#i'm also not really going to go out of my way to call him like a socialist revolutionary. he might or might not be! but i am talking

[space929]

This is an old post and I've talked about their relationship before and I'm doing it again because it needs to be done.

Which makes it sound like I disagree with the above, which I do not. This is 100% a based post.

Obvious TWs I think.

I gave him quite a bit of leeway in that I focused on the latter half of this scene and emphasized the difference in listening between the beginning of the movie and that portion, but this is really important to talk about.

This isn't an "error" that good parents make. There are a couple of reasons I think he might have done that - character wise - but none of them are good. Most of them have to do with emotional distancing and emotional immaturity. But I digress.

Let's talk about the beginning of this scene.

As I mentioned in my previous post, George is a lot like my mom. In that scene, he is very likely projecting. Gwen being angry and pointing out his "mistake" (quotes because I feel like it stops being a mistake when it involves a gun and time to think. Like, he's a cop. He has a permit. He has to know what to not do - I hate guns and I know what to not do! You do not point it at anything you do not intend to shoot. It stops being a mistake when you intend to shoot a child) makes him feel guilty, so he takes it out on her.

She needs to be quiet so he doesn't have to think about the hard things.

This is an idea that is incredibly prominent and generally comes hand-in-hand with the thought that you owe your parents respect regardless of what they do and how much they give you.

He gives her nothing up until this point. He does not listen to her, he talks about something he is aware she does not like or agree with and then shuts her down when she says that, he shuts her down every time she tries to share her feelings.

And then he's upset when she finally tries to shut down for the final time because he actually threatened her life. But that has to be her fault, because if it isn't, he would have to look in on himself and recognize the very real problems in their relationship and that they stem from him. The reason she never told him comes from him. The reason she left is because of him. The reason she's mad is him.

But then he'd have to deal with the guilt and self-reflection that comes with that, and that's uncomfortable. That's painful. It's far more comfortable if she keeps her emotions over there and he gets to remain the unquestionable authority that can do no wrong.

Anyway. This is just why he's doing it. It isn't an excuse or a justification. This is an awful way to think.

So he also tried to leave the house when she was mad at him. I went through and read the transcript for this part and it calls him a child for this which is hilarious. She follows after him to - and I pull this from the transcript - keep him from walking out the door.

She has learned to be more mature than her father. To go to him because he will never come to her.

There's just one more thing I want to mention.

Gwen's speech, which I love, focuses on her. It focuses on Ghost-Spider (I know that's not her name in ATSV but it's so much better and it should be) and the good she's trying to do.

It never mentions the way he hurt her. And I believe that that's because she knows he would shut down if it did. If she talked about him and what he did, he wouldn't respond the same.

When I was twelve, my mom practically kicked me out of the house to live with my dad. She got mad at me for this fact. To this day, I cannot talk to her about how I feel about this. I can complain to her about living with him. I can complain about him. I cannot tell her that she hurt me. She'll accept the first, she'll guilt trip me for the second.

And I think Gwen knows something similar would happen. She knows what not to mention.

I don't like how Jefferson parents. I think he's too authoritarian in a lot of cases. But they're right. He would never point a gun to Miles.

I ended my last one with an optimistic take on the fact that he was trying, and I want to end this one the same way, but the reality is that I gave a lot of leeway. He's done a lot of introspection, sure, but he hasn't done enough. He has to learn to take criticism that isn't edged around but never directly hitting the point.

George Stacy is not a good parent. I hope that he tries. I hope he learns. But he is not a good parent, and it's important to acknowledge that.

I still think about how Gwen's dad pointed a gun at her, and then got mad when Gwen didn't want to talk/look at him.

Like, sir, you pointed a GUN to your teenage DAUGHTER. You raised your gun back up after she unmasked.

Like, you found out Spider-ghost was your daughter and you still thought she killed HER best friend?? And on purpose??

You had a duty as a police man to what?? Shoot your unarmed teenage daughter if she tried to leave?? Instead of trying to let her explain at least??

Even Aaron let Spiderman go when he found out he was his nephew, and he was the villain.

[syluriar]

drying hair - sylus x mc reader

sypnosis: literally just sylus drying your hair because he's whipped for you.

a/n: just had this cute thought of sylus drying your hair because for me personally i'm not a fan of it, and that's just one of the reasons why sylus would do it for you, other than that he loves the hell out of you. also not proud how i eneded this, writing has been a bitch latley because my brain won't work with me :( also no grammer check because i'm TIRED.

contains: mc!reader. sylus teasing you but you tease him back. call back to grassland romance. you thinking on your feelings for sylus. just bascially fluff.

word count: 1366

“Can I dry your hair, sweetie?”

It was a simple question, but it made you freeze and look at Sylus, who was towering above you from your seasted position at your desk, hair dryer in hand and ready to go. 

Curiosity filled you at his offer, and other times you would have followed it, bothering Sylus until he either revealed why or you would do your own investigation. 

But your arms were already aching from the towel drying, and you really did want to relax today after a grueling day fighting Wanders and filling reports. You had planned the rest of the day for ultimate relaxation and the only thing that would make it worse was drying your hair, a process you had to admit was not enjoyable for you.

So if you can get out of it, why not? 

“Ok,” You give him a nod. “Sure.”

And Sylus looked…absolutely delighted. His eyes shined and his smile was pure and you pondered why he’s reacting that way to do something for you, then again could you really be surprised? He’s made it known that he is at your beck and call, anything you want he’ll get you. You’re positive that if you asked him that you wanted a specific food item that can only be obtained within it’s country, Sylus would get it for you the next day. 

Those gestures still made you nervous as you weren’t used to such things, but at least now you graciously accept them instead of telling him off and refusing his gifts. Now it was cheeks burning and heart pounding, and your still quite puzzled on how your feelings for him have changed.

You forget about the hair dryer until it’s turned on in his hands, the buzzing pulls you our of your thoughts and focuses on the man now behind you. His free hand threads through your damp hair, fingernails just grazing your skull and you hold back a shiver of delight at the touch. 

“Hold still now, kitten.” 

The warm air hits you like a gentle breeze as Sylus starts the task, his fingers gentle as they part your hair to reach every part, the dryer not staying in one place too long to avoid a burning sensation on your skull. 

With your hands empty, your fingers fidget together, unsure of what to do. You have the twitch you squirm which you fight against, so you keep your eyes down, focusing on the flower pattern on your silk nightgown, another gift from Sylus.

You hear a chuckle lined with amusement that spreads embarrassment through your body. “Head up, sweetie.”

You can imagine the look on his face, that teasing smirk with creased corners at his eyes that holds mirth. You swallow and push back your fluster as you raise your head, your eyes promptly looking back into the mirror and ranking over the state of your hair, only to catch his own staring back at you.

They’re enchanting, like ruby gems that only shine for you. Flowers dead in a field that will only bloom in your presence, something poisonous that is only sweet on your tongue. The way he looks at you was as if you were the only thing that existed in the universe, the way they radiate and all the emotions they hold just for you is…exhilarating. 

A silent gasp leaves your lips when you notice how long you’ve been staring at Sylus through the mirror, and how he’s been staring back. His hand slides from your hair to your bare shoulder, his touch sending a shock of electricity through your body. 

“You’ve been staring for a while, kitten. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

You push the comment, trying not to let him get under your skin. “Just making sure you know what your doing. Messing with my hair isn’t something you should do.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing again, that damn smirk back on his lips. His eyes leave yours as he threads his fingers through your hair again. “I assure you, sweetie, that I would never mess with your hair, or don’t you remember what I said back in the Grasslands?”

“I like your hair.”

Of course you remember that, you remember everything that happened when the two of you were transported to another place, either back in time or another universe, your still not quite sure, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. It was a turning point for your relationship with Sylus, where you allowed the two of you to go closer and accepted that your feelings towards him were growing. 

“...I remember.” Your cheeks burning as you admit it - remember it. His fingers grazed through your hair like he’s doing now. “I also remember you saying that you would work on your braiding skills.”

He hums, which isn’t as off-key as his singing, thankfully. “But to do that I would need a lot of time practicing on your hair to honor my skills.” He looks back at you through the mirror, catching your still eyes. “Would you give me your permission, kitten?”

You imagine it, days of Sylus’ fingers combing through your hair as he braids the threads, tutorials playing as he watches intensely, pins and all sorts on your desk to hold his work in place. You imagine yourself, helping him through it all, teasing him when he’s stuck and cheering him up if something goes wrong.

It feels nice, domestic even. 

You can’t help but smile at it, your stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of doing such things with Sylus. 

“I would.”

He gives a huff of amusement, but the smile on his lips is pure and real. Perhaps he’s been thinking of such things with you, and it makes you feel giddy. 

He goes back to drying your hair and you close your eyes, finally relaxing. You allow yourself to sink into his touch as his fingers comb through your hair, enjoying how gentle and peaceful it makes you feel. 

“All done.” Sylus clicks off the dryer and you open your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror, ranking over the state of your now dried hair

You hum. “Not bad for your first time.”

“I’ll take that,” He chuckles. “Though like I said before, I would need to practice more on you to get it right.”

“You have permission for that as well.”

“Good.” 

His fingers are back in your hair and your amazed how at ease it makes you feel, giving him permission to touch your hair more might be better for yourself rather than him. 

Though you wonder…

You turn and look at him, redness on your cheeks as you retort. “As long as I can do the same to your hair.”

He looks surprised by your words and it makes you feel smug as you don’t get that reaction often. But he finally smiles and cups your cheeks, bringing your face so close to his that his nose brushes against yours. “You can do that and more to me, sweetie. I’ll never say no to you.”

Now your sure your a blushing mess, if not by your burning cheeks, then certainly by your pulsing heart that your positive Sylus hears. 

God, how does this man make you feel this way so easily? 

To hide it all you tease him back. “That’s a pretty big statement to say Sylus. Never say no to me? I wonder how far I can go with that.”

“I look forward to finding out, kitten.” He replies before leaning back, but not before booping your nose. “Now it’s time for bed. I remember a certain someone saying they were going to sleep early to improve their health.”

You don’t even get up from the chair as Sylus has you in his arms in seconds, a squeal of surprise leaving your lips as he carries you to the bed, laying you down gently and settling down beside you.. 

“Rest now.” His arms wrap around your waist, holding you to his chest as you cuddle under the silk sheets. “We have fun days ahead of us, so make sure not to be tired once they come.”

[isa-gh0st]

is there a rundown of what's going on with the new mcyt drama? i haven't been following any of them since slightly before the finale of dsmp 0-0

Oh god. Let me try my best here.

I will say, on my main, @isa-ghost, I've reblogged a ton of liveblogging stuff that kind of gives you context in detail? But in reverse order because, yknow, that's how reblog chronology works or whatever.

This don't stop the party edit is a good tldr of the beginning of it all but you gotta pause to really read it so I'm gonna summarize via bullet points too.

XQC (shitty Canadian Kick streamer, misogynist and flaunts his money at every turn) met Trump, wearing a Trump shirt. Is a fanboy of his clearly. Is not the first streamer to do this, esp on Kick

Tommy quote rts his pic of him meeting Trump like "its hard to be more cringe than TommyInnit but you did it"

XQC clapped back saying Tommy went from dickriding Dr*m to making jokes to 17 year old girls irl (which is sexist to say but I digress)

Dr*m gets involved for some fuckign reason (he wants attention that's why) and makes a meme calling all dsmp stans (he later claims he meant inniters specifically) the r slur

Shit BLOWS UP obviously because he called 15 million people a slur in a derogatory way. Makes SO MANY excuses that don't work ofc. Later deletes all his tweets abt it, but prior to doing so he TRIPLED DOWN ON USING THE R SLUR. Tried to excuse it with "I'm autistic" (which personally idk if I believe bc he's such a fucking liar but I also don't follow Dr*m obv so if he posted abt the diagnosis then. Whatever. Anyway)

Tommy, Tubbo, Jack, Sneeg, and so so so many other CCs now have been ripping him apart for the last 48 hours. Tubbo has dissected everything he's said on Twitter and a Reddit post he made yesterday

Last night at like midnight to 3am his time, Dr*m goes live and dissects Tubbo's vod of him dissecting Dr*m's shit and Dr*m GENUINELY CRASHES OUT for 3 FUCKING HOURS, most of which was him projecting on Tommy hardcore and lying and manipulating AS USUAL. If you care enough, I'd watch Tubbo's vod. OR you can probably find a summary somewhere but it's. A lot.

Tubbo went live at 10am CST today dissecting Dr*m's crashout, which lasted FOUR FUCKING HOURS. He was meant to talk to Dr*m directly on stream today but then--

Tommy posted a 5 min vid clapping back very concisely so Dr*m is in the process of making a response vid, therefore he canceled his chat with Tubbo.

Quackity tweeted he would be going live because during Dr*m's crashout he name dropped SEVERAL ex-dsmp members and other people such as Ludwig, a6d, the girl GNF assaulted, Gumball's VA. The list goes on. However, idk for sure if Quackity is gonna talk abt this, all he tweeted was "going live later" basically.

47 MCYT CCs were tuned in to Tubbo's dissection stream today at one point or another. I haven't seen MCYT this united since we all ousted W*lbur for abusing Shelby Shubble (you said you haven't been around since the dsmp finale so idk how much abt that you know. It happened in late Feb last year)

People are welcome to break down these events in greater detail in my reblogs if they're crazy enough!

[svetamillss]

Could you do squid game x emo reader? Like she dresses in like 2000s emo style and they’ve never seen anyone like her before

Headcanons: their reaction to the fact that you are emo🖤

Featuring: Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f), Nam Gyu x Reader(f), Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kim Young Mi x Reader(f)

A/N: It was very interesting to work on it, I hope something good came out!

🖤🖤🖤

Thanos (Su Bong) and Nam Gyu

You were sitting in the common room, after the first game you were very tired, so decided to rest all the rest of the time, although you were very restless. Suddenly you saw two tall figures walking towards your bed. They were players 230 and 124, you recognized the first one, because in the first game he behaved very loudly and carelessly. They sat down on the next bed and started a dialogue.

- What a beautiful angel came down from heaven straight to me. - player 230 said with a wide smile.

- Did you call me an angel?

- Yes, baby, I'm a rapper Thanos, who couldn't resist your beauty, it's like you're from another planet.

- He wanted to say that you look like an alien. - player 124 replied. By the way, he was hit on the back of the head by Thanos for this words.

- Don't say such shit to this beautiful lady. - he said irritably, then looked at you and continued. - Don't listen to him, your style is beautiful, what's it name?

- Emo. - you answered briefly.

- Well, that's all, Emo girl, the great Thanos will protect you and now you're in my team! - he said with a wide smile, his friend is completely shocked.

- Why are you taking her to our team? Why the fuck do we need girls at all?

- Shut up, my friend, I've already decided everything. - they both looked at you waiting for your answer.

After a little thought, you decided to join. After all, you can't handle alone here, and these guys are fun, especially Thanos, who really liked your style.

As it turned out a little later, after the second game, player 124, whose name was Nam Gyu, was somehow not against your style, he quietly approached you and quickly said:

- You look pretty sexy. - and then left you.

If only he had seen how you blushed from his words, you haven't been complimented for a long time.

Cho Hyun Ju

The was second game, you had to assemble a team of five people, but it was a big problem for you. After all, everyone rejected you because of your style, someone even calling you a stuffed, which hit you hard. You didn't do anything wrong, you just dressed as you like, why are you don’t liked?

You were already completely desperate, but suddenly you saw a beautiful and tall girl who, like you, approached many and was also rejected. You thought it was fate and decided to act.

- Excuse me, would you like to join my team? - you asked her a little embarrassed.

She smiled softly and agreed to your offer. Soon you found three more people. A mother with son and a shy sweet girl.

You were able to win and after the game you decided to learn more about each other. Everyone told own story, why he is here, but most of all you were touched by the story of Hyun Ju. It turns out that she was transgender and she needs money to finish the transition to a girl, she also wants to go to Thailand and start all over again. When you listened to her story, you fell in love with her more and more, it looks like it's love at first sight.

When night came, you couldn't sleep, as it turned out, Hyun Ju's bed was next to you and you saw that she was awake too.

- Fate seems to have decided to bring us together. - she said in a whisper so as not to wake anyone up.

- What are you talking about?

- We united into one team, were able to win, and now it turns out that our beds are quite close.

- Yes, it's really interesting. - you answered with a slight blush.

- You know, don't listen to anyone, your style is incredibly and unusual, you look like a fairy and you are very beautiful. - after these words you realized that you finally fell in love with this gorgeous girl.

- You are also very beautiful, Hyunnie. And don't pay attention to others either, they don't understand anything. They can only say how strange we are.

- We'll be weird together. - it seems that she hinted to you about the continuation of your communication or the beginning of something more. Well, you really hoped for it.

- Yes, let's be weird together.

Kim Young Mi

The food in this place was just terrible. You were very hungry, but you only got a small bun and a bottle of water for breakfast.

- How rotten it all is. - you were about to start the meal, when you saw the girl who was sitting and crying, you decided to approach her and find out what happened.

- Hey, why are you crying? - you asked carefully, but she was still a little scared of you, you hoped it was from surprise.

- No, everything is fine, really. - It was clear from her voice, she was very nervous.

- I see that something happened, tell me, I won't make fun of you.

- Really? - then you were shocked who she even took you for.

- Of course not, why did you decide that at all?

- Your appearance..you look like..a bitch. - she said the last word very quietly, as if she was ashamed to think so.

You were a little offended, but you decided not to show it to the girl.

- So what happened?

- The hooligans took away my food, and I very hungry. - she pointed to a group of guys, from them you recognized player 230, who was already very noisy.

Without thinking twice, you handed her your breakfast, she was sincerely surprised by this gesture.

- What? But why? I can't accept it!!

- Take it, you need to gain strength before the game, and a piece doesn't fit in my throat, there's nothing to lose food, take it. - she took food from you with slightly trembling hands and wanted to say something, but you already left, leaving her alone.

But who knew that in the second game fate will bring you together again and you will play in the same team? And it is after the second game that you will get to know each other better and she apologized for calling you a bitch.

🖤🖤🖤

[secriden]

One of my favourite things about the way Fadel's plan (to "make them [Style] fall in love with us [me]") plays out is that when he dials up his affection and goes all out on the sweet flirtation and tenderness, Style immediately finds it weird and strange and suspicious and off-putting. Fadel pretending to be #whipped actually makes Style pull away like none of Fadel's aggression and violence and outright rejection did -- because it wasn't sincere, and Style could sense that.

When Fadel first drags Style out and starts peppering kisses on his face, Style turns away from his kisses and pulls back/pushes Fadel away from him to start questioning why Fadel is acting so strange. This is the same person who later propositions Fadel in a public bathroom whilst knowing one of the stalls is currently occupied by a stranger, so whilst I fully acknowledge Style probably genuinely did not want his dad to see them necking in his place of work, I'm also convinced it wasn't the only reason.

Because when Fadel allows some honesty to slip out, when he says "Don't you ever think that I'm only like this because of you?", Style actually softens and turns into Fadel's kiss for the first time in the scene. His hands go from pushing upwards at Fadel's neck to clenching softly against his shoulder and upper arm, like he's finally able to relax and hold Fadel closer (you can actually see the difference in these screenshots compared to the ones above). Style stops resisting and sinks into the kiss, lets his eyes almost slip close because something in him recognises that Fadel spoke true.

The same thing happens in Style's bedroom when Fadel continues his charade: Style is smiling, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable and awkward air about it, and he actually pulls away when Fadel continues to sniff-kiss him while going on and on about loving the way Style smells like gasoline. Fadel tries to be clingy again and Style outright calls him out on how weird he's being, so Fadel is forced to backtrack into sincerity:

Suddenly, Style's wariness turns to excitement and interest; he happily agrees to come along and asks what he should get Bison as a gift. Fadel is literally torturing himself to keep up this excessive affection and tenderness (the away Fadel's softness and sweetness just drops once Style goes to take that shower. Ugh. T_T) and gets nothing from Style until he offers something genuine -- a request for time to celebrate someone Fadel truly loves.

In fact, it's the pieces of honesty (or at least I'm assuming that this is also true since he was honest about Bison's birthday), and only those, that Style responds positively to. We have seen Style flirting constantly in previous episodes but he literally has not said anything scandalous or suggestive so far, nor has he initiated any affection even once until this moment.

And the reason why I love all this SO MUCH is because it really shows the evidence of Style's words before he even says them. In the midst of all the secrets and lies between them, ever since he found out about Fadel's secret and decided he was going to keep pursing him anyway, Style has been chasing and chasing Fadel's sincerity. And each precious revelation that Fadel gave him -- his parents' murder, his inability to trust, his desire for something genuine from Style -- has been carefully stored away in Style's heart like nuggets of gold. Which is why Fadel's performance was doomed from the start; because Style was moved by the true things and not the lies, and Fadel's pretensions can have no effect when Style's heart now has the ability to recognise that which he has already grown to love.

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (7); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 7.7k+

Chapter Warnings: i'm assuming there are no warnings but if i need to add anything pls do lmk !!

A/N: my fav part about working on this series is having to rewatch the movie repeatedly to make sure i’m capturing its essence just right. at this point, i feel like i could recite every line by heart without even watching it lmao. anywaysss, this series is wrapping up soon, and I’m going to miss it SOOOO MUCH. pls do read this part and let me know your thoughts! <3

part 7

"I don’t want any part of your family." Jungkook announces, his voice sharp. Before you, your mother, or your grandmother can respond, he turns on his heel and strides away.

You gasp softly, a lump forming in your throat as you spin to face your mother and grandmother, your eyes glistening. "Was this really necessary?" you seethe, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief.

Without waiting for a reply, you rush after Jungkook, your heart pounding as panic and hurt collide within you. The music and laughter of the party feel like a cruel backdrop as you weave through the crowd, calling his name.

Jungkook, however, is already far ahead, his chest tight and his breathing ragged as he pushes through the sea of dancing bodies.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back, his mind reeling from everything he’s just heard. The weight of the accusations, the humiliation, the betrayal... it’s all too much. He crashes into shoulders, mumbles hurried apologies, but keeps moving, driven by only one instinct... to escape.

You, meanwhile, search frantically, your eyes darting through the kaleidoscope of lights and people. “Jungkook!” you call out, your voice barely audible over the music.

You somehow manage to spot Taehyung and Miyeon, who are laughing with your cousins, their cheeks flushed from champagne and joy.

"Have you seen Jungkook?" you ask breathlessly, your desperation apparent. They all exchange confused glances, clearly dazed and unaware of the storm brewing inside you. "No, I haven’t..." Taehyung answers, his brows furrowing. "Is everything okay?"

But you’re already stepping away, scanning the room, your pulse quickening with every passing second. You press through the crowd, ignoring the curious looks from partygoers as dread settles deep in your chest. You silently curse yourself for letting him slip away, knowing how deeply this moment must have wounded him.

Jungkook, now outside the hall, stands under the open night sky, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself. The cool air stings his skin, but it does little to numb the chaos inside him.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he had found a place to belong... someone to belong to. But tonight, the cracks have grown far too wide, and all he can feel is the ache of being an outsider again.

If your mother’s disapproval had ended with him, he could have taken it... he had prepared himself for that. But dragging his only family into it, accusing his mother, the one person who had given up everything for him? That was unbearable.

The words your mother spoke play on a loop in his head, tearing at his composure. His mother... the woman who worked tirelessly, who sacrificed her dreams for his future, who always made sure he had what he needed, no matter how little they had... how could anyone think so little of her?

He clenches his fists, trying to dispel the anger and confusion threatening to consume him.

And yet, there’s a tiny seed of doubt buried beneath the pain, watered by memories of the sudden move to New York. How his mother randomly quit her job in Busan one day and told him to pack up. How she never offered a real explanation, only saying... "It’s for the best."

Jungkook shakes his head, his trust in her unshaken, but his mind remains clouded. He doesn’t know what to think, what to believe. He feels lost, untethered, as though the ground beneath him is crumbling away.

There’s only one place he can think of going right now... away from this party, away from all these people, away from the echoes of your mother’s piercing words, and that’s Yoongi’s place.

The city noise fades into the background as Jungkook walks, his steps heavy and mechanical. The streets of Daegu blur together, unimportant and indistinct, as he trudges forward, his blazer hanging limply from one hand while the other is buried deep in his pocket.

By the time he reaches Yoongi’s estate, his shoulders are slumped, his head bowed, and he looks like a man carrying the weight of the world.

The massive iron gates screech open, revealing the familiar expanse of Yoongi’s mansion. Jungkook steps inside, dragging his feet across the paved path.

The grand doors swing open almost immediately, and Yoongi rushes out to meet him. "Kook!" Yoongi’s voice is filled with concern, and it’s obvious that the guards must have informed him of Jungkook’s unexpected arrival.

As Yoongi jogs towards him, his expression shifts from confusion to alarm. He slows down when he’s just a few steps away, studying Jungkook intently, trying to piece together why his friend is here instead of at the wedding.

But when Yoongi looks into Jungkook’s eyes, he immediately knows better than to ask. The storm of emotions written all over Jungkook’s face... hurt, betrayal, and exhaustion speaks volumes.

Yoongi doesn’t press for answers, doesn’t push him to talk. Instead, he closes the remaining distance and pulls Jungkook into a firm, securing hug.

Jungkook stiffens at first, but then he lets out a shuddering breath, his tension easing just slightly as he leans into the warmth of Yoongi’s embrace. He shuts his eyes tightly, as if holding them closed can stop the emotions threatening to spill over.

//

You click your tongue in frustration, shaking your head as the voicemail drones on again. You lower your phone, staring at the screen, your heart sinking with every passing second.

Taking a shaky breath, you dial his number again, your hands trembling. "Please... please pick up, Kook... please." you mutter, but just like the 36 times before, the call goes unanswered.

Standing just outside the wedding venue, the muffled sounds of the party echo faintly behind you. The heavy bass of the music vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a constant reminder of the celebration you’re supposed to be a part of.

Yet everything feels distant, blurred, inconsequential. Your mind is consumed by only one thing, only one person... Jungkook. His face. The look in his eyes when your mother and grandmother shattered the fragile sense of belonging he had.

A part of you knew your mother wasn’t exactly thrilled when you brought Jungkook home for the first time. She had always envisioned someone who fit her rigid mold of perfection... someone polished, wealthy, and born into a family with status.

Jungkook, didn’t exactly align with her ideal type for you. But you convinced yourself, naively, that in time she would see what you saw in him. That after witnessing how much you loved him, she would come around.

What you didn't expect was this. This level of cruelty. A literal background check? Digging into his family’s past? And then to humiliate him so mercilessly in the middle of a celebration? The memory of it makes your stomach churn, a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you.

But you don’t care about his past. You never did. Whatever your mother uncovered, whatever reasons she thinks she has to deem him “unworthy”...none of it matters to you. What matters is him... the man you know, the man you love.

You don’t see Jungkook as a blemish on your family’s pristine reputation or a potential "threat" to your social standing.

You see him as the man who stole your heart the day you met him in New York. The dreamy photographer whose eyes light up when he talks about the things he’s passionate about. The man who sees the world through a lens most people couldn’t even imagine.

You love him for his little quirks... for the way he fusses over perfect lighting, the way he scrunches his nose when he’s deep in thought, the way he pouts his lips to hold himself back from crying while you both watch sappy romcoms in his little apartment, the way he makes you feel truly seen. Not as the rich girl born into privilege, but as you. Just you.

And now, you’re terrified you might have lost him. Terrified that the person who made you feel whole might be slipping away because of the very family you’ve tried so hard to reconcile him with.

Your phone screen dims, and you realize with a jolt that your call has ended... voicemail again. Your breath hitches, and your vision blurs as desperation claws at your chest.

A tear trickles down your cheek and all you can think about is where Jungkook's gone, how he is and what's going through his mind.

//

“Kook… you gotta eat something, man.” Yoongi calls gently from the doorway of the guest room, his voice low and laced with concern.

His eyes scan the dimly lit room, landing on Jungkook, who remains curled up under a thick blanket, his back turned to the world. The younger man is a still, silent figure, lost in the folds of the bed.

There’s no response. No shift. No acknowledgment. Just the faint rise and fall of Jungkook’s shoulders as he breathes.

It’s been a full day since Jungkook showed up at Yoongi’s doorstep, looking like a ghost of himself. He hadn’t offered much explanation, but Yoongi didn’t need one. He’d pieced it together soon enough.

“Alright...” Yoongi murmurs, almost to himself, noticing how Jungkook doesn’t so much as flinch. “Maybe later.” He steps back, pulling the door shut and makes his way to the living room.

“He’s still the same.” Yoongi says as he steps into the room, his tone subdued. His gaze shifts to you, perched on the edge of the couch. You’re sitting so still, your hands clasped tightly on your lap, your knuckles pale.

When Yoongi called you earlier in the morning, informing you that Jungkook was at his place, you hadn’t hesitated. You came immediately, in hopes of seeing how Jungkook was doing.

But now, sitting here, your chest aches with a mix of guilt, worry, and helplessness. You’ve already told Yoongi about what happened at the party... how your mother humiliated Jungkook, dredging up his past like it was some dark secret to be weaponized. And now, the image of his face in that moment... hurt, exposed, betrayed, still haunts you.

Every instinct screams at you to go upstairs, to see him, to explain, to apologize. But fear holds you back. What if you make it worse? What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he blames you, even though none of this was your doing?

You force yourself to take a breath, the air shaky as it fills your lungs. “Okay then…” Your voice is quiet, almost trembling, as you stand up from the couch. “I’ll leave now.”

Yoongi watches you with a mix of empathy and reluctance. He doesn’t try to stop you, though you can tell he wishes he could offer some kind of comfort.

You make your way to the front door, your footsteps slow and hesitant. But when you reach the door, you pause, turning to face Yoongi. “He’ll... be okay, right?” you ask, your voice soft, fragile. Your eyes search his, pleading for reassurance you desperately need.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line before he offers a small, tentative smile. “Hopefully.” he says gently. “I’ll keep you updated. Don’t worry too much.”

You nod, though his words do little to ease the ache in your chest. Your smile in return is faint, barely there, as you turn and step out to leave

Once you’re gone, Yoongi lingers at the door for a moment, watching your car drive away. Then, with a deep exhale, he retreats upstairs, returning to the guest room. The room is as it was... dim, still, heavy with silence. Jungkook hasn’t moved an inch.

Yoongi approaches the bed, sitting on the edge, careful not to startle him. “Kook...” he begins, his tone soft but steady. “Y/n was here.” That gets a reaction, albeit a subtle one. Jungkook’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, but he doesn’t turn around.

“She’s worried about you, you know.” Yoongi says gently, his voice cutting through the thick silence. “Said you haven’t been answering her calls.” He pauses, his eyes fixed on the back of Jungkook’s head, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment. When none comes, he exhales softly. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

Jungkook remains motionless, his eyes locked on the faint glow of light outlining the edges of the curtains. The world outside feels distant, unreachable, like a place he no longer belongs.

He’s seen the missed calls, the messages, each one a silent plea from you. He knows you’re worried, he can feel it even in your absence. But the thought of facing you now feels impossible.

His mind loops through the events of the night before... the way your mother’s biting words had stripped him bare in front of you. The sting of humiliation burns fresh in his memory, each detail sharper than the last. He knows it wasn’t your fault. You had no part in what happened, no idea of your mother’s cruel intentions.

Still, the weight of it all... the shame, the vulnerability, the fear that you might look at him differently now, keeps him rooted to the bed.

He misses you. God, he misses you so much it hurts. He wants nothing more than to bury his face in your shoulder, to let your presence soothe the storm raging inside him. But right now, he feels too raw, too exposed.

Maybe he just needs time. Space.

Yoongi watches him closely, waiting for even the smallest reaction. When it doesn’t come, he lets out another sigh, long and heavy with understanding.

“Alright...” he says softly, standing from the bed. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs, okay?” His voice is calm, reassuring, as if he’s trying to lend Jungkook some of his own strength.

With that, Yoongi turns and walks towards the door, leaving the younger man alone once again. The sound of the door closing echoes faintly, a quiet reminder that the world hasn’t stopped, even if it feels like Jungkook’s has.

//

“He still hasn’t responded?” Taehyung’s voice is tinged with worry. You don’t reply, your gaze fixed on the open window of your bedroom, the soft rustle of curtains doing little to calm the storm inside you.

Miyeon sits beside you, her arm wrapped gently around your shoulders, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. She doesn’t say anything... she knows words won’t reach you right now.

Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stand nearby, their expressions heavy with concern. Seeing you like this... so pale, so fragile, so utterly shattered, breaks their hearts. It’s been three whole days since everything fell apart.

Three days since the party. Three days since you've seen Jungkook. Since your world crumbled.

According to the initial plan, you and Jungkook were supposed to leave Daegu yesterday to board your flight back to New York. However, the unforeseen turn of events derailed everything.

These past three days, you’ve visited Yoongi’s house every day, hoping… praying… to see Jungkook, to catch even a fleeting glimpse of him. But each time, all you’re met with is Yoongi’s somber shake of the head, a silent confirmation that Jungkook doesn’t want to see you.

Your chest aches with a pain so profound it feels etched into the very fabric of your being. You miss him so fucking much but what haunts you the most is the uncertainty. Where does this leave the two of you? Does he want to end things? Does he want to break up?

The mere thought of never seeing him again feels like an unhealing wound, a chasm that devours every sliver of hope. It’s unbearable... the kind of pain that steals your breath and leaves you hollow, trembling, and utterly lost.

Suddenly, you rise from the bed, startling the others.

“Y/n?” Seokjin’s voice is hurried as they all follow your purposeful strides towards the door. “Where are you going?”

You don’t answer. You don’t even glance back. Your steps quicken as you walk past the hallway and descend the grand staircase, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the house. Your eyes dart around until they find her.

Your mother.

She’s seated by the pool in the garden, sipping tea and reading a book as if nothing has happened. As if she hasn’t ripped your life apart with her calculated cruelty.

Something inside you snaps.

You shove the glass door open with a force that makes it clatter, storming out onto the lawn. Your mother looks up, startled by your sudden presence. She carefully sets her teacup down on the table beside her, a composed expression masking the chaos she’s caused.

“Y/n darling—”

“You’re horrible.” you blurt out, cutting her off. Your voice trembles, not with weakness, but with the sheer force of emotions clawing their way to the surface. Her calm demeanor falters, just slightly. “Y/n—”

“Did you really have to go that far?” you demand, your voice rising with each word. “Really, Mama? A background check? Was that necessary?”

The others... Taehyung, Miyeon, Namjoon, and Seokjin exchange uneasy glances. They stand a few steps behind, unsure if they should intervene, but they know better than to stop you now.

“Do you honestly think digging into his past, dredging up something so personal, and throwing it in his face was the answer?” you continue, your voice shaking with anger and heartbreak.

“Did you think that humiliating him, tearing him down in front of me, would make me change my mind? If you did, you’re wrong, Mama. So, so wrong.”

Your mother opens her mouth, but the fury in your eyes silences her.

“I don’t care about his past!” you cry, your voice breaking. “I don’t care about what his mother did or about your stupid obsession with our reputation. I don’t care if you think he’s a ‘threat’ to our image. None of that matters to me! All I care about is him. I love him, Mama. Don't you understand that? I love him more than anything, and I can’t—” Your voice cracks, tears streaming down your face now.

“I can’t imagine a life without him. And you’ve made him feel like he’s nothing. Like he’s not worthy of me. How could you? How could you be so cruel?”

Your mother’s calm facade begins to crumble under the weight of your words, but you don’t stop.

“You’ve destroyed the one thing that made me happy, the one person who truly matters to me. And for what? Your pride? Your precious image?” You shake your head, your voice now quieter but no less intense.

“You didn’t just hurt him, Mama. You hurt me. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.” Your words hang in the air, heavy and final, as you stand there, chest heaving, tears streaming freely down your face.

Your mother looks at you, her expression frozen, as though struck too deeply to formulate a response. She simply stares, her composure faltering under the weight of your outburst.

Behind you, the others remain silent, their own hearts aching at the rawness of your pain. No one moves, no one speaks. They simply bear witness to the moment you finally let it all out... the moment your anguish and love refused to be silenced any longer.

//

Yoongi peeks his head around the door, his gaze landing on Jungkook, who is lying in the same position as always... curled on his side, back facing the door.

It’s been a week now, and nothing has changed. Jungkook remains silent, unresponsive, and withdrawn. At this point, Yoongi is just relieved he’s started eating again, even if it’s only small amounts.

"Hey, Kook..." Yoongi calls out softly, his tone hesitant, careful. He watches as Jungkook’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that he’s heard his voice.

But still, Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes remain fixed on the curtains ahead, their edges glowing faintly in the daylight. He feels like he’s become one with the bed, as though his body has fused with the mattress, drained of all energy, all will to do anything.

Every day, Yoongi tells him you’ve come by to see him, and every day Jungkook reacts the same way... he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t give in. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you... he does. God, he does.

But the thought of facing you feels like scaling a mountain he’s not ready to climb. The humiliation, the pain, the anger... none of it has faded. He knows it wasn’t your fault, knows you didn’t know what was coming, but even so, the wounds are still too raw.

He knows he’s hurting you by shutting you out. He knows this isn’t the right way to handle things, that his silence is only amplifying the ache for both of you.

Yet he feels paralyzed, trapped in this endless loop of shame and sadness. He’s been telling himself he just needs more time, but deep down, he wonders if any amount of time will be enough to make him feel whole again.

By now, he should’ve been back in New York. His flight was almost a week ago. His work is piling up, responsibilities waiting, but none of it seems to matter.

His body feels heavy, his mind clouded with everything that’s gone wrong. Moving, talking, doing anything... it all feels impossible. The future feels distant, unreachable, while the present keeps pulling him under.

“Someone’s here to see you.” Yoongi says, breaking the silence.

Jungkook sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping further. He doesn’t need to guess who it is. He already knows. And just like every other day this past week, he mutters the same words. “I don’t want to see her.”

“It’s not her.” Yoongi says quickly. Jungkook freezes at that, the words catching him off guard. There’s a brief pause before he slowly turns his head, curiosity breaking through his haze. He shifts slightly on the bed, looking at Yoongi standing by the door.

Yoongi steps aside and pushes the door open wider. Jungkook’s breath catches when he sees who steps into the room. His eyes widen, and he’s off the bed in an instant, his movements uncharacteristically quick.

“Ma!” he exclaims, his voice trembling, filled with surprise and a touch of desperation.

His mother stands there with a soft, understanding smile, her presence warm and familiar, like a balm for his aching soul.

But Jungkook doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t speak again. He simply rushes towards her, crossing the room in a heartbeat, and throws his arms around her.

“Ma.” he whispers again, softer this time, his voice breaking. His arms tighten around her as he buries his face in her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut. She holds him just as tightly, her hand gently stroking the back of his head.

//

"Here, eat this." Jungkook’s mother says gently, holding a plate of food as she sits on the bed, facing him. Her voice is soft but firm, carrying a motherly authority that Jungkook doesn’t dare defy. She picks up a spoonful of rice, bringing it to his lips.

"How can you go on like this, Kook? Not eating, not taking care of yourself..." She shakes her head softly, a small sigh escaping her.

Jungkook opens his mouth obediently, letting her feed him. He chews mechanically, his gaze fixed on her face. Her expression is calm, unchanging, the same serene smile he’s known all his life.

Her eyes seem to study him with quiet concern, yet there’s an unshakable strength behind them. It’s comforting in a way that almost makes his chest ache more.

It’s been twenty minutes since she walked into his room. Twenty minutes since he buried himself in her arms, his emotions spilling over for the first time in days.

Yet, he hasn’t uttered a word about the storm brewing in his heart. He doesn’t know how she got here, doesn’t know why she’s here. Did Yoongi call her? Does she know what happened? More importantly, does she know what he’s learned about her... about their past?

His thoughts swirl in a relentless loop. He keeps telling himself it can’t be true, that it doesn’t make sense. But the questions claw at him, relentless, demanding answers.

His mother lifts another spoonful to his mouth, and he opens instinctively. He chews slowly, his mind racing as he watches her. She seems... the same. The same gentle demeanor, the same patient smile.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Jungkook speaks, his voice hesitant and shaky. “Ma...”

She hums softly at his voice, acknowledging him but continuing to feed him. He swallows thickly, his throat tight. “I... I need to ask you something...” he says. The words feel heavy, like they’re scraping their way out of his chest. “Y/n’s mother... she told me a few things.”

Her hand pauses for a fraction of a second, the spoon hovering in the air, a few inches away from his mouth. But her expression doesn’t falter. She places the spoon back on the plate and looks at him directly, her calm gaze unwavering. “I know.” she says simply.

Jungkook’s heart skips a beat. Of course she knows. She always knows. But it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. He searches her face for a hint of denial, some sign that it’s not what he fears. “If... If you’re wondering if any of it is true...” her voice trails off, and she looks at him with an unspoken apology in her eyes.

His breath catches. He can feel the words coming before she even says them, but he’s still not ready. “They’re all true, Kook.” she says softly, her tone gentle.

Jungkook stares at his mother with wide eyes, the weight of her confession pressing down on him like a heavy storm cloud. His thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief, and the depth of her words only leaves him more perplexed.

But before he can even form a coherent question, she continues, her tone soft but firm, as if determined to finally unburden herself after all these years.

“When we were in Busan....” she begins, her gaze drifting towards the window where sunlight filters through the newly drawn curtains, illuminating the room with a brightness Jungkook hadn’t seen in days.

“It was hard, Kook. Being a single mother… it wasn’t easy. People weren’t exactly kind, and landing a decent job was a struggle. But somehow, I managed to secure a position at a respectable company. It felt like a turning point.”

Jungkook listens intently, noticing how her voice wavers slightly. “Life became a little easier after that.” she continues.

“I could give you a proper allowance. I was able to afford your photography courses in high school. I even started saving money... something I never thought I’d be able to do. For the first time, I thought life was finally falling into place.”

She pauses, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. “And maybe, in hindsight, I got a little greedy. I started thinking... now that we were stable, maybe it was time for me to think about myself for once. To find love again.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across his features. She notices but presses on, her voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and regret. “My manager at the time… he was a kind man. At least, I thought he was. I don’t know if he pitied me or if his feelings were genuine, but... one thing led to another, and we fell in love.”

She pauses, exhaling softly. “For a while, everything was perfect. You were thriving in school, my bank account wasn’t empty anymore, and for the first time in years, I felt like a woman again... like someone who was cared for. I even thought about introducing him to you, about telling you that I’d found someone who made me happy.”

Her expression darkens slightly, the corners of her lips twitching downward. “But all of that changed one night. I was working late, staying overtime to finish a project. I stepped out to the coffee room for a quick break, and on my way back, I heard noises coming from one of the conference rooms. It sounded... strange... like someone was yelling.”

Jungkook feels his chest tighten, the anticipation growing as his mother’s voice lowers, tinged with unease. “I got curious and peeked in. What I saw... I still... I still wish I hadn’t. My manager... the man I thought I wanted to build a future with... was berating an employee." she pauses, letting out a soft breath.

"But it wasn’t just yelling. It was violent. He was shoving the employee, slamming papers onto the desk, threatening them. At first, I thought it was a one-off, maybe a moment of stress. But the more I watched, the uglier it got. He was kicking their knees, smacking their face, saying vile things like they were less than human.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “Did you... did you saying anything back then?” he asks quietly.

“I should've... but I didn't because honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d seen... ” she replies, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of the memory. “But something inside me told me it wasn’t an isolated incident. So I started paying attention. Watching him. Watching others in the company. And, Kook... it wasn’t just him.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, now gripping the edge of the plate in her lap. “It was everywhere around the company. Managers and higher-ups abusing their authority, taking advantage of their employees. Screaming at them, humiliating them, even threatening to ruin their careers. And worse... when I started digging deeper, I found financial misconduct, embezzlement, and exploitation.”

Jungkook feels the air grow thick with the gravity of her words. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. So, I started collecting evidence... voice recordings, videos, emails. Anything I could use to expose them. And eventually... I did.”

She smiles faintly, but it’s laced with bitterness. “I went to the authorities anonymously and leaked everything. At first, it seemed like justice might prevail. The company took a massive hit, and several higher-ups were investigated. But it didn’t end there.”

“What... what happened?” Jungkook whispers, his voice trembling.

“The company was owned by a powerful, influential family and the scandal bothered them... a lot.” she explains, her tone growing quieter and Jungkook immediately knows who she's referring to.

“It didn’t take the company long to figure out who had leaked the information. And when they did... everything came back to me. The media had a field day. My name was dragged through the mud. People called me unprofessional, accused me of sleeping with my manager to gain favors. They twisted everything to make me look like the villain.”

Her voice cracks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I didn’t care about my reputation, Kook. But I cared about you. I was terrified that you’d be dragged into it, that kids at your school would bully you, that your life would change because of my actions. And I couldn’t let that happen. So, with what little savings I had left, I made the decision to leave. To move far away, to a place where I could give you a better future. It was hasty, yes, but looking back... I don’t regret it... at all. I’d do it again to protect you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens, his chest aching as he watches the quiet strength in his mother’s face. Her sacrifices, her pain... it all begins to make sense, to sink in, piece by piece. “Ma... I didn’t know...” he murmurs, his voice breaking.

“I never wanted you to.” she replies, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “All I ever wanted was for you to have a life free from the burdens I carried. And if I had to do it all over again, Kook, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Jungkook feels his vision blur with tears, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward, pulling his mother into a tight hug. His arms tremble as they wrap around her, and he buries his face into her shoulder, letting out the sobs he'd been holding back.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, Mom." he cries, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. His mother strokes his back gently, her touch soothing even as her own tears threaten to spill. "Oh, sweetheart, don’t be sorry." she chuckles, her voice soft yet steady. "You don’t need to apologize for anything."

A few quiet seconds pass. "You know... I really thought she was the one." Jungkook whispers. "But it... it just got too much. I tried so hard to be strong... no matter how much her mother tried to walk all over me." He pulls his mother closer, his grip tightening as his emotions spill over.

"I love her so much, Ma." he cries, burying his face against her shoulder. "But now... I just... I just want to go home." His voice drops to a quiet murmur.

His mother says nothing, holding him still, her presence grounding him as he clings to the one person who has always been there.

They stay like that, wrapped in an embrace that feels timeless. Jungkook feels like a child again, sheltered in the safety of his mother’s arms, a refuge against the storm raging in his heart. The room falls silent except for the soft hum of their breaths, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

Eventually, his mother shifts, gently pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. She cups his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that streak his cheeks. Her lips curve into a soft, loving smile, though her eyes glisten.

"I may not have had much luck in love..." she begins, her tone tender. "But you, Kook… you don’t have to carry that fear. You’re not me."

Jungkook blinks at her, his sniffles the only sound breaking the stillness as she continues. "I know this is a lot to take in. And I know things have unfolded in ways neither of us ever wanted." she says.

"But you’re stronger than you think. And you deserve to let yourself love, even if it feels terrifying." She pauses, letting her words settle. Then, after a moment, she smiles again, her voice soft but purposeful.

"You know… Y/n was the one who called me and brought me here." she reveals. Jungkook’s brows knit in surprise, but he stays silent, his eyes searching hers. "That girl… she cares about you so much, Jungkook. More than I think you even realize."

Her smile falters slightly, replaced by a solemn look. "I know it’s hard." she says. "Facing her, facing everything after what’s happened... it’s not easy. And knowing the challenges her family brings into the picture… it must feel overwhelming."

Jungkook lowers his gaze, his hands curling into fists in his lap. His mother reaches out, gently covering one of his hands with her own, her touch warm and reassuring. "But shutting her out, ignoring her... that will only hurt her." she says. "And it’ll hurt you even more."

Her words feel like a lifeline, cutting through the fog clouding his mind. He looks up at her, his heart aching at the sincerity in her expression. There’s no judgment in her eyes... only love, hope, and unwavering belief in him.

"You don’t have to worry about me anymore." she continues, her voice soft but firm. "I’ll be okay, Kook. I’ve made my peace with the past."

She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. "So do what your heart tells you." she whispers, her voice filled with gentle conviction.

"If you still want to go back, I’ll understand. But I still think you should go and talk to her, before we go."

Jungkook closes his eyes, letting her words sink in, and for the first time in days, he feels the faintest flicker of clarity, a spark of hope amid the chaos.

//

The cool evening breeze brushes past your hair as you gaze down at the glimmering water, the rippling reflections of streetlights dancing on the surface of the tranquil sincheon river. The world around you feels quiet, yet your chest churns with restlessness.

Jungkook had finally reached out. He had called. And you had begged him to meet you. You needed to see him because frankly, you were practically unraveling without him.

Now, here you are, waiting by the walking trail that winds along the river. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you lift your gaze up to the sky. The sun has long set, but its remnants linger, smearing the horizon with hues of violet and amber, like a bruise spreading across the heavens.

You're nervous, scared even. You don’t know what you’re going to say or what he might have to tell you. You just hope that his mother, whom you had called in desperation, was able to ease some of the burden you knew he was carrying.

Your mind is a chaotic swirl of emotions, tangled in fear and anticipation but the sound of approaching footsteps halts the train of your thoughts. You whip around, your heart leaping to your throat. And there he is. Your boyfriend.

His presence seems to anchor you and unmoor you at once. Your breath catches as you take in his appearance... he looks drained, exhausted. His eyes are shadowed by evident dark circles, and his shoulders droop with a weariness that tugs painfully at your chest.

All you want to do is pull him close, to hold him, to protect him. Without hesitation, you do just that.

"Baby... oh my god." you breathe out, your voice trembling as you jog up to him. Wrapping your arms around his frame, you cling to him tightly, pressing your face against his chest. His familiar scent, warm and grounding, fills your senses. "I missed you." you whisper.

His arms move just as quickly, circling your waist with the same desperate fervor, holding you as though letting go might shatter him. "I missed you too." he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The warmth of his breath grazes the curve of your neck, and in that moment, something inside you unravels... a knot of fear and longing dissolves into the solace of his embrace.

The world around you melts away, leaving only the sound of the river lapping gently and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

The two of you stay entwined in that embrace and minutes stretch into something timeless, and slowly, reluctantly, you open your eyes and carefully pull away. Your gaze meets his, and the weight of your emotions crashes over you like a tidal wave. Tears spring to your eyes, unbidden.

“Kook... I’m sorry.” you begin, your voice trembling as your lip quivers. “I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know what my mom was thinking—” Your words catch, a sob escaping your chest, breaking through the dam you’ve tried to hold steady.

“Hey...” Jungkook breathes out gently, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears, though they continue rolling down your cheek. “It’s okay.” he whispers, his voice steady yet tender, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

But you shake your head, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry for everything, Kook. I really am.” you choke out, your voice cracking under the weight of your regret.

“It’s not your fault.” he murmurs, his dark eyes searching yours, shimmering with his own restrained emotions. “Shhh...” he hushes you, pulling you close again.

His embrace is solid, a haven, and you wonder how someone can carry so much grace. Even now, when he should be the one comforted, he holds you together.

The tears spill freely as you bury yourself in his arms, your body trembling against his. Jungkook’s hands move gently along your back, his touch rhythmic and calming. “This past week... it’s been so hard, Kook. I missed you so much.” you manage between sobs, your voice cracking.

Jungkook feels his heart splintering, guilt threading its way through him. He tightens his hold on you, his own breath hitching as he battles the storm inside. He knows he hurt you by shutting you out, but at the time, it felt like the only way he could cope. He was drowning too.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His hand stays warm against your damp cheek, his thumb gliding across the soft curve of your cheekbone.

When your teary eyes lock with his, something magnetic draws you closer. You tilt your head upward, closing your eyes, and press your lips to his in a kiss that feels like both an apology and a plea.

Jungkook responds instantly, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. His hands anchor you in place, one cradling your jaw while the other settles at your waist.

The kiss deepens, raw and full of unspoken emotions, and you can feel in the way his lips move against yours just how much he’s missed you, too.

When he finally pulls back, breathless, his chest rises and falls rapidly. “I’m sorry I shut you out...” he exhales.

You shake your head quickly. “No, Kook. You had every reason to. What my mom did... it was unforgivable. She had no right to come at you like that... and... and disrespect you like that.”

Stepping back slightly, you look up at him, your hands still resting lightly on his chest. “I had no idea she’d been scheming all of this behind my back. When I brought you here, I just... I wanted to introduce you to my family because you’re so important to me. You’re everything to me.” Your voice softens, but your words are laced with an ache that refuses to go away.

“I should’ve seen it coming, though. The first time she was rude to you in the kitchen, I should’ve taken the hint. I should’ve warned her to stay out of this.”

He exhales deeply, the sound heavy with a mix of resignation and lingering pain. Slowly, he moves past you as he edges closer to the riverbank.

"I knew she never liked me..." he starts, his voice low, carrying the weight of a truth he’s held in for too long. "It was so obvious. She didn’t even try to hide it." A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, but it’s laced with pain, not mirth.

You follow him quietly, closing the distance, until you’re standing right next to him. The cold bites at your cheeks, but the ache in his voice hurts even more.

Together, you gaze at the dark river ahead, the water shimmering faintly under the moonlight and the surrounding streetlights.

"A part of me understood her..." he continues, turning his head slightly towards you. His eyes, glistening but guarded, meet yours for a fleeting moment before he looks away. "She had every right to be worried. I mean… I’m dating her daughter. Of course, she’d be protective."

You hold his gaze briefly but remain silent, sensing he needs to say more.

"Maybe she doubted my intentions..." he admits, his tone soft but raw, like he’s peeling back layers of himself for you. "Maybe she thought I could never be good enough for you." His shoulders rise in a small shrug, his expression distant.

"All of that… it’s valid. I could accept it, you know? I would’ve tried. Tried to prove myself to her, even if it felt impossible."

He stops, his jaw tightening as he stares at the water. The moonlight catches on his profile, illuminating the subtle tremor in his lips as he fights to hold himself back from brutally cracking open.

"But when she brought up my mother..." His voice wavers, and he turns his face away, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. "She said she didn’t want to be linked to a family like mine. And that…" He exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the memory. "That broke me."

You feel your chest tighten at his words, your heart aching for the pain he’s trying so hard to contain. He doesn’t need to explain further because you already understand what he's trying to say.

"Kook..." you call out softly, inching closer and placing a gentle hand on his arm. "She was so so wrong... so wrong. And it wasn’t fair to you at all."

He turns his head slightly, his gaze flickering to yours, the sadness in his eyes now tinged with something else... perhaps relief at being seen, or maybe the fact that he can finally open up.

"And I’m done." you say, your voice firmer now, though it still trembles at the edges. "I’m done making excuses for her. For her actions, for the way she treated you, for the way she handled things."

You reach out with your other hand, cupping his jaw and guiding his face towards you. His eyes, meet yours fully now. "Kook..." you whisper, your breath hitching as his name falls from your lips.

"Your past, what your mom did, my reputation… none of that matters to me. It never has, and it never will." Your thumb gently grazes his cheek, and you see the tension in his jaw loosen, ever so slightly. "All that matters to me is you."

His lips part as if to respond, but the words seem to fail him. You press on, your voice shaking with sincerity.

"You matter so much to me..." you confess, your heart pounding as you take another step closer, until there’s no space left between you. "And I’m ready to leave all of this behind... I'm ready to walk out of everything if it means I can be with you. None... of this matters without you."

He looks down at you, his brows furrowing as he tries to process the enormity of your words. His chest rises and falls heavily under your touch, his breath warm against the cool night air.

"Let’s start over." you say, your voice soft but resolute. "Let’s start a new life together in New York... our home. That’s where we belong, Kook. That’s where I belong. With you."

Your words hang in the air, suspended between the two of you, and you can feel the shift in him... his walls crumbling under the weight of what you're saying.

"Let's elope, Kook."

<- part 6

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[penvisions]

services requested {chapter two}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: With the flourish of a contract that contains a section titled 'Intimacy Clause' and a quirk of your lips, you turn Joel Miller's life upside down.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, his life beginning to slow as his body aches, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mention of pregnancy (not reader or joel), verbal threat, argumentative language, joel and tommy y'all good god, think that's it!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter two for y'all! ♡

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You can’t help but feel a bit shy around him, with a contract being looked over by one of your friends who works in the more…lucrative business of strip clubs and the party scene. She’s around the same age, working alongside the owner of one of the classier and legitimate night clubs, where she acts as a legal representative for the girls that work there as well as others who come through the doors looking for a little adult fun.

She had arrived just as Joel was leaving for the day, her eyes widening as she watched him toss a out a bag of garbage into the outside bin on his way out of the door and off the job for the day. He had nodded politely at her, though his lips didn’t lift quite as much at the corners as they did for you. Her squeal the second the front door was loud, and you immediately shushed her and clamped your hands over her mouth while peering through the blinds to see if he heard it. Thankfully he hadn’t turned at the rather alarming sound as he loaded up into his truck and took off down the street.

“That’s the Mr. Miller I keep hearing about?!”

That was days ago, and the renovation is in the last stages. New walls are up, drywall and mudding complete. All that was left was the kitchen downstairs and the tiling in the bathroom. Painting was tomorrow, once the colors were picked out too.

Today you were going to tag along with the older man to the supply store to look over tiles, none of the ones in the catalogue he had left on your desk in the study popped out at you. He’s been working hard, to get everything done on schedule. Your parent’s return is in two weeks and he’s determined to have it all polished and shining by the time you head out to get them from the airport.

Professionality and friendship seem to be a good mix for you. Calling him Mr. Miller when he reminds you to call him Joel, him lingering at the end of each day to make sure he gives you a run down of what got done and what will be on the agenda of tasks for the next one. He playfully calls you ma’am in return, though he uses your name sometimes too.

A running joke of sorts, between the two of you. But also, it’s not really a joke at all. But a way to draw an invisible line- no physical contact has happened since that day your composure cracked and fell into tiny pieces around you alongside your hot tears. But you swear you can feel his eyes trailing after you when you’re working around the house.

You’re both jokingly picking out the most garish colors and saying they would look perfect in the living room, the bathroom, the upstairs bedrooms. His own thick fingers brushing yours as you both huff laughter and reach for new swatches. The attendant behind you is smiling at the scene, younger than you and stuck at such a boring job of mixing colors for people that seem too focused to have fine like you two are. But the bubble of easy going fun is broken by a man donned in a grey sweat pants and a plain tee.

He calls your name, in question. As if he doesn’t quite want to bother you if you don’t hear him. But you do, and so does Joel. With laughter still on your tongue, you turn with a wide smile in the man’s direction.

“Micheal! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you.” You don’t move to shake his hand, something Joel’s stomach flips over noticing. You keep the tight curl of your fingers over the swatch of blinding yellow he had jokingly suggested for the kitchen that you had pried from his own grip. Your long nails, done up in a soft pink this time had scraped against his skin and nearly short circuited his thoughts. But they’re back now as he watches you interact with this random man.

“I just wanted to say hi and thank you again for the session. It was such a dream, honestly.” The man’s words are genuine, his expression one of open awe. It has Joel stiffening behind you, aware that this may be awkward for him.

“I’m so glad, it’s always a fun challenge when someone comes to me with an idea like that. But I’m glad we could execute it perfectly for you.” Behind you, you can feel Joel stiffen. His entire body goes rigid and you sneak a look at him over your shoulder, but he’s seemingly fascinated by the color samples in his hands…

The rest of the trip around the store is strained, Joel won’t look you in the eye and you feel like he’s avoiding brushing up against you. He assures you he can load everything up into the back of the truck so you’re stewing in the passenger seat waiting for him to finish. The ride back isn’t nearly as happy and easy-going as the ride there and you can’t get the words out to ask if everything is okay, your fight or flight triggered and flight is your go to nowadays. It didn’t used to be…

He gets to unloading as you hide yourself away in the office, sketching app open and stylus in your immobile hand as your back twinges painfully. The scar dug into the skin there feeling like it was just carved your mind replays the event on a loop. You can faintly hear the soft squelch of the paint rollers working, an easy day of work all in all.

But he doesn’t come to bid you a good afternoon, nor does he seem to stop for lunch.

Too caught up in your memories, you sit in the locked office until well after the sun goes down. Reaching out to your assistant to reschedule your consultations booked for that afternoon and evening with a quick text the second you got back from the store…

Two weeks fly by, your little spell invigorating you after wallowing.

It wasn’t productive and it hadn’t helped anything, but it was necessary. Processing and resting, giving your mind and body the chance to work through something is important. Realistically you know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Anxiety and trauma are always something you will have to struggle with, no matter how big of a name you make for yourself.

The walkthrough in the morning goes okay, almost back to the comfortable and borderline flirtatious camaraderie you and Joel had established early on. Everything was perfect, the colors, the tiling, the patterns, all of it amazing and beyond what you had expected. Even if you actively watched Joel create the cabinets with his hands, seen the sketches of what he envisioned for the space based on your words and description.

“I really appreciate all the work you put into the renovation, it came out so amazing.” You shuffle the papers in your hand, knocking them against the top of the desk to straighten them out before stapling the bunch of them together. Reaching for an envelope, you place the card you had taken out in his name- attached to your expenses account that you used for your own supplies. That was secured to the top of the stack with a binder clip. “And I was wondering if I could hire you.”

"What do you mean, you want to hire me? I'm already workin' a job for you." His confusion is clear, brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. His hands are secure on the arms of the chair he occupies. He only needs one or two more days of cleaning and wiping everything down, ensuring no dust from the construction work lingers, no nails or screws are prominent, sand down a few edges here and there. And then of course he offered to help put away what appeared to be a whole new kitchen in the form of pots and pans, cutlery and serve wear, fancy glasses and a set of ceramic mugs that looked hand painted. Everything had come in boxes throughout his workdays, piling up in the garage that contained most of your stuff from when you moved back.  

"For your...services, Mr. Miller. To be called upon at any time." You try to keep your excitement from showing too much, not wanting to weird him out or make him feel any more awkward with what you are just about to do. You’ve never offered someone such a thing before….to be their sole provider and essentially a sugar momma. Though you did explicitly claim there was no pressure or obligation to be intimate in exchange for the funds you wanted to provide him. He’s just a handsome man whose lived a full, busy life and you wanted to offer him a much deserved break.

But as soothing as you keep your voice and even as you keep your tone, based on the way his face falls from a small grin to a frown and his demeanor shifts from friendly curiosity to irritated, you see that you’ve already failed.  

“Listen, I don’t know what kinda man you think I am but I don’t run in the same circles as you. And as flattered as I am that you think-“ He looks a little flustered, obviously upset enough for his face to contort into something you would call grumpy. Would normally tease him about if you walked into a room and saw him making the same expression as he looked down at something or over some blueprints.

“What kind of circles do you think I run in?” You cut him off, unwilling to let his mind run away and taint the professional friendship you two have been cultivating over the last month. The incident at the hardware store crops up in your mind and suddenly everything clicks into place. He most likely thinks you work in the same business as your friend.

“You uh- well, you dress kinda fancy all the time and you’re off during the daytime. Always got your hair and nails lookin’ nice….kinda figured you-“

“I’m not a stripper or dancer. Nor do I do porn or escort services.” Your brows furrow, it should be funny- the mistaken identity, but the truth is that it hurts a little.

You lean back, unable to quell the unease of even entertaining the idea of offering him a contract if he felt so strongly about what he thought you were asking of him- of his assumption of who you were.

There was nothing wrong with anyone who chose that lifestyle and employment, but you had made a name for yourself doing what you did best. The constant under the breath and snide comments about how you carry yourself is the only reason for your success still stings. The notion that you use your looks to get clients, that it’s the only reason they seek you out; it completely diminished the passion and love you pour into every single job you take on for a long while. And Joel is voicing it right alongside the countless others that have before him. “My services are in the art industry. I’m a tattoo artist.”

You know that your eyes are focused, not quite on him but on the curls that still frame his temples. Too long, as you very well know from one of your casual conversations. It’s…not a good feeling to hear the words so many have said before coming from him. He’s been a constant in your life since the beginning of the renovation and he’s seen parts of you that no one has in a long time. For him to openly share his thoughts causes a tightening in your chest. A twinge in your back along the sensitive skin of the scar that sits there as a constant reminder to be careful.

“Mr. Miller, I can assure you that I’m not trying to get you to do anything untoward, there might be a little paragraph in there but you dictate the parameters of the contract. Completely. Everything is up to you and you certainly don’t have to accept it or even entertain the thought if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Joel feels like a fool, a damned fool for letting his mind run away from him and his tongue for blurting out probably one of the most insensitive things he could’ve said in response to a new job offer from you. He can see the way you withdraw slightly, probably offended but trying to keep your composure. You’re too good for him and this just proves it even further.

“Assumed. Yes, I can see that now. How things look, maybe this was a bad idea.”

Fuck. No, no, no- he doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to offer him another job but…his mental calendar is full for the next six weeks. One job scheduled after this one, his expenses a little tied up after that with his birthday coming up soon- he had told Sarah he would come visit with Ellie, he hasn’t seen where she’s settled with her boyfriend. It…it’s a lot to handle on his own. Keeping track of one rotating crew with him and then two others working on other jobs around the county.

“No, I- sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m old okay? I don’t know what I’m talking about but the only services I offer are contracting and repair work." He brings a hand up to run a thumb underneath his bottom lip, eyes taking in the flutter of your lashes as his apology soaks into your skin. The almost...yearning look about your soft features. Younger than he is, in full control of those should you choose to lay that look upon. He's sure the boys your age would fall over themselves to see it again, to see more. Hell, he's ready to fall over himself and he's surely twice your age. “I’m not sure how useful I’d be if-“

“I’m in the process of obtaining permits to build on an empty city block. Two buildings. Two shop fronts. I figured you would be able to help out, but I understand if it’s not something you’re interested in. Really.”

And now you’re backpedaling, he feels like such an asshole for what he said. You…you’re an artist. A tattoo artist and really, he doesn’t know how he hadn’t picked up on that. You’ve decorated your skin with beautiful pieces, the sketchbook and tablet you’re always scribbling away on. The mention of clients, long hours, charges, the constant ink stains he sees on your clothes when you get home from work…

He doesn’t want to turn you down, can’t really turn you down. You hadn’t batted an eye at the quote he had given you for the work on your parent’s house. Nor had you argued anytime something needed an extra cushion to get the better quality option of supplies. When he had offered a discount, you had waved him off but he planned to do it anyway. You were sweet, you were considerate and he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it if his brother found out he had a soft spot for you. But honestly? With the way his brother had been pulling away, taking on less jobs- answering less calls and responding with messages at odd hours or even the summary and final check stapled to paperwork of the rare job he takes on is the only form of communication he’s been getting from the man. So, who cares what he thinks about a discount, when it was Joel’s company.

One he had been fully prepared to hand over to his brother once upon a time. To help straighten him out, give him a hand in a world that demanded so much from him as a soldier and then turned its back on him as an honorably discharged veteran.

You take it all in stride, keeping your composure as best as you can, shoving all the negative feelings down. He’s a good man, he just…he just assumed like he said. Blinking away the unease and slightly awkward tinge to the air you tell him that you understand what he’s saying. He would be perfect for the job you want to offer him, even still. Joel’s ears turn pink at the top, his throat bobbing as he sits there and takes in all the kind words you have for him- even after he basically called you an adult entertainer asking after him to partake in…. something he wasn’t even sure he had a clear idea of.

All so he could see that smile grace your lips and see a flash of teeth he can't help but stop picturing what they would look like holding tight over your own bottom lip, depraved sounds slipping between them as he pressed tight and heavy over you. As his hips slam into yours, his co-

Jesus, he needs a minute to get a handle on himself. Everything is all consuming with you, feelings bubble up, urges strike him strong enough to wear down any thought of resistance. You make him feel like he’s seen, like he’s important, like he matters. It’s no wonder his little crush on you has manifested.

He shakes his head, aware of the watching gaze you don't let up from him as you sit serenely at your desk. The top of your shirt dipped low as you lean forward to rest your chin in the cup of your hands, taunting him. What little power he feels from his larger frame, his years over you, his skills he knows you don't share- they diminish as he glances down to the new skin before meeting your eyes again. You’re too enamoring, too ingrained into his mental space to feel like he’s got any sort of control- even if the working relationship is good, not awkward and even friendly like he wanted it to be.

Small conversations, coffee some mornings as you hang around and watch him place tiles into designs that you request, take out boxes with either your name or his scribbled on them and scattered around the coffee table in the living room. The guys never stay for lunch, opting to go out and get some fresh air.

You tilt your head just a bit, and like a match catching, friction igniting it- his stomach jolts as he pictures that same look aimed up at him as you sit on your knees in front of him. Good god, his mind needs a good rinse. Especially if he’s going to consider accepting the more than generous offer on guaranteed continued work.

"I have a company to run, can't exactly turn down an offer for a job."

"This would be more of an... open-ended contract. I would reach out for any repairs your capable hands are able to work on. From mechanics of vehicles, to construction work, to repairs on established properties. New properties that waiting on permits, like I mentioned. I’m also finalizing the sale on a personal property, so I would need help with getting that up to code as well.  I would pay you a going rate of..."

Joel's mind goes blank, the amount offered per week is astronomical. As much a single job he’s taking one at a time with how he’s got to schedule everything. The same amount he would earn from weeks, if not months of working day in and day out. The way you go on about how even if you didn't have any jobs for him during a week, he would still be compensated. His meals provided and a company card with his name plastered on it in silver on a slick black is flashed at him atop a neat stack of papers with bold print.

"For you to look over, Mr. Miller. There is no rush, nor does the offer expire. Please get back to me at your convenience."

"Uh, well-" He isn't sure what to think, how to feel at the moment. The offer too good to be true, the amount of money would allow him to only work for you. His own clients are willing to pay for his work but not to wait for the time frames he's been giving lately. It's only him in command of three crews, they can only work so fast, and he's seeing them get poached by other companies with better hours, more pay.

Joel's made a name for himself with 'Miller Contracting'. But as the years go on, his hopes to pass it on to his younger brother become a more silly notion than something that could happen. A person who has begun to see his life toward a different path, one of less hours and more focus on his wife and unborn baby.  He sighs, knowing that the thoughts would circle endlessly in his mind should he let them begin. The whole reason he has the job for you now is because his brother bailed…

"There is absolutely no pressure, just wanted to extend the offer. I have found that...other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer. Jokingly claim they don’t care but then become petulant when it’s obvious it’s not going to happen. But you have the skills, you are competent."

"I'll-I'll get back to you, ma'am."

"The number at the top of the contract, it's an all hours one. Feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, any stipulations or changes you'd like to make. I hope you have a very good rest of the day, Mr. Miller." You smile at him, eyes bright as you watch the way his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

Later that evening, two drinks deep and another poured into his cup, he settles into the worn leather of his couch with the contract in his hand. He's flipping through the many pages, preparing to read through it when a certain word catches his eye, making him choke on the drink swallow he had just taken.

Intimacy Clause

His skin is suddenly hot, fueled by the liquor he's already ingested, his thoughts turning to filth as a flash of pleasure flares brightly in his belly. Oh....he's certainly in over his head. He's heard of this- what was it called? Sugar daddy dynamic, but if he's the one getting the benefits and wages in exchange that would make him- no, he doesn't want to think about it that way. It's a job offer, a working contract.

He's got half a mind to deny the contract outright, but he can't help the way his eyes devour the words in front of him, from the first page to the last. It’s the perfect opportunity to keep you in his life, a way to keep you as close as his heart begs him too. Friendship something he wants, but the appearance of what it looks like on the outside bothering him still as he realizes how much older he is. Sure, he could run into you when around your parents and at neighborhood gatherings…but if he were to be your personal contractor. Your go-to man for construction and repair work, for…anything really- now that would really make him feel like he was worth the attention you seem to want to dot on him.

His phone is in his hand, thick fingers dialing the number you had provided, no regard for the late hour of the night. He's downing the last bit of his drink, grunting around the sting of it as he hears the ringing loud in his ear.

His heart is beating heavy, slowly, anticipation making him feel like there are far too many rings for there to be an answer on the other side of the line. He's about to cancel it when there's a click and your melodic voice greets him, pleasure flaring up in his belly again.

"Been thinking about me, Mr. Miller?" The coy tone causes a shiver to run down his spine.

Oh shit, he's definitely in over his head.

He looks good, but he doesn’t feel good. You can tell by the grimace marring his plush lips into a frown and the tension he holds in his entire body. Joel is casually walking across the street to where you’re sitting on the porch with a cup of steaming coffee. The house is being cleaned by the company you hired to detail everything. Not that it was particularly dirty, the crew had helped you to dust and wipe everything down as well as possible. It was more of an extra step for your parents to know that you want them to come back from a well-deserved vacation with no worries to even think of. Groceries are stocked in the fridge and pantry, bottles smoothies and juices at the ready for them to slip back into their lives.

It would be your last morning here, fresh from a late night at work and then doing inventory of all your supplies. A huge order loaded up on your phone that you needed to place once you settled into the home you had just finalized the sale on last week. It was finally ready for you to move in, though you suspected the work you wanted to enlist Joel’s help with would take some time.

But you both had it now, in spades. To be with each other, to work alongside each other.

He’s in a pullover sweatshirt that allows for the collar and hem of his shirt underneath to peak out. A little large on him, but not slouchy. He looks like he’s trying to not put too much pressure on his joints and you quickly set a reminder on your phone to schedule a massage for him sometime in the next week. A little gift to help ease some stress. You could use one too, you think as you see the barrage of missed calls from a blocked number. The area code for the city you had just moved from…

“Hey there, rough morning?” His voice is coarse, filling in the humid morning air with a little more warmth as he approaches and stands at the bottom of the porch steps. He’s got on a pair of glasses…and you’re thoughts are swirling in the gutter as you imagine him staring down through the lenses at you as you kneel before him…

Swallowing the sip you just took, you tilt your head toward the other side of the patio lounge you’re on, legs curled up beneath you. Large cardigan keeping you comfortable over a pair of jeans and a tank top. There’s ink stained on the front, the collar dipping low as you had moved around to finish a giant custom piece for most of the evening.

“It’s been alright, can’t really call it ‘morning’ if I haven’t been to sleep yet,” You feel a thrill down your spine as he sits, his thigh brushing up against your bare knee where a hole in the denim exposes it. You don’t move and he doesn’t shy away either. He’s got the thick stack of papers in his hand, but the envelope with the check for his renovation and the card with his name on it are gone.

“We can make this quick, then, if you want to get to bed.”

“No need, I’m moving today and then work later.” You offer him your mug and he gingerly takes it from you to slurp the sweetened and creamed coffee inside. His thick moustache catches a few droplets and as your eyes linger, his tongue sneaks out to capture them. “I’ll catch a nap in the afternoon, no need to worry, Mr. Miller.”

“Sweetheart, told you to call me Joel.” He hands you back the mug. His brown eyes catch yours and you feel your entire body go still, worry igniting you that he’s about to tell you he’s thought the contract over and wants nothing to do with it…

“Especially if I’m gonna hand this back over with my signature scrawled on it.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you turn to face him completely.

“You seem surprised.” He’s laughing as he flips to the last page to show you and it releases all the tension in your chest. He’s got such a good laugh, hearty and full. You want to do everything you can to hear it more, to give him a reason to laugh more. More time to focus on what he wants, not worried about keeping up with big projects that take so much time to complete. Not that he minds, like he’s assured you, he loves the work and wants to do it. But it’s getting to be a lot to handle, his brother is finding himself a different path- something he mentioned when you had asked after the other Miller brother and why he hadn’t been the one to take on your job.

“I was a little worried, it’s not exactly a normal thing to be offered. But like I said, everything is up to you, the jobs are the jobs, the work is still work, everything else is completely up to you.”

“Don’t think anything can be considered normal these days, but,” He’s reaching to place his palm on your knee in a comforting gesture. “I could honestly really use the break you’re lending me. Gives me the chance to be more present in the girls’ lives. I’ve got one last job I’ve already taken a deposit on, a small trip out to see Sarah and then I’m all yours. It’s a generous offer and I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“What’s the last job?”

“An above ground pool and deck, shouldn’t take more than two weeks. Give me until next month, then we can get everything settled. If that’s okay?”

“I don’t mind how long it takes, I was going to pay you the first month upfront, even if you didn’t want to do this. As a bonus of sorts, for the amazing job you did here.” You wave your hand behind you toward the house. The cleaning crew is already busy, their chatter and light music filling the home with life.

“You really are somethin’, you know that?” He’s tipping his head down, looking at his scuffed and paint stained boots. Pink tinging his ears as he does so, the fingers over your knee digging in and then releasing in move you aren’t sure he’s aware of.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. And I want you to see that, you deserve the chance for a slower life, for a life you want. Now let’s go.” You gulp down the last of the coffee and set it down on the patio table to your right. The contract slides into the bag at your feet and you’re standing.

“Where we goin’?” He’s sill got those damn thick rimmed glasses on and he looks good enough to eat as he looks up at you from his spot still on the whicker couch. He hasn’t gotten up alongside you, unsure what’s going to happen now that the paperwork is officially signed and accepted- a date for the next month picked out for him to officially be on your payroll. As a sugar baby. Well, a contracted workman but the reality of the situation isn’t just that.

But you do, you’re going to take care of him. Exactly like you promised.

“To the salon. You said you’ve been putting off a trim.”

“We don’t have-“

“Joel. You said you don’t much like your hair as long as it is, it’s an easy fix.”

“I don’t…got a meeting with my brother this afternoon.” He shuffles on his feet, boots scuffing the new coat of sealant on the porch he put on with his own two hands. “Gonna tell him about the business.”

“It’s only ten, we’ll be done by then.” You go to grip his shoulder with a light hand. Your nails grazing his arm on the way up. The reassuring smile you give him melts him, you can see it. “I promise.”

A short drive later and a more than enthusiastic interaction in the industrial and modern looking salon, Joel sits with a grimace into a chair and lets the hairdresser fasten the cape securely over his throat. The place is so fancy, certainly not the master bathroom or the corner barbershop tucked into the end of a strip mall that he normally frequents. He’s tense and you feel bad so you hold up a finger to motion for the woman to pause for a moment. She smiles at you, noticing his unease as well.

“Hey,” You whisper as you come to stand behind him. He’s watching you with his dark eyes through the mirror, noticing the grays that make up most of his facial hair, steel tone that gives away how dark his hair had been once upon a time. His curls too, are the same dark gray intermixed with ash strands. Thick and erring on the side of ringlets if they should grow any longer. Your fingers gently scratch at the back of his head as you dig them into his hair, thumbs massaging up the back of his neck in a soothing gesture.

His hair is as soft as you imagined, like silk against your skin and you hum a little as you notice his eyes flutter at your ministrations. His shoulders drop and he let’s out a deep breath he must’ve been holding in.

“It’s just a trim, okay? Whatever you want, however you like it. You deserve it and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

And goddamn, if it’s not hard to keep promising things to one Joel Miller.

He’s so flighty, so nervous when he doesn’t know what to expect in a situation like this. Out of his depth and a little uncomfortable with the first outing as you go-to guy for all things. A paid companion of sorts. A strong contrast to the confidence he struts around with and moves through a space he’s working on, through the hardware store, as he drives his truck expertly throughout the suburban and city streets.

And when his eyes open back up, he’s returning your gentle smile with one of his own. Completely as ease. It makes your heart speed up and warmth pool in your middle.

Joel’s not nervous, but he’s not exactly thrilled to share the news of his company becoming an- contracted one he guesses would be the right term. One that has the sole purpose of fulfilling your every need, no matter now small or large a scale the project or task is. A way to provide for you and be a friend to you, to keep you close like he can’t seem to resist. He’s made peace with the decision, he’s comfortable in his decision. But his brother is…

“Why didn't you come to me, brother? I would've- I would've done anything to help, hell, I would've jumped back into working jobs everyday with you if that's what it took to save the company.” Tommy is certainly playing the part of the concerned younger sibling, professing empty words that Joel knows he wants to mean. But he doesn’t. He’s been struggling since coming back from his last tour and Joel’s done just about all he could to help in that department. Up to and including helping him with financial stuff and hiring a district attorney to help him when it had gone too far…

“Tommy, c'mon.” Joel tries to keep his tone in check, but Tommy is more than a little upset that he hadn’t known how stressed his brother was. How could Joel have told him? When could he have even told him, this is the first time to two of them have actually sat down and not just traded half conversations over the phone or even at the sad excuse of an office rented for the business. It was easier for them to work out of a trailer they would park at job sites, more secure for them to have eyes on the space that helped them to operate, well Joel to operate.

“Don't you do that, act like I don't care.” Wide brown eyes are turned toward him, the same ones that worked to get him to take the blame for too many eaten cookies before dinner, a broken lamp when they were too reckless running around the house, or when paired with a wobbling lip and tears that Joel would take make sure no one but him got into trouble. The big brother, always looking out for his younger one.

“I couldn't get you to even answer the damn phone, let alone work anymore 'n you wanted to.” A harsh scrub of his palm against his chin rustles the stubble there. Honest and reality checking words simmer in his belly, heating him up from the inside out and he realizes that there’s no stopping them from bubbling up.

He’s hurt, dammit. By the fact that after everything he’s done, his brother still decides to be selfish in a way he wished he could be proud of. Family is important, but the woman that Tommy is choosing over everything else…It just doesn’t sit well with him. “The business is good, just getting a little back logged and people aren’t willing to wait that long for certain work. It’s tough with just me and the crews, really expected to have a little more help.”

“That's not fair, I got...I got things I'm taking care of, Maria she-“

“This isn't about her, Tommy! This is about you doin' whatever the hell you wanna do, just like fucking always. your whole damn life, you've been like this.” He feels the words surge through him, spurred on by the sheer contrast of interacting with you and then his brother. One was family and yet…you treated him with more respect, you seemed to care enough to offer him a way to support himself better, to provide for him, to help him.

And the man across from him is doing nothing but making excuses as to why he hasn’t offered more.

“Joel, if I had known-“

“But you didn't! Didn’t even bother to ask how all the jobs you kept bailing on got done, how they got managed into my already full schedule. You know Ellie is thinkin’ of moving out because she thinks she’s too loud in a house that’s quiet when I’m not there and even more so when I am? She feels like a burden on me because I’m workin’ so damn hard and I pass out the second I get home.”

“Ellie’s an adult, but I’m sorry the work has you feeling like an absent father. Maybe you shouldn’t have-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Tommy. I love that girl with my whole fucking heart. I made the decision to transition to contracted work, to help out a friend with her business and personal projects. She’s supplin’ me with enough cash flow to make it worth my while and give me more down time.”

“Yeah and what, you think some pretty, successful woman is gonna be the key to keeping your company. You sold out, man, she's gonna be changing things, controlling things, you don't even know the half of it. You should've-“

“You weren't there!” Joel hollers, his patience gone and his head pounding. He realizes that the table next to them looked up from their menus at his outburst but he doesn’t care. “You weren't there, mentally, physically, you were gone off in your own little world, Tommy! She was....she saw me struggling and she treated me with kindness and respect- she was there to help! She was fucking there, Tommy!”

“You really think she gives a shit about you? Cause she don’t! She just sees an old man to buy out and take over a company because she’s bored, needs something to play with. The girls are going to flip when they find out how weak you were when a pretty little thing flashed a smile at you. All cause you think she cares about you, but she ain’t your family, Joel. Stop lookin’ for it in all the wrong places.”

“You ain’t been much of family lately, Tommy. But go ahead and judge me all you want, this is something I want to do.” He slips the envelope from his back pocket, the logo for his company branded in the top corner, your name beside his above the contact number. It was something you had mocked up for him to look over once the visit to the salon finished. He had liked it, maybe a little too much- to see your names beside each other.

Joel takes the check out from it, so the amount written out is visible. “This is for you and Maria, for my nephew, once he’s born. It’s the severance amount everyone is getting and then some. Cause I take care of my own.”

Joel is shoving up from his seat, jaw muscles twitching. Tommy’s eyes roll up from the check to his older brother looming over him. “You’re no better ‘n me, Tommy. You chased after Maria the second your case was settled.”

He’s not even in his truck for a second before he’s pulling out his new phone and hitting the call button.

All the tension leaves him from the heated interaction the second your voice filters through the line.

“Hey, hey! I’m a little tied up at the moment so you’re on speaker, I hope you don’t mind?” It’s then that he notices the background noise: soft music, the sound of something liquid being shaken up in plastic, and the tacky stretch of cling wrap being unraveled.

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ of coming by, check out those permit applications for you and make sure they’re getting processed okay.”  

“Oh! That would be lovely. And you could check out the space I’m renting. So you know where to find me if I’m with a client. I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

“Want anything from the coffee shop?” Joel’s eyes glance across the street. His brother is gone from the table they had shared outside the café. The truck he had seen him pull up in gone as well. He should probably do the right thing and apologize to the server for taking up a table and then not ordering anything. Might as well get the coffee he had intended to as well.

“Mr. Miller, you are too sweet. I’ll text you my order. See ya in a bit!”

The line doesn’t hang up right away and he catches the soft words you speak next.

“He sounds handsome, was that your husband?”

“Oh! No, no, that was my friend. He’s my personal contractor and go to maintenance man.”

“I’m so sorry, I just assumed because I was looking back at your profile before the appointment and noticed the wedding photos on your feed.”

And then the line goes dead, the call ending as his thumb punches the red circle on the screen.

Joel’s heart thuds harshly against his ribs, his insides all twisted up. The way you sounded when you talked about him had been so warm.

My friend.

But then the person sitting in the studio with you had said the very last things he had ever anticipated.

Your husband. Wedding photos.

Were you married and neglected to tell him? Was this all some sort of game you were playing? Did you even have a need for him if you had a man who you called your own already? Where the hell did your husband fall in all of this? Was Tommy right and he was being played like a giant fool?

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[radlymona]

You've patently ignored everything I've said for the second time (and aren't able to explain what it says about people who sexually get off at inflicting abuse onto their partners).

you mean just like every other relationship right? Whether its a vanilla sexual relationship, a platonic relationship, a relationship between coworkers, the power imbalance between a boss and their employee-- all these are affected by these real world dynamics. You're the one that is being absurd by singling BDSM out as some kind of "inherent" outlier.

You're right about the fact that every relationship in the world is made up of a power balance. However, you're ignoring the fact that a BDSM relationship severely intensifies this power imbalance. When one person is calling the other "Master", wears a collar to signify that they are owned by the other, and is having pain inflicted upon them frequently during sex, there is a much larger power imbalance going on then in normal relationships. Acting out rape scenes during sex results in a much more intense power imbalance. The fact that I even to explain this shows how willfully ignorant you're being.

Hmm. Terf Radfem uses microaggression on nonbinary tumblr user who pisses them off. I'm shocked, SHOCKED I tell you.

But your identity does matter here. Your identity has impeded your ability to see this as a male violence issue, instead writing off my original response as "smells terfy" and "gender essentialist", the former comment really showing just how seriously you take this.

But to bring it back to Neil Gaiman -- you are actually undercutting how vile he is by saying that BDSM is an inherently violent and abusive relationship, and that dominant males are inherently abusive.

I'm not saying that Neil Gaiman isn't an especially disgusting serial sex abuser (words I've used to describe him before). I'm saying that there are a lot of (wealthy, white) male dominants in the BDSM scene doing very similar things that he has. Realising that there is a pattern of male violence in the BDSM scene isn't discounting the severe violence experienced by Neil Gaiman's victims. Sexual violence doesn't occur in a silo, but is done to overwhelmingly females by overwhelmingly males. If we treat sexual abuses cases as individually horrifying stories without having commonality to similiar instances of sexual abuse we a) can't prevent it from occuring again and b) educate people on it.

because -- when you say it like that -- it really takes away that the person with the MOST options, the MOST resources, the MOST power chose to do this. Multiple times. Not just a choice he actively made, but men and women around him choosing to prioritize him, which aligns with patriarchy. How many lawyers must have suspected those NDAs? and how long his various privileges -- being a respected writer, being a white man, being wealthy--protected him. Even allowed himself to masquerade as a feminist (just like Whedon).

But you're missing the point. I'm saying privileged, wealthy men are attracted to BDSM culture as a way of targeting vulnerable young women in a socially acceptable way. You even mention NDAS (as did I), and how many wealthy BDSM doms do you think have their lawyers draw up NDAs for prospective subs to sign as a way of legally covering their asses? How many of them use their resources and options to procure the most naive, insecure, and financially dependent women possible to exhibit their sexual fantasies onto?l

But since you originally brought up race, here’s some stats for you:

Now do you think that maybe just maybe there's a correlation between wealth, straightness, and maleness, and to those attracted to BDSM culture? Hmm I wonder why that could be.

saying all those autonomous choices he made was actually due to some inherent abusive personality as a dom...wow. That's a slap in the face to the people he hurt, gives him a pass he doesn't deserve, and also removes the capability to change.

I'm saying that abusive personalities are attracted to BDSM culture, again as a way to live out their abusive fantasies. The article implies that Gaiman sufferred throughout his childhood in Scientology. It doesn't take a genius to realise that he was re-enacting his childhood abuse in his sexual relationships, this time with himself as the abuser/dominant. That doesn't take away his autonomy, he chose to do this again and again. But even if he was "inherently abusive" why would that take away the pain caused to his victims? Regardless, you have to stop and ask yourself, why is someone attracted to the thought of re-enacting a rape scene even if the submissive has totally consented? That is what underlines criticism of BDSM culture.

Also, spare me about Gaiman's so-called "capability to change". He's been a serial sex abuser for decades, targeting young vulnerable women with his sad author schtick. Had he not been caught out, he would never have "changed". He would have continued raping women for the rest of his life.

Because all of us are capable of oppression in some way. all of us are capable of abuse in some way. And we need to choose, every day, to not participate in that. But that choice is removed if someone is just inherently bad.

This is such a strange spiel when talking about a serial sexual predator. Again, I never insinuated he is inherently bad, just drawn to inherently abusive sexual practices.

But saying "dom people are inherently abusive" removes the responsibility for people to CHOOSE not to abuse and oppress while fatalistically condemning people into eternal roles of abuser and abused in whatever systemic contexts those acts might fall (parent to child, rich to poor, white people to indigenous people, etc).

Dominants choose to inflict abuse onto their sexual partners. They choose to have their partners call them master. They choose to have their partners wear degrading clothing items. They choose to transgress their boundaries under the guise of testing one's limits. They could have chosen to have a sexually healthy relationship, and instead chose to give themselves an extraordinary amount of power over their partners. And becaue of that, we can freely critique their choices.

but hey. i'm just a no good they/them/their what the fuck do i know

You can try to instil guilt all you want but it doesn't take away the fact that your original reply simply did not want to analyse this as a patriarchial issue. That you may as well have said #NotAllMen. And when I've seen yet another instance of a non-binary person refusing to understand patriarchial issues to come to the defence of men as a whole, I'm going to mention it as a blinding factor and an inability to actually be a feminist.

If the paywall comes up, try to put the link into this: https://www.removepaywall.com

Posting in the spirit of not staying quiet about this.

I strongly suggest you read this—all of it, because it’s long. Lila Shapiro is the journalist who wrote the investigation into Joss Whedon btw and won an award for it, so maybe people can finally stop making this all about Tortoise Media.

[rootspiral]

I'm curious if you have anything more to say on the fight at the start of ep8 between Agatha and Rio. Like, about anything, the face acting, why this was Rio's last straw, why Agatha was surprised it was Rio's last straw.. Or just how good they looked lol.

Fuck, am I really going through these scenes to screencap them again? I guess I am. Let's pretend it's an extra deep dive.

Agatha has just left Lilia behind dealing with the Salem Seven. She was acting super casual and unbothered with Lilia, but as soon as the door of the iron maiden closed and Jen started screaming, she bolted. And she's running now and she looks terrified, but of what? The Salem Seven killing her? Or Rio catching up with her now that more bodies are dropping? Does she feel particularly guilty about Lilia's death, after seeing her display of incredible power and grace in the trial? All these things together probably, and whatever she's running from, here is her face when she sees Rio ↑

Then she has to close her eyes and steel herself like we've seen her do so many times, she was completely unfiltered a moment ago, terror showing plainly on her face, and now she's trying to regain control, but notice how it doesn't quite work: she's too shaken and her true feelings are still showing. Also heartbreaking and maddeningly stupid that she feels the need to hide and posture in front of Rio who is just begging for the opposite.

It's also interesting that Rio, as angry as she is, takes the time to tell Agatha that the Salem Seven are dead and she can relax and stop running – at least from them. Despite putting on her angry face, despite being determined to confront Agatha this time, she still wants to make things easier for her too. But it's no coincidence that she mentions Alice and Lilia, we saw her reap Alice's soul at the beginning of the episode, and right here? She just reaped Lilia. Like, that literally just happened. And it's obviously affecting her. Add to it the whole issue with Billy and Agatha's general behavior, is it any surprise that Rio is upset?

The finger pointing, the pursed lips and strained smile. "Here you are, breaking rules and breaking my heart again. And here I am, letting you do it like the fucking loser I am." I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really like Aubrey Plaza's more subtle acting choices.

And the more she talks, the more Rio gets subdued. She stops acting menacing and scary and you can see vulnerability coming through. I know how you feel about him. I watch you just as close as you watch everyone else. This walk with another's woman son. This is Rio trying to keep it professional when it couldn't be more personal. She's hurt, she's jealous, she's lonely. Fuck, why can't Agatha acknowledge it?

Meanwhile Agatha is just fidgeting and grimacing and shaking and trying to deflect and run away from the conversation. Rio, even when she sets out to yell at Agatha, ends up trying to reach out and communicate and do the emotional work instead, she still wants this to work so much. Agatha won't let her. She won't move an inch.

You call what you did special treatment? Look at all that venom, dear lord. Here we have Rio practically begging Agatha to see things from her point of view, to at least try to understand. Agatha, in pure Agatha fashion, grabs her pain like a weapon and starts slashing. She's jealous of her pain, she protects it, she feeds it. It's what helped her survive. Carrying around those three swords in her heart is the only way she knows how to function, no matter how agonizing they are.

You know when a parent is trying to reason with a toddler, and they sit down at their little table and say stuff like, "I know that you're angry, but your words are making mommy sad," and the toddler inevitably throws a pen or yells or calls them names? And the parent just wants to slap that little shit, and it takes them a hot second to collect themselves? Yeah.

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Agatha is not a toddler and Rio shouldn't have to do this. It's undignified, it's unfair, it's too painful. Rio is supposed to be her partner, not a surrogate parent.

And Rio does collect herself, and she keeps trying. Look at her body language, she's leaning back, tentative, less intrusive. She did the same thing when she was trying to help Agnes, she pushed a little, and when Agnes recoiled she stepped back and regrouped. She's pretty much spoon-feeding Agatha at this point. "Okay, let's talk about the case" becomes "Okay, let's talk about Nicky. I know it's hard but I'm with you. One step at a time. I only need to figure out the best way to save you from yourself and then everything will be fine."

This is what Rio has been doing, watching Agatha and studying her, acting like a therapist, trying to ease her out of her pit of despair as Agatha yells and throws stuff at her. And what I find really poignant is that Rio is literally the physical embodiment of balance, but she's going against her very nature and putting Agatha before everything else, even herself. Rio loves Agatha that much. And it's wrong. It's not sustainable. No wonder Rio lashed out so spectacularly at the end of the episode, she needs to feel big after shrinking and shrinking and shrinking in front of Agatha.

And yes I still love that Rio the Agatha wrangler has managed to calm her enough to sit and talk. Defenses are tentatively lowered, Rio's plan for getting through that thick skull is going splendidly. Or not.

Agatha is not letting Rio have her way, not even for a second. She's going to make it as hard as she can. And like I said in my deep dives, despite all she is still expecting Rio to always come back, no matter how much shit she throws at her.

There is a lot to be said about the way Agatha is addicted to hurting people. It is an addiction, it's her main/only source of endorphins at this point. It makes her feel powerful and in control of the narrative. And it's a vicious circle, she punishes people so when they lash back she can go, "See? See? They hate me, I was right, I was justified!" Rio was only feeding that addiction by coming back over and over again to let herself be pushed around.

Hey, Agatha? You don't want Death to look like someone just kicked her in the stomach. You literally took her breath away, and not in the fun way.

You dumb fuck.

Wow, this is still really fun to do, despite it being maybe the two of them at their lowest.

You know what? If you guys want you can send some other scenes my way, especially from the first episodes because I didn't comb them that thoroughly. And Agatha's scenes in WandaVision too, I want to watch those again. But only one scene per ask, please.

[dtupdating]

DREAM replied to another Reddit post!

Transcript under the cut!

Ludwig slightly misremembered, and didn't explain in a super fair way imo it makes me sound way worse than what actually happened

tldr;

I dmd ludwig suggesting he make a video, and offering myself for questions

ludwig replied and eventually said that I jokingly called one of his friends a whore

Due to the fact that a friend of Nicolas Cantu's had recently falsely said that "I got slapped at a party for calling a girl a whore", I asked him if that's what it was about.

He said no, and that he can't tell me more information because he doesn't think it's worth resurfacing it for her sake

I replied with a message about that, and then said I'd also provide context to the other situation just in case he was just telling me it's not about that situation (to "protect" the person's identity) even though it was, because I had no idea about any other situation.

Here's the important parts of that message that I sent him:

oh well unfortunately I guess I can't talk about this because I don't know what you're talking about at all, but I will say this as a general statement; A lot of people spread false stuff about me, or exaggerate, and have done it a lot ESPECIALLY during all of this stuff going on, as it's easy to sensationalize things because of how "hated" I seem. Intentionally, OR unintentionally. I have had to clear up so many different false stories of me being weird, or just a total shit bag, because the rumor mill runs super fucking strong when you're getting shit on 24/7. And every time it's just "oh okay that makes sense". It's not always someone lying, but it's almost always someone not realizing that exaggerating and mischaracterizing what they're saying can be a big deal, and isn't something they should do. I have never randomly called someone a whore, I have never called someone a whore derogatorily, and I would never do that.

I will completely and fully say that I have called friends of mine jokingly whore's / sluts / whatever, GUYS ANDS GIRLS, but only with people that joke along with it, or have expressly said they don't care, and again, only with friends of mine. This situation has been a lesson to just never say it at all though, because it's being used to make me out as a bad person. I would never use it that way, never ever meant anything negative when I've ever said it, and never have used it to insult or demean anyone, in any way.

I don't know the situation you're talking about, and obviously it's seemingly a bad look to have "multiple instances" where I called a girl a whore lmao, but I just cannot fathom that I called a stranger a whore, even jokingly, regardless of whether I was drunk or not. If I actually did, I would absolutely want to apologize and clear up anything that I possibly can with them, because it's upsetting to know that I made anyone upset or made them feel badly. I would like to say though, that it's not unreasonable to think that it is a misrepresentation of what actually happened, or is being looked at through a negative tint given recent events, when if this wasn't all going on, it would've been viewed as "oh that's obviously a joke". Given the fact that I have been a bit of a punching bag for a bit online, and you never know what motivations people have to spread things. Idk when this would've been as well, because like I said, the Nicolas stuff was pretty eye opening in a lot of ways, including specifically how people feel about those words in general. Which I never really thought about, and again, I've always been extremely careful and delicate with how I interact with anyone I've just met.

I NEVER would demean or speak down on someone like that. If that did actually happen, it was naivety on my part and not malice, and it's a word I'm removing from my vocabulary, and I hope I get a chance to apologize to them. But again, I have no idea what you're specifically talking about, so I probably won't get a chance, or even confirmation that it happened.

Either way, I understand why he didn't reply (I sent walls of text) and don't fault him for it. Although, the way this was said is annoying!

[darlingarmadillo]

I've been going through a rough time with the ol' ADHD lately. Stuff like:

I hate the way I keep telling people I'm going to do something then don't.

I worry I'm going to exhaust peoples' ability to forgive me when I don't come through on something.

I hate who I am when I'm alone, because alone-me doesn't have the dopamine to spur her to get all the necessary dull shit done.

When I first got diagnosed I was so relieved I cried. Finally, I can get on medication. Finally, I can discover the secret strategies that will fix this problem. Finally, I can be CURED. But my husband (ex) didn't believe ADHD was real, thought it was overdiagnosed, and thought the meds were dangerous. Scrap that idea.

One divorce later and finally in a healthy relationship, I finally cracked under the strain of the pandemic and what it did to my career and decided to try again. I contacted the doctor who had diagnosed me, who very rudely told me that not only had all his records from that far been been destroyed, but he didn't remember me and was pretty sure he would never have diagnosed me. I had to run from provider to provider and take all sorts of tests before I found someone willing to test and diagnose me and prescribe any sort of stimulant.

Even then, EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I went to fill my meds, SOMETHING went wrong. I could never have the doctor send it in and just have it be waiting for me. There was always some issue with insurance approval or coverage that they had to muscle through. And heaven forbid I ask them to put some sort of note in my file asking them to call my health insurance when a new prescription comes in, because they will not put such a note in there. I have just accepted now that every month I get it filled (because I'm not allowed to fill it for longer) I'm going to need to call the pharmacy and talk to the pharmacist directly so they will pull the magic levers that will release my meds to me.

Once I was out of state for more than a month. My doctor could not call my prescription in, even though he was licensed in that state, since I saw him in another state, and I could not find a single doctor who would write me a prescription. Eventually I had to go to three different emergency rooms before I found one that would write me a prescription (and then it took me multiple tries for the pharmacy to process my insurance correctly to pay for it.) I was charged $700 for that visit.

So society is set up to blame me (and make me blame myself) for my difficulties in doing things and to disbelieve that ADHD is a thing BUT ALSO to deny me the help that I DO need in order to help me get things done for fear I might ABUSE it.

And even when meds work amazingly well for me, when I can FEEL the brain fog descend on days I didn't take them, I STILL secretly doubt I really had ADHD, or even if I did, it couldn't be THAT bad, because look at all the stuff I've accomplished in my life with no meds whatsoever (last-minute, at the cost of my mental health and self-esteem)! I mean, I still forget things all the time, and beat myself up about it super harshly every time I do, right? If I really had ADHD, meds would cure me, right?

I was in the midst of one of my self-hatred cycles where I hated that I needed to take all these extra steps to get stuff done (duplicate chargers everywhere so I never forget one, writing every appointment, chore, and thought down so I won't forget, coercing my dumb little brain with internet-scrolling dopamine like a lollipop with an unruly toddler so it will be appeased into allowing me to do something boring), that I was such a BURDEN, such a LAZY PROCRASTINATOR, such an UNRELIABLE DISAPPOINTMENT and suddenly it popped into my brain:

Yeah, it sucks that you have to do all these things. But those things are what allow you to get along in the world as it exists. It's not what everyone else has to do, but it's what you have to do, because it's what works. AND it sucks, AND you still have to do it anyway.

I had to grieve the fact that a diagnosis and meds, while they helped me gain control and understanding, did not mean I would ever be cured.

I had to grieve the fact that the person I knew I could be, if I didn't have this pesky dopamine-processing disorder, would never exist.

I had to accept that even though I the world is against me, even in the face of people shaming me for my "laziness" and "flakiness," I still have to live in this world, and do all the crazy, annoying, overly unnecessary things I need to do to survive.

And it sucks.

And I have to do it anyway.

[about adhd

dewgem:

It concerns me that people really don't know that adhd isn't a personality type or behavioral problem.

adhd isn't someone who's personality is driven by fun and disorder.

adhd is someone who's brain goes all over the place looking for dopamine, because it doesn't make or register enough of it, and when it finds a source of dopamine, it hyperfixates on it. it's about deregulation of attention as well as emotions.

it's not a person who can't behave. a person with adhd can look like a lot of things. misconceptions about what adhd looks like kept me from even looking for a diagnosis, and it also kept myself and others (professionals, even) from taking my suspicions seriously.

everyone's encouraged to reblog, but if you don't have adhd, keep your additions to the tags.

lauramkaye:

Smart people can have ADHD. And a lot of the time, they compensate for the ADHD with intelligence- until they reach the point where they just can't overcome it anymore, which is why a lot of gifted + ADHD people have good grades their whole lives and then "suddenly" crash and burn. For some it's college, for some it's grad school, for some it's postgrad or professional exams like the bar. Whenever the things they have to do can no longer be brute-forced at the last minute.

ADHD is often lumped in with learning disabilities but it's really a DOING disability. We know what we should do. Probably we know six ways to do it. The trouble is actually getting our brains to activate so we CAN do it. Sometimes it's like you're being controlled by aliens or something because you say "I need to do X" and you're going to do it and you just. Don't.]

PS, I guarantee there will be replies like "I don't have ADHD but I relate" and my suggestion will be "perhaps you might have it or at least a similar neurodivergence"

And for fellow autistics, be aware that ADHD is our bouncy twin neurology. We often wind up with ADHD inside our autistic wiring. I'm participating in research to see if ADHD is on the broad Mobius spectrum of autism.

[vodika-vibes]

Secret Admirer

Summary: When you get a bouquet and a love letter left on your front porch, you jump to the logical conclusion that they were left for you by your boyfriend. Turns out, they’re not from him. And it bothers him a lot.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x F!Reader

Word Count: 1321

Warnings: Scorch gets jealous and can't keep his hands to himself.

A/N: I was in a Scorch mood this morning, and so this was born. I really need to focus on my requests but, guys, I'm struggling right now. I can't wait until spring gets here.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

When the doorbell rings in the middle of the day, shortly after lunch, you’re surprised. People don’t visit you, and you’re not expecting any deliveries today, but it also wouldn’t be the first time your mom bought you something without warning you, so you pause your work and make your way to the front door.

By the time you open the door, there’s no one there. 

But, sitting next to your door is a massive bouquet of red roses and a pink envelope wrapped to the vase with a white ribbon.

And you just about melt on the spot.

Obviously, the flowers are from Scorch. Who else would send you flowers other than your long-term boyfriend?

A bit disappointing that he doesn’t know what your favorite flowers are, but it’s the thought that counts, right? You pick up the flower arrangement and bring it into your home, absently kicking the door shut behind you, and settle the vase on your kitchen table.

Gently, you adjust the flowers so that they don’t look squished, and you pull the envelope off the vase. You slide your finger under the seal of the envelope and pull the simple card out.

It’s really simple. Pale pink card stock with a flower design indented on the cardstock. And the text is written in a neat if not flowery, calligraphy. It’s pretty.

Not really your style, but pretty all the same.

You lean against the counter and read the note. It’s, quite possibly, the sappiest love note you’ve ever read in your life. It’s also the only love note you’ve ever received in your life, so maybe it’s always like this?

However, Scorch does compare your eyes to stars three times and your lips to the petals of a flower twice…which is weird. And not at all like Scorch. 

He’s never, in the year you’ve been dating him, compared you to nature. He doesn’t compare you to anything, as he claims that it wouldn’t be a fair comparison to the other things.

For a moment, just a moment, you think that this can’t possibly be from Scorch. But then you push the idea to the side.

There isn’t another person alive who would buy you flowers, and the weirdness is probably just a template that the company has for hapless boyfriends and husbands.

You wouldn’t be surprised, based on some of the gifts your father has gifted your mother over the years.

So you push the worry to the side and set the card on the table next to the flowers, and then you return to your office to go back to work. You need to finish all of your work so you can spend the next ten days with Scorch without interruption.

Several hours later, as you send the final email out to your supervisor, and then mark yourself on vacation for the next week or so, you hear the familiar sound of Scorch moving near the front door.

His armor is heavy, and he can’t help but make a lot of noise. “I’m home,” He calls from the front hallway.

“Welcome back,” You roll your chair back to push your office door open, “I’m almost done here, and then we can decide where we’re going for dinner.”

A moment later, Scorch appears at the door to your office, a crooked smile on his handsome face. He’s only wearing his blacks, and you can’t help the lovestruck sigh when you see him. He really is unfairly gorgeous.

His grin widens at your sigh, but he doesn’t tease you about it. Well, not yet at least.

“Should I go and dig out the wheel of restaurants?” He asks lightly as he steps into your office properly and wraps his arms around you from behind, taking a moment to press a light kiss against the side of your neck.

You reach up and bury your fingers in his messy curls, “If you want. We both know that’s easier than trying to decide what restaurant ourselves.” You tilt your head back and beam at him, “You have helmet hair, Scorch.”

He hums, and kisses your cheek quickly, “That would be because I was wearing my helmet all day.”

“Aww, you poor thing,” You tease lightly.

“It’s fine. I spent all day watching tooka videos…and then Boss caught me and beat my ass.”

You grin at him, “Serves you right.”

“Heatless, babe.” He kisses you three times in quick succession, “Anyway, I need to shower before we go anywhere. I stink.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything—” You squeak when he prods your side with a strong finger.

He hugs you tightly for a moment, and then releases you, “Finish up your work, pretty girl. I won’t be long.”

“I’m almost done. Promise.” You reply, a tiny smile lifting your lips as he takes your hand in his and brings your knuckles to his lips to press a light kiss there. 

Scorch then squeezes your hand and releases you so he can go shower.

Without his armor on, you can’t hear him move through your shared apartment, though when you don’t hear the shower click on in the other room after several minutes, you turn in your chair and frown at the door. 

“Scorch?”

There’s no reply so you stand and poke your head into the hallway. From your office door, you can see him standing in front of the kitchen table, but his back is towards you. 

“I thought you were going to shower?” You ask as you approach him.

He turns his head to look at you, and there’s a frown on his face, “Who’re the flowers from?”

You blink at him, twice. “Well, I thought they were from you, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Babe, I wouldn’t buy you roses. You hate roses.”

You tilt your head, “Did I…tell you that?”

“You didn’t have to. I’m an observant guy.” Scorch picks the note up and reads it, his nose scrunching up in distaste, “Whoever wrote this doesn’t know you at all.” He announces after a moment.

“Why do you say that?” While having a secret admirer is somewhat concerning, you’re slightly more amused with how Scorch is treating it. 

“He mentioned your eyes and your lips, but didn’t once mention your amazing personality.”

A laugh slips from your lips, “Yes. Because it’s my personality that caught your attention first.”

Scorch tosses the note in the trash, and then turns so he can pull you into his arms, “Well, babe, if the note mentioned your amazing legs or ass I’d have to hunt this admirer down and beat him to death.”

“Ooh, my hero~”

He grins at you and his hands slide down your body, making you squeak, “I changed my mind.” Scorch announced, “My shower can wait an hour or so.”

You squeal when he smoothly drops his hands to your thighs and lifts you as if you weigh nothing, and you fling your arms around his neck, “Scorch!”

“Mm, love it when you say my name like that—” Scorch replies as he leans in and bites down on your neck, and you know that he’s intent on leaving a bunch of visible marks on you.

“I’m still working—” You try.

He pauses and glances at the chrono on the wall. A few moments later, the chrono chimes 5 pm, and he grins at you, “Now you’re not. Come on, sweetling. Let me remind you why you picked me.”

“Seriously, are you jealous of a flower bouquet and a card?”

“A love declaration, baby. Not just a card. And, when I’m finished with you, you won’t care about either.” Scorch says confidently, as he carries you into the bedroom and drops you on the bed.

Your secret admirer shows up on your front step several hours later, only to get sent packing when Scorch opens the door shirtless, and covered in scratch marks and hickies. 

@kimiheartblade

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[sturnslutz]

doomsday

tw: vomiting, mention of lacing, angst. def recommend listening to the song above on repeat while reading! the return of fratboy!chris and independent!reader 😇

it wasn't not normal for chris to distance himself from people. he didn't mean to, but sometimes everything just becomes too much.

sports, his schoolwork, you. it all became too much. he knew he didn't have feelings for you, of course not. but you distancing yourself from him after hookups changed something in him that he didn't know could be changed.

you heard from matt that chris wasn't doing too well, and you couldn't help but wonder just a bit. it wasn't like you were asking him if he was okay every second, but you texted him a couple times just checking in and all you got were a couple dry responses and sometimes just plain being left on read.

it didn't affect you too much though. why should it? you guys hooked up a couple times, that's it.

it was until it's been weeks since you heard from him that really affected you. the aching in between your legs caused you to go hookup with some old hookups, but chris lingered in your mind.

where had he gone?

matt had called you. "rosy, chris isn't okay. y'needa get to my place now."

that's all he had said before the line went flat. you quickly got ready, hopping into your car and driving to matt's building which was about 10 minutes away. you made your way upstairs, knocking on matt's door and it being opened with vey.

she had this look that made you uneasy. "what happened?" you quickly whispered to her as she took your hand and led you in. "he got laced."

your heart drops at the sight. chris and matt in the bathroom with chris hunched over the toilet, gagging heard throughout the dorm. matt was sitting next to him, noticing you got here and stood up and made his way next to you, leading you into the bathroom.

"chris? it's rosy." you sat down next to him, rubbing his back. he looked up, wiping his mouth. he had never looked like this. his eyebags were the worst you had ever seen, his face was pale, and he had clearly lost a ton of weight.

he had tears running down his face, and a tired look. he said nothing to you before closing the toilet lid, and flushing it, before standing up and washing his mouth out in the sink before walking past vey and matt and flopped down on matt's bed, all without a word.

you looked at matt with sadness in your eyes, but also a bit of confusion. matt and vey both walked into the bathroom, shutting it as you stood up and leaned against the sink. "what the fuck happened?" a voice no more than a whisper came out of your lips.

"he's been in a really bad place recently. he didn't tell me or nick why but he's been staying with a friend off campus these past couple days. and this guy is like a well known drug addict and he's the one who chris gets all his shit from. i guess chris smoked or took some stuff from him that had something in it, and he passed out in the guy's house. i tracked his phone because he wasn't calling me back or anything, got to the house, saw chris passed out on the ground in the living room. his guy was nowhere to be found, and i stayed with chris till he woke up, and took care of him until we drove back here."

matt explained everything and vey had gotten emotional at the thought of everything, her eyes welling up with tears as she sniffled, turning away from the both of you. you knew vey has had some experiences with lacing and drugs, all of that, from her family so the topic was sensitive to her.

matt rubbed her back and you stayed silent, just thinking. chris almost died. you knew chris obviously wasn't doing so good, but the thought of him passing out and just seeing how he looked made you distressed.

"when was this?" you asked softly as you looked up to matt's saddened face. "about 8 hours ago. he's been vomiting for the past 3. i'm thinking about taking him to the hospital if he doesn't stop. thankfully, the time periods in between his vomiting have gotten longer. i called nick and my parents already, and nick's on his way right now and my parents are heading over soon. i just hate knowing they're gonna see him like this."

your thoughts were quickly interrupted at the noise of someone banging on the dorm's door. matt opened the bathroom door, exiting it and opening the front to nick bursting in. "chris, oh my god." he said without another word as he walked over to chris who glanced up, sighing. "nick, i'm fine." his voice was almost nonexistent and came out raspy.

nick wrapped his arms around chris and sat down next to him. chris merely hugged him back, glancing over his shoulder, looking at you with distressed eyes. neither of you broke eye contact as tears welled up in your eyes. you hated crying in front of people.

you broke the eye contact as you coughed, looking up at the ceiling, blinking and trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you turned back into the bathroom. vey followed in after you, closing the door and rubbing your back as you covered your mouth, not being able to hold in the sobs anymore.

choked sobs and coughs bounced off the walls, and vey brought you into her arms, rubbing your back and hair, quietly reassuring you as you wrapped your arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder and neck. you were sure the triplets could hear you despite the meer piece of wood blocking you guys, but you didn't care.

you weren't one to cry for others but someone so close to you, chris more or less erupted more emotions from deep inside you that haven't been released in months.

you didn't know why you were crying like this over him. it's not like you guys were dating but the love in your heart, even if it's just a bit, overcame you.

after a couple minutes of vey whispering into your ear and rubbing your back, you had finally calmed down just a bit. "it's so fucking embarrassing i'm crying like this." you muttered into your hands as you broke your body away from vey's and sliding down the wall next to you, pulling your knees up to your chest.

she slipped down next to you, rubbing your knee. "it's not. at all. i need you to understand that what you're feeling is perfectly normal and it's a normal response to something as severe as this happening. hell, even i cried. and so did matt. he called me when he was lying next to chris, sobbing into the phone and praying that chris was going to wake up. we all understand how you're feeling, rosy. this isn't something small, this was serious. i'm happy you're allowing yourself to let these emotions out."

vey reassured you, making you feel a lot better. the thought of matt sobbing to her over the phone and praying for chris made your heart tighten with the ringing thought that chris had seriously almost died.

you took a couple moments to recollect yourself, before taking a deep breath. "it's gonna be so embarrassing when i walk out. the whole building probably just heard me crying." you laughed softly, and vey gave a sad smile, shrugging.

"probably. doesn't mean it was pointless though. c'mere." she stood up, taking your hand and bringing you up also. she ripped off a couple paper towels, wetting them and wiping your eyes and cheeks.

you had looked into the mirror, your face and eyes red and puffy, and dried mascara staining your cheeks before vey wiped it off. she rewet the towels before holding them against your eyes, instantly soothing your burning vision.

once she was finished, she tossed them into the trash. "you ready?" she softly asked, her hand hovering over the knob and you gave a slight nod. she opened it, matt waiting next to the door before his eyes flickered up, looking at the both of you. "you guys okay?" he softly asked the both of you as she nodded and you shrugged.

you looked over to the bed, seeing nick and chris in the same position, but now nick was rubbing chris's back as chris cried into his hands. your heart dropped again, he was crying because he heard you sob.

he looked up, his red puffy face similar to yours. "i- am so sorry. i don't know why i ghosted everyone, i don't know why i left, i don't know why i took anything that fucking bitch gave me. you were the only thing in my mind when i was doing everything, and i just couldn't control anything i did. i was stressed out over fucking everything. rosy, and everyone, im so sorry." while he was talking, he stood up and got close to you, cupping your cheeks, looking down at you.

in other instances, this would've been so embarrassing for the both of you, this action being very unrecognizable for the both of you, but right now, no one cared. all everyone cared about was, chris's wellbeing.

some time had passed, and you and vey had left. the triplets' parents had come and the both of you decided to give the family some space. matt had insisted you to stay to meet them, but you declined almost immediately. it's not like you didn't want to, but it was a big step for you.

that night, nick and matt had made a groupchat with you and vey and had told you guys that their parents insisted on bringing chris to the hospital. they told you he vomited again, and passed out due to dehydration. he woke up and they're probably staying the night in the hospital to make sure chris's vitals were stable, and for now they were.

vey had decided to come over and take your mind off of everything. you had thought about smoking, but decided not to because of everything today. so, you both resorted to making slime, skincare, eating, and watching movies.

it felt like a weight off your shoulders knowing chris was okay.

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[disgruntleddemon]

i though i'd try and do designs for the better world from J3 as fun lil challenge! i went w middle age-ish, since we don't rly see that in canon.

McGucket gets to be fun and silly. he gets into eccentric button ups (i firmly believe the Hawaiian shirt Stan puts on the skeleton was McGucket's), and just generally enjoys getting ridiculous with his outfits. also, return on the mustache! and a ponytail for the hell of it. kind of a fun uncle vibe.

i think Ford just likes plain colored button ups. that's basically all he wears in flashbacks lol. besides that, he's a bit more outdoorsy. best believe he has a shit ton of random things in the vest pockets. he also doesn't have any tattoos from Bill, so that's nice

for Stan i basically just went w his sea grunk look. his hair is just starting to thin out a bit. his chin is also scruffier since i'm still not sure how to give a dog stubble. idk, his design was the trickiest to figure out.

Stan and Ford's matching earrings were from an incident where they were drunk and one of them thought it would be a great idea. both of them insist it was the other's idea. they never got rid of the earrings though lmao. McGucket teases them about it sometimes.

anyway, long ramblings on my timeline headcannons under the cut:

so, the main thing that ended up changing the timeline, was Ford reaching out to Stan Sooner. things had just started to go bad, like in cannon, but Bill played one of his cards too soon.

he did the zombie possession thing, and that's enough to scare Ford into contacting Stan. the idea that even death wouldn't be enough to escape Bill was pretty terrifying y'know?

he hadn't yet come up with the plan to hide the journals, so primarily he wants Stan to help buy him some time. basically, he needed someone who could babysit him and make sure he was restrained if he fell asleep.

given his goal, he has more time to just sit down with Stan and explain the whole situation. he's a bit more trusting than cannon Ford, but in a "this is a last ditch effort, idk what to do if this fails" way. obviously, Stan agrees to help, which also means they're now living together and forced to work through their issues. it does go a bit smoother than would have in cannon tho. at some point during this time period, they do hide the journals. they're basically throwing anything at the wall trying to see what sticks.

Ford believes they REALLY need McGucket. with some convincing from Stan, he works up the nerve to call Fiddleford's home. only to be met with Emma saying he hadn't come back, and not to call her anymore. i kinda picture a scenario where Ford and Stan desperately try to find McGucket, only to, ironically, get snatched by the blind eye after seeing something supernatural

i'm not entirely sure how i'd have the confrontation play out. i do think this gets to be a moment where Ford is the one to excel in a social situation. like, i think it'd be a chance to see some of him and McGucket's friendship, and show how much Ford does actually care.

either way, McGucket agrees to help at the end. idk what to do with the blind eye, but i'm thinking similar to the ending of the episode in the show. except maybe more open ended if all the members got their mind erased in case i want the blind eye to make a reappearance as antagonists later.

i've seen a couple different ways people go about protecting Ford's mind from Bill in mystery trio aus. unicorn hair, metal plate surgery but riskier, metal helmet, etc, but i'm surprised no one ever uses project mentem!

for one thing, it just SCREAMS fiddleford to me. i already headcannoned better world McGucket gave cannon Ford the blueprints for it, so of course i'm gonna use it as part of my better world timeline. i mean, if he made the memory gun, i can def see him making the brain protector too lol.

after that is a couple various events:

Ford and Stan have to help McGucket recover from his memory gun addiction. while not as pronounced as cannon obviously, he still has memory issues left over

they start dismantling the portal

Ford publishes his research like McGucket originally suggested, and does get quite a bit of money from that

Mcgucket and Emma get divorced and have to figure out their situation. i think it'd be awhile before Fiddleford gets proper custody, but i do think Emma moves closer, and Fiddleford gets to see Tate

the trio opens something similar to the mystery shack, but an actual anomaly natural history museum. Stan ends up doing tours, while Ford and McGucket do the displays + research for that. it's around this point those two officially get together. they'd been kind of dancing around it for awhile lol

surprising everyone, it's Fiddleford who thinks they should revisit the portal, and that he has ideas on how to get it to work safely. still not entirely sure how to have that play out, but obviously they do figure it out in the end

at some point the institute is founded

when the portal is actually finished, and dimensional travel becomes more of a thing, Ford and Stan start exploring together. they don't go sailing, but the do get to go on adventures as brothers :]

at some point, shifty is revisited. having seen a few aus where he ends up as Ford and McGucket's kid, i'm kinda leaning in that direction. haven't decided what to do with him yet

now, when cannon Ford shows up, and gets some of the basics of what happened in this world he asks Fiddleford something to the effect of "so, did Stan hide the journals?" and he technically did hide them, WITH Ford, so McGucket is like "yeah, i guess so, but-" before cannon Ford cuts him off and changes the subject.

i think cannon ford was already overwhelmed by seeing what was essentially his dream world, that finding out what happened to Stan would be too painful. if they reconnected, that would hurt, if they never saw each other again, that would also hurt. so, cannon Ford, king of repressing his feelings, just avoided the topic.

[its-aftg]

Oh no. I'm reblogging again. this is not what i was supposed to be writing tonight. (slightly sethvin? isn't it always lol)

Imagine that Seth, you know, didn't get fucking murdered in book 1.

That first banquet where the Ravens have joined the Foxes district...just imagine that when Jean calls out to Neil and makes him come into the locker room to meet up with Riko that it's not just Matt that comes looking for him but also Seth. They're roommates and Seth will be damned if anyone intimidates the other striker on their lineup (other than him of course).

When Riko tells Neil he will speak to Kevin and have him explain, that he will not tolerate the disrespect, Seth sees red. Matt goes to push Neil out of the room and moves back in to have Seth's back. Seth turns to Riko, eyes angry. "You might not tolerate the disrespect but I don't fucking tolerate you pulling people away to have secret chats in locker rooms." Seth bodies up into Riko's face, quick to move like he does on the court, coiled and ready to throw hands.

"Shoo, Nathanial and I are talking." He motions to Jean to get Neil back in.

And well, that was the wrong thing to say. Seth smirks before pulling back a fist and connecting with Riko's jaw. He never cared if it was during Exy or if it was off the court, Seth was always hot tempered and ready to go, a blessing and a curse he thought. Riko didn't stand much chance against the other striker, while Seth's job was to be fast and score, he was a wall when it came to fighting. Plenty of practice on the Fox line for the everyday brawl. He towered over Riko and easily bodied him down to the ground in front of the locker, it only took a few strikes to take him down. He let out a small laugh at the shock Riko let show on his face - no Jean to protect him as Matt held him back near the door - "Leave my team alone or next time I won't go easy on you." Seth spit on him as he turned to the door to leave with Matt and Neil in tow, looking back as Jean went over to help Riko off the ground.

When they met eyes he just smiled and walked away.

--

The next time they met on the court. Since Seth and Riko played the same position they didn't get nearly enough time fighting as Seth would like. In the time between the banquet and the match both Kevin and Neil had come clean on what was really going on with the Moriyama's. Seth wasn't all too happy with them., and wasn't happy with them trying to make Neil and Kevin's life harder -that was his job.

Seth and Kevin were up when Riko was on, Matt and Nicky on as backliners. Matt was more than ready to follow along with whatever he needed to do to destroy Riko, already tasked with being the one to cover him. Seth watched the way Matt repeatedly made it harder and harder for Riko to get the upper hand, months of training with Kevin had made Matt so much better at being the Foxes biggest backliner. He smiled under his helmet as he watched Riko's repeated frustrating as Matt blocked his route, stole the ball, and passed to either himself or Kevin.

During the last half Riko darted down his side of the court, looking like he was running for his life and making Seth think of Neil when he first arrived at Palmetto. He knew it was his chance to confront him head on and and raced the 10 yards over to him. He checked him before Riko could pass the ball away and managed to scoop it up when Riko lost it. instead of trying to run with it he spotted Kevin with an opening and immediately bounced it out of his racquet towards him.

Riko hissed at him after the wall turned red with the alert of a goal scored. "Piece of shit," Riko spit at him.

"Not what your mom was saying last night!" He laughed as he flipped Riko off and went back into the next play as the Raven dealer chucked the ball down the court.

He watched with trained eyes, preparing to steal the ball where he could. Zane saw Riko mostly open and passed back to him from half court, both Seth and Matt descended on him faster than he expected, both aware that the team had to pass to Riko frequently to keep Riko happy as their king. Matt smashed into him from behind as Seth yanked at his racquet to flip the ball out. Riko didn't stand a chance against the two 6 foot plus men, both ready to use their size to their advantage. Seth popped the ball out of his net and in an unexpected move passed it behind him to Matt to deal with.

The game played on behind them as Seth stepped a few feet away from where Riko had fallen on the floor, racquet loose in his hands as he watched the ball soar to the Raven's side of the court.

"I should have killed you and your scaredy-cat when I had the chance," Riko sneered.

Seth raised an eyebrow in question at him, observing the way his gaze tracked to Neil bouncing his leg on the bench at the Foxes side.

"Oh, you think you coulda got the better of us?" Seth brought his racquet up over his shoulders, the look of a casual conversation as the ball was still in play around them. He shifted his weight to one leg as he watched Riko plant his feet in effort to stand back up.

"I don't think- I know."

Seth laughed as he threw his racquet to the ground. "Yeah, I don't think so mother fucker," he said as he threaded a hand through Riko's hair, pulled him up with only that as the grounding point to Riko's full height. Seth bent down to meet Riko eye to eye before his other hand wrapped around Riko's throat to lift him up completely off his feet. Attention was drawn to them as a whistle blew and red cards were thrown on the play. Seth didn't stop, lifting Riko well over his head, laughing more as his hands clawed at the one at his neck, mouth open trying to take a full breath into his lungs. He squeezed tighter, feeling tendons shift under his grip even through the guard. When he felt satisfied by Riko's fear he slammed him against the plexiglass wall to their left, let him slide down as he released his hold just as his other hand balled into a fist to start relentlessly pummeling into his side as the other came down to catch him on the side of the head.

The Foxes didn't move to stop him, except one. Kevin came up and roughly grabbed at his elbow.

"Gordon! Forget him, " Kevin met his eyes and held his racquet out to him. "Time to get them where it really hurts." A rare feral Kevin smile was on display and Seth was only able to take his racquet back, clack theirs together before running off with a shit-eating grin, ready to play Exy with his favorite striker in NCAA.

Riko wouldn't finish out that game, he'd have to have been hauled off with some moderately severe injuries for only being in an altercation with one other man.

The Foxes would win.

Seth wouldn't regret what he did, after all, he's just a Fox with an attitude problem.

If Seth had issues with Kevin imagine the shit that would happen if Riko and he had a conversation.

Riko opens his mouth and Seth throws a punch.

[drdtfuitgumies]

teruko plays among us: episode 07 // the power of friendship (and chekhov's knife)

six players remain, with two imposters still alive. if the imposters kill a single person each, the amount of crewmates and imposters will be equal, thus ending the game in the imposters' victory. it is in your best interest to eliminate the imposters in any way possible, be it through an emergency meeting... or by taking initiative.

knowing the stakes, i give you an option.

previous // return to episode 01 // next (????)

i remembered last-second not to spoil the other imposter in the "dead chat page", but their identity can be kinda intuited. Especially if you remember canon. i'm still letting you people choose though. b

this marks the end of my free time, two posts a week, and the certainty of this thing updating weekly :(( but i PROMISE that i will finish this silly little comic eventually. if not for anyone else then for me and my own PRIDE!!

anyhow! Everything happened all at once, so here's a few elaborations that will be helpful sooner or later: -) yes, xander Fakes sucking at card swipe. it usually works well! -) david did follow j to electrical and see teruko, xander, and whit hovering over j's body. he just made a conclusion based on what he saw. but he also happened to be executioner for teruko, and he just Wins if he gets teruko voted out! so things worked out like clockwork for him... if it weren't for... -) swapper is a crewmate role that can swap the votes of two people. the swapper should work in the interests of the crew, but there are so many things that can go wrong (especially in the hands of this cast) that some call it a neutral killing role -) arei voted for teruko because she respected david's haterism and found the concept of "teruko losing to david executioner on her for her very first game" hilarious -) whit also wanted to vote for teruko for the same reasons but his intuition told him something crazy would happen, so he voted for david instead -) guessing is a mod-only mechanic where all imposters AND the crewmate role "vigilante" can try to guess another player's role. here, imposters can only guess crewmates, while the vigilante can only guess imposters and neutral roles. if they're correct, their target dies (like an assassination); but if they're incorrect, the guesser dies. most real-life and therefore Sane players limit the maximum amount of guesses someone can do (to stop someone from theoretically winning from only guessing roles), but this cast is Not Sane in the slightest and allows "unlimited" guesses. if this seems easier to see in practice, worry not! This will be relevant within the next 2 episodes -) incidentally, xander voted for teruko last-second but he was really hoping a vigilante would guess david as executioner (which would kill him) then get teruko voted out right after (since david can't win off teruko's unjust execution anymore), which would bring a safer victory -) as a reminder, sheriff specifically has a faster kill cooldown than imposters, and teruko has done Nothing to reveal her role as sheriff. teruko will be safe!

teruko: sheriff (crewmate) / alive david: executioner (neutral) / dead arei: ??? (???) / alive whit: jester until proven otherwise (neutral?) / alive ace: ??? (???) / alive j: engineer (crewmate) / dead eden: swapper? (crewmate?) / alive charles: spy (crewmate) / dead xander: ??? (imposter) / alive min: altruist (crewmate) / dead