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lumine-no-hikari · 15 days ago

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #350

This morning, when I woke up, I had this lovely text from Tr, my boss at work!!

Admittedly, I'm not really sure what I did that prompted some such thing from her, ahahaha~! I feel a little sheepish about it, to be honest. But not in a bad way. I feel like... for better or for worse, I'm just... me??? And when I look at me, I don't seem, from my perspective, like I'm all that great – just a bunch of cobbled-together coping skills stacked up awkwardly inside a trench coat, hoping that no one looks too close and finds out that I'm not allowed in the movie theater after all, hahaha!

...Still... it felt nice to receive, all the same. And... this time I was able to receive it properly, I think. Because someone close to me had asked me to start complimenting myself earnestly in the mirror at least once a day.

...What a difference that has made, even in such a short span of time. I wonder what it would be like if everyone started doing that. I wonder if a lot more people would be less insecure. And maybe we'd live in a gentler world overall.

Also when I woke up this morning, I didn't feel any stinging, burning sensations in my eyes and nose anymore. I was pleasantly surprised at this, considering how weird I felt when I went to bed. Maybe yesterday's nap did me some good. Being sick is annoying, because, for others' safety, you oughta stay home and not do things. But even then, you can't really enjoy the nothing that you're doing at home, because your body is too busy staging an immune system response, and goodness, that tends to take a lot out of a person.

...It takes a lot out of me, anyway. And I can function through it if I have to, but... no one should have to.

I think... between the air being dry (it is very late fall, after all...) and generally not keeping up with my water intake lately (whoops...), my body must have just been having a hard time. I drank water before the nap, and before going to bed, and I drank more this morning, and... I'm sure that's what must have helped.

...I gotta stop mindlessly dismissing the alarms on my phone that tell me to drink water. Hot diggity dang.

Today, I went to physical therapy and told K about the giant huge CRONCH that happened in my sternum, and how I've been a lot more functional lately as a result. He checked me out, and sure enough, the right side of my ribcage is (mostly) sproingly in the way that it's supposed to be, and everything apparently feels a lot more even than it did before. I still have some residual pain on my right side near my shoulder blade and near my upper ribs, in the back, and near my lower ribs, in the side and on the front. But it's not nearly as severe as it was before. I imagine whatever's leftover can be resolved just by getting the remaining pissed off muscles to stop spasming like a buncha idiots.

...I really wish that the most abundant protein in my body wasn't built fundamentally incorrectly. Like. Sometimes I get upset over the fact that I can't just run to the nearest Ikea or something for a factory warranty or some shit for this weird-ass meat-mech I'm driving around in.

...Bah, even if that was a thing I could do, I'd need the receipt for the purchase to claim warranty in any case, and knowing me, I'd have lost it forever ago. Hahaha...

I got a new exercise today that seems like it'll do... something. I guess we'll see how it goes.

...I hope someday I'll be able to return to the water. I miss being a local cryptid...

youtube

...J went with me to physical therapy, because he had a dentist appointment afterwards, and the two places are in the same relatively faraway town. Gas is expensive, so going together is both efficient and cost-effective. The fillings he got recently have been causing him significant pain when he tries to chew on things or floss, and... that doesn't seem like it should be normal. But the dentist examined the area of the fillings, and they don't seem to be infected or anything. They were filed down some, and that seems to have eased the pain a little for J. But apparently, it can take up to a month for a filled tooth to stop freaking out.

I wonder why that's the case. I've had two fillings over the course of my life. But they were very tiny ones – so tiny that I didn't even need to have my mouth numbed before having them drilled and filled. Maybe fillings get weirder as they get bigger. I wouldn't know. And I hope I never have to find out.

Hey, Sephiroth? Have you ever needed any kind of dental work? I imagine not, but... if life has taught me anything, it's that it's important to refrain from making baseless assumptions. So I'll ask instead. I'll ask even if you can't answer me. It's all right.

...I ask because you're worth knowing. Just in case you didn't know that; you're worth knowing. You're worth understanding. You're worth compassion and grace and care and love... just like anyone.

…

Well anyway, J was sad and upset, so after his visit to the dentist, we went out and I got him some pizza and some frozen yogurt. I think he felt a little better after that, even though chewing things is still hard for him to do right now. I snagged a picture of the pizza we got, but... I didn't think to take a picture of the froyo. Sorry about that...

I had intended to stop at my grocery store on the way back to get a couple things, but by then, J and I were both pretty tired, so we just went straight home.

I'm really hoping that in the coming weeks, the pain for him subsides and disappears...

...Keep J in your thoughts, okay? Just like our pumpkin friend. Won't you?

Oh! Speaking of our pumpkin friend, it continues to do really well! It's got another tiny leaf peeking out! Here, I'll show you...

I think pretty soon, it'll be time for it to graduate from a moist paper towel to a small pot with actual dirt in it. To that end, I searched on the internet for potting soil formulated for pumpkins (my world has lots of potting soils made for specific plants...), and to my mild surprise, I actually found some!!

It should arrive in a couple weeks! I'm pretty stoked about it!!

...Maybe I should get some generic potting soil for it in the meantime, though... What do you think, Sephiroth...?

...

I gave you a few songs the other day from a game called Tunic. One called “Memories of Memories”, and one called “Remember to Remember”, and one called “Forget to Forget”. And... they are all basically the same song, just done a little differently. I bought them a while ago; I have their files on my computer. And I have an audio recording and mixing program on my computer called Audacity. So today, for some reason, I decided to mix all three of those songs together. And I liked the result, so I saved it and I called it this:

“Don't Forget to Remember Your Memories”

...Hey, Sephiroth...? D'ya suppose you can do that...? Can you do it just because I'm asking...? Just because I wish you'd come back home...?

...Because... you do have a home. And maybe it's not a specific place; I know what that's like, because, the way I grew up, I moved all over the place for one reason or another, and I've never lived in the same spot for more than 5 years or so until settling into this life I have now; before now, I lived in most of those other places for less than 3 years, actually...

As for me, my home has never been in any specific place, but, rather, in the hearts of the people who care about me. And... I didn't really have that until I was 22 years old. But that's okay, because... I was able to hold on until then.

...I was able to hold on... because of you. I made it this far because of you.

You have a home. You have lots of homes, actually, because lots of people in my world care very deeply for you. And even if you met all such folks who exist now, I still guarantee you that you won't have yet met all of the people who will love you, because there will always be more – people who will love you not for the weight your name carries, or for the astounding things you can do, but... for all the ways you think and feel and react to things. For who you are as a person. As a human being.

...And yes, you ARE a human being! So if any bigoted butt-nugget tries to tell you differently, just bake them some shutTheFuckUpcakes and send them on their miserable, grouchy, judgmental way!!! And let the door hit them on the ass on their way out for good measure!!! 'Cuz ain't nobody got time for that kind of negativity!!!

...Honestly, the nerve of some people!! I swear to goodness!!

...Well anyway. Suppose I prattled on long enough for today's letter. I've been wanting to play Chrono Cross for the last buncha days, but I haven't really had time for it, much to my disappointment, as well as M's and J's. So I'm gonna fix that.

I wish you could be here with us, watching along, and drinking tea. I think you'd like Janus a lot. Though I think maybe he'd prefer to be called Guile now. Or Alf? It was localized to Guile in my area. Maybe he'd like Alf a little better...

But. Ya know. Just as it is with you, it's not as though I'll ever be able to ask him...

Hey. Don't forget that you're loved. You gotta remember it, okay? Because I love you. Because so many people in my world love you. And we'll always be here, cheering you on, and hoping you come home alive. Even if you're feeling dented, scraped up, and bruised, the thing that matters is that you come back alive. Everything else can be fixed with hugs, warm baths, good food, a safe and welcoming place to sleep, proper medical attention, therapy, and steadfast support. I like to think that I'm living proof. Recovery is possible, even for you.

Sephiroth. Please stay safe out there. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

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saturninemartial · 2 years ago

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I'm a casual listener. Why does everyone hate Panic? Or rather Urie?

I was an OG fan back in 2005/06 but tapped out after the second album, so I wasn't fully aware of all the drama, so I had to look some of it up.

P!ATD was started by childhood friends Ryan Ross and Spencer Smith; Urie wasn't invited until later. The original lineup was rounded out with bassist Brent Wilson, although he was later replaced by Jon Walker. It was Smith, Ross, Urie, and Wilson on their first album; and Smith, Ross, Urie, and Walker on their second. In 2009, Ross and Walker decided to leave the band, mostly on creative differences with Urie. So there goes one founding member, Ross, and another core member, Walker.

Dallon Weekes, whom you might know from IDKHOW, joined as bassist after this; with Ian Crawford on guitar. Smith, Urie, Weekes, and Crawford recorded and released an album in 2011. During the recording, Crawford left bc he wanted to create "real, genuine music."

Smith, Urie, and Weekes recorded another album that was released in 2013 and soon went on tour. Smith left for a bit for addiction reasons; and in 2014, Urie said it didn't look like Smith was coming back; and in 2015, Smith confirmed he wasn't coming back. So Ross and Smith, the original two creators of the band, are now gone; and Urie is the only one left from the original lineup.

In 2017, Weekes announced he was leaving so he could focus on his own band, IDKHOW. That's the final "replacement" member, and from then on, it's just Urie. Since then, Urie has used the Panic! name for what is essentially a solo career, creating music that is so far gone from the original vision and slapping someone else's name on it. The creators of Panic!, Smith and Ross, left a long long time ago, and Urie has essentially acted like nothing happened and hasn't really given them credit. It's been the Brendon Urie Show for ages; more than one person left because of creative differences with him specifically. The Panic! name was never his to use yet he kept on using it, I guess for clout?

Then we get into the allegations against Urie. I'm on mobile and at work so I don't really have time to add receipts, but googling Brendon Urie allegations will bring up a ton of links. Basically, there are allegations of him sexually abusing fans, possibly minors. He's also publicly made some nasty rape jokes, and used the word tr*nny. I think I'm just scraping the surface here.

Overall he's an intensely unpleasant person who's been happily profiting off someone else's concept and name without credit for years. He's used Panic! as a vanity project, and the shit he's put out isn't even good.

#panic! at the disco #feel free to reblog to educate!#i know a lot of casual listeners aren’t aware #nic glyphs

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louisisalarrie · 10 months ago

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Due to the large amount of debating on Twitter around stunts and forcible closeting and who gains what from the partnership, let’s talk about stunts as someone who works in the industry and has a degree in this shit, baby!!!

Okie dokie. Stunts are just about our least favourite thing in this fandom, and we watch the boys get exploited, used, and see that they are thoroughly and visibly upset during pap shots and any public event with said stunt. I will be touching on bbg here, as a warning. But this will look particularly at Harry’s stunts, a bit more than Louis’, because people seem to all be fighting about Harry and TR at the moment, and there have been a lot of nasty things said between solos and larries and yeah… let’s have a chat about this all, so you folks can have a little more context of behind the scenes, and also a more thorough understanding than just “that stunt gf is using him for his fame and is part of the problem by forcibly closeting that artist”. Sooooo yeah, let’s get into it. I’ll break this down by Harry/Louis, and we can have a good look into this together. Feel free to hit me up in my inbox for any questions/comments etc., my loves. A lot of this stuff you might already be aware of, but yeah. Just thought I’d do something a bit more in depth while all this discourse is happening.

Harry - a brief history of stunts/his image, and why TR is his beard right now

So, we are all certainly aware of Harry’s past, with everyone from Caroline Flack, to Taylor Swift, to Kendall Jenner… the list goes on and on. His image was doctored to fit the ideal womaniser - sweet and funny, but flirty and cocky. If he was marketed as a dick, no one would idealise him, obviously. So he was allowed to be himself, as the sweet boy we all know, with the exception of flirting with every woman that breathes, and bedding them immediately, before moving on. He was still desirable like this. He was still seen as somewhat attainable, because he was never tied down. He didn’t do long term, he did one night stands and would keep women around long enough until the next pretty little (famous) thing came along. They wanted him to be seen as a sexual being, as so many young male boy bands are full of “goody two shoes” and are little happy cherubs who sing about what makes you beautiful, not waking up with a hard on.

So, his image flowed with the times. They seeded that baby as a womaniser, so when the band got older, he could be seen with multiple stunts, and be even more attainable than someone with a long term partner (Louis) because he didn’t fall in love. He was sex, and rock n roll, while playing innocent as well. It was a different twist to your usual “bad boy” narrative… the young girls saw him as a beautiful sweet angel, and the older girls thought they had a chance to have sex with him (multiple “receipts” that said Harry asked for numbers from fans and took them backstage after shows also posted on Tumblr/Twitter which the older fans had accounts on). They covered the very wide demographic that one direction had with this image, while keeping him closeted. S*mon always thought he was gonna be the main boy, so why not do whatever they can to give him even more PR? Two birds one stone, right?

Anyway, stunting is, and always has been, a crucial part of PR. The general public, and fans, are always interested to know the love life of celebrities. It causes drama, and gossip, and pays for the families of Paps, journalists, interviewers, etc. ya know? These folks would have a pretty boring job if they couldn’t spread gossip. They get paid more to do so, so it’s just the circle of life in the music industry. Almost all the jobs around an artist are there because of stunts. There’s only so many times a reporter can comment on what Harry is wearing if he’s not seen with someone else.

Anyway, this day and age, stunts have become pretty see through. We can spot one a mile away, anticipate articles, and guess what’s coming next. It’s embarrassing really. But, in the earlier days of stunts, it used to be a mutually beneficial agreement. Celebrity A “dates” and is spotted with Celebrity B, who both have large fandoms and make a lot of money (HS and TS). So, being seen together makes sense. A power couple, if you will. Two of the biggest stars on the planet, joining forces, exposing their already established fandoms to the other person’s music, and both of them gaining more followers, more money, and more clicks in the media. It’s the same with the OW shit show that happened… however, that was marketed as a 2 year long stunt, his longest yet, and was obviously to promo the movie. But, being his longest public relationship as of yet, they kinda dragged him away from the womaniser image a bit. Makes sense, right? He’s getting older, settling down a bit… he’s becoming a professional, not fucking the fans of his boyband backstage, and sleeping with every hot celebrity he sees.

However, because of a lot of these stunts are now being exposed and superficial af, they have tried a different kind of stunt, that, while we’ve seen before in different “womanising” artists, they do this to boost a positive image of the artist in question, and move them away from their… multiple sexual escapades. This is what I like to call the “Girl Next Door” stunt, which is exactly where Harry is at now, and where Louis has been all throughout his stunts.

The Girl Next Door stunt shows the public “oh wow, he’s not superficial!!! He’ll date someone who isn’t super famous and he loves them for them!!! He isn’t using her!! He’s attainable and would date someone like me because I’m not super famous!!!” narrative. Which, for Harry, pulls his image back towards being more “real” and authentic, and, for the fans, causes them to defend him because of this. They don’t see it as an obvious stunt because why the hell would this be mutually beneficial for Harry? Why would he bother to continue agreeing to closet himself with someone who isn’t gonna give him any PR from their own fandom? Who the paps are gonna wonder who she is? Well… it’s because he’s a sweetie pie baby boy cherub angel who doesn’t care about fame and fortune, just treats people with kindness and has fallen in love with someone who wasn’t really in the public eye to begin with. Wow. What an incredible guy.

And while you may say “hang on, TR wasn’t totally unknown, she had a following”, her following was nothing compared to Harry’s before they got together. So, with the above in mind about how this positively boosts Harry’s image, you can see why this is mutually beneficial. It’s not always about the money for both sides.

But… hang on… “why would TR agree to this? She’s actively participating in the closeting of Harry? She’s not a good person!!!!!” Well… if it wasn’t her, it’d be someone else. If every celeb/person boycotted the idea of stunts and refused them due to the fact they didn’t want to closet artists, that would be great. It would be a massive shift in the industry. It would be fantastic. But… that’s just not the way it is right now. And unfortunately I don’t think it ever will be.

Closeting has existed for years in the celeb world, and it’s not just gonna go away like that. Sometimes the artists get to choose who they stunt with, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes bisexuality is seeded juuuuuust enough to get people talking even more. But in his case right now, that’s why people are relating to TR. that’s why they’re defending her, and that’s why they’re a good stunt for now, because she’s the girl next door. See that image shift, now?

Louis - bbg, long term gfs, and the Girl Next Door

Now that I’ve explained the idea of the Girl Next Door stunt (which I’m sure a lot of you have picked up on already prior to this post), that’s exactly what Louis’ closeting and stunting has been for the past 13 years. Eleanor was an unknown, young pretty girl aspiring to be a model. They had one womaniser in the band, two would just be sleazy, so why not make him somewhat “unattainable” but still show his love and commitment and as he was the oldest of the band, he took relationships seriously? It makes him look grown up, so people can take the band more seriously. They’re not just 5 boys who are fucking everything that moved due to newfound fame. It would keep Louis closeted, keep Harry closeted but in the public eye at all times, and totally remove any possibility of them being in a relationship behind closed doors. Sounds great on paper, right? So… if Louis was the sweet, funny, long term gf boy… then why did he go out and get drunk and fuck some unknown hairdresser in a one night stand and have a baby with her, and it be so public? Let’s have a quick look…

For obvious closeting reasons, someone who is speculated to be gay having a baby is quite a clear cut. They’ve had vaginal penetrative sex, they can’t be gay… right? Bisexuality is often overlooked in the media, but, that’s a story for another time.

So, bbg makes sense. They were seeding Harry’s bisexuality/coming out over mid 2014-2015 buttttt little problem… if Harry was in fact into men, then why couldn’t he be into Louis? Larry Stylinson is no stranger to the press, and to pay off every outlet to include in their article the previous denials of Larry’s relationship in the coming out articles, was more effort than what it’s worth. So, even giving him a male stunt, larry would still be prominent in all press relating to Harry’s sexuality. So, in the plans of Harry’s (not successful) coming out, what do they do with Louis?

Long term gf man Louis became quite the party boy, and slept around with Girl Next Door types. People who weren’t famous. People who weren’t gonna help his career after one direction, nor boost his popularity and exposure. He was almost attainable to fans, as so many fans have met him at clubs before. But Harry needed to be THE one who ended up on top (no pun intended), and THE extra attainable now openly bisexual man. They just had to stop Louis from being a desirable match to pretty princess harry, and kinda pushed him to take over Harry’s womaniser image. So, what better way than to push him into being a grotty undesirable party boy who was getting fucked up and sleeping with random girls? What better way than to make him be extra closeted with a kid whose mum he’d had a one night stand with? It could’ve been any fan… right? Quite the Y/N wattpad story if you ask me…

(Anywho, this isn’t a bbg post so I won’t go into S*mon vs Louis, the big gay war, Belfast etc., I’m just talking plainly about the images to the public eye).

So, bbg sticks and is set for the long term, and so Louis still has the committed image he always did. He’s always been tied down, except… he can’t go from party boy to doting dad in one breath. So a couple of VERY short lived stunts here (including one he did by himself in protest) and there, keeps him attainable. He cares SO much about his little lad, BUT is on the look out for some lady bits at all times. Funnily enough, with women who aren’t going to actively improve his career/popularity. So… Girl Next Door attainability, long term commitment grown up responsibility, and now, stunt free (apart from bbg) for over a year. Party boy louis lives on, though. And that is certainly an interesting deep dive as to why, but again, for another time.

Overall - why the fuck is this all happening?

So, they’ve pushed Harry and Louis as far apart from each other as possible, since 2015. Their images, everything. We know this, we’ve watched it, some of us have been here for it. But why is Harry now Girl Next Door stunting? It’ll be a year of them together in a few months. It’s arguably his first stunt gf who is not popular or influential in any way. Well… his image now is happy go lucky boy who loves everyone and is sweet as pie and while he still has suggestive lyrics and moves on stage, he’s actively been pushed away further from the womaniser image through OW and TR. I believe, since he has shot to fame, they’ve decided to kick him back down and seem more attainable, with a more “realistic and authentic” stunt. It makes him look like a real person again. Obviously, it’s forced closeting and you can plainly see it makes him upset and he’s doing everything he can to move away from it, but… that’s his image for now. They’re moving away from womanising because he’s older and needs to still look attainable and professional and “grown up” (30 yrs old isn’t grown up by any means, but it’s the ageism in the industry and generally around the world that pushes this), and so this is the purpose of TR. now, you can sit here and yell about her being an active part in his closeting, which she is, but if it wasn’t her, it would be someone else. Solo Harries who believe in them being together, would be stanning another chick if she was in TR’s place. It’s a Copy of a Copy of a Copy. Get mad at the teams behind Harry and Louis, not at the girls participating in it. (BBG is somewhat of an exception bc who tf would actively put a baby through that but whatever, the promise of money can sway people like crazy).

In short, Long-Term Tomlinson and Harry Sly-les are still in full force, but in an adjusted way to seem more authentic. Because in this day and age, where everything is fake, authenticity sells.

#I could go into further detail on each of these stunts but this is a digestible overview xx #louisisalarrie chats #bbg #stunts

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justenjoythegossip · 1 year ago

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Immigration questions, truths, lies and speculation: a few random thoughts…

Use of her immigration status to discredit the wedding…

Abba’s legal status is a topic that has been brought up so much by Team PR blogs, especially to discredit the fact there was any marriage at all, that it’s interesting to ask ourselves why. Although I won’t pretend to answer any of those questions. I know absolutely nothing about her legal status but I am pretty sure that neither do those mods that pretend to. Unless they have a source or informant at the immigration bureau, but I seriously doubt it.

Truths, lies and speculation…

I’ll do my best to sum up what have been said on the subject. Allegedly Abba has used a tourist Visa to enter the US, that’s why she goes back to Portugal very often and is never seen in the USA. She couldn’t have a work visa because she is not shooting any movie or TV show on US domestic soil. She couldn't have an Einstein Visa because she has no talent. She couldn’t have petitioned for a fiancée visa neither because she would have had to stay put and wait a few years for her citizenship and so traveling abroad for her second kinda wedding would have been out of the question. Also they added that this information was on the public record.

There’s some truths (like always), some wild speculation and some clear lies.

First of all, someone’s immigration status is not really public information. Sure there is a number you can call to check an immigration status but you do need some personal information like name, date and place of birth which are easy to find for sure but also… a 13-character receipt number from your application or petition. She did share a shower porn with the world, but I don’t think she ever volunteered information regarding her travel documents or petition. So how would people know anything regarding her legal situation?

Where has she been?

An important topic of discussion has been about her whereabouts. Interesting enough, that girl has been mostly MIA for the last couple of years. Has she been hiding in a basement or is she a ghost? We know she sort of pops out for certain events used for PR purposes (papwalks, a fashion show, the ghosted premiere, the GQ event) but she was not even seen for their alleged first wedding, nor for their alleged second wedding.

Also interesting, she deactivated her location on Instagram a while ago so that no one could actually know where she is. The last time it was active was when she was shooting a movie with Anne Hathaway in Germany. It’s safe to assume that she doesn’t want people to know where she is because this way, she can be placed anywhere… anywhere where Chris is of course.

What could her legal status be?

A dual citizenship is unlikely, for sure. She wasn’t born in the US and although we know she has a sister who lives there (and maybe she even has other family relatives who knows), she would have had to reside in the states for years to get it.

But is a work visa out of the question? Of course, she hasn’t and is not shooting anything on US soil. But if there is a PR contract, doesn’t PR work qualify as… work? There are the papwalks of course, but also all the trips she had to take in order for them to shoot the material they needed (pictures and videos used for ridiculous cringy photo montages that were posted on Instagram stories). CAA (or another entity) could have very well sponsored her for a work visa and have her do all kind of stuff. We know how powerful this company is, how shady it is and how much pull it has. It is out of the realm of possibilities?

And guess what, you can travel abroad under a work visa for business purposes (to shoot a movie in Germany for ex) or for a vacation (to the Bermuda for ex), you just need to have your travel permit approved.

I am not saying she has a work visa btw, just that it’s possible and that there is no actual proof to say otherwise. It’s pure speculation. Like those mods are doing and passing for actual truth.

I will add that I once asked one of those so-called Team PR blog for some precisions about this topic. It was someone I had very cordial talks with (I even provided them with material they used for their blog). They never answered those questions of course. Sidenote they blocked me after my pinned post defining who those blogs are and what they were doing without ever naming anyone and when they had never followed me in the first place. Make of that what you will.

The (apparent) absence of marriage license and the fiancée visa?

A marriage license is actually a lot easier to find though because the public records are a lot simpler to access. Of course, there are a few exceptions, if you filed in California for example (but not realistic in their case) or if you filed a special request in front of a judge to have the records sealed. Up until now, no one has found their marriage license.

No publication (no TMZ, not anyone) published it when we had trillion articles about their wedding but no confirmation from either of their teams for more than a month… until Chris’ appearance at the NY con. Also we can assume that a license would have probably popped out on one Team Real blog if such proof existed (faking a yoga certificate is one thing but faking such documents would be a federal offense).

By the way, Chris told us that he and Abba are NOT legally married. The words he used at that Con were so very specific: "kinda ceremonies". KINDA... Go Portugal! So he definitely put an asterisk to the marriage narrative. And I should add that no rep confirmed their marriage, another confirmation of their non-marriage.

But then again you could speculate that they had a kinda sorta spiritual Buddhist non-binding ceremony. I think team real blogs have supported this theory at some point if anyone wants to believe it. But in that case, if she wouldn’t petition for a dual citizenship and stay in the USA with her work visa, she wouldn’t face legal issues and she could pop in and out of the country with her approved travel permit.

Again I am not saying it’s the truth, just that those immigration questions are very complex and are very unlikely to shed any light on that shitshow.

Why use speculation (or even a blatant lie) to discredit another lie?

The question remains. Why would you need to bring up this topic to discredit a wedding when actual facts don’t add up? Some mods have done a fantastic job pointing them out.

What purpose do those alleged immigration issues serve? Do they discredit Team PR blogs? Do they serve as an actual diversion? Because one thing is certain we don’t need those to question their kinda ceremonies, do we?

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twopoppies · 4 months ago

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Hello...we've chatted before through messages. I work at THE pub. I wanted to share something that happened about a month ago. The latest ex-gf came into the pub with a woman that turned out to be her mum. Apparently she's moved into a rental up the road from the pub. The day they came in..the person I told you was living temporarily in HS's house also popped in. He attempted to introduce himself to her and she was incredibly rude and completely dismissive of him. He walked away from the situation and had a few choice words when he came back to the bar that I don't want to discuss publicly but I think he was puzzled that Harry would be associated with someone like her. I felt awful for him as he's such a genuine lovely person. I saw the anon about her at that film festival and thought...that lines up with this incident and thought I'd share this.

Hello! I’ve been thinking about you lately. Thanks for coming back. This info, coming on the heels of what the Venice Film Festival anon said, is pretty depressing. It really does line up.

I really sad that she’d treat him that way—he does truly seem like such a nice, genuine person. I hate that Harry is connected to people who act so rude and snotty. It’s such a bad look for him.

#hussell #pub anon #tr receipt

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carriesthewind · 1 year ago

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two excerpts from the June 22 order re sanctions - the SALT on this judge!! 😂

PS your recounting of this case has been so so well done and entertaining, thank you for sharing!

Image Id from the ask below the read more. :)

Thank you! And yes, that section is so funny and painful (in a good way).

[Image ID from ask: two screenshot of a court order. The first reads, "MR. SCHWARTZ: Correct. It became my last resort. So I guess that’s correct.

(Tr. 37-38.) Mr. Schwartz’s statement in his May 25 affidavit that ChatGPT “supplemented” his research was a misleading attempt to mitigate his actions by creating the false impression that he had done other, meaningful research on the issue and did not rely exclusive on an AI chatbot, when, in truth and in fact, it was the only source of his substantive arguments. [footnote 12] These misleading statements support the Court’s finding of subjective bad faith.

Following receipt of the April 25 Affirmation, the Court issued an Order" [ends mid-sentence]

The second screenshot includes a few lines of text, and then shows footnote 12. The text above the footnote reads, [beginning mid-sentence] "Order to Show Cause of May 4, he “still could not fathom that ChatGPT could produce multiple fictitious cases . . . .” (Schwartz June 6 Decl. ¶ 30.) He states that when he read the Order of May 4, “I realized that I must have made a serious error and that there must be a major flaw with" [end mid-sentence]

Footnote 12 reads, "Cf. Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 79 (Puffin Books ed. 2015) (1865): “Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly. “I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone, “so I can’t take more.” “You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to take more than nothing.”]

#ask #2 Stupid 2 Sanction

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yokohamabeans · 2 years ago

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Chapter 5: cowherd and weaver

We know how the story ends: in all versions of it, the crane leaves her lover in tears.

(In which: Kakuchō meets you at his worst. Eight years later, you meet him at yours.)

Pairings: Kakuchō x F!OC/Reader (ft. Haitani Ran x F!OC/Reader)

Series Tags / TW & CW / Notes: Dark/Mature Themes, Bonten!Timeline (or rather, pre-Bonten / Rise of Bonten Era), TR Manga Spoilers, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Organized Crime, Blood & Violence, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Japanese Culture, OC will have a name but this will largely be written in 2nd POV, Character Study, Hostessing & Forced Prostitution, etc.

(WC: ~7.5k)

Series Index | Read on AO3 here!

The summer heat peaks with each passing day. There’s a sheen of sweat on your skin and you worry that even with the air-conditioning turned all the way up, this junky old van will not get any cooler. Discomfort you can bear with, but not the risk of Pierre suffering a heat stroke. His panting is becoming rather noisy and short-nosed dogs like him run hot easily—though perhaps his loud heaving ought to be pinned on the excitement of riding shotgun, watching other cars and buildings and people whiz by. You give his soft, floppy ears a fond rub and ask him to relax.

You never wanted Pierre. But like a seed he’d been blown in by the wind, and you just couldn’t bring the axe down on this sprout that had taken root in your life. He was a gift from a customer: Yamamoto-san had asked to meet at a café and, to your surprise and horror, pulled a puppy by its scruff out from a bag. It was the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen—it had a face that caved into its massive head at the nose and bulbous eyes that were set so far apart it couldn’t even look straight. Girls love cute pets, right? How Yamamoto–san thought he could win your affections by dumping such a burden on you is still a mystery till this day. Clearly, he didn’t think much of an animal’s life. But because he was spending just enough at Murasaki, your only choice was to take the hideous pest off his hands. You excused yourself and headed for the pet shop immediately.

I’d like to make a return, you told the staff at XJ Land, setting the little runt down. I can’t care for it.

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you got him. The man at the counter barely hid his disdain. Sorry, but this isn’t a place for fickle returns.

Someone gave it to me—I didn’t ask for this. You didn’t appreciate his tone but you understood the sentiments behind it. You matched his face to some pictures on the shelves behind and concluded that he owned the shop. C’mon, Matsuno-san, you read from his name-tag, cocking your head in the way that guaranteed you another round of drinks from your clients. I’m just thinking about what’s best for this dog. He’ll be better off back in those arms of yours… Won’t you take him in? Can’t you consider it a favour?

The young man sighed, muttering something extreme under his breath about how humans deserve nothing good, but picked the puppy up with blushing cheeks nonetheless. Do you have the certificate of ownership? Or the receipt?

Well, no, you replied rather sheepishly, I was simply told this is the shop he’s from.

He shook his head and inspected the tiny dog in an attempt to identify it. You couldn't help but notice that even though he was being perfectly gentle and careful, the animal was frightened to its bones from being handled by yet another stranger. It bore its sad, pathetic eyes into yours, as if trying to worm its way into your heart. Too bad, you almost sneered, but that old trick won't work on me.

And yet, you couldn't look away.

Sorry, lady, but he isn’t from my shop, Matsuno finally said. You’ll need to check with whoever bought him again. Or better yet, why don’t you give him a chance?

I can’t take care of a pet in my life now. But neither could you risk offending Yamamoto-san, though your respect for him had all but vanished. Are you sure he isn’t from here?

I know every single one of my pets, and I only have pedigrees so far. He tried to calm the puppy down with a hug. This little guy looks like a Jatzu.

It was still shivering. What’s a Jatzu?

A cross between a Japanese Chin and Shih Tzu, he answered, then sized you up and ventured: It’s a ‘designer’ dog, if you care about that sorta thing. You couldn’t blame him for his assumption because you knew how you appeared with your dress and make-up.

This dog doesn’t look anything like a Shih Tzu, you retorted. Your mother used to talk about keeping one in her village a long, long time ago, so you were aware of the breed. Looks like pure Chin to me. How can you tell?

Your question lifted the frown off Matsuno, who fortunately took it as a sign of interest rather than an accusation. He proceeded to demonstrate by pointing out the length of its body and shortness of its legs. Something about the texture of its coat too. The more he spoke, the brighter his blue eyes shone, and soon it became too late for you to stop him from sharing everything he knew about the dog. By the time he remembered to breathe, he’d delivered a full pitch about why you should bring it home. Even you had to admire how hard he was trying to sell a product that wasn’t even his in the first place.

Did you know? Both the Chin and Shih Tzu were once treated as royal pets in East Asia, he added excitedly. The Shih Tzu were especially precious to the Chinese for bringing good luck and fortune. See this white patch between his eyes? That’s where the Buddha kissed him. That makes him a blessed dog who’ll protect you from evil!

What a load of bull. If that were true, your mother never would’ve met your father. Your aunt, who presumably shared the same dog in their village, would've won more than she lost at every casino she went to. Your life could've turned out entirely different—maybe you wouldn't even exist! This misfortune is intergenerational. You’ve got a pretty useless cousin somewhere, huh? you thought wryly at the mutt, catching its pitiful gaze again. Trust me, pal, you don’t want in on my life. There’s nothing good for you here.

It gave a small whine, which you'd liked to think was mere coincidence, and Matsuno ran a soothing palm over its massively deformed head. It really was an ugly dog. You simply couldn’t find anything adorable about it. In fact, it was a painful sight, looking like it was bred to suffer. Its marbly eyes were always watery, likely from the discomfort of sticking so far out its skull, and it was hard to fathom how it could eat or drink from its flat face without choking. Even breathing must've been a chore with how squashed its nose was! And this was a designer dog, wasn’t it? So, this anatomical tragedy was by design, by fancy!

You could empathise now: this poor creature was born to live out a nightmare. All because a couple of humans wanted something to love. An existence so wantonly bestowed!

Sucks, doesn’t it? you felt like saying. Before you knew it, your heart had gone out to it completely.

Tell you what, onē-san. A man sidled up to Matsuno and slung an arm over his shoulder. A tattoo peeked out from his turtleneck. We’ll let you leave him here if you also leave us your LINE. How about that?

Dude! Matsuno hissed. You’re at work!

What? Don’t we need someone to call if anything goes wrong? The other young man smirked deviously, the mole below his right eye bending. Man, you have no sense for business. Here you are, getting a fancy new dog to sell at zero cost, and you're turning it away.

Seriously, if you don't shut the hell up—

Matsuno never got to finish his threat. Without thinking, you had taken the puppy off his hands. Strange. It didn’t feel so warm and soft when you were holding it before. It stilled upon your touch, wagged its skinny tail and seemed to grin victoriously while it panted. I’ve got you now! it’d probably like to say. Don’t you think we can make each others’ lives better? And just like that, you caved in like rotting wood.

A blessing, huh? you said, giving a small tap on its wet, sputtering nose. I guess I’ll take your word for it, Matsuno-san—

The red flash of a traffic light hits your eyes and your van groans to a halt.

“Say, Pierre-kun, you're running out of food. Why don't we make a stop by XJ Land after this?" you offer, to which the dog barks happily in agreement. It's amusing how much of a personality he's grown since you both left the pet shop that day. "If you and I really go at it, we can make Matsuno-san give us a discount."

While pedestrians are still gliding across your windscreen, you turn to the back of your van to check the boxes left in it: only a couple more to drop off at—you quickly consult your phone—Chiyoda Ward. You succumb to a groan.

Chiyoda is a little out of your way, so there will be less time you can spend at the store before you must head for Murasaki. The bigger problem at hand, though, is that the packages are due at Marunouchi district in Chiyoda, where most of your clients from the club work at. Things will get sticky if any one of them is to spot you unloading boxes from your van. It won't take them long to figure out the kind of day job you hold. You’re supposed to deliver fantasies and dreams, Mama will seethe, not online purchases or some hikikomori’s second lunch! She may even throw in a slap for good measure. Murasaki does not forbid its girls to moonlight—god knows that some of you need to—but Mama has driven her contempt for it into everybody’s heads. Men climb mountains to see the tennyō who live in heaven, you once heard her telling a girl who no longer works at the club. Do you think they’ll still do so if they can just find one at a fucking Seven-Eleven, cashing in their change? Do you think they’ll even want to anymore?

Well, that much you must agree with Mama. Utsu and Yū and the women of Murasaki aren’t supposed to exist in the real world. But with the lion’s share of your salary going to her and the Mara-kai, you needed a second job, and a girl clutching only a high-school diploma didn’t have many options. Service jobs like store-keeping or waitressing were out of the question—you will never have the strength to deal with human beings all day and all night.

You were drawing crosses on job listings when a delivery man rang your door to hand you some toys you’d bought Pierre, and you noticed he wasn't wearing a uniform. Yes, m’am, anyone can do freelance delivery, the young man answered with a blush, demonstrating on his phone how you can start. Shortly after, you bought a minivan for cheap at a second-hand dealer and ever since, you’ve been driving around the city and ringing doorbells on your afternoons. The payout is just enough to cover your meals and utilities, but there isn’t much to complain about: you get to work on your own hours (or not), and with the company of your dog. Really, the only fly in the ointment is the worry of someone asking if you also work at Murasaki—but you figure you can slip under the radar with drab clothes and a bare face.

As you turn into the grove of steel towers and skyscrapers, your glove box buzzes with a ring. Your stomach drops when you remember that it's where you kept your work phone—the one you use for Murasaki. Shit. Were you somehow already seen? Did some passer-by catch a glance while crossing before your van? Fuck! You'll never hear the end of it from Mama. The old shrew may even take a bigger cut off your earnings as punishment! Suddenly, you are stricken with regret. You should have cancelled those bloody requests when you had the chance!

"What a coincidence, Yamamoto-san," you answered, disguising your nervous voice as a coy one. Yamamoto-san is a director at a financial firm, so you know his office is in the area. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh, hey, Utsu.” He sounds a little curt, like he's still figuring out the best way to confront you. “Really? What are you doing now?”

The red light turns green, and you find an alley to pull over at. “I’m just at the pet store with Pierre-chan, which was why you crossed my mind.”

“Right. Anyway, listen. What’s going on at Murasaki?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mama-san just told me she’s cancelling our appointment on Tanabata. My friend—Sawada, you’ve met him—got the same call too for his date with Aoi. What’s this about?”

Your delivery job is still in the bag! But what Yamamoto-san has said is too puzzling for you to enjoy the relief. It's come out of the blue entirely. "I wasn't informed. Is there a mistake? As far as I know, you're still my eight o'clock on the seventh."

"No, we even got a message about it in black and white. Don’t you women communicate?”

"You must be really important to Murasaki if Mama's told you this before me." That utter cow! Leaving a mess like this to clear! You're curious about the reason behind these sudden cancellations. Concerned. But still you decide not to ask to avoid stoking Yamamoto-san's fire. "I apologise for this. I'll check with her. I trust that she's also offered you some sort of compensation?"

"Yeah… Store credit for a half-hour session."

"I'll throw in some Yamazaki too, how about that?"

"Fine. Make it an 18-year bottle at least."

You roll your eyes at Pierre. This old fogey must be out of his depth if he thinks he's worth that much. Still, you agree just so you can hang up quickly. The bartenders at Murasaki will know how to swap it with something cheap.

"Utsu, the free whiskey is nice and all, but what I really wanted was to spend Tanabata with you, you know?" he added in a cottony tone. "It's a night for lovers, after all."

"That makes the both of us, Yamamoto-san," you say, instead of suggesting that he spends it with his goddamn wife. "I'm so sorry, but Pierre-chan's getting frisky with another dog. I'll contact you again to reschedule, alright? Goodbye!"

Pierre lets out an indignant huff, and you pet his head in apology for using his name so unjustly.

You remember to breathe again. It’s not too much of a mystery when you think about it: Aoi pulls in the most sales for Murasaki and you come up second—some fat cat must’ve insisted on booking out the club’s top girls. It’s happened before, and Mama was also brusque in informing everyone then. Which zaibatsu scion is it this time? Or could it be a celebrity? Well, whoever walks through the door that night better bring some new faces and wallets with them. It’s proving to be hard for you to fish three-million yen from your current roster of clients.

As if to thwart the ease that’s settled, your phone rings once more. But instead of a call, it is now exploding with messages. A cold, unpleasant hunch tells you that the Tanabata thing is bigger than you thought, and you raise the screen up to your eyes to prove it true: customers are complaining left and right about the abrupt cancellation of their appointments. They’re not the only ones either. Your colleagues are also voicing their bewilderment in the group chat, assuming some kind of grievous error on the club’s website. Even second-tier hostesses like Atsuko have all their meetings struck off, and they worry about their fickle clients turning to another club for the night.

This is unprecedented. Murasaki has never once been booked out in its entirety. Mama will never give her customers a reason to visit other establishments, and there is simply more to earn from multiple parties than just one. Her heels are dug firmly in the ground when it comes to business. You feel sick, guts wringing bile up your throat. Like an eclipse upon light, it dawns slowly: the name for which Mama has bent her own iron rules for.

Bonten.

Is there something to be made of this glowering sky? Kakuchō is not a superstitious man and yet he cannot perceive these dark clouds as anything but ominous. It'd been sunny all day with no sign of precipitation, but as soon as he entered the car, thunder began to roll. Normally, this jarring turn of weather wouldn't throw him off, but as it's happened right before Bonten's meeting with the Mara-kai, Kakuchō cannot help but wonder if it might be an indication of sorts. In the end, he supposes with a bit of humility that even he is not immune to the dread of meeting the most dangerous man in Japan—especially when they are soon to take one of his most important assets: the hostess club Murasaki.

"Lighten up, will you?" drawls Ran from the seat beside. His lazy smile is bright in contrast to the brewing storm. "It's sacrilege to walk into a club with a glum face."

"We're walking into business," Kakuchō retorts, narrowing his eyes at the glass of whiskey in Ran's hand. "You can be a little less relaxed about this."

Ran responds pointedly with a sip of alcohol. When they were all younger, it grated on Kakuchō how unfazed Ran could bring himself to be about the world. No matter what kind of pinch he was in, Ran’s air of nonchalance was unwavering. He’d always figure out a way to make light of his situation and smile. Did he truly not care? Was he just that confident about himself? Or could it really be what Izana said, that he was an idiot and had once again let his head drift off to the clouds? In any case, it annoyed Kakuchō, who often took things seriously. These days however, as it becomes harder and harder to sleep without a gun by his bed, Kakuchō finds this quality of Ran somewhat enviable.

"Rindō and Mocchi just got to the club,” Ran breaks the silence again, reading off his phone. He taps on the headrest of their chauffeur, who immediately apologises for his slow driving. “Rindō already has playlists for Murasaki. Have you heard them?”

“Yes. And you should stop him from playing them if you want the club to profit.”

“Well, I happen to like some of his tracks…” Ran appears to mull. “But I must say it’s not the vibe for Murasaki. It’ll be your first time there tonight, won’t it?”

Kakuchō refuses to answer, which satisfies Ran all the same.

“You’ll have your pick of girls, or you can leave it to the mama," he explains, finishing his last swig of whiskey as their car turns into the Azabu-Jūban district. “She’s got an eye for choosing the right one.”

“I know how a hostess club works.”

“I never said that you didn’t. Oh, I’ll let you meet my girl too.”

“Didn’t ask to.”

“You know, I can’t wait to tell her who her new bosses are." A sinister sort of smile spreads across Ran’s lips. “She’s going to lose it.”

Kakuchō rolls his eyes, hoping that his colleague will remember where their priorities are at the moment. “Will the mama be working for us as well?”

“Presumably, because she works for Murasaki. Just like a CEO working for a new board. But her loyalties seem to lie with Tanida…" Ran trails off, gazing out of the window now. The Mori Tower passes his view—they're getting close to their destination. “Murasaki will be ours, for sure, but it won’t be worth as much if Mama-san doesn't have our interests at heart. We'll talk to the Mara-kai about this later."

Kakuchō feels urged to mention that something like that should've already been discussed. It is common sense that a club is only as valuable as the mama who runs it, and from what he’s heard, there lives no mama who’s made as much money as the one in Murasaki. But he also sees no point in starting the conversation when they're about to alight, so he decides against his comment. It's not like he's in the right position to speak, anyway; it'll be like telling a fish how it should swim. The Haitani Brothers were practically put on earth to run Tokyo’s nightlife—there was never any question about who was to lead Bonten’s foray into the trade. Even though he outranks Ran, Kakuchō knows to hold his tongue when it comes to that business.

After a series of turns, their driver finally pulls into a quiet street. It appears that night has since crept up, unnoticed amidst the dark rain clouds.

Takeomi’s mentioned that Murasaki was once a dingy snack bar in the basement of an old wooden shophouse. It’s not something anyone will guess of the sleek, steel-reinforced building that stands before Kakuchō now. In fact, it hardly resembles any establishment of that sort. Blinding neon signs, fast-talking touts and even garish menus of the ladies on shift—hostess and cabaret clubs are rarely shy about what they are. Even modest ones will sneak in the word 'girls' somewhere on their storefronts to let the men of the world know just what they are really selling.

But Murasaki is none of those. Its glass and concrete façade blends well with the other buildings in Roppongi-itchōme, where major offices and foreign embassies are close, almost as if to present itself as one of them. Any indication of its true order of business is contained in a small sign at its porch, which only spells the romaji of its name in backlit brass letters. Still, it can easily pass off as a restaurant’s plaque to passers-by who don’t know any better.

So—this is Murasaki. It is as unassuming as a club can be, but Kakuchō supposes the inconspicuousness is appreciated by most clients.

“Sanzu-sama’s car will be arriving in fifteen minutes, and the boss will take another ten,” notifies a subordinate as he shelters Kakuchō with an umbrella. Hardly a necessary gesture when they can reach the club’s entrance in just a few steps, but Kakuchō’s been told to accustom himself to the executive treatment. Noone’s gonna look up to you if you don’t put yourself higher than them, said Takeomi when he caught Kakuchō telling a lackey he can open his own doors. The advice still doesn’t sit well—partly because it came from a man once ruined by hubris—but Kakuchō understands the need to be commanding. He enters the foyer, where Ran is already waiting.

“Party’s on the fourth floor for us,” he informs. Ran is, of course, referring to themselves and the other Bonten executives. “All our other guys will be having fun in the atrium. Mama-san’s cleared the whole place out for us. Isn’t she nice?”

“Or she could be laying a trap,” frowns Kakuchō, prompting the other man to sigh. “Pretty convenient to have us all in the same place at once, don’t you think?”

“We’ve been through this… Have a little faith,” Ran pats him on the shoulder, the mild exasperation in his tone warning him not to continue. He turns to the concierge, who greets them with obsequious familiarity. “Good evening, Koremitsu-san. Big night, huh?”

“We humbly look forward to your guidance, Haitani-sama. I’d toast to you, but I am on the job.” Koremitsu, if that is his real name at all, bows deeply. In bronze letters, the wall behind him boldly reads: there are as many sorts of women as there are women. “Mama-san is at the VIP lounges with your brother and Mochizuki-sama.”

“And Utsu?"

"Still getting ready, the last I heard…" He dials a telephone on his desk and whispers into it, vaguely annoyed. "I apologise. You know how she likes to take her time for you."

"And you know how I'd gladly wait for her."

Ran has always held the passing of seasons and women in the same regard—Kakuchō knows this of his friend, but in seeing the grin he's flashed, wonders if the man is now capable of real attachment.

“Well, instead of waiting, why don’t you sample our new shipment of Dom Peris?” Koremitsu offers, rubbing his hands together. “Mama-san would also like you to pick the champagne for tonight.”

“Now that is a job for me,” Ran gleefully agrees, wasting no time in following the concierge to a door on their right. Clearly, he has no qualms about leaving Kakuchō at all. “Elevator’s down that hallway,” he points out, waving over his shoulder as he disappears just like that. “See you at the fourth floor in a bit, brawler!”

It is now Kakuchō’s turn to sigh, which is the most he can do about that rascal, anyway. The Aigner on his wrist tells him that Mikey and Takeomi are due to arrive, Sanzu and Kokonoi even sooner, so he settles to make his way up as Ran instructed. Once inside, Murasaki reveals itself as a different world entirely. Kakuchō is not a man of culture and neither does he pretend to be one, but even he can recognise a couple of the western paintings hung around the walls. It becomes apparent from every piece of furniture and artwork that the club was designed to flaunt Tanida’s wealth. A little too extravagant for his own tastes, but definitely something right up the Haitanis' alley.

The passage Kakuchō's been sent to is washed in black, which makes the walk seem longer than it should. By the time he reaches the metal doors at the end of it, he feels as though he’s walked into a different plane altogether. Kakuchō, unrelentingly cautious, beckons for three of his subordinates to follow him into the elevator. He quickly regrets it when the space turns out to be too tight of a squeeze for four built men—a sly trick, apparently: according to Rindō, it gives the hostesses an excuse to cosy up. How Mikey will take to being packed in this tin can later is a problem he cannot help but worry about. The boss has always needed his space from others.

The ride is soon interrupted at the second floor. Someone else is on their way up too, though Kakuchō doubts they’ll have much luck getting in with how his guards have walled themselves around him. The doors slide open and they see a young woman waiting on the other side: while her dress and make-up are more subtle than the other girls he's been brought to, she is unmistakably a hostess.

"Oh, please excuse me…" she mumbles in surprise, the crowd catching her off guard. Her expression suggests that she wouldn’t have entered even if the space allowed her to anyway. "I'll take the next one."

One of the guards grunts an apology while the other two release the guns by their waists. They are disciplined enough to keep their faces steely, but Kakuchō can sense their disappointment about her leaving—even he has noticed how lovely the woman is. Kakuchō has always been somewhat proud of being level-headed, so this compulsion to stare at her is becoming quite the bother. Under the soft glow of the elevator light: her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her lips—Ah, shit… By the time the doors have closed, he is cursing himself for learning the full map of her face. At some point his heart has also quickened, beating as though it is on the verge of an answer to some great question, and he is left to dwell on its betrayal as the elevator ascends.

The fourth floor introduces itself with a blast of amber light and a pungent mix of cigarette smoke and perfume. Though he still has a corridor to pass, Kakuchō can well imagine from the raucous laughter that Rindō, Mocchi and their trusted men have already succumbed to the club’s hospitalities. Those idiots… Just save Tanida the trouble and roll over, why don't they? Has it ever occurred to anyone else that the Mara-kai can still be a threat? Apparently, age does not represent wisdom, and therein lies the reason why Bonten is led by its three youngest members. He presses on with his journey into the private lounge.

“So, this is Bonten’s Number Three… Where've you been hiding all this while?" It doesn't take long for the shark to circle in. An older woman—the mama, he presumes—purrs, teeth gleaming at the scent of fresh blood. She turns to Rindō, who’s joined them to make the introduction. "Why haven't you brought this stud to my club before?"

"Hey, aniki and I tried our best, but Kakuchō here is not that sorta guy," he explains with air quotes, smirking. It's obvious from his loose speech that he's already drunk more than he should. "Seriously, it's like he's sworn a vow at a monastery or something."

Are the Haitani Brothers genetically predisposed to get on his nerves? Kakuchō wishes that Rindō would at least have the sense to keep his mind clear before an important meeting, but he supposes that even sense in general is too much to ask from a fool. Seeing that his best course of action is to simply ignore Rindō, he gives the mama a curt nod. "Our business is in your care."

"Ah, I know the stoic type well," she remarks, eyeing him up and down as she sips on her long pipe. "I have just the girl you need, but I'd rather give my customers a choice. So, anyone you like? What's your eye for beauty?"

If it was truly up to him, Kakuchō would very much like to be in the company of his guards only. But as the saying about Rome goes… He seeks the expanse of the lounge for someone to pick, only to realise that he is already bound to a choice. At once, the young woman from the elevator comes to mind. The dim lights then have left an unreliable rendering of her hair and he wasn't very observant about what she wore, but everything else about her is burning starkly behind his eyes. It seems that her face has filled his head entirely and spared no space for anything else. But how does one begin to describe a face? It is perhaps as hard, if not harder, to put into words as a feeling.

“So?” Rindō slings a probing arm over his shoulders, teeming with anticipation not unlike a paparazzi in wait for a scoop. He must’ve guessed from Kakuchō’s hesitation that there is a genuine answer at stake. So smug is his shit-eating grin that, despite himself, Kakuchō is resolved to deny him any further satisfaction instead. “Anyone will do,” he grunts to the mama, the decision leaving a rather bitter taste on his tongue.

"Hmm, thought as much… There's no need to be shy, you know?" Smoke swells from her nose, and she motions for a hostess waiting by the bar to come over. "This is Rokujō, and she'll lead you out of your shell by the hand."

"Call me Jō," the hostess insists, bowing slowly so that both men will not miss how full her breasts are. He immediately detects a difference in age between them, and it strikes Kakuchō that Jō is one of the more mature women of the lot. Is that what the mama thought of him? He cannot find it in himself to protest, so he greets his companion politely and lets her fill the space by his arm. What does it matter, anyway, when he isn’t here to enjoy himself in the first place? Still, he cannot suppress his growing dismay for how the night is turning out.

Rindō grumbles in disappointment at how boring Kakuchō is determined to be and leaves with the mama for a livelier corner of the room, where Mocchi has made himself at home with an armful of girls. Kakuchō is instead steered away to a quieter corner by Jō, who must've either sensed his preference for it or is planning to keep him all to herself. Both reasons may also be at play together. Her courtship proceeds formulaically: she praises how hard his biceps are, twice, refills his drink, and attempts to learn all there is to know about him. He entertains her sparingly.

Jō is undeniably beautiful but not beautiful in a way that frustrates him, and that is why she cannot stop him from glancing at the lounge’s doors every so often. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but duty has to come first: Mikey is to appear any time now. Tanida too, if everyone is keeping to the plan. However, as the minutes tick by, it becomes harder and harder to pretend that the unease spreading between his lungs is caused by anything but the possibility of never meeting the woman from the elevator again. Could it be that she was heading for the third floor instead of the fourth? Was she assigned somewhere else at the last minute? Will he see her again? With all these pointless questions clouding his mind, Kakuchō can feel himself slipping into a pathetic state. The last time he felt so reduced was when he'd been seventeen and still a boy. Because the girl in question was something special, he can accept the torment he was put through then, but, now, for a woman he's barely met...? Beauty alone has never been enough to sway Kakuchō of Bonten—why should that change?

"Utsu, you little tart. You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

"Sorry, Mama. I was getting ready."

The mama's distinct tenor voice breaks his reverie but it is the softer one after it that holds his attention. Helpless to the familiar call of the sound, he looks up and his eyes land on her immediately despite the flock of bodies in the room: the woman, by the door! She is bent in a slight bow—presumably one of apology to the mama—and so her face is still partially concealed, but Kakuchō has no doubt about who she is. He's even developed a strange confidence that he’d be able to recognise her anywhere, like he's known her for a long time.

The woman straightens herself, bringing her features into the light, and something between his lungs moves. Stirring, fluttering, thrashing, writhing—Kakuchō cannot tell how it is moving exactly, only that it cannot be stopped. It takes him to a realisation he should've arrived at a long time before, and by the time he's caught a clear view of her face, Kakuchō knows deep in his bones what he must do.

He must not let her slip away again, not the way he did eight years ago.

Embarrassing: you still wring your fingers into knots when you are nervous. Didn’t you leave this bad habit behind in your girlhood with the rest of it? Or have you simply not been nervous enough for it to surface? Whatever the case is, this shameful display is unbecoming of you, so you summon Mama’s advice to mind and cross your arms to keep your hands from moving.

“How about this?”

You look up and the only thing you see in the mirror is the searing glare of your hairdresser. Chū Reika has been giving blowouts to the girls of Murasaki for nine years and is only ever thanked for it. Therefore, you can see where her temper is coming from when you request that she changes your hairstyle, again, for the fifth time.

“You know you look fine!” she seethes, obviously harbouring a desire to scalp you then and there. “Are you messing with me?!”

“I think I want an up-do after all…” you pretend to mull, fingering the loose waves falling on your shoulder. Chū throws her hands up in defeat and moves to pack her brushes, so you dig around your wallet for something to win her back with. “C’mon, Chū-jie. It’s a special night. I just want to look my best.”

The other hostesses refer to her by Chū-nē out of affection, but you prefer to use the Mandarin equivalent that is ‘jie’. Chū Reika landed on the shores of Japan a decade ago to escape the poverty of her village in China—a rather common story you’ve heard. Her Japanese has since grown to be impeccable but she has yet to find a way to mask her unusual intonation. Most other girls cannot tell where it’s coming from, but because your mother had given you an ear for the Chinese accent, you could ask where her provincial hometown is right off the bat of your first meeting—in the language she is most natural with. To tell the truth, you didn’t really care for the information, but you reckoned it'd be helpful to endear yourself to the hairdresser.

“Stop lying, I know you’re just dragging time.” Chū sighs, considerately switching to Mandarin when calling your intentions out even though there is no one else around. She pinches the five-thousand-yen note from your hand and gets to work again. “Your hair will fry, you know.”

Chū has hit the nail on the head but you don't praise her for it. A week ago, some time after your call with Yamamoto-san, Mama made the executive order for every hostess to punch in on the night of Tanabata. "We're reserving the club for some very important guests” was all she indulged, but word had somehow gotten out that Murasaki is changing hands and the event is meant to welcome the new owners. You are capable of simple arithmetic so it didn’t take long for you to conclude that the Mara-kai had sold to Bonten, and from the moment you summed that up, you’ve been afflicted with a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach. What will happen to you? What will Tanida do with you? Now that it is Tanabata, the gutting ache is at its height. You'd woken up at mid-day wishing you could hide the night out under your quilt, but because Mama has ruled that out as an option, you were left with the next best thing to do: delay it.

The phone in the dressing room rings just as Chū is about to pin your last clump of loose hair, and she leaves to answer it only when the noise has grown too annoying to bear. You don't need to hear the angry hissing of the receiver to know what the call is about. It's half an hour past the time you were ordered to be on the fourth floor—Koremitsu must've been tasked with summoning you there, probably by Mama or Ran. That utter tool. You've never liked his snivelling, grovelling ways.

“Well, this is the best I can do,” Chū tells you as she finishes her job. The previous hairstyle suits you better, but in your best interests you keep that to yourself and give your thanks instead. Besides, there is something strangely gratifying about not looking your best for the night. To hell with Mama. To hell with Ran! With any luck, the last-minute styling may even dampen your appeal to that greasebag. When he was a customer, you could at the very least count on the good old excuse of club etiquette to keep him at arm's length. But now that Ran's the fucking boss, he is free to step over all the rules and become as much of a pain as he wants. Can’t you be allowed even a single respite in life? Can’t the gods show you mercy for once?

So indignant you are at the perversity of it all that you don’t even realise you’ve called for an elevator. The sudden beeping startles you into awareness, and you’re glad that it did before you can walk into the wall of meat that is practically spilling out the doors. Ah, right. Mama did warn that Murasaki will be welcoming more testosterone and muscle tonight, but even then it did nothing to prepare you for the shock of having three large men scowl down at you.

“Oh, please excuse me…” you take a step back to appease them, who you’ve identified as bodyguards from their plain dressing and defensive stance. “I’ll take the next one."

These men must be from Bonten, but unlike Ran’s guards who always seemed to care more about your tits than their boss’s safety, these three golems appear to be actually competent at their job. You attribute their discipline to the man brooding quietly behind them. He is a little smaller in stature, but the authority exuding from his stern gaze is definitely one of a leader. The closing doors have stolen your chance to catch a proper look, but the hasty glimpse you’ve snuck of him shows dark hair and what resembles a large scar across his left eye. The sight comes accompanied by a sense of familiarity, but you dismiss it easily because there’s no way you’d forget a Bonten member like that.

The next elevator comes soon enough—too soon, in fact—and you brace yourself for the night of torture. It shortly begins with fierce shrieking from Mama.

"Utsu, you little tart,” she rounds in as you enter the lounge, spitting smoke all over your face. “You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

“Sorry, Mama,” you bow, not minding that there isn't a shred of the sentiment carried in your tone. “I was getting ready.”

“Oh, were you?” You can tell from her constipated expression that she’s torn between yelling at you more or letting you go. Mama hates to flog at dead horses so she settles on the latter with a sigh, making sure to clip you in the shoulder as she leaves. “Ran is coming up soon. Prepare yourself.”

You don’t suppose she's left a sympathetic sort of meaning to her instruction, but the idea amuses you nonetheless. That, and Ran’s absence itself, lift your spirits enough for you to power through with your job. You walk over to the bartender to place an order for Ran’s favourite drink, going by a roundabout way to avoid Rindō, who is presently egging on a blonde, goateed man in his endeavour to chug a full bottle of whiskey straight. Another Bonten executive, you presume from his flashy, moss-green suit and the throng of your colleagues he's gathered. How many of them are there, again? Four, seven executives? Well, you don't care enough to recall. You'll find out soon, anyway.

The bartender nods and smiles in greeting as you approach the counter, but his eyes are distant—the courtesy is meant for someone behind. You turn around to face the tall, imposing figure looming over your back.

Dark hair and a scarred eye: it's that man from the elevator.

Though the intensity of his gaze suggests that he's been staring at you for a while, he looks to be even more surprised than you are about the meeting, like it never occurred to him that he'd see you again. Normally, you'd instantly peg him as some kind of creep for displaying such an odd demeanour and set the bouncers on him, but for some strange, inexplicable reason, you empathise with his shock instead. It doesn't take you long to connect it to that sense of familiarity you felt when you first saw his face, which has now returned in an overwhelming wave.

“Nikaidō.” Breath escapes him and he looks relieved, as though your name is something he’s lost and found. The confidence he declared it with, however, falters by the time of his next question. He points to the streak across his eye. “Do you remember me?”

Upon his bid, the world gives way to this man before you. The haze of eight years starts to thin, and slowly he takes on the shape of that boy outside your door, the one who so earnestly asked if he’d see you again. He’s been made unfamiliar by a taut face, longer hair and a sleek, dark suit—but because this is someone you once learned by touch, you have no doubt about who he is. A name gathers at the tip of your tongue, like a song once beloved.

“Kakuchō.” You’re smiling before you know it. “I’d remember you even without that scar.”

Never have you spoken truer words in your time at Club Murasaki.

Glossary of Terms / References Used | Next Chapter TBC

A/N: It's been a hot minute and I apologise for that! Several things going on here in this primarily MC-centric chapter, I hope you enjoyed the little reveals about her life! I promise, her background is plot-relevant. Oh, and I guess her reunion with Kakucho is in this too, huh! :P As always comments and reblogs and tag-coments will be loved till the end of time!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fanfiction #kakucho #haitani ran #haitani rindou #matsuno chifuyu #hanemiya kazutora #kakucho x oc #kakucho x reader #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran x oc #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x oc #bonten #mochizuki kanji #akashi takeomi #requital of a crane

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