#where it explicitly states that I would not be going back to work until Saturday

[pinkandrainyclouds]

I truly believe that most, if not all, nurses have an evil force lurking within them.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song v (m).

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire. 

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, fluff, smut; a shit ton of kissing, oral (f), seokjin likes eye contact, slight overstimulation, he also seems to have a slight potty mouth when turned on, romantic sex, protected sex, shower scene, oral (m), this chapter is basically just sex, enjoy! (yes, the dilf dick is b i g) lingerie described found here for the visuals ~  words; 9,572

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. You were like a little kid at the lead up to Christmas. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this excited for something. Actually, on second thoughts, you couldn’t think of a time you were this excited for anything, period. And all over the prospect of sleeping with Seokjin, and definitely not in the innocent way… He had in no way explicitly stated that you’d be having sex this week, but the insinuation was heavy in the air. Everything leading up to this moment was suggesting come Saturday night you would not be sat in front of Seokjin’s 75” television watching boxsets… 

On the morning of you decided to pack a few things in a small case. You definitely planned on returning home in the day if needed or bored while Seokjin was at work, but the essentials were required: underwear, pyjamas, a few outfits, toiletries and skincare, your iPad, miscellaneous chargers. Soojung on the other hand was acting like you were never coming back… 

“I’m going to miss you.” She whined, having been hovering around you as you packed. “Leaving me alone with smelly Tae.” 

In a bid not to be alone in the evenings she’d invited her smelly boyfriend over for the week, but although she sounded irked it was all just an act. God knows what they’d get up to while you were gone, you dreaded to think. On second thoughts, maybe it would be best to stay at Seokjin’s place all week… You had no clue what you’d walk in on in your own home.  

“I won’t be gone the whole week. Besides, we can meet up for lunch and stuff.” You often visited her at the department store, perusing the food court until it was time for her lunch break. You weren’t secluded from the whole world while away. What did she think was happening? 

She helped you fold your clothes in momentary silence, deep in thought it seemed. “What if you love it there and want to stay permanently Dilf mansion?” 

You scoffed immediately, taking the small pile of t-shirts from her to pack away. “Soo, way to jump the gun.” You’d been dating barely six weeks, hadn’t even had sex yet, moving in together was number 1 on the highly unlikely list. Although, sliding in a couple of pairs of flats into the top pocket of your case and zipping it up, you hummed in consideration. “Dilf mansion does have a ring to it though…” 

Soojung’s attention was on another pile of clothing now – one you would be wearing this evening to leave for Seokjin’s house. Her fingertips brushed along the delicate baby blue lace of your lingerie, sitting on top of the pile and she looked up at you and grinned wickedly. “You’re going to knock his socks off with this.” 

You and her had spent yesterday browsing the mall with a very important task. To decide on the most perfect lingerie set. Knowing Seokjin for a while know, you’d noticed he had an inclination for the colour blue, so your chosen piece had to be a winner – practically see-through, littered in beautiful lace flowers. You were well and truly prepared for tonight, you were a woman on a mission. 

“His Dilf socks,” you corrected your best friend, both of you instantly exploding into a fit of giggles. 

Arin had left with her grandparents this morning, and as much as Seokjin was eager to get this weekend started and see you immediately, he actually had a few things he needed to take care of at work. It wasn’t until around 5pm that you got into your car to make the short journey, Soo waving you off proudly like you were about to attend your graduation. You were honestly quite calm given the circumstances, although one look at Seokjin as he stepped out the front door to take your case and all inner composure was lost. You were one big ball of excitement, most of it flurrying around in the pit of your stomach. Yet you kept cool on the outside, grinning at the handsome man in front of you despite your lingerie burning marks into your skin. 

And handsome he was today, (as if he wasn’t every day), his dark hair parted in the centre of his forehead naturally, his eyes crinkling as he smiled and leaned in for a kiss. You tasted a hint of mango on his mouth, an obvious sheen to his plump lips, and you presumed he’d applied some chapstick before you’d arrived – the chapstick you’d bought him not too long ago after he’d complained of cracked lips to you on the phone one night. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly, his arms around your waist, body pressed snuggly into yours. 

“Hey yourself,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, gazing into one another’s eyes before you lightly teased him. “Are we going to stay out here all night?” 

Chuckling heartily, he reached behind you, lifting your case with ease. “Let’s go put this in my room.” 

You’d never once stepped foot onto the upper level of his house before, so you were very observant on your way to his bedroom, eyes catching art pieces (you noticed numerous of Arin’s) and photos along the walls, light fixtures, as well as the odd plant here and there. You had to walk two flights of stairs to get to your destination, one average in length, the other shorter, veering off to the left of the corridor to reach a landing leading into his bedroom. You remembered what he’d said about changing and designing his bedroom himself, so you were very curious as to what it looked like inside. Yet still, the sight of it stunned you to brief silence. 

His was the largest bedroom in the house, the master bedroom if you were being fancy, but in your opinion it was more like a mini home in itself. All it needed was a kitchen and you would be good to go. It smelt just like him – of his cologne and the recognisable vanilla scent his house seemed to waft of every time you visited. The walls were warm grey, décor similar with dashes of cream and gold. The bed matched the whole vibe of the room – insanely large, and you could already tell it was going to be the comfiest thing you’d ever slept on. Directly opposite, but a long way away, were a sofa and love seat sat around a TV hooked to the wall above a stunning fireplace. There were two sets of double windows, from the ceiling to the wooden floor, dark grey drapes open – not that it mattered. Seokjin’s house was out-of-the-way, no chance of being seen. All you were met with as you looked down, was a small patch of garden you hadn’t seen before, plain and simple, but very beautiful. Tranquil. 

To the left of the room a door opened into another, perhaps a quarter of the size – his closet, and you followed him inside, still pretty much lost for words. He said there was no point putting your belongings away tonight, you could do it tomorrow, but he’d saved a drawer for you and there was an empty section of hanging space you could use too. There was also a dressing table you could put to good use, because he sure didn’t, and then he whisked you away into the bathroom, which was probably the most beautiful room in the house. Everything was warm marble in colour. A separate bath and shower (both gigantic) and double sinks. 

“I got you a robe,” Seokjin pointed out, and you followed his gaze to behind the door, two fluffy white robes hooked to the wall. 

Oh, boy. You could get used to this. 

.

.

Seokjin ordered takeout for dinner – from an Indian restaurant Namjoon kept raving about apparently. With the amount he ordered you could have sworn he was feeding a whole party, not just the two of you. You were stuffed in no time, curling up on the sofa with a glass of red wine as Seokjin loaded the dishwasher. He still hadn’t cooked an actual meal for you, and when he joined you, of course you reminded him. This week he was preparing dinner for you one night, and that was final. You needed to see what Chef Kim had in him – even if he insisted his skills were long forgotten.  

You cuddled as you watched a movie, which more often than not meant you’d start to become sleepy – just ask Soojung – but tonight was different. You were wide awake and practically thrumming with excitement. You were begging for the movie credits an hour before they were due, and when they finally popped up your heart started to beat harder in anticipation. It was nearing 11pm. Your lingerie was still burning welts into your skin… 

Seokjin kissed the top of your head, your back pressed into his chest where you’d been snuggled into him, legs across the sofa, for the duration of the night. One of his arms was crossed around your front, the other free to drink his wine as he propped his feet up on the glass topped coffee table. You could really get used to this. 

“What did you think?” He hummed, reaching forward to place his glass on a coaster. You grabbed his hand, not wanting him to leave you and he chuckled, quickly resuming position to now loop both arms around your shoulders, pressing you further into the warmth of his body. 

“I enjoyed,” you replied with a small shrug. In all honesty it would’ve been a great movie if you hadn’t been so distracted. 

You felt him lower his head, breath hot against your ear as he spoke. “I’m glad you didn’t fall asleep on me.” You giggled as he started to kiss the column of your neck, his barely there presses of his lips tickling you. Yet still you pushed into his hold, letting your head fall back. He took the opportunity to suck your earlobe between his lips, eliciting a sweet sigh from you. “I really can’t wait to spend this entire week with you.”  He whispered. 

You tried to keep your voice as uninvolved as possible – which was a lot harder when he now had your earlobe between his teeth. “Eh. I’m so-so over it.” 

“Y/N!” He scolded playfully, groaning a laugh as he lifted his head away. “Stop. Now’s not the time for joking around.” 

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, latching onto his hands. 

“Face me,” he murmured almost suddenly. “Let me kiss you properly.” 

His kisses were gentle and loving, his hands cupping your face as you leaned into him, hands placed across his hard chest. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt tucked into some black pants, he’d looked irresistible all night. He pulled away slowly, lips upturned almost drunkenly. “What’s that grin for?” 

Seokjin’s gaze flicked from your lips to your eyes repeatedly as he replied, thumbs massaging circles into your cheeks. “I’m just very happy. Is that allowed?” 

Giggling, you pressed your mouth to his, wrapping your palms around his neck to pull him in closer. He hummed loudly – indulgently, and let you lick into his mouth, his own hands slipping down to your neck and down your torso, gripping your middle. Your chest was flush to his and you welcomed the heat of his body. You were happy too. It had been a long time since you’d last felt this content, and tonight you’d realised just how lovely it was to be able to lounge with Seokjin and be in his company so casually, so naturally like this. You would become spoiled this week, but you couldn’t feel too worried right now. 

Breaking away again, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but your mouth was a greedy thing, finding its way down his neck and across his throat as he leaned his head against the back of the sofa, his breathing shallow as he let you wonder. His fingers brushed up and down your back distractedly, until he seemed to remember what he wanted to tell you. “Hey,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat when you pinched your teeth into his Adam’s apple softly. “Hey, stop for a moment. There was something I wanted to say before…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the very obvious direction of his sentence, and as much as you wanted to nosedive straight into that pool, you pulled back to look into his eyes, waiting patiently. 

He straightened his back and you eased off him a little, finding his fond smile contagious. “I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks so much.” He began, sincerity in his tone . “I know I’m not old old by any means but dating you has made me feel like I’m young again. I mean, grinding in the middle of a bar is something I didn’t even do back in my college days.” 

“I fail to believe that,” you laughed. 

“Really,” he insisted, looking amused. “I was a nerd. A handsome one, but a nerd nonetheless.” Before you could roll your eyes he was continuing. “What I’m trying to say is that, I really like you, Y/N.” His fingers played with the ends of your hair lovingly.  “You know that already. Shit, I’m crazy about you. Just hearing your voice makes my day better. No matter how short a time we spend together, even if it’s just on the phone to say goodnight, I feel happy – I feel relaxed.” He paused to take a breath before moving to cup your face with one hand. “No matter how stressed I am you make it better by just existing.” 

“…Seokjin,” you murmured, a little lost for words at his declaration. 

He chuckled warmly, tops of his cheeks tinged somewhat rosy. “Too cheesy?”

You shook your head adamantly, reaching for his face as well. “Not at all. I’m crazy about you too.” His face lit up instantly and you couldn’t help but kiss him. “I’m so happy we met,” you confessed against his mouth. “I don’t want this summer to be over.” 

“It’s not over yet,” he laughed. “We still have time to make it even better.” You wanted that more than anything. Finding it difficult to keep away from your lips, he practically had to tear himself away. He was out of breath. “I know saying this out loud is silly given everything, but… Let’s make this official.” 

Your heart started somersaulting. You felt like you were in high school again, over the moon because Kim Rowoon had asked you to prom. Only this was better than that – much, much better. Linking your arms around Seokjin’s neck you tilted your head to the side, a grin unable to keep off your face. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Mr. Kim?” 

“What do you say?” He sounded hopeful and soft. 

You hummed out loud, thinking hard. “Can I get back to you? 3 to five business days seems about right.” You immediately squealed as you finished your sentence, Seokjin’s hands finding their way around your butt to tug you forward. You gripped onto his shoulders with the surprise. 

“Too bad because I’ve already been calling you my girlfriend at the office.” 

You didn’t have a chance to reply, the hard press of his lips against yours knocking you senseless. You found yourself in his lap not long after, fingers dragging through his hair as you clung to him, mouths moving in gradual urgency until you began to feel out of breath. Your tongues seemed to grow more daring, intent, as your soft moans mingled with his quiet groans. You hadn’t quite found yourself in this position before, usually moulded to the soft leather but this time you had Seokjin pinned tight, a heat that was quickly becoming unbearable burning between your bodies, and his hands running up and down your back didn’t help. 

Each brush of his fingertips had your skin prickling with warmth, dizzying your mind, and when you felt him brush against the curve of your left breast you leaned forward into his touch, desperate for more. Seokjin grunted, encouraged by your action as he cupped the soft flesh, his thumb grazing your nipple which hardened from the touch. Your kiss turned a lot more frenzied after that, Seokjin roaming your body with confidence, his unoccupied hand cupping your butt to rock you against his crotch. 

He was hard. You’d felt it stiffening ever since you’d climbed into his lap, but now he was solid, flesh pressing (probably painfully) against his pants, and feeling emboldened you lifted your hips, hovering over him for your hand to slot in between your bodies, cupping his erection firmly. He stiffened under your grasp, his breath hitching and you took that moment to drag your tongue along his, teasing him as you slowly started to stroke him above his slacks. He felt thick and rigid between your fingers, pulsing erratically against your hold, and he broke away from your mouth, head falling back as a loud, drawn-out groan slipped from his throat. You gazed at him – eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, mouth parted as he breathed shallowly – and took a mental picture. You wanted to remember this moment forever. He looked gorgeous, basking in pleasure and you wanted to pleasure him more. It was an urge so strong you practically dived on him, mouth slamming into his. He soon gained his bearings, kissing you just as wildly as his hands groped your body. 

“Do you – mm, do you want – mm – to take this upstairs?” He asked against your lips, fingers currently digging into the soft flesh of your ass. The veins in his neck were visible, his desperation for you obvious, and you pulled away from the kiss to nod rapidly. If he didn’t get you upstairs soon you’d surely explode. 

You let out a little squeak as you suddenly found yourself in the air, safely held up by Seokjin. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he began to make the brisk walk to the hallway and towards the staircase. “Oh, my god,” you muttered, laughing as you realised he was about to carry you bridal style all the way up the stairs. 

“What?” He laughed back, his eyes twinkling warmly. Your heart melted at the sight and you leaned in to kiss him, uncaring that you both may fall backwards and break your necks. 

“I may have forgotten about the amount of stairs in this goddamn house,” he panted lightly once you’d made it past the first set. 

“Put me down then,” you giggled. 

“Never,” he sang out, pecking you on the mouth sweetly. 

Once in his bedroom, he placed you down, closing the door behind you before caging you against it, kissing you like he hadn’t seen you for months. You keened into his touch, whole body hot and ready for him, but in the end you couldn’t keep up with his mouth. He’d never kissed you like this, he was a man possessed, you physically felt weak at the knees and you clung to him, moaning softly when his mouth fell to your neck. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he confessed against the wet skin, fresh waves of arousal washing through your body. His voice was an octave lower, gruff and nothing like you’d heard before. “I can’t contain myself knowing we’re going to be alone for a whole week.” 

“What do you plan on doing to me?” You laughed weakly, but to be honest, the time for wisecracks were gone. You were hanging on by a thread, this close to begging him to tear your clothes off. 

Cupping your neck he pulled away to look you in the face. His pupils were blown out, more black than the warm brown you were used to. The tops of his cheeks were tinged red, his own arousal very evident, and when he replied he sounded as sincere as ever. “Anything you want me to.” 

Okay, if he carried on like this, he’d mess up your plan good and proper. He was rude. Very rude. And hot, and sexy, and yours. God, you really wanted him. Your body was screaming for him. You pressed a kiss to his mouth, and then another, and another, determined not to get yourself glued there no matter how much he tried to drag his tongue along the seam of your lips. “L-let me freshen up,” you managed to get out, voice shaky as you (with great difficultly) held him away at arm’s length.  

At your words, he slowly made sense of them, his eyes refocussing before he gave you a short nod and politely stepped back. “Ok.” 

Before you could be tempted by that mouth of his once more, you made a dash for his bathroom, closing the door behind you. Immediately you began to rush out of your clothes, not even bothering to fold them properly because you were in such a hurry. You’d had this planned all night, wanting him to be rendered speechless, and staring at your lingerie cladded self in the giant mirror he had hooked to the wall, you reminded yourself to take a breather. You were going to walk out there calmly, the epitome of composed as you sought out his reaction. With one last look at your reflection, you walked towards the door and opened it. 

Seokjin was sat on the edge of the bed, legs sinfully spread (but oh so casually, which just made it hotter), but he wasn’t looking your way, his eyes darting around the room a little as if he was desperately trying to find some patience. Knowing he was riled and aroused made your head even more dizzy, and stopping by the doorframe, you called out to him. 

He looked your way instantly, eyes bulging even quicker. Actually they practically popped out on storks as he took in the sight of you in the baby blue underwear. He seemed paralysed. 

“Hey,” you smiled, all of a sudden feeling a little shy as you waited for him to say something. 

It took another moment, but then he was swallowing hard, wetting his mouth as his lips parted. “Oh, shit.” 

You smiled victoriously, those simple two words satisfying you fully. 

He outstretched his hand, voice thick and raspy as he beckoned you forward. “Come here.”

You obeyed, closing the distance between you quickly and Seokjin wasted no time clasping his hands around your hips as you stood in front of him, between his legs. If felt so good to finally have his hands on your bare skin. His touch was warm, soothing, but most of all, electrifying. Goosebumps spread as he dragged his fingers up and down your sides, his eyes drowning at the sight of you. 

“Do you like it? It’s not too much?” You asked, looking down at him. You glowed under his gaze. 

He lifted his head up, arching an eyebrow. “Do I like it? Is that supposed to be a genuine question?” He sounded just as baffled as he looked and it made you giggle. His fingers started to play with the thin waistband of your panties before delicately outlining the lace flower petals on your ass. The sensation made you shiver, and a small smile grew on his face as he watched you. “You look gorgeous.” He leaned forward, beginning to place small, gentle kisses on your abdomen and your skin rippled, butterflies appearing. “You’re beautiful.” He murmured, hot puffs of air hitting you, heating you up even more. 

You curled your hand in his hair, needing something to latch on to as you watched him mouth even more kisses along your flesh. The point of his tongue dipped into your navel scandalously, and as you gasped he looked up with his eyes and smirked, tongue now swirling invisible patterns along your stomach. The sight sent you a little gooey, legs feeling weak again as your heart thrummed inside your chest. 

“However… I was looking forward to undressing you…” He teased.

You teased right back. “You still have the lingerie.” 

He couldn’t handle that, growling quietly against your stomach, his hands rounding your ass to mould the flesh in his palms firmly. He’d soon tear the panties if he kept that up. Obviously the idea of stripping you naked sent him feral – something you’d remember well for this week. You yelped when you felt him sink his teeth into your hip bone, pulling him closer to your body by his hair, desperate for more. It was when you looked behind him, did you notice the pillar candles aflame on the two nightstands that sat either side of his bed. They weren’t burning before you’d entered the bathroom. You were sure of it. 

“Seokjin, did you light candles?” You asked without realising, changing the atmosphere slightly, but you didn’t mind too much, not when the image of Seokjin rushing to burn candles for the ~ambience~ was too damn adorable. 

He lifted from your skin, looking up at you. “Um, yeah.” He sounded a little awkward before he chuckled softly. “I thought against the slow R&B music.” 

“Good choice,” you laughed, fingers rubbing small circles into the nape of his neck. That would’ve been hilarious. 

“I’m totally out of my depth here…” He admitted, nudging you backwards a little to stand in front of you. He kept his hands on your waist, ducking down to be eye level with you. “I haven’t done this in a while.” 

“Snap,” you grinned, rubbing your nose against his as you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him close. You kissed him deeply, feeling happy and relaxed. There wasn’t a nerve in sight and despite his honest words you knew he was at ease too.  

Your hands slipped over his shoulders and down his toned chest, stopping just before the waistband of his pants to tug at his t-shirt, untucking him. “You have to get naked too.” You whined, detaching your mouths. “I’m feeling sorely underdressed.” 

He let out an airy chuckle, immediately reaching for the neck of his shirt to tug it over his head. Your hands greedily started to explore his torso, running your fingers along his faintly lined abs before trailing up his hard chest. He shivered as you brushed against his nipples, a tiny laugh slipping from his throat. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“’Tickles.” He mumbled, leaning in for another kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, loving the feeling of his bare chest against yours, but soon enough you got impatient again, hands reaching for the button of his pants. You popped it open and proceeded to unzip him, at least giving his poor erection some reprieve. It had been pressed up against your lower stomach for quite some time, still rigid but as patient as ever. 

He took over, stepping back to push them past his hips, his lips still attached to yours. “Mm–Bed.” He hummed, taking you by the hips to switch places. You pulled away and sat down, watching him kick his pants off his feet and your eyes zoned in on the curve of his erection, hidden by his Armani underwear – black with a red waistband. His thighs were perfectly toned, his skim glowing in the soft lighting. He looked good enough to eat and your heart skipped a couple of beats as he walked forward. 

You laid back against the mattress, instantly groaning at how soft it was. You practically sunk inside. “Oh, damn this is comfy.” Rolling onto your side as Seokjin climbed on the bed, you hid your smirk. “I could just go to sleep…” 

“I don’t think so,” he told you, hovering over you. His hand smacked you ass causing you to squeal, and you flipped onto your back as he took the moment to cage you under his large body. 

This time his mouth completely bypassed your lips to kiss your chest, pressing into the indents of your collarbones before slipping to the tops of your breasts. He kissed the fabric, wetting it as his tongue traced the delicate flower petals and you gripped onto his shoulders with a moan as he encased one nipple between his lips, sucking gently, soaking the lace a darker shade of blue. “You drive me crazy,” he quietly panted, his hands reaching behind your back, arched into the pleasure he was giving you. “May I?” He asked, fingers finding the clasp of your bra. You nodded hastily, moaning louder when he lifted his head to kiss your lips. His motions were firm, tight pleasure filled grunts leaving him as he freed you of your lingerie. 

Immediately he pulled away, dark eyes soaking in your bare chest like it was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen. Your back arched further when his warm palms cupped your breasts, spreading a heat down your spine that settled between your legs. “You’re beautiful,” he awed, looking into your eyes, causing a sweet moan to fall from your lips. 

He moulded the soft flesh gently, before brushing his thumbs over your hardened nipples. That had you moaning again, pleasure you hadn’t felt in a long time rocketing up your body. It felt amazing to be touched by him, and you were greedy for more. He was on the same page, his lips replacing his thumbs, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud that had you sighing out his name, your fingers threaded in his hair. He hummed against you, squeezing your breasts and pressing his body into yours – once – his erection pressing into your thighs, before he pulled away, kissing down your sternum before licking into your navel, his hands rubbing up and down the outside of your thighs. 

His lips avoided your clothed heat, which was frustrating to say the least. You were so eager by now, unsure if you could take much more kissing before you exploded, but Seokjin was a man determined – determined on kissing every inch of your body it seemed. He made it down one thigh before moving onto the next and as he got towards your knee you couldn’t help but giggle – it was beginning to tickle, but he didn’t stop, lips pressing down your calf.  

“Seokjinn,” you whined. 

He chuckled as he made his way back up the other leg, bending you at the knee before gently getting you to spread out for him. “What?” He murmured. Although you were distracted now, realising how aroused you had become, your underwear clinging to you desperately. He was kissing the inside of your thigh now, fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties and he was so close to where you wanted him you were trembling. He nosed his way to the apex of your thigh, groaning as he smelt you and then he was hastily tugging the lace down your legs, the last of your covering. Now you were totally naked in front of him, and he looked like he wanted to eat you up. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, voice gruff. He sounded so sexy. His eyes were glued to your centre yet he didn’t touch. When you didn’t reply, they flickered to your face. “Y/N. Hm?” 

You mind was a blur, you couldn’t think what to say, mainly because you wanted him to do anything and everything to you. You startled when he nosed the inside of your thigh, his hands sliding down your hips to grip the flesh underneath. “Taste you? Is that what you want?” He whispered, sending your insides somersaulting. He looked up as you nodded, and grinned. “You have to say it out loud, honey.” 

The bastard. He was teasing you. Trying to get under your skin. Your forced yourself to speak. “Taste me.” He hummed in response, pressing his mouth to your hip bone. You raised your tone, more determined. “Seokjin. Taste me.” 

He dived in. Placing gentle kisses up your slit, his lips ever so slightly brushing your clitoris. You moaned quietly, letting your eyes close as you laid back against the softest pillows you had ever felt. Your fists clutched the sheets, hips raising up when you felt the first wash of his tongue. Your breath caught, warmth turning you gooey. “Taste so good,” he mumbled into you – so quietly you wondered if you’d imagined it. 

You enjoyed the sensation for a few moments, quietly moaning intermittently before you felt the urge to take a peek. Opening your eyes and looking down your body, you saw Seokjin watching you, his eyes hungry. You quickly looked away, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth as a groan left you, your legs falling wider apart. The scene had been erotic but in all honesty you were feeling a little shy. It had been a long time since you’d had sex, so the idea of someone watching you so intimately made you feel funny. 

Seokjin was there to reassure you though. “Don’t look away, Y/N,” he murmured, pulling back to get your attention. “I want to see your face.” You looked again, watching him kneel low as he ran a hand up your thigh. His lips shone with your arousal. He looked beautiful. 

You moaned lowly when you felt him rub a finger at your entrance, and he watched you intently as he pushed inside, feeling you squeeze around the intrusion. He slowly began to curve the digit, pressing against your inner walls. Committed to pleasuring you, he watched your every reaction and this time you didn’t look away. 

“Does it feel good?” He asked, in awe as you writhed around on the bed, chasing the feeling. 

You moaned as you replied yes, only to jerk upwards when his thumb began to rub tiny circles against your clit. “Seokjin!” 

He liked that. Hearing you cry his name. He wanted to hear it more, dropping low to replace his thumb with his lips. He sucked the sensitive bud of nerves between them, flicking the tip of his tongue against it rapidly, earning him another cry, and he moaned gruffly against you, the vibrations shooting up your body. His free hand moved to your lower stomach, palm hot against your skin as he applied gentle pressure, holding you down. 

Oh god, you were a mass of pleasure, mind addled, unable to think straight. Not when he was making you feel so good. He slipped a second finger inside of you, his eyes flicking up to yours and you made it your life’s mission not to look away, chest heaving up and down as you squeezed around his digits. Your orgasm was building, pressure below getting harder to control – harder to ignore. Seokjin guessed it, breaking eye contact to bury his face further into your heat. The image was almost crude, so were the noises, but the most beautiful kind of crude. A crude that had you desperate for more. You jerked into him, rolling into each snap of his wrist, the pads of his fingers grazing your g-spot. 

“Want to make you cum,” he rasped, before sucking your clit back into his mouth and sucking determinedly. You groaned, head flinging back into the pillow, eyes clenched closed, a hand coming out to grip the roots of your hair as you rolled your hips into his face, giving into the pleasure well and truly. This orgasm was going to blow your brains out – and it did. 

In the end you had you to clamp your legs around Seokjin’s head in a bid to get him to stop, pleasure still rolling through your body as you panted like crazy. He eased from your clit, tongue dragging down your folds instead, meeting his fingers that were almost locked inside of your pulsing walls. With a grunt, he removed himself, kissing your mound one last time before he stopped. With his hands on your thighs as he kneeled between them, he watched you adoringly. 

“Oh, my god,” you panted weakly. Unsure what else you could say to describe what you’d just experienced. Why had he not been doing that from the get-go? From as soon as he’d reversed into your car?! 

That was all he needed anyway, your simple vocalisation, because no sooner had the words exited your mouth, he dived on you, kissing your mouth, your cheeks, your eyes, your forehead – whatever he could reach. “You’re amazing,” he gushed, his lips and chin still glistening with your wetness. You could taste yourself on him. It was glorious. His hands roamed your body like it was all new to him. As if he hadn’t been it for the last forty minutes or so. “Fuck. I can’t stop touching you.”

Your stomach flipped around, the sound of him cursing sending you dizzy. You licked into his mouth, kissing him messily, your hands raking up and down his back, before they settled on his ass. You gave the meat a squeeze and he grunted, pushing his crotch into yours. He was painfully hard – and desperate. (You hadn’t missed the way he’d been rutting into the mattress while going down on you…)

“Seokjin,” you breathed, moving your head to the side to get your words out. His tongue carried on going, swirling across your cheek. You liked getting messy with him. You tugged at his underwear. “Get naked. Need you.” 

“You don’t need a minute?” He asked, tongue now in your ear. He gyrated his hips into yours, grunting as he did so. 

You shook your head. “Like hell I do.” 

He laughed at that – breathlessly, but it was something. He moved, rushing out of the last bit of clothing he had on, and your eyes drunk up the sight. The missing piece. His dick was long and thick – smooth and warm once you got your hands on him. Hovering over you, you ran your fist up and down him steadily, just enjoying getting to touch him. He dropped to your side, pecking your lips before he pulled back.  “I need to be inside you.” 

You continued to touch him, running your fingers along the rigid flesh as he stretched behind him to pull a box from the nightstand drawer. 

It caught your attention right away. You raised both eyebrows as you let go of his length. “A hundred condoms?” 

He chuckled, sounding a little sheepish. “Too enthusiastic?”

“Do you want to kill me?” Death by (Dilf) dick wasn’t how you’d expected to go, if you were being honest. 

“Not particularly,” he shrugged, pulling one of the packet. (Discarding the box to the floor.) He turned back to you with an impish grin. “That’s why I bought the bumper pack of condoms.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest, but he grabbed your hand and kissed you, distracting you successfully. “No, if I’m being truthful,” he continued, letting you steal another kiss. “They were better value for money. I’m partial to a bargain.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoffed. 

“You should’ve seen me purchasing them, I have never been more embarrassed in my life.” 

“Seokjin, you’re a near 40 year old man,” you judged openly, however on second thoughts – “But yeah, I’d be embarrassed buying a 100 condoms too.” 

Seokjin shuddered, looking mortified. “Just the thought of the cashier knowing I was going to get lucky…” 

You arched an eyebrow. “Get lucky?”

He looked comically caught out, eyes wide for a second before he shook his head. “Less talking now…” And then he was kissing you again…

Between rushed mouths and eager hands, he managed to tear the condom packet, pulling out the latex to slip it over his erection. Kneeling over you, you could see perfectly when he attempted to roll it the wrong way up.  “Oh, shit. Ignore that,” he muttered, fixing it immediately. 

You stifled a laugh. “Ignored.” 

He gave himself a tug, making sure everything was secure and your mouth practically watered. “Just warning you now, this may be a three pumps and Bam! kinda thing,” he informed you as he laid over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I am so turned on.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his middle. “I don’t mind. Just want you.” 

“I want you more.” He rubbed his nose against yours. 

Hitting his ass, you shot him a look. “It’s not a competition.” 

“Isn’t it?” He asked, pretending to be confused. 

“Quit stalling,” you whined. “Let’s have sex.” 

“Let’s,” he agreed with a warm smile. You turned gooey instantly. 

Pressing his knees to the mattress, he hovered over you, wrapping his hand around his dick to direct it between your legs. He rubbed the length up and down your slit, flesh heavy and hot, coating himself in your arousal. The sensation was good for you, but for him it seemed to blow his mind, eyes practically rolling back into his skull as he grunted. He stopped at your entrance, looking up at you as he slowly pushed the head inside. 

You shifted under him, trying to stay patient. You wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of him, but realistically you needed to take things slow. You held onto his shoulders, silently telling him to continue. He let out a strained groan as he slipped in deeper, your walls snug and hot around him, begging him for more. Inch by glorious inch, you kept on taking him, until you were filled up just right. 

“Shit,” you uttered, looking up at the ceiling as you adjusted to the sensation. 

“Was that a curse?” He asked, voice tight but greatly amused as he nosed your throat. 

“Hardly.” Your voice was barely there, desperate for him to move. 

“I’d still class it as swearing.” He was holding his breath, yet still felt the need to be a smarty-pants. You moved your hips practically a centimetre and he grunted. He didn’t want you to win though. “I want more. Maybe not tonight, but I will turn your mouth filthy by the end of the week…”

A moan tore from your throat uncontrollably, and you couldn’t look at his face because you knew you’d be met with a gloating smirk. You steeled yourself, nose in the air. “Game on.” 

Seokjin laughed obnoxiously, but couldn’t wait any longer, slowly dragging out of you and then pushing back in. His breath hitched – so did yours, and he carried on, propping himself up with one hand as he gained a steady rhythm. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he moaned, watching your face. 

“You too.” You clung to him, feeling your face heat up and ended up dropping your gaze. 

“Honey, don’t be shy,” he whined, reaching to cup your face, in the process pressing more of his body weight into you. You clutched him tighter, wanting him as close as ever. “I like watching you. Knowing I’m making you feel good.” His mouth on yours now, you sunk into the kiss, moaning softly as his thrusts got quicker. You met each one, rolling into him. 

It wasn’t long before he was on your throat, kissing and nipping the skin, his hands exploring the rest of your body. Your ran your fingers through his hair, sighing sweety when his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, slipping the hard flesh into his mouth to suck. 

Face pressed against your chest, his movements became a little erratic, breathing heavy until he was panting. You moaned along, loving how he was making you feel. “You are honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He awed, voice raspy. 

You let out a weak chuckle, running your fingers through the ends of his hair. “Of course you would say that with a face full of my boobs.” 

He laughed too, kissing his way back up your chest, his hands pressing into the pillow as he leaned in for your mouth. You stared at one another for a little while, your moans mingling together, and it was the most intimate moment you’d ever shared with anyone. 

“Good?” He asked. You were unsure if he was asking how you were or if you were enjoying yourself, but regardless, the answer was the same. 

“Really good,” you smiled, running your hand down his chest. 

His thrust were getting messier, less controlled, less strategic, so it was no surprise when he had a confession to tell you, kissing you once again. “I’m-I’m… close.” 

He’d exceeded the predicted three pumps at least… “Hey, you can go a little harder,” you whispered against his mouth. 

He grunted, slacking at your words but quickly got a hold of himself. Each snap of his hips got firmer and harsher, fucking – because there was no other way to describe it – you into the expensive bed. Your cries of pleasure came out stunted and unsteady, his own grunts louder now, gruffer as he chased his end. 

“Seokjin –!” Your hands fell to his ass, holding him tight as he pounded into you. “Don’t stop,” you encouraged, which seemed to tip him over the edge – quickly. 

“Fuck. Coming…”” His face fell into the crook of your neck, panting as he tried to keep moving, and then he froze, his body hot, partly sweaty, a long drawn-out groan sounding against your ear as he came. 

You wrapped your arms around him, keeping him to you because in all honesty, you didn’t want to let him go. You could feel his heart beating against your chest rapidly, even after he’d partially caught his breath, and you knew yours was beating just as fast. You kissed his shoulder when he kissed yours, and slowly he lifted his head, turning to give you a drunken smile. He sighed contently. “That honestly beats any orgasm I’ve ever given myself lately.” 

“I should hope so!” You burst out laughing, not quite expecting those to be his first words and he immediately joined you before hugging you tight. 

.

.

You awoke naturally, light from outside peeking through the loosely closed drapes. Seokjin had his arm around you, his body curved into yours, and you could tell by his breathing he was still very much sound asleep. Proving your point, he grunted softly, rolling onto his back, his grip on you loosening. Carefully, you turned around to face him, taking in the sight of his sleeping form. His lips seemed to be pouted, eyebrows furrowed slightly – of course he had an adorable sleeping face. Of fricking course. 

The bed sheets were pushed down, draped across his pelvis, one hip sticking out, while his broad chest and toned stomach laid bare. You found yourself smiling, insanely happy, wondering if you’d been a saint in a past lifetime – you had to have been. How else had you hit the jackpot? A kind-hearted, beautiful man with a banging body? You’d struck big. 

Wanting to leave him sleep longer, you got up quietly, needing to pee, not worrying that you were butt naked, and as you left the bathroom, you moved to the closet (room) to fish for your phone in your purse. You’d left it there all evening yesterday, not wanting to be interrupted, and low and behold you had a bunch of notifications waiting for you on the screen. You got back into bed, getting comfy before you scrolled through them. Most were unimportant, news updates and social media notifications. You had a text from your mom reminding you to call your grandmother soon, one reminder regarding your phone bill going out tomorrow and then, from half an hour ago, a text message from your best friend. Why the hell was she up so early on a Sunday?! 

Soojung (8:32am) Spill the details girl! How was Mr. Dilf 🥵👨🏻🍆💦 

You snorted, pretty loudly, couldn’t help it, and when you realised you shoved a hand over your mouth, hoping you hadn’t woken your boyfriend (yes, it felt so good to finally use that word) up. You glanced over, but his eyes were still shut, a peaceful look on his face, so with a relieved inner sigh, you went back to your phone, wondering how you should reply. You had quite a lot to say, messaging her “the details” wouldn’t work. Maybe you could give her a summary? Until tomorrow when you could call her while Seokjin was at work. Maybe you could meet her for lunch. And who knew, you’d probably have more to tell her come then –

“Good morning, beautiful.” 

You jumped when you heard Seokjin’s voice, his arm wrapping around you once more as he snuggled closer, encasing you in his body warmth. 

“Seokjin,” you greeted, instantly shoving your phone onto the nightstand, face down. “Good morning.” 

“Mmm.” He rubbed his face into the crook of your neck, burrowing his arm under the covers to touch your skin, hand cupping your waist. He was still sleepy, voice groggy. You settled into his hold, closing your eyes. With a kiss to the top of your shoulder, he spoke again.  “What were you snorting at?”

Your eyes immediately flew open. He’d heard that? “Nothing,” you tried to reply casually. 

He laughed, the throaty sound shooting up your body, leaving warmth in its wake. “Come on, something made you laugh.” He lifted his head, looking at you pointedly, plump lips pressed together, mouth curving up slightly. “You have to share, it’ll be rude not to.” 

It took you a second to give in. “Fine.” It was probably time to let him know anyway. Soojung might try to kill you, but she couldn’t get you if you were gated in at Seokjin’s home…  You reached for your phone and flashed the screen on, holding it out to him. “Soojung’s an idiot,” you sighed. 

He delicately held the back of your hand, steadying the device so he could read the messages. A second later he was deeply amused, lips quirking before he let out a little laugh. “Has that been my nickname the entire time?” 

“Maybe…” Amongst other things… They could wait till later though. 

He hummed, trying to keep his expression casual, but you could tell by his eyes how amused (and smug) he was. “The emojis add a nice touch.” 

You rolled your eyes, about to tell him to shut up, but immediately his lips were pressed against yours. He kissed you sweetly – which was all just an act. When he pulled away, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, tone arrogant. “So… how was Mr. Dilf?”

“Seokjin!” You exclaimed. This couldn’t be happening. He was just as bad as Soo and Taehyung. 

Laughing loudly, he kissed you again, caging you under him smoothly. Your hands reached for his biceps, feeling them flex underneath you. “Was it good enough for a round two? Don’t expect me to keep my hands off you,” he told you, his fingers tickling your stomach as his face fell to your neck, kissing and biting the skin. 

You began to laugh, squirming under him, but no matter how much you tried to free yourself it was impossible. “Stop,” you whined. “Seokjin, you’re tickling me!” He eased off with the tickling but his mouth only seemed to ramp up, his tongue licking up your throat. “You’re so sexy,” he groaned, meeting your gaze, and instantly laughed. “I love embarrassing you.” 

You grumbled, realising you’d started to blush. “I’m not embarrassed,” you insisted. “I’m turned on.” Two could play at that game. Seokjin’s eyes widened comically, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. 

“Yeah?” He murmured, getting a hold of himself, mouth ghosting over yours. You nodded, dragging your hands down his back to settle on his ass. You could feel his dick rousing between your thighs. It was so easy to get him. He was like putty in your hands. 

“You’re okay though, mm?” He asked, tone softening as he stared into your eyes. “Did you enjoy last night?”

“I thought that was obvious,” you informed him, but his tenderness didn’t go ignored. God, you were really lucky. “I feel so happy,” you grinned, moving to clasp your arms around his neck. He grinned too, teeth on show, and then you couldn’t hold off any longer, kissing him eagerly.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, after you’d just licked a strip up his jaw line. His hands clung to hips. “I want you in so many ways.” 

You gave him a dangerous smirk. “We have all week, I’m sure you’ll be successful.” 

Groaning, he seemed beside himself, skin hot and sweaty, his hair dishevelled, falling into his eyes, cheeks patched red. Finally, he settled on a decision. “Would you like to shower with me?”

“Okay,” you replied instantly, your excitement already tenfold, and suddenly you were in his arms, rising off the bed to be carried (naked) bridle style to the bathroom. “Seokjin!” You squealed, clinging onto him tightly, but all he did was laugh. You could get used to this. 

His walk-in shower was grand, practically a separate wet room – two glass doors leading inside and a marbled tiled bench to the left with two panelled windows behind it. There were two showerheads – one large one attached to the ceiling and the other jutting out from the wall. Seokjin chose the centre one, knocking it on and enclosing you both in hot water. Warmth radiated from beneath your feet too – heated flooring, of course. 

You spent the next ten minutes wrapped together kissing, hands exploring one another’s soapy bodies. It wasn’t long before there was a very obvious erection bobbing against your stomach. “Someone says hello again,” Seokjin hummed against your mouth, nipping your bottom lip before he broke away and chuckled. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve been the cause of many an awkward boner.” 

You laughed, hooking one arm around his neck. “I noticed.” Your other hand wrapped around his dick, the wetness of his skin making it easy to glide your fist along the veiny shaft. You gazed up at him, admiring the way he’d pushed his wet hair above his forehead. He looked incredibly handsome – so handsome, you were finding it hard to control yourself. “Was this one of your ways?” You murmured. 

“Maybe,” he said with a smile, huffing out a little when your thumb grazed the sensitive slit across the head of his member. 

“I have a better idea…” You whispered, pushing a little at his chest. “Sit.” 

He obeyed, sitting on the bench while watching you wordlessly (but curiously), his eyes flashing when you moved to kneel in front of him. “Fuck,” he muttered, dick twitching in anticipation. You took him in your fist again, feeling oddly confident as you flicked out your tongue. It had been a long time since you’d sucked dick but you were more than ready. 

You washed your tongue across the head, hearing him grunt above you, and encouraged, you took him in your mouth, sucking firmly around the tip. His hands instantly reached for your head, fingers carding through your hair. He groaned lowly, thighs tense, but when you started to jerk your fist along his shaft, he relaxed into the pleasure, murmuring your name. 

“Okay, this idea seems better than mine,” he admitted, voice tight. 

You hummed in agreement, vibrations travelling up his length which made him groan, fingers in your hair tightening. Taking him deeper, you washed and swirled your tongue as best you could around the thick flesh. Seokjin’s length was impressive, but you had all week to grow accustomed to it, for now, you had your hand, continuing to stimulate him with both that and your mouth. The water from the shower hit your back and calves, the heat beneath you making sure you didn’t grow cold. 

“Should we go back to the bedroom?” Seokjin asked, sounding concerned, despite how good you were making him feel. A hand ran down your back soothingly. “Your knees will start aching.” 

Pulling off him, a string of saliva that attached you breaking apart, you shook your head and ran your palm all the way up his length, twisting against the tip. He bucked into your hold. “It’ll be worth it.” 

Seokjin let out a low growl, eyes dark. “Don’t say things like that.” 

You smirked, spreading your saliva up and down him slowly before speeding up, concentrating on the head. Seokjin’s mouth was open, his breathing shallow, chest littered with red blotches, making it painfully obvious how aroused he was. You wanted to run your hands all over the muscular torso, mouth too – but that could wait. First of all, you wanted to make him cum. 

“You have a pretty big dick. Has anyone ever told you that?” You purred, eyes flicking down to his crotch. 

Seokjin grinned confidently, the hand in his hair reaching to cup your cheek. “You seemed to handle it very well last night.” 

Oh. Heat exploded through your body, settling between your legs, and you took him back in your mouth, a hiss leaving his throat. He tapped your chin, gaining your attention. “Y/N, look at me,” he commanded softly. 

And you did. You watched every bit of pleasure that flitted across his face as you continued to suck his dick, never breaking eye contact, even when he did; eyelids closed, face scrunched up as he came down your throat a few minutes later…

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[sophiapathic]

Sk8: The Infinity - A Take on Love

Because my six unfinished assignments can wait until I throw this into the void, scream for five hours and after my voice gets hoarse, I resort to watching the beach episode on loop until next Saturday.

This was entirely sparked by the recap episode, which really pressed the reak havoc and theorize button in my brain. I am truly losing my grip on reality. Help. I apologize in advance, creatures of Tumblr. 

Me right now:

Anyways... 

I saw people mention here and there screaming that “we need canon relationships and they will get trust issues if a romance isn’t confirmed by the end of the series”. I think that mindset is harmful to have in this case. You can’t really avoid being disappointed if you get into the series expecting it to deliver on your wishes of gay romances. So, this might be controversial, but stay with me please. The anime and manga are both confirmed to be based primarily about the characters themselves and of course the sport -skating. I was hoping to take a closer look at what the series intends to do with certain dynamics and relationships according to yours truly. I also want explain my reasoning behind it not being queerbaiting, though it being inherently queer-coded, through the current lense of the canon.

Sk8: The Infinity is unquestionably a love story.

We need to state the genres this series is in, because some of us tend to forget. It is in fact not a shounen-ai, not a yaoi, not a romance, not even a josei. Say it with me it is a series in: COMEDY and SPORTS.

(Source is the official US Sk8 website.) The spotlight is udoubtedly on skating and what it means. Another important highlight of the show is how the definition of the sport relates to the characters, and how vastly different they are from what we expect. For example, when we see Shadow first, we pigeonhole him into this vulgar indecent rock and roll persona, only to find out later that he is actually a stweetheart at a flower shop. Joe is another very good case study. When we first see him we think of him as a womanizer muscle-head, later we find out he has a heart of gold and is very emotionally intelligent. We’re also quick to judge Miya as the cold, unfeeling prodigy then we discover how lonely and normal he is on the inside. And so on and so on. 

The show continues to defy our expectations of what each character should be like. In a way it is about breaking the conventional stereotypical roles we subconsciously assign to certain looks. We see that even in anime, multifaceted characters can exist without distrupting or damaging the delicate dynamics of a traditional sports anime. We successfully established the second focal point of the series as disproving stereotypes and presenting strong, diverse and unexpected personalities.

How about the defition of skating? What does it mean in the context of Sk8: The Infinity then? Where does a love story come into the picture? Skating is repeatedly described as a ritual of love within the anime, an idea that our villian, Ad*m, is obessed with. In a sense skating is a language of love canonically.

Then skating itself is love. Throughout the series we see varied styles of skating therefore different ways of expressing love, affection. We get to experience several metaphorical ways of “being in love” through characters skating with each other. Each dynamic shows us a type of love. Healthy, disfunctional, outright abusive. 

The way Reiki teaches Langa to skate can be interpreted as a direct metaphor for someone learning to love again after losing a person close to them. Langa’s father has died and Reiki literally brings him out of his shell again. It can also be interpreted as a queer kid’s experience of a world of romance that feels similar to his previous one, that being snowboarding, yet it still being new and different. Skateboarding. When due to Reiki Langa’s potential is discovered and his hunger for more and more develops, especially next to Ad*m, Reiki’s main frustration stems from them not being well-matched or on equal footing anymore. He feels like he cannot give Langa what he needs anymore. Which would obviously go againts the literal description of a healthy romance. Two people with mutual respect who both bring equal assets to the table. He feels like he needs to catch-up to be with Langa again. The only thing he doesn’t consider is Langa’s deep appreciation of him and the fact that literally he was the one who helped Langa experince the feeling of love again.

Kojiro and Kaoru’s relationships, to me, is very much representative of two people  wanting to be in each other’s presence, but due to their different language of love, miscommunicating horribly. Them bantering and insulting each other is the only way they know what to do with the other. The only way they can ensure the other’s attention and eyes are on them. This has worked so far. They are literal opposites, but both have a very clear definition of their form of love. To Joe skating, or love itself, is about the feeling and going with the flow. Being spontaneous. Whereas for Cherry, every move needs to be calculated and executed perfectly in order to be “efficient”. Their frustration comes from both wanting different things from the other, but not communicating their need properly. Despite this, they stick together due to a magnetic pull they obviously feel towards the other. The attraction is there, the trust is there, they are even well-matched in skill as we see them neck-to-neck constantly. They could give each other what the other wants. Only if they could express themselves well... This is why Joe pushes Reiki towards reconciling with Langa. he wants them to not fall into the same trap of not stating their  needs and thoughts properly.

Now Ad*m and Langa are obviously problematic and I don’t really want to have to explain, honestly guys. I really don’t  (since I have trauma regarding this subject), but I need to go into this a little bit. This is a textbook toxic predatory relationship. Where the older, twisted, damaged person, has an obsession with a young, outstading child. He wants to lead him into “Paradise” and show his ��Eve” what love is really about. (Ain’t that disgusting you guys...) His form of love is inflicting pain, so I really can’t imagine a scenario where he and his “Eve” live happily ever after and everything is fine and dandy. He needs someone who he can torture. He literally is looking for someone who can handle his way of expressing affection, his “love hug”, who has the same type of crazy eyes for adrenaline and danger. His Eve. In his distorted mind, this all makes sense and Langa is that someone he was looking for thoughout the years. The problem is, he disregards Langa’s side where the relationship becomes problematic.

Cherry and Ad*m during their younger years seems to be a very innocent infatuation on Kaoru’s end. It is a one-sided relationship where someone is in love with the idea of a person long gone. They were discovering the world of skating, or the world of love together with Ad*m taking the lead. Cherry immediately became infatuated with him, wanted to learn his love language, wanted to be at the same level he was. It probably started very innocent. At first, Ad*m being gentle, because that’s how Tadashi was with him too, then after whatever happened between those two, Ad*m, disappointed in the way of love, or skating, Tadashi showed him, returned to what his aunts taught him. Maybe after injuring Kaoru with the “love hug”, therefore eliminating him from being his potential partner, started looking for his “Eve”, gradually became more agressive in love as in skating. Kaoru was distraught and wanted the Ad*m he originally learned love from back. Holding out some hope even years after. Trained to get used to his “love hug”, to literally condition himself to be able to get close to him. Ad*m, however showed Cherry brutally that he truly cannot handle his way of love.

Ad*m and Tadashi. *sighs* As of this post, I don’t really have enough information to give you a good overview of what I see this relationship representing. As far as I can tell Ad*m was abused horribly and to ease the pain and make him forget, Tadashi showed his another way of expressing affection. Skating or love. Basically a first love gone horrible bad, scarring an already abused child and turning them into a monster. Tadashi himself reinstates this during one of the episodes. It was his fault that Ad*m turned out the way he did. Their love slowly became strongly abusive throughout the years. Tadashi is stuck in it because he feels like he deserves it. This is a metaphor for  dangers of an emotionally and physically abusive relationship, where one person feels responsible and the other is using power. Tadashi’s guilt keeps him next to his master and he even endures abuse, now he is trying to break out and show Ad*m he messed up and I think this could potentially be a good representation of how difficult that process truly is. 

As far as Reiki’s, Miya’s, Shadow’s skating goes. Their main arc relating to love is first and foremost learning to accept themselves and aprecciating their uniqe way and style of skating. Only after can they become people who can truly be accomplished in love/skating (in Miya’s case I’m obviously talking about platonic feelings). Each of them had a preconception of their persona in love/skating, which gets questioned heavily throughout the series. Miya gets defeated, Shadow’s soft side gets discovered, Reiki... well. I get sad. :c Even though he taught someone to love again, to appreciate life again, he ended up discovering how dissatisfied he truly is with himself... These three all need to learn to love every aspect of themselves to reach fulfillment and to really experience healthy human relationships.

Sk8: The Infinity is unquestionably a love story, without explicitly being a romance, meaning that it is a tale about love, both romantic, platonic and everything inbetween through a queer-coded lens, showing both dysfunctional, abusive and healthy relationships, ways to express emotions and even delves into self-love and the idea of nature versus nurture in the villian’s case.

That is why I, personally don’t scream for a canon couple. To me, the show gets its main point about affection and love across, without making any of these relationships explicitly stated. Not to mention that it does justice to both of its assigned genres. Comedy and Sports as well. Yeah sure, I wouldn’t complain, but I think these dynamics are more than satisfying to watch, and much deeper than bishounens wanting to bang each other, which is, in my opinion, inherently sexualized. If they want, yeah they can confirm, make it canon without forcing it to be a center storyline. Hell, I would even be happy about it. I would clap with all of us. BUT, as the series currently is, I really see it taking the other route because of the above. This way audiences who want a yaoi or ikemen going at it, won’t be disappointed with the series when they find doesn’t revolve around that, straight viewers will just find it flamboyant, and people who look for subtext and want to read between the lines will certainly do that with the amount of crumbs and hints the writers gave us. 

We don’t need outright, written in black and white gay representation in Sk8 to experience very real types of love. The queer theme is secondary to me, just like queerness is, in most people’s lives. Yeah sure, it is a big thing, but not the only attribute a person has. My life doesn’t revolve around my queerness. I rarely talk about it. If I was a main character this would be a side-arc. Just like Sk8 doesn’t revolve around the characters coming out. It’s just them living their lives and possibly being queer while doing so. If you look at it this way, it is almost normalizing attraction between same-sex people by just showing it as regular love. If you can, why not interpret it this way, so it can be a liberating experience instead of a disappointing one.

Please don’t attack me! I am fragile and this is only my opinion. c:  *crawls back into her hole*

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[mythiccheroacademia]

Hey!! Could we please get more sugar daddy fics with a black reader ofc 😋 idk if you've done shoto already but that'd be nice or hawks and deku💕

A/N: “wrist on glitter, waist on thinner, imma show you how to bag a eight-figure nigga” 👅💋 I enjoyed this way too much

All characters are 18+

Warnings: it got a lil spicy so imma put the line 

Todoroki Shouto:

this mf has money to burn 

we all know todoroki came out the womb w cash from his hair to his ass 

he’s on some “yes, jeff bezos knows me” type shit so if you’re tryna end up with someone that’s gonna possibly buy you a house, he’s your guy 

he slid into your dms after you posted a pic with your skin moisturized and glistening under golden hour and your body had him wanting to run laps 

he had been plottin on you for a min but never got the motivation to do something about it until then

he’s a no strings attached type of sugar daddy

todoroki is a big name even outside of hero work and he’s well aware of all the people that have tried to use him. so instead of letting that happen, he’s decided to do things on his own terms 

when yall first started talking, he questioned you like this was managerial position at apple 💀 

best believe he ran an in-depth background check and made you sign an NDA 💀💀💀

he was a tough one

but you passed w flying colors and y’all settled on an arrangement

you have a weekly allowance that hits your bank account every saturday with some bonuses that he’ll give you depending on how the week goes

todoroki isnt needy nor is he one to be all up in your business 

it’s actually weird in an endearing kind of way? 

he only wants to have conversations with you 

i mean, dont get me wrong, he’s up for anything you are

todoroki would be a liar if he said he never ended some nights with a picture of you and a hand down his pants 

but that’s not what he’s mainly looking for 

you figure out very quickly that shouto just wants someone to talk to 

he’ll randomly hit up your phone and have a 30 min convo about something like the weather or hero politics, and then he’ll dip

next thing you know, you got $1000 in your cashapp

you kind of panicked bc like...wtf? 

your dumb ass messaged him: “did you mean to send $1000?”

sis, dont put a question mark where God put a period

him: “Yes.”

and that was the end of that

you dont question anymore

he’s not doting in any kind of way, and sometimes you lowkey think he forgets about you, but you still get your allowance 

doesn’t send a lot of gifts unless you explicitly state you want something

he doesnt text back a lot, but he tried to respond when he can

but i do see him liking it when you send him mundane things you do throughout your day, like pics of cookies you baked, or a cool plant you saw at home depot

and he enjoys the times you and him end up just trashing his father for nearly an hour. expect to find flowers, with some expensive ass coats or something at your door the next morning 

he really fucks w your laid back vibe 

sometimes he forgets you guys arent really supposed to be friends 

Takami Kiego (Hawks):

this is not hawks’ first time being a sugar daddy

he’s hot, rich, and one of the most eligible bachelor’s in japan with a life that prevents him from having anything too serious

so, long story short, he’s a veteran at this 

he used to be the type to reach out to instagram baddies but he had a couple bad run-ins and decided to stick with the official sites because it was a lot more secure on both ends 

the funny thing was, you set up your account a long time ago as a joke. though at one point, you did take it seriously, but you came in contact with a lot of super creepy men that sexualized you for your skin and ethnicity. 

you were tired of the “chocolate king/queen” and “amazonian god/dess” comments,so you took a break. you didnt have much activity since

so imagine youre surprise when the #2 hero hit your line talking about some 

“Hey~ I’ll get straight to the point. I think you’re beautiful and I’d like to talk with you about an arrangement” 

you thought this was a fake account, but after he chatting for a little and sending some pictures, you knew he was the real deal 

hawks is your standard tit-for-tat transaction sugar daddy

he’s the type to hit you up at night with a “how ya doing, dove? got any pics for me?”

he’s good about his respect ad won’t do anything out of line

it’s the bare minimum, be he doesnt fetishize you so that’s always nice 

however, he does make you call him daddy, sir, etc. whether it’s through text, call, or when y’all get together for...reasons

ngl his dicc game is fire

he might ghost you for a week or so but he’ll always come back with a nice check to make up for it 

just be careful about catching feelings bc he’s so fucking smooth. he makes you feel like you’ve got his heart, but dont fall for that shit

if you think you can “change him” or fuflfil whatever wattpad romance fantasy lives in your head, he is not your guy. you better get on w your life before you get your heart broken

he’s here to suck, fuck, send pics, do a little phone call here n there, send some money, and go 

if you’re not with all that, you might as well dip 

but if you’re cool with that, rest assured, you’re gonna be living your best mf life with this man in your wallet 

and good news, you might not be his only, but you are his favorite

there’s just something about you that’s got him giving you a few extra thousand than he normally does 

he doesnt take his sugar babies on proper dates bc he’s gotta stay away from media outlets, but he will invite you to his office for a “lunch break”

if you ever surprise him with a cute but sexy hawks cosplay, you won’t have to work for two whole weeks bc you cant walk  

overall, he’s a good sugar daddy. defintely good for your pockets and any other non-romantic desires you want fulfilled

Mirodirya Izuku:  

the way you two met and came to this arrangement was more or less an accident

the life of the number one pro-hero was lonely and stressful 

he’s tried to dip his toes in the water here and there, but it never worked out because not many people could deal with the fact that he’d always put hero work first

he was teetering on the edge of signing up for one of those sugar daddy/baby websites until he met you at some cafe he passed by 

it’s cliche really. you were his server and, honestly? he was hooked on day one 

he watched you intently as you pranced around in your cute uniform. he couldnt stop admiring your brown skin and eyes and how cute your hair was. you spoke with such enthusiasm and cheerfulness that he couldnt help but swoon. and it didn’t hurt that you were very easy on the eyes

he listened to you as you went on a spiel about how college was a fortune and how you stayed up last night for a project bc you had to pick up extra shifts

that’s when he made his decision

by the time the hero is out of the door, you collected the reciept and almost fainted when you realized he left you a $500 tip and his personal number 

“i enjoyed talking to you today and i hope we can continue that...here’s something small to help with your bills. and i hope this isnt too forward but you’re very beautiful. stay safe. deku.”

and what did you do that night?

you called his ass right back

you were nervous as hell bc you still couldnt believe this was real, but after talking on the phone with him for two hours, an arrangement was set

midoriya is the most gentlemen like sugar daddy out there 

you wake up to good morning texts and a few hundred in your bank account almost every two days 

he goes crazy over your insta posts. and if you wear something green? expect a bonus

takes you out shopping unprovoked 

izuku: “are you busy? i saw you were having a rough week and was wondering if you wanted to go to that new outlet mall downtown”

you: 🏃🏾‍♀️💨  

you most certainly had homework due that night but what tf you look like missing out on that offer? 

it’s after so many “dates” that deku realizes that he prefers hanging around you more than he should but he doesnt wanna ruin anything so he keeps that underwraps 

he’s the idiot that goes into this thinking he won’t fall in love

deku defintely has some dirty thoughts about you but he doesnt try to bring it up unless you do first

if you’re comfortable with anything nsfw, you gone see a whole different side to izuku

he’s a giver, giver, giver, but when he recieves, he just about loses it

send him “innocent” pics of yourself matched with a string of filthy texts and he’ll combust 

when you send him pics of yourself in deku-themed lingre, he deadass sends you a whole black card with your name on it as a thank you

you guys get very comfortable with each other very quickly

soon enough, DA’s start turning into y/n stayng over for a week 

you both realize this relatiosnhip runs a lot deeper than an arrangement when he accidentally let it slip that he told his mom about you 

he’s profusely apologizing but you shut him up with a kiss and tell him that you’ve kinda caught feelings yourself 

your next conversation works out well for the both of you 

[trans-advice]

Excerpt from “Transgender History” (2017) by Susan Stryker (“Chapter 3: Trans Liberation”)

[...]

Stonewall:

Meanwhile, across the continent [from San Francisco, California, USA], another important center of transgender activism was taking shape in New York City [New York, USA], where, not coincidentally, Harry Benjamin maintained his primary medical practice. In 1968, Mario Martino, a female-to-male transsexual, founded Labyrinth, the first organization in the United States devoted specifically to the needs of transgender men. Martino and his wife, who both worked in the health care field, helped other transsexual men navigate their way through the often-confusing maze of transgender-oriented medical services just then beginning to emerge, which (despite being funded primarily by Reed Erickson) were geared more toward the needs of transgenderwomen than transgender men. Labyrinth was not a political organization but rather one that aimed to help individuals make the often-difficult transition from one social gender to another.

Far overshadowing the quiet work of Martino’s Labyrinth Foundation, however, were the dramatic events of June 1969 at the Stonewall Inn, a bar in New York’s Greenwich Village. The “Stonewall Riots” have been mythologized as the origin of the gay liberation movement, and there is a great deal of truth in that characterization, but—as we have seen—gay, transgender, and gender-nonconforming people had been engaging in militant protest and collective actions against social oppression for at least a decade by that time. Stonewall stands out as the biggest and most consequential example of a kind of event that was becoming increasingly common, rather than as a unique occurrence. By 1969, as a result of many years of social upheaval and political agitation, large numbers of people who were socially marginalized because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, especially younger people who were part of the Baby Boomer generation, were drawn to the idea of “gay revolution” and were primed for any event that would set such a movement off. The Stonewall Riots provided that very spark, and they inspired the formation of Gay Liberation Front groups in big cities, progressive towns, and college campuses all across the United States. Ever since the summer of 1969, various groups of people who identify with the people who participated in the rioting have argued about what actually happened, what the riot’s underlying causes were, who participated in it, and what the movements that point back to Stonewall as an important part of their own history have in common with one another.

Although Greenwich Village was not as economically down-and-out as San Francisco’s Tenderloin, it was nevertheless a part of the city that appealed to the same sorts of people who resisted at Cooper Do-Nut, Dewey’s, and Compton’s Cafeteria: drag queens, hustlers, gender nonconformists of many varieties, gay men, lesbians, and countercultural types who simply “dug the scene.” The Stonewall Inn was a small, shabby, Mafia-run bar (as were many of the gay-oriented bars in New York back in the days when being gay or cross-dressing were crimes). It drew a racially mixed crowd and was popular mainly for its location on Christopher Street near Sheridan Square, where many gay men “cruised” for casual sex, and because it featured go-go boys, cheap beer, a good jukebox, and a crowded dance floor. Then as now, there was a lively street scene in the bar’s vicinity, one that drew young and racially mixed queer folk from through the region most weekend nights. Police raids were relatively frequent (usually when the bar was slow to make its payoffs to corrupt cops) and relatively routine and uneventful. Once the bribes were sorted out, the bar would reopen, often on the same night. But in the muggy, early morning hours of Saturday, June 28, 1969, events departed from the familiar script when the squad cars pulled up outside the Stonewall Inn.

[Source text Inserts “Sidebar: Radical Transsexual” here]

A large crowd of people gathered on the street as police began arresting workers and patrons and escorting them out of the bar and into the waiting police wagons. Some people in the crowd started throwing coins at the police officers, taunting them for taking “payola.” Eyewitness accounts of what happened next differ in their particulars, but some witnesses claim a transmasculine person resisted police attempts to put them in the police wagon, while others noted that African American and Puerto Rican members of the crowd—many of them street queens, feminine gay men, transgender women, or gender-nonconforming youth—grew increasingly angry as they watched their “sisters” being arrested and escalated the level of opposition to the police. Both stories might well be true. Sylvia Rivera, a transgender woman who came to play an important role in subsequent transgender political history, long maintained that, after she was jabbed by a police baton, she threw the beer bottle that tipped the crowd’s mood from mockery to collective resistance. In any case, the targeting of gender-nonconforming people, people of color, and poor people during a police action fits the usual patterns of police behavior in such situations.

Bottles, rocks, and other heavy objects were soon being hurled at the police, who, in retaliation, began grabbing people from the crowd and beating them.Weekend partiers and residents in the heavily gay neighborhood quickly swelledthe ranks of the crowd to more than two thousand people, and the outnumberedpolice barricaded themselves inside the Stonewall Inn and called for reinforcements. Outside, rioters used an uprooted parking meter as a batteringram to try to break down the bar’s door, while other members of the crowdattempted to throw a Molotov cocktail inside to drive the police back into the streets. Tactical Patrol Force officers arrived on the scene in an attempt to contain the growing disturbance, which nevertheless continued for hours until dissipating before dawn. That night, thousands of people regrouped at the Stonewall Inn to protest. When the police arrived to break up the assembled crowd, street fighting even more violent than that of the night before ensued. One particularly memorable sight amid the melee was a line of drag queens, arms linked, dancing a can-can and singing campy, improvised songs that mocked the police and their inability to regain control of the situation: “We are the Stonewall girls / We wear our hair in curls / We always dress with flair / We wear clean underwear / We wear our dungarees / Above our nellie knees.” Minor skirmishes and protest rallies continued throughout the next few days before finally dying down. By that time, however, untold thousands of people had been galvanized into political action.

Sidebar: Radical Transsexual

Suzy Cooke was a young hippie from upstate New York who lived in a commune in Berkeley, California, when she started transitioning from male to female in 1969. She came out as a bisexual transsexual in the context of the radical counterculture.

I was facing being called back up for the draft. I had already been called up once and had just gone in and played crazy with them the year before. But that was just an excuse. I had also been doing a lot of acid and really working things out. And then December 31, 1968, I took something—I don’t really know what it was—but everything just collapsed. I said, “This simply cannot go on.” To the people that I lived with, I said, “I don’t care if you hate me, but I’m just going to have to do something. I’m going to have to work it out over the next couple of months, and that it doesn’t matter if you reject me, I just have to do it.”

As it was, the people in my commune took it very well. I introduced the cross-dressing a few days later as a way of avoiding the draft. And they were just taken aback at how much just putting on the clothes made me into a girl. I mean, hardly any makeup. A little blush, a little shadow, some gloss, the right clothes, padding. I passed. I passed really easily in public. This is like a few months before Stonewall. And by this point I was dressing up often enough that people were used to seeing it.

I was wallowing in the happiness of having a lot of friends. Here I was being accepted, this kinda cool/sorta goofy hippie kid. I was being accepted by all these heavy radicals. I had been rejected by my parental family, and I had never found a family at college, and now here I was with this family of like eight people all surrounding me. And as it turned out, even some of the girls that I had slept with were thinking that this was really cool. All the girls would donate clothes to me. I really had not been expecting this. I had been expecting rejection, I really had been. And I was really very pleased and surprised. Because I thought that if I did this then I was going to have to go off and live with the queens. And I didn’t.

Stonewall’s Transgender Legacy:

Within a month of the Stonewall Riots, gay activists inspired by the events in Greenwich Village formed the Gay Liberation Front (GLF), which modeled itself on radical Third World liberation and anti-imperialist movements. The GLF spread quickly through activist networks in the student and antiwar movements, primarily among white young people of middle-class origin. Almost as quickly as it formed, however, divisions appeared within the GLF, primarily taking aim at the movement’s domination by white men and its perceived marginalization of women, working-class people, people of color, and trans people. People with more liberal, less radical politics soon organized as the Gay Activists Alliance (GAA), which aimed to reform laws rather than foment revolution. Many lesbians redirected their energy toward radical feminism and the women’s movement. And trans people, after early involvement in the GLF (and being explicitly excluded from the GAA’s agenda), quickly came to feel that they did not have a welcome place in the movement they had done much to inspire. As a consequence, they soon formed their own organizations.

In 1970, Sylvia Rivera and another Stonewall regular, Marsha P. Johnson, established STAR—Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries. Their primary goal was to help street kids stay out of jail, or get out of jail, and to find food, clothing, and a place to live. They opened STAR House, an overtly politicized version of the “house” culture that already characterized black and Latino queer kinship networks, where dozens of trans youth could count on a free and safe place to sleep. Rivera and Johnson, as “house mothers,” would hustle to pay the rent, while their “children” would scrounge for food. Their goal was to educate and protect the younger people who were coming into the kind of life they themselves led—they even dreamed of establishing a school for kids who’d never learned to read and write because their formal education was interrupted by discrimination and bullying. Some STAR members, particularly Rivera, were also active in the Young Lords, a revolutionary Puerto Rican youth organization. One of the first times the STAR banner was flown in public was at a mass demonstration against police repression organized by the Young Lords in East Harlem in 1970, in which STAR participated as a group. STAR House lasted for only two or three years and inspired a few short-lived imitators in other cities, but its legacy lives on even now.

A few other transgender groups formed in New York in the early 1970s. A trans woman named Judy Bowen organized two extremely short-lived groups: Transvestites and Transsexuals (TAT) in 1970 and Transsexuals Anonymous in 1971. More significant was the Queens’ Liberation Front (QLF), founded by drag queen Lee Brewster and heterosexual transvestite Bunny Eisenhower. The QLF formed in part to resist the erasure of drag and trans visibility in the first Christopher Street Liberation Day march, which commemorated the Stonewall Riots and is now an annual event held in New York on the last Sunday in June. In many other cities, this weekend has become the traditional date to celebrate LGBTQ Pride. The formation of the QLF demonstrates how quickly the gay liberation movement started to push aside some of the very people who had the greatest stake in militant resistance at Stonewall. QLF members participated in that first Christopher Street Liberation Day march and were involved in several other political campaigns through the next few years—including wearing drag while lobbying state legislators in Albany. QLF’s most lasting contribution, however, was the publication of Drag Queen magazine (later simply Drag), which had the best coverage of transgender news and politics in the United States, and which offered fascinating glimpses of trans life and activism outside the major coastal cities. In New York, QLF founder Lee Brewster’s private business, Lee’s Mardi Gras Boutique, was a gathering place for segments of the city’s transgender community well into the 1990s.

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 2: Feeling Like a Loner

The bell rang. The class full of children emptied in a flurry of squeals. The teacher breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped when she noticed she wasn’t alone. A pair of mousy braids sat by the window watching her peers spill out into the playground like ants under a log. They scattered, dispersing themselves amongst the jungle gym, the hopscotch marked concrete, and the small patch of grass they called a field.

The teacher softly called her name.

They’d had this conversation before, usually ending with her forfeiting her smoke break to stay in the classroom.

The girl didn’t turn around.

“You have to go outside today,” she added. “It’s a beautiful day. And look at those clouds. I think that one looks like a cow.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Sweetie.” The teacher put a hand on her shoulder. The girl finally turned to face her. “Why don’t you go outside, hmm?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s fun. Look. Look at all the fun they’re having.”

The girl looked back out the window and contemplated.

“That doesn’t look fun to me,” she concluded, matter-of-factly.

“You need to go outside today.”

“Why?”

“Because teachers need a break, too, and I can’t supervise you in here,” she responded bluntly.

“Oh,” the girl replied. “Okay.”

She got up from her seat and grabbed her neatly folded cardigan from the cubby.

Once outside, she found a good vantage point - a mostly flat rock at the edge of the field where she can see most of the schoolyard.

A group of boys were playing jacks. They’d made it to foursies, from what she could tell. Another boy hovered around them asking to join, but they ignored him.

The girl turned away from them and took a rubber ball out of the front pocket of her overalls. She bounced it against the ground on her own. Then, she turned back to the boys, still steadily bouncing her ball. She watched. When the time was right, she launched her ball into their game, knocking the jacks out of a boy’s hand. They yelled. She caught her ball without missing a beat.

The girl smiled, then turned her attention to the jungle gym. Almost ten children were winding their bodies between the bars, some resting on levels, others climbing to the highest perch. The few children in the center looked like they were imprisoned. An acrobatic cage. One boy made it to the top, or rather almost. His feet were on the second highest bars, his hands on the highest. He put one foot up on the high bar and tested his balance, releasing the pressure on his other grounded foot. His hand slipped, but he got his grip in time to only suffer a minor embarrassment (one of his friends saw, and proceeded to laugh). The boy climbed down after that.

She looked down at her cream colored Mary Janes and tapped her toes together. In the corner of her eye, inching toward her, was a remarkably fuzzy caterpillar. It bobbed up and down like a wave, growing closer and closer to the shore of her shoe.

“I got it,” someone yelled.

Then thud.

The caterpillar disappeared under a grass stained sneaker belonging to the boy who “got it”. “It” was a rubber ball, and the boy she recognized as the one whose turn at jacks was interrupted.

He ran back to his friends, taking no notice of her or his victim. The insect, upon inspection, hadn’t been entirely crushed, and was still wriggling. She gingerly scooped it up with a sturdy leaf and rested it in one hand while she cupped her other around it like a shield. She watched it writhe with increasing intensity, then intermittently, then not at all.

--------------------------------------------------------

On the following Monday morning, Bill was surprised to see that he had beat Holden in to work.

He poked his head in Wendy’s office.

“Captain America not in yet?”

“No,” she replied, barely looking up from the page in front of her.

“Maybe he finally got lucky,” Bill joked.

He got a smirk out of her that time.

Bill turned around and, seeing that Gregg was preoccupied with a phone call, didn’t bother closing the door.

“I’m going up to talk to Gunn,” he said softly.

“Good.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Marital problems.”

Wendy nodded her approval.

Gregg’s voice got louder from the hallway.

“Is he still on the phone?” Wendy asked.

Bill turned to confirm. “Yup.”

Wendy closed her file.

“This is ridiculous. We can’t be expected to assist in every single murder case across the country. We can’t even keep up with the inquiries.”

“What did Gunn say?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t really mentioned it, not explicitly. He’s not exactly receptive to my ideas. Knowing him, he would probably ask why Gregg was the one dealing with it and suggest I take over secretarial duties.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

Wendy’s eyes flicked up at him. Her look said it all.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bill decided. “Tell him we need to hire someone.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Holden speed walked into the office, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted.

Wendy got up from her desk and joined Bill in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Holden muttered breathlessly.

“Is everything alright?” Wendy asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. I had to take the bus, but I forgot my wallet at home and…It’s been a morning.”

“How’s your car?”

“What happened to your car?” Bill interjected.

Holden, still exasperated, dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud.

“It wouldn’t start when I went to leave the bar on Friday, so Wendy gave me a ride home.”

Bill threw a side-eyed glance at Wendy who wrinkled her nose in subtle disgust.

No, Bill.

“I got it towed to the shop on Saturday,” Holden continued, “but it wasn’t a dead battery. Turns out I need a new timing belt, and they couldn’t get one in until today. I have to pick it up in a couple hours because they close early, and when I called this morning it still wasn’t ready, which is why I had to take the bus. Hence…” He gestured to his state of disarray and exhaled.

“Happy Monday,” Wendy said before disappearing back into her office.

Bill got roped into a case that delayed his plan to talk to Gunn. It was almost 11am before he was finally able to go upstairs. Nearly 23 minutes later, Bill returned to the basement where Holden and Wendy appeared to be waiting for him. The pair looked at him expectantly.

“It went fine,” Bill admitted. “He gave me some sympathy about ‘the old ball and chain’ and poured me a finger of whiskey. As long as we stay on track and deliver, we’re good.”

“That’s great, Bill,” Holden said.

“And Gunn agreed about hiring an assistant,” Bill added, to Wendy’s relief. “A non-agent, but someone who can deal with the sensitive matter. He said he would talk to you about it.”

Wendy’s face dropped.

“Why me?”

Bill opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. He couldn’t find the right words.

She understood.

“Of course,” she added bitterly. Because I’m the woman.  

Sometimes she missed Boston.

“Oh, shoot,” Holden exclaimed, noticing the time. “I gotta go.”

“Did you send that profile to Osborn?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I just faxed it over,” he replied, already halfway out the door.

“Kids,” Bill joked, shaking his head.

“So, how’d it really go?” Wendy inquired.

“It really did go fine,” he replied sincerely. “Better than expected, honestly.”

“But?”

Bill sat on the edge of the desk.

“I guess I still feel…uneasy about the situation with Brian. How would it look if the FBI found out my kid was involved in a murder.”

“But he wasn’t, Bill. They concluded he wasn’t responsible. It’s on the record.”

“I know. And I know that logically he thought the cross was a good idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t feel good about it. And now I can’t even keep an eye on him. I don’t know if he’s still wetting the bed. Or if he’s started sucking his thumb again, or if he’s spoken at all.”

Wendy offered him a sympathetic smile.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems likely that the regressions are a result of the traumatic experience. Nothing more.”

“I just feel so helpless.”

They sat in silence, neither knowing what else to say.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Wendy offered.

“Thanks. Really. I’m glad you’re around.”

Bill got up to leave.

Wendy passed by the fax machine on the way back to her office and picked up the pages of the profile Holden faxed to Alaska. She scanned the page, then stopped.

That little-

There was a knock.

“All by your lonesome, Dr. Carr?”

“Not anymore,” Wendy muttered under her breath.

She turned around to see Gunn standing in the doorway.

“I don’t know if Bill had a chance to mention it to you,” he said, making his way over to her.

“He did.”

“Good. HR has a standard secretary job posting. I’ll have them send it your way and you can let them know if there’s anything to be added. I trust you to select the applicants and conduct the interviews, but I need to sign off on the hire.”

“Isn’t this something that HR can handle on their own?”

“They don’t know what it’s like in the BSU. The intricacies of your operations. You’re the expert on that.”

She straightened her posture and folded her arms.

“You were involved in hiring Agent Smith, weren’t you?” he added, taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Yes, but that was different,” she explained. “He’s actively involved in our work.”

“And so will the woman you hire.” She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I thought you’d want to have a hand in who joins this team, Dr. Carr.”

“That’s -” she started, then stopped.

She took a breath.

“I feel that my time would be better spent focusing on our research,” she explained.

“And this is part of that,” Gunn stated confidently. “Everything that happens in this basement is. And beyond. All the cogs in the machine have to be well oiled and working together.”

His tone was final and his feet were already headed towards the door.

“Let me know if you haven’t gotten anything by the end of the week,” he added, already halfway out the door.

The phone rang, as if on cue.

She walked away, letting the sound echo in the empty room.

Wendy was in the break room getting her third coffee of the day when Holden returned from his errand.  

“Hey, is there enough left for me?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a paper cup.

Wendy continued pouring coffee into her cup until the pot was empty. Holden looked at her cup, full to the brim. She picked it up carefully and took a sip from the top, looking Holden square in the eyes, before walking past him back to the office.

He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, before following her.

“Hey,” he called, just as she was about to enter her office.

Wendy turned around, unimpressed.

“Did I miss something?” Holden asked.

She was amused by his question, but not happy.

“Yes, Holden,” she said with more than a hint of condescension. “You missed a significant portion of my professional opinion in the Alaska profile.”

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could have been referring to.

“The military thing?” Her look confirmed his guess. “I thought we agreed he didn’t fit the military description.”

“I very clearly stated that it was very likely he did work at the air base.”

“Yes, but then I said I disagreed and you dropped it, so-”

“So, you took that to mean I conceded.”

“Well…”

She’d had it.

Gregg, who took notice of their dispute, removed his headphones to spectate properly, albeit discreetly.

“Look,” Holden said in a softer voice. “I don’t want to argue.”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rational discussion and an argument-”

“Do you want me to call them?” he interrupted. “Tell them we made a mistake and we’ll send a new assessment?”

Wendy weighed this option briefly.

“No,” she concluded. “The damage is done. It won’t look good if we change our mind unless we’ve been presented with new information.”

Holden exhaled loudly. She stared him down. It didn’t appear that he’d learned this lesson.

“What’s done is done,” she added.

She retired to her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Gregg looked up at Holden. Holden stared back, trying to think of something to say. His mind drew a blank, and he walked away, shaking his head.

The first thing Wendy did when she got home was pour herself the remainder of her bottle of Pinot Gris. It filled her glass well past the acceptable half-way point, but who was there to judge her.

The second thing she did was check her answering machine. She always tried to do it casually - just a quick glance - as if someone might be watching and think she was neurotic. The little red bulb was dark, as it always was. It seemed like a silly purchase now, slowly gathering dust like her love life.

She took a large sip of wine and opened the fridge. It was sparse. There was half a carton of eggs, an opened container of hummus, a three inch block of cheddar, and a nearly empty carton of milk next to a half full carton of orange juice. The crisper contained a bruised apple, two oranges, and a few stalks of celery.

Unmoved by her options, Wendy opened the cupboard only to find a bag of dried apricots where there would normally be cans of tuna. She once again opened the fridge and took out the cheese, an orange, and two of the celery stalks. From the cupboard, she took out the dried apricots as well as a box of crackers from the one next to it.  She sliced the cheese and arranged it carefully on a plate next to a matching number of crackers. Next to the crackers was the celery, cut into sticks, followed by orange wedges and a handful of dried apricots completing the circle. She scribbled down “tuna” and “milk” on the notepad pinned to the fridge before bringing her dinner to the living room.

Wendy settled into her usual chair, curled her feet up, and turned on the television. It was quarter to the hour, right in the middle of any half-hour show and too near the end of a full hour program. She flicked channels through twice before stopping on an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which promptly went to a commercial break.

She took a bite of one of the celery sticks only to find it bitter. It hadn’t looked spoiled from the outside, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tossed the stick back onto her plate and grabbed an apricot to cleanse her palate. Much better.

A man from Sarasota made it to the final round, but couldn’t guess the puzzle. Wendy got it in four seconds. When the episode ended, she turned off the television and brought her briefcase back to her chair. She pulled out the file she brought home on John Wayne Gacy. The Killer Clown.

Gacy’s mug shot was more unique than most. He was looking away from the camera, off to the side, and smiling. It was as if he was having a pleasant conversation with one of the officers when they snapped his picture. He didn’t look nice per se, however he wasn’t glistening with sweat. This wasn’t surprising though, considering he admitted he knew he was going to be arrested. And he confessed willingly, although it was only after police had found the remains in his crawl space.

Wendy read through the details of the first convicted murder, Timothy McCoy - formerly known as the “Greyhound Bus Boy”. Gacy had left a family party to go look at a display of ice sculptures, then decided to lure the 16-year-old to his car from the Chicago Greyhound Bus Terminal. He was on his way to Omaha from Nebraska. Gacy drove him around Chicago, showed him the sights, then back to his house where he told McCoy he could stay the night. He even offered him a ride to the station in the morning in time to catch his next bus. According to Gacy, he woke up early in the morning to see McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife. Gacy got out of bed and charged at McCoy, who raised his hands in surrender, still holding the knife. It cut Gacy’s arm in the panic. Gacy, who was much larger than McCoy, wrestled the knife from him and banged his head against the wall. Gacy kicked him multiple times. He wrestled him to the ground, straddled him, and stabbed him repeatedly. Then, Gacy claims he cleaned the knife in the bathroom. When he went into the kitchen, he found an open carton of eggs and a slab of bacon, unsliced, on the table, which was set for two.

This poor boy just wanted to make him breakfast, as a thank you, and he died for it. All because he didn’t leave the knife in the kitchen.

Wendy swirled the remainder of her drink in her glass, then held her hand steady and watched the wine continue to swirl and splash around the curves, briefly gaining momentum before slowing to a soft ripple.

Maybe Gacy would have killed him anyways. Maybe he never meant to drive him to the station that morning. Maybe McCoy was always meant to end up in Gacy’s crawl space, covered in concrete.

She took a sip and turned the page.

[heresathreebee]

A Real Date

[Ava Starr x Female!Reader] 

Summary: You and Ava trying a dinner date that goes very wrong (just kidding it's actually fine). 

Previous Masterlist Next

Word count: 1.8k words

Warning(s): 13+ | no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp, swearing, internalized homophobia(?), I think I’m working through something here this might be a little personal (sorry in advance), past relationship angst, presumed past of dating multiple genders but there is no definitive sexuality established for reader in the present, this was going to be something else but the story took over and I had to roll with it. 

Author's note: no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp. I’m sorry I do not edit anymore, it only serves to stand in my way. This is part 3 of Ava Starr series beginning with Strawberry Soda. Art by Artmilla on DeviantArt (correct me if I’m wrong please)

It's important to note that not everything you see in media is the hegemonic truth. Take sapphic dating rituals for example: in media it’s a constant joke about how fast people move in together and own pets and plants like they were soulmates and always meant to be together. Which is nice to see– it’s not meant to be a cruel joke– but it does paint a picture of perfection. It doesn’t explicitly state whether your future wife is your first or fiftieth girlfriend but it sure as shit might lead you to believe every girl might be your last. 

Real people don’t work that way. Real people have different interests, different lives, different traumas, different styles and needs. Every relationship is new and it has to be done deliberately and with care for what you and your partner want. So when you think about your relationship with Ava you can’t help but feel a little guilty. 

Ava seems to like to take things slow. Your relationship prioritizes quality time over physical touch which you're fine with, but you can’t help it if you compare the details to other people you’ve dated. You’ve known each other for three months and in every other relationship by this time, you and your previous partners had hit a ton of milestones that you and Ava had just… not. So when you bring up the prospect of a ‘real date’ to Ava one night while cooking pasta in your kitchen, Ava chuckles. 

“And what exactly constitutes as a ‘real date?’” 

The television is playing some daytime television game show and the volume’s on low. You pass her the salt and take a swig from your beer with a shrug. Already you feel silly for bringing it up. 

“Dinner. A movie. Sometimes both, I guess,” you say, flustered. 

Ava raises an eyebrow at the softening bowtie noodles in the pot. “We’re having dinner right now…? Name one time we haven’t come back to your place to watch a movie.” 

“The time the power went out and we played jenga by candlelight. But I– I mean like a date outside of the house.”

“We go to out to parks, the antique mall, lunch, the arcade–” 

“Well, yeah I guess you’re right I just don’t know I still feel like–”  

“Again, how is any of it different from a ‘real date?’” 

“I don’t know! Just… just forget it.” you’re trying not to be bitter about it but you don’t even know what you mean so how could you explain it? 

Ava calls your name softly and you already feel hot shame lick up your neck when you see her face. “I didn’t mean it like that, I– I just don’t think I understand what you mean and I want to! Honestly…” 

You sigh and lean closer to her, careful not to touch but you want her to know you’re not mad. “No, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been stuck on it for a week but I can’t seem to figure out why. Everything you’re saying I agree with but there’s still this nagging voice in my head telling me it’s not fair or I’m doing it wrong but I don’t know what it even is and I–” 

You collapse onto the kitchen floor breathless. What the fuck were you even saying? Why was this bothering you so much? What ‘s different about this relationship than any other relationship you’ve already had? Your eyes are darting back and forth and your head is a million miles away. You keep talking as if saying it out loud will make your impulsive and intrusive thoughts and motivations clearer to you. 

“It’s out of order. No, it’s not but it’s… with Jordan and Becky and Hal, I went on three dates before it felt normal. We did the traditional getting to know you stuff. Damien and Palavi were straight physical– not traditional at all but that still felt good enough somehow. And– and it’s not that I don’t believe what we have isn’t real, I just–

“Fuck, I don’t know! It feels a little like my relationship with Kat.” You can’t believe it but then the words were out there. You had never told anybody about Kat– Ava was still learning about the rest of them– but the instant those words left your mouth you regretted them. Ava was not Kat. 

For instance, Ava slipped down to sit beside you on the floor– Kat would never lower herself to meet your eye. Ava looked at you and she saw you– Kat chose to ignore your feelings whenever it became more convenient to do so. Kat made you feel special and yet not special enough– OK maybe they shared a little bit of that. A tiny, micro piece of that. 

“What was Kat like?” She said the words softly and without an ounce of jealousy. 

You gather your mind with a deep breath. “Dating Kat was like being strapped to a rocket. It was like being a part of something bigger and stronger than me. Being with her made me feel inconsequential and sometimes I liked that, but then… then I realized I was just a dirty little secret. Kat liked me because I was convenient to her, not because she actually cared about me. 

“When we talked or hung out, it had to be on her terms. No public, no friends or family, no social media. No one was allowed to know. She passed it off as just wanting me for herself but after she dumped me for something better I realized she never saw me as her equal. And it just… I was already in a dark place and that place just kind of got a whole lot darker after that. I felt especially not special.” 

You lean back and rest your head on the cabinet under the sink. “I know that’s not you. Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I have to hide a part of myself. I did a lot of stupid things in the public eye with Palavi, maybe part of that was because I was proud of who I am and I wanted everyone to know it?” 

“I think I care too much about what other people think of me,” you said closing your eyes. 

You didn’t expect to feel Ava lean her head against your shoulder but you don’t pull away. God, you could never pull away even as you worry she may be causing herself harm just to comfort you and your rambling. Her hair tickles a bit and smells like strawberries and lavender. 

Ava lifted her head after a moment. “Let’s go on a real date then.” 

~

Why the fuck were you so nervous? This was your idea! You had trouble picking a restaurant and picking a day and picking your clothes out and picking where to sit. So many choices with so much meaning or none at all. You just need this to be perfect because you hoped maybe this is what you need to stop that nagging in your head. 

You made the call to meet each other there. You made the suggestion that it had to be somewhere nice– as in get dressed up nice. And darling, sweet, patient Ava let you have the control you so desperately needed. She offered suggestions here and there, and it helped you narrow everything down to a science. You feel a little self conscious sitting by yourself in your get up but you knew she'd be there on time. 

It's just a matter of whether or not you could sit still for five more minutes. 

You hold the cloth napkin in your palms to try and soak up the sweat. Forcing yourself to sit unnaturally still and you haven't touched your wine because you just know you'll get it everywhere somehow. Your eyes trace over the table to stop yourself from meeting the eyes of other patrons. Do nothing, wait it out. 

Ava is stunning and you don't know she's there until the wait staff places the dinner menus in front of you. So much for pulling out her chair like you wanted to– but she's here and you break out into a big smile. 

"You look amazing," you tell her. 

Ava smiles and takes a sip of the rosé you ordered. The dim lighting in the room seems to soften the contours of her face but never the sharpness of her bright eyes. Something blossoms inside you and you feel it– that thing that's been bothering you like a knot in your stomach turns into a seed and its flowering now. This is your girlfriend. Not your friend who is a girl– your significant other. She's important to you and she has decided that she feels the same way about you. 

You feel your body unwind, reaching across the table like you might touch her hand then stop an inch from her empty plate. She watches you curiously but without fear. After a beat, it's Ava who finishes the contact. She slips her hand into yours and you are delighted to discover she's not a corporeal being you've convinced yourself is real. Her skin is a little dry around the palm and she has calluses you never knew were there and she's real and this is happening. 

You resist the urge to squeeze her fingers. Let her lead. Trust her to move away if she experiences any pain. She looks away from you with a flustered face you've never seen her wear and takes another draft of her wine. 

"This is nice," she says softly. 

You eat off each others' plates and you laugh together, and if anyone's watching you wouldn't know because for once you couldn't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks. You're with your person, for now or forever doesn't matter because she's letting you hold her hand and talk about a play you want to take her to on Saturday. Your heart flutters in your chest the whole way home and it’s not until you’re standing at your front door does her hand finally slip from yours. The feeling lingers though and your face hurts from smiling. 

“This everything you wanted,” she asked. 

“Yes,” you reply, “yes it was. Thank you for indulging me, it’s exactly what I needed.” 

“I enjoyed it too.” She steps closer, seemingly reluctant to leave just yet. “We’re still going to see Rocky Horror Picture Show, right?” 

“Absolutely,” you beam, “trust me, you’re gonna love it, it’s wild.” You blow her a kiss to send her on her way and spend the next hour giggling to yourself until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Ten of ??)

Aha! Finally it is done!

Hey everyone! It’s been one Monday of a week, but I finally had today (Saturday) off so I finally got to work on this update. I also thought I’d give you guys an update on my scheduling. One of the supervisor’s at work is done with her semester at college, so I’m probably not going to have a set schedule for awhile. That means the only day I know I will have off is Sunday. I usually work on writing on my day off, so updates are probably going to vary wildly from week to week. If I don’t get one out the rest of the week, you should see an update from me on Sunday (though it might be at a late hour, like this week).

Anywho, I hope you’re all doing alright and that you’re staying safe. I know I have some readers who recently had Finals Week (or whatever the equivalent of that is for you). I want to congratulate you on finishing your semester (because it is a big accomplishment), and that I hope you got high marks on your respective tests/projects/ect.

So, as always, if you’re new here, here is the link to Part One. You can also find the links to all the parts on my Master List if you’ve missed any of the other updates :)

This update was brought to you by the support of the following: @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan @theuglypugling (Seriously, thanks so much for the support you guys! I love each and every one of you!) If you’d like to be on the tags list for any future updates, please just drop a comment below or send me a message!

Satan/Mc

Word Count: 4,144

Trigger warnings: There might be some language in this one, Satan gets PISSED

“Will you just sit down Satan? You’re making me nervous,” Asmo complained, watching his brother with concern.

“Yeah. You’re totally breaking my concentration here,” Levi chimed in, not looking up from his game.

“Well, you can take your complaints to Lucifer,” Satan stated, starting what had to be his 200th pass on the same stretch of the ballroom, “I don’t know why we had to be here so early.”

“We got here ten minutes ago,” Belphie sighed, leaning on Beel, “You’re just nervous.”

“And what if I am?” Satan asked, his anxiety adding bite to the question.

“We’re all nervous,” Beel gently reminded Satan, “We’ve all missed our favorite human.”

“Not human anymore,” Mammon muttered, glaring at some undefined point in front of him, leg shaking anxiously. He had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since the night of the art show, gone most of the day, and retreating to his room when he was home.

An awkward hush fell across the group at his words, everyone’s thoughts turning inward. Satan sighed and sat down, the feathers on his boa trying their hardest to enter his mouth. The lacing on his shirt threatened to strangle him along with the collar, and his tail kept flexing around his leg. He was a bundle of nerves, and he couldn’t seem to relax. He had wanted to wear a simple suit or tuxedo, but the invitation from Diavolo had explicitly said demon forms were to be used.

A strangled but disgusted gasp escaped Asmo’s mouth, “What the hell is he doing here?!”

“Another jilted lover Asmo?” Belphie asked, rolling his eyes.

“No! It’s Michael!” Everyone’s head whipped up at that, even Levi.

“OMG! WFT?” Levi exclaimed, eyes large and worried.

“Bro, why is he here?” Mammon nearly growled, glaring at the man in question.

“I don’t know, but I want him to leave!” Asmo’s voice was getting more shrill as time went on.

“Is tha’ Lord Diavolo with ‘im?” Mammon asked, still glaring, though he wasn’t growling anymore.

“OMG, you’re right. They're laughing together too!” Levi narrated.

Beel had joined Mammon in glaring at Michael, as his twin smiled smugly, “Oh, you guys didn’t know?” Everyone looked over at that and you could tell Belphie was relishing in the shock, “Mc came with some angels. I hear Luke’s here too.”

“How can you possibly be happy about this?”

“What are you all gawking at? You all look like you’ve-” Lucifer cut off, finally seeing what his brothers were looking at. If he hadn’t already been in his demon form, Satan was fairly sure he would’ve burst into it immediately, though he didn’t look as surprised as Satan would expect him to.

“Oh.” 

The absolute contempt and disgust that dripped from that single word had all the brothers sharing looks, most very concerned. Belphie caught Satan’s eye, shooting him a sly, wicked grin. Satan wanted to share in Belphie’s enjoyment, but his mind was taking this new roadblock into account, trying to figure out how this was going to factor into his plan.

Satan didn’t really have an opinion on Michael. He had never really met the angel, his only knowledge of him coming from his shared memories with Lucifer, the little he’d heard from his brothers, and what he’d gleaned from Luke and Simeon’s conversations, not that he really cared. He simply wasn’t someone who mattered. That is, until now.

“Did you know Lucifer?” Asmo asked.

“Diavolo had told me Mc had come with two angels, though he didn’t mention names. I just assumed it was Simeon and Luke,” Lucifer was still watching Diavolo and Michael talking, though he had taken on a frigid demeanor, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. You didn’t have to be the Avatar of Wrath to sense the boiling anger underneath the frosty exterior.

Barbatos walked over to Diavolo and whispered something. The Demon Prince nodded and stood up, the congregation quieting, “Hello and welcome, each and every one of you! I’m so glad you could make it!” he voice boomed out into the 

Levi scoffed, “As if we had a choice.”

“Shaddup. Ya wanted to come jus’as much as the rest of us,” Mammon hissed.

“As most of you know, this ball is in honor of Jane Doe,”

“Wait.. Who’s that?” Beel asked, confused.

“That’s her pseudonym,” Belphie explained softly, Beel nodding his understanding.

“We have other guest’s as well, who came with Jane. Michael, the archangel,” Diavolo gestured to Michael who raised his hand in greeting with a smile, “And Luke, Jane’s older brother. You may all remember him when he was here as one of our first exchange students,” A blonde male who had been sitting by Michael inclined his head.

“Oh my gosh, that’s Luke?!” Asmo said loudly enough some nearby demons looked over.

“I didn’t even recognize him,” Levi murmured.

“Did he say brother?” Mammon asked.

“Shhhh!” Lucifer hissed as Diavolo continued.

“Now for the person you’ve all been waiting for, Jane Doe,” all the brothers held their breath as Mc walked over to Diavolo, an absolute vision. All of the brothers were transfixed, their own personal feelings overcoming everything else. Lucifer, having already seen Mc at the palace was the first to recover, looked over to Satan to see how he was doing. He was encouraged by what he saw. Satan was subconsciously touching his pocket where he knew he letter was at. Though he seemed a bit nervous, the fierce resolve in his eyes made him smile proudly, before looking back to Diavolo.

“I hope you all treat our guests with the same respect and kindness they’ll give to you. With the introductions done, let the party commence!”

“So, what’s the plan Satan?” Asmo asked, bringing the fourth born out of his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you need to talk with Mc right?” at the nod he continued, “Well, how about we help you?”

“We?” Belphie sighed, grabbing a lock of his hair.

“Yes we,” Asmo sighed, rolling his eyes.

Belphie sighed, but turned to look at Satan anyways, “Well, if I have to help, what do you need?”

“I just need to give her a letter,” Satan explained, about to tell everyone they didn’t need to bother, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Don’t you want to talk to her though?” Levi asked.

“Well, I need her to read this first. I didn’t make the best impression last time, and I don’t think I’ll be much better this time around,” Satan admitted, looking chagrined. He hadn’t told any of the brothers the entirety of what happened.

“Easy enough,” Mammon announced, getting up, “We just need to walk over and give it to her then.”

“Not so fast Mammon,” Lucifer said, motioning for him to sit, “She’s probably going to be flanked by those two angels all evening. I don’t know if they’d take well to one of us handing Lillith’s descendant a letter. Luke at least, is aware of Satan’s attachment to Mc, and last time I checked, he’s not a fan of ours. As for the other…” Lucifer trailed off, irritation twisting his features, “Who knows how that may go.”

“So we need to make sure to separate them all,” Levi mused.

“Do you have any ideas on how to do that? Like, anything from one of your anime’s?” Asmo asked.

“I mean, there’s the ‘trying to get the main character and love interest alone’, but it doesn’t always work, though it’s entertaining to watch.”

“Well, we want this to go well,” Asmo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“What about you then? Where’s your grand idea?” Levi scoffed.

“Actually, I do have an idea,” Asmo giggled.

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

“I really should’ve just done this myself,” Satan sighed, Asmo standing next to him.

“Oh, shush! This will turn out great, just wait.”

“When’s it supposed to work then? I mean, we’ve been standing here for an hour and we haven't caught a glimpse of Mc.”

“Patience, patience. Beel and Belphie… Well, Beel already has Luke distracted with food talk, and Lucifer’s doing a good job of keeping Michael… On his toes, I guess?”

“I do have to admit watching him run away from Michael is amusing,” Satan chuckled, his eyes darting to Lucifer from their perch on the balcony above the dancefloor. He was obviously fighting his pride, knowing he was running away from Michael, but unable to stay and deal with the angel who wouldn’t stop trying to find him, partially due to his pride as well. Looking back to Michael, Satan grinned, “Gotcha!”

“Wha… Oh! There she is! Told you!” Asmo nearly shouted.

“That was my ear.”

“Oop. Sorry.”

Satan watched Mc speak with Michael, noting all the small changes in her behavior. There was a level of refinement that hadn’t been there before, which made perfect sense seeing as how she had been raised in the Celestial Realm by Simeon. She was more graceful for one thing, and seemed more calm and at ease than he remembered her. She did seem more reserved and closed off than before, though that could just because she was talking with a superior. She was fairly open with me until I screwed it up, so hopefully she retained that part of herself, and hopefully I didn’t screw it up.

Asmo sighed, “Lucifer isn’t doing his job.”

“Did you really expect him to? He did say he didn’t want to be part of whatever you were planning.”

“Well, Michael chose to follow him. He was chosen. It’s fate.”

“Still doesn’t mean he’s going to actively participate.”

“Fine. Looks like I’m going to have to have Mammon and Levi do some work for us.”

“You really don’t have to do this. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. I also want to mess with Michael as much as possible.”

“Fine. What do we do next?”

“We have to get down onto the dance floor. I’m calling Mammon right now.”

They found the staircase closest to Mc and Michael and made their way down, Asmo on his DDD the whole time, “Yes… Do you see us? Oh, there you are. Do you see them? No, left… Left! Your other left! Mammon, how are you this stupid?... I’m not the one who can’t see-... No, you listen! I can’t stand that you-... How dare you! I- Ugh, fine… Yup, just distract him…” Asmo laughed, “No, though I would pay to see that. Maybe, walk past and see if he takes the bait?... Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it Levi… Look, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get back to your game… Wow, I thought you wanted Mc back, but I guess not. I’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t spend anytime with you… Then get your act together! Okay, Mammon, we’re close enough now. Alright, take it away.”

Satan watched as Mammon and Levi stepped out of the crowd, Mammon talking loudly enough to turn a lot of heads. Unfortunately, Michael was not one of these, though Mc seemed interested in what was going on. She seemed to ask Michael about it, but he just brushed it off, continuing to talk.

“Why does Mammon think he’s such hot stuff?” Asmo asked, rubbing his forehead.

“Don’t frown too much. You’ll get wrinkles,” Satan gently chided.

“You’re right,” Asmo sighed, “I just don’t know how to… Whoa. Look at that.”

Satan looked to find Diavolo talking with Mc and Michael. He also spied Lucifer keeping his distance, but frowning so intensely he was surprised Diavolo couldn't feel it. Michael said something and Diavolo laughed delightedly, motioning for Mc and Michael to join him.

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

“She’s alone now. I’ll cover you!” Asmo hissed, pushing Satan forward.

Mc was sitting on a bench, on the outskirts of the room. She was watching the crowd with interest, eyes bright and curious. Satan hesitated, before steeling himself and walking forward, letter in hand. He was almost close enough to her to call out, when some demon approached her. Satan turned on his heel, and concealed himself in the crowd. He watched the demon extend their hand, heart sinking as he realized what that meant. She smiled and nodded her head, taking their hand as she was escorted out onto the dancefloor.

“What happened? Where’d she go?” Asmo asked, joining his brother.

“Someone asked her to dance before I got there,” Satan muttered irritably.

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

Satan looked at the time on his DDD. There was only two hours left of the ball, and he still had the letter. The past hour had been spent trying to figure out how to get Luke to leave Mc’s side without much luck. Beel had apparently gone to raid the food table and then the palace kitchen, and Belphie had fallen asleep, so Luke had found his way back to his sister and hadn’t left her side since. Worse yet, it seemed his opinion on demons was unchanged, keeping most of those that came over to talk to the artist at bay with a single look.

“He needs to leave so we can get on with this.” Asmo huffed, upset his plan was failing.

“Well, he is a chihuahua,” Levi said distractedly, “I can’t… say for certain, but he’s probably… Trying to keep her out of trouble… Woot! Got it!”

“Levi, could you stop gaming for five seconds?” Asmo sighed.

“Well, I have bad ideas, so no. You’re lucky I decided to stick around at all,” Levi huffed, eyebrows furrowed, though from the game or Asmo, Satan didn’t know.

“Oh come on! Are you really that upset by my comment?” When Levi didn’t answer, Asmo rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Do you have any ideas then Levi?” Satan asked

“Not really.”

“Yo, yo, yo! Luke! What’s happenin’ my man?”

Both Mc, Luke and all three brother’s  looked over at Mammon strolling toward the duo through the crowd.

“Is he seriously…?” Levi asked.

“I think so…” Satan answered, shocked.

“How’ve ya’ been?” Mammon asked, grinning at the blonde angel.

“Fine I suppose,” Luke answered, suspicion lacing his words.

“Nice, nice. So, this is your sister?” The emphasis on the word left no interpretation of what he thought of the title.

“Yup. Of course, you can understand an angel’s definition of sibling though, don’t you Mammon?” Luke shot back.

“Oh! You’re Mammon!” Mc said suddenly, turning her full attention to Mammon “I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Mammon turned bright red, “Oh, you’ve heard of the Great Mammon?”

“Of course!” Mc beamed at him.

Mammon started stuttering, “W-W-Well, o-of course ya’ have.”

Mc giggled a bit at that, smiling at the second born, “I was actually hoping you might have some time you could spare to answer some of my questions.”

Satan was sure Mammon was going to combust, but Mc wrapped her arm around his anyways, “We’ll be back Luke.”

The blonde angel seemed like he wanted to argue, but something was holding him back, “I’ll be waiting then.” Mc nodded at him, and then walked off with Mammon.

“Wh… What just happened?” Levi nearly squealed.

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

“I hear Mammon got to talk to Mc before you did.”

“Shut up Lucifer,” Satan muttered.

“Where are they?” Lucifer asked, and Satan pointed to a bench where Mc and Mammon were sitting. They seemed deep in a conversation.

“Interesting. I had to see it to believe it.”

“What’ve you been doing this whole time?”

“I’ve been… walking around…”

“Hiding from Michael.”

“That would imply I’m scared of him.”

“MmmmHmmm.”

“I do not fear Michael.”

“Good to hear, since he’s coming this way.”

Lucifer instantly started walking forward, stopping by some random succubus, “Hello, Jezebel. Would you like to dance?” Lucifer asked, barely waiting for a response before dragging her out onto the dance floor.

Satan was still chuckling, Lucifer’s discomfort making his misfortune seem better, when a male voice he remembered from memory but had never actually heard addressed him, “Are you Satan, Lucifer’s… son?”

Satan blinked a couple times, “Excuse me?”

“That is you right? Or do you prefer something different? Spawn of Lucifer?” Michael cocked his head a bit, seeming a little confused.

Some rational part of Satan’s brain was the only thing keeping him from jumping on the angel and ripping him to shreds. He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice as he responded, “I am Satan, THE Avatar of WRATH.”

“Oh, I seem to have hit a nerve. My apologies,” Michael said, actually bowing. Satan narrowed his eyes, tail flexing around his leg. Has he always been this stupid? Or is he mocking me?

“I was wondering if we could speak. Privately,” Michael said, his smile showing he knew he’d said something wrong.

“Anything you want to say you can say here, Michael.”

“I do think it would be better for us to speak privately,” Satan could feel Michael’s irritation building a bit.

“Why? So you can try to hurt my brother’s again by killing another of their siblings?”

The shock on Michael’s face satiated Satan’s anger enough that he almost laughed at it. Michael quickly put on a blank look, but Satan could hear the sorrow in his voice, “Though it is always unfortunate when an angel dies, I do not regret any of my actions. When someone goes against what they know to be right, there will always be consequences.”

“Of course. Always the errand boy, blindly doing whatever it is you’re told to do.”

“How would you know? You weren’t even around to know her. I’m not sure what lies you’ve been fed-”

“I was there, you imbecile,” Satan seethed, “I saw how your actions helped push Lucifer towards rebellion, knowingly or not, and how you stabbed him in the back once he was finally there. I remember them, and I find your actions to be deplorable.”

“Now listen here, you demon-”

“Oh, I’m the demon here?! Shall I describe, in detail, how you-”

“Everythin’ cool here?” Mammon came up next to Satan, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

Satan whipped his head to look at Mammon, confirming that, yes, Mammon had heard what Michael had said.

“Ah, Mammon. It’s been awhile.”

Mammon looked over at Michael, his disgust thinly veiled, “Yeah, sure.”

“I would like to talk with your… brother, but he doesn’t seem to want to.”

“Good fer him. Tah be honest with ya’, I don’ trust ya’ Michael. I didn’ up in the Celestial Realm, and I don’ now. If ya’ wanna’ talk with Satan, I suggest ya’ do it where we can all see ya’.”

Satan felt two hands on his shoulders, and looked back to see both Beel and Belphie standing behind him. Neither one of them looked very happy, but Beel’s look was a lot more intense than Belphie’s.

Michael sighed, especially after seeing the twins, “If you’re not going to allow me to explain, I can only tell you this: It is imperative she not remember her past. It will hurt both of you more than you could ever know. Now, I have things to do, if you’ll excuse me,” and with that, he left.

“I really don’ like that guy,” Mammon shook his head, “Oh, Satan, hol’ on a sec. Imma be right back,” and with that, he took off.

“You okay Satan?” Beel asked, still frowning after Michael.

“Yeah, things just got a bit intense there for a second. Thanks.”

“I don’t think your thanks is going to stop here. We’re going to leave you now. Have fun,” Belphie smirked before wandering off with Beel.

Satan shook his head at all the weirdness happening around him, before resuming his place along the wall. He didn’t know how things had escalated that quickly with Michael, especially considering the guy had never done anything to him personally. Yeah, he had all the memories of Lucifer being angry at him, and he had hurt his brother’s, but he had never had any personal problems with him. Well, a lot of Lucifer’s anger started because of Michael, and that’s what I was born from… The small voice in the back of his head started acting up, though he often tried to keep it quiet, You’re more like Lucifer then you want to admit.

He growled a bit at the voice, before starting to wander around. People watching always helped calm him down. It was one of the things he had done in his early life to help him learn how to interact with others, at Asmo’s suggestion. He always found something new to store away in his brain, and the problem solving helped calm his brain.

“There ya’ are! We’ve been lookin’ for ya’.”

We? Satan turned to Mammon to see Mc standing next to him. Satan froze, having not prepared himself to talk to her.

“She asked me ta dance, but cha know I’m more of a solo dancer myself, so I was wondering if you would for me?”

“I… Uhhh… Yes, if she would like,” Satan finally managed to get out, watching Mc for any negative reactions.

“I have no problems with it,” Mc answered cryptically, nothing in her tone or mannerisms betraying how she actually felt about the suggested change.

“Uh… Perfect, I guess. Have fun you two,” Mammon announced before walking off.

I could both hug him and punch him, Satan thought, though what came out of his mouth was, “Well, may I have this dance?” while extending his hand to her.

A smile graced her lips, “You certain may.”

He led her out onto the dance floor, still lightly holding her hand. He was still nervous, but not like he was the last time they’d met. He let his mask start to slip when he faced her, “I’m very glad you accepted my invitation to dance,” he slipped his hand to its proper place for the waltz as the music started.

“It’s my pleasure,” She smiled, though not as warmly as he would’ve hoped. They started dancing effortlessly, Satan extremely happy they were still in sync. If only the conversation flowed as easily. Satan spent the first full minute of the dance just trying to figure out what to say to her, also trying not to think about how beautiful she looked.

Finally, he figured out something neutral to say, “Have you been enjoying the Devildom?”

“Yes, I have, thank you for asking.”

“What’s been your favorite part?”

Mc took a minute to think, “I would have to say… Sightseeing. There’s a lot here I could have never imagined existing in the Celestial Realm.”

“Ah. Have you visited the Royal Library yet?”

“I have actually. I’ve been researching for my next art project.”

“You’re working on a new art project?”

“Yes. I feel rather inspired here.”

“I look forward to seeing it. Are you planning on showing it in the Devildom?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Good. We need new art down here,” Satan said before the conversation lapsed back into silence. It was towards the end of the song that Satan decided to bring up the elephant in the room, “I’ve ummm… Been hoping I would see you again.”

“As have I.”

“You have?” he asked, extremely surprised.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to figure out why you acted the way you did.”

Oh.

“I apologize for that. I… Well, I actually wrote you a letter to explain it. I know my behavior was… off to say the least. I’ve been going through a lot lately, and I apologize that it negatively affected my behavior towards you.”

“You wrote me a letter?”

“Yes. I find I can express myself far better and with far more accuracy by writing than by talking.”

“Ah. Do… Do you have that letter with you?” Her voice was small when she asked.

“I do. I was planning to give it to you tonight anyways.”

“You were?”

“Oh, I said that out loud didn’t I?” Mc giggled at that and Satan felt better, the mask slipping even more, “I’ve been trying to find a good time to give it to you all night actually.”

“Really?” Her smile was curious and a bit teasing.

“Er, yeah. I hope you’re okay with that.”

“I think that’s alright,” Mc smiled, finally seeming at ease around him.

The song ended then, and Satan reached into his back pocket to produce the letter, “Here it is.”

“I’ll make sure to read it,” Mc promised, reaching for the letter. Their fingers brushed when she went to grab it, and they both blushed at the contact, “Well, I’m going to go find Luke. Thank you for the dance.”

“No, thank you,” Satan said sincerely, smiling softly.

She smiled back, and with that she was gone.

“Heh. You owe me don’ cha’,” Mammon’s voice came from behind him, sounding pretty smug.

“I’d say you’ve made up for not telling me she was in town.”

“I’ll take it.”

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

Hey you guys, a couple more things:

First off, I have passed the 100 follower mark, and I was wondering if you guys wanted me to do anything for it.

Second: I was wondering how you guys ran across this fic. If you wanna comment down below and just let me know. I’m really wondering how my work’s being spread, so if you could do that, I’d appreciate it!

~As always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated (I always read everything you guys write in the comments and reblogs)

Part Eleven

[damienxsheppard]

Fearless Night ll Evelyn & Damien

Timing: A few weeks back

Location: A dark street in White Crest

Parties: @thronesofshadows & @damienxsheppard

Description: Evelyn and Damien chance upon each other for a midnight meeting. 

How had he managed to get so turned around? Damien blamed it on the bar. It had been his first time there, and likely his last. He’d left without a scratch on him, which was a little disappointing, and with the taste of a light and hoppy ale stuck in the back of this throat. Damien dug into his coat pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, plucking one from the carton and planting it between his lips. He’d been in the process of trying to light the thing, his focus trapped between his cupped hands as he tried to block the wind, when he rounded the corner and ran right into someone. Instinctively, Damien reached out, fingers snared into the clothing of the woman he’d just knocked into and not too kindly kept her upright. He wasn’t typically a gentle man and hadn’t adjusted his grip to spare wrinkling her clothing. The force of his shoulder that had crashed against her and ice on the sidewalk might have led to the woman falling right on her ass and for a brief moment Damien almost wished he had let it  happen. She had inadvertently, stepped on his cigarette and broken it. That was his last one. He sighed, feeling a little defeated from the evening, before he turned his attention to the stranger. Finally, Damien released his hold on her, “are you alright there?”

Though she preferred to spend her evenings with Miriam, Evelyn was acutely aware that she did still have to feed. She also knew that it didn’t always have to be when someone was asleep, but as her mother’s journals had first confirmed - and as Melanie had reminded her any number of times - that was what was best, they had both said. Thankfully, East End was well populated and she’d been able to feed off of someone - not anyone who she’d known before, but that was just as well - because feeding on specific people too many times could do her more harm than good in the long run. She’d left one particular home, slipping unnoticed through the walls and making her way back to Miriam’s home. Except that she wasn’t entirely paying attention - which she knew happened sometimes after feeding, something that she’d tried so often to work to stay away from, but something that she found herself lapsing into, on occasion. Which meant that she didn’t notice the man who ran into her and grabbed her arm. For a moment, she tried to pull away from him but just as soon as he’d grabbed her he let her go and she adjusted her posture. “I am quite alright, yes.” She looked down at the toe of her boot (she’d opted to wear fewer heels when around Miriam was around, but if she was out to feed, it felt better - gave her more power over the humans that she fed from, let her feel in control - something that she oddly didn’t feel the need to be around Miriam). “Are you? I - my apologies if I stepped on that.” Though you know, those things will kill you fast and there’s already so much in this town that could do that. “You are out late.” She stated, tone flat. “Coming from somewhere?”

Damien attempted to stifle the disappointment that beld forward as he looked at the broken cigarette, it wasn’t her fault he knew, but he couldn’t help but crave one right about now. He’d just have to swing by some store on the way back home, surely a few would be open at this hour. “The bar,” Damien answered plainly, he didn’t see why it mattered where he’d been, it wasn't like he was late to some meeting. “A shit one at that. I might have expected to see a beer rank in $13 in the city but that brew wasn’t even worth a damn penny.” He didn’t ask about where she’d come from because it wasn’t any of his damn business, just like he refrained from telling her she shouldn’t be out at this hour, because here she was anyway. Damien couldn’t deny he was curious though. “Where are you heading? Maybe we can go together,” he didn’t need the company, while White Crest boasted its mortality rate Damien wasn’t afraid to traverse its streets alone. Maybe he should have with all the creatures in town fully capable of bringing him to a swift end, ignorance of the supernatural brought him some bliss. “Unless you prefer to go alone?”

“I mean, bars are open late around here. Or - well, bars are establishments that are open late.” Evelyn shrugged. “I own one - The Artesian - though we are not usually open up until the early hours of the morning.” At least not unless we were paid a lot. “My drinks do cost more than thirteen dollars but I can promise you that my drinks are actually worth it. Too many bars are more than just a bit unsavory.” She made a face, though quickly flashed him a smile, as if to assure him that the fact of disgust hadn’t been directed at him, more far more at all the dirty bars in town. Which - if she were being entirely far - truly boiled down to Soul on The Rocks, but none of the bars were as nice as hers was, and she didn’t even care if that made her sound stuck up. “I - home.” She finally settled on, because that was easier to explain than saying ‘going to a friend’s house’. That sort of phrasing could draw out too many questions that Evelyn was not so keen to answer. “However, I could use a bit more of a walk, should you wish to accompany me for that?”

She managed to snare Damien’s attention when she claimed to own her own bar, the Artesian wasn’t the one he had just left from, admittedly he hadn’t bothered to take note of its name. Someone that had a direct source to one of his favorite settings always managed to capture his admiration, mainly because that meant they had a limitless supply of beer, which just happened to be his favorite drink. More necessary, he deemed, than water. “You know, I just might have to stop in then. Can’t say I could stay long though, not at those prices,” he doesn’t admit unsavory bars are also his favorite. High end establishments didn’t typically house the kind of entertainment he was fond of, however, Damien was hoping he’d be pleasantly surprised. “Where is it located?” Maybe he’d try another bar after this walk, but then again, he wasn’t having the best of luck tonight and he decided against testing it further. “Sure,” he turned his frame to stand beside her and began to stride forward, trying to keep in tune with her pace. Damien didn’t offer his arm or any other courteous support to the woman, he was not a gentleman and wouldn’t pretend to be, “what’s your name?”

“I will take any sort of business I can get,” Evelyn replied, a smirk crossing her face. “I appreciate you even considering it, despite the fact that my prices may be high. I can assure you it is all absolutely worth it. I cannot think of any complaints that I have had, though I always welcome the chance to better myself.” She glanced over to him. “In East End - not too far from here. I am unsure if you enjoy live piano, but my pianist is quite extraordinary, though again, given that I hired him I am biased, I suppose - but my point still stands. We also do prefer to have reservations, as we are just open Friday evenings - and then Saturdays and Sundays - but you now know the owner, so I can probably get you in without one.” Assuming you continue to play your cards right, “I’m Evelyn. What is your name?” She inquired, glancing around the street.

“What makes you so sure?” Damien inquired, she seemed to evaluate her establishment pretty highly, he was curious as to what gave it such an edge. Since moving here Damien had made a point to visit just about every bar in town, he wanted to see what each had to offer to his taste in terms of alcohol and entertainment. Only a few so far stood out. The mention of a live pianist made him suspect this bar oozed class, not the sort of place that typically welcomed a man such as himself. A small smirk twisted the wolf’s lips as he considered the image, him among the patrons rich with culture, and him; a stain in the room. His head tilted curiously, “if you take such pride in it why does it have such a limited availability?” It certainly seemed more lucrative to keep the doors open every day of the week, but maybe the cost of propping them open every day sealed them shut. “Name’s Damien, maybe you can add it to your reservation list for next week?”

“Well, I have yet to have any complaints and I provide something many other bars in town simply cannot. Elegance, if nothing else. Though The Perfect Pint does a decent job, but perhaps that is more due to the fact that it reminds me of pubs back home.” Evelyn gave a small shrug. “It has limited availability because I am quickly booked up, and the whole only being open on select days adds to the exclusivity, which many of my patrons truly appreciate.” That much she knew was true - being able to say they were a regular at such an establishment was part of the appeal. “Besides, I am not lacking in anything by only having them open some days.” Certainly not money, but stating that so explicitly was not in good form. “I might be able to.” She let a smirk cover her lips. “You know you should be careful wandering around at night.” She watched her breath form small puffs in the cold air. “I have heard many a rumor that walking around at night is not so safe, always.” She raised an eyebrow. “I suppose it is lucky that I ran into you, though thankfully my father had me trained in some self-defense when I was little.”

Elegance. A smirked tugged at Damien’s lips, he was more sure than before that he would not fit in at this establishment. The fact wouldn’t deter him however, as lavish as the interior could be and rich the guest, to him, it had alcohol. Which, if he were being honest, was the main allure. “Back home?” he turned, slightly curious, “where did you come from?” Damien couldn’t help the huff of laughter that shook his form as his partner for the evening commented on his safety. She was concerned for him, if a stranger were to review the two they might offer their support to Evelyn to get her away from him. “I wouldn’t be so concerned about me,” he let amusement soak his tone, “I’m not really a careful person, but here I am. I would be more concerned for you.” Damien’s gaze dipped to assess the woman beside him, intrigued what gave her such confidence. “I don’t know what self defense techniques your old man showed you but they must be worthy of an award if you’re not the least bit afraid to be walking around here alone.”

“England.” She bit her lip for a moment. “London, specifically, though I went to university at Cambridge.” Evelyn shrugged. “London at night might not have quite the level of mysterious things going on, but it’s still something and I will admit I sometimes went out for late-night wanders, much to my father’s chagrin.” She didn’t know the other man well enough, and so playing up the socialite side of her would likely be most beneficial - though she figured he might have assumed such, even if just from her bar’s description and the way she held herself. He wouldn’t have been entirely wrong, either - even if there was more to her than just that. “I think I am quite alright, but I appreciate your concern.” She offered him a kind, gentle smile. Perhaps too delicate for the situation, but overcompensating when playing human usually worked in her favor. “Well, he hired people to teach me, though the idea of him doing martial arts of any sort is highly amusing, so thank you for that image. I think I just do not want fear to block me from doing things, that is all.” She raised an eyebrow.

It was interesting to him how White Crest not only managed to draw in people from all over the country, but it seemed, from all over the globe as well. “You’re a long way from home,” Damien plainly mentioned, though he was more curious to ask, “how did you find out about this town then? From London.” What allure could a small town like this offer that would drive someone to catch a plane to land here? He was starting to feel like he was seeing part of the picture of this woman, elegant, collected, and successful. But everyone had a shadow, admittedly, he was curious about the rest of the picture that revealed a woman who wasn’t afraid to go out at night. Damien let a small grin grow on his lips, it was musing to think of her father from London hiring some martial arts experts to teach her how to fight with the same tenacity as a wild cat. He could accept that it was more of something practical for everyday use, “so what do you remember from your training? How to block a few punches? Disarm a man?”

“Somehow that makes me sound as though I am in the Wizard of Oz film,” Evelyn scrunched her face up for a moment. Long way from home, but that home had never been home except by name. Though, if she were entirely honest with herself, there were also many times when she’d felt completely at home, and even times when she found herself missing the buzz of the city. “A friend,” a half-stranger, “mentioned that it was beautiful, and that should I be considering moving to the states, it was well-worth considering.” They’d said how it was a safe and beautiful place for those who weren’t human, though Evelyn could hardly admit to that, not to a complete stranger. “I suppose I wanted to try out the small town life. I did go to university in Cambridge, and though that is nowhere near the size of London, it is still rather large when compared to this town.” She matched his grin with one of her own. “I can block, and I can sometimes flip people who weigh more than I do.” She’d practiced some with Alain, too, which helped. Back before everything. “I hardly would be the person to go to for training someone new but I can hold my own.” Not to mention I can bring anyone sobbing to their knees at my will. “How about yourself? Do you know any secret methods I may have the privilege of becoming knowledgeable of?”

“You’re not clicking your heels yet though, it seems. Who would watch the restaurant with you gone,” her explanation wasn’t exactly satisfactory, word of mouth hardly felt like a motivating factor to move town. Especially from London. But Damien didn’t push on the subject, really, he had no right to ask. This woman was still relatively a stranger to him and he had no ground to stand on to expect for more than her answer. Not to say he wasn’t curious. “I saw how the brochures raved about fall in Maine. Arrived a little too late to see it for myself, but maybe next year.” If he lived to see it. “Didn’t read much more than that, though the nightlife has been surprising,” Damien’s smile pulled a little more into a smirk, he turned his attention to his companion as if to indicate she was a contributing factor to the subject. “Flip people? Now that’s a little tricky. I’m half tempted to test you. Promise I won’t though, at least not tonight.” Damien mauled over his answer before finally adding, “I look for what makes people flinch, everyone is different. But if you can find out what makes people nervous in a fight, what they seem to avoid, you can press them about it. It’s usually brute force, most like a fight to be quick so they just throw their weight around. Show them that doesn’t work and they start stumbling.”

“I mean, I am distinctly not Dorothy. Never was one for gingham, you know? Plus, the hair’s all wrong.” Evelyn replied, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe if you play your cards right, I can try the whole heel clicking, we will have to see.” At the mention of fall, she couldn’t help but nod. It was an enchanting time of year. “We do get a number of tourists - well, the town does. I do not know if I can properly use the collective ‘we’ yet, even though it is coming upon five years now that I have lived here. Regardless, I hope that you stay around to see it next year. The colors are something else.” She smirked. “The nightlife is not quite what you might expect from a small town, that is certainly true.” She ran a hand through her hair and shrugged, though her lips formed a smirk to match his. “I think I should prefer for that to not be tested on pavement.” She paused, “you know, for your sake. Would not want you to get any significant injuries.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, giving an appreciative nod at his reply. That she could relate to, finding what made people nervous, what made them flinch. Her least favorite nanny had loathed frogs, and while Evelyn couldn’t get proper frogs, she’d covered her nanny’s room with photographs of it after an especially bad fight that they’d had. “I can respect that,” she replied, voice half-clipped. “Knocks them off their feet mentally, hmm?”

A short burst of laughter tore past Damien’s lips when Evelyn informed him she wouldn’t try to hurl him into the pavement, for his sake. They both knew he was not so fragile, but in the middle of the night on a walk home it wasn’t the best time to test her ability. Maybe he’d have to provide her a chance another day to showcase her skill, Damien had to appreciate how confident she was in bringing down a man of his size. “Maybe next time I see you, if there is a nice soft patch of grass, you can show me what you’re made of.” It was not a threat, his voice was edged with amusement. Damien was curious as to what made Evelyn flinch, he didn’t have a mind to test it himself but a woman who seemed to meet possible conflict with a certain poise was one he wagered was worth knowing. “Yeah, or at least in my experience, fear can be one of the best weapons. Can be used to end fights before they start, or bring them to a close shortly after they begin.” Damien didn’t have any real finess when it came to fighting, he was skilled in delivering blows and taking them, but lacked a definite style in combat. One of his best qualities was his endurance, it was something most opponents couldn’t match. “What makes you nervous?” he didn’t expect an honest answer but couldn’t help to ask, “if it isn’t possible strangers in the dead of night?”

“Perhaps we will have to make that happen.” Another smirk made its way across Evelyn’s lips at his comment. She knew that he might easily have an upper hand on her, but she also knew that she certainly wasn’t someone to be underestimated, and that if she truly wanted a win, all it would take would be looking right into his eyes to knock him off balance - though not in the way that he probably would expect. “Though somewhere besides the Common - would not want to cause too much of a ruckus, afterall.” She nodded at his next remarks - “I do not have so very much experience with fighting, despite the bits of self-defense training I have, but I can believe it. Fear is extraordinarily powerful.” She bit her tongue then, fighting away the amused look that threatened to cross her face. “What makes me nervous?” Evelyn held the words in her mouth, musing as to what would be the best way to answer - because nothing sounded too self-important even if it was true, mostly - and giving away the anxieties that she had found herself feeling and realizing more recently were not something she wished to discuss with most anyone, particularly not a stranger. “Horses - or, they did when I was a child,” she finally settled on. “I was not so fond of how large they were - despite the fact that I am a bit tall now, I was a bit of a small child, and despite my father’s wishes, I did not take so well to horseback riding.” At least, that was one way to put it. The horse was terrified of me and threw me off, giving me a scar I still have, was more accurate but not something she wished to share. “How about you?”

Damien entertained the thought of crossing paths with this woman again and being confronted where a nice little patch of grass could catch him. “You name the place, I’ll meet you there,” though he didn’t expect her to agree to it. The time they had together now felt borrowed, given only for a period of time till they met an intersection that demanded they’d separate, return to what life they had been living before passing. Damien listened when Evelyn provided an answer, horses, a grin followed her reply as she elaborated. “They are massive aren’t they? Could easily break a few bones with a kick, who wouldn’t be a little afraid of that?” For a brief second he tried to imagine a young girl trying to follow along to her lessons in horseback riding, but he didn’t know Evelyn enough to picture it clearly.

Damien hummed as the inquiry was returned to him as he considered an answer. What did make him nervous? The word failure seared in his thoughts. What would the family he’d made think of him now? What would they say about Damien becoming the very creature that had murdered them? That not only had he failed to protect them, but avenge them. The idea did cause him to flinch, in a subtle way that crinkled the skin around his eyes before he huffed out, “Commitment, prefer the lone road these days if you catch my drift,” the reply was meant to be light hearted, direct his thoughts away from where they had taken him.

The pair arrived at a crosswalk that offered two separate segments to cross, “looks like this is where I leave you,” Damien began, offering a faint smile, “I think you can manage the rest of the way yourself? Don’t spare anyone the pavement, if they cause you trouble.” 

[callioope]

Continuing my reactions to Avatar: The Last Airbender

This post is about Book 3. See my overall impressions and thoughts on Book 1 here. See my thoughts on Book 2 here.

ETA: crap i forgot the keep reading line initially SORRY if anyone saw this before i edited. anyways. please see the tags as a disclaimer before reading. gosh it’s late i need to go to bed.

General

Starting S3 now and dang Katara & Toph have gotten so powerful!!!!!

I literally recorded ZERO reactions from Chapter One through Chapter Twelve. And my first reaction is basically my excitement that Zuko is finally with the Aang crew! But let me try to skim through an episode list to recall my reactions.

You may have already seen my post expressing shock that MARK HAMILL voiced the Fire Lord. Still not over that revelation.

So, ultimately, I binged this show in less than a week. I think I started on Monday? And finished Saturday afternoon. That alone should speak to how much I enjoyed it! 

Aang

Okay, a bit weird to have barely any thoughts under Aang when he’s literally the protagonist, but I think (since I wrote other sections before this) that I touch on some of my thoughts on him under other characters. 

I will say, his journey really intensifies in this season. First, when he awakens after being unconscious for several days and has no idea what’s going on, and is still healing and more helpless than he’s probably ever felt in his life. I did really like his arc in this season, but what a stark contrast to the Aang of Book 1. He has to grow up so fast. I gotta say, a lot of Aang’s journey reminded me just a little of Ender in Ender’s Game. 

I do say this later, but his final decision about how to handle Ozai was amazing. I loved every second of his journey to get there, and I was rooting for him to find a path that felt true to him — and not what everyone else kept telling him he had to do. 

There was one small thing that bothered me, which was that his eventual regaining of the Avatar state did not really seem to come about through intentional action of his own. After he goes down at the end of Book 2, sorta feels like they never even talk about him going into the Avatar state again and he doesn’t until the final moment. That moment doesn’t seem a conscious choice on his part; the scar on his back collides with a rock jutting out and seems to jolt him into the Avatar state. I would have liked to see a little more agency on his part in regards to the Avatar state. 

Sokka

My boy! My boy Sokka! Truly the mother of the group. IDK why they pretended in the beginning that Katara was the mom because it’s definitely Sokka. His maps! His scheduling! He is ridiculous and I love him for it. 

I adored that he got his own training master episode! He got to learn some sword stuff and even got to make a fancy space sword! Everyone else got super powerful with their bending and I’m glad Sokka got his own arc of self-improvement. He has come a LONG way from episode 1. He couldn’t really hold his own at all that early, and now look at him! Planning battle strategies! Taking down the Fire Lord’s air fleet! He’s come so far and I’m so proud!

Oh, you know, I just realized that I didn’t really talk about ships with Sokka in Book 2 but he did continue to have the most active romance arc. It was nice to see Suki return in Book 2, and I am glad we found out what happened to her. I liked Sokka and Suki, I have nothing against it. I was very surprised that so little happened with Toph and Sokka. There did seem to be moments where it seemed like Toph might actually harbor a crush on Sokka, but nothing came of it and she certainly didn’t say anything about it. That felt a little odd to me. Why hint at something but then make nothing of it? 

Katara

Sigh. This is early in the post, but probably one of the last parts of it that I’m actually writing. I’ve definitely been putting it off. Unfortunately most of what I have to say about Katara is about shipping, and I’m really not happy about that, but then it’s what comes to mind over anything else. Which is sort of ironic considering some of her lines in the theater episode...

So in the theatre episode, Aang confronts Katara about how nothing has happened in their relationship after they kissed. She responds by saying she is “confused.” I had some issues with the script here, to be honest. It seems to imply that she’s confused about her feelings for Aang. But she also says that she’s been more focused on the war, and that totally makes sense. I really would support this moment if that’s where they left it: “I don’t have time to think about romance, my mind is preoccupied with the war.” 

But no, they say she is “confused.”

This is pretty baffling to me, and honestly seems to come out of nowhere. Book 1 it was very obvious that both Katara and Aang have feelings for each other, and Book 2 might have backed off a little from that but then we get moments where Katara is so keyed in to Aang’s struggles with the Avatar state and also the only one who can bring him out of it. Now, all of a sudden, she is saying she is confused? Where is this coming from? 

I could definitely see people argue that it’s because she has feelings for Zuko. If I shipped them (I don’t, but I also Get It), I could point to numerous moments in the series as ‘clues/support’ for this ship. Zuko and Katara have a moment at the end of Book 2 where they talk about the loss of their mothers. (“We’re both sad about what happened to our mothers!” not really a foundation for a relationship, but Katara is the most betrayed and distrustful of Zuko when it comes to the idea of letting him join their crew and it is because of this moment. She obviously begins to feel some kind of connection — I’d argue platonic but ship and let ship.) 

And yeah, Zuko and Katara have their bonding adventure, but again I don’t think this has to be read as romantic. Clearly the idea here is that Zuko “understands” a part of Katara that Aang doesn’t — except that in the end, Aang is the one who is right about her. She cannot give in to revenge. It’s not her, and Aang knows that. I mean, they’re both right — Katara had go to on the journey to learn that about herself, and it was important that Zuko was the one who helped her. But still. 

Finally Zuko and Katara go together to face Azula. Again seems like plot is pushing them together for Tension. They definitely work together here and Katara heals him and all that but she’d have healed anyone. (Like yeah if you ship it of course you’re gonna be excited over those moments.)

But.

Like. The thing is. When the dust settles? Zuko and Mai return to each other like moths to a flame. I could believe that Katara might have had feelings for Zuko, but I don’t think he ever returned them. I think it was always Mai for him. 

I don’t really want to fan the flames of ship wars — I’m trying to walk a fine line of “I totally understand why people ship this, but I don’t,” and hopefully I’m succeeding, but I’m sorry if I’m not. 

My main gripe is how the show handled this dynamic. It seemed like they half-heartedly thought about creating a love triangle, but then they didn’t follow through. I don’t particularly like love triangles, so I’m not actually mad that there wasn’t one. But what bothers me is that the Aang and Katara moments are so heavy handed in the beginning, that a sudden subtle take on how Katara feels in Book 3 feels strange. It feels like if she was having feelings for Zuko, it should have been more blatant. The depictions are inconsistent — if the writers were even ever intending for Katara to have feelings for Zuko in the first place.

Like, I really can’t tell if those moments implying Zuko and Katara were intentionally trying to start a love triangle OR if it was just sort of a mistake OR if it was maybe creators trying to address and then negate Zuko and Katara as a ship? I mean it’s weird because the play episode really emphasizes Zuko and Katara but then that play is really supposed to be all levels of inaccurate and get under the characters’ skins. 

So, I don’t know. Obviously we all bring different interpretations to a piece of media and I am by no means saying anything here is a “correct opinion” (because I hate that attitude when it comes to story interpretations). Sorry if you don’t agree, hope I didn’t make anyone mad. Ship what you like! You do you, man. 

On that note, please see further disclaimers about shipping and canon at the end of the “Zuko and Mai” section below.

Toph

Loved how Toph was the first to warm up to Zuko. It made a lot of sense. I mean obviously they were looking for a fire bender to teach Aang and it was like “Hello, powerful fire bender on a silver platter!” but also, Toph is someone who joined the crew later on. The group had to adjust to her, and she probably knows what it feels like to be an outsider. Now, granted, she was never alienated from the group in the same way that Zuko (rightfully) was. But she can also understand Zuko’s position as someone who comes from a wealthy family, the sort of pressure that comes from that. None of this was really addressed explicitly, and it might not have really fit then and there, but it was what I was thinking as she was standing up for Zuko.

Um, and also, on that note? Huge bummer Toph did not get her special bonding adventure with Zuko. Toph, I’m with you on that one! Why did Sokka get two episodes for his? 

Zuko

No “& Iroh” on this post because — Iroh spent much of this season in jail, and then the next half just ??? who knows where. 

So, I believe I stated in the last post how shocked I was at Zuko’s betrayal. Knowing he eventually joins Aang’s crew, it seemed like his time in the prison with Katara would ultimately lead to that, and then NOPE! He has this nice heart to heart about his mother, and then… it really shocked me.

But.

As I watched this season, it became clear that this has to be Zuko’s journey. He has to go back to the Fire Nation. He has to win the approval of his father. He has to get everything he wants in order to realize that it really isn’t what he wants. This is integral to his ultimate revelation and redemption and he couldn’t have stayed truly good without verifying and knowing how empty the win of his father’s approval is.

Realizing this, I loved it and appreciated the moments we get. Zuko’s visits to Iroh. Even when Zuko is being cruel, you can see how hurt and lost he is. And Iroh gives him the cold shoulder he deserves, even though of course this is breaking Iroh’s heart, too. 

Now, I absolutely must discuss the Fire Kids Beach Party episode! Because as ridiculous as parts of it are, it provides such an important and necessary insight to all four characters (Zuko, Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee). You see the privilege that they’re all used to, it’s good that no one knows who they all are. (although maybe a little surprising because Zuko’s scar certainly reveals who he is but anyways.) 

and it’s funny how you almost end up rooting for them before you’re like “no no no. they are bad people doing some bad things.” I mean, almost rooting for them. And sure, the campfire scene is a bit Breakfast Club-y but I do think it’s important. And I just loved the moment Zuko admits he’s angry at himself, how his burst of fire as he says it almost covers it up, it’s so hard for him to say. Fabulous character development going on here, fabulous. 

[Uh, side note, so apparently Zuko is descended from Avatar Roku! This is ridiculous but can we get Zuko calling Aang great-grandfather, mainly to get on his nerves?! O:-) this would amuse me greatly]

And GOSH the catharsis when Zuko finally realizes his father’s approval is not what he wants and not worth it! It’s so well earned. It’s so satisfying. I was so excited and just like, so anticipating Zuko going to meet up with the crew. Zuko practicing his speech in the woods to the frog? Amazing. Endearing. I love him so much. 

And despite that and because of it, I also loved how difficult it was for him to earn their trust. It had to be difficult. It would not be believable if it wasn’t. Every character regarded him exactly as you would expect them to, exactly as he deserved. And Zuko tried so hard to be sincere and contrite, and it was hard for him, but he was doing pretty well all things considered! And still, they distrusted him. Yes. This was good and right. And I loved it. 

AND ANOTHER THING I LOVED was that once that initial barrier was surpassed, Aang actually warmed up to Zuko pretty quickly. This is not surprising; he’d reached out to Zuko in the past. First when Zuko (masked) rescues him, and Aang says they could have been friends. Later, at the end of Book 1 when Zuko again kidnaps him, there’s just a moment… I think when Aang spares him. It’s like, my impression is that Aang can sense that their destinies are connected, and he’s not really sure how but he knows that Zuko is important. Also, I mean, Aang just doesn’t kill people and revenge is not his way. 

Each character getting their own side story with Zuko was also integral to his arc — perhaps moreso, theirs, though. Because it was necessary for them to overcome their distrust and forge the bonds necessary for the Avatar’s crew to function. Bummed he didn’t get one with Toph. Toph was robbed.

And side note, but I really would have like an Aang and Sokka bonding episode? Like, Book 1 is all Aang and Katara and Sokka, but some 1:1 time would have been nice. There was almost a chance when Aang flew Sokka to his father and the water tribe (and at the time I was like, “Oh? Aang and Sokka bonding?!”) But then it was really only a few minutes. But yeah, that said, it does make sense to focus on carving out 1:1 time for Zuko and each member of the crew to ease him into the group.

Sokka: You happy now?

Zuko: I’m never happy.

This made me sad. And also made me go “classic Zuko.”

Every time Zuko was like, “What would uncle say?” And then say the most ridiculous thing? Fantastic. Amazing. Fuel for the fire that was my love for this show.

Zuko and Mai

Mainly the Beach Party episode was important in helping me warm up to Mai. Once Zuko is back in the Fire Nation and they’re together, I was of the mindset that Mai would have to do something pretty big in order for me to enjoy seeing their relationship become canon. This episode is not that episode, but it is an important insight into Mai’s character that explains some of her actions. The fact that she’s basically internalized apathy because she’s been forced to repress her emotions. It wasn’t enough for me but we get more later, this is an important stepping stone. 

It’s also important in establishing just what Zuko and Mai’s dynamic is. It’s a bit shaky in this and they end up breaking up but then they just get back together like immediately (moths to a flame…) In hindsight, I just think they’re behaving like normal teens who care about each other but are still navigating what it means to be in a relationship. At this moment in time, their relationship is not good, but by the end of the show I can believe as they mature that it could be a good relationship.

So the actual moment that I was like, “Okay, officially supporting Mai and Zuko now” was when she helps them escape Boiling Rock. I don’t think we’re ever told the full contents of Zuko’s letter to her, but considering what she says to Zuko earlier in this episode, it doesn’t seem likely he explains himself very well. At least not for Mai to understand. And he still isn’t able to explain himself well to her as they talk face to face. Then he locks in a cell and flees! He leaves her again. 

You wouldn’t blame Mai for hating Zuko. You wouldn’t blame her for actively working against him. But is this what happens? No. Not at all. She helps them get away. She betrays Azula for Zuko. Azula!!! Azula who is very powerful and very scary! This is a clear and distinct line in the sand, and … it almost comes out of nowhere, but what it demonstrates is how she really feels about him. She’s decided to trust him and put her faith in him when she really would have been justified in not doing so. 

I’m also going to say that despite some rather odd implications of Zuko and Katara in parts of the series (namely with other characters who really don’t know them), I never feel like Zuko is interested in Katara. I would buy interpretations that Katara might have considered Zuko, the way some parts of her story are portrayed, but I don’t get anything on Zuko’s side and that is all the more reinforced by how he acts around Mai, especially in the end of the series when they’re reunited. 

(Now, that said — because I don’t abide ship wars, ship and let ship, and power to multi-shippers — I can totally 100% see the appeal of shipping Zuko and Katara, and I would contend there is even some canonical implication of it. And I can’t blame people for not totally loving Zuko and Mai. Now, I do think the canonical implications are sort of muddied and confusing, but though I have actually not written it yet, you’ll have read my thoughts there in the Katara section already. OH, and OF COURSE, MORE IMPORTANTLY — ships being canon should not matter! Ship what you love! Who cares if it’s canon! Finding canon justification for ships should not be necessary for shipping! It can be a fun exercise but should never ever be a reason for approving or disapproving of a ship, it’s just a cherry on top!)

Azula

We get some pretty interesting insights into her character this season. I’ve already mentioned the Beach Party episode, and there was some good stuff in there for her. I particularly appreciated the moment that she admitted she knew her mother thought she was a monster, that she even admitted to being a monster, and then admitted that it still hurt anyways. Honestly that’s probably her best moment.

I also thought her breakdown at the end was well done. Mai and Ty Lee’s betrayal just broke her. She probably knows her attitude puts people off, but those two were the only ones she ever really got on with. And it turns out, she really didn’t get on with them, they’d only ever been intimidated and manipulated into being her friends. She has no one, she pushes everyone away. Literally — and it is ultimately her downfall. 

It’s an interesting contrast to her brother. We literally get an episode “Zuko Alone,” and then it turns out the theme of “Azula Alone” is such an integral part of her arc, as well. The last person she has is her father, and he leaves her, too. Sure, he tells her it’s because she’s to stay behind as the new Fire Lord, but honestly Ozai was never truly close to anyone, either. But yeah. Iroh spends a lot of time and effort trying to help Zuko redeem himself. He never tries with Azula? I think, maybe it would have been nice to see him try with her, and be just utterly rebuffed. Now, Zuko also rebuffed him a lot, too. So Azula’s rejection of Iroh would really have to be something. This is the kind of stuff I’d look for in fic. Speaking of fic: I mean, I’d really love Zuko to find his mom, mom to come back, and then maybe some kind of attempt at reparations between mom and Azula. It doesn’t have to work, I just want to see the effort, you know?

Final Thoughts: Ending & Denouement

I loved Aang finding a different way to defeat the Fire Lord. I loved how every past Avatar he talked to was like “no dude just kill him.” And I loved that that was not enough for Aang. He’s pushing himself and ultimately the spirit of the Avatar to think harder, to try harder, to seek a different way. And that mercy was so integral to Aang’s character, and important to his arc that he struggled so much with it. And he’s just a kid! Oh, Aang. And I loved that he was able to find the answer he needed, the fact that it was taking away Ozai’s fire bending. Yes. Perfection.

I was a little disappointed by how little we got post-Ozai’s defeat. I was hoping the epilogue might have shown a little more in the years and decades following. It would have been nice to see glimpses of everyone prospering as they got older. 

Also, as I was watching Zuko’s coronation, I was sorta like, “uhh wait that’s a little too easy.” Now we don’t know when that happens so it’s possible some bit of time has lapsed and I’ll take that. But I thought there would have still been some trouble with some of the Fire Nation troops. Some of them would have remained loyal to Ozai. Many of those general had probably committed war crimes and would have needed to be rounded up and put on trial and put in prison. There’d be so much work to do!

That said, I do understand that we want to see our heroes with a happy ending, ultimately. I guess just a simple like “X years later” before the ending scenes would have sufficed for me to be satisfied that enough time had passed for those things to have been dealt with. IDK, I can probably suspend disbelief enough to headcanon that myself. I’m just saying. Some acknowledgement of resolution and reconstruction as a *process over time*, albeit unnecessary, would have been nice to have!

On that note, we don’t actually find out what happens to Azula. Presumably she is also in prison with her father. 

More importantly, we were Robbed of a Zuko and Ursa reunion scene!

[firepiplup]

How do i say no to people

You know that analogy about people with adhd having spoons for energy management or whatever? My spoons are on backorder from like 2 months ago and more got on that list now

The problem is that all of the things I'm being asked to do are Very Important Things

I have to feed my diabetic cat. This in itself is not a problem, however she's needs to eat at a specific time (12 hour spacing) and my current sleeping situation along with work do not allow this to happen consistently. Currently trying for 7:30, we'll see how it goes

My apartment has bedbugs, and there's no way in fucking hell I'm sleeping on my living room floor until my scumlord landlord actually gets the guy to come back to spray because he did spray but I'm still seeing adults and i "need to give the spray time to work" it's been fucking 2 weeks i don't know how is supposed to work but i feel like after 2 weeks whatever spray you did isn't going to get any stronger i just want to sleep in my own bed it's been like this since fucking March

With that part explained, I'm sleeping at my mom's house on the other side of town. This in itself isn't much of a problem, however as "payment" i have to take care of her dog in the morning, to practice because she's going on a week long vacation in October and none of her dogs can just be taken care of like normal dogs. He needs to wear a diaper to leave the room while i pick up his shit and soiled weewee pad and mop the floor, give him some time to be out of his room, and then feed him his special food mix. The other dog has allergies and probably will get into something he shouldn't, then not use the bathroom outside even though he literally has a doggy door that has constant access to the backyard. Neither dog get along with each other, which is why they are separated. Thank fuck the cat is just normal, this is why i prefer them

Now with THAT explained, it's difficult to take care of my own cat on time in the morning. But as the legendary Billy Mays says: But wait, there's more!

I just got rehired at my job working in a local understaffed pizzeria. My friend, ego also works there, is on vacation (good for her, she deserves it, absolutely no negativity towards her) so i have acquired her hours. So i now work 6 days a week, kinda sorta clopen but i guess it's more of opelose. Or a combination of both? Idk. The point here is, I'm then dealing with essentially running half a restaurant alone 6 days a week, with it not being 7 purely because the owner himself ALSO has the same work schedule as far as I'm aware, and wanted to give himself a day off, and since we are so understaffed it would be impossible unless we literally closed. My tasks include answering the phone, washing dishes, making sandwiches, making dinners, folding pizza boxes, and cleaning the tables/equipment on that side of the restaurant. So essentially everything except making pizzas, cleaning the pizza area, mopping in general, and driving. We generally close at 9, 10 on Friday and Saturday. Guess who was explicitly rehired to close those days? Guess how that's going to work with me having to be home around 7:30 to take care of my own cat? I have no idea either. It's only for about 3 weeks, but my mom, whom i have not asked for any additional help with anything, won't feed the cat while i have work, even though there isn't a guarantee that i can leave on time to THEN RETURN to close, because again I'm the only one on that side of the building. I understand the fear of the bedbugs, so that's probably it, but it still fucking sucks because the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment from the bedroom and there is literally no reason to go there to feed her. But i get it

Did we get to where i can do my own ADLs? Of course not. My neighbor is in the hospital, and her husband is blind. This is a new development that was only discovered an hour before starting this post (about 3:30 am for me). She's ok, it's for mental health reasons, and that's her own business about that. Her husband being blind is not a new development however. And he needs help taking care of the pets, specifically the birds. Which is fine, they just also need to eat on their own schedule. 8am, around lunchtime, and 8pm. Guess who's still at work? One of the birds is special needs because her beak got injured and needs to be essentially spoon fed. Which the blind husband can't do at all. Fairly simple task, but just adding to my obligations that are Very Important because they involve making sure things don't starve to death while my neighbor is in Crisis

Ok let's see, that's 4 Very Important Tasks/Obligations, and only one was originally my own voluntary one. Still not at taking care of myself yet, but i have my shelter, i have my job ("part time" minimum wage, hurray. Part time because even with me being there 6 fucking days a week open to close it still isn't technically enough hours for the state to recognize it as full time), and I'm taking care of *counting* about 8 pets for the next week. Will unemployment give me my money that I've been claiming since March? No? Will they let me claim with my new working hours that makes that while process even harder? Technically but it'll take over an hour for it to process and it doesn't even do that in the end? Well fuck, guess i have to wait to get paid on the books in cash and beg for a hand written paystub and have my hours worked written down. Glad i earned $100 this week, i hope now that my hours have increased i get some more

Next on the list, appointments. Because I'm a dumbass who can't remember shit if it isn't consistently recurring, i overbooked myself for next week. My much needed therapy appointment with my therapist that I've only met once and is the replacement for my much better therapist that i actually had a relationship with is supposed to have a session with me on Tuesday. Will i remember to do it this time? Possibly since i actually remembered it's on Tuesday. Will she send me the reminder text with the zoom link? Probably not. Wednesday, my one day off, thank fuck for that, is the main problem with the scheduling. My med appointment is for 11:30. Cool, can do. Driving lesson at 12. Oh, that's a little close, but i can manage that probably. I only average 1 lesson per year and a half, so it's fine, it's "healthy" to be nervous about operating a death machine powered by explosions. Have to go to social services to pick up, or attempt to, a new food stamps card. They probably close at 5, and add a Non Driver, i need to rely on someone to take me. The sooner the better, but it can't be during the lesson. Don't forget to take care of the creatures before and during all of this.

Ok. Great. There's an hour before work. Time to shower, because it's so fucking hot I'll be sweating like crazy by the time i get around the corner to the pizzeria, with me literally getting out and dressed and then walking out the door. Glad i finally did still to take care of myself. Eating? I might have something i can heat up quickly while the cat eats and so i can take my own meds. Dishes? Those are going to have to wait, i hope the heat wave doesn't get too bad, but it's been like this for a while, still slowly chipping away at them. Sleep? Severe insomnia. I partially blame the bed, my mattress is so comfortable, i hope the bedbugs like it because i can't fucking use it right now. I'd be sleeping so fucking soundly if i were in my own bed, and yet here i am. Maybe i should take the Trazodone now. I just hope I'll wake up on time. Oh look I'm exhausted, can't afford to buy comparatively better prepared coffee from Dunkin, so i guess my shitty at home coffee is going to have to do. Black because i don't have any creamer or milk or lactose free milk in my house. Just the way i hate it. Gonna have to deal with that i guess, maybe I'll learn to like it

The coffee pot lives in my fridge now. I'm worried to put it with the other dishes because if it sits there, not being washed like everything else, then i won't even have the option of coffee. It's just water and ground up beans, I'm sure it's fine

Maybe i can find some kind of coping skill/hobby to help me through my limited me time. Let's see.... I like to crochet, and that helps me get through the dishes by letting me alternate between them and a row/round on one of my many started projects. What? It's in a giant garbage bag with a bedbug treatment stick because of the damn ass bedbugs? Can't open it for at least another week and even then there isn't a place to put the yarn safely? Well fuck. I found that really helpful with keeping me grounded. Umm, well looking online, i should *checks notes* buy new yarn in the meantime and keep it somewhere safe. Uh, well, i can't afford more yarn now and i have nowhere to put it. Videogames it is maybe? Oh fuck now I've hyper focused too long on pokemon, rhythm heaven, and whatever daily games i do, i think i have 5 of those of varying lengths of time spent on them

Did i remember to brush my teeth? No. Do i remember that i should and then when i get out of the shower so i forget to actually execute? Yes. Have i gone insane? Probably

How many spoons is a person supposed to have per day? It takes more for me just to get through the day in general. Why does everyone need me to do their Very Important Tasks? Why is there never anyone else? Can my neighbor just not buy more birds when she gets home from Crisis?

I just want to have good mental health, why is this so hard

[adrenaline-roulette]

I am flesh and I am bone

Pairing: Ahkmenrah x Reader (Female) Word count: 4k+ Warnings: Bit of teen angst, underage drinking, drunk, vomiting, partying.  (Nothing major, no one gets hurt.)

Read chapter one here

Chapter Two: Do you walk in the shadow of men

(Before you say anything about the Gif choice, it actually works for this chapter! Like not until way down the bottom, but it’s actually really fitting!!!)

“So, are you coming on Saturday or not?” Amber sighed, sitting atop the desk you had settled yourself at in the school library. Your pen gliding across your page easily, as you worked on your history essay. It wasn’t due for another week and a half, but after you had received an email reply from Uncle Larry last night, you found yourself desperate to get the paper written. The essay was to be written on a famous woman from any time in history of your choosing. At first you worried that it would be considered cheating, but after a while, you realised that it really wasn’t and that it was just doing research in a different way. With all the resources at your disposal, you had decided to write your essay on Sacajawea. After exhausting the knowledge you already had of her from the many conversations over the years, you turned to the horse’s mouth instead, along with Rebecca. Two days ago, you had emailed Larry with a list of detailed questions you hoped Sacajawea could answer for you, with a few others aimed at Rebecca, asking her what she thought so far of what you had written. You had printed the reply the moment you saw it, folding it up and slipping it into your work book, so to read it thoroughly later.

Looking up at Amber, you almost consider changing your plans for the weekend, but you just can’t bring yourself to do so. If she knew the truth as to why you spent so much time at the museum, she would understand your love for the place, but she didn’t, and never would. So, to her, it was just a building, full of inanimate objects. “I can’t Ambs, if it was any other weekend then you know I’d go with you. But I just can’t this time.”

Your friend rolls her eyes, pouting down at you, before closing the textbook you had open on the desk. “You do realise how big a deal this is yeah? Like, were middle schoolers who’ve been invited to high school party! This will likely never happen again…”

You close your eyes tightly, keeping them shut as you count to five slowly in your mind. Of course you knew what you were turning down, an offer like this only came around once, and as Amber had said the day you had been invited, you’re only fourteen once! But as you had told her on the day, the party was being held on a weekend when you would be staying with Uncle Larry. You were torn, a part of you desperately desired to go to the party, to hang out with high schoolers, pretend to be cool for a night, and maybe, just maybe you actually would be cool. That way, high school would be entirely different to how things were for you now. The other part of you though, she wanted to do well in school, to get high grades, to get through high school and then go to college, and to do so you had to study hard. “I know Ambs, but I can’t go. You have a good time though, yeah?”

Amber sighs heavily, nodding her head slowly as she pulls her way off your desk, trudging back through the library and out to the courtyard. She would play at being disappointed with you for a day or two, but it wouldn’t last, it never did. Amber knew how much your weekends at the museum meant to you, and although she never quite understood why you enjoyed your time there so much, she did respect your choices. With a final flourish of your pen, you packed up your books, shoving them into your bag, before hoisting it over your shoulder, and heading to the bus.

<<ooo>>

It was the second Saturday of the month, which meant your first night at the museum, Ahk had awoken as the final magic tendrils of his tablet ebbed away for the next twelve hours. He stretched and dressed fully as always, though he was surprised when he did not see you waiting for him as usual. The Anubis statues stood stoic by his tomb, showing no signs of having moved, other than when they had first awoken, clearly there was no threat, otherwise they would be at arms, ready to defend their King. Slowly, he made his way out of the tomb and down the corridor, passing the miniatures who appeared to be plotting something together. Were he not in the process of finding you, then he would pause to assess the plan the group had come up with, but as he was doing something else, he left this as a problem for Larry to solve when the time came.

Ahk wasn’t angry when he found you sitting with Sacajawea, Teddy standing close by, smiling at the stories his lady love told you. You had a notebook open on your lap, your pen scribbling notes down at lightning speed. No, not angry, perhaps disappointed? The two of you had never explicitly stated that on the days you came to the museum, that you would be there when he woke up, in fact, from what Ahk could recall, it was never something you had discussed at all. It just happened to be the routine you had both fallen into. He stood by the exhibit entrance, watching as you absorbed the words your interviewee spoke, like a sponge. No detail was too little, you always wanted to know everything. A presence by his side caused Ahk to turn, coming face to face with Nicky, the man who stood where a young boy once had. Time truly was a mystery to him, and an ache appeared in his chest as a thought struck him. Nicky would likely be headed off for larger scale adventures soon, leaving the city to find himself as young men often did. Larry, well even he was beginning to tire of working nights, the dark circles beneath his eyes often more prominent than they used to be. Rebecca spent less time at the Museum during the nights now, she had other work to focus on, work which she found difficult to complete during the hustle and bustle of the museum. Then there was you, no longer the young one he had rescued years prior, you were now fourteen, Ahk had taken care to keep tracks of the dates more carefully after your tenth birthday, ensuring that he was the first in the museum to wish you a happy birthday when you turned eleven the following year. From what he recalled of Nicky at that age, then you would likely be wanting to spend more time with your friends, living your young adult years fully, before moving on to new schools, to become the woman you were destined to be. It would then be back to square one, not only for him, but for the other museum exhibits too. There would be a new night guard, who would bring along new family and friends, only for the cycle to come full circle again, and again. That right there, that was the true power of his Tablet, it was not a gift as the other exhibits believed, no it truly was a curse. Forcing him to watch those he grew to care about, leave.

Nicky clears his throat, and Ahk blinks rapidly, clearing his head of the gloomy thoughts which were plaguing his mind. “I’d be careful around Y/N tonight if I were you. She’s been in a right mood since she arrived this morning.

Ahk cast his gaze to you once more, noticing the lack of animation in your features when you spoke, something which he had not picked up on when first finding you here. “Do you know what has happened?”

Nicky shrugged his broad shoulders, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I heard her talking to Rebecca over lunch. Sounds like girl drama. Something about a high school party that she was invited to, but she decided not to go so she could spend the weekend here, doing assignments, and spending time with everyone.”

A dark cloud falls over Ahkmenrah’s crystalline eyes, his features falling into thinly veiled anger. “She is giving up her youth to be here with us?” The words came out in a harsh whisper, and it took Nicky by surprise, in all the years the two had known each other, not once had he heard such a voice come from the usually soft-spoken King. “You live but once, why waste her time with those who will live to see eternity?”

Nicky sighs, yet another shrug forming on his shoulders. “She’s doing it for her future, she wants to go places, put all that history knowledge she has to good use. I think there’s been mention of becoming a Docent, like Rebecca. She’s trying to focus on her studies. I think she’s worried that if she lets herself take a break for longer than five minutes, then all the information stored in her brain, it’ll all just vanish.” Nicky mimes an explosion around his head with his hands, chuckling quietly to himself.

“That is preposterous, Y/N is one the most, if not the most intelligent people I have met. She is still so young, she must find a way to enjoy her life that does not revolve around the dead.” Ahk breathes out, watching you intently once more. “This party she declined to attend, was it for a special occasion?”

“I doubt it. It was a high school party, I’d say she’s just bummed out that she won’t get to try her first cigarette or shot of vodka until she’s older.”

“Vodka, that is the Russian alcohol, correct? Nicky nods, smiling lopsidedly as he rests his back against the wall behind them. He could be wrong, but he knew that’s what his first high school party had been like, and he doubted much had changed in the few years since then. “Would you be able to procure a bottle of this beverage?” Ahk asks quietly.

“Hm? Oh sure, Larry and Rebecca have a bottle in their drink’s cabinets. It’s been in there for years, they won’t notice if it’s missing.”

“In that case, would you care to join me in the staff room tomorrow at dusk, along with Y/N?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll make sure we’re both there when you wake up.” Nicky grins, as the two men continue watching you interact with Sacajawea.

<<ooo>>

Nicky gripped your wrist tightly as he dragged you through the museum, Ahk’s tablet had not yet awoke the exhibits, so it was just the two of you and Larry currently walking the halls. “Will you hurry up please?” He groans, as he pulls you along further behind him.

“No I won’t. Not until you tell me what’s going on?” You grumble, dropping as much weight into your feet, so Nicky struggled further with pulling you along.

“I already did! We’re going to the staff room!”

“You answered part of my question, I wanted to know where we are going, and why.”

“There’s just something we have to do in there alright. Now will you please walk just a little bit faster?”

There was no use in pressing Nicky into answering you further, it was like talking to a brick wall at times. Reluctantly, you picked up your pace, matching Nicky’s long strides down the corridor. “Fine, but this had better not take too long. I’ve still got heaps left to do on my report, and I promised I’d meet up with Sacagawea again tonight.”

You both pause just outside of the staff room, the door closed and only accessible by those who knew the pin code. As Nicky punched in the four-digit code, you leant against the wall, arms folded across your chest. “You don’t have heaps to do for the report. I heard you talking to Rebecca about it this morning. You’re practically finished with it.”

You frown across at Nicky, poking your tongue out at him in retaliation. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

The door swings open, and Nicky enters first, with you following close behind. “Stop complaining for five minutes and sit down. Ahk’s coming soon too, and then we both have a surprise for you.”

You frown slightly at Ahk’s name, your heart beating more erratically. When had you started feeling like this at just the mere mention of his name? You had often thought of the Pharaoh as attractive, however he was always viewed in the same light as a celebrity, pretty to look at from afar, but never yours to have. “Nicky, I’ve never liked your surprises. The last one you gave me, was an impromptu water pistol fight, where I was unarmed.”

Nicky laughs at this, shaking his head fondly at the memory. “No, it’s nothing like that, I promise! This is to help you get over your bad mood.”

“What bad mood? I’m not in a bad mood!”

The door swings open, and gentle footsteps pad into the staff room. “You definitely seemed to be yesterday. I didn’t see you at all.” Ahkmenrah observed, and you felt the life drain from your body.

Had you intentionally avoided Ahk yesterday? Yes. And were you avoiding him for stupid reasons? Also, yes. Amber had gone into details with you over what she was expecting the party to be like this weekend, she was gushing over how excited she was to finally snog one of the cute football players from the high school. While she talked, you couldn’t help your mind but wander, of course you agreed, some of the football team were very attractive, and if you happened to land on one of them while playing spin the bottle, then you wouldn’t complain. However, you couldn’t help but imagine a certain ancient Egyptian pharaoh, sitting cross legged on the floor, in a circle with your friends, and when it came time for you to spin the bottle, it would land on him. You could almost imagine how it would feel to kiss Ahkmenrah, his calloused hands cupping your face, warm fingers gentle against your cheeks….

“Hello, Earth to Y/N? You still with us?” Nicky grins, snapping his fingers in front of your clouded gaze.

“Fuck, sorry just kinda tired. Sorry Ahk, I didn’t mean to ignore you, I just needed to get my project finished.” You shrug, trying desperately to ignore the blush which was slowly creeping up your neck.

“There is no need to apologise, your studies are important to you, I understand this.” Ahk smiles, moving through the staff room, to settle himself on one of the seats, while Nicky does the same to a separate chair.

You gaze between the two men, both grinning at each other. “So, what’s the plan here then? Because if it’s just to sit around all night, then I’m gonna head….”

Nicky leaps from his chair, racing to the kitchenette, opening one of the lower cabinets that seemed to only house spare napkins and cups for the water cooler. As he turns to face you both again, he presents a rather large unopened bottle of vodka, and multicoloured plastic shot glasses. “It’s time to party my dudes!”

Ahk is grinning, his eyes sparkling as he turns to look at you, drinking in your surprised yet grinning face. “What? I don’t…. Why are we having a party?” You stammer out, unable to form a full sentence.

“It was brought to my attention, that you are missing out on a rather crucial moment of your young life. Nicky mentioned that you are missing a party so to spend your time with us. Is that correct?”

Ahk’s eyes are locked with yours, and you can feel yourself grow dizzy. ‘Just answer him dammit! Stop staring, stop imagining him kissing you. Not only is he technically five years older than you, he is also thousands of years older than you! Snap out of it!’ Your internal monologue is cut off by your own voice. “Just a stupid high school party. It really isn’t that important. I’m sure there’ll be other parties.” You shrug.

“That is beside the point! As Nicky explained to me, tonight should’ve been about you having new experiences, by meeting new people, and trying new things.”

“Trying alcohol for example!” Nicky chimes in, before plonking himself back down on his seat, unscrewing the cap on the vodka bottle.

“Christ! Ahk, Nicky! I’m fourteen, I’m not allowed to drink! What if Larry walks in on us and see’s this? I‘ll never be allowed to come back here!” Pointing an accusatory finger at Nicky, “Larry will literally murder you!” Turning a hard glare to the shocked Ahk, “And you! Well, I’m not sure what Larry’ll do to you, but I’m sure he’ll find a way to punish you too!” At this point in your protesting, you had stood up, hands fisted at your sides, and a glare piercing your eyes.

“Calm down Y/N. I promise you, Larry will never find out! We’ll have a couple of shots, put the bottle back, then continue in with our night as usual.” Nicky offers, holding his hands out, palms facing your way in a show of surrender.

“I did not mean to offend you young one, I thought perhaps this was something you had wanted. If it is not, please forgive me. It was my idea, do not take your anger out on Nicky.” Ahk sighs, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

You want to be annoyed at both men, want to tell them off for trying to pull something this stupid off. But with Ahk looking at you the way he was, you felt all the fight leave your body. “It’s fine. It’s nice that you thought about me and planned this.”

Ahk smiles, leaning forward and collecting the plastic wrapped shot glasses. He pierces the plastic with his nail, and tears the remainder of the wrapping away, slipping three glasses free. “Would you join me, and enjoy a drink?”

Nicky eagerly pours himself and Ahk a shot, before watching you expectantly. “Alright. But just one.”

<<ooo>>

Hours passed, and you were only vaguely aware of how dramatically the once full bottle of vodka had dropped in contents. Your warning of one shot had quickly vanished after you realised the alcohol was caramel flavoured, shot after shot went down far too easily, not only for yourself, but for Ahk and Nicky too! Nicky himself seemed to be faring reasonably well, he was after all quite a bit older than you, and was legally old enough to drink, so he clearly had a higher tolerance than you. Ahk on the other hand, he was nearly as bad as you were.

Ahk had made a declaration at the beginning of the evening, explaining how he would remain the most sober out of all of you. He was a king once, he knew how to tolerate his alcohol, when he was alive, he drank delicious wines all the time. Clearly, alcohol had changed since Ancient Egyptian times, and had become more potent.  Or at least, that was what you assumed had happened. How else were you supposed to explain the once Pharaoh dancing to the spice girls in his tomb, while you and Nicky sat back and watched in glee. “Dance with me young one!” Ahk grinned, spinning over to you, where you were curled up on the ground watching him intently. He reached a hand out to you, which you obligingly took.

Your stomach was doing flips, but it was hard to tell if that was from the vodka, or from holding Ahk’s hand. You hadn’t touched him since the very first day you met. Touching always felt like something you weren’t allowed to do, and a part of you worried that if you did reach out to him, that he would crumble away, leaving you with the memory of a vivid dream where the museum had come alive…. “I’m no good at dancing.” You slur, as he pulls you further into his tomb, where he begins dancing with his entire body. Whereas you opt for a timid foot shuffle, and occasional shoulder roll. The room was spinning, you had stood up far too quickly, and it was taking your eyes time to catch up with your brain.

“I am sure that is a lie, here, let me show you.” Ahk offers, once again taking your hand, which he then uses to spin you into his chest, locking one hand on your waist to keep you still after the turn. “Are you okay?” Ahk asks, eyes locking on yours as you sway against him. Your eyes are unfocused, and your forehead is sweating.

You tilt away from him, lifting your chin enough to look up at the Pharaoh equally drunk as you. “I don’t feel well –“ Is all you get, before you turn your face away from him, double over and proceed to empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor beside your feet.

Ahk is still holding you firmly around the waist, though his body has visibly become tense. It takes Nicky a few moments to realise what has happened, though in the time it takes him to process the events, Ahk has swooped into action. He bends his knees, and dips down to be closer to your height. “Close your eyes for a moment.” His voice is gentle, yet authoritative and you find yourself compelled to do as he says. In one swift motion, he has one arm under the bend of your knees, and the other supporting your back. He doesn’t have to ask, but you know it’ll make things easier, so you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face against his broad shoulder.

The young king marches out of his tomb, cradling you safely against his chest as he searches for the nearest bathroom. Bathroom’s were not something Ahk had a need for now, so he had never paid attention to where they were located in the museum, had it not been for the small signs identifying them, hanging from the ceiling, he may never have known where to turn. Ahk fumbles for a few moments as he attempts to hold you, whilst opening the door, it takes hi four attempts but finally, the door swings open, making way to a tiled floor of the washroom.  “Here, I’m going to put you on the ground now, are you ready?”

Ahk’s voice is a gentle whisper against the shell of your ear, and had it not been for the churning sensation in your stomach, then you likely would’ve shivered from his close proximity.  Just as he had said, Ahk lowers you to the ground, and you land on shaky legs. The small room was spinning around you, and the bright fluorescent light on the ceiling was not helping you to feel any better. “Oh fuck…”  You groan, before slamming your body into the toilet stall door, dropping to your knees and hunching over the toilet bowl.

“Shhh, you will be fine young one. All will be fine soon.” Ahk offers, rubbing his hand over your back as he crouches down beside you. His fingers catch in the ends of your hair occasionally, though he gently glides through the tangles without causing you any pain.

It felt like hours before your stomach had finally settled down, and your vision no longer swam in circles. Carefully, you pull away from the toilet, falling to your ass and leaning against the stall wall. Ahk is still crouched in his earlier position, though his eyes follow your movements, watching you like a hawke. “I’m sorry Ahk. This wasn’t how you’d planned for this to go I’m sure.” You mumble, tilting your head back so you could look at him fully.

A small smile tugs at his lips, before he too sits on the ground leaning against the wall also. “You have no reason to be sorry young one. If anyone should be apologising, it is me. I had hoped this evening would cheer you up, and help you to enjoy your young life. However, I fear with the way this has ended, that perhaps all I have done is make you feel worse.”

You allow Ahk’s words to sink in, your brain taking far longer than usual to process what he had said. Slowly however, a smile stretches across your lips, and a small bubble of laughter blooms in your chest. “Hey, vomit or no. I had a great night.” You grin, before stretching your legs out in front of you. “And I can’t think of anyone else I would rather get drunk with Ahk.” You nudge your foot against his knee for emphasis on his name, grinning softly at the young man.

<<ooo>>

 Something was changing, that he knew for sure. But what and how, he couldn’t quite tell. For decades now, Ahkmenrah had slept during the day, and awoken at dusk, his sleep however was not what he knew sleep to be when he was alive. His eyes would fall closed, and his breathing would even out, until one final gasp of air left his lungs, and his was plunged into what felt like an eternal black abyss. He was not afraid, despite having no conscious thoughts or even memories in the darkness, he somehow knew not to be afraid.

For the past seven years however, something was different. As dawn rose, the sun creeping its way over the horizon, he would be plunged into the darkness as always, though it did not last. It was almost as if a door in his mind would open, and suddenly, there they were… Dreams. Not memories of his life, but honest to goodness, fantastical dreams.

He had no idea why this was happening, especially now of all times. Nothing had changed, he had been in the same museum for years, and at no stage had he regained his dreams before now. So why now? What could have possibly happened within the past seven years for his dreams to return to him?

Taglist (If you would like to be added let me know!) @lana-loves-stuff​ @polarcrystall @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @ryeosomnia @thenewnightguard @stfuchaase​ @rjwinterfell​

 My MASTERLIST 

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 5 - In Which Jack Attempts to Become a Semi-Respectable Member of Polite Society and Charles Succeeds in Becoming a Completely Disreputable Trophy Boyfriend

Max and Mr. Scott – probably mostly Mr. Scott, who still has his finger on the pulse of London real estate in a way that's almost frighteningly omniscient - somehow land Jack and company a lovely house that's been subjected to a series of absolutely atrocious renovations and sat empty since the late nineties. So Charles and Anne spend the first few weeks of laying low pulling out all of the hideous carpeting and knocking down the terrible wood paneling – and in one case, an entire (non load-bearing) wall, which they attack with sledge hammers and far, far too much glee. And Mary, bless her, spends the week sweeping and scrubbing and peeling wall paper. Until the house sits an empty shell, stripped down to the stately bones that lay beneath the shag carpeting and twee plasterwork.

Jack spends his weeks learning to play tennis.

He hadn't had much chance to learn growing up, being an impoverished guttersnipe and all, so he's got a lot of ground to catch up. Because, see, the counselor – the one who'd sided with the Spanish over Lord Hamilton, allowing for his final downfall, the one who controls all of London's planning permission, the one Max needs an in with. He absolutely adores tennis.

He adores it with all the fervor of a middle class man who'd seen it as the gentleman's game growing up. And now that he's a gentleman – by wealth and importance, if not by birth, which still stings him, bitterly, and is the reason for his overcompensation – then by God, he's going to play tennis.

And since Jack's first job from Max is to get the counselor on side, he's got to learn to play tennis too. Well enough that whatever skill level the counselor actually has, Jack can play to it, keep the games close. Just barely beat the counselor or just barely lose, but keep it close enough that he keeps coming back for more. Which takes considerably more skill than simply learning the game and playing to the best of his ability.

So Jack practices and practices and practices, all with the help of a draconian ex-professional instructor Max found for him at a mid-level club nowhere near where the counselor plays for the entire month his house is torn down around his ears.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Eleanor and Woodes Rogers's world is coming down around their ears as well. Anne pays Max enough visits that she's always flush with the latest gossip – the sort of thing that goes beyond the polite, antiseptic description that has been in the papers. And the long and short of it is that Woodes Rogers is ruined. Fired from his job, disowned from his family, and, most importantly, the rich person version of penniless.

So he just doesn't have any resources to come after them, if he even suspected anything. And he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up in jail because apparently Eleanor's creative approach to accounting has been helping him evade taxes for a good long while as well. And now that he's too poor to be protected – and his reputation too tarnished – he's looking at the possibility of a five stretch.

Eleanor will probably avoid seeing the inside of a cell, mores the pity. She's too cunning to be taken down with her husband. But her social capital is destroyed, along with a good portion of her money, used to bail out Woodes Rogers with the various criminal elements he was indebted to. And with this new revelation of her less than legal exploits, it means that she's been let go from her position as well – not because she'd done anything they hadn't asked her to do for them, of course. But because they can't bear to have even a whiff of scandal or people might stop trusting in the sanctity of the British financial system. And we can't be having that.

At any rate, all of this means that Jack is able to move in the open again, which is good because he needs to start establishing himself as a quasi-legitimate member of polite society sooner rather than later. So that second month, in addition to playing tennis, Jack starts an Instagram account detailing the renovations on his house.

There's pictures of Jack choosing furniture and wallpaper and fabric swatches and rugs. There's pictures of the interior of the house, featuring Anne as Jack's PA, scowling and holding a clipboard menacingly. And Charles appears frequently as Jack's muse/boytoy, posed artfully shirtless and oiled up and muscular.

Mary, as his new social media manager, has had a lot of good ideas about how to sell Jack as a flirty and flighty and nearly terminally stupid fashion designer and she and Jack and Max have worked hard to make him appear harmless. Someone with money and influence but who was too wrapped up in pretty clothes and pretty boys to ever use it. Someone who could approach the counselor – and offer him valuable access into the upper echelons of society – without appearing threatening to him like Lord Hamilton had been.

And the bitch of it is is that it works.

Jack applies for and gets a membership to the councilor's exclusive health club – and the approval committee explicitly comments on the settee he'd had reupholstered in yellow silk for the upstairs sitting room in his induction hearing, so at least someone's looking at his Instagram. And he begins playing tennis there, familiarizing himself with the layout and the staff and the other patrons. So he can just ever so coincidentally grab the court opposite Councilor Featherstone during his weekly Saturday morning game.

They don't talk much during the game itself, but afterwards. Afterwards...

There's the usual handshakes and good games and shows of good sportsmanship from both sides. Jack had just narrowly, ever so narrowly, eked out a victory. But the councilor had more than made him work for it.

So Jack gets invited to a rematch next week – a rematch he'll make sure the councilor wins, just as narrowly. Because you've got to leave them wanting. You've got to leave them hungry for it. And they won't be if they win the first time. But they'll give up if they don't win the second and third. So you've got to walk that fine line of wins and losses until the whole thing's a habit and they couldn't walk away even if they wanted to.

That's what made Jack such a success as a pusher – not his product, but his approach. His way of knowing people. And the councilor is so very eager to be known.

Certainly he starts off with polite inquiries into how Jack's settling into London. Questions about the house and the neighborhood and the progress of the renovation.

But Jack is quick to talk about how difficult he's finding London to navigate, compared to the Bahamas, where they've decided he'll be from. How stand-offish people can be. How it feels like they snub him every time they hear him speak, or they find out that he doesn't know so-and-so from such-and-such school.

Oh, he doesn't come out and complain about it or anything. Just hints at it. Plants little seeds for Counselor Featherstone's own complaints to blossom forth.

And he has complaints aplenty. How it's such an Old School Chums crowd. How many incompetent idiots run various departments based on legacy rather than any actual ability. How put upon Featherstone is by all of them. How they all ask him for favors and expect to give nothing in return – because he should be overjoyed they're even deigning to talk to him and why wouldn't he want to do things for them, everyone wants to do things for them.

And Jack makes the appropriate noises of understanding and commiseration without actually volunteering very much about himself. Because that's the other half of the sell. Make the mark think that you're their friend. That they know you as well as they know themselves so they'll spill all the dark – or in Featherstone's case, mildly frustrated – parts of their soul. Make yourself their confidant, the one they can always turn to, because you think just alike on all the important points. So if you ever disagree, well, it must be my dear friend Jack in the right, he would never steer me wrong.

Of course, you can't do it all at once. It has to be done slowly and carefully, so that the mark never cottons on. But, as born out by Jack shaking Councilor Featherstone's sweaty hand and promising same time next week, he's certainly made a start on it. So that ought to make Max happy.

Jack wipes the sweat from his brow with an obscenely high threadcount towel provided by the club and goes off to assess Charles's progress on the other half of Max's request. Because while Jack has been honing his tennis game and scoping out the club, Charles has been there as well, spending mornings in the gym and afternoons sunbathing by the pool in the smallest bathing suit they'll allow him to wear. Which is quite small indeed. And it's therefore no surprise that Charles has accrued rather a crowd of rich bored socialites around his little flotilla of deck chairs, drawn like moths to a sexy, sexy flame.

Charles just dangerous enough to be interesting. But safe, because he's taken and (presumably) gay. Just a sexy backdrop to their boring, catty lives. Able to blend right into the scenery.

Meanwhile, Charles listens to - and dutifully recounts to Max – all the idle gossip he becomes privy to due to his position as living ornament. Because, to Max, information is worth its weight in gold. And you wouldn't believe what kind of things you can overhear simply by being ignorable.

Plus, Jack thinks as he sets his bag down next to Charles's deck chair and he looks up at Jack from behind his knock-off Coach sunglasses, Charles is having far, far too much fun playing Jack's boyfriend.

As evidenced by him sprawling his thighs even more obscenely open and practically purring, “Hello, darling.”

An obscene mockery of Jack's own favored greeting. And a slight that will not stand.

Jack kneels between Charles's spread legs. “Hello yourself, Chaz.” Jack tilts his chin up for a brief peck on the lips. “Have a good day, dear?”

Charles further escalates things by pulling Jack down onto his lap and nuzzling against his ear. “Better now that you're here, darling.”

And Jack's going to have to do something drastic if Charles keeps this shit up.

But before Jack can retaliate, escalate, they're interrupted by tittering laughter.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” one of the rich ladies coos.

There's general agreement amongst the ladies. “And so fashionable,” one of them says, giving Jack's tennis outfit a once-over.

“Perks of the job darling,” Jack says lightly.

And then one of them – the leader, if the obscene amount of designer and diamonds she's wearing – says, “You both simply must come to my bachelorette party.” She studies her nails faux casually. “It's going to be a real rager.”

This is exactly the kind of thing Charles has been waiting for since Max assigned him this stupid job. And getting on Max's good side is infinitely preferable to even her neutral regard. So Charles'll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers  – even if he has to play some boring bitch's gay best friend for a whole night.

He tips his fruity umbrella drink in her direction and looks at her over the salted rim. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Jack resigns himself to a night of drunken socialites vomiting in the back of a limo. “We'll be there, darling. Never fear.”

It'll be an opportunity to move some blow, if nothing else.

[papermoonloveslucy]

TOP OF MY HEAD: WAX OF BALL

May 16, 1964

Last summer I was engaged to write a one-hour special comedy program starring this glamorous bouquet of names: Jack Benny, Danny Thomas, Garry Moore, Lucille Ball, Andy Griffith, and Phil Silvers. (1)

I am not going to single out any certain name, but one of these stars gave me plenty of trouble. If I play my cards right, I may never have to write for her again.

These six television personalities are all under the sponsorship of one advertiser and appear weekly for separate products in their own respective half hour niches. To herald the opening of a new season a week before their first shows appeared. General Foods gathered them all together into one huge bowl to serve up a mighty chef's salad. It was only natural that some ham should have slithered in. 

It was at once discernible to the writers that to accommodate this array of disparate talent the script concept would have to include two important factors. One, a plot in which they would all be concerned. Two, jokes distributed in equal portions among the six performers. Give one comedian, working with a group of other comedians, fewer lines than the others and you have an actor on your hands who, as rehearsals go along, sinks lower than the second f in Schrafft's. (2)

The plot we came up with was a simple and workable one. Five of our stars see a news item in Variety that General Foods has just hired Phil Silvers to do a new half-hour show. 

"It is rumored," says our Variety story, "that General Foods may drop one of the other five." If that sounds contrived, it was. We put a piece of paper into the typewriter and contrived it. I don't quite know what critics mean when they write that a story line was contrived. I like to think it was conceived. We certainly went through enough labor to bring it into the world. 

In due course an outline in some depth was written and presented to the advertising agency, and there was joy in all the cubicles up at Benton and Bowles. They phoned to say they had engaged as producer a man from the theater with a long list of distinguished plays he had nurtured through their out-of-town tryouts to Broadway successes—Leland Hayward. Mr. Hayward and I were to make the trip to the West Coast and articulate our outline to the stars. Which we did, to unanimous approval. The agency men were quite pleased, and at lunch Ed Ebel, vice-president of General Foods, insisted I have a second dessert. 

Then back we came and the script was written. You know that line about everything being fine at the theater until the curtain went up? In the purified vernacular of television, all heck broke loose. Miss Ball found it highly incompatible with her public image to pretend that she would worry about losing her job to Phil Silvers because everybody knows she is president of Desilu Productions. She wanted a slight change—the script to state explicitly that she is president of Desilu and she wasn't worried. 

Well, this played hell with our premise —excuse it, I'm getting steamed up now. We watered the plot down to "although Miss Ball was president of Desilu and was not worried about losing her job she would pretend to have some concern for the other stars who might lose their jobs and she would help get rid of Mr. Silvers." Some of the enchantment of doing the show was now slipping away. But it got worse. My good friend Jack Benny, when he saw the changes, reminded us that everybody knows he's quite wealthy and he wouldn't be worried about losing his job either. To keep it from spreading through the cast, Mr. Hayward explained that they were playing the parts of people about to lose their jobs—a crisis with which viewers can all identify. 

The point was finally made and the script went into rehearsal. Word came back to us from the Coast that Miss Ball, who evidently wasn't finding it very rewarding laugh-wise to be the public image of president of Desilu, had ordered other changes into the script— among them a scene with Mr. Silvers known in burlesque as "Again I Turn" (3) —ending with the pie-in-the-face bit, in which the president of Desilu pretended to be an old scrubwoman.

After the show went on the air I heard to my sorrow that some viewers found this scene quite hilarious. This I can attribute to only one unfortunate thing—Miss Ball happens to be one of the country's most talented and prolific comediennes. 

The other Sunday night Miss Ball appeared in an hour show with Bob Hope. (4) She played, of all things, the president of Desilu. Also, she was an actress for Desilu. She appeared in one scene as the actress trying on a top hat, white tie, and tails. 

"This is what I wear in the magic act, isn't it?" she asked the tailor. "Where are the tricks?" 

"In the suit," he replied, as the public image of the Desilu president went off gaily to a board of directors' meeting. 

Well, if there was a message in a television program, this was it. No sooner had she arrived at the meeting than she removed the top hat, and there, nestling in the hutch of all that red hair, was a rabbit. Desilu stockholders will please not assume that this is her public image. 

Also, the very next night the president of Desilu appeared in her usual weekly show. (5) The premise: "Lucy takes a job as a summons server to earn vacation money." 

~ GOODMAN ACE

Goodman Ace (1899-1982) was born as Goodman Aiskowitz, aka "Goody" (as he was known to friends) had a low-key, literate drollery and softly tart way of tweaking trends and pretenses made him one of the most sought after writers in radio and television from the 1930s through the 1960s. In 1957 and 1959 he was Emmy nominated for writing “The Perry Como Show.” He and his wife Jane had a long-lasting radio breakfast show called “Easy Aces” that transferred to television in 1949 - where it lasted just six months.  As per his desires, “General Foods Opening Night” was the first and last time he collaborated with Lucille Ball. 

This article appeared in the May 16, 1964 issue of Saturday Review, a weekly literary magazine published from 1920 to 1986.  Norman Cousins was the editor from 1940 to 1971. It was described as "a compendium of reportage, essays and criticism about current events, education, science, travel, the arts and other topics."

FOOTNOTES TO HISTORY

(1) The TV special that Goodman Ace was employed to write was titled “Opening Night” airing September 23, 1963 on CBS starring Phil Silvers (“The New Phil Silvers Show”), Lucille Ball (“The Lucy Show”), Jack Benny (“The Jack Benny Program”), Andy Griffith (“The Andy Griffith Show”), Danny Thomas (“Make Room for Daddy”), and Garry Moore (”I’ve Got A Secret”).

(2) Schrafft’s was a chain of moderately priced New York restaurants which often attracted ladies who were out for shopping trips. It was one of the first restaurants to allow un-escorted females on a routine basis. In 1981, the Boston-based candy company that owned the chain ceased operations, leaving just a few remaining restaurants in private hands. Schrafft’s was mentioned in “Lucy Does the Tango” (ILL S6;E20) and ““Housewarming” (ILL S6;E23).

Ace writes "sinks lower than the second f in Schrafft’s”.  This is a reference to the company’s distinctive logo.  

(3) The vaudeville routine is most commonly known as “Slowly I Turned” or “Slowly I Turn” or even “Martha”, but not “Again I Turn,” as Goodman writes.  Perhaps this mistake is intentional to show his displeasure of the age-old vaudeville routine being inserted into his script - or perhaps not.  Lucille Ball had performed “Slowly I Turned” as Lucy Ricardo on “The Ballet” (ILL S1;E9) opposite Buffo the Clown (Frank J. Scannell) in 1952. This time, Lucy takes the role of the clown, and Phil Silvers is the one with the kind face. For plot purposes, Lucille is dressed as a charwoman.  

(4) The show Goodman Ace is referring to was titled “Mr. and Mrs.” aka “The Lucille Ball Comedy Hour” and was aired on April 19, 1964.  As he points out, the premise has Lucille Ball playing ‘Herself’ as the head of a studio named Consolidated Pictures (not Desilu). Like the real-life Ball, she also has a popular TV show in which she plays a wacky redhead named Bonnie Blakely (not Lucy Carmichael).  

(5) Ace is referring to “Lucy is a Process Server” (TLS S2;E27) aired on April 20, 1964, in which Ball plays Lucy Carmichael, a single mother of two who takes a second job as a process server to make enough money to go on vacation with her best friend and roommate Viv (Vivian Vance).  Her first summons must be served to Mr. Mooney.  

Original 1964 article by Goodman Ace, transcribed verbatim.  Footnotes by Michael T. Mooney. 

[canaryatlaw]

it’s late, and I do have to get up in the morning, though I may just go back to sleep afterwards. my church has been having very limited gatherings over the past few weeks, and in March they’re planning on opening them somewhat more, and restarting our kids program as well, so kids have somewhere to go while their parents are in the service, and tomorrow morning we’re having a training on how that all will take place, I’m assuming it’ll mostly be covering new protocols and the technicalities of how everything will work. They are holding it in person at the church but also on Zoom, and I’m just going to do Zoom of course because I am still always hesitant about going out, and an uber down to where it is is going to run me at least $25 each way, but I’m definitely not at a place where I can go back to public transit, not just because of the pandemic but more because of my stupid, not working legs that would definitely not cooperate with the distances of walking required to use public transit, even if it’s just a few blocks, it’s too much. I am still concerned that being at church and with the babies isn’t going to work well- that things are going to go wrong, like they did with soccer, and it’ll just be a dismal failure and I’ll be even more frustrated and upset with myself, but I have to try. I have to at least know there’s a reason I’m not doing something, not just too scared to take a chance and wind up stuck in my apartment for the rest of my life. I just hope nothing goes wrong especially when I’m with the babies because that concerns me greatly, but it’s really not like it would pose an actual risk to anybody, even if I’m like holding a baby I can control it enough that I can get to a sitting position and stable before I let it go and let it flail around until it gets its fill. I’m sure I’m going to have to give the other workers a disclaimer at the beginning of the service so they won’t be super alarmed or concerned if something happens, though I’ll still be pissed as hell that it did happen because I just hate feeling helpless oh so much, and just being in positions where I have to rely on other people to help me just drives me nuts, I don’t like sympathy I don’t like pity, don’t feel bad for me please, I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, I can control this. I’m in control. 

sigh. that’s what I keep telling myself at least. I should probably actually get to describing my day now that I went on a whole rant about that. Alarm went off at 8:30 because it’s the Saturday of our once a month church legal clinic, which starts on Zoom at 8:45 for a brief powwow with everyone, then at 9 we start the consultation with the client until 9:45 at which point we go back and chat with everybody, and end roughly around 10. my friend from school that I know has been going to the same church as me for some time but of course between pandemic and everything else I haven’t actually seen her face to face, but I knew she was doing the justice center too and we were both in the general zoom room before we started so I private messaged her just a few things saying hi haha so that was cool. The actual consultation was fine, I’m always so anxious they’re going to ask me about stuff I don’t know about, but I did know this was another divorce case, and while I definitely don’t handle divorces at my actual work, it coincides with my work a lot of the time and from being in family law focused spaces I’ve learned quite a bit about it, so I know my way around it fairly well. this was a bit more complicated case so I did recommend she consult with a legal aid attorney to hopefully help her file things, because this was fair beyond what a self-represented litigant could handle, even with a legal advice clinic and the great resources we have to help pro se litigants, it was just way too much. but we got a start on things so she can at least have something to take to the attorney, so all of that was easy peasy. the notes we got prior to the consultation were from the client coordinator speaking to her earlier in the week, and also included a line that was like “I need a divorce, I know it’s wrong but...” and went on to cite spiritual and cultural baggage surrounding it, so when we were at the end of the session I just told her that something we say a lot in my work (we don’t actually say it a lot, generally just when spiritual concerns are interfering with a victim’s safety, which thankfully isn’t often, but the point is the same) is that people are more important than institutions, and that her worth as a person is much more important than the existence of a marriage that has clearly broken down beyond a state of repair by so much mistreatment and bad behavior from her spouse. And I really just felt like it was important to tell her that she is doing the right thing here, and that she should not feel guilty about doing this, even that it is explicitly stated in the bible (by Jesus, no less) that divorce is allowed when the woman (or either spouse practically) is being abused, and that emotional abuse is just as valid as any other type of abuse, and taking steps to protect herself was the best thing she could be doing right now. so I clearly had a lot of feelings about that, and our client support coordinator (that’s not what their actual title is but that’s what we call their equivalent at my job so it’s good enough) really echoed it and affirmed it from a cultural perspective as well (coordinator was Asian, client was South Asian) and the client ended up in tears and I just felt satisfied that I was able to get that message across, because very few things truly piss me off more than “Christians” trying to “save a marriage” at the cost of the safety of one of the parties, and it’s been well documented that abusers can very easily manipulate counseling situations and paint the other party out to be the one that is being ungodly because they want out of the marriage, and it’s a giant load of bullshit that loses sight of the importance of a human being and it’s such a perversion of what God actually wants for his children and is just the result of legalism taken to an extreme and people’s welfare not actually taken into consideration, only the rules. Thankfully I haven’t run into this situation too many times while doing this work (I can think of two off the top of my head, and both of those very clearly stuck with me, even several years later), and I have encountered a very opposite situation of a pastor being incredibly supportive and even accompanying the client to file and for court dates, and it was just so heartening for me to see- the pastor wrote me an email later that night saying thank you again, and I just expressed that as a Christian myself, I had so much gratitude at seeing his supporting a member of his church so strongly. so that positive experience has stuck with me at least. anyway. we wrapped things up and I did consider going back to bed lol but ended up choosing to stay up, I’ve had such a baking itch and now have a lot of things I have to eat haha but I had seen something a while back about caramelizing white chocolate, which sounded super intriguing and I really wanted to try it, but it very strongly focused on having high quality white chocolate for it to work, so I tried to get the fanciest I could from my instacart order and I couldn’t find the cocoa butter percentage listed (that’s apparently the most important part) so I thought it probably wasn’t good enough, but I was going to try anyway. it basically involves a low-temp oven (like 250f) with it being spread out on a baking sheet, and every ten minutes taking it out and like spreading it as it darkens and such, for like an hour. so I had started doing that but it was pretty obvious from the start it wasn’t going to work how it should, it was very grainy and just not cooperating, at around that same time friend messaged and asked if I wanted to do one of our taco bell and target runs that we’ve been doing lately like right then, and there wasn’t much else I could do with the chocolate at that point so I left that and got real clothes on and left for taco bell and then target. I was disappointed to find out taco bell’s build your own cravings box could only be ordered from their mobile app and not the drive-in, but as a result I ended up with chicken chalupas instead of my regular “seasoned beef” (because you know that’s deff high quality stuff) and they were actually really good, so I may continue those in the future, lol we’ll see. so we sat in the home depot parking lot to eat like we normally do then drove over to Target (the taco bell is farther away, so we have to drive there and then back to the Target) and go from there. I didn’t need too many things, mostly just toilet paper and a few random food items, and I ended up with toilet paper, a pint of my super favorite ice cream that’s like $8 but is so damn good it’s worth it, some actual popsicles, some lemonade (my sodastream canisters are MIA at the moment so I needed something else to make my water at least somewhat appealing), and these little frozen crushed garlic cubes that are each equal to one clove of garlic and I’ve heard very good things about, so I wanted to try that since I couldn’t find any garlic while making the chicken scampi the other night. so we checked out and I ended up obtaining a watermelon mountain dew, because I saw that and knew I needed to have it, though I still had baja blast left from taco bell, so the watermelon one is in my fridge yet to be opened (it’s a 20 oz bottle, not like a 2 liter). from there I got dropped off at home and put some stuff away and worked on a few things, eventually watching a few episodes of Scrubs before remembering I had some stuff recorded still that I hadn’t finished, so I watched 9-1-1 and 9-1-1: Lone Star, which were of course very good, and while viewing was looking at various recipes for oreo rice krispie treats which I’d had a random craving for and bought supplies from instacart the other day, and after reading a few I decided to just kinda make up my own rules and go with it haha I had to revive some slightly stale marshmallows (put them in a ziploc and then in a bowl of hot water until they soften) as well as some stale oreos (350f in the oven for 3 minutes), though there only ended up being like 4 left in that pack and the rest from the new one, so that worked. I browned like 6 tablespoons of butter in a skillet and then transferred it to a big pot, addedt the old marshmallows (like 3/4 of a bag) as well as a bag of new ones, then crushed up most of the oreos and mixed them with a good amount of rice krispies and went from there. when I first dumped them into the pan it was just like this giant blob and I was like welp perhaps I made too much but then it kind of settled down to a more reasonable size, just still pretty large but that’s fine. I went back to the tv and watched For Life, and then to the news and SNL for a bit before getting in the shower and getting ready for bed, and of course now it’s almost 2 am and I am oh so tired, so I’m going to go to bed now being that I have to wake up at 10:15 (much better than 8:45 for work, but still). Goodnight friends. Hope you had an awesome Saturday.