#Said “of course it’s a dentist” and we made a bunch of jokes about a dentist named “Satan”

[sigslefthand]

Where I live there’s a dentist place called “Salem’s Dentistry” and there’s a sign outside of the building that says “Salem’s Dentistry”

well

for a while, whenever I caught a quick glimpse of it while on a car ride I thought it said “Satan’s Dentistry”. I told my dentist that and he found it funny and said he knew the guy and he’d tell him that. I eventually realized it said “Salem’s” but it really looks like “Satan” when moving quickly in a car

And now that I’m a Puyo fan I’m picturing Dark Prince/Satan being a dentist and he’d definitely be like the dentist in the song NOVOCAINE and I think that’d make him more terrifying than he already is

[to-hell-and-beyond]

“Every.Last.One” Pt.2

Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x Reader

Requested: Yes : No

Request: Every last one pt 2 ?? -Anon

Here it is! Took a while but I’m glad of the ending. Maybe pt.3 were it talks about the two of them getting closer?

Summary: After your promise to yourself you try your hardest to fulfill it. Even hating on the Eagle Fang Students. But what happens when everything changes at a Christmas Party?

Words: 1725

Pt.1

Hate. That was the one thing coursing through your veins every time you saw him. The boy who you’d had grown up with, grown up loving, now filled with hate and vengeance. At first he wanted vengeance for everyone who had made fun of him. Every lip joke, whisper and tear. You were ok with that, you were glad to see those bullies pay the price of Karma. But what Hawk didn’t see was the line between vengeance and just pure hate. You were also trying to see the line but everyday it's getting harder and harder becoming more of a distant memory..

“I really think you should come Y/n! We’ve had a hard past few weeks and I think this will be good for everyone!” Samantha LaRusso’s voice rang from your phone as she tried to convince you to come to her Christmas party. The two of you had gotten closer ever since what happened with Demetri. She had been there while you were recovering from the emotional storm that was “Hawk”.

“I don’t know Sam. I’m still not really close to the other Miyagi-do students and the last thing I want is to make things awkward. Besides this is my first winter holiday without Eli…”

“Exactly! That's why you should come!” You thought about it for a few minutes. Would it really be that bad if you came? I mean Demitri was already going to be there, and you promised yourself you would be there to help him during his recovery.

“Alright I’ll go.” A sound of excitement came from your phone as Sam started telling you about all sorts of stuff she wanted to do to prepare for the party. What she wasn’t telling you was that she invited the Eagle Fang Students. You still didn't have a good relationship with them, seeing them as still Cobras and you promised yourself, Every.Last.One

You weren’t exactly sure what to bring to this party.  It wasn't like you were invited to a lot of parties in your high school career. The only parties you’ve been to are birthdays and DnD game nights. Even with your little experience you still when’t. You knocked on the door and there was Samantha LaRusso. She looked a lot better then when she was in the hospital. You were glad about that fact.

“Hey Y/n!” Sam said enthusiastically. As she pushed the door wide open and gestures for you to come in. She re-introduced you to some of the Miyagi Do students as you politely waved to them.You sat beside Demitri as Sam began to pace around. You were confused for a second, wondering why on earth she looked so scared. You didn’t say anything though, not wanting to make her feel bad in any way. It was the winter holidays, it was time to be nice.

“Well, this Christmas party turned out to be  ho-ho-horrible.” Demitri said and you kinda agreed. Shure you’ve never been to an actual party but this wasn't what you saw on those T.V dramas.

“Yah, Sam. I thought you said your parents are going to be out for the night. So why aren't we throwing a rager?” There was distant “yeah” in agreement in the background as Sam looked more and more worried. You knew that she was hiding something but you weren’t sure what.

“There’s a keg on the way. It’s just going to be a few more minutes.” She looked to seem like she was trying to pump us up for a huge game or something like that but she was doing the exact opposite. Safe to say this entire party was a fail.

“Can we atleast put on a Christmas special?” Demitri asked and you nodded in agreement. That's what the three of you would do every Christmas. It was your thing, until the tides changed.

“Id even watch that creepy one with the little elf dentist.” You snorted in laughter remembering the time you did watch that. Demitri was complaining the whole way through you and Eli laughed. Ah, the good old days.

“Yeah, I’m that bored.” Demitri said when he saw the look of disgust on Sam’s face.The doorbell rang and Sam said an excited, “ It’s here!”.

Oh it was definitely here. Sadly it was not a keg, but a bunch of ex Cobras turned into Eagles. Oh how you wanted to punch their faces right now. There was a sign of protest from each member of Miyagi-do as they ran up to the door ready to kick the “Keg” out. While they all ran you stayed put on the couch.

“Look, I know we haven’t always gotten along, but Cobra Kai is the bigger threat now. To all of us.” Sam said that last line as she looked into your eyes. Never in a million years did you think she would pull something like this.

“We think that we’d stand a better chance against them if we joined forces.” Miguel said as your eyes glowed with hate and you curled your fist to the point that your knuckles were white.

“We?” You spat as the group turned around to look at you.

“This isn’t going to work.” Miguel mumbled as he saw your hands. Yes, you may not be a Karate champion but your loyal, and loyal people fight to the death for people they love.

“It has to. We have one last chance to make things right. Alone, we’re nothing. But if we work together, we have a shot. If we can’t get over the past, the fighting will never end. We have to confront our enemies. This rivalry has to stop. One way or another... Y/n?” She asked worried about your answer. You took a deep breath before you decided to confront your demons.

“I was never part of this “Rivalry” to begin with. I was just looking out for my friends before all of this had started, so technically my opinion doesn't matter. But I suppose that if we can put all of this behind us we may be able to achieve something.” Sam smiled as you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Maybe this night won’t be as terrible.  You were all sitting on Sam’s kitchen table and Demitri went over some of the new rules. 

“I’m going to go get a glass of water.” You told them as you stood up and walked out of the door. After you left the sounds of a cat were heard.

“I didn’t know you had a cat.” Miguel told Sam. Sam looked confused for a second before turning back.

“We don’t.” Just as Sam finished saying those last words the window broke and you were hurt by some of the glass. Everyone turned around to see the Cobra Kia’s walk in. You were horrified to see Kylar with them. You had heard the rumors that he had joined Cobra Kai, but never in a million years did you think that they were true.

People started jumping out of every corner and soon it was a full blown on fight. You hurried to hide in the corner near the stairs as the fighting got worse. Now, you could go in there and beat those people but in all honesty you didn’t want to get charged with assult.You watched as the filler red mohawk as he fought and fought and fought. Your breathing hitched as you saw Demitri in pain.

“Hey. Yo, Hawk. Free shot!” One of the Cobras yelled to Hawk across the room. You watched as his face fell. You were worried for a second time he would hurt your friend and you were ready to stop that from happening but something unexpected happened. Hawk ran, and then he flipped one of the Cobras over and they fell on the glass table. He started fighting more and more of them and then turned around to Demitri.

“Look, man. I’m sorry.” Hawk said as he faced Demitri. “For all of it. Do you wanna help me win this thing?” 

“Yeah.” Demitri answered as they both smiled and began to kick the shit out of the rest of the Cobras.

The fight was now all over. Sam had fought her way through the pain to beat Tory, Miguel had actually gotten the power back to kick and better yet to kick Kylar’s stupid face. And Hawk and Demtri were buddies again. But you still couldn't get over the pain, unlike everyone else.

“Y/n?” You tried around to see Hawk. He looked almost scared as he approached you, worrying that you would kick him to the curve. 

“Yes?” You asked with venom in your voice. You still didn’t forgive him for what he did at the hospital. It was a mistake? What kind of mistake is the two of you loving each other? Why was he even here?

“Look, I know that after everything that has happened you're mad and you have every right to be I was dick. I didn’t just hurt Demitir bad, I hurt you too. You were my best friend Y/n, but you were something more than that. And I know it's going to take a long time or we might not even get back to that point but I want to prove to you that I’ve changed.” You thought about his words for a while. Were they all true? Was this another one of his sick games?

“Ok. If you apologize to everyone here and give Demitri a better apology then that half ass one you did I’ll think about it. Your right, It's going to take a lot of time and effort to get back to where we were. That’s why I want you to think a lot about this. If you're sure you're ready to do that you can meet me at the mall on Tuesday as just friends, nothing more.” You told him and you saw his smile. The sweet smile that you missed so dearly. It was so nice to see that smile on his face again.

“Ok.” He told you as he smiled. You would still beat every single Cobra, but right now it was the two of you's time to fix your relationship. Beating the shit out of them would have to wait for later.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Max 2.0

post-Max. Because the car is the best place to deal with crises of being and pseudo-bad grammar ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Out of her bed and halfway down the hall before she opened her eyes, she stopped by the couch, realizing she had no idea why she was out of bed. Vague notions of her gun crossed her mind but then she heard a knock. Wavering for another moment or two in full-on sleep mode, she shook her head lightly, tried to pry her eyes open, then regretted it, eyelids stuck together, burning, dry; another knock.

She wondering in passing how long he’d been out there but finally summoning the brain power to move her legs again, she made it to the door. Peering out at him through the peephole, she yawned, then unlocked the door, pulling it open, squinting at the glaring hall light, “you okay?”

Now, he’d known she would probably be asleep, had to be asleep given it was nearly 1am, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised by her pillow-creased face and unfocused eyes, “yeah, um, I’m now realizing this was stupid. You’re asleep. I should be asleep. I’m sorry.” Not turning away, however, hoping if he stood there long enough, she’d invite him in, “I’m sorry.”

Scully knew him like no other and stepping aside, “come on in.”

He did, leaving shoes and coat on, standing, filling, overwhelming the area he stood in, doorframe small behind him, “thanks.” Folding arms, not in that annoyed way of hers but in the ‘I’m trying to hold in a yawn so I will stupidly think that crossing them will keep it from rising to the surface’. It did not work and Mulder sighed, apologizing again, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just … I can’t stop thinking about Max and the plane and just … he was me, Scully, and that’s bothering me more than I thought it would.”

“Would you like some tea?”

Reaching out, he touched her hand, the one not tucked under her elbow, proceeding to play with her knuckles, the hem of her sleeve, twisting the thermal fabric between his fingers, “I was actually wondering if maybe you’d like to go for a drive with me?”

It had been over a month since their Tennessee drive but the memories were clear and nodding, she gave him a small smile before extracting herself from his fingers, “just let me go grab a coat.” Disappearing, then reappearing quickly, she had one of his zipped sweatshirts over her shoulders, thick socks firmly in place and feet shoved in soled slippers, “ready.”

“Do you steal all my clothes?”

“Only the good ones.”

Soon in the car, they were off, quiet between them broken a minute later, “your car’s clean.”

“It happens.”

“Not often.”

Shrugging, he turned right, then left, the left again, the city night passing by them in an unnoticed blur. He seemed to have a destination in mind and asking if he did, Mulder told her, “no. I just want to get out of the city and I know this is the fastest way.”

“Understood.”

Because it was late and dark and she was tired and loose-limbed, she folded her legs under, folded hands in her lap.

She baited the hook to see if he’d bite.

He did, his hand sliding across the center irritation of a console, fingers wedging once again in the fold between bended knee and adjacent thigh. He knew she’d done it on purpose.

Neither cared.

The connection made them both feel better and Mulder, squeezing her leg lightly, “sorry I don’t have a moonroof for you.”

“It’s cloudy anyways and there’s no moon, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Thanks.”

She gave it awhile, the pair of them well out of the city lights, darkness prevailing before, “you’re not like Max. I mean, you are, but not in the ways you’re dwelling on.”

“But I am like him.”

“We’re all Max in our own ways. I mean, we have passions and hopes and problems and dreams but some of us fixate on them to the point where it’s their only hope, their only passion and it becomes their biggest problem.”

He moved to pull his hand away but she grabbed it, holding tight, as he spoke, “I am the poster boy now that he’s gone, Scully. I am Max 2.0.”

Twisting, she refolded her legs so they both vee’d in his direction, able to look at him better that way, turn to see him easier. Putting his hand back between her knees, she moved to hold his lower arm, firmly, trying to get her point across with words as well as tactile pressure, “if you were anything like Max, obsession-wise, I’d be long gone. You have passion, Mulder, he had fixation. There’s a vast difference.”

“Not that vast.”

“There is in my mind. Max wouldn’t be here right now, taking a midnight drive with his … partner,” that was an odd hesitation she wasn’t expecting, “he’d be in his trailer, trying to decode the conspiracies of the universe.”

“The Gunmen are probably doing that as we speak.”

“But Langley also cooks a mean prime rib, Byers plays Majhong on Friday nights with a group of semi-normal people, Frohike crochets blankets for the Veterans Hospital and has a 22-year old penpal in Denmark. These people have other interests. From what we saw and heard about Max, while he was a very nice man, he didn’t do any of that.”

“You know about the crocheting?”

“Have you seen the granny-square afghan on my couch? The one you like to snuggle with when you’re tired and don’t want to drive home? That’s Frohike’s handiwork from last Christmas.”

Suddenly, the world didn’t seem quite so down on him after all but he still felt something he couldn’t shake. Ignoring that, however, for the moment, he scoffed, “he’s never made me a blanket, that yarn-wielding bastard.”

“I’ll drop a hint next time I see him.” Feeling the tension leaving him slowly, Scully began moving her left hand up his arm, around the back, to lightly rub the underside of his bicep, other hand splayed around his wrist. It was an unconscious thing at first, then, noticing it, she decided she liked it and stayed. “Do you think there’s any hot chocolate out here in the sticks?”

Looking at the houses still visible from the road they were on, more spaced apart than a few minutes ago but still numerous, “you’ve been living in the city too long if you think this is the sticks.”

“You call it the city; I call it a severe lack of 24-hour dining possibilities with hot chocolate necessities.”

“You’re wordy today. Did you snack on a dictionary before going to bed?”

“Is that your polite way of telling me to quit mouthing off?”

And now her mouth was foremost on his mind.

Dammit.

“I have M&Ms in the glove compartment. Is that a good enough compromise?”

Retrieving the candy post-haste, she popped one in her mouth, then offered him one, “sugar?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Both chewing, Scully returned to her previous position, “peanut. I approve.”

Continuing on, they covered all kinds of light subjects, music, family, things they visited often but both always enjoyed, especially hearing about the antics of Scully’s extended family, brothers, cousin, bevy of nieces and nephews. After one exuberant story about Sam, second oldest of the bunch, Mulder wiped his eyes, tears of laughter blurring his vision, “how did you land all these people? I mean, you have the cast of some off-beat comedy show and I’ve got my mother.”

He hadn’t meant to bring the atmosphere down and Scully didn’t want to keep it there but she had to tell him, in words he apparently didn’t hear the first seven times she told him, “you realize my mother has adopted you right? I mean, there may not be paperwork but there’s pie. Also, just to let you know, do you remember when you were asking me about my mom’s dentist appointment, about her infected tooth last week?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea she was having any issues but I pretended to know because, good Lord, Mulder, you knew about it and I didn’t.” Giving him that look that made his smile return, “does that tell you anything about the level of your acceptance into my family?”

“I mean,” looking almost sheepish, “she called to talk to you and I answered and we just …”

Patting his shoulder, “it’s okay, Mulder. My mother can love you more than me occasionally. I don’t mind.”

His eyebrow went up, about to bring down the grammar hammer on her, hard, “you love me? I had no idea. When did this happen? Was it after I introduced you to the Conundrum or, ooh, I bet is was around the time you were trapped with me in Alaska. That tiny room? Checking for murderous prehistoric alien worms?”

Total confusion all over her face, “What?”

“You said occasionally, your mother loved me more than you. So, I deduce that you love me most of the time and now I’m trying to figure out when that all started.”

Fuck.

Oh, hell, why not just play along?

“I’m pretty sure it was when you were about to head into the hospital with Modell: looking up at me with that camera on your head, Kevlar all tight, panicked look in your eye.”

Wait … was she humoring him? He was treading into the unknown now, not sure if he should keep going, “um … what?”

Her laughter bounced around the interior of the car, a happy sound, a light sound he hadn’t heard in awhile, “nervous, Mr. Mulder?”

Smiling himself finally, “just … left-field line drive came in a little faster than I expected.”

“Are we back to baseball again?”

He was going to crash the car in the next two minutes if this kept up, “I think we should just drive in silence for a minute. My brain did something and just … give me a minute.”

Fuck again.

She was pretty sure with one joke, two follow-ups and a mention of baseball, she’d quite possibly changed the course of their relationship in ways she had no understanding of. Silence nerve-wracking, she fumbled for words, “I’m just glad the two of you get along so well. It’ll make things easier.”

She’d never felt atmosphere shift like it did in that moment, the air hardening between them. Mulder looked at her, any trace of humor gone from his face, “make what easier?”

“If … if something happens to me. I’ll feel better knowing … you’d … have each other, I guess.”

Mulder steered roughly to the left, blew through a stop sign, then pulled them into a large, dark parking lot, a high school if Scully read the sign correctly as Mulder raced past. Hitting the breaks, he threw the car into park, got out and slammed the door, leaving Scully stunned. She hadn’t meant to make it sound as harsh as it did and sighing, she opened her own door, zipping up her sweatshirt as she did so. He’d turned the headlights off so the only light was from a parking lot fluorescents fifteen feet away. Coming around the front of the car, she tugged on his arm, “hey, look at me, please?”

“Have you given up already?”

With a genuine scoff in his direction, “I don’t give up on anything. What the hell kind of question is that?”

“You said when something happens to you.”

“No, I said if.” Taking him by the arms, she turned him around until his back was to the car, “will you sit down?”

“Why?”

“So I can look at you, and not up your nose, when I talk.”

He conceded, sitting down on the bumper, “nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Yes, I know.” Coming in closer, she forced her way between his knees, “but I learned from you to plan for all eventualities. I have a prepacked suitcase for when you ring my doorbell at 5am telling me we leave in 20 minutes. I have $500 cash in my purse and another $500 in my carry-on for emergencies …”

“Bail money for me?”

“Some of it, yes.” Continuing, “I now prepare for all things, even if there isn’t a chance in hell they’re going to happen. You forced me to learn that and I have and that’s all my comment was. I will be fine,” moving her palms to his face, thinning fingers, delicate steel hands against his cheeks, covering his ears as she tilted his head up to look at her, “but I feel better knowing mom has you and you have mom. You became friends with her while I was missing. I haven’t been forcing you together to create some superficial bond to make my never going to happen, non-impending doom easier to accept. She invites you for pie. You arrive and eat pie. You go home with leftover pie. I have nothing to do with that but I’m glad it happens.”

By now, his hands were on her wrists, eyes glued to her, closing as she leaned in, mirroring that accursed hospital hallway not that long ago. Once her forehead touched his, she whispered, “you are not Max. You have so many people here who love you and need you and you have so much to offer them back and you do. That’s the difference between you and Max. He searched for himself. You search for me, Mulder. You search,” kissing his forehead, then quickly his mouth, “for me.”

Then she wrapped her arms around him and felt his go around her waist. Hugging him tightly, she let the world disappear, sinking against him, warm, solid, against her.

“Who knew this much angst could come from a misplaced modifier?”

“We know now. Never let it happen again.”

With a chuckle, he shifted his head, talking into her shoulder, “Modell? Really?”

She just hugged him tighter, staying quiet against him as he held her close.

&&&&&&&&&&

They may have stayed like that for two minutes. It may have been ten. Regardless, eventually, Scully had to whisper into Mulder’s neck, where her mouth had landed earlier when she turned her head, “Mulder?”

Just as quietly, “yeah?”

“Can you take me home to bed, please?”

“Should I comment on the structure of that sentence as well or just be quiet?”

Giving another kiss to his neck, she pushed back off of him, sly grin, “just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&&

After a quiet goodnight/good morning at her bedroom door, he wandered to the living room, taking up residence on her couch, 3am sleepy as his head hit the spare pillow and his mind was finally calm.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 3

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark

rating: Explicit

warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had sent Peter off to bed before allowing herself to cry for a solid two hours until she passed out on the couch in her work clothes. Waking up was a trial, her head was pounding and she hadn’t pulled the curtains over the living room window closed before falling asleep so it was ten times brighter than it needed to be. She hadn’t set an alarm, but she could hear Peter moving around in the bedroom so it was around 6 AM.

“Peter, you good?” She called out absently, the usual morning greeting that meant ‘are you moving fast enough to make it to school on time?’

“I’m good,” his voice was quieter than usual, dejected in a way that broke a piece of her heart.

She sat up on the couch and put her face in her hands, elbows digging sharply into her thighs. Everything felt off, like the earth had shifted on its axis but only by a few degrees. There had been several times in her life when everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her entire world stopped spinning, first when her mom and dad died, then again with uncle Ben, and again with aunt May. Every time it had eventually started back again, but she’d always had an anchor.

She’d always had Peter, when everything went wrong. Having to start from scratch, to rebuild her entire life, was always possible because she had Peter. He was her rock, her reason for pushing forward to fix everything that went wrong. To restabilize.

When she’d been date raped in a club in Queens half a year ago, it had been traumatic. Brock had been sniffing around for ages before she finally agreed to go out with him and then he turned into a fucking monster at the drop of a hat, the piece of shit. She hadn’t meant to let Peter find out about any of it. She’d called a friend to get her from the club, to help her home. She’d been traumatized and angry, half drugged by the time they got to the apartment and screaming about the injustice.

Peter had helped her into the shower, sent her friend off for food, and held her while she screamed and cried and otherwise lost her fucking mind. By the next morning she’d gotten a note slipped under the door, essentially telling her to fuck off and keep her mouth shut or else. As if she’d even considered going to the police— what would she have said? ‘This dude I talked to for months slipped me drugs and raped me in the back of a club. No, there were no witnesses. No, I didn’t call the police. No, I didn’t go to the hospital.’ Stupid. She’d been stupid, as always.

Getting into such a stupid situation had spiraled into a rabbit hole of almost inconceivable bad luck. If she hadn’t let herself get duped in that stupid club, Peter never would’ve gone to Stark Tower. Never would’ve gotten spotted by the man himself. And now, she wouldn’t have Peter with her when she rebuilt after this most recent, life altering tragedy.

But he would be safe. There wasn’t anything else that she needed, or could hope for, other than Peter’s safety. Besides, prison might be a nice reprieve from the 108 hour work weeks she currently endured. And they had hospitals in prison, maybe they had dentists? She hadn’t been to the dentist since before aunt May died. Would she go to prison or jail? Penny didn’t know the difference between the two, honestly.

Standing up from the couch, her eyes landed on her laptop. It was sitting open on the dining room table, plugged in because it was so old it never held a charge. She should make a to-do list for the day, starting with calling into all three of her jobs and making Peter breakfast before he had to leave for school. There was a lot she had to get done before her brother got home from school today.

“Hey Pen, have you seen my biology textbook?”

“No babe, check the table by the front door,” she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, trying to work some of the kinks out of her body from sleeping on the couch, “do you have enough time to stick around for breakfast?”

Peter stopped on the other side of the couch, watching his sister act like it was a normal day, a frown on his face. They always joked that he was the smart one. Peter could recite pi to the 40th digit, explain thermodynamics, and had gotten into a super prestigious science academy on scholarship. Usually, he’d call himself the logical sibling, the one who could see the best course of action and follow it.

But looking at his sister he was realizing there was a level of maturity missing from his logical thinking. He might’ve been the smarter one, but Penny was the one who was going to get them through this hellscape. She was calm, he could see in her eyes that the wheels were turning and that she was in so much pain, but she was calm and collected and was going to work through the day to make sure her batshit crazy plan worked out so that he would be safe.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good,” she stripped her socks off clumsily while walking into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor as she went, “hey, open up all of the bills on the counter and leave them scattered around while I cook. I want it to look like I’ve been ignoring them and they’re covered in crap.”

Peter dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Penny was pretty good at covering up her emotions but the level of dissociation she was currently displaying was impressive. He retrieved all of the bills from the basket on the kitchen counter and brought them into the living room, dropping them onto the laptop’s keyboard and kicking his feet up on the table before he began ripping them open. He tossed the empty envelopes over his shoulder absently as he went while arranging the bills into a pile to be thrown strategically around later.

“Maybe I should see if Flash will beat me up today at school,” he cringed at the $95 electric bill, knowing that was pretty high for them, “some bruises and cuts might help us when the social workers show up.”

“Don’t get yourself beat up, bud, you don’t have enough padding on your bones to keep everything from snapping under pressure.”

“Well maybe if you actually fed me sometimes, you neglectful monster.”

“Savage, Peter!” Penny’s gasp from the kitchen was full of laughter despite the painful conversation, “keep that up for the social worker.”

“So aside from trashing my things, throwing out anything edible in the kitchen, and destroying the apartment, have anything fun planned today?”

The sound of Penny cursing, followed by the loud clang of a pan hitting the floor had Peter shifting in his seat, angling around to see through the doorway to the kitchen. She hadn’t hurt herself and there was no mess, so he didn’t bother getting up to go help.

“Actually,” she made a pathetic sound upon realizing the milk in the fridge was expired, “fuck. Oh, actually I’m gonna go get my hair and nails done. So it looks like I blow our money on frivolous things instead of like, food and clothes for you.”

“Nice, you should get one of those stupid expensive coffees from those hipster places on your way back. Just for emphasis.”

Once Penny actually managed to cook, she was pretty good at it. She usually cooked what she could for all major Jewish holidays when their budget could stretch to accommodate it. Otherwise she didn’t get around to it all that often, except on her days off, so Peter considered it a treat when she made breakfast for him before school. She shoved the laptop back on the table and put a plate down in its place, revealing a heaping egg scramble and toast.

“I think we have some major issues,” Peter stated casually as they ate, avoiding the chunks of turkey bacon to save for the end, “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be joking about today. Or tomorrow. Or any of it.”

“I figure we’ve got two options,” Penny kicked her feet up next to his, balancing her plate in her lap, “Cry about it or laugh about it. We cried about it last night and it gave me a headache. So, might as well try laughing.”

Peter shrugged but nodded in agreement, “So I think I’m gonna become a supervillain.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I could break you out of jail, bring down Tony Stark and all his minions, steal a whole bunch of money and then we could abscond off to some private island and live the rest of our lives in peace.”

“Except for when you have to go be a supervillain?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Penny gave a barking laugh and leaned over to shuffle a hand annoyingly through his hair, letting him slap her away like usual. The casual, relaxed attitude they shared was obviously forced, their eyes were full of despair, but they could at least pretend for a while. Pretending that everything was okay would at least get them through the next few days.

“Alright you dope, head to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Peter stood up from the table and pulled Penny up after him, wrapping her into a tight hug. He’d grown over the last year and stood several inches taller than her now. Sometimes, hugging her now felt weird because for so long he’d been smaller than her. He vividly remembered being engulfed in her arms, being surrounded by her scent and warmth and how safe it always made him feel. He hoped that she felt the same way he used to, that his hugs made her feel warm and fuzzy.

“See you after school,” he choked out after a moment, pulling away and darting out of the room without looking at her too closely.

It would hurt too much.

***

Nobody had left the living room, other than Rhodey, in over 12 hours now. Steve and Bucky were still in the recliner together, eyes glued to the TV screen showing the Parker’s living room. Peter had left for school about 20 minutes ago and Penelope Actual Angel Parker had disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint had ordered food from the kitchens about an hour ago and was waiting by the elevator for the chefs to drop it off. They’d all lamented the fact they couldn’t eat the breakfast Penny made with the Parker siblings but had satisfied themselves by listening in on their conversation with stalkerish intensity. Usually Penny didn’t leave the laptop sitting open when she wasn’t using it, so it had been another shocking revelation into their lives.

“Peter’s face while he was opening those bills makes me wonder if she usually hides them from him,” Bruce commented absently, cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through the files on his laptop.

Instead of the lab reports from the previous night, he was looking through Penny and Peter’s medical histories—HIPAA be damned. Peter got regular physicals each year, was up to date on all of his vaccinations, had minor asthma but no other chronic issues. Penny’s medical history stopped around when her uncle Ben died and she dropped out of high school. She had all her vaccinations and was in the 2nd year of a 3 year birth control implant, no known conditions except for possible anemia. She hadn’t gone to the hospital after the rape, so he would need to run an STD panel just in case. A diet meant to promote weight gain might also be a good idea.

“I’m sure she didn’t want them to know how dire their situation was,” Wanda stated, “If given the chance, I would’ve hidden things like that from Pietro.”

“So they’re Jewish like y’all, right?” Sam squinted at the screen, pointing to a wall decoration in the apartment, “or is that a Buddhist thing?”

“A Hamsa,” she didn’t look up from her phone, having seen the wall decoration next to the window the first time she’d watched the webcam stream nearly a month ago, “they have it because they’re Jewish but it’s used in other cultures too.”

“Do we need to make sure we have anything… particularly Jew-y for them?”

Wanda finally looked up from her phone, eyebrow raised derisively, “did you get anything particularly Jew-y for me when I moved in?”

“I’m going to learn to make Challah,” Bucky intervened in the conversation before it could become a fight, having been looking up traditional Israeli and Jewish dishes for several hours now, “do you have any recipes Wanda?”

The two devolved into a conversation about homemade breads and the nuances of kosher foods, all the while Wanda scrolled through Peter and Penny’s bank statements. She was looking for their overall spending habits, what was bought for Peter and how often and when and what Penny bought for herself. The former list included the amount of clothing one would assume necessary for a growing teenage boy, along with an above average amount of groceries. There was far less fun stuff, like video games and extensive Lego sets (which they knew Peter loved). Usually those were bought around Peter’s birthday or near Hanukkah. Penny’s spending on herself was generally relegated to work clothes and toiletries, with the occasional splurge on nail polish.

“We had a Jewish neighbor growing up, you remember Buck? Ms. Goldstein made that soup,” Steve scratched his head, trying to remember the name of it but failing.

“Matzah ball soup,” Bucky supplied, glancing at the screen of Steve’s phone from his position in the man’s lap.

He’d started going through the Parker sibling’s social media accounts early in the morning, wondering who was going to put up a fuss over their potential disappearances and how much it was going to interfere with business. Not that it mattered, business was business and home and family came first but it still would be good to have a plan for any fallout.

Peter had all the social media accounts a teenager could want; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, TikTok, everything. He overshared on the internet just as much as any other Gen Z kid, although he seemed to favour Twitter and Instagram over the others. Instagram was updated almost daily with pictures of his friends, from school and clubs, pictures of scenery taken around New York. It was actually pretty cute and a touch artistic. He had a decent amount of followers on it too.

Penny on the other hand only had an Instagram page and a Pinterest. The former wasn’t updated much since their aunt May passed away, the recent pictures were mostly of food she’d made or of her and Peter on holidays. He wasn’t sure if the followers on her Pinterest were friends or strangers. There were a whole slew of cute pictures on her ‘Memories’ board, several of which Bucky watched Steve save to his phone. One in particular, of Penny squeezing Peter’s face close to hers while both stuck their tongues out at the camera, was saved as his new home screen.

It would be difficult to spirit either of the siblings away without some repercussions. Peter had some very close friends, MJ and Ned in particular, and was involved in tons of extracurricular activities. If he disappeared, an AMBER alert would go out within a day. Penny wasn’t particularly close to anyone, but she did have several coworkers who would notice very quickly if she went missing. She had been working in the same three places for 3 years and was a well-established and liked staff member.

“We may need to stage some sort of accident,” Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth as he scrolled through Peter’s Snapchat memories, “Peter’s friends are very close and Penny’s barely ever missed a day of work. People are going to cause a stink if they just disappear.”

“Car accident? Fire? Carbon monoxide?”

“Something that won’t leave behind a body,” Natasha drummed her fingers against her leg, humming in thought as the elevator opened and Clint retrieved the cart of food that had been sent up, “probably a fire. Or we could stage a kidnapping and blame it on someone else.”

“Both,” Clint had half of a croissant stuffed in his mouth, spitting out pieces as he spoke, “set up a kidnapping, burn some bodies, set it up to look like Penny and Peter.”

“Who’s the kidnapper?”

“How about this dumb mother fucker.”

Rhodey’s voice came from the stairwell, the man himself emerging while shoving a heavily beaten and gagged Brock Rumlow through the door. His arms were bound from the elbow down and he lost his balance, landing with a heavy thud only to be kicked hard in the side by the very angry James Rhodes and forced back to his feet.

“He confess?” Tony’s back was to them as Rhodey pushed him farther into the room, making himself a cup of coffee from the French press that had been sent up on the cart.

“More or less.”

One of the things Tony had learned over his long career was that anticipation was almost worse than a beating. Adrenaline was a devastating drug when applied as a method of torture. He could almost feel Rumlow’s heart beating faster, the sweat dripping down his brow. He hummed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee before nodding to himself and turning around.

Rhodey had the man on his knees near the coffee table, head bowed in a mixture of panic and fear. He was bleeding from the head, from his nose, dark bruises were beginning to bloom across the bridge of his nose and around his neck. Rhodes had done a number on the man in the last couple of hours.

“Did you send a letter to Penelope Parker, threatening her younger brother if she went to the police?” His voice was low and he crossed the living room in with an unhurried stride, coming to sit on the couch just inches away from where the man knelt.

The reply was muffled but obviously not a yes or no answer. Tony was well versed in what begging sounded like through a gag, how ‘please’ and ‘don’t hurt me’ came out when one’s tongue was held down by fabric. Brock Rumlow might’ve been a big bastard, but when confronted with his own mortality he became a simpering baby just like all the rest. In all honesty, Tony had a thing for begging anyway.

“Now that didn’t sound like the answer to the question I asked you.”

From his position in Steve’s lap Bucky pitched an empty wine glass at Rumlow’s face. The stem snapped off, the bowl of the glass breaking against his brow bone and leaving a jagged cut in its wake. Bruce rolled his neck at the sound of the rest of the glass hitting the ground and shattering, the sharp noise irritating his always present headache.

“You’re making us upset Brucie here, my man,” Tony stated with a flippant wave of his hand in the scientist’s direction, still taking small, satisfying sips of coffee, “which is a huge mistake. He gets pretty dangerous when you make him mad.”

The exact state of being of most of Tony’s close associates was more… fantastical, than most of the population. Mad scientists had been around for centuries and so had horrible things, like eugenics and human experimentation. He had a tendency to pick up strays at the best of times and the exciting strays, the ones who were really special, he fought to keep. It had started with Rhodey and Clint. They weren’t genetically altered, just insane at the best of times.

He’d met Rhodey in university. At the time, the man was being paid to watch Tony by his father and report back on his activities. Tony had paid better and overtime gained Rhodey’s loyalty as well as friendship. They’d been inseparable and Rhodey had been the one who thwarted Clint’s assassination attempt on Tony. It hadn’t been anything personal, of course, Clint was a world-renowned assassin and was one of the best—if you could pay him the right amount, he was willing to take out anyone. Then he’d been waylaid by a Very Angry Colonel Rhodes. Clint was easily persuaded to switch targets for the correct amount of money and soon Tony had come to see him as less of an employee and more of a friend.

Natasha and the Old Men had come next. From a situation similar to Clint’s, Natasha had been sent to off Tony. Not only had he offered her a better deal, but also protection from the Red Room, a branch of the former KGB that specialized in stealing little girls and genetically altering them. She didn’t hate the violence or the killing, she hated being controlled.  

The freezer burned boyfriends had come along looking for Howard Stark, who had apparently betrayed them (and the United States as a whole, actually) in the 40’s in a whole bunch of exciting and horrible ways. Bucky had been traumatized, a veritable murder machine and Steve hadn’t been much better off. Tony had kept them out of the public eye so they could live in relative peace and in turn had become emotionally attached. Especially upon realizing that Bucky was likely his father’s unknowing murderer, which was endearing.

Bruce had been Tony’s next acquisition and the only deliberate one. There had been reports of some sort of monster raging across the globe. It had taken ages and lots of illegal activity in the form of JARVIS hacking satellites and cameras all over the world but they’d found Bruce hiding away in India, providing illicit medical attention to the poor. He’d been attempting to copy the Super Soldier Serum used on The Olds and turned himself into a monster in the process. Tony adored the man.

Then came Thor and his adopted brother Loki, who had been experimented on by their father from a very young age. They’d lost an older sister to a process of attempted Berserker serums and they themselves were forever genetically altered. Thor was in slightly better control of his rages than Loki, but both came to Tony seeking asylum when their father had decided to end his experiments and terminate all test subjects. They were strong and brutal and Thor’s loyalty was unwavering, which was nice because Loki’s only loyalty was to his brother. It was a compromise Tony could live with.

Sam and Wanda and Pietro had been picked up by Steve and Clint respectively, the former a veteran and counselor who turned to murder for hire after being honorably discharged from service and the latter a pair of genetic experiments who’d accidentally stumbled upon Clint after escaping imprisonment. All three had been brought back to the Tower and into the fold.

Pepper and Happy had been picked up along the way of course, his right and left hands for all intents and purposes. Pepper had helped him build the legitimate face of his business and Happy had run interference in all illegal aspects, as well as literally putting himself between Tony and danger.

A short whimper of sheer terror escaped Rumlow before he seemed to almost crumple in front of them, folding in half and hitting the ground. Tony raised an eyebrow as the man landed just a few inches from his foot and groaned in annoyance before dumping the rest of his coffee on the man.

“Don’t pass out on me now, Rumlow, we’ve got— Oh, would you look at that.”

Tony drew the attention of the whole room to the TV screen, where Penelope Precious Parker had emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Her long hair was dripping down her back, dampening her white t-shirt just enough that Tony sent Clint a look that said Watch Yourself, Pervert. The same look was not given to Steve or Bucky, although with the way their eyes followed the woman, it should’ve been.

Rhodey bent over and hauled Rumlow back to his knees, turning him to face the TV and yanking his head back, “You see her, Rumlow? You remember her?”

Another whimper, this one with enough inflection to mean ‘yes’. Tony nodded and let out a deliberate, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. You see, that precious little thing has just become one of the most important people in the world. In my world. Her little brother, who you threatened after hurting her in such a despicable way? He is my world,” Tony rolled his shoulders and stood up, walking around the table to get a closer look at the TV.

Penny had sat down on the couch, still well within view of the webcam, and was pulling on a pair of socks. A pair of beat up tennis shoes were on the floor next to her, having been fished out of the trunk that doubled as an end table. Bucky shifted out of the corner of his eye, watching as her shorts rode up higher on her shapely thighs as she contorted to pull on her sneakers. She continued on to gather all of her wet hair into her hands, tying it into a big messy bun on the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he continued after a moment, “being confronted with your mistakes like this. You see, I go out of my way to not make mistakes. Or mistakes that could come back to haunt me, at least. I tie up my lose ends, I like pretty packages.”

“She’s a real pretty package,” Steve fucking sighed like a swooning school girl as Penny stood up and started shifting through some things on the table in front of her, bent over enough to offer an excellent view of her ass.

Tony snorted along with Sam and waved a dismissive hand in the blond’s direction. Steve and Bucky had been half infatuated with Penny when they thought she was a cruel, neglectful monster; now that they knew the truth, that Penny was precious and kind, they were falling in love just watching her through a screen.

“Now the point of this whole thing, unfortunately for you, is that you hurt Penny and you threatened Peter and by extension, you hurt and threatened me.”

There was a muffled ‘I didn’t know!’ through the gag and Tony Stark once again Did Not Roll His Eyes, because he was above that sort of thing.

“Of course not, that’s why this has to sting. You see, maybe if you just didn’t rape anyone this never would’ve happened. You never would’ve been in this situation. But instead you had to go and drug some poor girl and stick your disgusting dick in her and hurt her,” Tony rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck, “And once again, unfortunately for you, everything just kind of got more complicated from there. Because I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Tones?” Rhodey’s eyebrows were furrowed, his hand still keeping Rumlow’s head in place.

“Right, right, let me explain to the room at large,” a flamboyant wave of Tony’s hand made everyone sit slightly straighter, “we have a couple of options going forward. The first, is take Peter and Penny, frame and kill Rumlow and be done with it,” several noises of agreement followed the sentence but Tony shook his hands again to quiet them, “Or, we could take the babies, frame Rumlow, but not kill him.”

“Why not kill him?”

“Because then we could let Peter do it. Or Penny,” Tony tapped chin and began to pace, “or, because they’re both going to be very upset in the first few months, we could use him as… incentive, to be good.”

“Hm, killing him in front of them is ballsy,” Sam stood over next to the cart of food, making himself a plate and a cup of coffee, “You want to induce Stockholm Syndrome, but the shock might be too much.”

“Are you worried about them reacting to a murder in general or like, feeling bad he was killed because of them?”

“Both, either,” Sam shrugged, “pick your favourite.”

“Why don’t we keep him around for a bit, we don’t necessarily have to make the decision today,” Steve suggested, shifting Bucky off of his lap and standing up.

The imposing man made his way towards Rumlow with his usual level of heavy swagger, natural as a result of his musculature and dimensions. Rhodey took several steps back at the approach, recognizing the glint of near ferality in the former Captain’s eyes. Getting in the blond’s way was in no one’s best interest and besides, Rhodey trusted the man implicitly. The man’s hand came down on Rumlow’s head almost gently, his fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. His face was swollen from Rhodey’s heavy hits already, but he could still see.

“Besides, me and Bucky are gonna need a playmate for a while. All that pent-up aggression—it’s gotta go somewhere, right, Brock?”

[skinks]

HELLO. DO YOU HAVE ANY SPARE DILFWORTH/MAGGIE HEADCANONS 🥺 (love your writing more than life btw)

HELLO, thank you so much! Oh boy it’s difficult to come up with more stuff for characters you’re really only extrapolating a couple of pages about, but I like a challenge so here are some to build on the other big Maggie/Dilfworth post I made:

- so after the Airplane Incident they’re so engrossed in talking at the baggage claim about everything from music to shitty first jobs that Went misses his bag going around the carousel three times. In his defence Maggie’s laugh is a breathless, staccato sound like a xylophone of breezes and she runs one hand over the back of her head to grip the ends of her own dark hair every time she does, so who can blame him for trying to be his absolute funniest in between grinning like a man who’s won the lottery. Also in his defence, Maggie doesn’t leave after she’s collected hers (they both go to grab it from the carousel at the same time and kinda stare at each other, then at their touching hands. Went licks his lips a couple times and says “Sorry, don’t uh. Don’t misunderstand, I was only trying to steal it,” which makes her laugh again) and Maggie doesn’t leave because she’s busy hinting she’d like him to come visit her on campus some time, maybe next weekend? They exchange their landlines and she says “See you then, Doctor Dentist,” because there’s something about his nonthreatening calmness that makes her feel very bold in trying to ruffle it up.

- their first date is to the movies, because it’s 1971 and what else are you gonna do

- Went has the best poker face she’s ever seen, and she’d already been teasing him about being a dentist so when he asks her what snacks she’d like, she replies with a long list of the sugariest kinds they have. But he only whistles low and raises his eyebrows, sauntering off to the concession stand before she can reel him back. They eat all of it between them, and Went spends the whole movie muttering scathing put-downs about the poor choices the characters keep making and it’s the first time Maggie hasn’t ever cared about being shushed by the people in front of her

- also also also he picked her up in his car (and she’d also teased him about how she’s sure he could only drive a convertible bc he’s so tall and leggy that anything else would leave his knees up by his ears, but it’s not a convertible. It does have a sun-roof though, and after the movie they go driving, as Young People do in 1971 I guess and he’s like “Sorry the roof doesn’t fold down, I know you’d look great doing the whole Audrey Hepburn thing,” and Maggie just eyeballs him as she slides the sun-roof back. Then she’s standing on the bench seat and whooping, sticking her torso out of the roof like it’s a carnival ride and Went’s like 💕😬💕 as he holds her steady with one arm (over her dress, it’s the first date) for her dear, dear life

- I love the idea that Maggie likes sci-fi, for some reason. She loves Star Trek TOS, loves the music, wants to try and obtain a theremin for her thesis project. The first gift Went ever gives her is a signed copy of The Left Hand of Darkness when she takes him to an Ursula LeGuin talk at her college, and Maggie kisses the daylights out of him against a tree right there in the quad

- Went likes fishing and baseball and photography and fuckin... comedy records and he definitely got bullied at school for being a skinny nerd. Doesn’t have too many friends given that he’s moved cities and is generally kinda quiet, but Maggie’s friends like him. More importantly, Maggie likes him a lot, likes the endless antelope stretch of his legs when he props them up on any surface available, the lean lines around his mouth, likes how the veins on the backs of his hands form warm diamonds around the indents of his knuckles, likes that when she says “oh damn, is it raining?” rhetorically in the car at the first few drops, he rolls his window down and sticks his hand out into the wet and says “yes, Maggie, it’s raining. Wipers or no wipers, what’ll it be?” She likes to be the person he trusts enough to be silly and wry and sincere with. She likes to buy him records based purely on the cover art alone, she likes introducing him to classical music and she likes to drive his car so he can look at the maps and stick his head out the roof, and she likes that the wind makes him look like a cartoon blown up with dynamite, because he’s somehow always just in need of a haircut, and she is so, so scared he will be ensnared by the draft now that he’s left academia, as it has ensnared so many of her other friends.

- She makes fun of it, but she likes his name, “I like that Tozier has a z in it, of all things,” she says once. “I don’t know, it’s unusual. I never heard of a Tozier before.” And Went says, “Last of my kind. Like Tigger, in fact. You’re lucky you ever caught me in the wild,” as he very studiously and ineptly investigates her electric keyboard. She calls him Went most of the time, Legs when she’s particularly hot for him, but they do also have a lot of Wentworthy/Unwentworthy jokes.

- the first time they have sex is because they’re six dates deep and Went has yet to hear her sing.

- they’re lying top to toe in Went’s bed while they’re both studying (Went might be practicing dentistry now but he still has paperwork and journals to read) and he’s tapping her crossed ankle along to something she’s humming. “What’s that song? Maggie?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you sing it for me?”

“Oh, no,” she says, covering her face with her book. “No, it’s just some rock song, ignore me. I’m being disruptive to the study environment.”

Went waggles his eyebrows, examining the whole bare sweep of her legs. “That’s for sure. C’mon, you’re minoring in vocal studies, aren’t I going to hear you eventually?”

“Nope,” Maggie grins, and enjoys how warm his hand feels cupping the sleek of her calf muscle. “I’m shy.”

“The Maggie Avery I know isn’t shy, unless I’ve been wooing an impostor for the last nine weeks.”

She laughs and flutters inside, like her whole body is filled with whirling pillowfight feathers at the thought of being wooed, being courted, being allowed to exist as an interesting person and not just a skirt to be chased. At the fact that he knows how long it’s been and that he counts it in weeks, because even though they telephone a bunch, they can still only see each other at the weekends. Yeah, Carole King said it best. He makes her feel like a natural woman, alright.

“Wooing me.” She sets her book aside. “That’s what you’ve been up to?”

“Yes,” he nods, sitting up to mirror her, cross-legged. “Wooing.”

“Wentwooing,” she says, biting her lip. These games always prick up the hairs on the back of her neck.

“Damn straight,” he says, and oh, those dishy lines are breaking in lean waves around his smiling mouth. She’s a total lost cause for them. “Wooing was one of my very first Scout badges, actually.”

“Oh, so you’ve had practice?” She leans away in faux-disinterest, and her breathing picks up from somewhere deep in her body as he sways forward into the gap, like he’s charmed. She’s very aware of her heartbeat in odd places, pinking her bare heels pressed to the sheets under her knees, loud in the scoop of her clavicle. “I’m not the first to be subjected to a little Wentwooing, then, huh.”

“Not the first, no,” he allows, mild and reasonable as ever. No wonder he did well in medical school. She knows she’s not the first girlfriend, of course, just as he knows about her last ex and the others, and that’s the wonderful thing about him. He doesn’t act like other twenty-two year old boys she knows, he’s a grownup about it all. “But... I’d really dig it if you were the last. Maggie.”

She can’t stop smiling at the way he says it. Casual, contemplative, the look of a man who has cast his line and is happy to wait. It’s belied by the sound of him compulsively cracking his knuckles and the bones in his long bare feet. They’d both thrown on comfortable clothes after coming in from the rainstorm, and Maggie never knew it was possible to feel so at ease alone in a man’s room, a man’s apartment, a man’s spare boxers and faded varsity rowing tee the only things between that same man and her pretty underwear.

“I’d dig that too, Legs,” she says, and tucks her hair behind her ear to kiss him. He untucks it again and kisses her back with a heated mmph, touching her hip and her hair at once. Very light touches, but there’s something about them that makes her feel like he’s got her wrapped up completely. She swirls her arms around the back of his neck and deepens the kiss, as deep as she can manage with the way their knees are obstructive, and at the dragging quiet click of spit, Maggie finds she wouldn’t mind if he touched her firm and wanting all over, sometime soon.

She pulls back to see him flushed, his glasses kinda screwy. He makes a low sound, a sort of cross between a sigh of satisfaction and a groan of regret that their mouths aren’t still moving together. Both of his hands fall to her crossed legs, and he patters fingertips to her skin.

“I got that badge in Boy Scouts too,” he says breathlessly, after a second or five.

“No wonder you’re so good at it,” Maggie says, and raises three fingers in a salute. “Lots of practice around the campfire, hm?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” he chortles, saluting her back. “It’s a testament to your feminine wiles I’m even interested, what with my restricted training.” He gestures at her breasts. “We never covered those.”

“Liar, you had them pretty well covered last week,” Maggie teases, her inner thighs burning as she shifts at the memory, the back row of the Aladdin Theater, her tongue in his mouth and his big, gentle hands up her shirt.

“Earned my badge.”

“Well and truly.”

“We should get to work on uncovering them, then,” Went replies, tugging softly at the hem of his shirt she’s wearing, but his eyes don’t stray from her face.

“Wentworth!” She shoves at his hand, laughing again. She has a paper on syncopation due on Friday and a performance to prep for the end-of-semester recital, but she couldn’t care less right now. Lord, she’s so happy. What if it’s love, she thinks giddily, what if I love him, and he loves me. What then?

He dodges her play-slaps to take off his glasses because he only needs them for reading, and it’s just another layer falling away from between them. He’s not Doctor Tozier, he’s not that fucking geek, in the sullen-drunk words of her project partner Jack at a party last month, he’s just... Went. Just a man, as she is a woman. He’s cute and he’s acerbically funny and he makes her feel like they’re partners in some kind of crime, even though neither of them have so much as a speeding ticket. Maggie comes to a decision.

“Alright. I’ll sing the song for you,” she says, climbing off the bed.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, I actually—oh, here it is.” She rummages in her bookbag and produces the 7” single from its cardboard sleeve. “I bought it on Tuesday and forgot all about it, I was going to show you earlier. Such a dunce.”

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” Went says, shuffling back on his crossed legs to sit against the headboard. He looks genuinely eager. “She’s finally singing for me, don’t knock her confidence. Though, I guess we’re not getting any more studying done. Duncehood looms for the both of us.”

Maggie straightens up from the record player and unclips her hair until it falls in a dark torrent around her face. She shakes it out, feeling the strength of her voice build in her chest, feeling like she’s on fire from the glare of a stage spotlight. Getting into the mindset of a song is an important part of performance. “Would you rather study? We can study if you like.”

“No, no,” Went says evenly. His face is pink again and his eyes are very dark, watching her. “I think I’d much rather do this.”

So Maggie sings. The record cranks to a crescendo on the choruses like a runaway train and Maggie loses herself in it, closing her eyes and dancing. She’s an elegant dancer to classical music and an awkward one to rock and roll. Went is even worse, the pair of them clunking their bodies together at parties like a game of marbles because it’s funny that way, it’s funnier with two. But she tries not to feel silly, because she knows her voice is good. People tell her so. She knows it’s so, and she’s proud of her very own instrument nestled in the nave of her throat, and she wonders why it had been such a nerve-wracking prospect to let Went hear her sing. Perhaps it’s because she holds it so dear. She doesn’t know when his opinion became so important to her, but it is. The sound thunders up easily from her chest, controlled and so fluid she can almost visualize it leaving her lips like a stream, so controlled she can let the control a little loose whenever she wants to wail along with Marc Bolan, like the only rockstar in an oversized preppy shirt, get it on, bang a gong, get it on.

The record scratches to a close but she doesn’t feel finished, there’s still breath left in her yet. She segues easily into one of Went’s horribly cutting and clever comedy records, so she has an excuse for her face burning. It’s not because she can’t open her eyes and see his reaction, it’s because she’s singing about smut, of course. Every brush of the hems of his borrowed shorts against the ticklish backs of her legs, is felt. Her hair is thick and warm and her scalp is starting to sweat with all her uninhibited bouncing. Eventually she gives up and collapses to the bed, giggling and breathless. She buries her face into the covers feeling more ridiculous than she normally does in the vicinity of his generally impassive nature. He’s stable, somehow without being boring. It keeps her on her toes at least, that damnable poker face; she actually takes great delight in the way she finds herself coming further and further out of her shell, just to try and call his bluff.

“Gosh, I hope your neighbors like T-Rex,” she mumbles. She’s crouched with her knees and hands huddled under her, waiting for her fearsome blush to subside. Waiting for him to say something. She’s aware of his quiet presence at the headboard, just as she is so suddenly aware of the way his soft tee is riding up her hunched form, exposing her lower back to the fresh night air. “I’m—I should send them all an apology note for disturbing their Saturday evenings.”

“You should be charging them for the privilege,” Went croaks.

Maggie looks up at him, sharply. He stares back, still cross-legged with his hands stuffed down into his lap and a dazed expression on his face. She kneels towards him, feeling the residual magic of the music spark powerful deep through her body, between her legs. “You think I’ll pass vocal performance?”

“Jesus Christ, Maggie,” he says, unfolding his endless legs so she can straddle them. His hands are restless against her hips, moved from where they’d been hiding the thick line in his shorts. “And all this time I thought you’d been hiding the terrible secret that you’re actually a bad singer.”

She laughs against his neck. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, just awful. I figured you must be a banshee or something.”

“You did not, don’t joke!”

“I never joke,” he grins. He kisses her harder than before, restless hands squeezing at her ribcage, her thighs, just below the hemlines. Maggie presses her hips forward and grips fiercely at his ropy upper arms, gasping. “I’m deadly serious, that was—you’re a knockout at everything, it’s hardly fair.”

“Went.”

“Mags, I’m obliged to tell you I have one hell of a crush on you.”

“Went.”

“I can’t believe you’re my girlfriend,” he says, and Maggie’s stomach flips at the rare note of bemused, painful sincerity in his voice.

“Went, you can uncover them now,” she says, and shimmery heat floods between her thighs as he ruts upwards, abruptly.

“Sorry,” he pants, “what?”

“Take my shirt off, please. And I have a crush on you too, you dunce.”

He does as she asks of him and says, “Jesus Christ,” again, and a whole lot of other curse words and sweet things and silly nonsense that makes her laugh more than she’s ever laughed doing this with someone, and afterwards his hair looks the way it does when it’s his turn to stick his head out of the sun-roof.

He rolls off to collapse beside her. As soon as they catch their breath he says, “I’m gonna bring you breakfast in bed. Right now.”

“It’s 11pm!” Maggie wheezes, watching him stagger naked from the bedroom. The sight of his narrow waist flaring up into broad, bony shoulders is unbearable, now that she knows how it all feels between her legs and rippling under her hands. It makes her voracious for more. She aches wonderfully in all the right places, just like a good callisthenic stretch should.

It was quite a stretch, she thinks, and shivers, turning her head to breathe into the sweaty tangle of her own loose hair spilled across the pillow.

“Eleven is technically almost morning, isn’t it,” he calls back, clattering in the kitchen. “Plus you’ll need the energy, because we’re doing that again immediately. If you want to, of course,” he adds hastily.

“Of course,” Maggie snorts. Her cheeks ache too, from happiness. “We’ve got badges to earn.”

- anyway

- Her mom likes him too because he’s a dentist, Margaret, but her dad thinks he’s a hippie with a fake diploma because he still has sideburns lmfao. Went’s parents like Maggie, but it’s a lot to do with how she tries so hard to make them like her. She’s like, shaking by the end of day 1 of her first meeting with them like “I just don’t ever want you to have to choose,” and Went (absentmindedly fiddling with an old toy robot, they’re staying in his childhood bedroom) is like “Don’t worry, I’d choose you any time. I mean, I’d have to kill them but I’m sure they’d understand,” and Maggie’s like “I’m serious!” and Went turns to her and says, “So am I, Mags,” and then wraps all his long stick insect limbs around her refusing to let go until she’s laughing again

- He’s also very neat, he does all his own ironing so his work tunics are just right. More than once Maggie and her two roommates come back to the apartment during weekends to find him standing in socks and boxers and ironing piles and piles of everyone’s laundry, and he refuses to believe Maggie that this is weird. She thinks back to her old boyfriends who could barely flush a toilet and thinks hm, maybe it’s not so weird

- for the first few years of living together after they get married they can’t choose sides of the bed. Like, it changes all the time. “This is intimate anarchy,” Maggie says, after their tenth night in a row of switching. “I’m sure this is what the Summer of Love was all about.”

“Oh, I thought it was about cunnilingus,” Went says brightly, slotting a bookmark into his copy of Jaws and turning off the side lamp. “My mistake. Goodnight, love.”

“Wait!”

- Went comes into the delivery room after Richie’s born, looking more shaken than Maggie herself, ashen and stressed. “I could hear you screaming from out there,” he whispers, kissing her forehead and jerking his thumb back over his shoulder, bloodshot eyes locked on the swaddled bundle on her chest. “Darling. Oh, Maggie.”

“We’re alright now,” she says, hoarse. “I was just letting him know however loud he is, he gets it from his mother.”

“Him?” Went bleats, his eyes so wide. He still only needs his glasses for reading. “He? It’s a boy—we have a—”

“A son, yes,” Maggie says, and wipes at her cheeks. She’s had quite enough fluids on her face for one night, thank you. “Here, take him away from me before I lose my temper with him again.”

She nearly starts crying again when she sees how tiny the baby—Richard, that’s right, they’d decided on Richard for a boy—how tiny he looks in Went’s big, capable hands. They manage not to wake him in the transfer and Wentworth cradles him against his collar for a moment, looking lost. Then he seems to come back to himself, shooting Maggie one of his big, crinkly grins (and God, she’s still a lost cause) as he addresses the consequence of their actions.

“Did you do this?” Went whispers into the blue folds of blanket, pointing one free finger at Maggie. “Look what you’ve done to my wife. How dare you. She looks terrible.”

“Shut up,” Maggie laughs, as quietly as she can.

“She looks terrible and more wonderful than ever,” Went continues in the baby’s ear. “Is this your doing? We’ll make a good team, I think. Between the two of us she doesn’t stand a chance, by thirty-five she’ll be too beautiful to look at and then she might get some peace and quiet.”

“You’re delirious from the thin atmosphere, Legs,” she says. “Give him back, if you drop him from up there he’s done for.”

“I won’t drop him,” Went insists, “you had him for nine months, let me have a turn.” He holds onto Richard while she sleeps, but not before she grabs at his arm and sobs thank you for him, Went, thank you, and Went cries a little too and says what are you thanking me for, I’d get a participation trophy at most, which makes her laugh and say, if anyone deserves a trophy for their participation technique it’s you, and then she falls asleep before she hears his reply.

- they play so much rock and roll for Richie, Maggie makes up her own songs for him and sings to him all the time. Maggie only had older sisters, and Went was an only child so neither of them have very much experience with babies, but Maggie’s friendships with Andrea Uris and Sharon Denbrough from the neighborhood and from book club help a lot, they all seem to have wound up having their firsts in the space of a few months. She values language too much to baby talk Richie, and Went would be clueless as to how to begin, so pretty often she finds him deep in conversation about politics or baseball with Richie babbling in his high chair.

- as I said before, I hc that Maggie speaks maybe French and Italian, and Went finds it incredibly sexy. He can’t reply, of course, he just babbles along in Richie’s ridiculous Voices, it’s basically the Swedish Chef but French or Italian. He calls her Marguerite if it’s French, and Margarita in Italian (“That’s Spanish!” Maggie hoots, stroking his hair back at both temples where it’s frosting to silver already, and clasping her hands around the back of his head. “What do margaritas have to do with Italy?”

“Not Margarita,” Went says. He traces a line between all the pretty moles on her chest, sweeping down between her breasts to the one just beside her navel, the soft little rise of belly that sits in the cup of her iliac crest. That spot always flicks her hips forward with ticklish heat, and if they’re not careful then Richie might end up with a baby sibling Maggie’s not quite ready for yet. “Margherita, like the pizza. You’re cheesy, sweetheart.”)

- both of them smoked but Maggie gave it up when she got pregnant, and now Went doesn’t smoke inside the house. He of course gives it up for good after he gets cancer of the larynx in his late 50s when Richie is 30, which makes Richie quit too

- they love their son and just want him to be HAPPY even if they’re sometimes misguided about what would make him happy, but hey, so is Richie

[liliah39]

Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background *

My Other Half (Roger Taylor X Reader One Shot)

Full Ask/Plot:  Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background *  I was thinking about Rog and the reader being steady for a while, so he is thinking of proposing to her, but one day he sees her (at a diner or a shop, maybe?) talking to this other guy and gets more than jealous, he feels really bad about it? I guess this is going to turn out a little angsty 😅

Word Count: 7.2 K (its even lengthier than the last!)

Warnings: None really, mentions of sex. Swearing. Some angst. Thats it!

January of 1977, interview with the boys in Chicago while on tour:

“So Roger,” The interviewer asked. “We understand your girlfriend Y/N has been in the news a lot lately. What’s your life and relationship with her like?”

“Well she’s not my girlfriend,” Roger nervously laughed.

“She’s not?” 

“Well if I may interject,” Freddie said. “She basically is his girlfriend, they’re just an odd bunch who says “oh we’re not dating, she’s not my girlfriend, we’re just in a relationship.” 

“Fred,” Roger blushed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I must say he’s quite in love with her. They’re really the perfect couple.” John said. 

“Yeah we love Y/N,” Brian started. “The two of them are pretty much inseparable. They’re a package deal, you can’t have Roger without her. I’m not quite sure why they don’t ever say they’re dating. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long? They’re great though.” 

The interviewer laughed. “So, Roger. What is Y/N like?” 

He smiled when he thought of you. “She’s the definition of the word rock star other than the whole being in a band thing. Plays guitar sometimes though.” It was visible to anyone watching him that his head was in the clouds. “We’ve been best friends since college, and then our relationship kind of just blossomed from there. You know; people always say opposites attract but-” Freddie cut him off. 

“Oh not with them, Darling! I swear they’re the same person sometimes.”  

Roger laughed at his friends comment. “Yeah, that’s what I was getting at. I mean we just always have fun together. Of course we have our quiet moments too, but we just really get each other; rarely fight. Always have a good time.” 

“She’s the most wanted model in England right now, let alone the whole world. How does that make you feel?” 

Roger smirked. “Well she ‘ain’t a model yet, mate.” 

“Yeah, but I mean you two did that photo shoot together, and then all of a sudden everyone knew her name. Why hasn’t she taken any of those modeling deals?”

“Oh I don’t know, but she has an interview back home in a couple days. I don’t want to speak for her or anything, you know. I’ll let her say.” 

“Then what made you do that photo shoot?” 

Roger laughed. “Well I think any guy can understand where I’m coming from there, mate. If you’re a rock star and you’ve gotta do a solo photo shoot for your new song, (which I didn’t want to do, may I add) and you’ve got a hot significant other, you have her do the shoot with you. Plain and simple.” Everyone laughed at his blatantly honest statement, and the interviewer continued asking the rest of the band questions. 

After the interview, the guys were in their shared dressing room, Roger fixing his hair at the mirror and Freddie and Brian gushing over pictures of John’s baby who just learned to walk. 

“Guys,” Roger started with a clear of his throat. 

They all turned up to look at him; it was obvious he was stressed about something. “Well you all know, uh. Y/N left to go back home the other day, and tonight is our second to last show in the states, and in like five days we go home, and do one more show in London to end our this tour, you know?” He was clearly sweating, scratching the back of his neck as he talked around what he was trying to get at. 

Deaky nodded confused, Freddie said “Yup?” 

“We know our schedule, Rog. What’re you trying to say?” Brian encouraged. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I miss Veronica too, even though you saw Y/N two days ago and I haven’t seen my wife or children for four months, but yeah, I get it.” Deaky added. 

“No, no. I um, uh-” Roger could barely form words. He covered his smile with his mouth as he looked down blushing. Unable to get out what he was trying to say, he unzipped the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small black box. “I’m gonna do it.” He laughed, opening it to reveal a huge pear shaped engagement ring. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me!” He smiled, his friends congratulating him with a huge hug. 

“Wow, you really went all in for that ring, didn’t you, Rog?” Brian asked. 

“Yeah, bought it on Rodeo Drive when we were in California at Cartier. You know how she is, the bigger the better. Had to impress my girl.” he gushed. 

“Well I’m so happy for you, Rog. She’ll definitely say yes. I see the way she looks at you.” John added. 

“Of course she will!” Freddie exclaimed. “Though I must say; I expected Brian to be the next to get married. Honestly thought you’d be the last. You just have that free attitude. I mean, you’re only 27, Darling.”

“I know, I know. I thought the same thing. But I’m just so happy. I never want to lose her. I know we’re young. We’re both free spirits, but together we ground each other. It’s just one of those things that works, you know?”

“When you know you know.” 

On the way back to the hotel room Roger couldn’t stop smiling, his years with you replaying in his head, going all the way back to the day you two met.

~~~~ 

It was an intro to dentistry class, only the second day of freshman year, and all the seats were filled in the lecture hall except for the one next to Roger. He knew everyone had been there the day before, so tried to figure out who was missing. Suddenly, you burst into class clad in your rock star aesthetic, popping your bubblegum ever so confidently, as you said, “Sorry I’m late,” to the professor. 

“You know, Miss...” He started.

“Y/L/N”

“Miss Y/L/N, if you were here maybe you’d know that chewing gum isn’t good for your teeth.” 

“Well Professor,” you started, noticing the teacup on his desk as you walked to the only open seat near the back. “Neither is tea; it stains them. Yet we all drink it anyways.” You smirked, plopping in the only free seat next to the wide eyed blonde boy. You relaxed back in your chair and put your feet up on the chair in front of you, red heels popping out of your black leather pants which you paired with a black leather jacket, some layered necklaces and a Led Zeppelin shirt. 

Roger was absolutely smitten. He loved your attitude. Finally, he thought, someone to rival him. Someone equal to his level of strong headed-ness. Then he noticed what you were wearing. He almost wore the same bloody thing. He had on his black leather trousers, red converse, a Led Zeppelin shirt (thank god it wasn’t the same one you had on), his gold layered necklaces and black leather jacket. You were missing the sunglasses though. Was he looking at an alternate version of himself?

“Hello, Love. I’m Roger.” He smirked. 

“Hi,” you smirked back, noticing how attractive he was. “I’m Y/N”

“Not gonna compliment my outfit?” 

“Huh?” You asked, confused. 

“Look at your outfit, Love. Now look at mine. See any coincidence?”

“Oh!” You laughed. “God, what’re the odds.” 

It was silent for a couple minutes until you let out a groan of exhaustion. “I don’t want to be here, my parents are making me go to school to be a bloody dentist. I just want to go home and get ready for tonight.” 

“Same thing is going through my mind, Love. I’ve got a gig tonight.” 

“Oh really? I love music. What do you play?” 

“Drums and sing a bit too.” He proudly smiled. 

“That’s great. Wish I played something.”

“I can teach you,” he encouraged. 

“I think I’d like that very much.” You smiled. “Where are playing later?”

“Imperial hall. You-“

You cut him off. “Really? You must be joking. You’re in Smile?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why I was saying I wanted to go get ready for tonight! I’m going to your gig!” 

“What are the odds?” He mimicked, making you giggle. “Hey, I’ll make sure you get a front row seat. Really, I mean it. I know how crazy those can get.” 

“Thanks.” You smiled as he put a strand of hair behind your ear. 

After class he called, “Hey, Y/N! I can't help but want to get to know you better. Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve gotta say I’m more of a whiskey girl than I am coffee.” 

God, she’s perfect. He thought. 

“Then the bar down the street it is.” Roger smiled. 

Your relationship didn’t turn romantic after that for a couple years, you and Roger were just the inseparable friends who spent at least two hours together every day, and everyone thought were twins because of how similar you were. You always flirted and held hands, but kept it platonic until about a year after Queen had formed.

You and Roger were living together as friends, and one night after a Queen gig got wasted playing truth or dare with Freddie and the rest of the band. You had on a tight, revealing red dress. Knowing you could never pass up the riskiest of questions, Freddie said, 

“Alright. We’ve been playing classic truth or dare for a while now. It’s time to spice it up. Who here is brave enough to do a truth and a dare that are connected at the same time?”

“Me! I’ll do it!” You burst up, making the four of them laugh. 

“Alright, Darling. I was hoping you’d chose to participate.” Freddie was trying to get you and Roger together. “Of the four of us, choose who you like the most and want to be in a relationship with the most, straddle them and make out with them for a full minute, and then tell us the truth of why you chose them.” 

“Deal.” You rose from your chair, gaze shifting between the four of them. You knew you’d choose Roger; had been in love with him for a while, but things had been going so well between the two of you for so long as friends you considered choosing Freddie just to make everyone laugh and not mess up anything between you and Roger. 

But you couldn’t do it. 

You turned to your left, locking eyes with your roommate as you straddled him, smirk on his face as your arms went around his neck, his hands reaching to your hair as your lips connected. The kiss was drunkenly passionate, the other three cheering the two of you on and counting to sixty as Roger’s hands roamed your back, your hands now tangled in his hair. You opened your mouth, his tongue immediately slipping in. 

“58!”

“59!”

“60!” They cheered as the two of you breathlessly broke away. 

“You chose me?” Roger questioned, astonished. 

“ ‘Course I chose you.” You smiled, turning around on his lap to face the other three, his arms still tightly wrapped around your stomach. 

“So,” Freddie smiled. “Why our Roggie boy?”

“God this is so embarrassing.” You blushed.

“Get on with it!” Deaky slurred.

“Firstly, you’re just as good if not a better kisser than I imagined,” you confessed, everyone laughing. “But I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, Rog. I’ve just never been able to tell you. So scared I’ll mess everything up. I mean, you’re my best friend, and my roommate. I could really screw up my whole life if you didn’t feel the same way. Do you know how hard it is to confess you’re in love with your best friend and have been for the last four years?”

“Yeah, I actually do.” Roger laughed, making you flick your head at him in shock. “Wait,” he said in realization, the alcohol impairing his thinking. “You’re in love with me too?” 

You nodded, smiling. 

“So we could’ve been together all this time, but we were too scared to mess anything up?” He said in disbelief. “God I’m such an idiot!”

“But you know now,” you teased. “And besides, relationships are better with an established friendship.” 

He sat there silenced for a couple moments, trying to process what had just happened. You and the other three couldn’t stop laughing at his thought process that was visually represented on his face. 

First he was shocked, then happy, excited, confused, angry, annoyed, shocked again, and then it just kept going in that order until he had a look of realization, standing up as he grabbed your hand. “We, um, we gotta go home. Kay bye!” He said, rushing out with you in tow, leaving you and the boys laughing like crazy. 

That night was a passionate night as soon as you had stepped through the door. The two of you had sex at least three times, maybe even more. After that day, you never really slept in your bedroom anymore. You gradually moved your things in with Roger, turning it into a spare room as your relationship blossomed. You never really had publicly described your relationship status, which was fine. To any outsider you were dating, and that’s fine because you essentially were, but really, the two of you were madly in love, and really that’s all that mattered. 

~~~~

Back in England, you just finished getting dressed, ready to walk onto the set of Good Morning Britain in a half hour. You were nervous; knew criticism was bound to come from your outfit, but it also gave you an adrenaline rush. You always liked some excitement. Your hair and makeup were styled impeccably, and you wore a pair of tightly fitted black jeans which were slightly frayed at the bottom and stopped at your ankles to show off your new sparkly heels. You paired the whole ensemble with a leather jacket; one that you found in Roger’s closet back at home, and that was it. No shirt, no necklace. Nothing. Just an open leather jacket to drive the modeling agencies crazy with your cleavage - but tastefully. Of course it was taped down with double sided tape, but one wrong move and you’d flash everyone. 

To calm your nerves, you decided to call Roger’s hotel room even though it was two in the morning back in the states. 

“Hello?” He tiredly said, half awake. His groggy voice put an immediate smile to your face. Roger was always so adorable when he had just woken up. Took him a bit to come to his senses sometimes. He always said the funniest things. 

“Hi, Baby.” You cooed. 

“Y/N?” He asked, clearly still kind of confused. 

“Yeah it’s me, Rog.” You giggled. 

“Do I need to come pick you up now?” He slurred. 

“What?”

“What?” He tiredly echoed, making you laugh.

“Roger wake up, it's me, Y/N.”

“Oh, oh. Sorry, sorry. I’m here now.”

You laughed. “What was that all about?”

“What was what about?” He said completely awake now. 

“You saying you had to come pick me up?”

“Oh, yeah. Think I had a dream where you were at a bar or something and didn’t want to leave and I had to go back and get you. Gimme a break, Love. It’s two in the morning here, you know.” He teased. 

“I know,” you smiled. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Miss you.” 

“Well I miss you too, my Love. It isn’t just a saying. The bed really is much colder without you.” 

His comment made you laugh. “You think that’s bad, try our bed back at home. It’s bloody awful.” 

“You know,” he yawned, “you’re usually pretty good about calling at a decent time for us both. Why are you calling so early?” 

“Nerves. I’ve got my interview in a half hour.” 

“You’re the most headstrong person I know beside myself. You’ll be fine.” 

“I know, but I never really do interviews. Just say a word or two when someone shoves a camera in your face. Never had one where I’m the Roger.” 

“The Roger?” He laughed. 

“You know, the famous person.”

“Ohh, righttt.” He smiled at your adorable comment. “Just keep your head together, be the personable girl you always are. Be the Y/N I know and you’ll be fine.” 

“What about the questions?” 

“Just answer the ones you want to, but answer them truthfully. You’re usually blatantly honest, so if you don’t like a question just tell ‘em. Or you can just dodge it. Both work equally as well. Being honest will show people your personality the best.” 

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And what if they ask about my modeling career?”

“Like I said, be honest. Tell ‘em you’re not a model. Tell ‘em about us, how the photo shoot came about.  All that.” 

“And if they ask if I have a manager?” 

“You don’t.”

“But-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off, “you don’t even work or have a job. I pay all the bills, which I’m completely fine with and don’t want to stop doing. I love providing for you. But like I said, don’t lie to say what they want to hear or they’ll just prove you wrong.” 

“Can I say you’re my manager?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, “Roger Taylor the best friend, manager, and uh,” he was unsure what you considered him in your eyes. 

“Boyfriend?”

“You consider me your boyfriend?” He asked, shocked. 

“Yeah,” You laughed, “you basically are anyways.” 

“Alright, I like the sound of that. Roger Taylor the boyfriend. So what’s your outfit look like? Sure you’re all dolled up per usual.”

“Oh, um,” for some reason you were nervous to tell him. Your outfit was something that's usually a bedroom thing between the two of you. You didn’t need his added comments to your nervousness right now. “Black. All black.”

“Ooh,” he cooed. “You know how much I love you in black. Take a picture for me.” He imagined your in a tight, straight fitting, lace, black dress. 

“Of course.” Although it’ll probably end up on the news in America later if I get the shock factor I’m looking for, you thought. “I’ve got those new sparkly heels on you got for me too.” 

“I’m sure you look gorgeous.”  He yawned. “Alright, Love, I had a show tonight and I have another and some traveling tomorrow. I’m exhausted and really need some rest. You’re gonna do great.” He smiled. 

“Thanks.” You smiled back. Though neither of you could see, you could hear the smile in each other’s voices. 

“Goodnight, Baby.” 

“Goodnight Rog, sweet dreams, Love.”

Just as you hung up you heard, “Miss Y/L/N! Five minutes!” 

~~~~~~

The woman sitting across from you shook your hand as you sat down, eyes slightly widening from the shock factor of your outfit. 

“So good to have you here with us this morning, Y/N.” She smiled. 

“So good to be here,” you smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be on the morning show ever since I was a little girl.” 

“So the last couple weeks have been crazy for you, haven’t they?” 

“Oh yeah, total change in my life.” You laughed. “I mean, I was kind of used to the cameras from Roger, but it was never like it is now. I mean they’re everywhere. Everyone has a question, I’m on covers of magazines. It really makes you want to look your best all the time when people are constantly taking photos of you and publishing them.” 

“And the calls?” 

“Oh yeah, that too,” you continued, kicking yourself in the head for not adding that in. “Course that has been crazy too. The phone’s literally off the hook. I just got back from tour with Queen in America a couple days ago to come here today, so I mean of course I was getting some while I was there, but I assume it was harder for the agencies to locate me then. Now that I’m back home it’s just non stop modeling agency after modeling agency ringing me up, one offering me more money than the last, all trying to get me to sign a deal.” 

“And you haven’t accepted one yet,” the interviewer, said perplexed. “Do you realize you’re being called the most beautiful girl in England? Some sources even say most beautiful girl in the world. Why haven’t you taken this opportunity?”

“Oh I don’t really know,” you laughed. “The game of continuously turning them down is kind of fun to me, I must admit. But really, I’m happy with the way everything is. I mean being a model is every little girl's dream, but I’ve never been looking to make a career out of it. I don’t need it. Roger and I are happy just the way everything is. We don’t need anymore money. If the right one comes along, then sure, maybe I’m interested. But really it just was never part of my plan.” 

“Can you explain how this craze to get you to sign a modeling contract came about?”

“Sure,” you laughed. “Sorry, it still sounds so funny to me. Well, Roger has a solo album coming out soon, and he had to do some promotional pictures.”

“For those who don’t know, could you say who Roger is to you?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “well I’m in a relationship with Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen. We’ve been together for a while now, and have been best friends even longer. Can’t imagine my life without him.” You gushed, earning an “awe” from the studio audience. “Anyways, he’s coming out with his first solo album soon and had to do some promotional photos, which he hates doing, so he asked if I’d go along with it, so I did, and then it just kind of expanded from there. We went all out.” 

“I’d say you did,” the interviewer smiled, holding up some photos of you and Roger in the photo shoot, (I imagine Kylie Jenner and Travis Scott’s GQ photoshoot) earning hoots and hollers from the audience. “What made you choose the outfit you’re wearing today?” 

“Well that’s a rude question.” You retorted. 

“I-I’m sorry.” The interviewer stumbled. “I like your outfit, I was just wondering how you chose it.” 

“Oh, well, wanted to show a little more. I mean you are all referring to me as a model after all; might as well dress like it. And besides this is Roger’s jacket.” You said, tugging lightly on the collar. 

And then you felt it. The release of the tightness on the skin of your breasts, the double sided tape breaking loose from your breasts from the change in pressure from your slight pulls. 

And then it happened. The right side of the jacked flew open a little bit.

And you noticed. 

The interviewer noticed; you saw it on her face. 

The crowd noticed; you heard it from the gasp. 

And the camera caught it. 

The camera caught you flashing all of Britain on live television. 

Hey, you thought in a state of panic, at least it was the good side. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Knock, knock, knock.

Roger groggily awoke from his sleep checking the clock. 

3:30 AM. 

Only an hour and a half after you had called him. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Roger, darling. You’ve got to turn on the news. It’s Freddie, Brian, and John.” He said giddily. He was excited about something. 

Roger stumbled out of bed, unlocking the door and flopping back onto his pillow as Freddie grabbed the remote, hurriedly putting on the news. 

“Look, Rog!” Freddie encouraged. 

And then he heard it. 

“Roger Taylor’s girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N flashes all of Britain, and now the world on her interview with Good Morning Britain.” 

Roger shot straight up, watching it again and again. It was being blown out of proportion, yet at the same time was extremely noticeable. It made him turned on while also making him extremely jealous.  

The whole world just got to see something that was only supposed to be his. 

~~~~ 

You cried to Roger on the phone after his concert that night. How embarrassed you felt. How sorry you were. 

He did his best to calm you down, almost blowing up at one point, but he kept his emotions in control. Decided he couldn’t start a fight with you if he was going to propose soon. 

It was just the idea that the whole world saw something that he considered his, saw a part of you nude made him upset. 

It made him jealous. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Weeks Later: 

Roger had been home for a week, and you were feeling on top of the world. It was nice to not have to worry about traveling for a little bit, about where he was and if he made it there safely. It was nice to feel like a normal couple that lived together for a little bit. 

The media had been ruthless. You took it hard at first, all the media calling you a slut, a whore. Saying Roger had been dating a prostitute and that the two of you tried to cover it up. You stayed in bed for a couple of days. Didn’t want to leave the house, turn on the TV, or look at the newspaper without Roger. You didn’t answer the phone to anyone. Only called Roger once a day. When he came home he found you in bed looking like a complete mess. Dark eyes, only wearing one of his sweatshirts. Glasses of water around the room, an empty bag of chips on the end table. The lights were dimmed and there was a box of tissues on your chest. He didn’t say anything when he saw you, and he didn't have to. He just held you in his arms as you cried. 

It was all over soon enough though. As Freddie assured you, any media is good media. It brought attention to your name. Soon enough, your were out of your funk and getting free things from big designers in the mail. It all ended up alright. 

Roger told you he had to run out and do a couple errands, and to be ready for dinner at six. He said he had some surprises coming throughout the day, so to be prepared. Little did you know he was planning on proposing that night. You awoke to his absence, still in your lingerie from the night before to a new, versace, fluffy bathrobe with a note on the hanger hanging from the bedpost across from you. It read:

“Love you more, xoxo, Roger.” 

You smiled as you put it on, hearing the doorbell ring and starting the trek through your mansion to the front door. 

“Oh my god, he didn’t.” You said to yourself as you stepped out of the master bedroom.  There were photos covering the floor everywhere. Photos of the two of you. You picked one up. It was of a day you and Roger went on a hike back in college. It brought a smile to your face as you stuffed it in the pocket of your robe. You walked a little further, looking over the banister into the living room and foyer and down the stairs. At your feet was a photo you took of him when you went skiing last winter. Everywhere was covered with photos of the two of you. There were repeats, but it didn’t matter. Of course there’d be some repeats, he had a lot of floor space to cover. The pictures on the stairs made you smile the most, or instead just picture, singular. The stairs were covered in Roger’s favorite picture of you, a photo of you upside down, playing Tenement Funster on the guitar, which he had taught you because he thought it was the easiest to play. He took copies of that picture everywhere. Kept one in his pocket, one in his wallet, one taped on the side of his drum. One stuck in the mirror in your bedroom, one framed in the living room downstairs, one framed in his music room. It was everywhere. He said he never wanted to forget it. There was a poster board taped to the wall to the side of the stairs with “The love of my life, Y/N” and an arrow down written on it in sharpie, which made you giggle. Little by little, you picked up your favorite pictures, some of which you didn’t know existed, and put them in the pocket of your robe. 

You made your way to the front door, unlocking it to find a huge bouquet of roses. There were easily six dozen roses, maybe even more. God, he was extravagant. But it made you smile. The card on top read, “Love you most, xoxo, Roger”. 

Man, he really knew how to make a girl swoon. Around one, someone came with a dress bag. “Miss Y/L/N?” They asked as you opened the door. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m with Versace. Mr. Taylor designed this dress for you.” 

“Oh!” You said, clearly shocked. “Thank you,” You smiled, taking the bag and tipping the man. You hurried upstairs, careful to not trip on all the photos, and hung the dress in your walk in closet, eagerly unzipping the bag. 

It took your breath away. 

There was a strapless, scoop necked satin, floor length, white dress. It had a high slit on the left side with a black stripe. It was gorgeous. It came with a matching black handbag and strappy black heels. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world. 

“Wear this to dinner tonight, there will be people coming to do your hair, makeup and nails at four, I’m coming home around 5:30. Love you to the moon and back, xoxo, Roger.” Read a note that fell out of the shoe box. You went downstairs to eat lunch, gathering some more photos of you and Roger as you walked past them. 

By four you were in your dress, literally feeling dressed to the nines, the stylists setting up camp in a spare room upstairs so Roger wouldn’t see you until you got ready. You heard him come home at 5:30, just like he said. He sounded so excited as he talked to you through the door, telling him you were almost done as he retired to the master bedroom to get on his tux, praying that everything went well tonight. 

The stylists left around 5:50 leaving you with long, wavy curls, a beautiful, glammed up makeup look, and a white and black French manicure. Roger was waiting for you downstairs, pacing back and forth from his nerves. 

“You ready down there?” You called. 

“ ‘Course! Been dying to see you all day.” He smiled.”

“Okay then,” you said, opening the door to walk down to him, his head flicking up as you appeared at the top of the stairs. 

“Wow.” He said, breath taken away from him. 

You lowly made your way down, careful not to slip on any photos as he picked you up off the last step, spinning you around as he kissed your cheek. 

“You look gorgeous. Just like I imagined this dress would look.” He gushed. 

“So you really did design it?” 

“Yup.” 

“Wow.” You didn’t know what to say. “Not that I want you to stop, but why all the gifts today?” You smiled, caressing his cheek. 

“You’ll find out later.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple as he grabbed your hand, leading you out the front door to his car. “Hey, has anyone ever told you that you should be a model?” He joked. 

“Oh shut up.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brought you to the Cordón Bleu, the most expensive restaurant in London. As he pulled up, he said, “You go inside, Love. I’m going to park the car. I’ll be in in a minute.” The two of your separated with a quick kiss as you strutted inside, cameras flashing in your face.

When you walked in, the receptionist at the front desk called your name, shocking you. “Y/N?”

“Oh my god, Mark?!” You ran over to him, embracing him in a hug. You and Mark hooked up a couple times in college when you and Roger were still just friends. 

“Hi! You look amazing!” 

“Oh, thank you! So do you! How’s life?”

“It’s alright,” he laughed. “You seem to have made out much better than I did.”

“Well, Roger made out well. I just happened to be his girlfriend.” You laughed. 

“Yeah. Believe me, I know about that.” He laughed. Just then Roger walked in. “But everything they’ve been saying is true. You’re really the most beautiful girl in England.” 

Roger heard what he said. Saw who it was. Mark. His blood boiled in his veins, fist wrapping tightly around the ring box. 

“Thank you,” you blushed, as Roger’s arm snaked its way around your waist. 

“Oh, Darling look! It’s Mark!” You smiled. 

“Hey.” Roger stated, monotone, as he stuck out his hand to shake Mark’s. 

“Hey, mate! Great to see you again. You music with Queen is some of my favorites. Always gush about how I went to college with you two! Anyways, Y/N. I saw your interview the other day, for your first interview you did great. I was very interested.” He smiled. He didn’t mean it maliciously at all, however Roger took it the wrong way. 

“Thank yo-” You started, but Roger cut you off. 

“Hey, Mark, was it? I’d really prefer it if you didn’t talk about my girlfriend’s tits in front of me. Or actually, how about you just don't talk about them at all?” He snapped, catching you and Mark off guard. 

“I-I wasn’t.” Mark stuttered. 

“What has gotten into you?!” You whispered in Roger’s ear as he grabbed your hand protectively as he approached the host table which Mark stood behind. 

“If you don’t mind, mate, I’d like to be seated now.” Roger coldly insisted.

“Of course, you had the private room upstairs rented out, right?” 

Roger nodded.

“Alright then, this way.” Mark said, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Actually,” Roger interjected, “would you mind if she brought us to our seats? I don’t need someone from my past ruining this day for me.” He said, coldly snapping at Mark. 

Mark looked at him, confused to say the least. Your expression matched his, astonished that Roger could be so rude. 

“Excuse me, Ann. Mr. Taylor would like you to bring him and Ms. Y/L/N to their room.” he said. 

“Sure, right this way.” She smiled, leading the two of you to the stairs.

Roger’s grip on your hand was tight. You followed the hostess first as he trailed behind you, leaving one last dig as he said, “Oh, and Mark. Make sure you’re not our waiter.”

You gasped back at him in disbelief. 

The room was gorgeous, there were roses everywhere, a table lit by candlelight waiting for the two of you in the center. Roger pulled out your seat for you, sitting across from you as he looked down in concentration. 

Avoiding looking at you. 

He tapped his fingers on the menu to keep himself occupied, his nostrils flaring in anger. The silence in the room was deafening; you could literally cut the tension with a knife. 

“Roger,” you tentatively started, “Darling, I think you might be confused. That was Mark, remember? Remember how we used to all hang out in college?”

“I remember hearing you scream his name on the other side of the wall as he fucked you to sleep each night for a couple months.” He snapped back, eyes locking with yours. 

“Okay, what is your problem? We never fight like this, we tell each other everything!” You exclaimed. 

“You want to know my problem, Y/N? Tonight was supposed to be perfect, but that asshole just went and ruined it. Showed me we’re not actually exclusive.” 

“What’re you talking about? Roger we’ve been exclusive for the last three years!” 

“I knew I should have properly asked you out so you knew we were in a relationship. Then other guys wouldn’t think you’d just fuck them behind my back.” 

“Roger! How dare you? I’d never cheat on you! We’ve lived together for eight years. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“Obviously not; I saw the way he was flirting with you.” He whined. 

“So what if he was flirting with me? I wasn’t flirting with him! That’s what’s important! And I wouldn’t flirt with him, or anyone else for that matter, Roger, because I’m in love with you. Besides, if I’m going to be a model, you’ve got to get used to people hitting on me, and be confident that I love you and only you. What more do I need to say?” You said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. 

“Really?” 

“Yes!” You sighed. It was silent for a moment as the waitress came in to pour your champagne and take your orders, then silent for a little while longer. He broke the silence.”

“I’m sorry, Love.” He finally muttered.

You looked up at him, awaiting more of an apology as two salads were placed in front of the two of you. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he continued, “I had such a perfect idea of today in my mind with the photos, and the flowers, and the dress, and dinner, and then, well you know, but then I saw him. Saw the way he looked at you, remembered how he made you feel all those years ago, and I just couldn’t handle it. I’d never been more jealous in my life. I don’t ever want to live without you.”

“Rog,” you smiled, reaching across to grab his hand. “I don’t ever want to live without you either. You don’t have to worry, Baby. I’m not going anywhere.” You finally had brought a smile to his face. “So what if there was a little hiccup in your perfect day? There’s been so much good, it doesn’t even matter.” You smiled. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning across to peck your lips, deciding to wait until the end of the meal to pop the question. 

“And besides, the sex with you has always been much better.” You winked.

~~~~

Your meal was great, honestly the best food you’d ever had. Roger’s mood improved drastically as the night went on, the two of you joking and laughing per usual. At the end of your romantic dinner you were sharing a huge piece of six layer chocolate cake, Roger putting Fred Astaire’s version of The Way You Look Tonight on the record player in the corner of the room. Roger kept taking photos of you with his Polaroid camera, made you laugh by saying you could add them to the floor when you got home. You could tell he was nervous about something, kept stuttering on about every word he said, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered, blowing out a huff of air and catching your attention. “So I’m sure you’ve realized this isn’t your normal date, right? I mean I think I’ve managed to go a little more “all out” than I usually do, right?”

“Yes, Roger.” You laughed. “Look around us. Look at my dress, my makeup, my nails. You’ve certainly set the standard for the best date ever.”

“Good, good.” He looked down, nodding to arrange his thoughts. “Okay,” he said, getting up and grabbing your hands as he pulled you up, walking to the window to overlook the city skyline. “Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you, that first day back at uni. You’re the only girl I’ve ever been nervous to ask out and, hey, I guess I never did.” He said, making the two of you laugh. 

“What’re you doing?” You said, choked up as you knew what was coming next. 

“But I never had to ask you out, Love. That’s what makes things so great between us. We just work. But I don’t want it to be like that for the next big milestone in our relationship, that’s why I’m doing what I am now, because I want everything to be perfect. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on inside and out, and I can’t imagine spending any day not waking up next to you and I don’t want to. You’re my other half, Love, you complete me better than anyone else ever has and I’m never going to let anything change that. I’m so happy at where we are now and I’m ready to start a life with you start a family with you, Y/N. I know we’re young but that doesn’t change the way I feel for you. So, Darling,” he started, getting down on one knee as you gasped. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, please baby, please do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the world, by being my wife. Y/N,” he said, taking a box out of his pocket and opening it in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” You gasped, tears openly flowing down both of your faces. He looked nervous, unsure of what your face meant. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You screamed, as he scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around as your lips connected passionately. 

“Oh my god,” you continued, smile never leaving your face. You were shaking from shock and excitement. “It all makes sense now,” you laughed. “Why you got so jealous. It doesn’t matter. I love you so much.” You smiled, connecting your lips to his. 

“You gonna put it on? Spent a lot of money on it, it’s the least you could do.” He joked. 

“Of course.” You smiled. “Wait, my hands are too shaky I don’t wanna drop it, can you?” You asked, making him laugh as he took the ring out of the box. 

“Sure, Love. You’re too cute.” He chuckled. “And look, there’s our initials on the inside of the ring.” 

That just made you cry of joy even more as he slipped the ring on your finger, the two of you a crying, smiling, laughing, kissing mess. 

Roger paid the bill and the two of you walked out laughing together, hand in hand. He scooped you in his arms bridal style as you stepped out of the building, cameras immediately in your face, photographers screaming,

“Y/N!” 

“Roger!”

“Mr. Taylor, what’s the occasion!”

He set you down as you walked to Vogue, the biggest editorial that was there. 

“You wanna know what’s going on?” You asked, silencing the crowd and chorus of questions along with it.  

“We’re getting married!” You said, shooting your hand out as countless cameras were snapped, the photographers taking your “engagement photos” all of which actually came out well. You were mailed the prints a week or so later. 

“Thank you!” They shouted after the two of you. 

“Thank you, Miss. Y/L/N!” 

“Hey!” You turned around, looking at Roger as he read your mind, knowing what you were about to say so he just said it for you. 

“You can start calling her Mrs. Taylor.” The two of you smiled, Roger scooping you up to bring home his fiancée. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I’m also so proud of this one! As always, send an ask of a plot and I’ll write you a oneshot, and let me know what you think of this one!

[thewebcomicsreview]

All Elite Wrestling has a storyline where the main good guy, Cody Rhodes, was screwed out of the world title by his protege, Maxwell Jacob Friedman (MJF). Cody is now forbidden from ever challenging for the world title ever again ever (which is carefully phrased so that he can get the champion to challenge him, but shhh), and he wants a match with MJF so that he can get revenge. MJF had a list of stipulations: Cody can't touch him before the match or the match is off. Cody has to defeat Big Minion Guy in a cage, and Cody has to let MJF whip him with a leather belt ten times.(Content warning for, um, welts. It’s not as violent as the VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED warning in the title implies)

That last one is weird. Even in wrestling, that's weird. And there was a lot of groaning and speculation when this stip was announced. Perhaps there'd be some kind of swerve, like Cody whips MJF and MJF is so mad he challenges Cody to the match anyway, even though Cody broke the rules? Surely, they wouldn't have their main good guy come out and stand stand there while MJF fifty shades'd him. He'd look like such a loser! 

But, in fact, that's exactly what happened. And it was great, it got AEW some of it's best ratings in months, and wrestling forums were full of dudes saying they were literally crying. So, what the fuck? How did "Pro wrestler gets slapped a bunch" become such a big deal? And can we learn from this as creators? 

First, they just spent a lot of time building this up. MJF betrayed Cody all the way back in November, and MJF and Cody have been talking about this ten lashes thing for weeks. Literally anything can be a big major moment if you hype it up enough. I've talked about, say, Prequel, and how all the misery porn made the eventual turn to Katia as an actual factual action hero so amazing and satisfying, but this is true for anything. Gunnerkrigg Court makes it a huge deal when Anthony tells a joke in front of his daughter, for instance. 

But the much more interesting thing they did is something they did in the same episode that the whipping happened. MJF gave an interview where he hyped up the whipping and made a point of stating that, should Cody wuss out before taking all ten lashes, then he would get nothing. And, when you think about it: Duh. Obviously that's how it works. The rule is that Cody has to take ten lashes, so if he gives up at nine he didn't take ten and thus no match. This doesn't need to be explained to you. But because they explained it to you, the entire scene changed. Before, the segment was "Cody will get whipped ten times", which is a statement. But by raising the possibility of him giving up, the segment changes to "Can Cody survive getting whipped ten times?", which is a question, and questions are a lot more dramatic than statements. If Cody were tied to a post and wasn't able to quit and was just getting whipped, it's not really a story. If Cody has to hold on and MJF is trying to get him to quit? That's a story. There's suspense, and there's tension, and that tension can build. 

And the tension builds to a climax is a very shounen anime way, not just in the broad strokes but in the details of how these characters change over the course of the scene: 

Cody comes out, and MJF is totally smug and evil. Cody, big tough action hero protagonist of a wrestling show, takes one whip with grace, but MJF's feeling pretty good. A bunch of butchers, bunnygirls, dentists and other ne'er-do-wells all come out to watch. Already the stakes are escalating, because now Cody has a jeering crowd. MJF does a second whip, and tries to goad Cody into hitting him, because that will get Cody to not get the match. Cody doesn't take the bait, because he's powered by the desire for revenge, and MJF starts getting irritated. He hits Cody with a bit of a running start, much harder. Cody goes down, collapses, after only three hits. The stakes are raised even further: Cody can't do this. He's going to lose. His coach comes out to give him advice and moral support. MJF, who's apparently aware of the power of friendship, gets super mad and drives Arn off, but Cody is powered up enough to take another hit. Cody gets up and takes a fourth whipping. MJF starts screaming at Cody to quit, because that's what MJF really wants. Cody gets up and appeals to the fans to support. The power of the scene is starting to change. It's starting to look like Cody might win. MJF whips him again and starts screaming at him to quit. We're five whips in, and it's not just "thwack thwack thwack", each whip is actually advancing the story.  

We're five hits in, so it's time for Act 2. Cody's older brother Dustin comes out and tries to sacrifice himself and take the remaining whips himself. MJF refuses, and says "It has to be him". Dustin gives Cody some moral support. MJF tries to get it off by doing whips six and seven really fast. His entire demeanor's changed. He's losing, and he knows it. You can see it in his face (MJF's facials during this leather whipping scene are great). He goes for whip eight, as hard as he can, but the power of friendship is too strong. Cody gets up and flips MJF. MJF is hopping mad, what is he going to do? He winds up for whip nine, even though he clearly knows it's not going to work (For it is he who has given up!), but Big Minion Guy stops him. MJF had not too minutes ago stopped someone from taking Cody's place, but he has no problem letting someone take his place. 

Remember what I said about how making you wait for things makes them bigger? This is a great example. BMG has been around for a month or so, but this is the first time he's actually done literally anything besides stand next to MJF and be a big minion guy. BMG hits Cody way harder than MJF did, and even the power of friendship can't save Cody, who collapses dead. (Wow, this dude dropped Cody in a single hit! How can Cody possibly beat him in a cage match in two weeks?! Wow, this scene isn't just telling a story, it's subtly setting up the next chapter!). MJF declares victory, everyone despairs. It's the part in the second act of the story where everything's fucked right before the climax, and that climax comes in the form of Cody's wife Brandi making an appearance, which is a bit of a surprise for reasons I won't go into, but anyway he wife shows up and gives him a pep talk. MJF is freaked out, he says "shit" on live TV he's so freaked out, and now Cody has something even more powerful than friendship. 

He has love.

He gets up, he survives, MJF gives him one last whip on the nips, but his heart isn't in it. He lost. Cody stands triumphant, as MJF fumes 

Then MJF kicks Cody in the nuts and runs away for dear life because he's an asshole and he's so great, and we go to commercial as a plant "fan" is so mad he tries to fight MJF and gets beat up.

And this whole shtick is all about pro wrestling, but these basic rules apply to nearly any scene you want to be dramatic. You could replace the harder whips with an anime transformation, or a harder question on a test, or really anything you like. Every single thing that happens either ups the stakes of the peril the hero is in, or gives him another tool to combat that peril, all while advancing the character relationships (and building up a later challenge), and building to a satisfying climax in a segment that follows the three act structure all by itself. Even though the plot is really really simple, and even though this is basically a pro wrestling match with only one move, the way it builds tension is excellent and worth studying.

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Memes (Peter Parker x Male Reader)

The memes wanted to come out. We had STEM/nerd me, now have vines/memes me.Sorry, the gif is real cool but Iron Man doesn’t actually show up. Maybe in a future fic. Pride month post #4 haha I’m a procrastinator

Word count: 1686

Tony Stark sent a message out to a few people around the world, informing them that there was something going down in Monaco and he needed people to stop it. Of course it wasn't the Avengers' level kind of problem, but they did need people who could take down a superpowered villain.

Two of those people were Spider-Man and Shuri. Despite the fact that they made jokes over the coms constantly, they never got distracted and worked extremely well together. Peter Parker was horrible at keeping his secret identity, so if course Shuri and Peter knew that the other was a teenager. They bonded over memes and vines and typical teenage internet stuff. Their current situation was no different.

"Shuri, get that guy!" he called into the coms and kicking a traffic light flying at him to the ground.

"Be more specific."

"The bottom left window on the building to your right!"

She began to run towards the window, helping the man out of the building and getting him to safety. A boulder of bricks formed and flew towards Spider-Man. Before it moved very far, it was shot out of the air with one made of ice, effectively stopping it as it dropped to the floor.

"What's up, its ya boi, Frozone!" you yelled, sliding in on a sheet of ice.

"Oh my god! Frostbite!" Spider-Man exclaimed.

"Spider-Man, Shuri! Sorry I'm a little late."

A few more objects from around you began to group together and shoot at the three of you. Spider-Man dodged and webbed them, you froze them, and Shuri blasted them to nothing. A brick nearly hit your arm and you yelped in shock, freezing it quickly.

"Whoever threw that brick, your mom's a hoe!" you shouted into the street.

"Over there!" Shuri called.

You and Spider-Man looked where she was pointing: the roof of a (very tall) building where a bunch of objects were accumulating.

"Look at all those chickens!" Spider-Man gasped.

You and Shuri snickered as he began to climb and swing his way up. You used your ice to get yourself and Shuri up to the roof.

"Hey!" you shouted once you reached the top. "This is why mom doesn't fucking love you!"

The figure turned to you and they threw their arms forward, everything from cars to pencils flying towards all of you. Once again, you all did what you could to avoid getting hit, and Shuri emerged from the stream of objects to deliver a punch to the person's face. They blocked it with their arm, but was thrown backwards by the strength of the vibranium. They got up again and pushed her back with a lamppost. Spider-Man caught her with a web and pulled her next to him.

"I'm gonna rip your fucking face off!" Shuri yelled.

"What did they do to you?" you and Spider-Man asked simultaneously.

You gave each other a high five before turning back to the attacker recovering quickly.

"They fucking pushed me!" Shuri exclaimed, shooting a couple of blasts into the cloud of objects.

"Okay, can we come up with an actual plan or something? Cause we really gotta stop this person," you told the other two.

They just shrugged, and Shuri blasted a path towards the person. You iced everything around the sides of the path. The three of you ran in, you quickly freezing the person in place and Spider-Man webbing them up.

"Give it up. Either you continuously throw things at us that we'll avoid or you stop and come with us," you told them, and the figure looked up.

"I-I'm sorry, what? Why am I here?"

It was a young girl who looked confused and honestly scared out of her mind.

"I don't remember anything. I was with my dad in the dentist's office and then..." she trailed off, her voice breaking and her bottom lip beginning to quiver.

"Hey, you're alright," Shuri said, rushing over and motioning for you and Spider-Man to take the webs down. "What's your name?"

"I'm not supposed to give my name to strangers," she said. "Ow! My elbow! I think it's broken!"

Spider-Man had pulled off the webs and you had let down the freezing on her body to see the elbow that she used to block Shuri's blow with was definitely out of place.

"I'm about to say it," Spider-Man said instantly.

"I don't care that you broke your elbow," you replied, giving him another a high five.

The girl laughed, giving you three a bright smile.

"I know that one! But please, it's hurting."

Spider-Man used the webs he had taken off her to make a sling, and you three helped her up and into Shuri's ship.

"So I'm going to assume it was mind-control, but the powers might be hers," you observed, staring straight into her eyes with Spider-Man sitting next to her. "Okay, I want you to think really hard and bring this into your hand."

You held up a pen flat on your palm, giving her a small smile. She stared at it, squinting her eyes a little before the pen flew from your hand into hers.

"Do you remember anything about the dentist's office? Or where your dad is?" Spider-Man questioned, taking the pen and throwing it back to you.

"I remember I was standing outside, and then there was this really scary man, and he snapped his fingers and I couldn't remember anything else."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Everything was covered. He was wearing a black suit like this one and he had a cape."

She poked Spider-Man's arm, who poked hers back and they began a poking war.

"Well, I guess we're looking for someone else. Someone who knows if someone has mind powers of some sort and can control people. We gotta find her father, fix the city up, and get this little one to safety," Shuri said from her spot at the wheel.

"Ooh, bonding time!" you exclaimed.

"Frostbite, no time for jokes. Only memes. And just to let you know, we'll be there soon."

It was a pretty busy day in the Avengers Tower. Agents were walking around and there was a lot of paperwork. Spider-Man was just laying on the sofa doing his homework and you were making lunch for the two of you. Your alarm sounded and you quickly threw the now finished food onto two plates. You ran straight for your room for your superhero suit.

"Honey, where is my super suit?!" you shouted.

"I put it away!" Spider-Man yelled.

"The world is in danger!"

"My afternoon is in danger! We've been planning this lunch for two months!"

"You tell me where my suit is, Spider-Man!"

He popped into your room, shoving your suit into your hands. The eyes of his suit widened.

"Oh my god. Frostbite. Oh god, you're cute. Oh no."

His alarm went off and he ran out of your room. You touched your face, realising that you had removed it in your stress of finding your suit. You groaned in frustration of Spider-Man knowing your face and quickly changing into your suit, blushing despite your attempts to calm yourself down.

You hummed as you carefully held the now microwaved pastry in one hand, grabbing a fork to take it to your room. Everyone else knew your identity, and Spider-Man was the only one who didn't until you took your mask off that one time. Lately, he was avoiding you, probably because he outright said to your face that you were cute. You didn't really see why that was a problem.

You turned and jumped at seeing someone there placing the plate down on the counter.

"I coulda dropped my croissant!" you exclaimed, putting a hand to your chest. "Who are you?"

"I'm, uh, Peter Parker," the brunet teen told you, not meeting your eyes. "I intern for Mr. Stark."

"Oh, I know someone who interns for him too. I think he might be starting a group. Don't really know why, he can hire the best from anywhere in the world to do his bidding," you joked as you picked your plate back up. "It was nice to meet you, Parker."

You walked to your room quickly, turning the corner and immediately mouthing to yourself curses at how attractive the boy was. Once you reached your room, you set everything down on your bed and went back to close the door, jumping once again when you saw the same boy standing there.

"Holy crap, you really gotta stop that. I have loose fingers, and if I have a weapon in my hand, you're gonna lose your head," you warned. "Not a threat."

"I'm a bad bitch, you can't kill me," Peter replied almost instantly.

His confidence in that one sentence made you furrow your eyebrows at him. You took a few steps towards him slowly until you were in front of him.

"Do I... know you?" you asked.

"I may have called you attractive about two weeks ago and avoided you since then," he admitted quietly. "Hi Frostbite."

"Oh my god. YOU'RE Spider-Man?!" you shouted. "I'm cute?! I'm not cute. Look at yourself!"

He blushed instantly, stuttering a few words in response before giving up and resorting to avoiding your gaze.

"If your name is Peter, and you're really handsome, come on raise your hand," you sang quietly.

He snickered and looked up into your eyes. Without looking away, he took your wrist and raised your hand in the air.

"Your name isn't Peter but I think you're very handsome," he admitted.

You both smiled at each other for a moment before you remembered your heated pastry.

"Did you want to hang out here for a bit? I'm about to go on a Gravity Falls and Adventure Time binge," you told Peter, gesturing to your bed.

"Is this our first date?" Peter joked.

"Hell yeah. I love you, bitch."

"I ain't ever gonna stop loving you, bitch."

[justamomwithacomputer]

You think wedding planning is hard? Try doing it in the middle of a world pandemic, and an old fashion family feud.

Going to the chapel, and going to get married.

My daughter is getting married.  Her Fiancé and her have been engaged since summer of 2018.  They are a smart young couple who have all their ducks in a row.  Both have good jobs, dept. free (less a small amount of School loans) and have a nice little nest egg of savings to buy a house. They have traveled, had many adventures across the globe.  They were engaged in Barcelona, and this doesn’t even touch the list of places they have traveled together.  The love life and live it to the fullest each and every day. Even if it’s a walk on the boardwalk, or down to the local coffee shop, a nice lunch or bar for a cocktail.  They enjoy staying in and cooking new things, try new recipes and live a very healthy lifestyle. They love the Lakers, and very rarely miss watching a game. Even if not televised on their network of stations, they find a place to go watch. (when they are playing)

Better to vent on paper, than react with killing people.

Now to bring you to the reason I am writing this all out on paper.  My daughter is so excited to be part of this big wonderful Family, and we are so happy to welcome her Fiancé’ into our family. This young couple have been together for over 5 years, and have been planning their wedding for over a year and a half.  So Covid-19 has really set the Bride/Groom (everyone involved really) into a whirlwind of emotions, uncertainties and sometimes anger!  They asked themselves, are we going to be able to get married, do we have to postpone, cancel, move venues…. Nightmare Right!?  Some might think….. just postpone?  Well as you can tell a little about them by the beginning of this, they have a plan. The plan does not include postponing the wedding.  So as if a world Pandemic wasn’t enough, we have two dueling Mothers…. Hold on, not the Mother of the Bride, but the Mother (MOG) and Step Mother of the Groom (SMOG) acting like complete selfish, hateful and rude bitches! (sorry, I didn’t mention groom is from a split family). The two between each other don’t have a lot of communications, aside from a couple late night drunk text messages (from what MOG/SMOG have both shared), and just nasty words transmitted through other parties involved.  My daughter has tried to remain neutral and have relationships with both, as they will soon be her family.  She has a stronger relationship with one than the other, but that is based on the relationship her soon to be husband has with each.  Oh boy… to put it in a nutshell… these women have found a way to feud and put my daughter in the middle, along with many other victims.  My daughter has been used in a tug of war game between the two.  Mostly with assumption about how much one or the other is involved in the planning of the wedding, and even their assumption of my involvement has been miscued.  My daughter and soon to be son in law are very non-traditional and know their own vibe.  My daughter is very lucky to have a hands of fiancé that has helped plan and make decisions of what their wedding will look like.  So in all they have planned their entire wedding. (Keep in mind throughout this writing, that the parents of the Bride are paying the majority of the bill, with exceptions of a small cost of some rental furniture the FOG agreed to pay. The Bride and Groom have also taken on the complete Bar, and many other small things as well).  So to continue, there have been so many snarling comments from both MOG and SMOG that have been said to my daughter, things that are so unbelievably petty. As petty as they are at times, its abuse and becomes quite hurtful. I just ask myself why?  Why do these grown women treat my daughter so poorly?  My daughter is educated, has a BA, earned her teaching credentials and is working on her Masters. She holds a full time job earning a good salary.  She is beautiful, kind and generous with her time and sometimes goes above to keep the peace. Some might even be thinking; why would she still want to be part of this family.  Aside from the fact there are so many more amazing people in the family other than the MOG & SMOG, and of course the love she has for her soon to be husband, and the fact that he has stood by her side, one would of “taken the high road” (inside joke).  

A little to help you understand, or it will just seem unreal?

Back story…. Well, I won’t claim to know all the details, and don’t want to tell another women’s story.  Besides I have heard a little of both sides, and they don’t coincide.  Anyhow, I digress. MOG was married to Father of Groom (FOG)…. And one day she found out FOG was having a baby with the now SMOG. Now to clarify, the MOG and FOG were not divorce, but MOG thought (from how her story goes) she was a happily married with two young boys. (like 6 and 1.5 young). Fast forward 28 or more years later, the son is getting married to my daughter.  I’m sure it didn’t seem fast forward for all parties involved, but I wasn’t there.  I have heard stories from both women, and some a little crazy and neither paint a pretty picture of each other.  Hi I’m the Mother of the Bride… I’ve stayed neutral, stayed out of the drama and allowed my daughter to guide herself throw these rocky waters.  After all, she is the one marrying into this family.  Don’t get me wrong, I am 100% here for my daughter, I support her, give her advice and sometimes just hold her while she cries. Believe me when I say there have been times when I want to get in my car with a bat (and go play softball) or pick up phone and tell one of these ladies off.  However, my daughter is strong, smart and can handle herself.

This is where most of the fun begins.

These past two weeks have been a complete nightmare and a tale no one would believe unless it was in writing.  In the middle of a pandemic, we have riots and protest that engulf our lives. Police buildings being burnt down, looting, fighting and complete KAOS has taken over the world. Don’t get me wrong, changes need to be made and I am not saying the protesting is wrong, it just added a little more stress to a world that is already upside down with this COVID-19.   Not to even mention that USA is in the middle of an Election year.  This is just KAOS on top of KAOS, On top of KAOS…. And then you add the MOG & SMOG and it all seems a little un-real!

From the Start of the current storm.

Rewind about two weeks, and started with a little squabble between family (FOG side). SMOG went deep and attacked Brother of Groom, and then attacked a cousin and then continued to drag MOG through the mud with accounts that took place 25+ years ago?  I mean, my personal opinion, you sleep with another women’s husband, and wreck a household, you may have some consequences throughout your time.  Anyhow it came down to SMOG texting (not even a decent in person or very least pick up the phone) an apology.  My daughter let her know she accepts apology, but included how hurt she was that she was acting so hateful to the people she loves, and how it really has effected so many.  She added that she should get some help.  Well holy moly did that go off wrong!!!  SMOG came back with the a nasty, hateful Crazy effing text back!  Asking what help was she recommending.  Well my daughter is young, maybe a little naive to recognizing when a bomb is about to explode replied “you need to ask yourself that question”. After all anyone that would be so hateful, nasty and treat other people the way she had the previous couple days needs some kind of help.  POW POW…. Did that set off whatever unbalanced brain we are working with. SMOG came back asking my daughter where she got her Dr. degree and how she shouldn’t be giving advice she wasn’t qualified to give.  She added how wonderful of a SMOG she had been, and listed all her accolades of being a mother.  Most of which as mothers we all do.  I’m talking PTA, Volunteer positions at kid’s schools, taking to routine dr. and dentist along with toting them to all the extra activities kids participate in. So really just a bunch of noise, in addition to the continued bashing of the MOG. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the last comment she made attacking my daughter. She said that the only thig my daughter was worried about was this wedding, and to quote her “you don’t seem to care about much outside your white privileged wedding”.   Now that hit home a little funny because this wedding is not your Country club, spare no expense kind of wedding.  We have had to create a strict budget, and cut corners and find ways to have the dream wedding.  Yes, we are fortunate not to have run to Las Vegas or have a courthouse wedding, but definitely not a “White Privileged wedding”.   With all going on, we had to ask ourselves if SMOG learned a new saying amongst all the protest and riots. (ha ha).  Anyhow… that was funny, but incredible mean and hateful.  Some can already guess where this is going with upcoming wedding, if not let me illiterate. This was quickly finding SMOG on the un-invited list.  My daughters’ Fiancé got on phone and called his dad to find out what the heck was going on.  Not to share confidential information, the outcome was she would not come to the upcoming Bridal Shower and they would work day to day to see if she would be an invited guest at wedding.

Bridal Shower planning

My daughter has a large squad of friends who are amazing, and she has very special friendships with so many young ladies who she has met throughout her adolescent years, throughout her college and now profession life.  Many live out of state, and one even out of the country.  None local to host a bridal shower, so as the MOB I of course wanted my daughter to have an amazing shower, where we could come together and celebrate my girl.  Her Maid of Honor (MOH) who lives just a couple states away co-host with me and we worked together to have a “Garden” themed Bridal Shower at my house.

The Upcoming is here, enter the “Garden” with caution.

All is well, aside from FOG calling to have my daughter and his son reconsider having the SMOG at the shower.  Now, I was angry about her treatment of my daughter, it wasn’t about me banning her from the event.  It was the Bride & Groom who felt strong about not having her amongst MOG, mothers of others she had bashed and Grandmothers who also saw all the text, and hate messages she had rocket launched into the world wide world of text messages.   They thought it just might be best not to mix them, and not add fuel to the fire. In many ways they made the right call, because your soon to find out that with the MOG, and many family members from FOG side mixed was enough toxic energy to blow up a city block.  In all fairness, I must add that the FOG guest were on best behavior and I do not have any complaints.  Also I can understand how having to be in a space with ex-family would be stressful, but honestly after 28 years?  Well the MOG had her group of ladies rallied around, this group included friends and some aunts.  MOG brought tons of Champagne, and wine and they all sat and pretty much got hammered. It got raunchy and the group acted like it was a bachelorette party.  They disengaged during games and acted like school aged brats. While my daughter was opening up Shower gifts and trying to be graceful, they were in the back laughing, talking very loud. Taking pictures and totally oblivious to the fact they were indeed at a “Garden”/My daughter Bridal Shower.  I applaud my daughter for keeping her composure, and keeping it classy. She even called her soon to be Mother in Law (MIL) over when she was opening her gift to break up the frenzy that was taking place.  This was not a success; she went back to her own personal party within my daughter’s shower. Soon the presents were open, and this pretty much meant the end of event.  ALAJUELA ONE MIGHT BE THINGKING AT THIS POINT!  Even though this is supposed to be a joyous event.  Some quest had left, and some remained to just sit and talk. Well like a light switch, MOB was louder, flashing her legs up in air signally somehow towards the table that included some of the FOG family.  My daughter walked over and asked her future MIL to sit down, and maybe drink some water. I guess at this point you can guess my daughter is pretty good at lighting the bomb!  MOG went from crazy, to hysteria, slamming, pouring of wine on tables, crying to wanting to get behind the wheel and drive away.  Couple of her squad joined in, added to the madness…. It was basically an effing shit show!  

Back paddle for just a minute

Towards end of the shower, three of the most important men came home from golfing. The shower was a good excuse to get out of dodge, but they didn’t stay gone long enough.  My husband, my son and soon to be SIL arrived on time to witness the behavior of grown women acting like Sorority girls gone bad.  It was good and bad they came back a little early. Good because they would not have believed it unless seen for themselves. Bad because my SIL is so embarrassed by the poor behavior of his Mother and her friends/Aunts.

Back to the Garden

During MOG tyrant of throwing ice buckets and stomping out while giving the bird, she insisted she was going to drive home.  Many others (I stayed clear) tried to calm her down, and talk sense into MOG. She tried shoving another guest and continued to yell and scream.  My stern husband finally put his foot down and made MOG get into back seat and my husband ended up having to drive the MOG, her Trashy friend and poor sweet Grandma home.  My husband is good at deescalating a situation, and defiantly shows who the bigger person is to put himself in that situation.  In addition to the entire cost of Bridal Shower being on the Bride’s family, now my husband had to add additional expense to get home via Uber.

Was that all real?

Unbelievable right?  I left so much out.. but this is only a short blog to vent and get this all out of my head! After all was calm, we started cleaning up.  We stacked all the beautiful flower on one table, picked up trash, glasses. You know, all the regular stuff.  Small group of mostly my family and some of my girlfriends remained, and we indulged in a couple more drinks and ate some of the leftover food from shower.  We basically were kicking back having some relax time, played some corn hole, lit a small fire for one spoiled niece to make s’mores over.   Over all just a nice, change it up a little relax time.  Ended up picking up a couple pizzas and then ended the evening early. We were all so exhausted, it was time to call it.

Little did we know

Little did we all know, the entire evening and after my daughter and her fiancé left the madness continued. My soon to be SIL was getting rage texts from his mother.  I guess they were pretty bad, mean and hateful.  I don’t even want to know the details, because it would hurt my heart.

Hmmm…. What are you thinking about the Bride & Groom?

So maybe you’re thinking what kind of people the Bride and Groom are to be treated so poorly by these women in their lives?  The Groom grew up in a split home, going back and forth between Mom and Dads.  Again I only know what I have been told by conflicting people, but been around long enough to know that this young man is strong, determined, independent, kind and is always doing the right thing.  I mean doing right thing as always wishing his Step mom happy mother’s day, making sure he’s dividing his time between families, basically showing up to be part of a family regardless of circumstances.  As for his older brother, he checked out long ago.  Older brother shows up when he can’t get out of it, like Christmas dinner etc.   It appears both boys have a better relationship with their own mom, and that tells a tale all in itself.  I’m sure older brother who was about 6-7 years old when the home was split, must be a little angrier towards the Step Mom.  Older brother is successful, independent and lives further away than my daughter and fiancé.  My daughter in which I described earlier is a very loving and kind young lady. As her parent, she has never given us any grief.  Her fiancé and herself are ones who would rather avoid drama or any kind of atomicity and often pacify to keep everyone happy.  So bottom line, they are good people who do not deserve what they have been given during this already difficult time planning wedding during Covid19, protests, riots, looting and election year.

It started off romantic

In the Summer of 2019 my then daughter’s boyfriend asked my husband and I if he could ask our daughter to marry him. We were ecstatic, and absolutely gave our blessing. He had purchased a beautiful, sparkly and a fair size diamond ring. As I mentioned before they had a trip, to Barcelona. This is where he popped the question. The planning began, they had their vision and it was coming along great.  I didn’t have to do much, as they were doing it all.  It was kind of a relief, and knew that my daughter was being smart and planning a with a budget that met what we could afford. It was going to be in a beautiful Garden venue close to the Ocean. They had lined up all the vendors for the food, lighting, the rustic wood tables, DJ, Dessert bar, Bar tender, flowers, it was a beautifully planned wedding. Then along came COVID-19.

Four Months until wedding

So four months out, we had a lot of hope and were optimistic that COVID-19 wouldn’t cancel their dream wedding.  COVID-19 peaked, and was appearing to ease.  Stores, we’re opening and it appeared we were progressing. Stage 1, then stage two and then 1 month before wedding we were entering stage 3 in additional stages and requirements.  It was looking good, reports showed religious ceremonies a go, restaurants a go, bars open. All looks good for a wedding!  It was just about now, at the one month that the SMOG started the Family Feud. Funny thing was, my Future SIL, his Step Mom, Brother, Cousin and sister had just aired on the game show “Family Feud”.  Anyhow… 1 month and all the drama with SMOG, this is one-week shy of Bridal Shower, and we all know how that went down.  We are now at 3 weeks out and venue says, hold your brakes!  They now can only have 75 people for a wedding, and no reception. Went from 207 guest invited, due to covid and traveling across US borders and some of the guest that are higher at risk as elders or have underlining conditions opted out.  We were at a solid 150.  How do we cut this in half? What about the reception, that’s the fun part where we get to celebrate the Bride and Groom?

This brings us to today 6-22-2020

So with only 75 people allowed, we are looking for a restaurant or venue to accommodate at least 100 people for a dinner or a small reception.  Original Garden venue also wants to charge $2000 for just a 75 person wedding?  Little steep in comparison to what we were getting before.  So we are at the starting line, trying to figure this out in a three-week time.

My final thoughts

I want my daughter to have the most beautiful wedding she can possibly have under the current conditions.  We have thousands of dollars already invested in vases, votive candles, napkins, venue, caterer, photographer, and all the furniture and lighting vendors, the dessert table… and so on.  It must make sense, and not steer to far from her vision or the budget.  I suggested a “Backyard” wedding, which I know sounds trashy.  I have a pretty large size backyard, and it’s a blank slate for however her vision can transform it into.  It can hold 100-120 and they could utilize all the items that are already paid for and they wouldn’t go to waste.  My brother had his reception here 22 years ago, and we could make this backyard wedding look like a tropical garden in the middle of our City if she wants. Believe me, I don’t want it at my home.  It would be a lot of work!  We are already exhausted from all the drama and just wish this damn Covid-19 would go away and stop interfering.  Just pray for my daughter and her soon to be husband, pray that they find a new venue that fits the vision they both have.  They will soon learn that marriage is hard, and it takes sacrifices, and compromising to make it last as long as my husband and my marriage has.  We will be celebrating 30 years next May.  COVID-19 may stop these two youngsters from taking a honeymoon until next year, maybe we can do a 2ndhoneymoon with their first! LOL

[toms-order]

All I Want

Part Three

Tom Holland x female reader

My sisters keeper au!

Moodboard by @beautiful-holland

Summary:  Conceived as a marrow donor for your gravely ill sister, you had undergone countless surgeries and medical procedures in your short life, what happens when you decide to put it to a stop? What happens when a brown eyed boy walks into your life and ruins everything you ever thought about love?

Warnings: Mentions drugs and cancer.

part one part two part four

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Growing up with a sister like Kate wasn’t easy. And you weren’t talking about a sister with cancer. Of course that wasn’t easy, but it was the fact that everyone knew who Kate was. You lived in a small town where everyone knew each other and it was easy to get around. Everyone knew about your situation, teachers, principals, dentists, even the police. Kate was the kind of girl who loved attention. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s just who she is. She loved getting attention for things that didn’t involve cancer. She loved being at the top of her class, having the best science project and receiving academic awards. For you it was different, you hated the attention. You hated receiving awards, giving class presentations and most of all being the girl with a sister who had cancer.

You wish you weren’t that girl. It was selfish to think but sometimes you wished you weren’t Kate’s sister. You knew you would’ve had an easier life if Kate never existed. But as soon as that thought crossed your mind you realized that, if Kate never existed, you wouldn't either. You weren't an accident like most children are. You were made for one purpose, and that purpose was to save Kate. Maybe that's why you decided to go through with the case, because everyone else in the world has to find their purpose and when they do their happy with it. But for you, it was different. You didn't choose your purpose, and you definitely weren't happy with it.

~~~

You took Tom to one of your favorite places. It was a strange place to hang out but it was the only place you knew you were gonna be totally alone. It was right below a bridge. The bridge held train tracks. It was the only train tracks in the town. You discovered the place one night while you were walking around. It was one of those nights where everything started to weigh down on you. Kate was getting worse, mom and dad were fighting so you just wanted to get out. You thought laying under the bridge while the trains were making loud noises while driving past would somehow be relaxing.

You weren't one of those people who enjoyed peace and quiet. You loved loud noises, you were one of those people who couldn't sleep without a Tv on or some kind of music playing in the background. So laying down under the train tracks helped you think. After awhile of being in your head, you felt the need to scream that night. It was like everything inside of you just wanted to get out. So you did. You screamed as loud as you could. The sound of your screams were blocked out by the loud train above you. After you let it out, you somehow felt better. It was a weird thing, but it worked.

You could tell Tom thought it was weird as well once you dragged him under the bridge. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were in a straight line.

“What are we doing here?” He asked, watching as you grabbed a bag hidden a pile of moldy boxes that were slowly wasting away.

You grabbed a blanket from inside the bag, laying it out on the floor before sitting down. “Letting out all our frustration.” You patted the seat next to you.

Tom raised an eyebrow at you, before sitting an inch away. “What do you mean?” He questioned.

“Do you ever get sick of the sick?” You ignored his question, asking one of your own instead.

Tom looked confused. He didn’t know what you meant. You waited for a moment, before continuing.

“Spending almost every night at a hospital, hearing the cries of sick kids and parents. Waking up to the sound of machines all around you, and you wanna turn it off but there the only things keeping your sibling alive.” You say slowly, you lay back on the blanket, not worrying about the dirt that will end up in your hair.

You didn’t see Tom’s reaction, you were too busy listening for the train, and looking up at the cracks of the bridge. But you felt his eyes linger over your face.

“I always get sick of the sick.” You continued once again, glancing over at Tom’s soft eyes. “That’s why I come here.” You paused, watching as he laid back next to you. “When the train comes I let it all out. I scream as loud as I can, I don’t know why but it makes me feel better.” You admitted.

Tom turned his head to the side, looking at you. “I get sick of the sick too.” He said softly.

You looked back at him, noticing the tears building up in his eyes. Then you finally heard it. The horns of the train, the rattling of the tracks. You and Tom both looked up, getting ready to let your frustrations out. Once the train came close enough you let out a scream, Tom following right after.

~~~

There wasn’t much in town. After you had the courage to finally get out from under the bridge you decided to take Tom on a walk. You stuffed your hands in your hoodie pockets walking slowly. You didn’t say a word, you felt like you didn’t need to. But after awhile of walking, he was the one to break the silence.

“We noticed something was off when he started limping.” He started. You looked up from the ground, glancing over at him. “He was a hyper kid, always running around, and then time passed and soon he couldn’t get out of bed without some help.” He paused, like he was reliving the memory. “We took him to the doctor, they ran a bunch of tests and then it was like our whole world came crashing down at our feet.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. You noticed the tears running down his face. “Soon I didn’t even know how I could look him in the eye and pretend he wasn’t dying.”

“When I was born Kate was already sick.” You spoke up, capturing his attention. “I thought it was normal, going to the hospital every day, but I soon realized it wasn’t, and that feeling sucks.” You said in disbelief. “Kate’s gonna die.” You paused, watching as Tom wiped his eyes on his sleeves. “It’s just something I had to learn how to accept, and you will too.” You gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“How do you do that?” He asked, his voice hoarse from crying.

You shrugged. “It’s something you have to do on your own.” You walked ahead, he followed after you. “But I’ll be here if you need me.” You bumped his shoulder. “We can be hospital buddies.” You joked.

Tom let out a tiny chuckle. “That sounds sick.” He joked back, causing you to giggle.

~~~

After your little emotional talk you decided to take Tom back to the hospital. You figured he needed to see his brother again. When you took him back you said your goodbyes before making your way towards Kate’s room. You noticed your parents knocked out in the waiting room next door. Ryan was nowhere to be seen, you figured he had left with his friends again. You entered Kate’s room, walking over to her bed. She was fast asleep, her face was pale and the bags under her eyes had gotten darker.

You shook her gently awake, wanting to speak with her one last time before leaving. Her eyes fluttered open. Once she realized it was you she gave you a soft smile.

“Where did you go?” She whispered.

You gave her a smile. “I was with someone.” You whispered back.

She gave you a questioning look. “Who?”

You shrugged. “Someone who needed some help.”

****************************************************************

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[tjkiahgb]

Episode Recap: 2.25, “The Cake That Takes the Cake”

We find Andi and Bex looking at rings to start the episode. I know money is probably tight, I know the proposal is unconventional, I know they’re shopping for Bowie, but why are they looking through the kind of rings you’d get out of the vending machines you put quarters into at the grocery store?

(Also, why is Bex wearing more rings than an 18th century pirate?)

I’m surprised these rings aren’t stored in plastic acorn capsules.

Andi finds a yin yang ring and they realize the message it sends about the universe and everything is the perfect one, even though the ring itself looks like it fell out of a Cracker Jack box.

They celebrate by screaming wildly in the middle of a jewelry store.

Meanwhile, Cyrus and Buffy hang out at the outside basketball courts on a snowy, freezing cold Summer Winter Spring morning.

(Why is that school bus parked in somebody’s driveway?)

Sorry to call out an actor here, but um... Sofia is not good at basketball. Like, at all. In fairness to her, she wasn’t cast to be a basketball player. She’s a very good actor. That’s her strength. Well, also dance. She’s also a good dancer. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, basketball is not her forte. (Luke is better, but not great either. When you watch the one-on-one later, pay attention to how almost any time someone looks remotely fluid performing a basketball related action, you don’t see their face. It’s... noticeable.)

I say all this just as a fan of basketball who’s having a difficult time watching this scene. Anyway, I’m not really blaming her as much as the director. They’ve done a pretty good job this season of making her look good on the court, but this long, uncut shot of her dribbling and awkwardly pulling up to shoot was a poor choice.

Cyrus tries to pump Buffy up, especially because there’s a basketball game on Friday and Cyrus wants Buffy to rejoin the team. Buffy won’t though.

Cyrus thinks it’s because of TJ. He tries to explain that TJ’s a completely different person. He even got a “C” on a math test.

(It was what now?)

Cyrus says he was like a puppy. Buffy, undeterred, says he’s still a puppy she doesn’t want to play with.

Listen, Buffy’s feelings of anger towards TJ aside, “I don’t want to play with that puppy” is an inherently false statement like “I don’t need oxygen to live,” or “I’m perfectly fine with being set on fire,” or “Oh, you don’t have Coke? That’s great! Pepsi was my first choice!”

Andi and Bex walk together just a couple hundred yards from where Cyrus and Buffy are.

Same bus, same house.

Season’s almost over. Sort of sad the last time the GHC shared the same room was when Buffy and Cyrus walked by in the background of Andi and Jonah’s date planning at Cloud 10, and their last interaction was 15 seconds of looking at each other while Jonah and Walker talked at the art show. Andi and Bex should’ve stopped by the court to say “Hi” at least.

But they didn’t. They’ve got their own thing to do. They’re planning the proposal for tonight. Andi is upset they’ve already used the “hide the ring in a pizza box” plan. They decide to hide the ring in a cake instead. Feels like someone should tell them you can propose without hiding rings in food. In fact, most proposals aren’t “hiding rings in food” based.

Andi decides they should drop in on Bowie at Red Rooster and invite him to dinner, real low-key and casual. It’s such a simple plan. All they have to do is not act like a dentist just pumped them full of nitrous oxide. There’s no way it can fail.

Welp. Maybe they should’ve just texted him? Bowie thinks they’re up to something but isn’t a detective, so he’s unable to piece together anything more than that.

Later, Andi and Bex put together the cake. They stuff the ring inside.

Not a fan of this at all. The pizza plan had the ring safely in a holder on top of the pizza. This is a big hazard! The only thing preventing tragedy is an easily movable toothpick. You want a surefire way to ruin a proposal? Have the guy you’re proposing to choke to death on a little chunk of metal. You are playing with fire here.

Still, they’re happy with their plan. Until they turn around and see they’ve made a huge mess.

One bigger than you might think possible for making just one little cake. And why are there sprinkles everywhere? There are no sprinkles on the cake! What were they even doing in there?!

This has become such a mess, they decide they can’t continue to make food here. They’ll use Celia’s kitchen (and her dining room and her dishes) instead and leave this mess to animated forest animals to clean up.

Bex, if you leave this mess sitting out for the rest of the day, the only animals that are going to show up to take care of it are ants. Do you want ants? Because that’s how you get ants.

Cyrus and Buffy show up at the gym. Cyrus excuses himself to grab something out of his locker, which should be Buffy’s first clue that something is up. There’s no way Cyrus has anything important in his gym locker.

TJ shows up. Buffy says, “Well, well, if it isn’t Jock-iavelli” thinking she’s gonna catch TJ off-guard, but TJ knows who Machiavelli is because he has a numbers-related learning disability, not a lack of intelligence.

Buffy really walked into that one.

TJ tells her he got a two-game suspension for Buffy doing his homework. That makes Buffy feel better. It also feels like something he could’ve mentioned to soften the blow back in that scene that shall not be mentioned. If he was suspended from the team with Buffy, that certainly makes the outcome of that scene look more like a careless mistake on his part than a Jockiavellian chess move. It’s two months later and the writing of that scene still bothers me with how incoherent and discordant it is. But, really, though, who even cares anymore? (I mean, besides me. I do. But I’m not well. So...)

TJ’s back on the team and wants to know why Buffy isn’t coming back. He tries to goad her into playing when Cyrus shows up too soon and blows his and TJ’s plan by asking if they’re going to do a one-on-one match or something.

Buffy figures out their game but still grabs her gym clothes to get ready. She doesn’t turn down a challenge, even a sloppily executed one.

Yeah. You gotta at least do a dry run. Use Trash Can Buffy. She’s hasn’t been talked to in weeks and is probably very lonely.

Speaking of very lonely, Bex visits Celia, but only to trick her into leaving her house. Bex has gotten Celia a suite for the night with room service and spa treatment (all charged to Ham, of course).

Sort of feels like: you know Celia’s having a tough time, and you know she loves Bowie, why not let her stay and be a part of this? I get if it’s going to be intimate, but Andi’s going to be there. It’s already two generations of Mack women. What’s one more? She’s close family. It’s not like you’re inviting Gus.

Celia heads off to her one night vacation and Bex sneaks Andi into the house via the backdoor. Andi has supplies for dinner and a newfound appreciation for pots.

Pots. Is there anything they can’t do?

Back at the gym, TJ and Buffy start their one-on-one. Cyrus keeps score. Former bitter enemies! A competitive one-on-one! Friendships on the line!

What will happen?! The drama is starting to heat up and then we cut to--

ASPARAGUS!

SALAD!

A CHEEEEEESE PLAAAAAAATEEEEEE!!!

Can you feel the excitement?! Is it pumping through your veins like so much red hot blood?!

Bex takes a chicken out of the oven!

Andi shucks corn!

Fasten your safety harness! You must be this tall to ride and women who are pregnant or thinking of ever becoming pregnant should get back. If you have a heart condition, you’d better look away! You. Will. Die!

I’m sorry. I know I’m going in way too hard on this scene. It’s still Andi’s show and her story still has to be at the forefront. But this episode was killing me.

I know everything before the big scene at the end with Bowie -- the ring picking, the planning, the cake baking, the food preparing -- is all in service of setting it up. But the dramatic stakes in these scenes are almost nil. It’s just like, a bunch of happy montage stuff. Which I normally don’t have a problem with on this show -- it’s usually cute and peppy -- but when you compare it to the actual interesting stuff that’s going on at this exact moment in the gym? The two scenes are so many dramatic miles apart that you can’t stand at one and see the other. It’s somewhere beyond the horizon.

And it’s especially irritating when you’re cutting away from the gym in the middle of the drama to this fluff. It’s giving me whiplash.

Anyway, Andi asks Bex how much corn she should shuck and Bex says to shuck ‘em all and let God sort them out.

Then Bex just starts listing food they have sitting on the counter in plain sight for all to see.

They wonder if this is too much food. Andi remembers they made a cake, too. Bex says that’s right, they did make a cake! Do you remember when they made a cake? Do you remember that scene? I do. It was literally five minutes ago. It wasn’t even in a different act. It was this same one after the commercial break. But I’m so glad to be reminded. Thank you for reminding me. Let’s remember some more things. Remember when Andi was shucking corn and asked how many corns she should shuck and Bex said shuck ‘em all? That was good times. I hope this scene continues for several more minutes as we just remember those moments. Maybe Bex can list the foods she sees near her one more time.

Terri Minsky, if you read this, I’m sorry. I’m just joking around.

But you do make me crazy sometimes.

We head back to the gym where several basketballs bounce across the floor like Old West tumbleweeds.

It’s also kind of a weird thing to happen in a gym with only three people in it. Who knocked over the basketball cart?

TJ and Buffy trade baskets back and forth. Cyrus is fading but still keeps score.

It feels like this puts TJ at a disadvantage, because of his dyscalculia. This is blatant math privilege.

Buffy finally beats TJ to the rim and puts in a layup to win their battle. Buffy celebrates and the crazed fan in attendance storms the court.

Cyrus and Buffy hug. TJ and Buffy congratulate each other on a good game. Cyrus says that means the plan worked. It’s been proven through science that TJ and Buffy can play together and thus, Buffy needs to rejoin the basketball team.

But Buffy says she’s still not going to. But she’s not going to quit basketball. She’s starting a girls’ team instead. Cyrus and TJ give her props for having an even better-er plan than their plan.

At Celia’s, Bex and Andi anxiously await Bowie’s arrival. He finally shows up, but he says he’s brought a surprise with him.

And that surprise is, a group of vagrants?

Or it’s just Bowie’s band. Or maybe... both?

The band showed up out of the blue and they’re staying for dinner. So. That’s neat. What a neat little thing for them to do without asking ahead of time.

Andi and Bex decide they’re still going to go through with the proposal, though.

TJ, Cyrus, and Buffy walk together out of school. Cyrus thinks they can all be friends now. TJ thinks so, too. But Buffy is not so sure because she hasn’t done anything horrible to TJ like he’s done to her.

She thinks she’s forgiven him but friendship might still be out of reach. Maybe, she says, if TJ delivered the best apology ever. Cyrus asks him to give a shot. TJ takes a deep breath and...

Wait. Let’s stop a second here.

We’ve talked a lot about the acting on the show this season, especially as far as the kids go. There have been several really touching, deep moments that they’ve handled with excellence.

But nothing. Nothing! Compares to what happens here.

If you came to me before this episode and told me that TJ was going to deliver his end-of-redemption-arc apology to Buffy via a super-sincere, basketball-themed rap, I would’ve shouted “No!” and I probably would’ve taken a swing at you. And that’s knowing full well it wasn’t your fault. It’s not even with intent to hurt you. It would just be my body reacting to that stimulus with some kind of violent impulse I couldn’t control. Lashing out at that specific moment because it would be the only way I could think of to express myself.

But here’s the thing. The fact that I not only didn’t cringe so hard that I burst into flames while watching this, but that I actually thought it worked and I really liked it as a moment? Give Luke all the awards for pulling that off. Give him an Emmy. Give him a Tony, too. Give him the whole damn EGOT and throw in a People’s Choice Award and a Nobel Prize in Physics with it.

So, Luke/TJ/DJ Fruity Mixitup launches into this crazy rap and it’s so... freakin’... sweet. He’s not making a joke about it or anything. It’s heartfelt and honest. This is like publicly apologizing to a trash can to the tenth power. I still can’t believe this is happened.

Terri Minsky, I forgive you for all the food montages.

Also, I know there’s been some talk about Cyrus making him do this, but there’s no way that entire thing was freestyle. Some is. He obviously had to incorporate the new information about the girls basketball team. But the rest? I mean, I’ll argue all day that TJ isn’t dumb, but I don’t think he’s some rap prodigy. He absolutely knew coming in that he was going to apologize to Buffy today. It was part of the plan. And if he didn’t spend a couple of hours writing out the majority of that rap, he at least took the time to sit down and outline it. You don’t just drop a Liam Neeson reference out of nowhere.

Buffy accepts the apology. Maybe they can be friends.

TJ heads off, but not before looking back.

Which is interesting to us as an audience, because we understand the significance. But in the show, only Jonah and Amber do. Cyrus and Buffy don’t.

So you’d imagine the conversation would go like:

Buffy: Is he looking back here? What does he want?

Cyrus: I don’t know. (shouting) What?

TJ: (shouting) Huh?!

Cyrus: What- do you need something?

TJ: What?

Cyrus: Did you forget something?

TJ: No. I’m just looking back!

Cyrus: Why?

TJ: It means something! It has significance!

Cyrus: Huh?!

TJ: Forget it! We’ll solve this in season three!

Cyrus: (waving) Ok! Bye!

...and scene.

Back at Celia’s, this odd, odd dinner party is in full swing. Bowie and the only guy in the band who talks exchange stories from the road when Celia shows up to bust the party.

Celia’s upset until Bex explains they’re going to propose to Bowie. And then Celia is not so upset anymore.

Back at the dinner table, they prepare the cake. Before they can get to the ring, though, the only guy in the band who talks speaks up. He has something to say first, to Bowie. See, the band came here especially to see Bowie. Then the band member gets on one knee.

Terri Minsky, you monster! For making the gayest moment in this episode occur between Bowie and his band’s drummer, you are once again on the bad list!

Even Celia’s like, this is some gay stuff going on here.

The band member says the band has booked their first international tour and they need him back. Bowie is honored but thinks about Andi. The band member asks him to come for just six months, but Bowie can’t.

But then Andi and Bex tell him he can, so Bowie says he’ll think about it.

Andi and Bex break off to talk. They want him to go on the tour. Bex says for that to happen though, she can’t propose, because if she does, he won’t leave. Andi says propose and tell him it’s ok to go. As long as he’s locked down, it’s all good. Celia shows up and says don’t let him go in the first place. The argument continues. Bex says they can’t propose if one of them doesn’t want to, but Andi says that’s a new rule and not allowed.

Oh, right. This is why you don’t do joint proposals.

They want to cut the cake out in the dining room. Andi and Bex tell Celia the ring is in the cake and she, rightly, points out that that’s a worse choking hazard than the toothpick she pulled out of it.

They go running out to the dining room and Bex does the only thing she can think of: shoves her hands deep into the cake.

Then Andi joins in. And so does Bowie.

Celia warns the band members that none of these three have washed their hands, as if those guys don’t look like they eat most of their meals off the floor of the tour van.

After thoroughly destroying the cake, Bowie comes across the ring.

He wants to know what it is, and Andi and Bex respond as only Macks under pressure can: with a lot of “Um”s.

We cut to black and that’s that for season 2.

Whew. What a ride. And now begins another long, cold hiatus.

Hey, if you’ve read any of my recaps this season, thank you so much. I’ve got a few more things planned for the near-term following this, but pretty shortly I’m going to take something of a hiatus, too, to do other stuff with my life until season three. I’ll pop in and out, but I probably won’t be doing too much writing, so if you want to discuss some of what’s happened, send your asks in soon. Feel free to send silly asks, too, but fair warning, I’m aiming to just do some analysis type posts related to season 2 for now, while it’s still relevant and fresh in our minds. I’m not ignoring you, but silly asks will probably be put off until season 3.

Otherwise, see you guys on the other side.

[texanredrose]

Did You Know?

-Today, 0317- (214) 13-170-9: Did you know that "hamburger" is two words combined, but it's not "ham" and "burger", but "hamburg" and "er"? No idea what "er" means, though. Or “Hamburg” really. English is weird. You: Who are you and how did you get this number? (214) 13-170-9: Shit, is this not Blake? You: No. I am not Blake. (214) 13-170-9: Ah fuck, sorry, must've fat fingered the number! You: It's four in the morning here. (214) 13-170-9: Oh, cool, same timezone. Still, sorry about that. You: It's fine. You: And, for the record, -er is an Atlesian suffix that roughly means "from" and Hamburg is a city in Atlas. "Hamburger" means, quite literally, "from Hamburg". You: I grew up not too far from there. (214) 13-170-9: Oh, that's so cool! My name's Yang! You: Noted. Now, may I return to slumber or do you have any other useless trivia to impart upon me? (214) 13-170-9: Right, sorry! Again! (214) 13-170-9: Night! Sweet dreams!

-Today, 1034- You: Now that it’s a somewhat respectable hour, I’d like to apologize for being curt last night.  (214) 13-170-9: Hey, I get it! I’d be a little cranky if someone woke me up, too. (214) 13-170-9: Really, no harm, no foul. (214) 13-170-9: But if you’re ever in need of useless trivia, I’m here! You: That was... harsh of me. (214) 13-170-9: I mean, you’re not exactly wrong. Most of this stuff isn’t really that useful. But it can be food for thought or even a little funny! Like, did you know the electric chair was invented by a dentist? Sounds weirdly appropriate, doesn’t it? (214) 13-170-9: Guess he got his patients confused with chickens; THOSE are the ones where you pull out all the white things and THEN fry ‘em. You: That was dark. You: I’ll admit it made me laugh out loud, but still dark. (214) 13-170-9: Okay, look, I work with what material’s available to me, and that was the first one that popped into my head. (214) 13-170-9: Also, did you really type out ‘laugh out loud’? lol, really? You: What do you have against properly spelling out words? (214) 13-170-9: Okay, you know what, in hindsight, you’re right. It just caught me off guard. Most people use abbreviations. (214) 13-170-9: Or emojis. You: I honestly hate the sight of that stupid word. You: Also, I spend all day trapped in an alphabet soup hell. I don’t need more abbreviations, thank you. (214) 13-170-9: But they make things so much quicker! btw, ofc I could spell it all out, but rn I’m using one hand, other’s occupied. (214) 13-170-9: I swear that’s not as dirty as it sounds. You: At EOD, I meet with my POC for a SITREP, then CM to the DFAC. (214) 13-170-9: I respectfully withdraw my argument, have a good day.

-Today, 1425- (214) 13-170-9: Um. I might be overstepping here and maybe you’re busy but either way I hope I didn’t upset you or insult you earlier. You: You said “have a good day”; I assumed that was the end of the conversation. (214) 13-170-9: Do you even meme?! You: I realize I implied and now am outright stating that English isn’t my primary language but you don’t have to make up words. (214) 13-170-9: Oml have you never seen a meme before? Hold on. (214) 13-170-9: [MyHairIsABird.jpeg][open][save] You: What.The. Fuck. (214) 13-170-9: You’ve never seen that before? You: I have and am now wondering why I allowed myself to be teleported back a decade. You: At least. It’s probably closer to two at this point. (214) 13-170-9: That’s a meme. It’s short for mimetic mutation I think? Where a joke gets so far removed from the source that it loses all connection but it’s still somehow funny? You: No. (214) 13-170-9: Look, I’ve never had to explain a meme before! You: I’m not saying “no” to your explanation; I’m saying “no” to that meme, as you call it. (214) 13-170-9: That’s what it’s called! You: Of course it is. (214) 13-170-9: Okay, fine, how about this one? (214) 13-170-9: [loss.jpeg][open][save] You: Now you’re tormenting me. You: Wait. I recognize this format. You: This is the stupid joke the idiots I call my subordinates are giggling about like school children? You: It’s not even a joke. This is a serious matter. (214) 13-170-9: I mean, I agree, I’m not sure how it became a joke but it did? (214) 13-170-9: I swear I’m not as dark as I’ve been sounding. (214) 13-170-9: Like, this whole conversation is kinda atypical for me, I swear. You: You’re putting in a lot of effort to convince a stranger that you’re not exactly as you’ve been acting. (214) 13-170-9: Well, you got me there. Sorry.

-Today, 1832- You: You’ve gone quiet. I suppose both of your hands were required? (214) 13-170-9: I just figured you probably had a point and I should just stop digging a bigger hole for myself. You: You don’t have any more trivia? (214) 13-170-9: Did you know a shark’s top speed is 96 km/h? You: Which species? (214) 13-170-9: Uh, Mako shark, I think. You: You are correct. I have a certain affinity for sharks.  You: They aren’t as terrible as people make them out to be, you know. Yang: Actually, more people die from being struck on the head with a coconut than from shark attacks every year. They’re mostly fine if you leave them alone. Unprovoked attacks aren’t as common as people think, I mean. It’s mostly just one species responsible for them, too, but people lump all sharks together. You: They do. Sharks are dangerous, yes, but most creatures are. Sharks just get a bad reputation for essentially no reason. Yang: Actually, the movie Jaws spawned a lot of the social stigma around sharks. Yang: Do you have a favorite shark? You: The catshark. There’s several species all over Remnant; they’re deep sea creatures, living below what most people fish at, but they’re occasionally spotted by research vessels. They have beautiful skins with wonderful patterns but very little is known about them, and each subspecies is unique in its own way. You: They’re truly fascinating creatures. Yang: They sound really cool! You: I have a question for you. Yang: Shoot. You: You’ve given me your name yet you haven’t ask me mine. Why? Yang: Well, let’s start from the top. Yang: I messaged you in the middle of the night on accident, which you weren’t very happy about. Then when you apologized, I made a bad joke and you took it literally. THEN, I apologized again, and we talked about memes, and that entire discussion didn’t go anywhere good, I think we’re on the same page on that one. Yang: So, from my perspective, I really don’t have any right to ask your name. I gave you mine so you’d know who to specifically curse if you’re religiously inclined. Yang: Or, like, you just want the satisfaction of specifically cursing me, because like, mood. You: How thoughtful. You: It’s Winter. Yang: I’m pretty sure it’s spring? You: You boob. My name is Winter. Yang: OH Yang: IT’S A GOOD NAME You: ... really? Yang: Absolutely! It’s a beautiful name! You: That wasn’t me looking for reassurance; that was me being... surprised by your response. Yang: It makes me think of Atlas, kinda, cause it’s so cold up there. Yang: Oh. Yang: I am just a series of “open mouth, insert foot” examples today. You: Are you on something? Alcohol? Weed? Nicotine? Yang: NO! You: Admittedly, that last one wouldn’t lead to such a lapse in judgement as you’ve currently displayed. You: Are you lying to me? Yang: FUCKING NO, I’M NOT ON ANYTHING! Yang: I just haven’t been sleeping well recently and my head’s a little fuzzy. That’s all. You: That would explain the middle-of-the-night trivia session. Yang: I said I was sorry about that. You: I believe you but I also believe that a good night’s rest in fundamentally important. You: Tonight, you’re going to sleep at a reasonable hour. Yang: You can’t just command me to go to sleep! You: I just did. Yang: Wait a minute, the acronyms, the orders, “subordinates”- you’re military, aren’t you? You: Yes. Yang: That’s awesome! I’m just a mechanic. I like working on engines. You: Riveting, truly, but those are topics for tomorrow. Tonight, you sleep. Yang: lmao, nice pun! You: I didn’t make a pun. Yang: I said I’m a mechanic, you said “riveting”, how was that not a pun? You: You’re deflecting. Yang: My shields are up. You: I’m not engaging in a pun war when you should be going to bed. Yang: I’m not going to bed, so I guess we’re at a stalemate. You: Fine. Here’s the deal. Make me a promise. Yang: Wow, we’re hardly on first name basis and now we’re making promises? You move fast. You: Promise me you’ll text me whatever piece of trivia comes to mind whenever you’re having trouble sleeping. Yang: I don’t get it. I’d be waking you up at all hours. You: Exactly. You seem like the sort of person to care very much about others so I doubt you’d compromise my sleep intentionally. Now that you have a clear purpose of going to sleep to help someone else sleep, you’ll have an easier time accomplishing the task. Yang: What are you, some kinda quack psychologist? Yang: You’re playing dirty. You: I’m military. What did you honestly expect? Yang: Touche. Yang: Fine. I’ll try to sleep tonight. But just know! I have a whole bunch of factoids for ya! Get ready cause neither of us is sleeping tonight! You: Usually, I’d insist someone buy me dinner first. Yang: Now you’re flirting. You: I’m merely stating fact. You: How about one more “factoid” before bed? Yang: Did you know a shark’s teeth are literally hard as steel? You: Playing to my interests, I see. Yang: I have my moments of brilliance. You: Indeed you do. Now, good night, Yang. Get some sleep. Yang: Good night Winter. Sweet dreams. You: And to you the same.

-Today, 0947- Yang: I hate you. You: Care to elaborate? Yang: Somehow, it worked, and I just woke up from the sleep of the dead. My body feels like mush sloshing around a hollow lead cylinder. You: What you’re feeling is the side effects of your body getting both too little and too much rest at the same time. If you establish a better sleep schedule, you’ll avoid this feeling in the future. Yang: Thank you, Doctor Winter. Do I get a lollipop? You: Continue being this cheeky; I assure you it’s doing nothing but improving my perception of you. Yang: Harsh. You: That was teasing. Yang: Oh. You really should add, like, an lol or something when you're joking. I'm not awake enough to find context clues. You: Aside from the lethargy, how are you feeling? Yang: Hungry. I finally dragged myself out of bed to cook breakfast and it turns out my sister already made me some. I’ve taught her well. You: Older or younger? Yang: I’m older by two years. Sometimes, it feels longer than that, though; I practically raised her. You: Interesting. I’m glad she made some food for you. Yang: Yeah. Now that I think about it, probably worried her pretty bad the last few weeks. You: Is that how long you’ve been having trouble sleeping?” Yang: About that. Yang: These pancakes taste fucking delicious btw. Yang: Did you know that, for most people, their right lung takes in more air than their left? You: We need to have a talk about priorities because I highly doubt you’ve inhaled your food that quickly. Yang: Sorry, my sis had to leave, so it’s a quiet breakfast over here. You: I don’t see that as something that needs to be corrected. You: However, I find myself wondering if you know the reason behind the lung trivia. Yang: I do! It’s because, for most people, your heart is just to the left of the center of your chest. So, since the heart takes up space, there’s only two sacs in your left lung, as opposed to three in your right. Yang: *sacks? Idek You: Idek? Yang: I Don’t Even Know- not sure what the difference between “sacs” and “sacks” is. You: This is why acronyms and abbreviations are more trouble than they’re worth. Yang: Okay, so basically, a sac is biological and a sack is manufactured. Like, sacs are things naturally occurring that fill with air or liquid, either in the body or outside it. Sacks are made for carrying things like groceries. Yang: Meanwhile, “sack” as a verb means either getting hit or getting laid off. Or maybe both, I guess, depending on your job. You: You went and looked it up? Yang: What, you think I was born with all these random things preprogrammed? Yang: I have a really good retention rate and I'm curious a lot. Yang: Google is my friend. You: Obviously. I suppose the appropriate follow-up question would be: you kept highlighting “most people”. Why? Yang: Well, there are a lot of medical reasons that makes it not applicable to everyone. Dextrocardia, for instance, in its mildest form causes the heart to face the opposite way, so the lungs usually fill differently because of that. More severe cases mean that more visceral organs are mirrored, too. You: Okay, so, language, sharks, the electric chair, and now medical trivia. The breadth of your subjects of interest is impressive. Yang: Thanks! Yang: Did you know that the cracking sound made by a whip is caused by the tip breaking the sound barrier? Yang: I’m pretty sure this counts as physics. You: I’ll add physics to the list. You: Now finish your breakfast and do something small. Take a nap in a few hours or whenever you feel tired. Yang: Do you have any siblings? Yang: You don't have to answer right away! Yang: Or at all. Yang: Guess you're busy? Eating breakfast maybe?

-Today, 1036- You: Actually, I was in formation. It's usually at 0930 but there were... complications this morning, so they pushed it back half an hour. Yang: Huh. For some reason, I always thought the military would be, like, SUPER punctual. You: And I have a younger sister and a younger brother, in that order. You: I'm going to tell you a secret: the military is always late. We just never admit it. Yang: So, you're like a bunch of cats? You: Given what constitutes my workday, yes, I would say that's accurate. "Herding cats" is the most accurate description of my job title. Yang: lmao, that's wild. Your siblings here in Vale too? Or back home in Atlas? You: My sister is here; she moved here to study at Beacon and then decided to stay. I suspect her girlfriend might factor into that decision but she's remaining tight lipped about it. My brother is at home, in Atlas. You: Now explain “lmao”. Yang: Laughing My As Off Yang: You really don’t know any chat abbreviations? You: Has it occurred to you that abbreviations is a very long word to describe the shortening of words and is, in itself, evidence that it’s all very silly? Yang: I know this is going to sound very grade school but you’re kinda cute when you’re annoyed. You: You’re right; that does sound very grade school. You: And you only say that because you can’t see me. Yang: Oh, so you don’t go all broody, kinda constipated, pursed lips when you’re annoyed by something? You: I understand those words individually but, combined, I’m lost. What would that even look like? Yang: Here. Yang: [photo][open][save] You: First, I want to assure you that you’re a very beautiful individual. You: Next, you look absolutely ridiculous. Yang: Hey, that’s how I think you look when you’re annoyed! You: I do not. Yang: Okay, I’ll take your word for it! You: [photo][open][save] Yang: Oh Yang: Wow You: That is what I look like when annoyed. You: And, not to wound your ego, but that annoyance isn’t inspired by you. A subordinate just asked me for fucking grid squares. You: At this point, one would think that joke’s too tired to work, but one would be wrong. Yang: Did you know that the winter of 392 was so cold, all of Beacon Falls froze over? You: Back to trivia? Yang: It’s my default response when higher brain function shuts down. You: I’ll admit, this is the first time in a long while I’ve felt flattery to be entirely sincere. Yang: This isn’t flattery; this is cold, hard facts. You: I see. Yang: Hey, I, uh, just realized the time, I gotta get to work. Yang: See if I still have a job, at any rate. You: I understand. Good luck. Yang: Thanks! Hope your work day gets better!

-Today, 1236- You: I assume the radio silence to be a good sign.

-Today, 1428- Yang: Yeah! Turns out, the shop kept a spot for me. My boss is being really understanding. Yang: Kinda... babying me, too, but... I’m getting used to it. Yang: At least he fired the idiot that started this whole mess. You: Am I permitted to inquire as to what happened? Yang: I don’t wanna go into details. You: That’s understandable. You: I’m glad they kept a spot for you. Are you going to return to work full time or ease into it? Yang: Give me a minute. You: Very well.

-Today, 1513- Yang: A few months ago, there was an accident at the shop. We do body work too and this guy tried using a machine he had no business using. Freaked out, caused a scene, I tried going over to help, ended up with my right arm caught in the damn thing. Mangled it pretty bad. So bad the docs had to take it. I got fitted for a prosthetic and I’m just trying to find normal again. Yang: I know I said I didn’t wanna go into the details but I’m actually shit at lying. Yang: Except in, like, weirdly specific circumstances. You: Thank you. Yang: Ok. Gotta admit. Not the response I expected. You: It must be very difficult to discuss and think about the accident. You didn’t have to go into it, yet you did, and I thank you for trusting me with that. You: That being said, is this a contributing factor to your insomnia? Yang: It’s not insomnia. I’m just not sleeping well. Yang: But yeah, idk, maybe it’s related. I liked sleeping on my right side and I can’t anymore. Anchor digs into my ribs. You: Establishing a new routine can be tricky at first. Everything is just a painful reminder of the incident. Yang: Sounds like you have experience with this. You: A bit. A superior of mine whom I respect greatly lost most of his body a few years back. He speaks very frankly about the challenges he faced when returning to the line. Yang: Wait, you mean General Ironwood? You: You know him? Yang: Who in Remnant doesn’t? He’s basically a celebrity. I mean, not just for the prosthetic body thing; he’s also the youngest commanding General of the Atlesian military. Yang: Which... tbh, is kinda weird. Isn’t he pushing fifty? You: Age takes on a whole new concept in the military. Yang: I’d say. Yang: They talked about him when I started my physical therapy. Supposed to inspire me, I guess. You: For what it’s worth, he actually dislikes when people do that. He says that each individual case is a war all unto itself. Comparisons are detrimental to the individual’s recovery. Yang: I like him better already. I’ve been over here trying to just “suck it up” I mean, not like I lost anything more than an arm, what do I have to complain about? You: Hold that thought. Yang: Okay?

-Today, 1558- You: Miss Yang? This is General Ironwood. Yang: Look, I’m all for practical jokes, but this isn’t a good one. You: [photo][open][save] Yang: This is not a joke. You: No, it is not.  You: Miss Yang, I’d like to extend my deepest, sincerest sympathies to you for your loss. Having your life upended in such a way can be extremely disorienting. However, the measure of your strength does not come from what you can or can’t do in comparison to before. It comes from your desire to continue fighting, to find a new balance to your life. Asymmetry is a measure of beauty, strength, and courage in its own right. Yang: Thank you, sir. Yang: *Sir. You: I’d like to extend an invitation to a support group I host. It’s mostly military members from all over Remnant but, if you don’t mind a bit of morbidly crass humor- a habit I’m attempting to break the lot of them from, with limited results- we’d be honored with your presence. Yang: No offense, but I doubt a bunch of soldiers would be “honored” by a mechanic. You: The first thing I teach is to see similarities instead of differences. You saw something dangerous and, rather than run away, you ran towards it. All of us share that experience. You: Except Carl. Yang: What happened to him? You: I apologize; it’s a military specific meme. Winter mentioned you’re rather fond of memes. Yang: Oh, so you know what a meme is, but she doesn’t? You: Don’t tell her I said so- she’s a very good soldier- but she’s always had a stick up her ass. She could use more memes in her life. Yang: Should I take that as an order? You: Absolutely. Yang: Can do. And, uh, sure. About the support group. You: Excellent! I’ll give Winter the details so she can pass them onto you. It was wonderful taking to you, Miss Yang. Yang: Yeah, you too, Sir. You: It’s Winter again. I hope that helped. Yang: Did you literally walk into the office of the commanding General of Atlas’ military, just to hand him your scroll and say ‘talk to this bitch’? You: I didn’t use those words; I told him I had a friend who recently attended physical therapy post amputation and I thought some words of encouragement from him would be a good idea. You: Wait, did he literally say I have a stick up my ass? Yang: WOOOW, meme savvy he might be, but apparently he doesn’t know how to delete a text message. You: I can’t believe he’d say that. You: I most certainly do not have a stick lodged in my posterior, figurative or otherwise. Yang: I’d offer to check but that’s a bit too fast too soon, so I’ll just say you seem alright to me. You: Thank you, Yang. Yang: Cranky when I wake you up at the asscrack of dawn, though. That might be when ass and stick are firm friends. You: Do not make me take it back. Yang: I’m just kidding! Yang: Seriously, though, thanks. You didn’t have to do that. You: You’re welcome.

-Today, 0233- Yang: Did you know it takes the average person seven minutes to fall asleep? You: I sincerely thought you’d be asleep by now. Yang: I did. Woke up. Yang: Sorry. You: Do you know what a contact truck is? Yang: Uh, no, no idea. You: It’s the military vehicle utilized by mechanics, outfitted with tools, so they can drive out and repair other vehicles. Do you know why it’s called that? Yang: Hit me with it. You: That was an actual question. Yang: Huh? You: I’ve been asking for as long as I’ve been in. Not even General Ironwood knows why it’s called that. It just is. Yang: omg that’s hilarious You: It’s that, too. Also incredibly vexing. You: I just want to know why it’s called that. Yang: Heh. If I find out, I’ll let you know. You: Go back to sleep, Yang. Yang: I’ll try. Night. You: And sweet dream. Yang: lol, same to you.

[leslie-withers-experiment]

Matthew grew calm as he listened to Loki talk. Before he could answer though a waiter asked if he was ready to get something for himself, so he just got a plain latte and that was that.

He leaned back a bit, “Yeah, I was with him in that time. We weren’t in a relationship or anything, just don’t feel that way about each other ya know? More like a family relationship honestly, non-blood related families are pretty great.” He smiled fondly again. Then grew more serious. “But um, anyway. I remember I met him when he was first on the streets, he didn’t really look like he knew what was going on back then. More than just zoned out. I blame it on Beacon’s drugs and withdrawals from it all and...everything else.” He sighed as the waiter came back and gave him his drink, he sipped it a bit. “He wasn’t really begging for money or anything either, I thought that was weird at first and it really put me off. So I went to a dumpling shop and got him a buncha those! Like, 60! Figured he was really hungry ya know? He was really surprised at me doing that but man he ate everything!” He smiled brightly at the memory. “But uh...the main reason I came back wasn’t...that.” He frowned, “He uh, he looked like my buddy Benny after he’d left his abusive ma’s house, all beaten up, bruised, think I saw some bite marks on him and red welts like, fuck man I dunno about that part, but...Leslie’s teeth were really really bad, almost...rotted, looked really fuckin’ painful and he had a really big chip in the front one. Anyway he just looked like complete hell even though he’d just ate, so I asked if he’d seen a doctor or a dentist...he said no. So I offered to take him to a dentist first and of course he tried to pay for it but I didn’t let ‘em. Wasn’t gonna do that to a homeless person...”

He continued his story of Leslie being on the streets for two years. That he would sometimes come to his apartment in the middle of the night all beaten up again but that mentally he seemed decent and his track marks from Beacon were doing better. So he knew that someone must’ve done that to him, he explained that it would happen about once or twice every week, sometimes even three times, and he would always stay up and wait for him just in case.

Matthew clenched his jaw. “Then, I found the bastards who were doin’ it one day. Six. Different. People. Just ganged up on him. He didn’t tell me, I saw it. Saw ‘em...I saw them, just trying to get Leslie into this alley and I just knew what was gonna happen man.” Matthew was fuming now, fueled by coffee and a memory of rage, though he was still being quiet. “Now, I’m a big guy, wrestler, did some boxing and all that jazz, fuck I’m 6’10” so I threw the guy who had his fukin’ hands on Les inta a wall and I blacked out after that from how much it screwed me up and pissed me off...when I woke up again it was all...bloody and mangled. Didn’t kill nobody to my knowledge but I had to wash my clothes a whole bunch afterwards to get the smell and red out, that’s also when I found out about his little side, I was kinda confused at first but I got it after a few minutes and I carried ‘em ta my place, made him stay at my house even after it was over. Took care of Leslie like that, best I could, I think I did a pretty good job for what I knew about babies and kids.” He exhaled, his coffee half gone now. “Things were way better after that, well, not way better but he was mostly safe. No one bothered him again that was fer sure. The only reason he got that shit apartment in the first place though was for a place of his own to sleep and kinda live in, cuz he thought he was bothering me with how much he was coming over. Even though it wasn’t much better there, it was still shelter....Then you happened and..” He paused for a second. “Loki, I don’t think you realize how much of a godsend you were fer the kid. Literally.” Matthew chuckled at the joke and felt tears in his eyes, “So...thank you, so much. I know ya don’t get told that enough from people that aren’t him.” He said with broken speech, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

And with that his side of the conversation was over, at least for the portion of Leslie’s more recent past.

Loki had told Leslie he was heading out for some food, and that he would be back soon before leaving to meet Matthew. He was still tense from the things he had read yesterday, and had even gone further while Les was asleep reading articles about himself, and the hate everyone seemed to have towards him. 

He was dressed normally, black hoodie and jeans trying to seem casual. Honestly, he was feeling some dread about all of this. Loki walked into the cafe choosing the furthest away from others having a cup of tea and reading a book on his phone avoiding other’s gazes.

Loki glanced up noticing Matthew walking up. He turned off his phone and physically grew tense. Typically with these kinds of things Leslie was with him, helping him relax, but right now he had to just cope without him. The apology caught him off guard and his expression softened.

He took a second after Matthew had spoken before he replied. “I understand your caution, and concern about Leslie and my involvement with him. I’m glad he has a friend like you watching out for him that isn’t trying to control him.” He sighed and his formality faded. “Yeah. I know how the unknown can be scary. I have a few questions, and I’m sure you do too. Were you with Leslie when he was homeless? I don’t know much about that time in his life, but he’s shown me…his experiences at Beacon.” Loki stared down at his tea biting his lip. “I would ask Les, but he has a lot on his plate as of recent.” He picked up his cup taking a sip waiting for a response.