#beware of son of a cussing cuss word

[skullywullypully]

Imagine spider!reader (or your OC), who's usually a shy and happy person slow to anger, comes to HQ one day, all hot, angry, and cursing up a storm.

Y/N: Damnit, damnnit, damnit, damnit, dagnabit, damnit, damn, dagnabit, dagit nagit, nabit dagit!

Everybody else:

[bepractical]

Kin: Season 1, Episode 2, Part 2

Welcome to part 2 of the second episode recap of Kin. When last we left the Kinsellas, Frank had been threatened by Eamon, given a big bag of blood money from Caolan Moore, and left alone in an abandoned parking lot to stew. Regular reminder that these recaps are spoiler filled for the entire first season. BEWARE! GO BACK WHILE YOU CAN!

See the masterlist here.

Let's kick off the post with Anna, who’s happily eating her cereal and hasn’t yet been (re)traumatized by Kinsella bullshit.

Anna’s hanging in her grandmother’s kitchen when a text pops up on her phone with a link to an article about the shooting.

Anna secrets off to her room to listen to a news story that mentions two male relatives were with Jamie when he died, including one who just got released from prison. I’m aghast that this is how she finds out her dad was out of prison.

Michael and Jimmy meet at a bar. Jimmy reaches out for Michael but Michael doesn’t reach back. I am so sad now that I’ve noticed that Michael never instigates physical comfort. Give that man a hug, Michael! It'll be good for you both!

Michael gives his condolences and mentions he spoke with Amanda, which stops Jimmy in his tracks. Michael tells the truth, that they spoke about the shooting and nothing more, but Jimmy doesn’t believe him. He can’t stop himself from questioning Michael and Amanda’s relationship and testing them both, even when he’s grieving his son. Poor Jimmy. Michael’s lost for words but Jimmy cuts him off before he can spit something out by ordering drinks for them both. Michael, who hasn’t drank since his release from prison, tries to object, but Jimmy shuts him down. Jimmy looks ready to burst into tears at any minute, so Michael doesn’t fight him on it.

The conversation that follows is awkward and terrible. Michael tries to convince Jimmy to go home to Amanda, but Jimmy is still smarting from their argument earlier. Michael tries to convince Jimmy to give Amanda a break, but Amanda doesn’t have the monopoly on grief and Jamie was Jimmy’s son, too and anyway, Michael needs to stay the fuck out of Jimmy and Amanda’s marriage. They talk about the shooting and Caolan Moore. Jimmy is itching to take him out but Michael can’t be a part of it, not if he wants to see Anna. 

Jimmy: What about Jamie? Doesn’t he count? Fuck you, Michael. You’ve done it before for money, do it for family.

So here’s our confirmation that Michael was a contract killer. 

At the compound, Amanda is talking to her parents about Jimmy’s absence and funeral arrangements. After beating around the bush a bit, her mother correctly points out that Jamie is dead because of his association with the Kinsellas. Amanda does not react well to that. She hightails it out of there for a bout of reckless driving.

First she drives to the crime scene, where someone is washing away the blood. That’s not great. 

She drives away crying, and while she’s trying to pull herself together at a light, she almost misses when it turns green. The guy behind her beeps aggressively, then pulls alongside her to cuss her out some before driving away. Grief now converted to anger, Amanda follows the guy and slams into him at the next light. 

At the hospital, Frank arrives to bitch out a now awake Eric and Nikki for lying. Eric still hasn’t cottoned on that he’s the one who’s ultimately responsible for all of this. He wants Frank to go after Moore and get off his back, but Frank shuts him down hard. Frank and Eric have a terrible relationship built on toxic masculinity and feelings of inferiority, with Frank using Eric as an outlet for his anger because he’s too chickenshit to take it out on anyone else. More on that in future eps. 

Frank warns Eric not to tell anyone he was involved ‘especially Jimmy’ but Eric still doesn’t understand why that may be a problem. Eric is an idiot. Frank also tells him not to go after Caolan Moore, or offer his assistance to Jimmy for anything. 

At the accident site, Jimmy picks up Amanda, who looks like death. She tells him on the ride home that she doesn’t want anyone but family and close friends at the funeral. Jimmy acquiesces, having caught on that Amanda’s snapped completely, and maybe taking some of Michael’s advice. Then Frank calls and asks Jimmy and Michael to come over to Birdy’s for a talk. 

Once there, Frank tells them both that Caolan Moore is off limits. Jimmy is furious and Michael slowly inches away from him like he’s a bomb about to go off. I’ll take my moments of levity where I can. 

Frank is trying to be reasonable but really, when you murder a member of a violent crime family, you get murdered back, right? You gotta check your morals at the door when you watch this show. When Frank fails to calm Jimmy, Birdy steps in and promises that they’ll get Moore eventually. That’s not good enough for Jimmy. And then Frank, the dumbass, brings out Moore’s bag of money and says it’s from Eamon. It’s 150,000 Euro. Sounds like a reasonable amount for the death of Jimmy’s eldest son, right? Oi.

Jimmy: What am I supposed to do with this, Frank? Buy a fucking boat?

Birdy tries to argue that Frank’s doing what’s best for everyone. Behind Jimmy, Michael’s doing his best not to make it too obvious he thinks that’s a load of crap. And then Jimmy does what any loving father would do when presented with blood money for his beloved son. He pisses directly in the bag, shakes it over Birdy’s floor and leaves. Birdy tries to convince Michael they have no choice and it seems like Michael is firmly staying out of it.

At home, Jimmy skirts telling Amanda about what happened at Frank’s. Anthony sees his mom is injured and freaks out, so she runs over to comfort him. She tells him it’s alright to be sad, and angry. She pulls Anthony in for a hug while Jimmy looks ready to drink himself to death in the other room.

Anna walks past Michael’s house unaware that just inside he's staring at the bullet hole of doom.

Anna arrives home to find her case worker talking with her grandmother about Michael’s release. They ask her to tell her grandmother if Michael tries to reach out to her. 

I appreciate these adults trying to look after Anna’s welfare, really, but Anna is a teenager. She’s past the age where they can prevent her from seeing her dad if that’s what she wants. Has anyone asked her what she wants? Have they thought about trying to facilitate monitored visits? I get it from the grandmother’s side- he did presumably kill her daughter (tossing that presumably in there without comment for now, we’ll get to it)- but making these decisions without Anna’s input just encourages her to be secretive. 

Back at Michael’s, Frank shows up for a talk. Michael finally tells Frank what he’s thinking, that it’s wrong to let Moore get away. Michael asks what Frank would be doing if Eric was the one killed.

Frank: I’d be saying the exact same thing. But it wasn’t Eric, and Jamie’s not your kid either.

Low blow, Frank. Frank brings up Anna, as starting a feud would ruin Michael’s chances of seeing her. Then we get to the purpose of this meeting; Frank wants Michael to help wrangle Jimmy. Michael hmms his agreement, but this talk did not seem like a success. 

Frank is really desperate to get Michael on his side AND put him in his place. Frank is the head of the family, Michael has already refused to come back to work. Michael and Jimmy together (we haven’t even gotten to Amanda!) could easily threaten Frank’s authority. Most importantly, Michael is the killer in the family. If anyone is going to kill Moore, it’s gonna be him. Frank treats him like a threat that needs to be neutralized. Putting him in charge of his volatile brother doesn’t help matters.

At the hospital, Eric tells Fudge and Kem to let the thing with Moore go. He’s miserable about it and Fudge and Kem both openly question the decision so much that Eric has to shut them down. I’m pretty sure this is the moment Kem decides to jump ship. 

At the compound, Jimmy sleeps while Amanda stares at the ceiling. She instigates some grief sex. Simultaneously, Frank finds relief with a male bartender. This is the first confirmation we get of Frank’s sexuality. It’s complicated, we’ll get to it.

The next morning, the family liaison is back and ready to take Amanda and Jimmy to Jamie. 

Meanwhile, Michael has hooked up with a family lawyer to figure out what he needs to do to see Anna. She’s as honest as possible, to sum up: Michael hasn’t seen Anna in over eight years, Michael could be a danger to Anna, Michael was responsible for her mother’s death (presumably), Michael’s family is dangerous, Michael’s been questioned in numerous murder investigations (though never charged). In closing, it’s not going to be easy and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. Michael is crushed.

At the morgue, Jimmy and Amanda go to see Jamie’s body. In an episode full of difficult scenes, this is one of the worst. Amanda panics. She finds a tattoo she didn’t know Jamie had and tries to convince herself it’s not him. She leans down to kiss his cheek but the body doesn’t smell like Jamie. Maybe it’s not him, after all? Jimmy comforts her as much as possible but they’re both verklempt, as am I, and anyone else watching this show. 

We cut to the two of them outside the morgue. Amanda is back on the revenge wagon, converting that grief to anger at lightning speed, and Jimmy’s forced to tell her Frank wants him to stand down. He says no one will go against Frank to help him. Amanda knows better and tells him to talk to Michael again, to tell Michael he needs him. 

I’ve seen a lot of speculation about what this means, to Jimmy and to Michael. For Jimmy, I think it means swallowing his pride and admitting he can’t do this without Michael. Mixed in his and Michael’s reactions is the reality that Jamie was Michael’s son, and that Michael has some measure of responsibility for him, whether he admits it or not. For Michael, what Jimmy is invoking here is the sense of family loyalty that is essential to the Kinsellas. Michael may not be wild about the family hierarchy but he believes in family loyalty and if Jimmy comes to him and begs for help he’s not going to turn him away easily. We, as an audience, also know that Michael just had a terrible meeting with his lawyer, which definitely doesn’t help his continued resistance. My two cents.

Back at home, Amanda gives Jimmy a death stare until he agrees to talk to Michael.

At Michael’s, Jimmy gives his pitch. He really goes for it. “I was Jamie’s dad, Michael,” he says, “not you.” Jimmy is so insecure about his role as Jamie’s dad, despite Michael never challenging it. Jimmy wants to know what Michael would do, if it was Anna. If Jimmy can’t avenge Jamie’s death, what kind of father is he? Michael’s face during this whole conversation is very open; he’s made his decision. I think he was halfway there after the second conversation with Frank, but the lawyer pushed him over. He’ll help Jimmy after all.

For the next episode, go here.

[demonic-dogs]

Welcome to the edgy oc furry rp/ask blog, where the characters are demon dogs. The blog may get dark, so be carefully if you're uncomfortable with blood, dark humor, death mentions, and more!

Now, onto the rules:

• NO NSFW. Mod is a minor>:/

• The blog is a LGBT+ friendly, and so, NO HOMOPHOBES NOR TRANSPHOBES

• cussing is allowed yes, censored or not, but no N word or R word or any slurs...please.

Onto the characters:

SOULTAKER [yeah yeah I know, the name is stupid]- the quiet first-in-order of the group. ST acts as in the Grim Reaper of the group, as his name says so.

SUKI-

The more friendly one in the group. You can usually see him around the heavens, or underworld. If you need comfort, you can always go to him! Although beware, he has a dark past...

DAMON-

The second-in-order. This dog has horns and wings, sharp as his teeth! He's a flirty son-of-a-gun, and smug too.

SOULEATER-

Locked up so no one- underworld or not- can see him. He's a shape-shifting demon, who [obviously] eats souls. Created by the first person who was in SoulTaker's place.

MONSTRO-

A demon who shall forever be remembered as the "demon king." He has no soul, nor no heart. He's forever locked up in Suki's mind and the mirror dimension.

More characters may make appearances, but these are the main ones for now.

[elencelebrindal]

I have a question who of the Gold Saints would cuss more like “Son of a B@tch!” Or “Mother Trucker” etc. And on the flip side who would scold more for using that kind of language?

Well, beware of the huge amount of swear material of this post! 

On a scale from “motherfucker” to “darn”, I’d say the motherfucker is Deathmask and the darn is Aldebaran.  Can you picture that man swearing? I can’t. 

But let’s go kind of in order, from worse to best at containing their swears. 

1. Deathmask

Yeah, this man has a huge vocabulary of swear words and expressions. Most times he takes some from Italian as well. The most used is “Minchia!”, mostly because he can use it in any situation.  The best, though, was when he stubbed his toe against the bed. No one heard such a long string of profanities before. 

2. Aphrodite

Yeah, this man is not the delicate rose people like to depict. And, given how many times he surely has pricked himself with rose thorns, you can imagine how frequently you hear him say “fuck” in the most annoyed voice.  (For his followers, think Markiplier when he keeps failing something and just goes “fuck” “fuuuck” “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”, it’s the best example I have). 

3. Saga (after Ares) / Kanon

I think we all know Kanon swears like a sailor in the middle of a storm. Not as much as Deathmask and Aphrodite, but still enough to have the podium of this list.  Bonus point to the day he straight up swore in front of Athena because the Scarlett Needle fucking hurts. Turns out, saying “son of a bitch” out loud in the near vicinity of a goddess is not a good idea.  Saga, on the other hand, curses just as much but he’s way more silent. If you hear him cursing out loud, you’re fucked. He used to never swear, unless he got really angry at someone, but after Ares scrambling his brain like a shakeable toy he started resembling his brother more and more by the day. 

4. Milo

I hope you expected him here. Though, he mostly happens to cuss when he’s alone and stuff goes wrong, so people always assume he has a way cleaner mouth. Memorable the time he stubbed his nail (yeah, that nail) against the wall because he tripped (trust me it happens, source: me tripping on my own feet) and just went “son of a fuck!” so loud Aiolos and Dohko heard him.

5. Shura

“Son of a bitch” and “you’re an asshole” are words that easily come out his mouth, especially when he’s talking with Deathmask. He almost took Milo’s 4th place the day when he accidentally destroyed his house with Excalibur and swore like a madman for 1 hour straight in three different languages.  But he also has a habit of scolding younger people for swearing, even if he himself just spoke a profanity. 

6. Aiolos

You thought this man would have been the perfect person with the cleanest mouth of the Sanctuary? Well, think again. The string of profanities he conjured up the day of Saga’s betrayal alone is enough to put him in this spot.  Of course, he will scold anyone that comes up with a curse word in his vicinity, and teach them a lesson by quite literally washing their mouths with soap. But he’s also one to go “what the fuck are you doing?” to people when something weird is happening.  The best thing happened when he - sleep deprived - heard a Bronze say a curse word, wanted to scold him for it, told them “what the fuck do you think you’re saying”, realized his mistake, told them to stop swearing, and went back to sleep. All in the span of 5 minutes. 

7. Aiolia

Turns out, having a brother that occasionally swears but it also strict about it creates a very confused man that yes, swears every once in a while, but mostly uses “safe” curse words, like damn and crap.  Although, he’s not really the safest one, because Aiolia will throw you a “son of bitch” or an F-bomb if particularly angry.  He’s also the only one of the Saints that, probably during the whole ordeal with Loki, actively cursed against a god.  Luckily for him, Aiolos didn’t hear it.

8. Camus

Extremely against Hyoga cursing, not so much against himself saying “go fuck yourself” to Surt when he killed Shura. Although, it’s incredibly rare to hear him actually swear. He’s only this high on the list because when he does, he goes full force for it. 

9. Dohko

Years and years spent sitting on a rock by himself surely had a role in him not swearing anymore, because what’s the point, but sometimes... sometimes he still lets one or two curse words slip by.  He’s more focused on making other people stop cursing, though. No one will ever forget how long it took for him to make Shiryu stop swearing towards the waterfall. He did a good job, though, no one would ever suspect Shiryu used to yell “you stupid fucking waterfall” on a daily basis like a child. 

10. Mu

He mostly scolds other people for swearing, but understands that sometimes the setting and the situation is just right for them. So, when Kiki accidentally teleported a tiger in the middle of Rodorio, with subsequent panic ensuing, he was perfectly fine with both of them saying “oh, shit!” simultaneously.  But other than “holy shit”, he never really uses proper curse words, and sticks to “family friendly” ones, just out of habit. Having to take care of a child does that. 

11. Shaka

He doesn’t care about people swearing, and doesn’t swear himself, but... he’s not the best at keeping it together for a reason.  That reason being, the longest, loudest, most creative combination of insults, curse words, and general profanity he let out for the first and last time in his life. You can freely imagine what happened for this to be a thing. In my book (literally, in my fanfic) it was Shaka getting interrupted for the umpteenth time in his mission to get some sweet sweet love, by a tree almost falling on him. 

12. Aldebaran

He’s too good, I don’t want him to swear. Most he does is some “family friendly” curse words that aren’t actually curse words.  Leave this sweet man without profanity, please. 

[miss-tc-nova]

The Cat’s Meow - Jumin Han x Fem!Reader Pt 11

WARNING! STRONG LANGUAGE!

This chapter is where I introduce cussing because, honestly, I just write it how I feel. However, this chapter has quite a bit of it so...beware if you don’t like that. 

Also, this also where my average word count increases to around 2,700 per chapter. I’ve tried so hard to shave them down, so I’m sorry if they seem needlessly long.

Part 11: Drinking For the Wrong Reasons

                I set down my glass, savoring the burn of the alcohol going down. By now, everything has a fuzzy tint to it: my vision, my thoughts, my judgment. Though, my judgment was probably already skewed considering my decision to come drink. Still, at least I know the bartender will keep an eye on me while I’m here; she’s a nice woman. Despite the small amount of safety I have in the establishment, I have to come to terms with the fact that I have to go home because I have work in the morning. Drinking on a Thursday is also proof of my awful choices. I’m going to hurt in the morning.

                I bid the bartender goodbye and start the walk home. I still have enough sense to know which way I’m going and where home is.

                “Hey sweetheart.” I glance over my shoulder at the man stumbling towards me. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?”

                “Going home,” I huff, continuing my walk.

                He grabs my wrist to stop me. “Woah, hold on. The night’s still young.”

                “No. It’s almost midnight and I want to go home,” I growl. When I try to pull my arm from his grasp, I find that I can’t. Rationality gone and angry very present, I raise my hand and slam the heal of my palm into the guy’s wrist, forcing him to release me.

                “Son of a bitch!” he howls. He gives me a dark glare. I can’t help remarking that it’s nothing like Jumin’s and has little effect on me. “Fine!”

                I don’t expect the man to shove me as he walks past. I stumble backwards, tripping over a garbage can and hitting the wall behind it. As I struggle to get up and gasp for the air that escaped me, I see a bright light approaching.

                “Hey! Are you okay?!”

                I’m not entirely sure what I was seeing. It’s when the light flicks off and the man approaches that I begin to recognize him. “Zen?”

                “_____? What are you doing out this late by yourself? I know it’s a weekday, but there are still creeps out.” The man takes my hand, pulling me to my feet.

                “So I noticed.” My feet stumble, but he holds me up. Very quickly, I’m beginning to lose my hold on my emotions. I suppose that’s part of the reason I came out, but I didn’t plan on letting them out in front of someone I knew, let alone someone I met through Jumin.

                “Uh, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

                Regaining my balance, I try to dust some of the grime from my clothes. I curse my blurry vision. “I’m fine.”

                “Well, let me give you a ride home.”

                “No. I said I’m fine.” My voice cracks at the end and I slap a hand over my mouth. Zen appears shocked and I know I’ve been caught. That’s when I start to just fall apart.

                Zen pushes his helmet onto my head. Confused, I look up at him which gives him the chance to buckle the thing under my chin. “Come on. I’ll take care of you.” The actor leads me towards his bike and pulls me on behind him. “For the love of god, please don’t fall off.”

                I cling to him tightly as the scenery flies by, partially grateful that the jacket I’m crying against is leather and not soaking him. Once the bike stops, Zen takes me up a set of stairs and into a cozy little apartment where he sets me on the sofa, takes the helmet, and plays in the kitchen.

                “Do you want to talk about it?” Zen asks, offering me a glass of water.

                “N-No. It’s probably best that I don’t,” I talk through a stuffy nose.

                “Does it have to do with that stupid trust-fund kid?”

                I peer up at him worried that I’ve already let too much slip. Sucking my anxiety back in, I sip at the water. “He didn’t do anything if that’s what you’re asking.”

                Zen sighs and leans back. “Well he doesn’t exactly have to do much to cause problems. But I could see him agitating you with how much that guy fawns over you.”

                “Shut up!” I snap. “He does not fawn over me.” My tears betray me.

                “Are you kidding? I don’t think a day’s gone by where he hasn’t mentioned you in our messenger since you found his cat.” My grip on the glass tightens. “Dude’s head over heels for you…It’s kind of weird. He was always such a robot before but now-”

                Pain sears in my hand and glass scatters to the floor. On my feet, I get away from the sofa, clutching my hand to my chest. “Goddamnshitfuckbitch!”

                “Oh my god! Are you okay?!”

                “NO!” I shout. “How am I supposed to be okay when people keep reminding me Jumin Han loves me?! What am I supposed to do when everything tells me I’m not good enough but he’s there holding his hand out like a fucking gentleman?! How am I supposed to be okay when I’m always waiting for him to snap?! I’m not okay, Zen! But I don’t know what to do!”

                The man stands there in complete shock, absorbing my words. “Okay, I was actually talking about your hand but I don’t know which issue I need to confront first anymore.” He scurries back into the kitchen.

                I fall to my knees. “God, why did I have to fall in love with Jumin Han of all people?! Why couldn’t I find some middle-class guy who understands student loans, waiting in line at the DMV, and all the other stupid middle-class bullshit?! Why did it have to be someone so out of my league I’d have to work ten lifetimes to even compare?!”

                Zen comes back from his second trip to the kitchen. “First off, put this on your hand, please! It’s kind of freaking me out!” He presses a dishcloth into my hand. I hiss at the pain. “Second, love doesn’t work like that, _____. Sometimes your heart just does crazy things and you end up falling in love in the most unconventional ways. Sometimes that jerk doesn’t consider other people’s circumstances, but I really don’t think he cares that you’re not high-class like he is.”

                I drag my free arm across my face. “But that’s just it! He doesn’t even see the problem! Do you understand how terrible it’ll be for him if we start dating?! He’d spend all his time trying to defend me!”

                “Come on. You’re drunk. I don’t think you’re thinking about this rationally.”

                “And then there’s stupid things like this?!” I show him the red mark where the drunkard grabbed me. “Everyone’s gonna think he’s abusive! Which doesn’t fucking help when that asshole turns into Dark Jumin!”

                “Dark Jumin?” Zen’s brows knit together. “Is Jumin abusive to you?”

                “No! And that’s the worst part! He’s so fucking terrifying and I wait and wait for him to hit me or yell at me but he just calmly tries to take care of me even if I don’t like it and I’m just so scared of him!”

                “What do you mean if you don’t like it?”

                “The-The first night we drank together, he wouldn’t let me leave his house because it was late and he didn’t want me to get hurt,” I sob. “Or-Or the Christmas party when I got mad at him, he wanted to take me home but I yelled at him and ran away.”

                “Wait, he forcibly kept you in his house?!”

                “Yeah, but he didn’t do anything. He even slept on the couch while he let me have his bed. But he was so scary.”

                If I had a clearer head, well first off, I wouldn’t have told Zen any of this, but I probably would’ve been more concerned about my bleeding hand. As promised, at least Zen is looking after me.

                “_____, I really think that you need to tell Jumin all of this.”

                “No! I already told you, he doesn’t see a problem!” 

                “Then you need to make him understand that you see a problem. And you definitely need to talk to him about that Dark Jumin shit. Now you’re a vet; does that need stitches?”

                I pull the cloth away from my hand to look while Zen frantically hides his face. There’s a large crescent gash across the bottom of my hand. “Yes,” I say through tears.

                “Okay. Guess we’re going on another ride. Do you need to throw up first?” I shake my head and he pulls me to my feet. The ‘no’ quickly changes to a ‘yes’ and I dive for the garbage can just inside the kitchen. “Okay,” he sighs. “Hopefully it’s all out. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

                Another bike ride later, I’m sitting in the ER, still sniffling and blubbering but at least I’m not spilling anymore secrets. Zen explains the situation and I get taken back for sutures. After that’s done, they leave me in my friend’s care once again and he takes me home. I apologize profusely and beg him not to tell anyone but turn down his offer to stick around. Now that I’m all alone, I fall asleep crying.

~~~~~~

                With the worst headache, I roll over. Through bleary eyes, I find my phone and turn off the alarm. It’s utter hell, but I get up and get ready for work. Both Corine and Yoosung point out how terrible I look, Yoosung being more polite than the secretary, and I confess to having gotten drunk last night, but not the part where I bawled my heart out to Zen. There’s some teasing and mocking, especially about my hand but I let it roll by.

                It’s nearing lunch when I decide to text Zen. I have to get his number from Yoosung who seems kind of indignant about it, but relents.

                ‘Hey, it’s _____. I got your number from Yoosung.’ ‘I just wanted to say thank you for last night and let you know that I am sooooo sorry.’

                Before long, he response. ‘Hey. Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling? How’s your hand?’

                ‘I feel like I got hit by a train but my hand’s not too bad.’

                ‘LOL’

                ‘Are you busy for lunch? I’d really like to pay you back.’

                ‘Like I said, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay me back.’

                ‘Please. I feel so awful having put you through that.’ ‘If you don’t let me take you to lunch, you have to let me clean up the mess I made.’

                ‘I already cleaned that mess up. Did you think I was gonna leave broken glass on the floor?’

                ‘So lunch it is then.’ ‘There’s a little café around the corner from my clinic. See you in an hour.’

                ‘Rats.’ ‘Alright. See you then.’

                Lunch comes around and, just as I’m venturing out of the clinic, I see my lunch date. With a smile, he waves.

                “Hey. Wow. You must be in hell right now.”

                I groan. “I want to dieeeeee.”

                He chuckles. “I bet.”

                I apologize again, more now that I don’t have to text it between clients. Even though I feel awful and guilty, Zen and I have a nice lunch. He’s pretty good company and we get along quite well, even if he is allergic to cats. Too soon, my lunch break is ending and I need to get back.

                “Yeah. At least I’m pretty sure you can get shots for allergies. I swear I remember Yoosung saying something about his sister getting them.”

                The actor snaps his fingers. “That’s right. Yoosung works at your clinic. How’s that going?”

                “He’s great. A little panicky around the people sometimes, but great with the animals. I can’t wait for him to graduate and-”

                A shiny, black car parks at the curb. Immediately, my heart begins to pound when the C&R Director steps out. I distinctly notice his eyes narrow at Zen but then he looks to me and I fear my heart may jump out of my chest.

                “_____, I was just on my way to pay my bill.”

                “Oh. Thanks.”

                His eyes flicker between us again. “Am I interrupting something?”

                “No. I just finished having lunch with Zen. He, uh, he helped me out with some stuff a while ago.”

                “I didn’t realize you two were-”

                I made a mistake; I made a huge mistake. In my nervousness, I reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face. Now Jumin’s eyes are locked onto the bandage around my fist.

                Zen tries to get something out of him. “Are you okay, man? You’re acting weird.”

                Jumin takes my wrist and suddenly pulls me towards his car. “Excuse us.”

                I’m too shocked to say anything, but I can hear Zen shouting at him. The next thing I know, I’m in the back of a moving vehicle.

                In a low voice, Jumin hold up my injured hand. “What’s this?” A calm, cold fury burns in his eyes. This is worse than when he found the bruise at Christmas. “Who did this to you?” he growls.

                It’s feeble, but at least it’s an attempt. “It’s none of your business. Now let me out,” I say, pulling my wrist from his grasp and holding it close.

                “Tell me,” he insists, leaning closer. “It won’t take me long to find them. And when I do, I’ll ruin them.”

                Not only am I trapped in the back seat of a car, but he’s restricting what small space I had. With my good hand, I push him back somewhat. “Don’t worry about it. I had a couple drinks at a bar and I-”

                “A bar? What were you doing at a bar? If you wanted to drink you should’ve come to me. At least then, I would know you’re safe.”

                “I didn’t feel like drinking wine,” I snap, feeling the turmoil of last night beginning to return.

                “I could’ve gotten you any drink you wanted,” he argues.

                “That’s not the point! Let me out!”

                He frowns at me. “There’s a point? You had a reason to drink? Even more reason for you to come to me.”

                “I didn’t want to drink in front of you!” I’ve started to lose my temper and realize that I should get out of here before one of us does something horrible. Jumin doesn’t seem to realize that though. “Now let me out or so help me, I will jump!”

                Now Jumin’s both confused and frustrated. “What makes you think I would judge your reason for drinking? I don’t care what the reason was; I would’ve listened, I would’ve comforted you.”

                The words come out of my mouth in a rage before I could have the coherent thought to keep them in.

                “I WAS DRINKING BECAUSE OF YOU!”

                Both of us appear to be struck across the face. Jumin’s the first to break from it. “Because of me?” he mumbles.

                Tears start running down my face and I kick the door open. Immediately, Driver Kim slams on the breaks. Just before I can rush out, Jumin has my wrist in his grasp again.

                “_____, wait-”

                “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Once again, I raise my voice more than I meant to. The reaction startles the man enough to release me. I give him a pained look before running away, cursing myself the entire way.

                I don’t stop running until I make it inside my own house. Locking the door behind me, I fall to my knees, crying.

 ~~~~~

                The weeks following are strange. Once he realizes that I can’t be contacted through calls or texts, he makes a few attempts of dropping by my home and the clinic; the door isn’t answered at home and Corine isn’t about to let him loiter without an appointment, and then denies his appointments since I made the at-home call just before this all happened. I’d made friends with them all, but Luciel, Zen, Yoosung, and even Jaehee begin to visit and check on me more. I’m sure some of them have been put up to it, but they all respect me enough not to bring up what happened, or the heir in general, and I’m thankful for their visits. It sucks to be missing my best friend because I couldn’t make things work and my only hope is that maybe now he’ll understand that there someone better out there for him.

                A month from the incident, I get the envelope. Inside is a card with red decorations. Written in scarlet ink are the words that drive me to night of drinking again.

~~~

You are invited to the wedding

Of

Jumin Han and Sarah Choi

~~~~~

Part 12

Nova’s Mystic Messenger Masterlist

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

NOW 2~G-Dragon Pt.2

Genre:Angst/SMUT

Rated:NSFW

Pairing: GD X Reader

wordcount:4,397 (sorry for any mistakes of names i might overlooked some)

Masterlist

DISCLAIMER!:remember this is just an edit of an original book called after by anna todd i do not own this book!

I utterly shrink. I’ve never felt so naked and small. I didn’t want Ken and Karen to know . . . but it may not make much of a difference, since after tonight they surely won’t really want to see me again.

“Do you want to go with him?” Ken asks, interrupting my downward spiral.

I shake my head meekly.

“Well, I’m not leaving here without you,” Jiyong snaps. He steps toward me, but I cringe away.

“I think you need to go, Jiyong,” Ken surprises me by saying.

“Excuse me?” Jiyong’s face is a deep shade of red that expresses what I can only describe as rage. “You’re lucky I even come here to your house—and you dare to kick me out?”

“I’ve been very happy with how our relationship has grown, son, but tonight you have to go.”

Jiyong throws his hands into the air. “This is bullshit, who is she to you?”

Ken turns to me, then back to his son. “Whatever you did to her, I hope it was worth losing the only good thing you had going for you,” he says and then drops his head.

I don’t know if it was the shock of Ken’s words, or just that he’d hit a point where all the rage peaked and flowed out of him, but Jiyong just stills, looks at me briefly, and marches out of the room. We all remain quiet while we listen to him walk down the stairs at a steady pace.

When the sound of the front door slamming cuts through the now-quiet house, I turn to Ken and sob, “I’m so sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“No, you stay as long as you need. You’re always welcome here,” Ken says, and both he and Karen hug me.

“I didn’t mean to come between you,” I say, feeling terrible for the way Ken had to kick his son out.

Karen grabs hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze. Ken looks at me with exasperation and weariness. “Y/N, I love Jiyong, but I think we both know that without you, there isn’t anything to come between,” he says.

I stayed in as long as I could, letting the water roll over me. I wanted it to clean me, reassure me somehow. But the hot shower didn’t help me relax like I had hoped. I can’t think of anything that’s going to calm the ache inside of me. It feels infinite. Permanent. Like an organism that’s come to live within me, but also like a hole growing steadily larger.

“I feel terrible about the wall. I offered to pay for it, but Ken refuses to let me,” I tell Tae as I brush out my wet hair.

“Don’t worry about that. You have a lot going on.” Tae frowns and rubs his hand across my back.

“I can’t comprehend how my life came to this, how I ever got to this point.” I stare ahead, not wanting to meet my best friend’s eyes. “Three months ago, everything made sense. I had Hoseok, who would never do something like this. I was close with my mother and I had this idea of how my life would be. And now I have nothing. Literally nothing. I don’t even know if I should go to my internship anymore because Jiyong will either go there, or he’ll convince Christian Vance to fire me just because he can.” I grab the pillow on the bed and grip the material hard in my fist. “He had nothing to lose, but I did. I let him take everything from me. My life before him was so simple and decided. Now . . . after him . . . it’s just . . . after.”

Tae looks at me with wide eyes. “Y/N, you can’t give up your internship; he’s taken enough from you. Don’t let him take that, please,” he practically pleads. “The good thing about this afterlife without him is that you can make it whatever you please, you can start all over.”

I know he’s right, but it isn’t that simple. Everything in my life is tied to Jiyong now, even the paint on my damn car. He somehow became the string that held everything in my life together, and in his absence I’m left with the rubble that once was my life.

When I relent and give Tae a halfhearted nod, he smiles a little and says, “I’ll let you get some rest.” He hugs me and starts to leave.

“Do you think this will ever stop?” I ask, and he turns around.

“What?”

My voice almost a whisper: “The pain?”

“I don’t know . . . I’d like to think it will, though. Time heals . . . most wounds,” he answers and gives me his most comforting half smile, half frown.

I don’t know if time will heal me or not. But I do know that if it doesn’t, I won’t survive.

WITH HEAVY-HANDED INTENT, yet enacted with his unfailing politeness, Tae forces me out of bed the next morning to make sure I don’t miss my internship. I take a moment to leave a note of thanks to Ken and Karen, and to apologize again for the hole Jiyong put in their wall. Tae is quiet, and keeps looking over at me as he drives, trying to give me encouraging smiles and little slogans to remember. But I still feel terrible.

Memories begin to creep into my mind as we pull into the parking lot. Jiyong on his knees in the snow. Seungri’s explanation of the bet. I quickly unlock my car, jumping inside to get away from the cold air. When I get into my car, I cringe at my reflection in the rearview. My eyes are still bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. Bags have swollen up under them, completing the horror-movie look. I will definitely need more makeup than I thought.

Going to Walmart, the only nearby store open at this hour, I buy everything I need to mask my feelings. But I don’t have the strength or the energy to make a real effort on my appearance, so I’m not sure I look much better.

Case in point: I arrive at Vance, and Kimberly gasps when she sees me. I try to muster a smile for her, but she jumps up from her desk.

“Y/N, dear, are you okay?” she asks frantically.

“Do I look that bad?” I shrug weakly.

“No, of course not,” she lies. “You just look . . .”

“Exhausted. Because I am. Finals took a lot out of me,” I tell her.

She nods and smiles warmly, but I can feel her eyes on my back the entire walk down the hall to my office. After that, my day drags on, no end in sight, it seems, until late morning, when Mr. Vance knocks at my door.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he says with a smile.

“Good afternoon,” I manage.

“I just wanted to touch base with you and let you know how impressed I am with your work so far.” He chuckles. “You’re doing a better and more detailed job than many of my actual employees.”

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” I say, and immediately the voice in my head reminds me that I only have this internship because of Jiyong.

“That being the case, I would like to invite you to the Seoul conference this coming weekend. Often these things are pretty boring, but it’s all about digital publishing, the ‘wave of the future’ and all that. You’ll meet a lot of people, learn some things. I’m opening a second branch in Seoul in a few months, and I need to meet a few people myself.” He laughs. “So what do you say? All expenses would be paid and we’ll leave Friday afternoon; Jiyong is more than welcome to come along. Not to the conference but to Seoul,” he explains with a knowing smile.

If only he really knew what was going on.

“Of course I would love to go. I really appreciate your invitation!” I tell him, unable to contain my enthusiasm and the immediate relief that, finally, something decent is happening to me.

“Great! I’ll have Kimberly give you all the details, and explain how to expense things . . .” He rambles on, but I wander off while he does.

The idea of going to the conference soothes my ache slightly. I will be farther away from Jiyong, but on the other hand, Seoul now reminds me of when Jiyong wanted to take me there. He has tainted every aspect of my life, including the entire state of Gangnam. I feel my office getting smaller, the air in the room getting thicker.

“Are you feeling okay?” Mr. Vance asks, his brow lowers in concern.

“Uh, yeah, I just . . . I haven’t eaten today and I didn’t sleep much last night,” I tell him.

“Go ahead and go home, then, you can finish what you’re doing at home,” he says.

“It’s okay—”

“No, go on home. There are no ambulances in publishing. We’ll manage without you,” he assures me with a wave, then strolls off.

I gather my things, check my appearance in the bathroom mirror—yup, still pretty horrible—and am about to step into the elevator when Kimberly calls my name.

“Going home?” she asks and I nod. “Well, Jiyong’s in a bad mood, so beware.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Because he just cussed me out for not transferring him to you.” She smiles. “Not even the tenth time he called. I figured if you wanted to talk to him, you would have on your cell.”

“Thank you,” I say, silently grateful she’s as observant as she is. Hearing Jiyong’s voice on the line would have made the aching hole in me grow that much more quickly.

I manage to make it to my car before breaking down again. The pain only seems to get worse when there are no distractions, when I’m left alone with my thoughts and memories. And, of course, when I see the fifteen missed calls from Jiyong on my phone and a notice that I have ten new messages, which I won’t read.

After pulling myself together enough to drive, I do what I’ve been dreading to do: call my mother.

She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Mom,” I sob. The word feels odd coming out of my mouth, but I need the comfort of my mom right now.

“What did he do?”

That this has been everyone’s reaction shows me just how obvious the danger of Jiyong was to everyone, and how oblivious I’ve been.

“I . . . he . . .” I can’t form a sentence. “Can I come home, just for today?” I ask her.

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll see you in two hours,” she says and hangs up.

Better than I thought, but not as warm as I had hoped for. I wish she were more like Karen, loving and accepting of any flaw. I wish she could just soften up, just long enough for me to feel the solace of having a mother, a loving and comforting one.

Pulling onto the highway, I shut my phone off before I do something stupid, like read any of those messages from Jiyong.

The drive to my childhood home is familiar and easy, requiring little thought on my part. I force myself to let out every scream—literally, as in screaming as loud as I possibly can and until my throat is sore—before I arrive in my hometown. I find this is actually much harder to do than I thought it would be, especially since I don’t feel like yelling. I feel like crying and disappearing. I would give anything to rewind my life to my first day of college; I would have taken my mother’s advice and changed rooms. My mother had worried about Hyuna being a bad influence; if only we’d realized it would be the rude, curly-haired boy that would be the problem. That he would take everything in me and spin it around, tearing me into tiny pieces before blowing on the pile and scattering me across the sky and beneath his friends’ heels.

I have only been two hours away from home this whole time, but with everything that’s happened, it feels so much farther. I haven’t been home since I started school. If I hadn’t broken up with Hoseok, I would have been back many times. I force my eyes to stay focused on the road as I pass his house.

I pull into our driveway and practically jump out of my car. But when I get to the door, I’m not sure if I should knock. It feels strange to do so, but I don’t feel comfortable just walking inside either. How can so much have changed since I left for college?

I decide to just walk inside, and I find my mother standing by the brown leather couch in full makeup, a dress, and heels. Everything looks the same: clean and perfectly organized. The only difference is that it seems smaller, maybe because of my time at Ken’s house. Well, my mother’s house is definitely small and unappealing from the outside, but the inside is decorated nicely, and my mother always did her best to mask the chaos of her marriage with attractive paint and flowers and attention to cleanliness. A decorating strategy she continued after my dad left, because I guess it had become habit by that point. The house is warm and the familiar smell of cinnamon fills my nostrils. My mother has always obsessed over wax burners and has one in every room. I take my shoes off at the door, knowing that she won’t want snow on her polished hardwood floors.

“Would you like some coffee,Y/N?” she asks before hugging me.

I get my coffee addiction from my mother, and this connection brings a small smile to my lips. “Yes, please.”

I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the small table, unsure how to begin the conversation.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” she asks bluntly.

I take a deep breath and a sip of my coffee before answering. “Jiyong and I broke up.”

Her expression is neutral. “Why?”

“Well, he didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was,” I say. I wrap my hands around the scalding-hot cup of coffee in an attempt to distract myself from the pain and prepare myself for my mother’s response.

“And who did you think he was?”

“Someone who loved me.” I’m not sure who I thought Jiyong was other than that, on his own, as a person.

“And now you don’t think he does?”

“No, I know he doesn’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” she asks coolly.

“Because I trusted him and he betrayed me, in a terrible way.” I know I’m leaving out the details, but I still feel the strange need to protect Jiyong from my mother’s judgment. I scold myself for being so stupid, for even considering him, when he clearly wouldn’t do the same for me.

“Don’t you think you should have thought about this possibility before deciding to live with him?”

“Yes, I know. Go ahead and tell me how stupid I am, tell me that you told me so,” I say.

“I did tell you, I warned you about guys like him. Men like him and your father are best to stay away from. I’m just glad it’s over with before it really even began. People make mistakes, Y/N.” She takes a drink from her mug, leaving a pink lipstick ring. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

“Who?”

“Hoseok, of course.”

How does she not get this? I just need to talk to her, to have her comfort me—not push me to be with Hoseok again. I stand up, looking at her, then around the room. Is she serious? She can’t be. “Just because things didn’t work out with Jiyong doesn’t mean I’m going to date Hoseok again!” I snap.

“Why doesn’t it? Y/N, you should be grateful that he’s willing to give you another chance.”

“What? Why can’t you just stop? I don’t need to be with anyone right now, especially not Hoseok.” I want to rip my hair out. Or hers.

“What do you mean, especially not Hoseok? How can you say that about him? He’s been nothing but great to you since you were kids.”

I sigh and sit back down. “I know, Mother, I care about Hoseok so much. Just not in that way.”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” She stands up and pours her coffee down the drain. “It’s not always about love, Y/N; it’s about stability and security.”

“I’m only eighteen,” I tell her. I don’t want to think that I’d be with someone without loving them just for the stability. I want to be my own stability and security. I want someone to love, and someone to love me.

“Almost nineteen. And if you aren’t careful now, no one will want you. Now go fix your makeup, because Hoseok will be here any minute,” she announces and walks out of the kitchen.

I should have known better than to come here for comfort. I would have been better off sleeping in my car all day.

AS PROMISED, Hoseok ARRIVES five minutes later, not that I’ve bothered to fix my appearance. Seeing him walk into the small kitchen makes me feel even lower than I have so far, which I didn’t think was possible.

He smiles his warm perfect smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, Hoseok,” I respond.

He walks closer and I stand up to hug him. He feels warm, and his sweatshirt smells so good, just like I remember. “Your mom called me,” he says.

“I know.” I try to smile. “I’m sorry that she keeps bringing you into this. I don’t know what her problem is.”

“I do. She wants you to be happy,” he says, defending her.

“Hoseok . . .” I warn.

“She just doesn’t know what really makes you happy. She wants it to be me, even though it’s not.” He gives a little shrug.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, stop apologizing. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he assures me and hugs me again.

“I’m not,” I admit.

“I can tell. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know . . . are you sure that’s okay?” I can’t bear to hurt him again by talking about the guy I left him for.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says and pours himself a glass of water before sitting across from me at the table.

“Okay . . .” I say and tell him basically everything. I leave out the sex details, since those are private.

Well, they aren’t. But to me they are. I still can’t believe that Jiyong told his friends everything that we did . . . that’s the worst part. Even worse than showing the sheets is the fact that after telling me that he loved me, and making love, he could apparently turn around and make a mockery of what had happened between us in front of everyone.

“I knew he was going to hurt you, I just had no idea how bad,” Hoseok says. I can tell how angry he is; it’s strange to see this emotion on his face, given how calm and collected he normally is. “You’re too good for him Y/N; he’s scum.”

“I can’t believe how stupid I was—I gave up everything for him. But the worst feeling in the world is loving someone who doesn’t love you.”

Hoseok grabs his glass and twists it in his hands. “Tell me about it,” he says softly.

I want to smack myself for saying what I just said, saying it to him. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can apologize.

“It’s okay,” he says and reaches out to rub his thumb over my hand.

God, I wish I did love Hoseok. I would be much happier with him, and he would never do something like Hardin did to me.

Noah catches me up on everything I’ve missed since I left, which isn’t much. He’s going to go San Francisco for college instead of SCU, which I find I’m grateful for. At least one good thing came out of my hurting him: it gave him the push he needed to get out of Seoul. He tells me about what he’s researched on California, and by the time he leaves, the sun has fallen, and I realize that my mom has stayed in her room during his whole visit.

Stepping out to the backyard, I wander to the greenhouse where I spent most of my childhood. As I stare through my reflection in the glass and into the little structure, I see that all its plants and flowers are dead, and it’s generally a mess, which feels fitting at the moment.

I have so many things to do, to figure out. I need to find somewhere to live and find a way to get all of my stuff from Jiyong’s apartment. I was seriously considering just leaving everything there, but I can’t. I have no clothes except the ones I’ve been keeping there and, most importantly, I need my textbooks.

Reaching into my pocket, I turn my phone on, and within seconds my inbox is full and the voicemail symbol appears. I ignore the voicemails and quickly scan the messages, only looking at the sender. All except one are from Jiyong.

Kimberly wrote me: Christian said to tell you to stay home tomorrow, everyone will be leaving at noon anyway since the first floor needs to be repainted, so stay home. Let me know if you need anything. xx.

Having the day off tomorrow is a huge relief. I love my internship, but I’m beginning to think I should transfer out of WCU, maybe even leave Washington. The campus isn’t big enough for me to be able to avoid Jiyong and all of his friends, and I don’t want the constant reminder of what I had with Jiyong. Well, what I thought I had.

By the time I go back inside the house, my hands and face are numb from the cold. My mother is sitting in a chair reading a magazine.

“Can I stay tonight?” I ask her.

She looks at me briefly. “Yes. And tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get you back into the dorms,” she says and goes back to her magazine.

Figuring I’ll get no more from my mother tonight, I go up to my old room, which is exactly the way that I left it. She hasn’t changed a thing. I don’t bother removing my makeup before bed. It’s hard, but I force myself to sleep, dreaming of when my life was much better. Before I met Jiyong.

My phone rings in the middle of the night, waking me. But I ignore it, briefly wondering if Jiyong’s able to sleep at all.

THE NEXT MORNING all my mother says to me before leaving for work is that she’ll call the school and force them to let me back into the dorms, in a different building far from my old one. I leave, intending to head to campus, but then decide to go to the apartment, taking the exit to the road that leads there and driving quickly to keep from changing my mind.

At the complex, I scan the parking lot for Jiyong’s car, twice. Once I’m sure he isn’t around, I park and hurry across the snowy lot to the door. By the time I get to the lobby, the bottoms of my jeans are soaked and I’m freezing. I try to think of anything except Jiyong, but it’s impossible.

Jiyong must have really hated me to go to this extreme to ruin my life and then to move me into an apartment far from anyone I know. He must be pretty proud of himself right now for causing me this much pain.

As I fumble with my keys before unlocking the door to our place a tidal wave of panic crashes over me, nearly knocking me the ground.

When will it stop? Or at least decrease?

I go straight to the bedroom and grab my bags from the closet, roughly shoving all my clothes in them without care. My eyes flicker to the bedside table, where a small frame stands, displaying the picture of Jiyong and me smiling together before Ken’s wedding.

Too bad it was all fake. Leaning across the bed, I grab it and throw it against the concrete floor. It shatters into pieces and I jump over the bed, grab the photo, and rip it into as many pieces as I can, not realizing that I’m sobbing until I choke on my own breath.

I grab my books, piling them into an empty box, and, instinctively, Jiyong’s copy of Wuthering Heights; he won’t miss it, and, honestly, I’m owed it, after what he’s taken from me.

My throat is sore, so I go into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I sit down at the table and allow myself a few minutes to pretend that none of this has happened. To pretend that instead of my having to face the future days alone, Jiyong will be home from class shortly, and will smile at me and tell me he loves me, that he missed me all day. That he will lift me onto the counter and kiss me with longing and love—

The clicking of the door startles me out of my pathetic daydream. I jump to my feet as Jiyong walks through the door. He doesn’t see me, since he’s looking over his shoulder.

At a brunette in a black sweater dress.

“So this is it . . .” he begins, and then stops when he notices my bags on the ground.

I’m frozen as his eyes travel around the apartment and then over to the kitchen, where they widen in shock at seeing me.

“Y/N?” he says, as if he’s not sure that I actually exist.

[dannidixon-harkness]

Hi I haven’t posted anything in a while so I’m gonna do it now. Beware this is going to be a long bitch.

I am also kinda drunk due to the 2/3 bottle of wine and can of hard cider I finished earlier. And I don’t feel good but that could be because I’ve had more dairy today then I should’ve and I’m lactose intolerant.

Anywho down to the good shit.

I am an anxiety ridden depressed overachieving college student working on her third degree. Should I be on meds for that. Hell yes. But I’m not. Because of reasons.

I also know that we are in uncertain times and having an rough adjustment period from in class lessons to online, and that everyone is having a hard time during this.

HOWEVER.

I have this one professor. I have had issues with this man all semester. Something goes wrong? Not his fault. The entire class does bad on a quiz or test? Not his fault. The online conference won’t connect? Not my fault and no, I don’t have a back up in place like zoom to use just in case.

(Please note my sarcasm)

Anywhose, last night I had it. Not only does he have the habit of emailing us important shit just after midnight, he can’t keeep his shit straight anymore. When is the homework due? I don’t fucking know and neither does anyone else. Where is the lecture recording he did because he couldn’t connect the conference? I don’t fucking know either but it ain’t in the announcements where he said it was.

Side note: my momma raised a nice polite southern girl. I say “Yes ma’am” and “No sir” when I really want to say fuck you and no dude. One might even call me a ducking push over from how I act, even a suck up and tucking teachers pet. I. Am. Ducking. Polite. See even autocorrect helps me be polite.

Back to the story. He sends these confusing ass emails about the homework with conflicting due times in them. I don’t get them until like 10 am because I slept in, fuck that shit it was Saturday. And I was done. I went and ranted to the fam, and decided: this was it, this was the day I email him and tell him the truth. While being polite of course.

In the following 1000 plus word essay I wrote I dropped the word hell once and maybe a damn? Definitely mentioned “only you and God knows when” at one point. There might have been bullet points. Some underlining, bolding, and italicization of words and sentences. Maybe even all at once to emphasize a word. I told him what major problems there were and some solutions he could do. I told him his flaws, and how he made me feel. I wanted to cuss this man out so bad I almost used fuck at one point, but the little polite southerner in me wouldn’t let me.

But Goddamit I was fucking polite.

His response e-mail? This bitch called me impolite. And that he disagreed with most of the criticism I wrote. And that he would like to discuss this over a conference call later today.

One: just writing the first email put me in tears, made me dissociate, and tune out from everything and make fucking sun catchers for fours straight.

Two: his response email? Destroyed me. I have never. NEVER. Been called impolite in my 23 years on this fucking planet. I literally bawled, full nine yards, to my mother while she critiqued my first email to see if I was too harsh in what I said. It made me sick to my stomach. I know I’m already fucking failing this mans class, now what is he going to do to me? It was this fear that kept my mouth shut until this moment. I need this class for my upper level physics classes I need next semester! (Side note again: the class in question is Differential Equations and Linear Algebra, and my third degree is in Physics.) ((here is his response actually, duck it I’m posting it))

He can’t teach. I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt because this was the first time he taught this class but not at the sake of my passing this class and my gpa. And he won’t admit to doing anything Wrong, it has to be someone else’s fault this didn’t work out. Was I polite? Fuck yea I was, if he thought that wasn’t polite I should have gone off on him. Could I have been nicer? Yes. Maybe I should have dropped a nice “oh bless your heart”’for trying your best in these trying times. But damn son you are literally the youngest professor I have this semester and you are having the hardest time adjusting to online teaching. JFC.

Now I’m trying to schedule this damn meeting with him to talk this out. I’m thinking of dropping. I’ve brought up some of my issues with the math department, and told this new addition of this saga to my advisor (she knows I’ve been having issues with him).

I have the damn class on my side (as well as anime and God) since they agree with me. They are praying for me as well since I told them I snapped at him. One positive thing is now he figured out how to publish shit on Canvas... after I told him how in my long email. Now he just needs to create the fuckingn homework turn in or he is getting 60 fucking emails on Tuesday with our homework attached.

Also I found out that I shouldn’t drink as much as I did after a huge crying jag. I was only able to be in nice drunk land for the entirety of Knives Out (good movie I recommend it) before the hangover headache kicked in. My eyeballs have felt like sandpaper the entire time I’ve typed this up. Fuck me. If I remember I’ll take picture of the sun catchers I made and post them tomorrow.

[prorevenge]

My kid does 13K in damage to studio equip, we handle it like lunatics.

[Part 1]

Some background:

I'm an audio engineer and score arranger full time in my self-owned business. It's how I provide for myself, my fiancée (also CF), and my mother. I record, mix, and master for bands, voice-overs for local commercials, and write music for people's weddings, college films, indie games, etc.. It was my passion since I was a child and every day I ask myself why I get paid to do what I do.

You know, until today.

I had a woman schedule to come in because she wanted me to record her monologue for an acting class. I thought it was going to be easy enough. I set up a mic and a music stand in the sound booth and got my workstation prepped for tracking. She was supposed to show up at 3:30, so when 4:00 came around, I called her to ask her if she was still coming. It was my last contract for the day and I was wanting to get home to my fiancée, dogs, and dinner.

"Oh, sorry sweetie, I'm going to be there soon. I just had to get my son from ex-boyfriend."

Uh oh.

4:12, she showed up with her child.

To preface, I've never really wanted kids, and don't really hate them either. But I've been childfree of mind for a decade now in league of several bad child experiences in public.

Anyway, I sat her down at the conference table and tried to talk to her about the contract and billing, etc., and just couldn't because of the six-years-old pile of ovary droppings next to her.

"Mommy it's cold in here." "Mommy, I'm bored." "Mommy, that guy has girl hair." "Mommy, I want to play on the phone."

The incessant whining went on for the entirety of the discussion. She did nothing about it. I had an ache in my stomach that this might be a rough session.

I was right.

I showed her to the sound booth, positioned the mic at face level, told her the basics of mic use, and then she floored me with a question.

"Can my son stay in there with you while I do this?" I insisted that he wait in the conference room (across the hall from the control room) because the control room wasn't a very kid-friendly place considering the 120K of equipment at arms reach.

"But he's a little angel."

I shouldn't have taken her word for it. I SHOULD NOT have taken her word for it. This kid was ANYTHING but. I let him in, told him to sit in one of the office chairs and don't touch anything. Needless to say, he touched. I queued the recording arm and signaled her to start. She got three lines into her take before I hear a deafening screech and crash.

That little shit machine had just knocked over a $4,000 Korg into a rack with $9,500 of equipment. Completely shattered the touchscreen on the Korg, busted the dials off of half of the effects, and totaled my distressor that I use for almost all the vocals I track.

All of this, by the way, was the room's length apart from where I told the crotch goblin to stay.

The kid, because of the loud noise, started full-lung screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Screaming.

The mother, with no hesitation, ran over to the control room and DEMANDED to know what I did to her child. She cussed at me and accused me of hurting her little snot monster. Threatened to sue and even swung at me. When I told her that her precious angel had just racked up at least twelve grand of damages, she said "good", spit on me, then stormed out, slamming every door on the way. So I pulled the security camera footage and had filed a police report. Grand total: $13,504.25. I also mailed her the bill for her session for good measure.

Of six years in the studio, this is my only truly terrible experience. Fuck mombies. Fuck having children. Thanks for making my vasectomy decision that much easier on me.

[Part 2]

I'm going to start off and say that this community is bad ass. With legal advice, moral support, and inquiry of the trade, you guys/gals/other have made this whole endeavor a bit easier on me.

Cheers.

Okay, since Sunday, I've managed to speak with my insurance company, my lawyer, some repair techs, the police (again), and my urologist. For the sake of good storytelling, I'll organize this chronically.

Monday:

I left a message for my insurance agent about all this. I then called some repair techs about getting my Korg and the distressor repaired to potential working order, and to no avail. The distressor would have costed two grand to repair (on a $1,320 piece), so I wait on my insurance payout to replace it. Korg, apparently, has no replacement parts available anywhere in the US for their flagship keyboard, so another $4k down the drain. The dials on the rest of the effects rack can be easily fixed. May not look as stellar, but what can you do. At least it survived an attack from an over-metastasized cumshot. I ordered replacement dials from my local electronics store and mailed out the session bill to Mombie. Beyond that, I got in touch with a friend in Memphis who was gracious enough to lend me his Portico 5042 in the meantime. Should be arriving some time Friday.

Tuesday:

Boy oh boy. I went to my lawyer's office to see what could be done about Mombie's actions. He's thinking it'd just be best to let the insurance company go after the property damages, and that it'd be too expensive for me to recruit him for what the insurance company will do by themselves. As per the assaults are concerned, he asked me to gather all evidence (Video, contract, police report) and said that since no bodily harm was caused, it'd be the best idea to go to civil court rather than criminal, and file for a protective order. The words "emotional damages" were emphasized. He was very specific about not posting any of the evidence. As long as what I post remains vague, doesn't mention any identifying information, it doesn't stand in court.

"Make sure you can say it is a made up story if asked."

We also discussed revising my contract, more info on that when we get to it. Beyond that, I decided to jump the gun and inquire about a vasectomy. I have an appointment with my GP on the 7th of March.

Wednesday:

Reader beware, this is where it gets cringy. I'd grab a stiff drink if I were you. I opened the studio back up and got back to work. I had a voicemail left for me on the studio phone. A "lawyer", toting the most deep fried country accent I've heard, called me from a "Ford & Handcock" law firm (which I couldn't find anywhere on the internet) threatening "Immediate sueing" for "Sexual rape harassment" for filing a police report against his "client."

Here's the transcript of what I could understand through his dumpster fire of an accent: (I swear I'm not making this up) "Yeah, this is [withheld] from Ford & Handcock callin' to tell you that you're gonna get immediate sueing for what you did to my girlfri- client and her baby boy. Y'all know as well as I do that [unintelligible noises] was nothin' short of sexual rape harassment and that you're goin' ta be in a lawsuit if you don't delete the cop report you made up(?)."

I couldn't breathe, I was laughing too hard.

Once I regained my composure, I called back to inquire about this impending doom that I was promised by this product-of-incest harbinger. The call was forwarded to their voicemail inbox, where it opened up with the aforementioned accent, saying:

"Hey, this is [different name than the "lawyer"] and [mombie's name] and we're not here right now so if you could leave..."

So on.

So I just hung up and called my fiancee, emailed her the voicemail and asked her to listen to it, just to hear her sniffling and cackling like a maniac at the sound of this guy's six-inches-deep-in-cousin accent and overall misunderstanding of the american law system. I recorded the voicemail onto a thumbstick and giving it to my lawyer along with the video, police report, etc..

Thursday:

As of this morning, no call back from my insurance adjuster, so I'm just going to wait on that. I'm sitting by the phone, so if I get another call from "Ford & Handcock", I can deliver the "Do not call back/stop harassing me" line, so I can add that to the list of potential charges if it becomes a thing. Not very much else happened beyond that, and I'll keep you lot updated. Thanks for your support. *Edited to fix a phone auto-correct, what was supposed to say "Ford & Handcock" said "Ford & Hitchcock". Sorry all.

[Part 3]

There has been a... development with the mombie, dr /professor/lawyer/part time absent-father from Ford and Handcock.

I said in the update I posted before (Links at the bottom) that I had a call from a "lawyer" from one "Ford and Handcock", and am practically on standby for another call from said "lawyer".

Well, that call came on Friday.

So, guy called back, my fiancee was in the studio with me while we were taking turns playing Dishonored 2 on a "workstation" pc doing very important adult-like studio work, and his message for me was practically a carbon copy of the last one. I gave him the "Do not call back/stop harassing me" bit, to which he said

"That law don't apply to me. I'm a laawwyyeerr. I can do whatever the hell I need to do to do the law, even if it takes lethal deadly force" [sic]

Given the threat, I called the police, filed a report, gave them the original recording of the call and kept a copy for myself.

My wife-to-be did notice that the inbred gave the pseudonym "Conrad McMasters", which she recognized from the TV show "Matlock". Go figure.

So, skipping on to tonight.

We came back to the studio to pick up a laptop for my mum to use while in the hospital (just a minor fall injury, she'll make a full recovery), and noticed that the handle on the exterior door had been jerked loose. So, I told Fiancee to get back into the car and park down the street, have 911 dialed, don't come out until the all clear, call the police if she heard gunshots. I drew my handgun and looked around the place.

I didn't find anything, but the windows and outside door were damaged with what seemed like an attempted break-in, and a "Cash Express" post-it-note stuck to the stoop that said "U fucked up".

Shout out to U/VanillaG6790 (hope I'm formatting this correctly) for suggesting that I put cameras outside the studio alongside the interior ones. I only have one installed as of yet (DIY), facing the front door. So, I made sure nobody was around, waved Fiancee back to the studio, we got in, locked up, and backed up the security footage to see what we could find.

Lo and Behold, Mombie's car. A man (maybe the singletoothed re-imagining of Mr. McMasters from before?) yanked on the outside door with the veracity of a chimpanzee in the prime of mating season, walked out of frame (in the direction of the aforementioned windows) and stayed out of frame for about fifteen minutes, before returning just to scribble on the note and stick it on the stoop. He then saw the camera, shot the biggest 'O SHIT' face, and scurried back to his methmobile and sped off.

So to recap, we have a clear-view copy of:

His license plate

His attempted breaking-and-entering

His face. The pez-dispenser looking motherfucker practically spiked the lens for five seconds.

Police were called for this too. Details will be submitted post-trial, and I'll contact my lawyer first thing in the morning.

I tried doing it just now, but, DUH, it's Sunday, his office is closed.

Anyway, you guys are awesome. The advice I'm getting from you lot is saving me so much grief. I'm contacting the Bar association to tell them about the actions of Dr./Professor/Matlock-Impersonator/absent-father.

By the way, Meeting with GP (and then hopefully my urologist) next Tuesday in attempts at getting snipped.

Oh, and I've gotten most of the dials my equipment repaired, I ordered another KRONOS, another distressor, and got the Portico 5042 on Friday as a temporary stand-in. I have to give it to the Portico. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I'll keep you all updated as things happen, but I'm not sure when it may be. I'll post a micro-update on how the appointment goes on the 7th.

(source) (story by deleted)

[coruscorp-blog]

DEAR, MR/MS. ( ARIEL MOON )

We are pleased to have you back for another year as a FIRST UPPER YEAR STUDENT at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We sincerely hope your classmates in RAVENCLAW treat you well.

(tw: mentions of death and sexual assault)

“all men are greedy and vile. they try to conquer and own everything. they’re aggressive. like beasts.”

ariel remembered those words clearly. they were branded into him; a mantra that his mother would repeat over and over again, whisper it against the whipping wind when he was sitting on the swing and mumbling it into the dim light of his room when he was resting beneath the canopy of faux stars in his bed.

“never let your guard down around them, ariel. always beware.”

he never bothered to ask about his father. there were no pictures of him in their small and cozy home by the sea nor in his grandparent’s grand home in paris. around them, ariel rarely ever dared to open his mouth; only when his grandmother addressed him directly did he speak up. the old woman was as beautiful as she was terrifying. she was like a tempest and ariel knew to fear her temper. veela are powerful, stubborn and vain creatures and ariel grew up with his mother and grandmother trying to make him deny his human side. suppress it.

“a bastard’s son is also a bastard and that’s not what you want to be, right?”

his grandmother’s eyes always turned to steal when she brought up that topic, gazing down at him down a straight and elegant nose and ariel felt minuscule. insignificant. an ant that would be easily squished beneath the powerful woman’s palm. he was scared of her, more than anything and although his mother kept trying to reassure him that his grandmother loves him, he could never bring himself to believe it.

at eleven, he’s send off to beauxbatons academy of magic, but his mother seems unable to send him off with a smile. his grandmother sends angry letters, cussing at him for being the reason of his mother’s declining health, yet when he writes her letters she assures him she is doing well and when visits her during the holidays, she seems to be the same as usual.

his grandmother doesn’t like to see him mingle with non-beings, but his mother, although worried and cautious, seemed to have accepted that he wasn’t and would never be quite like them.

years pass and things fall into a routine.

his mother moved in with his grandmother and ariel spends the holidays with them before returning to his friends and well of endless knowledge that was the library. his curiosity and unquenchable thirst to discover everything only seemed to have increased the more he had been taught. his mother’s many warnings weren’t forgotten, but pushed to the back of his head as his friend’s circle grew from girls only and expanded to boys as well. with sixteen, ariel feels like nothing can hurt him. his world is perfect.

“all men are greedy and vile. they try to conquer and own everything. they’re aggressive. like beasts.”

he knew the words by heart. they were branded into his very being and came back to him the night he was screaming and crying and begging and quite suddenly came to the realisation that while he had known the words, he had never understood them like he did in that moment.

he starts to keep away from boys again. keeps his head bowed, mulls only over books in his corner of the library and stays mostly to himself. the bright smile and carefree nature were exchanged for fear and cautiousness and although the physical wounds healed, his body still remembered what happened to him.

he doesn’t dare tell his mother, but she sees him again only weeks later, for christmas, she just looks at him with a blank and tired stare.

“why do you think i never talk about your father, huh? how do you think you came to be?”

things start taking a sudden turn, then.

by the time ariel is in his last year, his mother is sick and bedridden. pale and gaunt. his grandmother stars sending letters again, each one of them carrying the heavy burden of blame and pointed fingers and this time ariel thinks she is right.

her funeral is held two weeks after his graduation. he doesn’t ask why or how, he’s seen the sleeping droughts next to her nightstand and knows she’s been lost much longer than she has been lost to them.

his grandmother tries to keep him with her, but none of her words are a strong enough weight to keep him from fleeing. there’s many things he learnt and discovered and many more still that he wants to see and experience. there’s a goal he’s had since he was a young boy and despite all that had happened, he didn’t want to give up on it.

he’s off age and the first train ride he takes far away from home ends up being to hogwarts.