#i really did (and to some extent still do) love that job and if i could go back to a store thats run well i would | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fleurhcss · 6 months ago

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𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐨 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 - Seungmin x FEM!Reader

cw: some cunty and kinky shit, very hard sex, best friends to lovers, very possessive and hard dom seungmin with a sweet trait (im sorry i love my minnie), bratty reader, you are really a whore, stripper reader, mention of alchool and jealousy, handcuff

sw: hair pulling, pinv, cunnilingus, oral (M! receving), orgasm denial, multiple orgasm, scratching, biting, marking, bit of blood cuz seungmin is very kinky bastard MDNI!

wc: 7k

synopsis: Financially, you are not doing well. In addition to your part-time job, you attend some clubs in the evenings in order to earn a little more money. You do not mind showing off, as you love receiving compliments from men and finding new partners with whom to engage in sexual intercourse in order to satisfy your sexual frustrations. Your closest friend, Seungmin, is unaware of these circumstances. Given his protective nature, it is likely that he would take extreme measures to protect you. One unexpected outcome of the situation is that the individual in question has become a possessive dominant. He unintentionally discovers the extent of your job. This results in a particularly harsh fuck between the two, during which he is merciless. Your initial perception of him was that of a kind and gentle individual. However, upon further reflection, it becomes evident that he is, in fact, a complex and intriguing character. His actions and demeanor often elicit a strong emotional response, including feelings of intense arousal and even physical sensations such as bleeding.

a/n: hiii, I'm writing this since the chanel event! I'm sorry if i take request so sloowly but it's exam ses. now! Hope you will like this, i had fun writing it 🫶🏻🩷 made especially for this cutie @chrizzztopherbang . I opened a ko-fi account, i will post there some stories and drawings, if you want to support me i will be grateful to anyone who wants to give me tips, ITS NOT OBLIGATORY

[ SMUT ]

Another day at one of your many jobs. Lately you have been having financial problems. These included paying for university fees, rent, food, bills and other necessities. To supplement your income, you have been working four different jobs: bartending, librarian, after-school care every other day, and nightclub work every night. Your friends were unaware of this aspect of your life, as it caused you considerable embarrassment to discuss it. However, you did not feel uncomfortable about it. The practice of tipping for extra services was beneficial, although not all men were comfortable with it. Some men were able to satisfy the sexual frustrations of the women with whom they engaged in such activities. At this point, you were in the midst of a professional endeavour, helping high school students to improve their GPAs. It is remarkable that these students held you in such high esteem. Despite the exhaustion that inevitably accompanied the work, you found great satisfaction in your role. As you corrected the maths exercises of the esteemed Hana, an Anglo-Korean girl whom you held in high esteem and who always presented you with exquisite drawings, you contemplated the future once you had completed your current task.

At nine o'clock in the evening you were expected at one of the clubs in the city centre for your usual performance. In addition to the attractive salary, this job had another important advantage: you had always been passionate about dancing, and this was the closest thing you had to it. However, you had been forced to give up dancing for lack of time and money. After finishing the boys' homework and explaining some philosophical concepts and mathematical formulas, you retired to bed to get some rest. Fortunately, it was still six o'clock, allowing you to rest after an already exhausting day. You had studied in the morning, worked in the afternoon and now, in a few hours, you would resume your night work. The strange absence of your best friend's usual appearance or phone call had not yet occurred. At least he was fine. Seungmin was your best friend. He had two different personalities: during the day he was a polite and wealthy individual who showed considerable intelligence and respect; at night, when he was with his friends, he became a kind of Don Giovanni heartthrob. There is no denying that he had a certain appeal.

He was very protective of you and never allowed other men to interfere in your romantic life. As a result, he was the first to not know of your secret occupation. It is difficult to predict how he might have reacted, and it may have been for the best that he was not informed. If he ever discovered your secret, he would hunt down the men you were with one by one, and the outcome of that hunt was uncertain. He would then turn his attention to you, giving you a good-natured lecture and possibly resorting to other forms of intimidation. Your best friend was able to make him feel afraid, although you had learned this not from him but from Jisung, Seungmin's best friend, who had been caught having sex with his professor in Seungmin's car. You still remember his displeased behaviour and you were reluctant to provoke him further.

However, your premature declaration of triumph was premature, for he had not telephoned, but had arrived at your home just as you were about to fall into a deep sleep. The most disturbing aspect of the situation was the fact that you had given him the keys to your home, as he had been your closest friend for several years. So there was no need for you to get up and open the door for him, as he suddenly walked into your room in his gym clothes. This was somewhat unexpected, as he had previously expressed no interest in going to the gym. He himself noticed your puzzled expression at his unusual post-gym attire and appearance. "Good afternoon! Don't look at me with such disdain, Changbin Hyung is forcing Jisung, Felix and me to work out with him because he says we're too skinny," and you were overcome with laughter. The aforementioned were remarkably thin, consisting of two adorable little men with minimal musculature. They looked like little fairies, including Changbin, who seemed to have exaggerated musculature. Seungmin was considerably taller than the others and had broad shoulders. The image of him working out with them was quite funny.

"It's funny to consider the prospect of you working out with them. It is equally amusing to consider the prospect of you doing any kind of training at all, considering your past dislike of training," you concluded, making yourself comfortable and making room for your friend to sit next to you on the bed. He gave you a friendly pat on the arm and pouted in a way that was both endearing and characteristic of him. You had coined the term "Seungballons" to describe this particular pout, as it resembled a balloon. Furthermore, the addition of a pout in the form of a kiss would invariably render one unconscious. You found this behaviour endearing, and it prompted you to engage in a reciprocal act of affection by kissing him on the cheeks. "Ugh, in the end I have to admit that it is not without merit. It is a long-standing affair that is difficult to notice because of my tendency to wear baggy clothes. However, I have gained a considerable amount of muscle mass. Look." He said as he lifted the shirts he was wearing, causing you to be quite shocked because, yes, your friend had two pecs and a well-developed six-pack. His physical appearance provoked a strong emotional response, but he was your closest friend and you were unable to entertain such thoughts.

"You must tell Changbin that he has done an excellent job with you," you swallowed, made a feigned smile and drank some water, trying to erase the image of your best friend's partially naked body from your mind - although you did not mind. "I will, and I am grateful to you, my dear . Although we're going to a club tomorrow night; would you like to come?" he asked. You froze, considering the possibility of being caught. However, they did not usually frequent such places, so you had some protection if your luck did not turn against you. "I would like to tell you that I am unable to attend. I have a full day's work and then I have to prepare for an upcoming exam. Nevertheless, I would be interested to know where you are going, if I may ask." "I am not sure. Binnie Hyung informed us that he had discovered a new place and we were curious to know more about it," Seungmin said thoughtfully, and you felt a sense of relief that you still had the opportunity to withdraw.

But you were not convinced by your friend's desperate expression; you suspected he was hiding something. "Are you okay, Min?" you asked as you adjusted his bangs. "Yes, and I am worried about the taste of some of my hyungs, to be honest," he replied, leading you onto the bed and initiating a bout of tickling. That afternoon, your thoughts were not on the information your friend had given you. Instead, you found yourself contemplating his toned, naked chest. You had not anticipated his physical attractiveness, especially given his previous behaviour. You had grown accustomed to his puppy-dog appearance, with its endearingly youthful features.

So you did not consider the possibility that he might have been working out.

It was obvious that the ensemble suited him. Seungmin already had broad shoulders and one of your vices was to lean on them when watching a film or going out. It was a habit you had developed, but it was not a common occurrence. "Please don't change the subject. I'm curious about Changbin's tastes."

You giggled and pulled yourself together again. Seungmin was no innocent, so he blushed slightly.

His former partners had confirmed this to you, as they had discussed his sexual performance in great detail. However, he was ashamed to discuss certain topics in public or with you, as you were his best friend. He saw you as an innocent girl, which you were not. "Let's say he has a taste for strippers and nightclubs. That is all I am saying, and I am aware that it is a rather embarrassing subject".

He finished by running his hand over his face, making you chuckle.

"As if you had never seen a woman without her clothes on." You made the claim. In fact, he had observed numerous instances of female nudity, including those of his romantic partners.

"Yes, but I was with them. I am not like Hyung who has adventures with women who lap dance for him in night clubs". Had he been aware of this, he would have realised that this is exactly what you do for a living. "You have never considered fucking a woman you are not romantically involved with and who is not your girlfriend?" you inquired as you began to manipulate the fabric of his suit. "No, I'm... shy," he replied, biting his lip. He was looked at with a certain amount of disbelief.

" You! are shy?" you asked, looking at him with an expression that even he, as your closest friend, could not interpret. "Yes, I am," he replied, grimacing and then playfully pushing you. "You're really weird, Kim Seungmin," you pushed him back and then initiated a tickling session, blushing as you felt how well trained and sculpted he was under your touch. It was not the first time you had touched a well-trained chest, but Seungmin's did something to you. Maybe it was because he was your closest friend, or maybe it was because he was different from the others you had met, or maybe it was because you were used to seeing him consistently and exclusively as a thin individual with broad shoulders.

It can be argued that, without meaning to, you became preoccupied with fantasies about Seungmin to an extent that was inappropriate. Not only had you been friends for years, but he was one of your closest friends. Although you found it difficult to erase certain images of him from your mind, you felt guilty about thinking about him in a certain way. It is also worth noting that your nighttime occupation presented certain challenges. It would be highly undesirable for any of your friends, especially Seungmin, to become aware of your nighttime activities. On reflection, Seungmin had mentioned visiting a nightclub. If he were to find you on duty at one of the clubs where you were a regular, your situation would be untenable. It is unclear how Seungmin perceived you, but it is unlikely that he saw you as a dancer in one of the clubs that your best friend's best friend appreciated.

He suddenly asked what he should wear, causing you to look at him with a certain amount of concern. Your best friend was known for his occasional eccentricities. "Excuse me, but do I look like an expert on nightclubs to you?" you inquired, your tone betraying a certain concern. "No, but as a woman you might have the knowledge to dress me in a manner that would impress," he replied, almost shyly, though his demeanour betrayed his true feelings. "So my dear Min wants to impress a girl?" you inquired, playfully pinching his cheek as you laughed. He looked at you with a look of displeasure. "I am a man and I have not fucked for several months. I have certain... needs. By the way, it is undoubtedly a challenge for me to refrain from emotional connection during fucks. However, I cannot resist certain urges. Perhaps at the end of the night I can get a positive response from someone," he said in a low voice, his hands covering his face. "Are you really saying that you want to fuck while being all shy, Kim Seungmin?" You laughed in his face for the umpteenth time. "What do you want? It seems like you haven't fucked for a long time." He tousled your hair, but watching your expression closely, he returned it with a confused one, to say the least.

The problem was that you lacked the ability to lie effectively, especially in the context of deceiving him. As a result, you often displayed peculiar facial expressions that he was able to read with remarkable clarity. "Oh my God, fuck! You fucked with someone and didn't tell me?" he asked, his expression showing more anger than offence. "That is not true. You are imagining these events," you replied, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "Yes, you did. You fucked and did not tell me about it. You know you cannot lie to me, Y/N," he said, biting his lip with an expression that was both serious and intense. The atmosphere had become noticeably more intense, with a palpable sense of unease and tension. You were in a compromising situation and had placed yourself in a vulnerable position. You could have been sure that you felt the first drops of perspiration forming on your face. However, you were forced to end the discussion before it got to the heart of the matter. The most expedient course of action was to acknowledge that it had happened, even if in a limited way. "It happened on a few occasions when I was drunk, but it was not a regular occurrence," you said, trying to give a concise account. Nevertheless, he was not inclined to inquire about the incident in question.

"Only a few times when you were drunk? Are you crazy? What if something had happened to you?" There was the protective Seungmin you wanted to avoid. You were grateful for his concern and lack of complaints, but sometimes it became unbearable. "Still, it didn't happen. I am mature enough to understand the consequences of my actions, Seungmin," you said, pointing at him with your finger as if to admonish him. "Yes, I am aware of that, but I am concerned for your well-being," he said, grabbing your arm and then taking a bite. It could be described as a unique form of affection with which he expressed his apology to you. "I am aware, Seung, but don't worry, I am fully aware of my actions," you smiled at him, taking his face in your hand and planting a kiss on his forehead. "You should return home, as you are in a rather foul state, Mr Gym," you playfully admonished him, giving him a light tap on the shoulder before he left your domicile.

The working day was going to be quite long.

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You were deeply distressed and felt considerable discomfort throughout your body. At work the night before, you were forced to work an extended overtime shift (for which you were paid only half the normal rate). This resulted in a complex set of experiences, including physical pain and a significant financial reward. You were required to have sexual intercourse with two people, a task which you found unpleasant, particularly given the lack of arousal involved. However, the remuneration was satisfactory and you did not express any significant dissatisfaction. You were aware that the nature of the work was inequitable, but you found it necessary and occasionally used it as a means of satisfying certain desires. Fortunately, you had acquired the ability to fake an orgasm, which you used on some occasions, such as yesterday. At that time you were lying in bed, surrounded by books for your upcoming exam, and in a few hours you would have to go to work in the morning.

That night, despite your best efforts, you had to go to a club in the city centre. You had completely forgotten that Changbin was going to take Seungmin and the others to a club in the city centre, which could very well have been the one you were on duty at that night. However, you had not considered this possibility and your mind was so preoccupied that it kept slipping away. So you prepared discreetly for your exam, unaware that that night was the perfect opportunity for you to meet your closest friend, who was likely to be visibly distressed. You were due to perform your duties that afternoon and hoped that the number of customers would be relatively small, given your limited mobility.

The mere anticipation of returning to work that night caused a deep sense of anxiety. You hoped that no one would ask for private shows or other activities that you sometimes found unpleasant. The only desire was to rest and wake in a pool of wealth. You rose listlessly to prepare your lunch. It was not possible to combine work and rest in this way, so you had to take painkillers and vitamins.

You then found yourself preparing and serving smoothies and ice creams in your favourite café. Your day went on as usual. What you did not anticipate was the presence of your closest friend at the table you were to serve. One might ask whether you should not have been preparing for your evening activities. One is tempted to inquire about the nature of their joint venture in a café a few hours before their nightclubbing. They expressed their displeasure at the proprietor's suggestion that they should hurry to serve the aforementioned table, and furthermore, they could not avoid the situation, as Seungmin was aware that this was a table assigned to you, and sat there consistently with the intention of being served.

After a long period of contemplation, you approached them. "Good evening, shouldn't you be getting ready for your clubbing night?" you said, your tone sarcastic. Your friend smiled at you and pinched your side. You wanted to run away. "Jisung is unable to consume alcohol unless he has had a meal or smoothie beforehand," Felix informed him, drawing a scornful look from him. "It is not recommended to consume alcohol on an empty stomach." The boy explained that alcohol is absorbed more quickly into the bloodstream and the effects of intoxication are more pronounced. "Isn't that the point of going to nightclubs? And who told you this? Your respected professor?" the older boy asked jokingly. They looked at each other with a strange expression and Seungmin continued to explain the matter: Jisung had a somewhat unconventional relationship with one of his university professors, characterised by frequent flirting. "I have to respectfully disagree. Minho is a very good professor," he replied, blushing. Her expression was unmistakable. "You're calling him by his first name now, too," he observed, causing a general outburst of mirth, especially the adorable blush on Jisung's chubby cheeks.

"So what can I get for you?" you inquired, interrupting the conversation to take their orders and get out of your friend's company. You were particularly keen to avoid the question from your friend, who would undoubtedly invite you to the evening's event.

You had only been there a few minutes when you noticed Seungmin casting furtive glances in your direction and his friends teasing him about something you did not understand. Unbeknownst to you, they were teasing him about the fleeting glances he was sending your way. "Seungmin, did you notice that you are eating her with your eyes?" inquired Felix, appropriating the cherry from his milkshake. "That's not right," he replied, taking a sip from his glass. "Indeed it is. One might suggest that you ask her out," the blonde continued. "That would be an unusual and somewhat awkward situation, and then I believe she might be involved in a nocturnal affair, or perhaps even a series of them," he said, lowering his head. "And you are jealous! "Which leads to the question if this is what you want to do tonight," Changbin inquired. "Be silent. It is possible that I am indeed jealous. "

The observed behaviour was merely the incessant movement of lips in an attempt to escape the source of discomfort as quickly as possible. Fortunately, twenty minutes later the group left and Seungmin offered you a quick kiss on the cheek. This sparked further merriment among his small group of friends, causing you to become increasingly suspicious. Your only concern was to avoid running into them at the nightclub where you were working that night. This had been your intention since yesterday, since your closest friend had informed you of it. Your anxiety about this matter was greater than your concern about your inability to dance effectively due to the discomfort of the previous night.

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In the midst of your preparations for the upcoming show, you were forced to change your clothes in a hurry. Fortunately, you had already finished your make-up. The evening dress was of a revealing nature and the dancing was expected to be energetic. It was hoped that the wearer would not feel uncomfortable. Your colleague entered your dressing room and informed you that you were about to perform, so you began your usual stage performance for adolescent and middle-aged males.

The only people missing were those you expected to see at the club. The only discernible difference was that they were watching you, watching you with particular interest, especially your closest friend, who opened his eyes wide as he consumed no less than two shots in the space of three minutes. "What is she doing there?" he asked, clenching his fists as he fixed his gaze on you. "I'm sure there must be an explanation, and maybe she didn't tell you because she didn't want you to worry," Jisung said, grabbing his shoulders behind Changbin as Seungmin seemed on the verge of exploding. "She's undeniably attractive," the shorter one remarked, drawing a withering look from the younger one. "Hyung, I strongly recommend you not to make any advances towards her. It is already difficult enough for me not to pick her up from the stage, but I assure you that as soon as she goes to the dressing room, I will not let her get away from me." He downed another shot of vodka.

It is unfortunate that at the end of your nightly performance, another person followed you into the dressing room and you failed to notice the presence of Seungmin, who was standing directly behind you and had suddenly issued a silent threat. The incident was so severe that when you turned around you suffered a stroke and lost the ability to speak. Your situation was indeed very screwed up. "Seungmin, I can..." you were abruptly interrupted and led to your dressing room where he sat you down at your personal table. His gaze was one of intense desire, imbued with the combined effects of alcohol and rage. You had never seen him in such a state. "Explain? What exactly do you want to explain to me? Explain how you sold your body without ever telling me?" He said, grabbing your waist. That should not have aroused you.

"I have economic problems and this is the only job that offers a satisfactory salary," you said in your defence. "I am indifferent to the matter. I could have helped". You are my property, OK? No one is allowed to touch you, Y/N". He then kissed you with considerable passion and force. This was a source of considerable distress for you, as it was different from your expectations of the situation. Although you experienced a degree of pleasure, the situation remained somewhat unusual. His hands were of considerable size and appeared to be a suitable instrument for caressing. "Why not? Who decided that I belong to you?" you inquired in a teasing manner. At this point the situation became increasingly amusing for you as well. "I must now erase the memory of this unclean contact before I had the opportunity to do so," he whispered into your ear before reaching down into the hollow of your neck and allowing you to ingest the substance. "Seungmin, my legs are tired. I am unable to walk," you informed him, indicating your own limitations. "There are numerous other ways to satisfy our mutual desires, and we will address this particular issue at a later time." Furthermore, I am. While I wish to destroy you, I would never take advantage of a woman in this state. Remarkably, he remained in character as the usual Seungmin knight.

"What are you going to do in my dressing room?" you asked, watching as he bent down between your thighs and pulled off the suit you had worn for the evening. "I am not sure. I have a craving, if I may be so bold as to say." He smiled. This young man you had previously considered a potential threat to your sanity. He found your body aesthetically pleasing. He began another insatiable and passionate kiss. His hands descended in a sweeping motion, tracing a path down your body, cupping your thighs and gradually rising to your buttocks, which he gripped firmly in a vice-like grip. "Your beauty is such that it is unconscionable to wait any longer. I want you and I want to play a little," Seungmin said with a sneer in his voice. Then he moved you to the small sofa with the instruction to straddle his body. He proceeded to kiss your neck, leaving a series of marks. It was inevitable that he would bite you, it was apparently a habit of his. You had learnt it from his exes. He would bite you to let you know he owned you, bite you until you bled, and lick the mess he made. This aroused you considerably. He smiled, indicating that he understood. You were in a state where he could do as he pleased. No other person had ever made you feel such intense arousal.

"Look at you, you are ready for me to do anything I want to you." He was not aware of this either.

The young man moved closer to you, initiating another passionate kiss as he cupped your neck with one hand and used the other to caress your intimacy. The movements were slow at first, but soon accelerated as your best friend removed your panties and quickly stroked your clit. When he became tired, he began a long series of kisses on your inner thighs. He then grabbed your thighs and brought them up to his shoulders. He then began to leave kisses on your vagina. "Please don't wait any longer," you said and Seungmin laughed and then began to lick your cunt in a long slow motion. He cupped your ass as he massaged it. You had been waiting for this moment ever since he had put his thin, large hands on your waist the day before.

"Seungmin, please..." you almost begged him before arching your back in a series of involuntary gasps, clinging to the back of the sofa as best you could. You looked at him, pressing harder against his face, wanting more and more. He laughed as he watched the reactions he was provoking in you with each touch, which only served to increase his desire to possess you. He grinned as he continued what he had begun. His hands were firmly harpooned in your bottom and thanks to the pleasure you were experiencing, you had thrown your head back. He laughed again as his tongue continued its work. He found the taste of you on his taste buds particularly delicious, sending him into a state of intense pleasure. He was deeply and passionately in love with you, with every aspect of your being. His nose came into contact with your pubic hair as a result of the depth of penetration achieved with his tongue. He was enjoying himself to a considerable degree, as evidenced by your moans and the pulling of strands of his hair. Seungmin was not uncomfortable with this aspect of your behaviour, in fact he found it erotic in a special way. He smiled as his tongue explored your orifice in slow, circular movements designed to bring you to a state of ecstasy. Seungmin silently enjoyed the experience. His only goal was to ensure your pleasure. His hands moved to the sides of your thighs, which he slapped hard. He took pleasure in leaving his marks, but he would never do anything to harm you; he worshipped you.

Then his hands moved in a circular motion, grasping your thighs and placing them on your shoulders. His mouth, which had previously been in contact with your clit, moved to sink his teeth into your inner thigh. He took pleasure in leaving his marks on you. No one was allowed to touch his woman; you were his and his alone. You were his. A pocket knife emerged from his boot, the purpose of which was unclear. However, before this could be determined, he took your labia majora between his teeth and pulled them towards him, pressing them against his mouth in order to suck your clitoris. This was done in a manner reminiscent of sucking a straw. He then drew a thin line with the blade of the penknife, leaving a streak of blood, all the way to your mound. This brought you to a state of considerable arousal. He withdrew from your vulva, reached up to begin his work, and began to lick the warm, crimson liquid that was slowly oozing from the wound. In addition, the moans of pain and pleasure you gave him drove him to a state of unprecedented ecstasy. The sensation of your mouth alone was more fulfilling than any other experience. He continued to suck on the blood dripping from the wound, causing further lesions on his breasts, around his nipples, in his groin and near his navel. This only accelerated his orgasm. Furthermore, when he inserted two fingers into your mouth, which was already open, he continued to stimulate your tongue. "Look at you... my submissive slut," he said, smiling.

He sneered as he took your face between his fingers. The picture showed you in a blood-soaked state. After a short interval, he withdrew his fingers and proceeded to stimulate your orifice by alternately inserting and withdrawing his digit. This was done in such a way as to create a deep sense of arousal. Seungmin was fascinated by the prospect of fucking you at that moment. "What is your desire, my princess?" "Not that you can do much in this state," he said, laughing, referring to his fingers inside you. "I want to touch you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the constant moaning. "You can do better than that," he winked, then pulled away and sat you down on your side, then stood up, took off his trousers and sat down beside you. You stood frozen for a moment at the sight of his length; he was tall and compact. You had never seen one like it before.

"I see you are happy with it, Princess," he said, bringing your face close to his. You had fully perceived what he was trying to achieve. You were fully aware of his intentions. You were incapable of uttering any further words, as if his imposing stature had put you in a state of trance. He then proceeded to rub the head of his member against your lips in what appeared to be a teasing manner. It was not difficult for you to open your lips and make contact with the glans. You then proceeded to suck on the tip and then ran your tongue along the entire circumference and veins. You stimulated the testicles with your hands, causing him to moan hoarsely. As you continued to insert him fully into your mouth until you reached the uvula, you let out a moan that caused his member to tremble. This elicited a high-pitched moan from him.

"Fuck, baby like that." He explained that by grabbing your hair and then fucking your mouth, you were sure that you would come again if he continued.Indeed, your assumption proved to be correct.

That is exactly what happened.

"Fuck Y/N, I'm coming, take it off," he said, removing his hand from your hair. But you had no intention of removing your mouth. You grabbed his thighs and thrust his member deep into your throat, causing him to release inside you with a long, audible moan. You swallowed, licked your lips and looked at him. "You are incomprehensibly unaware of the effect you have on me," he winked. "I can, however, inform you of the effect you have on me." You giggled, then reached up to his ear and planted a kiss beneath it. "You have brought me to another orgasm," you said with a hint of mockery.

"Now, if it pleases you, I would be grateful for a date and to clean you up," he smiled as he led you to your private bathroom. "I would be most honoured, sir," you replied, laughing. It was not the ending you had expected.

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The experience of being discovered by Seungmin during a night shift would not be on any normal person's bucket list. However, the incident led to a change in your life. Seungmin had persuaded you to quit your job at a nightclub because he was concerned about your welfare and did not want you to be used as a mere object by men. Among other things, he had offered to support you financially until you found suitable alternative employment. He helped you to find a job that offered a comparable income and was adamant that it did not involve the exploitation of your body for sexual gratification. Although you were initially reluctant, given your long-standing opposition to his financial support, you eventually agreed.

The unexpected meeting also took place. He had invited you shortly after your encounter in the dressing room while he was discreetly cleaning up the mess. To be honest, you had never considered Seungmin as a potential romantic partner. However, your perspective had gradually changed over time. Back then, his friends, who were also your friends, had informed you that he had been casting furtive glances at you and had developed an interest in you. This confused you at first, but you eventually got used to it. You also had to prepare mentally for the meeting.

You did not deny that you were a little apprehensive; you were unsure of the destination he had in mind for this evening. He had instructed you to dress in a way that was both comfortable and tasteful, but your anxiety was growing. After a long shower, you began to look through your wardrobe, but it was difficult to choose an outfit without knowing where you were going. In the end, however, you chose a relatively simple ensemble consisting of a black ruffled skirt, not too short, and a top of the same colour that left your shoulders bare and had a boat neckline. You wore your beloved wedges. If you had to choose between them and heels, based on what Seungmin had told you about elegance and comfort, you would have chosen the latter. Your make-up was minimal, your hair was wavy and fell to your shoulders, your necklace was tightly fastened around your neck and all your jewellery was in its proper place. You completed your ensemble with a fruity and very sugary perfume before heading into the living room to wait for your no longer best friend.

Seungmin arrived shortly afterwards with a large bouquet of roses, in keeping with his reputation as a gallant man. You smiled as you remembered that he had not been in bed with you, especially after the knife performance. He said, "For you, my princess," and then kissed you on the lips. The anticipation of the evening's events had been palpable, yet the simplicity of the act itself evoked a deep sense of emotional resonance. The culmination of this experience was the tender kiss beneath the earlobe, accompanied by the words, "I hope you are well prepared as we have a long night ahead of us".

It was your firm belief that if he had continued to talk to you like this throughout the evening, you would have been so aroused that you would have removed your underwear, even if there had been no physical contact. In fact, you sighed before placing the roses in a vase of water and accompanying him to the car. It was a revelation to you that the vehicle in question was of considerable size. It was also admitted that Seungmin looked particularly handsome that night. He was wearing a black tank top and loose black trousers. His appearance was complemented by a leather jacket and jewellery. His footwear consisted of half-heeled ankle boots, which were as black as the rest of his outfit. His hair was lightly gelled and curly. He was a man of considerable qualities and attributes. You licked your lips and he watched, giving you the opportunity to do so. It was inevitable that he would drive you out of your mind as soon as he could.

There was no denying that the car ride had contributed to the evening's events. He held your thigh firmly in his hand and massaged your skin, occasionally reaching under the fabric of your skirt. He was aware that this was having a positive effect on you and you were similarly pleased by the experience. He felt a sense of predatory intent, like a predator with a vulnerable prey in his grasp.

The evening was going well. He had taken you to a modest restaurant at an elevated location, and you had enjoyed a sumptuous meat dish accompanied by an excellent wine. It was obvious that he had not missed the opportunity to cast certain glances at you as he sipped the vin rouge in his glass. He continued to look at you in an increasingly intimidating manner. The conversation went well and you had always enjoyed his company. The topics were varied and engaging, even when a situation had developed between you that couldn't be defined with a specific term. However, it seemed that Seungmin had anticipated your thoughts, as he initiated a discussion on the matter. "Considering that this is a full-fledged date, I would like to suggest that we raise the status of our relationship to boyfriend and girlfriend. I don't think there's any need for a proper dating, as I'm aware of your preferences," he said, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip of wine. "I agree, except for one thing: you do not know me well enough to have discovered my clandestine activities." You provoked him, knowing how the subject would arouse his jealousy. "I did not expect you to go so far." "I have always thought of you as my princess and hoped that you would eventually ask for my help." He wrinkled his nose. "Minie, it is important for me to be able to support myself. I am grateful for your help, but once I have secured employment, I would prefer you to stop helping me, okay?" you smiled with a pout in response.

Perhaps I should pay and we could go to my place?" he asked, smiling, before wiping his lips and getting to his feet. You did the same, but were stopped by him. He took your hand and kissed it before leading you to the exit. "This dinner is a date, and I am paying as usual. You are my friend and I will treat you properly," he said, making you blush. The gentleman in question displayed admirable behaviour and etiquette when dealing with women. He knew how to treat women with the respect and consideration they deserved. It is worth noting that in addition to the bedroom activities mentioned above, you had also gained an understanding of his somewhat eccentric behaviour outside the bedroom. You then waited outside the restaurant for him to return. He reappeared shortly afterwards, accompanied by a second bottle of red wine. "It was an excellent meal, and I have a plan for tonight. You'll see what I'm capable of, my dear," he said with a chuckle, then led you to the car and drove you both to his home.

To say that he did not even allow you the opportunity to survey the surroundings, despite your intimate familiarity with the house, was an understatement.

He immediately picked you up and carried you to his bed.

He then disappeared, returning with two goblets of wine.That night will remain indelibly etched in your memory.You watched as Seungmin took off his jacket and black shirt, leaving the vision to his well defined abs and the glittering necklace he was wearing.As you watched him take a sip of wine after almost completely undressing, you had to admit that his actions made your entire body tremble. Your panties were now soaked. "Now, Princess, undress for me," he said, grinning and licking his lips.He then lay on the bed with one hand behind his head and the other holding the goblet.

By this time the positions had been reversed, with the man on the bed watching your every move while you knelt in front of him, removing each piece of clothing until you were completely naked in front of him.

"How beautiful, come closer," he murmured. You approached him on all fours, the naked intimacy of your body matching his, still fully clothed. He watched you for a long time, as if to etch your image into his memory. You smiled and shivered as he began a gentle caress of your form. He caressed your cheek, shoulder and breasts in that order. He then moved to the other breast with his free hand, having previously placed the cup on the table. He began to massage it at a slow and deliberate pace, appreciating the texture of your skin. He then teased your nipple with his fingers, before pouncing on it with his lips and doing the same to the other. One hand, which had previously been at the back of your neck, now moved to your waist, where it began to caress it. His touch was so seductively overpowering that it left you breathless. He applied pressure to your hip as his lips played with your breasts. He then moved to your shoulders, biting and branding them. Your hands were clenched in his shoulders, scratching them lightly as you rubbed your vulva against the covered flap of his trousers. "Wait a moment, I want to feel you on me," he whispered in your ear.

He separated your bodies for a brief moment, then proceeded to undress you completely, allowing your intimacies to collide. "How about riding me?" he asked, smiling and winking. Your lips parted in surprise at the mere suggestion. It was highly unlikely that you would have survived the night. Seungmin was like a mermaid whose enchanting song was meant to captivate and enchant. You swallowed and then nodded in agreement. You applied gentle pressure to the head of his penis between your labia, causing you to pant and eliciting a moan from the Major. He had brought one arm back behind your head while the other held you tightly against him, increasing the contact. You lowered yourself completely onto him, allowing him to enter and fuck you completely, which he did with considerable force. Your moans mingled, accompanied by a soft exclamation of "Fuck!" from him. "Your cunt is both tight and warm, which feels very good. You should start to move," he instructed, and you complied. Normally such an act would have been abhorrent to you, but with him it was all so natural.

As he stroked your hips, you had begun to move at a slower pace. It was a sensation you had never experienced with any other partner. It was as if Seungmin had an innate understanding of the exact places and techniques needed to touch you. Your movements became faster and faster and your nails were driven into his back. "Min, I'm coming. I can feel it. My thighs are burning. Please, speed up!" You were on the verge. "No, not yet," you grunted, then changed positions. You vocalised your displeasure as he withdrew from your embrace, feeling a sense of emptiness. At this point you were positioned beneath him as he continued to penetrate you, his imposing frame towering over you.

You were sure that an orgasm was imminent, given his position on top of you as he thrust vigorously into you. However, he seemed to disagree, indicating that he was not interested in facilitating an orgasm. He claimed that it was too early for such a reaction. So he withdrew from you, leaving you with an empty feeling. "Please, Seung, I can no longer stand it," you begged him. Only after he had pushed you with an animal force did he give you permission to come. "Your warmth and tightness are so arousing...come for me," he whispered, allowing you to release yourself around him. He informed you that they had not yet reached the end of the act. He then turned you over on your stomach and began to leave bites and marks on your back, tracing a trail of them all over your ass. He continued to lick and slap the area between your buttocks, causing you to moan. Despite this, you still had some residual sensitivity from the previous orgasm.

You were unable to speak as he sank back into you, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling it towards him as he thrust violently, abusing your cunt. You arched your back and rolled your eyes, no one had ever given you such intense pleasure. "Ah... Seungmin... please..." you moaned one last time before you came again. "Who gave you permission?" he demanded, thrusting at a surprisingly fast pace. It was relatively easy for you to reach your third orgasm in a row that night. "Seungmin, I'm about to..." The words were barely audible.

"Come with me," he groaned and then proceeded to ejaculate into you and you after him, now exhausted. "I will get you the necessary cleaning supplies," he murmured, then stroked your side and got a cloth soaked in warm, damp water to clean you. He then tied your hair into a braid and made you a cup of hot tea after dressing you in a pair of clean briefs and one of his shirts. "You look so lovely," you murmured, trying to relax on his chest. "It's the least I can do after making you come how many times?" he said, laughing as he pinched your side. "Three, but don't boast, sir," you gave him a tongue-lashing. "Do all gentlemen do it rough?" you burst out laughing.

TAGLIST 🎀 : @yongbokkiesworld @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @hyunjinnnsgirl @sugarsweetsugarsweet @reader1221 @bubblebisk @chrizzztopherbang @skzooluvr @yoontaethings @ovr9000

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livelaughpeg · 3 months ago

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I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

#neil gaiman #jeff vandermeer #twitter

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blue-devil-of-the-lord · 6 months ago

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Hey there!!

I saw where your Kurt requests were open! I was wondering if you'd write about the reader going through a bad break up and Kurt is there to comfort them? Just some sweet fluff and maybe even Kurt confessing to the reader that he's had a crush on them this whole time too but he was too scared to admit it to reader because reader was already in a relationship?

Thanks! Just going through a bad one myself and it'd be sweet to have some Kurt love ♥️

Cracks and Comfort

Kurt Wagner x gn!reader Words: 1.1K A/N: So sorry that this is happening to you! I've tried to write it as fast as possible in hopes it might help. Sorry if it's too short though

You knew that you would have to crawl out of bed at some point and face reality, but at the moment you were quite content to hide under your comforter and cry into your pillow. You didn't really care, you were too busy trying to banish all thoughts of them from your mind.

It hurt, it hurt so incredibly and you wondered why no one had warned you about the consequences a relationship could have. Yes, you had known that the end of a relationship could and would hurt, but you hadn't been prepared for the extent of the pain.

Another sob escaped you as you clutched your pillow tighter. You had loved them, more than anything else in your life, and suddenly, overnight, it was over. And while they happily went on with their life, yours lay in shambles at your feet as you desperately tried to keep your heart together.

How could it be that they hardly cared, while you felt like you were suffocating? A knock sounded at your door and you were about to turn the person away when their voice came through to you. "My dear? Can I come in?"

Kurt.

You didn't want to be seen like this, a wreck of yourself, but Kurt had seen you at some of the lowest points in your life and you longed for the comfort he offered. Still crying, you called him in and pulled back the covers so you could see him.

Kurt stepped in, closed the door behind him and within seconds was at your side, his arms around you. "Oh, my dear, you don't deserve this." It wasn't many words, but they were enough to make you burst into tears again. Kurt murmured softly and leaned back on your bed, pulling you with him until you were lying next to each other.

Your head was nestled on his chest, your head buried in his neck as your tears wet his skin. Kurt, in turn, had one arm wrapped around your shoulders and his other hand buried in your hair, where it was now gently stroking your head. His tail was wrapped tightly around your waist.

You didn't know how long you cried, but he didn't leave your side for a second, didn't move, but slowly stroked your head and murmured soothing words into your ear, which more or less achieved their goal. But even when your tears had dried up, you couldn't bring yourself to move, but continued to lie in his arms. Since he didn't complain, you made no effort to do so. "I'm sorry," you mumbled after a while, but he gently hushed you.

"Don't apologize, please. I'm your friend, it's my job to be there for you." His voice had an incredibly comforting effect on you and slowly you let your fingers dance across his chest. Your ear was directly over his heart and the regular thumping of it made you sleepy and at the same time calmed you down a little.

"It just hurts so incredibly," you murmured softly and for a brief moment his hand remained in your hair before it continued with its movements. "I loved them Kurt, I loved them so incredibly much. Why did they still leave me? Was I not enough? Did I do too little? Am I so incapable of being loved?"

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but as you tried to bury your face in his chest again, he sat up all at once, tail still wrapped around your waist so you couldn't fall far from his arms. He gently placed his hands on your cheeks so that you had to look at him.

"Don't you dare say something like that again." Your eyes widened when you saw the seriousness in his gaze as it traveled over your face. "Don't say something like that, please. You are enough, you are more than enough, Liebling, you are everything. There is nothing more precious and more important."

He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes for a moment, almost in agony.

"And how can you think you're not lovable? Can't you see how much the students love you? Your colleagues? Your friends? Can't you see how much I love you?"

You felt like you couldn't breathe again, but this time for completely different reasons.

"Kurt-" He silenced you with a soft "Shhh" and smiled slightly at you, his eyes opening again. "Don't say anything, please. You're hurt, you need to heal. And I'll help you as much as I can. That's all that matters right now."

You said nothing, just looked at him, eyes wide, not knowing what you had done to deserve this gentle, loving man in your life. Kurt leaned forward and pressed a light, innocent kiss against your forehead.

"Come, my dear," he murmured and, still holding you in his arms, leaned back into the bed so that you were lying on top of him again. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Contrary to your expectations, it didn't take long before you were fast asleep on his chest.

Kurt looked at your sleeping form with a loving, albeit worried gaze and gently ran his finger over your tear-swollen cheek, careful not to wake you. God, he loved you so incredibly. You were the light of his life, every moment in your presence was like a blessing to him and if he had his way, he would never let you go again.

He had loved you for years, from afar, knowing full well that you could not and would not return these feelings. It had broken him that you had chosen them over him, but he had respected your decision because your happiness had been his sole goal. His expression twisted slightly as your heartbreaking sobs echoed in his mind. They had hurt you, broken your heart, and Kurt was boiling over with rage at the mere thought of them. How could they treat you like that? Could they not see your worth, your beauty, your fantastic personality? Obviously not, otherwise you wouldn't have cried in his arms.

The thoughts he had towards them were not good ones, sinful thoughts, but he didn't care.

He would condemn himself for you for all eternity as long as you stayed by his side and wrapped your arms around him afterwards.

His gaze slid over your face and hesitantly he pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry, Liebling," he whispered, his tail carefully wrapping a little tighter around your waist. "I won't let them hurt you again."

He didn't expect you to love him, especially not now when you were so vulnerable. Nor would he expect anything else from you, except to continue being your friend. Of course he hoped, oh how much he did, but he would ask for nothing, expect nothing, except your friendship. He could never even think of hurting you by being intrusive. He could never even think of hurting you in general.

He loved you too much for that.

"I swear to you."

#kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x men #xmen

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pjo-tvs-version · 2 months ago

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I know that no one asked but I just wanted to add my two cents to the current pjo era we are having right now...

First off, I love Rick and the books he has written but honestly tsast and wottg aren't some of his best works. That's not the problem because yeah not all books can be amazing but the problem is that they are his most recent ones. Cotg was better than these 2 but it too had it's drawbacks. Now I have this thing where if I like something then however bad it it, I try to make myself enjoy it. It's like a coping mechanism- delusion. But with wottg, I actually sat back and thought. Since when did I take a week to finish a pjo book? I am the person who finished Hoo in like less than a week and I took a week to finish wottg which took me aback. The characters were very oc. Grover was perhaps the only character close to his actual well character. I don't usually nitpick but like I had said in a post earlier, continuity and callbacks in a book series are what make them extremely enjoyable and small textual errors are like pricking needles to me.

My main issue was Annabeth and then Percy. Look in know in this fandom there are many Annabeth antis and that's fine, I accept that. But now the worst part is that what they have said about Annabeth is to some extent true in this current Annabeth version we have. Look Leah is great and I love her with all my heart but Rick please don't mingle both of them together. Let show cannon be separate and book cannon to itself. Let Annabeth in wottg be her book character like please. She has friends? Great! The main thing we know about her friends are that they think Percy isn't GOOD ENOUGH for her? Awful! She is the mom friend? Okay(though I personally believe it should be Grover but fine if people are okay with it this is just a personal opinion guys)! BUT that should not make Percy 'alley boy.'

This brings me to the second part. We love Percy and love his humor. Well I recently reread the Battle of the Labyrinth (don't ask why I don't know I just had the sudden urge to read it). He isn't very confident and does underestimate himself often but it wasn't taken this FAR. Every single next line was describing how Percy sucks at everything while Annabeth is here in all her perfect glory and believe it or not this is coming from me, who loves Annabeth. I love Percabeth because it's a balance. They balance off each other soo well. They both comfort each other. They both know that they are smart. They both know that the other person has flaws. But in wottg it's just downright annoying because the dynamic is just "ooh look my gf is soo amazing, totally flawless with no error and here is me who sucks at any and every thing possible." This isn't the Percy we know nor Annabeth nor Percabeth.

LET ANNABETH BE IMPERFECT! AND PLEASE GIVE PERCY THERAPY because he needs it. For the next book Rick please just hire a better editor because I am not going into the MISTAKES in these books. You can hire me if you want because I swear I can do a better job than your editor. Seriously literally any pjo fan would do a better job. Wottg felt like maybe the second draft of the work which required maybe 3 more drafts to be published. It felt like an unchecked fanfiction and believe me that I have seen better fanfictions on AO3. The pjo fandom is an extremely loyal fanbase which is an extremely cool thing. But the problem here is that people like m even though I didn't really enjoy wottg, I would still hope for a better sequel because gaaahhhh optimism. I am actually wary of the sequel to tsast but that's for another post.

Whew! Talking so negatively about something was a new experience for me because I absolutely love pjo and will always keep it close to my heart. Rick please for the sake of advertisement please don't publish uncooked gibberish because it actually breaks my heart too see the hate and for once I understand it. Anyway, wottg wasn't all that bad. To balance out this post, I'll make one on the portions I liked because there were a few moments that were worth reading. Extremely sorry for the scattered thoughts and the rant but thank you and have a great day everyone !

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pelova4president · 9 months ago

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Lovey Dovey

Jill Roord x Doctor!Reader

summary~ Jill just had her ACL surgery and is still high on the anesthesia.

Jill wasn’t a fan of surgery’s, how could anyone be. She was nervous about this whole procedure. Tearing her ACL in her prime had done a number on her, not only physically but mentally too. But the surgery had to be done and she knew that.

You’ve been dating Jill for about a year now. You met through your mutual friend, Vivianne Miedema. The first few months were long distance, with you working in England and Jill in Germany. You hadn’t really seen eachother throughout the World Cup but kept in touch, texting her good morning and goodnight and recording voice notes. And sometimes you took in into yourself to make her a vlog about your day, she liked those most.

Driving was Jill’s thing, she enjoyed it and you loved that she loved it. You had certain tasks without really agreeing on them, they had just become your unassigned jobs in your relationship. Your girlfriend was a little sceptical, letting you drive in her still quite new car.

Jill had hidden the keys to her car and you were not having it. “Jill tell me where the fucking keys are.” you sighed, having searched for it everywhere by now. She simply shook her head with a childlike frown.

You simply had no other choice than to threaten her. “Jill you better tell me where they are or i won’t kiss you until you can play full football games again.”, now that got her attention. “That’s just mean, you can’t do that to me baby” the woman groaned sinking even further into the couch.

“Watch me.” you said, arms folded under eachother. “Fine, under the blue vase in the kitchen.” she finally admitted. You leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead to thank her.

Finding the keys you sigh, “Let’s go baby.”.

The drive to the hospital was rather chaotic, well it was for you. You had to watch the road in front of you and listen to your stubborn girlfriend telling you how to drive and how she thought this was just a horrible idea, she should’ve never ‘given’ you the keys.

It was a wonder Jill was still alive after that trip, she could’ve sworn she had atleast two heart attacks and went into multiple cardiac arrests. But luckily for her a docter was driving, well lucky to some extent.

You wheeled her into the big building, you knew her anxiety was spiking but you’ve talked her through the procedure multiple times. “Jilly, you’re gonna be okay. I’ll be with you, when you go to sleep and i’ll be there when you wake up.” you said, squeezing her shoulder to reassure her.

The Dutch Lioness had to change and got ready for her surgery. With a peck to the lips she let go. “I love you” she told you. “Love you too, you’re very brave Jilly.” you kissed before she fell into a deep slumber.

Waking up from the surgery you expected her to be a bit dazed out but she was more than that.

Stroking patterns on her arms you soothed her. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, a groggy groan caught your attention. “Hey, you’re with us again. I bet you’ve had some pretty weird dreams hmm?” you said getting her to look at you.

“Why’s the light so lightly?” her raspy voice sounded. Laughing at her sleepy state you answered, “Hospital lights are supposed to be like that baby.”

Jill was taken aback by that. “Why are you calling me baby? I’ve already got a liefje.” Jill frowned. You had to hold your laugh in at that.

“Jill look at me, i’m your liefje.” she finally fully opened her eyes and took a good look at you. Satisfied she hummed, “I’ve done really good. You’re very pretty and nice and pretty.” your girlfriend slurred, dragging the ‘really’ out. “Can you do a spin for me liefje? Pretty please.” she asked you sweetly.

Standing up you did a ballerina like twirl. “Good enough for you baby?” you asked her, hand on your hip. She approved your twirl and demanded a kiss. “I want a kiss now.” you walked towards her to give in but apparently you didn’t move fast enough and she started getting out of the hospital bed.

“Jill! Stay there, you’re not supposed to be on your feet already!” you yelled a bit annoyed. She probably couldn’t stand on her leg yet and definitely not now that she was still so dazy.

Quickly she let loose of the bed railing and laid back again. “Okay okay, but i need a kiss to make it better!” she was gonna be the death of you.

You got into bed with her and almost immediately she wrapped herself around you, kissing every bit of your face. “I” kiss “love” kiss “you” kiss “so so so so” kiss “much” she snuggled into you. “Jilly, i love you too” you giggled into the crook of her neck.

The two of you got to go home after a few hours but Jill was still a bit out of it. You tried to get her to sit in the passenger seat but she wouldn’t let go of you. “Jilly, you need to let go, i can’t drive us home like this.” you told her.

And even in het dazed state she caught on to the fact you were driving her car. “You don’t need to drive us home schatje. Uber and i’ll drive it home another day.” she negotiated with you.

“Oh shut up. You’re not gonna die, you baby.” you rolled your eyes at her. Jill placed her hand over her heart and acted like she just got stabbed in it. “Big baby.” you laughed.

Arriving home she still wouldn’t let you go. You had to carry her out of the car and placed her on the couch. “I’m gonna die if you won’t stay with me. You’re a doctor, don’t let me die, you signed to safe all the life’s you possibly can!” she yelled when you got up to make the two of you some tea.

“Stop saying that! You’re not gonna die.” you yelled from the kitchen. “You don’t know that until you find me dead on the couch in a few seconds.” you heard her mumble when you walked into the living room with two cups of hot tea in hand.

It was a hard day for her and you knew that so you kept her close. If you were all she needed you would be there. And after what must’ve been a tiring day for her she fell asleep next to you, holding your hand as tight as she could in her sleep.

y/n_y/l/n posted on their story

A/N i just realised that the anon might’ve meant that Jill and R met at the hospital but well.. too late now sorry

#jill roord x reader #jill roord #nedwnt #oranjeleeuwinnen #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #engwnt #man city women #leah williamson #arsenal wfc

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clementineofmine · 4 months ago

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I'm sitting here rewatching Tua S3 for reasons, and one interesting thing I picked up is that the entire season is really just each of the Umbrellas struggling to define and searching for family in their own way. Here's me laying down some thoughts for y'all:

Luther - For him, family has always been about the team. That's part of the reason he's so drawn to the Sparrows, bc at first they seem to have the cohesiveness that the Umbrellas lacked. Remember, Luther was the last one left at the Academy, then Reginald sent him to the moon alone. So of course seeing a "functional" team is going to be compelling for him, and he desperately wants to be part of it. And then he and Sloane quickly fall in love and for the first time in his entire life, someone wants him for him. It's intoxicating and utterly consuming NRE that is more powerful than anything he's ever felt.

Diego and Lila - For these two, it's about figuring out how to be a family. Both together, but also a little bit with the other Umbrellas. Diego looking out for Allison and Klaus and Lila and Five coming to a truce are part of this - more about Lila and Five in a sec.

Allison - In her mind, her family is Claire and Ray. This one is obvious, but I also think that the writers did us a disservice by not letting us into Allison's perspective. If you think about it, it's completely normal for a parent to put their child above all. While I don't defend her actions, her motivation could have been more compelling and it would have strengthened her character. But sadly she's the character on the show that is most "othered" (which is bad for many reasons)

Klaus - he really dug deep into individual relationships w family, starting with Five (e2 and 5 Five and Klaus bonding are still some of the best bits of the season imo), Diego, Reginald, Sparrow Ben, and then Luther in the afterlife.

Five - Five remains a pragmatist. His bar for family is very low - success for him means the Umbrellas being alive, no matter what the personal cost or sacrifice to him or to some extent others. It is somewhat depressingly delightful to see how he makes his peace with the end of the world as the season progresses. Before that, however, I'd like to meander back to e3 and 4 where Lila convinces him to electrocute himself and then they go on the Commission mission. Both of the actors do a fine job here bouncing back and forth between witty banter and genuine emotion and I love it. It's a quick and subtle piece of dialogue when Five explains how he saved Lila from the Handler. The undertone is that they were both abused by that woman in a similar way - ultimately, she developed and kept them both as pawns in her own game. And I think Five, starting in S2E10 and fleshed out through S3, develops genuine empathy for and eventually acceptance of Lila as family, as one of them, because of this shared experience.

Viktor - Like Viktor in all seasons, he continues to feel out of place with the Umbrellas and compensates by over-prioritizing his relationships with others. Don't get me wrong, I do empathize with him that he lost real love with Sissy and Halan, but I also think Allison was 100% valid to call him out on his lying in E6, and it was on point to verbalize how the constant focus on Viktors pain minimizes her (and everyone else's) experience. (Edit to add: Viktor finally seems to get the message on this, after being called out by Allison, then subsequently both Sparrow Ben and Five, and spends the last few episodes trying to make amends. Real character development here and I like to see it)

Reginald - Well, his overarching motivation since S1 has always been bringing back his dead wife, so I won't belabor that, but also it's interesting to see how he interacted with Klaus particularly - esp in E7 when he sobers up it seems he is experimenting with remembering his role as a father. Now we don't get a ton about his internal motivation here, but you can tell there is some mild curiosity, if not affection, for Klaus, despite the fact that he ultimately is cool with sacrificing him.

Some of these are more obvious than others, but when you tie them all together, the idea that they are all desperately looking for family and the blind spots that that creates for them, some of the messiness of S3 starts to make a bit more sense.

#well the first time i fucked up and didnt realize my thoughts on sloane didn't make it in #sorry bout that #mulligan #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #tua #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #tua s3 #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #reginald hargreeves

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signanothername · 5 months ago

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Why do you like Killer?

*Cracks knuckles* get ready

I don’t like Killer, I fucking LOVE HIM

He’s my number 1 fave au sans and has been for a very long time

Now to be clear, I’m talking about canon Killer here, i have mixed feelings about some fanon interpretations, some are good and i genuinely love them, others not so much

That being said, let’s actually talk about why i love my beautiful amazing wonderful son <3333

(All art used in this post is by Killer’s creator: Rahafwabas)

The very first hook for me is his very concept, the mere idea of a sans basically agreeing to go on a killing spree after so many genocide runs is just *chef’s kiss*

Killer knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t, yet he did

Killer doomed himself by his choice, he could’ve stayed as “sans” but he chose to accept Chara’s offer, yet his choice came to be after he saw no point in refusing anymore (important addition and a correction here)

The canon comics had Killer saying that he’s the way he is cause he gave up, he said “you won, you’re the reason I’m like this”, he’s been on so many genocide runs that he felt a little part of him die each run, only to give up and go on said killing spree

It’s interesting how the player is a big part of Killer’s story, cause whether Chara was involved or not, the player is the root cause of his suffering

But what i love the most is that regardless of his backstory or reasons, Killer’s actions led to their inevitable consequences, and it forever changed him

The biggest change? His very soul, it went from a normal monster soul to his signature target soul, infused with Determination, something that supposedly hurts monsters, it’s almost like his soul was infected with it, and you can see how it physically affects him with the black liquid that constantly comes out his eyes, nose and mouth, and even at times, that sludge is too much that he chokes on it

And the amusing yet tragic parallel? Killer aimed to “feel something new” by his genocide runs, only to end up not feeling anything at all, at least at his default stage 2

Which brings me to the concept of his soul’s stages

I love Killer’s stages so so much, it’s such a beautiful unique and wonderful concept

Killer’s individual stages are sooooo intriguing to me, it shows Killer in a different light each time depending on which stage he’s in, stage 1 is the closest he is to being “sans”, the closest to he used to be, he can feel emotions and is generally back to his more lazy bones attitude, as well as his ability to actually show sympathy, and feel the pain he’s always in, but what’s interesting is that regardless of the fact he’s the closest to his old self in this stage, it’s still so clear that Killer isn’t really “sans” anymore, that no matter what, he truly had changed in a way that can never be reversed, a point of no return, even when Color saves him, cause his new habits? His fears? His pain? His trauma? They can never be taken away, Killer has to live with the scars of what he experienced

Stage 2 is who he’d become, he can’t feel anything at this stage, emotions nonexistent, and his nonchalant behavior towards himself and others is most apparent here, a parallel I like to think of is that Killer’s inability to feel anything at all is almost like prolonged sensory deprivation, when you’re deprived of sensory input/ simulation for long periods, your brain needs compensate, and so it does its job, Killer’s soul prevents him from feeling so he resorts to other methods (usually very self destructive) to compensate for his lack of emotional capacity

I also really really love how that especially during stage 2, Killer isn’t trustworthy, cause in stage 1 you can actually trust him to an extent, in stage 2 Killer’s actions, behaviors and mindset are completely unpredictable, but not because he’s random, cause he’s actually extremely calculated, yet regardless, his carelessness when it comes to his own life and other people’s lives is dialed to an 11 here, so he could either choose to kill/attack or simply stay and listen

we even get an actual in depth look at how Killer’s mind works in one of the canon comics, in which Killer contemplates whether to attack Dream or not as he listens to his own stages in his head, one of which tells him to Kill Dream, while the other tells Killer to talk to Dream first

How Killer comes to a final decision on whether he attacks or not is something I believe his calculated mind makes depending on the situation and the pros/cons of what act he chooses, Killer is pretty smart, he knows when to let his trigger happy self out and when to settle down

Stage 3 or the “crazy stage” is the stage in which he’d attack anyone in his way whether friend or foe, we unfortunately don’t have much canon info regarding this stage, but that ain’t gonna stop me from analyzing the shit outta it (and talk about how i perceive it)

I like to think of this stage as the combination between stage 1 and 2, yet it’s almost like his soul can’t truly decide on which stage to settle on and by extension founding stage 3 as a separate stage by itself, Killer becomes extremely unstable at this stage, his soul moves rapidly and it’s obvious he’s in pain cause of it, whether that pain is just emotional or both physical and emotional isn’t really clear, yet i’d like to believe it’s both, and i feel like Killer’s capacity to attack anyone at this stage is related to that pain, and something I really love to believe is that Killer can’t calm down enough to settle back to stage 1 or 2 unless he either wears himself out by fighting someone, or he’s left alone to his own demons long enough to pull himself together, if he were to be forcefully restrained during this stage, it would only serve to make it worse and prolong the time he stays that way (cough something i may or may not have made a quick comic about but never shared as always vjvjvjj)

Not to mention, one of the canonical responses Killer gives when asked if he’s ok at stage 3 seems to make Killer alternate between answers he wants to give between saying he’s “fine” and “i don’t know” which makes sense, Killer isn’t stable at all, it’s almost like his stage 1 self and stage 2 self are fighting over who gets to talk (stage 2 seems more dominant)

Yet the fact Killer is able to answer and comprehend his surroundings enough at this stage is very intriguing to me, cause it shows how much Killer is able to handle/endure (which is A LOT cause damn) and not only that, but it also gives us a very clear difference between this stage and stage 4

As for stage 4?? Woooh boi, it’s the stage I like to call “plunging into darkness”

We also don’t have much canon info about this stage, but one of the things i find interesting is the fact Killer deliberately keeps it a secret from everyone, when he tells Color about his stages, he only tells him up to stage 3, never bringing up stage 4, only for Chara to sneer at Killer that he shouldn’t keep it from his new BFF

It’s obvious Killer himself is very uncomfortable with the subject of stage 4, it’s apparent that it’s a stage that he rarely gets to, but it still bothers him enough to not want to even mention it, which makes sense, cause the comic we had of stage 4 shows that Killer gets to that stage when he’s reminded of all the murders he committed, and unsurprisingly, when he’s reminded of his brother, as what triggered this stage is actually a memory of Papyrus telling Sans to “see a puzzle”, only to be followed by memories of screams of anger, fear, and hatred of those he killed immediately afterwards, stage 4 is heavily related to his trauma

Not to mention it’s clear that when Killer gets to stage 4 he blacks out, he’s completely unaware of anything he does during this stage, and is only left to deal with the aftermath when he gets back to his senses, the fact it’s also a stage that seems to be “getting worse” is something that Killer definitely seems to hate

It sometimes makes me think whether Killer had gotten into trouble cause he killed someone Nightmare wanted alive while at this stage, cause with how he keeps it a secret, I’d assume Nightmare would be unaware of it for a while (comic idea perhaps >:) )

But y’know what’s better than talking about the stages?? Talking about Killer’s personality, behaviors and trauma

Killer can’t distinguish between what’s real or not, and it’s obvious he sometimes sees the world in the third person, as in he’s not completely there at times, not to mention the amount of voices he hears in his head, from his stages talking to him to hallucinations of Chara, Frisk and Papyrus, and oooh boi does he hate these hallucinations, the past obviously haunts Killer and it’s something he tries running away from constantly, yet he can never truly run from it when it follows him everywhere

Killer has a smile on his face most the time, but his attitude changes especially when Chara is mentioned, or when he’s reminded of his past in any way, he literally avoids food that reminds of his past life as “sans”, he freezes up at certain phrases such as “best friend” (something i also made a comic about that i never shared chchhchc)

He just absolutely hates to be reminded of the person he used to be, of all the things he used to have, cause in truth? They were all taken away from him by his own hands, only to be then forced to work under Nightmare, who only ensures that he never finds peace of mind

And the sad part? Killer let’s all those things hurt him, he lets Nightmare have his way with him, he lets Chara torment him, cause he thinks he deserves it, and most importantly, he deluded himself into believing that this is what he wants because it’s what everyone else wants, because it’s what the player wants

Killer even sometimes tries to force himself not to feel anything, cause come on, since when does he feel anything at all?

Killer, to put it bluntly, hates himself, and he thinks that his suffering is the Karma of what he’s done, and even at one point, he was going to erase himself out of existence cause he believed that’s what he deserved, as in Killer thought of himself as unworthy when it comes to Papyrus, that his brother doesn’t need him, that his brother is better off without him, hell he even tells Color that he needs to kill him if he ever reaches stage 3, it’s an obvious “ i want someone to put me outta my misery” attitude

Killer feels hopeless, and so he lets himself suffer thinking he can’t ever find peace or hope again

Yet the interesting part? You’d never know that Killer hates himself unless you’re a being of emotions (Nightmare and Dream) or someone who’s perceptive enough to notice Killer’s self-loathing like Color, that’s how good of an actor Killer can be, you’d think he’s a cold emotionaless killer but the truth only shines to those who actually can see through his act

Killer just has that amazing character depth and his story is genuinely so unique and beautiful, cause you in his story you can find details of other details within the details vhvhvjvj

All that? Mixed with really adorable little things like his love for cats, his silly attitude, his nonchalance with Nightmare, his capacity to be social with whoever, and his friendship with color? That is why I love Killer Anon <33333

#this got long so i put it under read more cause i have some mercy #Anyway Rahafwabas deserves best character writer award fr <3333 #anothers ask #ano saves asks #killer #killer sans

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shesmore-shoebill · 5 months ago

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braindump of additional smosh vs zombies thoughts after the final episode:

In general, @ the players. Everyone did SO fucking good, okay. All of them I think hit a perfect blend of committing to the characters, trying to make smart choices, but also not getting so attached to keeping their characters alive that they weren't willing to take big swings. Shayne, whose character died TWICE. Was definitely not too precious about keeping his character alive, but like. WOW Courtney Amanda and Spencer all really were unafraid to both try to give their characters growth and change while still leaning into character-appropriate moves.

Amanda especially did such a good fucking job of like. Making big swings that made sense. As Gracie's worms progressed, Amanda actively gave Gracie character growth and depth even while committing to the comedy and horror of the worm infections. Shes so unafraid of committing to the character both comedically and narratively, its a fucking gift.

And of course, Brodie's character being hilarious until the very end coupled with the sacrifice.....

It was VERY satisfying to see Savannah full of (justified) rage throughout the last episode. Aware that she's not being treated well, aware that she's saving everyone's asses and is hands down the most capable person there. And ANGRY about it.

But even when she is angry. She is loyal. She sees a worm under Gracie's skin and- walks away, but doesn't leave, doesn't reveal it. She recieves the key and rages about being left- but still chooses to go after her. She's furious, but still, goes to the research area to get Gracie the cure. She is furuous, she knows she deserves better, she knows how capable she is now. And still she chooses. Gracie. And if that's not wildly codependent pretty toxic vaguely homoerotic gay girlie bffism idk what is.

Also Savannah fucking COOL AS SHIT in this episode. Hello. Action hero shit. Evades the blue worms. Gets the cures. Cures HERSELF. Queen shit.

Gracie's aggressive dedication to her father was obvs played up for comedy but can be so compelling if taken seriously. She doesn't even know how to conceptualize disagreeing with him. She's sure he'll keep her safe and to an extent she's RIGHT. He will. But only her. And in this world that means something different. Unquestioningly trusting him, unquestionably listening to him means something more. Her father asks her to kill Brodie and she basically does. Because she loves Brodie but loves her father more.

(And then they get there, and her father asks her to get rid of Savannah and Gracie doesn't. She doesn't want to.

Actually that alone has me unwell, Gracie tries to kill Brodie at her dad's request and then draws the line at Savannah. yk? yk? yk?)

Its so compelling to have Gracie as a character understand empathy and sacrifice and start unlearning her selfishness in the same moments that she is being devoured by worms and losing her control and humanity. Its VERY compelling. She is finally trying to look inward a bit, and its when being devoured from the inside out. The scene of her in the bathroom, turned away from Brodie, telling him to leave while half her face writhes with worms. She is trying to be better and probably won't survive long enough to actually do it.

Its also very comedic of like. She got some worms that ate her brain a little bit and not only is she not that much worse off, shes actually better as a person. Character development brainworms. Its kind of hilarious.

Brodie's fascination with and love for and dedication to Gracie despite her being terrible to him generally and their relationship being so new was both hilarious and touching in the way of classic horror/apocalypse/action movies. He's at the top of the bunker going "Well i gotta go get my gf!!!!" and its toxic and hilarious and like. vaguely sweet in the tropey movie way. Same thing with the love confession. And same thing with the heroic sacrifice. It was ridiculous, hilarious, dramatic, sincere, and deeply genre-appropriate. Fantastic way to play a romance in this genre with character who are generally pretty unpleasant and are only getting an ounce of growth in, truly, the 11th hour.

And honestly I was obsessed with the dynamic at the end. It was really "Gracie, her boyfriend Brodie, and Gracie's Savannah". No questions about it. It didnt even feel like Savannah would have been thirdwheeling it was just . Of course. Brodie loves Gracie. Gracie loves Brodie. Savannah loves/is devoted to Gracie, until the end. Gracie loves/is dependent on Savannah. Until the end. Obsessed with this. Obsessed.

Gracie saying to Savannah: "thank you for saving my life." Savannah saying: "Anytime." wow.

I probably need to write a separate post about Savannah/Gracie if I want to take their dynamic seriously actually. Its so compelling.

Savannah and Gracie in a nearly-empty shuttle shooting towards the moon together while Earth succumbs to manmade worm apocalypse is not a happy ending, but it also felt so right for both the genre and these trashfires of protagonists. They were all a little self absorbed and rash and foolish. Going to the moon doesn't actually solve any of the issues. The world is still dying by worm. Gracie's father is furious. I don't think Savannah or Gracie know how to fly a ship, much less survive on one? Or the moon. They're probably fucked.

But in this kind of scenario that's as good of an ending as youll get. And if nothing else, wow what a win for codependent toxic yuri-ism. Gracie finally realizing how valuable Savannah is, how much she loves her friends and how valuable it is that they love her- loved her. Savannah coming into her own confidence and still choosing Gracie as her priority- but consciously making that choice. Alone in a shuttle to the moon while the world dies. fucked up. very fun. veeery fun.

#smosh #smosh vs zombies spoilers #smosh vs zombies #amanda lehan canto #courtney miller #smosh games #spencer agnew #shayne topp #(i didnt really talk abt his characters in here but mostly bc- with affection- shayne was less preoccupied with character stuff beyond bits #savannah #gracie #brodie #anyway it was a lot of fun!!!

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therealslimshakespeare · 6 months ago

Text

Even my Friends just Love Her

|| Dear John Series 💌

Warnings: 18+ sexual and thematic material, not a lot in this chapter but some brief voyeurism and mention of naughty photographs, letters and imagined sex acts

Coauthored: honestly bless my baby Bri who I begged to beta read this when I was stumped three quarters of the way to completion and she went above and beyond and gave the ending of this segment so much life, pretty phrasing and a beating heart. It was a total joy to work on this with you, darling, thanks for your lovely idea that spawned this whole series in the first place.💋 so many thanks to Christi and Ashley who endured my screams about Spangles and writers block

April-May 1945

Her tenth night in Paris found Marge Spencer hard at work earning her keep as a trusted member of The Lana Tierney’s retinue.

She didn’t mind the labor, it had paid for a boat ride and a plane over the pond and the prettiest shared suite in the Ritz, with a view of the iconic skyline and more macaroons than Marge knew what to do with. An American girl of average means, moderate schooling and a vast imagination, Marge felt like pinching herself that her view consisted of the Eiffel Tower; instead, she applied herself more earnestly to her occupation and diligently set about petting the soft white fur fringing Spangles’ little pink nose.

That was the extent of Marge’s job description, pet Spangles, feed Spangles, brush Spangles, wash Spangles, walk Spangles, carry Spangles; anytime Julie Jean couldn't tend to Spangles herself, Marge was at the ready.

Spangles, you see, was a white bunny rabbit of the masculine sex given to Julie on her latest War Bond tour by a Marine gunner and nothing short of death could part the two. He had a blue velvet collar, a fetching little name tag hanging from it and a very active set of whiskers.

“Spangles was my dearest friend before you.” Julie had told Marge when she first introduced them and Marge had done her best to not crumple at that unwittingly dismal revelation.

There had been a lot of those. Julie Jean, as Miss Lana insisted Marge call her, was a unicorn of sorts. Very magical, very shiny, very fragile, dubiously real even to herself. For someone so universally adored she was the loneliest creature Marge had ever encountered, before meeting her she had assumed that waifish little fairies like Julie didn’t exist outside of rather maudlin novels. That felt like a very cruel denial of a very real predicament in retrospect. Julie's happiness was unbounded, universally ignited and childlike in its exuberance, her sadness was without a bit of restraint beyond some brittle and fleeting acting capabilities of keeping it together until she got to the powder room.

During their brief friendship, Marge had already spent a great deal of time hugging the starlet and patting her milk white shoulders in powder rooms. Anyone else indulging in such frequent fits might have caused Marge to give them a little shove and advice to ‘chin up’, but Julie did “chin up” so thoroughly and profitably in between -more than anyone Marge had ever known- that Marge felt rather unentitled to that specific sermon. When Julie was up, she was really up and so was everyone within a mile radius of her. And when she was down -only the single person with her or Spangles knew it. And Marge figured that was a pretty decent way to live; as were three room suites at the Ritz and more flowers on flat spots than a funeral home.

What was missing was someone specific to channel it all into. But that, Marge knew, was why they were in Paris: so that Julie Jean could pour out what she had to offer to an entire crowd of furloughed GI’s or else the recently liberated POWs still waiting for transit and looking altogether too thin and too shocked by their first female sighting in over a year. Julie managed them all beautifully, standing under hot afternoon suns and chilly evening spring breezes like a champ, in spindly heels and fetching chiffon straps, collecting flowers and kisses and horror stories with unfading aplomb.

Tagging behind her each day, cradling Spangles and the overflow of flowers not even Herb could manage, Marge grew tired just by observing. You had to have some kind of heart to keep doing what Julie did day after day. Wake up looking forward to it. You had to have an awfully large receptacle to receive what she had to give, too.

A revolving crowd of hundreds of GIs -or Bucky Egan.

Tagging behind, ever watchful for threatening Hollywood acquaintances or freshly liberated boyfriends in the crowd, Marge had no luck so far. She went to each show, mingled in each press of the crowd before and after, scanning, always scanning for blue eyes and golden hair and the sweetest face she’d ever known.

Gale. There was no reason to think he’d be here, but it had been ages since their last letters, only word had been that they’d been moved and that was from some other pilot in the same gargantuan holding place. As the flurry of a world war wrapping up took hold of bedraggled Europe, no one knew where anyone was. Unless you were a world famous starlet residing at the Ritz in a very promoted continental tour -then folks knew how to find you and serenade you under your hotel window.

Communication lagged terribly and it was a roll of the dice whether your next bit of news would be the most tragic or joyful you’d ever received. Whether you’d hold the person you missed or the telegram regarding them first.

So Marge scanned the crowds and tried her best to receive the overflow of flowers -and the occasional kiss- from the men around her with half the grace Julie showed each. It was really all very flattering, very exciting, and while back home in America there was felt the buzz of approaching victory, nowhere exuded it in such frantic merriment of expectation like Paris.

“Everything’s better in Paris.” Julie had told Marge on the way over, dreamy and giddy herself that her plan had worked, that they were headed over to the same land mass as their men, and that Marge was with her, “Even the best things in the world get magnified in Paris. That’s why everyone doubts it’s real. But it is Marge! It is!”

So far, even sitting on the carpeted floor of the suite, staring out the balcony after ten nights spent here, and petting Spangles wet fur for a living, Marge had to agree it felt more than a little magical.

“Laaaa!” Julie’s exclamation interrupted her reverie, silver belled voice matching the atmosphere to perfection, “Wasn’t that a bop?”

She’d been soaking in that tub for two hours, tap turning and on and off to add more hot water and Marge thought her poor, no doubt sore, feet deserved every second of the extravagance. Plus the room now smelled of bath salts that Marge was pretty sure were the very distilled essence of seduction. And that complimented her view of the Parisian skyline, too.

“Always is with you at the mic.” Marge swore, meaning it, too. Nine shows in ten days and even though she had ulterior motives for attending Lana’s shows -scanning, always scanning- Marge was astounded by the variety and interest the entertainment retained after repeated tastings.

“Yeah? Really? Honest?” Julie sat herself cross legged on the fluffy duvet at the foot of their shared, king sized bed, and chewed her lip like it was her first performance ever. There had been another suite with another bed, and after the second night when Julie heard Marge crying her little heart out over Gale, the consolation had been made. Julie was eager for sleepovers. Never had them before, she swore.

Now these chats happened each night.

“Honest.” Marge got up from seat on the floor and came over to the bed, setting Spangles between them, “You gotta know that? Like those screams and yells were all hoo haa. Trust me, Julie, it was electric. You were electric. Again.”

They sat and pet Spangles in silence for a few moments before Julie spoke up again, soft and sweet as she watched Marge’s dimple deepen, “You’ve made this trip so much better than any other I’ve taken, you know that, Margie? Paris is how it should be with you.” she proclaimed triumphantly, “Lovely and pretty and makes me feel like I can float.”

“You can in my book.” Marge drawled, chucking under Julie’s chin, the girl looked half too young without the makeup and Marge felt it was easier to be friends like that.

Just two girls and a bunny in Paris.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Julie whispered.

They spent most of their sleepovers talking about them -the boys. Speculating happy little comforts for them and spinning happy little ever-after’s for themselves when this all wrapped up.

“Hopefully cuddling for warmth.” Marge’s grin grew sly, the mental picture too amusing even if it was bittersweet.

A small commotion in the hall outside sent both girls into high alert suddenly, Spangles’ whiskers twitching in solidarity for their anticipation. This had been happening most nights, too.

“Is it them do you think?” Julie gleefully whispered, untangling her legs and tiptoeing to the door with Marge begrudgingly protesting but following nonetheless.

Julie was generous with the peephole and Marge had given up pretending to be above the jovial pastime of people watching -especially when their swanky floor at the Ritz meant they had the most shocking sort of neighbors. Ingrid Bergman for one, and as of the last six days; accompanied by a man who was not her husband.

“He’s dark.” Marge reported, finally getting a better look at the man in question as the illicit lovers grappled in a kiss and fumbled longer than usual at their key.

“Lemme!” Julie shoved at Marge’s giggling frame and tiptoed to line her eye up, “Ooooh, lord! Marge, Marge I think that’s Capa!”

Marge made a disgusted little face. “Frank Capra? ‘Why We Fight’ Capra? Isn’t he old?”

“No, no.” Julie swatted at her without tearing her eye from her spying view, “Robert Capa -life magazine. War Photographer, Hungarian, very dangerous profession.”

“Being hungarian?” Marge snorted, “Or stealing wives?”

“Oh hush they’re so in love.” Julie whined, rapt attention until the door of the opposite suite banged shut with a decisive crash. “They’re so in love.” she moaned, letting her forehead thud against the door, allowing herself to dramatically slide down the length of the door to the plush carpet.

“He’s very hairy.” Marge was amusedly unimpressed.

“I don’t want him for meeeee!” Julie whined and Marge sensed another little fir coming on and cast a furtive glance at the macarons and tissues across the room on the side table. “It just reminds one of being in love.”

“Well, don’t fret, that’ll be you and John Egan in no time, clawing wallpaper and ruining respectable people’s evenings.”

Julie looked up at her unimpressed and Marge could have recited from memory the next fussy little cry: “He’ll probably hate me.”

Marge sighed and knowing this was going to be a little bit of a moment, sat down beside her, back to the door, matching pajamas a cool silk rub against each other as she hugged the poor girl. “No he won’t.” She insisted, “He’ll think you’re a silly little goose for crying so much over him and he’ll think you’re smart as anything for all the money you’ve raised -and the good you’ve done. He’s an ambitious man, he’s not one to knock a good idea. I bet he’s proud as anything. If he knows about acorn -he’s proud. You can count on it.”

They did this every evening, too.

Julie had never known a lovelier creature more convinced they were unlovable. It helped that the comforting sentiments she dished out like tranquilizers were firmly true; in fact, if anything, Marge was a little braced for the shock of Julie being quite happily eaten alive by the most voracious man she’d ever had the fortune to meet.

“I might as well jump into the Seine if not.” Julie commented casually.

“Yeah, well,” Marge tempered with a squeeze, “maybe don’t come on to him with that one.”

After some time of more innocuous conversation, a commotion startled them, the triple rap of knuckles on the door behind their backs -Herb’s special little knock. They shared a spooked look. Marge, quite settled in her protector mode, rose first. She gave the peephole a cursory little look to make certain before sliding the lock and cracking the door open as wide as was respectable in silk pajamas.

“Herb?”

“Miss Spencer, Miss Julie,” he gave a nod, something odd in his bearing, a simmering thing near to nervous excitement that jarred with his sober expression, “sorry to bother, but there’s been a development in the lobby -I, ya see, I’ve been turnin’ all the young bucks away after you go up, as you asked but -there’s one down there now-“

“Does he need a room?” Julie inquired anxiously, she’d put up about ten refugee families in various little suites and over a couple dozen servicemen, “That silly concierge not letting you put it on my tab?”

“No miss, this one’s not lookin’ for a room.” Herb’s keen eyes skittered to Marge, an almost cautionary expression on his face, “He says he recently escaped a camp and by the look of him I’d belive it. He’s asking for -for Miss. Spencer, Miss.”

“What?” Marge was not one to be cautioned against hope, “Herb! What did he say? Where is -what’s he look like? What did he say his name-“

“Gale.” Herb let it drop gently. “Said his name was Gale Cleven, and that Miss Turner didn’t know him but her Bunny Friend did. That he saw Miss Spencer’s face in the papers when he got in this evening, he’s meant to be flown out tomorrow.”

“Julie’s Bunny Friend!” Marge repeated with a hysterical little cry, watery smile gone megawatt, “Julie!! Julie it’s gotta be him!”

“Well, well should we-“ Julie patted her pajamaed self down in a bewildered state of companion joy, “-should we go down? Should he- Herb!” too flustered she begged for some direction.

“Up here, I’d think miss.” he advised, “If he’s not the one, there’s no scene made, I can keep him in the hallway while Miss Spencer’s makes use of the peephole -as she is so fond of doing ages after I knock.”

Marge gave him a wry face which he returned in kind.

“Herb, is he -alone?” Julie asked suddenly, voice quite small and Marge could have knocked herself over the head with the ice bucket for being so very callous.

“Yes? Is there a dark haired, tall, big, loud-“

“-American major with him named John?” Herb supplied, ever astute and dampening in the extreme, “No, he’s alone. Or that is, besides the army man who drove him in.”

“Right.” Julie wiped her sweating palms on her thighs, sitting heavily on the bed but doing her damndest to maintain a bright smile. “Don’t leave poor Major Cleven down there any longer, Herb! Bring him up! I’ll wring for room service.”

“He -he may not be-“ Herb cautioned once more but Julie was adamant, already dialing:

“No, no more buts, it’ll be him. And he’ll have news of John. Go! Go go go!”

Marge gave Herb a pitying shrug of solidarity but the minute he was out in the hall she gave all pretense of calm, turning in a giddy spin that spooked poor Spangled and took out an already precarious floral arrangement. “Should I dress? Should I-“ Marge patted herself down now, but Julie, having primly placed her order and tipped it with a sugar coated thanks came over to her, and merely began to take Marge’s blond strands out of their rag curlers.

“No, you should have your hair undone.” the actress proclaimed, “And your top button, too.”

“Julie!“ Marge gasped, somehow it all felt so very likely, with him possibly downstairs, maybe in the elevator now, all their naughty little girls chats suddenly leaving the realm of hypothetical at the likelihood of Gale actually seeing that extra sliver of skin in mere moments.

“Marge.” Julie gave it back to her, fingers insistent on the silk, “It’s up to you to welcome him home.” she preached with girlish simplicity, “And as you’re not home yourself, you must make do, bring home with you.”

“How?” Marge stressed.

“There is nothing more domestic than a lady in a carefully crafted state of repose.”

“There’s not?”

“No, there’s not. ‘Me? Just rolled outta bed to welcome ya honey!’ See?” Julie parroted her alter ego with a little shimmy that sent her own curves jiggling beneath the shiny fabric in such a blatant way that even Marge had to admit she had a point. “Besides,” she added with practicality that sounded very much parroted from Marge herself, “we don’t have time and there’s nothing sexy or welcoming about a woman struggling into her house dress.”

“Ohhh shooo!” Marge began to hit at her when another knock sounded.

“Oh god.” Julie vocalized for her, squeezing Marge’s hand encouragingly, “It’ll be him.” she rallied.

“Yes.” Marge set her chin firmly and having plucked up her bravery, strode to the door purposefully. Somehow it felt like a doubt unworthy of their love for her to use the peephole, so without even a moment's delay in turning the handle, Marge flung wide the suite door and stared back at the two men outside in the hall.

He was pale as spector, those dear and onetime soft features nearly gaunt from deprivation, a criss-cross of purpling scars cutting across parchment skin; but the eyes were the same, sunken and dulled as they were, the same soul stared back at her and the thread between them held firm.

“Marge?” that voice was just as deep and thrilling and homey as she remembered, it had melted her belly and filled her with devotion from his first greeting in Texas. She had not stood a chance, not then and not now.

She was throwing her silk clad self against his filthy overcoat before she could fully comprehend anything else beyond it being him -it was him.

“Gale, Gale, Gale it’s you!” Marge panted in his embrace, the heavy feeling of his hand cradling her head a long imagined thing that winded her in reality.

Julie stood back mildly stunned. She fiddled with her own turban, having forgotten to see to her own appearance. If watching Capra and Bergman hurt so good this- this was bone deep beauty that hurt like a hundred little cuts soothed by a warm bath. Major Cleven was muttering about dirt and redefining what missing her meant into something eternal and something else comparing Marge to angels.

Julie and Herb exchanged the communicative glance of well satisfied colleagues over the lovebirds’ shoulders. If she looked hard she thought she could see commiseration in his face, too. It was intolerable, and she turned her back on the scene and fumbled on the bureau for her cigarette case. The latch was being pesky, it made a clatter as she tried to wrestle it open on the tortoiseshell table top. She’d dropped the thing one too many times, and now the latch was busted just so that it was a bore to get it open.

“Miss Turner.” her real name spoken by a man made her jump, all the more so as he was so close behind her, suddenly deep into the suite as Julie had let too many moments go in her fight with the case.

Julie braced herself on the bureau and turned round to give Major Cleven his deserved smile. He really was as beautiful and ethereal as Marge talked of, recognizing in him some matching features to her own made her want to giggle in embarrassed disbelief at Egan’s obvious preferences. But her quips and greetings died on her tongue at his intense stare, a pink flush making it into his sallow cheeks the longer he looked at her and she recalled how he had seen her picture. But still he held her gaze and behind him Marge looked encouragingly expectant, and as if he could feel his girl’s prodding, he rallied.

“Miss Turner I-“ Gale Cleven looked at a loss for a brief moment, “-for everything! Thank you, for everything.”

“Why, whatever for? I-“ Julie’s batting little laugh was smothered by a sudden and engulfing hug of her own, and while she’d endured and repaid many a hug from soldiers and men alike, this one was different. “Oh Major Cleven, it’s alright, it’s a joy really.” She patted at his back and tried to grin back at Marge’s watery eyed happiness. Herb had gratefully closed the door behind the bedraggled major.

“You saved his life, ya know?” Cleven had pulled away suddenly, very emphatic hands on her shoulders and Julie caught a glimpse of something fatherly like she’d only imagined. “You’re what kept him going.”

“Did he-“ Julie felt her voice grow thin, in aggravation she about stomped her foot in his embrace, “-did he hear? I tried to send messages after-“

“He heard, ‘em.” Gale’s little nod shook her, too.

“He did?” Some chipped and unsettled hope was suddenly falling right into place in her heart, cemented and sure, “He did. But, he’s not with you?” she couldn’t help the little beg.

Cleven’s face fell and so did his hands. Marge approached them, feeling a presentiment. “What happened?”

“We planned to make a run for it together.” Cleven sounded guilty as hell, “Had to be that night. Two went over the wall just fine and I was following and he was behind and they spotted us.” If Julie could have found it in herself to hate him, the wretched look he flashed her would have compelled forgiveness on the spot, “He told me to go -and I did. And I heard shots after and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Stunned, not at all expecting something of that nature, Julie clung to her furniture a little harder and tried to lean on that newly fastened hope in her heart. They had been connected all this time, she had felt it and now Gale had confirmed it and, she may be insane for it but- “It’s alright, we don’t know, which means we don’t know anything bad either.”

“Yes!” Marge’s voice was a little overly emphatic for the quiet moment, “That’s true! Nothing bad.”

“I know he’d take care of himself,” Gale offered, “-he has been. Just for you. Only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow.”

“Then I think,” Julie dared, feeling her cheeks growing hot and wet, this night being altogether too much to pretend at something close to sanity when with dear friends, “I think we’d know, don’t you? Me and you, we'd

know if he wasn't ... here anymore."

Gale looked at her like she was crazy but at the same time, understanding unfurled behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to relying on feelings like this, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know they were real.

Julie meant it, and believing it made some loathsome part of himself calm under the comfort of it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I think we would.”

“Now!” Julie clapped her hands, Lana’s mask coming to smooth her face and brighten her smile, it wasn’t fair to Gale or to Marge to make this a somber evening, late as it was -this was Paris! The Ritz! If a celebration couldn’t be had and comforts procured, where could they be? “What we do have on our hands -is you! And you look as if you could use a burger and coke and a bath! And I’ve got all of them here, don’t argue, don’t you dare, Marge deserves to see you fed and moderately clean, don’t you think?”

Put that way, as a service to someone else, Gale Cleven only had weak thanks and pale rebuttals about needing to be at the newly rebuilt airport outside the city to get back to Thorpe Abbots tomorrow. He was still enthralled to military time, he hadn’t counted on this, not at all, but it didn’t change things-

“I’ve got a valet, Major, he could get you to Siberia tomorrow if you needed. Now hush, I’ve rung for food. Where are they? Herb! Herb!”

“It’s best to just go with it.” Marge teased him as he catatonically watched the starlet boss about the waiters and her valet, bewildered and bamboozled at the sudden luxury. The sudden proximity of his girl, too.

Suddenly there was nothing else on his mind but one thing, “You said yes.” he reminded in the middle of the chaos swirling around them.

“Yeah,” Marge’s dimples popped, “yeah I did.”

“You still of that mind?” he nudged closer, noses brushing and he was aware that he was filthy, but she was magnetic and willing.

“You’d have to drop off the earth to get out of this one, Major Cleven.”

Gale refused to sit on anything while Julie and Marge fed him from a sumptuous buffet off the cart. He swore he was too dirty to even stand in such a nice place like this but he was also shaky, pale and in dire need of food and with two little blondes plying him with the first bits of American cuisine he’d had in years, he wavered and stayed. His insistence on going to his original billet grew weaker with each passing moment as Marge smiled at him and fed him fries. By the time Herb had been sent down to inform Major Cleven’s jeep driver that his passenger was lost to welcoming arms, Gale had quite forgotten much of anything beyond the feel of a full stomach and the promise of a bath.

For a long time he sat in the cold porcelain shell and ran the water over himself, such a terrible amount of filth and grim didn’t deserve a bath, it would turn even his hardened stomach to sit in the juices of a year and a half’s captivity. So after being shooed by Julie Jean into her intolerably bright and ornate en-suite bathroom, complete with a star’s assortment of toiletries and the bunny’s monogrammed food and water bowls, Gale gingerly let his ratty clothes fall to the marble floor and stepped into the tub.

Over the roar of the faucet he was unaware of the tittering whispers at the door -still slightly ajar and unlatched as Julie Jean was nothing if not a little wicked. And concerned.

“People drown in bathtubs where I come from all the time!” She refuted Marge’s scandalized objections.

“Yes, because they’re pickled with booze!”

“After what he’s been through he’s in about as good of shape.”

Marge knew that statement wasn’t false exactly but her hand still fluttered over her belly in nervousness at the impropriety. “Alright.” she went with it, breathlessly anxious and a little flustered at the blurry something beyond that chink in the hinge.

“Aren’t you going to peak?” Julie unfolded the rest of her play with an alarming smirk. “Come on, he’s going to marry you, how many times will you see him in his natural state at the ritz?”

It wasn’t fair to put it like that, to remind Marge she was living on borrowed fairytale time. It was a deep seated fear she had shared with Julie once as they had the covers tucked up to their chin’s and their hearts out on their pillow cases -that she woke sometimes with a feeling of terrifying urgency and nothing but regrets for a laundry list of bypassed chances she had not taken. Upon waking further and regaining some sanity, she couldn’t for the life of her recall what these fateful omissions that startled her so badly had even been. But times like these, when she went to be good but then was asked if that really was worth her time, such urgency crept back, nagging. “Go on then.” Julie slipped aside, her battle won as Marge surrendered and delicately placed her cheek against the door frame, an eye to the crack.

She had spent many nights imagining the whole of Gale, a beautiful back she had only seen beneath drab olive, the nipped waist and the lanky legs that sent his trousers on a mile long spill of fabric. Her breath hitched at the pale expanse now before her, each proportion how she lovingly recalled but this time without obstruction or disguise, a strange dichotomy: the youthful taper and swell of his backside jarring with stark ribs and a mottle of ugly bruises and festered creases. She didn’t know if her gasp came from desire or commiseration, jerking her face back from the sliver of light as Gale turned his head sharply, as if feeling her observation even as the water had hid her inadvertent noise. Either uncaring or convinced he was mistaken, she watched as Gale stepped into his tub and promptly sank his head beneath the splash.

Julie watched Marge as she watched Gale and she wondered if this is what it was like in fairytales when the gates of the kingdom are thrown open, everything wanted and wished for is there. The protagonists never know what to do with a dream come true, do you eat it? Fondle, crush, preserve it in a glass case? Such a cruel kindness, dreams that come true; Marge’s twitching fingers and gasping lips suggested a torture going on inside her, heavy lidded love and belly hot want.

Julie swore to herself then, she’d feel it too. Soon, she’d be watching the man who owned the jacket as he showed her himself, just as he’d written his heart out for her eyes alone, one day soon he’d be naked and hers and she could watch him and do what people do with dreams.

Perhaps feeling vindictive for being ignored, or perhaps merely thirsty, Spangles suddenly made a series of determined little hops across the suite floor, threaded the blockade of the girls’ feet with ease and, perhaps seeing his chance, nudged open the crack of the bathroom door only to bounce along the marble floor in a cacophonous clatter of little paws that even Gale could hear over the faucet’s roar. Like a slippery fish, he skidded to his side along the bottom of the wide tub, a pink, bath-warmed hand clutching at the edge and hauling his sopping head above the lip to observe his long eared visitor -and the guilty little audience of girls in their night clothes at the threshold.

The look he leveled Marge made Julie’s toes tingle and second guess how chaste these two’s reportedly tame trysts pre-war had really been. “We merely wanted to make sure you didn’t-“ Marge clasped and unclasped her hands, “-drown.” it was a deflated little excuse by the time she got it out.

Spangles had begun to sneeze, ever sensitive to steam and Yardley’s lavender soap, his poor little legs skidding apart further and further on the damp floor. Gale bit his lip from laughing at the cute little creature’s plight.

“Oh laa!” Julie gave up all pretense and entered to save him -the bunny, that is- causing Gale to flail a little harder as if there was a deeper level to the bottom of his tub where he could take refuge. “Add in the bubbles, Major,” Julie always had a remedy, “it’ll hide everything nicely. Don’t ruin poor Marge’s first evening with you by being a prude, she misses you. It’s been years, you know.”

They spent much of that evening in the following way, Gale in his topped off tub, Marge with a mostly useless cloth beside him on the ledge, and Julie primly sat with Spangles in her lap on the closed toilet seat.

“Bucky’s confirmed as best man.” He told Marge, sheepish grin breaking out until both girls laughed at the thought of the boys indulging in their own wedding planning.

He tells them about the radio he built, about the first time they heard her broadcasts, of the photo she’d sent which Bucky and him divided in half each keeping their girl in their pocket,

about Brady and the liturgy of devotion he made up for Egan to recite to Julie’s printed picture on the combine wall. The particulars were left out, Gale being a gentleman to the last, but Julie glowed and wept under the obtuse assurance anyway.

“I trust you kept him warm.” Julie demands, “Seeing as how it’s your fault he didn’t take his jacket.”

Gale tells her of Egan’s presumptuous bunk sharing, how strange things were happening every day and that grew to be commonplace. At her inquiring look he only blushes and stares down at the water, the bruise on his throat blooming under the flush, and for once Julie thinks she knows Gale Cleven better than his Marge.

“I’ve gotta be on that flight tomorrow early!” Gale had just enough energy left to fret even as he was led in a fluffy terry cloth robe to the sofa and made to lay down on fluffed pillows under a velvet duvet.

“Don’t worry about it major, I’ve got everything sorted. We’re coming with you.” Julie insisted, without having even discussed it with anyone as it didn’t require it -of course they’d be going to England with him! And no, she had nothing sorted but as soon as she had Gale deposited on the sofa with Marge’s hands entwined with his from her place on the floor, Julie Jean sent for Herb and summarily entrusted him with sorting it.

“Before seven thirty am tomorrow, please.”

Alone in bed, as Marge had made a poor showing of joining her only to go “check on his breathing” and predictably not returned, Julie lay awake and thought of John. Fat, hot tears rolled out the corner of her eyes and into her ears, tickling her, making a miserable spot on her pillow. Whispering prayers with her eyes on the skyline, she begged him to stay alive for her. “We’re so close, sweet man. We are so close and I love you too much.”

By next morning Herb did indeed have things sorted. Or close to it. There was a small hitch. “Mr. Huston is confused by your change of plans.” Herb informed her as he oversaw the bellman with the last of the trunks. He had ensured Major Cleven’s threadbare uniform had been cleaned and pressed in the night, and when Gale appeared out the en-suite bathroom this morning he looked a modicum closer to how Marge recalled him shipping out.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Julie asked, feeling cross and dreadful suddenly.

“He asked to hear it from you. Room 608.”

“Well I, I suppose I should run by it and then we can be on our way.” Julie decided with brave sprightliness, fixing the little net on her hat to cover more than just her eyes.

“We’ll go with you.” Marge decided with forceful kindness; her pull on his arm was all the command Gale needed not to protest.

“Who’s Huston?” he asked as the elevator whirled them one floor higher.

“My business partner in the broadcast.” Julie replied, “And the man paying for this excursion. I suppose he’d like to make certain I’ve not gone looney.”

Mr. Huston’s cuban valet opened the door and behind him, despite the fresh morning hour, was a scene out of one of Gatsby’s parties. Multiple women in little clothing and a significant amount of discarded booze littered the place, and Huston, smoking a cigarette and flicking through the paper, did not even bother to leave his perch against the headboard. Julie suddenly felt as if she were seeing the scene through newcomers eyes and her face burned to be associated with it.

“Jack.” She greeted, knowing that despite how he had moved on for the most part, he would have teased her maliciously for trying to distance herself in front of her friends.

“Baby.” He flopped down his newspaper, “What’re you doing in here wearin’ tweeds? You know how I hate tweed, does nothing for your assets. God take off that jacket and pour a drink -who’re your friends?”

Julie clutched the donned sheepskin even tighter and could almost sense Gale Cleven shifting from one foot to the other, a loose stance of being on guard. “This is Major Cleven of the mighty eighth, and you know my dear friend Marge -she’s is his fiancé.”

“Ah, a fellow airman!” Jack perked up, rising off the bed with his full chest on display under a gaping embroidered robe and approached Cleven with a smug sense of equality. He stuck out his hand and Gale made him wait five whole seconds before he returned the grip, tightly. “Pleasure, Major.”

“Do I know your squadron?” He drawled.

“Oh, I’m an observer mostly. But I’ve seen some combat.” Jack didn’t have a group, those wings on his uniform meant about as much as Lana’s broach collection in regard to brave service.

It was like Gale could smell the costume party off him, and Lana admired him immensely for that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Pacific theater mainly”

Gale was smiling sympathetically and it was the most unsettling thing Marge had ever seen, and it satisfied something deep inside her that had loathed Huston since she first met him in the lobby ten days ago, his hand encroaching down her back and his language towards Lana so territorially possessive it gave the impression of her friend being a collectors item instead of flesh and blood.”Heard it was real windy on those atolls.” Gale remarked.

Huston’s smile wavered but only in confusion, no shard of doubt finding its way into his mind that it was derision curling Gale’s lip. “So- London?”

“East Anglia, actually.” Julie dared, “Major Cleven is in need of a ride” that wasn’t exactly true but “and I thought it would mean a great deal to give him a lift.” After a lengthy pause where Jack just stared at her with a smokescreen between them from his cigarette she added, “Great press, too.”

“You soft hearted little dolt.” Jack barked a laugh and it made Julie jump like all his rash emotions did, he pinched her cheek and tickled her ribs right beneath the swell of herbrassier as he went around her to his desk. “Ok, ok, you can have it. I’ll swing by to collect it and maybe get some footage for the documentary. What’s your group?” he asked Cleven.

“100th.”

“Oh, hell, I’ll definitely be swinging by.” Huston whistled, mind already ablaze with prospective press. “And you,” he pointed at Julie with his checkbook poised like a loaded gun, “better find something to do over there besides playing chauffeuring cupid, something that’ll make your mother think you aren’t going off script.” Julie gave him a frantic nod as victory was in sight and he went on, “But I’ll definitely be swinging by, I’ll pick you up, we’ll go back home out of London. Say, first week of May.”

Julie had no capacity to argue with her benefactor and meekly accepted his proffered momentary advance. She could only pray that John Egan would be in East Anglia by then, and she’d know something of her future: whether ‘home’ would depend on men such a Huston and their fickle lust or a steady ever after with an honest man like John.

“Thanks Jack I-I-I won’t forget t-this.” she managed, before they all dashed out the suite, Cleven having to be pulled from measuring up his seedy benefactor, and down to the taxi stand -England bound.

————————————————

Harry Crosby was taking sharp turns down the long runway at a pace and tempo Rosie Rosenthal did not find suitable but they made it alright, just as the anomaly of a jet came to a full stop on the runway, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the utilitarian bombers stacked alongside on the hardstands. When the radio tower had gotten buzzed for landing instructions from a foreign craft everyone had gone a little bizerk with speculation, but the pilot himself put them out of their suspense when he told Kidd that his cargo included The Lana Tierney and a Major Gale Cleven.

Harry had raced Rosie down the stairs to the nearest jeep and had begun to accelerate before his friend even fully landed in shotgun. Now they were just in time to see the hatch opened and the lanky and familiar figure of Gale Cleven drop to the tarmac in a graceful crouch.

“Harry!” He greeted as he straightened, his voice robust even if his constitution appeared battered by captivity, “They still got you at this dump?”

“Fresh outta the stalag Major,” Harry gave him grief back, “and getting dropped off on base in a private plane with Lana Tierney?”

“Yeah,” Rosie added, “What kinda war you been runnin’ anyway?”

Gale laughed off their backslapping greetings before suddenly recollecting, “Oh, right I forget. Ladies?” and turned back to offer his arms for Marge to take and he swung her gently to the ground.

“Boys, this is Marge.”

“Of course it is.” Harry admired with a hand outstretched to shake hers before he peered up into the plane, not being disappointed when he caught sight of a pair of ever so delicate ankles. “Holy mackerel, it is Bucky’s girl.” he blurted loudly as Lana’s angelic face peered back at him, as pristine and fuckable as her photographs but the delectable whole of her was swathed in Egan’s goddamn sheepskin.

“Aren’t you pretty.” Julie Jean admired Crosby right back, liking him immensely already for the fact he recognized her as Bucky’s girl. “Are you also strong?”

“I- I mean, sorta, not as much as-“ Harry stammered before realizing her meaning and so stretched out his arms to be of use, “allow me, Miss Tierney.” he helped her to the ground with a swing that was perhaps the most graceful of his life, gods be good. She was holding a little white bunny and Harry was instantly charmed.

“Thank you.” she kissed his flaming cheek.

“Who’s this?” Harry pet back the floppy ears, if only to have something to do besides gawk, he knew he needed to not gawk at Johnny Egan’s girl in Johnny Egan’s coat even if the girl in the coat was about as mouthwateringly perfect as—

“This,” Julie proclaimed with all the pride of a mother, “is Spangles.”

“You guys weren’t joking when you said Major Egan was pen pals with Lana Tierney?” Rosenthal shot Cleven a bewildered look.

“No, we weren’t.” Gale agreed.

“We should get you situated again.” Crosby rallied after Lana had sent Major Rosenthal siren red from a cheek kiss of his own, Harry was still vibrating under Lana’s assessing looks and the fond weight of her hand in the crook of his elbow, “We did not expect the company of ladies but I’m sure something could be sorted and uh, well, uh, we’ve got your billet, Major and we’ve got your footlocker. Bucky wouldn't let us ship it back to your folks. He kept saying ‘I expect him back.’ Heh, yeah he said his buddy was just MIA is all. Yeah.” Crosby trailed off before asking in a watery voice, “He not make it with you in the breakout? He ok?”

Julie watched Gale’s face go wretched again, truth dangling off his tongue too close to a damnable thing and she gently cut in for him, “He’s alive.” was all she supplied. “When have you ever known Major Egan or Major Cleven to leave behind their boys without either one of them?”

Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously close to tears before he gave a curt nod that so poorly disguised his emotion Julie immediately felt a kinship to him, “Probably just laggin’ behind, primpin’ his mustache for ya. He’ll be here in no time when he catches wind of our esteemed visitor.” Harry had also gone a little drunk under the influence of Julie’s perfume and Rosenthal had to admit it made him a little charming even if the balance could tip into cringeworthy at any moment.

“Oooh a Jeep ride.” instead Julie bounced Spangles gleefully in anticipation of utilizing the boy's regular mode of conveyance, taking a seat between Rosenthal and Crosby, the gearshift between her legs much to Harry’s driving distraction so that- “Gale and Marge can canoodle in peace” in the backseat.

Harry took the scenic route to Cleven’s old barracks, perhaps to give Gale and Marge more time, to brush Julie’s knee more often in shifting down or out of genuine desire to show her each storied handstand and Nissen hut. Probably a mixture of all three knowing Crosby. But the end result was Julie pink cheeked and wide eyed as a child, soaking in every bit of lore about the man she loved and never recalled, a hanky dabbing at errant tears now and again and Spangles being happily allowed to roam between her lap and Rosenthal’s.

Near the end of their little tour they stopped at one hard stand where Major Cleven seemed close to beside himself in joy to reunite with one of the mechanics, there were two children lagging about as well, civilians and Gale was very eager for them to meet his Marge. Not wishing to be aloof, Julie alighted as well and extended her hand to each of the ground crew, learning of their contributions and their marital status. There was a giggly stir amongst the group when suddenly a bouncing ball of fur attacked Gale from the back, bouncing on hind legs and nipping joyfully, it would appear the loving assailant was an overgrown husky.

“Meatball.” Gale sounded about as fond as he had when he first saw Marge and it made the girls titter behind their gloved hands.

Meatball, having exhausted his greeting of his old friend, turned to inspect the other newcomers, licking at Marge’s outstretched hand before turning with great interest to Julie. She was also inclined to stretch out her hand to him and give the pretty baby a good ear scratch when a sudden perk in the husky's face warned of a different interest: Spangles. If Gale had not noticed at the same time, there might have been a rather gruesome outcome but between Julie’s careful pivot with her precious rabbit and Gale’s strong restraint on Meatball’s collar, both pets lived to be reconciled another day.

“Guess we’re gonna have to train him not to think of Spangles as dinner.” Rosie laughed.

Their final stop was at Buck’s old hut, average in every way from the outside as the next cylindrical skinned hut, muddy path outside that the boys kindly spared the ladies by carrying them to the threshold, even if they protested they weren’t scared of a mired heel. Julie walked up and down the rows of beds, feeling the chilly air inside the metal shelter, footlocker names catching her eye as she scanned them. Somewhere behind her Gale was opening his footlocker, sounds of Marge’s pleased murmurs over finding her picture there reaching Julie from the end of the row. They deserved a minute to themselves and Julie had a specific thing she was searching for.

“Lookin’ for something in particular?” Crosby’s kind voice was very near her.

Julie turned and gave the mild mannered major a soft smile, shrugging her shoulders and her bunny before admitting her sentimentality, “I was trying to find John’s bunk. Felt like I might- know it somehow. But I’ve come up at a loss.”

“Oh he wasn’t in here.” Harry informed her, he always seemed beyond eager to talk about Egan and it warmed her, “He was with the 418th, you know, so he bunked with his boys. When he bunked at all.” He added as an afterthought and Julie’s mind went to all the letters she’d gotten from John dated with a slash between entries, as he wasn’t sure which date to sign as he began most of them at night and finished them at dawn. “Though he hung out here plenty to be with Buck and the other way around.” Harry added.

“Do you, do you think-“ Julie began, feeling shy despite how moderate she knew her request was.

“Wanna see his bunk?” Harry lept at her unspoken desire, “We kept his footlocker, too. We were all too scared to open it after he’d threatened us about your property in it.” Crosby’s creasing cheeks were flaming pink and Julie wanted to pinch them, then he went on, “And for the same reason we hated to send it to his mother. I mean, who knows what was in there, I mean, you’d know what but, I’m not saying there’s anything bad I just, we just-“

“Major Crosby, Harry, I’d love to see it.” Julie took his arm and he swallowed his tongue to shush himself, “Have you got the key?”

“I know a man with the keys.” Harry demurred his own influence yet his smile was sly.

“Major Crosby,” she murmured again as they slipped away from Gale and Marge’s preoccupied chat on his bunk and back out into a misting afternoon, the jeep left for them by a considerate Rosenthal, “I want it known I like you very much.”

Another metal hut. Nothing remarkable from the rest, but to Julie, stepping inside with Crosby at discrete hovering distance, it felt as hallowed as a cathedral. He stood here, he slapped this doorframe, knocked his fool head on that beam, paced a hell of a furrow between these bunks. Crosby had been generous with the anecdotes on the way over, and Julie had allowed herself to pester him, he liked it she could tell, and so she knew that Major Egan spent little time in here anyway, except to occasionally sleep, to dress and to read her letters.

Three of the most intimate activities she could conjure up, one’s she’d laid in her own room and imagined him doing. Basic, human, unpretentious necessities, she imagined John at them all the time until she felt like she’d truly played voyeur: the straightening of a tie, the scratching of an itch, the bleary coming to with a face down in the pillow.

He did those things here. Crosby was scraping a hefty metal thing from under one of the nondescript beds, and with a catch in her breath Julie realized it was his footlocker. “We couldn’t bear to stow it away, all the rookies who slept here after him had to deal with it. This was Major Egan’s bunk, they were just passing through.”

All the rookies. All of them. That meant many had slept here and then, truly passed through, passed on, a fiery death and mud hard landing. Sometimes she felt like the only girl in the world who’d lost something, and then she got told of rookies passing through his bunk and she thought of their mama’s who’d never allow their rooms to become the “spare.” Those rooms would always be theirs, even if they never came back. Just like John’s bunk.

But he was coming back. He had to.

“I-I imagine you’d like a moment to go through it.” Crosby had turned the key but left it dangling there, lid ponderously shut, Egan’s threats of evisceration and testicular imbibement still hanging loudly in the air for Harry, as if not a week had gone by since the last threat. No one looks into Major Egan’s footlocker.

“Yes, I would.” Julie whispered.

“Think you can manage the lid?” Harry hoped she’d not ask him to open it for her, that was too close to losing his balls for comfort. Jean needed them.

“I think I can.” Her voice was weak and her hands a little shaky but she wanted it, and what she wanted she always managed to find strength for. “I’d like to spend a little time in his bunk. Just -just to think of him.” she found herself saying, forgetting to blush under Crosby’s understanding gaze.

“Of course.” he didn’t bat an eye. “I-I could, I could take Spangles for you.”

A laugh bubbled out, “Why, you think I’ll need both hands?” Julie teased.

“Major Egan always did.” Crosby teased right back and Julie never would have suspected so puppyish a man could wear so lewd a look, it made her heart flip flop pleasantly.

“Shh, you’re awful!” She swatted at him with a beaming smile that she knew did the opposite of discourage him. “Take care of him, and get him somewhere warm.” she charged him with her pet, handing over the dear bunny.

“The officer’s club is two huts down.” Harry told her, “Turn right and it’s the second hut, you can’t miss it. Silver Wings. You’ll need to warm up too and that’s where we’ll be.”

“Alright.” she muttered and watched him leave before the slam of the door confirmed her as alone in vast space. It was chillingly sterile and looming as she turned to his footlocker in desperate need of something less monotonous and impersonal.

The lid was heavy and it had his name printed nearly on it. She kissed the C that stood for Clarence -what kind of middle name was that for a young buck anyways? It made her choke on her laugh before she bruised her fingertips by forcing the metal open. It was well stocked, all various sorts of items one might find in any man’s footlocker, soap that she had already become intimate with the scent of from the fleece of his jacket, a baseball, ever so many playing cards, razors, photographs of what she assumed were his family, a brown parcel that screamed of his mother so she left it untouched and books. A lot of books.

Guys and Dolls by Runyon was on top. He’d said that he was reading it in one of his last letters. She put it on the bunk. And then took out another book, and another, admiring the breadth of his taste, the way knowledge was balanced with humor in the collection, just like him. At the bottom of them she found an odd little wrapped thing in silk that her heart whispered was the thing it was secretly pacing its beats for.

His scarf came undone under her cold fingers and from its little makeshift bundle her envelopes poured out. Not a single one unaccounted for. She scooped them up and sat on the bed, allowing them to fan out, testimony and evidence of how much she cared, confession and declarations inside that could damn her a thousand lifetimes over.

-I love you.

That was the only line missing in them. Oh how she hoped he knew it. One envelope was an oddity. Blank, not from her, conspicuously fresh and unbattered by the postal system. She opened it and with a zap of arousal spied her photographs inside. She took them with her as she carefully laid back on the pillow. Sheets had been changed, pillows no doubt swapped, it wasn’t his bunk in more than metal and history but she laid there and held up the black and white prints and imagined him doing the same. The way her figure silhouetted against the hut’s curving ceiling, the patter of rain on the metal roof, the dismal gray light filtering through.

The fact he’d found inspiration to write her such stirring things from so blank a place suggested what kind of mind he had and she had ached, ached for him to not be restrained to suggesting only, but to doing, acting on every wickedly wonderful impulse his pen had confided. The throb grew so badly she wept, clutching and creasing the photographs to her breasts -they were so worn from his constant tracing and kissing and sticky with his smearing that a few more bends would be of no consequence. She pressed them to her face, wondering if she could smell his appreciation off the lewder ones. She could not, if she were being honest, but she felt her nose smudge against something tacky and imagined swallowing.

At the Silver Wings, Harry was trying to recollect if he’d ever been so popular. Maybe when he returned from Breman, they’d all slapped his back and joked about his charting them into a tree and they’d all meant it so admiringly he’d finally felt like he belonged a bit. But that was mostly Ev’s day, as it should have been. And then he’d been promoted, and he’d sent all his friends off into hell, and now days no one but the bartender and Rosie cared for him here as much as he’d have liked.

He should have brought a white rabbit with him sooner.

“The hell did you get that from?” Ev asked him, more intrigued than shocked at this point in the war, little bunny rabbits were a mild apparation.

“This is Spangles Egan.” Crosby informed him, being obtuse just to prove he could be funny when he wanted.

“Egan?” Jack barked from beside the bar, “Who’s naming their pets after Bucky?”

Harry grinned, “Well see, it’s his girl’s rabbit. Which makes it sorta their rabbit. Which means it’s an Egan.”

Ev didn’t look impressed but Jack just looked ever more concerned.

“Lana Tierney is on base and this belongs to her.” Harry finally fessed up although his original explanation still stood as true in his mind.

A repetition of her name and “Acorn? the Acorn?” rose up in the club, a battle between acorns and their varied associations rising up between the old timers, who recalled movie night with John Egan, and the youngsters, who’d spent their recent nights with an ear pinned to her broadcasts.

“Yeah, the ACORN.” Harry confirmed as both stood.

By the time Julie Jean had wiped her cheeks of tears and carefully folded her letters into her coat pocket for safe keeping, snapped the lid of his dear locker and set her sights for the outdoors, she had her face back in place: by the time she entered the Silver Wings, she was everything those service boys had ever dreamed of.

Platinum and cherry lipped and ever so thrilled to see and hug each and every one, Lana Tierney was well and truly in the house and those who knew it whispered amongst themselves about “Bucky’s girl.”

Upon meeting Jack Kidd he received a smattering of kisses on his face as she thanked him endlessly for sending her his jacket.

His laconic, “Glad it made it, ma’am.” was perhaps a little thicker than usual.

The newer arrivals couldn’t share any stories they personally had with Major Egan but they were more than happy to share stories told to them regarding the leader. Like how he paid off that one farmer after Meatball slaughtered his chicken. Or how he let a man from the village throw a dart at the apple above his head. From then on it continued and Lana delighted in hearing stories of her man told over and over again, of the impact he carried with these brave men and the life he brought to the crew. She sat in the middle of all of them as they regaled her with tale after tale, and she only wished he was there to tell the story from his perspective. She was sure he would have the most vibrant commentary.

“… told me he’ll buy me a jacket just like his,” one of the boys was telling Lana when Gale and Marge entered the Silver Wings. They were both flushed and her lipstick was on the collar of his jacket. “Major Cleven!” The soldier stood to attention at the sight of his superior being back.

Gale patted him on the shoulder, “At ease, soldier. And don’t go buying another ugly jacket like his. One on base is enough.”

“Major Egan said it’s about how one wears it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Gale returned, looking over how it currently cocooned Lana’s form. He took in the sight of her surrounded by over a handful of young boys and men, all eyes gawking at her and vying for her attention. Even Ev Blakely was seated beside her with his chin propped on his fist. He looked close to a lovesick idiot. “Now I’m sure you boys don’t want me telling Bucky you were all over his woman while he’s away. I trust you are being polite and proper and nothing else.”

Once again Lana beamed at being labeled as Bucky’s woman or Bucky’s girl. She had never felt so damn proud than in those moments; not even the achievements of Lana Tierney compared. If it was up to her she would gladly belong to Bucky Egan for the rest of her life.

But she also couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it felt to be there without him. He was supposed to be the one showing her the base. He would have loved to invite her to his bunk. He would take her to his favorite pub and introduce her as his girl to all the people in his life and having to do any of those greetings and events without him was only managing to further break her heart. Bucky would be so proud to show her around; she wouldn’t take that chance from him. As much as possible, she’d save that for him or not have it at all.

“Rosenthal says he knows a family who can put you and Marge up in the countryside,” Gale informed her. “They’re real big fans of you, he says. It only takes about twenty minutes to get there and back so you ladies can come down to base any time or, uh - I could go visit up there, as well.”

His cheeks tinted pink at his last admission, like anyone would bat an eye at Gale Cleven taking a day’s leave to visit his girl after everything he had recently endured. Julie Jean had half a mind to lock Gale and Marge in a room and let them have at each other, all propriety and waiting for marriage be damned. She didn’t begrudge their beliefs one bit, she saw the passion the two carried for one another and although she had never been in her Johnny’s presence, she knew all the longing and desire and love she had for him would have her undressing and bowing before him in seconds. She would gladly kneel before her man and knowing John Egan would just as happily do the same, settled any feelings of womanly resentment or weakness. Gale and Marge’s pent up passion made one wonder at the fire and electricity that would erupt their wedding night. Julie felt hot under the sheepskin collar simply thinking about it.

“I’m sure Marge would love having you come, sir,” she cajoled, patting the fist he rested on the table between them. Gale didn’t seem all too amused by her sentiments as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, hush! I mean coming to visit. Get your mind outta the gutter, Buck Cleven!”

Gale sent her a look that said he didn’t believe a word out her lying little rosebud of a mouth. She was all mischievous passion under the dusting of make-up.

“Uh huh. I’m going to have my hands full with you and Bucky,” he states with a head nod, like he’s already resigning himself to the fact. There’s a comment on the tip of Julie Jean’s tongue - something about how happy Bucky would be to fill Buck’s hands and how she’s sure he’d enjoy watching Buck touch Julie - but she bites it back. She means no disrespect towards Marge and her loyalty is only to Johnny. She’s also no idiot and the love the boys carry for one another knows no bounds or familiarity, yet, if they wanted to choose to be blind and ignore it, who was she to step in on what they had going on?

Her eyes settled on the bruise on his neck once more and Gale seemed to feel her looking, tucking his neck further into the collar of his coat. Julie Jean bit back a smile. She didin’t want Bucky’s best friend to think of her as mean.

“John Egan is my best friend,” Gale started suddenly, and for a moment Julie Jean wondered if this is where he professes his love for the man or if he was going to interrogate her on behalf of his best friend’s best interests. Turned out to be the latter. “He’s got a real big heart, Bucky. Wears it on his sleeve and gives and gives and never expects anything different than what you give him back in return.” Gale had pondered that a lot over the years. How Bucky was always so openly affectionate and loud in his love and trust in their friendship and how Buck never managed to give that back to him until the end during the train ride. Curt was like that too and Buck wonders if that’s why the two men clicked so easily and never shied away from any of the jokes or weird looks. “If you aren’t here to stay, Miss Turner -” and by stay they were both aware he meant for forever. “- then maybe you shouldn’t be here when John gets back.”

Julie Jean clocked Marge at the center of the club, preoccupied under the arm of Douglass as he no doubt regaled her with stories of their brave Majors, and for Buck to stay away from Marge -she wondered how long he had been planning to say this. Waiting for a moment of privacy to lay it out on the table and not upset Marge while doing so, because this was between them.

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings with you when Bucky himself hasn’t had the chance to hear them,” she admited, tears burning the back of her eyes again. She took in a deep breath. “He had to have known though, right? Be honest with me, you know him better than anyone and he loves you the most and you him. Do you think he knew, Buck?”

Once again Gale wondered what on earth John must have written in his letters for this woman to understand and suspect the deep nature of their relationship so completely. It was just like him - a stone in Gale’s shoe even when he wasn’t aware.

There was a hope in her glistening eyes that Gale was aware can be crushed by him. He’d never felt so much like father than he did now.

He had no interest in hurting this sweet woman who embraced John and Gale and Marge exactly for who they are. This selfless woman who he was so thankful brought Marge to Paris. A gorgeous woman who kept John mildly sane in the camp when there was no hope - an, admittedly, tempting woman as Buck recalled the photo he picked up from the floor all those years ago. His thumb pressed against her black and white nipples -it had a flush setting in and he had to avert his gaze.

“He knew, Julie. He knows.” Truth of the matter is, Gale knew John was aware. John, who was self deprecating and going crazy stuck in the camp, with not enough sky or land to keep him occupied but who woke up every day and tried to stay alive and out of trouble because of a pinky swear he had made to the woman sitting across from Gale currently. John was frightened and he fought against believing it at his darkest times but Gale remembers times when John would stand too close to the fence and guards would point their guns, images of John getting pushed and provoked but one thing always brought him back from that point of no return. Julie Jean Turner. If John didn’t believe he had love to return, he wouldn’t have bothered.

Julie released a breath neither realized she’d been holding waiting for his response.

“What about your fiancé?” Buck asked.

“What about him?” Julie returned. “In my line of work, Major Cleven, a fiancee is the only guarantee against a husband. One ya don’t want. I can tell you this, there’s one man in my future, there’s only been one man since the one letter I got on the 18th, years ago. One sweet man who calls me acorn and tells me he adores me and asks me for naughty pictures in exchange for him staying alive.”

“And you’re okay with that? With him asking?”

“He doesn’t need to ask. I’d do it anyway. But he loves me so he still asks.” Sitting across from his best friend, she’m was near glowing in the love Johnny had for her. Gale wouldn’t give her the time of day if it wasn’t real.

“I’m glad we had this chat,” Julie slowly eased back into being Lana Tierney before Gale’s very eyes, a charming smile on her face with white teeth glinting behind her red stained lips, looking every bit the movie star like when he’d seen her on film or in magazines. She looked different than in the photos she sent Bucky. In those she always looked younger, vulnerable, needy even. “Now that I've got your approval I can breathe easier, Major.” She teased him and he managed a bashful smirk.

“He’s got two protective sisters and a momma who turns his world,” Buck warned in jest and that was how Marge found them at the table. Julie warm and beaming at the thought of hearing about his family and getting to meet them one day. Bucky hadn’t been shy to tell her his mom was his best friend before Buck came along and she was the only one able to keep him out of trouble.

—“Not scared of no Colonel’s or SS officer’s - they haven’t met my momma he wrote in a letter one time. She’s a one woman army.”

Julie took the conversation she had with Buck and held on to hope even when time continued passing and no word of Bucky reached them. She kept the promise she made to herself - she refused to spend any more time on base or at the officer’s club or at any spots Bucky wrote about in his letters to her, because she wanted to wait for him. Instead she spent time with the boys when they visited her and Marge at the swanky estate with the kind English family. In order to appease her mother she booked performances at local bars where they are more than happy to accommodate her and the hordes of army boys that followed her around.

The first week of May arrived and Julie found herself white knuckling her mic in anticipation of Huston showing up any minute and whisking her off. She was not sure if she was sadder about being torn away from her vigil as she was terrified of being stuck back in an enclosed plane cabin with that man for over a day. Marge too, began to fret a little on the second day of the month when Gale told her he was going to be flying mercy missions to Holland. He was too happy about and too assuring about its safety for her to question him, but it was hardly assuring with a war still on.

But Marge knew better than to show that, so she went to Thorpe to wave him off and watched him at his craft while Julie went further north to help co-host a charity event for servicemen’s families. The joy had gone out of it, worse than Paris, she used to be decent at distracting herself with the task at hand but as her days flitted by as uncaring and ephemeral as dreams, the end of the first week of May came in sight, and nothing could keep her mind off John Egan and the heartbreaking notion of not meeting him. Not even the supreme pleasure of dueting with Vera Lynn. All that honored pleasure made her think of was how much her John would have enjoyed listening to it.

Huston came on the sixth. He also left on the sixth. And he didn’t loiter at Thorpe to interview anyone. There were bigger fish to fry out near the Solomon Islands, according to him, and he was off to film it and at his side was an intrepid little secretary he’d met in Paris and thoroughly vetted in between his sheets.

Julie wondered if he’d entirely forgotten her own existence, an unlikely thing, seeing as how she was the entire reason his plane was in East Anglia, but as she was removed at a distance from Thorpe and he had a new adventure and a new lover, perhaps it was a happy case of out of sight out of mind. She breathed easier the minute she heard that he was off in a roar over to another hemisphere.

And right after, or later that evening to be precise, interrupting a charming dinner of rationed butter and plentiful pheasant, was a phone call from mother. The gig was up, in as many words, Huston had lost interest, the fiancée had only gained more and that of the suspicious sort, and mother wanted to know what on earth there was in bombed out England for Julie to find time and payment for. Julie had to list a growing set of fabricated engagements for her mother to even countenance another day spent there, working her name-dropping way up from canteens to a dazzling venue in London which gained her a hem-hawing allowance of three more days.

All the while keeping her sane and functional was one singular thought : John Egan coming home. It was terribly cruel and unfair of the world to have him be within her fingertips, to finally allow her to land in Europe, and then to take him so far away again. Sending his best friend back and leaving him behind felt like the punchline to the joke that was so obviously her heart.

Take that, the universe was saying, you still don’t get to have him, spoiled girl. In her lowest of times, right before she went on stage or nights that she spent having everyone around her praise her she wondered if fame was the price for her man. She didn’t want it either way; she wanted him always.

“Take it all away,” she prayed one night, once her tears had dried and her pillow was soaked and the smell of him on his jacket had wafted, “I only want him. I only need him.”

Meanwhile mother chided, “Have them send me the details on the honorariums, you’ve lost your head over there girl, just like I knew you would, I warned you, remember how I warned you? You’ve lost your head and you’ve grown very lax about these things. Make them send it to me before you even put your foot out for them to applaud, if it’s not top notch we aren’t doing it. And afterwards, you’re coming home and we’re getting this wedding settled. I’ve already got the dressmaker holding a nice dove gray-“

It all blended together in the end, her own lies and her mother’s requirements and in abashed desperation she had managed to plead and finagle Herb to actually book her into “something swanky in London, anything Herb, I just need it to be legitimate to stave her off!”

It was cruel torture to say goodbye to everyone at Thorpe, Julie took her sweet time with it and permitted herself to get a little sniffly about it. This prompted a flurry of produced tissues and solicitous hugs and assurances of Major Egan’s love. It made her sorely tempted to curl into a ball of sheepskin and hide in a footlocker in this nice place till doomsday -let the world try and find her if they dared.

“Send me word!” she charged Gale and Croz, gripping jacket sleeves for extra emphasis, “If he gets back -I’ll still be in London until late tomorrow. Send a telegram, call, whatever you must. Even if you just hear of him, you must tell me, you must! I’ll -I’ll change everything for him. If he comes, I’ll leave it all and come back. Tell him that.”

On the way to the airport Julie Jean only had their promises to do so reverberating in her head and Spangles on her lap to keep her warm. Croz’s eyes had been sadder than she’d ever seen them, sadder still then when he had asked Gale why Major Egan hadn’t followed him back home. And Buck - oh, sweet, virtuous Buck Cleven who had pulled her into his arms tightly and whispered promises of Bucky’s love and intents for their future in her ear. He had spent the entire week thanking Julie for making it possible that Marge stay with him longer with no worry for money or anything back home but in the moments where they had said goodbye, the last words he had left her with were only of Bucky.

Leaving Marge was no easy feat either. The girls had wobbled in their heels and held onto one another tightly and cried and laughed whilst feeling so ridiculous because they were aware the friendship they had formed was for life. Julie wasn’t sad to leave Marge - the only sad part of leaving was losing another piece of John - most of her sadness stemmed from having to be thrusted back to the land of selfish vultures with no care for her after being around the loveliest humans she had ever met. Everyone had been sure to level Spangles with kisses and cuddles and assuring him they would tell his father stories of the joy he brought to base.

“I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to for getting back so late!” Marge had insisted, clutching at the jacket she had never seen Julie without. “That Bucky Egan - it was bad enough when he changed my Gale’s name. I’m not the pen-pal type, that’s what he told me the night he shipped out. He had no idea you were right around the corner, Julie Jean.”

Her heart beat with the hope that she would never make it to the airport but now here she was. Julie Jean had convinced herself there’d be something happening that would stop her reaching their destination. The driver wouldn’t arrive. Her mother would call to inform of a high paying job. The sky would fall. Bucky would run in front of their vehicle and announce he was back. Anything. But no, none of that happened. The traffic was light and the drive was quick and every step she was taking was a step further away from the future she wanted. Away from her Johnny.

Julie Jean would have to marry Vincent. None of her future children, if they allowed her any, would be safe. Her mother would never relent. The studios would never stop demanding. With each passing thought her vision began to blur and the breaths she was taking came out quicker. On her own accord, she felt herself reach for Herb’s arm in order to maintain her stance. Paparazzi were snapping photos and journalists were yelling and a few regular folks had came out to speak with her - everyone unaware she was losing the love of her life and any chance of happiness.

Bucky had promised her babies. Bucky had promised her safety. “I’d marry you first chance I got,” he had written one letter when she teased possibly visiting Europe. They had been hopeless fools in love and the world wouldn’t relent to them it seemed. She was never going to get any of that.

“We’re almost there,” Herb reassured with a sympathetic pat to the hand gripping his suit, opening the door to allow her entry. “The cameras will know you were poorly from the change in weather and tired from the shows.”

Inside the airport she didn’t feel any better but at least there were no people there to yell in her face. Herb had led her inside a private room and had been sure to lock the door behind him and now he was allowing her silence and her grievance for what might have been. She clutched the jacket tighter around herself where she had curled up on a reclining chair, Spangles asleep on the open spot beside her. This would be all she ever had. And even maybe this they would take away. After all, they had taken away her letters.

The only way they will get this off me is if they pry it off my cold, dead body.

There was a knock on the door and whispers following it. “If it’s the press I��m not pretty enough to be looked at, Herb.” She said. Her make up was running and her hair was disheveled and hiding inside the thick coat of the jacket certainly wasn’t helping the heat in her face but Julie Jean didn’t care.

She was allowed to be heartbroken. John had always told her he would take all her moods, even when she wasn’t behaving like the Hollywood starlet her mom conditioned her to be.

Herb answered the door then, but only a crack so that he was able to see the person on the other side but allow no one to look inside. He excused her, saying the traveling and working hadn’t left her feeling her best but offering her apologies to England. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly disconcerted. Star-struck, possibly at getting so close. Their words were breathy and they were stuttering. Julie Jean could faintly make out them saying they adored her but actually - and everything else couldn’t be discerned. Whatever it was, it held Herb’s attention long enough that the door remained open a couple more seconds before he thanked the person and turned to Julie Jean.

“Well,” the tone in his voice, amusement for the first time all evening, had Julie Jean turning in her seat. Taking her face out of his jacket for the first time. There was a paper held in his hand, brown with an approval stamp from the army and the English postal service. “This certainly changes things.”

Julie Jean quickly stood to her feet, approaching Herb with her hands outstretched so she would reach the mail even before she was next to him. She startled poor Spangles who had been deep in sleep, causing him to hop to the floor. Herb wasn’t a cruel man, not to Julie Jean he wasn’t - he extended his own arm so it was within her grasp even faster.

Julie Jean [stop] hope this finds you well and in Europe [stop] Major John Egan is back [stop] Has returned to Thorpe Abbots [stop]

Sincerely,

Major Harry Crosby

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@justheretoreadthxxs

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

@sapienti0sat

@atrophyingaphrodite

#mota fanfic #masters of the air #mota #john egan #mota spoilers #mota imagine #john egan fanfiction #john egan x oc #john egan imagine #john egan smut #John Egan fanfic #bucky egan fanfiction #bucky egan #marge spencer #gale cleven #austin butler fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #dear john

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thewhumpcaretaker · 2 months ago

Note

omg pleaseeee make the living weapon comfort prompts

Okay I will! ^_^

Living Weapon Hurt Prompts, from last time

💥 Living Weapon Comfort 💥

So, how do you comfort someone who has been taught not to even view themselves as anything more than a tool for violence?

Caretaker shows whumpee the everyday parts of life - going to the movies, baking cookies together, going grocery shopping, etc. This is especially important if they never had a childhood.

Caretaker encourages whumpee to get a regular, civilian job, or better yet, pursue the dreams were forced to give up.

Caretaker reminds whumpee that their own pain matters. When they get injured or sick, they can take a day off. They're allowed painkillers. It's not about whether they can stand up and keep fighting efficiently, it's about their comfort.

Whumpee confesses the full extent of what they were forced to do. They've never told anyone this before and break down while talking about it.

Caretaker reframes what happened, points out the abuse that they couldn't see at the time, and reassures them that it was not their fault.

Caretaker praises whumpee for showing emotion, for acting gentle, for singing, for showing weakness. In those moments, Caretaker protects whumpee from anyone who would judge them.

Caretaker is very careful about how they move and how they touch whumpee, because whumpee can panic if it feels like someone is about to put them in a chokehold, pull a gun, etc.

Caretaker supports whumpee through nightmares and flashbacks, even if whumpee becomes aggressive in that half-aware state.

Whumpee visits the people they've hurt or the families of those they've killed, and tries to make amends in some small way. It's not enough, nothing could ever be enough, but they are forgiven anyway.

"I love you no matter what you've done. You want to know the honest truth? Even if you were really, deep down, responsible for all of it...I'd still love you."

Caretaker trusts whumpee with tasks that require gentleness, like babysitting, teaching, healing, or leadership roles.

When someone expresses that they don't trust whumpee or that whumpee should be punished, Caretaker chews them out privately. "They're not dangerous. They were being controlled. The things they did...that's not who they are."

Whumpee is afraid that their conditioning is too strong to break, so Caretaker promises to restrain whumpee if they act dangerously. "But I know you won't. I trust you."

Whumpee DOES get triggered and get violent, but Caretaker assures them that they haven't lost their progress. They are still getting better, it just takes time.

#this is so helen wick x john wick #living weapon whump #living weapon whumpee #whump caretaker #hurt/comfort #whump recovery #whump prompts #whumplr

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chris-prank · 2 months ago

Note

Do you have any fun facts or ideas about your little guys (gender neutrally) that you haven't shared/ properly shared yet?

I’m glad I can share some LOREEEE 😆

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Martin

🪓 I don’t know if it was clear from my drawings in part 1, but Martin is in fact trans! I didn’t mention it explicitly because I didn't find a way to write it in organically. In future works his transness will be mentioned and have more of an importance, but don’t worry guys he won’t be defined by it only!

🪓 When the apocalypse started, he stayed by his mothers side to protect and care for her, just like she did to him when he was small. He really loved his mother dearly. One of his earrings is actually from her!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas

💿 Currently in his timeline, Atlas is the most advanced android on earth and not only because of the coding Hydrotech gave him. When he was saved by the reader, his program changed, making him more independent and capable of human feelings

💿 There’s a childproof setting on Atlas, meaning that his private parts can be retracted inside of him. In his main story, it is still active, since the reader didn’t canonically do anything with him yet so they don’t know about it.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban

📈 He has ✨ daddy issues ✨, but more seriously he really has a bad relationship with him. When Esteban was younger he wanted to prove to his father his worth, but in adulthood he realized that he would never be proud of his accomplishments. There’s still a part of him that yearns for it, but he doesn’t expect it anymore.

📈 I hinted at it in my previous posts, but Esteban really enjoys cooking and he is skilled at it too! He especially loves to be able to make food for his partner! To him, the effort that goes into a meal is the best way to show the extent of his feelings!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dr. Seraph

🧪 He turned to a life of crime because people in the scientific world didn’t believe that his ideas were possible, so he couldn’t explore his whole potential. Fatalité was the one to approach him and to offer him a job in exchange for limitless funding.

🧪 Vincent even used to have a small crush on Fatalité, since he was the first to believe in him. But soon it died down because of the verbal and physical abuse.

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chimaeray · 2 months ago

Text

Mouthwashing thoughts assembled from my Discord messages with a friend while we both go apeshit about it

Spoilers this is your only warning because I will be getting RIGHT into it. Things are not organized super well it's all braindump baby. CW for game topics including sexual assault, torture, and general misery.

Jimmy's so certain everyone is or should be like him that he can't imagine anyone actually caring about other people. From Anya asking for any help and care whatsoever being a nuisance to him, to Swansea keeping watch at the utility room just trying to keep Daisuke safe and put him in that cryopod once everyone else was too far gone. This is unfathomable to Jimmy, who's first instinct upon learning they were all getting terminated was to belittle and shame everyone as a way to guilt Curly further. Of course including Curly himself, who was struggling (kind of having a midlife crisis) and putting on airs to keep everyone else calm and okay for this one last job. Jimmy is so sure of himself being able to fix things like Curly does, and figuring out how they can "both be heroes in this," that he makes a dying man eat his own flesh and then freezes him under the idea that this is GOOD and RIGHT. He doesn't care about the misery and pain Curly is in at this point. At first he seemed happy Curly was helpless and incapable. He seems to take satisfaction in volunteering to force-feed those painkillers, after he ridicules Anya first. He's so sure Curly should be grateful and thank him for all of this. He can't take responsibility even when he kills himself, all he does is reassure himself he did the best he could at every moment and fixed it all in the end. Curly will be miserable for the rest of the life he may or may not have. Jimmy got his, alright. Curly was feeling unsatisfied with his life, so isn't this better now? Curly says he doesn't want his life to feel like something he has to escape, but now his own mutilated body is the prison. While he watches and hears everyone else die, and he can't even try to fix it anymore. He missed his chance to do anything about Jimmy before it was too late. And when Jimmy says he can still fix this, make sure they survive and will be okay, Curly wheezes and laughs at him.

My take on Curly is that he did his best by and large, but he valued his relationship with Jimmy and trying to salvage it more than he should have especially when Anya told him she was raped. He is still a man in a place of power that didn't want to rock the boat too much, and that ended up enabling someone that would rather implode the whole fucking thing. After everything Anya still chose to die with him. She loved him(in the very least platonic but I know romantic was teased), still felt safest with him, and wanted to keep them both safe from Jimmy. So she locked them into a room together to die, quietly, away from him. Even if that made Curly witness as she overdosed and died. She had the gun hidden away with them, out of Jimmy's reach. Until Jimmy manipulates Daisuke into crawling up that vent, sentencing a young and hopeful man to a miserably painful death. Jimmy doesn't even respect Anya's authority and capability as the nurse (at all) enough to have listened when she said the mouthwash would be too sugary to use as an antiseptic. He still pours it onto Daisuke's wounds, because his short-sighted selfishness used up the entirety of the last bottle of antiseptic they had to poison Swansea.

(Daisuke is literally in an osha training video that's like "If you know it's dangerous don't do it! Even if a supervisor says so!")

By the end Jimmy only feels guilty for some of it. He knows he sentenced them all to a miserable death but he only feels guilty for Daisuke, and then Curly to a point. He doesn't really regret Swansea that much, it seems mostly like he's bothered he got caught (Swansea even tries leveling with him, to some extent--somewhere between a confessional and a final reach to see if he can be reached at all). He only worries about what having to deal with a baby might mean for him, but he doesn't give a shit about Anya at all. She's a non-issue in his mind, just some pathetic and poor girl that couldn't even get through schooling. He's only worried about the fact that a baby means he'd have to be responsible for it, and whatever discipline may come from the last remains of the company for sexually assaulting the nurse. Her suffering matters so little to him, if at all even considering he smears her entirely out of his perception while looking for antiseptic.

He's such an unreliable asshole he can't even confront himself, he has to use Curly and Polle as his conscience in his hallucinations.

The party scene is so intense. What a way to illustrate how off the deep end he is and it feels deserved. It's not just used to show he's insane and trying to cope by pretending they're all alive. It's everything he wanted. Praise, adoration, respect. Part of what I think is very interesting is he refuses to admit they're fully gone, but he doesn't necessarily deny their appearances. He isn't fixing them to look normal in his hallucinations, it's still their dead bodies he's propped up in chairs around him. Like a really weird coping mechanism to assure himself that its fine, he did it, he did a good job. Now he just needs to eat and celebrate with everyone! They just need to eat a little bit of Curly, get through one more meal, it'll be okay!

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing spoilers #character analysis #like I said this is just disorganized collection of thoughts I've had about the game while going through it #I tried to keep things clumped together in a way that makes sense but I mostly just want to scream into the void about it some more #Everyone deserved better except for Jimmy. fuck him up lol #Jimmy is such a piece of shit. Murder death kill him #I was very specific about not just calling him a narcissist or whatever so please respect that if you choose to respond #Obviously he's not mentally healthy but don't be a dick and use a real diagnosis to lambast him as if it's The Asshole Disorder #One man's hope he could talk his friend down and make everything okay #vs another man's jealousy and disdain and hubris. an inability to look past himself and his own desires and what he thought he deserved

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i-arch-my-backula · 1 year ago

Text

Horror characters with a s/o who does ballet

I did ballet when I was like 4 before I was diagnosed with ADHD and I did enjoy it but I didn't keep doing it. I've just been thinking about ballet lately and I decided to write about it.

Includes: Hannibal Lecter, Asa Emory, Michael Myers, Vincent Sinclair, and Amanda Young

Warnings: GN reader mostly but one bullet on each section mentions a male reader, internalized homophobia?, regular homophobia, mentions of murder, mentions of saw traps in Amanda's section, mentions of torture, vague cannibalism in Hannibal's section

Hannibal Lecter

When you tell him you do ballet he's immediately interested. Hannibal enjoys the finer things in life and ballet is something he's happy to indulge in.

He's rich so he's happy to help pay for whatever you need. Ballet shoes can be very expensive but he's willing to help you pay for them.

Ballet is physically demanding and he's happy to help you sooth the aches and pains on your body. Will help you with ice baths or rubbing your aching muscles.

Will go to all of your shows, even if you're barely in it. He doesn't care he's going to be there to watch you dance, and will bring you flowers after every performance.

If you practice at home he's there to help you, giving his advice as someone who's been to many opera and ballet shows.

He probably has a lot of hair products for his hair because he's kind of a diva. So if you need hair gel or hairspray for your costume he's got your back.

If you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet they're getting eaten. I think he'd do something clever like a tongue dish or he poses the body in some kind of ballet pose.

Asa Emory

Like Hannibal Asa loves the finer things in life. He's pretty rich considering he has all these torture devices and a hotel. So you having a more expensive job/hobby is not a big deal to him.

He will try to sneak in bug related things into things you can customize. If you're doing a dance related to bugs in any way he's asking you all about it and will honestly want to make things as accurate as possible.

Will want to watch you practice because he just likes seeing you in dance and shift into different positions. He's always interested in human limits both physical and mental so seeing you stretch your body while dancing is interesting to him.

Like I said, Asa is rich and he doesn't have a problem buying you things for your job/hobby. If you're allowed to customize parts of your practice clothes or shoes he'll try to get it bug related in some kind of way.

He might take inspiration from your dancing and will pose victims or put them in traps that are ballet related.

He loves classical music so listening to you practicing with music over and over again isn't a problem to him. He's put himself through worse so listening to his partners dance music over and over again isn't that bad.

Just like Hannibal, if you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet he's going to put them through a lot of torture, like more than normal. He was a little unsure about you being a man and doing ballet but he got over it quickly.

Michael Myers

He's heard of ballet but the extent of his knowledge on it is just that it's 'fancy dancing'. Once he sees you dancing, because when he's not killing he's watching you, he's pretty interested in it. As interested as Michael can be in something.

He likes how graceful you look while dancing. He could watch you for hours, just sitting still and watching you dancing. He'll probably touch and feel your ballet shoes when you're not using them.

If you ask him to help you break in your shoes and explain to him you just hit them on the floor he's very willing to help you. You'll have to watch him to make sure he doesn't genuinely ruin them.

He's confused about how you're getting bruises and hurt feet when you're "just dancing" but his concern isn't really noticeable aside from him leaving out ice packs for you.

If you're doing a dance where you're being more 'physical' with your dancing partner he's going to be jealous about it. You'll have to make it up to him with lots of candy and avoiding other men.

If you're a man and you do ballet he doesn't see why that's something weird. He's been locked up inside a mental hospital for 16 years so he doesn't really understand gender roles.

But if someone makes you feel back for doing ballet as a man and Michael hears about it, he's killing them for you.

Vincent Sinclair

He is so interested in you doing ballet. He wants to hear all about the type of ballet you do and how long you've been doing it. If you memorized any dances he wants you to do them for him.

I have a feeling that Vincent can sew to some degree. Like he can take old clothes and customize them. He'll probably make/find you clothes you can practice in and maybe even costumes.

He listens to classical/opera music already so if you want to practice or perform for him it's really no problem at all to him.

Finding you actual ballet shoes might be an issue. He'd suggest making you some but quickly realize he can't. He'll bribe/guilt Bo into going out and getting you ballet shoes.

Will probably make some figures into ballet dancers because you're one. His art is going to include a lot more ballet themes in it. Will love to sketch you in different outfits and poses.

Anything remotely ballet themed from a victim is going to you. If Vincent sees some clothes or an item you'd like or could use in your dancing he'll tell Bo to be careful with that item when he kills them, or he'll kill the victim himself.

If you're a guy and a victim makes fun of you for doing ballet they're getting turned into a figure alive like Wayne was. If his brothers make fun of you cough cough Bo he'll defend you and probably bring up something about them. "You do ballet Y/N? Didn't take you for a pansy." (Vincent signing) "Remember your emo phase when you wore eyeliner every day?"

Amanda Young

She wanted to do ballet as a kid but she probably wasn't very good at it and her parents took her out. So when she hears you do ballet she wants to hear all about it and will ask if you can teach her some.

Loves any kind of ballet outfits, especially if it's in darker colors and adores seeing you in practice clothes or costumes for shows.

Will brag to Hoffman about how talented her partner is at ballet and how shes so lucky to have you as a partner.

She'll probably take inspiration from the dance you're currently practicing or the process of breaking in your shoes when she's making a new trap for someone.

Loves watching you practice too. She finds the movements so satisfying and the music to be calming. If you practice at home she'll probably stretch with you.

Will love to help you do your hair and or makeup for a performance. She likes participating in your interests and helping you get ready is something she's happy to do.

If you're a man and someone makes fun of you for doing ballet she's finding a reason to put them in a trap. Hoffman will probably make fun of you doing ballet if you're a man so she'll get back at him in another way.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #asa emory #asa emory x reader #michael myers x you #michael myers x y/n #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #amanda young x reader #amanda young #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

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justabigassnerd · 1 year ago

Text

New Home

Pairing - Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell x daughter!reader

Word count - 4,486

Warnings - death of a parent, strained father-daughter relationship, angst, running away, a pinch of fluff

Summary - after losing your mother, custody is granted to your father Pete Mitchell. however, it's been years since you last saw him

A/N - whoa whoa whoa I be swinging in with a new fic y'all! I actually loved writing this anon request and it does have the potential to be a series (the key word here is potential because I am not committing to anything just yet, I need to see how this turns out first). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

You hardly knew your father. You knew his name was Pete Mitchell, that he was a naval aviator, and that your mum insisted you inherited a large chunk of your personality from Maverick but that was the extent of your knowledge. You’ve seen pictures of him, and your mum told you about times he visited when you were a baby, but you held no concrete memories of your own of the man. Because of your lack of connection to him, you didn’t really consider Maverick your father. He stopped visiting when you were a baby, so you didn’t really care to acknowledge his relation to you. Your mum, while understanding your feelings and not wanting to force anything upon you, did try to encourage you to get into contact with Maverick if you could to try and form some sort of bond with him.

Then your mother got sick. You spent a lot of time outside of school caring for her and working your part-time job to keep you and your mum afloat when she had to stop working because her health was declining so rapidly. It was tough for you to try and keep things going and your mum tried to push for you to get into contact with your father, so you’d have someone to go to if she didn’t win the battle against her illness, but you always rebutted, insisting that she’d be fine.

You watched as your mother had to be admitted to the hospital for round-the-clock care. You always visited her after school or work and spent as much time with her as you could, constantly asking the nurses and doctors for updates and hoping by some miracle she’d recover.

But she never did.

Your mum passed away after three months of battling with an illness you could never understand, leaving you alone in the world. You soon ended up in contact with social services as your mother had contacted them prior to her death without you knowing and told them that she wished for you to move in with your dad as opposed to going into foster care. You were still hesitant about the whole thing. You barely knew him; you’d be uprooting your entire life to move to Miramar.

While you had to go home, pack bags and prep things for your mother’s funeral, Maverick received a knock on his door early one Saturday morning.

“Hello, are you Captain Pete Mitchell?” The woman on the other side of the door says, a kind smile on her face as she speaks. Maverick was taken aback by this woman being on the other side of the door, he would’ve put money on it being Bradley on the other side of the door over some random woman.

“I am. Can I help you?” Maverick asks, confused as to how she knows who he is and what she’s doing at his house.

“You have a daughter, y/n l/n, correct?” The woman then asks, eyes flicking down to the file in her hand while Maverick’s expression shifts from one of confusion to one of worry.

“Is she okay?” Is the first thing that comes out of Maverick’s mouth as he thinks of all the things that could possibly have happened to you.

“Her mother, Catherine, passed away a couple of days ago and before she passed, she made it known to us that she wanted y/n to be in your care since she has no other relatives.” The woman explains and Maverick feels his heart sink to his stomach at the woman’s words. His relationship with your mother may have been short, but he never stopped caring for her. Hearing she had passed hit him hard.

“She wanted me to take y/n in?” Maverick asks quietly, searching for confirmation as the woman nods slightly.

“She did. We’re going to help you and y/n with the process and check in occasionally after she’s moved in to make sure everything is okay with the two of you.” The woman says as she hands a card over with her name and number on it. Maverick inspects the card, learning that her name is Holly Fieldman before looking back up at her.

“When is she coming? I know she lives a couple of states away.” Maverick asks as he pushes the card into his jean pocket, watching as Holly silently asks to be let in and he obliges, stepping aside and letting her enter his house, leading her to the living room and sitting down opposite her.

“y/n wants to hold her mother’s funeral before she comes to Miramar.” Holly starts, flicking through the file and double-checking all the information she received from her colleague.

“That makes sense.” Maverick says slowly, wishing he could be there to help you with the funeral, but he was aware he could potentially overstep if he tried to get involved.

“My colleague said the funeral should be taking place within the next couple of days so I will contact you when we have a date set for y/n to come here.” Holly says as she glances up at Maverick who nods slightly in acknowledgement to her words.

“That’s okay, that gives me time to sort things out here.” Maverick agrees as Holly gets to her feet, Maverick quickly mirroring her actions and leading her to the front door and bidding her goodbye. Once he closes the door, Maverick turns around and rests his back against the door, staring into his house before muttering.

“Good thing I have the spare room clear.”

A few days later, after the funeral, you were all packed up and waiting at the airport for your flight to San Diego. Your leg bounced nervously as you stared at the sign above the gate door displaying the location you were flying to. Everyone around you seemed perfectly relaxed and ready for the flight ahead while you were thinking of everything that could go wrong. By the time you boarded the plane and found your seat, you could’ve laughed at yourself for how nervous you were. You were the daughter of a top naval aviator and here you were panicking about flying in a commercial plane which you were sure was much safer than doing whatever it was your father did for work. You were sure you looked crazy with the way you were gripping the armrests when the plane took off into the air, eyes scrunching shut as your stomach lurched at the foreign feeling.

Thankfully, the flight went smoothly, and no one made any comments about your very obvious nervousness. When you were allowed to disembark the plane, you followed the sea of people to luggage claim as you gripped the straps of your rucksack to try and direct your nerves somewhere. Once you grabbed your suitcase off the conveyor belt, you followed the large signs that led to the arrivals terminal where you soon located a smartly dressed woman holding a sign with your name on, so you approached her sheepishly.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Holly, we spoke on the phone the other day.” The woman says, introducing herself straight away and holding out a hand for you to shake which you do, nodding at her words and quietly thanking her when she offers to take your suitcase for you.

“Are you taking me straight to his house?” You ask as you stop outside Holly’s car, waiting as she loads your suitcase into the boot of her car before she turns back to face you.

“We’re going to have you meet your dad in a café first, a nice neutral setting for the both of you and I’ll be there to help ease you guys into everything.” Holly says, her bright smile never wavering when she speaks as she rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat, with you getting in the passenger seat.

You tried to distract yourself by taking in the views of what was going to be your new home, but you couldn’t stop the pounding of your heart. You hated that you were so nervous. He had never been there for you growing up. He wasn’t a dad to you. So why were you so nervous?

When Holly parked outside a small café that was nestled along Miramar’s beachfront, your nerves were now in full drive and when she moved to open her door, you remained seated.

“Is it too late to ask if I can get a flight back?” You ask, glancing over at Holly who settles back in the car seat to address you.

“It is, sweetie. Look, I understand that you’re nervous. But everything is going to be just fine. I promise you.” Holly says softly, her smile softening as she addresses you and for a moment, you believe her words. You get out of the car, close the door behind you and follow Holly into the café.

As soon as you enter the small building, your eyes are immediately surveying the people that are in the café, searching for whichever one is Pete Mitchell. Then you saw a man stand up, eyes studying you as he looked at you and Holly and you soon noticed Holly moving to approach him. He matched the man in the sparse photos you had of your father so that along with Holly greeting him with the same bright smile she had used on you made you figure that he had to be Pete Mitchell and as you slunk along to meet him, you took a deep breath and made sure to not show your emotions. You already had a feeling he more than likely didn’t want to take you in, he just had to because your mum insisted on it. You just wanted to be prepared for the worst.

“y/n… wow you’ve really grown up.” Is the first thing Maverick can bring himself to say as you stand opposite him.

“Yeah… that’s what happens over time.” You say dismissively, shrugging your shoulders half-heartedly and your gaze flicks away to the table Maverick is sitting at so you could avoid looking at him.

“Why don’t we take a seat?” Holly suggests, not letting the mood deter her as she grabs the back of one of the chairs and pulls it towards her to make room for her to sit down at the table with you and Maverick following her actions. You sit opposite Maverick awkwardly, neither of you knowing how to start a conversation with the other.

“So, y/n, how was the flight?” Holly starts, attempting to initiate a conversation.

“It was okay.” You say half-heartedly, barely glancing at either person sitting at the table with you.

“Was it a busy flight?” Maverick then asks, trying to get a bit more information out of you.

“This was my first time on a plane I don’t know what constitutes ‘busy’, but most of the seats were filled I guess.” Your words came out a little harsher than you intended but you weren’t all that fussed about the way your words came out.

“Well you made it here safely and that’s all that matters.” Maverick then says, a small smile on his face to try and make you feel more comfortable around him. Instead, all he got back was a small shrug and you avoiding his gaze. He knew it must be a hard adjustment for you, especially when you haven’t had contact with Maverick in years but all he wanted was for you to feel comfortable and supported and he was going to do his absolute best to do that for you.

The rest of the interaction that was overseen by Holly went about as well as you expected it to. The atmosphere was awkward and there was a slight tension from you. By the time Maverick was allowed to take you home, Holly pulled both of you aside separately and told you that you could call her whenever and that she’d do a home visit in the next few days to see how things were progressing and left the two of you alone outside the café after handing you your luggage.

“Let’s get you settled in at home.” Maverick says after a minute or two of awkward silence between the two of you, gesturing with his head for you to follow him which you do so slowly, not in any rush to get to this new house. You load up your luggage, ignoring Maverick’s attempts to help you before getting in the backseat of the car, sitting behind the driver’s seat so Maverick couldn’t see you as easily.

“You can sit up front with me for the journey home, you know?” Maverick offers, turning around to glance at you sitting in the back of the car.

“I prefer sitting in the back.” You answer simply, already moving to put your headphones on you can just ignore everything on the journey to where you’d be living from now on. You hated that Maverick was calling it ‘home’. It may be home to him. But it could never be a home to you. Maverick watched sadly as you put your headphones in and adjusted the way you were sat so you were fully angled towards the window before he turned to face the front and began the drive to his house.

When he finally pulled into the driveway of the house, you weren’t shocked by what greeted you. It was an average-sized house in a small neighbourhood. Before Maverick even had time to turn around and talk to you, you were instantly climbing out of the car and heading to the boot of the car to pull your suitcase out, leaving Maverick alone in the car as he let out a small sigh before getting out of the car himself and crossing to the front door of his house to unlock the door and enter the house with you following behind.

As you enter the house, you follow Maverick when he leads you upstairs, opening a door and taking a step back for you to enter which you do. You glance around the room, it is practically bare, with white walls, and nothing more than a bed, wardrobe, and bedside tables.

“I’m sorry it’s so plain. I never really used this room. But you can decorate it however you want. I have a few days booked off work, so maybe we could get some things and decorate your room.” Maverick says, not daring to move an inch beyond the doorway as he watches you place your rucksack on the bed and take in the room. As Maverick had expected, you offered him no more than a mere shrug and noncommittal hum at his suggestion. Maverick was really trying to form some sort of bond with you. To try to make up for the years lost. But you clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and as much as it broke his heart, he couldn’t do any more than extend the olive branch and hope you one day take it. He didn’t want to overstep beyond that, so he nodded at your hum and headed downstairs.

You spent the rest of the day unpacking your belongings, hanging clothes up and storing things away before you finally placed the picture of you and your mum on your bedside table, so you always had her with you. As you tucked your suitcase under your bed, you heard Maverick calling you for dinner and as much as you didn’t want to go downstairs, the smell of food that was travelling up the stairs and into your room was making your stomach growl like nobodies business so you got up and went down the stairs, following the sounds of plates clanking to lead you to the kitchen but as you walked through the living room, your eyes drifted along the photos on the wall and you stopped opposite one particular photo. It was a photo of Maverick with a moustached man, both of them smiling for the camera with an arm wrapped around the other’s shoulders. You regarded the photo quietly, wondering who this man was. Did Maverick have another kid? As if he sensed you looking at the photos, Maverick emerged from the kitchen and approached you carefully.

“Having a look at the pictures?” He muses softly, a slight laugh tagged onto the end of his sentence to let you know he wasn’t upset or angry at you.

“Is he your son?” You ask, your gaze not moving from the picture of the two men.

“No. Not biologically at least. Bradley’s my best friend’s kid. But I helped raise him so he’s kind of like a son to me.” Maverick explains and you can’t help but feel a pang in your heart at his words. This Bradley guy got to have Maverick in his life as a father figure and you didn’t get your dad at all. It wasn’t fair.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Maverick urges softly, noticing the sadness in your eyes and hoping he didn’t just ruin everything between the two of you. You begrudgingly follow Maverick to the small table and eat your food in silence, barely giving Maverick more than a short sentence answer to any of his questions. The second you finished your meal you asked to be excused and retreated back to your room, leaving Maverick alone downstairs. He didn’t bother you for the rest of the night, only sticking his head in your room before he went to bed. Despite everything, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face when he saw you curled under your duvet, fast asleep.

“Goodnight, y/n/n.”

Over the days Maverick had off, you tended to avoid as much interaction with him as possible. You’d have meals with him and hold the briefest of conversations but that was your limit. And you never called him dad. You didn’t want to get attached to someone who didn’t want you when you were a baby and was now stuck with you. When Holly came for one of her home visits, you tried to ask if you could be placed elsewhere but she was insistent that you see it through with Maverick. She urged you to give him a chance, and that she could tell he was genuinely trying to form a connection. She could understand that you were upset with the loss of your mother and having to move in with someone who was hardly present in your life, but your mum had picked him for a reason, and you needed to trust her judgement.

After Holly left, you spent the rest of the day in your room mulling over her words. You knew your mum had never steered you wrong before. But sending you to live with someone you hardly knew just felt wrong to you. When night fell, your thoughts were getting too much you decided you needed to head out to get some fresh air and to think some more. You didn’t have a destination in mind, you still hardly knew the area, you just knew you needed to be out of the house. You were able to sneak downstairs and out of the house with zero difficulty, Maverick was napping on the sofa so keeping quiet and getting out of the door was no difficult task for you. Once you made it to the end of the road, you pulled out your phone and searched for directions to the beach.

About five minutes after you left, Maverick’s eyes blinked open and he stretched his arms above his head as he stood from the sofa, wincing as his back let out a slight crack. He knew he needed to stop falling asleep on the sofa, but he couldn’t help it. Deciding it was time to finally retire to bed, he headed upstairs, heading straight to your door. Since you arrived, he always stuck his head in your room to whisper goodnight to you, despite the fact you were always asleep when he did it. This time, however, when Maverick opened the door, he couldn’t see any figure in the bed. The little slither of light that snuck through the crack didn’t illuminate any evidence that you were in bed and Maverick couldn’t help but instantly be in panic mode. He couldn’t find any evidence that you were still in the house, so he was soon grabbing his keys and leaving the house to search for you.

You sat on a little bench overlooking the beach, not too far from where the café you first met Maverick was, listening to the gentle sounds of the waves against the shore, your eyes drifting up to the starry sky and bright moon that hung within it.

“Mum, you wanted me to come here for a reason, right? You think Pete would take care of me and that I’d finally have a father figure, don’t you?” You mutter quietly up to the sky, wondering if your mum would give you some sort of sign that she was listening. Instead, you heard the revving of a motorbike engine and Maverick’s worried voice calling out to you.

“y/n, oh thank god I found you.” Maverick says, relief beyond evident in his tone as he sits down next to you on the bench, leaving a gap between the two of you.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask quietly, briefly glancing over at Maverick before your gaze flicked back to the stars.

“I didn’t. I just drove around looking for you. But I did know you haven’t explored the area much, so my best guess was near the café. I wouldn’t have stopped looking for you all night if I hadn’t found you here.” Maverick explains, watching you under the dim street lamp as your eyebrows furrow slightly and you turn to look at him properly.

“Really?” You ask, your voice timid as you look at Maverick.

“Really. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I promised your mother I’d look after you.” Maverick explains, watching as your eyes widen at his words.

“You promised… did you talk with my mum before she died?” You then ask, tears threatening to build in your eyes. In response to your question, Maverick pulls his wallet out of his pocket and produces a small picture, handing it over to you and you instantly study the picture. It was of you; it couldn’t have been taken more than six months ago. It was of you out in the park, sitting on a bench and completely oblivious to your mum taking a picture of you.

“She liked to send me regular updates on how you were doing, as well as pictures. She told me you get pretty good grades in your classes, which makes me proud. The last time I spoke to her must’ve been just before or around the time she got sick because I never heard from her after that. But she made me promise to look after you if something happened years ago. I didn't think anything would ever happen. But I never stopped caring for you.” Maverick explains as you quietly hand back the photo, the tears in your eyes beginning to show under the street lights.

“If you cared so much, why did you stop visiting?” Unlike Maverick would’ve expected, your voice held no harshness to its tone, just defeat. You were just a kid who’s been deprived of a father figure your whole life.

“My job is dangerous. And I know what it feels like to lose your parents when you’re young. I just couldn’t put you through that, so I thought it was best I stayed away to protect you. It hurt so much to say goodbye knowing I probably wasn’t going to see you again.” Maverick says truthfully, fighting back tears of his own as he looks at the picture, knowing he was the reason you grew up without a father figure in your life. He couldn’t help but beat himself up over it every day. He had stepped in for Bradley when Goose died but the second, he had a kid of his own, he backed off and abandoned you.

“Did your mum ever try to move on?” Maverick then asks quietly, a sad tone you’re not used to hearing from him in his voice, as you watch him.

“No she didn’t. Truthfully, I don’t think she stopped loving you. She always spoke so highly of you.” You admit, shrugging lightly as you remember all the times your mum had told you about Maverick and never spoke a bad word about him. At your words, a tear or two escaped Maverick’s eyes and he let out a shuddering breath.

“I don’t deserve that. She deserved to be happy.” Maverick says, more tears escaping him as you wipe at your own eyes.

“She was happy. The time she had with you was clearly all she wanted and needed.” You say, not wanting Maverick to feel guilty or upset for something out of his control, a complete turnaround from the way you had been acting prior.

“I’m going to make it up to you. I promise. If you need me at all, I will be there. You’re not alone anymore.” Maverick promises, and you nod at his words, finally believing his words before you move closer to him and carefully wrap your arms around him for a hug. At first, he was tense, but soon he reciprocated the hug, holding you tight as you tried your best not to cry on his jacket.

“Can we go home now?” You ask as a small breeze blows by, making you shiver slightly, even in Maverick’s warm embrace.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He says softly, helping you to your feet and leading you to his motorbike where he instructs you on how to hold on safely before taking you back home, making sure he goes a bit slower than he usually does when on his bike. When you make it home, you’re stifling yawns as you trudge upstairs to get ready for bed and by the time you finally crawl into bed, your eyes are already closing but you force them open when you hear Maverick quietly asking if he could enter your room. For the first time since you arrived, Maverick crosses to your bedside and smiles down at you.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He says quietly, leaning down and pressing a small kiss on the top of your head, smiling as a smile covers your own face while you snuggle further into your bed. Just as Maverick reaches the door, he hears you speak up.

“Goodnight, dad.”

Maverick swore that the large smile that appeared on his face didn’t shrink until the next day. Until you called him ‘dad’ again the next morning.

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