#he's doing commissions so we can get money for ourselves already

[sleep-nurse]

shoutout to my brother doing business

[imsobadatnicknames2]

We still haven't heard back from my husband's family

(UPDATE: We have received confirmation that they're alive, however they have no electricity or phone signal, and the hurricane blew off a large part of the roof of their house. Their extended family from out of the city is going to try to take two weeks worth of groceries to them. We're going to be sending all money we can to them as soon as we can)

I'm really sorry to make this post because I've already asked for help with stuff earlier this year but... I really have no option. We haven't heard from my husband's family in Acapulco since hurricane Otis hit, and we're starting to get really worried. Even if they're alive, their house might have been damaged/destroyed because material damages to the city were terrible.

In case we don't hear from them soon, he wants to be able to travel back to mexico and try to check up in person. In case we hear back from them soon, he wants to be able to send them money to support themselves through the aftermath of the disaster.

However, we're just barely making ends meet ourselves and we don't really have the money to afford a plane flight on such short notice, so he's opening up emergency donations/commissions. His art blog is @uxrabbit , abd here's the link to his commissions post on YCH. Please help us out if you can, we don't know what to do...

Here are his paypal and ko-fi accounts

https://ko-fi.com/mattomattitto

paypal.me/UnluckyRabbit

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 17: Corrosion

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 5 MONTHS!!! Tbh this was probably the hardest chapter I've had to write thus far and it was just not working with me. But honestly combined with the new Warwick trailer, and the amount of people flooding into my account and mass-reading my stuff lately??? Thank you so much for the motivation y'all, it really means a lot <3

So without further ago, have this 3k word chapter!

Masterlist

It had taken nearly an hour just to settle the crowds once the officers had left. An entire mob of people, suddenly panicked and in need of a level head to tell them what to do and how to feel. So, by the time Benzo was actually able to walk into the backroom of the arena, the anger that coursed through his veins had (somewhat) been able to cool down, no longer quite boiling over. Now replaced by anxiety that fought with his typically cool-headed mind that was trying to remind him to be rational. The pain in his side wasn’t helping none, of course. His lungs were already shite, but that Enforcer slamming the butt of his gun into his ribs hurt like a bitch… He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the burning protest of his lungs.

Emotions are never good for business.

“They’ve gone too far this time.” Silco spat, slamming the door as he entered the room behind Benzo. “I mean, storming in here like they own the place, waving their guns around? That’s a new low, even for them.”

“And Min?” Benzo asked, sliding a hand through his thin brown hair, urging his breathing to remain even. Silco nodded, waving his hand as if she were an additional afterthought. Benzo thought about Min getting arrested, the way they threw her to the ground like she was nothing, and suddenly he felt the need to slap Silco upside the head. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. “They’ve never made this much of a show for an arrest before. Grayson knows we’re important down here, and now she’s aiming to take us out of commission.”

“Min’s been arrested just as many times as the rest of us.” Silco argued. “She's strong, she can handle it. Standard protocol; get some bail money together, we run down to the station at first light-” “Are you seriously that petty?” Benzo stepped forward, facing Silco face-on. His tone was careful but carried a weight to it. “This was a godsdamn army, for what? Arresting one lass? This goes beyond your  fucking ‘protocol’!” 

Silco stepped up, meeting Benzo eye-to-eye. Benzo could see the anger in his eyes, flames of passion, he knew the look well amongst his fellow Zaunite revolutionaries. He only wished that he could believe that any of those flames burned for their missing sister-in-arms, but that would be expecting him to put his own anger aside for the good of the cause, for the good of others. And Benzo knew that wasn’t about to happen. 

Taking a deep, attempting-to-be-calming breath, Benzo disengages from Silco’s fury, centring back his focus to address both of them. Noting Vander was still silent, glaring the same hole into the ground.

For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself. 

“You two are the fucking leaders here, aye?” Benzo barked. “So where’s yer fucking plan of attack? What do we do? We’re gonna break her out, right?”

Silco’s the one to speak up, of course, shaking his head aggressively. “Are you kidding me? If we’re caught anywhere near top-side, we’re landing ourselves in a cell right next to her. We’re too conspicuous, too high-profile, and Grayson obviously has her eye on us.” Benzo made a move to fight against Silco, but Vander finally chooses to speak up.

“He’s right. We go running in after her, even all the cogs in the world won’t be able to pay her way out. Odds are, we get clinked too. Then what good are we?”

“Oh give your head a shake!” Benzo exclaims. “We could fucking try!”

Vander’s jaw tenses. “This isn’t a ‘run in half-cocked’ sort of deal.”  Bento scoffs, eyes practically rolling out of his head.

“So…what? We can do…nothing, then? Is that right?”

Vander takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he’s focussing on his breath. “Nope. But I think I know who can.”

***

It’s rather unfortunate that, out of all the things you could have inherited from your mother, the recurring habit of getting arrested was one of the more notable.

Also unfortunate that cops are capable of learning.

“Minerva!” Grayson’s voice, practically spitting out your name, had caught you off guard. Your eyes glazed over, looking off to the side. From your spot, seated on the ground with your captured hands sticking out awkwardly in front of you, most of her face hidden by shadows. All the light filtered in through the barred window on the door to your cell, a torch light. The cell was completely lightless, almost a pit of darkness. Dank, dark, and too quiet to be peaceful. But what you could make out from her appearance, you could see wrinkles formed between her eyebrows and a deep sneer. 

“Sorry Commander, I must have dozed off there for a moment.” You finally responded. “Welcome to my humble abode! I’d offer you a drink, but I’m a little…tied up, at the moment.” You lifted your hands, ignoring the cramped feelings in your muscles and joints. The thick metal that encased your hands wore you down, like holding a weight you had no consent in holding, and no ability to put down. 

She didn’t respond to your jest, simply continuing to stare down at you, face like stone but the underlying disgust ever-present. Tough crowd.

“The counsel has been sent the details of your case and are currently discussing further actions.” She explains. “But it’s customary that someone speak with you directly before any major decisions are made.”

“Gonna be a short conversation,” you note, “y’know, on account of the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I suppose everytime something bad happens, us ‘fissure folk’ are to blame, huh?”

She moves on, as if she doesn’t even hear you. “Your nose looks like it hurts.” She notes. Her shoulders are less square than you’ve seen them before, she’s more comfortable here than when you’ve seen her in the Underground. Although you’ve seen her without her helmet before, notably at the apartment when she first introduced herself, seeing her whole face here felt…oddly personal. 

You twitch your nose, feeling the dull pain spike between your eyes. “Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Wanna tell me about the girl who did it? Looked to be a girl by the name of…” she looks down at a file you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Sevika, right?”

Your eyes glance down at the file. Just how many names did they have? “I don’t know, it’s all a little…fuzzy to me. Pretty sure it could have been one of your guys, you know, when they forced me onto the ground and locked up my hands without probable cause.” 

She looks back down at you, eyes cold and unamused. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Do what?” She closes the file and reaches into her pocket. Pulling something out, she shows it off to you with an extended arm. 

“Look familiar?” It’s hard to make out what she’s showing you at first, but slowly you work out the details. A piece of fabric, red cotton. It was wrinkled and stained beyond saving, but there was a darker, fresher stain around most of it that hadn’t been there last you had it. Of course it was familiar, you’d been wearing it-or ones like it-most of your time in the lanes. The bandana that used to be a staple of your wardrobe, now bloody and in the hands of the Chief of Enforcers. 

Your mind flashes to the job just a couple weeks ago, when you’d left the fabric tied around the thigh of that Enforcer you’d attacked. You can feel your heartbeat raise ever so slightly. There’s no way they could have actually linked you to the crime with just your bandana.

“Nope.”

“Really? Cause in all of your mugshots, you’re wearing one just like it in your hair.” She pockets the fabric again. “I notice you’re not wearing one now. Lose it recently?”

You shrug, tilting your head back. “Is changing hairstyles a crime now? I’ll have to let my salon know.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts from three nights ago?”

“You’ll have to ask your mother, I believe I was at her house.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a long, deep sigh. “Minerva,” her tone is calm, but irritable. Like she was scolding a small child. 

You mimic her, rolling your eyes as well, but significantly more dramatic. “Grayson.”

“I am aware that you and your…compatriots may be used to certain lax standards. But I can assure you that physically assaulting one of my officers is not something I intend to easily brush under the rug.” Your hands attempt to fidget within their constraints, your bones buzzing with the need to move them. “I know the man you hurt, he's a good officer. He has a family, a wife and child. Are you really going to allow your anger to blind you so much that you’re willing to take away a child’s father?”

You lean forward, the chains rattling with your movements. “Several of the people your officers pointed a gun at tonight have families too. Those ‘good officers’ you have, they attack and aim firearms at women and children on a daily basis.” Gone was your mocking tone, your light-hearted facade. “You attack our people in our streets, in our businesses, in our homes. But hey, it’s different right? We’re all just fissure-folk trash to you.”

“And that justifies you nearly killing one of my men?” 

You kill hundreds of ours.

Your jaw tightens, biting your tongue. She’s not going to goat you into a confession that easily.

“I didn’t touch ‘your man’.” You finally respond, sitting back against the wall. “And if all you brought me in for was some half-baked story built around a piece of red cloth…well, it’s good to see you’re just as incompetent as your predecessor.”

The room falls silent, both of you glaring daggers at each other. You swear the room grows colder, the cold stone walls looming over you more and more with every passing, silent moment. You tried so hard to focus on the woman in front of you. Maybe if you were more aware, better able to scan her and read her body language, you could find something on her. Find something that you could use against her. But all you could focus on was your bones burning with the urge to use your powers, fanned on by the anger that’s coursing through you. You needed to get out of these damn constraints!

The door to your cell opened again, and another officer poked his head in. This one was much younger, and clearly very nervous. Twitchy eyes looked over from you, to his superior, just as Grayson’s head snapped back to glare at him.

“I gave orders that we weren’t to be disturbed.” Grayson snarled, and you could see the officer practically jump out of his skin in fear.

“Um…I’m sorry Ma’am. But uhh, you see…there’s someone demanding your presence outside.”

“What?” She dug into her pocket, fishing out a silver pocket watch. “It’s not even dawn yet. The doors to the station don’t open for another hour.” 

“There were, um,” his eyes dart over to yours, and the obvious anxiety in his gaze makes you smirk. “Very insistent.”

They? God, please tell me the guys didn’t decide to come…

Grayson lets out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Stuffing the pocket watch angrily back into her jacket and snapping her folder shut, she begins to storm off out of the room. Just as she grabs onto the heavy metal door, however, her head whips back to stare directly at you. Her eyes, furious.

“We’re not done here, you understand.” It wasn’t a question. 

Lifting your shackled hands to your forehead, you give a mocking-serious face and a curt nod. “Aye aye, cap’n.” 

The door slams behind her, and immediately your mind begins to spiral. The guys can’t have come here, they wouldn’t. Sure, it was basic protocol that all of them would immediately jump to bust the others out of prison whenever one of you got pinched, but this wasn’t your typical riot-crashing or pickpocketing charge. Closing your eyes, you try not to linger on the blurry images of the raid. The white hot shock of fear upon seeing a gun pointed at Narco, Skye, and little baby Vi. The way the frequency of the Enforcer’s guns seemed to scream at you in such large quantities. The fear, all but palpable within the arena as people either were pulled into the fight or ran for their lives. The thought of Benzo being clubbed down, Silco with a knife against his throat and hands raised in surrender, the rage in Vander’s face as they placed you in cuffs. 

This wasn’t like any other run-in with the cops that you’d experienced. This was a whole other level, and you knew that if the guys tried to fight you out or pay anyone off; they’d wind up in cells just like yours. 

You tried not to let your mind linger on that image for too long, either. 

Your throat started to burn with the tears you wouldn’t let yourself shed, your thoughts spinning in and out of control, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Trying ever so hard to calm your breathing. Please let it not be them out there…

Loud shouting filtered in through the cracks below your cell’s door. You couldn’t make it out, even if you tried, or even how many voices there were, but you could tell it was definitely heated. Were those the guys, fighting tooth-and-nail for your release, only to get shackles placed on them as well? Forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, and arrested in front of a huge crowd with your rage-filled family, forced to watch?

You could only anxiously listen in, your ears straining to hear the muffled sounds as you sat, uselessly, in your stupid little cell. This continues on for what felt like an eternity, but most likely what would have been only half an hour. Until, finally, the door to your cell swings open. On the other side, a very pissed-off Grayson. The flames of her rage practically emanated across the room, getting warmer and warmer as she stormed over to you, keys in hand.

“You got lucky again, Minerva.” She grunts out as she leans down, grabbing your shackles with probably more force than necessary. As she begins to unlock your restraints, your hands slowly begin to regain movement ability, you can feel the energy of your magic slowly flood back into your fingertips. The vibrations of all the metal around you, singing to you like a beautiful orchestra. You could only shut your eyes, the flood of emotions that came with your powers almost overwhelming to your already anxious body. You didn’t even realize that Grayson was still speaking. “-won’t be the last time you’ll be in one of my cells, I can promise you that.”

“What’s going on?” You couldn’t help but ask. You know you sounded pathetic, but this was honestly not how you pictured this going down.

Grayson laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff. “All you Underground folk, all you do is play dirty. Lying and cheating, it comes to you like breathing.”

That didn’t answer your question, but as Grayson slapped a normal pair of handcuffs on you, using them to force you up to your feet, you felt it was better not to ask followup questions. She dragged you by your arm out of your cell and into the all-too familiar main chamber of the Enforcer’s main station. On the other end, however, much to your surprised wasn’t the boys. Rather, two female figures. 

“Minerva!” Not even your mother’s cry was enough to shake you fully out of your shock as she surged forward, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. Out of habit, you tried to return your embrace, only to quickly remember your shackles. 

“Mom, what are you doing here?” You asked, quickly pulling away to look down at her with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t-”

“The boys phoned me!” Her salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t in its usual braid, still down in flowing waves, showing that she had come straight here from bed. Her thick winter coat had been thrown on overtop of her wool nightgown, and her boots were unlaced. 

“They phoned both of us.” The second figure spoke up, Niya’s tone was stern, moreso than you think you’d ever heard from her. Her citrus-coloured hair was messier than how it had been at the arena, and there was a new cut along her lip that she must have gotten during the raid. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked mad. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” You looked back down at your mom. “But, why-”

“Your mother and Ms. Niya have negotiated for your release.” Grayson’s words were heavy, and she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her snarling face. With begrudging movements, she reached down, unlocking your handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”

Before you really even have a moment to wrap your head around what’s happening, your mother is pulling you away from the captain, all but dragging you towards the door. “Come on,” she whispers to you, “we need to get out of here.” But your eyes are still stuck on Grayson’s, the rage flowing off of her body in waves. 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Minerva.” She spits.

With all the confusion swimming around in your mind, you try to think of something to say; one last quip to gain the extra hand. You’ve held your ground for so long here, and yet, the only thing you can really think to say is, “looking forward to it.”

[serahlink]

❗❗HELP A HOMELESS ARTIST FEED AND HOUSE HIS FAMILY ❗❗

emergency commissions open!!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Remaking this post since times have gotten tougher than normal and we need the extra help. Hi, my name is Link and my family and I (younger sibling and father) have been homeless since November 2021. It's a long story but a very shortened version is that my father used to do freight hauling work across the country and would sometimes take me and my sibling along (I lived at a friend's home and my sibling lived with a family member). In the middle of a job, my father fell into a diabetic coma and ended up losing his job in the process. Due to no family support and my sibling having to leave the place they were staying, they were both homeless. At the same time, I was having to leave soon myself since my friend's grandmother fell very ill and things looked bad; they had a lot of things to take care of and I was told I had to find somewhere else.

So, my friend I was living with drove us to the lowest cost motel they could find after I opened my commissions for the first time and we were on our own(none of us could work since my dad lost his liscenese during all the chaos, we also dont have our documents or ids and trying to get something now is impossible without a car and we never have room to just save money since we need to both have somewhere to stay and something to eat). We've been doing so ever since.

We already struggle alot with paying for the room daily (most of the time we're having to stay up all night/morning just to have the room paid that day) and nowadays we can barely afford food to last us a week, let alone a couple days. My father also recently dealt with bad tremor episodes due to his blood sugar going high, causing the left side of his body to turn numb and he couldn't control it. We were able to get most of his medications except for insulin (which turned out to be over 400$) and he's recently run out, so if something happens then there's not alot we can do. We've been trying to save up for it but it's been difficult to have a place to live or eat this week, let alone make even a bit of the cost for the insulin. It's alot of things to try and take care of for someone who has little to no resources/family or friend support 🥲

So, I'm opening my commissions to hopefully get us something to pay for at least today with since we dont even have enough to be good for right now and we also need some food for tonight since that's our immediate need. If you're interested in getting a commission, you can look at my prices below and email me (lyriumveins__@outlook.com) or pm me here. Or if you have questions about my services, you can also ask me those! I'll be happy to answer them for you :)

If you can't support financially (please don't feel bad if you can't btw, I understand completely) reblogging would help us out immensely since itd open up new opportunities for us to feed ourselves or house ourselves another day. Thank you for your help if you do, it really means the most to us and makes a big happy difference in our lives, thank you for brightening it :)) 💚

~Prices~

Sketch (price depending on type of sketch) - base price of 10$

Sketch page - 10$ per sketch

Headshot - 20$ (+10$ if shaded)

Bust - 30$ (+10$ if shaded)

Half body - 45$ (+10$ if shaded)

Full body - 60$ (+10$ if shaded)

Couples Commission (a commission that includes two people) - 80$ (+15$ if shaded)

Group commissions (commission that includes more than two people, price dependant on the details) - 100$+ (30$+ if shaded) 

Paintings (price depending on the details) - 100$+ 

[dailyaudiobible]

4/4/2023 DAB Transcript

Deuteronomy 26:1-27:26, Luke 10:38-11:13, Psalm 76:1-12, Proverbs 12:15-17

Today is the fourth day of April, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is great to be here with you today as we gather once again around the Global Campfire, join our hearts together, take the next step forward together. And we are continuing our journey through the final book of the Torah the Book of Deuteronomy, and today we will read Deuteronomy chapters 26 and 27.

Commentary:

Okay so, in the Gospel of Luke today, Jesus was praying, his disciples were seeing Him and then they ask, will You teach us how to pray? John taught his disciples how to pray, will You teach us how to pray? And then Jesus teaches them, what we know as the Lord's Prayer. And we have encountered the Lord's prayer in the Gospel of Matthew, as we were moving through it. But here, we encounter it in the Gospel of Luke. And so, He taught them what we call the Lord's Prayer. And then as a teaching moment, as an example, He went on to tell this story of a person who, who had unexpected guests arrive kind of in the middle of the night, when everybody's in bed. So, everybody's in bed and they don't really have anything prepared but there's a guest. And so, the owner of the home gets up and welcomes his guest and then goes to his neighbor so he can maybe get some food, some supplies. But of course, the neighbor is already in bed and the family is already asleep, as well. And so, the way that Jesus tells the story is that it, it's, it's not the fact that their neighbors that got him what he needed. It was the fact that he was persistent. Finally got his neighbor out of bed to assist him. So, Jesus uses this illustration, and then He says, I tell you, ask and you will receive, search and you will find, knock and the door will be open for you, everyone who asks will receive. The one who searches will find and for the person who knocks, the door will be opened. So, ask, seek, knock and we have to ask ourselves, are we asking because we need or are we asking because we have a momentary desire, when we’re seeking. Seeking takes effort and commitment, how committed are we to finding, because we will. But we have to remember we’re not going to our rich uncle for money, we’re going to the Almighty most high God who wants to be in a relationship with us that is collaborative, that is a relationship, that is bound by love. And many of the answers that we are looking for in life actually come when we pursue, when we relentlessly seek. We we’re talking about this yesterday. God isn't Santa. He's God, God. And then in the last verse, verses that we read today, Jesus then reveals the heart of God. He says if your child asks you his father, for a fish, would you give him a snake instead? Or if your child asks you for an egg, would you give him a scorpion. Even though you’re evil, you know how to give good gifts to your children. So, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him? Let's just keep in mind that we don't get to wake up in the morning and write down a to do list for God. We get to wake up in the morning in God's presence, asking him for our to do list.

Prayer:

And Father, it has been the sung millions of times now that you are a good, good Father, and we believe that You are a good, good Father who definitely desires to pour out blessing and good gifts upon Your children. We kinda get stuck there, like that's the whole thing, that's the whole story. You're a good God, who likes to give good presents to the people that find favor with You. When what You seek is our very hearts to be reunited with Yours in a dance called life, in a place where darkness is, and we have been commissioned with the light and You will always care for us and equip us, whether we understand it or not. We will never escape Your presence and You will never abandon us. So, may we look at our lives and the choices and decisions that we make with this in mind, we are in a relationship. How does what we want to do affect the relationship, and how can we learn to ask and seek and knock. Come, Holy Spirit into this, as we contemplate it this very day. We ask in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, that is the website and that's where you can find out what's going on around here. The Daily Audio Bible app will do that as well. And you can get it from the App Store that works with your device, so certainly check that out. Check out the difference sections like the Community Section. This is where to get connected on social media, it’s where the Prayer Wall lives. Check out the Daily Audio Bible Shop. There are resources there, including the brand-new, the brand-new snapback hats, the camo style ones, and the new beanies. Those can be found in the Lifestyle Section of the Shop, while supplies last. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible. Thank you, we wouldn't be here if we were in the community in this together and so thank you, humbly. There is a link on the homepage at dailyaudiobible.com. If you're using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996 Springhill, Tennessee 37174.

And as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button, that's little red button up at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today, I'm Brian, I love you and I'll be waiting for you here, tomorrow.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Hi, this is Victorious Victory from Louisiana. I just want to lift up J from the Bay and her brother, Nick. I understand you sis. I am about at that point with my older brother, who is just doing the same thing and is in need of some tough love. But I just wanna pray for him. I just pray, Lord Jesus, that You just give him a revelation of who he really is, who You have called him to be and the love You have for him. Because Your love and Your kindness is what brings us to repentance, Father. I just plead the blood of Jesus over him right now. Father God, for protection, Lord. I thank You, Lord, that You really do have good plans for him, Father. That he has survived this gunshot, Lord, and it was a for a reason, God. Because You have good plans for him, Lord Jesus, and You will turn this into a great testimony. He will be a great man of the Lord. We thank You for that. And I just lift up J from the Bay, Father God. I just pray peace over her and her mother and her families' hearts, Lord God. I just pray that they fully surrender him, Lord, to You, Lord Jesus. I thank You for that, Father. I thank You that You honor what a great sister she is, Lord, that she would take the time to call on his behalf, Lord. I thank You that Your word says that when we are saved so will our household, Father. I thank You for that. I thank You for that and I thank You for Your word, Lord, that it does not return void. Have a great day.

Hello, this is Mr. Mike, formerly the Greatest Trucker. Anyhow, calling in to pray, ask you to pray for my wife, Terri. We’ve been listening to the DAB almost every day for ten years now and she, we’re both real healthy but recently we both had COVID. She’s kind of developed the hives from it and they move and sometimes they’ll be in one part of her body, sometimes they’ll go to another. They’ve just kind of been going up. And we’re just praying that they just go away from the top of her head and disappear. So, and I ask you to pray for my wife, Terri. In Jesus name. Thank you, Amen.

Good morning, DAB Family, this is Rider for Christ from SOCAL. I am loyal listener, first-time caller. And the reason for my call today was for help and prayer regarding my career. I currently work a career that I love and the only thing that I would change from it would be my travel time. It is 78 hours, sorry, 78 miles one way and 40+ hours sometimes up to past 60 a week. I love what I do. I believe God wants me here doing what I do and recently there’s been opportunity to do the same thing that I do but closer to home. And I applied for that position or for that department and I’m asking for help and prayer that I may get favor and acquiring this position. At the end of the day, I want God’s will to be done and if, if it’s not the department that, that He wants me to have, may He give me the strength to continue this travel time and to continue doing good things at work. Thank you DAB family for your prayers, and I love you guys.

Happy April 1st, this is the Woman at the Well, also known as One Penny Saved from Southwest Missouri. And I just want to say Happy April Fool’s Day. I turned on Daily Audio Bible prepared to hear an April Fool’s joke but instead I was blessed with this beautiful bouquet of voices. My favorite voices in the universe, reading God’s word. And I just want to say, thank you, Brian. It was such a blessing and a beautiful surprise. I love you guys. I’m praying for you all.

Hello Daily Audio Bible friends, this is Desert Rose from California. It is April 1st. I called in a while ago to ask for prayer for my granddaughter Eva, who had been in the psychiatric hospital for suicidal ideation. Well, a couple of weeks ago she actually had a suicide plan. And was taken to a in-patient facility. This next Monday, this is Saturday, in two days she will be going to an out-patient residential home for emotional disturbed teenagers. I ask your prayers for her healing. Please join me in prayer. Precious Jesus, You know Eva, You’ve known her since birth. We ask together, as a community, that You would restore her mind, that You would take the depression away and the anxiety. That she would have hope, that she would have a future. Please, heal her. We ask that this time in intense therapy would be productive. We ask God, that in Your mercy, You would show her Your face and that she would come to know You as her savior and make You Lord of her life. Thank you everyone for helping me pray for Eva. Goodbye.

[sharkneto]

do you think five is sometimes childish? like in the comics when he sometimes acts like a child. mayb some headcanons about it?

I think in the show, not directly - Aidan does an insane job acting as a mature, 58 year old man.

As a headcanon? Yeah. I've talked around it a bit in some of my fics, but I do think Five has a lot of growing up to do. I think there's a not-insignificant part of him that's sort of stuck at 13. How could there not be, when he had no one around him to help him actually grow up and mature for 40 years?

This is not to be confused with him being a child or fully acting like a child. He is first and foremost a fully grown, middle-aged man. He has adult interests, he is capable and can take care of himself, he should be treated as and respected as an adult. He is Old and he is Tired. But I think it's more along the lines of that he's horrendously ignorant in how the world works, how to socialize, how to be an actually functional person. All those little lessons he missed out on because he was tragically trapped in the apocalypse. It's in those little nothing trips you go on with parents or friends or whatnot where you learn how a car wash works or how to make an appointment. It's all those cringe lessons we learn in middle and high school, figuring out how to fit in and find and make friends as we get older. It's those first few years in college, moved out from home and having to manage money and feeding ourselves and being fully responsible for ourselves.

The only real practice he's had with any of that was at the end of the world, where he's scavenging and literally everything was his because everyone else was dead, and with Delores, who is just him and doesn't exist. His only conversation partner was someone who already knew what was going on in his head so he didn't have to learn to really articulate his thoughts. If something didn't come out right, he could just handwave "ah, you get it" and Delores would get it because she is him.

I think everyday conversations, small talk, is so outside of Five's wheelhouse. His communication skills are Not Good. Big things? Big things that deal with consequences and time and his experience with all the fucked up shit he's had to do? He can do that. A nothing conversation with a sibling that winds for half an hour and no one is really saying anything? Absolutely not, what the fuck are they even talking about? Anything that has to deal with emotions and talking through them and identifying them is also so beyond him. The guy hasn't done any self reflection to figure out what he's feeling for decades (what's the point? He feels bad? Well, he's in the apocalypse and his family is dead, of course he feels bad. What more could there possibly be to it.) This is all stuff, for a lot of people, we learn and figure out how to do and communicate as we grow up, get to be adults, and go to therapy. For sure Reggie wasn't teaching them how to communicate well and to be in touch with their emotions, and Five absolutely did not get anything on that front when he was alone at the end of the world or getting used and abused at the Commission.

As to acting like a child, it has been a minute since I read the comics so I can't off the top of my head think of specifics (except for his Child Disguise during his corporate espionage phase which I Adore). But headcanons for show!Five, I think it comes down to more allowing himself to have random shit for no reason, have comfort items. As a 26-year-old adult, I have plushies and impulse buy little odds and ends regularly because I Like Them. I think allowing himself to have things that might come across as childish is a big hurdle for Five, because he's desperate for people to not see him as a child when he looks like one. Relaxing and letting himself Be is his first step, which is a thing a lot of us all learn, too. I, at least, had a phase in my early 20s, after I graduated college, where I cleaned house on explicitly fandom things and any plushies or whatnot I had were For Decoration. I was an adult and I thought my surroundings should reflect that. Now I have a cow ottoman in my living room that I think is technically for children because I'm embracing my accidentally cowboy-themed living room and also I wanted the cow ottoman.

I got sidetracked, there, but what I'm trying to get at is that part of growing up is figuring out what you like, don't like, and vibing with that and letting yourself just do that. Five has no fucking clue what he likes and doesn't like. He's never had a chance to really explore that or had resources to spare to do so. Any kindness he did for himself that wasn't Directly Survival Related, he pawned off reasoning as "being for Delores". Things can just be for him, now.

The growing up Five has to do is all hinged on learning how the modern world works and figuring out who he is as a person, outside of being an Academy member, an apocalypse survivor, and a Commission assassin - none of which are things he had a choice about. Who is Number Five when he gets a say in it? It's less of a "he's like a kid!" and more "these are the things he's fifty years behind in, developmentally, and he has some catching up to do".

(If this ramble got incoherent, because whups yeah, you can find these headcanons poking out in my fics like The Zoo Is Better When It's Not All Dead, Simple, and A Rusty Cog)

[tuffmallowinteractive]

Hello from a Dev in Need holy moly update: OMG thank you so much! You guys have more than helped out and I did not know it would happen so fast!!

Thank you all so much! It has only been two hours and the 500 goal has been met and then surpassed and then doubled! I am so humbled right now and yes I did cry- I ain’t shamed to say it! I’ll be taking this extra funding and putting it towards moving the hell out of here. We are still on our grind and I am still doing everything I can to complete the stories I love and hope you will come to love as well! I have a whole other post planned and I will throw it out in the morning. For now I have to thank all the people who donated and all the folks who reached out with well wishes and positive energy because I thank you all so much!!! Thank you again! 

I’ve been staring at this screen for a good while now. 

And I don’t know... man. I don’t know. 

That’s the thing. I feel like the last two years have been hard on everyone. Everyone. I’m no exception. I’m no one special. Each and everyone of us has lost something or someone. We’ve all struggled and tried our best and we’ve worked with what we’ve got. A lot of us have experienced a quality of life they weren’t used to, and in most cases didn’t deserve. 

And yes, I’m nobody special in that regard. But I am someone going through that. 

In October, the rental ban lifted in my state. A lot of landlords decided to make money back that they did not get from tenants on hard times during the ban by selling their properties. I was paid up until the next month when my landlord hit me with an eviction notice and raised the rent by $200. Since my lease was up it was either meet that demand or try to find a home and move which my family had not planned for. Well we scrapped up the funds in short notice and paid the rent. That’s when the landlord let me know he would not be renewing my lease, but instead the 30 day eviction notice and if I was late, he’d just file for eviction the next day. So we planned to do just that for a couple of months while we figured out a game plan. Eventually we decided we’d try for a January move and began packing our things. My son and I decided our Christmas would just have to come once we found and secured a stable place. And that’s fine.

But then my son got sick and an insurance bill hit us out of left field, and now we find ourselves back in the red at the crucial moment. We’re still down about $500 and I honestly don’t think we’ll make it in time. Rent’s due on the 7th. I’ve put everything on hold to deal with this. Those that know me well know I’ve not really been able to have time to access my pc let alone work on my projects- two of which are already at the finish line if I could only have the much needed time to work on them. 

We’re still working. I’m still working. We take turns packing and working. We’re trying to come up with the money for this and of course to find a better place. (Hopefully without an eviction making it more difficult) I try to stay connected with everyone via Discord so they know I’ve not fallen off the face of the earth and the games I promised are still very much under way and at the center of my heart. 

I just... I’m just I don’t know. I could offer commissions if ppl are interested. I could host a Kofi 30 day challenge. Though the challenge would have to be starting January. I have no idea what I could give in return that would make it worth while to invest in, but I’m most certainly willing if it means my little family and me won’t be evicted this Christmas. 

Hey. I’m not good at this. This is killing my pride. But I’m nobody so special that my pride is worth more than my home and my family. So if you can help at all, drop a line. This dev would surely appreciate it. 

UPDATE: This goal has been met and I just want to thank everyone who reposted and liked this post and just thank you because every form of kindness and even positive energy counts and I just love you all so much!

[luna-writes-stuff]

I adore your Kaz headcanons! If you aren't busy, can you write reader x Kaz headcanons with the she/her/hers pronoun where the Crows are planning to steal some painting by a unknown artist that's selling for a million Kruge only for everyone (reader included) to find out that the reader painted it before she became a Crow?

Read the request ^^, Kaz Brekker

((Sorry, I got carried away with this request. I hope you like it.))

Headcanons, female s/o

Tw: Heist stuff, established relationship (for once)

- It was no secret for the crows that you were a great artist. You had been granted your own atelier in case there was an upcoming heist which involved stealing paintings. You would duplicate them as well as you could so the object wouldn’t be missed.

- There was only one problem with this heist: this painting had been locked in a secure facility. There was no ability for you to get in without being seen, therefor leaving you incapable of recreating the thing.

- You were to get the painting out without replica, leaving it exposed, which was dangerous for the crows. The only thing important for the heist were speed, agility and stealth. No more walking amongst crowds without being noticed. It just consisted out of sneaking in and running back out before anyone would realize the absence of the painting.

- You and Inej had been sent inside while Jesper and Kaz remained on the lookout. Inej was the one who was supposed to be stealing the painting while you ensured nothing fell over, offering help to Inej wherever necessary.

- At first, Kaz had insisted on you staying at the Slat, seeing as you were most useful in the shadows. Would someone realize you were a crow too, you’d be in even greater danger than you already found yourself. But you were stubborn and Kaz was weak. He knew you’d be safe with Inej more than being outside in plain sight.

- So there the two of you stood, in front of the giant painting, currently not guarded. Your breath caught in your throat when you caught sight of it.

- “What is it?” Inej had wondered, stopping in her tracks when she saw your face. The painting you were looking at was one of your first commissions ever. You once sold paintings for extra money (before Kaz found you), but it hadn’t been a great job. Yet, this painting here was the one you got paid the most for.

- And now it was worth a million Kruge. You were flattered, to say the least.

- “I made this.” You quietly whispered, before walking up to it, investigating the border, trying to get the canvas off the wall. Inej didn’t respond to your answer. She just studied the painting, before walking up to you and helping the painting get down.

- “It’s beautiful.” She had said after a while of looking at the streaks of paint covering her side of the canvas. You had sent her a nod as thanks, but decided to get back to hanging the empty border, leaving Inej to roll up the painting.

- When arriving at the rendezvous, Inej smiled brightly.

- “We just got ourselves an original Y/L/N.” She announced proudly. Both Kaz and Jesper were confused by her statement.

- “Beg your pardon?” Jesper wondered aloud.

- When explaining the painting and how you had created it for a wealthy man once, Jesper broke out laughing.

- “Well, then it’s no longer stealing. It’s property retrieval.”

- Upon coming back to the Slat, everyone went back to their usual business. You had returned to your atelier, cleaning the last bits of your desk. You had been busy scraping the paint off of it before you left, but didn’t get the change to finish it.

- Not even two minutes later, Kaz arrived, painting rolled up under his arm.

- “Can you recreate this within three days?” He asked, pointing towards the scroll. You dropped the towel you were holding, your eyebrows raising a level.

- “Three days? You can’t just recreate a painting within three days. Not of that size.” You explained. But Kaz insisted, returning with a “You’ve made it before. You know how it works.”

- With a sigh, you walked up to him, your eyes on the roll. “Why three days?”

- “The buyer is here in three days.” You leaned your head to your side, urging him to continue.

- “I wish to hang this painting somewhere in the building. It is yours, so it’s only acceptable to keep it.”

- “You wish to swindle a crime buyer?” A moment of silence was followed before you showed him a smile. “That’s the most Kaz thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t promise you anything, but I can try.”

- Miracles do exist, you told yourself when you arrived at Kaz’s office three days later, the fake scroll under your arm. You did your best recreating the original one, and it looked marvelous, if you had to say so yourself.

- The buyer had not even noticed the difference and handed over the million Kruge without question.

- Only one day after, your original painting had been hanging in Kaz’s office, proudly showing itself off to anyone who entered. It was his way of telling you he loved you. It were the small things, but they went well-appreciated by you.

- You knew he wasn’t really one for showing off art, so it meant a lot to you, having your painting hanging right there.

[prettylittlebutterflie]

It All Started With A Break

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31840603

Okay, so I have fallen down the rabbit hole known as MariBat and I just can't stop all the ideas I have because of this and decided that enough is enough and I am doing it.

This is my very first fanfic - or any fic actually - but I hope you guys like it and be WARNED that some of you may find some part of this story that's similar with another and that may've been because I really liked the idea when I read it and wanna have a kinda similar thing here and the same goes with some trope of this fanfic in the future, but I'll do my best to keep it unique. I am also new to the DCU, but I'm doing research and planning to binge watch stuff and if you could please help this poor soul find a way to navigate and somehow get an idea on how that universe work (especially abt the batfam), I'll be forever grateful to thy savior.

This fic is canon until S4 Ep 1&2 (Truth & Lie) of MLU and as for the rest, I'll let you guys know.

So yeah, that's all. Enjoy and hope you guys like it. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

P.S. Sorry I kinda ranted, this is my first time actually posting smth so bear with me people

SYNOPSIS

It’s been four years ever since Hawkmoth, who now goes by the name Shadow Moth, began his reign of terror in Paris. Four years worth of akumas that have brought pain and suffering. Four years of no rest in controlling their emotions, afraid of what may come if they were controlled.

After four long years, the Miraculous Team can finally see a ray of light. Everything they have sacrificed for that one goal they all share is finally going to be repaid… Not.

Locating Hawkmoth was easier said than done, and the frustration is finally getting to them. With that, it was decided that they need a break from their hero lives — ok, maybe not. After all, Shadow Moth is proving himself to be a workaholic (like dude, don’t you have anything better to do than destroy everyone’s schedule?) — but anyways, it was clear. THEY. NEED. A. BREAK. Away from Paris. Away from Hawkmoth. Away from the frickin akumas.

So yeah, that’s how it was decided (more like forced) that they are going to America to relax, let loose, and have some fun. After all, who knows, maybe a break is all they need to get things to start getting better — or worse.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

PROLOGUE

“Alright. So, we are going to take a break—”

“For two months.”

“For two months. And because it’s supposed to be a break, that means—”

“No thinking of anything Moth related.”

“No thinking of anything Moth rela— Moth related?”

“You know, Hawkmoth, Red Moth, Shadow Moth, those Moths.”

“Right. Moths. Aside from Moths, it also means—’

“No thinking of akumas.”

“No thinking of akumas. For this entire break, we’re not going to think about—”

“Anything Miraculous related.”

“Anything Miraculous related. Alya, do you really need to do that every time I’m about to say it?”

“It’s because she knows you. We know you. It’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how you always promise not to worry about something, especially anything Miraculous related, just to break it the moment anything related to it comes up. So, yes. She needs to say it and repeat it as much as possible for it to go through that head of yours.”

“Guys, I swear, I’m really going to follow through with this plan. I did agree that we need to unwind ourselves since we’re getting way too stressed and that won’t help us focus on our job.”

“Only after we bugged you about it. Get it? Bugged. Pfft—”

“Hey! Puns are my thing. And you shouldn’t be saying it like that. You’re making it ape-solutely obvious and that makes it not punny anymore”

“Dude, do you really have to do that? That’s so not paw-some. Pfft—”

“All puns aside, it is true that we had to convince you, Mari-hime, to agree on taking a break. Although I rarely take a break from fencing, my Mother and I are aware of the importance of having one and may I also remind you that you were the one who taught us that.”

“And that’s why I told you guys to go have one.”

“But you plus the kitty are the ones who need it the most. Remember what future-me said? About you two always leading us and how she— or rather I am the last one called upon? That means you guys are always gonna work while the rest of us may or may not be needed in some fights.”

“There is a 97.6% probability of you two showing up in fights.”

“Because we have to. It’s our responsibility as the one leading our team.”

“M’lady’s right. Besides, there were only the two of us in the beginning and with all the akumas, we just got used to it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest. The music I’m hearing from both of you is filled with the stress you guys have and it doesn’t sound nice. Maybe you two unwinding will help make it more beautiful and even more powerful than before.”

“Fine. We’re all taking a break—”

“Especially you and Adrien.”

“Especially Adrien and I, for a month. Now, does anyone have any ideas on how we're gonna do that?”

“Ooh! Me, me! I have a competition coming up this summer break so I can’t really go anywhere too far since I have some training to do.”

“I’m sticking with the ape. Gotta keep an eye on him if I don’t want him messing up with the timeline. Plus, it’ll be pretty fun beating him up every time he asks for a challenge.”

“Hey!”

“The same goes for me. Someone has to make sure the correct time is recorded with not a single millisecond of it missed. Kwami knows how many times he messes it up whenever he does the recording himself.”

“Okay. So Kim, Alix, and Max will be staying in Paris. Are you guys sure that you’ll be able to take a break even if you’re in the city?”

“Yeah, we're fine. And I am totally beating you next time, little bunny.”

“Whatever. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, y’know.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, I have an internship in America this coming summer. The one at the Daily Planet. I just got the email and I was finally given an invite!”

“Really? Cool! Told you you’ll get it, babe!”

“Yeah! That’s really awesome, Alya! So I’m assuming you'll be accepting that?”

“You got it, girl! I mean, this is the Daily Planet we’re talkin’ about. I’ll learn so much about writing and journalism there, I’ve just got to take it.”

“So Alya’s going to America. Anyone else with plans outside of the country?”

“There will be an upcoming world-class fencing competition this summer and Mother and I have discussed my participation in it. It will be held in the States as well, specifically Gotham, two weeks before the end of the summer break. Maybe you should participate in it as well, Adrien. That way, you’ll have an excuse for your father to leave the country. I’m sure Mother will be happy to convince him as well to let you participate in it. That way, at the very least, I’ll have someone I know who’ll be an actual challenge.”

“Really? That actually sounds great! I’m sure Father would agree if your mother’s the one who suggested it. Thanks Kagami!”

“Okay. Kagami and hopefully Adrien will have a fencing competition in America too.”

“My Dad is having a tour in America right now. He’ll be having the last one at Metropolis during the summer break. He actually wants me to go with him, but I declined. It’ll be great if we all could go there and see it.”

“Dude, that’s so cool! Maybe you’ll even get to perform with your dad on stage. You did make that song with him that reached the record chart’s top. I’ve even made a playlist based on it.”

“Okay then, that makes Alya, Kagami, Adrien, and Luka going to the States. Chloe, do you also have plans to go there this summer? Maman said your mother was thinking of inviting you to be one of the models in an upcoming fashion show there.”

“She did mention something like that, but I wasn’t really paying attention to details once I found out that it’ll be outside of Paris. I’ll discuss it with her again then I can have my much needed vacation in the States.”

“So now that makes five of you going to America. Nino?”

“Well, I don’t really have any plans this summer. Just chill out and relax, y’know, make some playlist, listen to some music.”

“Ooh! How about you come with us, babe? That’ll be so cool and not all of us will be doing something most of the time while we’re there. You can just chill and relax there and maybe you could even study the kind of music they listen to and make a playlist out of it.”

“I would love to go, but I don’t think I really got the money for it. ‘Sides, my parents might not allow me to go out of the country.”

“You’re already 18 and if your parents ever say no, just tell them that you want to really relax, without keeping your emotions in check and have the freedom to let it out. I’m sure they’ll understand and unlike my Father, they actually listen to you.”

“As for the money, I have some savings and if you want I can lend you some-”

“But-”

“Lend. I’m not just giving it to you. You will have to pay me back, alright? And if you try to say no again, I’m going to insist that you don’t pay me anymore.”

“You sure? You're the best! Thanks, Minette.”

“No problem. So now that makes six of them—”

“Seven.”

“What?”

“Seven. We’re including you.”

“Me? But Alya, I already got plans this summer.”

“Plans? What plans?”

“I was planning on working on my commissions this summer an— Guys, can you all stop rolling your eyes on me and no, Chloe. I don’t need you doing it again.”

“Girl! We all agreed that we’re going to take a break this summer. How does doing your commissions sound like a break to you?”

“You all got your own thing to do this summer and mine just happens to be those. Also, the break was for anything Miraculous related. My commissions don't exactly fall under that.”

“Nope. We actually all agreed that for you, commissions should be added to the list of things you get to take a break from.”

“Adrien! I thought you’re supposed to be my partner? So much for the two of us against the world.”

“He is still your partner alright. But also, as someone who truly cares about you, he decided that you really needed a break. And besides girl, this could be your chance!”

“Chance? What chance?”

“Your pen pal! Doesn’t he live in Gotham? You could go and finally meet him. Who knows? Maybe something might happen.”

“Ooh, he’s from there? That’s awesome! You should totally go meet him. Maybe you could even go on a date or two-”

“A date?! Kim, he’s just a frie-”

“You stop right there, Dupain-Cheng! It’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! All of us already had enough with Adrikins always calling you ‘just a friend’ when it’s pretty obvious how totally untrue that statement was. We don’t need you ending up just like him, thank you very much.”

“But he really is-”

“Yeah right. If he really is just a friend, then why do you guys stay up all night talking to each other? You always immediately check your phone whenever a notif comes up and you smile like a love-sick fool whenever you read his messages for you. And don’t get me started on the way you gush about him non-stop.”

“There is something beautiful in your music whenever you talk or even think about him.”

“Your smiles are much brighter compared to before the two of you got to know each other.”

“Markov and I also have a record of your heartbeat and we have observed your heart beating faster whenever we talk about this certain topic.”

“And it's been more than a year since you two have become pen pals. The two of you are now so close that it’s a wonder why you guys still haven’t video-called each other just because you insist for your first time seeing each other to be in person.”

“I think it’s rather romantic. They’ll look into each other’s eyes for the first time then BAM! They’re finally together. But I still plan on giving him a shovel talk the first chance I get. Can’t have him break my twin’s heart without him knowing I have the god of destruction on my side.”

“What do you mean shovel talk- I mean, what even gives you the idea that he thinks of me that way for you guys to assume that we’ll end up in… in that kind of relationship?”

“He’d be an idiot if he still hasn’t fallen in love with you.”

“Literally almost everyone I know had a crush on you or have you forgotten already that my boyfriend’s one of those people?”

“I know for a fact that that’s true since I’ve already admitted that one of my reasons why I began bullying you back then was because I had a crush on you.”

“I must admit, I think I also had the same feeling towards you at the beginning of our friendship until I really got to know Luka and you helped us get together.”

“Oh! There’s also that. Do you actually know just how many people you’ve helped get together, buginette? Alya’s even written an article about it at the Ladyblog of how you are also known as Paris’s own cupid and how all of the couples you’ve paired ended up living a happy life together.”

“Everyone’s been saying how Ladybug’s the next best person they can go to if they ever want to find love after Andre.”

“And yet every time you try to pair yourself with someone, the magic just doesn’t seem to work.”

“So we all decided that we’ll be Ladybug’s cupid and pair her up with the boy she just can’t seem to get off of her head.”

“Now, you coming or what? I won’t be taking the money you’ll be lending me if you say no. I’m only going with these dudes if you also come or else I’ll just end up getting bored when there’s no one who can go around the city with me.”

“...”

“““...”””

“Fine. You guys win—”

“““YES!”””

“So here’s the final plan for the break. Kim, Alix, and Max will be staying in Paris for Kim’s competition, while the rest of us will be going to America doing our own stuff—”

“With you finally meeting your pen pal.”

“Yes. Alright. I’ll go and meet my pen pal. And during the break, no thinking about anything miraculous related. If ever there’s an akuma, only those who’ll be needed will go. Max will bring us to the akuma’s location and if there is anything going on that we can’t be excused of or if the fight goes longer than expected, Alix will bring us back in time making it look like we just went to the toilets, the usuals. Any questions?”

“““Non.”””

“Good. Operation: Taking a Break is good to go.”

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Yay! Finally got to post it. So comments? What do you guys think and who do you think who is saying what? I know there will be new holders in S4, but I decided I’ll either make them a temp or they still don’t know the other’s identities bc of stuff, so yeah. Still thinking abt it. Adios (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31840603

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S5 Ep 20: Pharaoh’s Cool New Trick

Digging my way through quite a pile of commission work (funny how these things only come all at once or not at all), nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, was looking forward to some free time to catch up on my many little side projects when I was asked to take off for a weekend to do some cat-sitting to which I would NEVER say no to a cat, so like...Rip this blog I guess, we only update like once a week nowadays, but what do you do?

That’s right, play Puzzles and Dragons! The only phone game worth paying any attention to! Where they just released Pegasus on their Yugioh Collab and he looks pretty great!

So I’m just gonna take a second for some art appreciation, because the Puzzles and Dragons art team is just A++++ honestly, and yes, I did pull 13 times to get a Pegasus in my monster box, and yes, he is a completely insane team leader that is absolutely broken when paired with Yugi (the numbers are so satisfying) but...look at him. He looks so good!

(also I finally got Joey Wheeler, and so now my gatcha cravings are settled. And, don’t worry, I play this game so much that I was there during Christmas when they offered like a bajillion stones for free so I didn’t actually use real money on this.)

Now PAD also released a Weevil and Rex, and I don’t know why, and neither does the art team because they still look pretty good but in comparison to all the mains, they sure do looks like just some shorty guys in some casuals.

though I gotta admit, I want to learn how the hell this art team does swooshy effects, because man, that would make my art so much better to just have flames violently exploding out of all my art. Why am I not doing that more often? I have the technology.

anyway, I didn’t bother trying to pull them. Maybe I’ll accidentally pull them when they eventually release a Duke Devlin. (also, RIP to the fact that Roland will probably never be in Puzzles and Dragons but like...I can only send them so many polite letters covered in stickers pretending I’m some 10 year old child and writing in my broken Hiragana “Roland in PAD?”. Thems the breaks. (They also might not remember who Roland is.))

Shoutouts to the card that Weevil is holding that is censoring this nipple on the booby spider, PS.

So because this is not actually a Puzzles and Dragons blog, and it’s been ten eons since I regularly updated so I could remember episode to episode...where the hell were we?

That’s right, we’re on an island now. This show’s wonderful obsession with evil islands (and spoiler, this is one of the few Yugioh Islands that doesn’t explode at the end. Mostly because Kaiba isn’t here to do it or this place would be cinder)

(read more island stuff under the cut)

Anyway, after announcing “hey guys! Screw islands!” Yugi immediately collapses and without any warning.

Apparently the armor is a big ol parasite, which is something that Yugi is so used to at this point that he refuses to admit that this is a problem. Just normal Muto stuff, refusing to tell anyone that he has a serious illness going on underneath that giant mass of hair.

(the sailor moon vibes coming off this weird orb energy)

Sort of feels like a call back to S1 when Yugi was clearly possessed and everyone else was like “He acting weird to you?” except it’s S5 and everyone has learned to never trust Yugi when he says he’s fine and they are responding like he is about to die. Which is correct.

Outside of the cave falls this scroll that is...glowing, I guess. So they open it up and get a bunch of hieroglyphs that give them the “riddle of light” and like youknow...it’s riddle stuff.

They’re doing this riddle for “wings.” And it’s like...everyone’s monster here has a set of wings or an ability to fly. Every single monster except for I dunno, flaming swordsman? Hell, Yugi himself had two sets of wings when he fused with Dark Magician (which was weird, and I still don’t like to think about what technically was going on there.) But we have to go and get ourselves even more wings.

Weirdly, Joey turns to Tea and does something that in any other show would be completely normal. He was like “you want to stay here with Yugi, don’t you?” and it was the first time Joey has ever actually addressed the fact that Tea and Yugi are close. Uncharted territory. I was amazed at the amount of casual shipping that is happening here. It’s almost like a normal ass relationship.

So the boys decide to go off, and be boys and tackle this themselves. And they shouldn’t have, because Tea is smart for this group, and also has the only healing spell.

Like if you’re playing D+D you wouldn’t typically leave your only healer behind. Just saying.

Also like...Grandpa Muto went with them? I guess he’d have to since he’s the translator but also...kind of weird to leave your grandson dying in a cave, but maybe that’s just the Muto lifestyle.

Do not be fooled by my caps, no one has addressed the Bakura in the puzzle for 3 seasons. I’m starting to think this show will never address the Bakura in the puzzle. Which honestly, that would be hilarious if they made a big deal out of that plot point and then couldn’t use it in the end.

And speaking of plot points that kind of come out of nowhere and don’t make full sense with the continuity of the show--Joey has regressed back to the 4th grade.

Hey show? What?

So like if you love Joey, this is not the arc for you, because this arc he is reduced to a Himbo and nothing else. Straight up didn’t know what an echo is, but is very strong and pretty, I guess.

This inevitably happens with any TV show becuase different people make different parts, and I’ve brought up before that sometimes it feels like some teams only have loose post-it notes of what any character should be like at any given point (ESPECIALLY with Seto Kaiba’s timeline) but like...

...Personally I’m mot so fond of this interpretation of Joey, kind of ignores Joey’s best traits, and makes Tristan look way too smart in comparison (and like I always pinned Tristan to be the Himbo of the group, but maybe it’s because they give Tristan so little else to do?)

And like don’t get me wrong, Joey’s a dumbass a lot of the time and needs to get corrected by his pals...but...to the point he doesn’t know what an echo is? He’s a dumbass in a High School student sort of way, youknow?

Anyway, they get down to this big ravine, and they have to destroy this stone while the light passes over it. Kind of feels like a Breath of the Wild shrine quest, actually. In fact, I think Breath of the Wild recycled the shadow/sunlight pathing quest like 4 or 5 times. (I love Breath of the Wild to death but boy did they run out of ideas at the end there.)

They have to fight a glass monster and it’s kind of like...do you know the game Balls 3D? probably not, but it looked like a bunch of random shapes stuck together like a 90′s animation. They basically went to war with shapes.

Pure Himbo energy, has several pokemon, but punches for his pokemon instead of using them. A power move if I ever saw one.

Youknow that would make pokemon a lot more interesting if you could like throw out your pikachu, and then choose to just physically run up to your opponents Eevee and sock it in the jaw. Raise of hands--I know you all would love a version of pokemon like that. Let Ash Ketchum punch a Ratata.

Bro has informed me that Ash does do something like this in the anime. But I’m not talking about the anime, I’m talking about the video game. Give me the option to physically combat my rival. This is what I want, Pokemon.

They discover a way to break the monolith, and the show thinks we’re like actually 7 years old (because the show is Y7, although I forget because it deals with so many dark themes) so the show is going to hold on to this puzzle for a while...just to fill time. And it’s fine because we gotta switch over to Pharaoh anyway.

Yami has this dream again. He attempts to fuse with Dark magician to overcome the dream, but alas, he is still not strong enough.

Yugi wakes up in this murky cave while Tea is out washing out like...some rag? (he’s also still got a rag, so I guess multiple rags were required for how sweaty Yugi is.)

Yugi says “I feel like I’m a new man!” a lot in this episode, and every time he calls himself a man like he’s some sort of adult it’s very funny to me.

And then this plot lore dropped.

I mean I guess inevitably it had to happen...

But man, end of an era. It was freakin hilarious while it lasted: that Pharaoh refused to read ancient Egyptian because it’s like 2002 and he is a High Schooler living in Japan and he actually doesn’t WANT to resolve the mystery of the puzzle. Maybe the people who made this arc don’t know about how in S2 and S3, the fact Pharaoh couldn’t read Marik’s back tatt was like...a really big issue. He couldn’t read the God card, he couldn’t even read that massive tablet that read “HEY PHARAOH THIS IS LITERALLY YOU”. KAIBA had to tell him how to read the God card for him. Freakin Seto “Magic is a lie” Kaiba had to tell him how to use the God Card because Pharaoh couldn’t read it.

But like...Pharaoh finally gave in at some point after the world was devoured by the Leviathan, and before Kaiba finished building Kaibaland (which was already built in S1 but wtv)

The timelines on this show have always been a mishmash...but this one is just like...

...show are you trying to convince me that at any point in this show after season Zero, Pharaoh had any idea what he was doing? Did he sap that brain energy straight out of Joey Wheeler so he could do this?

Wow.

(secretly hoping he forgets how to read Egyptian after this arc is over and the show goes back to the other development team)

Pharaohs reasoning is that, if this is the riddle of the light.....

....then where is the riddle of darkness????????????

and when Tea was like “Pharaoh that is not even remotely logic. Omg it’s so bright outside, lets go back to gross cave.” and Pharaoh was like “Tea! You got it!” and she was like “What the hell are you talking about?”

Not gonna lie, I saw the Orichalcos green, and I got concerned.

Anyway, Yugi gets very frustrated and was like “ugh, lets go save em. They’re gonna die (again.)” and marches down there as if he didn’t pass out an hour ago.

And he fuses with Dark Magician again while everyone else (including his grandpa) was like “Yugi are you freakin kidding me? The suit freakin kills you omg! Tea you had one freakin job!”

And then we get the plot twist that...I mean it makes sense but it was choreographed in a confusing way.

And out of no where this guy shows up again:

So this mysterious man shows up and says “If you don’t succeed you have to live here forever” which...nice...that would probably save the world a lot of problems if Yami got locked away and took his OP puzzle with him. And then this man also says “if you do succeed you become VERY POWERFUL” and Yami was like. “...”

This whole episode had a theme to it, where Tristan and Joey were trying to prove that they could do things on their own and without Yugi’s help. And honestly...felt a little bit misplaced. Yami’s the same guy who murdered Yugi last season with the Orichalcos so like...

...I mean he is probably more reliable than Tristan who once died and turned into a robot monkey for 10ish episodes.

and then they flew into a glowing door.

Folks, this was wild to look at.

This is wild.

And at this point I closed Photoshop and thought I was done. But then I looked at my timeline on the video and was like...wait...there’s more?

and I’m really glad I kept watching because it went back to Alex, who...is apparently just still at those steps in this haunted ass Pyramid.

Now we’re watching Yugioh.

I forgot for a second when they turned Joey into a Himbo and made Pharaoh literate, but we’re back. I mean...

...look at the liner art on this adult man.

So...I posit the question...has Alex spent the last 2-3 episodes doing nothing but applying eyeliner to his face in the dark? Because he absolutely has. And honestly, the vibe of being in a spooky haunted pyramid with barely any light, just applying eyeliner down the edge of your face...that’s a Yugioh vibe, if I ever saw one.

This arc is wild. Anyway, next episode we do even more fetch quests and riddles? Just going to guess now that we probably will.

(and for those new here, this is a link so you can read them from the top. Which, since we’re in S5, means you got like...hours of Yugioh content to read through. Enjoy the rewards of my weird hobby.)

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[vague-and-aloof]

GETTING TO KNOW YOU CHAPTER 3 - SNEAK PEEK

Well, I promised you guys a sneak peek of the next chapter, and here it is! Hope you’ll like it!

———

Mistoffelees had never invited another cat home before, not even as a kitten. When he started going to school his father had already started to tell him that magic scared other cats and this had resulted in him not even trying to make friends or get too close to other cats. So asking any of his classmates if they wanted to come with him to play at his house was never an option. So he wasn't quite sure what to do as he led Tugger into his house, unlocking the door to find the house empty.

"Looks like father isn't home yet." He said as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat hanger and toed off his shoes. "And Victoria was going to be with Plato after school, so we have the house to ourselves."

"Lucky us." Tugger said a little vaguely as he shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it next to Mistoffelees' before taking another good long look at the hallway with wide eyes. "Wow, this place is nice. Like, really, really nice." He turned back to Mistoffelees, kicked off his boots before placing them by the other shoes. "Your dad must be seriously loaded if you can afford living in a damn mansion! I mean, my dad's pretty well-off too, but not like this."

Mistoffelees smirked cheekily and shrugged. "I don't know if I'd call it a mansion, but yeah, I suppose it is a pretty nice house."

Tugger whirled around and stared at him, very much like how Plato had stared at Victoria the first time he had come by their house. "Pretty nice? Understatement of the decade! When you said that your dad makes millions of pounds a year, I thought you were exaggerating."

Laughing softly, Mistoffelees shook his head and started to lead Tugger further into the house. "Well, in a way I suppose I was and wasn't. Father comes from a very wealthy family, so he already had a big sum of money to his name. But he also owns a lot of very popular and upscale clubs in the city, which makes him a lot of money every year. A big sum of that money goes back into his clubs, in order to keep making those big sums of money. But he still gets to keep-" He paused to think for a moment. "Hm, I believe about 50 percent of it. So if he makes 5 million pounds in one year, he still gets to keep 2.5 million."

Tugger's jaw looked like it was close to falling off his face as he stared at Mistoffelees. Then he blinked and started to quietly mumble under his breath and counted on his fingers, then his eyes widened. "Dude, that's still 200 000 pounds a month! What the hell does he even do with that much money? Your bills can't be that much!"

Laughing again, Mistoffelees held up his paw and started counting on his fingers. "Cleaning staff, personal chef, tuition and school related costs, top of the line dancing gear and instructors for me and Victoria, his own personal parties... food." Mistoffelees sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. "Lots and lots of food. It's all very good food, the best he can find, but it's all a bit much. Especially since Victoria and I don't eat anywhere near as much as he does."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "There are cats starving in Africa and here we are, buying enough food to feed an entire army for months every week. It's sad, really." Then he shook his head again and turned back to Tugger with a small smile.

"And of course he gives me and Tori an allowance every month. But he only gives us a small amount, I don't think he's ever given us more than a hundred pounds each. He says he has no problem paying for school and the things we need or make us happy, but he doesn't want us to rely on him for everything. He values hard work and working for your success and doesn't want to spoil us to the point where we expect him to hand us everything in life."

Tugger nodded and tilted his head to the side. "Hm, that's pretty smart. Don't want to spoil your kids so they end up like Amaryl."

This made Mistoffelees laugh and he covered his mouth with his paw. "No, you really don't." He took a deep breath and licked his lips. "My father and I have different views on a lot of things, but I respect that he has always wanted to teach us the value of hard work and encouraged us to find our own success rather than lean on his wealth."

They entered the dining room and Mistoffelees placed his bag in one of the chairs, prompting Tugger to do the same. "Let's sit in here. It's the most comfortable place to do homework in."

Mistoffelees, still very unsure of what to do, remembered how his father usually treated his guests when he invited his friends over and made his way towards the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, by the way? Water, tea, coffee?"

Tugger grinned widely. "Yeah, can I have some fur dye in my coffee?" Both of them started laughing for a good long minute before calming down.

"Well, I don't think we have any fur dye in the house at the moment, unfortunately, but I can go and get some of my father's fur tonic if that's alright." This got them laughing again before Mistoffelees waved at him to come with him into the kitchen.

"It's probably best that you make your own coffee, so you can pick what you want for yourself."

Their coffee machine was very nice, made out of metal and black plastic with a touch display showing several different kinds of coffee you could have. From regular coffee, espresso, cappuccino, latte and much more. The Deuteronomys' had a similar one back at home, but the one they had could only make coffee, espresso and cappuccino. Tugger tended to make two cappuccinos at once in a big cup, which was fairly similar to a latte but not quite the same. This was a bit more luxurious, that was for sure.

He looked up at Mistoffelees, who was rummaging around in a cupboard for tea bags. "I thought you said you weren't a big coffee person."

Mistoffelees paused in his rummaging to turn and look at Tugger, one eyebrow raised and his mouth a straight line. "Oh, yeah you're right, I'm not. I suppose we really should just get rid of it then, since there's no one else in this house who likes to drink coffee." He turned back to the cupboard and took out a box with tea with a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, what a waste of two thousand pounds."

At first Tugger smirked and turned back to the display, but then his words registered in his brain and he whirled around to stare at Mistoffelees. "Your dad bought a coffee machine for two thousand pounds?!"

Groaning loudly, Mistoffelees turned around to Tugger with a large tea mug in his paw which he placed on the counter before filling it with hot water. "Yes, that was my reaction too. I couldn't believe that he'd spent that much money on a coffee machine when there are so many others out there at a much more reasonable price. But he and Victoria both really love coffee so they wanted the best they could find." He poured a little milk into his tea and then turned back to Tugger. "Me, I'm fine with just sticking with tea and the occasional cup of coffee. Never saw the appeal in it and I still don't."

Tugger kept staring at him for a good long minute before he finally blinked and turned back to the coffee machine, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. "The life of the one percent." Which prompted a small chuckle from Mistoffelees.

His own family was far from poor, they were limited to one income since it was only their dad working to support them all. Munkustrap had a part-time job at a bookstore and was able to pay for some of his things himself and though Tugger had tried to find a job too, he'd had no luck yet. So while they did have money, they did not have this much money that they could throw on a coffee machine.

"The day I become rich," He said, accepting a mug from Mistoffelees and pressed on the screen to make himself a latte. "I am going to buy myself a house like this and fill it with all of the expensive stuff, just because I can. And I'll commission huge paintings of myself that'll hang all over the damn house! Screw all of that typical rich-cat facade, I'll have five rooms with instruments, video games, an actual movie theatre in the living room and a damn bowling alley in the basement."

Mistoffelees snorted and shook his head. "You act as though there aren't rich cats out there in the world who have all those things."

@uppastthejelliclemoon @soh-da-meatball @storyweaverofgondor @whitmerule @demandra @i-overanalyze-musicals @rainbowratsstuff @rainbow-donkey @tigerstripes-and-leopardspots @tigertail94 @roxycake @roselessart

[xxisxxisxxis]

Deleted Scene: Gateway Drug | "Shout at the Devil" -- 1986

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.

.

.

Our skin is sweaty and sticky, the heat of the fire from the fireplace filling the living room while me and Nikki just got done working on our own methods of keeping each other warm. 

Nikki's leaning his head up against the bottom of the couch, my cheek against his abdomen, looking up at him.

His eyeliner is running slightly from sweating, the light from the fire the only thing lighting the house, casting a glow over him, his grin wide as we catch our breaths. 

"Okay," he starts, taking a sip of white wine and I pull the blanket over my chest. 

"Okay," I repeat, his free hand coming down to slide over my shoulder to nestle at the nape of my neck, in my hair. 

"Confession time." He starts. 

"Oh, dear." I rub my face and he chuckles. 

"I'll go first but you have to promise you won't think differently of me." He tells me. 

"Promise." I assure him, nervous. 

"Back when I was, like, eighteen, me and my buddy Lizzie--who was in London with me at the time--we worked in telemarketing trying to sell light bulbs." He explains and I raise my brows. 

"Light bulbs?" 

"Fucking sucked." He adds. "Anyway, we got a little commission off of it and it was the most grueling job I've ever fucking had, right? Well, we decided we could sell light bulbs ourselves and pocket the money."

"Nikki." I chuckle and he does, too. 

"So, we came up with "G.E.D."--General Electric Distribution--and we had jumpsuits and hats with G.E.D. on it and Lizzie got a magnet for his car with G.E.D. on it." He says and I rub my forehead. "We bought a pack of the cheapest tube bulbs, shit broke-cheap." He explains. "And we called a random company and said G.E.D was calling their manager back on replacing their bulbs. Well, these people would go with it thinking we were scheduled to come replace their light bulbs. So, we went and Lizzie would replace them, and we'd replace them with the shitty ones and box the nice ones we took out, and promised them the bulbs would work for ten years, I had a calculator and was calculating bullshit and telling them that they were cutting their electric bill by 30% with the new bulbs we put in."

My stomach hurts from how much I'm laughing by this point, my hands covering my face. 

"And then we'd call another company and take them the bulbs we had gotten from the previous client and take their bulbs and give it to someone else's business." He finishes and I wipe the tears from my eyes from trying to hold back my laughter. 

I can imagine Nikki with a calculator, pretending to crunch some numbers to figure out how much someone is saving on their electric bill monthly. 

"That's awful." I tell him and he swigs from his drink, smirking. 

"Your turn." He pats my hair. 

"For what?"

"Something you've done." He tells me. "Preferably something naughty that you've done to yourself while I haven't been here." He adds and I roll my eyes. 

"I demonstrated that earlier." I remind him, hitting his leg. 

"Okay, okay, seriously, what shitty jobs have you had?" He asks and I just stay quiet, rubbing my lips together. 

"I've never had a job." I admit. 

"What?" He sounds like he wasn't expecting it. 

"I never had one." I repeat. "My mom wanted me to stay focused on dance and school in high school so I never got one, and then I moved in with you right after graduation and that changed a lot, so…"

"You never had a job? Not even a little summer job or something?" 

"I babysat a couple times but that doesn't really count as a job because I like kids, so." 

"You like kids?" He asks me, looking slightly taken back. 

"Yeah...you don't?" 

"I don't have a problem with kids." He tells me, drinking more. "I just don't know if I want any." 

"Nikki, we got married because I thought I was pregnant." I remind him. 

"I'm not saying if you got pregnant I'd want you to get rid of it or leave you or something but...I don't know. I guess the shit with my dad I just have this thing about having kids. I don't want to fuck them up the way I was." He tells me. 

"I'm not your mom, you're not your dad, our kids will be fine." I assure him with a smile. 

"Well, what about your folks? Your mom is batshit for Jesus. What if you're like her?" He asks me. 

"If I were like my mom I wouldn't have even dated you, let alone married you." I chuckle.

"Bullshit, Sixx." He tells me.

"It's not bullshit." I argue. 

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not gonna have our kids in church every Sunday morning." He states and I lick my lips to hide my grin. "Uh huh, and that's where I put my foot down and say, 'you're not brainwashing my kids'." 

"Christianity is not brainwashing." I tell him. 

"Vivian, you talk to the air and expect it to do stuff." He chuckles. 

"It's called having faith." I reply, not taking a word he's saying seriously. "And I'll have our kids in church until they decide whether they want to choose to believe in God or not--not that church has anything to do with God to begin with--but still…" I mumble and he just looks down at me,  smirking, before he starts chuckling. 

"You're so full of shit." He tells me. "It's sexy, though." He adds. 

"I hate you." I roll my eyes and sit up, about to stand but he grabs my hand and pulls me to him, causing me to straddle him. 

"You're full of shit." I bite back to him, his arm wrapping around me, his lips pressing to the wine bottle again, a drop of it rolling down his chin and he goes to wipe it away but I lick it up greedily and he digs his fingers into my back, pressing his lips to mine with a hum, our tongues meeting for a moment before I pull away. 

"So no church?" I ask him, my fingernail lightly tracing over the tattoo on his chest. 

"No church." He replies. 

"Not even for Christmas and Easter?" 

"We won't even celebrate Christmas and Easter." He states, and I know he's just fucking with me, now. 

"Oh, really?" 

"Any celebrations we have are gonna be sacrifices to Satan." He says next. 

"Shut up." I tilt my head back and laugh, and he drinks more wine. 

"Speaking of...you know something else I need to get off my chest?" He asks next. 

"Do I want to know?" 

He takes yet another sip of wine before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and putting the bottle aside, both of his hands running up and down the back of my ribs.

"I was still fucking around with weird shit when we got married." He tells me. 

"Hence the car accident that should've killed you and my never ending depression episode that lasted nearly three months." I reply. 

"Yeah, I kinda backed off of it after that." He informs me casually and I chuckle. 

"All while on your, 'it's 'Shout at the Devil' not 'with the Devil' bullshit." I mimic him. 

"It was so 'Shout with the Devil,' the record label just wouldn't let that fly." He and I both laugh, but his expression changes a little and he runs his thumb over my lip. 

"When we do have kids...a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, time from now," he starts and I wince internally because we're already supposed to have some running around and he has no idea. "If you want them to grow up in church and decide when they're a little older what they want, that's perfectly fine with me." He admits and I furrow my brows a little. 

"What? This coming from the one who sneers at the mere mention of God?" I ask, referring to him. 

"I know the number your mom did on you really hurt you, and I know you won't push anything on our's they don't want to be a part of, so…" he adds. "...I don't know, I guess I just trust you not to be a psychotic slut for Jesus and take it out on our kids or whatever."

"How sweet." I say, again, sarcastically, and he cuts his eyes at me. 

"I'm about to bend you over my knee and just…" he grabs at my sides, tickling me, and I screech, trying to jerk away, and he pushes me back to the floor and tackles me, pinning my hands above my head with one hand while tickling at me with the other. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I call, trying to get some relief. 

He stops, laughing at me, before pressing his lips to my chest, up to my neck, and finally my lips, my arms snaking around his back, my legs hooking around his waist. 

He pulls away for a moment, resting on his forearms on either side of my head, his hands running through the roots of my hair, his pretty eyes looking down at me, making a smile come to my lips.

"Thank you," I tell him, about not making a big deal about me wanting our kids to go to church until they decide they don't want to anymore. 

He just smiles and presses a kiss to my lips, then my cheek, then starts peppering them all over my face, making me giggle. 

[glassbangtan]

stitches {kim namjoon x reader}

 Words: 10.5k

Summary: People always said getting married at a young age was a mistake - could they have been right?

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - masterlist 

---

You would think that after 4 years of marriage, two people would have more to discuss.

   The silence begs to differ. You haven’t seen Namjoon in weeks, purely for this reason - you don’t want to acknowledge the awkwardness, don’t want to sit at your - his - kitchen table and pretend nothing has ever happened between you.

   But you can’t stay quiet forever. You need to collect your things at some point. You need to be a mature adult at some point. You need to face the facts at some point, no matter how painful they are.

   The one thing keeping you from bursting into tears right here and now is the fact that Namjoon looks like he’s already shed enough tears for the both of you; he sits with his head bowed, staring at his fingers folded upon the table. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s wearing his plaid pyjamas - enough to show you he hasn’t bothered with putting effort in today, enough to show you that he doesn’t believe he needs to make a lasting impression because this could very well be the last day you ever see him.

   And it hurts. God, it fucking hurts, because it was only a week ago you were truly convinced Kim Namjoon was the one for you. And maybe that belief isn’t completely diminished, despite the divorce papers and the arguments; you look at him now and you don’t think of yourself as stupid or immature just because you got married at such a young age - you look at him now, and there’s a voice in your head telling you that you made the right decision, whether it worked out or not.

    You inhale shakily, resisting the urge to reach out and tangle your fingers in his. “If you find anything of mine later on, you know my new address. Don’t - don’t hesitate to just send it all over. If you - if you don’t want it.”

    He nods. 

   “And if - if you ever need anything from me, you can always call-”

   “I don’t think that’s very smart.”

   You bite your bottom lip; you expected that, of course. Namjoon has never been one for pretending things are okay when they’re not. 

    Despite this, you just need to hear him speak. “Why?”

   He shrugs, messing with his bony fingers. “It’s just - like - this isn’t easy on either of us, is it?”

   “Of course not.” 

   “So we might as well just. . . leave it as it is. I don’t want to get in another argument with you and then that’s all I can think about. I want to remember the good things, and the more we talk, the greater chance we have of tarnishing those good memories for ourselves.”

   Ouch.

   “So you just wanna. . . cut ties? You just want to pretend like we never happened?”

   “That’s not what I said-”

   “But that’s basically what you said.” You stand up; it’s not exactly fury you feel, more a heavy disappointment just below your rib cage. It will turn into a physical ache if you don’t leave now, just as it always does when you and Namjoon have an argument. 

   He rakes his hands through his hair, finally looking up from the table long enough to watch you scramble in your attempts to grab your stuff. “Y/N, that’s not what I-”

   “I get it, Namjoon,” you say. “You wasted your entire life with me. You’ve seen your chance to get away and you’re taking it - who can blame you?”

   Namjoon stands abruptly. “This isn’t a chance to get away. This is me putting both of our best interests at heart-”

   “You don’t have a right to tell me what is for my best interests. Because let me tell you, getting a divorce in front of the entire world most certainly isn’t what I would class as my best interest.”

    Namjoon shakes his head. “You do this all the time. You overthink everything I say and make it seem like I’m out to get you.”

   “No I don’t!” You’re on the cusp of yelling. Your chest is aching. Your hands are trembling, gripping the handle of your bag; a few more paces to the left and you’ll be out of here, away from him, away from this argument - but instead you stay rooted to the floor, ready to start screaming your head off all over again. “My entire life, Namjoon, I have put up with shit from you that nobody else on the planet would have the willpower to put up with!”

   His nostrils flare. “Like what?”

   “Oh, I don’t know, how about constantly being in the press? How about me not being able to step foot outside of my house without people jeering stuff at me? How about me not being able to go online because there’s millions upon millions of people constantly claiming I’m using you for money, or you’re cheating on me, or I’m cheating on you-”

   “I can’t control that.”

   “I know you can’t, but you also can’t sit there and say I make you out to be the bad guy all the time when it’s me who’s put up with all this shit for the past eight years!”

    Namjoon scoffs. He scoffs, and it sounds close enough to a laugh that a fresh wave of anger soars into your system, hitting you with the startling urge to throw something at the wall.

    “Alright then, Y/N, alright,” he says. “If being part of my life bothers you that much, I don’t know why you’re still here. Them divorce papers gave you a Get out of Jail Free card, so why the fuck are you still standing in my kitchen?”

    Never in your life have you heard Namjoon sound so angry. Your stomach stirs, a mix of interest and terror as you snatch your bag from the chair, turn on your heel and flee from his kitchen before any further words can be spoken.

    You’re trembling. Your feet hurt with the speed at which you’re walking, trying desperately to get through your own front door before the tears start streaming, but it’s pointless - so, so pointless considering you were already crying before you’d even escaped the confines of the house you used to call your own. 

    It all escalated so quickly, so pointlessly, but at the end of the day, that’s how it has been for months. It’s the littlest things that set you both off, and by the end of it, those little things added up, were engraved into the divorce papers that neither of you really wanted to sign but did anyway, just to see if it would make a difference.

   It did make a difference, of course. You moved house; you sleep on your own now; the media sees you as nothing more than a gold-digging whore, no matter how many statements Namjoon, BigHit and the boys of BTS put out claiming it was a mutual, respect-filled decision. 

    Yes, things have changed. Supposedly for the better, because at the end of the day, you’re single now, can potentially do whatever you want - but that can only be seen as a good thing when you ask for it, and you never asked for it. You never asked for a life without Namjoon. You never asked for your best friend to hate you.

   ---

   Taehyung is nice for meeting up with you, even though he knows the inevitable backlash that will follow - mainly directed at you.

   The coffee shop holds only a few customers this morning, and none of them stay long enough to pay much attention to you and the worldwide celebrity sitting in the corner. Taehyung with his beanie pulled over his head and his oversized coat, a passing glance is not enough to distinguish him as anyone important.

    He stares at you as soon as you sit down, not saying hello in that cheery way you’ve grown so accustomed to in your seven years of friendship with him. You set your bag on the floor, look at him and meekly say, “How are you?”

   Taehyung raises a brow. “I don’t think I’m the one that should be answering that question.” He leans forward, and it’s then you know this isn’t going to be some innocent little catch-up conversation; Taehyung most likely saw Namjoon last night and now wants all the details you can give. “What happened?”

   “Can I at least order my coffee first?”

   Taehyung slides his own cup towards you, folds his fingers on the table. “He was a wreck when he got to the dorms. Wouldn’t tell any of us what happened. Not even Yoongi.”

   You fight off the wince that wants to fight to the surface; Namjoon hardly ever leaves his band members in the dark about anything. 

    “I don’t - I don’t really know what happened,” you begin, unsure whether it’s a lie or not. “We just started arguing. Namjoon said some things, I said some things-”

   “I know how arguing works.”

   “We just hurt each others feelings, and I ended up storming out.”

   Taehyung sighs. “Again.”

   “It was better than letting things get worse.” A lump forms in your throat at the thought of how things would have progressed if you hadn’t fled the scene. “He didn’t want me there in the first place.”

   Taehyung perks up. “Oh yeah. Why were you at his house anyway?”

   “Getting some bits and pieces I left.”

   Silence. Taehyung continues to stare, like he’s waiting for another bit of a story that ended a while ago; acknowledging the fact that the house you remember picking, the house you lived in for four years, the house that holds so many memories for both you and Taehyung is now no longer a part of your life - it hurts. It makes it real. It makes all of it real.

   You shrug, taking a swig of Taehyung’s coffee. “But yeah. Namjoon and I are probably just better off not communicating at all. That’s us done for good.”

   Taehyung’s shoulders drop as if a boulder has fallen upon them. “You’ve got to be having a laugh.”

   “Nope. Last night showed me exactly what happens when we’re in the same room together, and there’s no point putting either of us through that shit again.”

   Taehyung looks baffled. A cartoon-ish type of baffled, with the knitted brows and the open mouth, leaning forward as if he’s convinced he misheard; you take a sip of your coffee, looking away as nonchalantly as you can muster with the lump in your throat.

   “So how have you and the boys been?”

   Taehyung slaps the table. Heads spin, you jump, salt pots rattle, but he doesn’t care.

   You slosh coffee down your front. “Tae!”

   “Oh, my poor little ears have heard it all!”

   “Keep your voice-”

   “I did not spend eight years listening to you flirt and have sex with Namjoon for you to sit here and tell me you’re not even gonna bother standing in the same room as him!”

   You grab Taehyung’s hand and tug, a desperate attempt to get him to shut the fuck up.

   But he barrels on, face growing redder with each word spoken. “That’s just - that’s just pure waste! Wasteful!” 

   “Okay, I get where you’re coming from, but-”

   “I don’t really think you do, Y/N, or else you’d be apologising to me for getting me so panicked by even suggesting-”

   “Alright, Tae, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Now can you be quiet, for fuck sake?”

   He inhales deeply, flipping his hand over and tangling his fingers with yours. “That wasn’t very funny.”

   You slump back, glancing around nervously; thankfully, most of the people who once surrounded you have left, either to head off to work or scared off by the lunatic yelling in the corner. The only person still staring is the bartender, an elderly man who can’t stand up straight.

   “You weren’t being serious, were you?”

   You look across the table and shrug.   

    Taehyung sighs. “I understand there’s tension between you both at the moment - coming to terms with a failed relationship and all that - but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to just. . . pretend the other one doesn’t exist. Me and the boys still want to see you - how are we gonna do that if you don’t even want to stand in the same room as Namjoon?”

   You run your hands through your hair, gripping the roots tightly. “It’s not just a failed relationship, Tae - it’s a failed marriage. A marriage of four years, for gods sake. It’s a bit deeper than what you seem to think it is.”

   Taehyung throws his head back and groans. “Fuck that.” He looks back at you. “The only difference is a lousy piece of paper that means fuck all in the grand scheme of things. A bit of legal stuff, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything. The only thing that matters is the fact that you and Namjoon love-”

   “Loved.” You taste the lie even as you say it.  

   Taehyung pauses, purses his lips before barrelling on like you never even interrupted. “-love each other very much. You have done for a very long time. So where’s the logic in pretending none of it ever happened?”

   You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You can’t think of a valid response, because Taehyung has once again offered you a question that does nothing but back you into a corner.

   You shrug, sipping your coffee slowly. 

   Taehyung hums, snatching the cup out of your mouth to take a sip of his own. “That’s what I thought.”

   You sigh. “It’s just awkward, though.”

   “It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.”

   “That’s not-”

   “Why don’t you come to rehearsals tonight and have a chat with him there?”

   You freeze. “I can’t.”

   “Why not?”

   You rack your brain for an excuse. A quick one. “Bethany and I are going to Spaniel’s tonight.”

   Taehyung raises a brow. “Spaniel’s? That club that nearly got shut down last month because someone got threatened at knife point?”

   You snatch the coffee back. “That’s the one.”

   Taehyung hums, slowly leaning back in his chair, all the while staring at you intently. “Fair enough. Good to see you’re still getting out there.”

   “Mhm!”

   “Well.” His words take on a slower drawl, and you know instantly he can see right through you; he’s Kim Taehyung, for crying out loud. He’s not easily fooled, no matter how much he wants people to think he’s the opposite. “I hope you have a good time. Drink responsibly and all that.”

   “I will.” 

   “Would you and Bethany like a lift? I know Namjoon can’t drive, but-”

   You raise a hand, notice it trembling and immediately lower it beneath the table again. Taehyung’s brows knit together. “No, thank you. We’re getting a taxi, so don’t worry.”

   Taehyung nods. His lack of argument is just further proof that he does not believe a single word you are saying - you decide then and there that you need to get in touch with Bethany as soon as possible to organise a night out. You would not put it past Taehyung to show up at your house just to make sure you weren’t lying.

   You smile and sip your shared drink. “So, how are the boys?”

    --- 

    You only start truly regretting your decision when you’re walking into Spaniel’s.

   The thing is, Taehyung was right; there’s no point locking yourself in your bedroom for the foreseeable future. You’re still young, still have an entire life ahead of you, and wasting that life because of some boy would just be stupid on your part.

   But you’re also not used to this - going to a club without Namjoon, who once offered a certain sense of protection. You’ve never been big on dancing, never been big on drinking. Back in the day, you and Namjoon used to just sit at the bar and talk for hours over steady drinks that left you only the tiniest bit tipsy by the end of the night but sober enough to understand that you’d rather spend any night out with Namjoon and nobody else.

   Now you have Bethany and her motley crew keeping you company, and it really doesn’t feel the same. They started on the pre-drinks before you had even arrived at Bethany’s house, and are down-right hammered by the time they get in the door of the club.

   “This place is shiiiiiit,” Anthony, one of Bethany’s friends, says. “We should have gone to Monroe’s or something.”

   “Monroe’s is even worse on a Wednesday night,” Bethany points out.

   “Most clubs are pretty dead on a Wednesday night,” you mutter.

   You don’t want to be here, but you don’t want to make that obvious, either. Prying Anthony’s arm from your own, you tell them you’re going to get yourself a drink and saunter off in the direction of the bar; you don’t really know what it feels like to be downright hammered, but at this point, if the rumours are true, you’re willing to try it. 

   You order your usual vodka and coke before taking a seat behind a fairly tall man, hoping his towering height will hide you from the group of people you walked in with. 

   The drink burns your throat on the way down, but you’re grateful for it. It’s gone in a matter of minutes, and you’re moving onto your next one.

    It’s so frustrating that you feel this way, like you should be curled up in your house, wallowing in your own self pity. It’s such a shame that the mere thought of someone who once provided such comfort is now nothing more than a nightmare, a teasing thought in the back of your mind because you know for certain you can’t have him back again. You lost him once, and that’s it - your final chance has been taken from you, leaving you bare and drunk and sad, and it’s so frustrating.

    You down another drink.

   “Alright mate, there’s no need to rush.”

   You jump, glancing to the side just as Anthony takes a seat beside you at the bar. His eyes are bloodshot now, black hair dangling in his face soaked in sweat that certainly wasn’t there thirty minutes ago. Leaning forward a little bit, you’re able to latch onto the pungent smell of weed wafting from his clothes. Immediately you crane your neck in an attempt to catch sight of Bethany; you would not put it past her to be high out of her head right now, and you care about her too much to let her wander around the club on her own in such a state.

   Anthony leans to the side, blocking your view. “You feeling alright, love?”

   You pull back, scowling. “I’m fine. Where’s Beth?”

   “She’s with Joshua,” Anthony replies like that answers your question at all. “It’s just you and me now, I think.” 

   You turn back to the bar. “I’m not interested.”

   “Not interested in what?” He slumps forward, knocking his elbow with yours. “You just looked a little lonely and I thought you would appreciate some company.”

      It would be so easy right now to just tell him to leave you alone; you don’t want the company, you don’t appreciate it at all, you want to go home - but the better half of you pushes to the surface before anything else. You give Anthony a small smile.

    “Thanks.”

  He grins right back, settling down on his chair. “So how come you’re here all on your own then?”

  “What do you mean?”

   “Well.” He tilts his head back, stares up at the ceiling with eyes unfocused. “It just seems a little. . . bizarre to me that someone as pretty as you would be sat here on your own. No boyfriend? Girlfriend? Significant other of any kind?”

    “Well, I have-” Your heart lurches into your throat and you catch yourself before the words can get much further forward. Anthony notices the sudden hitch in your speech, raises a brow and leans forward in an attempt to catch your eye, but you’re quick to look away and take yet another sip of your vodka and coke - it won’t be long until you can’t see straight. “Nope. I’m single.”

    Anthony hums. “Weird.”

   “Is it really?”

   “Well, I think it’s weird, but that might just be because you’re the prettiest person I’ve seen tonight.”

    His flirting doesn’t flatter you in any way. You glance at him through the corner of your eye, trying for another friendly little smile, but it fails and you instead take another drink to hide your distaste; comments like that don’t sound right when they’re coming from someone who doesn’t even know you.

    Now, Namjoon on the other hand - he knew you better than anyone. He knew you better than you knew yourself. He would say things like that to you and you’d genuinely believe them, because if there was anyone in the world who knew the truth about you, it was him.

    This guy has been in your presence for a grand total of twenty minutes and he’s only saying all this stuff because he’s drunk and high and horny. 

    “Do you have many hook-up’s, Y/N?” he asks suddenly, taking a sip of his own drink.

    Your head snaps round. “Why would you ask that?”

   “I was just wondering,” he replies, smirking into his glass. “You seem like a good egg. I can’t imagine you falling into anyone’s bed by accident.”

     “By accident?”

   “Unless, of course,” he continues, “you want a little bit of fun tonight.”

    The anger claws its way into your system, but before you can say anything to hurt this guys feelings, another voice echoes out from behind you.

    “Y/N! There you are!”

    You whirl around just as Taehyung wraps a heavy arm round your shoulders, tugging you into his side. You gasp, surprised, but Taehyung barrels on before you can say anything to make Anthony believe you had no idea Taehyung would be here in the first place.

     “Who’s this then?” he asks, motioning to Anthony who sits with knitted brows and pursed lips. 

    “Uhhh…”

  “I’m Anthony.” He reaches forward for a hand shake. Taehyung stares at it a moment before slowly taking the offered hand.

     “You two friends?”

   “He’s friends with Bethany,” you reply quickly, before spinning in your seat and pushing Taehyung back, stumbling up after him. “Do you mind coming with me to the smoking area?”

    Taehyung giggles. “You don’t smoke-”

    “Be right back, Anthony!”

    “Will we?” Taehyung asks once you’ve finally managed to push him through the crowd towards the back doors.

    “Of course not,” you hiss, shoving him into the open air where he finally bursts out laughing. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re meant to be at rehearsals!”

    “The good thing about being your managers best friend is that he lets you reschedule important meetings,” says Taehyung. “The whole group.”

     You glare at him, even though you knew this would be the case from the moment Taehyung’s voice rang out behind you only minutes before; your stomach does a flip, one that you recognise as dread but wish was something else. Excitement, maybe. 

    Taehyung continues to grin, but it’s easy for him. He’s not the one who has to deal with the awkwardness. He’s not the one who’s just had their night completely ruined.

     “You’re an asshole,” you spit.

    He shrugs. “I’m not trying to set you two up - if you’re happier on your own-”

  You glare at him, because he knows full well you’re not.

   “-then I’m gonna respect that. But I couldn’t just go to the club and not bring Namjoon, you know? That wouldn’t be very nice of me.”

    “Oh, God forbid you’re not very nice.”

   He nods solemnly. “I know. I know. Now, can we go back inside? It’s fucking freezing.”

   He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, merely turns on his heel and starts back towards the club. You suck it up - you have to, because at some point, people are going to forget you and Namjoon ever existed and this fear you have developed will be seen as nothing more than stupid and irrational. You might as well start making the progress now.

     The club suddenly seems ten times more crowded than it did when you first walked in; people are dancing, drinking, singing at the top of their lungs, and you can hear every word, feel every limb as you shove your way through the thickening crowd. Taehyung is taller than a lot of the inhabitants, and with his good looks and glowing smile, most people move out of the way when they see him walking towards them; it’s not too difficult to keep up with him.

     But then you see Namjoon, and you don’t really understand why you’re following Tae in the first place.

    “Oh, God,” you whisper. Taehyung glances at you, tries for a comforting smile, but the look on your face must be something else, something not even Taehyung can try and settle. Instead he reaches back, grabs your hand and pulls you forward, more to keep you from sprinting out of the club than to give you any type of comfort.

    Because Namjoon looks so good, as he always does, and you remember nights like this when the other boys would force the two of you from the comfort of Namjoon’s studio, or the comfort of your shared home, and the two of you would just waltz around the dance floor, lost in each other and nobody else. It feels wrong to be in his presence in a situation like this and not have that kind of connection, and when he turns and meets your eyes, it’s obvious from the sudden drop of his smile that he feels the exact same way.

     “There you are!” Jungkook exclaims, bursting out from behind Namjoon and giving Taehyung a hug. “We were wondering where you’d run off to!”

  “I was collecting a friend,” Taehyung replies, dragging you forward. The other boys turn, grinning as soon as they lay eyes on you. You are bombarded with hugs and incoherent yelling, questions you can’t answer because they pile on top of one another with little to no gaps in between. 

     “Hi,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

    The boys continue talking over one another, but you zone out. Namjoon stands a little bit behind everyone else, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, his eyes drawn to the floor as he waits for a change of topic - a topic that doesn’t involve you. His black hair hangs over his eyes, and you want nothing more than to reach forward and brush it out of his face, just like you used to do, but you don’t. You instead keep your hands knotted at your sides, smiling and nodding to whatever nonsense the six other boys are spewing at you.

    “Right!” Seokjin suddenly exclaims, clapping his hands. “I’ll grab the first round of drinks. What does everyone want?”

     Orders are tossed left right and centre, and somehow, Seokjin picks up on them all. You offer to go with him to help carry the tray, and it’s only by the grace of god and Seokjin’s obliviousness that he agrees and lets you break away from the other boys. You follow him up to the bar and wait for him to order.

     “I can’t believe you’re here,” he says as the two of you wait. “What a coincidence! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

    “I know,” you reply. “I came here with Bethany.”

   Seokjin nods, even though he has no idea who Bethany is. “It’s good to hear you haven’t been isolating yourself - Namjoon’s been a right pain in the ass to get out of the house recently.”

    You freeze. “Has he?”

   Seokjin hums, messing idly with a paper straw he found discarded on the counter. “He’s been in a right mood. Obviously, like, we can’t blame him - he’s been going through a lot recently.” He flicks a glance at you. “You both have, huh?”

   You shrug. You don’t have to lie if you say nothing at all.

   Seokjin turns back to the bar. “But yeah, he just hasn’t been handling it very well. Hasn’t been handling himself very well.” He shrugs. “I suppose if you’ve been spending your entire life with somebody else, it’s kind of difficult to get back into the swing of doing things on your own, you know?”

    You do know. You know far too well. 

    You nod slowly, biting your lower lip to stop the tears that suddenly want to make an appearance; you’re too drunk for this. You should be at home, not stuck in a club trying to avoid your ex-husband.

    The drinks are passed across the bar once they have all been made. You reach out to grab the tray, but a voice by your ear startles you before you can pick them up.

     “Where did you go off to?”

    Both you and Seokjin whirl around at the same time. Seokjin grins when he sees Anthony standing by your shoulder, though Anthony does not repay him with the same level of courtesy.

    “Who’s this?” Seokjin asks, already reaching out a hand in greeting.

   Anthony scowls at him. “I’m Y/N’s friend. Who are you?”

   “Oh, me too,” Seokjin replies. “Do you want a drink? You can have mine if you like vodka and-”

  “I’m just here to retrieve Y/N.”

    You pause, certain you must have misheard. Even Seokjin, forever the man to stay calm in moments like this, freezes with his hand hovering over the top of his drink. 

    Together, you both say, “Huh?”

    “Well, Y/N came in with us,” Anthony says. “I don’t like the idea of walking around with someone I don’t know - especially when she’s slightly drunk.”

   “I’m not-”

   Anthony grabs your arm. “Let’s go.”

    Seokjin grabs your other arm. “I don’t - uh - I don’t think that’s too good of an idea.”

    “And why is that?” Anthony gives Seokjin a smile, warm and welcoming, but it’s the flash of anger in his bloodshot eyes that convinces you he doesn’t mean any of these niceties he’s trying to present. You quickly snap your arm from his grip, stumbling into Seokjin’s chest.

    Anthony looks at you, tilts his head. “Y/N-”

   “I’m going with Seokjin,” you reply. “Tell Beth I’ll call her when I get home.”

   Anthony opens his mouth to respond, but you don’t stick around to hear what he has to say, certain it will be nothing more than a drug-induced attempt to get you to stay. Instead, you turn on your heel, grab Seokjin’s hand and drag him back through the crowd, Seokjin fumbling with the tray of drinks as he tries to keep up with you.

    “Who was that guy?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder in bewilderment. 

   You tug on his hand, a silent plea to just ignore Anthony, who has now taken to yelling across the dance floor at you. “He’s friends with Bethany - they’re room mates or something. I don’t really know.”

   “He’s frightening,” Seokjin says. “Did he hurt you?”

   “No. He’s just high. You watch, I’ll have an apology text tomorrow morning.”

   Seokjin snickers as the two of you finally arrive at the table one of the other boys managed to dig out. Seokjin sets the tray down and hoists himself onto the bench beside Namjoon, who is purposefully and oh-so-obviously trying to avoid your gaze.

    At this point, you don’t even care; perhaps the alcohol has settled in your system at long last, leaving you slightly tipsy despite still being far too connected to reality. You’re still overly aware of Namjoon’s presence, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s just because he’s Namjoon. Around you, girls and boys continue to glance at him over their shoulders, whisper amongst themselves, pointing in a way that makes you want to wrap your arm around his just to tell them he’s mine.

   But you aren’t his anymore, so you occupy your hands by grabbing a drink from the tray and turning to talk to Yoongi, who is busy tapping away at his cell phone.

    As the night draws on, you become looser, more willing to have a good time than you were before. You and Hoseok have a dance battle that everybody laughs at, claiming you won despite the obvious winner being Hoseok himself. The bartender asks for your number, but Taehyung cuts in and says you don’t have a phone, and the bartender is too intimidated by Taehyung’s grand height to argue; you don’t even care. Taking another sip of your drink, you grin and thank Tae for a reason you are unsure of. 

      And the entire time, Namjoon keeps his distance.

   It’s as the night starts drawing to a close that things start getting blurry; out of the seven boys you’ve been spending time with, three are left in your presence by the time midnight rolls around. Taehyung, Yoongi and Namjoon gather round the table as you stand beside them, too angsty to sit, too drunk not to make your presence known. You sip your drink as the boys talk, idly swaying your hips back and forth, not really paying attention to what they’re saying…

     “Don’t you think it’s getting a little late?”

   If it was anybody else, you could have convinced yourself not to turn around. But Namjoon’s voice has some kind of appeal to it that has you spinning, nearly sloshing your drink over yourself at the speed of which you do so. You half-expect him to be looking elsewhere, keeping to the pattern of the night of completely ignoring you, but this time, he’s staring right at you, one eyebrow raised.

    You stare right back.”Huh?”

   “Oh, come on, Namjoon,” Yoongi scoffs, not taking his eyes off his phone. “It’s only midnight.”

    “I know, but Y/N doesn’t like staying out late, and-”

   “I love staying out late!” Your voice is shrill, much louder than you originally intended, but you’re too far gone now to change that. “Now that I don’t have anyone to come home to, staying out late is my forte!”

   Taehyung spins, eyes wide, face paling. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

  You keep your eyes on Namjoon, watching his expression shift from genuine concern to anger. His teeth grit, fingers curling into fists upon the table.

    “Oh,” says Namjoon slowly. “Is that right?”

   “Mhm.” You sip your drink, wrap an arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. He looks up, startled, from his iPhone, cheeks growing red as he glances uncertainly from you to Namjoon and back again. “It’s like this sense of freedom, you know? Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I believe it’s called being single? Really great.”

    “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s pretty good,” Namjoon mutters.

   “Okay!” Taehyung exclaims, sharing a concerned look with Yoongi. “I think Y/N’s had a bit too much to-”

   “No, no,” Namjoon cuts in. Taehyung and Yoongi close their eyes in exasperation, but you keep your gaze firm on Namjoon, who keeps his firm on you. “Y/N wants to stay out late, then she should stay out.”

     “And who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky!”

   Namjoon’s scowl deepens. “Maybe.”

    His indifference just makes you angrier; he should be yelling, telling you to stop teasing him, saying he misses you and that this divorce is the worst decision he’s ever made…

   But he isn’t. 

   He’s sat in that stupid chair with his stupid half-drunk drink, and he’s scowling at you but he’s not doing anything to put a stop to whatever you’re saying because at this point, you don’t even know what it is you’re trying to say. 

     “Do you think Anthony needs someone to go home with?” you continue, tightening your hold on Yoongi. 

   “Anthony?” Namjoon suddenly bursts, the first sign of proper anger he’s shown tonight. “The drug addict?”

   “He smokes a little weed every now and then.” You wave a dismissive hand at your ex-husband. “You just never liked him because he’s not willing to settle down with anyone - he’s living his life. He’s doing what people our age should be doing.”

    Namjoon’s guard cracks.

   Taehyung reaches for his arm, but it’s really no use - Namjoon is taller, broader, angrier, and he barrels past the table before you can do so much as blink. His fingers are wrapped around your upper arm in seconds, a feather light touch that does not equal the stormy expression on his face. You squeal dramatically, stumbling into him as he drags you away from the table.

    “What are you gonna do to me?” you demand.

   Namjoon scowls, says something to Taehyung and Yoongi before he’s dragging you out of the club. 

    “Get off me!” you exclaim, though you make no attempt to shake yourself from his grip; even in your overly-intoxicated state, the feel of Namjoon’s fingers on your skin - after so long - is like sipping water after months in the desert.

     The two of you walk outside. Once you pass the exit doors, Namjoon lowers his hands to your waist, spins you around so you’re facing him and says, “What’s the matter with you?”

   You’re taken aback. You stare at him, eyebrow raised.

   He tilts his head. “You’re drunk. You hate getting drunk.”

    “You have no idea what I hate,” you shoot back. “You don’t know anything about me anymore, Namjoon!”

  He rolls his eyes. “Oh, give me a break. We’ve been broken up for two weeks!”

    “And you don’t think I’ve changed in them two weeks?”

  “Well, apparently you’re a lot more fucking stupid-”

    “Oh, go to hell, Namjoon. So what if I had a drink? Not all of us want to be stuck-up little piss-babies like you!”

    He scoffs, closing his eyes. “Is that your idea of an insult now?”

   You wriggle out of his grip, even though it takes every fibre of your being, even though you want nothing more than to stay locked in his embrace forever. “I’ll do what I want, okay? And tonight, I want to go home with Anthony.”

     “You’re gonna regret it in the morning.”

   “I’ll deal with that in the morning.”

   You spin on your heel, starting towards the door back into the club, but you only manage two steps forward before Namjoon has grabbed your wrist and is tugging you back; you’re ready to throw a hissy fit, a genuine, toddler tantrum if he doesn’t let you go, because looking into his eyes right now is hurting you so, so badly, and-

    “Come home with me instead.”

   You stumble, certain you’ve heard him wrong. Even through your drunken haze, you can’t bring yourself to believe he has truly said what he’s just said.

     “What?”

   “Just so I know you’re safe,” he mumbles, as if embarrassed to be admitting such a thing. “I’ll sleep on the sofa, you can take the bed. But I don’t like the idea of you going home on your own when you’re in this state.”

    You stare at him; is he pitying you? Is that what this is? You can’t put your finger on it, but your heart is thumping at a million miles per hour, and your drunken brain is seeing this invitation as nothing more than an opportunity, a chance to spend one last night with him, whether it be completely platonic or not.

    “Okay,” you croak out. “That sounds. . . Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”

  Namjoon nods, once and certain, before he turns and starts walking back towards the car park.

   ----

    The house hasn’t changed, and maybe that’s the worst part.

    There’s still evidence of you once living here, and that bothers you. It irks you that Namjoon can sit amongst photographs and things that once belonged to you and not completely break down. Stood on the mantelpiece is a picture you and him took a few years back, still framed in the same old brown frame that you planned on replacing ages ago, but never got round to. One of your hair ties is still on the coffee table. A pair of shoes you grew out of are still tossed in the shoe basket by the front door. 

   He hasn’t touched a thing.

    You swallow the thick lump forming in your throat, stumbling through the door. Namjoon goes to catch you, but you flinch out of his grip before his fingers can make contact, suddenly much too afraid of what is happening; you’re meant to be getting over him, for crying out loud. Yet here you are, walking into this house with this man with not a thought racing through your head.

     “Let me get you a glass of water,” he says, keeping a loose eye on you even as he walks into the kitchen. You sit down on the sofa, cover your face with your hands and inhale deeply; this is going to be a mighty long night if you don’t get your head on straight. 

    Namjoon returns a few minutes later. He places the pint of water on the coffee table before sitting down beside you; his hands hang awkwardly between his knees as he continually shoots glances in your direction. Neither of you know what to do, or what to say. Do you even bring up what happened tonight? Do you apologise? Do you ask him why he even cared so much in the first place?

    You do none of those things, instead choosing to bask in the silence. Your heart is thumping in your chest, the alcohol still pumping through your veins; you know you messed up somehow tonight, but you’re becoming too exhausted to really care about it.

    Namjoon is the first to speak. “How are you feeling?”

   “Good. Tired.”

    “I’ll go set up the bed.” He starts to stand, but you grab his wrist before he can get very far. He pauses midway, glancing back at you. “You alright?”

     “I’ll take the sofa.”

  He raises a brow as if the mere idea of you sleeping on the sofa is ludicrous. “Don’t be an idiot.” He shakes his hand out of your grip. “Stay here and drink your water. I’ll be back in five.”

    “Namjoon, I’m serious.”

   “So am I.” And then he disappears around the corner, leaving you in the living room all on your own.

   You take this moment of alone-time to wander the place that used to be yours. With your pint of water in hand, you slowly walk around the living room, glancing at old pictures and smiling at old memories - all of which he has kept, and not just placed subtly around the room; they’re at the forefront. To the untrained eye, it would look like you never even left in the first place.

    Again, it bothers you that he can sit in here so casually. Back at your place, all pictures of you and Namjoon have been shut tightly in cardboard boxes and shoved into the roof space  - not out of spite, but because seeing them everyday and remembering a time better than your own would be a form of torture. 

   You care too much. Maybe Namjoon doesn’t.

    You trail a hand along the outside of a white picture frame, the inside containing a photo of the two of you backstage at the Grammys. This was the very day Namjoon and the boys won their first Grammy award; in the picture, Namjoon is sweaty with his shirt unbuttoned just a bit, and you look glamorous and happy with your arm around his waist and the biggest smile on your face, tears continuously flowing down your cheeks even as the picture is being taken.

    “I can take them down if you want.”

   You jump, spinning around just as Namjoon steps out from the darkness of the hallway.

    “If you don’t want to look at them, I mean,” he clarifies upon seeing your puzzled expression.

   You wave a dismissive hand. “No, it’s okay.” You turn back to the photo. “Remember this?”

    “How could I forget? It was one of the best nights of my life.”

    “I know. Though I’m surprised you remember it with the amount you and the boys drank at the after party.”

   Namjoon scoffs, coming up behind you to get a better look at the photo. “I didn’t drink that much.”

   “I basically had to carry you home.”

    “You didn’t have to do anything.”

   “So, what? You just expected me to leave you there?”

   Namjoon shrugs, picking the frame up to get a better look at the picture. You watch his eyes soften, grip tightening just that little bit; you know exactly what he is seeing, because it was only seconds before that you were seeing the exact same thing. A happily married couple with not a care in the world, a love so strong and so ever-lasting that - at the time - it seemed impossible to break. You’re all smiles and hands-around-waists and dreamy gazes being sent across the room; it was such a perfect day.

     You wonder how anything could have broken you both after that day.

   Namjoon coughs and hastily sets the picture back down on the mantelpiece. “The beds set up for you.”

   You nod, because you don’t know what else to do; do you thank him? Do you argue with him again? In truth, you don’t even want the bed - the idea of sleeping upon the same mattress you and Namjoon used to sleep on together is just taunting, and you would much rather sleep on the sofa anyway.

   But Namjoon doesn’t seem to be taking that as a suggestion. He wades across the room and throws himself down onto the sofa, placing one hand behind his head and closing his eyes, even as you stand over him, waiting for the conversation to move onto something you both know needs to be discussed.

    Upon hearing no signs of you leaving the room, Namjoon cracks open an eye and looks up at you. “You alright?”

    “You ask that an awful lot.”

   “Yeah, well, it’s polite.”

   You glare. “I’m fine. Just. . . Are you sure you don’t want the bed?”

   He closes his eyes in response.

   You groan loud enough for him to hear. He simply smirks - the bastard - and that is enough to have you cracking. You throw a pillow at him before marching upstairs and into the master bedroom - the master bedroom which still looks the exact same as when you last stood within it. The double bed with the checkered quilt cover, the bedside table with the broken lamp, the window with the curtains that are never closed, but which you now yank closed because the sun will be most excruciating tomorrow.

    You throw yourself down on the bed. The scent of Namjoon explodes within your senses.

   You start crying.

    It might be the alcohol. It might be the memories. It might be the fact that you’re so young and already have one divorce under your belt, a divorce from the man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with, a divorce from the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You’re in his house, and he’s downstairs on the sofa, refusing to let you sleep in such an uncomfortable space; why would you not want to spend the rest of your life with someone like that?

     You pull your shirt off over your head, kick your jeans off and slip under the covers without replacing them with anything; you’re too tired, too emotional to really care about the consequences of such an idea.

    It’s not like Namjoon hasn’t seen everything anyway.

    ----

    You are woken by the sound of rustling in the corner of the room.

   It doesn’t strike you as anything odd for a moment; you’re groggy, comfortable, can already feel the beginnings of a headache fighting to the surface. At this moment in time, you would gladly let a thief rummage through the wardrobe if it meant they left you alone to sleep.

    However, as human nature entails, curiosity gets the better of you. Your eyes creak open slowly, head popping up inches from the pillow just enough to see Namjoon kneeling on the floor, rummaging through the chest of drawers.

     “Morning,” you say. 

   Namjoon looks up and smiles. His eyes drift down a little bit, but he gives no reaction to your bare chest, and you can’t think of why he would; this used to be the state he saw you in every morning, and so you make no attempts to cover up as you sit up and watch his investigation.

    “What you doing?”

   “Looking for clothes,” he replies. “Do you want to borrow anything for today?”

   “Yes, please.” You crane your neck as if getting a better look at the drawers. “Can I steal that grey hoodie you have?”

  Namjoon sends you a glare. “That’s my favourite hoodie. And it’s always massive on you - you could wear it as a dress, for crying out loud.”

    You simply pout. Namjoon rolls his eyes, digs a little deeper in his pile of clothes before he pulls out the grey hoodie in question and launches it at you. 

    “There.”

   You grin. “Thank you!” You don’t slip it on, though, instead choosing to fiddle with the familiar sleeves whilst staring at Namjoon’s morning physique for a little while longer.

   Finally, he sighs and slumps back on his heels. “I really need to reorganise this entire thing.”

   “When do you ever have that kind of time, Namjoon?”

   “I know. I’ll just have to do it when I get home from work one day.”

    You scoff. “You’re exhausted when you get home from work.” You stand, dragging the hoodie with you but still not putting it on; when Namjoon looks up, again, he barely even registers that you’re currently topless. This is a sight he has seen plenty of times. “You get yourself off to work. I’ll reorganise everything while you’re away.”

    You kneel down next to him and shove his shoulder, an attempt to get him out of the way though he’s quick to catch himself, refusing to move. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

   “You didn’t ask. I offered.” You tap your watch-less wrist. “Now get going or you’re gonna be late.”

   Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, and it makes your stomach flip; only two weeks ago this would be the moment he leans in and kisses you, tells you he loves you. Now, however, he simply bites his lip, nods his thanks and exits the master bedroom.

    You’re too groggy to think too deeply into it; you’re still tired, and you’re cold, but you’ve got a task to do that will hopefully get your mind off it all. You spend the day marching around your - Namjoon’s - bedroom, finding clothes in the most random of places, subconsciously looking out for clothes that may signify somebody else has been staying the night.

    But there is none, and by the time nine o clock rolls around, you have the entire house back to full organisation, and not a single one of your feelings have been shattered. You would call that a day well spent in comparison to the horrible few weeks you’ve been having recently.

    You slump back on the sofa and turn the TV on, pulling your knees into the oversized hoodie you’re wearing; Namjoon used to always tell you off for this, never appreciating the way you stretched his already four-sizes-too-big hoodie. But in the same breath, he never stopped you, knowing it was a habit you had gotten into when you were younger.

     Namjoon returns at quarter past nine, carrying a bag of takeout. You glance over your shoulder, give him a smile that he quickly returns as he struggles to kick the door closed behind him. You giggle, standing up to help him, though you end up doing nothing more than trailing him into the kitchen.

     “I was hoping you were still here,” he says, setting the takeout bags on the counter. “I got your favourite from the Chinese.”

    You peek into the bag and grin. “Sweet and sour!”

  “Of course. Grab a plate, will you?”

   You do just that. “How was work?”

  “It was alright,” he replies, sucking a bit of honey from his finger. “Yoongi and I are working on a song, but it’s proving to be a bit of a pain, I won’t lie.”

   You furrow your brows, setting the plates on the counter before leaning forward to catch Namjoon’s eye. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

   “Nothing’s wrong with the song. Yoongi knows exactly what he wants for it, but my head just. . . hasn’t been in the right place.” Your stomach drops, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice the implications of his words as he continues bustling about in search of napkins, pint glasses, knives and forks. “They always give you so much. How am I meant to dish it out if-”

    “Have you been alright?”

   Namjoon pauses, thumb halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

  You grab his hand, taking the fork from his fingers and setting it down. “I’ve never known you to have trouble with something like that. Are you alright?”

    “I - what - I mean-” He flicks a desperate gaze towards the living room, as if there is someone standing there that can help him out of this awkward situation. You don’t let it drop that easily, though, as you lean into his line of sight and raise a brow.

     “Well?”

  He deflates. “We just got divorced, Y/N. No, I haven’t been alright.”

    And even though you knew - even hoped - that was the answer, it still makes your heart crumble. You stare at him, biting your lower lip as he shrugs as if to say ah well, what can you do? and turns back to dishing out the food. He starts humming to himself, dropping the subject as quick as it was brought up.

   But you’re not that easy; even after he hands you your meal and leads you back into the living room, his words play on a continuous loop in your head. You flick glances at him, spirits lifting every time you see him laugh at something on the TV, dropping again when you remember what he’s just told you.

    It’s so weird that only a few days ago the two of you were screaming bloody murder at each other. It’s so weird that only a few weeks ago you were scribbling your signature down on a set of divorce papers. It’s so weird that only a few weeks ago, you were convinced you had fallen out of love with him.

    But god, how can that be true when the mention of his hardships make you feel this way, like they’re your own, like you should be the one comforting him when he gets home from work?  

    After dinner has been eaten, you offer to wash the dishes. Namjoon gives you a look as if to say are you crazy? and doesn’t even reply before he’s taking your plate from your lap and heading into the kitchen on his own. You clasp your hands in front of you, watching him leave, your stomach turning with the uncertainty of this entire thing - you want him to feel the same way. With everything in you, you want him to feel the same regret you currently feel at the signing of those papers. 

    But what are the chances?

   You close your eyes, slump back on the sofa and wait for him to return. You used to talk to Namjoon about everything. He knows every single one of your deep, dark secrets - it won’t be difficult to just ask him how he’s feeling. Hell, that used to be something you did all the time, on a daily-

    Your phone rings.

   You jump, grabbing it and looking at the caller ID. Scribbled across the top of your phone is the name ‘ANTHONY.’

     “Him?”

   Your head snaps up. Standing above you is Namjoon, a prawn cracker in his hand and a scowl on his face.

    “What the fuck is he ringing you for?”

  You quickly click cancel, shoving your phone back on the coffee table. “He’s probably just ringing to make sure I got home alright. Are there any more prawn crackers?”

    Namjoon grunts, throwing the bag of prawn crackers onto your stomach before taking a seat on the sofa - the sofa opposite you, whereas once before he was quite content sitting right beside you.

    You stare at him, open mouthed. “Are you being serious?”

  He doesn’t look away from the TV. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

   “Are you huffing?”

    “Huffing? What would I be-”

   “Namjoon, I don’t like Anthony like that. Hell, I barely like him as a friend. You know that!”

  Namjoon furrows his brows, taking a furious bite of his prawn cracker. “How am I meant to know that when you were talking about fucking him yesterday?”

    You freeze. “Oh, Namjoon…”

  Namjoon scoffs, head snapping round. “Yeah, I remember. You two were getting pretty fucking cosy last night.”

    “I was drunk!”

    “I don’t care!”

  “Well clearly you do if you’re getting this worked up about it-”

   “I’m not worked up.”

  “Oh, really? How red your face is getting begs to fucking differ.”

   Namjoon stands. “I’m going to bed.”

    “Oh, so you want the bed tonight, yeah? Shall I take the sofa?”

    “Do you want to change the storage room into a guest bedroom so you can invite Anthony over, too?”

    “I don’t even-”

  You pause, having just realised what has just been said - neither of you acknowledged the fact that you could easily just go back to your own home if you didn’t want to sleep in the same house as Namjoon. Neither of you wanted to admit the fact that this house is no longer yours, that you can leave of your own free will if you so choose. 

    Namjoon purses his lips and looks away. “Or you could go back - go back to your house…”

   “Do you want me to go back to my house?”

   “No.”

   “Do you want me to stay here?”

   “Yes.”

   “Do you want me to sleep on the sofa?”

    A pause, and then, “Not really.”

    You close your eyes. “Namjoon, what are we doing?”

   He falls onto the sofa next to you, dipping his head in his hands. “I don’t know. It’s been driving me mental, though.”

   “Me too.”

   You sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of you sure where to go from here; it’s been two weeks of constant pain and heartbreak, two weeks that could have been avoided if you’d just done this - sat and talked about it all before things got worse.

     “What is going on between you and Anthony?”

   You groan. ��You know full well I wouldn’t touch Anthony with an eight foot pole.”

    “So why did you say-”

   “I was trying to make you jealous, Namjoon,” you burst. “It’s not my fault you have every single girl’s eyes on you when you walk anywhere. If you wanted to move on from me, you could have easily done so - I took the first bit of attention I was getting and jumped on it.”

    Namjoon pauses. “Right, but if I could have moved on from you so easily, why haven’t I?”

  “Because you’re sweet and-”

   “Because I love you.”

    You grit your teeth, digging your nails into the sofa cushion; you’re going to cry. You can feel the tears rushing to the surface, either from relief or terror that this is just another step in the wrong direction. You didn’t get a divorce for no reason - back then, it was the right decision to make, so what could have possibly changed now?

    “Namjoon, please don’t say that.”

   His shoulders slump forward. “Okay.”

   And maybe it’s how deflated he sounds, how tired he sounds that makes you do it. Maybe it’s the fact that - only minutes before - you were coming to terms with the fact that you still love him just as much as you loved him when you were in the honeymoon phase, just as much as you have always loved him.

    But you turn so quickly, grab his chin and kiss him, because you’re certain you’re going to explode if you don’t. He grunts against your mouth, eyes widening for only a split second before he’s shifting in his seat and wrapping an arm around your waist, cupping your face with the other in that way he always used to. You could bask in it, could literally live in this state if only it was him, always, always him.

    You pull away first, tears slipping from your eyes. Namjoon rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, ridding you of them with a soft expression on his face that makes you want to melt into him all over again. Instead you choke on a smile, shaking your head in disbelief that this is really happening, that you were both so stupid to think you could live without the other. 

    “What are we doing?” he whispers, not once taking his eyes off you.

    “I don’t know,” you reply. “But I’ve never known what you and I are doing. Ever. For eight years straight.”

    He smiles. “Me neither, to be honest. And it was perfect.”

    You bite your lip, your gaze being enough to form the silent question between the two of you; is this it? Is it over? Is the pain and suffering finally through?

   Namjoon answers the question by kissing your lips, and you laugh against his mouth.

   ----

“Kim Namjoon and ex-wife Y/N L/N caught walking hand-in-hand through the streets of Seoul early this morning! Are the love birds finally back together?”

   Taehyung looks up from the newspaper, examining the scene of you sitting in Namjoon’s lap, him messing idly with the necklace around your neck. Taehyung looks back down and says, “I think so.”

    “You know I’m gonna take the piss out of you both for this for the rest of my life,” Seokjin says, biting into some seaweed strips. “A two week divorce. Almost as bad as a two week marriage.”

    “We won’t acknowledge the divorce,” says Yoongi. “Look at them - it’s like they were never apart in the first place.”

    Namjoon rolls his eyes, tilting his head back. You resist the urge to press your lips to the column of his throat, even though you know full well that’s exactly what he wants you to do. “Look, we’re young. We’re still figuring this shit out.”

   “Have you got it all figured out now?” Hoseok asks. “Because I don’t think I can take much more of your brooding, Namjoon. It was like you’d lost a limb.”

    You chuckle, sitting up so you can look into Namjoon’s eyes. He stares right back at you, not even trying to deny what Hoseok has just said. You press your lips to his cheek, uttering a quiet “Aw,” against the skin.

    He tightens his hold on your waist. “I already told you I missed you.”

   “But like you’ve lost a limb?”

   Namjoon scowls. “Shut up.”

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Honeydew Cha

(A 5k commission done for https://pandaioh.tumblr.com/ Thank you so much for your support!)

“Can’t believe this. Can’t even bloody believe this. Thought I was dating the smartest girl in the world, and here I come t’find out she doesn’t even know what ‘vacation’ means.” Junkrat wrinkled his nose, already smeared in sunscreen and dented by his oversized sunglasses. “Well here’s what it means, love. It means fucking off! We’ve fucked off from Overwatch and finally got time all to us here in Oz. It means we got weeks of leave for our very own pleasure, and we’re supposed to spend it drinking, rooting, or at the beach. It’s supposed to be those four things!”

“That’s three things,” Mei’s voice said from behind the changing screen.

“And here I am, ready for bonding at Bondi and this is how you do me! I’ve already got all our things- towels, blankets, umbrella, esky. Even got my trunks and hat and thong on—”

“Your what on?”

“My shoe, Mei! You know, pluggers, flip-flop shoes. I mean, with the peg I only have the one. Did you think I meant the other kind of thong? Because ‘strewth, I’ll go put one of those on too, if it’ll get you to come to the beach with me!”

“Please do not!” She made no move to come out from the screen and seemed unmoved by his fits. “Besides, I told you I wanted to do other things than just lounge at the beach all day. I got the idea when we were out walking the other night and I think this might be really good for me. And I think you’ll change your tune when I tell you the rest of my plans.”

“What’s to tell? You snuck out and got a bloody job while we’re on vacation at the shore! Got this nice vacay cabin all to ourselves, just steps away from the surf and sand, and you’re not gonna appreciate it. My very fave girl is on holiday with me, and she wants to spend it working?! And they say I’m the mad one?”

Her voice gained a sing-song quality, lilting in tone. “I still think you’re going to liiiiike it! Just give me one more moment and you’ll see.”

“Unless you’re coming out of there with surprise lacies on, I doubt I’m gonna—”

The screen shuffled aside and Junkrat squinted, suddenly unsure about things. Mei definitely was not wearing a brand new set of lingerie all for him, but what she was wearing was certainly enough to give him pause. He recognized it almost at once too: the green sweater vest and matching visor, the little ruffled yellow apron, the polka dot socks, the cheerful winking mascot…and those jean shorts that rode up so high on those nice wide thighs were certainly nothing to be ignored, he especially appreciated that particular part of her uniform. Her new job’s uniform.

“Honeydew Cha? You’re working at Honeydew Cha?” He lingered forward, rubbing at his chin and inspecting her. “Arright, love, you got me interested.”

“I told you!” She flashed him a little smirk. “And I know you might think it’s a little crazy to get a job while I’m on vacation, but… I think it might be good for me? I like spending time at the beach with you and Mr. Roadhog, I really do, but I want to do more than just linger around on the sand all day. I think I want to meet people and talk to everyone and learn new things and…” She suddenly faltered, gaze downcast. “And I used to be a tea waitress back while I was still studying. I remember it being really fun? And then I graduated and went away…and then I was…gone…nine years…”

Junkrat was already upon her, long arms wrapping about her new uniform and rumpling her nice green sweater as he nuzzled at her hair and snorted air into her ear with his pointed nose. She yelped aloud and pushed at him, but it had served to distract her. He plucked at her apron with his mechanical hand curiously. “Getting a job at all though? Is it because of money? I got cash to spare! Tell me what it is you need and I’ll get it! Whatever you want, darl!”

“It’s really not about money, honest. I just want to do something normal. I woke up and everything was so strange, and Overwatch was different and the world was different and the climate is getting worse and my friends are all in trouble and maybe it would be okay if I just did this for a little while and forgot about it all? I could serve tea and chat with customers and not worry about everything, and maybe I could feel like I used to, before everything happened. It’s just simple and nice. Like it could just be tapioca pearls and fruit poppers and people being happy drinking their tea and just being…normal. Does that make sense?”

“Nah,” he blurted out, before noticing her crestfallen expression. He frowned, chin jutting as he tilted his head to rest atop her visor. “I mean! Uh, I guess I dunno what all that’s like. But if that’s what ya wanna do? ‘Course I’m not gonna stop you from working. Just don’t understand why you wanna spend your vacation at work.”

“I like working. I think this will be fun. And this is just a little seasonal part-time sort of thing, just to help the shop for the big holiday vacationer rush. I saw the Help Wanted ad and the owner seemed really grateful for the extra hand. Plus…” She rolled onto the balls of her feet, folding her arms behind her and staring upward coyly. “I mean, if you don’t want me using the Honeydew Cha employee discount…?”

Rat gave her an affronted look before snickering aloud. “You trying to bribe me with free boba, you little tart?”

“Milk tea, half sweet, extra pearls! Just how you like it?”

“Huh. Tempting, tempting. Can I bring in my own container and fill ‘er up? Swear it, I’ll drink it straight out of a bucket. I mean, it would definitely not be the first time I’ve drank some stuff I found straight out of a bucket—”

“Ew, Jamie.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll try not t’let my feelings be hurt when I’m all by my lonesome at the beach. But I got conditions. One— you abuse the hell out of the free boba thing whenever we want. I’m talking Super Gulp American Size! Two— I get to fuck you in full honeydew uniform. With the pony and polka dot socks still on and everything.”

“That’s strange, but okay,” she said, pulling herself to the tips of her toes to kiss his chin. “But not right now, because I’m going in for my first shift! I’ll see you this evening, okay? And I’ll bring you a boba tea every night I work.”

“You better! You got a deal, darl!”

 ***

Serving boba tea and customer service was a lot different than how she remembered it. Maybe it was just being in Australia? Or had boba tea changed since then? Or had she just gotten older and everything really was just that different from however she remembered this job, from so many years ago. The customers seemed a little grumpier, the machines weren’t the ones she had learned to work, her co-workers were no longer the same age as her, and everything just seemed a little harder than what she’d thought.

She’d been at this little job at Honeydew Cha for a few weeks now, much to Junkrat’s irritation, but it was only for a few hours a day. He tended to lighten up a little when she placated him with a steady stream of all sorts of different tea flavors and treats every time he stopped by…and Roadhog hadn’t cared one way or the other, but she brought him entire bags of leftover pastries after the day was done and he always thanked her anyway. Even then, before each and every shift, Junkrat bothered her to drop everything and go to the beach with him.

But now their vacation time was dwindling and her side job was coming to a close anyway. At least she’d been able to help out the Honeydew Cha during its busiest season. There had been a steady stream of customers all afternoon as the temperature soared and overheated beach-goers ducked inside for air conditioning and cold drinks. Most of them had been quite pleasant, the Australian boardwalk crowd being so infamous for their laid-back attitudes and surf culture.

But there were always the outliers…

It was a group of six: five boys and a single girl, all in their teens or early twenties. None of them bore the mechanical limbs or robotic enhancements of the Outback’s junker clans, but something about their countenance made Mei just as wary of them. Their leader seemed to be the largest of them and was almost as tall as Junkrat himself, though built wider, with spiked black hair and a jacket despite the hot weather. The scraggly lone girl clung to him and giggled in his ear, whispering as he pulled out his wallet and counted out money for her tea. When Mei smiled at them and offered to take their order, the girl glared at her and pulled him closer.

They made their orders with no trouble and they paid, but Mei kept an eye on them all the same, as they loitered in one of the booths and talked and laughed too loudly. She could ignore them at first, but their conversation quickly turned crude and sexual in no time at all.  Mei could do little but keep one ear out as she leaned down to check the syrup pumps and count their cups. As the group drained their boba and popped pearls between their teeth, things took a turn for the disgusting.

“Anyhow, that’s why I had to leave that party real fast. Turns out she had a boyfriend.”

“What, the scrag you went upstairs with? That was a fockin’ thing to walk in on. You going at it, with the fat one with the pockmarked arse?”

“Oi. Barely fatter than the ricer they got working the counter here, mate.”

Mei’s heart dropped, freezing mid-stack and staying very still for a moment. Her throat suddenly felt very tight, but she swallowed the feeling down and forced herself to move again, continuing to unpack the cups. So what if that group were being jerks over at that table. Jerks were temporary, and they’d be leaving soon. Those jerks. She just had to let it pass, and breathe, and ignore them…

The voices continued, and even though she knew she shouldn’t, Mei listened.

“She ain’t that bad for one. I’d fuck her. Nice big tits. Bigger tits than yours.”

“What the hell! Fuck you.”

“Ay, you’d fuck anything, mate. Even an omnic. Fuckin’ root rat.”

“Fuck off.”

“She’s prettier than the one at the slope shop on your road. Heh. Go ask her out on a date? Give her a tip and then give her the tip, ay! You can have kids that look like this.”

When Mei dared to peek through the little slit between the top and bottom counter, she already knew what she would see. Sure enough, the group were pulling their eyelids shut, pinching them upwards and making grotesque parodies of their faces. She felt her chest lurch again in a potent mixture of anger, sorrow, and even a tinge of pity. But how dare they! How dare they! She should march right over there and tell them off for being such bullies, for being so—

But could she risk it? The owner of the shop might get angry at her for antagonizing the customers, even the rude ones. And she had been having a nice time before that, just serving boba and treats like in the old days. She couldn’t let it get to her, no matter how awful they were being. Best to just wait them out until they left.

Unfortunately for her, they seemed to have no intention of leaving. They carried on, discussing loudly what sexual positions that they had planned for her and wondered as to her cup size. Mei did her best to stay out of sight, and wished she’d had Snowball and her endothermic blaster with her. That would shut them up, all right. Maybe if she built a new blaster very quickly out of the boba chiller in the back…?

“What about the other girl? The skinny ginger with the sunburn?” One of the boys wondered aloud.

Mei felt her temper flare anew, head jerking up to where said ‘sunburnt ginger’ was working unawares in front of a fruit slicing machine. That girl was one of her younger co-workers, still in her teens, a softspoken local who had admitted to Mei that she had hoped this job would help her get over her shyness. And now that group of boys was targeting her too.

“Wot, that one? Yeah, I seen her here before. No tits or arse on that one, though.”

“Wonder if she’s sunburnt all over? Heh.”

“You know what they say about gingers, mate? They say down th—”

CLACK.

She could ignore it when they targeted her, but she wasn’t about to let it happen to that girl or anyone else in her charge. Mei slammed the empty stack of cups onto the counter with a clatter, swinging open the little door as she went marching straight towards them as all heads turned her way. No matter her cheerfully goofy outfit with the frills and ruffles and polka dots, she descended on the group like a thunderstorm, her jaw set and her eyes narrowed.

“Tíng xiàlái! Excuse me but you need to stop this instant! These awful things you’re saying, you need to stop.” She tried to loom over them as best she could despite her height, little white gloves clenching into fists. “In fact, I think you need to leave! Right now!”

For a moment, silence reigned in the Honeydew Cha as every patient turned to watch the tiny woman in the bubble tea waitress uniform confront an entire pack of Aussie goons. Even the group seemed startled at first, though it rapidly changed to confusion, annoyance, and anger. The girl was the first to react, shooting her a sneering grin and urging the boys on as she wrapped her arms around the largest boy’s arm and shook him to action.

“Leave off, we haven’t done anything wrong! We don’t have to go anywhere!” she said.

The boy snorted and took another swig of his drink. “Dunno why you’re so worked up about what we said, none of it was that bad.”

“No! You need to leave the premises at once!” Mei said, pointing to the door. “If you have a problem, you can call our Honeydew Cha headquarters, I’m sure they’d love to hear from you. But you are not staying here after that. Leave!”

There was an answering array of snickers and insults, but when Mei narrowed her gaze and stared them down, they finally stirred and began to drag themselves upright. Muttering insults and shooting her nasty looks, they finally began to head to the door. Passing by the counter at the front, they headed for the exit…only for the girl to suddenly launch to the side, seizing the jar that had been set by the register. The jar had been decorated with post-it notes and drawings that Mei had made herself, with little cartoons of her yeti doodle thanking them for the tips.

With that day having been busier than ever, it was brimming with tips. Coins and bills filled it nearly to the brim where they simply hadn’t had the chance to empty it. Some of the coins went bouncing away as the girl slung it under one arm, laughed and gave her the finger, and then broke into a run as all the boys followed after her. In a sudden stampede, they nearly broke the door open as they fled.

“Hey!” Mei flung herself after them, but it was too late. She stumbled to a stop at the open door, yelling after them. “That’s our tip jar!”

Hoots and jeers answered her.

“What, you wanted us to leave!”

“Thanks for the tea, you chunky-arse cunt!”

“I got a tip for you right here!”

One of the boys made a very offensive gesture at her with both hands.

“Hey! Hey! You get back here this instant! You can’t—!” Mei lingered there in the open doorway, unable to continue. She wasn’t about to leave her younger cohorts alone in the shop, and without Snowball or her weapons to back her up, there was no way she could take on an entire group like them if things went south. She could only watch as her team’s hard-earned tips got further away in the hands of those goons, their laughter fading as they slowed to a walk, when they saw her unable to chase them. She bit her lip and sniffled, and had just started to close the door in abject defeat when a shadow fell across her.

“Oi! S���wrong, love? What’s going on?”

She whirled about, to where Junkrat suddenly stood above her. “Oh, Jamie! Those awful people just robbed us!! They made a mess and caused trouble and took the jar and they were…” Her expression fell. “They were saying very awful things…About us. About me.”

His face darkened, glancing up to where the group was laughing and walking away, the stolen jar still under one arm. Even if it wasn’t the jar that really concerned him. “You? Saying things ‘bout you? What kinda things?”

His suspicions were confirmed when Mei looked down, refusing to meet his gaze. “It was bad…I don’t want to repeat…”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, voice suddenly too airy. “Well, my tea can wait. Lemme just go see about that jar…and see if maybe I can’t get ‘em to rethink talking to you like that.” He started off, peg leg clacking, and made a strange gesture to Roadhog. The larger man only nodded and peeled off into the crowd, heading in the opposite direction.

Mei watched him go, leaning further and further out the door, still unable to follow. “Jamie, wait! Wait, don’t blow anyone up! Please! I-I’m fine, see! No matter what they said, I’m fine! We can make more tips! Jamie!”

But he was already gone.

 ***

The gang of goons turned a corner, still celebrating their victory as the girl passed the stolen tip jar to her boyfriend to start counting out. Wasn’t a bad take, especially since it had irked that Chinese lady so much. Heading down an alleyway, littered with dumpsters and bins from the nearby shops and restaurants, they began to talk over their plans for dinner. The tip jar would more than pay for all of them, after all.

Over the sound of their chattering, the clicking and clacking of a peg-legged gait sounded behind them. Junkrat, smiling maniacally as ever, had found and followed them. At a leisurely pace, he started tailing after them, giggling the entire way before finally hooting aloud for their attentions.

“Hey mates! How ya goin!”

The others were none too keen on his appearance, their leader lingering behind to scoff at him.

“The fuck’s a junker doing out here? Lost your way home to the landfill? Oi, need directions to the nearest bin?”

The entire group laughed, and Junkrat abruptly began shrilling his wild laugh along with them. Cackling like a hyena, he bent over and slapped at both his knees with a thud and a clank, before his head jerked upright, yellow eyes alight and lips stretching open in his mad grin. “Ahahaha! Good one, mates! Haha! A trash bin! Ya sure got me! Imagine! Hahaha! A junker and his bins!”

His laughter only rose in pitch and ferocity. They scowled at that, and their leader snorted and flicked a cigarette in his direction, turning to lead his lackeys off along the other length of alleyway. “Fockin’ junkers, ay, radiation-rotted in the brains. Dunno what this city’s comin’ to. C’mon, let’s go—”

“Now hold on, mates! Hold on!” Rat hobbled after them with his uneven limp. “C’mon, I appreciate a good sense of humor much as anyone. Heh, junkers belonging in the bin! Absolute classic. And…say, you know any other real good ones?”

“The fuck you w—”

“Ya know. Maybe about nice ladies working in boba shops, with a ponytail and glasses, Chinese accent? That sweet girl in the green uniform what you’ve had some real choice remarks about. That girl. My girl.” His grin tightened, teeth scraping so hard that they nearly sparked. “How about it! Ya had any real rippers about my girl? Ya wanna tell them to me right now?”

There was a long pause from the other group, glancing to one another before the leader finally snorted and went skulking down the alley more. “Ah, fuck off.”

“C’mon now, let’s all be mates! I just wanna know what you said to my Mei!” Rat said, still following them. “Just tell me what you said to her. And normally I got no qualms at all about taking money that’s just laying out there in perfectly good jars, but… Well y’see, that’s my girl’s money, right there. So you gotta give it back too.”

That made the whole group turn upon him, and several of the larger ones began to advance to back up their leader, standing until they were shoulder to shoulder. Junkrat found himself faced with an entire little crowd of bogans that were nearly as large as he was, and significantly more aggressive. Several of them were already reaching for the batons and knives he knew they were carrying. But still he didn’t back down, and his grin didn’t even waver as he faced them head-on.

“Now this is normally something that I don’t do, but because my girl’s involved and she’s a real sweet sort, I’m gonna give you a choice between easy way or hard way. Now the easy way is, you fucks are gonna go apologize to my girl first of all, and give back what you took from her. Easy squeezy! Or you can choose the hard w—”

The lead man moved, his hand launching out from his belt and holding a glint of metal. The knife slashed through the air, narrowly missing the junker’s lanky frame.

There was a blur of movement, followed by the sickening hollow crack of bone against bone. The top of Junkrat’s thick skull slammed full force into the man’s forehead, splitting skin and crunching cartilage as part of his nose dented inward, and took part of a socket with it. He staggered backward as the knife went spinning out of his grasp, stunned, eyes rolling in several directions before he collapsed against a nearby wall and clutched at his face with a shout. His mates surged forward to aid him, holding him up before he could fall any further.

“Hard way it is!” Rat reared up to his full height, blood trickling a sticky trail down along his grinning features, outlining his wild smile where every tooth was bared, yellow eyes alight.  “You’re choosin’ to scrap with a junker?! Good choice, mates! Oi, Roadie! They chose the hard way!”

The other group had just begun to rally, their leader balling his fists and starting to square up with the lanky junker across from him, when there was a low rumble from the shadows at the other end of the alleyway. Amongst the piles of garbage and dumpsters, an immense shape turned its head and began to lift out of the background. The pig-masked behemoth loomed above them, one tree-trunk-thick arm uncurling with a viciously curved metal hook in his hand. Slowly advancing towards the scene, he let the sharpened tip drag along the wall, screeching and spitting sparks as it went.

Junkrat cackled from the other end of the chokepoint. With a metallic clatter, he slammed a fistful of grenades into the weapon he suddenly sported in one hand, aimed right at them. The group of hooligans found themselves penned in between the two junkers, one armed with explosives and the other…a veritable monster that was headed their way.

“Oi!” Still grinning and with his face covered in blood, Rat whistled jovially to catch their attention. “You still don’t wanna apologize to my girl? Then how ‘bout you make it up to her.”

“We didn’t mean nothing by it, ay!”

“Swear, it was nothing!”

“How we gonna—”

“SHUT!” Rat shrilled, lifting his grenade launcher as they shrank back. “You’re gonna drop your money and everything what you got…and if you don’t feel like droppin’ em, then my mate would be happy to uh, give you a sort of pat-down? And I gotta warn you, he’s got a reputation for playin’ a bit rough. Ain’t that right, Roadie?”

Roadhog rumbled dangerously, and the group shrunk into an ever-smaller circle. The girl was the first to crack, audibly starting to cry even as she upended her purse and began tossing her belongings onto the filthy ground. Among them was the crumpled bills from the shop’s tip jar. Following her lead, wallets and jewelry and credits and other bits and pieces began to shower down onto the pavement, and even their foul-tempered leader soon tossed his wallet and cards onto the ground before Hog’s spiked boots.

“That’s all of it, mate, swear.”

“We’re gonna go, we’re gonna go.”

“No harm, ay? We’ll fuck off.”

Junkrat’s gaze darted downward before he snorted aloud, nodding sharply to Roadhog before his blood-smeared grin eased and he cheerfully stepped to the side, waving them forward with his gun. “See! Glad we got all that sorted out. And if me and Roadie see you cunts lurking anywhere within boba’s reach of that shop, well… Let’s just say that Roadie’s got a real temper on him and I dunno if I’d be able to stop the big lug. In fact…seems he might be in a bit of a mood right now. Go on, then, start runnin’.”

They took their chance, bolting forward just as Roadhog’s gargantuan form suddenly broke into a run. Scraping his hook against the brick, he hurled the wicked metal thing forward in a rattle of chains, blurring forward just as the group scattered at the alley’s mouth and dispersed into all directions, their screams trailing after them. Silence soon returned to the little alleyway, and Hog took up his place guarding the entry while his younger partner began picking through the offerings left behind.

 ***

“Order number 342! Passionfruit Sunset, oolong milk tea, berry matcha!”

Mei didn’t have time to worry about that pack of hoodlums. It was just before closing now, with only a lingering handful of people waiting for the last orders and she had been so distracted by trying to keep up that she’d nearly been able to forget that group of awful people… Almost. She just had to focus on this last stretch before closing. The kitchen was splattered with syrups and flavorings, loose pearls rolled about the ground or burst under her feet, and she was starting to forget which flavors went with which colors.

“Taro milk tea and a lychee with peach poppers!” She started the blenders for the hundredth time that day, only pausing to try and slide the visor back up her sweaty forehead and adjust her crooked glasses. Her feet were staring to ache and her smile was starting to fade, but her crew was counting on her to see them through and she wasn’t about to let everyone down. Maybe she could try to refill the tip jar with her own money today, too? She couldn’t let them down…

No matter how tired she was, she immediately stood to attention when a familiar voice joined the throng of customer conversation. It was just one Australian accent among many, but the screeching tone of it, followed by the sudden movement of everyone away from the door heralded Rat’s entrance. He limped in with the telltale k-thud k-thud of his peg, and immediately sashayed right to the front of the (suddenly dispersed) line and threw down his bag and leaned on the top of the counter in his most roguish pose.

“Hey, babe! Gimme your biggest bucket of half-sweet, and then you can give me a full sweet, right here!” He tapped his cheek and leaned down as if for a kiss. “And then, you can give me a—”

“J-Jamison! Hi!” She interrupted just as he was about to make a lewd gesture, waving both hands before lowering her voice. ”Oh no, is that blood on  your forehead? Please tell me you didn’t hurt anybody over a silly tip jar?”

He quickly wiped away the trickles of red that he’d missed earlier. “What do you take me for! Not to worry. Barely even a scratch, maybe a bruise or two. They’re lucky Roadie and I didn’t hook ‘em and cook ‘em. Nah, gave them a spook was all. Swear it.”

“Just so long as nobody got hurt, please?” She sighed, pushing her sweaty hair back once more. “Well, I guess scaring them is okay…they were being pretty awful. And the things they said! And stealing the tips from my team! Just awful, they were being total…Um.”

“Cunts?”

“No, no, I’m not saying that. What’s Australian, something kind of mean but nicer than that?”

“Galahs. Dipsticks. Drongos.”

“Yes! They were being real drongos!” she said with a little smile, before passing him his milk tea, half sweet, just how he liked.

“Thanks, darl. Well isn’t that fine service. Oi, ladies and gents, isn’t that just the finest boba service you ever did see?!” He turned upon the little crowd in the waiting area, and received a few hesitant agreements and nervous laughter. Nodding to himself, he ripped open his pack and reached both arms into it, rummaging about. “Best Honeydew Cha I been to all day, and I think that deserves a tip!”

He produced her stolen smiley-faced jar from the bag and began digging out entire handfuls of cash, credits, and random little jewels and metal bits, stuffing them inside. When that was filled past the brim, he began snatching at cups and cramming them full as well, pushing them across the counter to the stunned boba shop staff. Tucking the last few dollars into a sample cup while they tried to handle the sudden deluge of tip money, he placed both hands on his hips and watched the chaos in an extremely self-satisfied way.

“Oh. And they also send you their apologies for the things what they said to you, by the by. Hope this’ll cover it.”

“W-where did you even get—” Mei sputtered, then turned upon him with that uniquely accusatory smile. “You know something, I’m not even mad that you probably beat up those bullies. Maybe they’ll learn to be nicer. I’m giving you a pass this time. And you’ve really made my team happy so…” She lifted her voice again. “Okay, Honeydew Crew, thank you to Mr. Fawkes for feeling so generous today. And you all did such a great job today that I’m giving you all my share as a bonus…in exchange for you taking care of tonight’s clean-up.”

There was a chorus of agreement as she swung open the little door behind the counter, untying her apron as she looped her arm around his and passed him his favorite half-sweet tea. He grinned at her before giving her a squeeze, letting her guide him of the shop and down the boardwalk where Roadhog was waiting. For a moment, they walked together in silence as he busied himself with his tea…before he nearly spit it out all over the top of her head when he heard her sigh and grumble aloud.

“...I really wish I had gotten to punch them.”

“Ay?!”

“I know! I know it’s mean but…They were mean first,” she huffed, before giggling at his expression. “But, thank you for taking care of those no-good bullies. And for stealing everything back.”

“That’s cold! Oh, I like that from you! Uh, why don’t we leave Roadie to his lonesome and head back to the bungalow, maybe work out some of that aggression you got?” His arm wrapped about her, gripping at her side. “Whaddaya say?”

“I…think that’s a good idea, actually,” she said with a little smile. “But maybe in a little while. It’s still a nice night for a walk. Why don’t you and I go to the beach?”

[wide-eyed--wonderer]

I’ll just tell your mom on you.

This is the last prompt, so fill free to start sending me more! I’ll probably go reblog another prompt list after this!

“RACETRACK HIGGINS GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE.”  

“SUCK IT ALBERT YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME!”

Jack groaned at the boys' antics. He’s trying to get this commission done, but it very difficult when his background noise is:

“RACETRACK HIGGINS LOVE LITTLE SHIT” 

That.

Listening to heavy rap music might actually be more soothing than this …..

“RACE I SWEAR TO GOD WHEN I FIND YOU I’M GOING TO FUCKING FIGHT YOU”

….Whatever, was currently going on between Albert and Race. From what Jacs gathered from their extremely loud discussion, Race has done something. Jack's not entirely sure what yet, but judging by Race’s laughter, he’s very proud of it. 

“SNOOZERS ARE LOSERS AL”

Right, Jack’s had enough. With one last longing look at his commission (and he was so close to finishing it too), he leaves his art studio and ventures to find the boys.

He finds Race first, hiding in the cupboard above the sink (it was his favourite hiding spot when they were kids) and drags him along to Albert, who he finds because of his incredible loud shout of

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU”

“Nobody is killing anybody.” Jack grumbles, “some of us have work to do, so we can get money, so we can feed ourselves and our annoying kid brothers. That work becomes incredibly difficult when said kid brother and his best friend are yelling loud enough to wake the dead.”

“But Jack,” both boys interrupt.

“Uh uh, the adult ain't done speaking yet so please, can ya tell me what’s going on,” Both boys open their mouth to speak. “One at a time. Al, you first.”

“It ain’t my fault Jackie, Race stole my phone”

“Only cause your too chicken to just message Elmer already”

“Race, wait your turn. Al, continue.”

“And he was gonna text Elmer but I don’t want him to text Elmer cause I don’t even know if he’s into guys and..”

“Ok enough,” Jack interrupted, “just wanna know why you're yelling not your whole story.” he turns to Race. “that true?”

“Well yeah, except for the part where he’s been complaining about Elmer and Elmer's gorgeous blue eyes and Race, you know what Elmer said today, and oh Race Elmers so smart and..”

“We get the point Race.” Jack looked over at Al. “Albert, I see the way Elmer looks at you. It’d be fair to say you got a good chance. Message the guy already.”

“See.”

“Shut up Race”

“And you kid,” Jack turns to glare at Race, “you shouldn’t force Al into doing something he isn’t comfortable to do. If he’s happy to stay friends, you respect that from now ok?”

“Yeah, Jackie.” Jack pulled Race into a hug.

“Good, cause if I hear you doing anything like this again, I'll just tell your mom on you.” Race pulled back to look at Jack. 

“Jackie, we don't have a mom.”

“I meant Davey.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, you know I would.”

Thank you for sending in all these wonderful prompts - hope you enjoy!

[soyouareandrewdobson]

The biggest post yet: Analyzing a multipage story

Before I begin, I like to thank every follower so far and the ones who helped me over the course of the last weeks to build this tumblr up. This is for you and in a way the first test run for future, hopefully more elaborate reviews of Dobson’s comics. Hope you enjoy it and learn something.

Without further ado, ladys, gentlemen and the colorful rianbow inbetween, I present the unpublished “So you are a cartoonist?” story about the King of Queens trying to become a comic artist

Okay, this is not quite right. What is going to happen is as followed:

A few years ago Dobson released via his patreon the unpublished sketches of a multipage comic story about the struggles of a webcomic artist by the name of Kevin James, with no relation to the famous comedian who as of recently is also playing a neo nazi in a supposedly pretty damn good home invasion movie.

What I want to do is now go through this comic and point out some of the flaws in the writing/progression, okay? Cause honestly, this is not going to be the worst thing Dobson ever published. But it unfortunately has more than a few little hiccups that show Dobson’s flaws when it comes to creating a story.

So off to the next pages

Now as you can see, it is pretty obvious that the story is heading into a direction where Kevin seems to be a down on his luck creator. Having to work at the blandest named Burger Joint since Good Burger, with discount Doctor Wily as his manager and getting pretty little money into his account. Seriously, only 206 $ plus? I don’t know much about minimum wage in the states, but are you really getting that little even after taxes have been accounted for? Or is it likely Kevin is pretty deep into the reds and his deposit was even putting it into the plus again. If so… yaiks.

And now we are getting into the pages where a few slight problems may show up, depending on your own interpretation of things.

 See, in my opinion it is obvious that we are meant to feel sorry for Kevin, cause he lost his minimum wage job now for simply being late. Something that can happen to all of us. And yeah, losing your job when you have not really much in the bank, that sucks. So I would wish for the character to get at least a new job soon. However, we also need to acknowledge that the manager is not in the wrong here. After all, Kevin supposedly has shown up late for work for some time and his excuse that he was late because he had to work on his comic is not reasonable. For a lack of a better word, making this comic is just his hobby, not his job. His job is to make burgers and sell them, because the manager of the burger joint is paying him for that. So excuse me if my sympathy is not that much with him

Not really much to say here. I just want to point out two things: One, the countdown that showed up also in previous pages and goes further down the longer we get into the story, two that it actually may be a good thing that Dobson has not drawn the copy shop employee in more detail. Cause one thing I came to realize over time with Dobson is, that often times his sketches have more of a softness to them than the final product, where e.g. faces are more harsher and frankly, uglier than they need to be, in addition to being a bit oversaturated thanks to the colors. And with Dobson’s tendency to make also angry faces genuinely spiteful, I wonder if the copy shop owner would have come off in the final product as more “strawman mean” than necessary. Cause it is very obvious that “poor Kevin” seems to suffer from the indifferences of his environment.

 One month since he was fired and one more month till we are in the present and he loses his electricity cause he has not paid his bills. And this is where I slightly start to lose my sympathy with the character. Again, it is obvious that the story wants us to feel bad for Kevin because he is down on his luck although all he wants to do is just create his comic.

But at the same time, only halfway through the comic I have to ask, how much of his shitty situation is not just him doing nothing against it?

I mean, he has obvious money issues, he can’t pay the electricity bill and he has been fired a month ago. Shouldn’t he at this point not have attempted yet to get a replacement job? Or ask for unemployment support? Do commission work for fans in exchange for money?

I am just saying, his woes become a bit less relatable if he does not really attempt to at least try and fix the situation.

And unfortunately, this development continues still

 Gesh, this comic is really old when Kevin still owns a flip phone…

Also, I need to give his mom credit. 500$ send to her son so that he can pay his debts off and live well enough for a few days. Sorry, but 500$ is actually enough for me to live for a month and pay my groceries and major bills if I am careful enough. Lets hope Kevin is the same and that he looks out for a job

 … nope, he does not look for a job. Two weeks after he got the money he still does not have a job to support himself and assure he has a roof over his head. In fact, he likely loses more money than he necessarily needs to by going to a diner.

Look, unlike other characters created by Dobson, I really do not hate Kevin. Primarily because he does not show any of the despicable or idiotic traits other characters by him do. But Kevin is not doing anything to improve his situation, period. And that is not really how you should write “down on their luck” characters, cause that doesn’t really make them sympathetic. The sympathy a reader gives those characters stems primarily from the fact, that though they really try their best, fate is not working into their favor for different reasons beyond their control. But here the problem is, that Kevin has to a certain degree control over his situation. He can decide what he wants to do with the money, he can decide to either do or not do anything to improve his situation at least slightly. And he doesn’t do anything.  

Dear lord, Kevin is essentially Dobson when it comes to the laters overall situation and how he does little to improve anything when he is stuck.

Then there is also the entire thing about the waitress calling Kevin’s work amazing. For starters, I kinda doubt that that in our modern day society and work environment her acting like that in front of a customer, even if the customer does not mind, would fly with her employer. After all, professionalism and all that. Next, her praise feels shallow. The typical cardboard speech praise checkmark lines you can give to any piece of work, that don’t really mean anything if you do not elaborate on what it really is you find amazing about the characters in terms of personality or what it is about the story that hits home (e.g. can you realte to the characters, are you genuinely thinking the story is funny etc)

In fact, what even is Kevin’s comic?

 I get that his work is not the center stage of this story, but think about it: we are supposed to think that Kevin is talented and that he needs his lucky break. But would his work even justify success and admiration? All we know is that the comic features a character called Kat (not really an original name) who for a lack of a better word and based on the sketch outline may just be the bastard offspring of Bubsy and Talus from Alex ze Pirate. And that is it. For all I know, and taking for shit and giggles a made up meta narrative into account, his work may actually be on the same level as Alex ze Pirate itself. And if that is the case, let me just fill out an application as janitor for Kevin right now. If he is lucky he can make around 1000 dollars a month soon.

 This right here is actually a prime example of a common problem in Dobson’s longer story: Him breaking the old rule of “show, don’t tell”. The narrative tells us e.g. via the words of the waitress and the fact he has fans, that Kevin is a good cartoonist. But we do not see it for ourselves. And I am not suggesting here Dobson should draw 20 additional pages of Kevin’s creations and comics, because that would be freaking overkill. But imagine if this comic started off with the first page being part of a a very fantastic fight scene or story. Something rich in color and characters. Only for it to be revealed in the next page to be actually NOT the story we are supposed to read, but something Kevin creates right now. By doing so Dobson could not only show for the actual main story that Kevin is justified in having success, Dobson could have also shown for himself how he can be imaginative. How he can toy with tropes and expectations, while also creating something “new” out of nowhere just for fun. But that is not what we got. And all we have now are four more pages.

 Again, ONE MORE WEEK passed and he still did not get a job. And in fact, he is also overdue on his rent and wants to ask his mother AGAIN for money.

Dude… I am all out of sympathy. Sell your freaking kidney for all I care, offer your landlord oral sex or that you are going to do work around the house for him, just try to do something except beg mother to help you out again. Especially as she has already send you 500 dollar. What have you done with that money anyway? Did most of it get spend on your electric bill? If so, how huge was it? And did you fail to pay rent for a couple of months now that even your landlord is having enough? I ask the later in part because I genuinely do not know how fast a landlord can vacate you in the US. See, where I live you can get vacated too when you don’t pay up, but most landlords are by law forced to at least let you stay for a few more weeks till you either find a way to pay up or another place to live. Forceful removal of a tenant can mostly only happen if the person causes severe damage to the apartment or is facing criminal charges.

 So NOW you are looking for a job. Good luck getting 700 dollars in three days though. I can’t imagine that even if you get hired, that anyone will pay up that amount of money upfront to help you. Again, do you have no other options, Kevin? Also, for how long was that sign up there? How often have you gone by that diner? Also dear lord, the waitress really is not the smartest if she thinks being a webcomic artist pays all the bills

 So if the manager has already found someone, even if it was “just” now, why was the “now hiring” sign even still in the window? And he assumes there are even more bills? Kevin… do you have a genuine problem when it comes to handling finances? Would you do better, if you only get an allowance? Just one more page. And with it my biggest complains

And so our comic ends with all the build up of how down on his luck Kevin is, being essentially pointless, because at the end of the day he is still lucky and all his problems get resolved not by his own doing but by deus ex machina.

Okay, this is not entirely accurate.

After all, Kevin DID create this comic. He wrote it, he drew it, he send the script to multiple publishers, he got rejected multiple times and now he is also going to finally get recognition for it all. You can say he worked to get his foot into the industry. The problem is, that none of that work is really shown in the story presented to us. We do not see him work on the script, potentially rewrite or fix up mistakes, get the impression that even with the bad situation he is in, he still wants at the very least this passion project to succeed. All we know is he worked on something and now because it is convenient for the story, his misfortune is going to end and he gets a happy end that is way too convenient for my taste.

Look, I know nothing about how publishers work. If someone reads this and has genuine experience in how publishers approach you if they are interested in your work and how much money you can really make through it, you are free to tell me what you know or have experienced directly or indirectly. Cause frankly, I find it hard to believe that any publisher would immediately do the thing Kevin now experiences here. First off, why would they not attempt to call him or get into a more convenient contact with him than the mail? Second, advanced payment? Shouldn’t you at least try to handle out basic deals before you send him a paycheck over?

I get it is supposed to be a happy end for Kevin here, but honestly, with the way how even if people are getting published, success may not be immediate or not to a degree Dobson actually hopes for. Sorry, but I am also just jaded enough as a person to know that even otherwise acclaimed work does take time to really hit a certain level of popularity. Luke Pearson e.g., wrote and drew the first volume of the comic series Hilda in 2010, just a few months after he finished college. The comic was a success and resulted in him publishing up to four more books till 2016. But only with his comic being adapted into a Netflix series in 2018 did he also get recognition outside of Great Britain, from which he is likely going to make enough money to have a comfortable life for the next couple of years. Mind you, I said comfortable, not “luxurious”. Cause this is actually one thing I fear with Dobson to a degree: That he thinks that being a successful comic creator equals also becoming stinking rich. Cause as far as I know, this is not really the case for many comic creators around the world. But I digress.

This post is not about the potential delusions of Dobson when it comes to how much of a fortune he could make through a successful publication, this post is about judging a SYAC story that got never published.

And frankly, the story of Kevin James… I don’t hate it. Honestly, I think there is potential for a decent, even longer story about a webcomic artist trying to get his big break. The problem is, this is not a story about the challenges Kevin faces in creating his comic. This is not the story about someone being determined to get his work out, even if he struggles in real life. This is not the story of someone facing and dealing with his real life struggles in a mature way, making the happy end all the more feel rightfully earned. This is a story where honestly there would be no drama at all (or at least less drama), if Kevin even attempted to do something halfway logical most other people in real life would do, if they found themselves in his situation (like looking for a job, trying to work commissions etc.) . And a drama where the dramatic event would not happen if some basic logic even a kid can think off would be applied, is at least for me not really a drama.

So yeah, it is not the worst thing by Dobson, but it is very flawed to say the least.