#Did he make the wrong decision nearly everything? Yes

[the-modern-typewriter]

A villain who doesn't want to harm the hero, is trying to take them down as gently as possible and thinks the hero is the one being crazy about this, while the hero is desperately fighting to protect the world.

Bonus points if the villain is the hero's big sibling or similar figure.

"Father wanted to put you in an institution," their sibling said. "There was no way I was going to allow that." They carded their fingers through the hero's hair, soothing, like they were still five years old and waking up from a bad dream. "Those places are awful. They'd hurt you."

"I can't move."

"It's okay. You're okay."

"The - the tea. You." The realisation of it choked off in the hero's throat. Sharp. Catching. Betrayal.

"I told father I'd handle it," their sibling said, almost absently.

"Handle me."

"Yes." Their sibling ducked to gather up the jagged shards of the fallen mug, depositing them on the coffee table. They met the hero's eyes. "Handle you."

The hero glared. They willed their noodled limbs to move, but all they got for their efforts was nearly crumpling to the floor again. Their sibling caught them, steadied them, pushed them back into the chair. The hero's heart thudded wildly beneath their palms.

"He wasn't having it though," their sibling continued. "He told me that you needed to be corrected, by any means necessary. He told me that it was just the place for a crazy person like you. That you'd bring shame on the family." They grimaced. "You know father."

The hero did, unfortunately, know their father.

They also knew their sibling though. They knew they were drugged up in their own living room, not being wrestled into a straight-jacket somewhere for some non-consensual therapy sessions.

"What did you do to him?" it came out raspy.

Their sibling smiled, small and grim. "He should have known better. Just like you should have known better, but you always were a little idiot, so no shockers there."

"...what are you going to do to me?" That was, perhaps, the better question. Their mind still felt sharp, after all, even if nothing in their body wanted to cooperate with them.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?"

"You hurt father."

"Father was a jackass. You're just stupid."

"I'm trying to make the world better!"

"Yeah," their sibling said. "Stupid."

"It's not stupid!"

"I'm not going to debate this with you."

"Just drug my tea!?"

"Eh, that was for your own good. For all his many sins, father wasn't totally wrong. You do need help. A friendly intervention."

"They'll come for me. My friends will come for me."

Their sibling shrugged. "I have no such reservations hurting them."

The hero swallowed. Their mouth still felt dry, sticky and cloyingly sweet. They searched their sibling's face for any sign of a lie. They found none.

"You know what father and his friends are doing is wrong," the hero said after a beat; maybe just frantic to see some glimmer of recognition of that fact.

Their sibling shrugged again, easy. "Sure."

"You could help us fight them. You could come with me. You could...keep me safe. That's what you want, right? To keep me safe."

"Your friends aren't going to kill you. You're perfectly safe like this."

"But what father's friends are doing - don't you - you have to care."

Their sibling raised an eyebrow.

The hero wanted to snarl. As ever, it seemed, their sibling did not have to care about anyone or anything. Who cared about the world if going along with monstrosity was easier?!

"Don't you care that I care?"

"You care about everything," their sibling rolled their eyes. "You held a funeral for the fish."

"He was my pet!"

"He was a fish."

"This is nothing like the fish!"

Their sibling straightened up with a sigh, looking down on them, hands on hips. "I've made my decision."

"Fuck you."

"I don't expect you to be happy about it, but you're gonna deal with it. You're underage. That makes you my responsibility. I'll let you go when this all blows over."

"You mean when father's friends finish wrecking the world?"

"Don't be so overdramatic."

"You drugged me and I'm overdramatic?"

"Overdramatic looks better on me. I have the cheekbones for it."

"This isn't funny!"

"No." Their sibling's voice shifted, abruptly. "It isn't. Do you want me to get serious?"

The hero...paused. The air suddenly felt oppressive.

"I am being very gentle," their sibling said. "And you are infinitely squishy and breakable. Father's institution would have crushed you into teeny tiny pieces, so shattered that you didn't even care anymore. You would kill your friends if they asked, by the time they were done."

The hero swallowed, stricken, horrified.

"Tell me again how unfunny this is," their sibling said. "Like you think I'm stupid."

The hero shook their head.

As swiftly as the storm had come, their sibling offered them a sunny smile. The tension vanished as they booped the hero's nose.

"We're going to get through so many film nights. It's going to be great. Now." They reached for the coffee table. "Have some more tea."

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 12

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Creampie. oral sex - fem receiving. Angst. Crying. So many feelings. Relationship issues. Eating/food issues. Brief suicidal ideation. Toxic behavior. Complicated dynamics. We're getting close to the end. You make a decision

“Knock, knock.” Your coworker hangs on the door frame, fingers clutching a brown paper bag and soda cup. “There’s a truck out front, for lunch. I guess they’re buying every Friday for the rest of the year?”

“Oh, yeah.” You vaguely remember seeing that email. You think.

“Anyway, they’re just wrapping up now and I didn’t see you go down, just wanted to make sure you knew.” She means well, you know she does. She’s always very kind to you, so you smile warmly and nod.

“I did, thanks.” She makes herself scarce after that, vacating your office with another pleasantry, leaving you to stew behind your desk, trying very hard not to look at what you packed yourself this morning, a lackluster sandwich, a cluster of green grapes. The idea of eating turns your stomach, the feeling piling onto the depths of your uneasiness, pushing you to seek comfort.

You can't bring yourself to eat, but you know you have to. You know you should be, aware you cannot survive on the same three half bites of things alone. 

If they were here... 

You glance at your phone.

Stop this. 

You flip it facedown, turning your attention back to your laptop. Focus, you have actual work to do. 

The bath has gone from scalding your skin off hot, to lukewarm too quickly. It urges you to get out, tells you it’s well past time, that if you headed to bed right now, you’d still be able to manage five hours before your alarm went off.

Fat chance. 

Instead, you drain the tub. The porcelain turns to ice within a matter of moments, and you linger in the shiver, languishing in the discomfort, muscles tense, stomach sour. You nearly let yourself rot in it, knees tucked up close, goosebumps long erupted over every square inch of your skin. 

You close your eyes as the tub refills, steaming water rushing out from the tap, slowly covering your feet, then your shins, until it’s deep enough for you to lean back in again, submerging yourself as deep as possible. 

What are they doing right now? Are they working? Are they at home? Do they miss you? Is there someone- 

No. 

You’re not supposed to be… fixating on this. You’re supposed to be taking some time, thinking about what you want, what you think is best for you. This is what you wanted. You decided this. 

You asked for this. 

Why can’t you detangle yourself from them? 

Everything twists and turns inside your brain, spinning together into a murky morass that you can’t make sense of, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in your heart. An infected, weeping, organ that sits heavy inside your chest cavity, now with a giant hole in the middle. 

You don’t even notice when the first drops of water spill over the side, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You picked this rental for the tub. It’s massive, the biggest you’ve ever seen, and the cost to secure it for the entire month was probably more than you could afford on your own, but… it’s not like you haven’t made bad decisions in the past. 

The water sloshes. 

“Fuck.” You flip off the spigot in a hurry and sink back beneath the water, letting it flow over your mouth, your nose. 

You could- 

You could take a deep breath, fill your lungs with water.

You could turn it off. 

You could make everything stop. You could just close your eyes and… rest. 

“Johnny.” You breathe, surprised. Your heart bellows, begs you to fling yourself into his arms, but warning bells go off in the back of your mind, and you chew on your lip. He shouldn’t be here. They agreed. They promised. “What-“

“Ah had to see ye.” What if something has happened? You look him over, but he seems fine. What if something is wrong with Simon?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong-“

“Then why are you here?” It’s harsh. You cringe at the tone, at how it's so caustic, so careless, and he rubs the back of his neck, shifting unsteadily on his feet. Your resolve starts to melt, turning reticent, falling away into a slick puddle of weak opposition. He’s here. He still loves you. He’s here. 

“I know ‘m not supposed to be doing this.” He mutters, and you nod. “But… we- I miss ye darling, miss ye so much.” His cheeks are red, turning his normally tan skin a deep rogue, and he swallows between breaths. “Are ye alright? Ye look… ye look tired, love.”

“I am tired, Johnny… I’m…”

He steps forward.

You step back.  

It’s like you’re looking in a mirror.

His eyes are rimmed in stress, skin beneath them sallow, and he sags in a way that tells you he hasn’t been sleeping, bones and muscles not doing much except keeping him upright. Tears build behind your eyes, and they burn through the tip of your nose until you can’t hold them back anymore, raw agony in the form of a serrated blade cutting through your sense.

“This isn’t fair.” You cry. “Why are you here? You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here, Johnny.” His face changes, spirals through one hundred different things in the span of a second, half of them you can name. He’s still your Johnny, still the same, and you’ve never felt so homesick in your entire life, eyes stuck on the exposed skin just above his collar.

Johnny.

Your Johnny.

Simon’s Johnny. 

“Please… dinnae cry, darling. I’m sorry, I-“

“You’re so selfish.” You don’t know why you say it. It just comes out, flying from your mouth on its own. His head snaps backwards like you’ve struck him, features shifting into panic.

“No, no I’m sorry-“ A spiral swirls, sucking you in, dragging you under, and you shake your head. 

“Just… just… shut up. Please.” You whisper, fingers stretching out into the space between your bodies, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “Shut up.” The demand has more backbone now, and he blinks, confused. You can feel his heat, warm skin and breath vibrating away from his body into yours, tugging you closer and closer as you’re tipping your head back, heart overflowing with an insane, chaotic mix of emotions. You feel like you could fling yourself off the top of the tallest building in this city, and he’d still find a way to catch you.

He'd always find a way.

They both would.

“Darling-“ He's worried, rife with it, imbued with the sense of a logical man, but you don't care. You can't. You're already on a path, already made a decision, anticipated an outcome. And now... you want it. 

Rules be damned. 

“Kiss me.”

“I understand how you feel.” 

“No you don’t!” You turn your back on him, shaking your head. “You don’t, Simon. You don’t know how it felt to sit there and listen to that doctor call Johnny your HUSBAND! How it was to realize you two are married! It was like… it was like I don’t even exist! Like I’m a footnote, in your story.”" 

"We're not, I told-"

"I know what you said. It doesn't change anything. Married in the eyes of your fucking boss and your entire life is as good as being married." 

“You are not some footnote in our story. You are a part of us, love.” You haul one of the blankets off the back of the couch and try to cram it into the duffel. 

“Darling, we dinnae want ye to leave.” 

“Johnny.” Simon hisses, turning to where the other part of your heart lurks inside the bedroom doorframe. “Don’t talk right now. You’ve done enough.” 

“I’m sorry, I said I was sorry, I wouldnae-“ 

“Stop.” Simon snaps, and Johnny breaks, eyes filling with tears, frustrated fingers tearing into his hair before he stomps off, bathroom door slamming so loud it could rattle the entire flat.

Your head hurts. It throbs, pulse banging around under your skin, and the walls are too close, or too tall, everything is too much. You want to sleep. You want to disappear under a heap of blankets and close your eyes. You don’t want to face this, face either of them. 

You should have just kept walking. Should have stayed outside, shouldn’t have come back. Then you wouldn’t have had to do any of this. 

“Don’t cry.” Simon whispers. “Don’t cry, darling, please. It’s alright.” You hadn’t realized you were crying, but when he steps close, tapping his forehead to yours, strong arms holding you tight to his chest, you feel the wet stain on your cheeks, the heaviness of your lashes. 

“It hurts too much, sometimes.” You whisper, and he nods. 

“I know.” 

“Fuck.” Your mug from breakfast tips over, rolling towards the sink, and you vaguely register the brown trickle of coffee that spills over the side.

“I’ll clean it up,” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your belly, shoving the rest of items that sit next to you away, either to the floor or across the countertop, hiking your knee up in their place. “later. Promise.” He’s still working himself lower, biting and kiss and snarling against your skin, strong, scorching hands spreading your thighs so he can bury his face in your underwear.

“Oh-“

“Darling.” He groans, and you scramble, trying to pull them free, trying to push him closer to where you ache, already wet, desperate and out of your mind. You want him to crawl inside you, stitch himself to your skin and devour you whole.

“Johnny, Johnny.” The world vibrates in a million different colors, and you fist his hair, pushing yourself up to his face.

“I’ve got ye. Gon’ make ye feel good, love.” He does. He does every time, and this is no different, the way his hands cup you, the stroke of his tongue against your clit, the way he buries himself as far as he can, eating your twitching cunt as you lay flat on your back atop your own kitchen counter, begging him to make you come.

Is this wrong? Is it? Are you betraying yourself? Are you betraying him? 

Are you betraying Simon? 

It’s too much. It hurts too much.

You need it turned off. You need your entire brain powered down, need to not think or feel or cry about anything for just a second, for a single second of this almost thirty days.

Johnny moves, teeth nipping at your neck, and you meet his lips with your own, panting against him, holding him in your arms just like you’ve been dreaming about.

“I need you.” You whimper, and he nods, a thumb against your cheek. “Please, I- I want… I want you inside me,” your voice hitches higher, delirious, and insane. “Please, Johnny. Please.” Turn it off, turn it off, turn it-

“C’mere, c’mon, love.” He brings you to the edge of the counter, touching you so sweetly, so gently, like you’re a fragile treasure sort of thing, something to be revered, to be cared for.

You’re none of those things. Not now. Not ever. 

It’s a mess, a tangled, fumbled mess of your mouth and his, your hands and his, clothes, teeth, hair. You claw at his back as he frees his cock, one foot on the corner, spread wide for him, and it takes nearly no time until he’s breaching you, heavy hardness pushing into you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut with a groan.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He takes his time, takes it slow, reintroducing you to a feeling that you could never forget, the pressure of his cock notching against your cervix, the fullness and weight of having him seated inside you. It’s so good, like home, like something you could spend the rest of your life with, or the rest of your life chasing, and you barely register the words he is whispering into the side of your face, spit and sweat and tears all running together.

Something's missing. Something's off. Something is missing, it's missing, it's-

“Move… p-please-“

“F-fuck.” He hisses. “Feel so fuckin’ good, darling. So perfect… missed ye, missed ye so much.” He babbles, pinning your hips in place, tendons in his forearms flexing as he thrusts harder and faster, moving your bodies together. “I love ye, cannae live w’out ye, darling. We cannae do it.” His fingers trace around his cock and then to your clit, where he starts to circle and rub the swollen bud exactly as you like it, muscle memory guiding his touch in just the right way, allowing him to drag you to another impending orgasm, cunt clenching down around him. “Ah fuck, that’s it. Squeezin’ me, ye-“

“Johnny.” You cry, and he kisses you, insistently, deeply, sealing you off from any air that isn’t his own, covering you entirely with his body, grinding his hips.

Your orgasm explodes between the two of you, and he shouts when he feels it, clutching you too tightly, chasing his own with a vigor that makes you stutter. Your legs jolt, closing around him, anchoring him, tying him to you, his body going rigid when he fills you with his cum.

Your kitchen is dead silent except for the echo of ragged breathing, sweat dotted skin and shaky hands still languishing together, aftershocks sizzling through your belly.

"Are ye.. are ye alright?" He kisses you, kisses your cheek, your temple, still holding onto your hand, cock still lodged deep inside of you, his cum leaking out between your legs. 

Are you alright? Are you? 

Your chest feels tight, brain desperately trying to catch up, heart bleeding inside your chest.

"Darling? Hey, look at me." He shifts, cupping your jaw and you blink at him, mouth moving without words. 

You wallow there, in the silence, in the little space that exists in this moment, in the in-between. 

Neither of you speak. He pulls back to cradle your face, and you see the tears again, fat ones that roll down his cheeks, illuminating the brilliant blue blaze of his eyes.

What have you done? 

You stare at each other. Realization starts to form, panic fluttering in the ache between your ribs.

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Oh god, oh what did you do, what did you-

The shrill shriek of his cellphone interrupts, forcing both of you to turn to look at the screen that proudly displays the name of the caller.

Simon. 

[mgparker]

Come Back to Me

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.

warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger

masterlist!

“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.

“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”

You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”

The pain was spreading from your side, crawling through your torso like deadly vines. It was nearly blinding. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you tried to steady your breathing.

This isn’t how you wanted to go. Whimpering in pain and regretting every decision that got you here.

No. What you wanted was to hear your lover’s voice one last time. The warm timbre of his essence. Your favorite sound in the entire world.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pressed. “Where are you?”

Your man was nothing if not stubborn. “Yes, baby. I’m okay—“ you really weren’t. “What—what did you do today?”

Marc sucked in air through his clenched teeth, gripping his phone with white knuckles. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m coming home for a few days… our leads haven’t gotten us anywhere and Khonshu believes we just need a comfortable place to think.”

You would’ve scoffed at that if your chest and throat weren’t on fire. Khonshu believes?

The big bird knew what Marc would be returning to. He knew you were lying in a pool of your own blood.

The thought sent a surge of panic through your body, even as the pain was beginning to overwhelm you. “No! Uh—um you— you’re already so close. W-what are you stuck on?”

Tears welled in your eyes, it felt like a blazing iron rod was being shoved into your chest and dragged up slowly until every organ could feel the flame.

It was silent on the other end for a heavy moment, before Marc’s deep voice hesitantly spoke your name. His tone lifted, suspended in question.

A shake courses through you, fear beginning to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The last thing you wanted was for him to panic… and now you’re beginning to panic as well.

You weren’t ready.

A sob broke through your lips before you could stop it. As if you even had the strength to.

“Marc,” you sobbed, turning your head to gaze at the phone beside you. As if it would give you one last glimpse at the love of your life.

His breathing picks up frantically. “Where are you? Tell me now.”

On his end, fabric is wrapping around his body at a faster rate than it ever had before. He could feel the strength of Khonshu enter him, the god’s presence filling the void.

The corners of your vision darkened and just when you thought you’d scream from the pain— it was gone. Miraculously, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m sorry,” a daze washed over you. There was nothing else to do but wait. A forlorn smile graced your paling face. “I’m so sorry, baby. There isn’t much time left.”

“What time?! Stop this shit, where are you? I can make it there as soon as you tell me.”

“There’s not enough time,” you pressed. You were coming to terms with the distant bright light that was supposed to be illuminating your vision.

You would’ve wished that that was what you were seeing as you drifted off, but one wish stood above all the others—

Your desire to be with Marc and Steven.

You barely notice the frantic yelling on the other end of the line before you’re cutting it off weakly.

“I—“ you go to clear your throat but the numbness had spread too far now. “I love you. Every part of you, baby. I just— I just wanted to hear your s—sweet voice one last t-time. Okay? I love you…”

The last word died on your tongue. And the darkness had taken over before you could hear Marc’s broken response.

A strangled yell left Marc’s lips. His stomach was knotted. The shadow of Khonshu appeared in his peripheral vision.

But Marc was rooted in his own grief. His lips were quivering, snot mixing with salty tears as he bared his teeth, shaking from the pure emotion of it all.

Why wasn’t he home? He had vowed to protect you, shield you from the horrors of the world— his world— but it wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t be there all the time, and you’d always reassured him that it’d be okay. That you didn’t feel like you constantly had to look over your shoulder, you didn’t want Marc or Steven to spend every second of their life protecting yours.

It’s his fault. God, the thought made him choke. Hands flying up to grasp at his throat as if he could stop it from tightening. It’s all his fault.

Maybe—maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, you’re alive.

He could still feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder. “Take me to her.”

It’s silent. The wind breezing past his ears, the serenity of the night sky brazenly mocking his wild panic.

“Now, Khonshu!” He spun around quickly, voice wavering in rage.

If it hadn’t been for the God’s power over him, Marc would’ve been with you. The only person who truly matters to him in this world.

By some beautiful twist of fate, Khonshu unexpectedly relents, nodding his giant head in the direction of a portal.

Marc couldn’t find it in himself to thank him, everything else had faded away until all he saw was your mangled body on the other side of it.

His feet took him across the rooftop at an immeasurable feet, practically flying over the distance, until his surroundings had changed completely.

“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees painfully. Shards of glass pierced his skin as if he weren’t already bleeding out with you. “Baby? Baby, wake up. Wake up!”

Your body was lifeless in his arms, and the embrace felt strange, nothing like how you’d lay in his arms at night. Fingers gripping his necklace loosely, head tucked into the crook of his neck… legs tangled with his as if your bodies were one.

Blood left a trail from your nose to your chin and shaky hands went to wipe it away before pausing in midair to hover over your face…

“Love?”

Bewildered, Steven nearly gave himself whiplash as he snapped his head away from the sight of your bloodied body.

And despite wanting to run away, his hands tightened around your frame, his lungs failing.

Everything burned, his chest, his stomach. God, his arms and legs were going numb.

And where Marc couldn’t go, Steven went.

Denial.

“Love, come on,” his head has turned to you again but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Wake up. The gag has gone long enough.”

No response. Your laughter wasn’t shaking your frame, your voice wasn’t reassuring him that it’d all been a silly, cruel joke.

“Lovie…” he knew how much you hated the name and despite it, absolutely nothing.

Weren’t you going to argue? Playfully punch him in the shoulder as you giggled at him to never call you that again. Weren’t you going to put on that half-assed angry frown that you always did before smiling and pulling him to your lips?

Weren’t you going to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright?

His heart dropped with the realization that you already had.

You already spoken those words sweetly and he’d dismissed them, twisted them into something rageful when all he should’ve done was pulled you into his arms and never let you go.

“Steven,” you tried, grabbing onto his hands with an unusual hint of desperation. Almost as if you knew something he didn’t. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

The sincerity in your eyes practically sparkled or maybe that was just the pure love that you felt for him. But it didn’t get through to him this time, instead his panic and anxiety twisting his words and actions into something else.

“How can you say that?” Steven stressed. “How can you be so positive all time?! Consider the possibility that maybe sometimes you’re just wrong!”

His soul shattered when he realized… it was the last time he’d ever hear those words.

He hadn’t believed in them and now this happened.

Steven forced his eyes to open slowly.

In the pale moonlight, your face was still as beautiful as the first time he ever saw you.

It was early in the morning; the sun was barely over the horizon and the streets of London were not all too busy for this hour. 

Thankfully for Marc, the little coffee house that was nestled in the array of buildings on Russell Street was practically empty. Save for the steady stream of customers who would fly in and out with a streaming cup of coffee or tea in their hands.

But tucked in the corner of the large window seat was you. 

Exactly as he’d seen you in his numerous hours of laborious research. Hair tucked behind your ears, oversized round glasses slipping off the tip of your nose, lips tucked in concentration, a loose sweater hanging off your shoulders. 

There was a sense of tranquility about you. A stillness despite the bustling customers mere feet from you. 

A girl immersed in her own world; a utopia all within the threads of your pale green sweater, the gentle sway of your feet under the table, the hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

How odd it was to find such astounding beauty in someone you knew everything and nothing about. 

Because in your little world, you may have been closed off from the reality around you, but an open book to anyone who cared to look. 

And Marc couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t.

He just hated that he had to be the one to shatter your universe.

“Excuse me,” Marc said when he finally worked up the courage to enter the shop. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Then you looked up at him and he knew it was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life, an image that would flash behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.

Your eyes piercingly studied his through your eyelashes for a long moment. The hint of a smile was gone. 

“Sure,” you eventually smiled brightly. 

A dazzling smile that kept him rooted to the spot a little longer than necessary. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re American?”

Marc finally sat down next to you, gripping his chocolate muffin tightly. “Actually, I’m from Chicago.”

If your chuckle was charming, he couldn’t imagine your laugh. 

“Which is in America, if I recall correctly.”

“You do, it is... in America.” God he needed to work on his social skills. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Partly because of your particular line of work, mostly because you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

You shut your book softly. “What brings you to London?”

Marc was sure you would’ve shut him down by now, questioned his intentions or tried to put his ass down. But you were graceful, serene... Seemingly not worried at all about his intentions.

If he’d asked, you would’ve told him that you had a keen eye for vibrant souls. His being one of the brightest you’d stumbled upon. 

“Uh, work,” he replied unconvincingly. “What about you? You’re a fellow American yourself, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” You were teasing him.

Maybe he could hear that laugh again after all. “Your accent and the whole sweater thing you’ve got going on? Practically screams California.”

Your laugh was surprisingly booming, genuine. He found himself smiling at the sound of it.

It can’t be this easy to fall in love with someone you just met. 

“It’s New York actually,” you corrected between fading giggles. “Close enough.”

Embarrassment tinted his ears red. “It’s not.”

Smiling widely, you shook your head in agreement. “It’s really not.”

It’s silent for a few moments and just when Marc thinks you’re going to open your book again, you speak softer than before. 

“I’m assuming you sat in my little corner for a reason, Mr. Spector.”

The gravity of your simple statement uncharacteristically flew past his head. Instead, he was a little more focused on trying to hear that twinkling laugh again. 

“What’re you doing?” You rose an eyebrow, watching as the man wildly looked around the space you were occupying. From the two adjoining walls to the wooden round table. 

“Looking for any indication that this is in fact entirely your corner. So far I see nothing except...” There was no way he wasn’t making a fool out of himself but he was in too deep to stop--

The pin suddenly dropped.  

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

A nonchalant expression adorned your face. “People like you don’t seek people like me unless they need something.”

His brain short-circuits. 

“People like me...” Marc repeated, his voice lifting slightly as if almost in question. 

“I’m aware of every single entity within my range whom fit the qualifications of a very secure database. Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, Spider-Man who happens to be around on a school trip...” you listed idly, twirling the little stick that was stained with your hazelnut coffee. “... Marc Spector.”

The rose-colored glasses were slowly slipping off. His years of servitude under Khonshu’s hand began to harden his exterior until he could finally look at you as a threat. Just to be sure. 

“Why would I be on that list?”

You motioned toward the untouched muffin. “Are you gonna eat that?”

“Why would I be on that list?” His jaw clenched.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” You take a sip. “Moon Knight is an incredibly promising prospect in the eyes of those who protect our world. You’re incredibly powerful.”

Marc scoffed. Is that what he was to you? A potential business deal, a recruit?

“But it doesn’t really matter to me anyway.”

His eyes shot up in interest. The corner of your lips had turned up again.

“I don’t work for any agency anymore,” you explained. “I’m just a girl with an incredible skill set and impressive resume.”

“Humble much?”

There was a knowing twinkle in your eye. “Only when I need to be.” 

Your stares met with a shared interest. As if you two were really seeing each other for the first time. 

To Marc, your beauty was astounding, ethereal. He could only hope that you’d choose to stay in his life.

“I did come for a reason... I have a mission and I could use someone with your specific skill set.”

“You need help.”

“Well, I didn’t say that exactly--”

“It’s what you meant,” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “Thankfully, I’m a woman of the people. But why should I help you?”

“I’m backed into a corner. I’m just trying to do things right in the best way I can. But I need you to trust me.”

“Trust is gained, Spector.”

“Then allow me to earn it.” The mercenary countered.

You allowed your eyes to look over him. At his open grey button up, his ironed white shirt and black pants. His ebony hair, brushed away from his face, sprinkled with a hint of grey. The scruff on his jaw and the brown of his eyes. 

Falling in love with someone you just met can’t be this easy.

Your resolve crumbled and you knew he was going to be in your life for the unforeseeable future. The fluttering in your abdomen pulled you in before you could stop it. 

Not that you wanted to. 

“So what does this mission entail?”

Slowly, a genuine smile curved Marc Spector’s lips, one that you reciprocated with a blinding beauty that made his heart nearly stop.

And as he walked out of the coffee shop that morning, your number scribbled on a note that was neatly folded in his pocket, there was a sudden change... brief but enough for Steven Grant to suddenly find himself on Russell Street. Confused and a bit frightened, but only for a quick moment-- 

Until he turned his head and gazed into the large coffeehouse window...

To see you for the first time, with eyes that had adoringly gazed upon yours for hours. 

And the sight was like a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with something he didn’t quite know he needed. 

The close-lipped smile that spread from cheek to cheek behind the fist of your closed hand, idle strands of hair that fell to cover your joyous expression, the simple rise and fall of your chest...

And between the moment that he saw you and Marc reemerged to front, Steven Grant couldn’t help but wonder who had made your eyes light up in that way. 

Steven Grant wondered if he had the chance, could he make you happy?

But he couldn’t see the light in your eyes anymore. Eyelids rested over those effervescent eyes and a part of him finally shattered. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. Bringing your forehead close to his, his lips tenderly touched your warm skin. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

Softly, as if to not disturb you, he reached for your hand, catching a glimpse of the fading paint job he’d done on your nails before he left last week. 

“I-I-I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping against your body as he tightened his embrace. 

Acceptance. 

With a shudder, Marc kept his eyes closed despite the sudden switch. 

This way he could imagine that you weren’t dead, you weren’t cold and lifeless. No, you were alive. Finally squeezing in a nap between your tireless research, hours upon hours at the computer, hacking databases and trying everything you could to help the boys. 

Yes, yes, he could take a moment to indulge in that fantasy. 

Because once he opened his eyes, it was finally over. Marc Spector would have to live without you. 

“How wasteful...”

That pent-up anger reared its ugly head. “What?”

If he wasn’t holding onto you, Marc would’ve committed violence against the god. 

“To let such a valuable asset go would be a pitiful waste,” Khonshu drawled from behind his avatar. 

Marc shook his head at the audacity. “I don’t want to hear this. I--I don’t want to hear this.”

“Perhaps you do, Spector,” the god insinuated. “Feel the warmth of her skin... look at the color beneath her skin...”

This was cruel. “No...”

“Your grief may be premature--” what? “-- her fate lies in no one’s hands but her own.”

He finally looked up. “Stop with the riddles. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just as I once appeared before you, the goddess Isis requires an avatar. Your lover is still in the fight between life and death.”

Deception was a skill Marc was certain Khonshu had mastered but yet, he found nothing but the truth in his tone. He felt the god’s sincerity. 

Shock stilled his body, mouth slightly open as he stared into the night sky and then slowly back at you.

Despite his aversion to serving a god, the only thought running through his mind was the desire for you to come back to him.

In any way, he’d have you. 

Otherwise, neither he nor Steven would make it. 

“This is up to you, baby,” Marc whispered into your hair. “But fight. Please... fight. Come back to me.”

Please.

Come back to me.

The voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing until it faded away.

It was the voice that would always bring you back. 

“You have a choice to make,” a different voice reminded you, sweet and smooth. “Be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was.”

You were on the tip of the iceberg, held back from what you’d seen Marc and Steven deal with for years but itching to get back to the broken man that was begging for you. 

“What does that even mean?” You groaned. 

Isis gave you no further explanation than what she’d told you before. You glared at her for another moment before feeling a phantom pain shoot across your body. Well, metaphysical body.

You realized you’re running out of time.

“So I do this or what? Die? I love how you all deal in absolutes,” your snark was still intact. “Any room for negotiation?”

The Goddess of Magic and Fertility towered over you, mighty with large wings that spanned the length of the golden chamber. Eyes that pierced into your soul, quite literally, and a beauty that wasn’t made to be seen by mortal eyes.

It was easy to tell why. Such beauty was captivating, breath-stealing and enough to send any man or woman to their knees.

But yet here you stood, slightly annoyed and about three feet under. 

Unamused, Isis blinked expectantly. 

Please... Air caught in your throat. Baby...

The decision suddenly wasn’t hard at all. 

And it seemed as if Isis knew it as well. 

“Will you be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was?” She repeated.

The other half of your soul was missing and you knew how to soothe the agonizing pain for the both of you…

“Yes.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stare at your phone. It can’t be. After everything else going wrong, you can’t deal with Floyd. It suddenly makes sense why he was messing around with your phone. Ew, he’s kind of a creep.

You don’t answer and put the phone away. Well. You have no money, you’re about to have no home, and your milk is spoiled. Don’t panic. You can figure this out. You’re an adult, aren’t you?

First, go to the bank. You need milk. Once you have a coffee, you’ll worry about the whole eviction thing. You leave the convenience store and open Maps to look for the nearest bank kiosk. Not too far, one block. At least you’re getting your steps in.

You follow the directions on screen and turn to cross the road. You’re so distracted, you forget to look both ways and nearly get hit by a gleaming bumper. You wave a head but don’t look up. You need to get to the bank.

You come up to the pulsing blue dot and glance around. Huh. You don’t see a bank. You turn around and face the ATM built into the side of the building. Oh goddang! You walked to a bank machine, not a bank. Is it you? Are you the problem?

You drop your shoulders. Alright. You’ll just try again. You scroll to the next location and spin around, nearly colliding with a new wall. Oh, not a wall, a person.

You look up at Mr. Henson as he watches you with a line between his brows. Somehow, you’re not very surrpised. This guy is everywhere. It’s almost like he has no hobbies.

“Oh, hi, sorry, excuse me, I’m just on my way to the bank--”

“Ah, running short? Need me to spot ya?” He raises his hand, showing a black credit card.

“Um... noooo,” you utter in confusion. The other day, you ran off after calling him names. You really don’t believe he’s changed his stripes. He’s still a snarling tiger getting ready to feast. “Thanks, but I--”

“Things are tight. Job market’s trash, housing isn’t any better, and those banks,” he whistles and puts his card away, “they like to fuck around, don’t they?”

You look at him, scrunching your face up.

“Y-yeah. Weirdly, I did just get a notice to...” your voice trails off. “Why are you bugging me?”

“Bugging you?” His brows pop up and he guffaws, “oh, sweet lips, you’re funny, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know few jokes but--”

“Think a little harder, cupcake,” he lowers his timber and stares at you.

You blink and wet your lips, pushing them together. Think about what?

“Look, about yesterday--”

“I’m talking about today,” he insists.

“Sure, uh...”

“Do I really need to spell this out for you?”

“Spell what out?” You cringe, clawing for some hint of what he means.

“Your bank card isn’t working, right?” He asks, you nod. “You’re getting evicted.” Another nod. “You have no job.”

You make a face, “yes, okay. Rub it in. Alright. I get it. You’re some important guy and I’m a loser. Don’t worry. You own this city but I think I’m on my way out.”

He sighs and presses his fingers flat on either side of his nose. He drops them and opens his eyes again, “it was me. I’m the reason you—Don't you understand what I can do to you? I got you fired, kicked out, and poor in one day. What else do you think I could do?”

Your chest hollows out and your stomach lurches. What? Him? He just doesn’t stop.

“Sir, what—why would you—I'm sorry I called you a meanie. I was upset and the coffee, I tried--” You sniffle and shudder out a half-sob, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well, you shoulda shut those sweet lips and opened those ears, huh?” He grins, “look, cupcake, you’re not going anywhere. You try to run back to your family, I’ll find you. Your mom’s a good lady, you shouldn’t trouble her. She doesn’t make enough teaching brats to put up with another one.”

“My mom—how--”

He spins his finger in the air, “catch up, honey bun. Alright? This is it. I’ll lay it out real clear for you, right now. You have no money, no home, you have nothing. You are nothing.” He jabs his finger at you, “so, I can solve all your problems and make you something.”

You look around. There’s really no way out. He’s a psychopath. You think. You don’t really know the difference between that and sociopath.

“Are you like CIA or something?” You ask.

He scoffs and flinches, “oh man, you are something else. Really, each time you open that mouth, I’m blown away by the idiocy. Rather just get blown, you get it?”

You shake your head and pout.

“Look, I think we can sort this out, Floyd. Really, I’m really sorry and I understand now. I get it. You’re very important and I messed up. I’m nothing and I did everything wrong. And from the bottom of my heart, I apologise. So, can I please have my life back?” You say, “I think we’d both be happier if we just went on our way and never saw each other again.”

His eyes dart away and he stares into the distance. Exasperation wrinkles above his brow and he looks back to you, hands on his hips, “too late, buttercup. So, let me put it as plain as I can. You don’t get a choice. You belong to me now. Just like everything else in this city. You are mine.”

“You can’t... do that.”

“I am doing that,” he insists. “Another thing,” he raises his hand, showing his palm, “it’s Lloyd.” He emphasizes the consonants of his name, “Lloyd Hansen. You can call me sir or Mr. Hansen. Hell, if we’re getting frisky, you can call me daddy.”

“Ugh,” you groan in disgust and curl your lip.

“Ugh?” He mimick the noise, “I’m about to--” He shakes his hand and sucks in the end of his sentence, “fine. Show, don’t tell. Got it.”

You cry out as suddenly he lunges at you. He grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you forward down the sidewalk. He marches beside you as you writhe and paw at his large hand. You whimper, helpless as pedestrians move out of your path.

“Your mouth got you into trouble, now let’s see if it can get you out,” he growls.

[idontplaytrack]

Not A Word

jealous! AJ Campos x fem reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, coarse language, jealous AJ(obvi😂), bit of a smutty ending

Requested? Yes / No

"

Me? Jealous? Jealousy is not a word I'm familiar with.

"

“AJ! You’re out. y/n’s gonna run instead.”

“What…?” AJ looked at coach Murray, in utter disbelief. “Why?”

“Her timing’s gotten better than yours and we need to place, as you know.”

“Fine, whatever. Even though we still have plenty of time for me to train.” AJ jogged away in a huff.

You watched her leave, worried. Shit.

“Okay, y/n. Go to the starting line, you’re gonna run a few.”

“A few?”

“Yeah, a few laps to practice.” He nearly scoffs, “Go, go.”

“Alright.” You shrug, heading for the starting line as he said, then started running. The whole time, you were wondering where the heck she went off to. When you stopped for a bathroom break, you saw her sitting there by a pillar, drawing in her notebook. AJ looked up, saw you, and scooched a little further away. Sighing, you decided to leave her alone for now.

She was still there when you walked out of the bathroom. Resisting the urge to talk to her, you jogged back to the track. You didn’t see her for the rest of practice, and after practice, you couldn’t find her. You tried texting, then you tried calling. She didn’t pick up, she didn’t reply. And then her phone was switched off. “y/n? What’s wrong?” Gabi walked up behind you.

“I can’t find AJ. I tried calling and texting her but then she switched off her phone.”

“I think I have an idea for where she might be. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Okay, thanks.” You followed her to her car and she drives you a park a little ways away from their house. “She’s usually by the pond sketching after a bad day. Though now, usually she goes to you, but since that isn’t the case right now, here she is.” Gabi stops to let you get off. You spot someone sitting down on the grass by the pond. “Oh, my God. Thanks, Gabs.”

“No problem. Glad I could help.”

You approached her quietly, sitting down beside her. “Hey.”

She shifts slightly, letting you know that she was aware of your presence, but she doesn’t take her earphones off. “AJ.” You repeated. “We need to talk.”

“For what?”

“About practice.” You began, lightly tugging her earphones off.

She sighs, closing her book. “AJ, Murray’s decision— I didn’t think he would pick me to go. I just ran. I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry about that. You improved, that’s a good thing.” AJ looks at you, then focused back on the ducks in the pond. “I just— I don’t know, I was—”

That was something she struggled with, opening up to you about her feelings. She always kept to herself. It’s always been like this and you have been trying to get her to be more open instead of trying to shoulder everything herself. Sometimes, it works, she’s okay, she talks. Other times, like right now, she just completely shuts you off and runs away. AJ doesn’t like it that you have to see her upset, you know it but you couldn’t care less if she cried in front of you. You would just hold her and let her cry it out and whatever else she needed. Did she know that? Yes she does, she just…struggles with accepting that you’re there for her.

“Jealous?”

AJ scoffs, “Me? Jealous? Jealousy is not a word I’m familiar with.”

“Babe, that’s okay, it’s a valid emotion. Okay? I will literally pull myself out of the team if it means that you get to run the race.”

“y/n, why would you do that? You’re great at it.” She answered tearfully.

“Because, it no longer makes me happy, actually. I feel more stressed than I do relaxed when I go to practice.” You admit, “I just stayed because it looks good on my record, transcript, whatever. I can see it, you love the sport. It’s what makes you feel happy, confident, recharged.”

AJ swallowed thickly, fighting the forming tears. “I’m just used to having to be the best, y/n. My Dad expects me to be the best, that if I even slip up just one time, I feel like I failed. I feel like everyone is judging me…”

————

“Baby, I- I know it’s so hard, I know your Dad’s hard on you. But it’s me…I’m here for you no matter what. For anything.” You told her, grabbing her hand, “See, look at this. This ring- it doesn’t cost much but it means the world to me because it represents the promise that we made to each other. I wear it all the time, and so do you…it’s tiny, but important. but not as important as you being there for me, me being there for you. We’ve been through some shit. But we don’t let it take us down forever. I don’t care how bad your day is, how much you need to scream or cry, run or punch someone. I will be there with you to do that with. I’m here, let me share things with you. You’re not alone— don’t just shove everything down.”

AJ chokes on a sob and then just ended up bursting into tears. You put your arms around her as she laid her head onto your chest. “It’s okay, baby. Just let it out, okay?”

“I know, you need the reassurance. You’ve told me that. So do I, sometimes. And in the event where I can’t give it to you, remember the ring. Our promise…this conversation. Please. AJ, I love you and I care about you. I want you to remember that.” By the time you finished talking, you were in tears as well. “You’re alright, honey.” You kissed the side of her head while rubbing her back. “We’re okay.”

“I’m sorry.” She sniffled, “It was wrong of me to get jealous. It wasn’t even your fault. And I just — gave you the side eye like you chose to run in the race.”

“Baby.” You chuckled, breaking away from the embrace and tilting her head by the chin, “I don’t care about that. It happened, so what? I know you, I know you didn’t mean that. I actually found that look on your face kinda funny, and very adorable actually.”

AJ laughs a little and ends up coughing, “I…I need you to know that too, I love you no matter what. No matter how shitty of a day I might have.”

“I know that, AJ. I know.” You promised, “I think I kinda know you pretty well by now.”

She blinks, licking her lips while looking at you. Something about that look in her eyes, there was like a shift in the mood almost instantaneously. AJ’s hand travels over your shoulder and down to your upper back, gently connecting your lips with her own. Somehow, you managed to push her back enough so that she’s laid on her back on the grass. AJ chuckles, “Hey. What are you doing?”

“What were you doing?” You retorted.

“Kissing you.” She answered, eyebrows raised briefly before crashing her lips onto yours again, hand roaming your back.

“AJ, do not take off my—”

She chuckles into the kiss, mumbling an ‘okay’ and the kisses don’t stop. “I love you.” She combs a hand through your hair while you now laid your head on her chest.

“I love you too, baby.” You replied, finger tracing her chest randomly.

“Maybe we should go…” She remarked, hand still massaging your scalp.

“Why?”

“It’s starting to get kinda dark, aaaand I don’t want those poor ducks to see what I’m about to do to you.”

“Oh.” You gasped, eyes looking into hers, “So we’re gonna do that now?”

“If you want to, of course.” She bit back a grin.

“Hell yeah, I want to.” You snuggled closer to her for a bit, “I also wanna just cuddle with you. This feels really nice.”

“We can do that afterwards.” AJ wiggles her brows, her fingers stopping in your hair.

“Really? Okay.” You exhaled, “Okay, let’s go.”

Once you returned with AJ to her house, she leads you up to her room, smoothly locking her door. “So, you’re sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” You confirmed, arm resting on her shoulder as you leaned in to kiss her first.

“Oh, my God.” AJ mumbles into the kiss, pulling you in by the waist.

After that, you were in the shower with her. You helped her shampoo her hair and lather the soap on her body. She does the same. You loved moments like these and she does, too. Quiet, comforting intimacy after sex. AJ randomly cups her face in her hands and presses a kiss to your cheeks then all over your face. It made you giggle, and she smiles. “You’re so cute.” AJ says while brushing the hair out of your face.

“Have you looked in the mirror, babe? You’re fucking adorable.” You held her chin, puckering up your lips and she kisses you again as expected.

“The mirror? I just did. Like, 10 minutes ago when you were trying to—”

“Let’s not.” You put a finger to her lips, “I’m too tired for another round.”

She had a tiny smirk on her face that turned into a sweet smile as she shut the water off, “Okay.”

Once you two stepped out of the shower, she quickly hands you a towel to dry yourself off with. AJ did the same then went over to her dresser to get a change of clothes- for her and for you. She got dressed in a comfy muscle tank and sport shorts, and you then put on the t-shirt and shorts she laid out for you. You climbed back into bed with her, immediately snuggling up against her with your head on her chest. “Sleepy, babe?” Her hand was on your back, the warmth comforting you,

You nodded, humming in response. “Jealousy is so hot on you, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, is it?” She guffawed, patting your back to lull you to sleep.

“Just try not to tire me out so much all the time.” You mentioned that so casually, it made her giggle again. “Okay, beautiful.” AJ smiled to herself, “I promise. Get some rest.”

[cressidagrey]

Indelible Scars - Chapter 9

Summary:

Azriel knew pain. So did Galena.

Also known as: Azriel’s mate is a healer and the first time they meet, he nearly dies on her.

Warnings:

Irresponsible use of Sleeping Potions, Surgery, Near Death, Az being kinda high

(thanks to @cafekitsune for the super pretty dividers!)

“You want to do the cutting or shall I?” Zoreen asked drily, as she brandished the leather roll in which Galena kept her surgical implements. 

“I’ll do it.”

“Galena,” her aunt said, a tint of worry in her voice, but Galena still took the leather roll from Zoreen. 

“I will not be able to keep myself from taking the knife from either of you and doing it properly myself. So I should just do it from the start,” she said drily. 

Galena knew herself well enough to know that. 

“Even as a child you needed to cut your own sandwiches, or you were impossible,” Madja said with a sigh.”

“Who doesn’t cut them into triangles?” Galena demanded. “Squares are just wrong.” 

It broke some of the tension in that room, as she wetted a rag with the potion they used to clean their area of work and then rubbed it over the scar that had once been made by an ash bolt. 

And really… it was better that way. It was her experiment to make, the proof she needed to make…she just hoped it was the right decision. 

She had never been particularly religious, had never believed in the mother and the cauldron and…

But for the first time in her life…for the first time…Galena prayed. That she was right. That she would be able to remove a shard of ashwood from his chest and the faebane would disappear from his bloodstream. That he would wake up and he would be fine. 

Her fingers didn’t shake as she tipped the potion bottle in his mouth. 

“What are you giving him?” Cassian asked quietly.  

“A narcotic. So he won’t wake up halfway through,” she answered, feeling as his magic grew soft around the edges, nearly sluggishly. He was out. Unconscious. 

“That probably wouldn’t go over well,” Cassian agreed with a snort. “For anybody. Can you imagine?” he asked the High Lord who just shook his head. 

“I don’t think I want to watch this,” The Morrigan said quietly. 

“You don’t need to,” The High Lord said. “Amren?” he asked, and Galena could hear the door close as both left the room. 

“We’ll leave you to it.”

And so they did. She had already cleaned her hands, and cleaned up the area in which she was working…she selected a knife, a quicksilver thing that she knew was going to be sharp enough to cut through skin and muscles with the lightest pressure…

Alone the thought of taking that knife to his skin and cutting deeper than just to take some blood…it went against every fucking instinct she had. 

And still…and still Galena did it. 

Still, she cut, carefully and precisely, slicing through skin and muscles, right there between his 5th and 6th left ribs. 

“His blood is thin,” Zoreen said softly, as she wiped it away so that Galena would be able to see better. 

“I know. Not surprising after everything we have poured down his throat in the last few days,” she said drily, as she cut deeper. 

She felt more than heart the one moment when his heart seemingly stumbled. 

“Oh no, you won’t ,” she whispered sharply. She searched for that golden thread deep inside, for that fledgling mating bond that had burrowed itself deep inside her magic the first moment she had seen him…the moment…the moment when she knew that…the moment she knew that Azriel was her mate. 

She found that golden thread inside her…and then she yanked at it. 

He better wake up or else. His heart better keep beating or else. 

“Cassian, it’s alright,” she could hear the High Lord behind her, sharply, warning. “She got him.”

“You are certain?” Cassian asked. 

“Yes,” he assured him. “She got him.”

And she got him. 

And she cradled that bond in her magic and her heart, even as her finger slipped into that gaping wound, his blood, warm and wet trickling over her skin, as she reached deep inside…feeling for…

And then she had it. 

She had been right. 

Her hypothesis was proven. 

“I have it,” Galena said as she grasped that shard of ashwood and pulled it out of him, her hands covered in Azriel’s blood, which dripped down, even as she dropped that splinter into a bowl Madja held into her reach. 

She had done it. 

It was over. 

The relief was the most potent kind of drug she had ever felt in her life. 

“We’ll clean it out and then I’ll sew him up,” she said calmly as Zoreen handed her a bottle filled with a solution they used to flush out wounds like that. 

If there was anything left in there…this was going to get it. 

She made quick work of it, even when she flushed it three times for good measure before she took a needle and silk thread to her mate's chest and made a tidy row of stitches that knitted him back together before her eyes. The bleeding was stemmed. 

“Very tidy. All the silk scarves you hemmed have made you good at that,” Zoreen commented, a smile in her voice. She was trying to break the tension. Galena knew that. 

“Why did you sew that and not heal it?” Cassian asked her. 

“It’s too deep,” Galena answered, as she started to cover the wound with her hand, pushing magic against it. “I can’t heal it completely, not without overloading it…I can’t throw that much magic at him,” she explained. 

Instead, she smeared the salve over it that she had mixed fresh just before she had started cutting into her mate, covering the stitches she had made. 

“And what is that?”  Cassian asked. 

“Pain Relief and a salve to eradicate any infection,” she answered. 

“Do you want to take up healing?” The High Lord asked with some amusement. 

“No, but it’s interesting!” The general defended himself.

She cleaned her hands on a rag, and that was the moment when a tendril of shadows loosened itself from the tattoos that stretched over an olive-skinned muscular chest to tug at her fingers. 

Thank you, the shadows whispered to her. 

“Of course,” she responded. 

Of course. Always. For him, always. 

She covered the wounds with gauze and then carefully wrapped it around his torso, doing her best not to disturb his wings. 

And then...then she was done. It was over. 

The worst part was done.

Now...now it was just a waiting game. Until Azriel would wake up...until the fever would break...until he would be alright again. 

She cleaned her hands with water and soap, scrubbing off every trace of her mate’s blood…while Madja and Zoreen took care of bloody linens and rags…of the sharp knives she had used…the medications she had strewn all over the room, as she had tried to heal him. 

She joined her aunt in putting the desk, covered in her mortar and pestle and cutting board and everything else she had used to rights. 

“I am sorry for screaming at you. I shouldn’t have done that,” she apologised quietly, and her aunt hesitated in her movements for just a moment

“You never did it before,” Madja said, as she laid down the knife she had picked up and covered Galena’s hand in her own. 

Ever since…

It had only been the two of them. 

Galena was the daughter of Madja’s younger sister, and said sister’s mate…and they had been gloriously happy. And then her father had died and that had broken something in her mother. Or at least that had been the only explanation that Galena had ever been able to come up with…

Broken enough that she had remarried within the year…and that male…that male was…a monster. 

Galena didn’t like to think about that time. She didn’t…she didn’t like to think about that at all…she didn’t want to…

Giant Hogweed turned into acid if cooked. Strong enough to result in burns. 

Strong enough to result in her losing nearly all vision in her left eye…If left untreated, it led to horrible scarring. Disfigurement. 

And if you rebroke the strongest bone in a fae body…the thigh bone… again and again and again until you shattered it…and never let it set correctly and heal…well, whoever was the victim…they probably would have a permanent limb. 

All of that was one thing. 

Her mother chose that male that hurt her, over her…not wanting her anymore, because Galena had ruined her marriage…that was another thing. 

Another thing she didn’t like to talk about…

Her aunt had been the one to take her in…that horribly injured orphan… who had spent months nursing her back until…until the wounds had closed…until there were no leaking burns anywhere on her body anymore…

Her aunt had done that. Taken a child in her home, even when she had never wanted any of her own. Taken in Galena. 

“I am sorry for forcing you to go to the market,” Aunt Madja said suddenly and Galena stared at her, shocked. But…

“You are a grown female. You can make your own decisions. Sometimes I forget that,” Madja said, with a small smile on her face. “I just see…I just see my little mouse and not the healer she has grown into. I just…I always just wanted you to have as normal a life as you could. I wanted you to love and be loved. And I thought that with time…maybe people would change,” she told Galena fiercely. “But they haven’t. And forcing you to do that, even when you didn’t want…that was cruel. I am sorry, Little Mouse.”

The tears burned into her eyes as her aunt enveloped her in her arms. She breathed in that scent of caramel and salt that clung to her, the only mother she would ever claim as her own anymore. 

“I’ll be at home. We’ll talk more when you are ready,” Madja said as she stepped back, wiping away Galena’s tears, not once hesitating to touch the scars that covered her face. “Stay,” Madja told her then, an impish grin on her face. “We can’t have your mate die from a simple fever now, can we?”

Her aunt stepped back, taking a filled bag back to the apothecary where it would need to be cleaned and organised and…it was a problem for future Galena. 

“Why do I feel like Madja is matchmaking?” she muttered under her breath, making Zoreen snort in amusement, her friend reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. 

“Because she is, Galena,” Zoreen told her drily. “Congrats. You know what they say about Illyrians and their wingspan?” Zoreen whispered in her ear as she hugged her and she just rolled her eyes.“Love you,” Zoreen sing-songed. “Also, for cauldron’s sake, give the poor male some mirthroot-based Pain Potion. He should at least get something out of us cutting him up.”

She rolled her eyes, though she did pour half a dose of that down Azriel’s throat…only now noticing what had changed. 

His whole body was slick with sweat, his skin, the sheets and his pillowcase all damp. 

But the fevered flush over his face had yielded…his forehead was blessedly cool to the touch. 

“His fever broke,” she realised out loud, and she hadn’t even finished the words, as suddenly Cassian was right there next to her, reaching out to touch his brother. 

“That went quickly,” Cassian said with a soft exhale. 

She carefully put a hand on the wound she had stitched up again, pushing more magic against it, making sure that the skin was closed. 

“Put him in the bath. Wash of the sweat,” she said calmly. “And don’t let him drown,”  she warned the General, who exchanged one look with the High Lord. 

A soft noise from the bed pulled their attention and Galena watched as suddenly Azriel seemed to start and come back towards consciousness…slowly at first, hands moving into fists…head turning towards their voices. 

“Az?” Cassian was the first who recovered. “You’re alright. Your fever broke…” he assured him. A weak noise, deep in his throat. “What’s he thinking, Rhys?”  he demanded. 

“Is he in pain?” Galena asked, hands fluttering, wanting to reach out but she forced herself to push them down. 

“No, he’s not,” Rhys cleared his throat, still staring at his brother. “He isn’t in any pain.”

“That’s good,”  Galena agreed and Azriel made another noise low in his throat. 

“Come on, Az…we’ll get you in a bath,” The High Lord said quietly. 

Between him and Cassian they managed to carry him into the bathing chamber, and Galena started to strip the bed of its damp linens, giving her hands something to do, something else but all the feelings that were still running rampant in her chest. 

She could hear steps, and the door opened and she turned around, finding Nesta enter the room, watching her in surprise.

“Azriel?” she asked immediately. 

“Bath. The fever broke,” Galena answered quickly. “Cassian and the High Lord are taking care that he doesn’t drown.”

“Good.” Even if her ramrod posture didn’t change, Galena could see the tension leave her body at that. “He’s better?”

“He just needs to rest,” Galena promised her.  “Do you have any idea where I can find fresh sheets?” she wondered. 

She hadn’t even finished the words when suddenly a new stack of them shimmered into existence on the now clean desk.

“The House provides,” Nesta said drily. 

Oh. 

“Thank you,” Galena said, forcing herself not to stare at the ceiling as she did that. 

Wordlessly, Nesta helped her stretch the sheets over the bed, tucking in the corners tight, just as Cassian left the bathing chamber. 

He crossed the rooms in a few strides. She barely had time to think before he enveloped her in a bear hug, lifting her clean off her feet. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. 

she was so surprised, that she needed a moment before she could respond. “Of course,” Galena finally said, patting his back, mindful of his wings. The way…the way heartfelt gratitude had dripped off his words…she couldn’t quite…

He let her go, carefully putting her back on her own two feet. 

“So it seems like we are going to see lots more from you from now on,” he told her brightly. 

“Are we?” Nesta wondered, and before Galena could say anything, it burst out of Cassian. 

“She’s Azriel’s mate.” There was so much clear delight in his voice at that that Nesta just raised an eyebrow in response, even when her stomach was churning. 

“Seems like we will,” she agreed, just as Rhys called for Cassian. 

“I’ll help Rhys fish him out of the bathtub,” Cassian said with a grin, collecting clothing from the armoire in one corner of the room. 

“When did it snap for you?” Nesta asked her suddenly. 

“The first moment I saw him,” Galena answered honestly, steeling herself to be taken in by these grey eyes. 

She had expected a lot but she had not expected Nesta’s next words.  “Don’t…Don’t break his heart. Turn him down, if you must, but don’t be cruel about it.” 

There was a warning in her voice at that and Galena stared at her, at even the suggestion that she would be the one turning down the mating bond. That was…

“I won’t. I promise,” she said instead, turning to the bathing chamber as Cassian emerged with Azriel in tow, once again, being carried between the High Lord and him. 

Though he…seemed…

“Is he conscious?” she asked surprised as they put him on the bed and the wings flared in response to some movement from Cassian’s. 

“Spaced out like whoa,” Cassian said with a snort as he hefted Azriel’s legs onto the bed.

“Probably thanks to the Pain Potion I gave him,” Galena said with a laugh, leaning over him to tuck the blanket up his chest. 

She fussed with them for a moment and then was shocked to stare in a pair of hazel green eyes, flecked with gold. 

Pupils blown wide, eyes nearly black, just a thin ring of green surrounding them…Even seemingly stoned out of his fucking mind his hand shot out to catch her wrist. 

“Mate.” He slurred the single word, his voice hoarse and desperate. 

[madi-writes-things]

Francesca Pt. 1

Summary:

It broke Schlatt when he had to let Y/N go, But he would go through hell a thousand times if it meant he got to hold her again.

“If I could hold you for a minute… I’d go through it again.”

Word Count: 1.09 K

TW: Mental Illness, angst, ocd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, break up, pining, feelings of worthlessness, basically a self insert without a physical description, Based in Texas… because so am I

A/N: I’m totally ok, and definitely not scared of my mental illness… 👀

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

My bags are packed before Jay gets home. I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be. I should probably leave before he gets here, but he deserves an explanation. I’m not really sure what to say when he gets here, but he doesn’t deserve to be ghosted…

When the door opens I regret my decision to stay. He’s holding an H-E-B bag with frozen pizzas and ranch.

My favorite.

The second he locks eyes with me I break down. The bag falls from his hand as he rushes to pull me into a hug.

“What’s wrong pumpkin? What happened?” His voice is filled love and tenderness, very different from his online persona. It makes me cry harder.

“I can’t do this Jay… I-” He pulls me impossibly closer, mumbling a quiet ‘don’t do this’. “I already packed everything into my car. I can’t ask you to stay, I wouldn’t do that to you…”

He knows that I’ve been struggling lately, but I would never ask him to understand the extent of my anguish. I could never tell him about my hours spent researching. The notes. The fear of being alone with myself.

All I’ve ever wanted is to marry the man of my dreams, and have a big family. My mind constantly tells me that I can’t have it…

Nobody would want to deal with you, he’d get tired of it eventually. What if your kids are crazy like you? You don’t want to run the risk that he has to find you dea-

“You aren’t doing anything to me, you don’t have to do this… we can get through this, we can get you whatever help you need… please…”

I’m doing this because I love him. I can tell when he sees the look in my eyes, he mumbles a quick okay before leaving to put the pizzas in the freezer.

I run to lock myself in the bathroom… I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“”“”“”“”“”

When I finally get myself together, I leave the bathroom on a mission to get out quickly. It takes me a while before I realize what’s happening.

“where the hell did you put my keys Jay?” I see him sitting at our table, set with two plates of pizza and two glasses of wine.

“You’re not driving right now… I just heard you have a twenty minute panic attack, you’re in no headspace to drive.” I know he won’t give me the keys, no matter how much I try to convince him. “Do you even have anywhere to go?” I just shake my head. He gets up and walks into our bedroom.

I can hear him on the phone with Ted, he’s asking if I can stay in LA with him. When he returns, we sit down to eat the now cold pizza.

“What did he say?” I didn’t necessarily want to move across the country, but we both know I wouldn’t be able to actually leave well enough alone if I stayed.

I can tell that he’s been crying, but I know that this is what’s truly best for him in the long run. “He said yes, obviously. I’ll drive you to his place, and catch a flight back.” I knew that there was no convincing him to leave me alone for extended periods of time… I wonder if Ted told him not to let me out of his sight.

He probably did.

After dinner Jay offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that I don’t want our last night to be spent in different parts of the house.

He holds me as I cry myself to sleep.

This is what’s best for him.

“”“”“”“”“”

The nearly twenty hour drive was silent, stopping whenever the gas gauge lit up. Jay always knew what to get me from the gas station, while I stayed in the car reading. About halfway through the ride he finally decided to play some music, our shared playlist flowing through the tense atmosphere.

I decided to take a nap at some point, and was awoken by Jay gently shaking my shoulder while handing me some food that he had gotten. “We’ve only got about an hour left… you need to eat, and I think we should talk about it.”

No. You can’t handle this, the car ride is hell as is… and now he wants you to talk about why you’re breaking his heart?

“There’s not much to talk about Jay… there isn’t any way to convince me that it was a mistake.” I can see the hurt look in his eyes when I say it, and I really didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. “I love you so much… and I promise, this is for you.”

He starts to try and argue, before settling on asking about publicity. My only response is that we can deal with it separately. I finish my food, and finish the last few chapters of my book.

“”“”“”“”“”

It takes less than an hour to move all of my stuff into Ted’s guest room.

Ted is my best friend, and we’ve known each other for years. He introduced me to the job prospects of the internet. He introduced me to all of his colleagues when I was first starting on YouTube…

He introduced me to Jay.

After helping move everything in, Jay got ready to fly out. He said a quick goodbye to me, before going outside to talk to Ted.

They were out there for a really long time.

What if he’s convincing Ted that you are a horrible person?

What if they’re working together to get you put away?

What if you opened the window?

What if you jumped?

My phone is in my hand immediately, looking up the likelihood of injury/death from a second story jump. Very unlikely. Shit.

All of the sudden, the walls feel too close. The window is too far. I hear Jay’s Uber leaving, and everything starts to collapse.

This was a mistake. I just ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s too late. He hates me. I should have just left a note and Jumped off the congress avenue bridge.

I can’t breathe.

I hear a soft knock at my door, and hear it creak open. Ted sits down in front of me, placing my hand on his chest. We work on breathing exercises that he taught me years ago. When I finally feel slightly normal, he pulls me into a tight hug.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos @memento-rory

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 30 - Dance

Content includes: Crowley x reader, reader is a teacher at NRC, reader is described as a wallflower, Crowley has (very obvious) feelings for the reader, reader’s feelings are left somewhat ambiguous, Crowley as a general warning

It’s officially that time of year again: NRC’s annual dance. Every year since the school’s conception, a dance has been held for both students and outsiders alike. Any and all are welcome to attend.

As a teacher, you’re required to attend as a chaperone. Dances, and parties in general, are not particularly your scene, but this one is fun. You’ve been teaching for a few years now, and you always have a good time at this event.

And, of course, a good time for you is awkwardly standing against the wall as you watch over the students.

This is what you do every year, and you intend to keep it that way. Most of the faculty tends to do the same, although some of the more extroverted members of staff tend to find their way into the crowd.

For right now, you’re on your own, and you have the occasional small chat with whoever passes you by. It’s calm and peaceful, just the way you like it.

Until it’s not.

Crowley approaches you, sliding up to stand next to you. You can already tell he wants something based on the look he has on his face. Or, at least the bottom half of his face. Even at a party, he always has that mask on.

“Well hello there. Are you enjoying the party? Aren’t I just so generous to have upped the budget this year?”

By upping the budget, Crowley means the lukewarm punch you’re currently drinking. Lately, guests have been complaining about the lack of food and drinks provided at the party, and some of the more important guests (namely, donors to the school) have threatened to stop attending. Thus, Crowley made the executive decision to provide snacks.

You nod at his question, sipping at your drink so that you don’t have to verbally respond. Naturally, you’re happy to have something to snack on as you partake in your people watching, but you wouldn’t classify them as being ‘good’ snacks.

“Of course you agree. I only provide the best for my esteemed guests.”

He’s stalling. You can tell something’s up, even if you can’t tell what. Crowley always gets rambly like this when he has something on his mind. It’s not like you meant to learn his mannerisms, but you’ve been around him for years now, and he’s not exactly difficult to read.

Instead of building the tension, you decide to cut him some slack, asking him what’s bothering him.

“Wh-what? Whatever could you possibly be talking about? I’m not bothered at all. In fact, I would say I’m quite swell considering how the party is going.”

Oh yeah, something is definitely up. If he wasn’t your employer, you would just tell him to cut the crap and spill what’s on his mind. However, he is your employer, which means you should probably say it with more tact.

You down the remainder of your drink, suddenly wishing it were a little stronger. Then, you look him in the eyes (mask?) and ask him if he’s sure everything is okay.

“Fine, I suppose I’ll come clean, since I’m so generous and all.”

His words almost make you reconsider, but something about the way his mood shifts keeps you where you’re at. He almost looks… vulnerable all of a sudden.

“To tell you the truth, my concerns lie with you. Not in a bad way! Don’t get the wrong idea.”

You nearly have a heart attack, but you’re glad he clarified quickly. What did you do to concern him so much?

“I… well, I was hoping to maybe… ask you to dance? In a strictly professional way, of course! I just noticed how you’re always on the sidelines during the dance every year, and I figured you were lonely. How generous am I, to offer a dance to someone like yourself?”

Any sympathy you had for him vanishes in an instant. You would have said yes if not for what he said at the end there. Why must he always ruin everything by making it like this?

He awkwardly laughs, and you can tell he knows that he messed up. You stare at him, giving him a displeased look, and that causes him to wilt a bit.

“I apologize for that. I’m sure you already guessed, but I was rather nervous to ask you. Alas, even with how charismatic I am, even I have my weak points.”

That gets a small laugh out of you. Your boss is so strange. You then look at him, less upset this time. In fact, your look could almost be considered a fond one.

Instead of a verbal answer, you reach your hand out, a silent gesture. He takes a moment, obviously not expecting you to say yes. Then, he smiles and takes your hand.

He guides you to the dance floor, and you can immediately tell that people are watching you. It’s embarrassing, especially since you’re not much of a dancer. Still, you’re able to push those thoughts aside, instead focusing on the man in front of you.

This is certainly not where you expected your night to end up. But, as Crowley expertly leads you across the floor in a dance, you can’t exactly mind.

[the-eeveekins]

Prospera: my more serious thoughts on her and her character.

Like Suletta, I fully support Prospera's actions. You can't show me the Prologue where her whole life is violently taken from her and NOT expect me to root for her. She's just as much a victim of Delling’s actions and the systemic oppression of Earthians as many of the other characters in the show. I feel like a lot of people who don't empathize or sympathize with her either haven't seen the Prologue or haven't watched it since it was released nearly a year ago.

Yes, she did terrible things along the way, especially to Suletta, Eri and Miorine; but Suletta affirmed her choice of trying to help Eri over revenge (and arguably, affirmed her very existence in the process), Eri agreed with Suletta's choice, and even Miorine was willing to accept her as family if it was the decision of her fiancée. Fixing those mistakes will take time, years even, and who knows if Miorine especially will ever forgive her, but she has that time and she has that chance. I love that the show gave her a second chance at the life she was robbed of and a chance to make amends and fix her mistakes. Most shows would have killed her outright or gone with the Redemption Equals Death trope. Characters like her, especially female characters, almost never get that chance.

And, personally speaking, the scene where Suletta pulls her into the data storm is one of my favorites in the show. She gets to speak with the memories of her colleagues and Nadim, and express her guilt for deciding to focus on Eri's future at the expense of avenging them, only for Suletta and Eri to affirm her choice and tell her it's time to move forward. The mask breaks, Prospera "dies" and Elnora finally gets to hold Eri again and apologize to both of her daughters. It's one of the most cathartic moments in the show, a perfect conclusion to the Mercury family story and it brings me to tears every time.

I know not everyone is thrilled by Suletta's acceptance of her mom after everything she did to her, but I think it's highly appropriate: she loves people unconditionally more than anyone, understands Elnora did what she did from a place of love and selfishly wants to be with her whole family, mistakes and all. And again: Elnora is as much a victim in this show as anyone else. And even if Suletta accepted her mother, it's not like G-Witch forgave every awful parent of their sins: as I mentioned here, Delling may have surived, but his power to oppress is gone, he's under investigation for his crimes and by all accounts he's no longer a part of Miorine's life. We never see her forgive her father for what he did, and to be honest, I don't think she ever does. It's a hand she only extenda to Prospera because of her selfless love for Suletta.

And that brings us to one of my major issues surrounding Prospera: the difference in how certain parts of the fandom treat Prospera and Delling. The greatest trick Delling ever played was being a little nicer to his daughter before falling into a coma for half the show. Suddenly so many people forgot all he'd done and were willing to forgive his past actions and offer him up for redemption, all while condemning Prospera to death for her actions and claiming she was unredeemable.

It just reeks of the usual fandom sexism with it's double standards towards male and female characters. I just found the idea that Delling was redeemable but Prospera wasn't to be wrong, and find it especially frustrating the way people still tend to focus on Prospera's wrongs while ignoring Delling's.

Still, I think she's an amazing character, one of my favorites of all time. I'm so glad the show stuck the landing on her ending, not only giving her a chance to attone for her mistakes, but also giving her back the peaceful family life cruelly taken from her in the past. Mending her relationship with Suletta, Eri and Miorine will not be easy, it will take time and care and effort, but I believe someday those bonds will be repaired and they will truly become a family with mutual love for each other.

[antianakin]

what do you think are some of obi wan's character flaws

Throughout TPM and AOTC, his flaw is primarily a lack of faith. He questions Qui-Gon's just "belief" in the Force's will and the prophecy etc in the first film, it's one of the reasons Qui-Gon tells him he has "much to learn of the Living Force" or whatever. In AOTC, it's more specifically about faith in Anakin and that Obi-Wan has done as much as he can do to help Anakin be a good person and a good Jedi and at some point he has to just trust that Anakin will figure the rest out for himself and Obi-Wan has to let go of his worries and doubts.

The lack of faith tends to manifest as arrogance a little bit, as a belief that he knows better than other people like Qui-Gon and the Council and Anakin, and it's pointed out several times in AOTC as specifically that.

This is the character flaw that he actually has OVERCOME by ROTS and that's why a lot of people have apparently decided that Obi-Wan is "too soft" on Anakin or whatever as a character flaw. I don't really see that as true, especially given how much of a nag he is and how quickly he puts Anakin in his place throughout AOTC. In ROTS, he is CHOOSING to have more faith in Anakin and not be quite as harsh because he wants to believe that Anakin can and will always make the right decision in the end, even if he struggles. So yes, he doesn't put Anakin in his place as much when Anakin throws a temper tantrum about not being made a Master and he vouches for Anakin in the conversation with Mace and Yoda later (an obvious parallel scene to the AOTC one where those roles are swapped) and he desperately wants to believe he can change Anakin's mind and save him after Order 66. But he also isn't like Padme in his refusal to believe that Anakin did the things we know he's done and he doesn't try to let Anakin get away with it either.

Obi-Wan isn't soft on Anakin, he just learned to have faith and that faith happens to not be rewarded because Anakin is, well, a selfish turd.

And if we go into the Kenobi show, the lack of faith actually comes BACK as a character flaw, but this time it manifests not as arrogance but as defeatism. He's lost everything, his faith last time was horrifically proven wrong, and he doesn't have a single ounce of support anywhere from anyone anymore. So he pins his entire identity on looking after Luke, but he doesn't trust himself OR Luke much because the last little Force-sensitive Skywalker kid he tried to train ended up ruining everything and Owen presumably picks up on some of that desperation and that's why he's not super keen on letting Obi-Wan spend time with Luke, even without the context to understand it. By the end of the series, he has to let go of all of those worries and doubts again and just trust that he gave Luke to good people who will ultimately raise him into a good man and that Luke won't make the same mistakes Anakin did and that Obi-Wan won't make the same mistakes either.

The lack of faith is a really important and relevant character flaw because Obi-Wan by ANH is Luke (and the audience's) whole introduction to the Force and the Jedi and their faith. He IS faith personified, he has to get LUKE to trust and believe in the Force in the first place so that the audience can believe in it, too. He is calm, settled, confident, and sure, but in a way that we need to believe is completely earned. That faith is the CORE of his character and it's why watching Obi-Wan learn to KEEP faith, even in dark times, even in the face of loss, is so so important. It doesn't just help us understand how he came to be the character we know from ANH, but it obviously also helps him be a foil to Anakin who never has faith in anything, especially in dark times and in the face of loss.

(This is also why I really really hate the whole backstory with Satine and how he nearly left the Order for her because it just demonstrates such a lack of understanding of who Obi-Wan actually is as a character, his place in the narrative, and why he's a foil to Anakin at all, but that's a different post.)

He can also get cocky in his own abilities sometimes and he's obviously something of a sarcastic bastard who enjoys pointing out other people's mistakes as a form of teasing friendly banter. Neither of those things are quite as narratively relevant as his lack of faith, but they're fun to play with.

[burstingwithbellies]

For the longest while, I’ve just been so obsessed with doctors as a partner/baby daddy. Specifically, a domineering doctor who has full total control over my pregnancy.

Your doctor holds so much power over you, you know. Maybe even more so than your partner does. Yes, your partner knocked you up but your doctor would be the one to know everything about pregnancy, your particular pregnancy and your body. And they could easily determine decisions for you as well as demand something out of you if you are seeking their expertise. Nearly anything that comes out of a doctor’s mouth would go.

You and I could easily be misconstrued or be taken advantage of by the wrong doctor. I would be so vulnerable under my doctor’s rule…

A fantasy that has been occupying my mind for a long time now is my doctor, who is scanning my massive belly that’s just a few months along but already super heavy with many, many children (I don’t know how many yet but I can feel it’s a great deal), and he just keeps making this plethora of unprofessional, inappropriate remarks at me through my ultrasound, much to my humiliation.

“I can see you have been very busy…”

“My, my, look at how many there are. Couldn’t keep it down to one, could you?”

“You might need to invest in some bigger clothes. But only if you want.”

“Someone’s well-bred ~”

“I see that you can take on many babies, but I don’t see a single father of these children in sight,”

I whimper at each insult he throws at me, but I don’t stop it. I can’t. He’s my doctor; I need him to tell me what to do with all these babies. And it’s not like I could get up and storm off. The babies are really heavy and he did help me get into his office, so he would need to also help me out of it as well.

My physical examination with him gets a little too physical. Before my ultrasound, he feels around my belly with his hands. I shouldn’t argue with how he does his job, I can’t just do that, but, the examination had started to feel a little nefarious after a while.

He lingers on my gut for far too long. I can hear him whisper “Shit…” and “Fuck…” to himself as he cast his eyes over my ginormous, gravid tummy. He is grunting and his eyes are really capturing an image of all of me, but I am very huge, so....

And at some point, I see his pants pitch a tent.

And when he tells me I’m huge, I have to believe it. It was true, but I also knew that whether or not I was really big or not, I would have felt huge after he said that to me. I couldn’t deny whatever a doctor says. Hell, if he told me I’m big, I would have felt ten times bigger. He could tell me that I’m exactly 200 lbs, but I would still feel 1000, so many times even heavier when I heard come out of his mouth.

And as I grow more, I become more helpless to his advances and gave less effort to avoid them.

His hand, each time I visit, travels lower and lower to the underside of my belly; to where my crotch each day. He pats my ass now and talks about how plump I’m getting with my rapid weight increase. He gropes my breasts, plays with them and lies to me, saying that he’s ‘just checking to see if they’re growing accordingly.” But then, he teases me for how full of milk they are.

When I ask finally: “Do you treat all your patients like this?”

He would tell me “no” cause I’m special. I need to a doctor who makes me feel like this; a pathetic ball of babies and fat.

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls Ch. 3: Churn

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

“GRACE!”

She hated the way her name sounded as a shout. The gr got swallowed, the a dragged out, the c punched too hard. Tim had always said her name in a way that sounded like an insult, she just hadn’t realized it until now. He rarely called her by it, only if he was angry or disappointing her, pleading for her to accept an insincere apology.

Grace pulled her phone out and opened the voice recording app, as instructed. When her divorce attorney had given her these tips, she hadn’t thought she would need them. She’d been more focused on her regret that she wouldn’t get to see Tim’s face when he got served the papers. He’d be so shocked. He didn’t know she knew. He would never expect her to go through with this even if she did find out –and that had, in fact, been the deciding thing for her. Her husband would make excuses and expect to be forgiven. 

Well, she refused. She refused to be that woman. She refused to spend another minute of her time working on a marriage to this man. She’d worried about her decision up until the first meeting with her divorce attorney and then relief had flooded her system so sharp and fast that it nearly carried her away. She couldn’t fucking wait to be divorced from this asshole, who was too stupid and to even delete the evidence from their in-home camera system 

They’re always stupid, the divorce attorney –a woman named Lidiya Hel, very good at what she did– told her. Their egos can’t imagine that they’ll get caught. Their egos can’t imagine they won’t be forgiven because they’ve always been forgiven for everything. It’s not like this is the first thing he’s done wrong in the marriage, is it?

No. It was not. 

As soon as the backdoor slid open, Grace sprang to her feet, hit record, and announced, “I am recording this conversation so I’d suggest not saying anything you don’t want on record.”

“Grace.” He spat her name and stormed towards her, the yellow legal envelope curled in his hand like a newspaper to hit her on the nose with. “The fuck is this? Divorce papers?”

“Yes. Did you read them?”

“I didn’t need to! I saw the first line and knew something was wrong. I was at work! I was just leaving a meeting with the CEO and this fucktard comes up and asks who I am. I thought it was a shithead new hire! Instead he gives me this shit. At work!”

Grace was glad to hear the play by play and corrected him, “I don’t control when the server finds you.”

“Don’t give me that shit. What is this? What do you mean, divorce? First I’m hearing that you’ve got any issues in this marriage and you didn’t even have the balls to talk to me first? Sweetheart, whatever it is–”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she interrupted. “That’s what you’ve been calling all of the women you fuck in our home. I’m not sure what you call the ones you don’t bring here.” She didn’t actually know if there were more than the three over the last two years, but she assumed so. Probably on all those business trips.

Tim froze. The fucking idiot. The papers said she was filing on grounds of adultery. He really hadn’t read them. Grace couldn’t imagine the self importance you needed to just walk into a situation like this blindly and assume it would go well for you.

“You can’t be surprised I figured it out,” she scoffed. “Do you realize how much footage I have from the home security system you chose?”

“You’re bluffing and it’s not a good look for you,” he countered. “You don’t have the login for the account. It’s in–”

“I’m your wife. It was no problem at all to get it.”

Tim froze, like she’d paused a video, for an insanely long moment.

“Now… now look here. I…” he restarted. 

Actually, this was even better than seeing him when he got served. The emotions moved so rapidly across his flace she couldn’t name them, but she did know they indicated a usually brilliantly-quick mind trying to pick its angle. He was quick on his feet, that was why he did so well at his job. What would he choose: play the victim? Blame her? Beg for forgiveness? Rage about the invasion of his privacy?

He glanced at the phone in her hand and laughed, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart. I can toss that in the pool and there goes your precious recording.”

“Ruining my property, I think that’s technically assault.”

“Just because your head-up-his-ass father is a lawyer doesn’t make you one. I’m sure he’s– no. No, I didn’t mean that. You’re just catching me by surprise right now. I’m not going to break your phone. What, did you think I was going to do something violent?”

“Maybe.”

“Grace…”

“Turns out I don’t know you at all.”

“Oh come on,” he sighed, and looked away. He was still deliberating. He was trying to buy time, trying to calculate which method would get him what he wanted. And she knew he was having a hard time because he couldn’t predict her anymore. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave another deep sigh. “Grace. I’m sorry.”

She really hadn’t thought he’d pick that one. 

“I made a mistake. You’re right.” He nodded, gaze roaming the pool area, her book, her drink beside the lounge chair. “I got carried away… I’m under so much pressure with work, you know that. A few late nights, and… and you working so much…”

“So it’s my fault you fucked multiple women?”

“I’m a sex addict.”

“You’re a liar,” she corrected, “And a selfish prick.”

“Oh, what now, who’s the one calling names on your little recording?” he demanded, as if this was some incredible victory for him. “Here I want to have a conversation about how we can fix this marriage and you’re–”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Fix what?”

“I know you’re hurting right now and in shock… I… I didn’t mean for you to find out,” he said, hands out like he expected her to slip hers into them. “I knew I messed up. I’d already called it off and I was going to come clean and–”

“Yeah fucking right.” 

“You fucking bitch, you can’t even listen to me saying I– Sorry,” he interrupted himself again, holding his hands up for a pause and looking away. Grace just stared at him and tried to understand how she had ever loved this toad. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I’m just frustrated. Sweetheart, I understand you’re hurt and mad. Hey, I’d be pissed too if you were fucking around, but if the situation was reversed and I was looking at it from how you’ve been, I’d hear me out because I love you and—”

“From how I’ve been? How have I been, Tim?” she demanded. “Supportive? Lonely? Dedicated to our marriage and the things that make you happy?”

“Me? The things that make me happy? What’s so hard that you’re doing to make me happy? You don’t sacrifice a damn thing for me, you just peck at my all the time and all the ways I’m not as successful as your dear old dad. Let me tell you what you’re not doing to make me happy is you aren’t… you aren’t supporting me when things are hard at work. You aren’t listening to me now as I’m apologizing and trying to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix! You’re a terrible husband but I thought you were at least loyal! I thought you were just a workaholic because I’m an idiot!” She stepped away from him, biting back her own rage so it wouldn’t make her cry. She didn’t want to rage cry. She wanted to stay calm and in control because she had made her decision and there was nothing he could say to change it.

“Sure, now you’re saying I’m a terrible husband, but I’ve made you happy! We’ve been happy together all these years and I’m not the one giving up on our future. Get rid of these fucking papers,” he said and threw them into the pool. “We’re not talking divorce. We’ll go to counseling. I’ll go with you.”

“I’m not going to counseling with you.”

“Oh, but I’m the bad guy? I’m the one who wants to work on our marriage here–”

“We don’t have a marriage, Tim. It broke as soon as you started fucking around and I can’t begin to understand why you suddenly want to fight for it now.”

“Because I made a mistake and I don’t want to let that ruin the best thing in my life–”

“No. No you did not make a mistake. How many mistakes did you make, Tim? How many women? For how many years? I have proof of at least three and I’m sure more will be uncovered–”

“What, your dad hired a fucking P.I. or something?” His face hardened and it reminded her of the “jokes” he’d made before, about whether her family did that kind of thing, if they’d have him investigated or watched, if they’d ever trust him. He said they were crazy, delusional, then reached his hand out for some of their money. They had done that before the wedding, without her knowledge of blessing. Because her family well knew that money made other people crazy and delusional and willing to do anything to get it from you. There had been nothing to find back then. Or he hadn’t been as lazy about hiding it. 

Tim paced, tucking his hands into his armpits as this new thread caught him, and he pressed, ‘What does your dad think about this, huh? Your family all up in arms ready to crucify me when I bet your dad’s done the same thing. It happens, Grace. Men make mistakes when they work with the kind of stakes men like me and your dad do–”

“Stop comparing yourself to my father,” she scoffed. “You are nothing like him.”

“So far as you know, huh, Grace? You’re so fucking naive…”

“Yeah, about you!”

“Daddy’s Girl, worship the ground he walks on. I should have known he’d tell you to leave me. Is that what he said?”

Grace knew it would drive him crazy as she answered, “His reaction isn’t any of your business.” Tim wanted so badly to be liked by her father, despite his claims of not caring. How devastating for her that he would probably be more upset to lose her father’s respect than to lose hers.

“You want me to apologize to him? I’ll do it.”

“It’s over, Tim. I am not interested in reconciliation and it has nothing to do with my–”

“Like hell you’re not! I’ll fight for this marriage–”

“Why?!” she cried. “You don’t want to be with me!”

“Of course I do! I married you, Grace! I love you!”

“You don’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what I do or don’t–”

“You cheated on me! You don’t cheat on people you love!”

“It was a mistake. I regret it! You get that on your recording? You got your little trophy? Turns out when a man is nagged by his wife it gets to him.”

“It’s not my fault!” Grace insisted. She felt like he was spinning around, trying to make her dizzy and confused.

“You want me to grovel? Is that it?”

“If I’m so awful as a wife, why do you even care that I want a divorce?” she countered. “Don’t you want to be free so you can be with those nineteen-year-olds.”

“I would never be with someone under twenty-five,” he grimaced. “And no, Grace, I want to be with my wife.” It was insane, the way he made it sound like she was the one hurting and depriving him here. She had thought her rage and pain had built enough of a bulwark around her heart for this conversation, but watching him lash out like this just drove the point in deeper. Maybe there was a small part of her that had hoped Tim would offer a valid excuse, or that his apology would feel sincere and enough and she could forgive him, love him again, save her marriage.

But all he had to say was that this was her fault and he’d made a mistake. He didn’t seem loving or apologetic as he grappled with a barely-controlled rage that had her checking that the chair wasn’t right behind her in case she needed to run. Tim wouldn’t hurt her physically… right? But two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have expected he could cheat on her either… well. Maybe that wasn’t totally true. Maybe she wasn’t actually surprised by all this. Was that better or worse than being blind-sided? It didn’t matter, she’d never be close enough with someone again to compare.

Her face must have shown some emotion that Tim seized upon, because he reached his hand out and insisted, “Come on, sweetheart. Stop this bullshit. We’ve been together too long. I know I fucked up and I’ll make it up to you. No need to call quits on us yet.”

“Is it because of the prenup?” 

The question rolled out without a thought and she immediately regretted it.

What little restraint Tim had held through all of this snapped. Ah, the prenup. The one her dad had insisted on, that she almost hadn’t done in an effort to prove that she loved and trusted Tim. That he was worthy of trust. 

“This isn’t about the fucking prenup!” he shouted in a way that made it very clear it was. At least in part. Grace was very familiar with that prenup, having just gone over it in detail with her divorce attorney. Their marital earnings would be split 50/50, but exclude any interest earned on the money either had before marriage, defined as a set dollar amount. Grace’s amount had been much larger than Tim’s. Tim would be safe from paying alimony despite the fact he made more now, unless a judge overruled their prenup on that point. But, probably the most stressful piece to Tim right now, was that he would owe her father the amount he had borrowed to start his consulting business, after his own parents wouldn’t loan him the money because the first one had folded. Grace had been so confident he’d succeed, she hadn’t even felt embarrassed by her father’s insistence on tying the loan to her prenup. She’d figured it was just a way to spare Tim’s ego at accepting the loan, since obviously he would always be a loving, devoted husband, and so it would forever remain just “family money” and not require payback. That consulting business too had gone under, the money was gone.

Until now. Now Tim owed her father $5 million dollars, on top of splitting his assets with Grace in half. She was not actually sure he even had the money, though she suspected he had multiple bank accounts in addition to their shared one. She had a second one, no harm in that, but at this point she doubted him on everything so who knew what he was hiding? So she had squashed her early instinct to be merciful and nodded when the attorney suggested he’s probably been using you for a long time; let’s take him to the cleaners. 

“How fucking dare you bring up the prenup? The prenup doesn’t matter! We aren’t getting divorced! You know better than that! There’s no way your family supports you leaving me, we made a commitment to each other–”

“That you failed when you cheated on me.”

“And now you’re failing it worse by quitting! Don’t even talk about it anymore, I won’t go through with the divorce! We’ll take some time off work and go on a nice vacation together and do marriage counseling and then we’re going to put this whole thing behind us–”

“Until you cheat again?”

“Stop talking about that! You think I wanted to do that? But you’re such a bitch all the time and it wears a man down to have someone like you always nagging about what’s going on at work and whether I closed the deal and why can’t I be like your dad! Go fuck your dad then if you think he’s so fucking great!”

“Stop. Just stop talking,” she pleaded under the weight of his words. Probably the whole street could hear them right now, she realized. She was done with this conversation. She wanted it to end. Any sense of victory or enjoyment was now gone. 

“No, you wanted to talk about our marriage! Let’s talk! You think you’re some poor suffering wife here? You’re barely a wife! You run around playing at being a real estate agent so you can spend money on that shit you call art and be some queen bee in the Society or whatever the fuck your family gets randy about–”

“Stop it, Tim!”

“Oh you don’t like us talking about you, huh?”

She grabbed her things, phone still clutched in her hand and tried to step around him to get to the house. 

He grabbed her arm and she screamed, “LET GO OF ME!”

“Hey everything ok back there?” a male voice called, and for a brief moment Grace thought it was the pool guy again. Wouldn’t that be perfect? And yet a strange rush of relief came with the idea; Grace felt a desperation to hide behind any man who could make Tim go right now. So feminist of her, huh? She hated herself for the impulse and yet…

“Fuck off!” Tim shouted at the interloper.

“Ma’am?” the voice called again and now she could see the mailman by the back gate. “You need me to call someone?”

“I told you to fuck off,” Tim said, stepping around her to march towards the man now. Grace wanted to wilt under the mortification of a witness at the same time she felt a deep gratitude that someone had heard and actually stepped in. Who did that? The mailman! Even if her neighbors did hear anything right now, they were probably sipping mimosas by the window to hear what other dirty laundry came out. 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she called to the mailman. “My ex-husband was just leaving.”

“Like fuck I am,” Tim said, whirling on her again. “This is my house. I’m not going anywhere. You do some thinking, Grace, and get your head together quick to save this marriage, because you need me more than I need you. You think anyone else is going to deal with your rich bitch attitude?”

“Who says I want someone else? I’m not shopping around, but I deserve not to be treated like this–”

“Yeah it’s all about what you deserve. You have no fucking clue what the world is like because first daddy protected you and now I’ve done the same thing and look where it fucking got me. Wasting our money on a goddamn divorce lawyer. We aren’t getting divorced!”

The mailman was still there and had pulled out his phone. Grace saw it and tried to gesture not to. Tim didn’t notice. He’d said his piece and stomped into the house, fuming. There was no way to slam the sliding door but he tried and his scream of rage almost cut through Grace’s fear to make her laugh. 

But she didn’t laugh. She sank to the lounge chair, her legs shaking, her head throbbing. The air felt static in the wake of his fury.

“You ok?” the mailman called to her. “I can still call.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m so sorry you saw that. We’re… getting divorced and he’s not taking it well.” The first person she had told she was getting divorced: the fucking mailman.

“Good for you,” he said, but it sounded sincere. “I hope you leave that bastard high and dry. You sure you’re going to be ok? You have somewhere else to go?”

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

He seemed reluctant to go. She couldn’t believe he’d stepped in so much; she’d never traded a word with this man in her life though she did leave him a gift at the holidays. Merry Christmas, to our postal worker, because she didn’t know his name. Did she really seem like such a damsel? His hesitation twisted her emotions and she began to feel genuine anger. Couldn’t he see that this was embarrassing? She’d said he could go! He should go!

He was gone before the angry words rolled off her tongue, for which she was grateful. But then she was alone and that felt bad too. The yard felt eerily quiet and she wondered what Tim was doing inside. It scared her. She still believed he wouldn’t physically hurt her, but was that only because she wanted to believe that? He might be in there finding some other way to vent his rage: destroying her paintings or smashing TVs or who knew what.

She ended the video. It was long. She couldn’t bear to watch it but immediately sent it to her attorney, then called.

“Grace. I haven’t watched the video you just sent. Is there something wrong?” Lidiya asked.

“Tim isn’t handling news of the divorce well,” she admitted, her breath shaking as she blinked back tears. She felt like he was still standing there yelling at her. “I don’t think I can stay in the house with him. I mean, I can… but I don’t want to… but will I lose my stake in the house then? Abandonment?”

“No, not at all. He has made you feel unsafe. As long as you keep paying your part of the bills, it’s fine.”

“Hold on a second.” Grace looked up at the rumble of the garage door. A car door slammed and then Tim’s car peeled out of the garage.

“He left. I can breathe now.”

“Good. Catch your breath and go pack your things. Stay with a friend, family, hotel, it doesn’t matter. The disclosure is hard if the other person doesn’t see it coming. I won’t lie and say this will be the only hard part, but you will get through this and I’ll be right there with you.”

Grace wanted Lidiya to tell her she was doing the right thing, that this divorce was the right step. She knew it was. But it was one thing to know it and another to have Tim standing there yelling, twisting her around, making it sound like she was the cause for failure. And she hated this. She didn’t want to leave the house! She couldn’t pack up all her stuff so quickly so she’d have to leave things behind and hope he didn’t destroy them in his rage. She didn’t want to stay somewhere else. She didn’t want to admit to her friends and family any of this was happening, and staying somewhere else was a concrete step towards admitting this was happening. She loved this house! She hadn’t loved married life to Tim but she could pretend she had, to mourn the things she had thought were good. She wanted to keep lying by the beautiful pool, but Tim had ruined her day just like he had ruined everything else.

September

“So then she grabs my ass,” Jungkook explained, “and laughs. Like, right in my face with her nastyass cigarette breath.”

Yoojin reached around him to pull the cabinet open and search for a sippy cup lid, nearly clocking Jungkook in the head from where he sat on the counter. 

“That’s so gross. Did she try to pretend it was an accident?”

“No. She asked me what kind of body oil I use. I was just sweaty! It’s fucking ninety-eight degrees out there today!”

Yoojin crinkled her nose and said, “That’s disgusting.”

“I know!”

“No, I mean you being that sweaty. Have you thought of getting a doctor to look into that?”

“Shut up, asshole,” he laughed, trying to kick the back of her knee as she sauntered away. 

“Hey, not in front of my son!”

But Max not only wasn’t in the room, it would be highly unlike him to repeat anything he heard, despite their best efforts. His first birthday had just passed, but he still had only a few words he reliably used, much to Yoojin’s panic. She’d recently implemented a rule that everyone had to only speak English to him, in case speaking two languages at home was slowing him down. Eomma insisted he was clearly smart and just didn’t have anything to say yet, but it was a sore subject, likely to send Yoojin into a shrieking fit, like she had when Jungkook asked if the pediatrician had said anything about it. He still didn’t know if she’d even asked about it. He didn’t think fear or shame were a good reason not to ask the pediatrician though, even if it was them doing something wrong.

“Yeah, how would he feel to hear his mom is victim-blaming, huh?”

“I’m not victim blaming. If you’re so pissed about it… I don’t know. Tell your boss you won’t work at their house anymore or something. I thought you dealt with this all the time?”

“Not all the time. It was worse when I was a cabana boy, and those fuckers didn’t give a shit what we dealt with from guests. The guest is always right.” He shuddered. The tips had been phenomenal but ultimately not worth it. He still started on the defense around older women drinking by a pool or beach, at least that kind of older woman. You could always tell. Just like he’d known Mrs. Abigail Pender was trouble since he’d started working for them. He hadn’t thought she’d actually grab him like that, but he’d never felt comfortable around her. Just tried to be polite when she’d so brazenly flirt with him. Apparently all it took was three margaritas (she’d been bragging) and the encouragement of her friends (they’d been drunk too, watching from the patio.)

Jungkook still felt shaky about the whole thing, even though that was embarrassing too. It wasn’t like he thought Mrs. Pender was going to harm him or anything. But who knew what a pissy white woman was capable of? She’d looked shocked when he’d pried her hand off and said, “Please do not touch me, Mrs. Pender. I’m just here to clean your pool.” Like she’d actually thought he came by to flirt or something?! Now he debated whether to tell Bob about the incident or wait to see if she’d call to file some bullshit complaint. That had happened multiple times, and though Bob had been understanding about the call from Limpdick Birch a couple weeks ago, if this was the second woman complaining about Jungkook, at what point would Bob think Jungkook was doing something to cause it all? He wasn’t! He was just cleaning the fucking pools! 

Well, except for the Birchs, where he had involved himself and was no longer cleaning the pool. He’d asked someone else to cover the last month of their cleanings for the summer and worried that was just going to make him look bad in light of any complaints from Mrs. Pender. 

“Yeah, but I mean as a pool guy. Maybe you need to wear more clothes or something? Don’t look at me like that, I realize how it sounds but this is how it goes for women all the time. We should be allowed to wear whatever we want and not get assaulted. It doesn't mean we can.”

“It’s hot and I work outside,” Jungkook defended. “At least if a guy grabs you, you can deck him and everyone will agree it’s deserved. If I deck an old lady, I’m getting sued and going to jail.”

“Ooof, it’ll only be worse in prison.”

“Yoojin, that doesn’t help!”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, screwing on the lid of the sippy cup and sloshing apple juice onto the counter. The sink was piled with dishes even though she and Max had been the only ones home for lunch. “What else do you want me to say? Cougars are gross. Get a different job.”

But Jungkook didn’t want another job. He sighed noisily as she left the kitchen. Yoojin wasn’t usually his first choice to complain to, because she tended to be unsympathetic at best, and usually just found a way to insist her story was worse. Yeah, Jungkook didn’t envy her raising her son alone –but she wasn’t really “alone.” She lived with his parents. Jungkook babysat a lot for free. 

“If jobs are so easy to change, why don’t you have one?” he demanded, chasing after her. 

“Get off my ass, I’m on round two of an interview!” She slapped at his arm. “Don’t make me sound incompetent in front of Max!”

Max had been reaching for Yoojin but Jungkook scooped him up, hotly defending, “I didn’t make you sound any way. Besides, if I quit my job, I probably can’t babysit for free anymore like this. You want to pay me?”

“You aren’t babysitting,” she immediately complained. “You’re uncling.”

“I’m letting you mooch off my time,” he insisted. But then, afraid she would actually take it as a complaint, he spun Max around and added, “It’s his fault, he’s too stinking cute. It’s hard being the favorite person but ah… a burden I must bear.” Max giggled and squished Jungkook’s cheeks and babbled. “Hey, do you think he just said ‘uncle’?”

“No, I don’t think he just said uncle. I wish! He won’t even say ‘mama’! What the fuck, right? Hey, next time one of the old crones hits on you, why don’t you just play dumb and point out they’re old enough to be your mom?” Yoojin asked. Her eyes sparkled like this sudden idea was the clear and obvious answer to all his problems.

“But they’re into that, that’s the problem,” Jungkook snorted. 

“God I wish people thought I was old enough to be someone’s mom. I’m so sick of people asking if Max is my baby brother. Like what the fuck?”

“Language, Yoon. Or ‘fuck’ might be his next word,” Jungkook scolded her just to get a rise out of her. She opened her mouth, probably to let another string of curses out, butEomma and Appa swung the door open, back from grocery shopping. “Not a word about my work thing,” he said quickly to Yoojin. The last thing he needed was Eomma and Appa worrying about his job security or health and happiness. One time they’d found out about a woman harassing him as a cabana boy and they had actually gone to the resort to talk to his boss about employee protection and the next thing he knew, Jungkook was looking for a new job. The resort swore it had nothing to do with that, but Jungkook knew. Even though he couldn’t hate his parents for it, they had just been trying to help when there had been so little they could do for his brother. Not that they’d ever admitted that was a part of it, but honestly, marching into a resort to complain?! We didn’t come here for our children to be treated like this! He didn’t want them to think he needed that kind of help. He could take care of himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like Jungkook didn’t ever flirt to get good tips or reviews. He didn’t do that now, at least not with any women who would take it too far, but back then… eh, he’d hooked up a couple times with guests too, which was technically what he was fired for…

<“Eomma, Appa, I said I’d go shopping with you,>” Jungkook scolded in Korean, carrying Max over. 

“Stop talking in Korean around him!” Yoojin cried. She was ignored.

Eomma assured him, <”We don’t need you to go grocery shopping with us. We had the time together.”>

<”You work tonight.”>

”Bye Eomma, Bye Appa, I’m going to my second interview. See? Speak English like that,” Yoojin said, trying to slide past them after she kissed Max on the head.

Appa’s face screwed up as he asked, “An interview dressed like that? What is this company again?”

“It’s a catering company, I told you. I have to look nice.” Now Junkook looked at her outfit and also thought it looked a little off for a job interview with a catering company. Her short black dress was pretty tight, and her heels were nothing like you’d wear to show you knew how to cater food and she had a small purse. Small purses meant date.

“Are you going on a date?!” Jungkook hissed, clamping a hand over one of Max’s ears as if to protect him. Max was far more interested in Jungkook’s shell necklace than in whatever his mom’s secret plans might be. “Am I babysitting for you to go on a date?!”

“No! It’s not a date! It’s an interview, I swear! I just dressed nice!”

Jungkook didn’t want to dig in too hard in case it was true and he made her cry –she could turn it on like a faucet in front of their parents and then he’d look like an ass. But Appa raised his eyebrow, also not convinced, and shuffled past with two bags of food.

Eomma nodded at her, <”Ok, good luck if it’s a job interview.”>

“You’re all bullies,” Yoojin huffed. It was impossible to tell if she was really upset by their doubt. Jungkook thought her lack of shouting might actually mean she really was going on a date and didn’t want to back herself into a corner confirming it. Jungkook bit his tongue, for now, but only because their parents were there, and Max was grunting like he was trying to poop. Jungkook would change the diaper, but he drew the line at holding the kid while he did the deed. He’d save the brotherly lecture for later. The last thing Yoojin needed to be doing while she was unemployed with a one year old was going on dates! Not to mention every guy she went after was just like her ex, and she threw a fit if you pointed that out to her. If she was going to date, at least Jungkook wasn’t going to babysit for free for it.

He wound up trading Eomma, so she got stuck with the diaper while Jungkook carried in the groceries and did his best to help put them away with some guidance from Appa. He’d wanted to help with the shopping so Eomma wouldn’t wear herself out before her shift at the nursing home; she was working nights this week. 

<“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”> Jungkook asked Appa, before realizing it was Thursday so Appa had Go night at the community center in K-town. His days were off. He blamed it on not cleaning the Birch’s pool yesterday. He wondered if Mrs. Birch had noticed someone else came by, or if she’d even cared. Probably she was relieved. For all he knew, she’d called to ask for a replacement anyway and Bob just hadn’t mentioned it yet.

<”You and Max can come with me tonight,”> Appa suggested. 

<”It’s tempting but uh…”> Jungkook scrambled trying to think of an excuse, before settling on, <”Yoojin told me not to take him there. You know, she just wants him hearing English. Maybe she mentioned that.”>

<”That’s not the problem! He’ll talk when he’s ready, in English or Korean!”>

Jungkook shrugged. At least the excuse worked. He didn’t feel like sitting around listening to Appa and a bunch of old men play games and talk about sports and weather. He had thought about taking Max to the beach to get him used to it early, but diaper bags were almost as much of a hassle as getting sunscreen on a baby, and after his morning, he didn’t feel up for it. Plus it was hot out. Maybe they’d go for a walk later or maybe they’d just play inside. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and it felt like he’d stuck a staple in an outlet. He left Eomma and Appa debating what to eat for dinner since both of them would leave early and carried Max with him back to what had become Max’s room once he moved out. He knew it would be Bob’s name on the screen before he even got his phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, Bob? What’s up, man?”

“Hey, JK. I just got off the phone with–”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Jungkook blurted out. “I didn’t flirt with her or anything, she was just drunk and gossiping with her friends and then grabbed my ass.”

“Uh… who’s this now?”

“Shit. Uh… who did you get off the phone with?” Jungkook asked. He looked to Max for a shared grimace but Max saw toys now and squirmed to be let down so he could play. Jungkook collapsed onto the rug beside him and began nervously stacking blocks.

“I was just calling about the Breslins, they said they want to keep the pools at their properties open through the winter and it looks like it fits into your schedule now that you dropped the Birch house but what’s this about?”

“Ah, just… an incident with…”

“JK, man, I told you, you gotta tell me if there’s an incident. What house?”

“Pender. She got drunk and grabbed my ass. I told her not to touch me and that I was just there to clean the pool. She said some other things but went back into her house and I finished up and left, that’s it.”

“Pender, Pender…. Oh that’s why that name is familiar. You’re the second poolboy then. I don’t give third chances, I’ll let her know we’re dropping her account.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Good, that frees you up for the other Breslin properties. I’ll email you the new schedule.”

“No, wait, Bob, you can’t just drop a client, can you? Aren’t they going to… I don’t know, sue or review bomb or something?”

Bob’s chuckle over the line reminded Jungkook how much he actually did like this job, as he said, “Sometimes. And then what am I going to do, say she’s got to stop assaulting my pool techs. And then she wants to take me to court to prove it didn’t happen, and everyone’s talking about it now? Nah, she’ll bitch to some friends about what a shitty company we are. These people are petty but they’re lazy, and if it’s a repeat offender, they probably don’t want anyone opening the closet door. A couple people start coming forward, suddenly you’ve got a dozen people saying she’s assaulted them.”

“Bob…. thanks. I thought…”

“I’d fire you? I know I may not look like it now, but I was quite a looker back in the day. You think I never caught any eyes or wandering hands? I don’t have much, but my company and dignity are two things that can’t be bought. Well. Company might be bought if it was a really good offer…” He gave that jolly laugh of his again. “See you Monday, mandatory meeting.” And hung up, just like that, no problem.

Jungkook wanted to weep. He’d had enough overbearing, shitty bosses to know Bob was a real one. Not only was he not fired, he had a new schedule now. No Mrs. Pender. No Mr. Birch. No… Mrs. Birch. Which was for the best. It was. It was for the best that he wouldn’t see her again as she debated whether to stay with her shithead husband or go through probably a messy divorce… Yep. For the best. Not his business. He was just the poolboy, remember?

As relief surged through him, Jungkook took hold of Max, rolled onto his back and propped his nephew on his feet to airplane him. Max shrieked with delight; this had been one of his favorite games since he was little.

“Wait, you didn’t just eat, right? No spitting up on me, ok? Hurray, airplane Max!” Jungkook cheered, doing leg lifts with him because if he couldn’t make it to the gym or beach, might as well get some fitness in before their jaunt around the neighborhood. Jungkook was so relieved, he had the energy for adventure.

“Hey, maybe let’s head to the beach after all. You want to? You want to see your uncles and some crabs? You want to be a surfer baby? Yeah, let’s do it.”

January

Grace let out a sigh of relief when she stepped out of the terminal at LAX and felt warmth finally seep back into her bones. Seeing her family for Christmas had been nice, but she was glad to be away from Missouri’s brutal snow and windchill. 

Just about the whole extended family had gathered, which was rare these days. Sure, she would have preferred spending the holiday with only her immediate family in Chicago, but maybe it had been better this way. It had meant more options for distraction every time someone tried to bring up her divorce, and fewer opportunities for one on one time that might lead to inescapable questions. Of course everyone had wanted to talk about it. It wasn’t a thing anyone in their family had done before. Ever. Her extended family’s horrific responses a constant reminder of that fact, everything ranging from aren’t you embarrassed for people to know your marriage failed? To well what was going on at home? Men cheat when something is wrong at home and that’s the wife’s domain to keep happy. She found herself wishing her family would just go back to making subtle digs about her weight and diet like they usually did. Not that they missed an opportunity to warn her to cut back on the stress eating and take up some activity, no need to let herself go. 

Her immediate family… well, they seemed to be following her lead in just not talking about it at all. That was for the best. Even if some small part of her was desperate to talk to anyone except her attorney about it because fucking hell it was miserable! 

She checked her email as she waited for a cab, fully expecting an email from Lidiya with some new bullshit Tim was trying to pull. Mediation was not going well, despite the ironclad prenup. Tim wanted to fight her on everything, and dragged his feet about the information he was required to share, and kept trying to find bullshit “leads” to chase down like he was a real detective. She couldn’t fathom what his play was: this was only going to end in divorce, and he was going to exhaust his finances long before she did hers. Lidiya had suggested he was hoping to burn through their cash without understanding that the court could require him to pay her legal fees alongside his even if he didn’t have the cash at the moment.

But now that the blinders were off, Grace had a new theory. She thought Tim might just not truly understand how money worked. Just like he hadn’t seemed to understand how their prenup worked, or how a marriage vow worked, or a home security system account, and certainly not how she worked. He’d made clear at every turn that he expected her to change her mind and realize she was making a mistake. Maybe that was truly the reason he was making this so miserable, to “give her time” to realize she was wrong.

No emails had come from Lidiya during her flight. No contact from Tim, either, which she carefully documented. Every text, every phone call, every “drop by” her rental condo to “give her stuff” after he’d somehow found out her new place. It wasn’t illegal to go near her, since she really had no grounds for a restraining order, but it was definitely annoying and stupid, clearly just an excuse to see what she was doing, or maybe as an intimidation tactic.. Grace suspected he was hoping she was having men over so he could try to counter that she had been unfaithful as well. 

Part of her wished she had. As she watched the city pass outside the window, buildings spreading further apart and climbing into the multistories of wealthier neighborhoods of Santa Monica, Grace found herself again fantasizing about the petty things she’d rather be doing than fighting Tim in court. How delicious would it have been to be the one who cheated on him? To get her world rocked by someone else and then have Tim discover it and hurt as deeply as she did. Some hot young successful man Tim could never hope to compete with. A guy even came to mind, that art collector, Namjoon Kim. Intelligent, sophisticated, successful, a total hottie, and Tim hated him. He’d be perfect. How beautiful to get some sort of justice. 

But there was no real justice to be got and she was not actually going to pursue something with the mild-mannered guy, especially not as vengeance against her ex. Hopefully she’d get the house, that might be a small justice. She loved that house. In fact, her mother had pulled her aside and offered to help buy the house out from Tim if she needed the money for it. It was the only reference to the whole thing her mom had made, and kindly meant, though Grace wasn’t sure that she wanted to co-own her own home with her mother. But it might be the only way… 

As tempted as she was to drive by the house now, she worried Tim would be there. Possibly with someone. She didn’t want to let on that she really wanted the house or he’d obviously make it impossible. She tried to make it sound like she intended to stay permanently in the furnished condo she was renting. It was nice! But it felt nothing like a home.

Maybe she should get a pet? The thought struck her as she walked through the door. She could. Her family growing up always had dogs but she’d wanted a cat for as long as she could remember. Tim liked to say he was allergic but really he just didn’t like animals –which in hindsight ought to have been a warning sign. Not for the first time, Grace considered all the warning signs she had ignored. The rosy glasses of love really were more like blinders.

Grace set about unpacking her bags. Unpacking was obviously the worst part of travel and she usually procrastinated it but there was nothing else to take her time right now. She didn’t have a single active real estate client at the moment, no houses to stage or sell, and she enforced a strict “no paperwork” policy during her holidays. There weren’t any tv shows or movies she felt like watching, and she’d just sat on the plane for hours anyway, so not in the mood for reading either. Her fitness classes had already passed for the day and she hadn’t signed up for a general gym membership, though it had been on her to-do list because this condo complex didn’t have its own –one of several compromises she had made just to find somewhere fast. 

God, do I really not have any hobbies? Grace collapsed across her bed and stared at the ceiling. That felt like a failure to her. She came from a family of always-doing-somethings. Hunting, riding, jet-setting, painting, hosting, visiting, gambling, taking up whatever club sport or craft struck a fancy and then abandoning it when it no longer served. Grace had ribbons from a half dozen sports lined up like a museum in the bedroom her parents still kept for her at their house but she didn’t fence anymore, no pool, no horse. It had been nice to ride again in Missouri.

She pursed her lips and considered tennis. She’d loved tennis. Hadn’t played it in a while, because she and Tim used to do that together and then he got too busy working –and fucking, probably. A game of tennis actually sounded good right now, without Tim. 

But it would require inviting someone, and Grace didn’t even bother to pick up her phone to consider it. She had always thought of herself as adequately social, she had plenty of “friends,” but going through this divorce had made her question everything she’d hinged on that word. After overhearing the gossip about herself at the third party she had attended without her husband, she had decided to take a break from the social scene —which would inevitably lead to more gossip. It felt like letting the rumor mill win, but what was she supposed to do, clink a spoon against a champagne glass and confirm that yes, she was divorcing, because her husband had fucked around and she wasn’t wiling to overlook it? All these adequately-married couples she’d thought were her friends for years only asked after her to try and get the dirt on why her marriage failed. They expected her to be ashamed for the wrong reasons. She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been right for her husband; they wanted her to realize how stupid she was to let a stable-earner, social-charmer like Tim go. What was she going to do now, be alone? Boys will be boys. Just forgive him! 

A few people had reached out in ways that felt sincere. Megan blew her phone up every couple of weeks when she went for brunch with “the girls.” Eva from the club had invited her to check out the new gallery opening she patronized, which seemed thoughtful and not geared towards gossip or lecture. Stephanie, who Grace had known since they were girls and had moved to LA only a couple years before, just sent condolences and suggested a girl spa-weekend/ski trip “without the boys.” Kindly meant, even if it revealed the rumor mill had reached her; Stephanie was a different social circle than the Santa Monica club, but Grace hadn’t told her about the divorce.

Grace had brushed everyone off. As she and Tim warred over who would “keep” which “friend” group, Grace found herself doubting who she could trust. Abigail Pender, after hosting one of the parties Grace attended, apparently reported Grace’s presence to Tim, and afterwards she’d received a scathing voicemail from him saying he had known the Penders longer so she shouldn’t go to their parties anymore. Even though he hadn’t gone! And maybe he’d known them longer, having met Mark Pender on a golf green, but she was the one who’d put forth the effort to build and maintain the friendship –mainly because he thought Mark could be a useful friend for him, business-wise. She’d done that with all of them! Tim had always been happy to carry a case of beer to a cookout, or fire up their own grill, but she was the one who planned the events, bought the meat and beer, made sure everyone was having a good time, followed up for the lunches and fishing trips and whatever else got mentioned to make sure these things actually happened.  

All that effort and Grace felt like she’d lost it all. Now she finally began to understand the warning her mother had given when Grace had finally called home to say she was divorcing: “Divorce is like burning the house down and you’re still in it, Grace. Really think about this.”

Would she have done anything differently? She couldn’t say. But she did know it was really fucking lonely now, not knowing who were actually her friends. She missed her house. And she felt pathetic, lying there on her bed, not sure what to do with her time. Tim didn’t own her hobbies, so why couldn’t she think of any? She’d been putting so much energy into her marriage and the social network Tim required to feel secure and connected and successful.

Damn, did that make her as bad as everyone else? But the social networks were just like that. Sometimes you genuinely like the people you invited to dinner and other times it was because there was some business or family connection, or potential, or some unspoken duty to be friends because your distant cousin had married the niece of their best friend. 

Now Grace had failed the social contract by leaving her two-timing (well, at least four-timing) husband and she didn’t want to hear about it anymore. She didn’t trust anyone. She didn’t want to risk getting asked about it more, as if it was a news headline that affected them all but not personally or emotionally. She was very personally and emotionally affected! Didn’t anyone want to talk to her about something else? Was poor divorced woman all they saw when they looked at her now? She had been someone before her marriage, and during her marriage, and she would be someone again soon! 

Once she figured out what she actually liked without Tim’s opinion weighing on her shoulder.

Once she discovered which foods she actually liked instead of the ones they’d ordered just because he did.

Once she figured out how to reclaim her social life from that thieving new-money bastard.

Once she could find a place to live that didn’t look so cold and generic and neutral. She knew neutral colors were all the rage now. This was what new money thought elegance looked like, she’d heard that plenty of times from her mother. 

Ugh, what did Grace like? What did she want to do?

Grace wanted….

Grace liked….

Grace didn’t want to be in bed right now, so she showered and changed clothes to get the smell of travel off. And she walked to get a coffee from down the street just to be among Californians again. 

Then, on an impulse she decided to give into, Grace drove to the animal shelter. It was almost shockingly easy to fill out the paperwork. She didn’t know whether her rental allowed pets but didn’t care, she put her address as the house she was determined to move back into once mediation granted it to her. She googled a vet reference on the way, assuming they wouldn’t check –they didn’t– and listed her sister as her personal reference, assuming they wouldn’t call –they didn’t. 

“Shouldn’t they make it harder to adopt?” she mused on the way home, carrier wedged into the front seat beside her, back seat packed with a splurge worthy of her sister’s shopping habits. 

Foam said nothing, just peered through the mesh with the big eyes that took up an odd amount of his face, one ear flicking. The nub of his other ear swiveled when she turned the car. 

“Almost home,” she said. Suddenly Foam let out a high-pitched yeowl and turned a somersault in his carrier, then curled up in the back. “Sh sh sh, almost home.”

The narration wasn’t important; deaf little Foam couldn’t hear her anyway, but that hadn’t stopped her from talking to him at the adoption center and it wouldn’t stop her now as she hauled the carrier and bags into the condo. She would order a cat tree for him, and a better scratching post, and whatever else struck her fancy, but at least for now he had bedding and food and toys and treats to mark this completely new chapter of his life. From kill shelter to rescue agency and now to life with Grace, she hoped this was going to be a better future for both of them.

As soon as he was out of the carrier, he climbed her like a tree; she flinched at the pinpricks of his claws until he’d reached her shoulder, trying to nestle himself onto her chest like he had at the center. That’s when she’d been a goner. He couldn’t hear her but he could feel the vibrations of her speech and had purred and nuzzled beneath her chin and really Grace had almost broken down in the room as she stroked his gray and white fur. The rescue thought he might be a Singapura-American shorthair mix but Grace couldn’t care less what he was. No one wanted this beat up scrawny deaf kitty, and Tim hadn’t wanted her. 

“Fuck Tim, you’re all I need,” she beamed, arms around Foam as she swayed. 

Apparently he didn’t even need a period to warm up to her, which would have been understandable. She would never know what his life had been like in the five years before he’d got to her, but that didn’t matter either. Suddenly the future looked so much better; already Grace was thrilled to hear the padding of little feet as Foam explored his new home. He shadowed her as she did a pass to make sure there wasn’t anything obviously dangerous for a cat and put on some music and grabbed her laptop to read more about cat ownership. She wondered if Foam would be the kind of cat who’d be happy hiking on a leash or in a backpack…

She’d always wanted a cat and now she had a perfect one. Maybe building the life she wanted, only for herself, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

March

A lot of people kept their pools open year-round, but there were still enough to closed them for the winter that March always saw a surge in business. Jungkook had spent the winter working mostly on commercial properties, which was stable and all, but he was glad to see his schedule shift back towards more private residences. Not that he liked dealing with snotty rich people, but there were plenty of middle class families too who didn’t treat him like garbage. And hey, maybe his ego could use a little stoking from the non-handsy variety of women, just the ones who admired and flirted a little, because winter had not been kind to him in the dating sphere. Teona had come back into his life for a whole month before deciding he still hadn’t grown up enough. He’d had a string of dates that he shelled out good money for only to find himself ghosted or even blocked afterwards. When he’d drunkenly demanded of Jimin “is it me? Am I a creep?” his friends had taken the shit out of him a little too well. He was still bothered not to know whether they were just teasing or really did think he was a fuckboy.

The tide was out on dating and Jungkook saw spring as a chance to refocus on work and surfing and the band and let the universe steer his dating life for a while. Probably straight into a wall, but if he was going to end up there anyway, he might as well blame it on the universe. 

“You’re hot but you don’t have any substance,” he murmured, repeating the words his latest date via an app had provided when he asked if there was any particular reason she didn’t want a second date. He’d liked her. He had thought the question would reflect well on him, and anticipated her answer being something like oh the sparks just weren’t there or you’re great but I realized I just don’t have time for a relationship right now. Maybe even I realized I was going to fall too hard and fast for you, it scared me. Nope. Hot but no substance.

What did that even mean? Jungkook had so much substance! He had hobbies and interests! He cared about his family! He was good with babies! He played the guitar and drums and sang and worked out and he could cook. He had a stable job and only played a reasonable amount of video games and he knew how to listen. Wasn’t that enough?! What else did women want??

He was still grumbling to himself as he parked at the Cool Pool Inc. building to confirm his schedule and grab a company truck for the day. Bob had sent them out the night before, but Jungkook had a few questions. Namely, about the typo on his schedule regarding the Birches.

“Huh? The Birches?” Bob finally said, looking up from his computer on the third repeat. “Oh, you’ve still got the house but it’s not the Birches anymore. Didn’t you look at the addresses?”

“Yeah but it says the Hessers. Did you mix up the address?”

“No. They bought the place, Birches don’t live there anymore and wherever they moved, I dunno, they aren’t using us anymore.”

Jungkook’s brow lowered in thought. That couldn’t be right. Granted, maybe there weren’t Birches anymore if Mrs. Birch-or-whatever-her-name-was-now had gotten her head on straight and left that twichy-dicked corn chip. He looked at his list of names again but didn’t see her name listed anywhere.

“Maybe they changed their name,” Jungkook suggested. “Or I mean, she did. Did we get any new customers from another address with the first name… Cornelia?” It was just a name, but he felt wrong to say it, like he wasn’t supposed to know, even though it had always been written on his schedule. Hers had been the primary name on the account: Cornelia Birch, even though she had introduced herself to him as “Grace” that first time he’d cleaned for them. It had made sense to him, in a way, that she wouldn’t give her real name to be used casually by a contractor. And ‘Mrs. Birch’ had felt like the proper way to call her anyway –in the beginning because that’s just a thing he did, to charm the rich white ladies with his manners, but later because calling her by her name would have felt intimate or wrong. They weren’t on the same level. She was older and rich and he would just have felt weird about it, ok? Calling her by her first name or a nickname, like they were casual friends. Besides, was she really called Cornelia? That was such an old lady name… He kind of liked that about her though. She had a weird name, and people always thought his name was weird too. 

Bob’s eyebrows lifted. He smacked his lips and glanced at the computer as if going to check but then answered without checking, 

“Nope, no new Cornelia anything. Why, you looking for her?”

“No,” Jungkook quickly assured him. “Just… you know, she’s the one who was so serious about their pool, just wanted to know if she closed the account or just moved to a new house–”

“And changed her name?”

Jungkook shrugged, “I dunno, divorces happen…”

“Or you want to know if Timothy Birch’s calls complaining about you cost us an account?” Bob countered, like he could see it all before him. 

“It wasn’t my fault he complained about me, he was just like that. I hope for her sake, she did leave his ass, he was an asshole.”

Bob chuckled at this show of passion and shook his head, lecturing, “Marriages are a complicated thing, son. Maybe you’ll get it someday. But no, no Timothys, Cornelias, or Graces, Birch or otherwise.” He was already feeling nervous that Bob would think he’d been involved as much as he had been though and didn’t want to dig in more.

“Ok,” Jungkook shrugged. “I got my schedule then. See ya, boss.”

“Keep it fresh, JK,” Bob said, one of the phrases the younger employees had taught him. He was a good one, that Bob. Jungkook waved over his shoulder as he grabbed the keys to his truck to head out.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the suspicion from his mind. So… did that mean Mrs. Birch and Slim-Jim Dick had divorced? Or just moved somewhere else? He decided to hit up the new owners of that residence first, but still half expected it to be one of the Birches up until he knocked on the front door to introduce himself. 

“Great,” the man, Adam Hesser, greeted him with a firm handshake. “We were told by the previous owners your company had been managing the pool so I take it you know what to do? We’re going to keep it open year-round so just keep it nice, our kids will use it a lot. Let me know if you need anything.”

Jungkook nodded, “Yeah yeah, for sure, man. Hey, so you spoke to the previous owners? Which one? Did they say where they were moving?”

“No, I didn’t really, they just had a list of previous contractors.”

“Ah, ok. I’m glad they recommended us. I’ll keep it looking good, head on back on there now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hesser.”

Gone. That made Jungkook think they’d divorced although he couldn’t be sure. Maybe the Birches were the kind of people who’d decide they had to do everything and anything to save their marriage and they’d moved to Spain or something. Even if they’d divorced, Mrs. Birch might have moved somewhere else. Maybe she wasn’t even in the area anymore, or maybe she didn’t have a pool, which he’d feel sad for her about since she seemed to like it. 

Or maybe she did and had just decided to use a different pool cleaning service.

“Wouldn’t that be fucked up?” Jungkook demanded, leaning in close to make sure his buddies heard him over the noisy bar. Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, and Soyoon circled the high-top. Taro was here somewhere too, probably networking. Yoongi had already bailed, claiming he had work early but probably just to get away from the place. He only really hung out at bars if there was music he wanted to catch, and even then bounced the second the bands were done. 

“Uh… yeah,” Jimin nodded, but he had a look like he didn’t understand why.

“Because I was great at what I did,” Jungkook insisted. “I kept the pool looking great so if she –if they have a new pool and decided to use someone else instead, it would be personal, right? Because I was the best professionally.”

“Didn’t you have a fight with her in her backyard about whether she ought to divorce her husband?” Soyoon asked. Jungkook glared. Hard. He had told her that in drunken confidence and of course she had then casually mentioned it to everyone else without a second thought. 

“Yeah, kinda weird,” Taehyung grimaced. “Almost as weird as giving her a video of her husband fucking another woman that you filmed through their window…”

“Hey!”

Jimin came to his defense, insisting, “It’s because he was emotionally compromised.” Wait, that wasn’t the defense Jungkook had hoped for.

“The fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook scowled.

“Aw, it’s because you always had a crush on her, right?” Hoseok asked, his gaze sliding to Jimin as if to confirm this, or make sure it was ok to say. It wasn’t!

“Not in a real way,” Jungkook defended. “Just in like a… a Stacy’s Mom kind of way.”

“That song is fucked up,” Soyoon huffed. “If you reversed the genders, that would be a felony.”

“Sex with a minor is still a felony but they didn’t have sex,” Taehyung countered. “He was just creeping.”

Jimin made a face and admitted, “Really, you think it was just the guy being horny for her? I mean she came out in a towel while he was mowing the lawn, right? No one is surprised by a lawnmower. She knew he was out there.”

“Do you ever see people do things like that when you’re working?” Hoseok asked Jungkook with open curiosity. “Like in just a towel or–”

“Or fucking someone else in the kitchen?” Jimin laughed and threw his arm around Hoseok’s shoulder. “Yeah, he sees it all!”

Jungkook made a face and admitted, “Yeah, I see the towel thing happen.”

“Yeah and is it ever an accident?” Soyoon demanded.

Mrs. Birch didn’t mean to see me when she came up from the home gym in her sports bra. He kept that memory to himself, since these fuckers couldn’t hold anything sacred.

“Eh, sometimes,” he decided. “Sometimes it’s on purpose, but other times it’s just because they just don’t give a shit about you. Like, you’re not even a real human so what do they care if you see them in their towel? But other times yeah it’s on purpose.”

“What’s that show… Desperate Housewives? Wasn’t someone fucking a poolboy in that? It probably gave all the old ladies ideas.”

“Is that show even still on? That’s really old. My mom watched that.”

They looked at Jungkook, who had to explain, “Uh… I don’t… know? I don’t watch that shit.”

“Oh, you know what show I just saw that was great…” Taehyung said, changing the subject further away from what Jungkook had wanted to do: complain about his lack of closure on the Birches.

He grabbed another beer and pretended to follow along, but mostly he was just thinking about how he regretted bailing on those final two weeks of cleaning at the Birches. If he’d gone, maybe he would know what was going on with them, or where they’d gone. It wasn’t like he expected anyone to leave him a note, but it felt wrong for them to just disappear. It felt… bad. He felt bad. He was the one who had sent the tape and while he was sure it had been the right thing to do, he would like to know that was true from Mrs. Birch-called-something-else telling him how grateful she was. Cornelia. Fucking Cornelia. Maybe that was another reason he always called her Mrs. Birch, he just couldn’t bring himself to call her Cornelia. Or Grace, a nickname, which felt even more intimate?! Cornelia wasn’t a name you could say as you fucked a woman slowly against the side of the pool, and Grace was so short… Gracie might make for a good–

Fuck! Abort! Too much beer! Fuck, he was horny, that was all. It wasn’t about her, he’d just crossed the streams of two different thoughts. Never cross streams.

Besides, now he’d never call her anything. She hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him she was grateful or even just reassure her by her happiness that he’d done the right thing. Which he had. Even if she had not seemed grateful when they’d fought about it.

Damnit, couldn’t a guy get closure about anything? Sure he’d had a fantasy crush about her but he was a good guy, he also just wanted to know that she was happy and doing well. Maybe he could google her…

He pulled out his phone and wandered off, mumbling about getting another beer so no one would see his phone screen as he typed in Cornelia Birch. 

A shocking number of results came back. He leaned against the bar and scrolled in disbelief, but the links were all to dense text webpages and he had drunk enough that the letters looked blurry and he didn’t feel like reading a lot right now. Besides, he couldn’t tell if the Cornelia Birch who sat on art boards and was a part of some trust or whatever was her or if it was a common rich white lady name. There were no pictures. Except for a table sold by Wayfair, the “Cornelia,” part of the Birch Lane furniture line. That was kinda funny. White ladies and high end furniture lines, that made sense. He started to type in Grace Birch to see if that got different results, just in case she actually did use that as more than a name to give poor peasants so they wouldn’t sully her proper dignified name when–

“Excuse me, are you ordering or…?” He looked up at the hand on his arm, and the owner of the hand: a pretty blond, tanned and green-eyed.

“Oh, yeah sorry, am I in your way?” He scooted to the side and she pressed in. The bartenders had ignored him but came right over for her. She surprised him by motioning for him to tell his order to.

“Can’t believe they make you wait here,” she said to him.

“You waited ten seconds…”

“No, I mean you. If you can’t get a drink then I don’t get it.”

Jungkook was tipsy and confused. But he nodded and didn’t point out he’d been on his phone and also that he wasn’t sure he’d wanted another beer anyway. But one was brought, and on a whim, he told the bartender to put hers on his tab too. 

“You don’t have a tab open,” the bartender pointed out. Which was annoying because they knew him here and that he was good for it. It embarrassed him in front of the girl. He slid his card over and pretended to be smooth about it.

“Thanks for the drink,” she beamed at him. “I’m Mary.”

“Another old lady name…”

“What?”

“Nothing, so, you new around here? Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“You know everyone who comes here?” she teased.

“Just about. Except the tourists. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those, would you?”

“No. I live here, I just never come to this part of town.”

He nudged her closer, away from someone trying to get by, as he pressed, “Then what made you come tonight?”

“My girl friend had a date and wanted  a backup, you know? But apparently that went well because she already left.”

“Wait… so your girl space friend, right? Not your girlfriend?”

“What?”

Jungkook decided she must not have a girlfriend, he was just confusing them both. 

“So… are you leaving then?”

“No. Why, you want me to go?” she laughed.

“Nah. Just checking.” He chugged half his beer to find some liquid courage. He couldn’t believe his luck. A random girl hitting on him in the bar? Great. Perfect thing to distract him from the fact he’d never know what happened to Mrs. Birch. Besides, so what? It didn’t matter. She was just some lady he cleaned pools for.

“So what do you do?” Mary asked him.

“I’m a pool technician,” he answered. “And I also teach surf and work as a lifeguard sometimes.”

“Ah, that explains the muscles. I can tell you’re fit.”

“I drum too. It’s a pretty good workout, no one ever realizes that.”

“Yeah, full body. I don’t play but I mean, I’ve seen people drum.”

He grinned. Yeah, she was into him. 

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a senior at USC.” 

Jungkook swallowed hard and drank more beer to give himself time to count. Senior… so she was twenty? Twenty one? Twenty two at most probably. He was twenty-six, that wasn’t… too bad…

“What’s that look?” she laughed.

“You’re young.”

“What?! How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“What? I thought you were like, my age,” she laughed. “I’m twenty one.”

He tsked and shook his head, trying not to smile and ruin the joke as he teased, “A baby.”

“Hey, you’re the one with the baby face.” Ah, he kinda hated it when girls said that, even if he knew it was true. 

“Because I’m Asian?”

“What?!” she gasped. “Oh my god! I would never say that! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I’m kidding. I know.”

“Oh my god, I am not like that. I don’t care who or what someone is, if they’re hot, they’re hot.” She was clearly really offended by his joke, or maybe too drunk to be calm about anything.

He nudged her and prompted, “So you think I’m hot?”

Within an hour he knew she did. She’d said it enough times, her nails digging into his chest and abs as she bounced on his dick, the springs of his mattress screaming beneath them. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down, eyes slitted so he could just make out the circles of her nipples and the pink folds of her pussy around his girth. She was thin and perky and had an absurd bikini tan despite admitting she never went to the beach. Total California girl in the purchased, store-bought way. 

Which was fine by him. She could be from California or New York or Florida or Timbuktu for all he cared right now. Her energy was great; his drunk brain felt like a tornado of pleasure touched down where her body stroked his.

“We’re going to break your bed,” she giggled.

“Nah, I would have broken it by now.”

“Oh my god, you’re a dick,” she giggled, and slapped him on the face. He didn’t love that but it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. It wasn’t like a dealbreaker or anything. He definitely wasn’t going to pull out for that. It just seemed wrong for this younger girl to do something like that in sex. If someone was going to slap him… ah, Mrs. Birch could slap him. He thought about it with a grin, sinking into the alcohol-logged fantasy he was drunk enough not to stop this time. He let his hands flop out and spread his legs and surrendered. Mrs. Birch could do whatever she wanted to him. She had that fit body but with way more curves than Mary. Small tits were fine but Mrs. Birch’s were bigger, they’d bounce. She had some jiggle to her thighs. If he grabbed her by the ass, he’d get at least a handful. Mary’s assbones were pulverizing his thighs. But Mrs. Birch in that white swimsuit, maybe a size smaller so her body started busting out of it…

Jungkook grabbed Mary’s hips and nutted pretty quickly after that, wordless at the rush of pleasure as a mental image of Mrs. Birch with swollen nipples straining against a white wet suit filled his head in the moments before it all went blank. He rolled Mary onto her back and got in a final stroke and gasped for breath back into his lungs. When she pushed against his chest to get him to sit up, he sat there just gasping while her eyes and hand roamed his stomach, her other hand rubbing herself furiously. He watched with the kind of fascination he always had for a woman cumming: it was a beautiful thing no matter who the woman was. This fake-beach babe looked hot as hell spasming around his spent dick and he made sure to tell her so as he gripped the condom and eased himself out of her.

“You think so?” she taunted. “Because your eyes were closed a lot.”

“Nah, just hard to keep ‘em open when it felt so good,” he assured her. “Trust me, I was looking.” She’d rolled onto her side and he smacked her ass.

“Ouch, too hard,” she complained with a giggle. And reached behind him for the blunt she’d pulled out earlier but abandoned when he’d pulled her shirt off. 

He padded to the bathroom to rinse off and toss the condom, then accepted the blunt when she handed it to him, one arm crooked behind his head in absolute relaxation. Balls empty, brain empty, best night.

She was just nice to him, that’s why he wanted to know whatever happened to Mrs. Birch. Not enough he’d actually look through those google search results or anything. He was just curious. He just wanted closure because she’d been nice to him before and he didn’t feel great that the last time he’d ever see her, they’d had a fight. Hopefully by now she had realized he was right.

“Hey,” he said after blowing smoke towards the ceiling. “If you were married and your husband cheated on you, you’d fucking divorce him, right?”

“Geez, proposing to me already?” she giggled and took the blunt back. 

“No, I’m just saying, that’s what you do, right?”

Mary nodded emphatically, “Yeah, this is the 21st century, no woman should stay with a cheating piece of shit.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You get it.”

“Oh my god… you aren’t married or anything, right?”

Jungkook laughed loud and gestured, crying, “You saw my house! I live with a bunch of dudes!”

“Oh. Right. I wasn’t really thinking about anything like that.”

“Just thinking about my dick?” he grinned.

“Yeah, and how bad I wanted it,” she agreed, rolling against his arm. “And it did not disappoint.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying,” he said again. “You get it.”

“Yeah, I got it good.” Just as Jungkook started to gloat, she asked, “Hey, you got anything harder than this?”

“Than… what?”

“Than pot.”

“No. Take it from your elders, don’t do anything harder than pot,” he snorted. Just like that, warm cozy fantasy of success with Mary started to crumble. Ugh. What was he even doing with a college-age girl he picked up in a bar? One clearly surfing for dick and apparently coke too?

No. No regrets. Not while his dick was still twitching with satisfaction.

“You’re not my dad,” she snickered, before whispering into his ear, “Unless you want me to call you ‘daddy.’”

“You call me daddy, I’m going to spank you a lot harder than that,” he warned. Honestly, he wasn’t really into the name but he also didn’t want to chase her off with a denial. Not when he felt this good. Whatever, he could play along. He could stomach being daddy for another round…

She handed him the blunt and watched him; he felt her gaze even with his eyes closed in the low light.

“Are you thinking about someone else?” she asked. “Who were you talking about? Someone cheated on who? Your sister or something?”

He nearly choked as he sat up and insisted, “Yeah I am not thinking about my sisters while I’m fucking.” That made her laugh harder. She choked too, coughing hard as she took the blunt back to set in the bowl on his nightstand. 

“Then who?”

“Nobody. I just knew you’d understand.”

“Yeah, I’m great like that. Hey, can you spot me money for a lyft back home?”

“Just spend the night, I don’t mind.”

“.... no thanks. You’ve got like a lot of laundry in here…”

“Yeah, tomorrow is laundry day,” he lied, but her criticism made him run a little colder.

“Yeah it was just an observation. I have class early though I gotta go.”

He sighed and pushed himself out of bed to see what cash he had. Only a twenty, which she gladly took before ordering a car that would go on her card anyway. Damn college girls. He got her a glass of water and made sure she got in the car ok before returning to his room. There wasn’t that much laundry in his room. Maybe he’d been in a hurry changing between surfing and work and going out but so what? He hadn’t expected to bring someone back tonight. If she was so particular they could have gone to her place. She probably had laundry everywhere too.

Dizzy now between the pot and alcohol, Jungkook realized with regret there was no way he’d drag himself out of bed in time to catch the morning surf. He had lifeguard duty and family stuff this weekend too, and band practice Sunday, so tomorrow morning was his only chance. And now Mrs. Birch was gone and he had missed the last two cleanings at her place because he’d been too sulky about her being mad at him. He’d fucked, that was great, his balls were drained, but at what cost? Was it really worth it? Was something wrong with Jungkook to wonder if maybe other things in life were even better than sex–

Wait, Mary had early classes on a Saturday!?

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Three

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Today - March 12th, 1974 - Queen Story!

Interview with Freddie Mercury – NME

by Julie Webb

It was clear for all to see that Queen’s Freddie Mercury wasn’t in the best of health. His hair lacked the recent attention of heated curling tongs; a cold sore was erupting above his upper lip; and horror – seems he’d not been able to summon enough strength to apply Biba black nail polish to more than one hand.

Mercury was worried as the camera lens zoomed in on him. He beseeched us to “touch up the picture to remove the cold sore if you can.”

I know it sounds like we’re setting the guy up, but he takes it all in good heart. Why, last time we met he stated he was “gay as a daffodil” – and here he was, willingly holding a daffodil in hand, outside Buckingham Palace. He posed regally, shirt temporarily coming unhitched from his trousers, revealing a hairy chest.

The British tour sapped most of the Mercury energy. Bedridden with laryngitis when it finished, he had just a few free days to repair any mental or physical damage before Queen joined Mott The Hoople on their two-month tour of America.

He is, in short pretty knackered – and if the American tour seems to be happening too soon after Britain, there’s no way he can change things.

I’d like a couple of weeks off, but you’ve got to push yourself. But we’re at a stage in our careers, my dear, where it’s just got to be done. I shall be resting on my laurels soon…”

He stops, considers the last remark and realises he may have said the wrong thing. Hurriedly he comes in with, “To put it another way, I shall try and reap my profits. I’ve worked my ass off these past few months. I’ve worked till I’ve dropped and after a while you physically can’t do it.”

Didn’t he think the British tour was a bit too busy, what with so many gigs included. “Yes it was a heavy tour, but it put us in a different bracket overnight. It’s a tour we had to do and I think now we’ve done it we can do the next British tour on our own terms, exactly how we like.

“With this tour we were booked in well beforehand at semi-big venues and, by the time we came to doing them, we had the album out, we’d got a bit of TV exposure and everything escalated. I think if we’d waited we could have done all the big venues – it’s just a matter of timing. But I’m glad we did the tour when we did. Even though there was a lot of physical and mental strain – so many things to worry about other than the music.”

A situation not improved by the fact that all members of Queen are, according to Mercury, “very highly strung”. Add to that his admitted bad temper. “I’m very emotional. Whereas before, I was given time to make my decisions, now nearly all of us are so highly strung we just snap. We always argue but I think it’s a healthy sign because we get to the root of the matter and squeeze the best out. But lately so much is happening, it’s escalating so fast that everybody wants to know almost instantly, and I certainly get very temperamental.”

“You’ve got to know where to draw the line. But the public always come first – it’s a corny thing to say but I mean it. Lately I’ve been throwing things around which is very unlike me. I threw a glass at someone the other day. I think I’m going to go mad in a few years time; I’m going to be one of those insane musicians.”

It’s at this point that I begin to wonder about Mercury. On stage he lords it around like some old slag. Offstage, he’s vain, camp – yet a nice enough dude.

He just has an unfortunate way with him during interviews, coming out with quotes and stories that are bound to be misconstrued or lay him wide open to mickey-taking. This could well account for some of the unkind press the band have received.

“I think, to an extent, we are a sitting target because we gained popularity quicker than most bands and we’ve been talked about more than any other band in the last month, so it’s inevitable. Briefly, I’d be the first one to accept fair criticism. I think it would be wrong if all we got were good reviews – but it’s when you get unfair, dishonest reviews where people haven’t done their homework that I get annoyed.” Unlike many British bands, they’ve waited until the time was right and are appearing on the same bill as Mott, who will assuredly pull in large crowds.

So the present and the future seem well assured I enquire about the past – like, what kind of family background does a guy like Mercury have?

“Middle-class. Musicians aren’t social rejects any more. If you mean; Have I got upper class parents who put a lot of money into me? Was I spoilt? – no. My parents were very strict. I wasn’t the only one, I’ve got a sister, I was at boarding school for nine years so I didn’t see my parents that often. That background helped me a lot because it taught me to fend for myself.”

Boarding school… if we are to believe stories that circulate about boarding schools – brutish behaviour, homosexual goings-on – well, the mind positively boggles in Freddie Mercury’s case.

I broach the subject…

“it’s stupid to say there is no such thing in boarding schools. All the things they say about them are more or less true. All the bullying and everything else. I’ve had the odd schoolmaster chasing me. It didn’t shock me because somehow boarding schools… you’re not confronted by it, you are just slowly aware of it. It’s going through life.”

So was he the pretty boy who everyone wanted to lay?

“Funnily enough, yes. Anybody goes through that. I was considered the arch poof.”

So how about being bent?

“You’re a crafty cow. Let’s put it this way, there were times when I was young and green. It’s a thing schoolboys go through. I’ve had my share of schoolboy pranks. I’m not going to elaborate further.”

Oh dear. And just when we were doing so well.

📸 Pic: 1974 - Freddie Mercury posing

[akariarda]

Misako never visited Llyod. Never sent him a letter, never came back atleast once for parent conferences, and overall didnt give him any closure for around the first 8 years of his life. She left him at a school for the evil and ran away. Then he followed, ditching school and putting himself and others in serious danger.

She also hit on Master Wu while still technically married to garmadon, infront of Llyod to. Imagine your deadbeat mom randomly coming back in your life after years and hitting on your uncle, all while having to process aging from 8 to 13 in seconds and having a dad like garmadon.she could have dropped him off with wu his only other blood relative and someone she knows and trusts who could protect him teach him right from wrong, how to defend himself.

And she got really bloody lucky that Lloyd actually became the green ninja because all her decisions are seem to be validated by the other characters even though she’s a terrible person.

Garmadon on the other hand is a bad person sure but not by choice but even though he is corrupted he still puts a side his goals to take over ninjago and sides with the ninja to safe his son, and even after Lloyd is revealed the green ninja he is proud of him, still going to safe his son siding with the skeleton army once again to give Lloyd a fighting chance, and that’s just in season one

Season two he tries to stop Lloyd from unlocking his true potential but he refuses to harm him in anyway And then when he finds the dark island he has to be pushed to fight Lloyd but even then he hates it and ends up just getting consumed by the overlord

And in season three even though he takes up an oath of none violence the minute Lloyd was taken he brakes it in his own words “when you don’t my son all bets were off” and I could keep going but I think I made my point Garmadon even though he was bitten by the great devour and turned evil he still loved and cared for his son and would try to be their for him well misako just left and abandoned him because she had a hunch and even wurst she left him at a boarding school for villains She takes people for granted. She missed Lloyd's childhood just so she could find a way to stop the final battle, but couldn't. Sure, it had a positive impact on his future, but she sacrificed his present. And she just flits between Wu and Garmadon like nothing,she caused her son to free multiple snake armies that summoned a giant snake that killed multiple people and destroyed others homes and made them homeless.

She flirted with her husbands brother behind his back in season 4 and claimed I should have chose you.

And she left her son at a school that turns people evil,she's useless to the story itself! In the show she is only used for explaining lore and stuff, but everything that she says can be said just as well by Wu, Garmadon, Ronin, Zane or Nya (depending on the situation). she also made passes at Wu while still being married to Garmadon I know he was evil, but time he became good she just forgot all about Wu, and then got mad about a nearly 40-year-old letter.   That shit is NOT COOL

Here we go again...

Okay, I think that Misako is a very complex character.

I like to think of her as a person who is actually good but makes mistakes and later regrets them.

Yes, she left Lloyd...

She did it for his future and sacrificed his present, that's how it had to be.

Why in a school for bad boys?

Well, my dear, we don't have any answer to that.

The writers wanted Lloyd to be there.

Why not with Wu?

She knew about Morror, and Wu would certainly train him to become a ninja, and she wanted to prevent that.

Leaving him in a school for bad boys was a very smart move.

Was it good or right?

Who knows, we can't know how it would have been if it had been different.

And she left him when he was 5 years old, maybe he was 5 in boarding school.

Garmadon is a villain and don't deny it. I love him and everything, and that he cares for Lloyd, good for him.

I'll just ignore this with Wu, because I stubbornly refuse to admit it.

I really don't understand if Lloyd forgave Misako why can't you.

Literally later we see that they became very close.

How can you be fans of Lloyd and Garmadon when you hate Misako and they obviously care about her and she about them.

[writingfool001]

Reader with Robotic Limb(s)

Author’s Note: I decided to replace Epel with Rook between the two requests. Also, by combination, I mean like one mechanical arm and leg. Again, I take reference from Edward Elric from FMA series who has one mechanical arm and leg. 

Request: Yes by @lunarapple

hello! may i request another part of “reader with robotic limbs” but with epel, idia, and malleus instead? (btw i love your newt!mc works even though ive never seen fantastic beasts, although i may watch it sooner or later because of your newt!mc. 😊 have a good day!)

ah i just seen you already have wrote idia with mc with mechanical/robotic limbs 😅 so sorry, if its fine with you may i request idia to be replaced with rook or floyd? whichever you more feel comfortable writing, you can choose 😄

Pairing: Floyd, Rook, and Malleus x Gn! Reader 

Warning: Fluff, Gn! Reader 

Floyd (Arm)

When you told him that you couldn’t go swimming and just wanted to sit in the pool at least, he had a fit and would ask you why before pouting when you told him that you didn’t want to. He would continue to pester you about it until he pushed you in and you nearly drowned due to the weight. Let’s just say you ignored him for a while and Jade had to explain to his brother that metal was heavier in water. Yes, he did eventually apologize. 

You can't tell me he wouldn't run around with the arm with you chasing him. He almost tore your arm off with his strength and learned how expensive your repairs are if you break the arm. On repair days, he would keep you company and nearly kill anyone who decided to have the audacity to pick on you. The only one who can tease you is him. 

Rook (Combination 

On the dark days, he holds you close and listens as well as reassure you if you want/need reassurance. I can see him tracing the indents/ designs on your hand. He would occasionally suggest switching to a lighter and waterproof design instead. He would doodle on your arm to give you tattoos. 

 

I’m pretty sure he has a suspicion about you having mechanical limbs and would investigate quietly yet respectfully. He takes in some of the clues like your strength in your hand, not a fan of heat or swimming, and wearing clothing that covered. He is totally fine about all of it and wouldn’t judge you about it, just making sure you’re happy and taking care of yourself. When you would eventually show him, he would shower you with affection and love for you. You think he wouldn’t pick you up?  

On the dark days when you’re feeling insecure, he would distract you from thinking badly about yourself. He will ignore your protests about you being too heavy due to your body modifications or such and carry you around like a happy couple, only if you're comfortable with it. He would serenade you and compliment you, you think you won’t get some love from him, and man were you wrong. He would also trace and doodle on your arm. He kisses where your limb and body meet when you two are alone, showing you love. 

He has his bow ready to shoot anyone if they try to pick on you during repair days. If both limbs were getting repaired, he would make sure you’re comfortable and spend the day with you or keeps an eye on his phone in case you need him while he is out and about. 

Malleus (Combination 

He sensed something special about you and would mention it, but never push you to reveal it. He would continue to be curious and try to guess until you eventually showed him what it was. You would probably be sitting for a while, explaining how everything works as Malleus eagerly listens and stares at your limb in wonder. He would watch the metal shine in the moon night on your nightly walks. 

There was a point where he offered an illusion spell to make them appear fleshy and there were two ways that it could go.  If you decline, you told him that you would know it wasn’t real and have come to accept their presence, even on the bad days. He respects your decision and tells you the offer will always be there in case.  

There have been a few occasions where he has broken your hand and would pay your mechanic to fix it. He eventually learns to not hold your hand too hard or keep an arm wrapped around you. On repair days, he would help and keep you company while your limb was getting fixed. He would either scare off anyone who tries to pick on you or watch you kick their asses with a cane. Another one to kiss where your arm and shoulder meet when you two are cuddling together.  

[idontplaytrack]

hiiii <3

Can you do one where Janis has been having a lot or trouble in school, and her friends have always kind of jokingly called her dumb or stupid because she makes bad or irrational decisions and she gets overwhelmed and at a big group sleepover freaks out and regina has to calm her down in front of everyone.

Shut up, shut up

Janis ‘Imi’ike x Regina George

Warnings: coarse language, teasing/bullying, Janis gets angry, some crying, self-loathing, implied smut at the end

Janis has been trying to play nice. But her feelings have been hurt by those closest to her— over and over again. One night, she loses it in front of everyone, needing Regina to step in and defuse the situation.

“G, hey.” Janis walks up to Regina, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey, you.” Regina’s flashes her a smile when she came up before her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Janis barely reacted, causing her to ask if she was okay.

“My new homeroom teacher gave me detention for doing embroidery work in the classroom. It’s not like I wasn’t listening, y’know?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, baby.” Regina puts an arm around her and they headed to their next class together.

“At least it’s only an hour. I’ll be right there at your place as soon as I get outta detention.”

“Mm, okay.” Regina hums, snaking an arm around her waist. “Want me to cook?”

Janis agrees with an eager nod, “That’d be nice.”

Entering the classroom with some time to spare, the couple sat down at their usual desks, Janis takes out her class materials before Regina followed suit. When their teach walked in, the students immediately quiet down. But still, the teacher standing in the front of the class seemed visibly unhappy. “Yes, ‘Imi’ike. I’m looking at you.”

Janis was startled, then confused. “Don’t look so confused, you’re not a freshman. You should know your clothing choice is against school code.”

“I…have been wearing the same kind of outfits all year. Why is it that it’s become a problem today?”

“It’s too short.” The teacher nearly seethed, “Say another word and I’m giving you an hour detention.”

Regina bites back a scoff, but the teacher saw it anyway. “What’s seems to be the problem, George?”

“Nothing, Mr. Moss.”

“‘Imi’ike, one hour. And cover up.”

Not wanting to escalate the situation and cause more trouble for herself, she stayed silent and dug through her backpack for her jacket, put it on and zipped it up.

Janis was starting to feel irritated again. Everything seemed to be going wrong already. And the day’s barely started. She was tense from the anger and frustration that was bubbling up within her— Regina could tell. That meant Janis would definitely need to let go of that emotion after school, some way somehow. Usually, Regina would help her out, cuddling, or much more. Other times, what Janis needed would be to scream, cry or both. Very rarely, Janis would immediately just punch something. Regina hated that last method the most because Janis would end up hurting herself, and that, hurt Regina.

When lunchtime rolled around, Janis got herself three hours of detention and a substitute teacher to hate her. Really, all Janis did was clarify the number of pages in the workbook they had to complete and the teacher immediately responded by yelling.

“Fuck, fuck. I hate today.” Janis mutters, sitting down at the usual bench with her friends. Regina was right next to her, “What happened?”

“What didn’t happen, G?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so dramatic, Janis. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Karen remarked. Janis sucks in a deep breath, keeping her gaze focused on her Converse. She shrugs off Regina’s hand on her back and was fiddling with her thumbs, painfully hard. “Stop.” Gretchen interjects before Karen could continue, “Don’t say anything else. That’s not nice, Karen.”

“But she always—” Aaron added on, “You don’t have the best temper, Janis.”

Now, Regina wanted to slap him. Janis quickly grabbed her bag and ran to the bathroom, feeling like a knife’s been repeatedly slicing through her heart hearing each passing word.

“Janis.” Regina tried to hold her back by the wrist but she easily got free and went on her way.

“Very good, guys. Y’all are such children.” Damian scoffs, Regina leaves the table to go check on Janis.

“Just leave me alone, Regina.” Janis spoke through gritted teeth, hands clutching the sink countertop.

“No, I will not.”

“You need to eat.” Janis says softly.

“Oh, and you don’t?” Regina replied.

“Fuck, why?” Janis slams her fist to the counter, Regina internally cringes, “Jay, let’s go back to lunch. Ignore them, okay?”

“Really? They always do this, make little comments about me, about how I have shitty temper, always being like ‘oh, it’s just Janis being Janis.‘. They don’t see how hard I’ve been trying to change for the better, and how sometimes, the things I get into trouble for aren’t my fault.”

————

When the last bell rang, Janis snaps out of her trance. It felt like she blacked out after lunch and just got through the rest of her day— without any other punishments, fortunately. Regina waits for her right outside the classroom and they head to detention together. “Mom isn’t home for the week. You wanna come over after? I’ll wait for you to get out,”

“Sure.” Janis says, barely audible.

Janis didn’t say much of anything after that. Regina quickly bid her goodbye and went off to her car and waited. Well, she did drive off to the supermarket to get some ingredients to cook, and snacks. But the three hours went by fast enough. Janis got out of detention, obviously in a bad mood. She didn’t say anything and just rested her head on the window as she looked out of it. Regina doesn’t force her to talk, knowing what to do. Once they got to Regina’s room, Janis just yanked the jacket off and crashed into the bed to sleep. Regina didn’t want to stop her, because she clearly needed that. It was better than her punching a table and bruising her hand. She moves herself to lay right next to Janis, carefully wrapping an arm around her and planting a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. None of what happened today was your fault.”

“Clearly it has to be, even our friends are saying it like I don’t know it.”

“Janis.” Regina sighs softly, “Listen to me. It’s not on you, that’s on them. They’re just unfair, angry…sometimes, immature. Some teachers just take their own frustrations out on students and it sucks. But, don’t apologise for things that aren’t your fault, Janis. Please.”

“I can’t help it.” Janis exhales shakily. “They still think I’m like— unbreakable. I’m not, okay? I’m not. I’m fucking weak.”

“You are not weak, Janis. No.” Regina held her tighter, kissing her again, “You are not weak, Janis. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, and that’s coming from someone who got hit by a bus.”

Janis’ body relaxed gradually as she listens to Regina speak, and her eyes also fluttered shut. She doesn’t say anything though, not because she didn’t know what to say. But because she was afraid of crying even harder.

“Just sleep, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright, I got you.”

They both woke up again around dinner time and headed straight for the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Pasta?”

“Okay.” Janis agrees, leaning against the counter. “The gang’s coming over, right? That’s tonight— the sleepover?”

“Yeah. Do you want me to cancel?”

“No, it’s fine.” Janis shrugs, “As long as they shut up about me.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Regina grins, smooching Janis on the cheek then all over her face, making her giggle.

The both of them cooked together, enjoying each other’s company and chatting about anything and everything under the sun. “Holy shit, this smells amazing.”

“Oh, thank you~” Regina bites back a grin, grabbing a plate to start portioning the food for themselves and the gang that were arriving any minute. “Never made this before.”

“Eh, well, you’re a good cook, G.” Janis smiled cheekily, grabbing a strand of noodle from the pot to try it. Regina shrieks, “Janis, oh my God!”

“My hands are clean!” Janis laughs, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. Just as Regina was about to say something back, the doorbell rang. “I’ll go get the door.” Janis says, walking away to the foyer. “Okay, thanks, baby.”

They say hi to her and Janis. Cady, Gretchen and Damian gave her a hug. First thing they did? They gathered around the dining table to have dinner as a group. Janis quietly went over to the fridge to pour herself a drink but her hand slipped and she dropped her mug when she felt a sudden squeezing pain on one side of her head.

“Oh, shit.” Someone gasped. Aaron, it was Aaron.

“Are you okay?” Janis heard Regina and Gretchen.

“Why so distracted, you dummy?” Aaron asks, it was clearly a joke. He always called her these nicknames and she didn’t mind, having a self-deprecating sense of humour. But lately, she just wasn’t having it. She’s had enough of these unkind nicknames and teasing. Regina rushed to her side to see if she cut her hand, “Don’t touch it. I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m fine, go back to dinner.”

“Janis, are you just trying to use the fact that you got detention to smash things?” Damian asked with a laugh. The rest of the gang chuckles.

“Shut up.” Janis mutters, clearly in some distress. She wasn’t even looking Regina in the eye now. “Shut up.” Janis repeated, “All of you shut the fuck up. I don’t need anyone else calling me dumb, stupid, insinuating that I’m violent and cannot control my emotions. Shut up!”

Janis swallowed her tears painfully, sliding down into a squat while her back rested against the counter. “I’m sorry.” Janis said quietly to Regina. “It’s okay, it’s just a mug. As long as you’re not injured, I couldn’t care less about a measly piece of ceramic.”

“I’m such a fuck up, I ruin everything.”

“Ja— baby, you’re not a fuck up. Okay? These people need to learn to get the hint and stop. I’m sure they wouldn’t like it too if they were in your shoes. I’m proud of you for speaking up, okay? Never ever say that about yourself again, that’s the last thing you’ll ever be. You are not a fuck up, Janis.”

“I don’t get it— you guys could tell she wasn’t happy about those damn nicknames and you all still continued? And you just had to laugh at Damian’s stupid ‘joke’? How would you feel if that’s all you heard about yourself from your friends?”

“I’m sorry, Janis. I’ll stop using those names, it was wrong, and I thought it was okay because you never stopped me and in fact laughed along. That doesn’t make it right, I should’ve paid better attention.”

“I’ll never call you dramatic again.” Karen swore, “I promise.”

Janis appreciated and acknowledged their apologies but ultimately decided she needed to spend more time alone to calm down. So, she excused herself and finished up her dinner by the pool. “Hey.” Regina came out to check on her a little later after she put on a movie on the TV for the gang. “I got you your drink.”

Janis turned around, taking the cup from Regina. “Thanks.”

Regina sat down on the low pool chair, groaning slightly as she did so due to the lingering discomfort in her back. “Do you feel better?”

“I guess.” Janis sniffed, picking at the food on her plate. “I don’t know, I think I’m just feeling weird because my mom and dad have been fighting a lot again lately and I just feel so…not like myself. And I — I fucking hate it. I hate that every little thing’s been pissing me off.”

“Babe, please…you’re a human being. Of course you’d feel emotions. Scared, worried, annoyed, sad. Whatever it is, you’d better feel them instead of bottling it all up.”

Janis cracked a smile, eating another forkful of the pasta.

“There’s that smile.” Regina coos, “Don’t you dare lose that smile of yours.”

Janis blushes, poorly hiding it. “You’re so cute.” Regina chuckles to herself, watching Janis getting flustered. “Though I must say…that too you wore at school today? So damn hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janis guffaws, setting her finished plate down, “Which am I then? Cute? Or hot?”

“Nice try, you’re both.” Regina turned to face her properly, patting her knee, “Let’s uh…take this up to my room?”

“Tempted.” Janis laughs quietly, “But what do you think we should do about the gang then?”

“Who cares?! They have plenty of stuff to do. Most of the gang’s kissing each other anyway.”

“Well, thank you so very much for putting that image into my head.” Janis snorted, shuddering in disgust.

Regina sighs, pushing herself up off the pool chair then extending her arm for Janis to grab her hand, “Let’s go, pretty girl.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Enjoy this half-assed attempt. Took me all day but I’m still not entirely satisfied with how it turned out. Hope it’s still okay though🤡