#so you just get the tiny lines by the side of each eye to represent makeup

[ourtalechara]

Envy Baby? More like Edgy Baby, amarait?

I was going to make them into an OC or something, (named Shade) but now I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. I'm. Tired, okay?

I was going to make them the best friend and/or sibling of Blaise, but now that I think about it, I might actually make them the same person, Blaise just being aged up Shade, in which case it might be better to just use the same name for both

Here's a Blaise, btw

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you. 

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie. 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.” 

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’” 

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room. 

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why. 

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?” 

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.” 

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home? 

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson. 

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?” 

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising. 

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.” 

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees. 

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling. 

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him. 

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking. 

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him. 

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket. 

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety. 

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face. 

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall. 

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now.  “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce. 

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?” 

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it. 

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak. 

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline. 

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion. 

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’” 

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years. 

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before. 

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other. 

--

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[pinkanonwrites]

Washrack Academy

Jetstorm and Jetfire have a lot of questions about humans. But you? You just want to take your shower in peace.

TFA Jetfire, TFA Jetstorm, and Reader, no ships but it's implied Jetfire has a little crush on the reader, human reader, non-sexual nudity, is it still voyeurism if it's mostly fueled by curiosity? probably, AFAB Reader with GN Pronouns, alien anatomy discussions

"You know, humans are being much more hygienic than Sentinel says they are being."

You rolled your eyes, hefting your small duffel bag further up your shoulder. "Yeah, well Sentinel doesn't know as much about humans as he thinks he does. Most people I know shower every other day at the very least. We aren't big fans of being dirty."

"But now you are being extra dirty!" Jetstorm loomed over you with a cheeky grin, running a huge metal digit over the top of your head. A slick of motor oil came with it, sending another disgusted shiver down your spine at the gooey sensation. "Bumblebee maybe needs to working on power steering! And not splashing human friends with drinks of celebration."

Being a human liaison representing the city of Detroit on Cybertron was already a job way outside of the normal parameters of your career, and the stress was leaving you pretty wired. But Bumblebee accidentally tipping an oversized can of motor oil off a table and directly onto your head while showing off just had to be the final nail in the coffin. In front of a whole bunch of big important Autobots and everything.

Now you were being flanked on either side by Sentinel Prime's personal squadron (a gig they eagerly volunteered for and a choice both you and Sentinel had little say in) as they showed you to whatever the Cybertronian equivalent of an army base locker room was so you could get cleaned up. 

"And motor oil not to be damaging your fluffy organic fibers?" Great, now Jetfire was poking at your greasy hair too. At least he had half a processor to keep his igniters off while he did.

"It's called hair. And it'll only damage it if I leave it in too long. Plus, it's really bad for my skin."

"Good for it not to be doing badness to hair! Yikes for it to be doing badness to skin. So sensitive, little organics. Must be very hard!"

"You're telling me, bud."

"Here! Coming this way." Jetstorm gestured for you to follow him through a tiled doorway. The room beyond looked remarkably similar to the locker room you'd had in high school, though blown up to a cartoonish scale. "We have tiny washrack for mini-bot sizes. Maybe too big for you still, but is better than nothing!"

He wasn't exaggerating, the handles for the mini-bot sized faucets were still a good two or three feet out of your reach. 

"Where do you even put your towels? Your soap?" You glanced around but failed to find any bench or wall divot suitably placed for setting your things down. "Is there anywhere I can set my bag?"

"Just be putting bag into subspace! Easy for peasy!" A small compartment popped open on Jetstorm's chest, and from it he procured… a metal scouring pad? A giant one, about the size of a large restaurant platter. If the situation weren't so incredibly absurd already, you might've gotten a chuckle out of the idea of a robot using a Brillo pad as a loofah.

"Yeah, we don't… humans don't have that." You said instead. Because this situation was, in fact, incredibly absurd.

Jetfire and Jetstorm looked at each other, mirrored expressions of visible confusion. Then, they both shrugged.

"Being a human…"

"...Is very difficult!"

"Look, just- can one of you hold it for me? Please?"

"For certain! I will be best at human wash rack supplies holder job! Be counting on me." You dropped your duffel bag into Jetfire's cupped hands and wrenched it open. Grabbing your various bottles of hair product and a large towel from within, you lined them up on the floor along the wall and hopefully just beyond the reach of the shower's spray. But as you moved for the bottom of your shirt to pull it off, you felt the prickle of two pairs of optics staring just a little bit too hard at your body.

"Are you two just gonna… watch me? You can wait outside, you know."

"We are to be protecting you from curious bots! And make sure you do not do the snooping or the wandering off." Jetstorm insisted.

"Are you gonna do that while staring me down? A little privacy, please." Was it ironic to ask for privacy in a locker room? Probably. But most people had the decency not to stare while someone was getting undressed. 

Most people. Maybe that sentiment didn't extend to twelve foot tall transforming robot soldiers.

"Staring? Who is doing the staring? Certainly not us goodness bots!" 

"No, no! We would never be the staring! Especially not at soft and squishy little human frame!"

Both brothers rushed to cup a servo over their optics, continuously asserting their supposed innocence all the while. You sighed, peeling your way out of your slick and permanently stained clothes and letting them fall to the ground in an oily heap.

"Well I don't know how it is on Cybertron, but on Earth staring at people in the locker room is what we call 'bad manners.' You two ever heard of those?"

"We will being so very manners-filled! No staring from us at you, big promise." Jetfire insisted, carefully depositing your bag into his subspace as he brought his other servo up so they were both covering his faceplate.

"Though do not be trying to do the sneaking off while we are look-away! That would be also called 'bad manners.'" Added Jetstorm with a cheeky thumbs-up.

"I'm not going to go sneaking around your base naked, so you don't need to worry about that. Now could one of you get the water for me, please?"

As Jetstorm felt along the wall and cranked the water to partial blast, you swear you heard him ask his brother 'But what is "naked" meaning?' The hiss of the showerhead quickly covered it, though, and you decided you'd rather focus on getting clean before you struggled to explain the foreign concept to the pair of ridiculous twins. The water ran just hot enough to make your skin tingle as you lathered your hair with shampoo, vigorously scrubbing the motor oil free from your scalp. It'd probably take more than a few rinses to get everything out, you'd have to ask Professor Sumdac to bridge you some more toiletries way sooner than you'd originally planned. Maybe Sari could pick some up for you on her next trip home?

But as you lathered your hair up for the fourth (maybe fifth?) time, you couldn't help but notice a quiet, metallic buzzing that could just barely be heard over the hiss of water. It paused and fizzed in a rhythmic pattern, not all too dissimilar from Morse Code. It would stop for a moment, before picking up again, slightly lower pitched this time. It sounded almost like… a conversation.

"If you've got something to say, you can say it out loud." You called them out. Jetfire startled at the sound of your voice, his own sounding slightly strained. 

"What? But we are such quiet being!"

"You're doing that… that 'EM field' thing. Where you talk to each other with your brains? I've heard Bee and Bulkhead do it before. So, c'mon. What do you want to know?"

He clammed up, absentmindedly scuffing one of his pedes against the tiled floor. Jetstorm, meanwhile, had a sly grin growing across his faceplate. He raised his free servo up in the air like a student waiting to be called on.

"Actually, Jetfire is having a question!"

"I-I am not! Do not listen, brother is merely making funny joke!"

"No, no! Do not listen to him! Jetfire is very, very curious about human not having sp-MRMPH!"

A cacophony of metal on metal echoed through the wash racks as Jetfire tackled his brother to the wet tile, wrestling his servos over the other's intake to keep him quiet. Jetstorm grabbed for his brother's goggles and pulled him into a shaky headlock, even as Jetfire repeatedly kicked him in the knees with the flat of his pede. You scrambled to grab your towel, clutching it to your front as the two bots collapsed to the ground in an ear-splitting crash.

"Hey, HEY! Quit it! What the hell are you two doing?!"

Both of their heads snapped up at your tone, Jetstorm still looking mischievous while his brother had the decency to look a bit sheepish. He quickly pried Jetfire's servo off of his intake.

"Jetfire is wanting to know why humans do not have spike! You know, since he was doing the peeking."

"Y-You were also doing peeking! I know you were curious too!" Jetfire shot back.

"Maybe curious, yes, but you are obsessed! 'Oh, little humans are so soft and so squishy being! Why so warm? I want to be holding one!'"

"I am not sounding like that! You are making exaggeration!"

Jetfire seemed on the verge of tackling his brother again, so you quickly stepped in. "Okay, geez, look. I will answer one, ONE! Question each. And only if you stop hitting each other. That's it. I don't have the energy for this today."

The two bots awkwardly clambered back to their feet, Jetstorm looking down at you with a playful grin while Jetfire seemed to be looking anywhere but your unclothed frame.

"Brotherrrrr?" Jetstorm teased. "Would you like to be going first?" 

Jetfire dignified his brother's teasing with a sharp elbow to the side, but spoke anyway. "S-Sorry to be peeking when you said not, but, um, do humans not have- uh, not have spike? Or is it hidden? Maybe not pressurized? If embarrassing you don't have to say. No biggee."

You furrowed your brow. 'Spike.' You don't think you'd heard any of the Autobots use that term before, at least not around you. Maybe it was a built-in weapon? Or some sort of specialized armor plating?

"I, uh, I don't know what a spike is. Sorry. Can you be… more specific?"

Jetfire let out a high-pitched sound, similar to heat escaping a tea kettle, while his brother only seemed to beam even brighter at his humiliated suffering.

"Ah, you know! Spike!" Jetstorm grinned. "Right here, above valve? Comes out like 'fssshh'? No modesty panel on you, so maybe just hidden away!" He made a bunch of vague motions in front of his crotch, and with a looming horror you started to catch on as he mimed the motion of something growing and rising up in front of his crotch plate. His modesty panel.

Holy shit they had robot dicks.

"N-No? No, I don't have a- a spike." You were doing your absolute best to stay focused on the conversation at hand, not think about… about the robot penis that apparently all Cybertronians had? "Humans, uh, most humans just have one or the other. The, um, the spike or the… the…"

"Valve?" Jetstorm happily supplied.

"Sure? I guess?!"

"Something new to be learned every day! Right, brother?" Jetstorm thumped his brother on the back with an open servo, while Jetfire was openly refusing to make eye contact with you. The temperature in the room seemed to peak by a few degrees, and based on the heat waves rolling off of Jetfire's body you had an inkling suspicion it was his doing, however unintentional it may be. "Anyways, my turn, yes? You said word 'naked'. What is 'naked' meaning?"

"Uh, y-yeah. Um, yeah. Sure." God, you did not have the mental fortitude to deal with these revelations today. "Naked just means you're not… covered up? Wearing clothes. There are some parts on a human that have to be covered in public, otherwise it's uh… inappropriate." Your only solace was that now you had some sort of comparison to make between Cybertronians and humans. "Like, you guys wouldn't walk around with your… your spike out? Same for humans."

"Ohhh…" They even had stunned realizations in unison. You'd almost consider it cute, if you weren't already so burnt-out.

"Yep, well, class is over. Can I please get dressed now? Preferably without being watched?"

"A-Ah! Yes, of course! So sorry! Here is things." Jetfire quickly fumbled your duffel out of his subspace, only for it to slip through his digits and hit the floor with a thud. Wincing, he turned to shove his brother from the room, calling over his shoulder to you as they went. "We will be watching door so no bots do peeking! Then there is no way we be seeing you naked, not even little bit! Seeing you in moment- but not naked! Just normal seeing!"

"O-Okay? I'll be out in… a bit." But they were already gone. Weird. Weird couple of bots. But hey, at least now you could dry your hair in peace.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

"Very bumpy landing, brother." Jetstorm couldn't fight his mirthful grin as he stared down at his spark-twin, who was currently sitting with his back to the wall outside the wash racks, knee-joints pulled up tight to his chassis and faceplate hidden from view. "I may not be seeing exact same appeal you do, but humans are verrrrrry entertaining being. That human especially so!"

"I wish to be offline." Jetfire lamented. "So awkward, very very uncool. They will never be speaking to me again."

"Do not be so downer, brother! They answer questions very nice, and do not even yell when you peeking at their array!"

Jetfire let out another pathetic wail. "Do not be reminding me! Me, caught peeking? Would rather scrub every rivet on Omega Supreme than be that embarrassing again." He slammed his helm against the tops of his knee-joints a few times for good measure, a loud, echoing clanking reverberating down the hall. "Why are little humans being so soft? A-And when covering self, why are little peeks of soft bits around towel so- so erotic?"

Jetstorm cackled, patting his brother atop the helm with his servo. "And to think, we thought being human is hard. Sounds like liking human is much, much harder!"

[pfffsfic]

okay. okay this is not a serious theory but every time I think about it I come up with new "evidence" for it. basically the gist of it is TAWOG'S SHAPE PEOPLE ARE EUCLYDIANS. maybe refugees? "but didn't everyone in eucyldia die?" ignore that. just pretend they skipped town before the fire or something, this is not airtight. it's not even close. it's basically a joke treated seriously. i know the shows are not in the same universe but

hear me out.

Part 1: At face value.

point numnber one: these guys are 2D. the gumball universe has 3D people and 2D people, and the Shape People are 2D, or drawn as opposed to modeled.

point number two: physical traits! other than the obvious 'they are shapes', some or all of the Shape People:

Lack visible mouths (mind you, these Shape People's mouths appear when they speak). Bill also lacks a visible mouth but very occasionally gets one (one page of the Book of Bill, a polaroid in the Weirdmageddon intro).

Can have one eye. the rectangle in the top image is a one-eyed shape person, but there's also this familiar-looking yellow one-eyed triangle Shape Person (who pre-dates Bill's first proper appearance, by the way):

They have noodle arms. little noodle arms

this one is hard to explain but the positions of their arms aren't fixed. this applies to all/most Gumball characters but not to all gravity falls characters. how do I explain this uhh

look at how one of his arms is attached to his bottom plane and one is attached to his side plane. sometimes both of them hang down at the bottom and sometimes both are on the sides. POINT IS-

look at that!

in the rightmost image above you can also see a tiny sliver of a 3D edge like Bill has.

Each Shape Person is also a single color.

Part two: Culture.

note: this one only really applies to the three shapeople i've been using as examples this whole post- Ed the triangle, and his black pentagon and rectangle friends? family members?

I know there are other shapes who look less like them and whom these things don't apply to, but we can blame that on interbreeding with Elmoreans/cultural assimilation or something. okay, let me begin.

point number three: Ed's group is implied to not be from Elmore. when we first see him he's mistaking a bus stop for another shape person:

he also-

point four: the Shapeople language includes one spoken(?) system with colorful squares representing it. on the TBOB website the words of Euclydians are written in colorful square substitution cipher. there are also other shapes for the shapeople, mind you.

back to point 3: not from Elmore. The next time Ed's group appears, they're framed like tourists and ARE HAVING TROUBLE MAKING SENSE OF A 3D (well, i guess 2d but in the other way) MAP.

Gumball tries and fails to talk to them in their language, and ends up making a cultural faux pas. and in Ed's final scene there's an interesting line...

my people? He could be talking about his species, but the existence of a culture implies to me that this line refers more to a homeland. in other words the shape people are from the same place, which we sort of knew because they speak the same language. also has bill ever been seen giving a thumbs up or down? i'm pretty sure he hasn't but maybe I'm wrong, someone correct me here.

point number five: grasping at even more straws.

Despite their origin, the one known named shape person's name is Ed, which falls into the same cultural sphere as Bill.

We know that Ed's type of shapeople are physically capable of speaking English because the black rectangle does so at one point.

one of the symbols in the shapeople language is a skull. we see that Bill's mind has a bill skeleton with a skull that also fits the humanoid-ish template.

final point that does not help the theory but is still weird: Bill's baby photo seems to have a live-action background?? and so does the image of teen/preteen bill? look at these. i'm not implying that elmore IS euclydia somehow, that makes very little sense to me as of writing (though i guess it was destroyed and now Bill has a fear of TV static, which, like, maybe I could phenagle a theory here if I really tried but it seems like even more of a reach than this existing theory.) I dunno, maybe Euclydians would have wanted another 'realistic' dimension to flee to.

(we also see this squishy rosy-cheeked shaperson baby at one point, make of it what you will).

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 13

Prompt: Body Worship Pairing: Boyfriend!San x reader WC: 1.6k Summary: The change of seasons has always been difficult for you and today is no different. Some days you just need some help.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent San or any Ateez member. Although this isn’t necessarily an 18+ work, for my comfort and boundaries please if you are under the age of 18 do not interact with this. 

I’m going to put the TW/CW above the cut this time as TBH, it’s not really smut.

TW/CW: depression, self-hatred, vague self-harm references, leg shaving, San bathes reader. 

 Everything hurt. That’s all you knew as you laid in bed. A deep ache that resonated in your bones consumed your being. Nothing helped, rolling to your side, laying on your back, leg up and on your stomach, just pain.  “It’s because you rolled around in bed all day,” San chides from the doorway as you groan. “You need to get up and stretch, just to rebalance your body. It’s not even about working out. If your blood pools in one spot you’ll feel off.”  “I think I’m sick,” you sniff. Your sinuses are on fire, swollen and pulsing in your skull.  San sighs. The sort of illness plaguing you was not the type remedied by chicken noodle soup or ibuprofen. It was one that needed time and care and understanding. One that would flare up unexpectedly, inappropriately, uninvited.  Flinging back the covers you shriek as cold air hits you like a truck, grappling for the covers. Two strong warm arms scoop you up into the air as San carries you bridal style to the bathroom. “I think a bath will help,” he says, sitting you on the closed lid of the toilet.

 The running water in the empty tub is loud, thundering as it hits the basin. The loudness numbs your ears for a bit. You barely notice as San busies himself as you list to the side, leaning on the side of the sink. Everything still hurts. Your jaw hurts as you adjust it, seeing if you can relieve the pain circling your ears and throat.  Squatting to eye level smiles at you, trying to hide the flicker of concern in his eye. “Hey hon, i gotta take your shirt off.”  “Start with pants please!” You stick your legs straight out in front of you and wobble your feet. San obliges, taking care to wait for your toes to point so the fabric slips right off. Not that it’s particularly difficult, seeing as they’re a pair of ratty sweats.  The bath is half full as he scoops your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a pair of underwear. You shiver and stare at the steaming tub, arms crossing over your stomach and chest. He leans over to check the water temperature, back flexing under his white cotton shirt. Hugging yourself tighter you hate to compare yourself but can’t help it. A veritable god while you…well…your self evaluation faired far worse. The comparison stung each time you thought about it, each remembrance a tiny papercut on an unhealing body. Yet he was like a salve, patiently covering and waiting, unable to prevent but trying to ease what pain he could and somehow that burned you even more than the initial cut.  “I’m going to wash you,” he says slowly, waiting for your fierce objection. Instead you look up at him, mouth a straight line, and nod.  “My legs are hairy.”  He shrugs, turning to the water. “Okay.”  “I just thought you should know.”  “Do you want me to shave them?” He offers sincerely as he turns off the tap. Steam rising from the tub in soft curls, you let your eyes trace their outline as you think.  “Do you know how?”  He shrugs again, “can’t be more difficult than shaving my face.”  “Okay but they’re MY legs and YOUR hands. It’s a little different than doing it to yourself.” You can hear the tension in your own voice raising, almost to a forced laugh. The reaction feels strange and foreign even though it comes from your own body. Twisting on the lid of the toilet seat you dip your toe into the water. It’s hot, a little too hot. Your toe numbs quickly in the water, tingling as you withdraw it.  “It was just an offer, you can say no.” San helps you, sliding down your underwear, the last barrier between you and the elements.  “No, it-it sounds nice.” You stutter. Sighing as you slide yourself from your perch into the tub. The water burns but you need that. The cauterizing sear removes the sin. Or so you feel. Burn off the exoskeleton so you can feel again.  San looks concerned as you slip down into the water. “Isn’t it too hot?”  “I’ll get used to it.”

 Hugging your knees to your chest, the soft washcloth moves in slow concentric circles across and down your back. The gentleness with which San treats you hurts almost more than the sting of the cool air. Guilty isn’t the right word for the twist in your gut. The kindness just hurts sometimes.  “I love how soft your skin is when you’re fresh out of the shower.” San murmurs. “I love how the smell of soap and skin clings to you. I love how I’m the only one who gets to see these freckles on your back like this.” His list goes on as he cups handfuls of water to splash down your spine. He would bathe you all the time if you’d let him. The ritual is soothing and intimate. Every word he says a truth he rarely gets to voice without you complaining. When you are like this though, lulled into a docile state by the water, he can praise you as much as he wants.  “Feels nice,” you’re muffled by your own knees. Not like it is difficult to tell what you are saying.  San leans over the edge of your tub, kissing your shoulder softly, supporting your back as he lays you against the back of the tub. Working the washcloth down your arms and over you chest, you wince as he gets to your soft tummy.  “It’s exposure therapy, if its too much you can tell me.” San hopes you won’t tell him. The plush squish of your stomach is something he rarely can indulge in. Washcloth as a flimsy excuse his fingers glide over your buttery soft skin. He can feel your lungs hitch in anticipation so he presses harder. You’d figured that one out together, if he pressed harder you could tolerate it more. “You know how much I love soft things. I’m a connoisseur of soft things and you are the crown jewel of my findings.”  “That doesn’t help,” you mutter sourly. “What if I don’t want to be soft.”  San nods, there’s nothing to say to it. Instead he heads south, skimming past your clit, it’s not the point of today. Instead he focuses on your thighs, equally soft and plush as your stomach but more easily tolerated. You always complain how they hurt, that your hips are tense. Hips carry a lot of trauma. He half washes, half massages your thighs. Letting the soap lubricate his squeezed pulls of your muscle.  You moan, loudly. He can feel the thud of the knot in your quad as he presses past it. You moan again, slipping further into the tub So he does it again, and again, and again until you shudder and arch up, water splashing around you. “Did you just-”  “I don’t know-” you sit bolt upright, looking at each other shocked. “It felt really good.”  “Good to know.”

 You relax back again. Soft and pliant he treats you like a doll, limbs limp as he moves them. Holding your leg, the water drips on his cotton shirt, clinging semi-transparaent to his abs. Slowly he lathers your calve with shea butter infused soap, then wets the razor. Funnily enough he didn’t even care if your legs had hair or not. Really if any part of you had hair or not, he wouldn’t mind as long as it was you. But you liked the sleek touch so he was happy to oblige.  Another person shaving your legs is exceedingly strange. But it’s nice. You hate the process of hair removal but love the results. Laying back loosely, San takes more care than you ever would with your razor. He’s meticulous and methodical in his removal, particularly around your ankle bone, riddled with scars. You consider telling him that at this point your ankles are made of steel callus but the delicate way he lifts the pressure of the razor is endearing.  It’s almost more intimate than taking his cock. At least for San it is. He could so easily hurt you like you’d hurt yourself. It would be even easier for him, it wasn’t his skin that the razor’s edge was pressed against, he didn’t know the feeling, he could only watch and hope his pressure was enough but not too much. Knowing if he slipped the sting would be worse coming from a person who loved you instead of your own hands focused his wandering mind.  Giving into help wasn’t easy for you. Each time San places the razer to your ankle you have to remind yourself to relax. Using your full will to control the flex of your calves as he runs the length carefully. Even with his time and care one leg is done quickly, dipping back into the now lukewarm water as he retrieves the second leg. At least someone should love you even if you can’t.  “San?”  His face lifts, eyes sparkling, “yes dear?”  “I love you.”  Still holding your leg he leans sideways to kiss you ever so briefly. “I know you do.”

Sorry I had a hell of a couple of days and WAS NOT MONITORING and my queue broke. here’s to getting back on track. Sorry this wasn’t really smut????

[rythmicjea]

Archie's Dream 5x04

Should I be finishing up my chapter for Narwals? Yes. Am I? No. Instead, I can't get Archie's dream out of my head. Season 5 is considered to be "the worst" season. That's because the majority of people don't understand it. There are so many layers to this season. It's like a 14 hour long episode of the X-Files. If you take episodes 1-3 to really be the end of season 4 (and we all should) it's the shortest season out of all of them.

The show needed to get everyone back together in Riverdale. That's how shows like this work. The impetus is Archie's dream. On the surface it's a warning that Riverdale is in trouble. The soul of Riverdale is on the verge of collapse. And yes, that is true. Get closer though, and you start to see the shadows underneath.

The dream opens in the boys locker room of Riverdale High. Archie Andrews is giving his team a pep talk before the game. His voice is darker, deeper, it's that of a drill sergeant. He prepares them saying it's not going to be easy. That they have never faced anything like it but they cannot be afraid. He barks, "Do you know why?" And they answer "Because we're Bulldogs!"

The camera lingers on Reggie. Why Reggie? Here's the thing most people don't recognize about Mantle the Magnificent. He may not like you, but if you go to Riverdale, you're a Bulldog. And he will defend any Bulldog for any reason. That's why he's so offended and incensed that Jughead wears his Serpent's jacket. Because to him, Jughead is spitting in Riverdale's face. Jughead is one of Riverdale's sons and that should mean more.

We see the General tell them that their mission is to save their fallen brother. The next shot is of a football field as No Man's Land (the stretch of land between two trenches in war). There are football players in the background running plays. There are bombs going off and artillery fire whizzing by. I am an avid football fan. I grew up on Ohio State football. A football game is often referred to as a "battle". You'll hear phrases like "Battle on the Grid Iron". Each game is life or death for the players and the fans. But this is more than just a football game. This is actual life or death.

Reggie goes down. Shot in the chest from enemy fire. This is representative of how Reggie is on the "wrong" side in the season. He's aligned himself with Hiram. He doesn't care for the town and the school that he once loved so deeply.

Archie is then flown into the air by a bomb. He doesn't want to go further. He doesn't think he can. You would think that he would look at his target. Instead, he sees Cheryl. She's in her Vixens uniform. And while you can hear the squad cheering, Cheryl isn't speaking. She smiles at him, with tears in her eyes, nodding at him to go forward. Why is she here? They weren't particularly close. Why would she care about his mission? Because Cheryl has lost a brother. She knows that pain of not being able to help and the guilt that comes with surviving. She can't let Archie go through that.

Then we see the fallen soldier. We don't know his identity until Archie gets to him. It's Jughead. A chest wound pouring out blood. His heart was broken by his first love and his best friend. Jughead only says one line and it is "I just need a little help". We come to learn in the season that Jughead has become an alcoholic. His line is one that many addicts say. It's so simple to believe that with just a little help they can overcome their affliction. A lot of times it's said to get a fix. Just a tiny one to help get through the withdrawal.

On the sidelines is everyone who loves Jughead. The Serpents, Betty, Veronica, and Pop. They're all cheering for Archie to do what needs to be done. And at the last moment we see Hiram standing with a gun pointed at Archie. In the first four seasons it was always about Archie vs Hiram. But everyone forgets that the actual thorn in Hiram's side was Jughead. It's Jughead that exposes him. It's Jughead that picks up the pieces of his parental duties for Veronica. It's Jughead who is willing to risk everything to see Hiram exposed for all of his corruption and evil deeds. And Hiram knows it. But Hiram can't do anything to Jughead without exposing himself. That's why he willingly lets Jughead take himself to the slaughter against the ghoulies. Hiram was behind riot night. And that gunshot wound in Jughead's chest? Who's to say it wasn't Hiram who pulled the trigger?

Archie's dream tells the story of season 5. There's many reasons for him to come home. He declares that Riverdale is "dying" and they need to save it. But it's not Riverdale that he has to save, it's Jughead. He hasn't spoken to Jughead in seven years. When he calls his three friends, Betty and Veronica drop what they are doing immediately to answer. Jughead is the only one who hesitates. We never see him answer. Jughead is the most reluctant to stay.

NO ONE on the show knows how to handle an addiction. Not even Jughead. He knows how to take care of his father but it was never his responsibility to save his father. And FP? FP gets sober cold turkey. He falls off the wagon at his retirement party. He is magically able to handle alcohol responsibly. That's not how addiction works.

Archie offers Jughead a place to stay and a teaching position at the school. Archie lets him go when he needs to go back to New York without any questions asked. Archie is the subliminal support system that was taken from Jughead at the end of high school. He doesn't know what to do exactly (and he has his own issues - PTSD) but he can do the passive things to help his brother.

After seven years of silence, Archie has a dream that tells him his best friend and brother is in danger and he's the only one who can help. And if that's being an invitation back to a safe place and a warm bed then he does it without hesitation. To many Archie IS Riverdale. He is the heart of the town. But, Jughead put Riverdale on the map. Jughead is the town's conscience. To Archie, Jughead is Riverdale.

[hatredcurse]

Sakura had her camera in hand, taking pictures as their young daughter sat on the floor opening different presents. Looking happy with each one. Sasuke managed to outdo her in terms of gift giving. Not that she minded. It was cute that he put so much thought into it when it came to their daughter. To think, before she was born, he was worrying about not being a good parent to Sarada but in the end, he ended up being the best dad Sarada could have asked for. Sarada was just so attached to him. From the moment she could walk, she followed him everywhere around the house, and constantly wanted to be held by him. Sometimes she refused to take a nap unless she could sleep on Sasuke’s chest. Sakura was a small bit jealous that Sarada was so attached to him over her but still found it cute.  Sasuke and Sakura were sitting on the couch with Sarada on the floor practically swimming in wrapping paper. As Sasuke sat his coffee down on the table next to him, Sakura grinned, scooting in close to him. So she could lean on him, “Sarada wasn’t the only one I got gifts for.” Sakura pulled out a long box that she kept hidden at her side waiting for the right time to present it to him, “I had this made just for you.” Inside the box was a silver locket on a sturdy chain. On the front of the locket, the Uchiha crest was neatly burned into it. Inside the locket was a family picture of the three of them. One Sakura was insistent on them taking. In the picture, Sakura had her arms around him, while one arm was around her, and in his other was Sarada’s small form, clinging to his shirt. The three of them looking happy, “This is so, no matter how far you are from home, your family is always with you.” It was a bit cheesy, and it made Sakura blush but she always went out of her way to give Sasuke meaningful gifts or something he could use. She knew he wasn’t much for jewelry. Really the only thing he wore was his wedding ring but the necklace small enough he could tuck under his shirt so it wouldn’t get in his way. || @hana-akari

Sarada was finally old enough to pick her tiny fingers through the firmly wrapped boxes; just enough strength in those forming bones to tear through the paper. Sasuke watched her with such a great intensity, his dark eye spun with red threads, replacing old, hurtful memories with the momentous occasion of his pride and joy giggling at him each time she revealed the cardboard skeleton of her gifts.

She was so small, yet held within her was this happiness that washed the room out, even the incandescent lights. Old-fashion veteran coldness no longer lingered within Sasuke's heart, but nevertheless, his scowling features would peel away to a smile, much like hers, with all the maturity that aged it.

" Hm? " he called to attention when Sakura spoke, squaring his shoulders to her as if it did anything to hear her better. " Oh, you didn't have to. "

For years he's said that tired line. The usual insistence that he never really wanted Sakura to waste her time nor her money on him, yet she did, unrelenting in her want to embellish him with love woven into items he'd never imagine he'd possess ( a custom scabbard, a painting set, the sweater that fails to fit his broaden shoulders, but remains in the center of his closet smashed between several dress shirts ).

Lifting the lid, the silver shined with Christmas spirit, reflecting the primary colors of the string lights along the links down to the sparkling heart, still-beating at the bottom. Sasuke pulls it from its necklace-shaped casket, clicking open the locket, and seeing that picture Sakura clamored fretfully over for weeks. He could hear her frowning disproval over not picking the right outfit ( it had to have a level of cohesion with her and Sarada, to which he argued, if it's for his family, he should wear what represents him best ). It took some fine tuning to re-engineer what participating in ' family ' meant for Sasuke, but the picture came out perfect to him. Looked even better in the small heart where Sarada sat in the center like she did in their worlds.

Wordlessly, he went ahead to fasten it around his neck, allowing it to drop with a gentle chime, dangling at the base of his throat, imprinting the beating of his heart into it.

He pauses halfway into giving her a kiss of gratitude before he remembers between all the excitement, he had something to give to her as well. " One moment, " he bows away to his side of the couch, reaching over the armrest into the convenient hiding spot that he was sure Sarada would not sneak around in. Out came a smaller box that he passed along, tightly bound in green and blue wrapping paper ( the spare that he didn't use for Sarada's ). Within contained a red hairband, much like the one she had, but it was wrapped in a finer silk and embroidered with their inter-linked clan symbol on each tip. Beneath that, in the box, was also a small drawing the Sarada insisted on giving to her mama: a heartful depiction of Sakura holding their daughter with Sasuke holding the both of them up with some freeform decoration of rainbows and a sun in each corner shining on them.

" I hope it is to your liking, though I'm afraid it may be too soft to stay in your hair. "

[odditiesuncovered]

Famous Logos of Famous Brands: A Playful Dive into the World of Symbolic Branding

Logos are the visual ambassadors of a brand, the small icons that hold the immense responsibility of representing a company's values, identity, and market presence. This article is inspired from the website Stunning World Facts.

These tiny graphical wonders have a way of becoming unforgettable, etching themselves into our minds like that one catchy jingle you can't help but hum along to. Have you ever wondered what makes these logos so iconic? How do they manage to convey so much with just a few lines and shapes?

Below are stories of famous Logos after reading the post from the above mentioned website.

Let's start our logo journey with the iconic swoosh of Nike. It's as if someone took a lightning bolt and said, "Let's make it cool and sporty." The simplicity of the swoosh is genius. But here's the million-dollar question: Is it just a swoosh or a hidden message that challenges us to 'Just Do It'? How many people have been inspired to conquer the world while trying to lace up their sneakers? Is there a secret society of sneaker enthusiasts who decode logo messages in their free time?

Moving on to the bitten apple of Apple. Is it a nod to the tale of Snow White? Did Apple want to make a statement about the irresistibility of their products, as tempting as the forbidden fruit? And what about the bite? Did someone get hungry while designing the logo or was it to ensure that people don't mistake it for a tomato? Have you ever tried to bite into your iPhone, just to be sure?

Starbucks offers us a mermaid, or is it a siren? Are they trying to say their coffee is so alluring it could tempt sailors? And what's with the name Starbucks? Are they trying to promote astronomy alongside coffee – a latte with a side of stargazing, perhaps? Have you ever wondered if the siren gets a caffeine boost from all the coffee aroma around?

The golden arches of McDonald's – do they represent entry into a fast-food utopia? Or are they just the biggest, boldest pair of French fries ever drawn? And that clown, Ronald McDonald, who's probably never had a burger in his life – is he the real mastermind behind the logo? Do you ever secretly wish for a McFlurry while passing a McDonald's, even if you're stuffed to the brim?

Coca-Cola's elegant swirls – are they trying to hypnotize us into craving their sugary elixir? Is there a secret formula hidden within the curves? And the bright red color – is it a warning that you're entering a zone of high-energy sugar rush? Have you ever tried to recreate the Coca-Cola logo with the last few sips of your drink?

Now, let's talk about the Twitter bird. Is it a songbird or a messenger pigeon? Does it carry our tweets to the virtual realm, or is it just here for some light social interaction? And what does it feel like to be a bird with millions of followers? Do they get performance anxiety before each tweet, wondering if it will be retweeted or just lost in the sea of hashtags?

In this world of logos, where symbols carry stories and memories, these questions might seem trivial, but they add a layer of intrigue to the brands we interact with every day. While we may never know all the answers, one thing's for sure – logos have a way of sparking our curiosity, inviting us to ponder the hidden tales behind the designs.

So, next time you see a logo, take a moment to reflect. What's the story behind it? What emotions does it evoke? And most importantly, does it make you want to buy their product or embark on a quest to uncover logo mysteries? Whether it's a swoosh, a bitten apple, a mermaid, golden arches, swirling letters, or a little blue bird, remember that there's always more to a logo than meets the eye.

[chvnnie]

[rec.]

lee minho x reader

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut - MINORS DNI

warnings: soft mean!minho (also possessive), cam girl!reader, use of toys, masturbation (m and f), videotaping/live streamed sex, like a teeeeeeny tiny innocence kink, it’s barely there tbh, dirty talk, use of word: slut, oral fixation, anal, mentions of aftercare but nothing detailed. no strings attached situation but they kinda have mutual feelings for each other bc it’s me and i’m soft. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: it was only a matter of time before minho invited himself into your live streams.

a/n: so i’ve had this idea for a WHILE and have been wanting to write it forever, and now i’m so nervous about it? anyway! hope it doesn’t suck! <333

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

There wasn’t much of anything that surprised Minho anymore.

Years of living with seven men had taught him one thing: whatever you think is least likely to happen is probably the most likely. He’s found out things about his friends, and himself, that he might have been okay not knowing. Minho has also found things that he would prefer not to know about, let alone recognize who it belonged to (“Make sure to put it in your drawer next time.” Minho said as he threw the fleshlight at Changbin’s head.). There were things that repulsed him, things that confused him, things that made him reconsider his own opinions.

That’s why, when Jisung started to screen share a live stream of a cam girl, Minho was almost embarrassed to find himself not even a little bit surprised.

If anything, he was surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

“I swear, dude.” Jisung whispered, wide eyes transfixed on the large screen. “There’s just something about her.”

He was right, there was something about her that drew Minho in, unable to look away. Was it the way the camera was angled, carefully hiding her face from view? Or was it the white and pink lighting, softening the scene so it didn’t feel like you were watching a stranger play with herself? Or maybe it was the way she sat, legs spread out to reveal the pretty pink satin of her panties and the irresistible wet spot that decorated it? The simple babydoll lingerie, that hugged her body in the perfect way that made her seem so sinful yet so innocent? The silver choker with hearts decorating the length of it?

Minho couldn’t say what it was that drew Jisung in, or any of his other friends he was watching the stream with. But he knew what it was for him. It was the glass dildo between the stranger’s lips, moans flowing out of the surround sound speakers.

That’s what Minho was captivated with, because he was the one who bought it for you.

The dildo was released with a pop. You dragged the cold, drool slicked glass down the center of your body, the pressure of it making the hairs on your arms rise.

The quality was so clear on Chan’s tv. Minho was glad he could watch this unfold in his studio.

When the glass finally reached your core, Minho heard Chan mumbled something along the lines of fuck this before the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Following their leader’s actions, Hyunjin and Changbin both pushed their pants down while Felix decided to rub himself over his joggers, all sets of eyes unwavering as they watched you tease yourself. That left Minho and Jisung, sitting side by side on the couch, who had yet to touch themselves. The only reason Jisung hadn’t started getting himself off was because of how focused he was on you, pussy drunk from just the way you looked on screen. Minho’s reason was simpler than his; he didn’t want to.

Why would he when he knew he was going to see you when the stream was over.

Actually, if he wanted to get to your place in time, he should probably leave now.

Minho pushed himself off the couch, none of his friends noticing. “You guys are perverts.” He said with a smirk, hand on the doorknob. “Want me to close this on the way out?”

The only one mentally present enough to respond was Chan, who threw a quick “fuck you” over his shoulder before turning back to the lewd entertainment.

Before the door shut, Minho got one last look at Jisung’s face. His jaw was now dropped, eyes almost sparkling as he studied the way you fucked yourself with the dildo. Still not touching himself, Jisung just stared in wonder as if your cunt was the most magnificent thing in the world.

He wouldn’t be wrong. It is. Minho can vouch for it.

//

The shower was running when Minho let himself in. Untying his shoes, your cat greeted him, bell ringing as she ran to him. Minho squatted, meeting her at eye level. She nuzzled her head in his large hands, purring loud enough to make his hand vibrate.

Minho had always loved your apartment. You complained about the size often, saying you didn’t have enough space or that nothing seemed to fit, but he found it cozy. Your couch was like a cloud, Minho often finding himself sinking into it without even trying (like he was now). Many throw blankets surrounded him, always making this decision the hardest one. How could he pick when they were all the very definition of comfort? It was nearly impossible.

He ended up picking a white yarn blanket, wrapping himself in its warmth. The best thing about these blankets? The hints of raspberry and pomegranate that always wafted off of them. The smell of your favorite lotion.

It was a safe place, your apartment. He found it harder and harder to walk away each time.

Minho clicked on the tv, cuddling with your cat as he waited for you to finish showering. He had watched your live on the drive over - there was no way he would ever miss one of your streams - and judging from the orgasm you had, you were probably trying to relieve more pressure in the shower.

Fine by him. He would make you cum as much he wanted, regardless of how overstimulated you were.

The bathroom door opened, steam curling out of the humid room. Out you walked, large shirt and no shorts, hair tied up in a bun and face mask on. You were distracted by your phone, walking right past Minho into the kitchen before you realized the tv was on.

Poking your head out, you cocked it at him. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Are you disappointed?”

A sly smile creeped on your face, making the face mask crack where it had dried. “You know I never am. Just wasn’t expecting you. Want anything to drink?”

It usually happens like this. Either you invite Minho, or he shows up unannounced, the two of you watch whatever show requires the least amount of attention, sometimes food is ordered when the show is on, sometimes after Minho is done fucking you wherever in the apartment he deemed fit. Already the night is on track to go down its normal route.

But Minho had a different route in mind.

He returned your smile. “Tea?”

The tea was forgotten before it got a chance to cool.

Your back was against the couch, arching up to meet Minho’s middle. His kisses were always calculated; he knew exactly how to make you break with only his tongue against yours, and when to do it. Kissing you was a detailed process, one that he loved to repeat over and over again.

Right now, his kisses were still slow. Drawn out. Committing your taste to memory. Mint tea. Vanilla chapstick. The lingering taste of your core from earlier.

God, it’s his favorite.

Minho pulled away from your lips, placing kisses along your jaw. “Watched your stream today.” His warm breath fanning across the wet kisses made your body shiver. “Did you like your present, baby?”

You giggled, hands sliding up underneath his shirt. His lips had moved to your ear, purposely skimming past the spot that always made you melt. Minho liked the way you squirmed when he narrowly avoids that spot, so his kisses continued their torture close by. “So much, Min. Felt so good inside me.”

“Looked like it.” One hand creeped up your shirt and rested on your belly, thumb rubbing soft circles on your warm skin. “You looked so pretty, stuffing your cunt with it. And the way it shined when you pulled it out? Fuck, it made me drool.”

Just like kissing you was thoroughly thought out, so was the methodical way Minho would rile you up. Kisses barely brushing against your favorite spots, soft touches near your core, everything extremely gentle while his words were something completely different; rough, dirty, harsh.

It was his way of foreshadowing what was to come.

“All I could think about is how much I wanted to be the one to fuck you with it.” Nips mixed in with the kisses, thumb grazing your panty line. “How much I wanted to be the one to make you cum like that while hundreds watched.”

The nails scratching his back paused, and Minho had to resist the urge to smile. This wasn’t the first time he had brought up a possible feature in your streams, but it was the most direct way he’s ever mentioned it. Most of the time, you took it as a joke, laughing the thought off as soon as it was brought up.

He had always meant it, though. There was nothing Minho wanted more than to show all your faithful viewers how good he fucks you. Especially after finding out a few of those viewers were his friends.

The scratching resumed as if they had never stopped. “Sounds a bit possessive, hm? What happened to not getting attached?”

Minho moved his head out of your neck to look at you. He hovered his lips over yours, waiting for you to bring yours in. As soon as you were close enough to him, he moved his back slightly, making you chase his lips. He chuckled as he watched you helplessly try to close the gap and press your lips on his. Minho gripped your chin to still it, stopping your attempts.

“Who said anything about being attached?” Minho bit your bottom lip, tugging it as far as he could before releasing it.

Less than 90 minutes at your apartment, and you were readying your room for a second stream. Minho watched you carefully position the camera to keep both of your faces out of view. You had changed into a matching bra and panty set, almost as sweet as the lingerie you wore just hours ago. White and lacy, perfectly hiding your intimate areas, you looked so innocent.

He couldn’t wait to break that persona.

Minho sat close to the foot of your bed with you in between his spread legs. Your fingers moved quickly across your phone screen, preparing your page to go live. Before hitting the blue broadcast button, you turned to look at him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked, voice completely steady and serious. “You can back out whenever you want to.”

It was a sincere statement. Minho could call it, and you would end the stream, no questions asked. Trying to ignore the way your concern made his heart skip a beat, he leaned in and kissed you deeply as a response.

While kissing, Minho reached around you to take your phone. You didn’t even open your eyes as he tapped the button, starting his debut on your channel.

Once sure the camera was rolling, Minho dropped the phone onto the bed next to you. One hand snuck up and held the back of your neck, keeping you still as he kissed you deeper. At the feeling of his tongue tickling the back of yours, a soft moan traveled between the two of you. It encouraged Minho to kiss you deeper, wanting to make them louder and louder.

Your legs spread out more, knees knocking against his. He didn’t have to look to see what you were doing, hips grinding against your bed for some kind of friction.

“Tsk. Needy, needy, needy.” He whispered against your lips as his other hand went to your thigh, only encouraging you to roll your hips more.

You placed your hand on top of his, eager to have it on your core. Just before he was about to meet it, Minho moved his hand, placing a smack on your inner thigh. You broke the kiss, head falling back as you moaned.

“I’ll touch you when I’m ready. Don’t get greedy just because the camera is on.” He hissed, tugging your head back up to look at him. Minho was sure the grip on your neck was hurting you - he had always been a bit heavy handed - but the way you were looking at him, eyes blown with lust, he really didn’t give a shit how much it hurt. You would always take anything he gave you.

“Please?” You whimpered, lips trembling as you began to beg. “Need something, anything-“

Your pleas were cut off by three of Minho’s fingers forcing their way into your mouth. Your eyes widened slightly, but immediately sunk your cheeks in, sucking his fingers wildly.

“God.” Minho groaned, watching as you bobbed your head up and down the length of his fingers. They brushed the back of your throat, and he felt it constrict as you gagged in them. “You can be so fucking annoying when you beg. Did you know that?”

He didn’t know what was more pathetic; the way you nodded your head in agreement, or how hard the sight of you deep throating his fingers made him. Either way, Minho couldn’t take another second of not being buried deep inside of you.

Minho let go of your neck, and moved to get rid of your panties. Once off, he grabbed one ankle at a time and hoisted them over his thighs, spreading you out and exposing you to the camera. He shoved his fingers to the back of your throat one last time, savoring the sweet melody of your gags before pulling them out. A string of drool connected his fingers to your lips, shining under the LED lights.

“What do you think?” His wet fingers found your slit, sliding up and down from clit to hole, making your back arch. “Should I fuck you with my cock, or that pretty glass dildo you used earlier?”

The giggle that fell from your lips was sinful, making Minho’s brain short circuit. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyelashes batting sweetly as you stared at him. He always melted at the way you looked at him; eyes like whirlpools in a dark ocean, spinning with desire and trust, and something similar to affection. It made him feel both powerful and helpless at once, wanting to do everything to you and everything for you. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were his.

Your free hand rested on top of his, fingers interlacing. “Both?” You asked, pulling your bottom lip in between your teeth.

Minho raised his eyebrows at you. “At the same time?”

You shrugged, hips beginning to roll against his fingers. “Need to feel all of you…” The hand that was holding his brought it to your lips, tongue slipping out and gingerly licking the tips. “…in all of me.”

Minho groaned as you took his hand into your mouth, letting yourself gag on his fingers once again. You reached behind you, both hands grabbing the waist of his joggers to pull them down while Minho reached for the dildo. Once his length was out, you rubbed your core, coating your fingers in your wetness before you began to stroke him. Toy in hand, he debated how to prep it. He could slide it on your slit like you had just done with his dick-

-but your face when Minho shoved the dildo down his throat, hissing as he choked on it, confirmed that this was a much better option.

Before you could so much as react, the toy had left his mouth and was being shoved as far into your pussy as it could go. A muffled cry fell from your lips, only to be replaced with a louder one as Minho positioned his cock right at your tightest hole, slowly pushing you down on him.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He grunted, biting down on your shoulder as he bottomed out in your ass. Pausing, Minho watched your face as you adjusted to being completely filled. Only when your breathing evened out, lips feebly sucking on his fingers again, did he start to move. His thrusts were deep, yet slow, letting both you and him feel every little sensation. He grabbed the dildo with his free hand, twisting it as he fucked you with it at the same pace.

Minho compared sex with you to dancing. Every second of it required his entire attention, each step as detailed as the last. But the steps were always changing, always unpredictable, matching the tempo of whatever song he was moving too. He had to calculate every moment as it was happening, never wanting to be caught off guard.

But, no matter how calculated, methodical, or thorough Minho is, you always found some way to surprise the man who hardly ever was.

His fingers muffled your words, causing him to miss what you were saying. Pulling them out, he gave you a chance to speak. You took a second to breathe, letting your lungs refill before you spoke. “Harder.”

There was nothing for him to do other than completely ruin you at this point. After he processed your request, Minho shoved his fingers back down your throat. At the same time, he slammed his cock into your ass, barely registering how loud you were crying next to his ear. His wrist began to ache at the speed at which he was fucking your pussy with the dildo, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to be concerned.

“Is this what you wanted? Huh?” He snapped at you, fucking into you faster and harder than he ever had. “To have all your needy little holes stuffed by me while hundreds of people watch? God-“ Minho’s lips attached to your neck, sucking harshly. His brain was beginning to break from everything; the moans mixing with the sounds of your pussy, the feeling of your tight hole clenching around him, your body shaking against his. All he wanted was to cum, while also never wanting this moment to end. “It’s like your holes were made for me, fuck.”

Your hands flew to his forearms, nails digging into them as your breaths sped up and the movement of your tongue slowed down.

“Look at me.” Minho whispered, voice low so as not to be picked up by the mic. When you faced him, he withdrew his hand from your mouth and kissed you. Tongues clashing, he took the hand that previously occupied your mouth and rubbed your clit, wrist popping as he moved quickly. “Look at me.” He repeated against your lips, refusing to slow down any movement. “Look at me while you cum like the pretty slut you are for me.”

And so, you did. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you spasmed, skin tingling as your orgasm coursed through your body. As you came, Minho couldn’t help but think of Jisung and the way he stared at you this afternoon. The way he watched your movements like a predator hunting his prey, not wanting to miss a single second of it. If only could see how you looked now, if only he could look into the depths of your eyes and watch as absolute pleasure took over your body. He almost felt sad his friend didn’t get to see this.

But, then again, he didn’t. Because that was the best part; anybody could watch you come, hundreds did on a regular basis. But only Minho got to see you come. Only Minho got to witness the beauty that was your orgasms - the sweat dripping down your temples, the beat of your heart against his body, the all consuming sparkle of your eyes, the prickle of your skin.

It was art.

And it was only for Minho to see.

He came as he watched you break, body overwhelmed with pleasure and something he was too afraid to name. Once he was sure your high was over, Minho pulled the dildo out of you and lifted you off his lap. He looked over your shoulder, watching the cum spill out of you with glazed over eyes. Minho scooped some of his cum off of you and spread it across your pussy, not stopping until it was painted with his release, claiming you one last time before ending the stream.

Positive that the live had ended, Minho wrapped his arms around you and fell backwards on the bed. You mindlessly wrapped yourself around him, head resting on his chest as you clung to him. He gently stroked your arm, trying to help you come down.

It was in the post sex silence that your words from earlier came back to Minho. Possessive. Attached. He desperately wanted to ignore them, but they wouldn’t leave his head; knocking over and over again like a woodpecker on his brain.

What changed? When did no attachment become attachment? Was it when you gave him a key to your apartment, and he accepted? Or how he always stayed the night when you asked him to? Or when he bought clothes and toiletries to keep here after you had cleared out drawers for him? It could be a number of other things too - maybe it was when he realized he had a favorite blanket here, or when your scent began to bring him comfort, or even when he learned your preferred pad and tampon brand.

When did Minho start falling for you?

Soft snores brought his attention back to you. You had fallen asleep on his chest, hands clenched in fist by your chest and a leg thrown over his hips. There was no way you were comfortable like that, especially still covered in multiple bodily fluids. But no matter how much he knew he needed to wake you, Minho couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed and covered you up so you wouldn’t get cold. His fingers tangled in your hair, scratching your head softly as you fell deeper into sleep.

Minho struggled to recognize the attachment, but the possessiveness he was aware of. He didn’t see it in the amount of times he referred to you as his while fucking you, or how he got lost in your eyes when you came, or even in the way he smeared his cum all over your cunt tonight.

No, he saw it in the way you slept. Eyes fluttering as you began to dream, soft snores making his eyes grow heavy. You always looked so peaceful as you slept, so pure and innocent in a way that made him want to protect you.

His possessiveness over you could be summed up in one sentence:

Minho would burn the whole world to the ground to insure that he was the only person who gets to watch you sleep.

taglist: @lix-ables

©: chvnnie 2022

[jtrahan]

Tech Support

You work tech support at a company that makes robot butlers, and every day people call you to complain that their brand new robot butler keeps serving soft boiled eggs when it has clearly been instructed to make them poached. “Please hold for a moment,” you say. You push back your chair and walk down past the long line of other workers hunched over their monitors or jabbering into headsets and you push open the door to the prototype room, where a dozen robot butlers are preparing eggs at stoves all around the edge. There is a lot of egg on the floor and there is egg on the ceiling and egg dripping from the light fixtures. One of the robots has begun stirring its bowl of egg faster and faster, inhumanly fast, and the whisk abruptly flies out of it hands and embeds itself in the wall. “I can’t do this anymore!” shrieks another of the butlers, and it begins to advance on its handlers, electric mixer raised above its head. A SWAT team bursts in through the door and guns the robot down in a hail of bullets, which is unnecessary because you can just shut down all the robots remotely, but ever since the new nationwide robotic police force was established the government has instituted programs providing employment to now indigent SWAT teams, and they only know one way to do things.

You sort of just take it all in for a bit, and then you go back to your cubicle and pick up the phone. “Listen,” you tell the customer on the other end, “You don’t need a robot butler. They’re completely useless. The only reason they exist at all is because some people have too much money and they can’t stand the idea of just giving it away. Our entire economy is built on inventing expensive new kinds of garbage to sell in the hope that eventually a tiny amount of money will trickle back over to the people who actually need it. Take the robot, and--”

The side of your cubicle explodes inward as another SWAT team smashes through the wall, screaming at you to get on the ground so that you can be properly fired. Almost at the same moment the other side of the cubicle explodes as a team of HR representatives smashes through that wall, thick employee handbooks strapped to their chests and limbs like body armor, screaming that you can’t be fired because the damage control following your outburst has created so many jobs for company lawyers and publicists that you’ve actually saved the local economy. You watch the SWAT team and HR reps create jobs for the nearby hospital by beating the shit out of each other for a while, and then you quietly slip away and out the side door.

Someone is running across the employee parking lot in the distance. As you approach you realize it is the deranged robot butler from earlier, somehow slipped out past security, body riddled with bullet holes, electric mixer still clutched in its fist. It is staring at the sun and there are motor oil tears leaking from its eye sockets.

You watch as it feverishly rushes for the edge of the parking lot. The robot vaults the guard rail, sprinting towards freedom, and is immediately run over by a self-driving car.

[nasa]

Discovering the Universe Through the Constellation Orion

Do you ever look up at the night sky and get lost in the stars? Maybe while you’re stargazing, you spot some of your favorite constellations. But did you know there’s more to constellations than meets the eye? They’re not just a bunch of imaginary shapes made up of stars — constellations tell us stories about the universe from our perspective on Earth.

What is a constellation?

A constellation is a named pattern of stars that looks like a particular shape. Think of it like connecting the dots. If you join the dots — stars, in this case — and use your imagination, the picture would look like an object, animal, or person. For example, the ancient Greeks believed an arrangement of stars in the sky looked like a giant hunter with a sword attached to his belt, so they named it after a famous hunter in their mythology, Orion. It’s one of the most recognizable constellations in the night sky and can be seen around the world. The easiest way to find Orion is to go outside on a clear night and look for three bright stars close together in an almost-straight line. These three stars represent Orion's belt. Two brighter stars to the north mark his shoulders, and two more to the south represent his feet.

Credit: NASA/STScI

Over time, cultures around the world have had different names and numbers of constellations depending on what people thought they saw. Today, there are 88 officially recognized constellations. Though these constellations are generally based on what we can see with our unaided eyes, scientists have also invented unofficial constellations for objects that can only be seen in gamma rays, the highest-energy form of light.

Perspective is everything

The stars in constellations may look close to each other from our point of view here on Earth, but in space they might be really far apart. For example, Alnitak, the star at the left side of Orion's belt, is about 800 light-years away. Alnilam, the star in the middle of the belt, is about 1,300 light-years away. And Mintaka, the star at the right side of the belt, is about 900 light-years away. Yet they all appear from Earth to have the same brightness. Space is three-dimensional, so if you were looking at the stars that make up the constellation Orion from another part of our galaxy, you might see an entirely different pattern!

The superstars of Orion

Now that we know a little bit more about constellations, let’s talk about the supercool cosmic objects that form them – stars! Though over a dozen stars make up Orion, two take center stage. The red supergiant Betelgeuse (Orion's right shoulder) and blue supergiant Rigel (Orion's left foot) stand out as the brightest members in the constellation.

Credit: Derrick Lim

Betelgeuse is a young star by stellar standards, about 10 million years old, compared to our nearly 5 billion-year-old Sun. The star is so huge that if it replaced the Sun at the center of our solar system, it would extend past the main asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter! But due to its giant mass, it leads a fast and furious life.

Betelgeuse is destined to end in a supernova blast. Scientists discovered a mysterious dimming of Betelgeuse in late 2019 caused by a traumatic outburst that some believed was a precursor to this cosmic event. Though we don’t know if this incident is directly related to an imminent supernova, there’s a tiny chance it might happen in your lifetime. But don't worry, Betelgeuse is about 550 light-years away, so this event wouldn't be dangerous to us – but it would be a spectacular sight.

Rigel is also a young star, estimated to be 8 million years old. Like Betelgeuse, Rigel is much larger and heavier than our Sun. Its surface is thousands of degrees hotter than Betelgeuse, though, making it shine blue-white rather than red. These colors are even noticeable from Earth. Although Rigel is farther from Earth than Betelgeuse (about 860 light-years away), it is intrinsically brighter than its companion, making it the brightest star in Orion and one of the brightest stars in the night sky.

Credit: Rogelio Bernal Andreo

Buckle up for Orion’s belt

Some dots that make up constellations are actually more than one star, but from a great distance they look like a single object. Remember Mintaka, the star at the far right side of Orion's belt? It is not just a single star, but actually five stars in a complex star system.

Credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/GSFC/M. Corcoran et al.; Optical: Eckhard Slawik

Sword or a stellar nursery?

Below the three bright stars of Orion’s belt lies his sword, where you can find the famous Orion Nebula. The nebula is only 1,300 light-years away, making it the closest large star-forming region to Earth. Because of its brightness and prominent location just below Orion’s belt, you can actually spot the Orion Nebula from Earth! But with a pair of binoculars, you can get a much more detailed view of the stellar nursery. It’s best visible in January and looks like a fuzzy “star” in the middle of Orion’s sword.

More to discover in constellations

In addition to newborn stars, Orion also has some other awesome cosmic objects hanging around. Scientists have discovered exoplanets, or planets outside of our solar system, orbiting stars there. One of those planets is a giant gas world three times more massive than Jupiter. It’s estimated that on average there is at least one planet for every star in our galaxy. Just think of all the worlds you may be seeing when you look up at the night sky!

It’s also possible that the Orion Nebula might be home to a black hole, making it the closest known black hole to Earth. Though we may never detect it, because no light can escape black holes, making them invisible. However, space telescopes with special instruments can help find black holes. They can observe the behavior of material and stars that are very close to black holes, helping scientists find clues that can lead them closer to discovering some of these most bizarre and fascinating objects in the cosmos.

Next time you go stargazing, remember that there’s more to the constellations than meets the eye. Let them guide you to some of the most incredible and mysterious objects of the cosmos — young stars, brilliant nebulae, new worlds, star systems, and even galaxies!

To keep up with the most recent stellar news, follow NASA Universe on Twitter and Facebook.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[tarisilmarwen]

I just love how... messy Rebellion Era Jedi are.

Half of them are traumatized survivors of Order 66, trying to cope with the near-total violent eradication of their home, their friends, and everything they ever knew, often in unhealthy ways.  (Cere cut herself off from the Force, Caleb changed his name, buried his identity, and turned to drinking, Cal suppressed his Force abilities so badly he had to relearn all of them.)  Most of them were children when the Order fell, far too young to have everything ripped away from them, half-trained and frightened and constantly on the run.  Running away from the pain, from the trauma, from who they are.  Moving from place to place, trying to find somewhere, some safe haven, some remnant left of the Jedi Order, someone they can trust, who still remembers the Jedi as they are and not who the Empire has decreed them to be.

The older ones didn’t escape the trauma either; they had spent their entire lives as Jedi and now suddenly everything was gone and everyone was dead and they could no longer practice their culture or beliefs for fear of discovery, they had to take everything they knew and go underground, hiding who they were and escaping to preserve what remnants of their Order remained.  (Jocasta desperately trying to save and protect the gathered knowledge in the Archives and libraries, Obi-Wan and Yoda forced into isolation and hermitage with nothing but the Force and their memories.)

Imagine the constant fear and paranoia they must have felt.  Can this person or this person be trusted?  If their secret is revealed, will they be ratted out?  Rejected?  Cast aside like vagrants or turned over to the Empire relentlessly hunting them down for crimes they didn’t commit?  After all if the clones could betray them—their closest friends and brothers-in-arms, that they fought alongside for years—if they could just turn on them within the blink of an eye, how could they be safe anywhere in the galaxy?  Imagine the poisonous lies they had to swallow, had to bite back rebuttals against, any time anyone talked shit about their Order, crowed about the glorious Empire and its Emperor, the man who had orchestrated the murder of their people.  Imagine knowing the truth, the horror and destruction, and not being able to speak about it.  Being utterly alone in a galaxy that was once filled with bright lights, lights that in a single horrible moment were snuffed out en masse, a tear in the Force so horrible it’s still reverberating years later.

And then there are the kids born after Order 66, who come into an openly hostile galaxy without any knowledge of the Force, who don’t even know what they are, who have no context for the strange things they just “know” and can do.  The ones that won’t have a supportive community of people like them to help them train and manage their abilities, who will never have that because Palpatine didn’t just wipe out the Jedi, he killed the Nightsisters, neutered the Guardians of the Whills, had the Lasat mass disintegrated, got rid of any other Force discipline besides his own, practically erased all knowledge and memory of them, to consolidate his power.  These kids won’t understand why they get weird feelings, why they’re so oddly lucky, why things move and shake around them when they’re emotional.  They haven’t been taught to be mindful, to be disciplined, to guard themselves against the whispers of the Dark Side.  They’re fidgety, inattentive, impatient, and full of anger.  (Ezra, Leia, Luke.)  The lucky ones can hide their abilities just long enough to escape notice.  The unlucky ones get captured and tortured and experimented on, harvested, turned and then sicced back on people just like them like rabid dogs.

And I live for it when the survivors and the new generation manage to come together, kindred souls drawn to each other by fate and the will of the Force.  Tiny flickering candles of Light finding each other again, gathering strength together, sparking hope wherever they are just by being who they are.  Stumbling awkwardly through half-remembered lessons, reconnecting with their pasts and gaining new futures.  Trying to survive together under a regime that is actively hunting them down and trying to kill them, for who they are, for what they are, for what they remember and know, for the threat they represent against Palpatine’s stranglehold on Force power.  Everything the children of the Force are taught puts them in more danger, everything the survivors manage to teach and pass on paints a bigger target on their backs.

But Jedi can’t not get involved.  The Force itself calls them back into the fight, calls them to inspire hope in the hopeless, to rise up and fight against evil, hold the Darkness back.  Calls them back to themselves, to take up the mantle of Jedi again and stand firm as the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy.  And when the Jedi come out of the shadows, rebels line up behind them, emboldened to take up arms.  The whole Alliance adopts the language of the Jedi (”May the Force be with you.”) and even when their champions fall or go missing they carry on, a movement started and led and encouraged by Jedi (Ahsoka as Fulcrum, Kanan and Ezra, Luke Skywalker) until they topple the Emperor and avenge the dead culture they pay honor to at last.  And young Force Sensitives and Jedi survivors can finally come out of hiding and be safe, rebuild what was lost, come home.

Just... Rebellion Era Jedi, man. 😭

[frodo-with-glasses]

I really like how you draw eowyn could you please do a tutorial or show us tips?

OH. Oh wow! Sure, I’d love to! It’s pretty simple, really.

Step One: Get Head. I have a variety of different face shapes that I use to differentiate characters from each other. I can sorta break it down into three categories:

Face height: Long, Medium, or Short

Jaw shape: Triangle, Square, or Circle

Face fat content: Gaunt, Angular, Average, Soft, or Pudgy

Mixing and matching these gets you different face shapes that you can tailor to express the personalities of the characters. Pippin is short + triangle + soft. Aragorn is long + square + angular. Gaunt and Pudgy face shapes are reserved mostly for Gollum and Sam, respectively. Eowyn falls somewhere in the realm of medium + triangle + soft when it comes to her face shape.

Step Two: Silhouette. I’m only drawing her from the shoulders up here, but the principle is the same when I’m drawing the rest of her body too: think long, slender, and no hard angles. Eowyn has a long, slender neck, narrow wrists, and thin fingers. She has a slight hourglass figure, but she has a tiny bust and her hips are not very wide. I try to keep in mind that when she’s wearing armor, she looks indistinguishable from a young man, so even though she’s pretty, her figure isn’t overly feminine.

Step Three: Eyes. I also have a lot of different eye shapes to choose from! Sam, Pippin, and Legolas are Round, Frodo and Aragorn are Slender, Merry and Gimli are Square, and so on. Eowyn’s eye shape is Round but with a little wing on the side to give the impression of thicker eyelashes. (I also realized on this step that I didn't make her cheek round enough, so I fixed that. I'm always making micro-adjustments like that as I draw.)

Step Four: Face. Again, think “long and slender”. Eowyn has a thin little button nose, a small-ish mouth, and very narrow eyebrows. Her ear shape is one of my rounder ones, but only because I think it’s cute.

Step Five: Hair, The Beginning. So this is where the hard part starts. Most of my characters have hair that either covers their forehead (eg. the hobbits) or doesn’t (eg. elves), but Eowyn’s hair does both. It’s also parted on the side, which makes it asymmetrical. I’ll show you how it works from this angle, but I have to get more creative when I, say, draw her from the other side. (I always have to keep in mind the shape of her hair, imagining it as a 3-D object and drawing it as such.)

So here we're gonna draw the bottom outline of her bangs where they sit on her forehead. Pick an “origin point” on the side of her head, where the hairline sits. Make a little jagged squiggle there to represent the roots of her hair. Then one little S-shaped swoop to show where her hair springs out of that point and then goes behind her ear, and a BIG S-shaped swoop up and then down over one eye. These lines form a slight “m” shape—with the “origin point” in the middle—and that makes the hair look like it has volume and lift, as opposed to just sitting flat on her head.

Step Six: Hair, The Second. With the bottom outline covered, let's take care of the top. Again, hair has volume, so it doesn't sit exactly flat on her scalp, but hovers above it in little hills; the closest it sits to her skin is that line where it's parted on the side of her head. I use faint, loose lines here, just trying to capture the flowing, wavy texture. Think Ariel’s hair from The Little Mermaid; you know, with the iconic swoopy floppy bit right in front of her eyes.

Step Seven: Hair, The Third. Eowyn’s hair goes down to about her mid-back, and it’s very thick and wavy, which I portray by using pretty much only S-shaped lines as I draw. It’s impossible to think about the physics of every strand of hair individually, so I’m drawing it in sort of loose “chunks” or “ropes”, keeping in mind how all those “ropes” would interact with each other and the shape of her body that they’re sitting on. You can see that most clearly in the “rope” of hair that lies on her shoulder. There’s no need to think too hard about this, but I always have it in the back of my mind somewhere.

Step Eight: The Frecklening. Now to add some details, including the lines on her neck and collarbone, the off-the-shoulder dress, and a bajillion freckles. She actually has less freckles on her neck than Pippin does—I concentrate it more on her cheeks and shoulders instead—but it’s still a lot, LOL! They are also on the backs of her arms and hands, where she’s most likely to be touched by the sun.

Step Nine: SHADING. This is why it’s important to think of what you’re drawing as a 3-D object, ‘cause you’re gonna have to work out how light interacts with it. There’s a shadow on her neck under her chin, of course, but where this gets really interesting is when it comes to the hair: because she’s blonde, I don’t shade her hair except a) at the hairline and b) on the bottom side of the waves, where shadows would form.

The darkest shading is on the underside of her hair. Think of it like putting a hood on your head while standing under a lightbulb: the outside of the hood gets light, but the inside, next to your head, is in shadow. Similarly, we can see the shadows on the underside of Eowyn’s hair, and especially under the floppy Ariel bangs. Adding that shadow gives the bangs the illusion of volume, which is exactly what I’m going for.

(EDIT: Forgot to mention that when I'm adding shadows to hair, the lines I'm drawing actually follow the path that the hair takes. The shadows on Eowyn's hair swoop and curve and wave because, well...that's what her hair is doing. There are some exceptions when I'll ignore the texture of hair and just shade it in with straight lines of hatching—especially when it's so dark it won't matter much anyway—but for the most part, "follow the texture" is my rule of thumb.)

Step Ten: DONE! A couple more details—including shading where her hair casts a shadow on her skin, and more freckles—and that’s it!

I hope that helps, Anon! I kinda skimmed over the basics here—like why I draw that + shape as a guideline on the face—but I’m assuming you already have some experience in drawing and just want to know the thought process behind my design. Feel free to send another ask if you need to know anything specific! Thanks for asking!

[theladyofdeath]

Elain lays out a tiny little pumpkin with two bigger pumpkins as a way to tell Azriel she's pregnant but he doesn't get it. Happy Fall!

Ship/Trope: Elriel x pregnancy announcement (modern au) A/N: This prompt makes me want to cry tears of joy. Happy Fall! I hope you like it! T/W: none

Elain looked at the little table she had sitting in the entryway. She had arranged the pumpkins in at least thirty different ways, finding flaws in each arrangement, but finally settled on the way the pumpkins were lined now. With her head cocked to the side, she sighed.

She had tossed in some flowers, making the pumpkins pop among the baby's breath and broomcorn. If she hadn't been so nervous, she would have thought the display was cute as hell. Yet, she felt nauseous as every long, agonizing second on the clock ticked by.

Azriel should be home any minute.

She wished he would hurry.

Elain typically considered herself a pretty patient woman. But now? Every second that passed made her anxiety grow. She had only found out the news the day before and she had been planning to tell him that night, but he had gotten home so late from work and she was already asleep by the time he rolled through the door. She figured that this announcement should be more than a simple roll over in bed and muttered, "Hey, I'm pregnant."

Being the first of October, Elain had recently gone on a pumpkin rampage. She had gone to the pumpkin patch, Azriel in tow, and filled a wagon with pumpkins of all different shapes and sizes. The three she had chosen went from one of the biggest, to one in the middle, then the tiniest one she had gotten to place in the arrangement on their kitchen table.

For now, the three pumpkins sat together on the entryway table. The biggest one to represent Azriel, the mid-sized one to represent herself, then the tiniest to represent how their love had come together and made something far more beautiful then her mind could comprehend.

Elain had just sat down on the couch when she heard her husband's car pull into the driveway. She was instantly on her feet, checking herself in the half-bath's mirror, then waiting by the front door to see his reaction when he caught her display.

The front door opened.

Azriel stepped inside.

And he instantly froze, staring at Elain who was waiting in the foyer, wearing the cutest of dresses with a smile on her face.

He blinked. "Hey."

"Hi," she beamed. "How was your day?"

"Good," he said, slowly, setting his keys down on the table by her pumpkin display. "Yours?"

"Good," she said, a little too quickly. He went to step further inside but she blocked his path. "Do you notice anything different?"

Azriel's eyes grazed down Elain's body. "Um...new dress?"

It was, but she shook her head. "Look again."

Azriel huffed a laugh before looking around him. "Uhh...babe, I'm sorry, but I'm so tired. I have no idea."

Elain's smile faltered. "Are you sure?" She gestured to her pumpkins, hoping to make it painfully obvious.

Azriel stared at the pumpkins for a few seconds before giving her a smile. "Oh, of course, you put out the pumpkins. They look great, babe."

He went to step further inside but Elain blocked his path, once more. "Is there anything that you notice about my pumpkins?"

Azriel's sleepy smile wavered as he looked at the pumpkins, once more. Elain could tell that he was trying his best, even after his long day at work. "They're....all....round?"

"No. Well, yeah, but look at the sizes--"

"They're all orange," he stated, gesturing to the pumpkins with a hand on his hip. "I mean, that's nice--"

"I'm pregnant," Elain blurted.

Azriel froze, eyes darting to Elain. For a minute, they watched one another in silence. "What?"

"I'm pregnant," she breathed, eyes welling up with tears. "That's what the little pumpkin was supposed to represent. A baby, Az, I'm having a baby. We're having a baby."

Azriel's eyes fluttered to the pumpkin, then back to Elain. "We're having a baby?"

Elain nodded as her tears welled and spilled over, onto her cheeks. "Yeah, we're having a baby."

She feared his reaction as he said nothing but then he stepped forward and took his wife into his arms, sweeping her off the ground. Spinning her around, he peppered her lips and neck with kisses as she laughed, her arms around his neck.

Once he set her back on the ground, he leaned back, eyes lined with tears. There were very few times that Elain saw Azriel get emotional: at their wedding the first time he saw her, every year on the anniversary of his mother's death, and now. A tear fell down his cheek and crossed the smile that was beautifully displayed on his lips.

"You're sure?" he whispered, and Elain's heart beat a little bit faster as she nodded. When he kissed her this time, it was soft and sweet and gentle. "You have no idea how happy I am."

"Me too," she promised, and Azriel looked back at her little pumpkin display with a smile before brushing her hair back and holding her close against his chest.

Elain could see it, could see the future. A baby, half her and half him, with two loving parents that would do anything for them. Azriel would be a fantastic father, Elain had no doubt. She couldn't wait to watch him fill that role.

Completely forgetting his exhaustion, Azriel led Elain further inside and to the couch, where he pulled her onto his lap and they talked about that future that would soon be theirs.

[sunrisefairy]

My muse

Pairing: Art student!Sirius x reader Warning: NSFW! MDNI 18+, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, if I’ve forgotten anything please let me know! Summary: Sirius is struggling with an art assignment until he finds inspiration in his girlfriend. Or the one when Sirius and reader bang on a canvas.  A/N: wrote this for @anxiousblanketqueen writing challenge, I had a lot of fun with this one Jill so I hope you enjoy it too. Based of the prompt Art Sex. This article is helpful with visualising the art work!

Taglist: if you’re crossed out i couldn’t tag you @theweasleyslut​ @anxiousblanketqueen​ @accioweaslcy​ @widowdays​ @inglourious-imagines​ @garbdump​ @star-sunshine-sage​ @weelittleweasley​ @a-dusty-emerald​ @starlightkell​ @omghufflepuff​ @weasleysprincess​ @j-amespotter​ @gryffindorgirl To be added to the taglist click here 

“Oh my god this is fucking bullshit!” Sirius groans before throwing his paint brush, it landing with a clatter on the hardwood floor of his art studio.

You hear all the commotion from the kitchen and decided to check in on your boyfriend. It was nearing the end of the term and Sirius had been very agitated and snappy from all the stress.

“You okay babe?” you poke your head through the door to see Sirius standing in the middle of the room, practically death staring a half-finished painting resting on one of his wooden easels.

“Fucking bullshit,” your boyfriend mumbles, clenching and unclenching his paint stained hands.

You slowly walk up to him and wind your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his white cotton t-shirt, “wanna talk to me about it?” you whisper.

Sirius twists in your grip until he’s facing you allowing you to get a good look at him; his shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched tightly from the pressure of school and his eyebrows are furrowed which has become a regular facial expression of him the past few weeks. You reach your hand up and delicately trace the worry lines in his forehead. Sirius immediately relaxes at your touch; his faces becomes more natural and his shoulders slump. Since dating Sirius you’ve come to understand how much he struggles to talk about his feelings. He doesn’t like dumping his problems on those around him as it makes him feel like a burden. So you try your best to be patient with him and always remind him you’ll be here no matter what.

“Just stressed about school,” Sirius murmurs his eyes looking down at the floor between your bodies.

You let your hand fall down to his shoulders, lightly squeezing, “yeah? What about school?”

Sirius’ hands find their way under the t-shirt you’re wearing which evidently is one of his that you’ve stolen, he lets his fingers trace patterns on your warm skin. “Just this one assignment is making me go insane. Can’t seem to get it right.” He gestures to the canvas sitting in the middle of the room.

If you’re being honest, anything Sirius paints leaves you memorised and evokes numerous emotions from you. You are constantly telling your boyfriend how talented he is and every time he’ll roll his eyes at your compliment. “I think it looks amazing babe,” you state truthfully.

To no surprise, Sirius rolls his eyes at your comment. “yes, well you have to say that ‘cos you’re my girlfriend.”

Sirius leaves your embrace and walks back over to the painting, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning so intensely you think laser beam might shoot from his eyes and through this artwork. He starts mumbling again, irritation is laced thickly on his words, “representation of raw love,” he mocks, “what a load of utter crap. My professor is so pretentious, the only instruction he gives us for this stupid bloody assignment is ‘make a piece which represents raw love’ what does that even mean? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s fucking bullshit.”

You shuffle closer to Sirius so you’re standing at his side, both staring at his current piece. You’re not really sure how to help, you’re no artist but you hate seeing Sirius so worked up. “What are other people in your class doing for the assignment? Maybe you can gather inspiration from them?”

Sirius shrugs and stuffs his hands in his dark jeans which are covered in paint splatters, “Kirra’s doing a photography piece of her husband and kids, Gage is making some sculpture of his dog.”

“Alright,” you pause for a brief moment “well maybe think of ways people show love or how you show love, like real emotional love ya’know?” you feel like you’re grasping at straws here and making up some bullshit.

You glance over at Sirius, he’s biting his bottom lip deep in thought, you stay silent not really knowing what else to say to assist him. Slowly a look of realisation washes over your boyfriend’s face, eyes wide and a grin gracing his lips. “Holy shit baby, you’re a genius!”

Butterflies erupt deep in your belly from the praise and you giggle when Sirius starts peppering your face with tiny kisses to show his gratitude. Eventually he connects your lips together in what you thought would be a short but sweet kiss. However, you squeak in surprise when Sirius quickly deepens the kiss, his hands gripping tightly at your waist before slowly moving them down to grope at your arse.

“You should probably get working on your project then Sirius,” you breathe against his mouth, disappointed to stop things before they get too heated but you know Sirius’ inspiration comes and goes in waves and if you wait until after the two of you get off, then he might fall back into feeling unmotivated again.

“I am working on it,” you pull away confusion all over your face.

“What do you mean?” you query.

Sirius chuckles and moves away from you to move the canvas and easel to the edge of the room out of the way, he starts laying out a large piece of cream canvas fabric on the floor. “Think about it, what’s a way people show love?” he asks you, squirting numerous colours of paint carelessly onto the fabric.

“Babe there’s a lot of way people show love,” you answer puzzled, what did making out with you have to do with his piece? And why was he now squirting colours onto a blank canvas.

Sirius continues, “yes I know that but what about a raw, emotional way people show love? a primal way to show love so to speak?”

When you finally look back up at Sirius’ face you’re met with a cheeky smirk that you know all too well. It’s not until he removes his shirt do you connect the dots. “Sirius I’m not letting you fuck me on this canvas for a university project for god’s sake.”

The raven-haired boy’s grin only widens as he slowly moves closer to you, his eyes burning into your skin. You feel hot and vulnerable under his gaze, it’s like he’s stalking his prey. Your breath hitches in your throat when Sirius’ body is pressed flush against your own and you can feel his hot breath fanning your face as he speaks in a low, hushed tone, “I’m not going to fuck you,” his voice drops an octave like it does when he’s feeling horny. Just the tone of his voice alone causes a wetness to pool in your panties. “Wanna make love to you baby. Wanna show you how much I love you, can I do that darlin’?”

You bite your lip trying to swallow the moan that is threatening to spill from your mouth when Sirius starts leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. Damn Sirius Black for knowing all your weak spots.

“Just want to make you feel good baby girl,” he tugs the off t-shirt your body. “Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?”

You close your eyes and focus on Sirius’ large hands cupping and massaging your breasts tenderly, you always were putty in his hands. Fuck it you thought. “Yes, please make love to me Sirius.”

The boy grins and whispers a thank you against your skin. He takes no time in removing both of your clothes until you’re standing in front of each other naked. You and Sirius take the opportunity to study each other. You gaze over all the curves and lines on Sirius’ body, the way his muscle flex and move, the freckle on his hip bone, the tiny scar on his left shoulder, the coarse hair of his happy trail. He was beautiful, stunning, breathtaking. And he was all yours.

Sirius helps you lay down against the canvas, you gasp at the cold, squishy feeling of the paint beneath you. It feels foreign but not unwelcoming, you wriggle a little, enjoying the way the substance slides around. Sirius kneels between your legs, relishing in the way your chest is already rising and falling frantically from arousal, “so gorgeous darlin,” he traces a finger down from your collar bone all the way to your core finding it soaked already.

You squirm when Sirius teases your entrance with his finger, the cold paint moving and mixing into the canvas under you. A quiet whine escapes your lips the moment Sirius pushes his index finger inside you and starts pumping it steadily.

“Need you to be loud for me baby, want to know how good I make you feel ‘kay?” Sirius commands trying to get into a comfortable position in between your spread legs, his body sliding slighting from the paint.

You answer him with a loud moan. Soon Sirius has added 2 more fingers into the mix causing you to wriggle and rock your hips into his hand, “so good Sirius, fuck.”

With his free hand, Sirius grips your thigh trying to keep you still, blue paint smears against the soft flesh of your thigh and Sirius is captured by how striking you look laying here right now, chest flushed, and eyes closed. The way your body is squirming from pleasure is causing the paint on the canvas to blend and mix together. Sirius scoops up some red paint from the fabric and swipes it across your breasts and over your nipples, “so pretty.” He mumbles tugging and pinching your nipples.

“Sirius,” you pant desperately, “please. Need more.”

Sirius withdraws his fingers earning a whine from you and strokes his cock a few times before lining it up with your entrance, “shh darlin’. M’here to make you feel good, yeah? Want me to make you feel good?”

You wrap your legs around him urging him to finally push into you. You needed it, needed to feel Sirius stretch you out and fill you up with his cock, needed to hear Sirius gasp and groan into your ear, needed to feel him rock his hips into yours, “please Sirius.”

With a low groan escapes from both of you when Sirius finally pushes into you, Sirius begins thrusting his hips deep and slow into yours, both of your relishing in the feeling and sensation coursing your bodies. Hands around running along the others body, squeezing, tugging, scratching at skin, leaving traces of paint in its wake. Sirius has buried his head in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek, mumbling how beautiful you look spread out for him.

Deeper, you need it deeper. Wrapping your legs tightly around your boyfriend, you manage to roll the two of you over, Sirius underneath you with you straddling his waist, allowing you to bounce of his cock. From this angle, he reaches deeper inside of you, his hard cock prodding at that sponging spot inside of you. The pure affection and love the two of you feel for each other was unmistakeable in this moment. The tenderness and intimacy of this act made your toes tingle and heart warm in your chest.

Continuing to bounce up and down on Sirius cock, you take a second to watch the boy below you, the only word seemingly fitting to describe him was angelic. His dark locks are sprawled out around the canvas, a mixture of red, blue and purple paint framing his body as well as splotches on his skin. His eyes are trained on yours, a look set in them that you’ve come to be familiar with, undying love.

You lower your head to connect your lips together, wanting-no needing to feel close, to feel connected.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly against Sirius’ pink lips. You feel that familiar euphoric sensation creeping up on you, Sirius’ cock hitting your g-spot every time you lower your body.

Sirius’ grips your waist tight and firmly, his own hips slamming up into you, “I love you too baby, so much.” He can feel your pussy clenching around him, he watches the way your breasts bounce between your bodies, he reaches his head forward to latch his mouth onto your nipple, sucking and licking on the sensitive bud. The noises slipping from your mouth makes his cock twitch.

“Sirius,” you pant threading your fingers through his dark hair to keep him close to your body.

Your body feels like it’s on fire and ready to combust, your legs trembling, and you know you won’t last much longer with the way Sirius is suckling at your nipple and he knows it.

“Want you to cum for me darlin, be my good girl and cum on my cock,” he groans into your breast, sucking and licking at your salty skin.

The coil in the pit of your belly snaps and with a load high pitched whine you’re releasing all over Sirius’ cock, your pussy clenching and legs shaking from the stimulation. After your release, it only takes Sirius a few more thrusts until he’s following suit, his load shooting and filling you up, a string of I love you’s tumbling from both of your mouths.

You collapse onto Sirius’ chest, neither of you make any effort to move even once your breathing has settled. Laying here with Sirius made you feel safe and protected. The way his index finger was trailing up and down your spine made you shiver, and you could feel him kissing your scalp gently. Undeniably, there was love radiating from his body, you could feel it and you only hope he could feel it radiating from yours too.

~~~

“Hey guys, that painting hanging up in the bedroom is new, yeah?” James questions, traipsing back into the living room where the rest of the group was.

You feel a heat rise in your cheeks when you realise which painting the bespectacled boy is referring too. Sirius nods pulling you tighter into his side.

“Did you paint that one Pads?” Remus asks. Most, if not all the artwork displayed in yours and Sirius’ home was created by him. It normally took a bit of persuading Sirius to let you hang up his work, he didn’t like to come across as cocky. But as soon as this canvas was dried and stretched onto a frame Sirius wasted no time in mounting it; above your shared bed, him claiming it ‘gets him in the mood whenever he looks at it’ (and he really wasn’t lying).

The boy beside you grins and plants a sloppy kiss against your cheek, “me and Y/N painted that one,” he says teasingly.

You shoot him a death glare warning him to keep his big mouth shut. “Don’t,” you mouth.

“That’s so cool! Didn’t know you were so artistic Y/N!” James exclaims excitedly, clearly impressed by the painting.

Sirius chuckles loudly pinching your side making you yelp, “oh she’s very talented when he comes to that type of stuff. I think we might need to make another piece together babe, what do you think?”

[lubdubsworld]

物の哀れ ( ‘the sadness of things’.)

Characters : Alpha! Jungkook x Omega ! OC.

ABO Dynamics.

Genre : Arranged Marriage / Temporary contractual Marriage.

Warnings : Non- Con/ Extremely Dubious Consent . High functioning alcoholism. Genre related consent issues. Implied suicidal thoughts. 

Summary : A recently widowed Jungkook agrees to a contract marriage to keep his company afloat. His grief overwhelms him and it is hard to look at his new wife as anything other than an intruder .

[  Author’s Note :  物の哀れ ~ Mono no aware can be translated as ‘the sadness of things’. It comes from the words 物 (mono – thing) and 哀れ (aware – poignancy or pathos). The ‘sadness’ in question comes from an awareness of the transience of things, as taught by Zen Buddhism. When we view something exceptionally beautiful, we might feel sad because we know it won’t stay so beautiful forever – but appreciation only heightens the pleasure we take in the beautiful thing in that moment. ]

Chapter 1

 Chapter 2

I wrapped the white wool shawl tighter around my shoulders. The night was still chilly and the and smelt faintly of impending rain. Why they would plan a party outside while it rained, was beyond me.

After my little skirmish with Jungkook, I had found Namjoon quickly only to be told that we couldn’t leave for another hour at least because there was a  certain investor who wanted to meet Namjoon . The guy was running late and he had to wait for him. So here I stood, shivering lightly, all while keeping an eye on my husband as he got progressively drunk.

Namjoon’s words made me sigh a little.

“You can’t decide what someone else’s normal is, Namjoon. Especially when it comes to grief.  But the drinking is an issue. And you’re right about the therapist. I know she’s doing her best but I’m not sure if she has the right answers for him. Or even the right tools to help him.”

“I’ve been searching up on therapists who specialize with alphas. There’s one in Itaewon , his name is Kim Taehyung. I really think he could help. He’s an alpha himself.”

“That sounds good. Betas may not fully understand alpha mating bonds or what it’s like when one of them dies. Taehyung may have a better understanding of what Jungkook’s going through.” I nodded, a little hopeful. 

Therapy with the beta lady the hospital had recommended wasn’t really helping Jungkook the way it ought to.

Namjoon hesitated.

“Would you be willing to go with him? Taehyung insists a family member stay in the waiting room just in case...” he asked gently. I turned back to look at my husband, leaning on the mahogany countertop of the bar, fingers curled around a glass of whiskey.

“And I’m the one you want to consider for that? That’s ridiculous. Jungkook hates me.” Did I really have remind him of this salient fact? 

“I’ve offered to, before.  He doesn’t want me there." I sighed as Jungkook threw the drink back with ease.

“That was three months ago though. Things have changed now right?” Namjoon prodded.

I laughed, shaking my head.

“Not between us they haven’t. He’s spending more time with Mina and he isn’t throwing stuff around but he still loathes me.”

“He loathes what you represent: his own shortcomings and failures. Your father wasn’t kind in his approach and you are a reminder of all the things he can’t control.”

How fucking unfair,  I thought playing with the tiny  ring on my finger ( or should i say handcuff really? ), my wedding ring , the platinum band engraved with my husband’s name, a drop of his blood embossed into the metal. 

An archaic tradition, that carried no meaning in modern Seoul but the idea of it was still alive and well. The idea that what we had was a blood bond, imbued in our veins now.  An alpha’s connection with a beta or an alpha mate was usually quite fragile. But an alpha and omega mate bond. That was supposed to be powerful. 

Unless the alpha was still phantom bonded to a dead wife , that is. It was odd thing. Mate bonds had to be mutual to work. So there was no bond between Jungkook and I . We didn’t have any feelings for each other of course. But wearing someone’s blood on yourself changed that . it forced a bond that wasn’t there. It was ancient magic and it worked on my kind. Not on his. 

How fucking unfair because it wasn’t like I could control any of this either? 

I grimaced. I had thought of taking the ring off 

“Ouch.” I said with a smile. Namjoon waved off my self pity with an eye roll. 

“You know what I mean. Even for an Alpha, Jungkook has always held on to his pride. Losing his wife and his company all in the same week probably left him feeling incredibly helpless and your father browbeat him into this whole thing. Of course he isn’t going to be eager to share heart to heart talks with you. ”

I held my hand up. 

“I know all that Namjoon. I was there, remember? And I’m not blaming him for any of that. Trauma makes you do shitty things and I understand that . I also understand that if he was in his right mind he wouldn’t behave the way he does now. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t change his mind for him. If he doesn’t want to get help, I’m kind of helpless myself, you know?”

Namjoon reached out and squeezed my hand.  

“I’m just asking you this because , he does listen to you at times. I’ve noticed it. He doesn’t outwardly agree with you but he takes your opinions into consideration. And, Heejin you live with him and you’re the one who managed to convince him to start scenting Mina. ”

And God, how exhausting that had been. I had kept at it because Mina was so young and she needed her father’s scent to grow. And while i could be persistent when necessary,  I couldn’t work miracles. 

“Namjoon oppa, “ I said softly, trying to explain myself without sounding like a horrible human, “  I don’t hate Jungkook. Far from it. I want him to get the help he needs and I’m here for him. If you can convince him to go see Taehyung and he’s okay with me coming along, I won’t say no. Mina needs him and there’s nothing I would like more than for him to get better. ” i smiled a little, “ But he’s still going to have to be the one to make that choice. i can’t make it for him.” 

Namjoon nodded.

“ Fair enough. Well,  I’ll talk to him about it. We’ll set something up. Thank you for not refusing Heejinah. I know it can’t be easy for you either. 

I opened my mouth to respond but out of the corner of my eyes I caught a glimpse of someone, staring intently right at me.

 I turned sharply, eyes locking with those of Kim Yugyeom and I stiffened, stepping closer to Namjoon on instinct.  Yugyeom smirked, winking at me. 

I shuddered in disgust. 

Creep.

Namjoon followed my line of vision and swore.

“This motherfucker.” He made to move towards him. and I grabbed his arm, fingers digging into his forearm. The last thing i wanted to witness was an alpha alpha showdown in the middle of a party with me in the middle. 

“Please, no. Don’t make a scene. It’s what he wants.”

“Jungkook has the shittiest friends on the planet.” Namjoon shook his head and I couldn’t agree more. 

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

Mina’s appointment with the doctor went about as expected. She was right on time with her milestones and I sat in the waiting office for a mere twenty minutes before being called in. The doctor, an alpha named Min Yoongi gave me a small smile of recognition before flipping through the pages of her file.

“ Jungkook didn’t come along?” He asked casually, grabbing a pen and making a note of her weight and length before plotting it on the small graph. She was a little on the smaller side but she was growing well. 

“He’s busy...” i said with a shrug, “ So I still keep giving her the polyvisol supplements?” 

Yoongi nodded, “ The nurse will fill in the prescription for you. Are you sure he’s busy? He called me last night and told me he wanted to come see me?” 

I blinked. 

“He did ? “ I couldn’t quite process this. 

“He wanted to talk about how she’s doing and I told him he could come in for her appointment today.”

I imagined a world where Jungkook actually spoke to me, instead of forcing  me to navigate stormy waters on rotten plywood. Nine more months, i told myself firmly, already digging for my phone. Nine more months and I would be out of this living hell I’d gotten trapped in. 

“Can I try calling him? He’s probably forgotten. I think he might regret missing out.” I begged and Yoongi gave me a small smile, waving me off. 

“Of course you can Heejin-ah and tell him that if he wants I can drop by at the office and talk to him as well.” 

I nodded quickly , moving out to the waiting area while the nurses held Mina, soothing her before getting her ready for her shots. I tried calling him and not surprisingly he didn’t pick up. I called his office next and Jungkook’s secretary picked up the phone .

The woman hated me. 

“He’s busy.” She said curtly.” He’s specifically asked me not to bother him with stuff that isn’t important.” 

Her whiny voice grated on my ears and i bit my lips to keep the irritation in. 

“Since when does his daughter make that list, Ms Lee?” I said calmly and she hesitated. 

“He’s in a meeting right now and-”

“I’m in the hospital with his daughter. I hope you’re willing to take the heat when he finds out that you wouldn’t let me get through to him. “ I said casually. 

It was a twisted version of the truth for sure. Meant to imply that Mina was hurt in some way. But I couldn’t bring myself to regret it much. I had enough on my plate without dealing with twenty year old secretaries who fancied themselves in love with their hot boss. 

 “I... just a moment, Mrs. Jeon.” 

I loathed the name. It wasn’t mine. It was hers and I felt like a thief every time someone addressed me that way.

After two minutes, Jungkook’s  familiarly low and perpetually exhausted voice came out ,

“Hello? Heejin?” He sounded listless and his voice just a little slurred and i groaned. 

“Please tell me you aren’t drunk.” I whispered. 

“I’m not. “ He said shortly. “ What’s wrong? What happened? Is Mina alright? ”

“Did you tell Yoongi that you were going to meet him today?” 

He was quiet for a second. 

“i’ll talk to him.”

He hung up and I stared at the phone. I realized that I shouldn’t have called him in the first place. Should have asked Yoongi to call him himself. What was wrong with me? Even a few syllables exchanged with Jungkook felt like staring into an abyss . 

I moved back to the clinic , just as Mina plaintive wail filled the room. The shots were done. It took us another thirty five minutes to finish filling her prescriptions and for Yoongi to finish examining her. She was already dozing off and I wasn’t supposed to feed her for another thirty minutes so perhaps the nap would do her good.  I had just finished settling her into her Bjorn carrier  when Jungkook’s voice came from the entryway. 

“Is this the way to Dr. Min’s office?” 

I glanced back to watch him . He looked ridiculously handsome in a three piece suit, jacket thrown over his arm and hair lightly damp from the misty drizzle outside. I saw the secretary’s mouth actually drop open and stay agape as she tried to process his questions. i could see the way his beauty had rendered her entirely witless and as someone who had experienced it first hand , i could sympathize, 

But Jungkook was beginning to look annoyed from the lack of response and i decided to give the poor girl a break. 

“He’s waiting for you.” I called out and Jungkook startled. He glanced up at me and for some reason he looked surprised. He always looked surprised when he saw me. As if i was just some monster out of his worst nightmares turning up in odd places . As if he couldn’t quite believe that i did exist in his life now. Unwelcome but impossible to avoid. 

“You’re here.” He said blankly. 

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. 

“Yes, i am. I’ve been here for three months now. “ i said shortly, before i could stop myself, “ Mina’s fine.  She just had her shots. I’m going to drive home and put her down for a nap. Do you want me to come with you ?” I pointed at the clinic. 

He hesitated before shaking his head. 

It was all according to script then. Jungkook would never include me in a single thing. Even if i was smack damn in the middle of the room with nowhere else to go. 

“Alright. i’ll see you after work.” 

“We’ll have guests for dinner today. ” He said suddenly. 

I stared at him, confused.

“For dinner??”

“ Sooah’s parents.” 

Oh, God. 

Wary of the extra nurses suddenly filling the room, the little whispers and the curious glances, i kept my smile even. 

“Of course. ” I bowed a little before turning on my heel and walking away. 

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

Sooah’s parents were, for lack of a better word, selfish . 

They had lost a daughter, so of course i could understand with their need to keep their daughter’s memory alive. But the way they chose to do it was unhealthy and borderline vindictive. 

" She’s growing well.” Mrs. Kim had the same statuesque figure as her model daughter and she held her grandchild with a slightly unsure grip and Mina felt the uncertainty in her grip, breaking out into cries at once. I stayed still, my throat dry from disuse. I hadn’t said a word since they came in. 

We were seated at the table, dinner was done. 

Jungkook sat next to me, staring straight ahead while his father in law tried to engage him in conversation. 

With Jungkook, the grief came in waves. Some days, the waves were small and gentle, like the ones that lapped at your feet on the shore of a tranquil lake. on those days e went about his day as usual, spoke to his friends and signed deals.  And somedays they were big, behemoths carrying guilt and accusation, crashing over his head with a vengeance. 

On those days , he looked like he’d been run over by a two ton truck. 

Today was just one of those days and i could sense it.

The man was going on an on about some charity that Sooah had been involved in as a young girl... Could Jungkook make a contribution in her name?. Could Jungkook pay for a concert of her favorite singer in her hometown..?  Could Jungkook possibly consider contributing to opening a foundation in her name? 

I could feel the urge to scream, grow by the minute.

 Each syllable that spilled out of her father’s mouth was aggravating, the sentences began and ended with her name, over and over over again and It felt terribly like she was standing right next to me, ice cold and dead but real and relentless at the same time. He spoke of her like she was still alive and i couldn’t fathom how that was healthy. How that was going to help Jungkook move on.

 If anything it made it harder for him to move on. 

And in a moment of chilling clarity, i realized  that this is what they wanted. 

They didn’t want Jungkook to move on from her. They wanted him to be consumed by her. In the wake of that realization , i felt anger surge. 

There was just enough hurt and heartbreak and pain and grief in this room without these idiots adding to it. 

“Jungkook is tired tonight, uncle.. Perhaps we can discuss this later.” I said finally, unable to bear it any more.

The man gave me a glare.

“I wasn’t talking to you girl.” He said sharply. I frowned. 

“We’re trying to help Jungkook. “ The woman said sharply. “ Unlike you and your father we do not prey on the weak. “ 

Jungkook shifted at the phrase and I glared at her.

“He isn’t weak. “ I snapped, resisting the urge to add on a you bitch , “He’s grieving . And what he needs is space to process his grief. Not you people trying to shove your daughter into his throat with every sentence. “

“Don’t you dare talk about our daughter!” Mrs. Kim snarled and i felt a headache come on.

“I thought that was why you were here? To talk about her? Or should I say use her as an excuse to get money out of him??  What you’re doing is unfair and awful!! . Jungkook isn’t ready to talk about this and one look at his face should tell you that, if you even bothered looking at anything except his wallet.” I shouted. 

“Heejin, that’s enough.” Jungkook said hoarsely and i bit my lips. 

Of course he wasn’t going to support me even if we were on the same side. Defending him, protecting him was exhausting and it was such a thankless job. i wanted it to end. 

“I think we should call this a night. please, just leave” I said sharply, standing up and reaching for Mina. She glared at me but handed the baby over. 

“You don’t get to make that decision. My son in law is who I’m here to see. You’re just the parasite that’s attached herself to him. You sit there in my daughter’s place and you dare disrespect me this way. ” The woman snapped.

“Its still my house. “ I gritted out. “ I’m married to Jungkook whether you like it or not and so i have the right to ask you to get out of my house.” 

“Heejin, stop.” Jungkook’s voice only made me angrier. He sounded drained and empty and still these leeches wanted to suck him dry. And he was too  blind to see it. 

“I’m done with this” I stood up moving to the small pack and play that sat in the corner of the living room. i placed Mina in and watcher her eyes flutter shut gently. 

i turned back to stare at Mrs. Kim.

“i want the pair of you to leave. Get out before I call security.” 

She gaped at me. 

“you had a wedding... that doesn’t make it a fucking marriage. “ she sneered. “ Its probably not even legal until you consummate it. So go ahead, call the cops right now. You think i wouldn’t take you to court. ??!! ” 

She was spouting absolute nonsense, probably driven by her own grief  but i wasn’t feeling particularly charitable tonight. 

“Why don’t you ask your son in law that? Ask him if the marriage was consummated or not...” I smirked. 

She faltered, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“No. You’re lying ...he wouldn’t.” She turned to Jungkook who looked at me with fury in his eyes. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He said sharply and I scoffed.

“With me? What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with these idiots that they think they can come here and ask you to sign a fucking cheque when you’re still out here grieving for their daughter?!”

“You don’t know shit about them or her...” 

“I don’t have to. I don’t have to and i don’t care to either. All I know is that i married you and you’re my husband and whether you meant those vows or not, i did. I swore in front of my God and my family and I’m going to keep those promises. I’m going to protect you because I love your daughter . I’m going to protect you because you need to fucking live to be able to care for her. “ 

i turned to stare at his in-laws. They were staring at me, some of the fire dying out and in the span of a few minutes they somehow looked older . 

“You don’t deserve to be here.” Mr. Kim said finally, voice cracking and i exhaled. 

“And yet, here I am. And I’m not leaving. you are.” I said calmly. 

They stared at me for one more second before standing up and moving out of the dining space and into the hallways leading out. 

“We’ll call you later Jungkook-ah...” The man said before walking out of the door and slamming it shut behind him. 

The silence between us grew heavier as the seconds ticked. 

“We can’t decide how people grieve.” Jungkook said softly. 

I stared at him in disbelief. 

“You’re telling  me  that , Jungkook? Or did you forget all the times I indulged you when the only way you could grieve was apparently  by forcing yourself on me.” i snapped. 

His eyes widened , just a fraction before going blank again. 

He took a deep breath and went on. 

“They lost their daughter and they’re hurting. We can’t tell them they aren’t allowed to honor her memory...They’re clearly in pain...”

“Not more than you!” i snapped. “ You’re the one in pain here Jungkook. Your pain is so much more than theirs ..... Or may be it isn’t i don’t know.. But i do know that I can’t sit here and watch them bleed all over you when you’re cut just as deep as them.” 

“You don’t know shit about e!” He roared. “ Don’t you fucking dare talk about my grief like you can understand it...like you actually know what its like to lose the woman who had your fucking heart, because if you did you wouldn’t have agreed to this fucking marriage...you wouldn’t be here in this room with me, intruding on my grief and my pain... “

The sound of his voice made my entire body freeze in fear. I stayed perfectly still, jumping when he crossed the distance between us and grabbed my face, fingers curling around my jaw. 

“ You want to know how i wanted to grieve? I wanted to grieve in solitude!!! I wanted to grieve without some fucking stranger hovering over my shoulder like a fucking plague!”

I exhaled shakily, fingers trembling as i reached up to hold his wrist, my entire jaw throbbing with how hard his grip was. 

“It’s the price you pay for getting your company back. Jeon Jungkook. “ I choked out.” Or did you forget that marrying me is the reason you aren’t homeless on the streets “

He laughed a little yanking me closer and wrapping an arm around my waist.

“You’ve learned to talk back these days...” He muttered , “ I think I preferred the girl who hid in the nursery for the first three weeks of our wedding.” 

“I wasn’t hiding . I was avoiding you. Because your misery was contagious and i didn’t want any of it on me.” I snapped and his hold on my waist tightened. 

“Are you trying to make me angry? ” He snapped, fingers curling on my waist and I swallowed the whimper of pain that threatened. 

“Maybe i am... Maybe anything is better than watching you walk around this house like a corpse. You’re alive so I don’t see why you act like you died with her.” 

He growled at that, eyes blazing as he stepped back enough to stare into my face. 

“You’re right... I didn’t die with her. Although i wanted to...Maybe if i wasn’t such a fucking coward, i would have gone through with it.  .” He laughed and I felt my heart go ice cold at the very thought of it. 

“You didn’t die... So why don’t you get some help. There’s no shame in getting help... Taehyung...”

“I don’t need help. i need to be alone.” He snarled. “ I need to be allowed to cry and mourn my wife the way I want to but you and your father made sure that i couldn’t.”

I sighed, looking away in defeat. 

“Fucking look at me!” He snarled, hands grabbing both my arms and yanking me forward. “ Why won’t you look at me huh?  is the guilt finally catching up?” 

“No. No guilt. Just loathing and resentment.” I snapped back and he laughed again.

“Well too bad. Because you know what? You’re right. I paid for my company with my right to grieve and you...you paid for my name with your right to say no . “ 

I swallowed as he yanked me away from the table, dragging me to the couch in the side. 

“ I never refused you a thing.” I choked out, breathing ragged as he shoved me into the soft leather surface, crawling on top of me at once. “ I only said no when you were drunk out of your mind. When you thought it was okay to fuck me and call me by her name.” 

He made swift work of the buttons of my blouse and I stayed still, arms lying by my side. 

“ Are you telling me you want this ? You expect me to believe you want my hands on your body?” He sneered, fingers moving up to grip my hair. “You don’t want this and you don’t want me....Just like i don’t want you either. i’ll never want you. ” 

“You don’t want me.??.. You have a funny way of showing it..”  I scoffed , staring right into his eyes rolling my hips up into his  , greeted by the hard press of his length against my thigh.   “ And to be honest i don’t give a damn if you’re still in love with her , all I want is my name on your lips if you want to get off with me. Because I’m not just a toy you can use to replace your dead wife. I have  a name and you should remember it.  "

He growled again, fingers squeezing hard against the back of my head till my scalp felt like it was on fire.

“I hate you. “ He said clearly. “ I hate you and everything you’ve done to me.” 

“Everything I’ve done to you? Oh you mean save your life? Taek care of your baby girl like she was my own? Give you the chance to rebuild your entire career.? Turn you into multi millionaire again?  Good. Hate me. The feelings mutual. “ I snapped. “Now if you hate me so much why are you still here? Get off me.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, wife.” He sneered. “ Because like you said, I’ve paid for this.” He drawled, reaching down and squeezing between my legs. “And I’d be a pretty bad businessman if i don’t collect from my investments.” 

Before I could retort, he pulled back, just enough to grab me by the waist and flip me over on my front. I flinched when he grabbed my arms, yanking them back and trapping my wrists together in his fist at the base of my spine. My cheeks pressed into the leather couch, sticky and uncomfortable. 

i heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt buckle. 

Coward. 

I shivered when he pushed my skirt up.

“Don’t enjoy this too much, yeah?” I snapped, “ You hate me remember?” 

“Easy enough to forget its you when I don’t have to look at you.” he retorted. 

He slipped one arm under my waist, lifting me up just enough for him to yank my panties down. 

“Just remember , you don’t get to blame the alcohol for this .” I sneered. “ You’re sober and clear headed and you’re hard for me. “ 

Somehow that seemed to bother him.

He stopped . 

I could feel the hesitation in his limbs. 

It made me laugh. 

“You know Jungkook, i took you for lot of things but a coward wasn’t one of them.”

“What the fuck does that mean huh? I should put you in your fucking place for how insolent you are with me... ” he pressed down on me and i gasped when I felt his chest pressing into my back, his face inches from my own. I flinched when he sank his teeth into the mating mark on my neck. 

“it means that if you’re going to do this, if you’re going to talk big about putting me in my place like the big bad alpha that you are, at least own up to the fact that you’re attracted to me. ” 

“ You forget your fucking place, omega.”  he hissed, voice sharp and furious against my ear. “ Another word out of that mouth and i won’t be responsible for what i do.” I gritted my teeth when he curled his fingers around the inside of my thigh, parting my legs and settling in between. 

He pushed into me in one strong thrust and my eyes flew open in shock. 

“Fuck.... why are you so fucking tight...” He groaned and my shoulders began to throb as he fucked into me, setting a punishing speed that left both of us panting . We were too fucking would up for it to last any longer than a few minutes and yet, i could feel pleasure swell inside me, wetness seeping out of me and onto the leather couch beneath us. 

I wondered just how fucked up this whole thing was. Just how much damage were we doing to each other?? But it was hard to care too much about it, because even if though it was a terrible way to talk things out at least he had talked. It was nothing new....nothing earth shatteringly enlightening but he had said it all out loud and that made a difference. 

“You think you can come into my life and dictate how i fucking live.” He grunted against my ear, fingers tightening on my hair. “ it pisses me off.” 

“Everyone dies, Jungkook. People die and they leave loved ones behind but Life goes on. It has to go on. You can’t just pause life to grieve. Mina needs you.” I felt my eyes begin to sting with tears, the adrenaline from the argument fading and my body threatening to go limp as he drove into me at the same punishing pace. 

He didn’t respond, fingers closing around my throat and squeezing lightly instead.

“Save your platitudes before i decide that the warmth of your body isn’t worth the grate of your voice on my ear.” He snapped and I whimpered when he stilled, spilling into me. 

He stayed pressed up against me. breathing harshly against my ear and i waited till both our breaths evened out. 

“It’s not selfish to move on Jungkook. You aren’t insulting your wife’s memory by wanting to move on.  “ I said softly. ” Someday your heart and mind will agree with me. Whether you like it or not. That’s just how pain works, Jungkook. One day it’ll pack itself up and walk out of your heart in the middle of the night. You just have to hold on till then.” 

He didn’t reply, merely drawing himself up and off me. 

Once i heard the door to his bedroom slam shut i dragged myself up , thighs shaking and sticky. I grimaced at the mess on the couch. I stared at the packet of baby wipes on the table nearby and shuddered. That just felt wrong. 

I’d just have to go grab a washcloth from the bathroom. 

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

On that weekend, we had another dinner to attend, this time with a few investors from out of the country or so Namjoon told me. 

Although we didn’t talk about what happened and he didn’t try to touch me again, things were subtly different. 

Something had changed in the way Jungkook behaved with me. There was a little less of the usual zombie like indifference and he actually seemed to be avoiding alcohol actively. It was a welcome change. But to make up for it, Mina went into a growth spurt. Which meant ten minute naps every hours or so with wailing sobs in between. 

i was exhausted. 

So much so that Jungkook told me that he didn’t want to pick Mina up from Seokjin’s place till the next day. 

It was a little past one in the morning when I finally trudged into the apartment. Jungkook wasn’t black out drunk but he was definitely a little loose limbed, eyes just a shade more glassy than usual.

“Tonight went well. I’m thinking the guy from Macau is definitely going to consider investing.” He muttered, gripping the door frame and taking off his shoes.

I toed my own heels off, feeling upset and bereft.

“Why would you tell Jin oppa that we’ll get Mina in the morning? She’s not used to being away the whole night.” I complained, feeling jittery and nervous because the house felt so empty and strange .

I didn’t like the idea of being alone with Jungkook without the buffer of his daughter between us. The house felt foreign, the walls seemingly closer together , the space to cramped.

Jungkook dropped his keys in the bowl and tugged on his tie, watching me carefully.

“It’s too late and Jin hyung said she was already asleep. He’ll drop her off in the morning. Just relax. Would you like a drink?”

I stared at him. 

What now? 

He looked nervous and a tad worried.

 Swallowing , I shook my head, turning on my heel.  

“I’m going to bed.” I was almost at the door to the nursery when he grabbed my arm, seemingly moving faster than I could breathe.

“Wait, Heejin… “ He stopped, worrying his lip between his teeth before sighing, “I… I need to say something..” He finished and I exhaled sharply.

I tugged on my arm but he wouldn’t let go.

“Jungkook , let me go.” I said sharply. “ I’m not in the mood tonight . You aren’t drunk now and I’m running out of reasons to excuse your actions.”

His hold on my arm relaxed but he didn’t let go.

“Namjoon hyung told me about that new therapist.... Kim Taehyung?? . I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He said roughly.  

I sighed, defeated. It was expected and yet it stung. I wondered if perhaps I was just beating a dead horse at this point. But Mina deserved to have a father who loved her with all his heart and Jungkook’s heart was so filled with grief it had no place for his daughter. If there was any chance I could help change that, I would take it.

I tugged my arm away again and this time he let go.

I tried to smile encouragingly. it was hard because i was all out of comfort, my own exhaustion too overwhelming at the moment.

So I took a deep breath and reached out to lightly touch his arm. 

“Listen, no one’s asking you to make a decision tonight, Jungkook.” I tried to smile a bit more widely but it probably came out as a grimace, “ Just sleep on it and think about why you think it isn’t a good idea. Taehyung’s an alpha and he may understand you better. Think about it and you can let Namjoon know later.”

He didn’t reply, merely staring at me till I began to feel a little hot around the collar.

“Well, Good night then.” I made to turn away but he grabbed me again, this time by my wrist.

“Wait.”

Patience wearing just a little thin, I stared at him, waiting as he requested.

“I’m sorry about what I said that night. At the party last week. About you not being her mother.   I shouldn’t have said that.”

It was the first time he had apologized for anything.

It took me a second to even remember what he was talking about. 

“Alright. I’m not mad. And I understand why you said it. Its fine. And you’re right. I’m not her mother and I should be more careful. ”

He nodded and then stepped back.

“ I’m sorry. For a lot of things. ”  He bowed awkwardly and I could only stare at him, shaking my head. The apologies were somehow both welcome and abhorrent to me. 

They were the kind of apology you would offer a stranger. And that made them insincere because I wasn’t a stranger. I’d been through too much these past few months, to be treated that way. 

For now I could only accept them at face value. 

“ Its alright. Just go to bed Jungkook. And listen to Namjoon oppa . I know you don’t trust me but you should trust him. He only wants what’s best for you. ”

I sounded twenty years older than I actually was and grimaced.

"There’s one more thing. Can I... I need... “ He stopped and stared at the floor. 

I felt a huge sense of foreboding rise up at that. 

“Are you going to pull the i paid for your body card? “ I said bitterly. “ You made it very clear that i can’t say no. I don’t see why you’re bothering to-”

“You can say no.” He said softly. “ You can say no.” 

And then he looked up at with limpid doe eyes, shining with all the stars in the galaxy and I wanted to sob at the unfairness of it all. 

“ And if I say no, where will you go? To a brothel? you’ll come back smelling like another beta or omega and you can’t come near your daughter till it fades. Which is what? A week? “ 

Jungkook didn’t say anything and I felt helpless. 

“Is that why you sent her away tonight?” I demanded and he looked genuinely surprised. 

“What? No. Of course not . i just...You looked exhausted. I thought you’d like a night off. And just... I don’t want to have sex. Can you just sleep with me. I just... I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

“What’s so special about tonight?” i rolled my eyes already moving to his bedroom instead of the nursery. 

He stared at me for a few seconds, eyes empty in the dark of the hallway. 

I waited a whole minute before sighing. This was excruciating and my heels hurt from wearing heels all evening. i wanted to curl into the air mattress on the floor of the nursery , possibly lie sleepless till dawn and then drive down to pick Mina up from Jin’s place. 

“Jungkook , let’s just go to bed and forget-” 

“Its her birthday.” 

I barely heard him, his lips barely moved and his voice was so low. 

I stared at him. Not sure if I’d misheard. 

“What?”

“Its her birthday. “ He repeated. 

“You can say her name.” i said calmly. “ You’re not betraying her by saying her name out loud in front of me.” 

He went a little stiff at that and i wanted to kick myself for the remark. What a hypocrite I was. I’d reprimanded Namjoon for trying to dictate Jungkook’s grief and here I was , doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m sorry. God, Jungkook... I’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.  i didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me.. I... of course you don’t have to be alone. Should i call Namjoon oppa? Or Jimin?” I asked gently. 

“It’s Sooah’s birthday.” He was still staring at the floor, apparently he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. 

I had a sudden flash of memory, remembering that Jungkook used to sing. He had sung at his wedding seven years ago. Serenaded his wife as she walked down the aisle. I had been young then but i remembered thinking how evident his love was in every syllable sung .

Something i could hear even now, in the way he said her name. 

“Okay. What would you like to do? I... I can make seaweed soup.” I said softly. “ We can go see her if you like?” 

He stared at me. 

“I want to go alone.” He said finally. 

I hesitated. 

“I’ll drive you. i’ll stay in the car. You can’t drive.” I reminded him. 

Jungkook’s driver’s license had been suspended after one too many traffic violations. I drove him around often . 

He didn’t reply, staring out of the huge bay windows and i sighed. 

“Alright... Why don’t you go change  into something more comfortable yeah? i’ll get the soup going and we, “ i bit my lips, “ , I’m sorry, And you can go see her.  “ I smiled, before moving to the kitchen and grabbing the dried seaweed. I soaked it in cold water, before getting the beef, garlic, soy sauce, salt and pepper and the sesame oil from the cupboards. 

Ten minutes later, the soup was boiling away and I peered out at the door leading to his bedroom. I was still wearing the cocktail gown and my head was beginning to throb. I oved to the nursery and stripped quickly, slipping on my white t shirt and a pair of pink corduroy shorts. 

I would be in the car anyway.  By the time i finished taking off all my make up, the soup was done and Jungkook was slumped over the counter. He looked drained, more so than usual . In fact he looked notably worse than how he was ten minutes ago. 

Torn between the urge to draw him into my arms and the helpless knowledge that he would absolutely hate me touching him , i merely hovered near the stove, pouring the stove into a small airtight container. 

On a whim I moved to the cupboard  in the corner that housed all the crockery and threw it open. 

“What was her favorite bowl?” I said casually, staring at him. 

He blinked, staring at me like i was speaking a foreign tongue. 

“Her favorite bowl , Jungkook The one she always drank or ate from?” 

He swallowed but leaned his palms down on the granite countertop, levering himself off the tall stool of the kitchen island and making his way over to me. I stepped back, giving him space to peer into the depths of the black marble shelves. 

He finally stuck a hand in and drew out a pale yellow and mauve bowl , a little worn but intact. 

He held it carefully, running his fingers gently over the bowl, savoring the surface his wife had once caressed with her own fingers. I watched as his lips curved, a pale pale imitation of a smile but a smile nonetheless and I felt my breath catch in my throat. 

This was probably the first time he’d smiled in the three months i’d known him. 

My heart began to pound, a steady staccato that began rising in volume and i willed myself to stay calm. 

“I..uh.. I can wash it for you.” I said softly .

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come and he stared at my outstretched hand like it was a snake . 

Face almost eerily blank he cleared his throat. 

“I’ll do it.” 

i watched as he moved to wash the bowl under the spray from the faucet and finished clearing up the kitchen. i grabbed a small bag to keep the sea wood soup in and held the bag open when Jungkook finished washing the bowls. He grabbed a fresh kitchen towel and carefully wiped down the moisture before wrapping the bowl in the towel and keeping it inside the bag, carefully. 

I smiled and zipped the bag shut. 

“Lets go shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I sat waiting in the car, staring out into the darkness of the parking lot, while the rain poured torrents outside the glass windows of the car. I felt unaccountably alone, like I was the only human being left on the planet. 

It had been a little past an hour since Jungkook had disappeared into the building that held his wife’s ashes. I wasn’t sure if i should give him a call. Had he fallen asleep in there. 

I told myself I would wait another hour and if he didn’t come out, I would go check on him. 

I dozed lightly against the window, exhaustion beginning to creep in. I wanted to sob at how tired i was. I could have gotten a full nights sleep, something i hadn’t had since the day I took Mina into my arms. 

But then, i remembered the tiny smile that had sprung up on his face and i grinned despite myself. That was progress wasn’t it? It definitely was. I was sure that if only Jungkook could be convinced to go meet Taehyung , the alpha therapist, things could get so much better for him. I wanted to have him at least halfway to being ..... capable of handling his own daughter, before i left him. if not the worry alone would eat me alive. 

I was just getting ready to perhaps climb over the console and nap in the backseat when my phone rang. 

I glanced at the dashboard, frowning. it was two thirty in the morning. 

Who?

I grabbed my phone from the bag and my heart leapt to my throat. 

“Jin? What’s wrong? What happened to her?” I could feel my heart threatening to give out, any number of terrible possibilities running through my head in a vicious loop.

“nothing happened, Heejin , take a deep breath... She’s just running a fever. it was quite low earlier but its hitting 101  now and I’m getting a little worried. I’ve given her cold baths and kept a wet towel on her but it doesn’t seem to be coming down.” 

“We’ll be there in ten minutes! “ i said quickly.

“I’m sorry, Heejinah, i don’t have any experience with babies and-”

“it’s alright...thank you for calling me oppa!” i hung up , already fumbling with the door and stepping out into the rain. i was soaked through in three second flat. What a day to wear a white t shirt. 

I ran quickly, stumbling a little on the gravel pathway and hoping to God i was going the right way. I ran into the foyer, the poor security guard falling asleep over his desk glancing up at me in sympathy. 

“there was a man here earlier?”

“Second floor third room.” He said casually.

I nodded, already rushing for the steps. I climbed the four flights of stair in two minutes, my heart threatening to give out. I found Jungkook in the room , kneeling on the floor and he looked at me in shock that swiftly turned to anger.

“Jungkook-” i gasped because the run up had robbed me of my breath. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He moved so quickly I could barely blink before he was right up in front of me. 

“Jungkook, I... We need...” I tried to draw a breath in but before I could form the words he grabbed my arm, so hard that I whimpered in pain. 

“I told you i wanted to be alone, what the fuck is your fucking problem?!” He snarled.

“Jungkook-” Before i could finish, he yanked me just a bit closer to him before shoving me out of the room with his wife’s portraits and the small ornate vase that held her ashes. 

it wasn’t that hard. 

He didn’t push me in a very brutal way. 

In fact it was probably with lesser force than what anyone slamming a door would use. 

But,

Jungkook was six feet two. He weighed a 170 pounds. 

I was a hundred pounds wet and barely came up to his shoulders. 

And it was just my luck that the wall opposite to the door had a large concrete and granite horse figurine placed right in front of it.  

I crashed into the torso of the equine, my bones rattling inside me and I whimpered when my wrist made contact with the hard surface, bending a bit out of place. 

I slid to the floor in a wet lump, trying to catch my breath and process what had just happened.

Jungkook stood frozen by the door horrified as he stared at his hands, as thought he couldn’t quite fathom what he had just done. 

A sharp burning pain began in my sides and I gasped out.

“Oh, fuck.” I swore. 

Jungkook moved to help me up but i was already crawling away from him, scrambling to my feet, ignoring the ache in my side.

“I’m sorry.” I said softly, holding both my hands up. “ It’s Mina...she’s running a fever. We need to go get her.” 

“Heejin-ah, I’m...”

One more apology and i would officially lose it, i thought slightly hysterically. 

“its my fault.” I said sharply, “  I should have probably tried calling you from the car instead of barging in like this but Jin called and i got worried...I wasn’t thinking straight so I’m sorry about that... I think we should go get her as soon as we can.” 

“Did i hurt you?” He demanded , reaching out for me again and I nearly fell again trying to move away from his touch. 

“No.. No I’m fine.” 

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

“Are you sure, we don’t have to go the doctor.?  “ He asked nervously, watching me carefully wipe down her body with the slightly damp wet cloth. I nodded, carefully squeezing the water out before dipping the towel in water again. 

“She’ll be fine. Her fever’s come down and with babies this young, its safer to care for them at home than to take them to a hospital.” I said casually, 

 “I wasn’t talking about her.” He said stiltedly. 

I blinked, staring up at him in surprise. 

“What?”

“I think we should go to the doctor. You fell hard. ”

“Jungkook what are you even on about?” I said crossly, steadfastly ignoring the pain in my sides. It was sharp and unbearable with every breath I took in but I was too terrified to go to the hospital and have them tell me I’d cracked my rib or something. 

Partly because that would be so inconvenient. 

Partly because Jungkook would probably go back to being a guilt ridden shadow of himself if that happened. 

“I’m going to call Yoongi hyung.” 

Before I could protests some more he was already on his feet, moving to the living room.

Yoongi arrived thirty minutes later , annoyed and sleepy, dressed in a soft white t shirt and stone wash jeans. 

“It’s four thirty in the morning , she better be dying Jungkook..” He rasped out near the front door and i flinched at the murderous tone to his voice. 

Suddenly , i hoped desperately that my ribs had cracked. 

Yoongi stepped in , staring at me . He took in the mess of quilts i sat on and sighed. 

“Come here and take your shirt off.” He said gruffly. 

I blinked, feeling blood rush to my face. Was he always this handsome? Hating the very unwelcome flutter of nerves, I moved to stand in front of him, grabbing the hem of my t shirt .

But the movement jolted my rib and pain sharp and lancing shot through my side. I yelped and dropped my hand again breathing harshly which only seemed to make things worse. 

I swallowed and Yoongi blinked, reaching out to gently grip my elbows. 

“Hey...relax ... “ He said gently. 

I felt the press of a warm chest at my back.

“Let me help hyung.” Jungkook’s voice rumbled through my body, his chin brushing the top of my head and he bent over me from the back, fingers gripping the hem of my shirt and carefully lifting it up to just above the curve of my breasts. 

Yoongi was staring at Jungkook over my shoulders expression unreadable. 

“So you do know how to act after all.” He commented drily and I heard Jungkook inhale sharply behind me. 

“Hyung...” He said sharply, and Yoongi merely rolled his eyes. 

“How did this happen?” He ran slender fingers all over my skin, feeling each dent and dip carefully. 

“I ..uh.. I sort of fell into a statue? It was made of concrete and quite heavy.” 

His face shifted into a frown. 

“Jungkook , tell me you didn’t push her.” He said sharply and I jumped a bit.

“No...he didn’t.” i said sharply and Yoongi ignored me , staring right at the alpha behind me. 

“I didn’t mean to.” He said finally.

“You broke her rib, kid.” 

I groaned in defeat. Behind me Jungkook stiffened.

“It was an accident.” I said sharply and Yoongi gave me an unimpressed look.

“If i had a won for every wife that told me that.” 

“It was my fault and-” I shut my mouth. I did sound like the poster child for abused wife in denial. 

“Relax... I’m not going to send your handsome husband to prison.” He chuckled. “ This time.” He added, giving Jungkook another glare. 

“It won’t happen again. ever. “ Jungkook’s voice shook a little. 

I sighed, already imagining the self flagellation that was probably going on inside the alpha’s head.

Yoongi’s voice drew me out of my head. 

 “Its not a break. It looks like a crack which is easier to heal. But i still want you to come in tomorrow. We’ll get it x rayed. Its going to take a couple of months to heal.” 

I gaped.

“Months?” 

“As long as you take it easy you’ll be fine. Now where’s the little one?” 

Yoongi dropped off a small bottle of pediatric paracetamol and told me to keep an eye on her temperature before bidding us goodbye. 

Once the door closed behind him, Jungkook turned to me , eyes wide and lips parted. 

“If you apologize , I’m going to throw this  at your face.” i said calmly, fingers closing over the neck of the ceramic vase on the table. 

Jungkook blinked. 

“I’m sorry. “ He said nonetheless and I sighed, pulling my hands away. 

How fitting. Neither of us could act out of character. 

Jungkook couldn’t stop blaming himself for everything under the sun. 

I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt him in any way. 

“Just go to bed , Jungkook. I’ll be fine.” 

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

Author’s Note : As always the pain is here and probably going to get worse. But Jungkook seems to be turning mildly human so let’s see if he can keep that up. Also handsome pediatric doctor Yoongi as second lead because i like to torture myself. 

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