#hi helen i could treat you right

[multifandomhoodies]

I'm gonna say something controversial. Helen givens is a milf

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [34] - Cage

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Lack of honesty can cause resentment.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

If anything, your day started out pretty calm.

You were petting Alpine with one hand while scribbling on the paper with the other, and you stole a look at Bucky when he entered the kitchen. He ran a hand through his damp hair and you inhaled the scent of his aftershave as subtly as you could, pretending to be busy with the file in front of you while he made his way to the coffee machine to fill himself a cup of coffee.

You could feel his glances on you as he leaned back on the counter, sipping his coffee but you ignored him until he cleared his throat.

“So when is that asshole leaving?”

You stopped petting Alpine and lifted your head to look at him better.

“Who, Rhett?” you asked. “He just got here.”

“Doesn’t he have a city to rule?”

“He left his right hand in his place, apparently,” you told him. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

You hummed, spinning your pen between your fingers.

“You should be nicer to him, you know.”

He scoffed into his coffee mug. “Yeah sorry, I’m not capable of being nice to dickheads who gaze at my wife longingly.”

“What?”

“I’m already being civil by not shooting him, and that’s only because you told me not to.”

“You’re not going to shoot—he doesn’t gaze at me longingly, Bucky.”

“Oh he does,” he shot back. “In fact, I bet he has a plan.”

Your frown deepened. “What plan?”

“He wants to—he wants to take you to Chicago,” he said, motioning vaguely and you tilted your head, your mouth slightly open. “Yeah, he’ll feed you some bullshit about never being over you—”

“He is very much over me.”

“And he will ask you to go rule Chicago with him, and then I’ll shoot him and feed his fucking body to the dogs—”

“Can I just interrupt that very creative theory with some truth?” you asked him as Alpine jumped from the counter to the floor. “Number one, even if he weren’t over me, it wouldn’t fucking matter because I am over him.”

His eyes searched yours as if he was trying to see if you were telling the truth. “…Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you said. “Number two, whoever he is with -which is not going to be me, by the way- will not be ruling Chicago with him. Chicago’s rules are different, the crown moves through blood there. Spouses are irrelevant, they’re treated worse than heirs, or right arms. Don’t get me wrong, I hate the bitch who he’s going to marry because she’s a terrible person, but I kind of feel bad for her too because no one will ever take her seriously. King consort or queen consort, doesn’t matter because they have zero power, except for providing heirs and strengthening the loyalty of families.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times. “Jesus, and we say we have medieval rules.”   

“Exactly,” you said. “And number three, I know we both keep forgetting it but we are in fact married. Even if I weren’t over him, me going to Chicago would be grounds for war and only an idiot—”

“Trojan War started the same way, didn’t stop anyone.”

“I appreciate the compliment but I’m not the underworld edition of Helen of Troy,” you pointed out. “That’s not what’s going to happen here. Unless Eric Bana shows up, that is.”

“Which one was he in that movie, Paris?”

“Hector,” you said with a sigh. “The things I’d do to him…”

“I’m glad we had this conversation because now I will have to add him to my hitlist as well.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“The point is,” you said. “I’m not starting a war between Chicago and New York for an ex. Because that’s what Rhett is. An ex.”

“He doesn’t see you as just an ex,” Bucky told you. “You said it yourself. He trusts you.”

The sight of Rhett’s car by the campus outside your building made you stop dead in your tracks only for a moment. You could feel the smile pulling your lips as you approached him, and he took off his sunglasses to grin at you.

“Hey stranger.”

“Hey,” you said. “Look at that, you survived.”

“Mm hm.”

“I take it the same can’t be said for Lucas?”

“For him or any of his men,” he stated, leaning back to his car. “He was waiting exactly where you said he was.”

You nodded your head. “How pissed off was your father?”

“Very pissed off,” he said. “But I think it worked out pretty well, you know? Now we have sent a message.”

“The ultimate golden heir is not to be crossed or challenged,” you teased him with a small smirk. “That’s a good message.”

He heaved a sigh, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you warn me?” he asked. “I mean, aside from the orgasms I gave you—”

“That was a mutual transaction,” you pointed out, making him let out a chuckle and hold up his hands.

“It really was,” he said. “But seriously, we were broken up. And I know what promise he dangled in front of you. What, you didn’t even consider it?”

You made a face, shaking your head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“New York values loyalty over power,” you said. “That’s what I grew up with. I don’t do business with greedy backstabbers, neither would my father or anyone else in New York. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Rhett’s gaze was fixed on you, a light crossing his eyes as he let out a breath.

“Jesus…” he muttered. “One last transaction, cupcake?”

“Nope,” you said with a laugh. “Then we will get attached and we can’t have that. You have a city to take over, and I’m too smart to be put in the background in someone else’s empire.”

Rhett smiled softly.

“My father won’t do business with anyone in New York,” he said, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I know. Everyone knows.”

“Neither will I,” Rhett said. “Until you need my help.”

Your eyes shot up to his, your stomach doing a happy flip.

“You’d do that for me?” you asked and he nodded.

“You saved my life, and proved that I can in fact trust you,” he said. “Chicago values loyalty above everything else. The least I can do is pay back the favor.”

A smile warmed your face. “I’ll come to collect, Rhett.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said and extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, cupcake.”

You let out a giggle, and shook his hand.

“Yeah,” you said. “Likewise.”  

“Because I earned his trust,” you told him as his phone vibrated and he checked the screen, then typed something. Even if you wanted to ask who it was, you managed to control yourself, biting inside your cheek.

“Dr. Raynor rescheduled the therapy session for the evening,” you told him. “Your assistant told you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have a meeting with Anna before that so I might be a bit late but I’ll be there.”

Your brows shot up, that familiar bitterness burning your mouth. “With Anna?”

“Mm hm,” he said. “Gotta go, I’ll see you there,”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and closed the door behind him, and Alpine jumped back on the counter, meowing at you in a very demanding manner. You heaved a sigh, stroking over her soft fur.

“We’re not going to threaten Anna,” you told her, “Because that’s a fucking insane thing to do, and we’re very logical, rational individuals, right Alpine?”

Alpine meowed again and you nodded your head.

“Mm hm,” you muttered. “Exactly.”

                                               *

“I mean it’s not that I’m jealous,” you assured Becca who only watched you with her brows raised. “Obviously that’s not what’s happening here.”

She hummed, sipping her coffee.

“It’s just that she’s a bit too friendly with him I feel like.”

“Like Rhett is a bit too friendly with you?”

“That’s very different!” you protested. “Rhett and I are going to make a deal!”

“Anna already has a deal with Bucky.”

“Whose side are you on?” you asked, sulking and she let out a laugh.

“Yours, obviously,” she said. “But I’m just saying, maybe before pointing fingers, acknowledge the fact that Rhett liked you. A lot.”

“Liked,” you repeated. “Back then. Besides, I have no feelings for him and as I told Bucky, he will get married.”

“And he will have mistresses.”

“Probably,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Alice will kill them I’m guessing. She was quite obsessed with him even while we were dating and now that Rhett says he will marry her, I do not want to think about the lengths she’d go to.”

 Your phone buzzed on the table and you checked the screen, then tilted your head. “Huh.”

“Who is it?”

“Ethan,” you said. “We haven’t talked in forever, apparently he was too busy and so was I. He wants to grab coffee sometime.”

“What is it with all your exes wanting to fuck you?” Becca asked, making your jaw drop.

“That’s not true!”

“No seriously, what are you doing to those guys?”

“I don’t do anything to them—you know what, we’re changing the subject,” you said as you put your phone back on the table. “Do you think I’ll be able to pull it off?”

“The deal?” Becca asked, “I’d say you already have.”

“Nothing is on paper yet.”

“It doesn’t matter, he flew here for that deal. He will make it.”

You drummed your fingernails on the table. “My father will have so many things to say about it I’m sure.”

“He can say whatever he wants—oh!” she sat up straighter. “Guess what I heard.”

“What?”

“Apparently, Ian is learning how to fight.”

You pulled your brows together. “I’m sorry?”

“Mm hm. His right hand is teaching him, the hot Hercules guy—”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, him.”

You scoffed a laugh. “How did you hear about that?”

“Your father told my father and my father told my mom at breakfast,” she said. “Never too late to start I guess?”

“I mean he’s the heir,” you said with a sigh. “If the cage fight is happening…”

“You know how I feel about the cage fight tradition but for Ian’s case only, I will enjoy it,” she said. “I hate the son of a bitch.”

You squeezed her hand. “How Leila?”

“That’s actually why I wanted to meet up with you,” she said, huffing out a breath. “My mom kind of forced my hand.”

“How?”

“She and me and Leila are having brunch tomorrow.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“So I need you to tell me Leila won’t decide to dump me tomorrow.”

A small laugh escaped from your lips and you shook your head.

“She won’t,” you assured her. “Do you want me to be there? I will invite myself to that brunch, I don’t care what Winnifred thinks.”

 She looked like she was genuinely considering the idea before she made a face, then shook her head.

“Nah, I need to deal with this myself,” she muttered and you pressed a hand over your chest.

“Aw,” you said with a grin. “They grow up so fast.”

“Shut it,” she said, kicking at your shoe with hers, making you gasp. “But I’m going to need all the moral support I can get, so you will be by the phone the whole time, alright?”

You let out a laugh. “Deal.”

                                                    *

Bucky was late to the therapy session as he said he would be by fifteen minutes, and when he got there, he was rather tense. Even if you wanted to ask what had happened, you knew you couldn’t in front of the therapist so you raised your brows at him but he shook his head.

“So,” Dr. Raynor said, “Let’s pick up from where we left off the last time. How have things progressed in terms of your communication with your ex-boyfriend in the picture?”

“Him being my ex-boyfriend doesn’t play a part in our communication or lack thereof,” you said quickly and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“It definitely does.”

“I think what plays an important part in our communication is the fact that Bucky doesn’t exactly trust me.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times and turned to look at you better.

“I don’t think you should be pointing fingers here, Charm.”

“I do trust you!” you protested, making him scoff.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You know what, if you’re being like this because I didn’t give you one tiny little detail about my plan—”

“One tiny little detail?” Bucky repeated with a laugh. “Try the whole plan.”

“You wouldn’t even spare me a glance if I pulled the shit you did back in that back alley,” you finished your sentence as if he didn’t cut you off and that seemed to take him by surprise. He gawked at you, then licked his lips, shaking his head.

“Are you serious right now?”

“What happened in the back alley?” Dr. Raynor asked, her voice almost too calm and Bucky gritted his teeth, leaning back in the couch as if he was uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“It was ages ago,” he said curtly and you hummed.

“And you never apologized.”

“I did apologize—”

“Asking me if I’m still mad via text does not count as an apology, Bucky.”

“What happened?” Dr. Raynor asked and you took a deep breath, then crossed your arms.

“I had a silly little crush on Bucky years and years ago,” you said. “Before I left for college, I made the mistake of telling him about it.”

“Charm.”

“And it’d be fine if he only turned me down but nope,” you spat, that bitter taste burning your throat again. “He had to humiliate me.”

“I didn’t humiliate—”

“Yes you did,” you cut him off and he ran a hand over his face, then motioned at Dr. Raynor.

“Are we seriously going to do this in front of her?”

“Why not?” you said. “That’s what the therapy is for.”

“And you resent him for it, Y/N?” Dr. Raynor asked and Bucky scoffed a laugh.

“Oh she hates me for it,” he corrected her and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, I’m just saying that if I didn’t trust you, it would be with a reason.”

“Right.”

“Was there a reason behind it, Bucky?”

“No there wasn’t, other than the fact that he wanted to humiliate me.”

“Charm.”

“Y/N, open communication is very important and a huge part of it is listening,” Dr. Raynor said, making you shake your head.

“No, he really didn’t have a reason other than the fact that he was the city’s golden prince who thought—”

“My father wanted us to end up together,” Bucky cut you off, making you pull your brows together in confusion and you turned your head to gawk at him.

“What?” you asked after a beat and Bucky clicked his tongue.

“Yeah,” he said. “He kept talking about how it would be good for the business, how I should visit you in Chicago when you’d leave for college and…all that bullshit.”

You blinked a couple of times in complete silence and Bucky bit inside his cheek.

“I mean obviously I didn’t see you that way back then, but I wouldn’t have been that much of an asshole to you if that was the only reason,” he told you, his voice almost inaudible. “I thought…I thought you were yet another cage he would drag me into, that’s it.”

You could barely hear anything from the way your heart was pounding in your ears and Bucky swallowed thickly, then stole a look at Dr. Raynor and took a deep breath.

“Yeah no, I’m not doing this shit in front of a stranger,” he muttered and got up from the couch as if he was too restless, then walked out of the office and slammed the door behind him. The sound snapped you out of your haze and you jumped on your feet, grabbing your purse.

“Thanks Dr. Raynor,” you said in a haste and walked out of the office as well but by the time you stepped outside, Bucky’s car had already driven off. You let out a breath, then leaned back to the wall on the building and rubbed at your eyes.

“Oh…” you murmured more to yourself. “Fuck.”

Chapter 35

[magpod-confessions]

I honestly don’t like how some of the fandom treats The Spiral, specifically Michael. I don’t like how sometimes it kinda gets reduced to just ‘random bright quirky flashing colors’ or something similar (and the babygirlification/Tumblr sexymanification of Michael tends to undermine its character as well).

I feel like The Spiral (specifically michael) is far more subtle than that. The main aspect of The Spiral to me is ‘Knowing something isn’t right but not knowing what or how’, like glances of a warped reflection, or clay that moves on its own when nobodies looking, or a door being somewhere you swear there wasn’t before.

idk, I just feel like the depiction of ‘silly tall man in his silly flashing color hall’ just feels so out of character to me in a very fundamental way. (Flashing colors definitely feels like an aspect of The Spiral, just not the main one that Michael as a character focuses on.)

again this is all just my opinion and personal pet peeve, y’all do whatever ya want as long as your happy. 🗣️

honestly , i feel like there can be a good mix of both worlds . michael being both dreary and brightly coloured makes sense in my mind --- helen did mention that the colours in the halls had shifted around in a way she could barely notice , and i feel like it could be fun if michael's halls were to get brighter and more fragmented the further you go . i like both dreary michael and bright michael . : ) - deceit

[riseofthecommonwoodpile]

it’s kinda funny to me how, even though my biggest problem with Roger Ebert is how middle of the road white liberal his takes and blind spots were, he’s also one of the only mainstream film critics who actually has To Kill a Mockingbird’s number. Some quotes from his retrospective review:

To Kill a Mockingbird, set in Maycomb, Alabama, in 1932, uses the realities of its time only as a backdrop for the portrait of a brave white liberal.

The courtroom scenes are the most celebrated in the movie…Atticus' summation to the jury is one of Gregory Peck's great scenes, but of course the all-white jury finds Tom Robinson guilty anyway…The problem here, for me, is that the conviction of Tom Robinson is not the point of the scene, which looks right past him to focus on the nobility of Atticus Finch.

Atticus drives out to Tom Robinson's house to break the sad news to his widow, Helen. She is played by Kim Hamilton (who is not credited, and indeed has no speaking lines in a film that finds time for dialog by two superfluous white neighbors of the Finches)…[Bob Ewell] lurches out of the shadows and says to [one of the men], "Boy, go in the house and bring out Atticus Finch." One of the men does so, Ewell spits in Atticus's face, Atticus stares him down and drives away. The black people in this scene are not treated as characters, but as props, and kept entirely in long shot. The close-ups are reserved for the white hero and villain.

This is a tricky note to end on, because it brings Boo Radley in literally from the wings as a distraction from the facts: An innocent black man was framed for a crime that never took place, he was convicted by a white jury in the face of overwhelming evidence, and he was shot dead in problematic circumstances. Now we are expected to feel good because the events got Boo out of the house.

To Kill a Mockingbird is, as I said, a time capsule. It expresses the liberal pieties of a more innocent time, and it goes very easy on the realities of small-town Alabama in the 1930s. One of the most dramatic scenes shows a lynch mob facing Atticus, who is all by himself on the jailhouse steps the night before Tom Robinson's trial. The mob is armed and prepared to break in and hang Robinson, but Scout bursts onto the scene, recognizes a poor farmer who has been befriended by her father, and shames him (and all the other men) into leaving…Could a child turn away a lynch mob at that time, in that place? Isn't it nice to think so.

like, you know what Roger? gotta give it up to you for this one. you nailed it.

[katerinaaqu]

Menelaus Headcanon: A small analysis based on a moment in the Odyssey

Random Headcanon: Menelaus having heart problems

So if people remember, in the Odyssey Telemachus is advised by Athena to travel and ask questions about his father. After being advised by Nestor to travel to Sparta and meet Menelaus, Telemachus engages in one of his most emotional conversations about his father, with Menelaus who was always greatly fond of Odysseus. In fact the conversation became so emotional for the men that Helen went to prepare wine for them all and she poured a drug in the wine so their pain would subside.

But why did she do that?

Surely no matter how emotional the conversation was, it wouldn't be THAT necessary to do that right? It seems pretty extreme on the outside that she should drug the wine to help the men relax.

Unless she feared that Menelaus couldn't handle it.

I am immensely inspired by amazing artists that draw Menelaus such as @thehelplessmortals who created pieces of art in regards to Menelaus and the peers connected to him. Menelaus is probably in the same age group as Odysseus or maybe a little younger if we take into account that Odysseus was probably at the age of his older brother Agamemnon if not a bit older so that means that if he wasn't already entering his 50s, he was at least in his final 40s. Many people had their health deterriorating by that time yet alone someone like Menelaus.

His health could have had reached a small curve given how his heart was broken when Helen left with Paris, 10 years of hard war to get her back, the slaughter of Troy and finally the shipwreck before getting back home. However what if Menelaus was suffering from some heart condition? That could make Helen even more aware and even over-protective of her husband. Hence being ready with the drug to calm her husband down from getting too much emotion and sdrain for his heart.

Besides the original homeric text goes:

"But then Helen the daughter of Zeus had another idea; she took the wine and poured in medicine/drug and mixed it in the crater so that it would counter the tears flowing from their cheeks not even if their mother or father died or even before their very eyes a brother or a friend or son were killed by bronze spear. Such were the cunning drugs the daughter of Zeus knew, given to her by Polydamna, wife to Thonos, in Egypt, for the life-giving earth has many medicines, some are mixed with cunning and some for healing, known to the physician who knows more than the other humans, since they belong to the bloodline of Paeon. After she had poured the wine, she said:"

(translation by me)

Interestingly in ancient greek the term "drug" and the term "medicine" are actually signified by the same word (φάρμακον) which is also used for "poison" as well. However not only does the word also significes the healing medicine but also he brings Helen knowing medicine and the physician into the talk.

Homer almost calls Helen a "physician" in here. And whom is she curing?

Menelaus!

If Helen was aware of Menelaus having health issues especially related to his heart, she would always have medicine in handy and she would try her best to treat her husband as well as have drugs ready so that she would calm her husband if he ever got too emotional to protect him from further strain to his heart

But what do you guys think? Agree or disagree please let me know at the comments/reblogs below! ^_^

[angel-of-the-moons]

Ill Met by Moonlight

Khonshu x Fem!Stripper Moon Knight!Reader

Summary: You are Khonshu's Moon Knight. Although your "normal" job isn't what many expect from a superhero...

Nor does your god realize just what his presence means to your peers.

TW/CW: Reader is a stripper, Exotic dancing, strippers, lap dances etc. All the NSFW stuff that comes with that job, don't ask Khonshu where he gets the money because I don't know. Predator featured, but don't worry he dies :D

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This came to mind because I've been constantly thinking about the little AU that @drinkingwithkhonshu and I came up with in my little "Moonlight" post. I figured a nice way to wind down from the chaos of hurricane Helene, indulging my brainworm would be fun.

"And that concludes our little Moonlight's song and dance. Pretty as a painting, am I right, fellas?" The DJ said over the stereo system as you walked back behind the curtains.

Your set on stage concluded with a rather decent haul. Although you did have half a mind to kick one patron in the face when he threw literal nickels at you...

You sighed, pulling your mask down long enough to wipe the sweat off your face and adjust your hair beneath your hood.

Then, you reached down and adjusted the pasties covering your nipples--shaped like crescent moons--and re-examined yourself in the mirror.

Surely, not what many would expect the Avatar of an ancient god to wear in place of ceremonial armor, but.... Well. Sometimes video game logic worked in your favor.

Many of the cruel and evil men Khonshu dispatched you after often came to these clubs. You were an "amateur" dancer--meaning you would hop from club to club, working there long enough as a temporary hire to make pay but long enough to build a rapport with your targets before eliminating them for your god.

Your nose scrunched as you adjusted the ties to your g-string, fidgeting slightly to get comfortable in the scrap of clothing once again. You then slipped your fingers beneath the edges of your thigh-high platform shoes and let them loose with a soft snap! to your skin; the latex material hugging your thighs once more.

As you ensured your mask was securely in place, one of your fellow dancers, who went by the stage name "Khandi" (pronounced "Candy") walked up to you, her heels clicking on the glittery floor of he dressing room.

She wore a thin, sequined mini-dress that cut just beneath her bust line and was cut so short you could easily make out the panties she wore beneath.

"Hey, girl." She smiled at you.

You smiled back. You always treated the dancers with respect--male and female--because their line of work was dangerous as well as entertaining to many.

Which is another reason they were your preferred hunting grounds for you to dispense Khonshu's "justice".

"Khandi. What's up?" You asked curiously, leaning into the mirror to apply just a bit more silvery eyeshadow.

"Oh, y'know..." She snickered, leaning her hip against the dressing table, "Just that your usual guy is here. Again. And wants to see you. For another private dance."

Your hand stills and you look at her, "Again?"

Khandi grins and crosses her arms, "Mhmm. God, I wish he'd ask me to dance for him once in a while. Dude has it bad for you."

You rolled your eyes and laughed softly, "Mmm, if you say so."

"If she says so?" Another coworker, Mina grins, the shorter woman bouncing up to you.

"You're the only girl he ever asks a dance from. I swear, is he your boyfriend or something? Didn't picture you as the DILF-lovin' type..."

You sigh, trying not to laugh, "I--hah..."

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes again, "It's.... complicated? I'm not entirely sure how to categorize our.... situation."

You had some affection for him, sure, but--

Mina shoves your shoulder with a snort-laugh, "I knew it!"

Khandi grinned at you once again as you peeked out of the curtain to see a certain tall, bronzed, serious-faced man looking right at you, as if he knew you were going to look out at him.

He gives you a ghost of a smile, and nods his head ever so slightly, the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes creasing a bit more, the silver in his dark hair and beard almost shimmering beneath the pulsing lights.

He then turns and dips into the private room, waiting for you.

Khandi grins and nips her bottom lip, "Ugh, okay, I don't normally like the older guys who come in here because they're creepy--but god is he hot! He's really rocking the silver fox look."

You roll your eyes and look at her as Mina snorts again, "Well, he's not my type, but he is kinda nice! One of the customers got too grabby with me after I told him I didn't want to dance because i was on a break, and your mysterious stranger over there practically twisted his arm off and walked him out the door!"

You smile beneath your shroud, "Yeah... Sounds like him. He hates it when people take advantage of others. Has a bit of a moral code, that one..."

"Oh, so you do know him more than just the occasional lap dance!" Khandi grinned, waggling her eyebrows.

You shove her playfully and walk past her, "And it's none 'o your business, nosey!"

You could hear the gaggle of giggling fall quiet behind you as the next song pulsed through the air, the base vibrating the floor beneath your feet.

Your hand closed around the knob to the room, and you swiftly closed it. The lights were a very very low shade of purple-red, pulsing in slow waves along the LED strips that lined the couches along the walls.

And perched oh-so casually on one of those chairs, was not the same man who walked into the room a minute prior.

He was no longer the tanned handsome older man who walked in; though he wore the same crisp, white suit.

Khonshu nodded his head to the side, his large bony beak sweeping a bit as he spoke, "Your most recent performance was interesting. Though I have a suspicion that many of those men's wives will not like the glitter you threw over the crowd."

He patted one of his gloved hands to his thigh expectantly at you, and you silently obeyed the request, walking with a slight swagger to your hips before you straddled his lap; your hands coming to rest casually on his chest as you smiled.

"Well, I didn't just name it the Starlight Shower for shits and giggles, old man." You tilted your head, "And besides, if their wives find out they're getting lap dances in some dingy club instead of staying home and loyal that's on them. My work is done. They deserve whatever fate they made themselves."

Khonshu laughed, "Or the occasional embezzler using his partner's money to hire companionship for the evening."

His hands found their way to your hips as you settled yourself more firmly in his lap, the soft fabric of his suit pants wonderfully smooth beneath the cheeks of your ass.

His hands slid over your curves, almost possessively as his beak brushed the side of your face gently, "Speaking of which...."

"Already taken care of." You hummed, rubbing your cheek along the smooth bone of his skull; "I left the fool with his pants around his ankles and his laptop open in the hotel room."

Khonshu hummed his approval--the man he'd sent you after was a predator--for both women and underage girls. You'd been impersonating a child in an online chat room for weeks, using filters to appear much younger than your actual age, slowly manipulating him into agreeing to meet you in a hotel somewhere.

From there, you met him in the hotel, smugly noticing how disappointed he was that you weren't some young girl; his disappointment morphing quickly into rage as he realized you intended to trap him.

He had told you too much, sent too much--confessed too much. He needed to cover his tracks. That's how he thought his night would go...

With him dumping your body in a drainage ditch, hoping to read in the news about some poor "hooker" being murdered by a John.

He didn't expect for you to fight back--let alone summon your crescent darts and fling them into his chest, taking the last to plunge it into his heart.

You staged the crime scene; used a USB to get past his laptop's security, and opened every single incriminating file--and you felt like your soul needed a cleansing at those images afterwards--and left out of the back entrance, letting your darts dissolve into thin air to further stage the crime scene.

It would look as if he was meeting one of the young girls he was grooming--perhaps a parent, guardian or older sibling got there first.... Perhaps they killed him in a rage at how he was abusing their relative.

They wouldn't know it was you he was meeting. Not with how you paid off the security officer to conveniently stage the cameras to be "down", and the clerk at the front counter to forget you were there, and to "forget" to have you sign in....

It went off without a hitch. You uncovered an illegal human trafficking program, and saved many lives. Both women and girls.

A wonderful dispensation of justice, and Khonshu was proud of you for how wonderfully you orchestrated it all.

You leaned back as you feel his large hands smooth over your cheeks, tugging your hips closer to his, "A wonderful job, my little Moonlight. There is another man here I want you to go after. He is the leader of a gang of criminals and they are intending to bomb a business that will not pay them for "protection". He holds many innocents under his thumb."

"I'm guessing he's the douche who likes to play grab-ass with the other girls when they walk by? The guy with the tattoo on his fingers?" You sighed.

"Yes." Khonshu said simply, not surprised that you already sniffed him out.

"All right. I'll try to get him away from his friends and "take care" of him. It'll be a little bit difficult, though. His cronies like to hover."

"You will figure something out." Khonshu hummed, his thumbs plucking the straps to your g-string almost playfully.

When you went to try and stand up, his hands gripped your hips once again and pulled you down; his voice dropping to a low timbre that was on par with the base that thumped through the walls.

"Where are you going, pet? I believe I hired you for a private dance, did I not?"

Unlike your usual methods of operation, you stayed at your current club. You'd grown a little attached to the girls.

Often coming to their defense and fending off clients who got too handsy or rough with them.

Once, a man had grabbed the youngest dancer, Millie by the wrists and yanked her into his lap; grabbing her so tight her delicate wrists bruised.

Khonshu had stepped in first--scooping his arm around Millie's waist and whisking her out of the man's lap--before you grabbed him by his greasy shirt and shoved him towards the door.

"She said no, you fucking pig." You snarled from behind your mask.

"You bitches 're paid to be sluts." He slurred, sneering at you. "Th' fuck she turnin' me down for? I got money!"

"We aren't hookers, you piss stain." You replied, eyes narrowing dangerously as your fists tightened.

"Now leave. Touch any of these girls again, and I will gouge your eyes out with my heels myself. Go home with the friend attached to your wrist--it's obvious the two of you are well-acquainted with each other already. You won't get lucky with a woman around here, anyway."

"You fuckin' bitch!" He barked, face red with rage as he lunged at you.

Despite wearing your clunky, impossibly high platform heels, you were able to deftly drop to the ground, sweeping out your leg and tripping him, making him smash his face on the floor and breaking his nose in the process.

You stamped your foot on his chest as he rolled over to glare up at you, attempting to staunch the flow of blood form his nostrils.

"You should go back to school." You sneer as everyone in the room laughs. "Or maybe take a kick-boxing class. I'm a stripper and I just kicked your ass in heels."

You grabbed him by his disgusting shirt and shoved him towards the bouncer, "Get this piece of shit off my floor."

After that, Khonshu got an even bigger reputation with the dancers in the club. He would sit in a booth, watching from the shadows. All of your coworkers knew Khonshu did not mind if they sat near him--he was a safe space. He would help protect them when they were on break; he would even ensure they hydrated and fed themselves after an exhausting performance.

It had gotten to the point where your manager usually waived any purchases he made--not that he needed or wanted to drink, but he had to keep up appearances--and the dancers began to bring him things.

Takeout, bottles of water... things like that would often accumulate around him where he sat.

Half of your coworkers didn't even find him attractive, but they all agreed he was hot simply for the fact that he was willing to keep them all safe--both the guys and girls--when others would simply say they "had it coming" for being strippers.

Those that did find him attractive were shameless flirts. They knew he apparently only had "eyes" for you, but that didn't mean they didn't want him to know just how attractive his chivalry and good looks were.

Khandi was probably the most shameless, she would plainly lay across his lap and chat his ear off as Khonshu's eyes tracked your every move in the club. She knew what he was doing, but lavished being in the attention of such an attractive customer.

One night, Khonshu had inquired as to what a "DILF" even was, and why Khandi and a few others had apparently likened him to one. You couldn't stop laughing long enough to tell him. You never did, and it annoyed the fuck out of him.

With every little thing left to Khonshu, every whisper of his name on the lips of your coworkers, you noticed his powers gaining in strength.

It took you only a few days to connect the dots--the things they were leaving, the "hopes" your coworkers would utter that he would be there if you couldn't defend them from some jerk in the night, the attention they were giving him...

You had doubled over on the couch next to him, kicking your feet with tears in your eyes as you finally realized what that meant.

He had followers again. Even if they weren't in the practical or traditional sense--

Khonshu had essentially became the god of the strippers.

And the mere idea of the situation had you nearly crying and gasping for air as you laughed and laughed, and laughed...

Until Khonshu had pulled you across his lap and growled rather impatiently,

"Impudent little... I guess you need to be punished now, hm?"

Khandi certainly noticed how you didn't want to sit down for a little while after you came out of that room--and how smudged your meticulously applied mascara was...

[ofswordsandpens]

racked my brain and the only time i can remember percy worrying about physically hurting annabeth before this is when he blew up mt st helens—he says he wasn’t sure she “made it out of the volcano”, and she’s the first thing he asks hephaestus about on ogygia. it seems like regular worry to me, although i think you could read guilt between the lines, and he’s more overwhelmed when he learns how big the eruption he caused was. i don’t know if rr was particularly thinking about this at the time but it would make sense as a traumatic event that sparked this fear of not being in control of his powers/feeling guilt/self-loathing about the possibility he could hurt his friends, and then the events of hoo really making it an issue. (the thread between this + thinking he deserves to die because he lost control and tortured akhkys which scared annabeth + thinking “i will never forgive myself” because he lost control and potentially hurt annabeth… aaaagh.)

yes yes yes mt st helens is a great point and I completely agree with you, that I would almost qualify it more like a regular worry because I think the distinction between this moment and the moment in cotg for me is that Percy had specifically told Annabeth to leave and go to safety, and its not like he (or anyone) knew what he was going to accidentally do, but I felt there was an argument to be made that he knew it was going to get nasty (as both him and annabeth recognized on some level that he was likely going to die there)??? And the shocker was not just him losing control but the scale of him losing control and that scale of power is what endangered Annabeth, despite his warning for her to leave. Meanwhile, in cotg, Percy loses it and controls millions of metric tons of river water and Annabeth is just, chilling on a ledge that's close enough where he had regularly been remarking on her expressions and what she had been doing in the paragraphs prior. (Honestly, he's really lucky that nothing happened to her.) So I guess its the proximity of annabeth to Percy in these moments that makes them more distinct in my eyes, if that makes any sense at all. And as soon as Percy comes back to himself in cotg, he's immediately like "oh shit did I just kill annabeth?" and it's not even him overreacting, the scene reads like he really could have, which is absolutely WILD for RR to throw in there.

The other part in pjo that I was debating if you could qualify is the death of Michael Yew because Percy was the one inadvertently responsible for it. Despite how much the pjo wikia wants to gaslight me about Michael Yew's death, its literally a canon example of Percy accidentally killing a friend as a byproduct of his powers. But like, Percy didn't lose control or "snap" in that scene, using his powers had been very intentional, it was again, the scale and the fallout that had led to Michael's death. And then Percy never thinks about it again.

But literally yes, in a perfect world where Riordan was planning all of this out and actually connected these moments with intention, mt st helens being the traumatic event that sparked the fear of not being in control of powers make SO MUCH SENSE. And since Riordan does want to characterize percy as feeling guilty and worrying about the possibility of hurting his friends, I feel like guilt over Michael Yew's death is just, sitting right there for the taking

ugh I know im rambling but there's just so much for RR to purposefully connect but instead its as if he's treating these moments where Percy snaps/loses controls/hates himself/worries about hurting others as separate, unrelated incidents while we the readers are seeing how all these events would realistically be influenced by one another and are compounding/piling on top of Percy and getting worse. It IS all connected.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

A'ight, what is it about Anne Brontë and Tenant of Wildfell Hall? I keep seeing stuff about how Anne is the unproblematic Brontë sister and that's what kept me away from her books lol

*kracks knuckles* All right. So, remember how the Brontë sisters wrote three novels simultaneously? Charlotte wrote The Professor, Emily wrote Wuthering Heights, and Anne wrote Agnes Grey. The two latter got picked up by publishers, but The Professor was rejected, so Charlotte finished up Jane Eyre and sent it to a publisher, who accepted it immediately and had it published before Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey got printed. All three of them wrote under pen names (Charlotte was Currer Bell, Anne was Acton Bell, and Emily was Ellis Bell), because they knew their novels were, say, a little controversial, and that if it was known they were women, their characters would be judged and immediately associated to their works. So needless to say, they were VERY supportive of each other, because they knew no one else would. (Their father was also supportive, but they published their novels without telling him at first but once they did, he was very encouraging, thankfully.)

It's easy to see why Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights would be considered controversial in their day (they still kind of are today given the Discourse(tm), lol). Agnes Grey, while it didn't do as well as JE and WH, was criticized for being a little too... let's say, honest about a governess' day-to-day life, when Anne wrote it drawing from her own experiences as a governess. The thing with Anne is that people find her stuff a little moralizing, but it was in her best interest to present Agnes as virtuous given how she made little secret of how poorly governesses could be treated, since it wasn't that rare they'd be accused of profiting from the families they were employed by, when there were abuse cases more often than not.

Then The Tenant of Wildfell Hall came out, and that's when criticism started to fly. May Sinclair (an early 20th century suffragist) would later write that the scene where Helen (the main character of the novel) slams her door to her husband's face had a reveberation that was heard throughout England. It's the story (in case you don't mind getting spoiled for a 150-year-old book) of a lady who marries a Victorian fuckboy called Huntington, ends up in an abusive household where her only comfort is her son, and once she realizes that her husband is becoming a bad influence on her child, she leaves him and manages to hide in a house that her brother is willing to rent to her, while she tries to earn a small living by painting. And people lost their shit, because according to them, Helen was a bad woman for leaving her husband, even though she did it to, you know, get her son out of a toxic environment. If Charlotte criticized anything about the novel, it's that she thought some aspects of Huntington were depicted too graphically, but they mostly had to do with his alcoholism and his adultery (this is important: those critcisms have nothing to do with Helen, or how Tenant is shade thrown at Charlotte and Emily's works). That might have been because Anne got some inspiration for Huntington from Branwell, their brother, who was also an alcoholic and got fired from his job as a tutor for having an affair with the lady of the house. Charlotte was pretty fed up with Branwell at that point, and while Emily was the one who got along with him best, they had some pretty big fights because she was in no way a pushover (so the belief that Charlotte and Emily idolized Branwell while Anne was the only one who saw through his BS is also, incidentally, BS).

So, why did Charlotte stop Tenant from being re-printed after Anne's death? Simply put, the criticism against it was getting worse, and people were defaming Anne's character because of it. Charlotte had had her own share of troubles with Jane Eyre - she dedicated the second edition to William Makepeace Thackeray (of Vanity Fair and Barry Lyndon fame) because he was her favorite author, without knowing his wife was institutionalized after suffering from severe post-partum depression. And that led, of course, to people speculating that Jane Eyre was semi-autobiographical, and that Charlotte was Thackeray's mistress. (I mean, it *is* semi-autobiographical, but Thackeray had nothing to do with it.) So she was understandably a little on edge, and while she edited Agnes Grey for a reprinting after Anne's death (given there were a lot of spelling mistakes and the like in the first printing), she asked for Tenant to not be reprinted to protect her sister's memory.

So no, Charlotte did not block Tenant from being as well-known as Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre because she was "jealous", or because she was mad that Anne was "throwing shade" at her and at Emily. She was protecting her sister's reputation, because she wasn't even alive anymore to speak for herself and mount any kind of defense, and that was while Charlotte's own reputation was under fire, after she had lost the two people who had supported her the most - Emily died in 1848, and Anne in 1849. To try to pit these sisters against each other, when two of them died far too young and the surviving one had to pick up the pieces and defend them against public opinion - it is simply distasteful, and it needs to stop.

[toast-in-a-cowboy-hat]

I wonder what Felix thinks about Tex?

Like with how jealous he was of Helen, I know the few times we saw him around Tex, he was generally polite, but he did sorta steal one of the Ty's, and I cannot imagine Felix is totally chill with that. So like, what's he think about him? Is he nice to him because he knows Ty likes him? Does he genuinely not mind because since Tex doesn't consider Ty his best friend? Does it not matter to him because Outlaw is just one of several dozen Ty's?

On that note, what's his opinion of Outlaw?

I mean, Outlaw is still a Ty and all, but he left.

He left the compound, he left Felix, left essentially everything behind to go live in Texas with some other guy.

Which, ya know, he did it for very good reason, and clearly he still cares a great deal about Felix, but regardless, he left.

Like that had to hurt, on some level, that had to hurt, to know that your best friend, this guy that you care about, that means so much to you, that you love, whatever way that may be, could just up and leave one day.

And I'm sure there's a sense of something adjacent to this with the other Ty's, with the way they have a tendency to treat lives as disposable, but that's mostly iterations and the fact that its pretty easy to bring someone back, and even then, they've always clearly valued Felix and his friendship with them evil Ty's notwithstanding , and the threat of 'leaving' is more 'don't go against me in a way that I'll have to put a stop to, I would do it, but neither of us would want that to happen', which is very different from ' I'm leaving because I want to do the right thing'.

Does Felix miss him? Is he mad at him? Is he upset? Is he happy for him? Is he glad he's enjoying himself, does he secretly hope somehow he'll come back, does he feel bad about being upset, do they text, have they not spoken since they last saw each other, does he think about him often, does he not think of him much at all?

I just. Wonder how he feels about it.

Anyways.

[lakesbian]

should comment on the first (<- optimistically hoping there will be more) lamb interludes too

i like ashton so far i think it's fun to add another more Noticeably Alien Freak lamb. kindof autistic to be a fucked up biohorror lab experiment that doesn't know how to imitate people yet and consequently has no volume control & errs on the side of speaking too softly instead when you think about it.

the effect of him constantly vividly imagining peoples heads exploding for fun may be somewhat lost on me because i'm like well he's not hurting anyone so good for him.

the nonhuman visual perception was fun to read about i liked that

it has sadly occurred to me while writing this that the next time we see him it's gonna be timeskipped so far ahead that he'll be a Normal Boy and i won't get to enjoy the development phase, which seems like it should be the appeal of adding a new little vat boy to the team

his interlude segment portrays jamie 2 as a bit of an older sister. this is a win for me.

helen thoughts:

best interlude so far hands down because helen is special. one of the best Scenes At All Ever so far hands down because helen is special. it is so EXTREMELY effective to show her away from the lambs for the first time and have her casually remind that the personality she's been displaying for most of the book is an entirely calculated act for the lambs' benefit, and even the glimpses beneath it they've been getting had a heavy dosage of acting involved in the presentation. utter fucking Crocodile of a girl. it's so good

it's also extremely fucking funny for helen to be told to stop acting and respond by standing up and going "i want to gore that guy over there. Sexually."

specifically a big fan of how it's explicitly belabored that she stands up during the interrogation because she's no longer acting. like, the idea that even the most basic level of expected human behavior that would seem common sense exists only because of an act, and immediately ceases if the act does, replaced entirely by some reptilian Thing who stands up and states desire to crawl murderously into someone's mouth--that's really fucking good. and then the act goes back up and helen the Thing remains lying there underneath.

not directly from the interlude but i thought it was cute when sy explained to her that she was possibly feeling loneliness. if i was mary i would treat helen right...reptilegirls need hugs too...i would let her cuddle with me at night like a weird cat...

gordon:

i like him but he's very simple and overshadowed compared to more special individuals like helen. i'm sorry gordon

i do think it's SO fucking funny that he unironically mentally gets worried and compares him thinking mary is hot to helen talking about wanting to crawl into peoples skin and shit. teenager experiencing normal levels of teenager feelings and being like oh NO im some sort of weird intense freak pervert of the earth. like no man youre just a teenager youre gonna be okay buddy. well, you're not going to be okay, but that's for reasons unrelated to being attracted to women. that part is normal and fine.

it's nice to have confirmation that gordon is mind beaming "holy shit please shut the fuck up" at sy just as often as sy is mind beaming it at him. not that we needed it to know, given that sy receives the mind beams 95% of the time minimum (and elects to ignore them almost as often)

i like the bit abt him being a segmented stitched-together person made from composite parts & his feelings also being sort of metaphorically processed as composite parts he can pick and choose from to engage with. griffon boy...

we should kill the duke

we should kill the baron

we should kill the duke and the baron

mary: unfortunately theres not so much to say about this one because she spent 65% of it vividly imagining how she could murder people. love you mary

lillian:

it was fun to see how sy looks from someone else's perspective and then find out what the fuck he was actually doing next chapter. and like just in general fun and convincing to see how she reads him without being privy to the one million insane things he's thinking at any given second

i have to confess i was bad at actually thinking a lot about lillian during this one. one of my main thoughts was "oh good we finally have more detailed description of how sy looks." wildbow novels are cool because you have to wait until one fucktillion words in to find out that a character has long eyelashes. adding that to my list of mental notes for drawing sy

detailed descriptions of how sy kisses lillian (extremely real and true and in character for him by the way you know he was doing a death note monologue in his head about his methodology) made me remember that im going to have to read the lesbian sex scene that fails the bechdel test at some point because mary tries to imitate it and then i went 🙁and had to try to stop thinking about that.

[garvalhaminho]

forgot to post my thoughts while reading the first chapter of tlkof as someone who has only ever read tda and tid (translated from chaotic portuguese)

thais??? who??

dru likes learning by understanding how things work, relatable (SHE'S LITERALLY ME)

she's learning about downworlders and can ask magnus for help, but specifically cristina (the diva who loved studying faeries!!), mark and helen (icon) and kieran and i love that for her 💞 like yes give her one thing she can take advantage of

SHE'S GOT HER MOTHER ELEANOR'S JACKET !! I REPEAT SHE'S GOT HER MOTHER ELEANOR'S JACKET !!

not her dyeing her hair black (ate)

"thais always looked glamorous in her gear" 🤨 no look i know friends can find each other pretty and beautiful etc but when it's ya literature.....it's usually the censored version of "hot as fuck" JUST SAYING

DRU IS 5'3 YAAA WE'VE GOT THE SAME HEIGHT (i think, i'm not american)

i already love dru and thais's friendship 🫶 they match each others freak

dru trains to forget everything she's gone through 😭

oh already the preppy guys and fuckboys (mason hardcastle)

"dru and thais didn't need to ask each other; they knew already they'd be a team" awwww i already know i'm gonna love their friendship

paige ashdown when i see you in the street (no but like an ableist and fatphobic bully? i'll fight that fucker with my bare hands)

thais speaking portuguese in the middle of nowhere i love it

OH AND THE FUCKBOY IS HER EX AND HE SUCKS, if it was me and i had classes with him i'd literally throw myself off a bridge

dru inventing "sex crocodile",,, she's too iconic i fear

"nothing scared [dru}. nothing in a movie, anyway." babygirl 😭 i remember her like mentioning how she liked horror movies but the horror depicted would never be as bad as the real life horror she's experienced

dru still talks to kit 😭 no like imagine your sister still talks to your situationship of two weeks from three years ago, i'd jump off a bridge (yet again)

"there's no danger. we're on academy grounds" famous last words

"she tugged gently at a dangling lock in her friend's hair" THAT'S LITERALLY A MICROTROPE IN ROMANCE MOVIES

"she cursed silently, imagining every bad word she could think of and some she was pretty sure she'd just made up." let dru say fuck pleaseeee. just once. as a little treat, she deserves it

"she wondered for a moment if she should mention that her brother, mark, was the consort of the unseelie king" not her trying to use her connections

ASH SHOWING UP AND HUMILIATING THE LITTLE FAERIE MEN 😭 he slayed i fear

no yeah he's literally royalty he's literally a prince (get that bag girl!!)

dru thinking that ash's eyes were like the sea glass julian loved......oh how i love this family

"'how do you know my name?' she demanded. his eyes narrowed. 'you must be joking,' he said. 'you've forgotten? you can't have forgotten.'" of course she's forgotten a random guy she was with for two minutes three years ago, she has a life, YOU'RE just a SIMP

ash getting yelled at and reprimanded by his daddy or whatever but still literally helping his crush and sending her away to safety 🙏 and your man can't even text you back

julian and emma leaving london to take care of their child drusilla blackthorn

OH AND JULIAN'S GONNA NEED A LOT A THERAPY AFTER THREE BOOKS OF HIS KIDS GETTING THEMSELVES IN TROUBLE

he didn't even sleep during the three nights she was missing 😭

i fear i might become thais/dru shipper under the right circumstances

[thmles]

| Self Love.

- He don't love himself, tryna love me.

[pairing: miguel o'hara x gwen stacy!reader]

[warnings: mention of death, sweet to angst, marriage, miguel being a player, barely proofread]

[a/n: so i was listening to self love from the across the spider-verse album/soundtrack and i kept on listening to it while playing ranked so i ended up writing this while playing and really ran with it! gwen's dialogue really pushed me to write this. it would've been longer if it were an actual fic but i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻]

Miguel considered himself a player back in college. Infamous for swooning over girls to try and get them in his bed. At least, that was the rumors. He targeted almost every girl in their major, from freshmen to graduating. His favorite target was you, Gwen Stacy.

You were an only child trying to keep up the appearance that your parents raised a perfect young lady. You rarely went out and only ever had one boyfriend. You were finishing your undergraduate degree in hopes of pursuing a PhD in Biology and to hopefully work for Alchemax, one of Nueva York’s biggest chemical corporations.

It was finals and truthfully, you were cramming almost everything. You had a paper due in a couple of hours and you had to review all of the syllabus word for word if you want to ace your exams. So here you were, in your quiet university library trying to finally finish your undergraduate degree when a certain someone decided to disturb you. You were looking at the screen of your laptop while taking notes with your tablet. A few strands of your hair managed to get itself on the side of your face. You raised your hand to tuck it back in when a hand beat you to it. You looked at your left to see the most annoying and smug face you have seen. Ever.

“Hey. Gwen Stacy, right? Daughter of Chief of Police, Chief George Stacy and Doctor Helen Stacy?” Miguel asked with a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at him before looking back at your laptop to continue reading the slideshow. He chuckled and sat on the long table beside your bag.

“Hard to get, Miss Stacy?” He asked again with another smirk. You looked at him and narrowed your eyes. “Very.”

Miguel let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. “Care for a coffee date?” He asks again. You rolled your eyes in annoyance. What did this human turd want? You just wanted to finish university and get your PhD and start working. He’s just a bother. “No.” You answered sternly before going back to your notes.

“C’mon. It’ll be my treat.”

“...”

“Please?”

“...”

When Miguel realized you weren’t going to reply, he slammed your laptop shut. “Hey!” You exclaimed in annoyance. He laughed and crossed his arms. “Will you answer me now?”

“No.”

“Please with a cherry on top?” He asked again with hopeful eyes.

“Look, Miguel is it?” You stood up and looked at him. “I said no, already didn’t I? We all know about your very colorful affairs and I am not going to be one of them.” You were yelling by now and the rest of the students in the library were looking over at the pair of you. You glared at Miguel and you could see a hint of hurt in his eyes. You quickly stuffed your laptop and tablet in your bag, leaving him by himself as you left the library to study at your house.

-

The very next day, you were woken up by your dad knocking on your door. “Honey, someone wants to see you.” His voice muffled by the door. You groaned and sat up, rubbing your eyes as it adjusted to the lighting. “Who?” You asked tiredly, slipping on your fuzzy slippers your friend had gifted you. “A guy named Miguel.” As soon as you heard those words, it was as if cold water was poured over your head. “Uh, I’ll be right there, dad!” You replied and sauntered over to your bathroom to make yourself decent. No way were you letting that human turd see you as a mess.

After a while, you headed downstairs and saw your father and Miguel conversing in the dining room. A maid placed a plate for Miguel to which he accepted gratefully. Your dad seemed pleased with Miguel. “What exactly are you doing in my house on a Tuesday morning, O’hara?” You spat out rudely. Miguel smiled as you entered the room and sat across from him.

“Gwen.” Your dad warned you. You crossed your arms as the maid from earlier put a plate in front of you as well as a cup. She poured orange juice in the cup as you glared at the man across from you.

“Dad, Miguel and I aren’t even close. We aren’t even friends!” You exclaimed as you tried to decipher why your father decided to let him in. “Well, if you aren’t friends, why did he just ask me if he could court you?”

That morning was eventful. Miguel and your father had been bonding and had even approved of Miguel courting you. Hell, Miguel brought flowers for you and your mom. You don’t know how he even knew your favorite flowers when you never conversed before. You had to pull him aside and asked him what the hell was he doing to which he answered: “I’ve liked you for years, I just want to shoot my shot.”

Somehow, you don’t know how, you warmed up to him. He went with you to Alchemax and was very supportive of your choices. Miguel bought you your favorite chocolates every week, and surprised you with romantic dinners. A few months into him courting you, you made it abundantly clear that you wouldn’t sleep with him until after a year you started dating. He also became your boyfriend that day. Miguel respected your choice and made an effort to give you a secure relationship.

Even after years, when Miguel managed to get his DNA spliced with that of a spider’s, you stood by him. You left Alchemax to work for a pharmaceutical company as you could never forgive what happened with Miguel. You supported Miguel in being Nueva York’s ‘Spider-man.’ You gave him massages, left food for him to eat, waited for him to come home. He was very much grateful for you. He knew he wanted to marry you the moment he laid eyes on you at an orientation of a class you took together freshman year. Miguel only proposed one night after a brutal fight with the Vulture.

-

Miguel stumbled in through the unlocked window of your shared bedroom. He was badly bruised and his whole body ached. The commotion caught your attention from the kitchen and was quick to run in the room. Miguel tugged off his mask and threw it on the bed. When you saw Miguel’s bruised face, you let out a gasp and helped him sit on the bed.

“I told you to not get hurt, didn’t I?” You exclaimed as you ran to the kitchen to get a pack of frozen corn to help soothe Miguel’s swollen face. He let out a chuckle and only looked at you as you held the pack to his cheek. “Jesus, what am I going to do with you, hm?” You asked softly as your fingers brushed over his other swollen cheek. You sniffed as you felt yourself becoming teary-eyed at Miguel’s state. He was badly bruised and you knew he would do it all over again to keep the city safe. To keep you safe. “You should marry me.” Miguel replied softly with a smile. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He shuffled to his nightstand and with a few grunts and groans he held out a small velvet box. You dropped the pack of frozen corn beside him and looked into his eyes.

“Marry me, Gwen Stacy. You’re the love of my life. I knew I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you in Professor Jacob’s class. You gave me a chance to love you. You stayed with me throughout everything that happened at Alchemax and sacrificed the career you built there for me. I can’t see myself with anyone else besides you. Will you marry me?”

Needless to say the wedding was grand. Almost the whole police department of Nueva York showed up to ensure that the wedding was secure. Your batch mates who were genuinely surprised at the pair you and Miguel had even showed up. And after a week long honeymoon in Switzerland, you were ecstatic. But good things come to an end, right?

-

When an anomaly from another dimension managed to severely injure you, Miguel was set on figuring out how to travel the multiverse. And when he did, he recruited every Spider-Men, Spider-Women, hell even a Spider-Car to ensure that anomalies are dealt with accordingly so they couldn’t do the damage they did to you.

As you were recovering from your injuries, Miguel was quick to discover that for every Spider-Man that had a Gwen Stacy, she always dies. It led him to spiral into keeping you safe and he almost always made sure that you call him when you leave the house and get home.

However, despite the best of his abilities, he was unable to save you as the Green Goblin threw you off a clock tower. Miguel managed to wrap his makeshift webs around you but it was too late. Your head hit the ground and you were gone.

Miguel tried his best to move on, focusing on his work and the Spider Society. As he looks at the picture of you in your wedding dress smiling at the camera, in Miles’ world, Gwen was looking at Miles as they sat upside down.

“In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man,” She paused to look into Miles’ eyes before gazing out at the city. “And in every other universe, it doesn’t end well.”

[blairsanne]

I just finished my first rewatch of taj. This time around, I noticed more than the first time I watched. I was actually paying more attention to the storyline instead of just watching Dean in every scene and how good he looked lol.

I felt bad for Anders and how everyone treated him, even up until the last episode. Yeah there were times when he acted like a prick but hey that’s his character and I understand him putting up a wall and acting the way he does because if how others treat him. Still loved Ty. Yeah at times it was a little creepy with his approach to Dawn but I love the ending how it all turned out for them. Still cried. Mike, still can’t stand him. I think this time around I found him even more annoying. I almost got to the point where I had to wither mute when he was talking or just outright skip it lol. Axl was better this time around. First time I found him really annoying but this time he was better. Love Zeb, hilarious! Love all the goddesses still, except Gaia. Don’t even get me started on her! Especially the storyline with her and Anders. Nope hated that part, couldn’t watch it this time.

I loved it even more this time around! Since finishing it, it got me thinking about it they did go ahead with a season 4 and what would play out. I would’ve loved to see how each of them adapted to their life now without their god powers and who would embrace the new change, who would struggle the most, would they change anything about their life or try and keep it steady? Who knows!? And then what about Axl moving back in with Zeb, do you think he’d eventually start telling him everything or just leave that all in the past and build a new friendship? What are your thoughts on if they did another season and what they would tackle?

Yay, talking about TAJ is one of my favourite things!!

I fully agree re: Anders. I often feel sad for him when people who watch the show accept his brothers' opinions of him as fact, despite Anders himself repeatedly trying to tell them that he does the right thing often, that he's trying to protect them, etc. -- and the audience even being shown that effort on his part multiple times. It grinds my gears that other characters thinking Anders is a shallow jerk is taken as a statement of fact from the writers and not, y'know, the character's opinion.

Anders may not have the same set of ethics as Mike, but he clearly has his own set of ethics (which he brings up in S2 when he's uncomfortable with Helen's ideas for his powers, in S3 with Colin's ideas for his powers, etc...) and doesn't see his own actions the way his brothers interpret them, and I think it's a very uncharitable reading of his character to think of him as flat and selfish, instead of the very complex character that was actually written into the show, with flaws and good points and complicated family dynamics where mostly there's a lot of misunderstanding of each other going on. I could probably ramble on about that forever, but I'll refrain.

Mainly I wish that viewers would take Anders word for it what his own motivations are, because he does outright state them at multiple points, right from the first season where he explains that the thing that got him BANISHED FROM HIS FAMILY was done in an attempt to protect Mike.

I really disliked Mike my first viewing, because I felt like he caused a lot of strife for other characters by being inflexible and believing he knew best. As I've rewatched, I've come to better appreciate his character and the immense burden he bears. I think his attempt at controlling his family is his own way of trying to protect them, and that this was caused by the events surrounding both the toxic relationship of his parents and that he was forced to be the head of the family at age 21. (I still get annoyed with him during the S3 Odin contest stuff but I also headcanon that it was a "fate" thing to force Odin and Frigg together.) I try to remind myself that every character on the show thinks they are in the right, and why that might be.

I have a theory about Gaia, but that's a whole other essay lmao.

My answers to your questions re: S4 will be somewhat colored by the deleted scene from the final episode, which reveals what Colin was doing tossing a red gem on the ground before the Ga.

In the deleted scene (which they filmed in case they got renewed for S4), Loki comes out of the gem, and we were left with Loki and Colin standing in the woods, apparently about to cause some problems.

With that in mind, I have to assume that the Johnsons would discover Loki was in Midgard and try to do soemthing about it. I further assume that at least some of the other characters would have god spirits inhabit them again (mainly because that's more interesting than them coming back to Earth on their own and interacting with mortal Johnsons).

I think it would be REALLY interesting if they didn't necessarily get the gods they had the first time around. Maybe Odin doesn't want to leave Asgard, so Axl becomes another god. Maybe Freki, just for the lols. Maybe they find some new McGuffin that allows other mortals (liek Zeb and Dawn) to take on god spirits!

Re: Zeb and Axl living together, given how long their friendship was, I headcanon that - much like Dawn - Zeb would eventually start to remember Axl, and maybe everything. Alternatively, maybe part of the season is Axl finding a way to make Zeb remember!

Just re: the Johnsons being mortal in general, I have a bit of a hc where, since Mike's career wasn't based on his powers, he'd go back to construction (maybe rebuild the bar to sell it), and Axl would work for him. Anders (who I assume does know how to do his job, despite no longer being able to just Bragi his clients) might even do promo for the construction business. Ty could still be a courier, and as the only one to actually live as a mortal since turning 21, I think he'd have the easiest time of it, especially with Dawn remembering him and all.

I think initially there would be a lot of razzing Mike by challenging him to games and beating him, but overall I think Mike might actually feel really happy to get to be included in those games again after so long. I think losing Ullr would really help Mike chill out. Or, at least, I hope that for him.

I don't really see Michele and Anders working out long term unless Michele started to take Anders seriously. She didn't really seem to understand him very well even in S3. I did feel like Anders seemed to want a more serious relationship (not necessarily that he wanted what Ty or Mike would want, but just that he seemed to be looking for emotional connection in S3, and not only physical, perhaps because of the whole Idun plot?) so I could see with not having Bragi anymore that he might settle down a bit and get a gf. I've always sort of thought maybe mortal women didn't seem like suitable gf material to him because they couldn't know about everything going on (like he saw how being with Val was complicated for Mike) and that's why they're always little flings. We do see him treat Michele and Helen pretty well imo (not cheating on them, taking them seriously as people, etc.), so I thought maybe he would do better with a goddess gf. (See Lofn fic lmao)

Ahhh that was a lot of rambling, but I'm always happy to talk more about TAJ!! Thanks for the ask :)

[catoperated]

Saw a post where someone described something as lame, a bunch of people in the comments said it was a slur, and a bunch more replied “how can that possibly be a slur.”

I’ll tell you… under the cut.

So let’s talk about ableist slurs.

There are a lot. Some terms relate to specific conditions. When you do a google search for “pinhead” the top results are all about Hellraiser. People who use it to describe someone as being stupid probably have no idea of its actual origin.

As a slur, it refers to people with microcephaly. People with small and/oddly shaped heads were a big draw at freak shows of the past. Oh yeah, “freak” is ableist, too. People fight back hard against that one. Y’know because they’re better than those freaks who like the wrong cartoon or whatever (sarcasm).

Lame refers to being unable to walk properly for whatever reason. You might’ve heard of lame horses, but even wiktionary outright calls using it to describe disabled people as dated and offensive.

Dumb was synonymous with mute in the past, which usually meant non-verbal autistics. “Blind, deaf, and dumb” was once a medical term referring to people who could neither see, hear, nor talk. Helen Keller was described as that, and before anyone gets into TikTok conspiracies, I’ve got a video for you. Was Hellen Keller a fraud?

No, but abled people on TikTok just can’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of formerly non-communicative person, given the proper tools, being so eloquent. Hell, I can barely touch type on a standard keyboard, so I rely a lot on my phone’s assistive tools to do most of the work for me. Leads to very weird typos sometimes.

And yes, while I’m on the subject, I’m sick and tired of people using predictive text as an excuse to justify generative AI models built off stolen data and art. When people say “fuck AI” they mean that kind of AI, and to act otherwise is to be deliberately obtuse.

I debated if “obtuse” was a little to close to “stupid,” which I try to avoid. I personally wouldn’t go so far as to forbid people from using more general terms like that, or phrases like “are you blind”—I’m too tired to be combative about it when I’m constantly having to prove I’m disabled (they act like I’ll wake up one day miraculously cured from cerebral palsy) to keep my benefits, but alternatives like ridiculous are right fucking there. Expand your damn vocabulary. Please.

I feel like I need a break before the next part, so here’s one of my cats. His name is Riley.

(ID in Alt text, unless tumblr ate it again)

Maybe you think this post is ridiculous. I don’t care. I grew up being called a spaz and having people tap their hands to their chest to mock me—I’m not even quadriplegic, I’m diplegic, but I guess that’s just the universal sign for the r-slur.

Wild that we finally reached the point that “retarded” is widely accepted as not cool to say, but commenters on YouTubr using “regarded” as a stand-in for it is just… I don’t know, lazy?

All this is just me trying to distract myself from the fact I’m in the path of the hurricane and the lights are already flickering. The basement is most definitely going to flood even if it only wings us, and I do not look forward to dealing with that.

I have no bread, milk, or eggs because of the grand southern tradition of making a run on grocery stores when bad weather looms. I always wondered what people did when they ended up with an excess after it passed—make a shitload of French toast? idk I’m stress-digressing here.

Oh, and because we have to keep saying it, cripples can reclaim any and all of these words, but ableds cannot. I’ve seen people argue that abled, like cis, sounds like a slur, when it’s literally what cis able people are—able-bodied, cisgender, the “standard.”

And we all know how people can get when faced anyone who goes against that white, able, neurotypical, cisgender, straight “standard.”

Imagine me making air quotes with that, cause people treating those traits as being “normal” are so… droll. (sarcasm again)

[basilone]

for the one word prompts... here to request "surprise" with... imogene and rosie? x - @softspeirs

Thank you so much, @softspeirs, for sending me this! I'm sorry it took a day and an age to fill. 😅 But I hope this will be a good treat for you and the rest of us Rosie-lovers!

swear I thought I dreamed you

The base has been abuzz since the early morning hours.

It’s no longer a surprise to Imogene when this happens. It seems that every so often there is news that cannot remain behind closed doors for long, which spills out onto the grounds and travels all the way to the hardstands. When there is a new shipment, the ground crew’s preparations are always observed by several members of different flight crews. When there are new girls coming in, either as flight crew or as Clubmobile hopefuls, it’s got Tatty up in a tizzy so much that Imogene’s got no hopes of keeping up with her.

Lately, there’s been other news too. About two fronts moving ever closer to Berlin, meeting up and interlinking at last. About guys being smuggled out of Europe, back to the States. About camps being liberated, even, which seems to Imogene like something one might only be able to do at the end of a war. When you’re winning – if you still know what victory looks like – and very close to bringing all the living home.

She’s not sure what the buzz is about this time. She’s been up since before dawn, because Darlene had gotten it into her head that she wanted to check on another plane in the middle of the night. Darlene’s been doing that a lot lately – checking once, then checking again – and Imogene doesn’t really have the heart to ask her outright why she’s avoiding Meatball this much. Whether it’s to do with DeMarco, who’d confided to Imogene he wants to marry Darlene after the war, or with Lottie, who’d been curled up around Meatball in utter misery for the better part of a week or two before crashlanding in Europe herself.

Imogene sighs. Casts a critical glance at Meatball, who’s looking mighty sorry for himself just outside the Clubmobile wagon. Just last week, some farmer had stopped by to complain that Meatball had somehow gotten his dog pregnant. Bloody chicken thief, the man had snarled to Imogene’s barely contained laughter. Always sticking himself into trouble, that one, miss. She’d almost replied just like his owner, because Benny DeMarco had been rather fond of inserting himself in complex situations too, but had thought the better of it once the kids had begun yelling excitedly about puppies.

“You know what you did, mister,” she tells the dog all the same, biting back a smile when Meatball’s guilty look increases tenfold. “Chasing after chickens, getting a lady dog pregnant, acting like you are above the law”– really, she’s almost convinced that week with Lottie made the dog worse –“doing things that would make a regular fellow lose his rank over here real quick. You’ve been demoted, Sergeant Meatball.”

She chuckles to herself as she busies herself with the next round of coffee. Soon enough, the base is going to calm down enough to remember that they would very much like a cup of that. Imogene had opted to stay behind – waving Tatty and Helen and the rest of the girls out, saying she’s got it covered – because, well, there’s not going to be much of anything new. It’ll be another crew coming in, or another young man bailed out by another country’s resistance, or a new shipment that will be enough to end the war for now. Someone needs to provide the fresh coffee in light of all that excitement, which…

Imogene swallows thickly. Her eyes sting a moment as she attempts to recall where on earth Helen put the milk this morning. She struggles to recall Helen’s breathless excitement, with the little nods to their actual work hidden beneath a layer of joy that Imogene can’t bring herself to feel right now. By all rights, she should have stepped away from the coffee too. Shouldn’t have thought she could just be on her own with this, not when this was always something she shared with one man in particular. Early morning coffee. Sometimes a long conversation. Sometimes just the regular thank-you and a joke, with his smiles crinkling at his eyes and her feeling giddy for the rest of the morning.

Don’t get attached. It’s something she tells the new girls every time, even when some of them have their hearts set on not listening. For the love of God, smile at them all you like and flirt if you must but don’t start thinking this is going to last. Because it doesn’t, really, not when so many of these men fade away in the skies over Europe never to be seen again. You can’t afford the heartbreak when you’ve got a job to do. And that’s why she’s here, scrubbing out coffee pots and trying to remember where the milk went, busying herself with work while the rest of the base seems beside itself with excitement. She could miss the end of the war like this, for all she knows, and it’d still not feel like a relief to have it be over. It won’t stop the ache in her chest.

“Shush, Meatball,” she admonishes as the dog begins to yip and howl just outside the door. “Damn huskies and your yelling,” she mutters when Meatball’s high-pitched sounds turn into whines, “always got something to say, don’t you, just like DeMarco could never shut up a day in his life once he got excited… Will you please stop?!”

“Sorry,” comes a new voice, just behind her. She’d just as soon think Meatball had started talking – and she had lost the last of her marbles – except… except she knows this voice. “I think he can smell all the food on me.”

She drops the towel, and the pot, and forgets all about the milk. Takes a deep, shuddering breath – hands flat on her work station, heart thundering through her chest – before she’s got the heart to turn around.

The noise that escapes her when she sees him is enough to put Meatball to shame.

“Rosie,” she whispers, bridging the gap between her work station and the door within seconds. “Rosie, is that really… Oh, it is you”– and she is crying now, unable to swallow back tears the way she’s been doing for weeks –“it really is you!”

His arms wrap around her as soon as she embraces him. His chuckle lands warm in her ear, reverberating through his chest until she can’t tell if she’s hearing his laughter or his heartbeat. Her hands are creasing his uniform, folding around his jacket, and she’s crying still because it feels like hugging someone who came back to life. Because this is Rosie, voice shushing her but not admonishing her over her tears, arms tightening around her like he’s okay with her never letting go.

“Hello Imogene,” he murmurs, lips moving against her hair. “Spare me a cup?”

She sniffles loudly at the familiar question. “Yeah, of course, I’ll make you something fresh,” she replies, voice a little muffled through his jacket. “Didn’t… Didn’t think…” Didn’t think I’d see you again, she almost says, even though they’ve been told he survived his crash in Berlin. Imogene dabs at her eyes as she leans back a little. “H-How was Russia?”

Rosie’s eyes crinkle into a smile. “Did you know you’re the first to ask?”

“Am I really? What, no debrief for the Major?” she replies, feeling slightly flustered because she went and called him Rosie instead of Major like she should have done earlier. “You’ve flown all this way, surely someone thought to ask?”

“They asked plenty.” His hands linger on her shoulders. “But nobody asked how it was, not really,” he muses out loud, one thumb rubbing circles on the spot where she mended her uniform at least thrice. “They like to sing. Their jokes are worse than DeBlasio’s”– impressive, considering how often she has seen Stella Lombardi bury her head in her hands in mock agony lately –“and they really do drink vodka like water. They were very kind to me.”

“I have heard,” she says, stepping away from his touch with some difficulty, “that their women actually hold your rank, Major.”

“Some do. It’s… different from here.” A shadow passes over his face. Colors his eyes with darkest midnight. “All of them would fight to the death rather than become prisoners. I… I have begun to understand why.”

Imogene sucks in a breath when the shadow somehow lingers in his gaze. “Major… Rosie,” she says, feeling woefully out of her depth, busying herself with the coffee brew so she won’t have to look at him, “you are not in that place. You are not fighting for your life in this moment with me, unless you think my coffee will knock you on your ass.” She snorts at the thought. “You’re just here with me, okay? I know that isn’t much in the gra–”

“It is,” he interrupts. “After… I…”

“What?” she asks, turning to find his gaze has moved to the floor.

“I kept thinking I needed to remember all of it. Not because it was so important,” he says wryly, mouth curving up into the semblance of a smile, “but because you weren’t there to see it. And I wanted to… to come here.” His eyes meet hers. “Tell you all about it over coffee.”

She smiles. “I’ve got time.”

“Good, because I can’t find the words,” he quips, eyes crinkling into a smile that doesn’t fully warm his face.

“What’s this? Major Rosenthal, lost for words?” she teases, fingers tapping on the table now that she’s waiting for that coffee to finish brewing. “That’s all right. I don’t think I’m much for grand conversation. Still recovering from the surprise that’s you walking in after so long.” Her laugh is a little bit sheepish. “I’m sorry about hugging you, sir.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re n-not?”

Her fingers stop tapping only because his hand finds hers. “Imogene.”

Her eyes fill anew with tears. She lets out a shuddering breath as he squeezes down and interlaces his fingers with her own. “R-Rosie,” she hiccups, wiping at her cheek with her other hand. “I just missed you loads. That’s all.” She braves a smile. Always keep that smile going, even when you feel like falling apart. “I really, really missed you.”

“And I you. So, no, Imogene, I’m not very sorry about that hug.”

“Okay,” she chuckles, “I’m not really sorry either. But it would be considered improper, of a sort. Not that anyone on this base still cares about that, what with the many love affairs happening, but…” She inhales sharply. “I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of floozy.”

“A floozy,” he laughs, now, rich and amused warmth coloring his tone. “Not a word I’d ever think of when it comes to you.” His voice lowers into a conspiratorial whisper. Light dances in his eyes. “And I think about you all the time, you know.”

Imogene glances down at their intertwined hands. Decides she won’t pinch herself, not today, not over something that feels like a liminal space between dream and reality. She is going to take this on faith. Belief got her this far – belief in something better, belief in him – and courage might give her the rest.

“You’ve never left my mind,” she whispers back, and lets her forehead come to rest against his. “Not for a single second. Never. You’re always the first person I look for in the morning.”

“You’re the last person I want to see,” he murmurs back, lips brushing her cheek before his breath fans out warm over her mouth, “before I fall asleep.”

“Ro–”

His mouth slots over hers so gently she muffles a cry against his lips. Warmth spreads through her when his hand brushes her cheek before coming to rest on the side of her neck. And he’s pulling away, except she doesn’t let him, except her mouth finds his again before he can move away, except she wants to kiss him and not come up for air for a long time. He’s laughing – she’s kissing his smile, the corners of it – and she’s laughing too – nudging affection against his skin any way she can – and it feels like nothing else on earth when his arms wrap around her and pull her close again.

Home, she muses, like love – and she knows that’s what this is – is where my heart is.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 25 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: ^^Gif is not mine^^ And....I'm sincerely sorry about this chapter?? Kinda?? Anywho, I expect your declarations of war soon, and if they don't come in the next few days, I'll just wait a few more till another certain chapter. As always, let me know what you think!

October 14th 1944 

The day that everything changed started out as a normal day.  It was normal, despite the war and despite the constant tragedy that seemed to envelop everyone who had been touched by the war.  And given the fact that no person had ever gone untouched by this war, then that ensured everyone was bonded by tragedy. 

Tragedy seeped into bones and knotted itself together.  It weaved together constellations and gave people empathy and righteous anger that only others with the same grief could begin to understand.  

At the moment though, grief was far from Ruth Sharpe’s mind.  At the moment, she was in the kitchens of Thorpe Abbotts and giggling to herself with Helen, Tatty, and Liesel about the cookies that they finally had scrounged enough supplies together for.  Cookies were a rare thing in this war, after all.  And given the fact that they all had a penchant for sweets, it just seemed a natural thing to do. 

If Ruth had been at home, she imagined she’d be helping Mary with making such treats.  And then, inevitably, Abe would sneak into the kitchen and attempt to paw at some of the cookie dough.  There would be some laughs and some quick words between the trio, but the mood would be light and their mother would chide them for eating too many of the cookies. 

This was a close second to the entire situation.  And given how excited Liesel was to actually put chocolate into cookies, it was the right decision for the day.  Liesel absolutely loved spending time with Helen and Tatty—and they adored her right back.  Very rarely were things as lighthearted as they were right now. 

So Ruth should have known. 

Should have known that luck was not in her favor.  Should have known that sooner or later, the tide would go back the other way and the pendulum would swing back into the trajectory of tragedy.  

But she didn’t. 

So when Jack Kidd poked his head into the kitchen, she thought nothing of it.  “Ruth?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve got a message here for you.” 

“Coming,” Ruth set the bowl on the counter, flashing a smile at the women in the kitchen. “I’ll be back in just a moment.” With that, she ducked out of the kitchen and followed him outside.  

She should’ve been clued in by his tone of voice, by the somber way in which he carried himself, by the telegram in his hand, and by the way that he just looked at her like he was pitying her. 

“What is it?” Ruth questioned. She tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, that clearly this wasn’t a situation that wouldn’t break her heart.  But she knew that it would. Still, she did her best to keep her voice level, to keep the panic at bay within her chest.  “What is it, Jack?” She questioned, voice just barely flickering like a candle. 

He just held up the crumpled telegram in his hands.  “I—” His voice cracked.  “I think you should read this yourself.” 

Ruth didn’t hear anything after that.  She snatched the letter from his hand, eyes rapidly pouring over the telegram.  And as she read, a deep sickness rose up in her throat.  She wanted to scream and cry and crash down to the earth in a plane herself—she wanted to let the bile that was rising in her throat escape and let the sick take over her entire body. 

But Ruth Sharpe did not do that. 

She stood there, unable to move, unable to form the words to even so much as whisper out anything.  And when Jack Kidd made his exit after giving her shoulder a squeeze and telling her that he was sorry, she did not hear him. 

Ruth, John KIA off coast of Italy.  Sarah passed yesterday from cholera. 

-Father 

Ruth’s feet were entirely frozen to the ground and she felt as though ice itself were seeping into her bones.  Her lungs felt unable to inflate or take in air.  Her fingers trembled until the telegram was crumpled up in her hands and her lip was threatening to betray her and let every inhuman sound spill from her throat. 

And then she turned and walked back inside. 

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

On the surface, everyone processes grief differently.  Some people tend to break down and are unable to function or keep going.  Some people channel that grief into productivity and try to avoid it.  Others still drown themselves in distractions.  For Ruth Sharpe, she was someone who tended to hide grief in the recesses of productivity. 

When Robby had first broken her heart and ruined her first crush by breaking her project, she had simply endeavored to do better and to be better.  And that’s exactly what she had done.  When Timothy turned out to be someone she resented and hated rather than the man she had agreed to marry, Ruth simply worked harder to be the best of the class and didn’t let anything slow her down. 

And when the war had broken out, Ruth had been busy.  She had stayed busy when she had broken up with Dick Winters and she had stayed busy this entire time in an effort to avoid having to face the reality that was grief. 

That’s exactly what she was doing now. She returned to the kitchen and she spent the entire afternoon with a smile plastered on her face and baking with Liesel, Helen, and Tatty.  She spent time doing a surprise inspection on some of the newer guys—even gave out three citations for some less-than acceptable behavior. 

She got all of her paperwork done and she continued on.  Because what was she supposed to do?  She had too many people counting on her, standing on her shoulders, depending on her to be able to function—if she broke down now, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop the grief from consuming her. 

And when meal-time came and passed and Ruth did not leave her office, no one seemed to blink at that.  The JAG-Corp lawyer was well-known to skip certain meals or work through them if it meant being more productive.  What no one was really aware of was the fact that Ruth was sitting in her office, a bottle of Lew Nixon’s Vat-69 in hand, and completely trying to drown out the fact that her grief was threatening to eat her alive.  

It felt like a treacherous thing, waves tugging her under the current and keeping her there.  They refused to let her up for air, refused to let go of her heart or her lungs or her hands.  She had gone through a whole box of cigarettes this afternoon and the empty pit in her stomach was bubbling into something akin to queasiness.  

Ruth could only lean forward in her chair and wish that the earth would just swallow her up.  Her head rang dully and the smoke that wafted through the room was thick—her door had been shut for quite some time and she had asked to not be disturbed while she worked on paperwork.  No one quite needed to know what she got up to while she was by herself and trying to process the fact that John and Sarah were both just gone. 

The candle that she was burning in her office flickered and Ruth felt tears well up in her eyes.  She willed them not to spill, not to break her heart.  She raised the bottle to her lips, letting a little slosh outwards.  It stained against her white blouse and frankly, she didn’t have the heart to care. 

“Oh John….Sarah….” Ruth’s voice mumbled out the names and she suppressed a hiccup.  It felt unbearably hot in the room—only thus evidenced by her curly hair, usually so pristinely done, turning frizzy and loose.  

How did you go from having siblings one day to not having them the next? Seven was the number of completion—it represented wholeness.  And now that both Sarah and John were gone, Ruth knew that there was nothing she could do to repair the hole that she was feeling in her chest—gaping and gnawing at her very soul.  What do you call a sister when she no longer has some siblings but still has others?  What do you call the level of grief that she was experiencing over the children she had helped to raise?

Ruth made a weak attempt to rise from her chair, only for her feet to give way underneath her.  She was sorry to say that the next few moments were not her proudest.  But she slammed into the ground harshly, the bottle of Vat-69 shattering upon impact.  A thread of fire ran up her arm and wrist and for a moment, Ruth could only take the sting of her back hitting the ground—

And that alone, with her spinal injuries from Timothy, was enough to make her weep and just lay very very still.  It felt as though she was being smashed through a wall and her back angrily throbbed.  Her face was wet with tears and as she turned, she knew that she had massively messed everything up. 

Her wrist was a mangled sight of broken glass, the stench of alcohol, shredded skin, and dark crimson spilled down onto her hands.  Ruth let out a strangled sound of pain, a guttural moan that mixed with her tears and cracked against her voice.  

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop—

And then in the midst of this entire mess, a single knock on the door made Ruth want to just wither up and die.  “Ruth—Ruth, I brought you some coffee—” 

Robby’s voice made her spine crawl and more panic began to knot in her stomach.  She had to sit up, had to get him out of here, couldn’t let him see her like this, couldn’t let any of this be on his radar.  “Uh—no thank you!” Her strangled tone did little to suggest that he leave her there. 

So she really wasn’t all that surprised when Robby opened the door and his jaw nearly fell at the sight of her trying to pull herself up and covered in blood.  “Holy shit—” He moved faster than she would’ve ever given him credit for, dropping the coffee as he reached her.  Ruth nearly flinched at the contact as he helped her to her feet, hand immediately closing over the gash in her arm. 

“You don’t need to—” 

“What the hell Ruth—” Robby glanced at the ground, at the alcohol bottle—the smoke in the room and Ruth’s breath did not go unnoticed.  “Ruth—what’s goin’ on with you?” He asked in a firm tone.  “We gotta get you to the hospital wing, I think this’ll need stitches—” 

Ruth twisted from his grip, shaking her head.  “I don’t wanna.” 

“Ruth—” 

“No, I’m not—I’m not going anywhere,” Ruth hissed out.  

His gaze fell on the telegram on the table—the only thing on it besides candles and cigarettes.  And all at once, he knew.  Knew that only something heartbreaking and shattering could have done something like this to the indomitable Ruth Sharpe.  And then swift as a summer wind, he changed his tune and softened immediately. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, a hand straying to her face.  His calloused fingers brushed against the skin and though it was a grounding force, Ruth did not know what to do. “Just talk to me.  What happened?” 

Barely able to stand from the pain shooting up her spine, incoherently thinking about her family, and utterly wasted out of her mind, Ruth knew exactly what came over her at the sight of his eyes softening.  At the way that he looked at her as though she was something precious to him. 

“Johnny and Sarah are dead,” Ruth choked the words out, full sob spilling from her lips.  She buried her head in his chest, clinging to him the way that someone at sea would cling to a life-vest.  

And Robby, to his credit, did not flinch away from the vulnerability or heartbreak.  He held her tenderly and stroked her hair as she sobbed.  There was no making this okay, there was no fixing this situation, there was just them and what Ruth was feeling at the moment.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured quietly. 

Strangely enough, Ruth, in all of her incoherence, caught onto one particular thing in his comfort.  Unlike every other damn time he had called her sweetheart, usually with an air of sarcasm and annoyance, this time was laced with nothing but pure and simple care and truth.  It stung all the worse—she felt weak, she felt like she needed someone to come and fix things for her—and there was no relief to be found here. 

“I—I can’t—” Ruth let out a strangled sound of pain, sinking against him.  Robby just lowered the two of them to the ground in the office.  He didn’t mind the smoke or the blood or the whiskey that permeated the entire office.  “It hurts so bad,” Ruth choked the words out like they were a poison.  And maybe to her, the cold bitch of Thorpe Abbotts, they were. 

“Honey, I know that you are hurting like hell right now—but John’s not hurting right now.  He—” 

“He won’t get tortured.  I know,” Ruth had buried her head in his arm, feeling more and more lightheaded.  “But he—he can’t just be gone.  And Sarah—cholera?  I mean—that—that’s not fair.  This isn’t fair.” 

She felt as though a petulant child but Robby didn’t mind.  He was silent for another minute before getting up and moving over to her desk—he knew that she kept a small first-aid kit within her desk for occasions such as this.  Ruth was just as prepared as the Boy Scouts, after all. 

He just silently wrapped up her arm the best that he could—he frowned at the hiss that she made and then he just held her on the ground of her office.  “Fair has never been our people’s way,” Robby said quietly.  “Doesn’t make it any easier.” 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Ruth felt his hand run through her hair, untangling the knots and gently unraveling each point of tension that made her head ring.  “Hey Robby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Promise you won’t ever leave me?” 

“Ruth—” 

But Ruth, in all of her incoherence, just gently grabbed him by the face and looked him in the eyes.  “I think you’re the only person I have on my side.  I can’t do this without you…or I don’t want to do it at all.” 

And right then and there, Robby Rosenthal thought that he saw the truth that existed beyond Ruth’s stony exterior.  She just wanted people to stay in her life.  She wanted to protect them.  And she loved fiercer than anyone he had ever known in his life.  

“I’ll try my best, sweetheart.” 

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

Ruth’s steps felt heavy and slow as she made her way down the corridor and towards the mess hall where Abe would surely be eating.  She had absolutely insisted on doing this herself—she didn’t need Rosie helping her down the hallway and cluing people onto the fact that she was dealing with an injury. 

She found him sitting there at one of the tables.  And Abe—her sweet and precious Abe—he knew that the minute that he saw the expression on her face that something was drastically wrong.  He rose from his seat as quickly as lightning in a summer storm, crossing over to his indomitable older sister.  He followed her out of the room and into the hallway—and it was in that damned hallway that everything went to hell. 

“Sarah and John are dead.” 

And right then and there, Abe’s world came crashing down on him.