#there's not nearly enough julia

[fictionadventurer]

History Channel guys: So glad to have you onboard for our docudrama. Here's the script telling you everything you need to know to play Ulysses S. Grant.

Actor: This just says, "Stare off into the distance and take a long drag on a cigar."

History Channel guys: Yeah, we're pretty sure he ended 75% of his conversations that way, so this show is going to reflect that.

Actor: Okay, then. Throat cancer, here I come!

[dizzybizz]

some magma doods bc i have spent so much time on there this past week or so

i love drawin w friends 😚

[skywalkerslvt]

Hi gigi! Just wanted to say I love the way you write sub anakin anddddd I wanted to request something about a very needy sub!peter parker 🤭 like maybe he bursts into your room in the middle of the night (through your window ofc) just DESPERATE for youuu

a/n: hi julia!! tysm for your message, i love this request. hope u like this lil fic that i wrote <3

CW: sexting, dirty talk, sub!peter parker, peter is a desperate whore, sexual content, 1.3k words, NOT PROOFREAD

Peter swung between buildings, trying to focus on the city below, but his phone kept buzzing in his suit pocket, vibrating with each new message from you. He was doing his best to ignore it, but it was impossible to resist the distraction when he knew it was you on the other end.

The first message was innocently playful:

"You out there saving the city, Spidey? Or just swinging around, thinking about me?"

Peter bit his lip, quickly ducking into an alleyway to pull out his phone. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard before typing back:

"Trying to focus on patrol, but you're making it hard."

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing, only for it to buzz again a few moments later.

"Oh really? Hard like what, Pete?"

His breath caught in his throat, cheeks flushing hot. He didn't dare respond, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He tried to get back to swinging, but your next message hit him like a freight train:

"Wish you were here... I'm so bored. All alone. Guess I'll have to entertain myself..."

He groaned, nearly missing his web line as the image of you sprawled out on your bed filled his mind. His cock twitched in his suit, and he clenched his jaw, trying to will the arousal away. Stay focused, Parker, he told himself. But when the next message came through, it shattered any remaining self-control:

"I keep thinking about your mouth on me. Bet you'd be so good at it, wouldn't you?"

Peter's knees almost gave out. He darted into another dark alley, pulling out his phone with trembling hands.

"Please... you can't send me stuff like that right now. I'm trying to focus."

But his desperation only encouraged you further. The next message was a photo-nothing too explicit, but just enough to show the delicate lace of your bra peeking out from under your silk nighty, your fingers pulling it down ever so slightly. The caption read:

"If only you were here to take this off me."

Peter's breath hitched. He could feel himself getting hard, his suit growing uncomfortably tight around his aching cock. He typed back a shaky response:

"You're killing me... I'm already so hard. Please stop, I can't handle it."

But he didn't want you to stop. And you knew it. The texts kept coming, each one more suggestive than the last:

"I can almost feel your hands on me, Peter. God, I bet you're such a mess right now."

"Imagine me, on my knees, looking up at you... Bet you'd lose your mind, wouldn't you, baby?"

Each message had him squirming, hips shifting involuntarily in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure in his suit. But the final text was the one that broke him:

It was a picture of you lying on your bed, wearing nothing but black lace lingerie that hugged every curve of your body. The fabric was sheer enough to leave little to the imagination, and you had one leg bent just enough to reveal how little you were wearing beneath it. The caption was the final nail in the coffin:

"Waiting for you, Peter. Come home and play with your toy."

-

You hit "send" on the last photo, biting your lip as you stared at the screen. The picture of you sprawled out on your bed, wearing that barely-there lingerie, left little to the imagination. The caption you'd added was maybe a bit too bold, but you were already too deep in your teasing game to back down now.

For a moment, you held your breath, waiting for the familiar buzz of his reply. Instead, you just saw the little "read" notification pop up under your message... and then nothing. Your stomach flipped nervously.

Maybe I pushed him too far, you thought, chewing on your bottom lip as the seconds dragged on. Was it too much? Had you crossed some kind of line? You knew Peter could be shy, especially when it came to anything intimate. Hell, you'd been carefully toeing the line between playful and dirty all night, knowing how easily he got flustered.

But now, sitting there with no response, doubt started creeping in. Had you gone too far, teased him into a corner where he couldn't handle it anymore?

You sighed, dropping your phone on the bed and trying to push away the disappointment. Maybe he's just too focused on patrol. I shouldn't have distracted him like that. You turned on some music, trying to distract yourself from overthinking, but you couldn't help glancing at your phone every few minutes, hoping for that telltale buzz. Nothing came.

A good twenty minutes passed, and you were just about to call it a night when you heard the soft thud of something landing on your fire escape. Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process the sound before you saw a shadow move behind your curtains.

Peter practically stumbled through your window, his eyes wild and breathless, his cheeks flushed a deep red. He looked like he'd run a marathon to get here, his hair sticking up in all directions and his suit clinging to his sweat-dampened skin.

"Oh," you said with a sly grin, leaning back on your bed as he stood there, panting and wide-eyed. "Looks like Spidey decided to finally show up."

Peter's gaze raked over you, lingering on the lace that hugged your curves, the same set you'd sent him in the picture. He swallowed hard, his breath hitching when your eyes locked on his.

"Y-you... I couldn't... I tried to focus," he stuttered, his voice coming out broken and needy. "But I-I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his words as you slowly crawled to the edge of the bed, closing the distance between you. "Oh, really?

So, all that ignoring my messages was just you trying to be a good little hero?"

Peter's knees nearly buckled at the teasing tone in your voice, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

"Well, you're here now," you purred, tugging him closer by the waistband of his suit. "So, let's see if you're ready to be good for me... or if I need to make you beg a little more."

Peter's breath was ragged, eyes glazed with a mix of desperation and something raw that sent a thrill down your spine. He took a shaky step closer, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he was afraid to touch you without permission. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"Please," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "l... I need you so bad. I couldn't focus, I-"

You placed a finger against his lips, silencing him, and watched as his eyes fluttered shut at even that slightest touch. The way he was trembling under your gaze was intoxicating, his resolve completely shattered.

"Aw, poor thing," you cooed, trailing your fingers down his jawline, feeling the way his breath hitched under your touch. "All that patrol work, and you still couldn't stop thinking about me? You just couldn't stay away, huh?"

"N-no, I couldn't," he confessed, his hips shifting forward as if he was subconsciously trying to find some kind of friction. The way his cock strained against his suit was almost pitiful. "I-I tried... but I just-God, I need you to touch me."

"Oh, baby," you teased, letting your thumb brush over his bottom lip. "You're already this worked up? I barely did anything."

Peter's eyes were practically begging now, his fingers twitching as if holding himself back from grabbing you and falling apart right then and there.

"Please," he choked out again, a desperate, broken sound that made your smirk widen.

You leaned in close, your breath ghosting over his ear. "I'm gonna make you wait, just like you made me wait," you whispered, and the whimper that tore from his throat was so needy, so wrecked, that you couldn't help but grin.

[stardustedknuckles]

My roommate's girlfriend (buzzed) and my roommate (blitzed) woke up to cats yowling in the alley last night right around the time I got home, and in a convincing display of her assertion that it's not CERTAIN we're getting a new cat soon (we are) my roommate asked if I wanted to go outside (it was midnight) and help them catch the one that seemed like maybe it was new to being outside. So I grabbed the carrier I've kept by the door in case our last project (Pete the tuxedo) came back (chewed a hole in the window screen and ran) and followed my roommate outside where her gf was lying on the ground with a tin of wet food trying to coax the cat from under the dumpster (nowhere near garbage day) and meowing (comfortingly?).

We ended up walk-chasing the cat down the street and Carolyn (roommate) actually got hands on her at one point, but the cat escaped (she didn't remember to zip the top of the carrier after she put the cat in) (this was when I realized she was drunk af and not just sleepy) so we spent another 20 minutes crawling around with phone flashlights on (still midnight) and eventually had to give up.

As we were walking back to the apartment (half a block away) I rolled a high enough perception check (permanent disadvantage due to adhd) to see that there was a man sitting nearly motionless in his SUV with all the lights off, lit only by the blue glow of his dash controls.

I said (quietly) "there's a whole-ass man who's been sitting in his car right here this entire time."

The other two (limbs a drunk and sweaty pretzel) processed this for a moment and giggled together. "oh well," said Julia (the toothpick keeping this thing together). "this is Chicago. He's seen weirder."

"oh for sure," I said, picking off leaf litter stuck to my elbow (humid). "I mean I feel like three lesbians chasing pussy at midnight is pretty normal around here anyway."

A (drunk) pause, then laughter so loud that something streaked from the bushes (cat) bolted across the road, and disappeared under a fence (welp).

[fiirecracker]

oh, he's one of those medics.

she respects it, really. julia is not the type to sit around and look after people, as much as she may want to. as much as she cares. there is always something must be doing; always something that needs defending, or protecting. she was not made to heal, though she greatly respects those who can. who do.

"no, no! no need for regrets. you were here, und that is what matters!" pushing herself into a seated position, julia offers the other solar risen a smile. light pulses beneath her skin, shimmering. "a lot of people are not here, so you are doing far better than them."

she tucks her elbows onto her knees. her eyes squint with warmth, "i am good! you have done me a big favor, und i appreciate it! i'm julia, by the way. jules, if you're feelin' particularly friendly."

atticus nods in response as soon as she regains full awareness. others would perhaps laugh it off, but atticus is not others. he remains deadpan.

" no thanks are necessary, i was only doing what any in my position would. " which is partially true. he knows how many are out there who would simply ignore another guardian's plight. he's been on the receiving end more times than he would care.

but there are those like him as well — willing to help any way they can.

" i would imagine it hurt. my only regret is not being here sooner otherwise you would have gotten assistance instead of shot. " just because they're immortal that doesn't mean pain is less real. if not mitigated it can certainly lead to clouded judgments and mistakes.

" do you require any more aid? "

[sammy-deserves-better]

Hey people who definitely didn’t follow me for my AUs here’s another AU I thought up on the spot!!!

Fantasy/Royalty AU bam lets get into it

Julia and Bowie are the princess and prince of the kingdom, as you do, it’s gay and lesbian hostility in that castle every day

Axel, Wayne, Raj and Emma are knights with Axel being the head of the knights, Emma is also secretly a florist because why not

Priya is the head of the guards while Caleb is the personal guard/advisor to the king

Chase is a travelling bard who loves to talk about his ‘amazing’ adventures of ‘helping’ people

Nichelle is still a famous actress but instead of movies she’s like, famous from plays and all that jazz

Ripper’s a barbarian that’s pretty good at his job, unfortunately he is not taken very seriously

Millie is a famous writer but she’s so damn difficult to find at times and only a few people know where she actually lives

Damien is a wizard’s apprentice, he’s still learning but he’s got some real talent within him

Zee is the court jester, he didn’t even like try out for the role he just started talking one time and the king thought he was hilarious

Scary Girl is a famous necromancer because she is, funnily enough, scarily good at her job

And MK, silly ol’ MK, is a master thief who is wanted all over the world, but can never be located, always managing to escape at the last moment

Alright here’s some more details yippee

Raj and Bowie are like, in love, obviously, knight x prince romance! Forbidden love that isn’t really forbidden but like it’s super cute and Raj is so smitten and Bowie just loves this handsome knight that would do anything for him

Wayne and Emma are friends here because I also think they’re silly, Wayne’s the only one who knows Emma’s secret florist job because she trusts him enough and also he accidentally found out but it’s fine!! But he also nearly gives away Emma’s secret so many damn times because he’s just a little bit stupid

‘Man I wish I could get Bowie a nice bouquet…’

‘Oh well Emma is actually a fl-‘

And then Wayne gets elbowed so hard he can’t breath for 2 minutes

Emma also definitely has a thing for the cute court jester but she has no idea on how to actually approach Zee so she just sends him flowers anonymously and sighs while looking at him lovingly

Julia and MK meet because MK climbs up the damn castle walls at 2am and sneaks into Julia’s room just to rob her, gets absolutely slammed by the princess, wakes up and is tied to a damn chair with Julia right up in her face about to rip her to shreds and all MK can say is ‘you are REALLY attractive oh my gods’

This throws Julia off, they start talking, Julia realises that despite the fact she is holding one of the most wanted criminals hostage in her room, she wants to keep seeing MK because she’s entertaining and mean and just slightly pathetic, so she lets MK go on the promise that the thief will come back every night and so she does and yadda yadda lesbians toxic yuri wins

Millie’s stories actually come to life because shocker she’s actually a wizard in disguise and she needs to be really careful about what she writes so that’s why she hides herself away and is so hard to track down because if the wrong people knew about her magic capabilities oh no that’s a lot of blood and injury and angst and 10k words every chapter

Millie’s parents also had this ability to create anything from mere writing, they shared this ability with the kingdom, and so if an important figure asked them to say…make a protector of the kingdom, they would do so, and they did, and that’s where our villain/antagonist comes in but that’s a story for another day

The older gens are also involved in this one way or another as well, most are just backgrounders but some hold important to the story

Damien is the wizard apprentice to Leonard and Tammy, two great and powerful sages who spend their time helping the world

DJ is the one who taught Emma how to be a florist, he’s kind and understanding and always helps Emma choose the right flowers to give to Zee

Eva trains Ripper under her watchful eye, she’s proud of how far he’s come, but feels he can do just a bit more

Aleheather are the king and queen of the kingdom, Bowie and Julia are their adopted children

And that’s all I got for now uhhhh add whatever you want to this it’s just a silly time

[enoughyi]

#12: Among the Blooms

Ship: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting (x f!MC (Julia Wright))

Summary: The hills, the Sun, and Imelda's shy eyes whenever Poppy steals a kiss from her.

Prompt Number: 66. Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In. [>>>link to the list]

Word count: 447. Rating: G-T.

A/N: It's brainrot-powered. Characters are in their 20's.

THIS and THIS.

Tags: @phinik and @myokk because you are responsible for my deth. @infernalrusalka @celestial--sapphic @espressoristretto-patronum

Read on AO3:

Rocky hills of Wales turned a bloom came spring and sprung air with sweet odours of newly grown swards, quickly an ever-presence to the nose still used to scentless crisp of the winter's cold. Scotland could never compare to Wales albeit its strong breath of the soil was a miss.

Neither could gift a weather stasis of Room of Requirement's mellow, homely retreats. But in none of them were winds, or weak gust of sea breeze, or changed angle of its bright yet lifeless sun. Asking Julia or her house elf companion, Deek, wasn't an option; not when the ever-lasting summer of the forest biome became Imelda's favourite haven to escape from rigorous training routines and last year of school, and to kiss her, to kiss them, to have them both to herself without a single interruption minus curiosity from Hazel, the unicorn inhabitant. That cosy addendum to life was a miss, certainly, too.

Life had changed. For the better, not for worse, but the sense of long in the air, stuck in it as the sun grew warmer, reeled up the memories in Imelda's head, Poppy had noticed few years ago.

It wasn't a tough observation.

Each spring, there would be a hill; critters buzzing joyfully at its slope. Imelda will never chose any in particular, but it would be in the open; and years after Poppy could recall wherever Imelda decidedly asked for a tongue snog --and proceeded with it-- with a pinpoint accuracy.

The only ask of Poppy was, "Don't lay me down on a fairy's trail."

A simple ask not to disturb little people always challenged Imelda but not enough to refuse the idea altogether and as decidedly move it to the bedroom. It just meant wherever would be a free patch of land, there will be sun at an angle so peculiar pink on Imelda's cheeks, -- usually unseen but nearly heartfelt by how warm her face would turn, -- would come to sight. Would prompt Poppy to kiss it away from her like many years ago, it playing cheerful red on her lips keeping Imelda wondering if she… if she should and when.

She became less hesitant over the years.

But was it the sun, too, to make her lip captivatingly glimmer?

Was it the smile? the adorable gesture, few fingers covering lips?

The giddy giggle?

What was anything stuck on the lips so fascinating to Imelda she couldn't look away?

She never told, but her eyes were full of shy, back then years ago and right here and there years after. Liked kissing pretty girls under the afternoon sun a tad too much and couldn't acknowledge the silliness to herself, Poppy supposed.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxii.ii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic (in progress)

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: discussion of drug use, discussion of sa, general angst

a/n: it's going to get worse before it gets better 💔

pt. xxii.ii, jack-go-to-bed-at-noon

“I don't want to hurt you. But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I did not sleep. Why would I with a feral beast in the house?

I had no idea if John would wake again. Whether he would be stronger and more demonic than before. So I remained posted up outside the primary bedroom, almost unblinking.

That is until it was time for the girls to rouse for school. It was a miracle none of them questioned the thunderous snore of Peter Grant in the guest bedroom and even more remarkable they believed my fib that the strange car parked out front belonged to the new gardener. However, Tamara barely looked at me. At first I wondered if I had hurt her feelings by being short with her in the night, but then I overheard her whispering to Jacinda while they stood by the car waiting for me to come around.

“The ghost is back.”

It was urgent enough to cut right through the still air.

I wished I could believe in the ghost too. That the bumps in the night were angered spirits rather than their father, fecund with liquor and pills, a man they would not have recognized should they have met him.  

I should not have been driving in my sleepless state. I almost jumped the curb and nearly clipped a mailbox.

I barely remembered the drive. Just realized I left Warren House only to end up there again. It wasn’t enough that my body sagged with the hours of sleep lost. There was a hundred some pounds of weight on me too. Pinned to my hips. Gripping my thighs.

I sat in the car far longer than I would have on a normal day. Trying to keep my stomach from flipping at the memory of the night. Mere hours before.

With a final breath, a final push, I forced myself out of the car. And upstairs. To the master bedroom. To see if the monster had returned to man again.

The door was cracked when I got there. Just an inch. Caused by one of those ghostly drafts.

I ticked the door open a few inches more and peered inside.

John had made it to the bed, curled into a lump under the bountiful bedclothes. Red and cream floral. I hadn’t noticed it the night before. His hair was draped over his face, obscuring the evidence of my defense.

I watched him breathing for far too long and wished to feel what I had in the past. To fawn over him, adore him as I once had. Instead, I just felt sad, watching the covers rise and fall with his deep breaths.

I wished to crawl in with him, forget it all, laugh when he woke to gritty dried blood spattered across his face.

But I couldn’t. It might have killed me.

I pulled myself away from the door, closed it as far as I could without the latch clicking shut, and continued down the hallway. The doors to the guest rooms were now opened. And when I peeked inside, the beds were mussed. I sighed, knowing Annie would give me guff for it. Add it onto the pile. I could hack it after the night I had had.

I checked myself in the mirror once more (fatigued, but resplendently so) before heading downstairs to meet my “guests”.

“They wanted fresh air,” Annie grumbled when I entered the kitchen to grab another cup of coffee. “They requested breakfast on the terrace.” She dropped a plate of toast points onto a tray.

I whisked the tray away from her before she could pick it up. “You needn’t bother with them.”

“You needn’t either,” she said, though she made no effort to stop me.

We exchanged a resigned smile. I had given her the barest of details before the girls had come down for breakfast. That the men had shown up in the middle of the night, an emergency. Warned her John was not himself. That was all. Nothing about his outburst, the confusion, the belligerence.

I stowed the bite mark away too. There wasn’t anything gleeful about this mark as opposed to the ones Jimmy gave me. Nothing giddily perverse about it.

With the tray and my coffee, I headed out onto the terrace.

Peter spotted me first through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He looked surprisingly well-rested for a man wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “Julia! Morning, love.”

“Morning, gentlemen.” I placed the tray on the table beside the tea service, glimpsing Richard and BP who were both a little worse for wear, no doubt having been forced to bunk up together.

“Oh, thank you. It’s a perfect day for a meal on the terrace, don’t you think? Fresh air and all that…” Peter went on jovially.

I hesitated to agree when the cigarette negated the fresh air.

Luckily, he didn’t bother for my answer. “Sleep well?” Peter asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snagged my coffee off the tray before saying dryly, “Like a baby.”

“Aren’t you lucky, then?” Richard grumbled.

Peter leered at Richard briefly. “We’re…uh, what he means is, thanks for handling him.”

“Handling him,” I repeated. So that’s what I had been doing.

“He just needed a feminine touch, you know? A reminder,” Peter said, snagging a piece of toast off the tray and dipping a corner straight into a glob of jam. “Of what is rather than…”

I stared hard at him, causing him to lose his train of thought.

“Sit, Julia,” Richard said. “You’re making me nervous.”

“No, I’ve duties to get to, I just wanted to make sure you were taken care of –”

“No, Julia, sit, please let’s chat,” Peter said, waving his fingers toward me.

The truth was, if I sat, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay awake. However, a chat with Peter Grant never seemed negotiable. I took the free chair, pulling it out a foot from the table so as not to be too close to them. “I’d hate to make you feel antsy,” I echoed without affectation, though my blood was boiling.

BP stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek, keeping his mouth pressed tight together.

“I know I’ve thanked you before Julia, but really, really our boy was in a bad way before you showed up. You keep him in good spirits.”

My stomach turned. I keep him in good spirits. I couldn’t have been more foolish. Thinking any of it was love. I was something to do. A hobby. A woman’s body has been currency since the beginning of time. It was an exchange from the start. “I do what I can,” I said softly.

“And more, apparently,” Richard muttered.

I didn’t have the energy to glare. My humanity was seeping out.

“We’re hoping this will be a one time thing,” Peter went on. “We’ll keep an eye on him and what he’s…consuming. And when he’s back home, you know, you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I ought to be on the Zeppelin payroll at this point,” I said, watching the steam from my coffee.

“That could be arranged.”

That caught my attention. My eyes zipped to Peter.

He grinned wolfishly. “A joke, of course.”

“Of course,” I replied, unconvinced. I suddenly wondered if they kept a roster of vessels.

Peter jammed his inch of a cigarette into the ashtray and reached for another. “Between the two of us, I know we can make sure he’s in good shape for tour in January.”

The words rolled over me like storm clouds closing in. Slowly and then all at once. “Tour in January.”

“Yes, it’s not much time, but we can keep him on the straight and narrow.”

I did not have the energy to convey what I felt. Hell, I didn’t even know what I felt. Surprise. Dismay. Fury. Ache. A collision of all sorts of a terrible feelings. I glanced at BP who seemed to be the only one who could tell I didn’t know of a tour starting in January. He dipped his chin lower and looked away.

Hadn’t they just started recording the album? Surely it wasn’t enough time for them to set out in tour in a handful of months.

“Of course, we’ll have to make sure his spirits are up until then so he doesn’t get cold feet, but you do an excellent job of keeping him warm, Ms. Morgan.”

 I opened my mouth, unsure what vitriol would emerge, only to be cut off by a low and gravelly, “The hell is going on?”

John was awake and he was standing barefoot on the terrace. The lower part of his face was streaked with dried blood and there was a splotch of a stain on the collar of his nightshirt. I couldn’t look directly at him more than a moment.

“Christ what happened to your face?” Richard asked with his lips contorted in bemusement.

“What are you talking about?” John trailed off, words mushy.

Peter glanced at me, then back at John. “You’ve got blood all over your face, mate.”

John smothered his face with his hand, his coordination massively strained by his hangover. “The hell…”

BP and Richard looked at me for explanation. I shook my head. “He wasn’t like that when I left him.”

A pitiful lie.

Peter reached for his napkin and dipped it in his water glass. “C’mere, I’ll take care of it,” Peter said, almost like a mother.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped my cup of coffee.

“How did I get here?” John asked in a small voice, stepping closer to us.

Every nerve in my body stood on end, my body sensing danger. The weight returned to my middle.

Now that he was within swiping distance, Peter got up, grabbed John by the arm, and swung him down into his own chair. “Just relax and I’ll explain.”

John, still dazed, looked at me, his eyes calling for some sort of help I couldn’t give him. Peter smeared his cloth napkin across John’s face to clear off the blood. John bristled, raising his hands to bat Peter away. “I can do it.”

“You got into a state last night. A really bad one,” Peter explained. I was shocked by his softness with John. I’d seen him threatening and I’d seen him trying to charm, but I’d never seen him quite like this. Cleaning up the messes.

“It’s sore, why’s it sore?” John complained softly.

“Had to bring you home so that you’d settle down,” Peter went on. Then, satisfied with his cleaning, gave John a pat on the back. “Felt better when you saw Julia, didn’t ya? Perked right up when you saw her.”

John’s blue eyes rolled toward me again and, this time, they caught.

And I remembered

Tour in January.

As if the chasm between us wasn’t already wide enough. It made sense why he would want the girls to know about us then. He could go away for tour, leaving behind his girls with not a nanny but…something more. I wondered how long he knew, how long he had been wondering how to tell me, how long he would have waited it Peter hadn’t sloughed the information on me.

It was too much for a Tuesday morning.

Though John’s forehead was pinched still with confusion, he managed a small smile. My stomach turned at the sight of it. I looked away before I could try and determine what memories lay behind that expression. Which pieces he still had to give him a picture of the night before.

“She took right good care of you,” Peter went on, unknowingly stabbing more daggers into my chest. “Didn’t she?”

“Other than whatever scrap you got into,” Richard said, his lip turned up in disgust.

Peter shot him a glare, as per usual. “Yes, you’re feeling better now. And looking better too. Right boys?”

“Much better,” BP offered quickly.

Richard sighed and shuffled a hand through his wispish hair. “I mean, it’s a start.” 

I pressed myself up from my seat. “Peter, please sit. I ought to get on with things and you all can…talk.”

I didn’t wait for any replies. I needed to get inside, finish my coffee, and try and make myself serviceable for the day.

Though several voices called out after me, John’s stood apart. “Julia? Julia, wait –”

How dare he say my name like that? The lilting emphasis I’d come to love. Whether amidst bantering or the needy twirls between the sheets, it was his call to me.

And I would not let it soften me.

I stalked back into the house, into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind me. Annie was gone, off to another one of her tasks for today, which was less than ideal for me. Being alone meant the rip cord could be pulled on my emotions.

I grabbed the counter to steady myself and prepared to let out a sob.

But the kitchen door opened behind me, the sound of bare feet on the floor. Damn it all, I knew it was him just from the way he walked now. The softness of his breaths. That’s what Annie told me would happen all those months ago. I would learn the sounds of the house. It would become a part of me.

He would become a part of me.

“Julia, please, let me talk to you.”

I tipped my head back, resisting a curse as I steady the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. “What is it?” I said, placing my fist on my hip and pressing my fingernails into my palm to take my mind off the need to weep.

John didn’t respond.

I took a deep breath and turned to face him. Being alone together put me on edge immediately. I ran my hand around my neck, the phantom feeling of my collar tightening suffocating me. “What is it, John?”

“You’re upset with me,” he said plainly.

I pressed my hand to my chest and shook my head. “I’m not.”

I watched him take a step forward. My stomach dipped with nausea. “You don’t have to lie.”

Under the fabric of my dress, I could feel the wound his teeth made in my skin. At least that was easier to hide than the tears in my eyes. “You were in a bad way. That’s all.”

John’s skin was like paste. He needed a shower. And he needed a meal. Some more sleep probably. His jaw was prickling with stubble that needed to be shaved. His hair was more like a nest or a mop than the silky tresses I knew he cared for so well.

I didn’t look much better.

He took another step forward, pinching his fingers together at his sternum. “What happened, Julia?”

I moved back, hoping he didn’t notice. “Peter told you, it was just –”

“They’re appealing to my ego, they won’t tell me the truth.”

It saddened me that his want for the truth surprised me. The vision I had of John had slowly been replaced. From confident to cocksure, from humble to petulant.

The good parts were still there, weren’t they? My vision was simply clouded. Perhaps.

John strode forward quickly, quicker than I knew what to do with. His hand landed against my elbow, “Darling, please –”

Without thinking, I ripped myself away from him. My heart lodged itself in my throat and my whole body screamed for me to run from him. Danger. Destruciton. Ruination.

John’s hand lifted into the air, wide palmed and open. A surrender, though his eyes betrayed his confusion.

Every return of his was marked by the need to touch. More touching. More, more, more. Again, again, again. To him, the denial sent him down a different path at the forking of the road. Little did he know I was already miles ahead of him. Running. Away, so far away.

“Sorry,” I apologized meekly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

I did. Of course I did.

John moved the open hand to his nightshirt, fisting the fabric anxiously. “Tell me what happened,” he insisted, his voice low and clipped.

“It’s not –”

“Julia. Tell me.”

I glimpsed a flake of dried blood under his nose. I ran my hand back and forth along the benchtop nervously. “You had something. I have no idea what. But they brought you here in the middle of the night so I could help calm you down.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said more to himself than to me.

“Well, they all seem very aware of what’s been going on between the two of us. I suppose they thought you needed a woman’s touch.” I added the last bit through gritted teeth.  

John sucked his lower lip into his mouth for a few moments of contemplation. “I don’t speak about it outright, but I suppose the phone calls aren’t necessarily…secretive.”

I clamped my hand around the bicep of my opposite arm. I was shrinking as we spoke, bit by bit. An open secret. Like mistresses and whores. “You wanted her,” I said softly. When John canted his head, I clarified, “Maureen. You were…distraught.”

His mouth fell open. “I wanted her?”

“You got it in your head she was…” I shook my head. “I don’t know, I only saw the tail end. Because when you realized it was me you were coming home to, you came back to your senses.”

John’s brow furrowed and his mouth grew very small as he considered the facts. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

His quiet apology reinvigorated his pull on me. The inexplicable connection between us had not ceased to exist, but it was fraying, dangerously close to a single thread. “Do you remember talking to me on the phone last night?”

“I…don’t.”

Another thread snapped. “So you don’t remember what you said to me?”

“Did I say something hurtful? If I did, I’m so –“

I shook my head. “No, no. It’s not important.” I looked out the window at the expansive yard. It was turning gray out. Rain was imminent. Then, I smiled. Trying to smooth everything over. Except the tears I’d been holding back decided to betray me and fall. I swiped at them. “Fuck me.”

John clicked his tongue. “Julia, please, don’t be upset, I didn’t know I –”

“We shouldn’t keep doing this. It was too soon, too rash,” I say hurriedly.

“Please don’t say that.”

“You still think of her. It isn’t fair to any of us.” Any of us. Because whether he remembers or not he had implicated his children.

John’s forehead pinched. “I’ll always think of her.”

I winced. Stupid thing to say.

“That’s not something that will ever go away, Julia.”

“That’s not what I meant, I…” I swallowed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I don’t think I’m strong enough for any of this.”  

I turned away from him to try and cry with some kind of privacy. Because it was true. I wasn’t strong enough to be everything for him, always anticipating each and every feeling or worry he might have, trying to be good, oh so good because that’s what he needed.

And if I failed?

It was not just a human thing for me to fail.

I was paid to be here. Where did my job end and I begin?

I don’t see you being able to resist that kind of trouble. And we know how that turned out the first time, Nick’s voice played loudly in my head.

Oh, if he could see me now, he’d be laughing. I just knew it.

Again, a hand. This time to my shoulder. My body bristled even harder this time, an angry scrawl gurgling from the back of my throat. “Nnndon’t touch me,” I snapped, clutching at the place he touched me as if it burnt

I was a cornered animal. Teeth bared, tears streaming down my face. And this time instead of confusion, something else appeared on John’s face. An amalgam of disgust and fear. Good. That would make everything easier. “What happened?” he asked, his voice harsh.

“John –”

He stepped closer. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t want to do this, I don’t.” I gulped at every word, trying to steady myself.

“You won’t even look at me and I can’t –”

“I can’t.”

“I can’t even touch you without –”

“Fine! You want to know?” If I let him close in any further, I would suffocate. I grabbed the collar of my dress and pulled down, revealing the wound he’d made with his teeth the night before. “Here.”

John’s eyes landed on the purple impressions of his teeth on my chest. He had the gall to look confused.

“You bit me,” I said through clenched teeth. “You bit me and then you tried to fuck me.”

The words landed in his face, his expression flinching. The universe must have been laughing at the recurrence of these marks on me. Once from pleasure, once from pain. The pain inflicted by the wrong man.

“And I told you no and you wouldn’t stop.” My voice broke at the end because up until the night before, on the phone I loved him. And now here, in the kitchen I…still did.

But I knew I couldn’t.

John pinched his lips together. “Is that why…” He gestured toward his face. “The blood?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but if I didn’t –“I stopped. Why couldn’t I just say the words? Say them aloud. He deserved to hear them. If I hadn’t hurt him, he would have hurt me. Raped me. And this conversation would be much different. Or would it? Is it any different if the intention was there? If he wasn’t in his right mind? “You wouldn’t stop,” I said once more, ashamed how meek I sounded.

John put both his hands over his face for a moment, then scrubbed them back through his hair, pulling his chin up with them. “Fuck.” Then he laughed, raw and humorless. It was a harrowing kind of laugh. One you acquire as an adult when you realize how richly awful the world can be. “Fuck,” he repeated. Quieter. More bruised. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know why I –“

“I know.”

“I would never, ever –”

I blinked, releasing one more tear. “I know, John, I know.” But he nearly had.

His fingers of one hand ticked nervously and his breath was heavier than usual. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I didn’t have to say the truth aloud for us both to hear it.

Too late.

“But I can’t lose you, Julia, I can’t.”

I found myself smiling despite myself, wicking away more tears. In the haze of love I had for him, I would cling to the meekest admission so I didn’t have to let him go.

“Give me a chance to…make it up to you. If I can.”

“I boxed you in the nose, perhaps we’re even,” I said in an effort to lighten the moment, looking at the tears glistening on my fingers.

The corner of his lips tipped up out of necessity and nothing more.

I dried my hands on the bodice of my dress. “I suppose you’ll be going back, then.”

John scratched the back of his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I’d rather not seeing as how we’re –”

I interrupted swiftly. “No, it’s good, I need to get used to it. What with your tour coming up.”

His reaction was delayed, but once it registered, his pallid cheeks lit up with embarrassment.

“Peter told me,” I said with a limp smile.

John sighed. “I was going to tell you when I came home.”

“Right, of course, I’m just a little surprised, is all.”

“Everything’s being rushed, once we’re done. We had stuff in the catalog anyway that we never –” he stopped short. “None of that matters really. You know. In the scheme…of things.”

I had no more fight in me. No more willingness to open my heart up and show the hurt. The want. If I was going to continue to love him, I’d have to lock it tightly away until the timing was more appropriate. A silly thought when it comes to such a quivering, untenable feeling.

Before either of us could say anything, I heard noise from the hall, the terrace door opening and heavy footsteps.

“Enough,” I said softly. “No more of this.”

John started to step forward and then remembered that his advancements were now threats. He glanced down at his hands as the door to the kitchen opened.

“Hate to interrupt –“ It was Peter. “But we really ought to get back to it.”

“Just a minute,” John said, barely tilting his head over his shoulder toward Peter.

Peter’s eyes found mine and where there had been a semblance of softness earlier, there was now edge.

Until I was notified further or until I changed the circumstances myself, I was under an obligation to make everyone’s lives easier. Every single life but my own.

Under Peter’s watchfulness, I did what last night I thought I’d never do again. I stepped closer to John. His eyes lit up, but kept himself at bay. I could hear my blood rushing in my ears as I took John’s hand. At first it burned and then my body seemed to remember every other moment before last night at once. I inhaled sharply and lifted my gaze into his. Blue I had been dreaming about for far longer than we had known each other’s mouths and bodies.

“You won’t lose me,” I whispered. A promise to him and to myself. Time apart would be good. For me to weight out all the good, remember him the way I had fallen in love with him, not the feral monster from the night before.

John left me with a touch to my cheek. Nothing more.

When I finally was able to sleep after almost forty hours of waking, he came to me in a nightmare.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis , @jimmypages , @dollyvandal , @cassiana-on-dark-side, @faisonsunreve , @sastrugie , @seventieswhore , @mayspringcome , @barrettavenue , @foreverandadaydarling , @glimmerofsanity , @montereypopgroupie , @lzep , @jimmysdragonsuit13 , @n0quart3r , @larsgoingtomars , @paginate54 , @leveeisbreaking , @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Julia Doubleday

Last week, Jason Gale of Bloomberg put out an excellent piece about post-COVID brain damage, titled “What We Know About Covid’s Impact on Your Brain.”

The piece is broad and draws on dozens of studies to paint a concerning picture of Your Brain on COVID. It’s not the first piece to do so in the mainstream press, but it’s one of a small handful over nearly half a decade. Gale’s piece gathers evidence pointing to increased risks of dementia, Parkinson’s disease, cognitive impairment, worsening of previous psychiatric conditions, and significant drops in IQ.

The piece goes on to mention viral persistence, immune system disruption and blood clots as linked to the cognitive impacts of COVID- all three are key targets of ongoing research into Long COVID. It’s a wonderful summary to help people get a picture of the enormous amount of research pointing to brain damage following COVID.

It also begs the question: why is the public learning potentially life-altering information about a virus they’ve almost certainly contracted multiple times now from the economics section of Bloomberg? (Or from The Gauntlet, for that matter?)

As politicians pushed us all “back to normal”, a common refrain from the top was that we “had the tools” to deal with COVID, and that individuals could now make their own decisions about what sorts of risks they were comfortable taking.

I’ve written at length about the absurdity of attempting to individualize what is a collective problem. What was once a libertarian, far-right wing idea - disease control should be the territory of individuals, not society at large- was first promoted by Republicans, then mainstreamed by liberals in order to paint Biden’s failed vaccine-only herd-immunity strategy as a success.

As we settled into a cycle of endless waves of disease driven by rapidly evolving new variants, our government and public health bodies continued to promote the fantasy that everyone can make their own decisions about whether or not to get infected.

Of course, anyone who does make the “risk assessment” that catching COVID is unsafe for them is functionally shut out of society. It’s hardly a choice freely made, as the social and economic punishments for failing to “return to normal” continue to intensify.

But it wasn’t enough to snatch away free tests, vaccines and COVID treatments, all but eliminate the isolation period for active infections, and push people to view disease control as a personal responsibility. Along with instructing people to make their own “risk assessments” about COVID, our government also downplays, minimizes, and flat out denies the risks of recurrent infections.

For example: COVID causes cognitive damage. That seems like an important piece of information to give the American public while you encourage them to make risk assessments about whether to contract it every year, does it not?

What about parents deciding to send their kids back to schools with zero precautions?

Should they be warned that COVID carries a significant risk of brain damage following infection, before deciding whether it’s a good idea to let their children catch it twice a year?

And if that information is quite deliberately kept from the public by the same bodies failing to provide collective mitigations, are you asking people to make “risk assessments”, or are you just pushing them to catch COVID?

Let’s review what the public has been told about cognitive damage after COVID by the CDC, the President, the administration, and prominent media figures.

The CDC’s twitter account has never tweeted the words “cognitive damage” or “brain damage” in reference to COVID. On March 23, 2023, the CDC twitter account posted its only reference to “brain fog”:

"Common symptoms of Long COVID include fatigue, shortness of breath, fast heartbeat, & brain fog. If several weeks have passed since you had #COVID19 & you still have symptoms that interfere with your daily activities, talk to your doctor."

The current CDC Director, Mandy Cohen, has never tweeted the words “cognitive damage,” “brain damage” or “brain fog.” Neither has former CDC Director Rachelle Walensky.

In interviews, Mandy, like the rest of the administration, likes to keep it vague. Brain damage is certainly not on the talking points menu; no specific outcomes are. We are “living with COVID”. We “have the tools”. She encourages vaccinations and not masks, the tool that can actually prevent infection. In a 2023 media tour about “rebuilding trust” with the public, she repeatedly refers to the pandemic in the past tense although the pandemic is ongoing according to the WHO.

Here’s an interesting one: former White House COVID-19 Response Coordinator Ashish Jha has tweeted about COVID brain damage once: on June 17, 2021, ten months before he joined the administration. He’s since become a prominent minimizer who calls masking “fringe” and downplays post-COVID immune system dysregulation, but here’s what he had to say in June 2021:

"Important study out of UK

Worth your time

Researchers examined brain MRIs of people before and after they got COVID, matched with controls

What did they find?

Substantial loss of grey matter in those who had gotten but recovered from COVID

www.medrxiv.org/content/10.1101/2021.06.11.21258690v1 "

Wow! Seems like the kind of thing the White House COVID-19 Response Coordinator would want to share with people, rather than never mention again.

And of course, the most subtle propaganda the Administration, fellow politicians, and CDC leaders employ is their refusal to mask or appear to mitigate COVID in any way. If each COVID infection carries a risk of brain damage, surely the Director of the CDC wouldn’t constantly show up in public spaces - including airport terminals- maskless?

The President famously wouldn’t even mask after testing positive for COVID, shortly before dropping out of his re-election campaign. He, certainly, has never talked about COVID’s effects on the brain (if indeed, he’s aware of them), instead using airtime to brag about defeating disease mitigation tools. “The pandemic is over,” he incorrectly stated in the fall of 2022, “if you notice, no one is wearing masks,” he went on to say, correctly identifying his success at stigmatizing COVID prevention.

Perhaps no single outlet is more responsible for the dishonest normalizing of continual COVID reinfections than the New York Times newsletter The Morning in the hands of David Leonhardt. During the mass death event of Omicron Wave 1, Dave was the main party responsible for the “omicron is mild” narrative (a lie) that spread round the world. This February, he “both sides’d” vaccinating children because, quote, “children are extremely unlikely to become seriously ill from Covid”. As recently reported by CBS News, up to 5.8 million kids have Long COVID.

Of course, it’s fantastic that CBS News is reporting on the damage that has been done to children by returning them to classrooms without upgraded ventilation or other mitigations. It would have been better if major media outlets had conveyed this risk before millions of children were disabled.

It’s also great that Bloomberg is reporting about the brain damage that can follow COVID, deep diving the research and putting forward three of the most compelling explanations for Long COVID. But how many people, nearly five years into the crisis, know anything about this topic? How many people who are three, four, five infections in, consented to these risks when they took their masks off?

Who is responsible for this ignorance? Is it not the public health bodies and politicians charged with responding to the virus?

In interviews and speeches, it’s not only cognitive damage that our elected leaders and public health officials fail to mention. President Biden has said the words “Long COVID” a handful of times publicly. Vice President Harris has never said them. Is this not bizarre to anyone who expects the Democratic party to convey scientific facts about the pandemic to the public? Is it not clearly an attempt to hide those harmed by the ongoing “let it rip” strategy from view?

When tens of millions of Americans are disabled by a virus on your watch, never uttering the name of the disease they have is deliberate, and leaves sufferers of Long COVID struggling with stigmatization in their personal lives. By enforcing silence around Long COVID at the top of the Biden Administration, in the CDC, and among media talking heads, the public is encouraged to doubt and dismiss the condition entirely.

If this administration is so certain the public would freely choose to ignore the millions suffering from Long COVID, the risks of infection including brain damage, the high rates of transmission in our communities, and continue to opt out of mitigations and mask wearing, why do they work so hard to hide all of the above?

Why do they, along with most other electeds on the Hill, pretend they have never heard the words Long COVID, refuse to acknowledge the ongoing toll of mass infection, and continue to push testing and data out of reach? Is this the behavior of leaders who are confident that the public has freely chosen to cruelly and deliberately abandon millions of people to long-term chronic illness, and to repeatedly risk joining them?

Or is it the behavior of leaders who know they are on borrowed time, sweeping the ever-growing body of evidence and ever-higher pile of victims under the rug while stubbornly repeating that “nobody is wearing masks”?

Scientists, advocates and reporters face an uphill battle getting information about the risks of repeated COVID infections to the public. It is uphill not because of the lack of studies, resources, victims, or voices, but because those who could do the most good continue to use their platforms to do the most harm. As long as the public receives the message from our leaders that recurrent COVID infections aren’t dangerous, the truth has a high wall of propaganda to hurdle.

Nevertheless, the truth continues to emerge via studies, articles, the people who’ve been harmed, and those who care. It’s unfortunate that our public health officials and politicians will be remembered for hiding the facts about COVID, rather than disseminating them.

[bumblesimagines]

how long have you had feelings for me?

what's a kiss between friends?

would it make things weird between us if i kissed you right now?

Daisy Jones

would it make things weird between us if i kissed you right now?

what's a kiss between friends?

how long have you had feelings for me?

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

While you much preferred the company of little Julia in comparison to most of the people partying downstairs, once the baby had dozed back off in your arms, you decided it'd be better to set her back down in her crib and let her sleep properly. You gave your niece a peck on the forehead, smiling gently when she stirred and quietly exiting the nursery before she could wake up and start fussing again. 

The party downstairs had grown packed with all sorts of people you had no real interest in. Producers, managers, up-and-coming singers or actors, and just about anyone deep in the music industry. Many were friends or aqquantices of your sister's husband, Billy Dunne, and his band, and as much as you wanted to enjoy the party, you hardly trusted Billy around the booze being poured in every corner. Camilla assured you at every moment that he'd changed, that he swore off the drugs and beer and women. But the only thing you saw when you looked into his eyes was the memory of your sister weeping in her hospital bed with Julia in her arms because her husband had failed to show up. It filled you with nothing but anger and disgust. 

You slipped outside into the backyard and dug around in your coat pocket for your pack of cigarettes and lighter. It felt better standing outside instead of the stuffy, smoke-filled rooms inside. You stuck a cigarette between your lips and fiddled with the lighter until it flickered on long enough to light it. You barely had time to inhale before it was snatched from your lips.

"You mind?" The spunky redhead asked, already holding the cigarette between her lips. Her eyes crinkled with amusement and she took a deep inhale before dragging it from her lips and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. "I was looking for you everywhere, you know."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that, Daisy Jones?" 

The first time you'd met the redheaded singer otherwise known as Daisy Jones, it'd been in the studio when Camila had sent you over to bring lunch to everyone. You never kept up with the band so the new face had come as a surprise but from then on, you found yourself bumping more and more into Daisy Jones. She seemed to pop up out of thin air with her wild mane and chatterbox tendencies. You preferred her over Billy, and her rivalry with him only amused you, but she still reminded you of him. She drank too much, popped too many pills, and did too many lines. Her body fought hard to keep her alive, that was for sure.

"I don't know," She admitted with a shrug, a smile stretching across her face. "I just like your company, I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Daisy giggled softly under her breath, running her finger over her bottom lip as the last bit of smoke left her mouth. She swiped her tongue over her drying lips and tilted her head, her big blue eyes gazing over your face. "Would it make things weird between us if I kissed you right now?" 

"What?" You laughed in surprise. 

Shrugging, Daisy wrapped her lips around the cigarette again, staining it with her lipstick before pulling back again. "What's a kiss between friends?" She laughed that time, nearly coughing on the smoke and breaking out into nervous giggles. Daisy looked away from you and wrapped her fingers around one of her swinging hoop earrings.

"Depends. Are we just friends?" You asked lightly, biting back a chuckle when her head snapped back toward you, eyes widening even further. Her cheeks darkened with a soft pink. Gotcha. "Daisy Jones... how long have you had feelings for me?"

[jammatown919]

Hello, My Old Heart

Julia had a hard time forcing herself to accept the fact that she was likely never going to speak with Carmen again.

For two years, she'd been in the same boat as Zack and Ivy, knowing only that Carmen needed time away to recover and should not be contacted until she was ready. But then she'd seen her, standing on that rooftop, looking down at the people who'd spent so long waiting, and thought for sure that her friend would be paying her a visit in the near future.

A month went by. That was fine; Carmen probably had other people to catch up with. Surely Julia was somewhere on the list, so what did it matter if she had to wait a bit?

Another month. No sightings, no visit, no anything. It was starting to bother her, if she was being perfectly honest. Two months was plenty of time to at least check in, if Julia was anything close to a priority.

Another month. Nothing. Julia didn't know whether to worry about her friend or simply feel abandoned. Some days, she settled for both.

One more month, and finally there was something. Not from Carmen herself, but from Zack, who let it slip, seemingly by accident, that Carmen was not, in fact, still missing in action as Julia had thought. Instead, she'd moved back in with her old crew at some undisclosed location. Four goddamn months ago.

Not only had Carmen decided not to visit, but apparently she'd asked two of Julia's closest work friends to keep her a secret, if Ivy's immediate change of topic was anything to go by. That hurt more than anything; the fact that Carmen appeared to be hiding from her, like she wanted to cut ties as quietly as possible.

Well, fine then. They wouldn't talk. They wouldn't get closure, or rebuild their relationship, because Carmen wanted none of it. Fine.

Julia would mourn the friendship, probably be angry a good long while, and then she would get over it. She would, because as much as she might want Carmen Sandiego, she didn't need her. The wound would close, even if it took its sweet time in doing so.

Which, apparently, it would be doing, because Carmen decided to rip it right back open three days later.

She showed up early in the evening, standing outside Julia's apartment with what had to be the most awkward demeanor she'd ever displayed. Even her knock had been weird; like she was only half-sure she wanted to do it and had just barely convinced herself.

"Hey, Jules," she said lamely, with a nearly nonexistent smile. It pissed Julia off astronomically.

"Oh, get inside," she hissed and, for the purpose of not making a scene in the doorway, grabbed Carmen's forearm and dragged her inside.

Carmen, though startled, didn't protest or seem to mind anything other Julia's tone, at which she visibly winced. Good.

"'Hey, Jules'?" Julia snapped the second they were in private. "You disappear for two years, hide from me for four months and have my friends lie to me about it, and then you show up out of nowhere and you give me 'Hey, Jules'?"

Carmen seemed to shrink in that moment; shoulders hunched, leaning slightly backward, chin tilted low. It was enough to distract Julia from her anger and introduce a bit of concern to the mix. She had never seen Carmen so small and nervous before. Frankly, she didn't care for it one bit.

"Guess I deserved that," Carmen murmured. She took a breath, as if to steel herself, and said, "I owe you an apology. And an explanation, if you want it."

"Neither would be unwelcome." As much as Julia wanted to continue being upset, she found it nearly impossible to look at that face, one that she'd been dying to see for years and that was so full of anxiety, and hold a grudge of any kind. She didn't think she could let Carmen off the hook quite yet, but she would give her a chance to explain herself.

"I'm sorry," Carmen began. "I'm sorry for the way I hurt you when I wasn't myself-"

"You think I'm upset about that?" Julia demanded. "I know that wasn't your fault. Like you just said, you weren't yourself."

"Please, let me finish," Carmen went on. "I'm sorry for ghosting you once I came back to my senses. I'm not sure how much the others told you, but I kind of ghosted just about everyone for a while. After everything that happened, I couldn't stand to be around anyone or anything that reminded me. I went to Argentina, met my mom, stayed with her for a while. I really needed that time away."

"I knew you were taking time to recover," Julia said. "I was alright with that. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me when you were ready to come back. Why Zack and Ivy didn't tell me they knew you were alright these past few months."

"I'm sorry for that too." Carmen paused briefly, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I should have said something to you, but... it was different with Zack and Ivy. We talked before I left. I knew there were no hard feelings about what I did to them. With you and Devineaux, the last time I saw you, I was trying to kill you. I didn't know how you felt about that or if you wanted to see me again. But I should have left that up to you instead of just disappearing."

"So... you stayed away not because you wanted to, but because you thought I would want you to?" It felt like a remarkably Carmen Sandiego thing to do. Always acting in the best interest of others. Usually, though, she was a bit more correct in her deductions. "Well, you're right about one thing. You should have left it up to me, because if you had, you would have known I didn't hold anything against you. I wanted to see you again."

"And... now?"

Julia let out a sigh. "Now, I can't say I'm not frustrated with you, but I appreciate at least knowing what you were thinking.  And I still want to see you."

"Really?" The anxiety in Carmen's voice stirred up something uncomfortable within Julia. She'd always admired Carmen's confidence more than anything, and to see her without it was like only getting part of her back. 

"Of course," she said. "If you don't mind me saying, I've always thought you were amazing. Captivating at first, and then just a truly wonderful person. I now consider you a friend, but if you're going to be my friend, I need you to be forthcoming with me. And I need you to trust that I care about you enough to not be angry with you for things that aren't your fault."

A certain warmth entered Carmen's expression; one that reminded Julia that her description was really only the half of it. Of course she'd been captivated by The Scarlet Superthief and impressed by the quality of Carmen Sandiego's character, but it was more than that. From the very beginning, she'd seen a beauty in Carmen, both inside and out, that had allowed the woman to occupy a space in Julia's heart and mind for so long. She more than admired her. She absolutely adored her. 

"Thank you, Jules." Carmen's tone became a lot less anxious and a lot more sincere. "I promise not to pull any more disappearing acts on you."

"And not to ask my friends to hide things from me again?" Julia prompted. 

"That too," Carmen replied, a little sheepishly. "From now on, you're in the loop. Here."

She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and produced a small slip of paper, which she held out to Julia. Taking and unfolding it, Julia found that a sequence of numbers had been neatly written on the inside. 

"Could this be the elusive Carmen Sandiego's own phone number?" she asked, a grin slightly visible on her face and extremely audible in her voice. 

"No more waiting on me to contact you," Carmen said. "You have the freedom to call me whenever. I'll answer."

Julia couldn't help but feel a little giddy, knowing Carmen must have prepared this slip of paper in advance. She'd come in hoping things would go well and they'd be able to reconnect. 

"I'll also be staying in Poitiers for a few days, if you want to catch up," Carmen added. 

"Oh?" Julia raised her brow slightly. "Plotting a caper nearby? I'm sure ACME could be of some help, if you're willing to share your intel."

"No capers," Carmen replied with a small shake of her head. "For once, I'm traveling for pleasure instead of business."

"I couldn't possibly flatter myself by thinking you're staying just for me."

Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Julia could have sworn for a second that Carmen's face took on a slight reddish tinge. "After two years, I think I owe you that much." 

It was almost funny, how Carmen could get Julia's heartrate up so easily. "Do you have a place to stay? My apartment is a bit small, but I'm sure I could-"

"I couldn't intrude like that," Carmen interrupted gently. "I have a hotel."

Julia tried not to dwell on whether she was disappointed to hear that. "Well, then, perhaps we could meet for breakfast tomorrow. I know a lovely caf�� nearby."

"That sounds great, Jules." Carmen gave her one of those small yet captivating smiles. The ones that Julia could always tell were genuine. "I'll let you get some sleep. Text me the details?"

"Of course," Julia replied. "And I expect you'll be on time tomorrow?"

"No more keeping you waiting. I promise," Carmen said as she turned toward the door, glancing over her shoulder to speak. 

"Then, Ms. Sandiego, I expect to see you at precisely 9 o'clock tomorrow morning."

Carmen chuckled slightly at Julia's mildly bossy tone, which very nearly made Julia laugh as well. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Jules."

------ If you enjoy my work, please consider reblogging to share it with others!

[iipaibai]

Erza, Julia, Mirajane hc (NSFW) with dom!male!reader.

a/n: worked 8 hours today, working 9 hours tomorrow, yet nothing compares to the amount of time i’ll spend rereading this and smiling at being able to have the courage to post this and simultaneously suck so hard at writing for a dom male pov. #notthebrightest #slaygirlboss

*——————————————————————*

ERZAA

-erza would def be an obedient sub. like.. have you SEEN the way she shrinks back when shes speaking to someone of a higher power???

-a big plus for that requip too btw

-she would go above and beyond to make you feel the best you can-not just for you, but for her as well. like she would suck you off till you dropped. Alternate ending for pleasure doms: she’d take about 7-8 orgasms before she fainted.

-out in the day, she seems like the dom in your guys relationship. everyone even makes jokes that she pegs you. but behind closed doors is when shit gets real.

-it’s almost sad to see how much she just wants to be on her knees all the time, pleasing you.

-even you mocking her doesn’t sway her. The nastiest things you could think of still wouldn’t be enough to wake her from her cockhungry trance.

-“Titania, queen of the fairies, sucking my dick. whining all pretty and breathy just for her (daddy/master/god/etc). does she like it? hm? awww those tears in your eyes say that you do~”

-def a deepthroating queen. she doesn’t have a gag reflex bc it’s easier to survive without one

-a widely respected sorceress among EVERYONE so knowing that so many people respect her makes it all the more pathetic when she whines for you to just stop teasing and finally put it in

-can deal with monstrous size but truly prefers a smaller cock.

-she does everything for you and you alone. whether it be sucking your cock until your eyes roll into the back of your head, or letting you do whatever you wanted to her-as long as it made you feel good, she’d sacrifice herself for you, let alone your pleasure. ❤️

————————————————————————

JUVIAA

-juvia is a brat. she CAN be obedient, if you really liked it, but she doesn’t want to be.

-once you start dating her, you get a glimpse of her playful side and see that past that relatively obedient exterior, she’s actually a little disobedient and lowk a brat

-she wants to be restricted, restrained, unable to move at all. she wants to be in pain so much and be put back in her place

-she purposefully upsets you so that you get angry and pin her against the wall, nearly crushing her wrists in the process

-“you think you’re fucking funny? lets see how long you’ll stay laughing when i shut your brain off by chaining you to the bed and leaving a vibrator in while I go take a fucking nap. should we time it”

-she can last very long. VERYY long.

-do i even need to clarify that she’s a squirter?

-she loves feeling helpless, alone, terrified, and she’s definitely into predator/prey.

-your guys’ favorite activity is when you let her loose in the forest right by the Fairy Tail guild with a blindfold on. she stumbles around, trying so hard to see through it and feel her way instead of running when she suddenly feels your hands on her, whispering lowly in her ear.

“gotcha.”💙

————————————————————————

MIRAAAA

-to me, mira would be a pleasure dom. but, for the sake of this, she’ll have a pretty similar personality in bed as she does out in the world

-she isn’t exactly as obedient as Erza is behind closed doors, but she’s also nowhere near as bratty as Juvia.

-she’s a good mix of housewife and back alley street whore but instead of money it’s oz of your cum

-she’s so genuinely embarrassed about the things that turns her on because she knows that if word ever got out, it would be the end of her career at Fairy Tail. she thinks that if she ever told anyone about anything she was into, she would instantly get fired and shunned. (She’s into light choking and praise-degradation)

-not too much degradation, because just as she’s very pretty, she’s the same amount to fragile, mentally.

-but also not too much praise otherwise she feels like she’s being lied to.

-her favorite line of yours? probably the time she spilled a glass of orange juice on your limited edition “how to dominate in bedwars” in the morning after she stayed up all night, flipped out about it, tried to clean it off. But then you stood up, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into your warm body while you wrapped your arms around her and whispered softly into her ear. “it’s okay, my love. someone as beautiful as you should never have to fret about something so trivial. you’re okay, it’s okay. it’s all going to be just fine.” 🤍

[lastlymatt]

Julia Rothman's Letters

These are my quick transcriptions of what we can see of Julia's letters. John's handwriting is atrocious in places, and some parts were either too blurry to read or covered up, but I've done my best.

Edited after receiving some very lovely and helpful messages. Thanks, everyone!

Top letter

27 July 2004 w, When I close my eyes, I can still taste the wine we shared and smell incense on the air. I can still picture you in that exquisite gown, your golden hair, your eyes on mine Am I alone in these thoughts? It feels like only yesterday since we first met and yet nearly three years of service have passed that, without you, I feel sure would have been unendurable. I found the enclosed photograph of the two of us at the 'school'. Keep it safe and close. with love, xx

Small yellow letter

27/12/[01?] My dearest w, A dreary time without you. Can't wait to be at the palace with you again. H [or JR]

Bottom letter

Dear The temperature here is cold enough, but I feel it all the more acutely for not being near you. I can't decide if the memory of our [illegible] blessing or a curse it plays over and over in [illegible]

I hope that this helps anyone

[mrs-snape5984]

“Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you, dear…”

“To think I might not see those eyes, it makes it so hard not to cry. And as we say our long goodbyes, I nearly do…” (“Run” by Snow Patrol)

I guess, I have to flag this post with a trigger warning for some mentions of suicidal thoughts. Please skip the following three short paragraphs, if this might be hurting you. I’m sorry for that.

Since my condition is worsening, due to this goddamn bitch of a disease ME/CFS, my thoughts keep on wandering to some darker places…searching for a way out of this hell. And even though I’m telling myself, that I won’t leave my three children behind, I caught myself preparing for the final step.

Within the last two years, I’ve lost more and more of my freedom…my friends…my regular life…and myself. What’s left, is a life in darkness and solitude. Lying in bed day in, day out…struggling with pain and suffering from the increasing symptoms of this illness. Slowly wasting away…

I’ve set myself a limit…a point, in which I won’t endure the dilapidation of my body and mind any further. I don’t know, when this point of no return will come…but my limit is fixated.

In the course of these mental preparations, I’ve done something, which I deeply regret. I’ve told my closest friends…those, whom I love with all my heart…about these arrangements. As soon as I heard, that I’ve broken their heart with my wishes, I knew, that I’ve made a mistake….and I’m terribly sorry for that.

I’ve commissioned my friend @opalchalice for this beautiful piece of art, which shows my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules, consoling her husband Severus after unveiling exactly these preliminary arrangements, which I’ve mentioned to my friends, to him.

Well, as some of you know, I’m projecting my personal experiences onto the stories, I’m writing, as well as onto the artworks, I’m requesting from these talented and compassionate artists of our beloved Snapedom. So, this drawing shall be my apology to the friends, whom I might have offended and hurt with my thoughts and wishes. Please don’t forget, that I love you…and feel free to express your own boundaries towards me, whenever I’m going too far! I never meant to hurt your feelings…and I’m honestly sorry, that I already did.

Lia, I’m beyond grateful for your help to manifest my apologies and my attempt of consolation in your divine illustration. Please, don’t ever doubt your talent, my dear. I’m a sucker for your art and I will support you as long as I’m strong enough to go online for some time, no matter how restricted my abilities to bear screen time will be. Believe in yourself…because I do! You’re a true artist and a gem of a human being and my heart is filled with gratitude, that I was allowed to meet you here.

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[solastia]

Apocalyptic Confessions

I was depressed Had a breakdown and wrote something sad and sweet Bone Apple Tea

Song: If the World Was Ending (JP Saxe ft. Julia Michaels)

Pairing: Namjoon x Yoongi

Warnings: Emotional infidelity (not between them), MCD, Basically bittersweet ending

(Posting this on tumblr because I read it again and my own work made me cry)

**************

He’d spent weeks thinking about how he’d like to spend his final day on earth since he’d first heard the news. He’d already gotten all his big wishes out of the way - everything from spending lots of time with his family and friends to finally getting a huge tattoo. He’d taken in a cat and a dog since rescues were now just giving them away. He ate as many delicious meals as he wanted until his cheeks filled and his chest expanded - always the first to go when he gained weight. 

He’d even gone back to Daegu for a while and walked the streets of his old neighborhood, soaking up the memories until the sky turned crimson and the air became riddled with more pollution than their usual yellow dust. 

He’d spent lots of precious time with his members and life-long friends once he returned. All the guys were older and established with their own families, so they would understandably be spending their last day with them, but they still spared time for their lifetime bachelor Suga hyung. 

He wasn’t ashamed to say every single one of them had cried in each other's arms. They’d all gone through so much together - grew up together, really - and they’d lived a good life until now. He’d reverted into his role of Bangtan Father Figure and comforted them as much as he could, holding their youngest members as they clung to him and cried into his seven million won jacket. The final goodbyes with his members had been even harder than the ones with his parents and brother. Poor Jungkook had cried so hard that Seokjin had to carry him to his car, and Hobah hadn’t been much better. 

That had been yesterday, though, and now all of his members were safely ensconced in their homes with their families to wait out their final day on Earth before the planet killed them all. 

He’d never looked into every detail of the circumstances. Didn’t feel like he needed to because he grasped the basics - global warming, planet combusts, everything dies. Today was the day the news had announced was the suspected D-day, and judging by the way the world was crumbling around them, it was accurate. 

As it was, breathing was getting harder and the temperatures were scorching. The sky had been a canvas of crimson, orange, and yellow for days. Debris fell from the sky as bits of the planet itself were obliterated. The scientists had predicted that the planet wouldn’t be completely destroyed, only just enough to kill everything and everyone off. Then in perhaps hundreds of years or more, life could begin again. He could only hope that if the afterlife were a thing, his spirit would survive and he’d be reborn with his members again. 

Ah , he sighed into his drink. He’s getting sappy. He didn’t even really believe in reincarnation or anything. But he’d want to be reborn and live next to him again. 

He closes his eyes and rolls the whiskey on his tongue as he settles into his recliner. He grabs the remote and hovers his thumb over the button, preparing himself mentally for what he’s about to watch. He exhales heavily and presses it, setting the controller down nearby in case it becomes too much and he needs to turn it off and finally turns his attention to the screen. 

The video comes to life slowly as an incredibly young version of himself peeks into view and grins at the camera while he adjusts the stand it sits on. The quality isn’t great because he’d purchased the old thing second-hand but it did the job. 

Yoongi shakes his head as he observes himself, noting the lack of his current wrinkles and the slim - nearly starving - physique. Not that he wasn’t still looking pretty damn good for someone that just turned forty-three. 

The boy in the video had just left home and joined BigHit. They still haven’t formed an actual group, he’s still at the bottom of every evaluation, and his knees are skinned and rubbed raw from trying to keep up with all the dancing. But his eyes are bright and he’s smiling at another kid that runs inside the dance studio. 

“Hyung, I’m back! Mom packed some dinner for you. Make sure you eat it all before the manager comes in.” 

The young Namjoon is a gangly thing with arms and legs that are too long for him to handle. He bends and smiles into the camera then shoves the fabric-wrapped bundle of food at Yoongi, watching him fondly as he shovels the food down his throat. Namjoon had always gone home to his parents at least once a week and always made sure to bring his starving roommate extra food. Their diets at the time had been brutal. 

Yoongi observes the two of them on the video, shaking his head as he watches them practice (very badly) some choreography to get them through the next evaluation. 

His idea for starting this video had been a little sad. He hadn’t been sure he would make it. He’d hoped and dreamed - worked his ass off - but you can never be completely sure of what the future holds. He’d always been more of a hope for the best but prepare for the worst kinda guy. So he’d bought the old camera and decided to film what he could so that when he someday was kicked out and had to go back to working some mundane retail job, he could look back at the memories. 

Only each clip that he added to the files of videos over the years showed them rising higher and higher. And he always made sure to get lots of close-ups of the man that held his heart. 

Not that he’d ever admitted that bit out loud, but it was no less true. He thought he could almost see himself falling as he watched the videos, observing the two of them go from teenage boys with alpha complexes to being best friends in chronological order. Not that they always got along - even they had their fiery battles where Namjoon could be the pettiest bitch alive and Yoongi had the magical ability to say exactly what could hurt the most. But they both had the same dream and both were stubborn as hell so they’d learned their way around each other. Eventually, Yoongi realized that the feelings of respect he’d developed for his friend and member kept growing until it was verging on dangerous. 

He’d always known he wasn’t quite…straight. Maybe not gay. Bi? Whatever. He’d never really liked labels. He’d had crushes on a few girls in high school and a few crushes on some male celebrities. He’d planned on marrying a woman and having kids to make his parents happy eventually, but he’d never felt for anyone else what he felt for Kim Namjoon. No matter how many blind dates he’d been set up on or escorts and models he’d fucked - not a single one of them was able to erase the way his heart skipped a beat when that big smile with his ridiculously deep dimples was aimed at Yoongi. 

However, his defining characteristics were that he’s a true Pisces and a workaholic, so he did what he did best - pined from afar and threw himself into his work. He’d done that successfully all these years, even as his members grew up, found their own loves, and created their own lives outside of their group. He found his version of happiness filling the world with his music. 

Still, he’d never stopped filming the videos. He’d never posted them publicly like JK had with his GC films. These weren’t for the world to see. These were memories that he kept for himself. For days like today, he supposed, when he was sitting all alone and facing the end of the world with just a drink and his precious memories. 

Surprisingly, he seemed to have kept them fairly balanced between the members. He had as many clips of the kids being silly as he did of Namjoon or himself. Lots of them hanging out in their old dorms, graduations, and silly teen antics. A bunch of videos of them drinking and acting stupid, usually having heated debates over absurd topics for fun, and Namjoon drunkenly discussing philosophical shit that put the younger ones to sleep. 

All their big moments he caught on film usually the second the Bighit cameras were gone, so he had lots of clips of them sobbing after winning their first awards. 

Actually, after that first award he’d had to pause the clip for a moment, staring at the way Namjoon was looking into the camera. At the time, he’d probably missed it or dismissed it - he didn’t remember. But now…the way that Namjoon stared into the camera…was because Yoongi was behind it. He was puffed up with pride and had that gorilla chin thing going on, but there was something else there. Something that made current Yoongi’s chest flutter dangerously. 

He fast-forwarded through other scenes for the next hour, noticing the trend. Namjoon would melt whenever Yoongi busted out his old camera and looked into the lens like the two of them were the only ones there. 

Huh. 

He’d never even noticed. He’d always been caught up in the moments as well, so maybe that was why. Or maybe the obliterated ozone was making him hallucinate. Whatever. He saw…something there. 

Or maybe he was just grasping for something to hold onto during his final moments. 

He sighed and slid from his seat, intending to top off his drink and maybe grab a pack of cookies. One benefit of being hours from death - no dieting. 

He put a few cookies on a plate, stared at it, then set the whole package on the tray as well. Then he grabbed his bottle of whiskey - a forty-five-year-old single malt scotch that he threw thousands down for that tasted just barely better than the stuff he bought at the grocery store for fifty won - and prepared himself another glass. 

He carried his tray of goods back to his seat and settled back in to watch more, pausing now and then to give the Maltese he’d adopted a cookie. 

After a few hours, the lights started to flicker and he stood up to peek outside. The sky was a violent crimson now, shot with orange and smatterings of black. There were small fires all over the city as things burned and crumbled. A cloud was in the far distance - crimson as everything else - but swirling and filled with debris. He figured that was probably going to be what took him out. He had no idea how he was staying as calm as he was. 

He took a shaky breath and reached down to pet the grey cat he’d adopted along with the Maltese. They were both anxious but dealing with it well. 

The cat meowed and twirled around his legs. 

“What do you need, Mellodi? Are you hungry?” 

He hums and leads the cat to the kitchen, the little white fluffball he’d named Gangaji (because he didn’t have the brain power left to think of anything better and it’s not like the pup would have to live with it forever) following them for a treat of his own. 

He fixes them the wet food he’d gotten from the shelter and watches them for a moment, wishing he’d gotten them sooner. It was nice having someone to take care of at home. 

He leaves them to their supper and goes back to the living room, realizing he’d forgotten to pause the video. It was playing the moment he’d busted out his old camera as Namjoon got ready for his wedding. He’d looked amazing - of fucking course he had. 

His hair had been dyed black and he’d gone with the usual black and white tux, but with little Namjoonesque accessories. 

And holy fuck, there was that look again. Namjoon stared into the lens right into Yoongi’s soul, smiling a little. 

“Hyung. I should do this, right?” 

He remembered how he’d practically heard alarm bells when Namjoon had said that. 

“You should only do what you want to do, Joon. You don’t have to marry someone to love them. Is this something you want?” He heard himself say and nodded at his sage wisdom. 

Namjoon sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I care about her and I’m excited to have a family.” 

He turned to the camera again and grinned into the lens. 

“You ever wanna get married, hyung? Or are you strictly dickly these days?” 

Yoongi had scoffed playfully. “Maybe. I’m in no rush. Plus, you know, I’m hard to deal with.” 

Namjoon shook his head and frowned into the camera. 

“You’re perfect, hyung. Not traditionally perfect, perhaps, but the perfect Yoongi. You know? You don’t need to change or become someone that is “easy to deal with.” Someone will learn to fit themselves to your puzzle piece instead of jamming them together - like we did. You know?” 

Namjoon had veered so much into his metaphor land that he nearly sounded like Taehyung. 

“Yeah, I hear you. And you’ll be good too.” 

Namjoon nodded, then took a deep breath. His eyes flattened into slits as he stared at Yoongi. 

“I love you, hyung.” 

“Love ya too, babo.” 

Yoongi stared at the screen, breathing in shakily. Fuck, he loved that man so much. He rewound the video, staring at Namjoon’s face as he said the words again. 

“I love you, hyung.” 

He could almost pretend they were said the way he’d always wanted to hear them. 

He sighed wearily and scratched the cat’s head when she jumped on him for attention. No sense dwelling on this now. 

He shut off the TV and leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling while he continued to pet the cat. The clocks all over the house showed that it was almost ten in the evening now, which explained why he was starting to feel a little tired. Maybe he should just spend his last moments on earth doing what he loved best - napping. 

He nods to himself and groans as he heaves himself from the chair. He begins to shuffle towards the bedroom with his two new shadows following behind him when he hears his door rattle. 

Gangaji gives a single tiny bark and then he hears a knock. Not just any knock, but a series of four followed by a pause then two more. Namjoon’s knock. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows practically fly off his face in his surprise. He quickly jogs towards the door and messes with the locks, suddenly annoyed at his demand that there be at least four of them. Finally, he lifted the last latch and swung the door open, staring up in wonderment as Kim Namjoon stood there heaving heavy breaths as the world crumbled behind him. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Namjoon? Get the fuck inside!” 

He pulls the man into his apartment, his face turning bright pink from the small blast of heat and his worry. 

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with your wife and kids. You could have gotten seriously hurt! You could have… there's like fire out there and probably lava and shit and…”

Yoongi’s rant is muffled when a big hand grabs him by the shirt and pulls him closer. Namjoon is looking down at him - beautiful, glorious Namjoon who is a little bit sweaty from running around out there and has a cut on his arm - and Yoongi’s protests die. 

Namjoon is giving him the look from the video. The one that made his heart race and his stomach feel like he ate stew that had been on his Halmoni’s stove for five days straight.

“I couldn’t do it.” 

Yoongi screws his nose in confusion. “Couldn’t do what?” 

“I couldn’t live my last night on earth in a lie. I couldn’t…I tried to lay down with Aera and the kids but I just kept thinking of you here alone and…”

Oh. It was a charity thing. 

He forces a smile and pats his friend’s chest. That bouncy and plump chest that he still had after all these years…

He cleared his throat to make his straying thoughts cease. 

“You don’t have to worry about hyung, Joon. I got a couple of kids myself and I’m good. You need to go home,” he waves a hand carelessly and shows Namjoon the animals he’d gotten. 

Namjoon stares at them for a second and it’s obvious that he has to fight the urge to reach down to the puppy. He shakes his head and stares at Yoongi again, his gaze tightening with some sort of resolve. 

“No, hyung. The lie is that my home isn’t you . I want to be here with you .  I love you and I always have. You don’t have to do anything just…let me stay with you.” 

Yoongi’s heart is hammering in his chest as he stares up at his friend. “Like…romantically?” 

Namjoon’s smile quirks and he raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, hyung. Like romantically.” 

“How long?” 

Yoongi wasn’t sure that the answer mattered anymore, but he was curious. 

“Long time. Years and years. All the reasons why I didn’t go for it seem stupid and irrelevant now. But I…I just wanted to be selfish. Can I just…be selfish for today? Our final day on earth and I want to…” his head drops and Yoongi can hear his voice begin to wobble. “I want to die with you in my arms. I want to hold you and tell you I love you and that…that even though I don’t believe in reincarnation I want to just so we can do better next time.” 

Yoongi leans forward and presses his forehead into Namjoon’s chest. He breathes in deeply - taking note that underneath the sulphuric odor from outdoors, he was still wearing that fancy body wash scent. 

“I want that too,” he whispered, deciding fuck yeah, they can be selfish. He’d been sharing Namjoon with the world for twenty-five years. He deserves one fucking night. 

“Yeah?” Namjoon tilts his head up by his chin. “I kinda suspected sometimes that maybe you too but…do you love me? Like romantically?” He grins. 

Yoongi sighs dramatically, an answering shy smile tilting his lips. “Yeah, like romantically.” 

Namjoon gives his real smile then, the one that shows both dimples and the shine from his teeth could power a small country. Yoongi always loved Namjoon’s smile. 

Silently, he lets Namjoon lead them to the bedroom. He nods at the other's feet and Namjoon clumsily kicks off his shoes and - after sneaking a peek at Yoongi - snakes out of his jeans too. Yoongi climbs into bed and watches as Namjoon lowers himself next to him. How many nights had he laid in this very spot wishing he’d look over and see this very sight? 

Namjoon sighs as he lays his head on the pillow and reaches for Yoongi. The smaller man allows himself to be pulled closer and molded into the cage of Namjoon’s larger frame. He takes a deep breath and laces their legs together, pointedly ignoring the sound of glass breaking from somewhere in the living room. The animals race to get under the bed and he ignores that too, focusing only on the fact that he’s finally where he belongs at last. 

“I love you,” Namjoon rumbles, smiling happily. “Love you. Feels so good to finally get to say it.” 

Yoongi knows exactly what he means. Feels the need to say it over and over again like it’s a ward to keep him safe. 

“Love you, Kim Namjoon,” he sighs, reaching an arm across the small waist to pull himself even closer to him. Fuck, if he could figure out how to meld themselves together he totally would. 

Namjoon reaches out a large hand to tilt Yoongi’s face up, kissing him softly. Petal soft kisses span his entire face as Namjoon kisses first his lips, then his nose, both of his closed eyelids and finally his forehead before placing his hand on top of Yoongi’s head and playing with the strands. 

The sound of wood splintering has Yoongi whimpering and trying to get closer still, even if it’s physically impossible. 

The end was here at their beginning. 

“Hyung. I’ll love you next time too, okay? Don’t forget.” 

It’s getting harder to breathe as toxic fumes reach them and Yoongi fights to keep his eyes open. He stares hard at the man holding him, the love of his life. Of all his lives, if he had his way. The one he grew up with, fought with, dreamed with, loved with all his heart. 

“I’ll remember, Joon. Go to sleep now. I love you.” 

He watches as Namjoon tries to take one last huge breath, then his eyes shut and his arms tighten around Yoongi. He stares for one more second and then closes his own, sleeping forever in the arms of his love. 

[enoughyi]

#20: With Teeth

Ship: Imelda x Poppy

Rating: M (for suggestive language)

Tags: @espressoristretto-patronum @celestial--sapphic @theladyofshalott1989 @infernalrusalka @thriftstorebabayaga @phinik

Poppy protested, "I need to finish the report!"

"I don't have a spare minute!" Poppy insisted, in a regretful whisper.

It has become insultingly common, Poppy's job that is, Imelda thought.

"I am not as blunt as birdie so leave it or take it; but the bitch that is your boss hasn't credited your job for nearly as much as it deserves. I know a full bull of beasts. Ugh. But she hasn't. Has. Not. Ever, Poppy. She has been stealing your from us—from me, Pops, and tomorrow you'll enter the office and—" Imelda stopped, abruptly.

Last time Poppy checked in with the research group, her contribution was mercilessly stomped to bits by a single person, her supervisor, but the entire crew couldn't move forward without it. The supervisor didn't attribute an alleged failure to anything or anyone; it is as though she simply hated Poppy and made it her goal to stall the workflow for however long it would take the rest of the crew to grow a dislike for Poppy's presence.

Poppy was stoic enough to take the insult at work but at home her misery, palpalable, breathed heavily into four arms of her wives as she cried for the rest of evening and refused either food or potion. She was given advices.

Yet, she was set to perfect the bit, regardless.

"And?" Poppy asked, quietly; her quil pen still in her pale, veined hand.

Imelda couldn't force herself to look her in the eyes. She wasn't ready to meet her desperation face to face again. So she stared at a point in between her brows.

"For all I care, she shat on your work before, she will do it again, am I not correct?" Imelda said. Poppy hesitatntly relaxed the grip she had on the pen. "You spent weeks working on… beasts and their fucks."

"The migratory patterns of the midland browns."

"Yes, and your bitch wants you to go sideways!"

"But we've yet to gain full understanding what consequences poaching caused after DMLE was done with the area."

"Is it your job to evaluate it, asses it, whatever that it is you are set to do, though?"

"Only tangentially but it's important! Julia and you just…" Poppy suddenly cut what eye contact she thought they had. "You don't understand."

Imelda approached her desk, silently, and chanced a sit. Poppy didn't object. "For all you should care, Pops, you can wrap the browns up and present her as evidence for where did the dragons."

Poppy's eyes twitched. She was keeping the smile's tug at her lips. But her voice gave it away, "Salamanders."

"Who cares, I mean you do, obviously, but for the reat of the public — might I dare say 'me' — they're lizards. Probably, the cute little ones." Poppy wasn't looking at anywhere on her desk at that moment. Her gaze was stuck at the adjacent wall; her eyes traced the drape of a Julia's tailoring project left here for Merlin knows why.

Imelda crawled her fingers close to Poppy's pen, and touched the tip of her index.

Poppy averted her gaze, and met Imelda's. Pearly, round tears rolled at the corners of both of her eyes.

She knew that tangent wasn't necessary, that no one would appreciate her meddling with someone else's job—or beamured her commitment to the bit so painstakingly dear, she would be paid the same yet do the double without a chance for raise under such supervision that will stomp her efforts to the ground time and time again. Her passion will burn down; first for the beast, then for the home, because the deathly crawlers of workplace resentment would like to pick up, hold up and strangle down everything dear to her, just so she will not only leave the job, but a will to live. Likely an overstatement, Imelda thought. Yet, she met embodiments of vindictiveness. She just hoped, desperately so, whoever was in charge of the crew had just been stuck wearing a pair of evertwisted knickers.

"Imelda!"

"What, I said that aloud?"

"Yes!" Poppy snorted. "Your assessment of her temper is quite on spot, however."

"Her troubles then, not yours. Arse off the chair, let's untwist yours."

Dull look of Poppy's face slowly ornamented itself with reds and pinks of her ears and cheeks. What other that bitch boss of hers took away from her well-being was quiality bedtime, tubtime, walltime.

Desktime.

Time committing to her marital vows.

Time, simply.

"I— Not now," Poppy said, and Imelda's heart dropped on the stomach as she stood up. That bitch of hers… "I'd been sitting here for hours. I'm not warming your hands. Excuse me."

"Ah. Oh. But then?" Imelda whined like she was pleading a parent to buy her sweets.

Poppy grinned, weakly, "I like it more when you tug with teeth."