#WHY IS OUR CLIENTELLE SO WEIRD

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 02

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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The bar reeked of one thing. Not alcohol, not drugs—opulence.

Perched atop one of Japan’s tallest skyscrapers, Horizon was the kind of place where power and money spoke louder than words.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Tokyo skyline, the glittering city stretching endlessly below, lights shimmering like constellations against the inky night. Inside, the atmosphere was a curated blend of wealth and exclusivity—dim mood lighting casting sleek shadows across black marble floors, deep leather seating arranged for whispered conversations, and servers in sharp-cut suits, trained to serve without being seen.

It was the first Saturday of the month. A tradition, unshaken even after college, no matter how busy their lives became.

At a private table, in a section roped off for only the highest clientele, sat a group of men whose names carried weight across the country. Japan’s most powerful, most untouchable, and most eligible bachelors.

Gojo Satoru, heir to a real estate empire of old money and power, his presence as blinding as the white hair atop his head. Geto Suguru, ever calm, ever composed, the sharp mind behind tech industries that would take most men lifetimes to control. Ryomen Sukuna, the wildcard, draped in arrogance, his wealth tied to underground dealings no one dared question.

Born into one of Japan’s most powerful families, Toji wasn’t just wealthy—he was the Zenin heir.

When his father died, leaving behind a fortune vast enough to sustain generations, Toji didn’t just sit back and preserve it.

He tripled it.

Through ruthless business ventures, high-stakes investments, and an instinct sharper than any financial advisor’s best predictions, he transformed the Zenin name into something more than just old money. It was new dominance. 

A force that dictated markets, bought influence, and ensured that the name Zenin wasn’t just spoken with respect, but with caution.

The scent of aged whiskey and smoldering cigars curled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. The four of them sat back in their private booth, drinks in hand, Tokyo glittering beneath them like a chessboard waiting to be played.

"Suguru, what's got your ass all twisted up? You've been off lately," Satoru drawled, nudging his best friend with a teasing elbow—an oddly childish gesture in a setting so drenched in wealth.

Sukuna snorted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. "Can’t believe I’m saying this, but the idiot’s right. You’ve been acting weird as fuck lately, man."

Satoru turned to fire back, lips already curling into a smirk, but paused when Suguru let out a deep sigh.

They weren’t wrong. He had been acting off.

And why?

His sharp, cat-like eyes flickered toward one of his oldest friends—Toji of all fucking people—and instantly, like a ghost haunting the back of his mind, he saw it again.

That kid.

The pint-sized version of Toji he had spotted weeks ago, sitting by your side eating pizza.

He was adorable, with big green eyes and dark hair that spiked upwards. He was also hauntingly enough, a replica of his dear friend sat across from him.

It gnawed at him.

How the hell was he supposed to sit here, sipping whiskey and smoking his cigar, pretending everything was normal, when Toji had a whole damn child he didn’t even know about?

With the love of his life, at that.

The secret sat like a stone in his gut, pressing heavier with each second. But still, Suguru brought his cigar to his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"Don't know what you guys are talking about," he muttered, voice smooth but empty.

Because fuck.

This wasn’t his business to tell.

Suguru forced the thought down, drowning it in another slow drag of his cigar.

Satoru, ever the gossip, rolled his eyes, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he shifted in his seat. “Boring, Suguru. Well, since he’s not opening up, I might as well. Guys, you won’t believe what happened to me today.”

He leaned in slightly, the dim overhead lighting catching on the rims of his sunglasses as he peered at them all, clearly waiting for someone to bite.

Toji raised a brow, finally breaking his silence. “What, lost a bar of that shitty candy you inhale every day on your lunch break?” He snorted, lips curling.

Satoru waved him off, unfazed—and unwilling to admit that, yes, that had indeed happened earlier.

“Fuck you, Toji. No, I had an old hookup show up at my office today, screaming at my intern like a lunatic, claiming that I—”

Toji cut him off with a sharp grin, already amused. “Don’t tell me you knocked a one-night stand up.”

“I’ll have you know, she wasn’t a one-night stand.” Satoru placed a hand over his chest, feigning deep offense. “We met in Ibiza, and we had a magical week together!"

“That’s just a fucking nightmare,” Sukuna scoffed, tipping his glass back. “You, of all people, with a kid?”

“Oh come on, I’d be great! My kid would be gorgeous,” Satoru declared, ever confident. Suguru feels himself turning green with where this conversation was headed.

“Gorgeous with a mouth full of cavities, I bet,” Toji drawled, taking a slow sip of his drink.

“Nothing a great dentist can’t fix,” Gojo quipped, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Anyways, not the point of the story. She’s getting rid of it tomorrow—I had my lawyer draft up an NDA, so it’ll all be fine.”

Sukuna shook his head, amusement curling at the edges of his smirk. “F’course it’d be you out of all of us to have the first pregnancy scare.”

Satoru furrowed his white brows. “Is that a joke? Toji is sitting right next to you, y’know.”

Suguru could throw up right here, right now, all over this table and it still wouldn't be enough to make him feel any better.

Toji arched a brow, unimpressed. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I’m not out here sleeping around like you.”

Satoru grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Well, no, but you were in a relationship for what—six years? And Y/N let me in on your little distaste for condoms, you know. I’m shocked nothing came out of that.”

Sukuna let out a low whistle, nudging Toji’s side. “Yeah, got you there, brother.”

Suguru took a slow, deep breath, staring at the swirling whiskey in his glass.

The conversation was pressing in on him, each word adding weight to the already unbearable tension in his chest. He couldn't do this. If he just stood up and walked out, would it be too obvious?

Toji rolled his green eyes, exhaling through his nose. “I didn’t meet Y/N and start fucking her raw after a week in Ibiza, Satoru. I was with her for six years. Sue me.”

Satoru backed off with his hands raised in mock surrender, a grin still tugging at his lips. “Relax, relax. Speaking of Y/N, I could’ve sworn I saw her the other day at that pizza place we used to go to. Did you see her too, Suguru?”

The shift in conversation hit Suguru like a freight train. His entire body tensed, but he forced himself to keep his expression steady.

He hadn't spoken to Satoru about seeing you and the kid, never even mentioned it.

Toji’s brow quirked up, green eyes flicking toward Geto with sudden interest. The curiosity in them was undeniable.

Suguru’s grip on his cigar tightened. Think. Quickly.

“Y/N?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he brought the cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply.

When he exhaled, he kept his voice smooth, controlled. “I remember the woman you’re talking about but it wasn’t her. Just someone who looked like her.”

Satoru hummed, none the wiser. “Yeah, makes sense. That lady had a kid with her, too. Y/N never even had family or friends like that to be babysitting for.”

Suguru’s fingers curled tighter around his glass. He took another slow drag of his cigar, the smoke curling up toward the dim overhead lights, masking the flicker of unease in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice low. “No way it was her.”

He took another sip of whiskey, but the burn in his throat was nothing compared to the storm brewing in his chest as bright green eyes lingered on him.

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Autumn has settled in fully now, painting the world in warm hues of amber, crimson, and gold.

Leaves crunch underfoot as the wind carries them in lazy spirals along the paved sidewalks. The mornings have grown brisk, the kind that nip at your nose and fingertips, making you pull Megumi’s little coat tighter around him before sending him off to school.

His scarf, a deep navy blue, is carefully wrapped around his neck, though he always tugs at it halfway through the day, complaining that it’s too warm.

He’s been thriving at school, and that alone fills you with a relief so deep it’s almost dizzying!

You worried about him, afraid that his quiet and blunt nature might leave him isolated, unsure of how to make friends. But those fears were put to rest the moment he came home and started talking—really talking—about a boy in his class.

A boy named Yuuji.

Apparently, Yuuji was assigned the seat next to him, and from that moment on, there was no escaping the whirlwind of energy that was his new best friend.

Every day, Megumi would come home with some new story, some ridiculous antic Yuuji had pulled.

And even though this boy you hadn’t met yet seemed like the complete opposite of Megumi—rambunctious, loud, endlessly excitable—you couldn’t be more grateful for his presence.

You had even found yourself smiling, shaking your head in amusement, when Megumi’s teacher gently informed you during a parent-teacher meeting that he had been talking a bit too much in class lately.

Talking too much.

You nearly laughed in disbelief. Your Megumi?

You didn’t mind. Not one bit. Because you were just so glad to hear that Megumi wasn't struggling at all in class, instead thriving academically and socially!

Which is why today is so important.

A playdate.

The next step in any childhood friendship, and truthfully, you’re just as excited as Megumi.

He deserves this—deserves to have a friend he can run around with, someone who makes him laugh, someone his own age to share his days with.

Life can feel a little quiet when it’s just the two of you, and though Megumi has never complained, you’re sure he’s been longing for a companion outside of home.

The plan is simple. You coordinated with Yuuji’s father, Jin, since—according to the kindergarten gossip you’ve managed to gather from Megumi—his mom isn’t in the picture.

You don’t pry, but there’s a quiet understanding in the back of your mind.

First, you’ll meet them at the park, where the boys can run wild, burning through their seemingly endless energy.

Then, once they’ve had their fill of play, you’ll all sit down for lunch at a nearby restaurant, letting them refuel before no doubt finding some new way to tire themselves out again.

The walk to the park is peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting golden light over the quiet streets. 

The crisp autumn air carries the scent of fallen leaves, dry and earthy, while a gentle breeze rustles through the trees, shaking loose vibrant reds and oranges that drift lazily to the pavement.

Megumi walks beside you, his small hand warm in yours, but his steps begin to slow. You feel the slight tug on your arm before you hear his voice.

"Mama," he mumbles, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand. "Carry me."

You glance down at him with an amused huff, already anticipating this. "Oh, honey, I don't know if my arms are strong enough anymore."

A darker thought crosses your mind. Toji could probably still carry him like it's nothing, like he's nothing more than a newborn.

You haven't seen the man in years, but if his physique was anything like it was back then—

You push the thought away just as quickly as it comes.

"Please?" Megumi's voice is softer this time, and when you glance down again, he's pouting, shifting on his feet like he already knows you’ll cave.

And how could you say no? Sore arms be damned—this is your baby! One day, far too soon, he’ll stop asking.

You crouch down, letting him wrap his arms around your neck before lifting him with a quiet grunt. 

He’s heavier than before, all gangly limbs and growing boy, but he sighs contentedly as he rests his head on your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone. You press a soft kiss to his dark hair, letting him nuzzle into your neck.

He won’t fit in your arms like this forever.

The thought lingers, settling into your chest with an ache. Soon, he’ll be too big to carry, too old to want you to. The weight of time feels heavier than the boy in your arms.

Your mind drifts to the slip of paper tucked away in your apartment. Toji’s phone number.

A part of you wonders if you’re wrong for not reaching out now that you can reach him. If you’re selfish for keeping Megumi to yourself. For letting Toji miss this—his son, growing up.

Megumi shifts slightly, pulling you from your thoughts. His small fingers toy with the pendant on your necklace—the little letter ‘M’ you got just for him.

You shake your head, pushing away the what-ifs. Today is about Megumi. About his happiness.

A sudden vibration against your hip snaps you back to the present. You shift Megumi in your arms to free one hand, retrieving your phone from your pocket.

Jin, Yuuji’s father: Hello Y/N! Something came up at work, so I wasn’t able to take Yuuji today, but my younger brother will instead. They’ve already left the house and will be there soon! Sorry for the short notice.

You type out a quick confirmation before tucking your phone away.

Megumi lifts his head slightly. "Are they here yet?"

"Not yet," you say, adjusting your hold on him. "But they should be soon."

His fingers absently trace over the smooth metal of your pendant before he hums in acknowledgment.

By the time you reach the park, the sun has dipped lower, casting long, dappled shadows across the playground. The cool breeze rustles through the empty swings, and the laughter of distant children fills the air.

You find an empty bench and sit, keeping Megumi settled in your lap a little longer, just because you can.

"Megumi!" He lifts his head, suddenly alert, his green eyes scanning the park.

The excited, high-pitched call is accompanied by the sound of small, eager footsteps. You barely get a glimpse before Megumi squirms out of your arms, landing on his feet with practiced ease. He straightens his posture, stuffing his hands into his pockets, trying to play it cool.

You turn toward the voice, and your heart melts at the sight.

Yuuji is absolutely adorable—fluffy pink hair, big brown eyes, a little shorter than Megumi, with the widest grin stretching across his face as he runs over. His joy is infectious, beaming like the sun itself.

But something about him feels… familiar.

Your eyes linger on the soft pink of his hair. It isn’t exactly a common color. And the longer you look at him, the stronger the unsettling familiarity grows.

No. There’s no way.

The thought barely has time to form before a deep, unmistakable voice cuts through your daze.

"Yuuji! Don't go running off without me, you brat."

Your breath catches.

No. Absolutely not.

Your blood runs cold as you turn toward the source, eyes widening, stomach plummeting.

There, towering over the playground with all his tattoos and his unmistakable aura of arrogance, is Ryomen Sukuna of all people.

You feel like the universe is playing some kind of twisted joke on you.

Big. Tall. Tattooed. Another one of Toji’s old friends.

And judging by the way he ruffles Yuuji’s hair—his nephew’s hair—he’s the younger brother Jin mentioned in his text.

Sukuna hasn’t even noticed you yet, too preoccupied with the excitable little boy bouncing in front of him. Yuuji beams up at you. "Wow, Megumi, your mom is really pretty!"

Megumi’s entire body tenses beside you. He steps closer, crossing his arms, his expression darkening.

"I know." he mutters, his glare sharp enough to cut through stone.

You snort, reaching out to rub his back. He huffs but doesn’t pull away, though you can feel the heat radiating off him. His protective streak never fails to amuse you.

The moment cuts through the tension in your chest, but only briefly. Because then you feel it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched.

"Megumi, let’s go play! I’ve been waiting forever! My uncle walks so slow," Yuuji exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement, his bright grin shining under the afternoon sun.

He’s adorable—so full of energy and joy that it makes you want to freeze this moment in time. Your son, on his first real playdate, with a friend who already seems so eager to be by his side.

But you can’t enjoy it. Because standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, towering like a living nightmare, is Ryomen Sukuna.

Of all people.

You blink, trying to process the absurdity of it. How the hell did this happen? What are the odds? What cruel joke is the universe playing on you?

Then, you decide—fuck it.

You’re not going to let Toji who's not even here, his idiot friends, or any other lingering ghosts from your past ruin this for you. This is Megumi’s moment. His first real friend.

You whip out your phone, ignoring Sukuna’s heavy stare as you crouch down slightly. "Alright, boys, stand together and smile!"

Megumi doesn’t really get the smiling part, settling for a neutral stare, while Yuuji doesn’t quite grasp the standing still part, fidgeting excitedly in place. It’s imperfect but perfect all the same, and you snap the pictures, your heart swelling at the sight of them together.

"Alright, go play, but make sure I can see you," you call out.

The second they take off running, your smile drops. You turn to Sukuna, a deep sigh escaping you. He stares right back at you, eyes running up and down your body as if trying to confirm that it is indeed you in front of him.

"Y/N, what the fuck?" Sukuna blurts out, disbelief etched across his face. His eyebrows practically hit his hairline as his sharp gaze flickers between you and Megumi who at this point, was climbing up the stairs to the slide.

Gosh, couldn't even start with a hey, how have you been?

You roll your eyes, already exhausted by this encounter. Seeing Suguru and Satoru was traumatizing enough. This? This is just the cherry on top.

"Ryomen, trust me—I’m feeling the same way. God what are the odds?" You inhale sharply through your nose, leveling Sukuna with a flat stare. His mouth curls into something between a smirk and genuine disbelief, arms folding across his broad chest as he waits for your response.

"Going out on a limb here," Sukuna drawls, tilting his head toward the direction Megumi ran off, "but is the little squirt Toji's?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. You knew the question was coming—it was inevitable the second he laid eyes on Megumi. The resemblance was too obvious.

Still, hearing it out loud makes something twist deep in your stomach.

"Don't call him that," you say coolly, arching a brow. "And what if he is?"

Sukuna lets out a sharp, amused breath, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "Shit." His gaze flickers to Megumi in the distance, then back to you, something razor-sharp glinting in his expression. "Does Toji even know? There’s no way he does—he never mentioned it. Not once."

Your jaw tightens. You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you focus on Megumi, watching as he follows Yuuji up the jungle gym. His usual serious expression softens—just slightly—when the younger boy tugs at his sleeve, babbling excitedly about something.

Sukuna doesn’t need a verbal response. Your silence tells him everything.

"This is crazy," he breathes, his grin widening, teeth flashing like the devil himself. "You didn’t tell him?"

You exhale through your nose, resisting the urge to rub your temples. "It’s none of your business, Ryomen."

He lets out a low whistle, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Damn. That’s cold. And coming from you? Toji would never believe it."

Your scowl deepens. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Not about the kid," he clarifies, rolling his shoulders. "I mean, shit, we were literally talking about this last night. But you keeping this from him? He always thought you were harmless."

Something flickers across his face—amusement, sure, but also intrigue, like he’s trying to piece together how the hell this slipped past him. Past Toji.

"You gonna tell him?" Sukuna asks after a beat, gaze sharp, assessing.

Your stomach twists. The question has been haunting you ever since Suguru stepped into your shop weeks ago.

For years, you made peace with the fact that Toji would never know. That there was no way to reach him. That no matter how much it hurt, he had to be let go since Megumi always came first.

You had spent years stretching yourself thin—between your job, chasing after Toji, and most importantly, being a new mother. Something had to give. And bitterly enough, that something was Toji.

Now, after all this time, you have his number. Full access to him.

And you haven’t dialed it once, because something else is holding you back now.

Fear.

You glance back at the two boys, now racing toward the swings, their laughter ringing through the crisp evening air.

"Like I said," you mutter, voice quieter now. "None of your business."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, rocking back on his heels. "Alright, alright, I get it." He exhales, like shaking off the conversation. Then, with a pointed smirk, he adds, "But if you think he won’t find out eventually, you’re dumber than I remember."

Your eyes narrow. "You're not gonna tell him?"

He raises a brow, almost offended. "Why would I? It’s not my business to tell."

You scoff. "Oh please. He's your best friend."

Sukuna just grins, slow and knowing. "Yeah? And maybe I’m being a good friend by keeping quiet." He rubs his chin, tilting his head like he’s savoring the moment. "Wouldn’t wanna tell Toji that his favorite girl’s been keeping something like this from him all these years."

Your breath catches.

There’s something about his tone—something not quite mocking. Not quite amused. Something almost... pitying.

It makes your stomach churn.

Before you can press further, Yuuji’s excited voice slices through the tension like a blade.

"Uncle Sukuna! Push me!"

Sukuna’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer, unreadable, before he turns away. "Saved by the brat," he teases, already striding toward the swings.

You exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over your face.

Of all people, it had to be Sukuna.

And now, whether you like it or not—one more person knows your secret.

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Lunch is… weird.

The kids, thankfully, are oblivious to the tension radiating off you in waves, too engrossed in their own little world to notice. Well, Yuuji chatters—Megumi mostly listens, nodding at appropriate intervals, his expression neutral but not disinterested.

Still, you have a feeling Megumi senses something is off.

He refuses to sit anywhere but next to you, his small frame pressed against your side, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket. It’s a quiet, grounding presence, but it does nothing to settle the storm in your chest.

Across the table, Sukuna is insufferably at ease.

He lounges like this is a casual dinner between friends rather than a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t press, but his amusement is palpable.

You can feel it in the lazy way he drums his fingers against the table, the way his lips curl at the edges, the weight of his gaze lingering on you like he’s waiting—just waiting—for you to crack and curse him out.

You refuse to look at him.

Instead, you focus on the kids. Yuuji is deep in a monologue about a video game he’s been begging his dad to buy, talking between massive bites of a burger that looks almost too big for him.

Megumi, as always, listens quietly, picking at his chicken tenders, offering the occasional hum of acknowledgment.

And you? You’re barely holding it together.

Your food sits untouched, stomach twisted too tight to even pretend to eat. You’ve tried to play it cool in front of Sukuna, to act like you’re unaffected by the weight of this secret, but the truth is, you’re terrified.

Toji’s circle has always been small. Satoru, Suguru, Sukuna—his only real friends. The ones who had earned a place in that impenetrable fortress of trust.

And now, two out of three of them know about Megumi.

But Toji doesn’t.

And that thought alone is enough to make you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

You grip your utensils tighter, swallowing around the lump in your throat, barely registering the sound of laughter and clinking dishes around you.

There should be guilt buried somewhere in the mess of emotions clawing at your insides, but all you really feel is sheer, bone-deep anxiety.

Megumi, at least, has finally started actually eating, nibbling on a chicken tender while sipping a kid-sized soda. Yuuji, on the other hand, is still in a battle with his burger—one that’s about the size of his entire face.

Then, in the way only a child can, Yuuji shatters your already fragile nerves with a single, innocent comment.

"You don’t look anything like your mom, Megumi! You must look like your dad. I look just like mine!"

Your stomach plummets.

You freeze, fork clattering against your plate, pulse spiking so hard you swear your vision tunnels for a second. The world tilts, the restaurant noise fading into a muffled blur, your brain scrambling desperately to think of how to steer the conversation anywhere else before—

“Yeah, I guess.”

Megumi says it so nonchalantly, so effortlessly, that for a second, you think you imagined it.

Your head snaps toward him. He’s still calmly eating, tearing off a piece of chicken tender, unbothered, as if Yuuji hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of dinner.

He… doesn’t care?

You feel like you’re about to combust, but Megumi—Megumi, who never talks about his father, who has never once asked, who you’ve spent years bracing yourself for questions from—just shrugs it off like it’s nothing.

You don’t know if you’re relieved or if it somehow makes the situation worse.

And then, because of course, of course, you make the mistake of looking up—

—only to lock eyes with Sukuna, who is watching the entire thing unfold with the most infuriating, knowing grin.

He doesn’t say anything, but the sharp shit eating smile on his stupid face says enough.

You swallow thickly, dragging your gaze away, forcing yourself to take a slow, steady breath. Megumi is fine. He’s not upset. There’s no need to react.

Even though every nerve in your body is screaming otherwise.

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At the gym, the rhythmic clank of metal echoes through the near-empty space, broken only by the occasional grunt of exertion. It’s just past five in the morning—an ungodly hour for most, but perfect for Toji.

No distractions. No waiting around for machines. Just him, the weight of the bar in his hands, and the steady burn in his muscles.

At least, that’s what he wants.

But Sukuna exists.

The sharp clang of the bar hitting the rack cuts through the quiet as Toji exhales, rolling out his shoulders before reaching for his water bottle. That’s when Sukuna, sprawled out on a neighboring machine like he owns the place, decides to run his mouth.

"You ever think about how you have a type?"

Toji pauses mid-sip, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

Sukuna smirks, the kind that makes Toji immediately regret acknowledging him. "That girl you were with last night? She could’ve passed as Y/N’s sister."

The statement is so absurd that Toji almost laughs. Almost. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, shaking his head. "Didn’t do anything with her. Wasn’t with anybody."

"Sure, sure," Sukuna drawls, clearly entertained. "Just crazy how you only let chicks that look like Y/N within a ten-foot radius of you—"

"Sukuna," Toji grits out, reaching for the bar again, "it’s five in the goddamn morning. I’m finishing this rep and then I’m out."

Sukuna snorts but doesn’t push further. He just leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, watching like he knows exactly what he’s done.

Toji ignores him. He doesn’t have a type. That’s bullshit. And it’s not like he’s been chasing after anyone, anyway.

Not since you.

Sure, there were opportunities. A lingering glance, an open invitation, a number slipped into his palm—but none of it ever went anywhere.

He’d tell himself he wasn’t interested, that he didn’t have the patience for it, but deep down, he knew better. Nothing ever felt right. Not after your relationship.

Sukuna’s words settle in his mind, impossible to ignore.

With each rep, his thoughts betray him, dragging up images—snapshots of you. The way your voice used to sharpen when you were annoyed. The way you always had something quick and cutting to say back to him. The way you—

His grip tightens on the bar, jaw clenching.

And then, before he can stop himself, the words slip out—

"Why has everyone been bringing up Y/N lately?"

A pause.

A fraction too long.

Toji doesn’t miss it.

Sukuna covers it up well, tilting his head in mock confusion. "Just a coincidence, man. I dunno."

But Toji knows a bullshit answer when he hears one.

And it’s not just Sukuna.

It’s Suguru, stiff as a board at the bar the other night, suddenly quiet whenever Toji spoke. It’s Satoru, casually dropping that he saw a woman who looked just like you. It’s the little things, insignificant on their own, but when pieced together…

Something doesn’t sit right.

It’s not suspicion. Not yet.

But it lingers, an itch at the back of his mind.

And for the first time in a long time, Toji finds himself thinking about you longer than he should.

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

Back at home, you sit in bed with your pajamas on, scrolling through your phone to try and distract yourself.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp casts a warm, golden hue over the cozy room, the faint scent of lavender lingers in the air from the candle you had blown out earlier, and the plush comforter is pulled up over your lap, cocooning you in warmth.

Behind you, a pile of pillows props you up against the headboard, their familiar softness a small comfort against the weight pressing down on your thoughts.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional hum of the air conditioner and the distant sound of cars passing outside.

Megumi is fast asleep after a long day of running around in the sun with his friend. A warm bubble bath and a home-cooked dinner had knocked him right out, and now he’s curled up in his own little bed, lost in whatever dreams a four-year-old has.

You, on the other hand, can’t sleep. Your heart is still racing, unsettled by the events of today.

You can’t stop replaying the moment Yuuji mentioned Toji—how Megumi had barely reacted. No curiosity, no interest, just a shrug, like the thought of his own father meant nothing to him. And that realization sits heavy in your chest.

Guilt.

Guilt gnaws at you—guilt that Megumi doesn’t even wonder about his father. Guilt that Toji hasn’t given him a reason to.

You exhale, your fingers pressing into your temple, trying to massage away the tension that’s been creeping up your neck all night. Just as you’re about to sink back into the quiet, the faint creak of your bedroom door cuts through the silence, making you glance up.

There, in the doorway, stands Megumi.

His small figure framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, his bright green eyes squinting sleepily as he stumbles toward you, his tiny feet padding softly against the floor.

Without a word, he climbs onto the bed, his movements sluggish and heavy with sleep.

His little body wiggles under the sheets until he's nestled beside you, looking almost comically small against the vast, cushioned expanse of your bed, the covers pooling around him like a blanket fort.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” you ask softly, brushing a hand through his tousled hair, your fingers lingering in the mess of it.

“I wanna sleep in your bed, Mama,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, thick with sleep as he curls himself into the pillow, his small hands gripping it tightly. His face, so peaceful and innocent, presses into the soft fabric, making him look even cuter than he already is.

You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest as he shuffles even closer. The weight of him, the slow rise and fall of his breaths, lulls you into a sense of peace. Maybe now you can finally relax, let go of the thoughts spinning in your head.

But then, just as you start to relax, his small, unsteady voice breaks the calm.

“I think my dad is stupid.”

Your heart stops for a moment, the words hanging in the air like a sudden chill. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and instinctively, you sit up straighter, facing him fully now.

“Megumi?!” you exclaim softly, your eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“Whoever my dad is, he’s a dummy,” he mumbles, his voice so matter-of-fact that it almost stings.

A rush of emotions floods you—confusion, concern, and something sharper that you can’t quite place.

“Megumi, what’s this all about?” you ask gently, trying to mask the tightness in your chest. “Don’t say such mean things.”

“A kid from class told me that since I don’t live with my dad, it means that he left us,” Megumi says quietly, curling into the pillow a little more, his tiny body pressed against yours. “So I think he’s a dummy.”

You search for the right words, but they feel impossible to find. What can you say? The kid wasn’t entirely wrong. Toji did leave you at least—he just didn’t realize he was walking away from Megumi as well.

You take a deep breath, ready to say something comforting, to try and ease the hurt in his little heart.

You want to tell him that Toji loved him, that even though things were messy, his father cared. But before you can get the words out, you feel the weight of Megumi's head settle further into your pillow. His small breaths are steady, slow, his tiny body already drifting back to sleep.

He murmurs again, barely audible. "Gnight Mama.”

You glance down at him, his eyelids fluttering as he drifts deeper into slumber, his hand still curled loosely around your wrist. You smile softly, a pang of something tender in your chest. It’s moments like this that remind you of how much he needed the quiet, the calm.

You don’t push him. You just let him be, letting the words hang in the space between you two, unsaid.

With a sigh, you reach over and switch off the bedside lamp, the room plunging into the soft embrace of darkness.

The only sound is the soft rustling of sheets as Megumi shuffles closer to you, his small body curling into yours with the kind of comfort only a child can seek. His little face nuzzles against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

For a moment, you think you might finally find the sleep you’ve been chasing all night. But the stillness in the room only heightens the weight in your chest, the tightness of unanswered questions.

Your thoughts keep drifting to Toji—the way his absence hung between you, even now, even here.

You can’t help but wonder if he ever thought about your failed relationship, if he ever truly understood what he’d left behind. Maybe not just you, but him—Megumi, the child who would never ask for a father but still had a place for one.

You try to push it out of your mind, focusing on the warm weight of Megumi against you, but it lingers.

You close your eyes, but sleep remains just out of reach.

[slxepybby]

Give and Take

pairing: shouma toriashi x fem!reader

summary: you're the granddaughter of of a very important informant in the kirigaya — with very big feelings for a certain yakuza member in osaka. after yoshino contacts you, you strike up deal with her that ends up with you in shouma's bed and his head between your legs.

warnings: NSFW 18+ (MDNI), smut, oral sex (f receiving)

wc: 3.0k

“Hello?” You pick up the phone without glancing at the Caller ID.

“Hello? It’s Yoshino!” A thick Osaka accent replies from the other line.

“Yoshino!” You exclaim, the corners of your mouth spreading into a large smile. “I’d recognize that voice anywhere! It’s been a while since you’ve called me!” 

You can hear some shuffling on the other side, “Sorry, I’ve just been a bit busy with school.”

“So?” You begin to question, you had a feeling she didn’t call you just to chat, “What do you want to know?”

The Nakamura family company was well-known in dealing with confidential information; from its distribution to investigation, there was nothing that your family didn’t know or couldn’t find out. However, due to the nature of the work, this also meant that your family walked around with a target on their back. So, to protect the company, everyone had to abide by a set of rules:

All information will only be given at a cost. 

We must always remain neutral.

Clientele must never know our true identity, all dealings must be done anonymously. 

Should one leave the company, and share any information from our records — action will be taken immediately.

“The Nakamura Company always knows”

Luckily for you, you weren’t part of the Nakamura company, simply the beloved granddaughter of Mr. Nakamura, a “simple” doting grandfather. 

“What do you know about Kirishima Miyama?”

“Oh,” you grin, “this doesn’t have anything to do about your grandfather arranging a marriage between you two does it?”

Yoshino lets out a weird noise, clearly taken aback by your statement, “How do you know about that?! I just found out like 20 minutes ago!” 

“Well, you know the family motto ‘The Nakamura Company always knows’” you tease. 

Yoshino sighs, “I should’ve known.”

“And you also know that I can’t just share information without getting anything in return.” You flip over onto your stomach as a way to get more comfortable. “My grandfather may dote on me, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let me share whatever I want.”

“Name your price,” she pauses before adding, “Although I have a feeling I know what you want.”

Your excitement shows itself as you giggle and kick your feet, “Please, please, please, convince Shouma to go on a date with me!”

Yoshino lets out an even louder sigh than last time, “I’m starting to remember why I stopped talking to you. You do know he can kill you right?”

“I’m well aware,” you say as you continue to kick your feet unconsciously, “Who knows, maybe I want him to kill me.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Yoshino sounds damn-near exhausted with your antics now.

“I’m also well aware!” You giggle again before continuing, “Anyways, not much is known about Kirishima, he’s handsome, charming, and also extremely dangerous. Were you looking for anything specific about him?”

Yoshino groans, “Literally anything more specific?”

You hum and try to comb your memory for anything specific, “Nothing’s coming to mind right now, I can always check the records in the office if you’d like, but that would cost way more than setting me up with a date.”

“You’re kinda useless you know that? Why did I even call you?” 

“Because you secretly missed me?”

“Wrong,” she shoots you down instantly.

“Just kidding! It’s because you don’t have the pocket money to pay for our actual services.”

“I wish I could strangle–”

You cut Yoshino off before she can finish, “When are you coming to Tokyo? I haven’t seen you after my family moved me out here! I can give you a little tour!”

“Well that wouldn’t be too bad,” Yoshino considered your proposal for a second, “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

“And about that date…” 

Yoshino groans, her energy clearly depleted, “I will ask, but I cannot promise anything longer than three hours, and I will most likely need to be there.”

“The more the merrier!” You chime, another sigh comes from the line and then there’s the sound of the call being dropped. 

Almost a year passed, and despite Yoshino saying she’d message you when she got to Tokyo, you have yet to receive a text from her. On top of this, there was also a record of Yoshino getting her kidney removed for 4 million yen. So, you thought to give your client a call back and also question her about the situation.

“Hello?” This deep voice was obviously not Yoshino’s.

You steeled yourself and replied with as monotone a voice you could muster, “Who is this?”

“[Y/N] Nakamura…” the voice said quietly, “Are you perhaps, the precious granddaughter of Mr. Nakamura?” Even though the voice was clearly amiable, there was something else under his tone. 

“I don’t really think that is any of your concern Kirishima, my business is with Yoshino and no one else.” 

You don’t know why, but you feel a chill run down your spine when the voice responds, “Anything with Yoshino is my business.” 

There was a loud noise on the line before a familiar Osaka accent greeted your ears, “[Y/N]! I completely forgot to message you! So what are you calling for?”

Despite the fact that Kirishima was nowhere in sight and no longer on the phone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. “... Is Kirishima still there?”

“Huh?” Yoshino said, clearly confused, “Kirishima? No, I just kicked him out for answering my phone.” 

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank god,” talking about your request in front of him would’ve been awkward.

It was like you could hear the cogs turning in her brain, “Your date!” She nearly blew up the speaker with how loud she yelled, “I’m so sorry, I’ve been so busy dealing with that asshole that I completely forgot to ask. Let me ask him right now and I promise I’ll text you by the end of day tomorrow.”

You smile as you reply, “I can’t wait for your message! I’m also waiting for that date that we are supposed to have in Tokyo.”

“Yes, yes,” Yoshino sighs, “I will also arrange a date for us to meet as well,” and with that Yoshino ended the call.

Fuck, you forgot to ask about the kidney surgey. 

You woke up to the sound of your phone blowing up. Through bleary eyes you try to read the name and you can barely make out the blurry outline that reads “Yoshino”. You shoot up from your bed, all the grogginess immediately leaving your body. 

[Yoshino]

7:50 am —  I’m so sorry for texting you so early, I’m not sure if you have college morning classes

7:50 am — Shouma’s such an ass, idk what you see in him. He refused to respond, but I told him you’d pay for his food (sorry) and he said that he will let you accompany him tomorrow as he runs errands 

7:51 am — I’ll beat his ass the next time I see him for being such an asshole. He said he’ll meet you at Kyoto station at 8 tonight. 

You could feel the excitement bubble up in your chest, and you immediately booked your ticket to Kyoto, almost forgetting to thank Yoshino.

[You]

7:55 am — You’re literally the best Yoshino

7:55 am — I would pay any amount of money for Shouma 

7:56 am —  Overnight date with Shouma?

Don’t blame me if he ends up 

You stop typing for a second, debating how much is too much, before you realize that your love for Shouma is something Yoshino is very familiar with. 

[You]

7:57 am — Don’t blame me if he ends up sucked dry lmao

Excited, you turned off your phone and started packing for your overnight trip. Your heart jumped with joy as you made your way onto the train, excited to see the cold-hearted man you’ve loved for ages. After the train ride, you hop off and scan the station for a familiar face. Your heart nearly leaps from your chest when you see a set of cold eyes glaring at you from the bench. Your smile grows even wider as you walk up to the familiar man. 

“Shouma,” you basically squeal, “I’ve missed you.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. He shoots you another hard glare and clicks his tongue, getting up from the bench and walking away. You gush at his cold demeanor, simply grabbing your bag strap tighter and following him. 

“So,” you start, once you two step out of the station, “are we going to your place?”

“Where’s Yoshino?” Shouma grunts, blatantly ignoring your question.

You giggle “I see, so that’s why you agreed to hang out with me, she told you she was going to be here.”

Shouma glances down at you and says nothing as you continue to walk.

“Come on, don’t be such a stranger, we’ve known each other for ages,” you pout. 

“I didn’t even know you two were still in contact,” Shouma states lazily.

You purse your lips in thought, “We hadn’t been for most of this school year. She only reached out because she wanted some information.”

“Oh?” Shouma feigns interest, “She should know better than to go to you for that. You’ve got nothing up here,” he says as he taps your head gently.

You smile teasingly, “Looks like someone’s cold exterior finally melted away.”

Shouma rolls his eyes, despite his efforts to ignore you, he’s not stupid enough to leave you by yourself. If anything happens to you, all shit would hit the fan for the Kirigaya and he knows you know this — he also knows you like to milk that fact for all you can get.

You’re looking around the city when Shouma stops in his tracks, causing you to bump into his back with a soft thud. He turns around and looks at you as you peer up at him with glassy eyes. 

“Fuck.” 

You smile knowingly, “I know, I know, this outfit makes me look good doesn’t it?”

Shouma grunts and you feel heat beginning to pool between your legs. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you. You give a playful twirl so he can see the back of the outfit as well before looking back at him, “I’m surprised you never told Yoshino about us.”

Shouma eyes you, “What’s there to tell?”

You sigh before continuing to walk, “You know, this whole charade. I like you, but you pretend to not have a soft spot for me. And don’t tell me you ‘don’t kiss and tell’ because I’ve heard all about the long line of girls throwing themselves at you.”

“Jealous?”

You stop walking and turn back to look at Shouma. Is he… smirking? You feel a blush run up from your neck to the tips of your ears. Your underwear is positively soaked through. If Shouma notices this, he doesn’t say anything, he simply shrugs and continues to stroll past you, leading you to his place. You try to find it in you to say something, but the words get caught in your throat, so you simply decide to follow him without another word.

You nearly trip as soon as you enter his place by the sheer force of Shouma tugging you around like a ragdoll. He clicks his tongue and carries you bridal-style to his bed. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. Seemingly unphased, Shouma quickly takes the lead when kissing you. His kisses taste like cigarettes and mint but you can’t help but want more of him. You pull yourself even closer trying to taste as much of him as he’ll allow — this seems to take him by surprise because his intensity falters, but you feel his grip on your leg and side tighten. Your kisses are wet and sloppy, but are filled with so much passion it almost makes you dizzy. When you get to the bedroom, he pulls away and unceremoniously drops you onto the bed. 

“You suck at kissing,” he says while wiping away the saliva on his lips.

“I don’t care,” you whine, “it’s not like I’ve got anyone else to kiss.”

There’s a glint in Shouma’s eyes as he takes it upon himself to kneel on the side of the bed and places your thighs on his shoulders. He pulls off your bottoms and stares at the wet mark on your underwear. He does an experimental swipe over your clit and listens as you whine. He continues to play with your hole over your underwear, almost as if he finds joy in seeing how wet he can make them. He tugs off your underwear and watches as your pussy glistens in the dim lighting. 

“Your pussy’s gotta be the prettiest one I’ve seen.” Shouma says as he uses his thumbs to spread your hole open.

You glance to look at him and his eyes are dark with desire and lust.

“What do I get for this?” Shouma looks at you as he leans his head on your thigh, peppering light kisses on it.

You let out a whine, “Fuck, you can get anything you want.”

“Anything?” He repeats sensually.

You feel as he trails more kisses along your thigh. Your eyes go wide as something soft and wet touches your clit and you let out a gasp, goosebumps shooting through your entire body. He continues to circle your clit with more pressure and every time he passes over the bundle of nerves you can’t help but see stars. You thread your fingers into this hair and pull him even closer, arching your back as you attempt to grind against his face. Shouma grunts, causing you to shiver, and he grips your thighs with more force. He continues to lick and suck on your clit and it feels harder to focus on anything else — you feel as your entire body slowly becomes intoxicated with Shouma Toriashi. The pleasure in your lower belly builds even more and it becomes hard for you to breathe. 

“Shouma,” you whine. 

He looks up at you, refusing to separate his tongue from between your legs.

“Can you put it in?”

Shouma grins against your legs, he’s never seen you this needy before and the arousal dripping out of you shows as much. He nips lightly on the side of your pussy and you jump at the sudden action. You watch with bated breath as Shouma moves to stand between your legs and wipes his mouth. 

“You’re needier than usual, missed me that much?” Shouma remarks and you nearly finish on the spot. 

“No,” you manage to say between short breaths. Obviously you missed him, but you couldn’t help but want to tease him a little.

Shouma frowns, places his thumb on your clit, and applies pressure — causing your body to involuntarily jolt from the pleasure. Shouma watches with amusement as your body attempts to wriggle away from his hand. With his other hand he grips your hip forcing you to still. He uses his thumb to circle your clit again and you feel as if you’re going to snap. Shouma groans as he watches your slick drip out of you and he uses a finger to swipe it up — only to use it to circle your clit once more.

“If you can’t be honest, how can I trust the information you give me? C’mon now, don’t be such a tease.”

You whine, feeling the pressure build more — every part of you tingling and screaming for release. You feel his tongue return to your bundle of nerves, but this time with more force than before. You instinctually attempt to close your legs at the sudden feeling, but Shouma continues to suck and lick, gripping your thighs to keep your legs pried open. There’s a small puddle that forms on the sheet underneath your pussy and you feel like the knot in your lower belly is going to explode. He then slowly moves his tongue from your clit to your hole, licking up whatever he can like a starved man. You moan and arch your back once more, feeling like your lower belly is about to burst. 

Then you briefly imagine Shouma shoving his cock into you. The stretch and burn of trying to adjust to him, the satisfaction of him reaching into your deepest part. Him thrusting into you and hitting that spot making it feel like you’re going to split in half with pleasure. There’s a deep pulsating sense of pleasure that runs through your body at that thought, and it’s enough to send you over the edge. The knot that Shouma so carefully wound and coiled came undone in seconds. You feel yourself spasm and you pull Shouma’s face closer into you as a way to steady yourself, but Shouma takes this as his chance to lap up what he can from your dripping hole. 

“Holy shit,” you hear him say from under his breath.

You can feel yourself blush in embarrassment. Shouma stands and looks at you with a hint of pride in his face, “That was faster than usual.” 

You blush even harder and turn over to hide your face into a pillow. Shouma grabs a tissue to wipe up the leftover fluid on his face before sitting down and wiping between your legs. 

You can’t help but feel a little disappointed over the lack of penetration. This wasn’t the first time Shouma’s helped you out, but you two have never gone all the way. Surprisingly, it was Shouma who refused your advances, and every other time it would play out similar to the last — you somehow manage to spend time with him, he ignores your romantic advances, but then you’re in bed, whining his name, with his head between your legs less than an hour later. It’s not like he only ate you out either, you’ve been tied up, blindfolded, edged, fingered, even spanked, but never once has he put his cock in.  

You peek up from the mattress and turn to see him looking at you, his face back to expressionless. It seems it was back to business for you two.

You hug the pillow to your chest as you turn to face him, “What do you want to know?” 

a/n: i honestly made this post for myself, but thought the rest of the world deserved more shouma fics— literally NO ONE writes for him :( i might make a part 2? depends on how i feel tbh. i also think it's superr embarrassing that my first post on here is smut???

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[disregardcanon]

a few ways others influenced how Billy manifested "The Road"

the conversation about "taming your fears" and then "trials" and agatha claiming that they would face a trial for "each skill" shapes not only the setup as A Series of Four Trials, but also the emphasis on PERSONAL GROWTH. Billy ends up focusing in on what he knows about these different women whose minds he can read and who he keeps getting to know more and more as they go around

"i thought this would be obvious, but we should stay on the road" and then teen adding "I STRAY NOT FROM THE PATH!" happily like a student eagerly raising their hand in class. and then agatha is able to say "hello yes favorite student PLEASE make our situation go by what happens in the song i made up with my son. if you believe it then that'll become our reality! yay!"

agatha keeps asserting that billy is the familiar because oh boy! if he doesn't think of himself as Part of the Coven in the same way maybe his brain won't turn on him and get us all killed! yay!

For the first trial, Jennifer says that she "looks like one of her customers", and her business and clientele are BOTH something that Billy is familiar with. From the different versions of the Ballad, he already considers Personal Trauma to be something that's confronted on the Road, so of course he subconsciously chose something that created traumatic hallucinations, and then Agatha is still figuring out How This Thing That Shouldn't Be Is Going to Work so of COURSE she's reticent to drink the weird ominous now surely poisoned wine. she knows that the road isn't a real, cosmic entity that has set rules the way that others think. she fights against the idea that they all have to drink because if she had convinced billy that they didn't... she wouldn't have to! but with the combination of his preconceptions and the rest of the coven, who thinks that this is One Hundred Percent Real... he stays set on the idea that them, the Coven Members, all have to drink.

agatha stops fighting for HEY NO WE DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS as soon as billy decides if she doesn't, he will. she doesn't want to die for this, but she's also not stupid enough to have The Kid That Almost Definitely Is Making This Happen drink the wine instead of her. it actually IS better for her to be incapacitated and them have a chance to get out than to poison the kid who's clearly Doing The Magic Here,

For the second trial, Billy has some information from Alice about how her situation with her mom went via Being Right By Her During Her Hallucination and Alice Telling Him Things. from the hallucination: we get lorna playing with the cigarette lighter, saying she could feel alice's grandmother die thousands of miles away, smoke, and "I CAN'T PROTECT YOU!" he was right outside the door, where i'm sure he could hear her thoughts. this gives him enough to clearly connect Alice with fire in his mind. the rest of the trial was just... him knowing that alice has issues with her mother and her mother's version of the ballad, and creating a circumstance where she'd work through that issue. he really lucked into it being a protection spell for a proper generational curse.

other bits of trial number two: "seriously, we're an album cover waiting to happen!" teen exclaims. the walls of assorted Bad Things That Happen to Witches and then lorna wu merchandise.

he doesn't actually know nearly as much about agatha as the others, because he can't read agatha's mind. i think that the ouija board trial was the first one where his brain was just "huh, okay... what are the vibes of talking to spirits?" lilia establishes that spirit magic can't be hers because it was a con and establishes herself as divination for later, and then RIO is the one that makes it agatha's. i haven't totally figured out why, though. or what his subconscious had in mind for what "passing" the trial would look like. evanora and nicky were definitely the real ghosts pulled in with the help of the ouija board, but the reasoning behind it is a lot less... clear to me than the others.

the outside of the road was treacherous enough to keep sharon inside, but it didn't kill him and i don't think that it would have. the goal of that subconscious bit of magic was a fence, vs the subconscious use of the Trials, which according to the ballad, being used to construct it, COULD be deadly. (if one be gone we carry on, spirit as our guide). then of course when agatha, lilia and jen got sucked under it, despite how angry he was... it was a conscious enough use of magic and he didn't ACTUALLY want them dead.

the divination trial was pretty clearly set up in his brain for lilia. the tarot, the old timey european aesthetic of the set, and then the different witch costumes assigned to different witches to represent how he views them. it also makes sense that they couldn't figure out how to "pass it" before lilia got there because neither billy nor agatha are very good at tarot and they were just sniping at each other about how to do it, vs lilia who divined her whole life and was able to use the power boost billy's powers gave her to go out with a bang.

the green trial, i think, was a desperate last moment brain attempt to just shove them in a room and get results. the aesthetic was Scary Morgue because he finally had rio/death to slot into the green witch part of his brain. the idea, then, became Give the Survivors What They Came For, then they can leave. they got jen unbound and she got to disappear. agatha guided him through getting tommy a body and then he got to disappear, and then his brain kept agatha there until she was able to get at her own reason for being on the road: starting anew. then it let them all out.

[upthewitchypunx]

Congratulations on 13 years !! (Sings happy birthday badly) any advice on how not to get discouraged when starting a business ? I'm trying so hard with the marketing and still not getting sales I'm determined to keep trying but would love to know what it's like on the other side of feeling like something won't take off.

No obligation to answer I know its a weird ask xxx

Start small and grow from there. Always be true to yourself and people will see it. I've been self employed for over 25 years in varying capacities and I've found that being authentic is important, but don't feel you have to bare everything, keep some stuff for yourself or you will burn out and/or feel exposed in an uncomfortable way. So, who are you in your business and how can you safely and comfortably put your personality in your marketing and promotion. Actually, I hate the promotion part so much, but it is important. I learned through trial and error about what my "public" face is and what is genuinely me, but also not overexposing myself.

Here's an example I struggle with. Our primary business is making custom pinback buttons. That's what pays the bills as we have a lot of repeat clients. Some are bands and artist, but we also have corporate accounts and accounts with universities, health care organizations, and non-profits. Coming from a punk background I struggle with the corporate speak and expectations so I have had to familiarize myself with things like "purchase orders" and "net-30" and keeping a W-2 on hand so I can offer it to organizations that need that sort of formality. I need to show that I am familiar with expectations, but also want to be authentically me. We make buttons for local school robotics teams and people in the cannabis industry. We print invoices on the backs of button test prints so I have to do things like make sure I'm not printing the invoice for someone running for High School president on the back of a test print for a kink fest.

I feel like I juggle a lot of stuff. Our custom button clientele and our books and zine customers rarely overlap, especially on the same order. Does it freak out a church if they come to our site and want to order buttons but see all these books on witchcraft and scrappy zines they don't understand? Maybe, but that's just a choice I have to be comfortable with. Every choice your make should reflect your own ethics and values.

I just looked at your website and your photography is really lovely. Forgive me if this is too American of me, but I'm not seeing a lot of you in the promotion. I've had enough friends in a variety of places in the UK and know enough about how it can be hard to be open and/or uncomfortable to expose yourself. But i think you can be both playful and professional. You don't have to let your photography be the only thing people are interested in, they are also investing in you. They are existing in the skills your have learned, but also those you will learn in the future. Who are you and why should they care? Show them that. Also, personally, I always love when people name their photographs something silly and memorable and not just what you see in the shot. It's another way to show your personality.

Some more thoughts would do vending events and also check in local shops and figure our some cello packaging to sell your greeting cards. Also consider making packages of multiple cards to sell together.

Not sure if any of that is helpful for you.

[ajastor]

ORIGINS OF KHÀOS

AJ: u know i think we could make this shitpit of a city a lot less shit AJ: i was thinking bout that time in ronnie scotts and u literally nearly took a guys head off for being too tall and walking in front of the sax player or smth. it was so stupid. AJ: not that im saying we should take heads off bc that’s just messy af. but sexy sax and cocky t’s was kinda sick. didn’t we almost buy the place then? AJ: we should do it. get a place a little more magic friendly. but u can’t kill people bc that’s not how u make friends in clubs frank, u want things long term to play with, u gotta look after them so they come back. 20s, jazz, the elites. does this place even have any for the market? AJ: doesn’t matter i’ll get mike jordan on it bc he’d love this shit and i think ive got herbies digits somewhere to do pr of whatever. maybe see who’s around to cut the ribbon. i’ll call some guys. AJ: 🫶🏾 Frankie: wdym i cant kill people aj???? Frankie: and fyi it’s not killing babe it’s like giving them a second chance at life Frankie: i’m like a hot jesus Frankie: anyways what were you saying about a club??? our own C L U B???? 💸💸💸💸🤩🤩🤩🤩 AJ: u know what that means AJ: ye well whatever u wanna call it love its messy and gets rid of the clientele. u like having people around so don’t fuck it up AJ: we are not calling it hot jesus if thats what ur saying AJ: fuckin hell frank ur not usually this slow, yes a club but don’t get weird about it bc i heard u got fired at the last one ?? Frankie: its not messy when i do it its hot 🥵🥵🥵🥵 Frankie: im hangover stop yelling at me u rudeeeee boy Frankie: how do u even know about this did mommy tell u AJ: u wanna be dancing in an empty club? u would cry bout it and id have to hear it AJ: how have u got a hangover u have been dead forever babe. AJ: and i don’t hang with the french even on a good day. no mum’s. i did some looking around when i was coming up with this idea twenty mins ago. and guess who ain’t on the roster for a night shift ?? oh yeh, frank. AJ: not even surprised. ur gonna do better with this though, no heads off like ronnie scotts, no bodies on the dance floor like anywhere else. we’re cultured, we have rooms for that. AJ: ur fucking hard work frankenfurt Frankie: im not explaining how this works to you, magic boy has magic so figure it out cheri Frankie: my boss is ridiculous, just because i played a little naked tennis with a few heads while she was away like im sorry???? its who i am???? why do u want me to be someone else???? what happened to authenticity aj?? babe i hate this place 😭😭😭😭 Frankie: can we get cages for the dancers? AJ: what did you use for a net? AJ: we need cages for the dancers to protect them from ur feral ass AJ: im taking this as a yes on the club 😘 Frankie: u don’t wanna know Frankie: just say you love me Frankie: Y E S very big yes like neon sign YES pink and cool um what about a name? AJ: ur not naming anything Frankie: pardonne moi??? AJ: BLOCKED. Frankie: idk im thinking something cooler like we can keep the giant letters but make it GOLDEN or PASSION or??? AJ: u acc never cease to amaze me, frankenfurt. u are a special kind. Frankie: you wanna take our clothes off again?? 😘😘🍑🍆💦💦🩸🩸🥵 AJ: love, if ur thinking about me this much, we really have to sort u out something. bc ur a terrible kisser. sorry not sorry.🫶🏾 AJ: anyways, go dj or whatever and come back to me when u have some business input aight babe. 😘 Frankie: WHAT?? i am not a terrible kisser!! and you know that u dirty dirty liar! Frankie: my business input is im pretty n rich and can compel myself another best friend bye AJ: ur all teeth and it’s pretty grim. but u are hot with ur clothes off so thats why i think it lasted as long as it did.✊🏿 AJ: bye babe. see you at the club. ❤️‍🔥

@frnoialles

[mephinomaly]

[TL] BIOHAZARD/Chapter 1

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Season: Winter

Time: Flashback. Middle of February, the first year of ES’s establishment

Location: RhythmLink Office

Rei: This is a grave set of circumstances.

Recently, there has been a considerable loss of UNDEAD fans.

Though we have been on the decline for some time, now the numbers are showing that too. In the number of people attending our lives, CD sales, merch items, and many more.

Kaoru: Eh, really?

That’s surprising~... From my personal experience, I feel like since Yumenosaki fans still get all excited at fan sign events and stuff.

I don’t think we’re losing customers per say, more that our clientele is changing, right? Now in ES, we take part in a lot of variety shows that even kids can enjoy.

Kids have to make do with allowance their parents give them, they can’t exactly fork out a bunch to buy live tickets and CDs—

So if you look at the overall, it just looks like sales are going down, right?

Koga: Eeh, even though you’re stupid rich, you still get how the average person lives.

Kaoru: Hey, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. My parents are pretty strict, you know.

Adonis: Fufu. The reality is, we’ve been in the business so long we’ve become numb to it.

If you are a child, the price for live tickets is most likely far too expensive for them.

If you pester your parents over it, they’ll just become more and more firm in their decision.

Kaoru: Yupyup. They’ll be like “I’m not buying you silly things like that, just google a picture of them!”

Adonis: Is that what your parents said to you?

Kaoru: Not those words exactly, but pretty much, yeah. When I told them I wanted to go to an idol training school, they gave me a lot of flak for it.

Rei: We’ve strayed a little off topic but- whilst what Kaoru-kun said is true, we cannot ignore that sales are floundering.

To put it bluntly, the current UNDEAD is on the wane.

Koga: That’s exactly why I was against it! Goin’ on those lively variety shows don’t suit our personas at all!

Wish we’d just stuck to making cool music ‘cos maybe then—

Adonis: But if that was the case, UNDEAD would have been overthrown at an earlier point for being idols that aren’t current nor can read the room.

No, it’s more than that, it’s because our senpais purposefully signed up for a variety show that would make Oogami seem like an idiot.

Rei: It is more that we simply wanted to do that work, that’s all. As Koga quite rightly said, we are responsible for the situation we are in.

Koga: D-damn. It’s pretty weird for you to be so upfront ‘bout your faults.

Rei: Well, there’s no use being obtuse about it. No matter what shameful behaviour I get up to nowadays, no-one will grow to hate me…♪

Kaoru: Ahaha. I normally hate that kind of arrogance~, but since it’s true it pisses me off even more ♪

There’s been times in the past where you’ve immediately gone “that’s my responsibility”. If there’s a problem with UNDEAD, it’s a problem for all of us. Don’t try to deal with it all on your own, ‘kay?

Adonis: I agree. There are times where Sakuma-senpai acts like that. But we are not children who cannot undertake responsibility.

Koga: Yeah yeah, whenever you pull shit like that it makes me seriously pissed~♪

Rei:Oh? So what I'm hearing is that you all hate me more than I thought you did...?

Kaoru: We’re lecturing you because we like you. If we hated you, we’d just ignore you.

Rei: Hm… Anyhow, to return to what we were talking about, the cause of this whole thing is because we were not clear in our attitude.

UNDEAD was originally a unit that sang exclusively about immoral and radical themes via rock ‘n roll.

However as of late, we have been taking part in variety programs that emphasise friendliness which goes in opposition to our true nature.

We’ve created an environment where people say “Oh? UNDEAD looks scary to approach but they're actually surprisingly easy to talk to?”

But because of that sort of work we’ve been able to expand our clientele…

Those who have loved UNDEAD since the beginning are probably feeling disillusioned.

Koga: Ain’t we got our priorities twisted? We shoulda payed more attention to the so-called hardcore fans.

-And not the new “oooh so cute” new fans who think they know us just from watchin’ those variety shows.

Rei: Well, both are just as important as the other.

Of course we must treasure those fans who have been with us since the beginning, however if we do not gain new fans, their interest will fizzle out like sparklers.

That is how it goes in the idol industry, nay, in all of the entertainment industry.

It’s not as simple as, if you work as hard as you can, you’ll succeed and everyone will love you for eternity.

[ ☆ ]

Prologue

Chapter 2

[wolpatinga]

hi. i went to business school (ik, ik, i did it to know my enemy)

and the whole concept is just.... so irritating to me. i need to yap about it

alright. so. management class. senior year of uni, in my case

there's this idea that they have in business school that seems FUCKING BIZARRE to me, which was, "assume your business will be disney/google/amazon/nvidia/walmart/cocacola etc etc". i think they were doing this on the off chance someone from our class was trying to get hired at one of those mammoths that are actively eating the planet

but like. most people *don't* get into those sorts of businesses, especially in a management position. sure, if you look at alums of my school, a good chunk of them do end up there, but that's a good chunk proportional to business schools, and so on and so forth

and management classes are cultlike, and they're invasive. i was an engineering student, and because i was high up enough in my class gradewise, i was brought into a special program to be given tutoring in marketing and management. fuck, since i was like, eight i've been pulled into these management classes

and not because my parents were somebodies with connections. its just this bizarre system of so many activities for young kids being business focused. fucking FBLA and the engineering competitions i've done where you get a lecture about management and business and how to select team members and from like, age eight i've been drafted into these sorts of classes

and it ALWAYS starts with "figure out your personality types!" which, if you've been around here long enough, you should know those are complete BS and everyone has traits of all personality types you can come up with and it depends on the situations people are in and their familiarity with their environment and their current physical state etc. etc

and then continues on to jack off to peak efficiency and talk about how as a manager you need to manage personality types, and the only way to really find out what someone is like is to see them in a disaster scenario

so the whole concept of those job interview questions which are about putting you in a situation where you're about to die or whatever and asking what you do then, its part of the weird mystic bullshit that the massive companies came up with to justify hiring practices. if they give you a nonsense scenario, it might help you find the "unicorn" (actual HR term that means the magic candidate you've dreamed about), and gives you excuses to dismiss people on vibes

cause its like. hr "experts" want there to be only unicorns. they teach management as if you will have a team of unicorns, some well meaning but lazy people, and the secret people who pretend to be competent in interviews and need to be fired and killed asap. their advice for that last category is quite literally, "tell the person they suck ass and that they have two months to shape up or ship out", and to have no mercy

jesus christ the amount of management classes where i've been told to sacrifice everyone for the product. sacrifice weekends for the product. sacrifice everything to the product. to your *clientele*. "don't you know, eventually these goods always end up helping the everyday people you care about! so if you follow our advice and remove the chaff from the wheat, you too can turn your etsy shop into gucci!"

and the pressure of all of it that "why *wouldn't* you want to run your small time production like the navy? why don't you want to make an IPO and have a million chains and dominate the planet?". the fact that these lessons started when i was still learning how to add, of me being in a silly theater competition, being told "if your teammate isn't being helpful, come tell the coach and we'll find you a new teammate!"

the idea that this spans into people trying to be hired for minimum wage jobs, having to lie about their values all being company oriented and buying into the brand, because someone somewhere thought that if they were gonna hire a new c-suite exec, they should find someone who is willing to do anything for product, and through a fucked up game of telephone thru hiring practices, to top marketing schools, to general business advice...

i am so fucking sick of it. i hate being in a classroom at my age being told the same lessons i was as a little kid, not because i don't know them, but to remind me to rat out and get fired any coworker who cannot be at 110% for 60 hrs a week, 50 weeks a year

i hate all of it. i hate that i was groomed for this. i hate that that's how you get into a comfortable life, is this fucked up lottery. i hate the suffering and i hate how blase my coworkers are to it and i hate efficiency

oh my fucking god i hate efficiency. i hate being told "uh, can you entirely rework your design, i had to click twice to do the thing i want to do and i should only have to click one button actually" and "i had to wait thirty whole seconds for several millions of calculations to be done, can you make it faster please?"

who the fuck are these people. where do they come from. how can they possibly think like this

[fuck-customers]

where the fuck do clients get off telling me i'm wrong about something they don't know shit about? do they think i care enough about them to lie to them? why would i intentionally misrepresent something that LITERALLY has no effect on me or them or anything at all? i.e. "your order has two programs, which are both paid for, but it looks like one of these programs is waitlisted & doesn't require payment. would you like me to refund that?" "no. you're lying to me. i've only paid for one program on that order, but [x system] took my payment twice for that one program." ...doesn't matter. literally doesn't make a difference where the payment went. whether it was on overpayment for one thing or a payment that wasn't due, doesn't. fucking. matter. i'm literally just trying to get the money back to you so you'll fuck off. you'd think the second you say you'll refund something, people would be frothing at the mouth & not give a shit was the refund is for, especially considering the programs we run are relatively significantly expensive (talking $500+ minimum). or how about the time someone told me i was lying to them about a certain program being full. like girl just because you don't clear your cache & cookies so you're looking at an old version of the registration page doesn't mean we still have availability. try to register and see what happens. i'm not trying to make your life worse, if you'd stop screaming about how i'm a piece of shit who wants nothing but the worst for your nasty kid maybe you'd be able to hear me offering alternatives. some of our clientele is so incredibly distrustful & takes every little thing in such bad faith that i wonder how they live their day to day lives without some form of intense paranoia. can't even tell someone to have a nice day without getting an "....uh, ok," in return. it's weird, man. i love my job because of the good we do for our community (public education/psych/child dev nonprofit w/programs for individuals, families, etc) but some of these fucking people, especially the parents we deal with, just truly believe everything we do is money-grubbing and/or that we're out to get them. idgi. go touch grass. i don't care about you or your family enough to want to make your life miserable.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[dubiousduskwight]

Day 21: Shade

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rorogino lied, leaning back in his chair in his new studio and hoping the Blades wouldn’t feel a need to check his back room. “Caravan ambushed on the road to Gridania. I get that. Wagon destroyed in a pit trap, lots of cargo lost, I get that. But a painting of a pit trap made it appear?” He folded his arms, rolled his eyes, and did everything he could to look disinterested while picturing what it would look like if an anvil fell on the guard’s head.

Wishing it to be so didn’t cause it to manifest, and the Blade remained resolute. “That is what the leader said when they tried to hawk the wares to one of our fences, yes,” she continued, looking about what Gino refused to call his atelier with the disinterested curiosity of the suspicious. “It does seem far-fetched.”

After having to leave his previous residence in a great hurry due to unforeseen circumstances involving his clientele, he hadn’t had time to unpack and really make the space his own, so it had the appearance of the residence of every young Sharlayan man living alone in the Studium dormitories for the first time: Bed and candles on the floor, crates to be unpacked later put haphazardly in corners, and care and attention in placement given only to his easel, worktable, and chair, which caught the light of the Horizon aetheryte through the window and cast a brilliant sparkle against his canvas at the start of the day. It helped motivate him when he needed to escape the consequences of his actions in haste.

“Well there you go,” he said, doing his best to repay disinterest in kind and putter about with his paints. He figured he could at least get his pallette and brush in hand if things went south. Pity if it did, the rent was cheaper out in Horizon even if it happened to be the one town in Thanalan with an honest contingent of Brass Blades. “Rubbish. I paint landscapes and portraiture for hire. You want somebody painted, come see me, but I don’t know about pits.”

“I did come see you, actually,” said the Blade, taking off her helmet and shaking out short, choppily-cut red hair. Gino didn’t recognize her, but he gathered this was supposed to make a point somehow. “At your old address. Surprised to find it had partially burnt, though. It was lucky that the landlord knew where your post was being forwarded.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, that guy, I mean, he was good with the mail but he was bad at, you know, not starting fires in public and private places where he really shouldn’t just to watch them burn. No idea why he broke into my place to do it, just glad nobody was hurt.” The number of anvils he wanted to drop expanded. Curse Ma for demanding a forwarding address for her posts.

“Except for the three bodies found in the apartment, you mean.” She added this with a light tone, as if to be helpful.

“That could mean anything, for all we know those bodies were dead when they walked in, but I always knew the landlord started fires using weird ingredients. Guess thaumaturges have the right idea with all those fire spells, people burn well, you - “ There was a cough from the back room. Gino promptly doubled over in a longer, louder coughing fit. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just really broken up about it, lost a lot of supplies because of that whole thing. Put me way behind on my schedule.” “Well, we did at least identify one of the bodies,” said the Blade, ambulating in a menacing way around the crates in the corners. She hovered her hand over one of them, but never touched it. “Belonged to somebody in a cactuar fighting ring. Checked up on the kin, and they said he had also gone to you about a painting. Something to do with portraying, what was the word - “ She paused, as if to recall. “Septillion Needles? Something about prepping for an upcoming match and wanting an edge.”

Gino’s laughter was forced and shrill as he shrugged in exaggerated confusion. “What even is septillion? I can’t count that high.” He really couldn’t, and how he was supposed to fit that many tiny lines onto one cactuar drawing? It wasn’t his fault the guy didn’t like the no refunds policy. “Okay, listen, Officer, ah - “ “Sergeant Greaves,” she said, looking behind Rorogino to the door behind him. “What’s back there, anyway?” “The shitebucket, obviously. Sergeant Greaves. These are all weird coincidences, and look, yes, I can paint real well, if I say so myself. Yeah, some might call it ‘magic’.” He threw up quotes with his fingers and rolled his eyes again. “But I’m just providing a normal service, the kind of work the folks in Ul’dah deserve. I think if you checked my paintings, you’d see that.” He grabbed a cloth from his worktable and dabbed sweat from his forehead. “Hot as the hells out here. Thought it was cooler in the city, somehow. You familiar with that?”

“No, it’s just Thanalan. Hotter day than usual. You get used to it.” She gave Gino a level expression, her light blue eyes piercing. He would have painted that part of her, but not the rest. Probably composite it onto another model. “Well, I just had to follow up this lead,” she said, putting her helmet back on. “But if you do get anybody asking you to, I don’t know, use some strange iteration of a re-emerging magical art to commit some crimes against the Syndicate, just let us know.”

Keep it petty, don’t swive with the big money. The message was received. “You got it, Sergeant. Keep up the good work, love the eyes by the way, you seeing anyone?” He gave her no chance to answer as he hustled her to the door to his flat. He kept his eyes closed and ears open, waiting until he could no longer hear footsteps going down the stairs. Then he waited a ten count. He waited another ten.

Once he was sure she was actually gone, he stomped over to his bathroom door, forced it open, and started striking the occupant with the tip of his brush. “What was that? What was that cough?! You want to get us both busted? Worst godsdamn timing for a handoff, I swear if Thaliak ever lets me know you led her here then you’re going in the sketchbook, you hear me?!”

[tobiasdrake]

So that job was a dud. We did keep the 100k, right? He said he was paying it up-front so I have to assume Yakou already collected it.

I can't stop marveling at that gorgeous sky over Kanai Ward. I never thought I'd miss something so ordinary as the sky but after a full game spent in the rains of the Mind-Cleansing Bath, being able to see a moon occupying a starry sky above this city is breathtaking.

I hope ghost/homunculus lady can heal this city so its denizens can see this some day.

Yakou's saying farewell to his office. Don't worry, man. You get to keep visiting the rooftop, at least. This rooftop becomes the hippest hangout spot in Kanai Ward.

Aww, she came back. Makes sense. A man's trying to kill her, after all. Who's she going to go to? The Peacekeepers? She's smarter than that.

._. There goes our 100k consolation prize. Even though Yakou was visibly not the aggressor there. The man pulled a gun!

That's okay. Five years from now, Fubuki will drown half of their clientele so we get the last laugh in the end.

To be fair, as frustrated as Yakou is, she's done nothing wrong. Aside from the weird contradictory writing bit earlier, anyway. She didn't want to go see the sketchy guy, which turned out to be a good call 'cause he tried to murder her.

Aww, she came because she's interested in you, Yakou!

Note to writers: This is fine.

"Why does Character do the thing?" "Because it's what he enjoys doing."

That is absolutely a suitable enough backstory. Not everything needs a complex and traumatic explanation. Sometimes characters just like doing things.

Of course, Yakou will obtain a traumatic and complex backstory. He is, in fact, speaking with his traumatic and complex backstory right now. But my point is that he's still engaging enough even without it.

OH MY GOD

OH MY GOD

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YES HAHAHAHA

That completely blindsided me in a good way. I love it. They're old, estranged childhood friends and Yakou didn't even know it.

This relationship development is so good.

...

The badge has "Nocturnal Detective Agency" written on it. Nocturnal Detective Agency was the name Yakou came up with as a little boy for the operation he wanted to some day run. T_T

He won't live to see that dream come true but his homunculus, at least, will get to Play Detective with some of the most brilliant experts from across the world. This is filling me with all of the feels.

This is so sweet. It's so sweet. This is the best ship in the game. Hands down.

Look at that face. He's beaten to hell and he barely knows this woman, even if they are childhood friends. He'd have to be out of his mind to accept the deal.

Of course he'll do it! He'd betray every unnecessarily gendered chat he ever had with Yuma about women and a man's duty and such if he didn't.

You can feel how good these two were together. This is what building up a ship can be like when you just sit back and let it bake rather than shilling it at every opportunity.

And the fact that she hired him to be her bodyguard is such a twist of the knife too. Like. It already made sense that her death haunted him for so long that it ultimately drove him to revenge. But that extra layer adds even more dramatic spice to it. She didn't just die. He failed in his duty, in an actual terms-on-paper contractual duty and not just, like, "A man's duty to protect his woman".

It wasn't just spiritually his job to make sure this didn't happen to her because Gender Stuff. I mean, to him, it was, but it wasn't just that. It was. Also. Literally. His actual job.

[fearedloathingrp]

redemption.

“Excellent work as always, Chester.”

Of course it was excellent fucking work, I was holding the pen.

“Stay, have a drink, it’s on my tab. You’ve earned it this week.”

I’ll definitely have a drink. Top shelf. A reward for all the energy I expend keeping you in a job you pencil-pushing-waste of-

“Charles, it’s been a pleasure.”

I quiet the dissenting voice, the one that would spill over the sides if I weren’t so well-practised in holding my silver-edged tongue between my teeth. I grip his hand ever-so-tightly, the warm smile not out of fondness or friendship, but as a reminder that, aside from job title and salary, I am every bit superior to this little weasel in front of me. 

“I might take you up on that drink, you know. Enjoy the Hamptons this weekend, by the way.”

I sure hope one of your little hellspawns doesn’t fall off the boat and drown, I didn’t add. I’m not sure I meant it, after all, and one thing I would never lower myself to being was disingenuous.

This…it seemed…had been a testing week. I hadn’t been quite so boiled up with rage like this since…well.

Her.

As I brush the pad of my thumb over the base of my finger, I can still feel the dent of the ring that once occupied it.

The same dent that drew narrowing eyes from women in bars, some as classy an establishment as this, some not…as if I’d hurriedly pulled it off and stuffed it into my pocket before making my approach.

Ha. It turned out I got more attention with the band around my finger, as if I was some kind of challenge, to see if I could be unfaithful to the woman I'd decreed ‘until death do us part’

Some kind of weird power trip, no doubt, as if their sheer beauty and charm would be enough made them some kind of temptress, but it had always been interesting playing that game, at least for a while. At least…until I got what I wanted out of it. 

The used, becoming the user, if you will.

Instead, I’m sporting the mark of what I once was, it appeared I was either an aspiring cheat, or a failure of a husband, before I even opened my mouth to utter a word.

They were right, of course - At one point I was both. At the same time.

“Can I get you anything?”

The voice from behind me gave me a start, entirely distracted with the removal of a little of the leftover rich butter sauce from the corner of my mouth.

“Laphroaig 32, if you have it.”

“Double?”

“Well, as it's Charlie's round, why not?”

That'll be $260, plus tip, I reckon. There for thereabouts. Unfortunately, a mere dram-sized drop in the ocean to a man who orders us wagyu steak and lobster for our weekly data meeting. He wouldn't even feel the blow, one of my many silent fuck you's that went unnoticed. 

In recent years, I've made a career out of helping the rich get richer. Dirty work, but far from the filth I had to crawl through in the early days, just to keep my belly somewhat full, and with the upside? It afforded me the lifestyle of eating like royalty, dressing like the second coming of fucking Versace, and upgraded the roof over my head into the swanky penthouse in Manhattan.

A far cry from my friends couch in a trailer park. Would I change what I went through? Fuck no…but one unfortunate side-effect? I was maybe a little too willing to indulge in the finer things in life, in case they happened to suddenly go ‘poof’ and disappear.

“Here you go.” 

“Thanks. You're new around here, aren't you?”

“I started last week. I'm Chloe. Can I get you anything else Mister…?” 

“Hamilton. Chester Hamilton.”

“May I call you Chester?”

“No.”

The abrupt coldness seemed to stop the young girl in her tracks. At that moment, she no doubt figured, I would be the kind of clientele who she would serve, exchange the very minimum of conversation with, and hope I was the kind of big spender who tipped well for being left alone. As I brought the glass up to my nose, hit with the complex scent of Christmas cake and caramelised brown sugar, I was showing no real haste to consider the conversation, either.

I waited.

I waited until the awkwardness of the silence weighed heavy.

I waited, until I could sense the twitching of muscle fibres, of an uncomfortable young girl, seeking to exit stage right.

“Are you from around here, Chloe?”

I could practically hear the gulp, the girl’s breath catching in her throat. Maybe it was because I was suddenly taking an interest in her. More likely, just relief, that I’d cut the tension.

“I’m staying with a friend in Parkchester. I’m studying at the AADA…sorry…American Academy for the Dramatic Arts…I shouldn’t expect you to know where that is…”

My eyebrow raised, just a little, at the mention. Studying to become an actress, staying with a friend in one of the most affordable neighbourhoods in New York City, but working in one of the most revered of establishments in the financial district? Someone who, perhaps, had a connection or two.

“I’m in the Ellery. Do you know it?”

I studied her face as I spoke the words. A hint of recognition, the slightest crease of a smile, a face resisting the urge to light up.

Someone with a connection or two, who knew the name of where some of the most exclusive penthouses in the city could be found…a far cry away from the part of town where she’d chosen to rest her head. 

“I’ve heard of it. Do you like it there?”

“Very much so. I’m going to tab out, thank you Chloe.”

“Uhh…sure…no problem Mr. Hamilton, I’ll bring you your check.”

I didn’t need to look back to know what was coming next. The little glance back in my direction, as little Chloe scurried away to settle up our tab. That gave me a few moments of quiet contemplation.

My hand scratched against a beard that was a day or two overdue a trim, fingers brushing away at tired eyes. I was exhausted, frustrated, craving some kind of release. If I didn’t tread carefully, I’d fall back into old patterns, let the dark, intrusive thoughts take over, cloud my judgement, drive my actions, push me back to that place…the one where I’d already lost everything once.

At least I was able to recognise it, stop the slide.

Scooping the glass back up, I knocked the liquid back in one. Now don’t get me wrong, Laphroaig 32 is not the kind of tipple you slam back a double shot of, without a second thought. It’s a complex blend of flavours, dark chocolate into nutmeg, before all 32 years of that time sitting in oak smacks you in the face on the finish. A fine spirit, of exceptional quality. 

And far more expensive than any rum, which was my preferred drink of choice.

I became an expert in the finer things in life - High fashion, Scotch whiskey, Swiss timepieces, vintage wine…for little more than talking points at networking events.

I don’t belong in this world. I learned to exist in it, for little more than my own survival.

Whatever the cost.

A small leather wallet appears at my elbow. The faintest of smiles from the girl as she swoops my glass away and disappears.

Freeing my wallet from the confines of my suit pocket…light tan Italian leather, I scoop out around 200 dollars in notes, I don’t bother to count them, and slip it into the folder, taking the pen that falls out in hand. From the same wallet, I retrieve a business card, the words Chester Hamilton, Chief Financial Officer embossed into the heavyweight cardstock. 

SUITE 212.

I slip it into the folder, muddled in with the wad of bills, before snapping it shut.

It seems to be in human nature to look for shortcuts, and in cities such as New York, with so many people around? It’s very easy to slip and fall into anonymity, you have to scramble and crawl just to hold your position. The very definition of dog-eat-dog, a pressure cooker. I’m sure it was the same everywhere, but here? There’s no shortage of those naive enough to believe they can fuck their way to the top.

Every once in a while? I'm even willing to sell them the illusion.

There are no shortcuts, not really.

After all, there’s always a younger model, or a more attractive wannabe-something-or-the-other to take your place.

It may seem like taking advantage…but one day, they'll even thank me for what I did for them.

Eventually…

[tobighost]

Silent War On US.

I rarely share my thoughts for more than obvious reasons however, I must express Terrence Howard did an amazing job further explaining this!!

I remember ranting about the side effects of the vaccine re-coding our DNA codex (mRNA). And how I found it weird that it was either the vaccine or no job during the height of pandemic with no straightforward answers on the purpose/success rate of the vaccines. Pretty much violating our constitutional rights & abusing our right to exercise the integrity of our public health safety system(s) (Every human being has the right to life, liberty and the security of his person; Article 14, Section 1 & CDC’s Public health safety policy in supporting of the 14th Amendment pertaining to “STATES”) and altering/damaging our genetic makeup/material in such a shady manner and literally BANKING on our ignorance and need to survive. Which was egregious because the hysteria alone cause large bodies of people (no matter the ethnicity or creed) to get the vaccine (out of fear). When that didn’t work, the 3 KNOWN privately funded pharmaceuticals companies (also known as the BIG 3) required* all workforce to comply with the vaccine demand (throwing in an incentive for employees to do so for “good faith” without formally educating the public with accurate knowledge of the virus nor providing the evidence of effectiveness of the offered vaccines.) leaving the long term welfare of both USA citizens and human beings alike compromised. Further exploiting the problem on mass biological warfare and bioterrorism. Which again is a lot more sneaky-yet-effective than outright genocide and affiliated war crimes. (Which further plays on our emotional intelligence/response)

I mean HEY if I intended to exert disgusting control over the mass population, I’d make “merch” (influenza shots, vaccines, chemical corrosive substances, etc.) and if there was no demand for it; I’d cause a huge ruckus in order for the project not to go to waste and plus I’d get free Guinea Pigs to observe and ultimately ensure that there is a constant clientele for the very same pharmaceutical companies who invested billions if not trillions into my product. Especially when there is little to no accountability and limitations on the public to access my products intel SIGN ME UP…but I don’t intend to exert disgusting control.

Think about it…if there is a strategic plan against ALL human beings (not just ethnicity) then it may be easier to implement initiatives that oppress the masses to comply with said demands and the strategies to combat defiance of any sort would be a heck of a lot easier. Talk about a toxic relationship between a nation and it’s people filled with an unhealthy amount of co-dependency🙃

Over & Out,

T

Sidenote: For those who plan to counter argue my statement on the vaccine requirement; think about the following questions;

if it was truly a FREE CHOICE and the product distributed by both the GOVERNMENT and it’s collaborators be deemed suitable to distribute…why would there need to be a collateral loss of any kind to any workforce member should they not wish to comply without concrete and transparent knowledge of what is being demanded upon them?

Wait better question; why would there be a redaction on 2 of the 3 required products? 

If the product was soooo safe…why suppress the science? Ohhh because they would have to tell us what it would do to our internal biological systems. Got it got it got it; say less 🤥

and the greatest question of them all, why create a product that effects our internal bodily workings?

[liedownquisition]

Aight, bet.

So the thing is that while Gotham has a decent number of places that stay open pretty late and a couple 24-hour restaurants, it doesn't really have much in the way of food places that are exclusively night time gigs. Which our Guy thinks is a bit wild, given how bustling and busy Gotham nightlife tends to be - legal or otherwise. So, he figures, might as well fill a niche, right? He tossed in some catering options on his menu because why not, really? Gotta be some midnight party looking for a bite. And our dear Guy has always been something of a night owl himself.

He wasn't surprised that criminals were part of his customer base, he was just surprised that high profile rogues have become almost his entire clientele.

(Word-of-mouth is pretty powerful in the underworld. After managing to follow Riddler's coded and and oblique directions on how to bring in his orders the first time it just kept coming. Reliable, discreet, delivers wherever, and good at following weird or complex entry instructions - even as puzzles? What more could you even ask for?)

Hood is absolutely not helping the Batfam's assumptions. When they realize he's had a number of deliveries from the guy to various safehouses, his goon hideouts, and a secret apartment they hadn't known about before!? Their interrogations of him turn up nothing useful when he just flat out says "I'm nor selling out my best supplier" no matter how they try to bribe and cajole him. (Its not like he's ever going to call one of *them* up to bring him to bring him papri chaat and egg waffles with snow cream at 2am when he's hiding that he fucked up his still-healing ankle for the fifth time that month.)

Somehow it gets even worse when they realize that the 24-hour pizza place and the noon-to-midnight ice cream parlor he partners with are both fronts for two different gangs. Steph threatens retribution if the others run either of them out of business, because Vicario's Pizza is a religious experience and Caldwell's Cold Cups has milkshakes that she swears saved her life before.

Delivery Guy, DC prompt

So, basically a prompt for a Guy who does some delivery business in Gotham, basically just a Grubhud job, but the thing is, so far the only people to hire him have been Villains across the city. And they even give generous tips. And oddly enough even some out of town Rogues are staying in Town.

He has his own menu, and offers to buy from restaurants across town.

And the Batfam seem convinced that this guy is somekind of broker. Considering he always seems to find some secret hideout for a delivery.

Red Hood is the only one who knows him, but he doesn't tell the others because its funny that they haven't looked up his website, or one of his Fliers around town.

[theonetruetrash]

Chronicles of Working at GameStop Volume 2

Dear Diary, today on the list of ways a customer has made me uncomfortable ( this actually happened some time ago, but it’s part of the bit so just roll with it ):

*be me, working with female co-worker*

*customer comes in, older guy in like his 50’s*

*co-worker seems to know this guy, as she recommended Mass Effect Andromeda to him during a previous time he came in*

*during a silent period in the conversation, co-worker goes on break*

*customer(Cust1) turns to me and another male customer(Cust2) looking in the PS4 section as soon as she leaves*

(Cust1): Yeah, I really like the mechanics in that game. It’s a lot of fun.

Me: I haven’t actually played Mass Effect. Though I would definitely be interested in trying since I like Sci-fi settings, and played a couple of other BioWare games that I enjoyed.

(Cust2): Oh yeah, I really like that series.

(Cust1): *assumes that both of us are hetero men who know all about being attracted to women* But you know what the best part is? The sex scenes. They’re amazing. No other video game has ever done that, ever. And they’re so graphic, I can’t believe that they showed so much. It’s a good thing my wife never sees me play this game. I always go back to try and have sex with all the women in the game-

Me: *a gay person who has no concept of being attracted to women though thinks that this would be probably still gross and awkward even if I was* Mm-hmm, yep, that’s a thing, that’s a thing you can do.

(Cust2): *kinda turns to me and gives me a subtle awkward “wtf” kind of look*

(Cust1): *goes on and on about the sex scenes in Mass Effect Andromeda as though it revolutionized gaming with the romance mechanic and no other game has ever had sex scenes before it and like he was basically watching a pr0no despite the fact that they’re actually tame as fuck* *eventually gets tired of talking and leaves*

Me: *awkwardly gets Cust2 checked out while we both silently pondered that experience*

[scoredandstoried]

He watches her touch the book before he tucks it back and away carefully. "That's our entire clientele - people looking for books that are falling apart." Maybe he feels some weird, mismatched kinship with them. Enjoys sewing them back together. An odd comfort.

"Oh yeah?" Another job maybe Oz could've been picked for, had it been a year or so ago. He loved that shit... but he nods, setting a few books in his lap to take them to another section. "Sounds like a good time to get an extra nap in during the day, though. Maybe Sam's looking out for you, huh?" He winks. "Why are we helping this congresswoman? Just making some extra money or?"

"Well what would you know?." The tease leaves her easily, as she steps further into the room. Not entirely surprised that he had caught her coming in so quickly, even if he couldn't be out there, it was just comforting knowing that his senses were just as sharp. She walked up to him, reaching out to touch the battered book by the spine. "Maybe a falling apart book was exactly what I was looking for."

But she shrugs as she steps back, hands back into her jacket's pockets as she looks straight at him with a sigh, rolling her eyes. "Sam got me playing babysitter to some congresswoman and I'm gonna gauge my eyes out... So I decided it was better to come see my favorite fellow hitman before I actually did that."