#no one gets it expect my bitch husband unfortunately

[shaiscifer]

i wish i knew how to edit there’s so many songs that i wanna put over josh clips specifically any apc/puscifer/tool song, hole in the earth or passenger by deftones, a bunch of alice in chains, cannibal corpse or meshuggah like

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 

“You may kiss the–”  

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?” 

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.” 

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.” 

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful. 

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

-

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

-

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

-

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

[falsamoneda]

Maybe because she didn’t play a single game of soccer for her club team from August to November for seemingly no reason and has forced her husband into the staff of both of her most recent clubs when he’s done absolutely fuck all to deserve it. We have outgrown the need for Crystal Dunn. Go to France, girly, nobody is giving your drug peddling husband a job in this league again.

👀 but really lol

I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt and try my hardest not to speculate why they might be out or not. People go through crazy and terribly private things and maybe I’m a softie for trying to think about all the things with a little empathy? As the months went on however, I started to not feel this way with this situation though.

There is, unfortunately, a pattern of maybe not so coincidental things with the teams she’s been on in the past that seems to keep happening. I’m hella sensitive so maybe a little timid on fully addressing this topic anon (cause I don’t want to get my ass kicked on this subject…people can be so pro “how dare you say anything bad!”). I’ve always felt that it was also weird how Emma Hayes was the one to convert her to left back and that’s been her mainstay position on the national team for at least 7 ish years, yet on the club side it’s been a harsh point of contention. I guess you would be stupid to say no if that was the way you would see time on the field with the national team, and people have the right to say how they feel, but it seems to me that maybe she thought she could say what she wanted to about the subject on the club level and not really ever be challenged on it? Crystal never even met expectations at Portland for me as an attacking player, let alone at the few games she played at Gotham. I may be an ass for saying this, but I feel like she got outplayed at her position and didn’t like the lack of minutes she was getting.

Now I hate talking about that man she’s married to because I think he’s an absolute jackass, but few people also touch on the fact that they met while she was a player and he was on staff on the Spirit….and then he magically got a job at every club she went to after that. The amount of red flags that raises is unreal.

I also found her instagram story to be incredibly immature. Like you are Crystal Dunn and there’s no need for you to go there yet you did? Be for real. I wish her the best, but the nosy bitch part of me wants to know what happened behind the scenes. I have a feeling that unless she talks we’ll never know. Gotham certainly won’t say anything given how they’ve navigated Lynn’s bad culture comments.

[foxymoxynoona]

Over the Falls Ch. 2: Bomb

Sexy Banner & bar by @borabae-gx

Summary: Jungkook sees a lot of things as a pool tech. It’s…  fine. It pays the bills between mornings on the water and evenings  rocking out with his garage-band. His favorite thing to see on the job has been Grace Birch –older but a hottie, wealthy but nice, and  unfortunately very married. At least until Grace learns what her husband  has been up to behind her back. Now that she’s free, Jungkook finds  himself wondering: what does it take for a guy like him to catch the eye of a woman like that?

Genre: Poolboy Jungkook x Rich Divorcee OC

Tags: Age gap (older woman), socioeconomic gap, Surferboy JK, drummer/guitarist/vocalist JK, Wealthy divorcee OC, househusband

CW: Mature/Explicit,  Infidelity (not between JKxOC), language, alcohol, recreational drugs, lots of explicit sex, ageist/racist/classist remarks down the road, outdoor sex, beach sex

Chapter One | Masterlist | Chapter Three

“You’re pursing your lips!” Taro called back to Jungkook. His attempts to unpurse them failed beneath his glare; he pursed them tighter, then squeezed his eyes shut accidentally while trying to relax his lips. Thinking about it all caused him to drag the rhythm and Yoongi abruptly stopped.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook scowled at Taro. “Who cares what my mouth is doing when I’m not singing?”

“I care, it doesn’t look cool.”

“Well stop looking back at me and you won’t see it. The audience is that way,” Jungkook said, pointing with his stick to the front of the garage where Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, and Corri chilled with beers on cheap folding chairs. They weren’t paying any attention to the rehearsal, certainly not to anything Jungkook’s face was doing behind the drums. 

“Yeah but–”

“No one cares what his fucking face does,” Soyoon agreed with him. “They care whether he nails that tricky rhythm.”

“Thank you–”

“If he looks like a muppet, so what?”

Jungkook’s grateful grin slid into a scowl. Soyoon smiled. 

Yoongi’s voice sounded equally as deceptively supportive as he suggested, “Maybe more like a tarsier.”

“I was thinking tree frog,” Taehyung called over. 

“You’re all fucking assholes,” Jungkook huffed and did a run on the drums as loud as he could as punishment. They were unfortunately unbothered. As unbothered as they should have been about whatever concentration face he made as he drummed. They had no idea the coordination and focus it required! 

“Don’t listen to them,” Hoseok insisted as soon as the cacophony died down. “You’re handsome no matter what face you make, that’s why they’re being like that. They’re jealous. You look so cool when you drum, you’re stealing the show.”

It was too over the top. Jungkook sighed and let his head hang as his friends got their laughs out. 

“What? What did I say?” Hoseok mumbled as Jimin patted his arm and shushed him. Hoseok was the only one of their group to say something like that and mean it sincerely, but no one could take it seriously. Alas.

“Let’s just take it from the top,” Yoongi said. “Last song of the night and I’m out.”

“Out? Why out? We’re performing this weekend,” Taro instantly argued. Jungkook saw the twitch of Yoongi’s lips, only the faintest sign he ever showed that he was annoyed.

“Yeah, so we had the extra rehearsal.”

“I just want us to do well,” Taro insisted. “This isn’t a normal performance. It’s a competition.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the snicker, “For Aughts Coverbands. It’s not that deep, Taro, you don’t have to be a bitch about my face.”

“Gee, can’t imagine why you can’t get laid lately.”

“The fuck do you know about it? I can get laid whenever I–” Jungkook sputtered. Really? She had to say that right in front of Corri?!

Soyoon sighed noisily, “We all know you want to win, we all know Junky can get laid, can we just do it already?” God he hated that nickname, if anyone besides Soyoon called him that he’d lose his shit, but somehow she’d always been able to use it as a hook to draw him back. He rolled his eyes at her, as expected, and she grinned and thumbed a line on the bass.

“Winning is fun,” Taro huffed. “I thought at least Jungkook would agree with me.”

“You’re talking shit about my face! We aren’t going to lose because of my face!”

“Only when you purse your lips like that.”

“I’m just concentrating.”

“You’re supposed to make it look effortless.”

“You wanna drum?” he asked, standing from the stool and holding the sticks out. She rolled her eyes and looked away. She’d once tried to pick it up and failed miserable, she lacked the coordination and muscle for it. And Jungkook had taken the high road and not teased her (too bad) about it. Her inability to play any instrument didn’t matter; she was a kickass lead vocalist and frontwoman, even though she sucked before any performance she deemed important. Yeah, Jungkook wanted to do well in a competition, obviously, but it wasn’t supposed to be a source of stress. They were a mostly-covers band, not some music act out to change the world. It was just supposed to be fun. Jungkook had managed to calm down the hyper-competitive streak of his younger days and wasn’t interested in getting all wrapped up in it again. 

“I’m just trying to help you get laid,” she mumbled.

“Why are you so worried whether he’s getting laid?” Taehyung asked, just as loudly as before, as if Corri hadn’t already heard all of this. Corri, one of the women uninterested in laying him despite their past lays.

“I’m not. I just think he seems frustrated.”

“Yeah because our vocalist keeps talking shit about my concentration face.”

Yoongi started to play the chorus, a not-so-subtle sign he was bored with the bickering banter. 

“Yeah I’m frustrated but not about… whatever, just play the song,” Jungkook huffed. Corri’s obvious avoidance of looking in his direction suddenly embarrassed him, when he usually could shrug off teasing no problem. He didn’t care that Corri didn’t want to fuck anymore, it wasn’t like they had been a thing, it just was embarrassing for someone you weren’t a thing with to tell you they wanted to be even less of a thing… Suddenly he wondered if Corri and Taro had been talking about him….

Before anyone (Taro) could escalate further, Soyoon scolded, “Elizabeth. Sing the damn song so I’m not late to teaching.”

Taro —real name Elizabeth– scowled in Soyoon’s direction this time and Jungkook settled back onto his stool. He flexed his fingers and cracked his neck to get ready for the final run-through of all three songs they would play at the competition: “Misery Business” by Paramore, “All Around You” by Flyleaf, and “The Real Mothers” by Screaming Females. Jungkook could have done without Flyleaf but Taro had gotten to choose the final song after a cutthroat tournament of rock-paper-scissors. Granted, Jungkook would have preferred to cover at least one male-led song, but he wasn’t going to go there. 

Instead he did his best to keep his face neutral and un-pinched as he played, his best effort to be above reproach. Yoongi was who he cared more about impressing though; Taro was a great vocalist but when it came to musical talent, Yoongi was their lead with Soyoon not far behind. The two of them wrote and composed all their original stuff and did the arrangements for their covers. The two of them could have gone pro, really, but they had their reasons for being in this hobby band, just like Taro did, just like Jungkook did. 

Fun. It was all supposed to be fun. 

Usually he liked rehearsal, but Taro was right about one tiny thing: he was frustrated. But it wasn’t about sex! Or at least not about his sex. It was about a particular video sitting on his phone that he had no fucking clue what to do about. He had hoped to ask Yoongi what he thought but then felt stupid about it as they kicked off rehearsal and there wasn’t any time afterwards. As soon as the set was done, Soyoon and Yoongi both split for their evening gigs. 

Taro’s face went through a tornado of emotions before she finally put her hands on Jungkook’s shoulders and said, “Sorry. Your face is fine. I just want us to look good but I didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

“Whoever you have coming to the show isn’t going to fuck or not fuck you because of what my face does.”

She growled, “Come on, I apologized. Don’t be a shit.” But it was allowed. That’s how things were between them, had been for the ten years they’d known each other since their first pick up performances as teens, back when she was just Beth and not the artist known as Taro. He grinned and she pinched his cheek and that was the end of it; she and Corri disappeared with only a backward wave.

Jungkook expected to be on his own for the last bit of cleanup but Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok shuffled around the garage helping with it. They’d done their best to waterproof the garage but after a leak had come a little too close to an amp, Jungkook was too nervous to leave anything of value on the ground ever again. He’d built a shaky wooden platform for his kit, made sure all the cables and amps were on shelves and hooks against the windowless wall, and kept the other instruments inside the house. Yoongi’s garage had been nicer and at the top of a hill but after his neighbors called the cops on them twice, they’d moved to Jungkook’s garage. His neighbors didn’t give a shit; everyone was noisy here. They usually played with the door open anyways because it got hot as fuck in there with only a couple fans and sometimes people would sit out on their porches to listen. Jimin had the great idea of adding an air conditioner but with what fucking money? Someday. Maybe with the prize money if they won the competition! The 2000s were the worst decade of music as far as Jungkook was concerned, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t win…

He felt the stirrings of ambition and squashed it.

“Paramore and Flyleaf,” he mumbled as Jimin and Taehyung sang lyrics over each other while they looped cables. 

“What’s wrong with Paramore?” Hoseok asked. “Besides that you’re too young to remember them.”

“I’m not too young. I remember “Ain’t It Fun,” that album. And I remember these songs! I like them. The drumming is good, and they’re good for Taro’s voice.”

“But… you’d rather be playing something else?”

“I just don’t like the competitions,” he admitted. “I’d rather be doing our usual set for our usual stage. No stress, no worries–”

“Yeah you don’t like it because you’re a sleeping competitive asshole,” Jimin snickered.

Jungkook looked around for anything left down as he demanded, “What does that mean, sleeping?”

“It means you want everything to think you’re chill. Surfer life, ya?” Jimin teased, making two shaka gestures. His mockery was idiotic considering he surfed almost as much as Jungkook did, although he hadn’t gone as much lately. Work. “We’ve known you too long. We know you like to crush the competition.”

“Nah, man, that’s not me anymore.”

Jimin and Taehyung shared a look. Jungkook backhanded Taehyung in the stomach because he was closest, then motioned for them to get out so he could drag the garage door closed. The clicker had been broken for a while and every time one of them tried to fix it, it just broke again. Handymen they were not despite their best efforts, Jungkook in particular. He just didn’t have the knack for it, so he was learning, that was all. Their landlord didn’t have to be such a shitbag about his attempts gone awry. If he’d just call the fucking plumber or contractor or whatever it was on time, Jungkook wouldn’t have to take matters into his own hands! Or worse, Taehyung or Jimin went after it. 

“What are we doing for dinner?” Taehyung asked as they kicked their shoes off by the back door. Jungkook ignored the question, assuming it was intended for Jimin or Hoseok, or at least not him. Briefly looking at his phone with the thought of delivery –followed by the painful reminder of his bank account– nudged his attention back to the video. The video. The one currently living in the Recently Deleted folder on his phone, chilling in limbo for 30 days until he either restored it or let his phone delete it for good. He felt no closer to making a decision on what to do with it. Forget he knew this and let it disappear? Give it to Mrs. Birch because she deserved to know she was married to an epic dipshit? 

“JK?” 

“Yeah episode four, I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“Are we talking about what to watch?”

“What show are you even talking about?” Jimin laughed at him. “We’re talking about food! Dinner!”

“Oh. Uh…”

Taehyung snickered and nudged him with an elbow as he passed through the door, “He’s thinking about the video.”

“Grossss.”

“I’m not— I’m not thinking about the video,” Jungkook argued. It was a lie; they could tell it was a lie. He didn’t appreciate their joke of making it sound like he was thinking-thinking about it, rather than stressing about it. Stressing wasn’t his style.

“Just delete it, man,” Taehyung said. “You don’t need some guy’s nut on your phone. No offense to the gays in the room.”

“None taken, I don’t want some asshole’s nut on my phone either,” Jimin snickered.

“Yeah but….” 

Jimin, still grinning, countered, “Stop being a puss and just tell the wife what you found. She deserves to know and once she’s done being heartbroken, she’ll appreciate it,” Jimin countered. “Maybe a lot.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Jungkook deeply regretted having drunkenly shared a Mrs. Birch fantasy with Jimin just one time, which Jimin would now never ever forget.

Their “advice” was too much like teasing. It didn’t feel serious and had already put him in a bad mood when they first acted like this when he told them yesterday. Not everything was a joke. He wanted to live like that too, sure! But he had a real moral conflict here and he didn’t appreciate them making it sound like he was getting some kind of sick pleasure –either out of having a fucking porn video of that spaghetti-dick Tim or of hoping to get into Mrs. Birch’s good graces as a hero. He didn’t feel like this was heroic. He felt like a fucking creep to have taken it in the first place. He felt like it was infecting his phone. He felt like he was holding a bomb that was going to blow up a marriage and really hurt a good person. 

Not that he really knew her and whether she was a good person. For all he knew she had Nice White Lady Syndrome for “the Help” and was an entitled privileged bitch elsewhere. She’d married that fucker, after all, so she had to be like into that kind of guy and lifestyle and all that. Maybe she had her side pieces too, for all he knew! And it just wasn’t him! He didn’t want to insert himself into what could be a really sick, fucked up marriage.

“What if the dude comes after me?” he mused. He flopped down on the couch, instantly comforted by the broken-in cushion that nearly swallowed him. “He could get me fired. Sue me. Ruin my life. I dunno.”

“For exposing his cheating?” Taehyung’s face crinkled up. “Then we fuck him up.”

“He’s rich.”

Jimin tapped his chin and pointed out, “Ah, it’s true, it probably wasn’t legal for you to take that video, right?”

“Huh?”

“You filmed a guy having sex in his own house,” Jimin said. “I just mean… having the video is probably a risk. You should either pass it along or get rid of it, but only if you know the wife won’t turn on you. Rich people… you gotta be careful with them.”

“She…” Jungkook started to say she wouldn’t… but he didn’t know. He didn’t actually know her at all. And now Jimin and Taehyung were making him more scared than guilty. He couldn’t get sued. He didn’t have money! He didn’t have time for court. And his family wouldn’t be able to handle the shame. Who would watch Max when Yoojin got called into work without warning? Who would help his dad set up literally any new electronic device or go grocery shopping with his mom so she didn’t have to carry all the bags into the house because Yoojin was busy with Max and his dad worked a lot and Haewon didn’t live at home anymore? His parents needed him more than ever now, he couldn’t go to jail just because he was trying to do something “good” for a woman he didn’t even know! A thing she probably wouldn’t even appreciate!

He turned to Hoseok, hoping for some meaningful insight from him. Hoseok was a few years older and easily the most mature, experienced person in the house right now. Aside from his choice in dating Jimin, he tended to demonstrate good taste and clear judgment. Jimin and Taehyung could be hit or miss on their advice but Hoseok had a knack for people. Jungkook rebelled at their stirring of the pot, making him so nervous. He wasn’t a nervous guy. There had to be an easy, simple solution.

But Hoseok, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, nor when Jungkook first stupidly told these guys about the video two days ago, just read from his phone, “Kalasha is doing a free delivery special to celebrate the new restaurant. Chicken? Egg sandwiches?”

“Yeah, chicken!” Taehyung quickly agreed. Jungkook understood: they were done talking about this, and he sure wasn’t going to be the needy baby demanding more advice that he didn’t even appreciate. He was both relieved and annoyed. This was his mess. He had to figure this out on his own. But he could have used some good advice.

“Egg sandwich,” he said. “Is there one with chicken too? I’m gonna hit the gym later tonight and surf in the morning so I need that protein, yo!” There, Jungkook back to himself, and his friends readily accepted it. 

The crash of the waves against the shore drowned out all else. Early mornings had a cool humidity to them, leaving a cold sweaty feeling on Jungkook’s skin, his hair wild and crunchy from the salt. The warm water lapped his ankles, sand sucking out from beneath his toes as the water swirled and then retreated, only to be overrun by the next impatient wave. It was a beautiful morning to be out, perfect surf conditions, beach not yet overrun by the tourists who would flock here once they’d finished their brunch and mimosas at the nearby resort.

Jungkook shook the wet hair out of his face and closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the breeze off the water. The scent of salt and fish, sharp and pungent, was home to him. He breathed in deeply and tried to let everything else in the world sift from his mind. That was the beauty of surfing, it took all of you, for a brief time you were nothing but a fleck of energy carried by the water. That was what he liked about drumming too. He liked things that consumed him.

Surfing early in the morning had many advantages, when the tide worked out. Nice weather. Quieter beach. Fewer rookies. 

“How’s the break, bro?” Carver asked, coming up behind and slapping him on the shoulder. Jungkook saw Missy trailing further up the beach, board perched on her head. He took his eyes off Hoseok only for a second to answer,

“Yeah, bomb breaks today.” He slapped Carver’s back in return. “You’re late for dawn patrol though, eh?”

Carver rolled his eyes, “Someone couldn’t get out of bed this morning.” He jerked his thumb at Missy. Jungkook’s eyebrows raised but he said nothing, knowing he’d be awkward. Carver and Missy had been dating a year now or something like it, and for at least a year before that Carver had trailed along behind her like a lovesick dickhead while Missy didn’t have the time of day for him. Jungkook had spent many a daybreak catching waves with her but she’d seemed unbothered by any of his attempts at flirting –until suddenly one day she took a liking to Carver and now they stayed up all night fucking so she couldn’t make it to the beach on time. Jungkook hated that he knew that. He was fine that she’d never given him a chance but he was bummed to see less of two people he enjoyed. 

And also that they were just so happy together.

Fuck, he just knew too much about other people’s fuck lives without having one of his own to occupy his thoughts.

He gave a wave to Missy and headed out to the water just as Hoseok slid smoothly onto the beach. He sure didn’t let his bedmate keep him from catching those early breaks under the first streaks of light. His hair spiked and his smile glowed as he took those first heavy steps off the board and then immediately turned around to drag it back into the water a few yards behind Jungkook.

“I’ve only got time for one more,” he called, voice swallowed by the surf but Jungkook still heard and remembered he’d said that earlier, he had an earlier shift as a manager at the resort. It was a really demanding job, and he busted his ass. But he was still here! Unlike Taehyung. Jimin was practically a hodad at this point anyway so it didn’t really matter if he was here since he just distracted Hoseok anyway.

Jungkook walked until he had to glide and paddle. The sun was steadily heating up on his back but the water felt cool by comparison, drenching the thin fabric of his rash guard. He kept his eyes on the horizon where sea birds flitted and landed, and a couple fishing boats in the distance seemed to hover. Greenish fish darted beneath the shadow of his board. A shadow of a cloud passed over but otherwise the sky was clear and would no doubt be scorching later. Work was going to be hot today. He had three pools to clean, and then had promised Yoojin he’d take Max in the evening. She was being cagey as shit about why she needed the sitting, which probably meant she had a date and she knew very well how Jungkook felt about that. Yoojin’s taste in men was as shitty as her cooking. Max was the only good thing her ex had ever done in his life, and he wasn’t even still involved except for an occasional miniscule child-support check.

When he got far enough out, he straddled the board and waited as first one and then a second mushburger made him bob. Too gentle to ride. Sitting in the lull was peaceful though and gave Hoseok time to catch up. Jungkook breathed the breeze and watched his friend sit up several yards away. As the first one out, Jungkook had wave priority, but he knew Hoseok had somewhere to be.

“You want the next one?” he called.

“Nah bro, you’re first!”

“I can wait. I’m floating.”

“No no it’s fine, you first.”

“Eh…” Jungkook sighed as a totally surfable swell raised beneath them. Neither of them took it, just watched as it peeled. “Damn, would’ve been perfect.”

“Take it,” Hoseok insisted. “I can chill.”

Jungkook briefly considered it. Felt his muscles tense as another swell began to rise behind him. But being out here was soothing, and he felt tendrils dragging at his mind again that he wasn’t willing to face once he went back to shore. Out here he was nothing, nobody, just a piece of driftwood on the sea. Back on land, he had a job to do. The Birch pool was on his roster today, and he was no closer to figuring out what to do with the video in his trash folder. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back as the wave once again passed them and broke.

“Bro,” Hoseok called. “You ok?”

“What do I do about that video, man?” Jungkook sighed, shouting to be heard over the distance. “I just don’t know… I gotta face her today and what, know her husband is fucking around and that she probably doesn’t know? But damn I don’t want to be tied up in some rich person bullshit…”

Hoseok shook his head, “Yeah, you can’t get into that shit. Richies will rip you up, they don’t give a shit you were trying to do a good thing.” Of course, Hoseok saw lots of shitty rich people in his resort job. Jungkook had briefly worked there as a cabana boy too. He remembered. Oh boy, did he remember.

“Yeah but…” Jungkook sighed. They were all right. He knew they were right, and his family would give the same advice if he asked –which he wouldn’t, because he would never talk to his family about personal problems like that. They had enough of their own and he was the eldest now so it was his job to help them. 

But he also just had this painful twist in his stomach at the idea of Mrs. Birch being married to that piece of shit. Probably the fucker was going to catch something and give it to her and that’s how she’d fine out. He’d get some other chick pregnant. She’d walk in on it and be traumatized. Maybe she was secretly as shitty as the rest but if she wasn’t, didn’t she deserve to know the kind of man she married? Since apparently she hadn’t already figured it out on her own? But it wasn’t Jungkook’s job to tell her…

“I see that look,” Hoseok laughed, splashing Jungkook to get his attention. “You want to do it. That’s why I don’t like to give you advice. You just do what you’re going to do anyway.”

“The thing is, I would want to know,” Jungkook said.

“You aren’t her. You should be worried about yourself. She doesn’t care about you.”

It hurt to hear. It was true. He didn’t like to hear it but appreciated the honesty.

“I know but… otherwise what, I keep cleaning their pool and keep knowing and don’t say anything? That’s not who I am. I want to be an honest person no matter what.”

“No matter what,” Hoseok laughed. “It’s admirable but sometimes not the best.”

Jungkook let out a noisy sigh. 

And then had an idea.

“What if it’s not me that tells her?” he said, slowly turning his board after it drifted. “What if I just give her the video anonymously? Then she knows but no one knows it’s me.”

Hoseok’s face screwed up, “How would you even do that?”

“Burn a dvd. Leave it in her mailbox?”

“They probably have cameras all over the place. Or they’ll data mine the DVD or whatever…”

But Jungkook was onto something and he knew it. Fine, a USB stick, and he didn’t think it had to be that secure because he hadn’t seen anything that made him think either of the Birchs was that technically smart and they were going to have bigger things to worry about anyway, right? Like divorce. Divorce that would bring that piece of rich-ass shit to his dry, wrinkled knees.

“Nah bro, this will work!” Jungkook beamed. He felt an instant lightness swell within him that had nothing to do with the lift of another wave beneath the board. “Ya, ok, it’s a plan. Let’s get it!”

“Wait, but JK–”

“I’m taking this one!” he called, ignoring Hoseok’s concerns. There was no good path forward but this was the best one. Probably Mrs. Birch would be hurt but at least no one could trace it to him and he wouldn’t have to admit to her he’d been the one to record it and no one could sue him for what pennies he had to his name.

He caught the next wave, leaping to his feet at the lip of it as he drew in a deep, joyful breath. This was the best part. Flying. Adrenaline coursed through his body, just the right amount to make him feel like a beam of sunlight, the rough board beneath his feet the only thing left to ground him as he cut his board across clear water that sprayed in his face. No barrels big enough to pull into this morning but the drop left his heart thumping in his chest and his head spinning. Nothing beat the high of a bitchin’ ride. 

Suddenly the wave closed out, sending Jungkook tumbling into the water. The slap to his chest left him winded but he surfaced only a moment after his board bobbed, tugging his ankle by the leash. He flipped his hair back and lifted his face to the sun as he swiped the salt water from his eyes. Didn’t matter that he’d grubbed it, the ride had been excellent until then. Grubbing it was just part of the game.

With a lighter heart and a clear mind, Jungkook sloshed his way to shore to put his plan into action.

The orange envelope was on the front porch when she got home that day, tucked between the storm door and the wooden door as if the mailman had dropped it off. They often did that, even though Tim had built a big stupid UV box for packages. She couldn’t blame the mailmen for not wanting to open the lid of a heavy-looking mysterious box just to leave her latest pantry tupperware from Amazon or Tim’s Razor of the Month club or whatever, despite the insistent sign. She tried to always be the one to bring the mail in so she wouldn’t have to listen to Tim rail about packages left on the ground. He worried about that kind of thing. He thought he was the kind of person important enough for someone to send Anthrax to in the mail.

She’d grabbed the envelope on her way out to get the mail from the box, and tossed it all onto the kitchen counter since Tim was out of town and not here to gripe at her for even briefly making a mess.

“It’s unfair of me to be so critical towards him,” she scolded herself as she looked in the fridge to see what the personal chef had left her for dinner. Tim had actually been very pleasant lately. He’d finally agreed they ought to redecorate the bedroom (as long as it stayed white and gray), praised the dinner she made on a day the chef didn’t come, greeted her with daiquiris after she’d been swimming and asked her about her day as he untied the strings of her bikini. 

Look, she knew those things shuffled over a low bar when listed out of context. But the context was that he’d been working hard and stressed for a while now. The latest acquisition was so close to signing and he was sweating it but the fact he was making an effort even in the midst of that meant a lot to her. It reassured her that once they were to the other side of this period of work, things were going to even out again. Tim would go back to being a bit less of a cranky asshole. She would go back to feeling less resentful, a little more charitable about the moodswings of her hard-working husband who was doing his best to succeed in a cutthroat industry. He wanted to make a name for himself beyond what his own father had accomplished. She admired that.

While the oven preheated, she flipped through the mail, mostly junk. When she got to the envelope though, she realized it was just addressed to Mrs. Birch, no mailing address, no stamp.

Her first thought was that a friend must have dropped something off for her, only to instantly consider it would be really weird for them to address it to Mrs. Birch. None of her friends called her that. 

A client? But she never gave her personal address to anyone she worked for, there was no need for it anyway, she just had things mailed to the office space she kept.

Maybe she had forgotten something somewhere? Her license would have her name and address on it, but the salutation of Mrs. would be odd because how would the person know she was married? Unless she dropped something and they googled her? Her address was supposed to be unlisted but people had ways of searching public records.

She tore the end of the envelope open and out tumbled a CD in a jewel case. Her brow furrowed. Certainly not something she owned and left somewhere. Nothing was printed on the CD. She checked inside the envelope for any evidence of marketing material and found a folded piece of paper with a printed sentence:

Your husband is not who you think he is. He’s a fucking asshole.

Grace’s blood ran cold. 

Tim’s involved with something bad. That felt like the immediate and obvious thing. Tim worked in business and he was constantly trying to get ahead, always working upstream and feeling behind. It made sense that he might have taken what looked like help in a moment of difficulty and wound up in over his head with something. Or someone. He could be short-sighted, she’d always secretly thought that about him.

“Oh god please don’t let it be something illegal,” she murmured, hand shaking as she turned the CD over in her hand. Just how bad could it be? Extortion? Money-laundering? Murder? No. No, Tim wasn’t capable of murdering someone, what a ridiculous thought.

But dirty business, with the confidence he wouldn’t be caught….?

The fact was that in the moment, at just one sentence prompt from a mysterious source, Grace’s trust in her husband tumbled like a tower of toothpicks. Instead of debating who would be out to malign her husband, Grace fretted whether this CD was safe for her to look at, or if simply by seeing whatever was on here, she might become an accomplice. What if he’d already done things to implicate her? 

Grace was not going to prison for Tim!

Her heart pounded in her chest so painfully she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She set the CD quickly down on the counter and backed away, already contemplating whether she ought to wipe her fingerprints off. But no, no, it would make sense she opened an envelope addressed to herself. It didn’t mean she’d committed any crime–

And this didn’t mean Tim had either! She leaned against the counter and pressed her hand to her forehead.

Fuck, I’m a bad wife.

This was Tim, for fuck’s sake. He could be an asshole, the anonymous sender was right about that, but it didn’t mean he was doing anything illegal or dangerous or immoral. Probably this was some business thing, some colleague of his pissed about a move he’d made and trying to undermine him starting at home. 

…But what if it wasn’t?!

Grace’s family had been in possession of significant money for several generations. Old money. 19th century American money funded by 18th century European money. She’d been raised with warnings and stories, not paranoia but awareness that sometimes the presence of money made people think you were an easy victim. Maybe Tim wasn’t the target here, maybe she was. 

She grabbed her phone and placed a call and after only a few rings heard her father’s deep voice over the line, greeting, “Grace? What’s up, honeybell?”

“Hi Daddy, there’s a thing… it’s making me nervous so I wanted to ask…” She trailed off, realizing immediately how stupid she sounded. She should have pulled her thoughts together before calling.

“What’s the matter now? Something is what?” She could tell he was distracted over the line. Mid-day like this, he was probably out golfing, or at least at a friend’s house for the afternoon. Her dad was a creature of habit, an introvert who’d carved his safe places out over the decades they’d lived in Winnetka, Illinois. His days were predictable. 

“Sorry, Dad, I just got spooked. Someone left a weird envelope at my house with a CD and–”

“Wait, who did what now?” he interrupted. Grace felt the shudder across her shoulders at that tone in her father’s voice, even knowing it wasn’t aimed at her. He’d been casual before but pulled himself into lawyer mode in only an instant.

“I’m just being silly,” she began. That’s what her mother would say. Calling her dad, interrupting his afternoon plans, because someone left a CD on her porch and she was freaked even though she didn’t even know what was on it.

“Someone left something on your porch? What did they leave?”

“I don’t know, a CD and a printed note that says, um…” She grimaced. “It says my husband isn’t who I think he is.”

The line was silent for a moment. Grace’s father had grown to love Tim. He’d be pissed at slander aimed her husband’s direction. He’d be furious about baseless accusations.  

“You know who sent it? You know what’s on it?”

“No,” Grace said. “I called you right away.”

“Is Tim there?”

“He’s out of town.”

“All right, Grace, don’t touch a thing. Call Alan. Don’t do anything until Alan is there.”

Grace nodded as if he could see her and mused, “I don’t know whether I should call Tim. Maybe he has an idea–”

“Do not call Tim,” he interrupted. “Only Alan. Don’t talk to anyone else. He’ll bring a secure computer over to look at what’s on the CD and after that I want you to check into a hotel until this gets figured out. This person knows where you live and that your husband isn’t home–”

“So you think it’s something bad?”

“Well you do, don’t you, sweetheart? Calling me sounding like you’re having a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably overreacting–”

“No such thing with our family.”

“But it’s not like Tim is actually a bad man. The CD is probably just… I don’t know. Something stupid. Someone’s just angry at him for something…”

Grace wanted to hear her dad agree that she was overreacting. His serious response escalated her fears. She’d wanted to be talked off the ledge and instead he was calling in a SWAT team and helicopter rescue.  

“Do as I say, Grace. Call Alan now and tell me when he’s there.”

Spooked, Grace did as he said. Within thirty minutes, Alan Theodorakos stood on her doorstep straightening his cuffs and adjusting his hair in the reflection of the one-sided mirror where a window used to be in the door. One of the family’s many lawyers, Alan had worked for Grace’s parents for many years before she moved to California; now, because of proximity, he’d served as Grace’s own legal counsel any time she’d needed it, even if just to oversee her affairs with specialized attorneys such as when she’d married and when they’d bought their house. Her father was a lawyer too, of course, but financial, and he never directly handled family matters himself anyway.

“Where is the CD?” he immediately asked when Grace welcomed him in. 

“I left it on the kitchen counter.” She showed him where the jewel case lay next to the printed note and the torn envelope, her name side up. Alan took a photo of all of it and Grace felt that tremor in her stomach again. If everyone was taking this so seriously, maybe she wasn’t taking it seriously enough!

Alan had with him a laptop, just as her dad had said he would. They made only the most polite small-talk as he set it up and, with gloves, removed the CD from the case and inserted it into the tray. Grace wrapped her arms around herself and paced back and forth, afraid to look, unable to look away. 

“It’s probably nothing,” she said to herself as much as to him. “I’m probably wasting your time, it’s just some disgruntled admin assistant or something…”

Alan didn’t have anything to say to that except, “Nothing is ever a waste of my time.” Because your family pays well, he didn’t need to say. Yes she’d wanted financial independence from her family, but legal counsel was one thing she let them fund, so sue me. Except don’t, please….

“It looks like there’s a video file,” Alan said, opening the CD. The filename was automated, generic. He double-clicked to pull it up and Grace held her breath, bracing herself for something. Perhaps her imagination was running away with her –this was very impractical, yes, when she usually prided herself on being a practical person– but her dad and Alan had her fearing the worst now. Kidnapping, torture, murder. At least a secret meeting discussing some money-laundering scheme that was going to land her in court for weeks defending her oblivious innocence as Tim’s spouse. I’m sorry, your honor, I’m a fool but I’m innocent.

“Let’s see,” Alan said and hit play.

And this was how Grace wound up watching a video of her husband fucking another woman while standing next to her father’s lawyer. 

Grace’s mouth hung open. Somehow she was shocked, even when the deepest part of her brain taunted her for being so surprised. It was recent; she saw the blue flower arrangement on the kitchen counter without even needing a time stamp. She didn’t recognize the woman, but she was young and beautiful and not Grace.

“I can stop the video,” Alan murmured, reaching forward but Grace brushed his hand away. She stared, eyes glued to the screen as her heart shattered. Or her mind. Something inside of her shattered.

Every criticism, every fight, every distracted dinner and missed date and complete lack of concern for anything she cared about flew in her face now. She’d loved Tim to distraction, even when he was unfair, even when he was unkind, even when he’d been a nobody before. And now he was doing this behind her back, as if she was nothing to him! In their own home! On her own fucking kitchen counter?! 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to sob. But her upbringing trained her better than that. She turned a tight-lipped grimace to Alan and said,

“It turns out this is a private affair.” Affair. Terrible choice of words.

“Indeed,” Alan nodded. “I can provide legal counsel however you’d like to proceed.”

“For now I just need discretion…” How would she like to proceed…. Grace couldn’t fucking answer that! She still was having a hard time processing that Tim was fucking around on her. Tim! Tim, who was so focused on work and deals and dollar signs that he barely had time for her anymore, much less…. Except apparently he did!

“What would you like me to say to your father?” Alan prodded. 

Grace grimaced. There was no good answer. Her father paid Alan’s bills but he was here as her legal counsel. But if Alan gave her father a non-answer, he’d be calling her up for direct answers within minutes.

“I’ll call him,” she said, just to buy herself time. What was she going to say? It’s a private matter between Tim and I. Might as well put up a sign on the front lawn that her husband was cheating on her. And to admit that to her family! She couldn’t. There were exactly zero divorces in her family. If there had ever been infidelity, she sure didn’t know about it. A marriage was for life, and it was her job to make this marriage worked, even in the face of infidelity, especially after she’d defended this relationship so hard in the face of her family’s early concerns. God, they were going to think she was worse than an idiot!

“Very well.” Alan packed the CD back into the jewel case to leave with her, took his laptop, and bid her good day. With another offer to provide whatever help she needed, he was gone.

Grace stood alone in her kitchen and tried to make sense of this. Tim cheating. Someone filming it from within her property. Someone sending it for her to find. Some explanation she needed to give her father. A very painful conversation she needed to have with Tim without any understanding yet of what she wanted to have happen. Did she want him to grovel and apologize? Did she want the shame of being divorced and cheated on? What would her family say if she left? What would her family say if she stayed?

Grace sank down to the mat in front of the sink and tried to cry but she just felt numb. This couldn’t be real. She’d so carefully managed her life up until now. She had thought Tim was right there in the seat next to her. What was happening?!

In a brief moment of gumption, Grace called her dad and, before he could say a word, blurted out, “It turns out it’s a private matter between Tim and I. I’d rather not talk about it yet. Please don’t tell anyone else yet.” It was an impossible thing to ask, but she decided she’d try. 

A pause had her heart in her throat. She felt like so much hung in the balance: would her father defend her dignity or her marriage?

“Why don’t you and Tim come for a visit? I’d like to spend an afternoon golfing with him, man to man.”

Her marriage.

Grace said a quick goodbye before any pained sobs could escape, let her face drop to her bent knees, and tried to squeeze the tears back in. Like everything else in her life, it seemed, she failed.

The days were long this week in a way Jungkook didn’t like, but he’d picked up the extra lifeguarding hours because he needed the money. Haewon needed textbooks and that shit was expensive so he’d told her to ask him instead of their parents and then demanded to know why she wanted to be a lawyer so bad anyway. Political Science. Boring as fuck, he couldn’t believe how much money they were paying for her to be a leech. She always screeched at him when he teased her about it. He just wanted to keep her humble, that’s why he teased.

It had been hot as balls on the beach that morning and he’d been stuck near the wharf which sucked swamp ass because you had to actually do stuff: namely, chase people away when they swam too close to the pillars. Which everyone wanted to do, because there was shade, and just blowing your whistle wasn’t enough because suddenly people “couldn’t hear you” and “didn’t know the whistle meant they were doing something wrong.” So you had to drag your ass all the way over to yell at them, and then by the time you got back up to your chair, some other fucker was doing the same thing. Didn’t they look at the surf and the giant immovable objects and realize how easily the ocean could bash their puny brains out?! But if there was anything Jungkook had learned about tourists and teenagers both, it was that they had poor respect for the ocean. You had to respect the ocean. She was older and more powerful than you. Unconcerned with whether you lived or died. Sexy of her but annoying for lifeguards. 

He only had two pool cleans on his schedule today, which meant an easier afternoon before band practice tonight, so he should still have energy to fight with Taro about how they shouldn’t add more 00s rock to their regular set just because they’d managed to come in second place in that competition. The first pool was an easy job, and the second was the one he both looked forward to and dreaded the most: The Birches. 

This time last week, he’d chickened out dropping the envelope off, only to go back and do it later that day when the guilt ate at him. Now he wished he’d waited until the end of the season in two weeks so he wouldn’t have to see them again for a while; while most people kept their heated pools running year-round here, the Birches closed theirs at the end of summer so he was almost free of them. He’d never understood why. It was heated and this was southern Cali. He’d be swimming in that baby 365 days a year. 

But he’d dropped the envelope and sprinted away and today would be the first opportunity to see if the bomb he dropped had done any damage. It gave him a nervous twitch, because what if he’d done the wrong thing? What if they knew it was him? 

What if he was going to get arrested as soon as he showed up?!

Still he went, because he wasn’t someone to turn away from an unpleasant task, no matter how scary. And he needed to get paid. Maybe nobody would be there again, like last week…

The garage was closed but he glimpsed three cars through the windows after he’d parked in the driveway –Mr. Birch hated that. Well Jungkook hated douchebags who cheated on their wives. And walking further to get to the pool than he had to after lifeguarding all morning. 

The missing car was Mr. Birch’s. Jungkook felt his skin tingle but ignored it, uninterested in nerves. Instead he prepared himself to knock on the back door, per usual, so Mrs. Birch would know he was here and unfortunately not accidentally walk out in revealing clothing–

Except Mrs. Birch was in the pool. In the pool. Jungkook froze like a bank burglar just inside the pool gate as her faked-blonde head surfaced from the water. Her eyes remained closed as she pushed her hair back, water droplets spraying as she panted for breath, emphasizing her collarbones and long neck. 

Fuck. Fuck! Red alert! 

Jungkook just stared as she grabbed the edge of the pool to hold herself steady as she swiped the water from her face. She looked tired, out of breath, like she’d been swimming hard for a while, not just lounging around for a dip.

Is she the swimmer then? Jungkook didn’t find it surprising at all to learn this about her but it made him happy, like this somehow confirmed she was the good person he’d always thought she was. Of course she was the swimmer. They both loved the water. And damn did she look good doing it, even just bobbing there as she pushed her hair back from her shoulders. 

White bathing suit.

Jesus Christ, Jungkook was going to hit the deck. His brain attempted to save him without thinking through the consequences: he cleared his throat. It was rude. It was out of line. It wasn’t at all what he’d meant to do but someone had pulled the fire alarm in his head and that was the result. 

Mrs. Birch spun quickly to face him, clearly started, and gasped, “Oh! Shit!”

The fantasy that hadn’t even begun to spin yet –that she had done this on purpose for him– died in its cradle. 

“I’m so sorry, is it– are you early?” she asked. Her bare face looked at him with such surprise and alarm that he actually felt too bad to ogle her the way he wanted to. 

“Ah, um… I don’t… think so,” he mumbled. Actually he was later than usual but he didn’t want to argue with her. “I can come back later?” He couldn’t, it was already late afternoon. Well, he could. He would! If she wanted him to.

“No no, I’m sorry, let me get out of your way.” 

He watched with a semi he’d deny to his grave as she gracefully swam to the ladder and pulled herself up like a fucking centerfold. It was a one piece, he realized with no disappointment because the cutouts at the side showed smooth waist and water streamed down her bare shoulderblades and exposed back– but fuck he couldn’t tell if the tattoo was there or not, the bottom rose too high over her ass. She almost caught him staring when she turned to wrap the towel she’d set on the lounge chair, except his brain had leapt immediately to nipple patrol–

Fuck! He didn’t get a good look as his brain caught up with his stare and he immediately averted his eyes, leaving her to cover herself with the towel not under his blown-out gaze. Shit! He was around hot chicks in bathings suits all the time! Why now did his brain decide to run away….

“I completely lost track of time. Um…” She paused and then gestured to the pool with one hand as if to tell him to carry on, then fled into the house.

Jungkook just stood there for a moment. He’d never seen Mrs. Birch –or anyone for that matter– in the pool before, though legend said they used it, at least for parties sometimes. He felt a sense of pride now to know she really did, and that she looked so damn good in it. He sauntered to the edge to survey his work and felt his satisfaction grow further at the confirmation that he kept this pool in good shape. It looked great right now. He wouldn’t have to do much today, clean the filters, maybe nothing else. Now he felt bad to have chased her off. He could have done that while she kept swimming. He wouldn’t mind. 

Damn. He was going to be thinking about this for a long time.

White bathing suit, huh? 

He grabbed the outdoor trash and some gloves to get to work on the filters, in the hopes he could wrap it up quickly and she could slide right back in. But just as he was finishing up, she reappeared from the house in loose lounge clothes with her hair piled up on top of her head and a bamboo tray with his drink and snacks in her hands.

“You didn’t have to,” he called to her, “I won’t be long today. Pool looks good. Are you using it a lot lately?”

Her head tilted as she set the tray down and asked, “Yes, I’ve been out here every day lately. You can tell?”

It was mostly a lie as he shrugged, “If you’re swimming a lot, the motion sends the detritus into the filters. If no one’s swimming, it sits on top.” Detritus. Haewon had used that word a couple weeks ago and he’d latched onto it because it sounded more professional than shit.

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

She glanced at the pool and he got the feeling something was bothering her. Which made sense, considering the whole bomb on her doorstep thing, now that his head had cleared enough to remember that. For a moment he thought she knew it was him and was going to ask him about it. Of course she’d figure it out, she seemed smart, or he’d missed something obvious in covering his tracks…

“Well I won’t bother you while you finish.”

“You’re not a bother,” he assured her. Her smile was small and didn’t reach her eyes as she turned to go. He reached for the drink out of obligation, because really he didn’t have anything more to do but he couldn’t just leave the things she’d brought for him sitting there. It felt unappreciative. Also it was free.

She must be hot in the long-sleeved lounge top, although the fabric was thin. The shorts rode high, showing off her thighs as she headed back towards the house. He realized she could see his reflection in the windows and squinted to look out over the pool as if he was lost in thought when she suddenly stopped walking, hand on the door. 

When she turned, arms sliding across to sort of hold herself, Jungkook felt that nervous flutter. Oh no. Busted staring at her ass. Caught. He felt like a kid again, he’d fucked up and it was time to get in trouble. He gave into the urgent need to have his hands full, so he popped open the bag of chips and shoveled a handful into his mouth as she came back.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer and less certain than he’d ever heard her before. Her whole body seemed to curl in on itself miserably, a far cry from the way she’d pushed up from the pool half an hour ago. “I just wanted to ask you– when you were here last time, did you happen to see anyone drop off something? On my front porch?”

His eyes went wide. He chomped down, accidentally getting his cheek too, and cursed as he pressed his finger to the outside of it. She just watched him and he realized with a burst of paranoia how fucking guilty he looked. He sucked at lying. He was terrible at lying, especially when he really was guilty as shit!

“Oh, um…” he fumbled, swallowing the Cheetos down and licking the residue off his finger. He licked his lips nervously, feeling like there was orange powder there too. “From back here? What package?” Playing stupid was better than outright lying, even if saying he’d seen someone else do it would probably do a better job of getting him out of the hot seat. 

She shifted her weight and chewed on the inside of her cheek, exactly where he’d just accidentally bitten on his own, and this similarity sent another wave of guilt rolling over him. He was lying to her. Fuck. Was he any better than Mr. Birch?! Shitothy Smirch? Eh, not his best work for taunting names….

“Ok, if you didn’t see anything… I just thought…” A cascade of emotions crossed her face, so raw and unpoised compared to the normally polite and neutral look she had with him, that Jungkook felt himself chipping further apart. She looked miserable, her face even redder than it had been just getting out of the pool. “Someone left an orange envelope for me,” she said. Fuck, were her eyes watering?!!? “I don’t know who but I’m trying to find out who so I can talk to them about it before–”

“It was me,” he blurted out as he suddenly realized how fucking scary this must be for her. “I left the envelope and I’m really sorry–”

He cut off as Mrs. Birch started to cry. Not quite burst into tears the way he might have expected, but she drew in a shaky breath and the tears he’d suspected managed to sneak out and she pressed her hands to her face.

The impulse to reach for her was hard to deny but he did. Obviously he couldn’t touch this woman he barely knew and whose marriage he’d just exposed as a sham. Plus he had Cheeto dust on his fingers and her clothes were light colored. He’d done enough already! It would be wrong! But it was hard to watch her upset and not comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” he said again in desperation. “I swear I’m not trying be a dick or anything, I just thought you should know.”

He saw her draw air in like strength and push her hands back through her hair, fortifying herself, before demanding with a strong expression that didn’t match the tears on her cheek, “So you filmed it and left an anonymous package on my porch?”

He pulled back, defenses instantly activated. Fuck. Had he misjudged? Had she already known? Did she not care? Fuck! All his friends had told him not to get involved but he’d wanted to be this hero and now he’d really fucked himself.

“I, uh, I thought you should know,” he stammered again. “But maybe you wouldn’t want anyone else to know? I wasn’t going to blackmail him or anything. It’s private for you so I didn’t want to blow up your spot–”

“But obviously someone knew, the person who took the video! And I didn’t know who it was until I watched the security footage and then I thought it was you but–”

“Ah I thought I had my hat on low enough…” he mumbled.

She gave him a baffled look and pointed out, “You still look and walk like yourself– but I didn’t know if I was wrong or who was filming from inside my backyard and it was just really scary…” She trailed off and suddenly sat down on the lounge chair, threatening to upend the bamboo tray. She covered her face again. She took another of those deep bracing breaths.

“Shit, I’m really sorry scared you,” he said, sinking onto the second one to face her.  “I just felt bad about it.”

“Why?! You weren’t fucking someone else in our–” She broke herself off and that spark of rage tossed him around another loop. He didn’t know her, he didn’t know her emotional processes, he didn’t know how she was handling this thing he’d opened her eyes too, and yet he felt unavoidably anchored here with her in this moment. How would he handle this in her shoes? He sure didn’t know, but he thought he’d do an even worse job of holding himself together.

“Yeah but I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought you should know your husband is a fucking piece of shit.” The words rolled out without any hesitation because he was.

But it brought Mrs. Birch up short. She looked shocked, as if she somehow hadn’t realized what the video showed, and for a moment he forgot she had just referenced it and worried she hadn’t actually watched and he’d just done exactly what he had hoped to avoid: verbally give her this news. Instead she blinked slowly at him. 

He meant to say sorry if that was too blunt but what actually came out was, “You deserve better than that.” He wasn’t actually sorry about that.

“Like you?”

“Wait, what?!” he cried, and jumped to his feet and stepped back so quickly he tripped on the lounger and fell onto his ass, tangled up in his own sandals. “No! I– what? I don’t have anything to do with this! I just–”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped this time, and covered her face again. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I just…”

He’d scraped his palm in the fall; she didn’t seem to have even noticed that he did something so fucking clownish. Everything was all fucked up right now, she was all fucked up he understood now. That’s why she seemed all over the place.  

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok. Look, I swear I don’t have any shitty motives.” He eased back onto the lounger, ignoring the burn of his hand. “I didn’t want to get involved with your personal business. I just couldn’t believe he’d do that to you and I didn’t think you’d believe me if I just told you so I… but yeah, you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Her voice was barely a whisper as she lowered her hands, eyes on her knees, “I would have believed you.”

“Damn.” He stopped himself from saying more. But damn that was a bad marriage if you’d believe your poolguy that your husband was banging someone else without even providing proof. She must have already known then that she’d married an asshole. That made him both very happy (Mrs. Birch is not like him!) and very sad for her (Mrs. Birch is married to someone who doesn’t deserve her!)

Watching her struggle to compose herself was distressing. He wished she would just cry it out hard. She’d feel better and he’d feel better too. Instead it was like watching her hurt herself further trying to keep the tears locked in when they so obviously wanted to come out. 

“Who else did you show that video to?” she asked, gaze lifting to meet his. Her words sounded fiercer than her face looked, though her expression was still sort of scary. Sharp. “Or tell about… this?”

“No one,” he said, hoping a quick response would hide that it wasn’t entirely true. “Who would I tell? Why? I don’t even like knowing about it and I don’t know anyone who knows you–”

“You didn’t like upload it to the internet or– Reddit or something–”

“Fuck, no.” The goodwill he’d felt after she had said she’d have believed him evaporated and he felt as scummy as her cheating husband. “I don’t post that kind of shit anyway but even– I would never do that to you. Why would I do that–”

“I don’t know, for money, for clout, for revenge because Tim has been rude to you–”

Jungkook pushed to his feet as the heat rose in his cheeks, tingling up his neck. Apparently she’d believe him that her husband was cheating but not his own promise that he wasn’t blackmailing anyone. That she thought so lowly of him was the bullet through every last fantasy he’d harbored. No one had ever thought so badly of him as Mrs. Birch apparently did. Except maybe Mr. Birch.

“I said I wasn’t blackmailing,” Jungkook grumbled and turned to go because there was nothing else to say here.

Her hand suddenly on his arm stopped him dead in his tracks; she had leapt up and caught him quickly.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s just… you wouldn’t be the first person who realized they could use something like this against my family.”

“Your family?” He made a face, ignoring the hiccup in his chest at her fingers curled against his arm. Just as quickly she let go. “I don’t know anything about your family and I don’t care. I just wanted to let you know in case you didn’t, that’s it.”

It was like she hadn’t heard a word he said and continued, “And just think about it from my perspective. This is a private matter that I want to handle privately.”

“Well I’m not telling anyone,” he huffed, frustrated by the ongoing accusations.

“Do you still have the video? Will you delete it in front of me?”

“I already deleted it,” he said, but still fished out his phone. “You think I wanted that on my phone? It’s in my trash.”

“Yeah but will you permanently delete it? Please? I’m sorry I insulted you, I’m just… stressed right now.”

He paused, phone unlocked, showing a picture of the beach behind his apps. It softened the edge of her accusation to be reminded that the inciting incident of all of this was learning that her husband was cheating on her and the pool tech knew. That sucked. From her perspective, if he was in her shoes, he’d be hurt and distrustful too. She was just upset. 

“I get it,” he told her. “No problem, you can watch me permanently delete it.” He opened up the ‘Recently Deleted’ folder on his phone as she leaned in to look, only for his stomach to cramp as he discovered just how many deleted selfies filled the rows ahead of the video. No dick pics thank fuck but still, it was embarrassing for her to see three rows of him posing in the bathroom without a shirt –he’d been trying to get a good one for his dating profile, ok?--, and he tried to cover them subtly with his fingers as he quickly tapped the video and then ‘Permanently Delete’ before it could begin to play. Too late did he realize how close she was standing, and that she smelled like something fresh and clean and mildly floral, and that her loose top had slid down her shoulder.

She pulled away and crossed her arms and nodded as she said, “Thank you.” She must have seen the photos but didn’t give any sign of it.

“Yeah, no problem.”

“I mean for telling me, too. I know it’s… awkward. It’s easier to mind your own business when it’s something uncomfortable but I’m glad that I know now. So thank you for telling me but now please forget that you know.”

“Yeah of course, I don’t know anything. I hope you get to keep your house in the divorce and I’ll keep the pool looking great.” He meant it as a joke, kind of. He was serious about it, but he hoped the tone shift could free them both from this moment that was even beyond awkward. Sustained emotionality wore him out. Guarding the wharf was easier than this for sure.

“I don’t know what I’m doing yet,” she said with utmost seriousness, with a shake of her head as if the idea was an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

“Uh… what? How can you not know? The guy’s cheating on you, so leave his ass and wring him dry in the divorce,” he scoffed. As if he knew all about it! But it was just such an obvious next step, he couldn’t fathom she would do anything else. Good riddance to the fuckwad!

The effect on her was immediate: her hands dropped and she leaned away and got this scowl on her face that would have been sexy as hell if she hadn’t been almost defending that guy.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.”

“It’s not. Marriage is complicated, especially one like ours, it’s not always easy and–”

“Well he pissed on that marriage when he started fucking other people, didn’t he?”

“How dare you?” The sexiness evaporated from her glare as it hardened, as his own words caught up to him.

“Fuck, sorry, I know it’s not my business–” He held his hands up, choosing to apologize even though in his gut he wanted to say more. See? He was bad at this! He really just wanted to comfort her and instead he was fucking it up because he just couldn’t stand to hear her insist there was anything salvageable about that wad of snot.

“You’re right, it’s not. Thank you for telling me about what’s going on but that’s where your judgment ends. You don’t know anything about us or our life or–”

“You’re right, I don’t. I do know he’s a piece of shit though and that you deserve better.”

“And how many times have you been married, since you’re such an expert on marital conflict–”

“Zero times,” he answered. “But when I do get married, I sure won’t treat my wife the way that asshole treats you. You’ve been apologizing for his shit since I started cleaning your pool and I may be just the pool guy but I see all kinds of people and I know a piece of shit when I see one. Whatever you think is worth staying married to him for, you’re wrong. That’s all I know. So whatever, you can report me to my boss and I can have someone else come clean your pool now or whatever but yeah, you’re better off without him.”

“Well thank you for not leaving that sage wisdom in a cryptic package on my doorstep this time,” she snapped. 

Jungkook knew he’d gone too far. He’d stepped completely into their bullshit. He couldn’t help it! He was typically slow to erupt but good luck once he got going, and he was going now, because this was the 21st century and a woman didn’t need to stay with a fucker like that for anything! And to stand there and have her possibly saying thanks for telling me but I’m going to stay with him, I don’t mind him treating me like gum on his shoe– how was he supposed to silently endorse that! 

He was too worked up to think of anything to say back so he just said, “Yeah, you’re welcome. You deserve better.” It was a stupid thing to sound so angry saying. He’d think of something better int he shower later. 

“Why, because I give you snacks while you clean our pool? You don’t know anything about me or what kind of person I am, JK. Maybe I did deserve this.”

“No way.”

“But you don’t know!”

If he hadn’t already known it in his gut, he knew it was true now, as the anger on her face wavered and he saw, just for one brief moment, raw grief. For one moment she had that look that in the movies makes a guy take up his sword and march off to war or whatever. She looked like a vulnerable, hurting person, not some rich caricature of a human, and that was exactly why he had stepped into this so far and couldn’t even regret it even if he knew he was making an ass of himself.

Just as quickly it was mostly gone, all except a soft, downward turn of her mouth. She had color on her lips which struck Jungkook as a little strange to have put on after the pool but he supposed Mrs. Birch wanted to always be put together. It was not a helpful train of thought –I could undo her combined with but she’s so sad right now and trying to hide it, isn’t she?-- and he looked away. He didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t used to this kind of dramatic exchange. He didn’t have stamina for it. Usually if he was fighting with a woman he just let her say her peace and then she left and that was the end, there were only a few times he really got into it.

But telling Mrs. Birch she ought to divorce her husband was worth it.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore,” she admitted with a deep, tired sigh. “I need to go. Thank you for bringing all of this to my attention, but please, forget everything.”

“You got it, boss,” he mumbled. It was awkward. He felt deflated now.

She wasn’t going to leave her husband. That’s what he’d just learned. And the idea that a good woman would stay with a shitty man just flooded him with despair. Romance was dead, marriage was a sham, and there was no justice. His dad had divorced his mom and there were even kids involved, so what did Mrs. Birch think made it so impossible for her? But he didn’t feel like saying that to her now. He felt like he’d just burned what minor threads had connected them, and maybe it had been necessary in order for her to know about her husband, but selfishly he wondered now if it had been worth it. If she wasn’t even going to leave him, maybe she wished Jungkook had just kept his mouth shut. Maybe he should have.

“JK, I…”

He’d never know what she was going to say because after a grimace rolled across her face, she turned and went inside. Leaving him to finish the job he was paid to do, cleaning the fucking pool.

Chapter One | Masterlist | Chapter Three

[hel-phoenyx]

Skeletons in the closet (9)

There's several point of views today because I am an inconstant person lmao

__

We're nearing June, which means my thesis defense is coming at me like a truck. Fortunately, that means in a few weeks, I'll know if I finally got that doctorate and can start doing things I like without the pressure of the diploma or have to find another career and be free anyway ; unfortunately, that also means I am seeing my girlfriends and my friends less often. Deadlines are bitches.

Adding to that my medical issues, Fen that I still have to bring to the hospital for the respiratory problems, and the whole "trying to get independance" thing... No, I don't have a lot of time for myself and others.

So I was very surprised to see my phone ring today. With Egill's name on the screen no less. It's not that I didn't expect him calling, after all I know him since he was born or close, but usually we see each other through Domhildr.

And since these times I don't see her as often as I'd like too...

Well, I have time. I pick up the call.

"Hello, Egill. What gives me the pleasure ?"

"Oh please, says the merry voice of my brother-in-law over the phone, don't talk like a businessman, I will start thinking I let my sister fuck a right-winger."

He sounds joyful. But even over the phone, I can hear how tired he sounds. Seems like the prognosis didn't evolve much. This is... Worrying. But, for having been in the hospital myself and knowing him, I know better than show it to his face.

The phone, anyway.

"After all the time you guys put in my radical leftisation ? I'd be offended if I were you. Still, what gives ? You're not the type to call me for idle chatting, no offense."

"Yeah. Actually, I have something to ask you. You're friends with Fenrir, right ?"

This is a name I didn't expect to hear in Egill Lulea's mouth and despite myself I feel my blood run cold. There's not a lot of good reasons for him to talk about Fenrir, especially considering the whole shitload with Domhildr.

"Yeah, unfortunately. What did he do ? Do I have to beat him up ?"

"Wow, intense, laughs Egill. And you say he's a friend ? Nah, don't worry about him doing something, it's more about him I'm worried. He's in the hospital a lot, y'know, and in my service. I know he's a cop and all, but no reason for a cop to be that often in onco, right ?"

Oh, I don't like where this is going. I, too, noticed Fenrir going in the hospital more often than not, but when I questionned him, he was talking about his old wounds. Old wounds don't cause cancer.

"So, continues my brother-in-law, I was wondering if you knew something. Y'know. Friends and all."

... Do I know something ?

No. But I know that he wouldn't lie to me again. Wouldn't he ?

Calm down, it's probably nothing. He probably has a good reason to not talk about what brings him that often to the hospital. Fenrir has always been a secretive fucker and it's not above him to hide sickness. Or cop bullshit.

I hope it's the latter.

"No, I don't know anything. From what I've gathered, he says he's healthy, except old wounds, and nothing in the family. There's no one with bad odds in our circle of friends, either. I'll try to pry a little, if you want."

A little silence over the phone.

"You wanna become super detective for the worries of little old me ? Nah, don't bother too much. Info would be nice, sure, but I don't want to make you focus on something else than your doctorate."

"Awfully kind of you, Egill."

He laughs.

"It's just that I can't stand Domhildr complaining you don't see her as often. Focus on being called a doctor, I'll focus on my treatment, and all will be good, right ?"

"Speaking of, how's it going ?"

"Same old, same old."

I hang up after a few minutes talking and laughing about Domhildr and her antics. I also got news about Qamar, that I didn't see since the wedding, and her husband ; in exchange, I told Egill Kriss was trying to have a child again. Fen was after all pestering her for a little sibling.

It was good, but I won't lie, I'm still worried about the whole Fenrir issue. And it may be because I learnt from him about Egill's prognosis, but something tells me there's more to this story that just visits to the hospital.

Eeeeeeeh. Fuck it. I won't have a clear mind until I've at least confirmed he's not hiding anything serious about his health.

I send a quick text to the infamous big bad wolf. Nothing much, just a "Hey, can we talk ? I'm worried about u".

Five minutes later, I receive an answer.

"later"

"sorry, can't talk rn, brb"

That smells awfully like shady business.

***

"Are you okay ? you barely touched your plate..."

Cyno is a good friend, and trying to distract me with every kind of antics, starting with all the bullshit his clients tell him. In all anonymity, of course, he's a good therapist, and a good therapist knows on what to shut up.

Usually I'd laugh, but today I feel barely the urge. I am too focused on my problems.

".... Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Doctor problems."

"You got deaths in the service again ?"

He looks genuinely worried. I know he is. His eyes go from my untrimmed three-day stubble to my dark circles since the beiginning of the dinner.

For fuck's sake, I came for a damn distraction, and my best friend is the best at that, why can I just distract myself ?

.... Eh. I'm already screwed, let's just tell him. At least he's a good listener.

"No, but I still have a buttload of problems. A few of my patients are in terminal care and it's rotting away my morale, colleagues are all over the place... There's also Selene's therapy that doesn't go well, Mairù's illness is acting up again and since Lina learnt my father-in-law is in town again she's absolutely unsufferable. I don't blame her, but it's tiring."

"Wow, wait a sec. Kage is back in town ?"

"Sure is. Chose his moment damn right, the bastard. Since Makhai told us we have a constant Frosilaen procession at home and all they do is complain. I love my siblings-in-law, but sometimes..."

I sigh.

"I try to talk about all this with Chiara, but I can't burden her too much. She's my girlfriend, not my therapist. If I see her only to rant..."

"Sounds like you need a good bitching session with your favorite bitching best friend~"

That has the merit to make me laugh.

"You ? Bitching ? You're the biggest people-pleaser I have ever seen."

"You know, when you're a therapist, you learn some skills to appeal to your patients. So go ahead, rant to me. I promise absolute professional secrecy !"

I know him enough to know he means that. And even though I don't want to change our evening in a therapy session, well, I could at least talk about the less sensitive things. Like, not my wife's family reunions.

I open my mouth, but before I could start explaining my colleague problem, the aforementioned colleague enters the restaurant, neatly dressed and visibly nervous.

"... Well, shit, the tea just entered the fray."

"That's one of your colleagues ? Pretty girl."

"Yeah. Well, she is an intern at the moment, but her thesis is soon, too. I hope she will get it. All the hospital knows her as the relasionship telenovela of the gynecologia service, but I am mostly worried about her. These days, she looks like she'll really need a therapist, six months of complete rest and someone to talk too freely."

Cyno has a little smile.

"Baku Claro, always worried about anyone in his care, would it be patient or pupil. You know, you really need to stop opening your heart to everyone."

"And how would I help them if I don't see them as humans ?"

"I didn't say that. Just that sometimes you worry too much about too many people, and that's gotta take a toll."

".... Good point. But what do you suggest, ô big guru of feelings- wait."

I stop myself in the middle of my sentence. Someone just entered after Ether and, judging by both their expressions, they were expecting each other.

But that's not right. What is Sigismund Warsowar of all people doing with my ex-intern ? And in a dress no less. I may see him from afar but I always recognize someone who went in my service.

He (she ?) is in civillian, but Ether spreads her whole life for everyone to see, and I have never, ever heard her mention him in any way or shape. Worse, this doesn't look like a friendly outing. Sigismund is turning the fabric of his dress between his fingers, and she's fidgeting with her left arm. None of them look exactly happy to see each other. Somehow relaxed, sure. But not happy.

Cyno squints his eyes.

"Something's wrong, Baku ?"

".... I hope not. It's just... Ether, here with a cop in civillian ? That doesn't sound good. At all."

Especially when another cop came in to interrogate me for an investigation about Malchys. When I know Malchys is heavily involved with Mort.

And when I know Ether and Mort had a rapprochement of sorts a few weeks ago.

Please, God, I hope this is not what I think it is.

***

I'm sat in the restaurant since a long time, stalling with drinks. They're late. I came in half an hour ago, with my little earpiece and everything, to not sound suspicious. Luckily I love thai food, so I could at least enjoy my meal.

But they only just came in and the conversation is not exactly fire. I suspect Sigi is hesitating to launch the elephant on the table, especially since future doctor Ether Bastet was so reluctant to help.

I know that he's the best person to pull some intel from her. He knows how to play the mindgames. I do not.

So I just listen, and record. No proof, especially since she asked not to, but at least leads to start on. And if I judge by the conversation I eavesdropped a few days earlier, miss Bastet seems like our best lead for uncovering what Malchys is doing.

And Malchys is definitely doing something, if we believe her.

Something that could cost him his license or worse, send him to prison. Manuscript notes, blackmail, potential blackmail, abuse of pwer on a student, not to mention what she's probably about to tell us ? That's enough grounds to send him away for a long time.

Shit. Like I said, we're in deep, deep cow shit right now.

My earpiece is vibrating. Finally.

"So, says Sigi. You talked about chantage."

She looks reluctant, judging by the silence, but it doesn't take long before she answers.

"Yeah. Malchys is threatening to do.... Stuff to me to control someone. Never has done anything directly to me, tho."

Someone. So if our intuition was correct, it may very well be doctor Kozakios. All matches. A post not suited for her studies, obtained too easily, the proximity with our intel giver, and the whole cold exterior making everyone in the hospital look away. Except one, if I believe the rumors and miss Bastet.

"Can I try to guess who is that someone ?"

A moment of hesitation. That means yes, surely.

"You can. But for her- their safety I can't say anything out loud"

My phone dings, and at the same moment a server comes to take my command. Shit.

The second point is quickly taken care of, luckily I've not missed much, a lot of hesitations is all. But as for the first point... That notification was Tyr's sound. If I don't answer to him, I may have problems. Problems type he will resent me again.

My work is important, but my best friend is more. Still listening from one ear, I take my phone and read the message.

"Hey, can we talk ? I'm worried about u"

Damn it. Either he started to notice I come to the hospital sooner than I'd like, or someone got nosy. Money's on Domhildr. Her damn boyfriend is on the case with me, after all. I'll have to give him a good earful for worrying by best friend by proxy, but later.

I just type a quick message to tell him I'll talk to him later and I'm very busy, before putting my phone on vibrate and starting to listen again. Sadly, a few moments later, I receive another notification. And another. and another. And another.

I only know a few people able to change my phone in a damn vibrator. And those are the people on the gang groupchat.

Gods damn it. I should have put my phone in mute.

Sigismund seems to have gathered enough intel, but his face got even more worried. I've heard enough to know it's worse than expected. He and Ether left after he paid for the whole meal, I'm waiting for the addition, quite difficultly since I have to answer to a hundred messages being more and more worried.

One of them particularly stands out among the others.

"Fenrir, I hope you didn't bite more than you can chew. Please tell me you're fine."

....

I am so, so sorry, Tyr.

But it looks like I did, indeed, bit off a whole chunk of shit out the ass of a predator and it may very well come back to bite me in the ass later.

[stiricidewrites]

The Damage You Do: ch 31, pt 2

My attempts to post every day in a week will once again fail this week, as I won't be posting tomorrow~

No, it isn't because of a certain book being released (although I might use my lack of internet for ?? hours tomorrow as an excuse to binge lol)

Previously

~

It wasn’t just that wwx had dropped—he hadn’t been lying when he told his sub that dropping was an unfortunate, but expected part of their scenes. It was also the mysterious reasons why. They’d have to talk about it again, eventually. Out of all the ways he was fucking up, he would be getting answers out of his sub regarding why he had dropped, although he had his guesses, based on what he had been able to get out of the man, and they all started and ended with yzy.

That bitch.

It wasn’t a secret she was cruel to her family, both the biological and sworn ones. As for her husband… Well, it didn’t surprise lwj that jfm would let the child of his once right-hand man suffer at the hands of his wife. That man was…

lwj swallowed, shaking away thoughts of the Jiangs before he worked himself up into a drop. wwx didn’t need to be dealing with him dropping because of things neither of them could control—because part of lwj had decided to imagine what he would do to the Jiangs, if it wouldn’t start a bloody war.

Something told him that a war was inevitable. Right now, he was simply filling in the blanks of what wwx was and wasn’t saying. yzy was a tyrant who hadn’t liked him—who had demanded he be something he could never be: someone still and respectful, motionless and quiet. Having had the misfortune to meet the woman himself, numerous times over the years since he’d come to be the head of the Lans, he also knew she was irrational, spontaneous. The bits in between wwx words told him that his sub had likely experienced that as well: a constant hurricane of wondering what he should be doing and what would piss off the woman who should have been caring for him—or at the very least, should have sent him to someone else, if she couldn’t care for him herself.

wwx was afraid of a ghost—of a woman who couldn’t touch him anymore, who probably didn’t even know where he was or what his life was like.

“They’ve never even met A-Yuan…”

lwj had to physically force his hands not to clench into wwx’s skin as the reminder of how little the Jiangs gave for wwx—sweet and kind and struggling—echoed through his head. Even his pain in the ass brother met with their cousins occasionally, showed up to birthdays and other events with presents—although they weren’t well thoughts out presents, and as well-intentioned at his brother was in this regard, lwj thought everyone would prefer it if lxc leave the buying of presents to his secretary.

How could the Jiang siblings still claim wwx as their sibling—and lhr’s searches into wwx’s past had at least revealed that both jyl and jwy occasionally referenced a third sibling, although it was rare and seemingly on accident—when they hadn’t even bothered to meet the child he loved and scarified so much for?

[xoxo-devdas]

wanted to share some notes from my fic-plotting

which has consumed any energy for creation and honestly LORD knows if I'll ever release it upon the public BUT

i really wanted it to have a polyam lams and hamliza and thus the relationship chart has stuff like J<--> A: messiest relationship preservation. which. fair. one’s bisexual and polyamorous and blindingly aware of the monogamous society he's in without the full scope of words with which to defend himself. the other is the most repressed self-denying homosexual this side of the Atlantic in the 1700s. they make it work. almost didn’t. but they make it work. addition:

gee laurens how come you’re living with the hamiltons? “gas leak” “frances needs a ma, and no i don't want to remarry” “rats” “he’s like family” “new york is fucking expensive and i got cut off” A<--> E: almost insta-love the way they fell hard for each other. but no, they were upfront about the practical matters of marriage. alex managed to send multiple letters that were to the tune of “im originally a poor Caribbean bitch. are you sure you wanna marry me?” and had to be pressed into confessing about john. it fucked up eliza for a while, but lupe (OC, my darling) offered some good advice. E<-->J: john kinda hated her for a whileeee

bitter ass bitch, had to be put in his place by eliza. would have self-sabotaged it but God and Samson (main oc, he goes through So Much) didn’t let himself fall onto a sword.

ever since i discovered that john laurens was a petty ass bitch I've been wanting to see John and Eliza be incredibly fucking snippy with each other but that would have been impossible with the Way Things Were re: genteel manners, the disregard towards women's opinions, john laurens' most likely inbuilt sexism (that ham also had, he's not getting off the hook on this) Penelope and Samson did not expect themselves to be dealing with such a dynamic and had to work overtime to make sure they didn't implde. unfortunately sam always sees that laughing 5 year old redhead when he looks at his cousin (alex) and Penelope knows that beyond all the points where these people annoy her, they are actually pretty decent for their time. she's mostly doing it so her sanity and her husband's peace of mind is preserved (god she does so much emotional labour)

[breaniebree]

Third Times the Charm Sneak Peek

Chapter 2 -- The One Where Ron Gets A Shovel

Ron felt bad leaving Harry, but he knew that despite the circumstances of what was going on, he and Harry were only A1s, which meant that they weren’t capable of being partners on any investigations.  They needed someone higher up to help guide them and Ron had to admit, Eric Baxter was a great substitute.  The man was smart and funny.  Not to mention that he’d already taught Ron a lot more than he’d expected. 

When they left Sussex, Ron was only mildly surprised to see them arrive in Londonderry.  He followed Baxter through the main entrance of the Magical Intelligence Agency and into the Secret Intelligence Unit on the second floor otherwise known as the SIU.  They walked past a few desks in the bullpen before Baxter turned left and headed towards a smaller bullpen in the back where Ron recognized Sebastian Kane sitting with a tiny Korean woman who Ron remembered seeing at the Auror’s birthday party in the summer.

Sebastian’s eyebrow rose.  “Baxter, Ron, come to visit?”

“Unfortunately no,” Baxter said, making himself comfortable in one of the chairs.  “We need to track someone down.”

“Aw, and you need us because we’re better than you?”  the woman teased.

Ron snorted and her smile widened.

“I speak the truth, Red.”  She extended her hand.  “Auror Yeona Jin, but everyone calls me Auror J.”

“Ron Weasley.”

“He’s my A1 partner,” Baxter said.  “Fresh from the academy and doing well.  As to doing our job, I’d track this bitch down myself if it was within my bloody jurisdiction.”

Sebastian tilted his head.  “What do you need?”

“Druella Rosier Black,” Baxter said.  “Weasley?”

Ron cleared his throat.  “She’s um, the Lady Falmouth, technically.  She took off in ’93 to avoid the war and is now thought to be on a Mediterranean cruise somewhere.  We need her back in England so that she can answer some questions about her home in Sussex.”

Jin nodded.  “We can do that.  Any known family?

“She’s the last Rosier living,” Ron continued.  “Her brother Enzo and his wife, Alma were killed in the first war along with his son, Ezekiel.  Ezekiel had two children, Evan who was killed by Alastor Moody while resisting arrest in ’81 and his sister Aster who married Thaddeus Nott and was killed in ’84 in a claimed potions accident by her husband.  Black’s husband, Cygnus, died in ’92 of scrofungulus.  They had three daughters: Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Andromeda Black Tonks, and Narcissa Black Malfoy.  Bellatrix is the only daughter still alive.”

Jin wrinkled her nose.  “It’s always the insane ones who stick around.  Any information on her cruise?”

“No, but her grandson will know more, Draco Malfoy.”

Sebastian’s eyebrow rose slightly at the name.  “All right.  Give us twenty-four hours.  We’ll bring her back to England for questioning.”

“Thanks,” Baxter said.  “We think that she was letting known Death Eaters live in her home as recently as this morning.  Lestrange, Crouch, and Brambilla are at the top of our most wanted list.  If they have outside help, we need to know about it.”

“Agreed,” Sebastian said.  “We’ll bring her in.”

When they left, Ron snuck a look over at his partner.  “Bringing in the MIA was a good idea.”

Baxter’s lips curved.  “I’m full of those.  Atwell will tell you that I’m also full of shit, but don’t listen to her.”

Ron chuckled.  “Noted.”

“The Magical Intelligence Agency works on an international level,” Baxter explained.  “They are the Aurors we need to help us track criminals who leave the country.  They have jurisdiction in every country in the world and this means that they can do things that we aren’t able to, like go to the bloody Mediterranean Sea and try to find this witch.”

“Which leaves us where exactly?”  Ron asked.

Baxter stretched his arms up over his head.  “Let’s head back to Godric’s Hollow, Weasley.  There’s something about that graveyard that’s been bothering me.  I want to reinterview the witnesses who claim that they saw Brambilla there last week.  We’re missing something, Weasley, and until we find it, I think Zacarias is going to stay just out of our reach.”

That was what Ron was afraid of.

[solnishkawrites]

So my boyfriend @mikk1n and I have been developing a 1920s Call of Cthulhu AU for Dishonored. This started off really small—I was mostly just desperate to get my boyfriend to play a TTRPG with me, and lured him into CoC 7th edition with the promise of having him play as his Dishonored OC, Moira O’Farrell—with the module “Paper Chase” from the Starter Set. And then, everything spiraled out of control and into this sprawling saga. Some highlights from the primary AND secondary campaigns we have planned:

PRIMARY CAMPAIGN

Havelock and Moira are bootleggers in the early 1920s in America. When they get a tip-off that the police are after them, they flee to Berlin, Germany and become smugglers trafficking archaeological artifacts through the black market.

They also run a bed and breakfast together, because why not.

Havelock and his smuggling partner, Josef, attract the attention of strange cult when a business deal goes awry. They’re captured, and it’s up to Moira (a disabled Black Irishwoman, for those who aren’t in the know) to go and find them.

Josef escapes on his own, but Havelock is transformed via a strange ritual into… something that is no longer human. Something that craves the taste of human flesh.

Even though Havelock retains his memories and capacity for reason, he is losing his sanity as he struggles to come to grips with his new, uncurable condition. Also, the cult is hellbent on recapturing him. Unfortunately for the cultists, Havelock is also hellbent on revenge.

SECONDARY CAMPAIGN

Corvo and Jessamine Attano are a young couple trying to make a new life with their infant daughter, Emily, in Berlin. Jessamine has left her wealthy family in England behind; the only thing she took with her when she left were the clothes on her back… and a small, insignificant-seeming pendant that her father gave her when she was very young.

Little does Jessamine know that the pendant is an eldritch artifact. Euhorn (and the cult he’s cozy with) want it BACK, and they’re willing to hire an assassin named Daud to kill Jessamine and retrieve what they view as theirs.

Daud accepts the job, but finds that he can’t kill Jessamine. This isn’t Miss Kaldwin, a shallow little rich bitch living off of  her daddy’s money… this is Mrs. Attano, a scared young woman trying to make ends meet while caring for her daughter and husband. Daud runs away, but is found by Corvo later on. They talk and compare notes… and then decide to go cultist-hunting together.

I can’t say much more without releasing spoilers that Misha can’t yet know about. More shall be revealed with time.

I’m really enjoying this AU. Without all of their power and influence, the characters have a chance to actually be better people. There’s still a massive initial class divide between Corvo and Jessamine (he grew up in poverty on the streets of Havana, Cuba, while Jessamine was sipping from crystal glasses in her family’s townhouse in London, England), but the fact that Jessamine was able to walk away from that life makes her a better person than she was in canon as an Empress who responded so poorly to the Plague Crisis. She, Corvo, and Emily get a chance to be a real family together.

Likewise, Daud gets a real redemption arc. I’m not a big fan of Daud in canon; I feel like he can’t ruin Corvo’s life the way he did and subject him to the trauma of being accused of Daud’s crime and allow Corvo to be TORTURED FOR MONTHS ON END for that crime and then earn any kind of forgiveness. It doesn’t resonate with me.

I’m not sure if the primary or secondary campaigns will ever intersect. Currently I don’t expect them to, but it’s impossible to say what the dice will dictate. Some more tidbits about the characters and world before the post ends:

Billie is Haitian.

Daud is Moroccan, thereby giving him that French colonial connection to Billie.

The Outsider is the figurehead and puppet of a Great Old One.

The Golden Cat has become a cabaret club.

Havelock is a veteran of World War I.

Moira’s sister, Sian, was a volunteer in Cork, Ireland during the Easter Rising of 1916.

Martin is still a shady priest.

[melbrewer367]

Generation Three Recap: Part 1

Generation Three got off to an early start but, hey, that's to be expected in the early days of a new civilization. (And it has absolutely nothing to do with me getting sick of having 756 kids in the house.)

So our Gen 3 heir, Jayla, was feeling very neglected. Isolated despite constantly surrounded. Unloved even.

An unfortunate side effect of her mom's efforts to keep everyone at home, unlike her own mother. And one day, Jayla had enough and she set off to her new world, Henford.

There was a compound out there that she had heard of (new gen, new challenge, and reminder that I don't care about challenge rules). Unfortunately, she found it and it...wasn't great.

And she was greeted by...well, there's no other way to describe him...a predator and groomer.

He took her in. Took care of her. Gave all of his attention to her. Comforted her. She fell for it. (Don't worry, he gets what he deserves.)

Eventually, Jayla is just missing her mom too much.

So she goes home and there's a whole big reunion and during that, her mom being no stranger to being pregnant, recognizes all the signs and asks her. This leads to Jayla having a full on meltdown and telling her mom everything.

Shana comforts her, lays her down for a nap, and then immediately alerts Dane.

Dane comes over, she tells him everything, and he sets out to get a plan in motion. That night, she tells her husband everything and how she feels like she failed her daughter.

Dane's plan is carried out the very next day. Himself, his oldest son, and a family friend find the son-of-a-bitch, apprehend him, and feed him to the fish. This is now a dark dirty family secret only the three men really know the full truth about.

Jayla and Shana have a full recovery to their relationship and I got a pic of my first three gen girls together 🥰

Also, a whole thing developed on Twitter while I was live tweeting this legacy with people guessing whether or not the next gen kids would have red hair or not and most people rooting for the red hair supremacy to carry on.

Anyway, Jayla didn't want to return to life in a crowded little ranch house in Oasis Springs so she returned to Henford, this time with our other heir, Cody, and a whole lot of family support, and exactly ZERO creeps.

And we had our first pandasama birth of the legacy.

Generation Three Recap Part 2 here!

[crossdressingdeath]

#i think goldanna was written so we thought she was a bitch because it's a bit of an unfortunate trend#of all the women we see in alistair's life in da:o. idk why.#but this. like I do not think she's a bitch I think she just genuinely has no fucks to give and this is the worst possible time (tags via @antiqua-lugar)

I'd actually disagree with Goldanna being written so we'll think she's a bitch. She's a tired, angry woman who is not going to play into Alistair's fantasies; she's not being a bitch by making it very clear that she wants nothing to do with him, and I wouldn't say she was deliberately written to be thought of as a bitch just because she doesn't pull any punches when she tells him to fuck off. Also (and this isn't aimed at your tags specifically, just a general observation) it is kind of hm that so many people call Goldanna a massive bitch because... she won't be what this random man who doesn't know her expects her to be and refuses to be nice about telling him so. Like it's probably mostly because Alistair is the fandom's precious cinnamon roll, but it's still Hm. Not that that ever happens to women in real life, of course (can you sense my Subtle Sarcasm).

And honestly I don't think any of the women in Alistair's life (...all one of them, Isolde is the only female character present enough in his backstory to really be considered "in his life" I'd say) are written solely to be bitches? Like, to be clear I'm not trying to defend Isolde's actions, but she's ultimately driven by fear that her husband is cheating on her (and in DAO proper fear for her son and husband's lives). Is she a good foster mother? No. Did she mistreat Alistair? Absolutely. But Bioware did make a point of showing us why she was behaving that way. She was scared her husband was having an affair, Eamon doesn't seem to have done anything to assure her that wasn't the case (holy shit dude tell your wife the truth or at least come up with a genuinely convincing lie), and she took it out on the kid rather than get angry at her husband. She absolutely wasn't in the right and Bioware isn't trying to excuse what she did, but there's enough explanation that I don't think she was written just to be a bitch.

Y'know, people call Goldanna a bitch but if some random guy claiming to be the half-brother I thought died along with my mother during childbirth and who as far as I knew or had any reason to assume grew up in a castle being waited on hand and foot as a noble if not a prince showed up at my house where I was scraping a living as a washerwoman for me and my children and expected me to be happy to see him just because his dad fucked my mom (and in the process caused her death) I'd start throwing things at his head, so I think all in all she's being extraordinarily reasonable. I can understand Alistair being upset that she wasn't happy to see him but she doesn't know him and (supposedly) sharing genes doesn't mean she owes him love or even attention.

[scorpionsmoonlight]

Reflection

So, here we are...the start of my personal blog...Maybe I should have done some sort of outline or something before executing my first post, but you know what, FUCK IT! It's my blog and I'll wing it if I want to. Does that no fly with you...? Oh well, you'll get over it I know I already have.

Lets start with a little intro and maybe a bit of background info so we can start to filling in the picture. My name is Alex, I'm a recovering opiate addict...but lets be real here, I'm currently addicted to slamming meth, and basically doing any other drug accessible atm.

I'm in my mid thirties and currently still living with my mom. Granted I'm only living with her again due to circumstances beyond my control. You see I'm also going through a divorce from a man who felt that it was okay for him to try and control every aspect of my life. He expected that I just hand over majority of my paycheck each week for bills. Always leaving me with almost nothing, and believe it or not would still bitch me out for spending any amount of money on myself. However it was perfectly fine for him to spend large sums on anything really, but if I got mad then I was the asshole in the situation.

Anyway he was abusive in other ways as well, never physical, but any form of abuse that wasn't physically obvious I endured. He was a textbook narcissist, manipulation master, and spectacular when it comes to making a grown man feel like he's nothing with the subtle backhanded insults. Now I know what you're thinking..."if it's really that bad then why didn't you just leave?"

Unfortunately when all of your money is in your husbands bank account, and he's the only one with a bank card to access it, then you're kind of fucked. So it ultimately becomes easier to remain stuck in your living hell, finding ways to avoid your partner as much as possible. You also tend to find small ways to work around the things that are being expected of you, giving you a small moment of joy...however fleeting that may be.

Anyway believe it or not I didn't come here to rant about my stupid ex-husband...not to day at least lol. I decided to start this blog because I was sitting up in bed wide awake, with a million thought's just swarming my brain like angry wasps who think I kicked their nest. Next thing I know I'm being hit with the overwhelming urge to start writing.

Mind you I keep a regular journal, but when I realized that I had already written 5-7 pages I decided it might be time to go a different rout. Something that would give me the freedom to write as much as I wanted without constantly running out of paper.

So ultimately I guess my posts are really going to be about the current events that I'm going through and how I plan on dealing with them. I know that sounds boring, but stick it out and give me a chance. I promise you the shit that goes down in my life is anything but boring, most of the time it's truly unbelievable.

So stay tuned, and keep an eye out for new posts very soon.

Until then,

Love Peace and Chicken Grease - Alex

[wikifido]

Chapter 4 (Karoleena)

The Tame Tulip was thrumming with life; this had marked Karoleena’s first evening out on the town in Port Currington, and she was spending it sitting by herself in booth seating at the Port’s only bar. There had been no persistent presence of Cole, a cadre of guards, or some other advisor around the Residence she had been staying in. It felt as though there was an unspoken invitation from Mwaxanare to walk about the town after assisting her with asking questions of Caleb. 

She was still measuring her feelings on having used her family name and station to get answers from the Gearpilot, but the smooth citrus drink that the Dimofolk bartender had poured was seeing her through.

She had seen Dimofolk through the windows of the Residence, eight foot tall, with leather-like skin, wings, and colorful beaks. It wasn’t like anyone you’d see walking the streets of an Imperial City; just like the skeletons, goblins, or even her, all things you couldn’t see on Imperial streets. 

She sips her drink again and considers where she’d be in a few weeks, off of Imperial Streets, no doubt, but also right back at Court. 

‘And back at Court, old, and without Ed,’ She thinks to herself; it was without a doubt that her parents were going to foist her back into Court life to try again to find a suitable husband. She hated that notion, and she didn’t want to see another suitor. She wanted Ed back. 

Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t possible; she had tried. No quantity of Ilmerryite would bring him back. He was lost to the Wasting Curse.  

‘You have to wonder if that’s what set his mother off or if she was always such an unjustifiable bitch; Though she had other sons, Ed was of course, the best of them.’ 

She takes another sip, and the music, piped in by some mechanical music box, screeches to a halt. She looks up from the slushie yellow-orange of her drink to see Duvanith and Mwaxanare standing in the entryway. 

Mwaxanare issues a short wave with her hand, and the music commences again. 

Karoleena’s insides turn. Should she be here? Was the lack of attention an invitation to be out and about? Should she have kept ahold of the drink menu since people would join her? 

Her last consideration was a fleeting Court decorum suggestion from the governesses; she pushed it from her mind despite knowing it would, unfortunately, be handy again soon. 

Mwaxanare makes a direct line towards her booth while Duvanith breaks off to talk to the Dimofolk bartender. Karoleena shifts and adjusts in her seat, ensuring she is dead in the middle. 

Mwaxanare slides into the seat across from her, finding its direct center. 

“Enjoying the drinks?” She asks. This hadn’t been what Karoleena was expecting, though it did seem to confirm her suspicion that she was afforded less oversight today than other days. 

“I am the first one,” she says, lifting the earthenware mug she was drinking from as a prop. Mwaxanare flashes her a polite smile before looking at the bar where Duvanith was leaning, watching the bartender fill a flagon from a cask of ale. 

“It used to be a brothel, you know,” Mwaxanare says, making a circular motion around her head. 

“Oh?” Karoleena says, more confused about the topic than the history of the business. “During the Imperial government?” 

“Yeah, the Madam intended to be rid of the Imperial government. She held Duvanith in the basement here before she traveled into the jungle.”

“Oh,” Karoleena said, legitimate surprise in her voice. She was trying to figure out why Mwaxanare shared this with her; she didn’t think it was to besmirch Duvanith, maybe just trying to show how different she was now versus when they were girls. 

As if she didn’t know. 

“Did you ask about Reeve? Karoleena scoot over.” Duvanith says, slipping into the booth beside her. 

“Reeve?” Karoleena asks. 

“A Mr. Reeve. My height, weasel face, brown hair.” Mwaxanare describes while giving Duvanith a dirty look.  

“Does the name ring a bell? I’m thinking someone’s Footman from Court, maybe?” Duvanith prys as she extends a short glass towards Mwaxanare and slides the flagon slightly towards herself as if to claim dominion over it. 

“Not offhand, why?” 

“Found it on some paperwork, figured we’d check,” Mwaxanare says before taking a tiny sip of the drink Duvanith had pushed toward her. 

Karoleena wracks her brain ‘Reeve’ and focuses on the family name versus the man Mwaxanare was asking about brown hair or weasel face. 

“I don’t think there was anyone from the Reeve family in Duvanith, and I’s Court class, but I do recall a Reeve family high up-ish from the Barony in and around the Iron Haven area. The family crest is like a tree with a shield in it.” 

“Well, thats something,” Duvanith says looking at Mwaxanare and motioning at Karoleena. “Come on, Mwaxa.” She pleads an unspoken point met with a second dirty look from Mwaxanare, who takes another sip from her beverage. 

The table falls silent for a moment; it was clear that this silence was being afforded to Mwaxanare to mull the ‘Come on Mwaxa’ imploration Duvanith had made.

Karoleena sips in concert with Mwaxanare. Duvanith and Mwaxanare’s relationship had been interesting to try to detangle for her; they truly hadn’t known each other that long. They have some sort of work relationship regarding Mwaxanare’s role as monarch, but Duvanith has been the only person to call her ‘Mwaxa’. Generally, her father’s employees don’t use nicknames for him in his presence, only behind his back, albeit those nicknames were less endearing than ‘Mwaxa.’

“Karoleena, have you ever been teleported before?” Mwaxanare asks, shattering the thoughtful silence she had been offered.

“Like Magically? No.” 

Mwaxanare nods her head thoughtfully in response. 

“Ever ridden in a Skiplane?” There question had a knowing quality regardless of the answer, Mwaxanare knew that Karoleena would want to ride on a Skiplane. 

That being said, she hadn’t; it was a particular Voidstone-powered aircraft, if you could even call it that. They were plane in shape but didn’t create lift; they just sort of ‘skip’, as the name implies, over the top of water. 

“No. I have flown a normal plane, though.” 

Duvanith flashes her a disbelieving look.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Ed took me for my birthday.” 

Mwaxanare cuts the revelation short. 

“I’ve called in a favor from Tolyarom, and we’re going to get you home starting tomorrow.” 

Karoleena felt dread bubble up in the pit of her stomach, not on account of the fact Mwaxanare had just suggested that they would be running an Imperial soft blockade in a Skiplane, but because she wasn’t sure she was ready to go home, back to Court. It was why she was here in the first place. Duvanith had stuck her on a paddle steamer in Rackhallow heading upriver to Askerstad, and she had disembarked and caught Duvanith’s windjammer liner to Choilt instead. 

She wasn’t ready to go back; she might never be. 

She takes a long sip of her drink and changes the subject, hoping it will rid her of the building dread. 

“Duvanith, why were you in a brothel?”  

[leucoratia]

My take on JJBA characters’ sexuality (Part 1)

These headcanons are livng in my head rent free anyone feel free to disagree

Includes :Jojos, Jobros and jovillains from part 1 to 3

Part 2 here with part 4 to 5

Please enjoy.

TW: mentions of sex and male masturbation, swearing, not proofred we die like men

PART 1: PHANTOM BLOOD

Jonathan Joestar: Repressed Bisexual/Biromantic

Just. Yes. My man was born in the fucking 19th century what did you expect. Desperately tries to convince himself that he is very much heterosexual and that pussy is the only thing he likes. Unfortunately Dio exists. And Speedwagon. And maybe Blueford- 

DIO Brando: Pansexual/Panromantic

I examine canon and elevate it to a higher plane. See: Pucci. Dio fucked this one through and thorough and he very much gives me nonbinary vibes. I’m also convinced his castle in part 1 was just a giant sex dungeon.

 I raise you: DIO does not give a rat’s ass about gender he just wants to shag. He’s interested in ALL boobs. Inclusivity bitch.

Robert.O. Speedwagon: Straight

I won’t elaborate he’s just fucking straight man.

(A/N: after an enlightening discussion in the comments, I am requalifiying Speedwagon my boy as GAY AS FUCK. Apologies to Jonawagon shippers I did not see the light, but I repent. Keeping the initial headcanon as a memento, but here. Change and growth is real folks).

PART 2: BATTLE TENDENCY

Joseph Joestar: Bi-curious

Also works for oldseph. He’s actually bisexual but identifies himself as bicurious so we will respect my man’s labels. Slay. Joseph likes men and women and is unaware of the existence of other genders. Don’t worry he learns. 

Caesar is def the one who made him realize that he might like men. Or maybe...one man....rest in rocks Ceasarino

Caesar Zeppeli: Male-leaning bisexual/homoromantic

We all know Caesar fucks hard. But if gay marriage was legal in 1940 you bet this man would have an italian husband named fucking Luigi or shit and twelve foster kids. He’ll eat pussy sure but the man course is always dick in Italy. He wanted that Joestarussy but rocks caught up to him :((

Suzie Q and Lisa-Lisa: lesbians

2 in 1 post because I make the rules. They like WOMEN and only got married bcs they’re either repressed (Suzie) or were really just bored (Lisa-Lisa). Anyways slay.

The Pillarmen: GAY

All three (4 if you count Santana but I forgot about him and am too lazy to re-edit the pic) love MEN. Kars is the king of pillar gays bcs seriously he massacred his entire race and only let men survive instead of perpetuating the species with pillarwomen. Hence he’s officially gay as FUCK and gay married with Esidisi.

PART 3: STARDUST CRUSADERS

Jotaro Kujo: aro/ace

Ik I ship Jotakak but in my personnal little brain Jotaro is AROACE. This man is immune to the matters of the flesh and generally puzzled by human interraction so I don’t expect him to be interested in romance ever. Wdym he has a wife and daughter? Compulsory heterosexuality!! He wanted a calm and quiet life after the fucking trauma-inducing nightmare that was part 3 and thought that settling down was the way to go but uh. Sorry man. Didn’t work out.

I HC him as sex-indifferent bcs well. I mean I do have to integrate Jolyne in my canon so there. But yeah he would enjoy sex I think but wouln’t ever initiate. He’d just go with the flow. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t jack off enough to break both wrists tho. He hides the sex-drive in his hat.

Noriaki Kakyoin: gay

Listen. Listen. I know I enjoy all the Kakyoin MILFhunter memes immensely but look at him. He’s a twink. He likes men. I will simply erase this moment with Holly from my mind.

He’s a power gay though (I’m SO tired of ppl hc-ing kakyoin as pissy-baby uwu soft weak boy nah my man breaks BACKS and spits in yo mouth). Anyways yes Kakyoin is a refined homosex enjoyer. Prefers the rainbow flag because it fits his vibe better than the blue one.

Jean-Pierre Polnareff: female-leaning bisexual biromantic

Polnareff is cursed with bisexuality but gets absolutely NO GAME I’m sorry but it’s facts to me. He gets NO BITCHES, absolutely ZERO PLAY. He may be a flirt but no one wants him (Except Muhhamad-). Likes women more but will not pass on the opportunity to flirt with a cute guy. 

Muhammad Avdol: Demiromantic/demisexual gay

Muhammad does NOT hit me as the type to fall in love/feel sexual attraction out of the blue. He needs his time. Plus i don’t think he thinks about it all that often. Destiny will do the job yadayada. Only attracted to men though. Women work in ways too mysterious for him to handle. He would start to feel something after like. A year or two of knowing intimately the person (go Jean-Jean we believe in you-). This king will probably ask his tarot before making any moves tho (shhhh he just wants to be sure)

[softcallofdutyimagines]

What The CoD Husbands Would Get You At Bath & Body Works

I said I would and so I did

Adler

Begrudgingly asks the associate for help

He wants something for you for nights out, which he takes you often I’m sure

Luckily for you, he asked me and I gave him the best scent in the store, into the night

You’re welcome bestie 😌💖

David Mason

Is very nice to the associate and actually has fun

He doesn’t know what to get, but he wants something fun

Will definitely choose something from the seasonal scents

He settles on whatever has pretty packaging and smells decent

Since it’s winter at the time of writing this, you’re either getting twisted peppermint or fireside flurries

Hudson

Humble enough to know to ask the associate for help

He does not know what scents you like, but he does know what you smell like

Whatever that scent may be he describes it to the employee and takes whatever the first thing they recommend is

You’re probably going to get gingham or champagne toast tbh

Lazar

He needs help but tells the associate he’s just browsing

He’ll get you something he likes under the assumption that you will also like it

This means he undoubtedly gets you a food scent

You’re getting strawberry pound cake and you can expect him to unabashedly sniff you when/if you wear it

Makarov

He blasts past the associate and ignores them bc he’s an asshole (I only say hi bc they pay me to bitch 🙄)

He’ll maybe take a second to think about what you might like

However, if such a smell is not in his current line of sight, that’s too damn bad

Grabs whatever he sees that’s named after an actual smell and isn’t some kind of artsy abstract name

You’re getting sweet pea (sorry 😭)

Alex Mason

He asks for help and is putting all his trust in the associate

This man wants whatever the best scent is with the least amount of hassle

Despite this, he is incredibly picky for some reason

Thankfully he eventually takes a whiff of dahlia, goes for it, and finally gets out of my store

Menendez

He’s nice enough to the associate but doesn’t need help

You are getting either a pretty floral scent that he likes or a men’s scent so that everyone knows you’re taken

Unfortunately, menendez is a boomer so he goes with rose if he decides on floral

Thankfully, if he goes with men’s, he makes the only correct choice and gets teakwood

Naga

Says he doesn’t need help, but he does

Only because he gets lost and keeps losing track of what he liked last

He gets you something he likes, purely bc he likes it

You’re getting something that smells like the beach or the jungle

Probably at the beach tho

Peck

Tells the associate he doesn’t need help, and is actually correct

Nothing escapes this man’s 400 IQ

He remembers the one time, 73 days ago, at 9:52 pm when you casually mentioned that you loved whatever the current scent you were using the most

He finds it a little repugnant, but whatever makes you happy

Weaver

Humbly asks for help and genuinely needs it

He doesn’t know where to start, but he at least knows not to get you something boring and basic

After rejecting the weak sauce like gingham and warm vanilla sugar, he tests out pure wonder

Thankfully Weaver is a genius and knows what’s up, so he goes for it

Woods

He does know want to be in this store even one second longer then he has to be

Blows off the associate and does whatever the fuck he’s going to do

Cannot bring himself to look at the “women’s” scents, and goes straight to the men’s section

He picks out bourbon bc he has the mind of a child and he thinks it’s a good one

If you’re lucky, maybe he sees sweet whiskey and decides to get you that one instead, but otherwise…

Yeah

[thefanficmonster]

Daisy

Corpse Husband & Ashnikko!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: A casual Discord call becomes interesting when Corpse finds out, in a rather peculiar way, that one of his best friends is a famous singer.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I apologize for the wait and I'm really sorry if this isn't what you had in mind - if so please let me know! Love, Vy ❤

"Hey, mind giving me feedback on the creepypasta I sent you like half an hour ago? I understand you need time to read through it and form an opinion but it's really not that long." Corpse suddenly asks, his voice breaking through the silence that had taken over the call for the past ten or so minutes.

Y/N hums in response, "Hm? What creepypasta?" Although she's trying her best to sound interested, it's blatantly obvious she's absent, her mind having flown elsewhere.

Corpse sighs, huffing out a small laugh to himself before replying, "If you're busy I'll leave you to it..."

"Oh no, not at all. I'm not busy, but I'm trying to be, I guess." She chuckles nervously, typing away at her keyboard. The sounds of the pressed keys so rhythmic and soothing it sounds almost like music.

"Why's that?" He asks, now being the absentminded one himself.

"So I can prevent myself from refreshing my new upload to see the views and likes on it. I know it's dumb but I just can't help myself." She replies, the built up frustration now leaking into her speech.

Corpse's eyebrows furrow as he quickly takes a look at his phone, scrolling the notifications on his lock screen, "You posted a video? How come I didn't get a notification?"

"Probably just the YouTube algorithm glitching out as it does..." She replies, a bit too quickly for it to not be perceived as suspicious but Corpse decides to brush it off, blaming it on the nervousness following the upload of a new cover which always catches onto Y/N. Girl can't catch a break for almost a week every time she posts a new cover despite the success they're all met with. "Hey, wanna give me an opinion on this verse I have written? Made a beat to it and all too..."

As much as he wants to be sarcastic and bring up her failiure when it came to rating his creepypasta, he can't do it, not when she sounds so sweet and a tad bit anxious. She's never been a fan of asking for second opinions but then again she could never gather the courage to post it without asking someone for one. That's the struggle she has to go through every time, fighting her way with the contradicting mindsets that have invaded her head and live there rent-free.

"Let's hear it." He says encouragingly, taking hold of his phone, expecting a recording of the verse in question.

Much to his surprise, after a quick inhale, she starts singing.

'Drop to the knees, slap to the face playing around with leather and lace a picture of desire in a field of fire thinking you got the jackpot cause you know the good cop stick around and see how bad the dirty cop can be fuck around and find out what this bitch got up her sleeve.'

It's an understatement to say the man's been floored. He's flabbergasted with his jaw agape, eyes wide and mind racing. Never did he think such words could ever leave this timid girl's lips.

"Wow...what was that?" He blurts out before he could think twice about it.

"Just something I wrote. I've been thinking about making an extension to a the original song I put out last year." She explains casually, only afterwards realizing how she's exposed herself. She superstitiously crosses her fingers under her desk, hoping Corpse won't catch onto it.

"Wait, what song?" Unfortunately but not at all surprisingly, he notices.

"Do you like it or not?" Y/N expertly dodges the question, knowing she's bound to come clean sooner or later in this convo.

"I like it, I like it, but I think the beat and the theme of the lyrics are a bit too similar to that one song..." he ponders for a moment, murmuring as he tries to recall the name of said song, one Y/N knows quite well, "Right! Daisy, by Ashnikko I think? With how YouTube is nowadays, you'd be running the risk of getting a copyright strike, but apart from that the verse is amazing. I can't believe you wrote that!"

Y/N's eyebrows furrow halfway in confusion but also in mild offense, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sensing her suspicions, he hurries to explain himself, "Well, for starters, you don't even curse in your streams so..."

"I don't wanna get demonetized! I have bills I need to pay!" She replies, wheezing with laughter at the inside joke who she's only in on.

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry for assuming you were so innocent. I guess you aren't, after all." He admits, nodding his head, lifting his hands up in surrender.

"Wait till you hear that the entirety of the song 'Daisy' belongs to me. I wrote that. I wrote the majority of Slumber Party, etc." She casually drops the bomb, allowing Corpse the access to the inside joke, giving him the honor of being the first of that kind.

However, as expected, it takes him a few moments, close to half a minute to gather what he's been told and have his brain slowly process it bit by bit. In the meantime, Y/N has to mute her mic as to not disrupt said process with her giggles that just keep on coming the more she tries to suppress them.

"Run that by me again, please?! Please come again, I don't think I heard or understood you right." He finally says, his voice suggesting just how out of it he is at the moment, still stuck in his own little world where none of this makes sense.

"Oh hun, I'm sure you heard me just fine, but the understanding part is what's not sitting right with you, correct?" She asks, fighting the urge to use an entitled and arrogant British accent, "Well, to help you out, allow me to ask you a question: have you or any of our friends ever seen my face?"

There's another long pause before Corpse gives Y/N the most underwhelming response she's ever heard in response to this specific reveal. Well, it's not like she has much to compare it to, but still.

"Oh...." He says, voice trailing off as the gears in his head are clearly not done turning yet.

"Yeah...." She does the same, unsure of what else to say or how else to take this reaction.

"MY FRIEND IS A FUCKING SUPERSTAR!!!"

Ah, there it is.

"Corpse....no!"

"WOOOO FUCKING HOOOO!"

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