#with neither love and support NOR a little cash

[magpie-to-the-morning]

.

[mrs-snape5984]

„I hope, I’ll always have you in my mind, so that I know to find you every time.“

„Put your head on my chest, that’s your safe place. We‘ll fall deeper in love every day. From life unto life and for always.“ („Soul Mate“ by Flora Cash)

There’s something in my current life, that came hand in hand with my disease ME/CFS…slowly creeping into my fibres…infecting my mind with sadness. It’s loneliness, that I’m talking about. Overwhelming, crushing, suffocating loneliness.

Before this cruel bitch of a disease put a stopper in my life, as I knew it from before, I haven’t been healthy, either. But neither my severe Colitis Ulcerosa, nor the other few sicknesses and disabilities had achieved to break me the way, ME/CFS broke me!

What’s left, is only a shell of myself…a sad shadow of the woman, I’ve been prior to today. Where did the intelligent, sassy, witty and caring person go to, when she disappeared so insidiously from my personality? On some days, I still get a little glimpse of her, when I’m talking to my beloved friends @vulnus-sanare, @preciousthelmadonna or my bestie Miri, who often just “enjoys” sitting beside me in my dark room…embraced by silence and darkness. These tiny jiffies, when I’m recognising my previous character…my true nature, even though it’s only for a brief time, I’m feeling a little less anxious…a little less worthless.

But sadly, these moments become more rare with each new PEM crash of my disease (PEM = Post-exertional malaise = worsening of symptoms after certain activities). It feels as if I’m fading away from life…I’m fading away from other people’s lives as well as from my own.

Since I can’t leave my dark room - and most of the time even my bed - I’m not capable of joining social gatherings anymore. It’s impossible for me to endure listening to more than one person at once, so even my three kids have to “visit” me one after the other in my chamber. There are days, when I can’t even reply to messages from others, just because screen time is killing me.

All the more, I’m grateful for these few friends, who stay with me, no matter how silent I am, because they make me feel worthier and loved. And yet, I’m afraid of not being able to give them the same amount of support in return…due to the restrictions of my cruel reality, which are confining me.

So, there are many days, which I’m spending in total gloominess and silence with nothing but solitude surrounding me. And even if I’d be capable of sending text or audio messages (since I can’t type them out properly sometimes), I often hold myself back from reaching out to these understanding friends…only because I don’t want to be a burden to them.

I commissioned the lovely artist @hannisimp for this beautiful piece of art. Lin, you gave me exactly, what I needed with this tender artwork of yours. You gave me the feeling of being less alone. Severus accompanies me for 21 years now. He’s the safe haven, the comfort blanket, which I’m clinging to so desperately! My dear, I can’t stress enough, how grateful I am for your fine art. You made the love and the trust between Severus and my - oh, so self-inserted - OC Jules become palpable. There are no words to express my gratitude, so I just stay with these: Thank you for everything, my friend! Thank you for your talent, your kindness and each of your messages. I won’t ever take these things for granted.

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[pandorasword]

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

Took the chance to say I love Chaeri’s world 🥰

If you don’t mind I’d like to ask you how Chaeri spent Valentine’s Day in these years

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

Chaeri's masterlist

「 Hi! Happy Valentine's Day to you too, even if a little late. Here is a small extract from Chaeri's first Valentine's Day spent with BTS members. I hope you like it ♡ 」

Chaeri's first Valentine's Day with BTS

❒ member: OT7

❒ genre: Slice of life

❒ words: 1.3k

❒ summary: In which Chaeri decides to spend her savings on a treat for her newly found "brothers"

❒ warnings: none

That year, for her, winter had come so quickly that she had been caught unprepared. Indeed, everything that had been happening to her for the past few months had been catching her unprepared. It hadn't even been six months since she'd left Paris, moved back to her dad's place in Jeju, left him too to move to Seoul and join a small dance crew that would support the rising idols of the BigHit company in their performances, to find herself at the end right among those people who would soon be making their way into the KPOP industry. And God, she'd only turned 14 a few weeks before.

It was freezing for months now in Seoul and she was not at all used to that weather, familiar with the milder winters she had experienced in France for most of her life. The snow fell slowly and ended on her dark hair as she walked along the streets lit by the LEDs of open shops. Her orientation still sucked and she ended up getting lost during each of her trips through the city, except for one road she knew by heart: The road from her dormitory to the nearest convenience store.

Everything she ever needed in those months was in that place. It was neither large nor small but certainly well stocked, the shelves so full that they almost burst onto the floor. The place had become so familiar to her that she no longer paid attention to the tinkling of the bell at the opening of the front door, the smell of detergent and the background of the radio kept on by the owner who, despite being covered with a mask and scarf up to her eyes, still recognised her by offering a polite smile as a greeting.

The coins in her pockets clinked with every step, reminding her to go straight to what she needed. She couldn't waste money. Those were all she had left from the allowance her father sent her so she could support herself there in Seoul. Unfortunately, she had to spend more than half of it on new clothes. She would have been fine with the limited quantity her mother allowed her to bring back from France when she left but her body was changing and growing and those cloths no longer fit her. She had bought cheap outfits but this still affected her monthly budget.

All she needed was a new pair of gloves. Her hands tended to dry out and bleed in the cold causing scratches to spontaneously appear on her skin. She stopped at the shelf in front of the cash desk, where all the wool accessories were stacked (almost) in order. She would take the cheaper ones, of course. As she was choosing a gust of wind made her shiver, a sign that the doorway had been opened.

"Good evening Oppa, how are you? Did you eat?" "Hello sweetie, I'm glad to see you. What are you doing here?" "I came by to say happy Valentine's Day. These are for you. I made them myself."

Her curiosity was a lot more than her shame not to be nosy, so she turned to witness the scene she had only heard about up to that point. In front of the shop's owner was a younger girl with a large box carefully packed in her hands. She was confused for a few seconds then mentally called herself a fool: There in Korea, on Valentine's Day, it was women who gave chocolate to men. In Paris it worked differently, guys gave small gifts to women mainly to propose themselves. She still had memories of the gift she received the previous year from a friend of her brother: a small key-ring with two cherries. She always kept it pinned to her backpack, never leaving it behind, not because it was a gift of love but because it was the first present a guy had ever given her.

"You sure know how to make your big brother a happy man" "Don't be too happy, next month I expect a gift as good as mine from you" "Have I ever forgotten to spoil you on white day in my life? "No, never. That's why you're my favourite brother"

Her brother never gave her chocolate, but she wanted to convince herself that it was because traditions were different in France and they had lived there most of their lives.

However, that scene left her with a doubt… was she supposed to buy chocolate for the members too?

They weren't that close yet, mostly because she was trying not to get too involved with them to avoid future delusions, but she felt she had to at least take a look at the pastry shelf. She wandered around the shop until she came across a whole section of chocolate snacks. It was soon obvious to her that even the smallest boxes of sweets were more expensive than she would have expected, probably because of the time of year. On Valentine's Day everything was TOO pricey.

She couldn't take her eyes off a small box of choco mochi, though. It was placed a little too high for her stature but, struggling, she could read that there were exactly eight sweets inside. She was sure everyone in the dormitory would've liked them.

She slipped her hands into her pockets to count again the money she had with her. It wouldn't have been enough to buy both gloves and the gift for the boys. All she had to do was choose what to get. . . . . . ◟੭ The appartment the guys called a dormitory was so small that it left no privacy, which is why Namjoon walked out of the bedroom they all shared when the sound of keys in the lock was heard. From the moment he met Chaeri he felt a sense of responsibility for her. He had chosen her to join them and he had to look after her. She was barely more than a child in his eyes, after all. Although Chaeri was always rather distant, he could feel that at that moment he was the member of the group with whom she felt most comfortable, probably because he tried to spend as much time with her as possible.

"Welcome back Chaeri" "Hi Namjoon-ssi " "I have told you more than once you can be not so formal with me, with all of us actually" "Yeah, right"

Namjoon couldn't hide a brief smile, that little girl was so stubborn.

"We were waiting for you to have dinner, take off your coat so we can light the stove and sit down to eat."

The last hours of the evening passed quickly as they were gathered around the table in the small dining room, the warmest one in the house. They had almost finished clearing and washing the dishes when Chaeri walked away from them only to return and place a paper bag in the middle of the table

"Before you go to sleep I wanted you to have this."

Hobi was the first to approach to take a look "What is it, Chaeri-ya?"

"I'm not good with this stuff, I've been living in Korea for a short time but… I know it's a tradition here to give chocolate on Valentine's Day."

"You bought us chocolate? Ooo so cute, you shouldn't have"

Jin affectionately placed a hand on top of her head as the boys crowded around her and the table to take a treat each.

"Thank you." "Thank you Chaeri-ya" "You sweetened our evening"

She smiled, it took so little to make them happy that happiness spread to her too.

"I never got chocolate for Valentine's Day before" Jungkook spoke, covering his mouth with one hand as he gulped

"Well, having a girl in the group has its positive sides" Chaeri jokingly said. Strange how she was the one who gave them a little gift and yet had the feeling that she was the one who was being filled with love

"Only positive sides for real" Jimin winked at her from across the table

"Chaeri-ya, this tastes so good. We need to buy more tomorrow" If he could have, Tae would have left home right away to go and buy another pack of those delicious mochi.

"For this I might even forgive you for all the hair I find in the bathroom after you've been there" Yoongi nodded as if he was talking more to himself than to the girl, causing the room to fill with laughter from all members.

To herself, the girl thought she could get used to living in such a house, noisy and full of joy.

Chaeri looked down at her bruised and aching hands - yeah, it was worth it.

"Hey kid, have a treat too"

She looked up again until she met Namjoon's eyes, as soft as the first time she met him. He was handing her the last goodie in the box.

"Thank you, Namjoon"

[tiffanytoms]

Helloooooo, I know you’ve been having a break (deservedly so😌) however….. I went to a magic Mike show in London today and all I could think about was “imagine James and Lily in this situation” I mean I’m no writer so I don’t know how the story line would go, obviously James dancing on stage and then lily in the audience, maybe Sirius tries to set them up after the show because he sees how much James fancies her? And we all know Sirius would love to show himself off so he could of course be on stage too😍😂 so my question is, would you ever consider writing maybe a one shot based around this? Or know anyone who would be willing? As I can no longer get this out of my head and will be thinking about this for dayyysssss😂😂

Girl, your request possessed me today 🤪 Next time save me a seat!

I give you...

🕺🏻 Magic James ✨

Fic below the cut!

James

“Pads, I’m going to fucking murder you—“

“How is this my fault?”

“Because all of this was your bloody idea!” James Potter cried out to his best friend while covered in baby oil and wearing ridiculously tight football shorts. James loved playing football, and he was good at it too, so he would know that wearing these shorts would actually not make any sense at all in the real world. How were you supposed to properly tackle if you were afraid you’d tear your kit and accidentally show everyone your skivvies in the process?

But that was neither here nor there. Because these were exactly the kind of football shorts you wore if you were a stripper at Magic Mike in London — because that was exactly the point. The more skivvies you showed off — or better yet, bare arsecheeks — the more popular you were.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when you voluntarily signed up with me and made a shit ton of cash every weekend for the past—”

“I just wanted to be supportive!” James rebutted, his voice going up an octave. Okay, so that wasn’t the whole truth (he’d always been a bit of a showoff and he knew he had the body to match), but it was at least partially true. Ever since Sirius’ terrible parents had cut him off financially, Sirius had needed to find inventive ways to make money so he could stay in university with James. James had offered to just pay his tuition for him, but Sirius had been much too proud to accept that. So James did the second best thing — he went to his jobs with him. 

So that was the story of how James Potter found himself stripping on a Saturday night, some 30 or so odd kilometers from campus, presently losing his goddamn mind. You see, while James had a ton of fun dancing for cash while making ladies of all ages incredibly giddy — he still sort of wanted to keep his naughty little hobby a secret. So imagine his horror when he spotted his crush, the gorgeous redhead from his organic chemistry class that he hadn’t been able to shut up to his friends about for weeks, sitting front row in the middle of a bachelorette party. (Not hers at least — thank fuck.)

“Tcha. Sure,” Sirius teased, adjusting the silly, leather, fingerless gloves he was sporting. While James had been branded the jock of the performers, Sirius’ ensemble had more of a ‘bad boy’ vibe. James had doubled over laughing for a solid five minutes the first time he’d seen him backstage in it. “Look, maybe she won’t even recognize you—” It was the wrong thing to say to poor, frazzled James, because the only thing worse than Lily recognizing him would be if she didn’t even care enough about him to remember his existence and didn’t. Sirius, best mate that he was, realized his mistake and pivoted. “Okay. Remember that thing you’re always telling me about how you get in the zone when you play football and nothing else matters?”

“Yeah?” James asked confused, really not seeing the correlation here. It wasn’t like he could just dribble around Evans and score.

“So… just do that. Don’t overthink it, just do what you do best: perform, fuck your opponents up, show no mercy, and dominate.”

James felt like his brain had just melted hearing all his usual sports tricks being used in reference to… her. “You want me to dominate Evans?”

“No, not like that!” Sirius’ expression changed from exasperated to contemplative. “I mean, maybe. If you think she’d be into that—”

“Okay, worst pep talk ever—”

“Prongs, mate,” Sirius said, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Stop stressing. You love this gig; I know you do. And you said it yourself that you don’t know how to break the ice with this girl, right? Well, guess what?” James groaned at the inevitable conclusion to this thought process. “This will be the best icebreaker ever.” Sirius gave James a good ol’ spank on the bum. “Have fun, go wild.” He winked. “Give her a show she won’t forget.”

Fuck my life.

Lily

“Is that… Sirius Black?” Lily’s friend and roommate Mary asked, far too excitedly, by her side after a boy their age walked on stage. The corny, overdramatic announcer had just proclaimed that it was actually, ‘PAAAAAAADDDDFOOOOOOTTTT!’ but everyone knew that was just a silly stage name.

“I doubt our classmates have secret side gigs as strippers, Mare,” Lily sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Truth be told, she really hadn’t wanted to come here. These kinds of shows just weren’t her thing, but Frank was her best friend, and Alice was the love of his life — so she was trying to put in the effort by attending her bachelorette party. 

Mary had also given her a pep talk after Lily had lamented how degrading this was to the men, saying, ‘Lils. Are you serious? These guys love their jobs. They get paid to have women ogle their physiques and go crazy over them. Even the gay ones get a massive ego boost and get paid to dance and then check out their boyfriends when they perform. It’s really not that deep. Leave your gender studies minor at school and have fucking fun! I promise you, none of them had a gun pointed to their heads when they took this job. Stop being so judgy and let the men do what they wanna do!’ Truthfully, that had put Lily in her place. Just because she wouldn’t be caught dead stripping, didn’t mean that other people felt the same way and couldn’t find it liberating.

“No, that’s definitely him. I’d recognize that bum anywhere,” Mary responded, eyes still glued to the stage.

“Oh my god, I think it is him,” Lily agreed, hiding her giggle behind her hand. Black was a bit of an enigma across campus, being one of the best looking students there, but always seeming too brooding and untouchable to approach. One of the only things that softened and humanized him was his best friend, Potter. With bright eyes, an easy laugh, and a presence that could light up even her most dreary of least favorite classes, Potter was hard to miss. So if Potter, an endless ray of sunshine, found Black to be a good best mate, Lily found that it spoke volumes of his character.

The crowd started going wild as Black, definitely the hottest dancer they’d had yet, started walking around the stage, clearly feeling at home in tight jeans and a vest. Was the look a lot? Yes. Was it simultaneously hot and showing off every inch of his gorgeous body? Also fucking yes. 

Lily giggled as she felt herself loosening up, slowly becoming just as invested in this sexy little game of make-believe as all of her friends. She knew Black. He was one of the most stubborn men she’d ever met. No one would ever tell him what to do… so if he was here… He wanted to be here. 

When he passed by her and practically twerked his ass in her face, she laughed her own ass off and put a five pound note in his g-string. 

“There we go, Lils!” Mary cheered next to her, already having slapped his butt twice like she was playing the bongo drums. Lily guessed it was the reason Sirius seemed to be spending so much time on their side of the stage. 

“I’m going to get another drink! Want one?” Lily yelled over the screams as she excused herself, needing a small breather from all the action. Mary was far too enthralled by the show to pay her any mind. 

As much as Sirius was a great dancer, Lily was a bit embarrassed about where seeing him on stage was making her mind wander. Because, if she was being honest, she didn’t want to see Sirius up there, she wanted to see her goofy, ridiculous (-ly fit) lab partner strutting his stuff. For the first few weeks of class, she’d found him too cocky and a bit annoying, but the more she hung out with him, the more she realized all that arrogance was a mask for how adorably frazzled he got around her. It was a completely insane scenario, because he looked like a hero straight out of a Greek myth, but whatever. She’d often find him staring at her during lectures (and then kick himself) and making up the most ludicrous reasons to talk to her. She knew he was smart, but he’d still ask her for help with lab work. Of course she’d help him, but both of them knew it was all a secret rouse to hang out. Lily just hoped he would eventually work up the nerve to ask her out soon. 

(And in the meantime, she was going to the university football games just to catch a glimpse of him playing. He was good. Like really good. He also seemed to go into some sort of fugue state when he played, completely in the zone, so Lily never even had to worry that he’d spot her in his crowd of admirers.)

Basically, Lily was a chicken. And she knew it.

Alas, that’s a problem to sort through another time, she thought as she returned to her seat, exorbitantly expensive drink in tow. 

She’d just sat back down next to Mary, who was fanning herself off, when the announcer’s voice blared through the speakers once more: “And next, we have the incredible, looking damn edible, PRRRROOOOOONGGGGSSSSS!” 

The next few seconds passed in a weird sort of blur as a few things happened in rapid succession. Firstly, the fittest crush she’d ever had walked out on stage to Sam Smith’s “Unholy” wearing a generic football uniform with a ball tucked under his arm causing Lily to think that perhaps she’d fallen on the steps and hit her head — now dreaming about what she actually wanted to see. Secondly, Mary turned to her and exclaimed, “No fucking way!” the most pleased grin ever plastered on her face. Mary had spent far too many drunken nights hearing Lily lamenting over her crush of the nerdy footballer, so as far as she was concerned, the sooner the two gave in to their obvious attraction to each other and actually went out, the better. Thirdly… damn, Potter was really good at doing little football party tricks. Never letting the ball touch the ground, he’d bounced it on what seemed like every one of his delectable body parts, all while ripping off his shirt. 

Oh. My. God.

Who the fuck did he think he was? Lily swore time stood still as the thin — obviously pre-torn, but who the hell cared — fabric of his top gave way to reveal his glistening (why is it glistening?!) chest in the dazzling lights of the stage as he kept, miraculously, bouncing that damn ball. Honestly, Lily didn’t know what to be more impressed with: his fucking toned as hell body, or his obvious skill that came from years and years of loving the sport. It was hot that he’d committed so much time and effort into something. Lily really wanted to be the next thing he committed effort into — his next fucking obsession. 

She also really wanted him to get off the stage so she could ogle him all by herself, preferably in the comfort and privacy of her own flat. Now. Please and thank you. 

“Put your panties back on…” Mary drawled at her side, completely over the moon to have caught Lily in such a horny state.

“Shut up,” Lily shot back, cheeks feeling like they were on fire. She still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t dreaming. Her throat had gone dry as all of her body’s moisture had somehow all drained… elsewhere. Get it the fuck together, Evans. He’s a human. Show him a little respect.

But looking at his body as he did a bicycle kick to rid himself of his prop ball and then somehow jumped forward onto his feet when he’d just been laying flat on his back… maybe she wanted to retract that statement. This man was many things… but a damsel in distress in need of her honorable gaze in order to protect his virtue was not one of them. This man was hot as fuck — he knew it… and he wanted her to relish it.

And who was Lily to not play along with that?

His eyes landed on her a second later, and Lily swore that she felt her heart as it skipped a beat. His almost shy smile to his trainers as he threw himself into a daring front flip and landed into some sort of unnatural humping position, held up entirely by his upper half, only amplified all of her stomach’s butterflies.

“Are you fucking… Lily. Lily fucking Evans…” Mary hissed beside her. “Look at him. LOOK AT HIM! If you don’t shag this man in the next five minutes, I swear to—“

Mary didn’t get to finish her sentence, because in the next moment, right after James had finished making Lily desperately pray to the heavens above that she could be reincarnated into a very specific section of laminate, the DJ had switched the song. The whole vibe of the club changed as a very sultry beat came on, Ashlee’s “Alone With You,” and James walked right to the very edge of the stage, and offered her his open palm. 

Her. Offered her. Lily looked at his hand like it was a ticking time bomb. 

“Go!” Mary roared as she shoved Lily forward into James’ awaiting grasp.

Lily allowed James to pull her onto the stage, eyes wide and heart thudding madly. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi,” he responded in kind.

Sure, she’d been around him plenty of times before, but chest to (oily, glistening, fucking naked) chest seemed very different. He still had the same eyes off course, promising mischief — but now it was impossible not to know exactly what sort of mischief he was foretelling with those golden specks, glowing in a sea of hazel warmth. His smirk that she’d interpreted as perfectly wholesome before was downright filthy now, and his hair that had looked so windswept in the past currently mocked her former innocence with how obviously it screamed sex. She wanted to run her hands through it, she wanted to pull it, she wanted to absolutely destroy it as she rode him, forcing him to look up into her eyes as she came around him.

Who the fuck was she and what did this magical place do to her?

“You okay with this?” he asked her as he walked backwards, leading her to the center of the stage, clearly about to incorporate her body into his routine if she’d let him. 

She couldn’t wait. “Do your worst,” she answered, deciding, fuck it, she was all in. 

James’ face contorted between shock, glee, and unmitigated lust all in the span of two seconds. “You sure?” he whispered, body lithe and bare and hers. So hers right here in front of her. He had this errant, dark lock on his forehead, all but challenging Lily to sink her fingers into his hair and muss everything up even further. Why are you so obsessed with his hair right now?

“Yes. You can do whatever you want to me, Potter.” Lily wasn’t sure where it came from, but she was sure she’d never meant a sentence more.

James smirked, coming completely into his element as he swung Lily around by her hand and caught her spin right in front of chest. “Just keep your body limber, okay?” he hushed into her ear as she was pressed up against him.

Before she even had time to ponder his request, Lily felt James’ large hands — the same ones she’d only briefly touched before as he’d passed her notes and pencils in class — close in around her waist before hoisting her up in the air. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she supposed that was the point, because a moment later he had her pinned up against a prop wall. There wasn’t an encouraging yell louder than Mary’s in the crowd… and an unknown man’s whooping from backstage. 

James did a tantalizing body roll into her, making Lily gasp as she felt his hips lighting up every inch of her core. When she’d put on leggings earlier in the night, she’d been thinking about her comfort during an uncomfortable night out on the town — not donning the perfect clothing to feel her crush’s pelvis as it crashed rhythmically into her own in front of an entire audience.

“All right, Evans?” James asked as he pushed his hips into her further, making her eyelids flutter closed and keeping her steady against the wall so he could grab her left wrist, and then her right, pinning both of them next to her head. Lily didn’t know she needed this rough manhandling in her life until she was literally experiencing it. He was tossing her around like she was a rag doll and she was loving it. His breathing was coming in hot and heavy on the side of her throat, and she had to wonder if it was club protocol for dancers to actually start kissing their marks. Sure, it was only the soft, gentle start of a neck hickey, but the sensation still had her squirming against him, trying to fight herself from moaning his name as his clutch around her wrists tightened. He had to be getting off on this move too. He had to be. 

The lyrics of the song talked about not letting him stop right there, and Lily vehemently agreed. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. She couldn’t wait to see what she could push him to do next. “Is that all you got?”

He smirked at her goading, pulling back before sliding her upwards against the wall so he could sneak his shoulders underneath her thighs, pulling her knees behind him as he propped the apex of her legs right in front of her face. Her hands instinctually dug into his unruly locks — in order to steady herself on this precarious perch, or because this move was clearly meant to simulate oral sex and that’s exactly where her hands would find themselves if he’d been doing this for real, she wasn’t at liberty to say. All she knew was that a few seconds later, she felt one strong hand gripping her thigh, keeping her safely in place above him, and another on the small of her back for balance as he spun them from the wall, bringing them back to centerstage. Damn, he’s strong… And fuck did she want to actually be feeling this. As hot as the tease was, as warm as his breath was soaking right through the thin cotton fabric of her leggings, she wanted more, she needed more. She could so easily imagine him tearing her clothes off, ridding her of these pesky barriers, and plunging his tongue deep into where she really wanted it.

How was he making her feel this way? How was he getting her all hot and bothered like this in public?

Her consciousness broke through her lecherous thoughts as she realized just how blinding the stage lights were. It was very different to be staring at James — whose aura could completely drown out the screams of horny ecstasy roaring all around them — than at a white wash alerting her that she was currently a main character in this spectacle happening on a stage being illuminated from above. 

As if sensing her concern, James shrugged her off of his shoulders immediately, catching her around his chest before lowering both of them to the floor. For a second, it was just them again, Lily’s mind traveling to some far off scenario where she’d actually had the nerve to ask James out on a date, it had gone well, and they were celebrating together in her bed. She bit her lower lip as she looked down. He was holding his upper body weight off of her making his biceps bulge, caging them in together, but his hips were back to resting against hers as if he truly couldn’t resist her. She had to wonder if the growing hardness she felt there was all a part of the act, or if it was actually just him. 

Her eyebrow raised as she caught his gaze, a smirk forming on her lips. “You all right, Potter?” Staying still, just staring at each other, had to be bad for business. She had a growing suspicion that neither one of them cared.

He looked almost sheepish. “Shut it, Evans.”

In a mortifying moment, Lily realized he’d seen just how envious she’d been of the floor earlier when he started repeating the same damn humping motion, holding himself up above her as he used his ab muscles to lower his hips and legs down over her body in a snaking motion again, and again. The coordination it took… the core strength… the way it’s rubbing his clearly hard cock against me over and over.

Lily Evans was a fucking goner for this man. Just as she was admiring one of his football injuries on his collarbone, wondering if she’d get kicked out of the club for kissing it (what could she say? Mary’s yells from the sidelines were making her feel awfully brazen), James fully dropped his body weight on top of her and rolled them over so Lily was straddling his lap. One of his hands found purchase on her hip, encouraging her to grind on him.

“Ride me, Evans,“ he cooed as he found his footing beneath him, bucking his pelvis up and down in waves.

He was so fucking hot. Lily’s hands started on his abs, his unnaturally well defined abs, as his first action had taken her by surprise and she’d needed to stabilize herself (okay, fine, and she really wanted to touch those perfect, perfect abs), but she found herself wanting more intimacy the longer he kept rocking her on top of himself. Even though his free hand was pushing one of hers up his chest, urging her to feel every cut ridge and ripple of his oiled up body, she had her own ideas of what she wanted. Grabbing the hand on her hips, she peeled his fingers off of her and trailed them up her waist, grazing the side of her breast, before she interlocked her fingers with him between their bodies. Their eyes locked, understanding dawning on his face, as he switched up the positioning of their other hands and did the same, squeezing her palms into his own. Something changed in his eyes then, she guessed in both of theirs, as if he too was suddenly living the exact same scenario as she was where this could be real, she could be saucily rolling her body on top of him for real — if only they had the balls to do something about it.

“Go out with me, Potter,” she panted. She didn’t know if it was her actual feelings, or the booze, or the nerves, or her fucking riled up hormones (so ready to fuck the shit out of this boy), but whatever it was, she was so friggin’ glad she’d finally had the guts to just ask. 

James’ hips stilled, dropping Lily flat on top of him with an ‘Oof!’ 

“Are you serious?!” he cried out, oh so fucking happy. He didn’t let her wallow in the terrifying possible connotations of that question for too long, because before she knew it, he’d pulled her the rest of the way down to his level, and kissed her soundly as one of his hands buried in her hair. 

“Ehhh… let’s give it up for PRRRROOOONGGGSS!?” the announcer’s voice declared as chaos descended upon the club. About two hundred women had just witnessed one of the sexiest dancers planting a life-altering smooch on an audience member and were now clamoring to be next. 

“Oy, shit head! Get off the stage!” Lily broke free from James’ kiss and looked back to see Sirius staring at them incredulously behind the curtain. A moment later, James jumped to his feet and dragged her backstage with him. “What the hell were you—” he stopped himself short and interjected a jovial little, “Hi, Evans,” for her sake.

“Hi, Black,” Lily replied awkwardly, not really knowing where things were supposed to go from here. 

“Glad you finally threw this guy a bone. Things were getting pretty desperate,” Sirius said casually before turning back to James. “You’re probably fired, you know that?”

“Yeah…” James replied, cutely running a hand through his hair. Lily noticed his other hand remained firmly interlocked with hers. “I don’t really care though?”

Sirius rolled his eyes before walking back to the dressing room to get ready for his next set. “Tosser!” he yelled over his shoulder.

James turned back to Lily, his eyes glowing with possibilities. “So…” he began awkwardly. Cutely. Wonderfully. “You wanna maybe get out of here?”

“Yes.” Lily nodded, fighting off a shit-eating grin herself. “Absolutely.”

✨✨✨

I hope it was everything you hoped for! ♥️

[mitchipedia]

📺 We watched the final two episodes of "Succession" last night, and I have thoughts. SPOILERS!

I’m seeing some talk that Tom isn’t the winner because he’s just Matsson’s puppet. But Tom is definitely the winner. All he ever cared about was the money, buying luxuries, and the appearance of power and he got all those things. He doesn’t care about the reality of power.

Tom will remain perfectly loyal to Matsson—until the moment Tom sees it as advantageous to throw his loyalty to someone else. Probably Matsson knows this, and sees Tom as a useful tool.

The same person who said Tom isn’t the winner also compared Tom dismissively to Gerri. That’s nuts. Gerri is one of the winners of “Succession.” She was Logan’s loyal consigliere and assassin for 30 years, and she cashed out big and walked away.

Justine Lupe, who played the high-end-callgirl-turned-wife Willa, also played Astrid Weissman, Midge’s sister-in-law on “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.” Her role on “Maisel” is extremely different from Willa. On “Maisel,” she’s a the perfect midcentury upper-middle-class American housewife and mother, a shikse who converted to Judaism to marry a Jewish man and is now more Jewish than her Jewish family.

I love the video playing in Conner‘s apartment, and the kids’ faces as they watched it. We saw another side of Logan there, away from the kids and relaxed, affectionate and warm. Frank, Gerri, Karl and Jess were Logan’s real family, the people he loved and who loved him. Kendall, Roman and Shiv were not part of that family, and they knew it. Connor, on the other hand, was part of that family.

The entire four-year “Succession” story could have been told from Frank and Karl’s perspective, and it would be a very different story.

Why did Shiv vote the way she did? I don’t think we ever get a definitive answer in the show, but I think it was because in the end she just couldn’t stand to see Kendall win. According to discussion on Reddit, there’s a scene just before the vote when Kendall puts his feet up on Logan’s desk, and you see a look of disgust cross Shiv’s face. Neither Julie nor I saw that.

As the CEO’s wife, Shiv is in a better position as Kendall’s sister. But I don’t think she was calculating it through that far until after Tom was named CEO.

Of course, Tom isn’t the real successor. Matsson is the successor.

Roman is finally out, and he is relieved. He never wanted the responsibility. He just wanted to pretend to be a playboy and now he’s back to that.

A theme that emerged throughout “Succession” is that the people who appear to be in power—Tom, the President of the United States—are not the people in power. The real people in power are the people who pay those other people: the Logans and Matssons. In “Succession” we spend a lot of two seasons focused on a Presidential election in which one of the candidates is a neo-Nazi, and it turns out to be a minor plot point, not worth resolving in the finale. Because that election just didn’t matter in the universe of “Succession.”

Shiv is the sort of woman misogynist who sees herself as the exception. She is not the exception. She has become her mother, and married a man who literally sits in her father’s chair.

I love the rare sweet moment at the end of the show where Logan’s wives and mistresses all came together as this little supportive sorority. Marcia even takes Jess’s hand. They were all the women that Logan betrayed, and in the end they stood by each other. Although maybe not—in the universe of “Succession,” you never can assume love and decency is real.

Does Willa care about Connor after all? Or is she just in it for the money? Yes.

In the scene at the bar at the end, Roman orders Gerri’s favorite drink.

I don’t know if we actually enjoyed the final season of “Succession.” Watching it had become compulsive.

I kept expecting Roman’s dick pics to go viral on social media. They were Checkov’s dick pics, and they never were fired.

“Succession” creator Jesse Armstrong shares his view on where the characters go after the season finale: Tom isn’t just going to be an empty suit. He’s got a lot of hard work ahead of him. But he will never be anything other than Matsson’s dog.

Armstrong says Roman is back where he started; the whole multi-year arc was just a detour for him.

Armstrong: “Shiv is still in play … in a rather terrifying, frozen emotionally barren place.”

Also Armstrong: “For Kendall, this will never stop being the central event of his life, the central days of his life, central couple of years of his life… Maybe he could go on and start a company, or do a thing. But the chances of him achieving the sort of corporate status that his dad achieved are very low. And I think that will mark his whole life.”

Why does “Succession” get so much more journalism and social media love than “Yellowstone,” which has similar premises and themes and is far more popular among the viewing public? I think it’s because “Succession” centers on the media business and New York, and therefore has more appeal to journalists and the professional-managerial classes that dominate journalism and social media.

I’ve read that “Succession” is a blue show and “Yellowstone” is a red show, and there’s a lot of truth to that. But “Yellowstone” is more nuanced and ethically diverse and more broadly focused across class lines. Go figure.

In our house, we watch both “Succession” and “Yellowstone.”

The image is from The Onion

[anthonybialy]

Looted Loot

You have too many dollars.  Your total decadent pile size is irrelevant, as it’s always excessive.  Give away unnecessary lucre to politicians who know how it should be spent for communal bliss.  Doing so is not a request.  State funding will fix everything, according to people who fix nothing.

Throwing compulsory cash is not merely toxic in application, although the economy has been a toxic waste zone for as long as Joe Biden has pulled its levers.  His replacements replicated his muscle memory, which shows how continuity isn’t always a blessing.  The very notion of expecting a politician to seize and correct poisons human nature.  Sanctimony isn’t has helpful for fixing as you’d think.

Getting enough funds to buy what seems worthwhile is for ordinary thinkers.  Believe in the power of cash falling from the sky.  The magic trick doesn’t even take learning a spell.  Heck: it doesn’t take politicians who can spell.  Believers in sleight of hand consult the same mathemagicians who try improving the economy via dividing by zero.  It’s easy to have lots of money by making it worthless.  Stacks of bills suddenly don’t make the possessor rich.  Democrats insist on showing how little they know about creating wealth.

Outrage at lack of funding is perpetual.  Liberals wouldn’t know what to do if they didn’t have things they curiously classify as injustices to fume about.  Utopia is always just one step away.  The perpetual Democratic dream of taxing success just a little more is an uplifting reminder to keep pursuing dreams even if they’re uncannily never reached.

Helping others could be remedied in a very easy way which isn’t simple for personal misers.  Doing so themselves takes using their own funds, which gets so expensive.  The committed refusal to admit aid can happen without a mandate is popular amongst the same ones trying to get rich without all that toiling to make something anyone else would want to buy.

Governmental spending is much like charity, which they also refuse to support voluntarily.  You may sense a pattern.  We ought to be doing things together, by which they mean letting people they vote for take money from people they hate to buy what they want after they’ve been bribed by politicians who’ve taken their own cuts.  There are no inefficiencies like in cruel free markets where greedy goons rip off customers by pleasing them.

Determining jut how liberals precisely don’t grasp money’s nature might seem academic.  But thinking about how they don’t think helps establish why they don’t help.  The debate about whether they think the money is free or just seized from the Monopoly guy helps isolate delusional lunacy.  The prototypically wealthy jerk wants more rent just because he improved the property.

Neither politicians nor government itself can break the rules, according to those entities.  There’s some federal department that creates cash.  Your toured it with your family after traveling 17 hours in a station wagon.  They can print it at will just like you saw behind glass.  They’re actually trying it right now.  Results did not create as much prosperity as hoped unless paying 93 dollars for a sack of potatoes makes everyone feel grateful.

Incessant handouts were supposed to make everyone wealthy enough that we could tax each other.  Next would be real prosperity.  We could really be coasting now if mean Republicans didn’t prohibit assembly of the perpetual energy machine.  Getting something for nothing is party policy.  The Democratic path to prosperity resembles how they think a car emits nothing but love if it’s plugged into an outlet.  Science is as consistent as dolts’ misunderstanding of it.

Curing drunkenness with gin only works if you sip enough martinis.  Troubles will certainly be fixed by legislatures finally being compassionate enough to spend into oblivion.  The very crises are actually caused by them, but society’s healers are immune to irony.  They contribute to your mirth by claiming their notions always need just a little more currency.  It’s uncanny how present funding levels are insufficient for making liberal goals a reality.  Like Randy Marsh chasing the dragon, we never catch him.  

Planning schemers can’t even conceive of a world where inhabitants interact freely.  The purportedly open-minded remain stubbornly unaware of the notion that a peddler and customer could both end up happy.  Lack of empathy is revealed by claiming to be overflowing with it.  You’re micromanaged by narrow-minded aspiring autocrats who are unable to imagine how they’d feel if they didn’t have breakfast. 

Force is the surest way to show what a good person you are.  At least, it better be, as liberals are ineffective phonies if the truth is otherwise.  Anything not mandated is a sign of cruelty by people who never use free will to help.  Government’s role is to protect us from themselves, according to its affiliates who protect us from being rich.  The classless ruling class couldn’t imagine being productive any more than they could helping others without compulsion.

Self-proclaimed enemies of greed think money fixes everything.  Of course, they won’t do anything to generate it.  Money brings out the worst in people, according to people who think making money is the worst.  Finances are based in merciless fate doled out by a malicious cosmos and denied to others by demonic financiers.  The universe’s savageness means your president needs to take just a pinch more of what you selfishly use to barely survive another week.

[asset35-maya]

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

//

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

//

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

//

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

//

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

//

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

//

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

//

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

//

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

//

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

//

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

//

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

//

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

[houseofdabs]

roadkill driver

"i made a playlist for Lester and i wanted to write about it bc i love country music:)

(i know a lot of people dont like to listen to country, especially old country, so ill try to write the general tone of each song with it)

--------------------------------------------------

lester is a hard worker, sanitation jobs are hard and he's out in fucking louisiana haulin deer and shit, who knows if he's even getting paid for it, and even if he does it's probably close to pennies

most of the songs are about how he's constantly working for little to nothing in return, he has no control in his life.

1) Sixteen Tons (Tennessee Ernie Ford): no matter what he does he'll always be stuck, he's tied an obligation and has no will

"Some people say a man is made outta mud A poor man's made outta muscle and blood Muscle and blood and skin and bones A mind that's a-weak and a back that's strong"

2) 9 to 5 (Dolly Parton): Lester is optimistic, it wavers though with each day when he realizes there's no real way of getting out of any of this.

"They got you where they want you There's a better life And you dream about it, don't you?"

3) A Working Man Can't Get Nowhere Today (Merle Haggard): More of Lester being stuck and it's worse with the weight of his brothers. He works hard and has nothing to show for it, it's one viscous cycle

"Tryin' to keep my family fed, I keep my budget tight Tryin' to keep myself ahead but I'd still be dee in debt The day that I fall dead, that's why I say Lord, a working man can't get nowhere today"

with the business of ambrose comes anxiety and puts a strain on his relationship with his brothers, he's filled with doubt and guilt. his actions contradict his morals and beliefs but he's at a crossroads due to his relationship with his brothers.

4) Lost Highway (Hank Williams): Lester knows what he's doing is wrong but he's so deep in there's no hope for him, he reflects on how he got to this point and wishes that somehow he could have avoided it.

"I was just a lad, nearly 22 Neither good nor bad, just a kid like you And now I'm lost, too late to pray Lord, I take a cost, oh the lost highway"

5)I Just Don't Like This Kind Of Living (Hank Williams): Despite doing all he can for his loved one he's treated terrible by them, he puts all he can into supporting them and gets nothing in return. They're selfish and hateful and each interaction has that tiny voice in Lester's head telling him to leave get a little louder

"I just don't like the things you're doin' Your evil heart will be your ruin When things start runnin' smooth and free You haul right off and you pick on me And I just don't like this kind of livin'"

6) I Hung My Head (Johnny Cash): Lester projects "my brothers gun" as Bo and Vincent wrangling them into their business, he doesn't kill the men, his brothers do, but he's just as guilty.

"I felt the power of death over life I orphaned his children, I widowed his wife I begged their forgiveness, I wish I was dead"

7) Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven (John Prine): He was raised religious and because of this he can't help but feel the fear of paying for this when he finally gets the chance to rest, he won't be able to absolve himself of this sin.

"Now Jesus don't like killin' No matter what the reason's for, And your flag decal won't get you Into Heaven any more."

8) Folsom City Blues (Johnny Cash): Lester knows that if they get caught it's bad news, but also views his family home in Ambrose as a prison and stays far from it. Even though he's "free" he's still tied down.

"Well, If They Freed Me From This Prison, If That Railroad Train Was Mine, I Bet I'd Move On Over A Little Farther Down The Line, Far From Folsom Prison, That's Where I Want To Stay,"

9) The Master's Call (Marty Robbins): Here comes his religious trauma, he's rattled with the idea of damnation or "serious" punishment. He does think of higher powers and considers the whole worship, it having been so engrained in him, but it still scares him the same.

"I felt the end was near, that death would be the price When a mighty bolt of lightning showed the face of Jesus Christ And I cried oh Lord forgive me, don't let it happen now I want to live for you alone, Oh God these words I vow

My wicked past unfolded, I thought of wasted years"

10) Creeker (Tyler Childers): Lester doesn't go far from Ambrose, it's all he knows, but he craves freedom and normalcy. He feels lonely and hates the town, he thinks about his situation and it makes him angry. His brothers put him in this and now he's suck, he just wants gone but everywhere he goes he'll be alone, but even with his own kin he's a stranger.

"And for everyone you meet there's a whole mess of people Tryin' like hell to pull you on down To the level they're on and the trouble they're tendin' In the mess that they've made, in the gutter they found

And he'd rather be dead Than alive one more minute In this godforsaken town When he was a kid Lord, he'd never have dreamt it All the ways that the city can bring a country boy down"

he spends a lot of time with nature; his job as a roadkill driver and just his affinity for animals has him constantly interacting with wildlife, he's definitely not using it as a way to compensate for the lack of love from his brothers. he's a lonely guy and if there's no one around well you make with what you have and fill your house with critters you find at you job:)

11) Old Red (Marty Robbins): A story about a bull that couldn't be tamed, definitely not representing Bo or anything. A cowboy who had never been thrown stepped up to break him but in the middle of it Old Red crushes the cowboy and kills himself in the process. Lester tries to sway Bo but knows one day his brother might treat him the same as the tourists.

"Old Red lay still, no more would he move The cowboys that seen it could tell In tryin' to throw Billy off of his back Old Red broke his neck when he fell"

12) The Strawberry Roan (Marty Robbins): Yes another Lester comparing Bo to a Bull, if there's anyone with the balls to step to Bo it's Lester but he knows that it gets him nowhere. He knows that if it weren't for his other brother, Bo would be alone because no one but people he's forced to stay would be able to.

"I'll bet all my money, the man ain't alive That'll stay with old strawberry When he makes his high dive"

13) My Love (Marty Robbins): My man just loves nature and everything in it. You can find beauty in everything and comfort in nothingness, nature has so much to offer and Lester is taking in everything.

"The call of the night bird I love every trill There's peace and contentment When everything's still"

14) The Bend in the River (Marty Robbins): He loves traveling and he knows every nook and cranny of the wildlife around him, he's familiar with every trail and ever creek and knows the trees. He wants to travel beyond it, he want love and freedom, but it's not coming anytime soon.

"In the cottonwood by the river A mourning dove calls his mate He has true love to give her But love for me must wait."

15) Man Walks Among Us (Marty Robbins): Lester loves animals and with the amount of nature around him the wildlife is active. He's respectful of their spaces and homes, only passing through to check up on or sneak a peak of some of them. It's what he loves the most, the boondocks are something he feels is his place, and will never leave it if he can.

"Twenty feet high in the side of a cactus I see a hole where the butcher bird stays If mortals could choose, and if heaven should ask us Here's where I'd want to spend all of my days"

16) Sam (Sturgill Simpson): Loves him a good companion, used to have a dog of his own when he first moved to Ambrose who's momma had got by a rattlesnake and Lester managed to save the pup. He was glued to Lester's side and accompanied him everywhere but one day got out and in the middle of an altercation with Bo and a visitor.

"He was a hound of hounds He was the wonder of all walkers He loved howlin' at the moon He loved treein' that raccoon Most of all, he was my best friend And he's gone too soon"

Lester is proud of himself, he's a made man and has a job and his own house. He sees the silver lining of being independent and holds his head high because of his accomplishments. He's a grown man who can come and go and do as he pleases, no one can tell him nothing. Sometimes he wishes that he didn't have to give up his life for this.

17) A Hundred And Sixty Acres (Marty Robbins): His home is simple and he works hard for what he has, he's proud to say he earned his keep while Bo and Vincent simply inherited theirs. He has his own house and he's his own man.

"Up at dawn to greet the sun I've forgotten what a care or worry means Head for home when day is done With my pocket money jinglin' in my jeans. I've got a hundred and sixty acres full of sunshine Got a hundred and sixty million stars above Got an old paint hoss, I'm the guy who's boss On the hundred and sixty acres that I love!"

18) Doggone Cowboy (Marty Robbins): Romanticizing stuff helps and boy does Lester do it, he views his loneliness as independence and knows that he'll likely be this way his whole life and he's accepted it.

"When I get done at night all the stars are big and bright But then that's sorta what you're used to when you

Throw that rope and brand that calf dream of a girl in a photograph I got no home I got no wife but I'll be a doggone cowboy all of my life"

19) Running Gun (Marty Robbins): Lester craves a normal life but every chance he gets at it he is pulled back to the reality of his predicament. He knows with what he does that one day he won't be able to get out of it without something bad happening. His chance of something else could be taken and every night he thinks about it.

"I had barely left the saddle and my foot just touched the ground When a cold voice from the shadows told me not to turn around Said he new about my fast gun, new the price paid by the law Challenged by a bounty hunter, so I turned around to draw"

It get's lonely and Lester yearns for normalcy. He wants to settle down, have someone he can just be with. He does date around if he can but it never gets past anymore than a few dates because he can't bring them home for reasons. It builds up and Lester despises his brothers sometimes for taking that away from him, he mourns his freedom, love, himself, and dreams of what could be.

20) Country Squire (Tyler Childers): Wants a wife and a humble way of living, wants to build a life with someone he loves. He wants a partner, he just wants to stop being lonely.

"I was up for hours this mornin' Pullin' traps 'fore I said goodbye I plan to tan myself a fox hide And hang it on my darlin' bride

'Cause they tell me that it's gonna be a big one And the snow is settin' in And I don't want her cold while I ain't at home The way that I've been"

21) Ever Lovin' Hand (Tyler Childers): Lester has a lot of distanced relationships because of the whole wax town thing, he often isn't allowed much more than a few dates and some bedroom stuff, it's never strung out for long. So often even when he's with someone he's not really with them.

"It gets so hard out on the road But I go it alone 'cause I'm your man I have got you on my mind And my ever lovin' hand

For a moment, you were here The moment passed and you were gone Leavin' me to clean the mess That you clearly helped to cause"

22) All Your'n (Tyler Childers): He's very giving when he's with someone and he yearns to be able to fully give himself to someone. Often thinking about someone and he's smitten fast, worships his partner and dotes on them in the ways he can.

"The goddess in my Days Inn pen The muse I ain't refusing The part of me that ain't around I'm always talking to"

23) Pay No Rent (Turnpike Troubadours): Craves time with people and is the type to stay up late with people, hates when things are cut short so he tries to drag them out. Could never make someone feel that they'd have to work or earn his attention and makes it known, doesn't understand how he could ever get a good situation if he tried but somehow luck manages to get on his side at times.

"Are you cracking jokes with the common folks? Are you serving to the well-to-do? Well I traveled round and I ain't found nobody quite like you And is all this living meant to be or a happy accident?"

24) Gemini (Tyler Childers): He's lost and has been for a while but he's still trying, part of him wants to settle part of him wants to roam, he's scattered. He knows that maybe when he gets out he'll never be back but he can't seem to care, he allows himself to think about being selfish.

"The road goes on forever, the part it will tend To run forever if ya never let it end I got a part of me that's wonderin' when I'll finally kick the urge to roam"

25) Honky Tonkin' (Hank Williams): Easy going and fun is Lester, his only chance at something is outside of Ambrose and he makes the most of it when he can. He's popular at places he frequents and often finds someone to partner with.

"We're goin' to the city, to the city fair If you go to the city baby, you will find me there And we'll go honky tonkin', honky tonkin' Honky tonkin', honey baby We'll go honky tonkin' 'round this town"

26) Red River Valley (Marty Robbins): Loss is inevitable and Lester knows that, he wishes he could leave with them. With them it's not only the loss of the person but so many opportunities, he can only hope to live in their memories.

"Then come sit by my side if you love me Do not hasten to bid me adieu Just remember the Red River Valley And the cowboy that's loved you so true"

27) In The Valley (Marty Robbins): Lester has such a fear of abandonment, he laments for what he could have and pines for what he did have.

"I will weep like the willow That weeps in the valley, I'll be lonesome until you return"

28) Tennessee Waltz (Roy Acuff): Blames Bo and Vincent for his loneliness, he's lost everything to them and is reminded of it often.

"I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz Now I know just how much I have lost Yes, I lost my little darlin' the night they were playing The beautiful Tennessee Waltz"

[seijorhi]

so speaking of bnha, I don’t know if any of y’all are into erasermic, but this thought has not left my head for the past 48 hours and so i’m gonna share it because i have no impulse control

TW breeding kink, pregnancy stuff, slight nsfw

So the two heroes finally decide that they want to have a kid, but instead of adopting, they decide to try surrogacy. Along comes you, sweet as can be and in need of a little cash. You’re not expecting the Heroes to choose you from the agency, but (after extensive background searches and vetting) both heroes are in agreement - you’re the one they want to carry their baby.

So at first it’s all very normal. You meet with them a few times over coffee before getting everything sorted and the procedure is done - hell, both of them show up to the actual appointment, which makes you a little embarrassed, but they quick to reassure you that they’re gonna be there every step of the way. This is their kid - the most important thing in their lives, of course they’re gonna want to be there for them (and you). They’re such a nice couple and they seem to like you, and it honestly doesn’t even seem real sometimes, but you’re so happy to help them out.

And nothing really seems out of place, until your first ultrasound. Mic insists on coming to pick you up for the appointment, and who are you to turn him down? It’s just that you kind of live in a bad part of town? And your apartment’s a little run down, but hey, rent is expensive and you’re making it work. Except neither Mic nor Shouta are particularly thrilled about your living conditions. You’re carrying the child of two pro heroes, they’re not trying to scare you, but you realise that if anybody with the wrong intentions were to find out, you’d be in danger?

So they suggest that you move in with them. There’s tons of space - they’re richer than you think, sweetheart - and that means that they can keep a closer eye on the pregnancy. It has to be nicer than your one bedroom shoebox, and won’t it be nice to have somebody there to look after you a little too? You’re carrying their child - you deserve to be spoiled a little.

The changes are subtle, so subtle, the heroes themselves aren’t even really aware they’re happening. They like having you around - there’s something oddly satisfying about coming home after a long day to see you sitting on the couch with a book in hand, absentmindedly rubbing your growing stomach with a quiet hum. The first time the baby kicks, you call them over so excitedly, and you’re so caught up in the odd sensation that you miss the shared look between the two of them. You just seem to slide into their life - Hizashi cooks for you (a pregnancy approved meal plan) and you try to keep the place neat and tidy while they’re gone - though Shouta warns you not to push yourself. You see them off every morning, and you’re there most nights when they get home - sleep doesn’t come as easily as it once did, so you sometimes just move to the living room, tune into Hizashi’s show and try to distract yourself - they’ve come home a few times to you passed out on that exact couch. On those nights Shouta has no problem carrying you up to your room and tucking you into bed with a kiss on your forehead During the days they have off, you usually spend it with them, lazing around their penthouse apartment or helping do baby stuff - getting the nursery ready, shopping, reading pregnancy books.

When your body aches and you’re overtired and worn out, Shouta will drag you upstairs, force you to lie down and give you a massage that has you moaning appreciatively beneath him. Hizashi’ll hold your hair back when you get morning sickness, rubbing your back soothingly. Affection becomes second nature between the three of you. Truthfully, you’re not sure how you would have gotten through this pregnancy without them. But there is a little part of you that worries about what’ll happen when you actually give birth - you’ve become so used to living with them, it’ll be weird to go back to being strangers.

Meanwhile, as your pregnancy goes on, the heroes are having the same kinds of thoughts. Well, almost. You see, they’re growing kind of attached. You’ve always been beautiful, but the sight of you, breasts swollen, tummy round with their child... it’s growing on them. Fuck, who are they kidding - it’s hot as hell. They’d be lying if they said they hadn’t imagined how it would feel to fuck you like that, how it would feel to breed you themselves, the proper way. You fit in so well with them, they adore you. You’re their sweetheart, and suddenly they’re not all that keen on letting you leave them at the end of this whole thing.

You’ll make such a good mother. They understood it when you explained that you didn’t really want kids of your own - at least, not yet, you’re still so young! But that was before you had them. They can support you, look after you so much better than when you were on your own and between the three of you, the kid’s gonna be the most spoiled little angel on the planet. And... and they like you a whole fucking lot, they love you, and you feel the same too, right? That’s why you curl up to Shouta when your hormones make you all emotional at the drop of a hat, it’s why you blush so prettily whenever Hizashi drops to his knees and showers your pregnant stomach with kisses.

You’re gonna be a family. And when the baby is born, well neither hero has much objection to the thought of getting you pregnant with another. You’re gonna make such a pretty little housewife for them.

[escapewithbts]

Charity Case - Yoongi

Not super edited, not sure if I love it, blah blah blah, please still enjoy...

I’ve been in such a Yoongi mood lately 😇

----------------------------------------------------

You stared at your bank statement, or more specifically, your savings account. You had saved up a decent amount of money, that was for sure, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to kickstart your dream.

It all happened a few days ago on a Tuesday afternoon. You had just finished lunch with a friend who was from your home country. The two of you had found a restaurant specializing in the traditional food from there since you both were craving a taste of home. On your walk back to your apartment, you noticed the road you usually took was blocked off with construction (typical for the summertime in Seoul you were learning), so ultimately you had to take a detour, pulling out your Maps app. Although you lived in Hongdae, you really only took the same few roads daily. Therefore, you still did not quite know your way around.

The new directions had you weave down a side street, one you had never been on before. To your surprise, it was full of restaurants, shops, and cafes, and since Hongdae was known for homing many foreigners within the city of Seoul, many of them featured things you were very familiar with from back home.

Strolling down the block you made mental notes of places you wanted to try, places that were bustling with people, figuring they must be good if that’s the case.

All of a sudden, between an American grocery store and floral shop, you noticed a beautiful empty store front. You peered in the large windows and was met with a decent sized space, white walls, white tile floors, a lot of natural lighting. It was perfect. In the corner of the same window there was a sign that read “FOR LEASE” with the name of the agent and a phone number.

You took a picture of said sign before stuffing your phone back in your pocket. There was no harm in calling, right? Even just getting a feel for the space was harmless…right?

For ever since coming to Seoul from abroad, it was your dream to open your own bakery. To make desserts and breads and pastries fresh daily for the Seoulites to try and the foreigners to feel nostalgic for their home countries. You were currently working a boring office job as a translator, saving for the moment you could follow your true dream.

And maybe this was a sign… this was it.

 So, you did call. You did get a feel for the space. And it was perfect. Turns out it had been a pizza shop that went under, (too much competition) so there were already ovens and freezers and refrigeration, all in great working condition. The agent informed you the floor could be ripped up and replaced, there were already light fixtures attached in the ceiling that could connect to chandeliers and you were already picturing plants hanging from macrame in front of the large windows.

But there was just one problem.

As you stared at your savings account and compared it to the down payment in the brochure the realtor had given you… they didn’t match. You were short about 1/3 of the cost, especially since there was still some work to be done inside to really make it your own.

You heart sunk. You mentally scolded yourself for getting your hopes up. It was in such a prime location; how could you have been so stupid to think it was in your price range!

Suddenly, instead of staring at your lack of funds, you were staring at your face in your phone’s front camera as you received a FaceTime call request. ‘Yoongi’ was the name at the top of the phone screen, accompanied by your favorite picture you had taken of him candidly making a gummy smile caused by a joke you had told. Right on time for the daily call you two always had.

You sighed. Did you really want to speak to him right now? You were great friends, you had (stupidly) told him about the place and he had been so incredibly excited for you. He was so supportive and encouraging… it was incredibly endearing. Reminding yourself of that you pressed the green accept button.

Immediately you were met with the handsome face and bleach blonde hair of Min Yoongi. He was resting his head back on his black leather sofa, his narrow eyes meeting yours between screens.

“Hi Yoongi-ah,” you gave him a small smile.

“Hey (y/n).” he responded, returning the smile.

You stood up and walked over to the couch in your small apartment, sitting down and curling your legs underneath you.

“What are you up to?” you asked.

He reached towards the screen and flipped it, so it was now looking forward. An NBA basketball game was playing on the large tv in his living room.

“Watching the game. It’s game 4 of the finals so if Pheonix wins this one they only have one more game to win before they win it all.”

He returned the screen to face him.

“Oh, that’s cool,” you replied, “Did you have a lot on your work schedule today?”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“It wasn’t too bad. Practiced PTD for a Japanese tv performance we have coming up. Worked on some music between rehearsals,” he shrugged, “the usual.”  

You nodded.

“You?” he questioned, “how was your day?”

You looked down at the couch cushions and fiddled with the blanket that laid beside you. You bit your lip before responding.

“Fine. It was fine. I, uh, I had that appointment. With the agent in charge of that space I was interested in?”

Yoongi’s eyes got wide, and he perked his head up.

“Shit, I forgot that was today. How was it? Did you like it as much as you thought you would?”

A small grin appeared on your face remembering how picturesque it had been.

“It was even better than I thought it would be, Yoongs,” you told him.

He smiled wide.

“That’s incredible! So wh-what now? Did you put down the money for it? Or did you need me to come with you to look at it again, see if there’s anything that needs fixing that I can do??”

You closed your eyes tightly and shook your head. He was so sweet, and it broke your heart even more.

“Thank you, Yoongi, for offering, but that… won’t be necessary.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, expecting his next question to make you feel uneasy.

He cocked his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

“What? Why not? I really don’t mind.”

You sighed, suddenly incredibly embarrassed to be admitting this to your friend.

“I just saw the statement of my bank account and, well, I don’t… I can’t afford the down payment. I don’t have enough saved up yet.”

You couldn’t help but look down in shame. Yoongi never talked about his money or how much he made being in BTS, but you weren’t stupid. He worked incredibly hard for everything he and his fellow members have achieved and you were nothing but proud of him. He deserved it all, even the unassumingly large income he was bringing in. He would never, ever flaunt it or make you feel inferior to him because of it, but you still felt slightly inefficient in your confession.

Yoongi’s face softened.

“Oh… I’m-I’m sorry, (y/n).”

You shrugged and gave him a small, hopeful smile.

“It’s alright. It just means it wasn’t meant to be, that’s all.”

He gave you a sympathetic frown.

“But you said it was perfect.” He reminded you.

You placed your fingers to the bridge of your nose.

“Because it is, Yoongi-ah. It’s bright and cozy and practically ready. Not to mention it’s an incredible location,” you rolled your eyes at yourself, “I really should have known it would be too much.”

“How much is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You looked away again and scrunched your nose, before telling him the exact amount required to put down in order for the space to be yours.

His mouth formed into that straight line he was known for when he was neither happy nor displeased by something.

“Could you get a loan? Like from a bank?”

You shook your head.

“I already looked into it,” you informed him, “it’s weird because my bank is home, but I’m abroad so there would be a lot of hoops to jump through and the chances of being approved are slim to none. Basically, it’s not worth putting a mark on my credit for.”

He nodded in understanding, looking away for a moment. His eyebrows knitted together in thought, and as much as you appreciated him trying to help you, you had already thought of all the possible solutions, and you didn’t really want to talk about it anymore.

“It’s okay, Yoongs, really, I’ll find someplace else.” You smiled reassuringly at him.

He looked back at you and hummed in agreement before you began talking about something else.

 -

The next day you had barely stepped out of your office building after a long day at work when your phone’s text message notification sound went off.

5:49pm from Yoongi: Are you off work yet?

5:49pm to Yoongi: Leaving now. What’s up?

5:50pm from Yoongi: Can you meet me here at the HYBE building ASAP?

You furrowed your eyebrows.

5:50pm to Yoongi: Sure. Is everything okay?

5:50pm from Yoongi: Yeah, everything is fine

5:51pm from Yoongi: Come to the Forum at the top floor when you get here, okay? I already told the front desk you’re coming

5:51pm to Yoongi: You’re being weird but okay

5:51pm from Yoongi: Don’t worry so much you pabo, it’s nothing bad

You rolled your eyes and locked your phone before hailing a taxi.

 The ride to Yoongi’s work was longer than usual because of traffic, but eventually you made it, giving a wad of cash to the driver and stepping out of the cab. The tall, reflective HYBE building intimidated you a little bit, like you were going to get in trouble just for stepping foot on its grounds, but you confidently passed the transparent sign that read “HYBE We Believe in Music” and opened the doors to the main entrance. A woman at the front desk greeted you and asked to see your ID when you told her you were here to see Min Yoongi. When she confirmed your identity, she gestured toward the elevators.

 “Yes, you may proceed to the Forum on the 19th floor, he is waiting near the café there.”

You nodded and thanked her before letting the elevator doors close in front of you.

The aroma of coffee wafted into your nose immediately upon stepping out of the elevators. It smelled heavenly. You walked past many groups of HYBE businessmen and women taking breaks or in small meetings before finally spotting Yoongi at a table in the corner near the large windows. He was fixated on his phone, an iced Americano on the table in front of him, and another iced drink sitting across. It had been a few weeks since you had seen him in person as his schedule was usually jam packed, but upon seeing him now your heart skipped a beat and a wide smile formed on your lips. You hadn’t seen his newly bleached hair in person yet and he looked even more handsome than you imagined. His pale skin glowed in the sunlight. It was good to see him again. You missed him.

 “Hi,” you said, pulling out the chair and sitting down across from him, “the building is incredible.”

He glanced up at you and nodded in agreement.

 “It’s nice. They did a great job. I don’t mind coming to work as much now.” He chuckled to himself, and you rolled your eyes.

He pointed to the beverage in front of you.

 “The drinks are good, too, I got your favorite.”

You smiled at him and took a sip. He was right, it was delicious.

 “Thanks, Yoongs.”

He stared at you for a moment, a grin forming on his face. Your face felt hot, and you had to look away.

“Sooo… why did you need me here so urgently?” you quickly wondered.

“Urgently?” he retaliated, “it sure took you long enough.”

Oh, how you loved his bluntness.

You scoffed.

“Well, excuuuuse me, Mr. Min, normal people go home from work around this time, so traffic was absolutely horrendous! Could you have picked any other time of day?”

He smiled and looked down at his hands while shaking his head.

“This was literally the only open slot I had today, sorry,” he glanced at the time on his phone, “and I’m already almost out of time as it is.”

You waved your hands, urging him on.

“Well then, what is it that it couldn’t wait?”

He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled nervously.

“Aiisshh okay, please don’t be mad.”

You narrowed your eyes and cocked your head.

“Mad? What? What is it, Min Suga?”

He took a deep breath and reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small piece of paper. Then he unfolded it carefully and placed it in the middle of the table facing you.

To your shock, it was a personal check. From Yoongi’s bank account. Written for the exact amount you had told him last night of the down payment for the perfect shop you couldn’t afford.

Your jaw dropped and your eyes left the rectangular paper to look into his. They were a little weary, maybe, but hopeful.

“Yoongi…” you started.

He held up his hand.

“Please. Just take it, (y/n).”

Your heart was pounding. There in front of you was the exact amount you needed to start your dream. Your very own bakery. And combined with the amount you had in your savings you could even add some extra touches!

But… you couldn’t do it. You knew you couldn’t. This was your dream, and even if that amount of money was nothing to someone like Yoongi, you wanted to be the one to earn it, like he had earned all his successes.

“I-I… I can’t, Yoongi.”

He sighed and closed his eyes.

“(y/n) …”

“Thank you, Yoongi, truly, it means so much.”

He shook his head and motioned to the check.

“Then just take it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“But you said so yourself that place is perfect! You were in love with it!”

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. Did he have to keep reminding you how great it was?

“Yes. But I cannot afford it. There will be other places.”

“You can afford it if you take this. Please, (y/n), this won’t hurt me in anyway financially, I’m good. I want you to be, too.”

“I am good, Yoongi. I work hard and I’m saving. This place is just not it and I have to accept that. Maybe a time will come where I can afford someplace like it, and when it does it will be just as perfect.”

He rolled his eyes.

“How do you know you’ll find another place?? Jesus, you’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, (y/n).”

Your hands balled up into fists. Okay that was it. Calling you stubborn because you wanted to be self sufficient had made you hit your boiling point.

“I’m stubborn? How about I just don’t want to be your charity case, idol Min Yoongi, hmm?” you whispered harshly to him, “I can take care of myself, okay? I don’t want your help; I don’t need your help. I’m a fucking adult, too, you know, just because I don’t make millions doesn’t mean I can’t make smart financial decisions. God, do you think I’m just that pathetic?”

You got up to leave, so over this conversation.

Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut.

“What? Fuck, (y/n), no I don’t think you’re pathetic. If anything… I-I’m the pathetic one.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before marching back toward the elevators and hitting the down arrow button.

Yoongi followed.

“Do you know why?” he asked, jumping into the elevator with you before the doors could close.

It was just the two of you as it began its long descent down 19 floors.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why what? Why you’re pathetic?” you snorted, “Because you just offered your friend an obscene amount of money for something you have no part in?”

He looked down at the floor and took a deep breath.

Finally, he peered back up at you and his dark brown eyes met yours.

“Well, that, and because,” he paused, shuffling nervously on his feet, “because I’m having a really hard time telling that same friend how I truly feel about her.”

Your heart stopped and your mouth fell open again, in a different kind of shock.

“What?” you said softly.

“Fuck, I love you, (y/n)!” the pale skin of his face turned a bright red, and he took his gaze away again, “Aiiisshh, I’m sorry, I’m just horrible at showing my emotions and telling people how I feel. I guess I was hoping offering you the money would help you understand but I didn’t even think how it would come off, I just wanted you to know that I support you and I want to be apart of your decisions in life as more than a friend and- “

You cut off his worrisome rant by flinging yourself towards him and kissing him hard. It was his turn to be shocked, but he instantly got the memo and pushed you back against the wall of the elevator in passion. He wrapped his arms around your waist, his large hands grazing the bare skin of your lower back under your shirt. You gripped your hands in his blonde locks.

The elevator let out a ding signaling you had reached the first floor. You pulled away from each other, panting from the heat of the moment. You smiled.

“I love you, too, Yoongs. But I’m still not taking your money.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted.

Then you started to exit the elevator, but you felt him grab your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned back toward him with confused eyes.

He grinned at you, his eyes suddenly full of lust.

“Do you maybe... want to see my new studio?”

*

Masterlist

[true-blue-megamind]

Fan Theory Thursday – The Not-So-Evil Overlord?

Shhh… Want to hear a secret?  Come closer... SPOILER ALERT!

Okay, this one delves a little deep into the imaginative side of Megamind fan theories, however I believe it holds enough interest and has enough support to be well worth discussing.  There is a supposition which I frankly love: our favorite blue alien was an Overlord of sorts before he briefly took control of Metro City, and he had good reasons to be so.  That might sound a little crazy, but bear with me.

This idea has appeared in several fan fictions, and essentially goes as follows: Megamind was more than a supervillain; he was also a crime boss, and he chose that path for the most unlikely of reasons. Bizarre though it may seem, his primary drive was bettering Metro City.  (And, yes, I’m aware of how contradictory that sounds.)  However, it’s logical when considered more closely.  By making himself the de facto ruler of the city’s underbelly, Megamind was able to control crime to an extent, probably even setting limits on certain activities, and guidelines for others.  In the majority of fan fictions using this concept, that includs things like reducing violent crime, setting purity standards and purchase limits for narcotics, and ensuring sex workers were neither underage nor abused.

I’ll be the first to admit that, on the surface at least, this seems like nothing more than fans seeking to justify or even moralize a beloved character, but research reveals that there is actually some support for this theory.  Firstly, there is the fact, touched upon previously in the Fan Theory post concerning the Warden, that Megamind was clearly already establishing control over other criminals at a young age.  While writing a truly wonderful blog article, Demishock actually went through the trouble of deciphering the newspaper clipping shown at the beginning of the film’s title sequence.  It contains, among other things, a reference to the fact that, although an elementary school age child, Megamind was feared and obeyed by other inmates at the prison where he grew up.  A quote from the Warden reads: “I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him.” The article goes on to mention an incident which involved a few other inmates, adding that “the other prisoners refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”

It is quite possible that Megamind was already building and consolidating a base of power.

Next, there is the fact that the blue man seems to have lines he won’t cross, even as the self-proclaimed Evil Overlord. In one of the storyboards, when Megamind is approached by the Doom Syndicate, he clearly holds them in disdain, yet they are careful to placate him.  Obviously they have somewhat different standards.  When Agent Orange—who was later reimagined as Psycho-Delic before being cut from the film entirely—compares Megamind’s “inspirational” defeat of Metro Man to “a car crash on prom night,” the blue alien looks rather disgusted. Although they refer to celebrating his victory, it also seems the Doom Syndicate may be indirectly asking Megamind’s permission to go on a crime spree. While this may be because he is the new Overlord, it seems odd that other villains would immediately leap to the assumption such approval is necessary if they were accustomed to acting on their own. However, if they were already in the habit of requesting the blue alien’s sanction, their actions make more sense.

Whatever the case, it seems that, once again, Megamind and the Doom Syndicate may have very different ideas of what sorts of crimes are acceptable. The Destruction Worker refers to “really putting the screws to the city,” while Agent Orange adds his desire to “swim in the torment of the innocent.”  However, these suggestions don’t seem to match what we actually see Megamind doing.  In the movie, Megamind does, indeed, go on a crime spree, but none of it appears to be violent.  He certainly causes chaos, but no one seems to ever be injured.  In fact, in the DVD commentary, one of the creators even states outright that the supervillain never goes beyond vandalism and theft because he doesn’t really want to hurt anybody.  (Indeed, in the film it rather seems that, by being raised in jail, bullied, and constantly rejected, Megamind was pushed into supervillainy.) This, together with the previous evidence, paints an image of a man who has been forced to do some harsh things, but who nonetheless dislikes violence and, deep down, possesses a certain moral code, albeit a skewed one.  

There are, in fact, several other details that point toward Megamind being far from truly evil despite being a supervillain.  As I mentioned in Megamind and Identity, he displays several redeeming qualities, such as his largely friendly treatment of Minion, his respect for Roxanne’s intelligence, and his playful, affectionate game of fetch with the brainbots.  However, I won’t go into a long explanation about that here as it can be found in the aforementioned post.

Nonetheless, I don’t believe we can seriously expect that the former villain has never once hurt anyone in his life.  Keep in mind that, as discussed in the post How Strong is Megamind, the blue alien almost certainly had to fight in order to survive.  However, his unwillingness to attack citizens suggests that he only injured others when it was absolutely necessary.  Similarly, the aforementioned “news article” indicates that he may have limited his physically aggressive responses to other criminals only. (After all, the reference to prison inmates fearing him is the sole evidence of possible violence we have.)  I have seen it suggested here on Tumblr that he may have taken over Metro City in part because he believed that, if he didn’t, someone worse like the Doom Syndicate would.  It may even be possible that he was afraid of appearing soft and thus losing control over the criminal underworld.  

Of course, it has to be mentioned here that Megamind also fought with Metro Man, who certainly wasn’t a criminal.  However, there are two factors that I believe need to be considered.  The first is that it is very likely that Megamind didn’t expect he could truly harm his nemesis. This is evidenced by both the his apparent shock when Metro Man seems to actually be dead, and by his overt statement during the museum scene that he “didn’t think it would really work.”  The second is that, as young Metro Man was a bully, tormenting Megamind without provocation and encouraging other children to do the same, Megamind may have mentally placed him in the bad guy/threat category.

His lack of violence is not the only proof that Megamind had a better heart than most credited him for even when he was a supervillain. Keep in mind that he had a holographic disguise watch and a hoverbike.  Presumably, Megamind could have simply fled Metro City when Titan turned evil, but he didn’t.  Instead he went to Roxanne for help, stating that if they could not find the new villain’s weakness Titan would “destroy the whole city.”  And this was after Titan had tried to kill him.  Clearly, despite being a supervillain, Megamind cared enough about his home town to put his life in danger.

The final support for the Benevolent Overlord theory is less obvious: Megamind had to have been getting funds from somewhere even when Metro Man was still functioning as the Defender of Metro City. (Indeed, in some of the early concept art, the Evil Lair was imagined as a luxurious space boasting things like a huge library and a sleek laboratory.  Some fans still picture the living quarters in much the same way despite the creators stating that he built his inventions from whatever he could get his hands on.)  Near the beginning of the movie, Minion mentions a supplier in Romania, and presumably he and Megamind had to be getting food and other necessities somehow.  While it’s true that the blue villain was clearly not above thievery, we also know that his plots were always defeated by Metro Man, so it’s safe to assume that he rarely if ever got away with stealing anything before the former hero’s supposed “death.”  Of course, it also seems extremely unlikely, even laughable, that Megamind would have had a day job.  Where, then, did the money come from?  Many fans theorize that, as the local crime boss, he received a cut from all illegal activity. It certainly seems like the most probable explanation.  

Art by Kory Heinzen, found in The Art of Megamind by Richard von Busack

So why would Megamind build his technology and machines largely from scrap if he had a constant cash flow?  Given his concern for the city, several fan fictions have imagined the blue man secretly and anonymously donating a significant portion of his ill-gotten money to various charities and non-profits.  That idea is not directly supported by any evidence, but it does fit with what we know.  It’s also consistent with Megamind’s character: a feared supervillain who possesses a surprisingly good heart and, given his past, knows too well what it’s like to be thrown away by society.

So, was Megamind a crime boss as well as a supervillain?  Did he use that position to secretly better life in Metro City?  If so, is he still doing that now that he is the Defender of Metro City, thus curbing criminal activity from within as well as fighting it from without? (For the record, given that there is no apparent gang war happening during The Button of Doom, I would propose that the answer to the last question may be yes.)  These are certainly interesting ideas to consider, and the mere fact that this animated film offers enough details to argue the point is a testament to just how well-constructed the movie is.  I consider it yet more proof that the film Megamind is truly an underrated masterpiece.

[prorevenge]

My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died

TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.

My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.

Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.

Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".

I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".

Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.

During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.

Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.

PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:

Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".

Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."

They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".

Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.

My Grandma started crying.

To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.

My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.

Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.

Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.

To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."

"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."

There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.

Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.

REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH

A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.

Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.

But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.

With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.

As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".

The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.

We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.

Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.

Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.

There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.

The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.

Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.

Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.

When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."

He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...

"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."

"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."

"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.

But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".

"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."

"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.

This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].

"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."

"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."

"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".

"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".

The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.

Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.

"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....

Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".

Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.

The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....

If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.

A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.

But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.

Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.

Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.

But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.

To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".

Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...

The lawyer said, "The amount is...."

Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.

(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)

[everlarkficexchange]

Not today

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 4: Trope: Jealousy Katniss. Modern AU Katniss Everdeen sees his ex boyfriend as the date of one of her coworkers in the company party. She shouldn’t care, because she broke with him, one year ago and still…. when their song plays, against her better judgements, she finds herself dancing with him. [submitted by @alwayseverlark] 

Rating: Mature

Word count: 8062

British lingo you might be unaware of:

A-Level’s - Last form of examination before students go off to university. 

Ladbrokes - betting shop

Tesco - food store

(If I left anything out, let me know)

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight, on ao3 she’s Starlight_Wren.

Forlorn, she stares down at her lager, it’s the first moment of quiet she’s had since she entered the pub. Plutarch had been the first to drag her away, talking about everything from what his lunch was like to how much the station was missing her shows. She had only been able to nod and smile, making agreeable noises at the appropriate times, but otherwise letting all of his words wash over her. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Plutarch had bustled off through the crowd to go talk to another unsuspecting colleague. She had tried to crane her neck over the other patrons’ head, to see if she could spot either Johanna or Annie, the only reason she had relented and come to this thing. But before she could make any discernible recognition, Fulvia, Plutarch’s right hand woman, had sidled up behind her, saying that they simply must ‘catch up’. Ever straight to the point though, she had skipped pleasantries and gone right to the heart of the matter. What had she been doing this past year? 

The answer was a pretty simple one, but for some reason that escaped Katniss, it needed lots of explanation. She had spent close to forty-five minutes getting her brain picked apart. Trying, to no avail, to explain to the silly woman the exact reason she had uprooted her and left everything behind to travel all over the globe. Meeting new people, not many, but some. Enough people, Katniss thought. At first, there hadn’t really been a point in it, other than she had to get away from the shit show that was her life. Five years she’d worked at that stupid radio station, blathering on about meaningless things that made her mind fog up with the mundanity of it all. And all she had gotten out of it was a small damp flat in the north of London, with expensive bills and an insufferable landlord. Five years of only seeing her little sister once, twice if she was lucky, a year. Five years of shattered dreams and a dead end job. And still, this woman could not understand why she would want to leave. Of course Katniss never said any of this to Fulvia, but it had been swimming around her head throughout the entirety of the conversation. Instead, she had given watered down reasons and held her tongue as Fulvia had gone on to say, “But what about that boyfriend of yours? I remember him being so supportive…” 

She didn’t want to get into that, how she had left him behind. It had been a year and the wound that it had inflicted still ran too deep, was too painful to get into. Especially with nosy, judgy Fulvia. So, she had politely excused herself from the conversation, taking to the bar and ordering herself an overpriced pint. Fantastic. It wasn’t like she was strapped for cash or anything. 

Having given up on searching for Annie and Johanna at this nightmarish reunion, she had found herself a quiet corner in the buzzing room, sitting on a lumpy sofa and setting her drink down on an aged wooden table that had ring marks on the surface from drinks overspilling. It wasn’t often that she thought about Peeta, having long since trained her mind to immediately turn and run in the other direction if any thoughts began leading her down that painful path. But now, with Fulvia bringing him up, and being surrounded by people who had all been privy to their relationship, it was only inevitable that she should think of him. Specifically, the last time she had seen him.

 —————————–

His face had closed off, completely shuttering all emotions that would otherwise flick across his face. And still, as he stood, staring blankly at her, she continued talking. Trying to explain herself, explain why she just had to leave.

“Please Peeta, believe me when I say it isn’t you,” she whispered, “I just feel so trapped in my own life, and I feel as if I don’t leave now, I never will get anywhere.”

“What about us?” he replied, tone blank and neutral, but still betraying the underlying anger and confusion.

She shook her head sadly, tears falling unbidden from her eyes. Desperately wanting him to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but needing him to stay well away from her so that she could do this. Finish this, clean and precise as Johanna had told her to do it. 

“Right,” Peeta said, voice hollow.

They stood there, silence engulfing the little flat. It was never silent in there, the generators downstairs always humming, her boiler constantly gurgling away, but it seemed even these held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I think you should leave now,” Katniss said to her feet, not daring to look up at his face. 

She stood in her kitchen, stock still, as if any movement from her would cause her to break and shatter on the linoleum tiles of the floor. She listened as Peeta collected his toothbrush and spare clothes. Katniss flinched at the sense of finality she felt when the door banged shut.

 ————————-

Their break-up had been anything but clean and precise, and it wasn’t a wonder considering that Katniss had been at the helm of it. It was ironic, really, that for five years, her income had depended on her being able to talk for hours about nonsensical things, always upbeat and on the ball for the listeners chiming in, but when it came to her own boyfriend, she hadn’t been able to get the words out right. She had made him think that it was him that was suffocating her, when in actuality it was everything. She was pushing thirty and already she could feel herself stagnating. 

She wished that she could do it again, try not to make such a mess of it as she had done. How could she have known, though, the profound affect it seemed to have had on Peeta? He had always been so supportive of her decisions, only asking that she open up to him and be honest. Of course she hadn’t expected him to be completely OK with her decision, but she had been hoping that he would at least understand her reasoning. Instead, he had been angry and confused, perhaps even rightfully so, before he had completely shut down becoming cold and distant in the moments prior to him slamming out of her little home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a perky voice said next to her, pulling Katniss out of her reverie. 

Looking up, Katniss couldn’t help but smile at the big brown eyes that were peering down at her. Rue. Her intern from a year ago. She didn’t look much different,  just a little older and worse for wear. But that’s what this job did to you, lured you in with promises of bigger and better ahead, before getting you trapped and very much stuck. 

“You don’t want to know,” Katniss replied, shuffling over and making space for the young woman.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rue asked, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Neither thinking, nor talking about it will solve a thing,” she mumbled down at her glass before taking a prolonged drink from it. She reveled in the fizz and slightly bitter taste as it washed down her throat. 

“Well, if you’re gonna be all closed off to me, your favourite intern, I’ll let you in on all of my issues to date,” Rue said, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss smirked. It was true that Rue was her favourite intern, but that wasn’t exactly a feat. Most interns that Katniss had been given the responsibility of taking care of had been so awful that they were fired within their first two weeks of working at the station. 

“So, remember how you warned me before you left, that this job ‘will suck me dry of all inspiration and motivation’ whilst also ‘dashing my dreams and love for the craft’ but not before ‘restricting what me on what I can talk about, and instead giving me stupid shows that will make me want to die’?” Rue paused, taking a drink from her pint.

“Yes, I do recall telling you all of those things, I assume you’ve come to the conclusion that I was correct and that you should have saved yourself while you could,” Katniss said, trying not to gloat at the fact that she was at least right about something, and it wasn’t just her overreacting and being dramatic.

 Rue nodded her head vigorously, her corkscrew curls bouncing, “Well, I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought you were just being dramatic, or maybe you were bitter about something, but you really were so right. I can’t get anyone to take me seriously or invest in any bigger show ideas, or get them to take on or promote more obscure artists. The sponsors continuously overlook me so that they can pour more money into presenters who have a body to boot. Even though that shouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’re on a fucking radio, nobody is looking at the face or body behind the voice anyway!”

 “And as soon as I try to get Plutarch or Fulvia to give me a recommendation so that I can move to something a little more low key and less industrious, they tell me that I shouldn’t leave, that I have so much potential, and that it would be such a waste for me to go do something less mainstream, because how will I ever be recognised then?” Rue finished with a defeated groan, flopping back against the leather cushions. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Rue asked, “How’d you get out? I mean for me, it’s just an endless cycle of early mornings, playing music that makes my ears bleed, and frustration that after all my hard work, I’ve just become another peppy girl on the radio.”

Katniss snorted at this, “Depressing, isn’t it? After all the analysing of different styles of music and poetry, it amounted to this.”

“Fuucckk,” Rue groaned at the ceiling fans, “It’s depressing because it’s so painfully true. Do you know how many hours I spent holed up in my room studying for my Music and English A-Levels just so I could at least get a seven, and now I’m stuck here.”

Katniss nodded her head, “Only ‘cause I did the same thing though. What were we thinking?”

“Ugh, I know! My mum told me that this was an ‘unsustainable career path’. I hate to say it, but I think she may have had a point.”

A crash came from the other side of the room, effectively interrupting their mutual venting session, a clattering of glasses fell to the floor and shattered, causing both Katniss and Rue to jump before turning around to see what happened. A flustered waiter apologised profusely to a skimpy blonde who looked upon him with narrowed green eyes, and a stain that looked an awful lot like red wine spilled on her yellow dress. The few people who had been applauding the waiters slip up began to slow their claps when they realised that the unfortunate woman who now had a stain across the front of her dress, was not taking it on the chin as it were. In fact, she looked like she was a few seconds from throwing a fit.

“Oof, would not want to be that guy,” Rue remarked, “Glimmer looks about ready to go get his ass fired.”

Katniss turned to look at Rue, who was leaning her chin on the back of the sofa, “How’d you know her name?”

Rue made a face, “She’s a presenter at the radio station, she does the show that Annie used to do.” 

“Shit, really,” Katniss said, blowing air through her teeth to make a low whistling sound. “That show was one of the more popular ones.”

“Still is. Rumour has it that the company hired her to replace Annie, who was making noises to leave, so they sent her Glimmer as an intern. Annie left a week later, claiming that the work environment had become insufferable.”

Katniss had turned back to watch as the waiter bent to pick up the broken glass, whilst so-called Glimmer rolled her eyes impatiently at another waiter who was handing her paper towels to try wipe up the mess on her dress. While watching, Katniss listened intently to what Rue was saying, “People weren’t surprised when she quit. Glimmer is quite literally the epitome of a toxic work environment.”

“Oh well, this just makes me all the more glad that I left,” Katniss said. Annie had emailed her when she’d quit, but hadn’t given a reason why. At the time, Katniss had just assumed it was because both Johanna and herself had already left, but this must have been the breaking point for her. 

“Oh, she’s not even the worst of it,” Rue said, a cynical smile touching her lips as they watched another woman with jet black hair and pinched features walk up to Glimmer, she took the paper towels from the waitress and threw them down to the floor, yelling something unintelligible, “That’s Clove. As you can see, she’s got quite a temper on her. She’s the one who replaced Johanna as DJ. The two of them together are quite… formidable.”

Katniss turned in her seat to grab her drink from the table so she could drink and watch this scene unfold in front of her. She would be lying if she said that it wasn’t just a teeny bit entertaining. Taking a sip from her mellowing beer, she almost choked when she saw who was joining the show. Blond ashen curls, broad shoulders, and a slight limp from a rugby injury that had never quite healed. It was Peeta. Her Peeta, consoling this shallow, pitiful, blonde bimbo. 

She could feel Rue’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Katniss swallowed painfully, oblivious to the taste, eyes glued to what was happening in front of her very eyes. Maybe it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that the Peeta Mellark that she had known all throughout secondary school, was even remotely affiliated with such a cow. Deep down, Katniss knew that she was possibly being a little harsh, but jealousy, lots of it, was rearing its ugly green head, skewing her opinions.

“Yeah, and then there’s that,” Rue uttered, “reason number fuck knows what as to why I ‘strongly dislike’ Glimmer.”

Katniss breathed deeply, shoving down the irrational, possessive anger that was overcoming her. She cleared her throat, which had become exceptionally tight in the last two minutes, “Are they… an item?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Rue said, turning around to face the other way again, “as far as I know, they’re just fuck buddies. Who knows, though, maybe he does the wine and dining as well.”

Katniss, following suit, also turned around, sitting stoically, and taking slow sips from her sweating drink. “So he’s fucking her.”

Rue nodded, sighing a little as she did so, “I know it might not be my place to comment-”

“It probably isn’t then,” Katniss interrupted, wanting very much to go back to her hotel room now.

  “But,” Rue continued, “you were really fucking dense to let that man walk away from you. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but even I can appreciate that ass, and oh my god those shoulders,” she pretended to fan herself, before turning incredulous, “and he’s not even my type.”

Katniss snorted at this, turning around for a quick second, to survey the specimen that was now patting down an incensed Glimmer. She couldn’t deny that he still looked sexy as fuck. He definitely seemed to have fared this year a little better than her. Turning back around, she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple dress that she’d bought from a charity shop when she was sixteen, it was light blue and the material was soft and light, perfect for the humid weather that London summers were, but it did look as if it might be on its last legs. Her hair was loose for once, and hung in ebony waves down her back, but otherwise she hadn’t made much of an effort, as could be seen by her scruffy trainers and mismatched socks. She didn’t need to impress these people anyway. 

“Yeah, stupid indeed,” Katniss muttered. 

They sat there then, silence washing over them, until the unmistakable sound of a speaker system being plugged in echoed throughout the crowded room. Katniss looked up to see her friend climbing up onto the bar, a little wobbly on her feet, but her voice was commanding no less.

“Alrighty, I’ve been asked to do a little set tonight, but because I forgot to set up a good playlist that will please all of you old folk, I’ll be taking requests,” she made to get off the bar, but paused mid-step hollering across the room, “And if I think your song request is shit I won’t play it, feel free to take it personally.”

Katniss didn’t really care much for the offer to request music, she was just relieved to know that Johanna had, in fact, shown up. She had been wondering whether either of her ex-work-colleagues had actually bothered. Knowing that Johanna was here, though where she’d been all night was something Katniss would like to know, meant that Annie was probably here as well. 

Rue, on the other hand, immediately got up. Kissing Katniss on the cheek, she proclaimed, “Oh, I have a song that Jo simply must play.” 

She walked off into the crowd, but abruptly turned back, looking down at Katniss, who was still cocooned in the soft leather of the sofa, “Also, if you get any interesting job offers don’t be scared to recommend me,” with a wink, she waltzed off again.

Alone once again, and trying desperately to distract herself from the ‘pat down’ Peeta was assuredly still giving Glimmer, Katniss gulped down the rest of her pint, before standing to go get another. 

Waiting at the bar for the barmaid to get to her drink, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished wood. Distracted, she almost didn’t notice the familiar opening chords to a song she hadn’t let herself listen to in a year. 

Johanna’s voice sounded over the speaker system, “For all you lovesick idiots here tonight, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.”

Katniss’ breath stilled in her chest, this must have been some sick joke the universe was playing on her. Despite herself, Katniss searched the room for the familiar face that she had once danced to this with at prom. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on a seemingly just as stunned Peeta Mellark, his face so pale and pinched he looked like he was about to throw up. He, too, looked to be scanning the crowd. He couldn’t know that she was here, could he? She knew  that she should probably shrink back into the shadows, or, better yet, vacate the premises and head back to her hotel room, to avoid any unnecessary drama that she most certainly did not need. Yet, against her better judgement, she stood her ground, not actively looking to be seen, but not hiding from sight either. 

Her eyes stayed on him, noticing with a missed beat of her heart that Glimmer and Clove were both conspicuously absent. The song had already passed the first verse when Peeta’s eyes finally locked on hers. His eyes widened in surprise, but beneath it was still the same warmth and affection that had always been. Her sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know, those baby blues could still make her knees weak, could still make her feel like she was adrift and untethered in a desolate ocean, with him being the only tether to reality. Their gazes locked on one another as the second verse began;

A singer in a smoky room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Peeta’s eyes stared holes into her, and for a moment it was as if no time had passed, as if he was standing on the other side of the school’s assembly hall as an entire year group of nervous sweaty eighteen year olds danced the evening away to overplayed 80’s tracks. Katniss was even greeted with the familiar erratic beating of her heart, wishing and hoping that he’d just bottle up the nerve and ask her already!

That night, she had been the one to walk across the dance floor to ask him to dance, but tonight, it seemed it would be Peeta who would take the first tentative steps towards her.

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

 Drink forgotten, Katniss stepped away from the bar, walking towards the people already congregating to dance on a small open space on the floor. The first chorus sounded through the room;

Strangers, waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

They met in the middle, and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes. 

“For old times sake,” Peeta murmured down to her, offering his hand.

She tried not to let his remark sting, that their relationship is in fact in the past. That he had moved on from her, that she should too. But falling into his arms, head resting over his breast bone listening to his heart thumping away, letting him sway them to the music, felt so natural and familiar. The tears stung behind her eyes, and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. She didn’t want to be sad, to mar this song with her regrets, when it was accompanied by so many good and happy memories. Of the two of them messing around in his kitchen, or her bedroom. 

So, she swallowed down her tears, and let herself fall back in time to when things were simpler. Letting the music and words wash over her, rejuvenating her weary soul.

Workin’ hard to get my fill

Everybody wants a thrill

Payin’ anything to roll the dice

Just one more time

Some will win

Some will lose

Some were born to sing the blues

Oh, the movie never ends

It goes on and on, and on, and on

She laughed when he spun her, then recaptured her in his arms. He swooped low, before lifting them back up and spinning them in slow circles. 

Strangers waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

She took the lead, moving them faster, along to the tune of the song. Pulling away from his embrace, but holding on to his hands, as she spun herself to lean her back against his chest with his arms crossed protectively over her.

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

Don’t stop, believin’

Hold on

Streetlights, people

As the song began to slow again, and Steve Perry ad-libbed his way through the end of the song, Peeta turned her again so that they were pressed chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their steps became so minuscule they could do it on a pie plate if they wished to do so. She stared up into his bottomless blue eyes, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time this evening. 

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked down, ashamed at how easily she had let herself fall back into his arms. The moment of magic had ended, and she was thrown back into the icy cold reality of her life. For christ’s sake they hadn’t spoken in a year, and now suddenly they were dancing and laughing on the dance floor!

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people 

He turned them one last time. He leant his cheek on the top of her head, sighing quietly as if knowing about the beratement Katniss was giving herself in her head. He swayed them as the song faded out. She pulled away, chancing a glance up at his face. The pain she had inflicted onto him shone through his eyes, and though it killed her to do it, she could only pull further out of his arms, backing away. He watched after her, arms limp at his sides, and she turned, pushing through the crowd.

“Oi, watch it!” Someone called after her as she shoved past people. 

Finally, after stepping on numerous toes and elbowing a few people in the sides, she made it over to the makeshift DJ table. Johanna was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick as she announced in a lazy drawl the next song. Behind her shoulder she could see Annie leaning heavily into some guy with bronzed curls and tanned skin, Katniss thought that she had seen him before in a couple of Annie’s instagram posts. 

“Ahhh, Brainless,” Johanna called out when she spotted a breathless Katniss standing before the table, “here to make a song request? Maybe another one that you can dance to with lover boy.”

“What the fuck, Jo?” Katniss cried out, “Did you put that song on just to mess with my head? ‘Cause it sure as hell worked.” Katniss ran her shaking hands through her hair, not caring if she messed it up, or if it got tangled. 

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Wait, you don’t actually believe I put that song on, do you?”

“Well, who else, Johanna?!” 

“I didn’t even know you were here up until five minutes ago, let alone him!” Johanna spat out, incredulity lacing her voice, “And besides, I’m only taking requests this evening. I did let everyone know,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes.

“Ok fine, if it wasn’t you, then who?” Katniss hissed, “Because I will start throwing arms if I have to, Jo.”

“Jeez, don’t get your knickers all in a twist, it was only a little dancey,” Johanna teased. Looking at Katniss’ bemused face, she relented, “If you promise to not beat the living lights out of her, I’ll tell.”

“‘Kay fine, I promise,” Katniss said, her anger subsiding a little. Whoever it was, it wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t just leave when she definitely should have, “Just tell me who.”

Johanna nodded her head in the direction of the bar, Katniss followed her gaze, eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rue. Rue grimaced a little, apparently having watched Katniss’ outburst. At least she looked sorry, Katniss thought. 

Her anger having dissipated, the feeling of regret and sadness settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She deflated against the table, feeling very tired all of a sudden, “I need a smoke,” she muttered, “Lighter,” she held out her hand.

Johanna grumbled under her breath, fishing through her pockets for a lighter. “Give it back after,” she warned, slapping it into Katniss’ outstretched palm.

Katniss weaved her way through the crowds once more, being a little more careful to not piss off so many people this time, until she got to the coat rack next to the door. The coat rack itself was leaning over under the weight of all the coats draped over the top of it. After some digging around, Katniss found her light jean jacket and pulled it out from underneath the mountain of others piled up on top of it. Pulling it on, she pushed open the door to the pub and stepped out into the night. 

It looked like the sun had just gone down, streaks of orange fading into the sky as dusk settled over the stinking, sweltering city. It had cooled off quite a bit from earlier, and Katniss huddled herself further into her jacket, trying to leech off any residual warmth from it. She walked down the shallow stone steps,  found herself a place to light her cigarette. Leaning against the cold brick wall behind her, not caring if she got her coat or dress dirty. She fished a loose cigarette out of her coat pocket, and lit the fag, taking a long drag from it, breathing it back out into the cooling air.

“Those things kill, you know,” A voice sounded from behind her. She scowled at how it made her heart leap hopefully in her chest. 

“I know,” she almost growled, wanting him to fuck off back to Glimmer already. She couldn’t deal with having him thrust back into her life, pretending like nothing happened between them. Like she hadn’t irreparably fucked up their entire relationship, just because she felt ‘claustrophobic’.

“I thought you were quitting?” Peeta asked, walking to stand next to her and pulling out his own cigarette. 

She passed him Johanna’s lighter, “You can’t talk,” she snorted as she watched him light his, “And anyway, I am. I just keep emergency ones in all of my coats, and in a few of my trousers.”

Peeta laughed at this, “Yeah, sure does sound like you’re quitting.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I never keep a lighter on me, that way I have to ask someone, and then they’re also accountable for my inevitable lung cancer.”

Peeta’s eyebrows rose at this, and he took a puff from his own cancer stick, “Oh yeah, and how long did it take you do that mental gymnastics.”

Katniss only rolled her eyes, and they both stood next to each other staring out at the street. They watched as a bus pulled up at the stop, and an old man stumbled out, hobbling into the Ladbrokes opposite. A siren blared somewhere in the distance. Two extremely drunk men sat on the steps a good ten metres away from them, but were loud enough for their slurred words to reach the two.

“Listen Katniss, about before,” Peeta started, breaking their comfortable silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel crowded or guilty, or anything like that.” He looked to her, but she stared resolutely ahead, taking slow small puffs from her cigarette.

“It’s fine,” she finally said, “forget about it. I probably shouldn’t have even danced with you in the first place, what with you being with Glimmer and all.”

“Ah, shit,” Peeta breathed out, “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah well, I do,” Katniss snapped. 

Peeta looked as if he wanted to say something, but Katniss cut him off before he could, “I really don’t want to know.”

Peeta nodded his head. They were quiet for a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not allowed anyway,” Katniss said, scuffing the toe of her already scruffy trainer against the cracked pavement.

Peeta huffed out a bemused, short-lived laugh, “Care to explain that, whilst we’re out here talking civilly?”

“What?” Katniss asked, “Are you asking why I broke up with you?”

Peeta nodded his head once more.

Katniss sighed, “I feel like I’ve told myself and everyone around me the same explanation about a million times, but standing here it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. What’s it to him anyway, she thought. “Look Peeta, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking myself if I did something,” Peeta said.

Katniss finally turned to look up at him, as he stared up at the darkening sky, searching it for the few visible stars, “We’re not even thirty yet, Peeta, I’m not ready to settle. I wasn’t last year, and I definitely am not this year. And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you told me you weren’t ready yet either, and you’re allowed to be with whoever you want, even if it is someone as silly and shallow as Glimmer. I guess it’s better to get your mid-life crisis out the way now,” she said with a smirk, before sobering and adding quietly, “I’m not completely oblivious Peeta, it’s not like I don’t see her appeal.”

Peeta looked down at her, opening his mouth, she was sure, to deny that Glimmer’s big boobs were the reason. She held up her hand to stop him, “Who knows though, maybe someone’ll convince me to come to this thing again next year, and I’ll see you again. Hopefully with someone other than Glimmer. And just like this year, I’ll steal you for a dance, and then lure you outside for a smoke, and we’ll catch up,” she paused for dramatic affect, stealing herself for what she was going to say next, “After that, you’ll kiss me, right up against the cold brick wall,” she watched as Peeta’s eyes widened at her bold statement.

  Maybe it was her pint of beer that had made her so free and uncaring with her sentiments. Though Katniss would never describe herself as a lightweight, she admitted to herself that it had been a good six weeks since she’d had a proper drink. On second thought, she remembered the last time she drank before tonight being a little over a week ago, and it had been a cider. She grimaced at the thought. Fuck, she mused, when did I become a lightweight? Peeta cleared his throat uncomfortably, prompting her to continue, but unsure of whether she was finished or not. Katniss mentally shook herself before finishing in a low, sultry voice, “Just like you’re going to do this year.”

 “Fuck,” Peeta breathed out, and Katniss watched him visibly struggle to swallow. She tried, and failed, to suppress her smug little smirk, that she could still affect him like this. It eased the green beast within her, the one that had wanted to stamp her foot and cry out earlier when she had witnessed Peeta wiping down the front of Glimmer’s dress. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Glimmer, Peeta was out here with her now, that must count for something, right?

“Are you, umm - being serious?” Peeta stuttered, and despite herself Katniss grinned at how flustered he was getting, the pink staining his cheeks betraying how agitated he really was, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Katniss took a long drag from her fag, sucking on it until it was down to the stub, “Do I look like I’m joking, Mellark?” 

She watched as his pupils dilated even more in the darkening night, until the blue of his irises were only thin rings around the black pits of his desire. She reveled in being able to do this to him still, after all this time. It comforted her, in a weird, possessive, unhealthy sort of way.

 “No,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, not even bothering to stamp it out before stepping forwards. Large hands came to a rest on her waist, pushing her further back against the wall. She bit back a slight moan at the way he seemed to shelter her, the stark contrast of the cold wall behind her, nipping at the backs of her legs, and the heat that enmantend from his body and radiated onto her. She took a deep shuddering breath, pushing her chest upwards against his. Her hand shook slightly as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette against the wall next to her, before letting it fall to the ground as well. 

Their faces were so close now, their mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, all it would take is for one of them to lean in, to close the tantalisingly small space between them. “Tell me you want me to,” Peeta uttered, breath fanning her face. She bit her lip, a sly grin gracing her features.

She leant up on her tiptoes, tracing a path to his ear lobe with her breath, “Peeta Mellark, I want you to kiss me up against this brick wall, until I’m breathless and my knees are weak.” 

 He groaned loudly, and she was about to tell him to be quiet when his lips descended greedily on hers. Knocking the breath right out of her, as he sucked and bit tenderly against first her top and then her bottom lip. She whimpered, admitting to herself that she had missed the way it felt to be kissed by someone who cared. Who didn’t just do it as a way to get into her underwear. 

It was his turn to smile smugly, he pulled away from her, and she chased his lips with her own. Wanting them back, wanting him to plunge and plunder. She huffed out a frustrated growl when he moved even further away. She opened her eyes, taking in his face that grinned with feigned innocence down at her, “What’s the matter Everdeen?” He asked teasingly, “Knees not weak enough yet?”

She glared at him, he knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t having any of it, not tonight. Lifting her hands to his hair, she played with the blond locks, smiling up at him demurely. She would tell him what she wanted step by step if necessary, but she didn’t think it would be. Cocking her head to the side, she mirrored his look of feigned innocence, before tangling her fingers into the shorter hairs at the back of his head, and pulling his lips back down to hers. He grunted against her, and she opened her mouth ever so slightly in invitation. 

It took her all of two seconds to lose all inhibitions, Peeta’s hands moved up from their resting spot on her waist, one cradling the back of her neck and one stroking up and down her back in a motion that made Katniss giddy with desire. Their tongues met in a dance, reacquainting themselves. Peeta’s dove into her mouth, rediscovering everything he already knew about her. 

Peeta placed his leg in between her own, which had opened a little of their own accord, bringing it upwards slightly, daring her to grind up against it. Stubborn as ever, though, Katniss refused to take the bait. Knowing him, he would probably tease her, pull away before she could really get going. But when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she relented. She could feel her knees turning into jelly, forcing her to slump down onto his leg. She ground down on it experimentally, the rough material of his jeans rubbing up against her boy shorts. Katniss swore into his mouth, and did it again, letting the motion stimulate her throbbing center. She was almost glad that he couldn’t feel the intensity of the heat that seemed to be pouring from her core, but another part of her needed him to know that he could still do this to her. Could still drive her to do halfway insane things, like letting him ravage her up against a wall with all of her ex colleagues a mere few metres away. Pulling his head down further, she held him there, desperate to drink more of him in. 

“Katniss,” he whispered against her mouth, before diving right back in. 

It was her turn to grunt at the power in which he started almost devouring her mouth, she could only cling to the locks of hair wrapped around her fingers, in hopes that she wouldn’t just crumple to the floor. She was rocking against his leg in a steady rhythm, each stroke of his rough denim trousers against her center making her more frantic, desperate for more. Her nerve endings felt frayed, threatening to short circuit and send her spiralling through the abyss. Peeta continued to busy himself with her mouth, pulling away before delving back in, more thorough and rough each time, so that she could only whimper helplessly into his mouth.

It was when the hand that had been stroking leisurely circles into her spine crept towards her front before meandering downwards, that Katniss came somewhat to her senses. She stopped his hand with one of her own, before it could get to the hemline of the skirt to her dress. She pulled away from his lips that had been stroking soft sublime on hers, and looked at him. Eyes blown wide, lips swollen and red from kissing, blond hair tousled and mussed from all her incessant tugging. She was sure she was mirroring this disheveled appearance back at him. He lowered his leg from where it had stayed resting against her, but his hand stayed trapped between their two bodies. If it weren’t so painfully obvious how much they had missed each other, it would be comical how fast and hard they’d fallen back into heated touches and frantic kisses. 

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should apologise, or at least explain, but her brain was still fogged with arousal, and she was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. Instead, she got back on to her tip toes and brought her arms up around his neck, pulling him close to her for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he slowly brought his arms around her waist, holding her to him as well.

“One day, Peeta,” she began, talking into his neck, “one day…”

“But not today,” he finished for her.

She nodded and squeezed him tighter, a hundred memories of them together flooding her mind, and for the second time this evening she had to fight back the urge to sob. She could only be relieved that he had understood, understood why she couldn’t let him do that, not now, and certainly not here. 

He squeezed her back, and she swore she felt him inhaling her smell, at any other time this would have turned her on beyond reason, but now it only saddened her. How had she managed to fuck it up again? He pressed a quick kiss into the juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, before releasing her from his grasp. 

She wobbled, still a little unsteady on her feet, but managed to start walking in the direction of her bus stop. As she walked past the two drunk men that were still sitting on the stone steps to the pub, she heard one of them call out to her.

“Is the show over, sweetheart?” he asked, sarcasm along with whatever he’d had to drink lacing his voice, “That’s a shame, me an’ Chaff here were really startin’ to ge’ into it.” 

Katniss turned to look at the man who had said it, scathing reply waiting at the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, the other man, Chaff she assumed, slurred out;

“Won’t you give an ol’ man a kiss before you go?” The two men guffawed as he made kissy faces at her.

“Arseholes,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

The man with salt and pepper hair down to his shoulders called after her again, though all traces of amusement were gone from his voice. He sounded surprisingly sober when he told her, “I see the way you have him wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve what he gave you tonight,” he burped loudly and continued, “One day he’ll realise that, he’ll realise that he’s better than tha’, be’er than you.” 

 Katniss tried to ignore his words as she waited at the traffic light for the little green man to pop up so she could cross the road, but they still made her blood run cold, because maybe he was right. She turned her head to the side, waiting impatiently for the cars to come to a slow at the T-junction, when the old man, who had since left the betting shop, added his own snarky comment to the fray. If she had known how many people were watching them, she wouldn’t have let it get that far, or go on for so long.

“When do you think he’ll notice the exact degree of your indifference?” He asked in a voice that was weathered and old, but still demanded her attention. He had posed his comment as a question, but he said it as if he already knew the answer. She wasn’t indifferent, she thought, but doubt coursed through her. Hadn’t she just used him to prove a point? A stupid petty point, that she was better than Glimmer. She shook her head at the notion, it had just been a drunken mistake, nothing more.

She turned her head to face the decrepit old man, biting out a response, “Those are some awfully big words for a filthy old beggar, let’s hope you don’t choke on ‘em.” 

The old man threw his head back and laughed, his cracked voice making it sound more like a cackle than anything. To her surprise the man actually did start choking, on his own blood. He bent forwards, crouching low as he spat blood to the floor. 

“Gross,” Katniss muttered, before hurrying across the road. To hell with the traffic, she thought, she just needed to get the fuck out of here.

 The shame and regret were already starting to curl themselves around her, and she felt almost sick with it. She was once again being reminded of how easily being around Peeta could fuck with her head, how it could make her do things that she otherwise wouldn’t do. That she’d sworn to herself wouldn’t happen again. Because, yes, her drink might have had something to do with it, but it was also him, he was intoxicating. The moment she had noticed he was in the room, she had wanted him, needed him. And it might be true that she could make him feel the same way, but people never seemed to see that he was just as good at it as she was. He was always the sweet golden boy, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with the likes of her.

She looked across the street when she arrived at the bus stop. The pub was pouring light from it’s windows and she heard the music playing. Peeta had already disappeared, and Katniss wondered how much he had heard. She hoped none of it. The old man was shuffling into the Tesco next door to the Ladbrokes, and the two men were still sat outside the pub, drinking from flasks. She looked up at the timetable that the bus stop provided, and cursed under her breath when she saw that her bus wouldn’t be arriving for another seven minutes. 

She was about to start walking down the highstreet, so that she wouldn’t have to stand, waiting like a sitting duck, when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket with an incoming message. 

Pulling it out of the pocket, she read what it said.

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:21pm]: Where are you? I’m hungry and bored, wanna get smth to eat?

Katniss considered ignoring the message, but her stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food.

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:22pm]: At the bus stop across the road. Don’t you have a set? 

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:22pm]: Ofc you are. Yh I do, but any moron can do this. These song requests are driving me insane tho, so… food?

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:23pm]: Yh alright, what tho?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:24pm]: I could really go for a kebab… and a smoke. We’re leaving now.

Katniss looked up from her phone. Shit. Johanna’s lighter. Peeta still had it. She watched as Johanna banged open the doors to the pub. Trailing after her was a wobbly Annie and the man from earlier. Katniss looked around her, hoping one of the many corner shops littering the street were still open, but they were all depressingly closed. Katniss glared at the closed signs on all the shop doors as if their existence offended her eyes, because in that moment, they really did.

She’d get that lighter back - she turned and saw the group crossing the road - though, maybe not today.

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 1/?
 Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) 
Rating: Explicit
 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young
Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Italian Mafia, (i know nothing about the mafia so this will be very inaccurate!!!), basically vincenzo & cha-young being mafia bosses in italy


Summary: When Vincenzo Cassano came back to Italy, no one expected to see someone by his side. Or how Cha-young and Vincenzo became the head of the Cassano family. a mafia couple au inspired by a discussion with @ourgalaxybangtan @ghostrights & @whovie-reloaded

  Vincenzo had been handling most of the family business since their adoptive father’s health had started to decline. As the consigliere of the Cassano family, he was Fabio’s most trusted man, his advisor, his lawyer but also his second-in-command.

It hadn’t been easy, all these years, to climb the ladder. He wasn’t a native, he wasn’t blood, and so not many people had welcomed him at first. That’s why he had to become ruthless, so that no one could deny his authority or even dare to try. He had killed and tortured many men, broken their minds and their bones, burned their flesh and cut off their limbs, ashes and screams trailing behind him. If he wasn’t proud of the blood on his hands, he was at least proud of his work. All the hours he’d spent training, fighting, preparing, scheming, studying, all his efforts to erase Park Joo-hyung from the face of earth had paid off. The scared, weak little kid was gone, buried with all his other victims. ‘An eye for an eye, and then some’, Vincenzo lived by that, and he would stop at nothing except killing the innocent. There was no doubt he was the best at what he did and anyone who did not respect him feared him enough to not threaten him. His success was the Cassano family’s success, yet he knew that members of his own clan would not hesitate to have him killed if they could. Two clear factions had formed in the past five years, those who supported Vincenzo as the next head of the family, and those who supported Paolo, his brother. Paolo and Vincenzo had never gotten along, and Paolo’s inferiority complex and jealousy grew deeper every time his older brother had to clean up after one of his rushed job. Paolo had a particular taste for violence. Whereas Vincenzo killed and tortured because he had to, Paolo got a kick out of hurting others, be it children, women or elders. He loved to assert his dominance, to feel almighty. Vincenzo didn’t think himself much better than him, (regardless of the reasons behind his murders, he’d probably killed way more than him), but he wanted Paolo to be punished for his sins. It was only a matter of time before some influential family members whispered plans of assassination and of ‘restoring the rightful heir’ into his ear. Paolo was an angry, frustrated man who wasn’t particularly good at his job, an easy puppet to control. He’d been watching them carefully but he knew that as long as his father was alive, no one would dare to touch him. Back then he had thought he would take care of them when it came to it, become the head of his family, and continue to rule the underworld. Then, the incident happened and everything changed. He hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks, his victims’ screams haunting his dreams. He started avoiding mirrors, his reflection taunting him. He barely ate anymore, and Fabio had reminded him to get a grip. So he had done just that. He drank himself to sleep or took sleeping pills, and he went on. He knew, however, that he could not go on like this much longer. He had to get out before he buried himself next to Park Joo-hyung and all the others whose lives he’d taken. He’d started to plan his escape secretly. He would wait until his father died, staying loyal to him as long as he was alive. When the time came, he knew Paolo would try to kill him. The power struggle between them would start as soon as the head of the family would die, but instead of destroying his opponents, Vincenzo would seize the opportunity to leave. He would go back to South Korea, get the gold and leave to an island, where he would spend the rest of his days. The death of his previous Chinese client was perfect timing. As expected, Fabio, his boss and adoptive father, had named him the next head of the family in his will. It came to no surprise to most members, but murmurs spread quickly, “Can you imagine? A foreigner, as the head of our family? What has the world become?”. After wrapping things up in Italy, Vincenzo promised himself to never return, throwing away the key to the graveyard of his sins. …. There’s no going back from this, he thinks. Vincenzo is still holding Cha-young’s face, unable to look away from her lips, still wet from the kiss. Her pink cheeks, her smeared lipstick, the freckles under her fondation. Her. Hong Cha-young. His heart is soaring in his chest, all the emotions he had desperately tried to silence erupting all at once. There was no point in denying it, he had fallen in love with her. All he could do now was break his own heart, hoping it would heal. …. He realises he can’t live without her after she gets injured. They’re trying to get more information on Jang Han-seok’s paper company, and this time they’re trying to prove that some of the transactions made to European bank accounts were bribes. They’re breaking into none other than the Minister of Economy and Finance, Cha Do-won’s house. Miri had made sure to deactivate the security system and cameras, and Vincenzo was in charge of securing the place while Cha-young searched for the secret ledger the Minister kept hidden in his office. Cha Do-won was making a speech right now, and they had assumed most of his personal security would be with him. Vincenzo had quickly incapacitated the few men around the house and Cha-young looked for the ledger. After a few minutes, she found a hidden drawer in his desk. There it was, a thick documents labelled 'Accounts’. Subtlety wasn’t one of his strong points, apparently. They were about to leave when suddenly, a dozen men started to raid the place. Vincenzo fought them off as best as he could, and he was grateful that Mr. Lee barged in to help. They thought they had them all beat, and so Vincenzo made a mistake. He turned his back to the door to look for Cha-young, who he thought was behind him. “Vincenzo!”, he heard her shout his name. He sees her across the room, about to get struck by a man. He rushes to her and knocks him out quick enough. “Oh my God”, she says, “Did you see that? I almost died! He had a knife as well, and I dodged it, and then I ran—”. She keeps rambling while they get out of the house and into their car, clearly in shock. She’s getting paler as time passes, and he only notices the blood that pooled on the seat when she tries to get out of the car. She was stabbed, but the shock and adrenaline had prevented her from feeling any pain. “Oh”, she says, looking down at her wound. Vincenzo jumps out of his seat and rips the bottom half of the T-Shirt he’s wearing. “I don’t think now’s the time for that, Darling.” Even in a life-threatening situation, Cha-young is joking around. Vincenzo’s mind stops, he feels paralysed by fear, the fear of losing her, of her dying in his car, because of him. He pushes those thoughts away as he holds the fabric to her wound. “Hold this, as hard as you can.” The rest of the car ride to the hospital is a blur of running red lights, speeding in between traffic and repeating “Hong Cha-young, stay with me.” Vincenzo had faced death everyday for the last 20 years. He had killed, had seen people kill and had almost died countless of time. “There’s no limit to fear”, he’d once said to Jang Han-seok’s informant. Only now, waiting for Cha-young’s surgery to be over, does he understand what those words truly mean. During 6 hours, Vincenzo pleads and begs God, the devil, anyone willing to listen (Don’t take her. Everyone but her). He makes empty promises (I’ll do anything. I’ll stop hurting others, I’ll disappear from her life) and meaningless threats (Don’t you dare take her. I’ll kill you, too). In the end he doesn’t know who answers his prayers, and what promises seals the deal, but Cha-young wakes up and he doesn’t care. He holds her hand, stays by her side, and vows to never leave her. He starts to plan for an escape route shortly after that. In case they can’t stay in South Korea and need to take off. First, he thinks of Malta, or another island. But they would need to go somewhere they have allies, somewhere with an easy access to emergency money and resources. Italy. He contacts Luca and sets everything up, a two bed-room apartment, two bank accounts, and everything they could ever need like cash, some guns, and a car. “Consigliere, will there be another person with you?”, Luca asks. “Hopefully it won’t come to that”, he avoids the question. He knows he promised not to come back, but some promises need to be broken out of necessity. He needed to make Cha-young was safe, at all cost. His brother’s betrayal had made it easier. He’d been caught in the crossfire of their fight against Babel, killed by Choi Myung-hee in order to frame Vincenzo. But they had proved his innocence, and sent back his corpse in Milan. After Fabio’s death, Paolo hadn’t been the best replacement, and after he was killed in South Korea, they’d put in charge one of their cousins who had neither Fabio’s experience, nor Vincenzo’s mastermind. The family was in a crisis, which didn’t go unnoticed by their rivals. Soon, business started to slow down, their clients stolen by the competition and their allies started to switch teams. Money ran low. For that reason, Vincenzo didn’t run into much opposition when he came back. Most members and people in their business thought he had killed Paolo after he’d unreasonably followed him to South Korea and tried to finish him. Paolo only left disappointment and resentment behind him, and so no one missed him much. What they had not expected, however, was for Vincenzo Cassano to come back with someone.

[penguintransporter]

Notes on Gardening (Eric Dier imagine)

a/n: This little piece had been not requested but it is written for @avenirdelight​ because she’s really lovely, an amazing writer, and I wanted to say thanks to her support. Anyway, this is my first time writing on Eric Dier, so I apologise if I got some things wrong, but I watched some videos, read some articles, and got some help in my inbox, so I hope you will like it. Read, like, reblog, enjoy and tell me what you think. Hope you like it!

Snuggled in between a row of cafes, pubs, and overpriced boutiques of Hampstead, the small bookshop wasn’t a something that one would spot randomly, unless specifically looking for it. With lack of advertising and a very obscure selection of books in its inventory, the place didn’t attract any other type of people other than a handful of bookworms, and a very small number of tourists who stumbled upon it by chance as they explored the particular part of the city.

As any other Tuesday, the bell above the doors chimed as he walked in – his sports bag slung over his shoulder, and air-pods securely nestled in his earlobes, shielding him from the buzzing noise of a metropolitan city. 

Despite being who he was, the sight of the tall, good-looking, and by any means, polite and soft-spoken guy in the small, dusty bookshop wasn’t a surprise any more.

Same time, same place – week in, week out.

“He’s looking at you again,” Sylvie, one of the girls behind the till muttered without looking up from the iPad she held in her hand. Her lips twisted in an amused smirk before she spoke again, “In fact, he’s staring. Blatantly, mind you.”

The girl next to her only shifted nervously on her feet, breathing out a small sigh filled with nervousness.

“He’s not,” she muttered, subconsciously smoothing down the hem of her shirt before lifting some books from the box and stacking them on a cart behind her. “He probably needs help with something. Maybe you can go there and ask. I would, but I am busy doing the heavy stuff.”

“You know,” Sylvie kept a smile on her face, punching some numbers on the screen before quickly glancing at her friend and colleague, “I think you’re the reason why he’s been coming here, because, let’s be honest, how many books on gardening can one own? It’s ridiculous.”

Sylvie’s younger colleague felt her cheeks warming up, but she still tried to act as nonchalant as possible, even if she knew that she was failing at it. 

A famous footballer, coming to the store because of her? Yeah, right.

“Maybe,” she started, avoiding looking at Sylvie as she busied herself with observing particles of dust sleeping on the surface of the shelf behind the till, “maybe, he just likes gardening. Many people do.”

“Many people order those books from Amazon nowadays, no? No need to come in every week.”

“Well, it’s good that we are having some customers.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes before turning around, leaning against the counter as she scrolled through some list stored in the system.

“Suit yourself, but seriously Vee, why would a Lilywhite like himself be interested in gardening? He’s supposed to be into fast cars, all the bling, and questionable—What it’s true!” Sylvie interjected as her colleague shook her head incredulously. “Have you not seen Ronaldo’s private jet? It’s preposterous,” she added – her voice reaching a higher octave. “He’s coming here because of you.”

“Can you speak any louder?” blushing girl interrupted, placing her hand over Sylvie’s mouth to quiet her as she kept mumbling into her palm, “I don’t think the creep from the off-licence in Hackney has heard you! Sometimes, you’re impossible—,”

“—Excuse me?” a voice behind them interrupted their fierce, but innocent interaction, and for a second, neither one of the girls turned around – not even when they heard a thump of a sports bag being dropped on the ground nor when the stack of books was pushed towards the cash-register.

Sylvie ribbed the shorter girl with her elbow, giving her a mischievous smirk that only a traitor-friend could have courage to show as she slowly stepped away from the till – muttering something about the inventory and deliveries. Before her she could protest, Sylvie had disappeared behind the sliding doors that divided the bookshop area from the stock-room.

Thank you.

Left alone now with the young man who was still waiting for her attention, she slowly turned around, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. The feeling only intensified when she looked up and was met by his blue eyes.

With a small nod, he removed his earbuds, and she, for the lack of better reaction, busied herself with unlocking and locking the cash-register several times, until she, by mistake, touched a blue square, unlocking the money drawer which sprung out, hitting her in the stomach.

“Sor—Sorry ‘bout that,” she stuttered, embarrassed at what just had happened before quickly closing the drawer and locking it in the place. Avoiding looking at him, she quickly scanned the books he had picked out this time. “Do—,” she breathed out, shaking her head, “anything else I can get you? I mean, would you like to purchase a bag?”

“No,” he answered politely, lifting his sports bag from the floor. “I’ll fit them in here. Thank you.”

“Sure,” she answered with a timid smile, pushing the card-reader towards him, and he nodded, pressing the card against the screen – his eyes never leaving her face. “Receipt?” she asked looking up briefly, and he shook his head, putting his wallet in the inner pocket of his bomber jacket.

A moment of silence washed over hem as they just looked at each other. Her heart was slowly beating its way out of her chest, and the butterflies in her stomach only danced faster with each passing second. Finally, he gave her a small smile, and his eyes only left hers as he picked up the books, stashing them carefully inside his sports bag before hoisting it up on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he spoke softly before turning around to leave. A small shiver ran down her spine as he opened the doors with ease – the chime ringing out in the silent, dusty bookshop. “Have a lovely afternoon, Vee,” he added, not looking at her before closing the doors behind himself and disappearing in the mass of the people, sluggishly walking along the street.

“Oh my God, girl, he knows your name! How effin sweet!!” Sylvie cooed, running out of the stock-room with a big grin. The girl in front of her just blushed crimson red, making Sylvie gasp. “You fancy him, do you?” Vee shook her head quickly, trying to say something, but no words came out. “Oh my God, you do!! And he fancies you too!”

“He doesn’t,” Vee mumbled, covering her face with her hands, “he’s Eric Dier, why would he—don’t give me that look, Sylvie… of course he doesn’t fancy me!”

“Yes, yes, you two fancy each other,” Sylvie sang, “first of all, he’s been coming here every week for the past month, buying books that he could well order online, two, he knows your name which is insanely cute, and three, girl, you are blushing so hard right now.”

Vee had nothing to say as she kept her hands firmly pressed against her face – blush on her cheeks only intensifying.

*

Stacking some of the books on a cart next to her, Vee swept a rug over the lowest shelf in front of her that accumulated so much dust that one could probably paint an entire art piece on the wooden surface. It was a quiet Tuesday morning, the streets were still empty, and every move she made seemed to echo throughout the bookshop.

A chime above the door interrupted that peaceful silence, and as she looked up towards the direction of the sound, she was first greeted with a happy face of a dog as he approached her – tail wagging in happiness.

“Oh,” she exclaimed in surprise, putting the dusty rug away before stroking the dog’s cheeks. “Who are you? You’re so handsome…” she mused – smile appearing on her face almost instantly.

“That’s Clay,” the voice spoke from above, and when she looked up, she found herself staring at no one other than Eric who was holding the dog by the leash - other hand resting in the pocket of his jeans.

A wave of nervousness washed over her, and she quickly went to get up, trying to be as graceful as possible, but she slipped a little, almost falling on her back. Blushing faintly and with an awkward smile, she finally managed to scramble up to her feet.

“You’re early,” she blurted out, dusting her shirt off – eyes widening when she realised that she just voiced her thoughts.

Eric chuckled, wrapping the leash around his hand few times as he brought his dog closer to his feet. “Were you expecting me, Vee?” he asked.

Embarrassed, she looked down at her own feet before shaking her head a little, “I didn’t… I mean, you usually come in—it’s Tuesday… sorry, but how do you know my name?”

“I’ve overheard it,” he admitted as she looked up and he gave her a small smile, calming her nerves almost instantly. “I’m Eric,” he added.

It took everything in her power to keep her mouth shut, pretending that she didn’t know that fact; that she didn’t know more things about him than she dared to admit. Can you blame her? She was a Spurs fan from a very young age.

“Nice to meet you, Eric,” she finally answered, feeling suddenly at ease, “anything in particular you’re looking for today? We stocked up on some books you might be interested in.”

“Well…” he started before shaking his head a little, “I’ll take a look first, if you don’t mind.”

Vee nodded, “Yeah, do that… I’ll be wiping the dust here, somewhere,” she clumsily answered, before taking a step back, waving a little at the dog before turning around and pacing away towards the till.

She tried not to look at him as he browsed through the small section of the gardening books, but it was in vain – her eyes darted towards him ever now and then, embracing the warm feeling that spread through her whenever he returned the glance, accompanied by a small smile.

“Will that be it?” she asked as he approached, carrying a stack of books, all of them as expected, related to gardening.

“Yeah, I have to leave something for the next Tuesday, no?” he joked, and she grinned at him as she scanned the back of the books before turning around the card-reader as usual, and he as always, paid – never looking away from her face. “Actually,” he started, placing the card back into his wallet, and she looked at him quizzically as she rested her hand on top of the receipt machine, ready to catch the paper as soon as it gets printed out. “Since Clay seems to like you, and he doesn’t like everyone, maybe you’d like to join us for a walk sometimes? Sunday maybe?”

She didn’t know what to say, still holding the receipt in mid air, and she only blinked back when Clay decided to whine a little, breaking the silence that settled between them.

“Oh,” she shifted on her feet, glancing between the paper in her hand and Eric’s face. “I wasn’t expecting this question, honestly,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. He only smiled nervously at her and looked away, running his hand on top of his outgrown hair. “But, I’d love to,” she added with a smile – heart threatening burst with excitement.

Was this really happening?

Eric smiled at her before taking the receipt out of her frozen hand and picking up a pen that was resting in one of the cups in front of her. “My phone’s dead, but here, give me your number, and we can make plans.”

Like in a daze, she scribbled down her phone number – her hands shaking as she tried to write the numbers neatly as possible. “There you go,” she mumbled, putting a smiley at the bottom of the paper before looking up at him. “Anything else I can get you? A bag maybe?”

Eric chuckled, lifting the books off the counter and waking up the sleeping Clay before looking at her with a smirk on his face.

“No, thanks. I think I got everything I wanted.”

[jacqcrisis]

more lumberyard monster stuff including characters and monster anatomy. putting under read more cause LONG

characters: 

Sixer: monster man. no idea what he is or where he came from, only that he doesn’t want to go back. is generally playful, lazy, incredibly quick to learn, curious, and a trouble maker when he’s bored. loves his tv, the dog, eating, annoying Dale, sleeping, and Alvin. 

Alvin: lover boy. Tony’s nephew. Started working at the lumberyard not long before they found Sixer. is kind of quiet, gentle, relatively down to earth, clearly beat down already even in his mid-twenties, not helped by his verbally abusive and manipulative girlfriend who eventually becomes his fiancee as he doesn’t know how to get out of the relationship. loves working with him hands, modding/fixing things, old cars, all kinds of music, and chilling with Sixer.

Tony: the dad guy. first generation American. mom immigrated to U.S. from Mexico. loves motorcycles, making people smile, and his wife. is second pony to the owner, runs the saws, and is basically the lumberyard’s HR department. has four kids and is all-around a nice guy. see’s the yard crew as a second family. Named Sixer for his six limbs and is very proud of that fact. Thinks of him as his ‘buddy’.

Charlie: bull dyke owner. Took over the yard from her father. is happily married to a law professor. loves bourbon, her motorcycle, and her dog. used to smoke, has the smoker’s voice and laugh, and chews nicotine gum like her life may depend on it. is tough but fair. pretty no nonsense with most of her workers, but Tony who is both a family friend and her second in command and Sixer, who she dotes on in her own way.

Dale: Shitty guy. Hates paying child support. Just the worst. An HR nightmare before Sixer came along to keep him in place.

Brian: Alvin’s friend who also works at the yard. Likes to drag race, pick up chicks, and kind of instigates Dale even if he doesn’t mean to. Is kind of ambivalent to Sixer but likes the novelty of having this weird monster at the yard

McKenzie: cashier girl/secretary. Doesn’t work in the yard itself, but spends all day inside answering the phone and cashing out orders. Single-mother in her early twenties and Charlie allows her to bring her kid to work when she can’t get a babysitter especially with Sixer around cause he likes watching the kid. Kind of stuck up, kind of a party girl, but is fun to be around.

Scruff: Is a dog. Some kind of large shepherd mix. Loves to follow Sixer and is the one who initially found him on a rainy afternoon, injured and hiding behind the saw mill.

Angela: Charlie’s wife. visits the yard from time to time. Tony calls her the big boss because everyone watches themselves when she’s around. Is beloved by all save for Dale. Sixer has some kind of crush on her.

Monster anatomy bits: 

- Sixer is a strange mixture of ape, panthera, and reptile in body shape, while gait swaps between felid and simian depending on the situation. is capable of sitting on his haunches to get a better look around and capable of walking for a limited time on two legs, though very awkwardly. hips generally sit lower to the ground than shoulders while walking on all fours as forelimbs are slightly longer than backlegs. is capable of reaching speeds of 35mph for an extremely limited time and can leap up to 30ft horizontally though is capable of walking for days on end if needed.

- is covered in large golden brown plated scales that are smooth to the touch. from the shoulder to just before the hips are large thick black spines ranging in length that can be raised and lowered at will to be flush against the back or stand straight up. spines are used to sense vibrations and temperature changes in the air to make up for piss poor hearing. also has some very vibrant neon blue markings that show up after his winter shed during the springtime along his back and sides and that fade by mid-summer. 

- skull and face shape is vaguely human in that it is forward facing and very flat though with noticeable differences. face is covered in smaller thinner scales. eyes are larger, green-yellow in color with round pupils and has two sets of eyelids, one for blocking out light, the other for blocking out dust, debris, and water while still maintaining sight. nostrils are almost flush to the face and also large, covered by sensitive receptors that are activated by a chemical in his saliva, excellent at smelling. brow has bumpy ridges that stick out instead of eyebrows. jawbone is bisected and each side is capable of limited independent movement. has no lips. tongue is long and teeth are more ape like. has no external ear and is genuinely not great at hearing unless someone it talking directly at him. has a crop of black hair/fur on top of head that never grows longer than inch along with a few more psuedo-horns around the crown that are dull.

- six limbed. two hind legs and four arms, each ending in a foot/hand with four digits. one set of arms is slightly larger than the other and has larger claws and are used primarily for locomotion, climbing, and fighting/hunting. other set used for more delicate work. scales on the palms of smaller hands are notably thinner and more sensitive to touch for tool work, affection, and object manipulation. Tony jokingly calls the larger arms his ‘fightin’ arms’ and the smaller ones his ‘doin’ arms’

- from head to tip of tail, Sixer is about 12 feet long and from shoulder to ground when on ‘all fours’ stands at about 4 feet tall. tail makes up 30% of body length, is neither stiff nor prehensile, and is capable of a limited amount of wagging closer to the tip, generally used to signal mood though can be used to whip antagonizers.

-he sheds twice a year, the process taking about two weeks from start to finish and these have been dubbed as ‘hell weeks’ by the crew because they have a massive grumpy snappy itchy monster who rubs himself on every rough surface up to and including the buildings, forklifts, the lumber, any unfortunate cars, the fence, and Alvin for 12-16 days. the best way to deal with it is to hose him down twice a day or provide a small pool for him to soak in and give up on trying to get the garage broom from him which he uses to brush himself.

- opportunistic omnivore that can eat almost anything. to lead a healthy diet, requires 70% meat/organ/bone and 30% veg. while svelte, he actually gains a little extra belly cause of the access to a local deer/rabbit overpopulation and the crew just giving him food all the time. 

- has a range of vocalizations and i still haven’t decided if he’s capable of speech or if it’s severely limited and the crew teach him to use asl cause it would make sense if he couldn’t form most words given mouth anatomy and I like it better than unexplained telepathy. i’ll probably go with that.

- genitalia are internal and male in nature. 

monster man and the lumberyard extra bits i thought of:

- Tony gives Sixer a T.V. but it’s only hooked up to local channels so at night he watches a lot of bad television and soap operas.

- Sixer starts crushing on Alvin very quickly, but does not understand how to romance Anyone, so he tries to do a mixture of whats instinctual for him and what he sees on bad T.V. Alvin brushes it off for years, thinking Sixer is Just Like That. it takes him a bit to realize he’s catching feelings because while he is book smart, he also is, regrettably, a himbo

- some sneaky government thing is looking for him. so is a local cryptid hunting group. They get alerted cause some hunters find the remains of deer who’s wounds look nothing like something a local predator could do. no one suspects to look in the dusty lumberyard, of course.

- for holiday parties and get togethers, either Charlie or Tony always hand off a bunch of food to Alvin, telling him to go give it to the ‘old man next door’ so he can get away from his fiancee for a bit and so Sixer doesn’t miss out on the festivities