the Sburb alchemiter all tell us we can master reality by mastering technology. If that’s the case, then John still has to master technology. A shattered window from stack modus failures and a desktop littered with enraged programming files show us just how far John is from mastering either of these things.

John’s lack of agency goes far deeper than being trapped in the suburbs. His simple choice to pick something up and put it down is controlled by external agents. Though he can choose to escape his father in the kitchen by going to his room, a variety of screens will follow him and keep him in his own personalized panopticon. Rose’s mastery over the cursor means that John can’t guarantee the objects in his room will be where he left them, and even John’s thoughts are surveilled, interpreted and transmitted outwards by the narrator.

The USA PATRIOT act of 2001 expanded the US government’s legal rights to monitor electronic communication, and the early 2000s saw increased covert network surveillance by governments and private corporations alike. John’s technological illiteracy means he probably doesn’t know how to use a VPN and might not have known as a kid that his internet activities weren’t private, but in Act 2, inside Sburb, he begins to realize. Just as parents fretted at PTA meetings, John’s media has allowed him to eat from the Tree of Knowledge and put an end to his carefully constructed childhood, all on the cultural milestone of his thirteenth birthday.

Sburb has compounded the problem of John being surveilled and puppeted, but didn't invent it. The first 136 pages of Homestuck establish the meta-narrative restrictions on his life, from his inventory system to his being guided by commands, before he installs the game. There are layers of control over John’s life that he’ll need to break through one at a time. The first will be acquiring the Sburb server disc, which will give John greater power within Sburb, and the ability to use the full extent of its abilities. The second will be escaping the game of Sburb, which could be accomplished by simply winning the game (like in 1995’s Jumanji), or by using some kind of cheat or glitch to break out of it (2003’s Spy Kids 3: Game Over), but either way John will need to master the game mechanics.

The final layer is Homestuck itself, and unfortunately for us, John escaping the player and narrator’s influence over his life would almost certainly mean the end of the comic. But in Homestuck the Earth is already being destroyed, and being a webcomic that doesn’t have the constraints of a two hour Hollywood movie, the story doesn’t have to stop at the level of escaping the simulation. It has the chance to go a layer further, and imagine a world where John and his friends are able to enact real and meaningful change.

John has clearly had an emotional dependency on media for a long time, and now, he has a physical dependency too. Sburb is the thing keeping him alive, and his only hope to save the rest of the world, but he’s not alone in seeing popular media as a sacred text necessary for his existence. Smethurst and Craps point out that the player reacts to the game as much as the game does to the player - if anywhere, agency can be found in players’ interpretations of a game. Increasingly we rely on fiction to shape our politics and our worldviews, while also reading texts at a surface level. While media itself is insufficient to give us agency, media literacy is a big step towards asking questions about what restricts our agency, how, and why. The way John discusses movies now isn’t too in depth, with reviews like ‘the applejuice scene was so funny’ and ‘cage is sweet. so sweet.’ But in a story about becoming part of a video game, media literacy could be a very powerful tool for John, and he could come out of this as a genuine movie critic.

==> Conclusion

While Homestuck is a distinctly modern multimedia experience, it exists in a much larger tradition of media that criticizes the suburbs, and depicts the fantasy of escape for young people. Like other metafictional works before it, it handles these themes self-reflexively, showing its main character combat the horrors of the suburbs directly, instead of depicting a fantasy where problems do not exist.

Based on its first act, Homestuck is a story about John Egbert’s quest for agency in a world that constantly tries to restrict it. John’s life so far has been defined by the suburbs, by a single but unremarkable point in space that he’s been trapped in for the first thirteen years of his life. John is both physically confined to his suburban neighborhood, and socially confined into being the ideal of the middle class all American boy that has been presented as his only option. John’s taste in media reinforces the ideals of his society, meaning he has yet to question the status quo of his existence or examine the source of his depression. John is also controlled directly by his server player, the Homestuck players, and the narrator.

John’s experiences playing Sburb show us that while the escape media provides for us is real and can change us in meaningful ways, it can only solve the first step of the problem - and isn’t without its own risks and drawbacks. In order to truly develop agency, John will need to question the existence of the suburbs themselves, and not only his placein them. He’ll also need to - at some point - quit the game, return to reality, and use the skills he’s learned in the game to develop mastery over both the physical world and the story itself.

==> Sources

I wrote this essay after reading Lynn Spigel’s excellent essay collection ‘Welcome to the Dreamhouse: Popular Media and Postwar Suburbs’ (2001), which I would highly recommend.

Full bibliography

Filmography

#homestuck #john egbert #eoa1 #milestone #analysis #whoo BOY did this take longer than i hoped!#but this is discussing some themes that im hoping to return to lots if they keep coming up throughout homestuck!#chrono

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meret118 · 1 month ago

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A new report from Popular Democracy and the Institute for Policy Studies reveals how billionaire investors have become a major driver of the nationwide housing crisis. They summarize in their own words:

Billionaire-backed private equity firms worm their way into different segments of the housing market to extract ever-increasing rents and value from multi-family rental, single-family homes, and mobile home park communities.— Global billionaires purchase billions in U.S. real estate to diversify their asset holdings, driving the creation of luxury housing that functions as “safety deposit boxes in the sky.” Estimates of hidden wealth are as high as $36 trillion globally, with billions parked in U.S. land and housing markets. — Wealthy investors are acquiring property and holding units vacant, so that in many communities the number of vacant units greatly exceeds the number of unhoused people. Nationwide there are 16 million vacant homes: that is, 28 vacant homes for every unhoused person. — Billionaire investors are buying up a large segment of the short-term rental market, preventing local residents from living in these homes, in order to cash in on tourism. These are not small owners with one unit, but corporate owners with multiple properties. — Billionaire investors and corporate landlords are targeting communities of color and low-income residents, in particular, with rent increases, high rates of eviction, and unhealthy living conditions. What’s more, billionaire-owned private equity firms are investing in subsidized housing, enjoying tax breaks and public benefits, while raising rents and evicting low-income tenants from housing they are only required to keep affordable, temporarily.

. . .

Thirty-two percent is the magic threshold, according to research funded by the real estate listing company Zillow. When neighborhoods hit rent rates in excess of 32 percent of neighborhood income, homelessness explodes. And we’re seeing it play out right in front of us in cities across America because a handful of Wall Street billionaires are making a killing.

As the Zillow study notes:

“Across the country, the rent burden already exceeds the 32 percent [of median income] threshold in 100 of the 386 markets included in this analysis….”And wherever housing prices become more than three times annual income, homelessness stalks like the grim reaper.

That Zillow-funded study laid it out:

“This research demonstrates that the homeless population climbs faster when rent affordability — the share of income people spend on rent — crosses certain thresholds. In many areas beyond those thresholds, even modest rent increases can push thousands more Americans into homelessness.”This trend is massive.

. . .

As noted in a Wall Street Journal article titled “Meet Your New Landlord: Wall Street,” in just one suburb (Spring Hill) of Nashville:

“In all of Spring Hill, four firms … own nearly 700 houses … [which] amounts to about 5% of all the houses in town.”

This is the tiniest tip of the iceberg.

“On the first Tuesday of each month,” notes the Journal article about a similar phenomenon in Atlanta, investors “toted duffels stuffed with millions of dollars in cashier’s checks made out in various denominations so they wouldn’t have to interrupt their buying spree with trips to the bank…”

The same thing is happening in cities and suburbs all across America; agents for the billionaire investor goliaths use fine-tuned computer algorithms to sniff out houses they can turn into rental properties, making over-market and unbeatable cash bids often within minutes of a house hitting the market.

. . .

As the Bank of International Settlements summarized in a 2014 retrospective study of the years since the Reagan/Gingrich changes in banking and finance:

“We describe a Pareto frontier along which different levels of risk-taking map into different levels of welfare for the two parties, pitting Main Street against Wall Street. … We also show that financial innovation, asymmetric compensation schemes, concentration in the banking system, and bailout expectations enable or encourage greater risk-taking and allocate greater surplus to Wall Street at the expense of Main Street

.”It’s a fancy way of saying that billionaire-owned big banks and hedge funds have made trillions on housing while you and your community are becoming destitute.

. . .

Turns out it was Blackstone Group, now the world’s largest real estate investor run by a major Trump supporter. At the time they were buying $150 million worth of American houses every week, trying to spend over $10 billion. And that’s just a drop in the overall bucket.

As that new study from Popular Democracy and the Institute for Policy Studies found:

“[Billionaire Stephen Schwarzman’s] Blackstone is the largest corporate landlord in the world, with a vast and diversified real estate portfolio. It owns more than 300,000 residential units across the U.S., has $1 trillion in global assets, and nearly doubled its profits in 2021. “Blackstone owns 149,000 multi-family apartment units; 63,000 single-family homes; 70 mobile home parks with 13,000 lots through their subsidiary Treehouse Communities; and student housing, through American Campus Communities (144,300 beds in 205 properties as of 2022). Blackstone recently acquired 95,000 units of subsidized housing.”

In 2018, corporations and the billionaires that own or run them bought 1 out of every 10 homes sold in America, according to Dezember, noting that:

“Between 2006 and 2016, when the homeownership rate fell to its lowest level in fifty years, the number of renters grew by about a quarter.”

And it’s gotten worse every year since then.

. . .

Warren Buffett, KKR, and The Carlyle Group have all jumped into residential real estate, along with hundreds of smaller investment groups, and the National Home Rental Council has emerged as the industry’s premiere lobbying group, working to block rent control legislation and other efforts to control the industry.

As John Husing, the owner of Economics and Politics Inc., told The Tennessean newspaper:

“What you have are neighborhoods that are essentially unregulated apartment houses. It could be disastrous for the city.”

As Zillow found:

“The areas that are most vulnerable to rising rents, unaffordability, and poverty hold 15 percent of the U.S. population — and 47 percent of people experiencing homelessness.”

. . .

The loss of affordable homes also locks otherwise middle class families out of the traditional way wealth is accumulated — through home ownership: over 61% of all American middle-income family wealth is their home’s equity.

And as families are priced out of ownership and forced to rent, they become more vulnerable to homelessness.

Housing is one of the primary essentials of life. Nobody in America should be without it, and for society to work, housing costs must track incomes in a way that makes housing both available and affordable.

Singapore, Denmark, New Zealand, and parts of Canada have all put limits on billionaire, corporate, and foreign investment in housing, recognizing families’ residences as essential to life rather than purely a commodity. Multiple other countries are having that debate or moving to take similar actions as you read these words.

To address the housing shortage and bring down prices for renters and homeowners alike, the Harris campaign’s plan calls for a historic expansion of the Low-Income Housing Tax Credit (LIHTC) and the first-ever tax incentive for homebuilders who build starter homes sold to first-time homebuyers. Building upon the Biden-Harris administration’s proposed $20 billion innovation fund, the campaign proposes a $40 billion fund that would support local innovations in housing supply solutions, catalyze innovative methods of construction financing, and empower developers and homebuilders to design and build affordable homes.

To cut red tape and bring down housing costs, the plan calls for streamlining permitting processes and reviews, including for transit-oriented development and conversions. The agenda also proposes making certain federal lands eligible to be repurposed for affordable housing development. Collectively, these policy proposals seek to create 3 million homes in the next four years.

The campaign plan cites the Biden-Harris administration’s ongoing actions to support the lowest-income renters, including its actions to expand rental assistance for veterans and other low-income renters, increase housing supply for people experiencing homelessness, enforce fair housing laws, and hold corporate landlords accountable.

Building upon these commitments, the Harris agenda calls upon Congress to pass the “Stop Predatory Investing Act,” which would remove key tax benefits for major investors who acquire large numbers of single-family rental homes (see Memo, 7/17/23), and the “Preventing the Algorithmic Facilitation of Rental Housing Cartels Act,” which would crack down on algorithmic rent-setting software that enables price-fixing among corporate landlords.

To make homeownership attainable, Vice President Harris’s proposal would provide up to $25,000 in downpayment assistance for first-time homebuyers who have paid their rent on time for two years. First-generation homeowners – those whose parents did not own homes – would receive more generous assistance.

Vice President Harris’s economic agenda also includes proposals to lower grocery costs, lower the costs of prescription drugs and relieve medical debt, and cut taxes for workers and families with children. The plan would restore the American Rescue Plan’s expanded Child Tax Credit, which provided up to $3,600 per child for low- and middle-income families for one year before it expired in 2022, and would enact a new $6,000 tax credit for families in the first year after their child is born. These measures to reduce expenses and boost household income would also improve housing security for low-income families, who often face impossible tradeoffs between paying rent and affording food, medical care, and other basic needs.

-----

Sorry for the length, but I thought this was really important.

#Trump #2024 #Housing #Rent #Harris

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posttexasstressdisorder · 1 month ago

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How Trump's billionaires are hijacking affordable housing

Thom Hartmann

October 24, 2024 8:52AM ET

Republican presidential nominee and former U.S. President Donald Trump attends the 79th annual Alfred E. Smith Memorial Foundation Dinner in New York City, U.S., October 17, 2024. REUTERS/Brendan McDermid

America’s morbidly rich billionaires are at it again, this time screwing the average family’s ability to have decent, affordable housing in their never-ending quest for more, more, more. Canada, New Zealand, Singapore, and Denmark have had enough and done something about it: we should, too.

There are a few things that are essential to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” that should never be purely left to the marketplace; these are the most important sectors where government intervention, regulation, and even subsidy are not just appropriate but essential. Housing is at the top of that list.

A few days ago I noted how, since the Reagan Revolution, the cost of housing has exploded in America, relative to working class income.

When my dad bought his home in the 1950s, for example, the median price of a single-family house was around 2.2 times the median American family income. Today the St. Louis Fed says the median house sells for $417,700 while the median American income is $40,480—a ratio of more than 10 to 1 between housing costs and annual income.

ALSO READ: He’s mentally ill:' NY laughs ahead of Trump's Madison Square Garden rally

In other words, housing is about five times more expensive (relative to income) than it was in the 1950s.

And now we’ve surged past a new tipping point, causing the homelessness that’s plagued America’s cities since George W. Bush’s deregulation-driven housing- and stock-market crash in 2008, exacerbated by Trump’s bungling America’s pandemic response.

And the principal cause of both that crash and today’s crisis of homelessness and housing affordability has one, single, primary cause: billionaires treating housing as an investment commodity.

— Billionaire-backed private equity firms worm their way into different segments of the housing market to extract ever-increasing rents and value from multi-family rental, single-family homes, and mobile home park communities. — Global billionaires purchase billions in U.S. real estate to diversify their asset holdings, driving the creation of luxury housing that functions as “safety deposit boxes in the sky.” Estimates of hidden wealth are as high as $36 trillion globally, with billions parked in U.S. land and housing markets. — Wealthy investors are acquiring property and holding units vacant, so that in many communities the number of vacant units greatly exceeds the number of unhoused people. Nationwide there are 16 million vacant homes: that is, 28 vacant homes for every unhoused person. — Billionaire investors are buying up a large segment of the short-term rental market, preventing local residents from living in these homes, in order to cash in on tourism. These are not small owners with one unit, but corporate owners with multiple properties. — Billionaire investors and corporate landlords are targeting communities of color and low-income residents, in particular, with rent increases, high rates of eviction, and unhealthy living conditions. What’s more, billionaire-owned private equity firms are investing in subsidized housing, enjoying tax breaks and public benefits, while raising rents and evicting low-income tenants from housing they are only required to keep affordable, temporarily. (Emphasis theirs.)

It seems that everywhere you look in America you see the tragedy of the homelessness these billionaires are causing. Rarely, though, do you hear about the role of Wall Street and its billionaires in causing it.

The math, however, is irrefutable.

As the Zillow study notes:

“Across the country, the rent burden already exceeds the 32 percent [of median income] threshold in 100 of the 386 markets included in this analysis….”

And wherever housing prices become more than three times annual income, homelessness stalks like the grim reaper. That Zillow-funded study laid it out:

This trend is massive.

As noted in a Wall Street Journal article titled “Meet Your New Landlord: Wall Street,” in just one suburb (Spring Hill) of Nashville:

“In all of Spring Hill, four firms … own nearly 700 houses … [which] amounts to about 5% of all the houses in town.”

This is the tiniest tip of the iceberg.

After stripping neighborhoods of homes young families can afford to buy, billionaires then begin raising rents to extract as much cash as they can from local working class communities.

In the Nashville suburb of Spring Hill, the vice-mayor, Bruce Hull, told the Journal you used to be able to rent “a three bedroom, two bath house for $1,000 a month.” Today, the Journal notes:

“The average rent for 148 single-family homes in Spring Hill owned by the big four [Wall Street billionaire investor] landlords was about $1,773 a month…”

As the Bank of International Settlements summarized in a 2014 retrospective study of the years since the Reagan/Gingrich changes in banking and finance:

It’s a fancy way of saying that billionaire-owned big banks and hedge funds have made trillions on housing while you and your community are becoming destitute.

Ryan Dezember, in his book Underwater: How Our American Dream of Homeownership Became a Nightmare, describes the story of a family trying to buy a home in Phoenix. Every time they entered a bid, they were outbid instantly, the price rising over and over, until finally the family’s father threw in the towel.

“Jacobs was bewildered,” writes Dezember. “Who was this aggressive bidder?”

As that new study from Popular Democracy and the Institute for Policy Studies found:

In 2018, corporations and the billionaires that own or run them bought 1 out of every 10 homes sold in America, according to Dezember, noting that:

“Between 2006 and 2016, when the homeownership rate fell to its lowest level in fifty years, the number of renters grew by about a quarter.”

And it’s gotten worse every year since then.

This all really took off around a decade ago following the Bush Crash, when Morgan Stanley published a 2011 report titled “The Rentership Society,” arguing that snapping up houses and renting them back to people who otherwise would have wanted to buy them could be the newest and hottest investment opportunity for Wall Street’s billionaires and their funds.

Turns out, Morgan Stanley was right. Warren Buffett, KKR, and The Carlyle Group have all jumped into residential real estate, along with hundreds of smaller investment groups, and the National Home Rental Council has emerged as the industry’s premiere lobbying group, working to block rent control legislation and other efforts to control the industry.

As John Husing, the owner of Economics and Politics Inc., told The Tennessean newspaper:

“What you have are neighborhoods that are essentially unregulated apartment houses. It could be disastrous for the city.”

As Zillow found:

“The areas that are most vulnerable to rising rents, unaffordability, and poverty hold 15 percent of the U.S. population — and 47 percent of people experiencing homelessness.”

And as families are priced out of ownership and forced to rent, they become more vulnerable to homelessness.

America should, too.

ALSO READ: Not even ‘Fox and Friends’ can hide Trump’s dementia

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 1 year ago

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Holiday fic summaries! These will be OC not Reader

Secret Santa:

You attend a big Christmas party at your friend’s. You were instructed to wear something Christmas inspired and to bring a secret Santa gift for a name you’ve chosen at random before attending. You bring a cocktail kit as a gift to another friend. When gift exchange happens, you get your gift and there is a Christmas card with instructions to open in private. When you open your gift later that evening in a room at your friends, it’s the nastiest, freakiest gift ever!!!! You wonder who could have given you this? There were plenty of men and women at that party. You were instructed to wear your gift all evening but still…you don’t know who it is. Eventually, you find out after an entire evening of sexual torture.

Sitting on Santa’s lap for photos:

You’ve always wanted to take pictures with Santa as a little girl but your mom didn’t feel comfortable letting you sit on a grown man’s lap which is understandable. Now that you’re older, you go to a Christmas event at the Fire House with your sister and nieces and there is a toy drive, Brunch, hot cocoa, and a Santa Clause! He’s a black Santa dressed exactly like the fat jolly man. After some thinking you decide to get a picture with some convincing from your sister. You sit on Santa’s lap and he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, a deep, laugh causing chills to run down your spine. He asks you what you want for Christmas and you say jokingly: “A MAN! I’m kidding, Santa.” (You weren’t kidding) “honestly, I have everything I could ever want. I just want to spend time with my family.” Little did you know, Santa was going to make that gift come true.

Santa’s naughty list:

He is a brat tamer. And he has his eyes on a woman that’s been crowned the black Regina George. She’s cruel, spoiled, rich, and BRATTY. Her daddy is a successful lawyer and her mom is a brain surgeon. She has everything she wants and will always get what she wants. She doesn’t even have to lift a finger. Men are at her beck and call always. She’s every man’s dream. He remembers how she treated him all those years ago. He wasn’t enough for her apparently. Didn’t make enough money he assumed. Wasn’t on her level. He had it all now. Without her knowledge of who he is, she accepted a date with him on Christmas Eve after talking online for months. She couldn’t wait to see if he was about what he talked. He proved to her that he was exactly what she was looking for, but what she didn’t know was that she’d been on his naughty list for a long time now. He had a treat for her stuck up ass. One she’ll never forget for the rest of her life. The ghost of Christmas past, present, and future.

New Year’s wish:

You make a wish as the clock strikes twelve. “I wish I could wake up next to the perfect man that checks off all my boxes. Even if it’s the first man I ever laid my eyes on tonight. I deserve it after the time I’ve wasted on my ex.” You were drunk and saying anything but the shooting star that zipped across the night sky took it seriously. That morning, you wake up in the most luxurious home, even though you recall falling asleep in your own bed last night after the NYE party. Next to you, there is a man sound asleep. You sit up, confused, looking down at your naked body dripped in diamonds. What the hell? You look over at the man next to you and he’s…damn…he’s gorgeous…wait…is this the guy from the party last night?!!!! You’re in for a ride with his man! A dream come true! Only problem is, you have until midnight to live this fantasy before reality sets in.

NYE office party:

It’s the annual NYE party! All departments at this big corporation: Marketing, Finance, IT, Operations, Development, and the big guys that reside on the top floor all come together to celebrate. It’s a mix crowd, and you show up because there’s always good food and lots of alcohol. You work as an Accountant, been there for five years, and you’re single. You show up in your best attire, and all eyes are obviously on you. You find your work friends and gossip. In walks the boss. You’ve never seen this man but you can’t stand him. He’s controlling, demanding, opinionated, and rude as hell. He’s the new CEO of this successful tech company. One of the highest paid in the world. The old CEO never showed up to these events—hold the hell up!!!! Is that the man you fucked a month ago that you’ve been running away from because of that python between his legs?! He’s your boss?!

New Year’s kiss with a stranger:

It’s NYE 2022. You’re spending your NYE in the hospital. You have a patient that you’ve grown close with. His name is (whoever) and he had a near death experience. He’s a stranger to you but not really. You’ve grown to like him for the past month you’ve been taking care of him. He is recovering well. It was a motorcycle accident. He’s bandaged up and in a contraption to keep him stable with the amount of injuries he has. You’re only doing your travel nursing there and it’s your last day. He didn’t talk much. He mostly used his button or communicated with a blink or a slow nod of his head. He surprised you by calling your name that last night. You come to him, happy that he’s speaking more clearly. Him: “come closer…” you do so, and he whispers, “I’m really going to miss you. Could I please have a New Year’s kiss?” His request threw you off. You laugh, patting his hand gently, “I’m gonna miss you too. I’m sad to leave. I wish I could stay.” Throughout the rest of your shift you can’t help but to think about his request. You couldn’t explain why you felt butterflies in your stomach. You didn’t even know this man outside of being his nurse! Right before you leave, you accept a gift from your nurse supervisor and thank everyone for having you. You’re set to go back home to Chicago for at least two months before another contract in New York. Before you leave, you peek inside of his room and notice he’s sleeping. You check your surroundings and tiptoe over to his bedside. You look at his lips and then on impulse, you lean in and kiss him. It’s soft and gentle. You could feel tears brimming your eyes. You leave with the realization that you’ll never see him again.

#new fic #nahimjustfeelingit-writes #killmonger imagine #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #erik killmonger #christmas #new years

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pascaloverx · 7 months ago

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To Begin Again

THREE

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic.

TWO FOUR

One week since your arrival at Hogwarts has passed faster than you imagined. During this time, you discovered some things: single teachers tend to live in a building exclusive to Hogwarts, with one floor designated for each pair of teachers. Each floor is divided into two large rooms on the right and two on the left. These rooms, almost like suites, have a shared entrance between the two rooms leading to a bathroom. Meals are taken at the same time as the students but in a specific staff wing.

Before your arrival, there was a draw to determine who would share the floor and bathroom with you. To your "luck" (with irony), your floor mate is none other than Sirius Black. On the same floor as you, there are also Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange. Other married teachers or staff members of Hogwarts live in houses or mansions in the nearest village to Hogwarts. Students spend most of the school year residing at Hogwarts, being released only on festive dates and weekends if they want to spend time with their families. Not all families reside near Hogwarts or in London, so many students spend the year at Hogwarts. Harry Potter's parents, Lily and James, work at the school and live in the village. Therefore, Harry spends weekends with them. Draco Malfoy isn't as lucky. Lucius Malfoy, from what you've been told, prefers a luxurious life as CEO of a conglomerate over coming to London to visit his son. He apparently has a house in the village where he sends Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, when he's tired of marital life. She seems to be Draco's parental support. According to Remus, Narcissa volunteers frequently to help with school matters. Lucius Malfoy is a major donor of money to assist with the school's financial issues. Hermione Granger's parents are also known to make generous donations to Hogwarts, but as they are not wealthy, this means they spend more time working than being able to care for her. Therefore, she only visits them on festive dates. They apparently live in London, so it's a long train journey to get there. Just thinking about the poor girl spending much of her holidays on a train for hours makes you feel a bit exhausted. Ron Weasley is the son of two Hogwarts employees. Molly Weasley works in the school's administration, while Arthur Weasley works as a librarian. They live in a large house in the village, from what you've heard.

And those were some of the pieces of information you managed to gather during this week. McGonagall assigned you to assist two teachers in their classes on your only day off, which happens to be today. Something tells you she might not have liked you much, but perhaps she just wants you to integrate into the team. And once again, by irony of fate, you will be assisting precisely the teachers you already know: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. A curious fact is that you couldn't find out the reason why Lupin has a separate room from all the other teachers and it's so close to the school entrance.

"Excuse me, professor. May I come in to assist you on this fine morning?" You say as you enter Remus Lupin's classroom. His class takes place in an auditorium. Your voice echoes throughout the entire auditorium, and you feel embarrassed.

"Of course, please come in." Lupin replies, smiling warmly as he gestures for you to enter the classroom. The students look at you curiously, especially those who are not already your fans, like Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. You must have been the first one to, instead of fueling their rivalry, bring them together.

"Today, my dear actors, we will be doing some exercises that will prepare you for any theater play. Our first exercise and main lesson is improvisation. Professor Y/L/N and I will demonstrate it for you, and then you will practice with each other." Lupin says, gesturing for you to step onto the stage. As the students step down from the auditorium stage and take their seats as if they were spectators, you climb up, feeling uncertain if you are the best person to assist Lupin.

"Professor, who will tell you what to improvise?" Hermione Granger asks, all smart and eager. The smile she opens for being the first to ask is encouraging. You notice out of the corner of your eye Draco Malfoy sticking his tongue out towards Hermione. Harry looks at him and makes a gesture as if he's going to attack.

"I think it could be Mr. Potter. He seems eager to help us. Don't you think so, Remus?" You say, trying to attract the attention of the three students and observing them focus their attention on you. And then, when Malfoy was about to laugh at Potter, you put two fingers pointed at your eyes and then pointed them at Malfoy, as if to say, "I've got my eye on you."

"Indeed. Potter will tell us where the improvisation takes place, Granger will tell us who we are to each other, and Malfoy will tell us what we're doing. Learn that a good improvisation requires the factors: Where, Who, and What. Now let's see what my future actors have for this improvisation." Lupin seems to have noticed the same thing as you. In the end, it seems like you two make a good teaching duo.

"You're in a pub." Potter says quickly. It seems like he already had that answer ready to go. You and Remus exchange a glance and almost laugh, thinking that you'll probably have to pretend to be drunk. And the worst part, in front of the students.

"You guys are friends who have feelings for each other." Granger says after thinking for a moment. Something tells you she wants to see some good drama unfold.

"And you guys are arguing. About these feelings that Granger made up." Malfoy finishes the plot of the performance you and Lupin will have to do. You feel nervous. It's strange to do this kind of thing with someone you've known for a short time.

"You always act like this when we go out drinking. Flirting with anyone without remembering that we're together." Lupin starts the scene, giving you a slight wink while trying to pretend to be drunk and annoyed.

"That's rich coming from you. You're always out and about with a different person, like some big Casanova. Just to be clear, in a friendship, you have permission to flirt with other people." You act, portraying a sense of indignation.

"Our... our moments together should be just ours. But of course, you don't understand, how could you? You only think of yourself." Lupin says, and it's so funny the way he says it that you laugh, breaking character, but you quickly try to recover and finish the performance.

"You're mistaken, you stubborn man. I think of you. Night and day, all the time if it matters." You say, being overly dramatic, but it seems like the students and Lupin found it amusing. Your finger is pointed at the middle of Lupin's chest as if accusing him.

"Know that I think of you too. More than necessary, more than anyone would like to admit." Lupin says, holding your finger and looking deeply into your eyes. It's almost enchanting to gaze into his eyes. You both lean in closer, without breaking eye contact. Until you hear a noise like two bodies hitting the ground and immediately look down. Malfoy and Potter are fighting clumsily. You and Lupin rush down to intervene, with you holding onto Malfoy, who was pulling Potter's hair this time, and Lupin, who takes the task of lifting Potter off the ground and holding him back. No real harm came to either of them. After a stern talking-to from Lupin, both of them apologized, even Malfoy. It might have been the fear of facing McGonagall or missing the rest of the week's classes, or perhaps the prospect of their parents having to come in. You're not entirely sure what brought about the reconciliation, but it worked.

"Everyone else is dismissed. Except for Malfoy and Potter. As punishment, you'll accompany Professor Y/L/N to her next class as assistants and participate in the lesson. I'll inform the teacher of your scheduled class that you'll be otherwise occupied. When Professor Y/L/N authorizes it, you'll be released from punishment." Remus says, and you look at him in confusion. Is the punishment for them or for you?

"But Professor..." Draco and Harry speak in unison, looking at each other in surprise. You and Lupin laugh, and then you gently touch their shoulders. Then you point to the exit of the auditorium.

"Follow me, boys. Professor Black must be waiting for us." You say, leading them out. Before leaving, you wave gently to Remus, who waves back. The moments of improvisation between you are playing in your head like a movie trailer. The three of you take a long route, with Malfoy and Potter arguing about who is to blame for their punishment and which way to go. It feels like an eternity until you arrive at the hall where Sirius's class takes place.

"Got lost on the way and needed the help of two troublemakers to get to me, Y/N?" Sirius asks, looking at you with a hint of mockery. You take a deep breath because you know you can't curse him. At least not right now.

"No, Black. The two troublemakers are accompanying me as punishment, and I came to assist you in the dance class. I never imagined you'd teach this kind of class." You say, teasing Sirius, who continues with a charming crooked smile on his face.

"So, I have to inform you both that you'll be partners. We're practicing ballroom dancing today, which gives me the unique opportunity to teach this class with a partner. I'm sure Harry and Draco will manage each other just fine. In fact, I'll let you decide who will lead and who will follow." Sirius says, turning on the music for you to dance and extending his hand towards you. You smile, realizing it might be easier to handle the Potter/Malfoy rivalry than you thought.

"You handle them well. Better than I imagined. At least you know how to do that." You say as you feel Sirius' hand firmly hold your waist and guide you. One, two, three, one, two, three. You're being led by him across the dance floor, reaching certain realizations you'd rather not admit. The main one being that you're attracted to Sirius Black. The second major realization is that he's an excellent teacher.

"I know how to do many things well. I hope I can show you all of them someday. But it's easy to get them to focus in class when your lesson requires meticulous concentration. Not to mention, the music and the steps help scatter conversations." Sirius says with a playful tone, leading you through the dance with confidence.

"I find you handsome, and it makes me uncomfortable." Slips out of your mouth accidentally, and you silently thank the gods that apparently no one else heard you. Well, no one else except the idiot in front of you.

"Let me see if I got this right. Are you uncomfortable because of my beauty or because you find me handsome?" Sirius teases, poking fun at you. You're not sure how to respond, pretending to observe the students. You actually check on Malfoy and Potter, and it seems that besides finding their rhythm, they found a bit of harmony. Malfoy even let Potter lead him in the dance.

"I think it's the second option. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't come here for this. I don't even know why I said that. Just pretend you didn't hear it." You deflect, stepping back a bit from Sirius. As soon as he senses your retreat, he twirls you around and steps closer to you.

"Go out with me. We can go to a bar nearby. If you want, I can invite Lupin. Maybe then you'll feel more comfortable talking about how you want..." Sirius starts to say, but you purposefully step on his foot.

"Watch what you say. The next place I hit won't be your feet." You try to sound threatening, but it doesn't seem to work. Sirius bites his lip and pulls your body close to his, making a strangely sexy dance move.

"I'm looking forward to our date tonight." Sirius says to you, then stops the dance. "Students, congratulations, you managed to concentrate enough for no one to get hurt in this class. Special congratulations to you, Potter." Sirius says, looking in the direction of Malfoy and Potter.

"And congratulations to you too, Malfoy. You two are excused from accompanying me. But no fights on the way out." You say, looking at the two of them, who nod almost in unison and quickly leave the class with the other students.

"How will we handle the bathroom schedule of the bathroom that we share, since we're going out together tonight?" You ask as you feel Sirius getting close behind you. You hear his muffled laughter near your ear and shiver all over.

"Not to be obvious, but I think we're grown-ups. We can use the same bathroom without any major issues." Sirius says, trying to sound charming, and you look at him seriously. Then you lightly slap his arm and leave the hall. After all, now you have a date, not only with one, but with two men. If that can be considered a date, after all.

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palmtreepalmtree · 7 months ago

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Please help me understand this. I feel like we got pushed the ADU thing (faster permitting process? removing zoning restrictions on single-residence lots?) as a way to build more housing in SoCal with the goal of adding density and bring rent down overall.

The LA Times has been running Lifestyle section examples of this for at least three years at this point. They usually disclose the costs and the rent and or details about the person who wound up living there. A majority of the time the person who ends up living in the ADU is family of the homeowner. The rest of the time, the rent is meaningfully higher than the average rent.

Many of the articles feature architects who designed the ADU themselves (great for self-promotion for them) but I have to point out that not having to pay for an architect is a significant savings. Also, many of the articles that feature designs and builds that were completed in 2021 note that the construction would cost nearly double now because of the rise in the costs of materials and labor.

So I guess my question is... if we're just building additional luxury housing that is costly to design and construct for the purpose of creating a high-rent unit for the homeowner's passive income, what is the fucking point? And if it's so cost prohibitive to build that only family members who pool their resources can afford it... then again, I say, what is the fucking point?

#anyhow #just a single girl #living in a world #without a dream of a house

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anime-kia · 1 year ago

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Mother’s Day?

Lmao sorry, another Dadmonger story.

I couldn't come up with a unique Mother's Day special with the reader celebrating so I used this plot instead.

Mentions of infertility, otherwise, no warnings.

Enjoy!

Relationship: Single Father Erik x Dance Teacher Reader

Erik always loved when his daughter came to visit on the weekends. Despite having to deal with her irritating mother whom he should've left years ago, Aaliyah always brought joy to his usually busy and hectic life.

He was quite surprised when his arrogant, loud-mouthed baby mother was knocking on his door at seven in the morning, calling his name like Sabrina from Madea's Big Happy Family 2.

It didn't irritate him that she was at his door so early, seeing as he was already up since five, working out. But it was Mother's Day today and there was no reason for her to be disrupting his peace.

As soon as the door creaked open, the eight-year-old was already in his arms.

"Hi, daddy!" She gave him a tight hug, the patterned beads on the ends of her hair bounced off his cheek as they made contact.

"Hey, princess." He lifted Aaliyah and gave her a kiss on her cheek above the dimple that matched his. "Go on inside, I'll be there in a second." He said after setting her down.

When Aaliyah was inside, he stepped out and closed the door leaving a small crack.

"Brianna." He simply said with a distasteful look on his face.

"What? You looking like it ain't your turn to spend time with her."

His eyes narrowed, "It's Mother's Day though."

"And?" She shrugged her shoulders and copied his stare, "It's your weekend with her. I got shit to do."

Erik almost laughed, not at her but at himself. This is the bitch that I got pregnant?

"What's so funny?" She asked, resting her hand on her hip. Her nails caught his attention, ridiculously long, pointy and bright. Now that he took a better look at her, he could see and assume the exact reason why she had the nerve to pull something like this.

"Nothing, except you tryna go out and be the thot that you is instead of spending time with your daughter. You ain't send her to one of ya little family members cuz they would've clocked your ass for pulling this stunt." Erik ridiculed her, and every factual statement he said had her eyebrows furrowing and fists clenching harder.

"Fuck you, Erik!" She yelled, pointing her index finger to his face. "You the last person to be judging me."

"Nah, fuck you for being an ain't shit ass mother." With that, he went back inside and locked the door in her face. There was a thump against the door, followed by the sound of her flip flops going down the porch. He sighed and went to go look for Aaliyah.

Erik tried to keep arguing and fights to a minimal whenever Aaliyah was around. It was quite difficult considering her mother was an obnoxious loud mouth who had no class or shame.

Aaliyah knew they didn't get along, in fact even she didn't get along with her mom that well. Brianna was one of those people who shouldn't have kids, but still has them anyway. They didn't really share a mother-daughter bond at all, Aaliyah would get that from other women in her life. Brianna would rather spend time partying, drinking, hooking up, and other stuff that she should've put to rest after she became a mother.

The only reason he wasn't able to take full custody over his daughter was because the judge was quite biased against the infamous ex-Killmonger and there was no way a man like that could raise a child in love. Of course it did take a while for him to recover, thanks to his family in Wakanda, but he was one hundred percent a stable man. Also, he was way more capable to care for his daughter than Brianna ever could.

For one, Erik lived in luxury. He lived in a better house, drove a nicer car, ate tastier foods, and resided in a safer neighbourhood. In fact, he paid for all of Aaliyah's necessities even at Brianna's request. Her clothes, shoes, school supplies and extra curricular activities like dance and swimming.

Brianna on the other hand moved around a lot, couch-surfing, she didn't drive, McDonald's was often her first choice of meal, and she spent a lot more money on her appearance and other things that should come last versus taking care of her basic needs.

But in the court house, she used her mother's living as a cover up for her own. Decent house, fair neighbourhood, working, stable.

He recalls how furious he was when the judge denied him the rights to his child. He knew that Brianna only did this to spite him and also for her own personal financial benefit. Child support was expensive.

"Aaliy-" He walked into the living room to find her curled up in a throw blanket on the sectional sofa, fast asleep. Her overnight bag was resting on the floor. He let her sleep, seeing as it was still very early.

Usually, she would be dropped off on a Friday night and they would wake up around ten or eleven the following day. On Sundays, they would wake up even later around twelve.

Erik spent the rest of the morning in his gym, finishing off his workout that was interrupted. He liked to play music that was loud enough to vibrate the walls, but his baby girl was asleep so he opted to keep it relatively low.

An hour went by and Erik finished his workout. He took a hot steaming shower that fogged up the entire bathroom, then moisturized and got dressed into a white t-shirt, light grey Jordan sweater and black basketball shorts. It was a habit to wear his gold chain that was tucked behind the hoodie.

More time had passed and breakfast was served, eggs and pancakes. Aaliyah was up and ready, climbing onto the bar stool. He slid her plate towards her, along with the maple syrup bottle.

"That's that real maple syrup. Not the sugary shit ya mama feeds you." He watched as she examined the glass bottle. "But be careful not to drop it, aight?"

"Okay, daddy." She twisted the cap off and used her two small hands to drizzle the syrup onto her pancakes. She ended up drowning them and part of the scrambled eggs, but she liked it that way.

Weird. Erik thought. He took a seat beside her and poured the syrup onto his pancakes. "So what we got planned for today?"

Aaliyah's bright face toned down, and her chewing slowed. "Well..." He waited for her response as she swallowed. "Mama was supposed to come to ballet with me. My teacher said bring your mommies for the Mother's Day dance class!" Her fist rested under her chin, "But she isn't here."

He stared at his daughter, reminiscing on the feeling. Erik knew exactly what it was like to not have someone there with him. All the basketball tournaments, school events, and graduation ceremonies. It was no one except him and if he was lucky, maybe one of his foster parents would attend, but that was as rare as a blue moon.

"I uh... I'll take you." He hesitantly said.

"But you always take me, daddy." She didn't understand what he meant, seeing as her classes took place on the weekends so Erik always dropped her off anyway.

"Nah, Li. I mean I'll join the class with you. Only for today." He put his pride behind him today, only for his daughter though. As long as his friends and family didn't see this, everything would be alright.

She started cracking up at Erik's offer, throwing her head back in amusement. "But you're a boy, not a girl!"

"I'm a man, actually. And so what, you got the coolest dad. We gon' have more fun than the rest of 'em." He smiled at his daughter's enjoyment. The two finished their meals and got ready to head out.

On the ride there, Aaliyah couldn't stop sharing her excitement. She often spoke about her dance teacher and how much she loved her.

"She's so pretty, and so nice! And she dances so good! I wanna be like her when I grow up!"

Aaliyah would always talk about her teacher with Erik. The one time she tried to talk to Brianna about her, that resulted in Brianna cursing the teacher off and claiming that she was trying to steal her daughter away.

To say Brianna was an irrational, nonsensical, drama queen would be an understatement.

Erik's nerves spiked as they entered the building. Of course he could dance, but not to the point where he could be a professional. He was more of a man who had rhythm and could do little bits and pieces of hip hop. Though he was graceful, quiet and fast on his feet, ballet was most definitely not one of his specialties.

"This way, daddy!" Her pink tutu bounced as she pulled him towards a brown door, similar to a school classroom door. Outside, there were mothers and daughters all lined up. The little girls were all so giddy and excited, jumping up and down and yapping to their mothers.

He hadn't realized it, but Aaliyah was tugging very hard at his arm. Erik was forming a resistance as they got closer.

"Ungh!" Her little grunts finally were audible in his ears, "Come! On!" Her ballet slippers slid on the tile floor as she tried to tug him.

"Oh damn, my bad." He eased up and allowed her to bring them closer to the door. The mothers immediately took notice of him, some eyeing him longer than they should've. Some looks of confusion, some of lust. They were already talking, but he could sense when the conversations switched to be about him.

Aaliyah was already talking to a group of young girls, sharing their excitement about today. He could hear her boasting about him, even when they questioned where her mother was.

There was classical music playing on the inside for a while, and Erik was praying that it would continue non-stop. He checked his watch; 1:59.

And as soon as the clock struck 2:00, the music stopped.

Another minute passed and the door finally opened, a set of older girls about twelve to fifteen exited. The younger girls squealed in excitement, lining up beside their mothers and Aaliyah to her father. She squeezed his hand and bounced up and down.

"Aye, you bout to pull my shoulder out." He complained.

"Oops, sorry daddy!" Aaliyah apologized and relaxed a bit. Instead, she swayed their arms back and forth.

The line started to move into the room and he assumed that he missed when they were called in. Admitted, Erik was quite interested to see who his daughter bragged about all the time. Being the last to step in, he closed the door and finally turned around.

Erik was beyond surprised to see a young black woman teaching the class. Not that he was underestimating her abilities, but when he thought of a ballet teacher, he pictured an old, white, grumpy-looking lady. Also, black ballerinas were not represented as much, so this was quite the surprise. He assumed that the teacher loved Aaliyah so much because she was a grandmother, and grandparents love children, but he got the exact opposite instead. He was thrilled in fact, and Aaliyah was correct, she was beautiful. You were beautiful.

"Good afternoon everyone, my name is Miss (Y/n) and I'm happy that you're all here for this Mother's Day class." Your smile was so vibrant and bold, lighting up the entire room. Your eyes made contact with Erik's, a chill raced through your body. He was very handsome.

He was broad and had a lot of mass, which easily showed through his clothes. You were digging the dreads that laid to the left of his head.

However, you were not surprised at all that her mother wasn't here, but you were shocked when he showed up instead. You were expecting not to see Aaliyah at all, but nonetheless you didn't question it. It warmed your heart to see how much he cared because the lack on her maternal side was very apparent. Aaliyah viewed you as a motherly figure, you knew that. And it didn't bother you at all, she was a sweetheart.

"Alright, so we'll start off with warming up the muscles then we can start with pliés."

You did simple stretches and warming up with the class so no one would get injured. Jogging on the spot, high knees, jumping jacks, lunges, toe touches, the basics. You did take notice of how fit Erik was, and he was quite flexible too. Though he was wearing a sweater, you could clearly see how muscular his arms were. You couldn't help but stare. Only to be stopped as he caught you.

You looked away, and stood up from your lunge, "Alright, moms and dad, can we get you on this side of the room." You pointed to the left where the taller bar was, and the girls used the shorter one.

The barre routines you pulled together were relatively simple. Though this was a third-level RAD (Royal Academy of Dance) ballet class, you had to alter it so the inexperienced parents could have their fun too, without stumbling or getting frustrated because ballet can be irritating.

"So we're gonna start with our feet in first position and hold for two counts, one... two... Arms through port de bras to second position, three, four." You demonstrated as the participants followed. "Demi-plié and stretch, demi-plié and stretch, rise up, hold, hold and lower. Grand plié, bringing your arm through port de bras and stretch, turn to the other side." The kids were happy at the simplicity, but half of the parents already looked winded. You smiled, "Easy enough?"

There were some sarcastic agrees, which was understandable.

"Don't worry, I'll walk you through it." You smiled at the parents, hitting play on the stereo. You physically demonstrated the steps on the first side, but on the second side, you walked around the room correcting technique.

Erik felt stupid, but no one was judging him as far as he could tell.

You lifted Aaliyah's chin gently as she had a habit of staring down at her feet. "Eyes up. Turn out your feet, and make sure you're resting on all ten toes." You fixed the rest of the girls' arms, posture, and feet positions then switched to the adult bar.

Big yikes, was all you could think of as you watched half of the mothers attempt ballet. The other half were ex-dancers so they were able to do the exercise properly and Erik wasn't bad at all. No, he wasn't perfect, and you betted that if he trained when he was younger, there was no doubt he would be the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. You could tell that he has trained in some areas that required him to be agile and flexible.

"Very good, Mr. Stevens." You praised him. He felt himself smirk. It was nice to receive approval outside of the bedroom or work.

The only thing you fixed on him was his elbow because it was drooping, and also because why not get a close-up of his massive arms. You adjusted posture and arms on the rest of the ladies.

"Nice finish." You applauded as the song came to an end. "I see we have some natural talent in the room, how many parents are or were dancers?" About five raised their hand. You asked them what discipline did they study and when, if they performed and other dance-related things.

Just like the ballet language itself, it was all so foreign to him. He didn't even try to comprehend what you were discussing. The most he knew were pliés, so when you got to saying the other barre exercises, he was at a loss.

Battement tendus, battement glissés, rond de jambe, and that wasn't even a quarter of the ballet glossary.

Finally finished with barre work, the class was in the centre facing the mirror.

"Hold up, it's more?" Erik asked, with a heavy breath. All that leg kicking and pliéing had him tired. He grew a newfound respect for ballerinas and all dancers for that matter.

Everyone giggled.

"Of course, Mr. Stevens. I only did a third of the barre exercises though. We still have centre, corner and character to do." You smiled at him. You lied though, there was no way you'd have enough time to do the whole syllabus, and also it was a Mother's Day class, not a regular one.

The look on his face was hilarious, everyone's giggles escalated into laughter.

"You're already tired, daddy?!" Aaliyah asked in shock as if she didn't have sweat beads on her forehead.

"Hell y- I mean, yeah I'm tired." A while ago he was doing just fine, it only goes to show that he was actually putting in effort. His hard work opened you back up to the idea of hosting a Father's Day dance class.

The first two years you hosted the Father's Day dance, only three or four would show up. It was a shame considering how cute of a bonding experience it would've been for both parties. Erik was your solid proof. Only if they could put their pride down for just an hour.

"So for this next exercise, we're gonna be doing turns!"

"Yaaayy!" The girls all cheered, as turning was their favourite. It was nice to see because when you started out dancing, turning was not your specialty. You were better at jumps.

"Can I get a partner to demonstrate this exercise?"

To your surprise Erik's hand raised.

"Oh, Mr. Stevens? Looks like I'm taking your partner, Aaliyah." You joked.

"That's okay! He said he wanted to!" She had a mischievous smile on her face.

Erik's face heated up as the others made noises, he felt so childish. It reminded him of the time the class found out about his first crush back in middle school.

Either way, demonstrating with two adults worked better than with a small child.

"So, what you're going to do is place your hands on my hips." He did just that, his cologne was faint but smelled very fresh and masculine. "And just rotate me as I keep my feet in first and imitate walks like a penguin." You demonstrated as you spoke. "Can anyone tell me what these are?"

They all raised their hands excitedly, ready to share their knowledge.

"Ellie?"

"Chaine turns!" The little blonde exclaimed.

"Perfect! Now make sure you keep your arms tight so you don't hit your partner."

The grip he had on your hips was surprisingly a lot more gentle than you expected from such a large man. For someone with no experience, he was a great partner. The audience applauded and you gave them a quick curtsey.

"Now you can have your partner back, Aaliyah." You smiled at the girl who was staring in awe at her father and a woman she wished to be one day. "After the partners in front have turned four times, you may start, okay?" You hit play and a more upbeat song played through the speakers, catching the ballet uneducated off guard. "Alright, so we're gonna start in three, two, one."

You watched as they taped their feet, shimmying their shoulders a bit as they waited for their turns. Not many people knew, but ballet wasn't strict to only classical piano music, it came in all forms.

You singled for each group to start, "Eyes up! Keep spotting! Keep your heels together, ladies! Turnout!"

Though you did have to remind her to spot the wall and not her feet, Aaliyah was the most consistent out of the rest of her class. She had so much potential and you hoped that she would continue dancing in the future.

"Very good, everyone! Take a little water break and we'll get started on our second last routine of the day."

The class awed in disappointment that it was already over. This was actually a first, usually, they were excited to leave. But syllabus work was never as fun as leisure classes like these. You were slightly more strict when it came to teaching syllabus.

"Can you open this for me, daddy?" Aaliyah handed her white and pink water bottle over to her dad.

He twisted it enough to remove the pressure, "Ah, it's too hard. Here, you try again."

"But if you can't open it, then how will I?" She pouted.

"Show me your muscles."

She lifted her small arms and flexed.

"Ahh, there they are. Now put 'em to use, girl." He placed the bottle back into her hands. With her might, she easily twisted the lid off.

"I did it!" She celebrated.

"Aye, there you go princess." Erik smiled, pulling his daughter into a hug and planting kisses on her cheek.

The mothers watched in awe at the father and daughter. They would've loved for their husbands to be as affectionate and loving with their children, but they were either too busy or too "manly" to be like that. Erik however, did not care. He would love and be proud of his seed no matter what.

You too gushed at the interaction. It made you become hopeful- about the possibility of having kids.

"Alright everyone, time for some grand jetés!"

The clanking of water bottles being put down, and ballet slippers padding across the floor filled the room.

"Can someone tell me what a grand jeté is?" The girls raised their hands in excitement just like that last time. "Amelia?"

"It's when you run and you jump and do a big split!"

"Perfect answer!" You applauded the light skin girl with brown freckles. "Mr. Stevens, can I get you to help me demonstrate once again?"

"Yeah, of course." He stepped out of the line towards you.

"So the goal of this one is to get really high but also to get a nice big split. Parents, you're going to assist in the height factor and girls, your goal is to get your legs as wide as possible, alright?" You stood in front of him and placed his large hands on your hips. "I'm going to chassé, then take two steps and brush my leg out to do the split."

The first run was slow, making sure that he could keep up. For someone with no experience in ballet, he really surprised you. His coordination was excellent.

The second time around, you picked up the pace and on the jump, he got you very high off the ground, as if he's practiced this before. He gently set you down and for a brief moment, his chocolate eyes met with yours. You smiled at each other and turned to face the class.

"Give Mr. Stevens a round of applause! That was amazing!" He bowed in acknowledgment. After the claps became silent you said, "See how high we got? That's how high you want to get on your own one day." Obviously that was just encouragement, a person can only jump so high.

You played the music and just like the last time you signalled for each partners to start. The mothers who were previous dancers got their daughters at very good heights, you could tell they were giving them pointers as well.

"Eyes up! No développé, make sure you're brushing your leg! Turnout! Stretch that back leg! Point your toes!"

It was funny to see the mothers who had no dance experience trying to keep up with their daughters. Some of the girls got jealous as they watched Erik lift Aaliyah over his head. They were in a world of their own, laughing joyously as they made it to the opposite corner of the room.

"I want to go that high, mommy!"

"We're too low!"

"Higher!"

The mothers looked at their children with incredulous looks. That simply meant, no.

One of the girls, Maya tapped Aaliyah's shoulder. "Can your daddy lift me?" She asked, there was no shyness in her voice. That girl was very bold.

Aaliyah looked up at Erik while pulling on his hoodie. "Daddy?"

"Wassup, princess?"

"Maya wants to know if you can lift her too."

He was stunned at first, "I uh- Yeah, sure." He smiled at them both. "As long as Miss (Y/n) is okay with it."

"Miss (Y/n)! Miss (Y/n)!" The two girls called out. You were checking your notes for the next class routine.

"Yes, girls?" You asked, a little startled.

"My daddy offered to help us jump higher if that's okay with you!"

Quite the surprise, "Yeah, that's fine."

After Maya was lifted, the other girls screamed "Me too!"

He looked dumbfounded, it made you giggle.

"How about this, one jump from Mr. Stevens and then you have to try and jump higher than that, but remembering all the corrections we've been working on throughout the year. Deal?"

"Deal!" They all cheered. The mothers looked very interested as well.

You started the music up and the girls lined up beside Erik. They each took their turns, and you could see some improvement already. They were jumping higher, which resulted in better splits. The mothers recorded, proud of their daughters and still in awe of Erik.

If they saw him on the streets, they would've assumed that he was up to no good. This soft, child-loving and friendly side was shocking to not only them, but to himself as well.

They all finished, and Erik was sweating. You wanted to ask him to take his sweater off, but that might be flirting a little too hard.

"Good job, ladies! And that was awesome Mr. Stevens!" You gave them a round of applause, the mothers joining in as well. "For our final lesson, we'll be doing révérence. You can choreograph this piece with your moms- and dad, but it's going to be really short. Two counts of eight, three max. I'll give you five minutes to come up with your routine."

Each pair went off to their own section of the room to practice.

Erik had no idea where to start, he was usually really good with formulating a plan, but ballet? Yeah, right. Good thing his little sidekick was the expert. She already had something in mind.

"Okay so, first we're going to walk, one, two- Turnout your feet, daddy."

"I'm trying, Li." He grunted as he fixed his feet. This ballet shit was a lot harder than I imagined.

"Then you bring your arms up to first and then to second, like this." She demonstrated for him and he followed suit. She looked at his arm position, droopy elbows, and corrected them. "Like that. Don't drop your arms, okay?"

"Yes, princess." He complied. Already, he could tell she was going to be a great leader.

"Then I'm gonna lift my arms up and you pick me up and we do a turn, then you put me down and we curtsy with our arms in demi-seconde."

"Demi-what?"

"Seconde, like this!" She showed him the arm position.

"Aight, lets run this again cuz I already forgot."

Aaliyah placed her hands on her hips, "Really, daddy?"

"Yeah, come on."

The two practiced their routine as did the others until you finally called time.

"So, who wants to go first?"

Of course Aaliyah's hand shot up, but you wanted to give someone else a go. Besides, you had to save the best for last.

The moms who weren't dancers went first, they were... Well, you've seen worse let's just say that. Then the ex-dancers went, very graceful and lovely routines. It made you wonder who was the choreographer because they were doing some things that you hadn't taught the class. Lastly, it was Erik and Aaliyah's turn.

The first part of their routine was very simple, but very cute. After he spun her and set her down to do their curtsy, he took her hand and placed a small kiss on the back and she did the same. It was so adorable, the mothers awed along with you.

"Excellent work, everyone!" Erik hadn't realized how much fun he was actually having until you announced that class was finally over. "I hope you all have an amazing rest of your Mother's Day and I'll see you next weekend."

Time does fly by when you're having fun.

"Goodbye, Miss (Y/n)!" They all said and exited the room, all except Erik and Aaliyah.

After class, Aaliyah would spend time talking with you about anything. She would tell you about her family life, school and anything that was holding her interest at the moment. It was habitual, and it made Erik more curious about you.

Erik watched as the eight-year-old ran into your arms.

"Hey Aaliyah, did you have fun today?" You asked holding onto her, similar to a mother.

"Yeah, so much fun! I told you my daddy was very strong!"

You laughed, "I didn't doubt it for a second." You stood up and looked at him.

"So y'all be talking about me while I'm not here?" He chuckled, arms folded over his chest.

"Only good stuff." You assured him with a grin. "I wasn't expecting you to be so graceful though."

Erik shrugged, "I am a big nigga."

You raised an eyebrow.

"She's heard everything already, but she knows not to say it. Right, Li?"

"Yes, sir!" She gave him her biggest toothy grin.

"Aye." He pulled five dollars out of his pocket and handed it to her, "How about you go get something from the vending machine, princess."

"Okay!" She accepted the cash and skipped out of the room.

Now all that remained was you and Erik. It wasn't necessarily tense in the atmosphere, but you felt shy for some odd reason. His stare was enough to make you want to hide your face and blush. Sure handsome men have been around you, but something about Erik was more intense.

"So, you met her mom, right?" He suddenly asked.

"Yeah." You wanted to laugh thinking of that ridiculous woman, "She was ready to take me to court after caring about her daughter. She said I was trying to take her away or whatever, but I can't help it if Aaliyah likes me. Besides I love kids."

"Yeah, sorry about that. The girl is crazy."

You nodded quickly, agreeing with him.

"Do you got any kids? I mean you look pretty young, but..."

Your heart sunk, "Well... I haven't um... Been able to conceive so no. That's kind of why I spend a lot of time with kids, to make up for the loss."

"Shit, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, no. It's fine, really. I've only tried it a few times with one person, and after the multiple failures I was too scared to try again so we gave up on each other."

"Damn, I really didn't mean to bring that up."

"No, it's alright. Really." You sighed, "For now, I'm more focused on helping these kids get better and enjoy ballet cuz it can be a lot of fun."

You could still see he was slightly upset by your news, so you decided to change the topic.

"So Mr. Stevens-"

"Erik."

"Yes, Erik." You smiled, "I'm curious to know about your natural talent. Did you dance when you were younger?"

"Nah. I always knew how to dance, but not this ballet shit. I was in the Navy and I did a bunch of training that made me work on stealth. I guess it counted for more than military stuff."

"Ohhh, okay that makes sense."

It was silent for a moment, until both of you tried to speak at the same time.

"You first." He insisted.

"Well I was hoping that I'll see you next month for the Father's Day dance class. I stopped doing them cuz the dads wouldn't show up, but I mean a big, strong guy like you decided to come to the Mother's Day class, so I thought, why not? I would love to have you again, it was really fun."

"I did this for Aaliyah, let's make that clear." He stated, attempting to come off as if he didn't enjoy the class.

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes, "Ballet isn't only for women. I'm sure you would've been the next Carlos Acosta if you started out when you were younger."

"Who?" Erik raised his eyebrow.

"He's a ballet dancer. But anyways, you should come. We can do more lifts and tricks, it'll be fun."

"We?" He gave you a suggestive look. That only made you blush and turn your head.

"Anyways! So will you be joining us again?"

He scratched his beard, "On one condition."

"Which is?"

He knew you were quite interested after he caught you staring more than once during the class. "Let me take you out on a date and we'll see what happens from there."

You were taken aback, "A d-date?"

"Yeah, I wanna get to know you more and see why my daughter likes you so much."

Your heart was beating so loudly, you were convinced that Erik could hear it. "I uh- y-yeah, sure. Why not?"

"Great." He smiled, showing off his gold fangs that you just took notice of.

Aaliyah came back with two packs of skittles, a pack of starbursts and Doritos. She watched you both exchange numbers. "I'm back!"

"Ready to go, Li?" He turned to his daughter after you finished giving him your number.

"Yep! Bye Miss (Y/n)!"

"Goodbye, sweetheart. See you next weekend. Bye Erik, see you soon."

He winked at you as he walked out, "Bye, Miss (Y/n)." The door finally locked, and the butterflies that were flying rampant in your stomach had finally settled down.

"What was she writing in your phone?" Aaliyah asked Erik while eating a handful of Skittles.

"None of your business, girl." He replied, taking the bag of starbursts out of her hand.

"Aww, you never tell me anything!" She huffed.

"That ain't true." He disagreed, popping two pink starbursts into his mouth.

"Yeah!"

"No."

"Yeah, it is!"

"No, it ain't."

The two bickered back and forth until they were in his Range Rover.

"You like her, don't you?" Aaliyah teased.

"Uhhh." He wasn't sure if he could answer that truthfully or just start another debate with his daughter again.

"It's okay daddy, I like her too." She said, buckling up as he started the engine.

He grinned at her through his rearview mirror, "Yeah, she's cool."

"Can we get ice cream?"

"You got ice cream money?"

"Daaadddy?!" She whined.

"I'm just playing, let's go." He laughed, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the ice cream parlour.

Happy Mother's Day! - I know this wasn't that much about Mother's Day, but I didn't want to write your typical Mother's Day one-shot. I wanted to make it unique.

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. If you haven't guessed it, I am in fact a dancer.

I do ballet, acro and jazz (I've done other dances, but this is what I've been doing this year). I didn't want to get too technical with the ballet glossary terms because it would come off as gibberish, unless you are a ballet dancer as well.

If you dance, let me know. What style? If you do ballet, are you with RAD? I am.

Thank you for reading!

(Start/Finish: May 10, 2019 - May 11, 2019)

2023 Note: Forgot to upload this on Mother’s Day, so here it is on Father’s Day instead :P

#killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #black reader

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