https://www.tumblr.com/vase-of-lilies/729478267535491072/does-anyone-wanna-send-a-request-for-into-the-tiny
Mmmmmm, how about mommy / mama feeling bad for falsely accusing us and making us cry so they(either of them) feel dejected until we make them cuddle with us because we thought they were still mad at us ?… please?
Assumptions
Pairing: Dark!Mommy!Wanda x Little!reader (f) x Dark!Mama!Nat
Warnings: MD/LG dynamics, Arguing, yelling, feeling bad, guilt, fighting, false accusations, depression, crying, breastfeeding, lactation, cuddles!! this is a dark AU so beware.
A/n: Thanks for sending this in! This is such a cute idea! This kind of hits home, because I have been blamed for MULTIPLE things by my awful step siblings when I was younger. But I’m glad this time it will be Wanda and Natty to comfort us 🥺 I hope it was ok to have just Nat be angry!
It was a series of unfortunate events. One thing lead to another, and soon you found yourself in front of a large mess in the living room of the cabin. You had woken up from your nap, only to find Wanda and Natasha doing work by themselves in separate rooms.
When you left your nursery, your toy lion — Leo — was held in your arms softly and you rubbed the tired from your eyes. A small yawn following. You froze mid step once you saw the disaster in the living room.
The couch cushions were no longer on the couch, the TV stand was slightly askew, the lamp shade was tilted, and what looked like piles upon piles of documents were strewn across the carpet. You didn’t know how to react, only staring at the mess in front of you.
Too caught up in your confusion, you don’t hear the footsteps of your Mama, Nat, behind you. A loud gasp left her mouth as she saw what you were staring at. From what it looked like to her, you had been going through important documents without their permission or knowledge. But that was far from the truth.
“Y/n! What on earth are you doing??” Your mamas voice boomed behind you, startling you and causing your lion to drop from your hands. Nat paced the floor, looking at the papers and their contents.
“My god! Where did you find these?? These were locked!” She continues to shout, and the water works were turned on behind your eyes.
You looked up at Nat, small whimpers turning into cries of false guilt. “I- I- d-didn’ do an-anyfing!” You sobbed, but Natasha wouldn’t have that. She pressed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, her red braid flipping over her shoulder as she looks to you.
“Oh, you didn’t do anything? Really? You think I’m gonna believe a dumb little thing like you?” She shouted back at you, stepping closer to you. You step back in fear. “My keys are gone, and we haven’t heard your little dream sounds on the monitor either. And then I find you here??”
The things she was saying wasn’t like her. She was harsh, but when she knew you were in your little space, she was the most gentle giant you have ever been around besides Tony. But this time was different, because of one simple mistake.
Wanda hears the commotion from the bedroom and she looks over to the small baby monitor on the bedside table. She frowns as the screen blinks a low battery picture, and picks it up. She walks to the living room to find you pushing yourself against the wall while Natasha shouted at you.
Nat hasn’t calmed down yet, and Wanda knew that it could be devastating to your little self to see her like this. “Honey? Nat, baby, what’s going on?” She asked, gently placing her hand on her wife’s exposed shoulder.
Natasha’s head snaps to the source of the voice, and she steps away from your cowering body. “First she stole my keys to my filing cabinet, then she waited until we were busy to come out and read everything! Then she tries to deny it,” She explains. “I knew something was up when I didn’t hear anything from her room. Absolutely nothing.”
Wanda’s eyes widen, suddenly realizing why Nat couldn’t hear your little noises while you were asleep. She holds up the monitor and the blinking battery symbol mocks Natasha’s silence. “Batteries… they died,” Wanda says with a soft sigh.
She looks to the room and shakes her head. “While you and Pietro took her to the park this morning, Tony came by to see what info we had on HYDRAs plan to recapture Bucky. I guess he never cleaned up after himself.”
Immediately Natasha’s arms unfolded themselves and she silently pointed to your shivering and shaking form, facing away from them. She was in disbelief that Wanda never told her about this, and that she somehow was able to avoid the living room all together to even notice what Tony did.
Your Mommy bends down to not be so intimidating to you and takes your hands into hers. “Baby, can you look at mommy?” You don’t listen to her at first, Leo covering your face to hide you from any confrontation. “Tinyyyyyy… listen to me, please.” Wanda said. Hearing her voice turn from concern to demanding in an instant made you pull Leo from your face. “Such a good girl… how about we let Mama cool off, I think she needs some ice cream.”
Wanda looks up at Nat, giving a look telling her to take a walk to calm down. So, Nat holds up her hands in surrender and goes out the back door to the shed to work on her suit and gear.
In the mean time, Wanda gave you a bath, fed you, and read you a few stories. But when your Mama came in, she was in such a different mood. Even though she may have cooled off and the mess was gone, she stilled looked so angry and sad.
Was she still mad at you?
Days went by, and Nat had not even looked at you. Wanda was taking care of you on her own while Nat took care of herself for the time being.
It was a night like every other, but tonight, more tears fell down your face when you were in bed with Wanda, her lullaby lulling you to sleep.
Once you fell into a deep sleep, the next morning came like it did everyday. Bright, early, and loud. You cried for your mommy, hungry for breakfast and needing some love before the day started.
Wanda happily entered your nursery, smiling as she saw you sat up in bed with Leo your hands. She frowned at your expression, more tears on your cheeks and a sadness in your eyes she just couldn’t pinpoint.
Carefully, Wanda sits on your bed with you.
“Are you alright, little one? I don’t like seeing those tears,” she frowns, swiping her thumb across your cheek. You don’t answer her, only crawling into her arms and hiding your face in her neck. Wanda sighs and kisses your forehead, softly rubbing your back to comfort you.
“S’mama still mad a’me?” Your small voice quivers with worry as you ask, not understanding why Natasha was turning a cold shoulder to you.
Now that Wanda has pinpointed where these emotions were coming from, she says “Oh sweetheart, no, she’s not mad at you,” she pauses, tightening her arms around you. “She’s just a little confused, that’s all. Silly mommy forgot to talk to mama and tell her we had a visitor from Uncle Tony.”
Nodding in response, you sniffle softly. Your tummy rumbles and you look up to your mommy. Wanda smiles and gently sets you at the top of your bed again, scooting up to sit next to you. Again, she pulls you into her arms and lifts her shirt over her breast.
She hums softly as you latch onto her nipple, the milk from the pills she took flowing into your mouth. Your hands gently hold her breast, and you close your eyes.
After you’re full, you sit up and start to scoot off the bed. Wanda tilts her head and starts to follow you. “Where are you going, tiny?” She smiles, helping you off the bed when you whimper. Even though you can get off the bed perfectly fine, you still wanted your mommy’s help.
“Gonna go find mama and give da cuddles she need,” you say with determination. Wanda chuckles and takes your free hand.
“Here, I’ll help,” she says, following you as you gently pull her out of the room.
Natasha was at the kitchen table, reorganizing the files that Tony had been looking through and making sure that nothing was stolen. You were nervous to go see her, and Wanda could tell. But she gave you a gentle nudge when you looked up at her, your mama not yet noticing your presence.
You took a step forward, and softly tapped on Nat’s shoulder. The woman turns her head and looks up at you from her spot at the table. You looked at her, and then the papers, and back to her. With lots of bravery, you reach for her hand, holding it and pulling her up.
Nat looked to her wife with a confused expression, a small smile painting her lips too. She followed you as you pulled her to the couch, guiding her to sit. “Tiny, what are you doing, love?” A small chuckle leaving her mouth.
You ignore her question and move to Wanda, pulling her to sit next to Natasha. Now that both women were sat, you climbed onto their laps and settled you bum right between them. Your head lays on Nats chest, and your legs rests over Wanda lap.
“Don wan yous to be mad at me anymow,’” you whisper, tears causing small stains to appear on Nats grey tank top. Her face softens, and her arms wrap around your body, holding you against her.
“Sweet girl, mama’s not angry with you anymore, mama was just busy and hadn’t been able to spend time with you,” she explains, feeling guilty when she heard you sniffle. “I promise I’m not mad, ok sweetheart?”
You nod and look up at her, connecting your lips to hers in a soft kiss. Nat finally understood why you were having a hard time like Wanda told her. She was beating around the bush when she mentioned you weren’t doing well. You were just worried that your mama hated you, and that you were still in trouble for something you didn’t do.
“I’ll be sure to ask before I assume next time, ok?” You nod and smile up at her, kissing her cheek and nuzzling your nose into her neck. The three of you sat on the couch for quite a while, holding each other and reassuring you.
Nat knew she messed up, but she was so glad that you came to her and asked for forgiveness. But she knew better than to allow you to ask for forgiveness, as it was her that should be asking.
And you did forgive her, loving her just the same as every other day you were with them.
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burning wheel | m. ødegaard
martin ødegaard x haaland!reader
ft. erling haaland
synopsis: martin invites you and erling to arsenal's brand new training compound
a/n: this is a weird ass dream. but martin and erling were in it so it's not so bad
warnings/content: erling probably receiving second-degree burns idk, cocky!martin bc i love writing him, and cocky!erling too ig, dialogue in norwegian, not proofread, lmk if i missed out anything! 🫶🏽
—
the initial offer was to have you and erling walk around the arsenal's brand new training facility. martin did mention that this time, the facility is not like any other facility you have visited. he was definitely talking about the etihad campus, which you spend most of your time in because of erling.
there is a goddamn go-karting track here! martin's text to you read.
this child, you thought to yourself the minute you read his text. martin had asked you to invite erling as well, so you texted him your plans for the afternoon. erling replied with a nonchalant i'm down before you send him the address of the brand new arsenal training facility.
upon arrival, martin had excitedly began waiting for you at the front doors. you come driving in first, erling pulling into the wide — and empty — parking lot minutes after.
"tell me about this karting track you have." erling's voices booms through your eardrums, martin glaring at his adamant nature.
"it's down this way," martin begins leading you and your brother down a ramp before turning a left corner. "this has got to be the biggest karting track i've driven at."
to you, it seemed like a standard sized karting track, almost as big as the paul ricard circuit, located just outside of monaco — but you kept quiet. "choose your karts, guys, let's go on a drive before dinner." martin decides as he grabs a helmet before hopping in a red kart.
"which color kart you want?" erling asks, grabbing a helmet for you, then himself. you point at and walk towards the orange one as he settles himself in a blue one. before you could even warm up the brakes and engine of your kart, martin, followed by erling, had already zoomed forward and proceeding into the circuit.
you'd learned to always warm your brakes and the engine before driving — too much formula 1, you think to yourself. once you assume the engine right under your seat had warmed, you push the clutch as the kart begins to accelerate slowly. as you do so, you test the brakes. once the brakes were warmed up to your liking, you proceed into the circuit, hoping the two other norwegians haven't driven far.
you drive the course, secretly wishing it was bigger than you'd expected. not that it wasn't a difficult course — the obstacles were so-so — but it could've been better. arsenal have so much money and can only come up with this? you'd thought. you continue driving, slowly picking up the pace bit by bit, before you finally are on erling's tail.
"took you long enough, lillesøster!" erling cries ahead of you. [baby sister]
"irriterende." you glare, pushing on the clutch harder than before, which allowed you to drop erling's jaw as he eats your dust this time. this time, you are right on martin's tail, and lucky for you, martin has no idea you are now right behind him. [annoying]
soon enough, you'd gained enough momentum to be wheel-to-wheel with martin's kart. your sudden ascent to be by his side took him by surprise which made him swerve left and right. lucky for you, you had managed to drive ahead before he did so. from all the formula 1 you've watched, going wheel-to-wheel isn't going to be good for either you or martin.
unbeknownst to you, erling had found a shortcut that will put him right in front of you and martin. your jaw was on the floor when you saw him make the turn on the outside, taking his place before you. erling had begun to feel sorry for you, so he didn't bother to cross the line. though martin had passed the checkered flag, he still sped down the straight, when you and erling — who maintained his pace ahead of you because like it or not, he wasn't going to win this war — had already started to press on the brake.
erling still finished before you, as you notice his kart start to catch fire from the drag. you jump off your kart, running over to your brother and pulling him away from the remains of the kart.
"er du ok, bror?" your worried tone smoothly slides into his ears, his eyes finding yours. [are you okay, brother?]
"ja, helt fint, takk," erling brushes off his shoulders of the track debris. "hvor er den lille gutteleken din?" [yeah, just fine, thanks. where's your tiny boy toy?]
from your peripheral vision, you see a kart slowly drive backward as if it was in the process of parking, coming closer to you and erling. you head gestures towards the kart, answering erling's question.
"there's a podium there," martin begins as you approach him. "you know, if you want to live your kimi räikkönen dream."
"ayrton senna, thank you very much." you correct him.
"sounds about right, since he rarely finished first." martin teases, knowing you'd get defensive about it so he runs up the podium steps before you could react.
you step on the number three podium, erling taking p2 and martin taking p1. somehow, erling managed to get his kart on the podium next to him. you shrug, realising your brother is a literal viking, and if he could haul a grown bernardo with just one arm as easily as holding a newborn, what is a kart to him?
martin began waving to an invisible crowd. "who do you think you are, mati, seriously?" you scoff.
"max verstappen, of course," martin replies matter-of-factly. "you are lando norris," his finger wags at erling on the second podium on his right, then you on his left. "and you are sir lewis hamilton."
you were about to protest, but then you shrug it off. you'd die to be sir lewis hamilton, even just for a day. as you drift off into your world of imagination, you hear sparks begin to erupt on your right. erling's kart was slowly sparking. just as you thought you heard. a spark finally shoots into erling's waist, which shot him down.
huh. you never thought a little spark could bring down big mighty erling. you had to find martin's eyes, is he seeing the same thing? he is and he did.
unclasping your helmet, you turn to your brother with your hand reached out before him. his ego didn't let him ignore it this time as it usually does. erling shoves his hand out to you for a congratulatory shake. "good game, min bror." you grin, taking his hand. [my brother]
"du også, gutt," erling raises his head, glaring confidently at you through his eyelashes. "now let's go to dinner and forget that ever happened." [you too, kid]
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I know you always struggle to write about Suga Bpp but I'd really appreciate a review from you for D-day.
Sincerely, a follower who loves the space you make here.
Thank you for focusing on the music in the middle of the madness. I struggle with this a lot, but your posts always help.
Pls review D-day in any way you like or in that way you always do.
***
I'm losing my mind.
This album has put me in a high that hasn't come down since release. Overall, I rate the album a 9/10. I won't really get into the lyrics (Yoongi never minces words), but will tell you why exactly I think Yoongi is insane.
(Tsk... a problem)
We should all thank Yoongi. If I had his address I'd send him flowers and my nudes (me sitting pretty in a bucket of tangerines), for the blessing, the honour, the gift of J-hope Jay spitting the coldest bars of his entire career on HUH?!
His delivery??
Jesus.
Jung Hoseok, the man you fucking are.
There's no Korean rapper in the history of rap who has spit sicker bars, delivered so cold it feels like he just ripped eyeballs clean out their sockets.
(Son couilles est lourde)
HUH?! is the best song on the album
See, up until now, BTS had never done drill. And a part of me was always grateful because even on harmless boom bap beats, they been cutting niggas left and right. But Yoongi went there. On D-DAY, he went there. And Lord is it a revelation. Nobody should be surprised that D-DAY is now the highest selling rap album, in history. Yoongi is the first rapper to sell a million albums in a day in history. Not k-rap, not in Asia, but globally in the history of the genre - that was done by Min Yoongi with Jung Hoseok whipping up guts served cold on a platter.
If you're vegetarian or vegan I'm so sorry but this album is not for you. Because this album, HUH?! in particular, is an exhibit of cadavers split open and Hobi's delivery is of a man who didn't even bother washing his hands after doing what needed to be done. A man who doesn't feel a speck of remorse for the corpses left in his wake. Hobi's flow on HUH?! is psychotic. And think about what it means to have Hobi on a song like this to begin with. Yoongi said he hadn't done the genre before, and he trusted Hobi - who initially learned from Namgi but very quickly developed his own flavour and skills enough to earn the respect of his idol - Yoongi trusted his brother on that track and that alone nearly brings me to tears.
Then Yoongi follows it with Amygdala and I start actually crying.
(This was me on my third listen.)
Amygdala is the standout song on this album
The transition from drill rap to soothing acoustic trap is so beautiful, it alters your mind. It's so seamless. Everything about Amygdala cements Yoongi's genius as a force to be reckoned with among the greats.
(I love them)
When Yoongi showed Jimin this song in SOOP around the time he made it, he said he went through wild mood swings making it. And you hear it in his voice. When he screams so wildly he uses autotune to distort it, almost temper it, for our sakes and to drive home the point. The point being his pain, how overwhelming it was, how he decided to intentionally pull those memories out to process them. And he lets us hear the result. He lets us see the compassion he shows himself in that song.
Y'all...
*
Snooze
Yoongi's writing is the reason I fell in love with him. Just by the way. An Anon asked me this question almost 11 months ago now and I never responded, but Anon if you're reading this now, this is the answer to your ask. Yoongi's writing is what I think cemented him as my bias.
Have you heard/read the lyrics for Snooze yet? I cried when I first heard them. To think Yoongi made this for his brothers, for his juniors, for his fans, for anyone whoever hears it, for himself... that brought me to tears.
Repurposing the lyrics from So Far Away...
(I've been a mess since Friday)
With the context of the tragedy of the last week, I can't help but weep. I really hope these artists get the support they need, I hope the wider k-pop fandom quickly recognizes what is actually at stake here, and I hope you remember to always take care of yourself.
*
Woosung's voice on this track is perfection.
When it comes to vocalists, Yoongi has a type. It's my type as well, vocalists with a voice made for haunting rock anthems. The best examples being Jimin, Taka from ONE OK ROCK, Tyler from Twenty One Pilots, Adora, and now we can add Woosung from The Rose to the list.
The thing that gets me with BTS, is they could drop the pantie dropper album of the century and they'd still have substance to them. You don't get Ryuichi Sakamoto on your album, in his final years no less, if you haven't got a decent bit of substance to you.
Snooze is yet another song on the album that reminds us of the evolution of Agust D. It reminds us of why we're at this point, where we are in the timeline of his growth. It reminds us of why we should join him on the other side.
He doesn't let us languish too long in the feeling though, before moving to SDL - that groovy, sexy number that surprises me with how much I like it every time it comes up in my playlist.
[ I'm starting to ramble so I'll just say Adora on SDL makes me think they should get together.
The track is so good and Adora undeniably is the magic ingredient. And if we're being honest, Adora is his best female feature/adliber. We all know it. I'm just selfish and shameless enough to voice the desire we all have that they should always make music together. ]
*
Haegeum is where he repeats the pattern but we never learn if he's broken the cycle
I'll try to be ultra brief here.
Agust D is born of the anger, hatred, and pain Yoongi feels when looking at the world and at himself. He expresses his struggle with self-loathing, insecurity and greed in Agust D. Haegeum, meaning both to lift a ban, to say what had been suppressed, and a traditional Korean instrument he loves - Haegeum is the resolution before he reaches the acceptance he shows in People Pt 2. We hear Yoongi brutally criticize himself and his society while dissecting the system to get down to the root of what really ails us. K-pop stans have predictably made a ruckus about his lyrics referring to capital. And their criticisms yet again show why few people take k-pop and its fans seriously. Because exactly none, zero, zilch, not a single one of their criticisms are rational once the whole verse is viewed in full.
*
Haegeum is very much a read of himself as it is of anyone else. He confronts the shadow of him that represents those vices, and kills him. But just as it was in Daechwita, we don't know if that shadow will remain dead. Although in Haegeum it's clear Yoongi has grown and whatever shadow that remains is closer to Suga in likeness than Agust D, we don't know if the cycle is permanently broken. And that is how it is for all of us. We have to continue to evolve, to confront more complex versions of our shadows, each time better reconciling who we are to who we want to be, perfecting our characters.
Haegeum is a visual feast, somehow more vivid than Daechwita which is really saying something. It reminds me of Hong Kong neo noir films. It's cool Yoongi wrote the storyboard for the MV himself.
And as I've said before, Yoongi is messy killer. When I said this about him last year I got some of his akgaes in my inbox saying I should stop smearing the man. Lol. If you had any doubt before, after Haegeum it should be crystal clear.
He could murder you with chopsticks and look good doing it. Honestly, only Yoongi can tear down capitalism as well as Karl Marx does, looking 1,000x better.
*
*
In D-Day, SUGA gracefully ends the trilogy of Agust D. Yoongi has told this story of his wrestle with his greed, his anger and hatred, over the last 7 years, and his honesty and graciousness in how he concludes it in D-Day deserves a standing ovation.
I strongly encourage everyone to read Yoongi's Thanks To on the album. I'll post an English translation from Twitter below:
Credit: @/btsbaragi_jk
His sense of humour is one of my favourite things about him.
*
Yoongi has created a masterpiece. He worked so hard and it shows. His vocals on the album alone have elevated D-DAY to one of the best releases this decade. You can hear how much he has grown as an artist to the point I dare say he no longer has any obvious weaknesses. The impeccable production on D-DAY is a given. And to think he finished most of the album in 2020, but chose to wait for the rest of the guys to find their feet, for them all to decide on the timing for Chapter 2, to think he waited that long... sometimes, I wonder if people have a true understanding of the kind of group BTS is. Of the personal sacrifices each of the members in BTS have had to make.
When I see asks about this or that mistreatment complaint for this or that member, sometimes it pisses me off. Cause yeah, it sucks that Jungkook has to (possibly) serve now despite having 5 years more and being at his prime; I too hate that Jimin's sales were explicitly targeted, deleted without precedent, explanation, or accountability; I cannot for the life of me explain what the fuck happened with Jack in the Box's album roll-out, packaging, shipping, etc. But like, every member is making these decisions with their eyes wide open and taking these hits in stride with a team/company they say they trust. If Jimin trusts Bang PD with his career, on what basis could I begin to disagree with him?
Anyway I digress. D-Day is a gift. Pray you survive the live versions lol. And oh, about Yoongi (and the rest of BTS) being insane as I said initially, just listen to HUH?! again.
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Emails I Can't Send-Rowaelin Fanfic
This is actually one of my favorite things I've ever written. It's based off of the song emails i can't send by Sabrina Carpenter. That whole album is so underrated - go listen to it! If you want, listen to the song while reading. The song is so so heartbreaking and I just had to write about it. :)
(I know I haven't posted in a while, so I thought this would be perfect because I love it so much. I wrote it back in August <33)
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: Language, some suggestive language
Tag List: @backtobl4ck, @aelinchocolatelover, @renxzs, @blue-bird17, @luell1q
__
The song had come from everything and nothing at the same time. She’d written it on a crumpled piece of paper, droplets of her tears weakening the page, at three in the morning. All of her hurt and pain and fear from that night put into a couple scrawling paragraphs.
Now, standing backstage in the wings, Aelin took a deep breath. The crew buzzed around her, Lysandra last-minute checking her makeup, hair and outfit before she went onstage. “Are you going to be okay?” her friend asked, emerald eyes filled with concern. “I know it’s an emotional song for you to sing live, and…you know, Rowan’s out there…”
Aelin winced as the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s name sliced through her heart. It was a pain she was used but not invulnerable to. “I’ll be fine,” she said, more to herself than anything. Nevermind Rowan was seated somewhere in the audience with the rest of his band, and soon he’d be about to hear a breakup song about him…no, never mind that.
__
Rowan was trying very hard not to think about what was coming next, about how the woman he loved with everything he had was about to be feet away from him. He’d never heard the song she was singing, very purposefully - whenever it came on the radio, which was every day, he’d cranked down the volume quickly.
Rowan took a gulp of champagne and tried to think of other things. He and his band, The Cadre, had given a decent performance, performing their song K. It was a crowd-pleaser, one of their first hits about Gavriel’s wife, Krystal. He sat at the table with the band - his brothers, really - their partners, and Maeve, the band manager.
Over the speakers, the host boomed; “Please put your hands together for Aelin Galathynius!”
__
Aelin took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, immediately hit with the white-hot spotlight. She stood in front of the standing microphone and smiled as the audience cheered.
“Thank you,” she said, her own voice echoing back at her through the earpiece. “And thanks to all the fans who got me here, performing at the Grammys. This is my new single, emails I can’t send.”
She tuned out the clapping and focused on the instrumentals leaking into her left ear. Nodding to Aedion, her cousin on piano, she took a deep breath.
__
“It’s times like these, wish I had a time machine so I could see what you did October 13th,” she sang. “At 10:15, were you really asleep or were you lying to me and the family?”
Rowan’s stomach emptied out. October 13th, the night of Aelin’s album release party and one of their biggest fights. The night he’d lied, saying he was with Lorcan when he’d been over at Lyria’s, comforting her while she cried. Comforting Lyria over the record label rejection, when he should’ve been with Aelin, celebrating with her.
He gazed up at Aelin, who looked heartbreakingly beautiful in a simple white crop top with princess sleeves and low-rise jeans, that showed off her muscled body in a stupidly perfect way. He couldn’t help but think of how he would peel those clothes off her if he hadn’t been such an idiot…get a grip, man. Creep.
“There’s no us in us when I’m lacking trust,” Aelin continued, and he forced his mind into the present - even worse. Her expression was reserved as her eyes floated over the audience, looking or not looking for one person. “You wanna discuss, ugh, you disgust me…”
The words sliced through him. You disgust me.
__
Aelin couldn’t tell if she sounded good or not, but she was getting into the mood of the song now. “Don’t make me cuss you out, why’d you let me down? Don’t say sorry now.”
Her voice was rising as she got to the climax of the song, the part she’d truly poured out of the sobs that had wracked her body that night. “And thanks to you I, I can’t love right, I get nice guys and villainize him,” she crooned. “Read their texts like they're having sex right now, scared I’ll find out that it’s true..”
As she sang, she closed her eyes and unlocked the gates she’d built brick by brick over the past five months, the pain and despair from Rowan flowing out her heart and into her voice. “And if I do, then I blame you for every worst that I assume; when I’m 45 someone calls me their wife and he fucks,” at that word, her voice broke in the crooning sort of way that she loves, “our lives in one selfish night.” The lyric, the story, the truth.
__
Rowan was in heaven because the subject of his every desire was standing in front of him singing with the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard, and he was in hell because she was singing a heartbreaking song about him.
“Don’t think I’ll find forgiveness as fast as mom did,” Aelin said, and that was the moment when her beautiful, beautiful eyes rested on Rowan. Electricity coursed through him as she did, and he held her gaze as if her irises were his last lifeline. The most heartbreaking and despairing expression flickered across her exquisite face and it was all Rowan could do not to leap out of his chair and hold her as she pointed an accusing finger at him and cried; “And God, I love you, but you’re such a dipshit.”
__
“Please fucking fix this,” Aelin neared-whispered as the song crested, the instrumentals fading and becoming sadder, more mellow. She blinked away the tears blurring her vision, Rowan’s piercing green eyes sending sparks through her body, “‘Cause you were all I looked up to.” and Lyria placed a possessive hand on her boyfriend’s arm, placing a kiss to his muscled shoulder, “And now I can’t even look at you,” and Aelin looked away and lowered her arm as the roaring of the audience overwhelmed the room.
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Shazam!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
!! TW: alcohol, child abuse !!
Phantoms P.O.V
I drawled through paperwork, stopping myself from cursing who ever the heck John Constantine was. Seriously, were they quadruplets with a horrible mother or something, because no one man should get this many complaints. I felt a summon tug at my core and thanked the ancients that I had a reason not to sort through that mans olimpic sized swimming pool of paper.
As I flew to wherever I was summoned I idly thought about Constantine, maybe I should buy his soul? No one in their right mind would fight the ghost king and then some over one guys soul and then maybe I could get him to sit through all this paperwork instead of me.
I heaved myself out of the circle (which was incredibly hard in full regalia) and looked at who had summoned me. It was Constantine (I knew enough to recognise him from the few descriptions I had got). I considered punching him given he had the nerve to summon me, I settled for putting the fear of god into him and let my skin darken until it was black, let stars grace me like freckles, let my eyes glow wide like two moons. I loved being the Ancient of space.
But anyways, it worked. He looked up at me in fear and I felt a twing of sympathy when I saw the faces of the very unprepeared people around him. Maybe I would actually not purposely mess up his deal (that depends on what he was asking for) if they were asking for it too, I was still requesting his soul as payment though. "Uh, your highness, I uhm, never mind. Some really powerful ghost is attacking earth and we would want to make a deal for you to stop them." Constantine stuttered. Huh, an alternate earth, I wondered if this earth had an Amity Park.
"I will help you, and in return I will take your soul John Constantine." I boomed, making my voice clap like thunder, making my words sound ethereal, making each syllable sound like something else.
"You know me- I mean, yes. We accept your deal." Constantine said
"Good." I said. With the deal sealed I opened a portal to the swimming pool full of paperwork about himself and glared at him "Those are all complaints about you, have fun reading." I said, Constantine visibly paled while looking the the overflowing pool and I flew off towards the sounds of mayhem.
As I taunted and souped the ghost something was bugging me. By this point I had been Ghost King for a while and I knew how to recognise powerful magic when I saw it. I also knew how to look through it. I had looked at a being with a lightning bolt down his chest, he radiated power yet one look told otherwise when I saw a small bruised and starved child. Where did he get those powers? What happened to him? Why were they allowing him to fight? I was already preparing to take an unplanned vacation, it was about time to send a screw you up to the observants and I was worried about that kid.
I souped the ghost, checked up on an already groaning Constantine, then went invisible and intangible and flew back to the heros base. I ignored the comments of worry or teasing about Constantine and hovered around the boy, learning his name was Captain Marvel. I followed him home, watched him yell Shazam! and turn into the boy I had previously saw, then rush home.
The first thing I noticed was a cupboard filled with cobwebs and a few microwave meals and a booze, the second thing was a drunk man lumbering towards Captain Marvel and knock a bottle off that table as he did so. Captain Marvel looked weak as the guy hit him and my core and instincts cried out to help the boy, but revealing myself now would only make things worse for him.
I watched as the boy stumbled back to the basement and try to wipe blood out of his eyes, then give up and fall asleep on the cold floor, using an old jumper for comfort.
Billy Batsons P.O.V
I woke up expecting everything to be sore, and actually had to stop myself from freaking out. The wounds weren't bandaged and didn't have any medical help on them but they seemed shallower than before and they were properly cleaned.
I could feel that nothing under my clothes was touched so it wasn't some new power, what the hell "Hi." I spun around and grabbed an old fork which had just been lying where I moved him and the guy sitting opposite me put his hands up. That was the ghost king. I remembered how afraid Constantine had been if him and quickly threw th fork away and bowed because he was a king and that's what you do right?
"I uh- why are you here, your majesty?" I asked
"Stop bowing." the ghost king said with a sigh, so I did. "I didn't mean to scare you, what's your name?" I hesitated
"Billy, Billy Batson," I fought the urge to narrow my eyes
"I saw through the adult disguise in a few seconds." the ghost king admitted "You can call me Phantom or Danny by the way, I don't mind which." Phantom said, Danny sounded too informal for a king
"I promise you I'm fine Phantom." I said, I picked up my backpack
"What school do you go to." Phantom asked,
"I beg." I said, Phantom winced and disappeared
"I'll be here if you need help." he promised
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ΔΔTHE GOLDEN WINGED PENG X GN! READERΔΔ
what if.. WHAT IF... Peng had an S/O who's a Theatre kid, BUT is just really insecure and sad and Peng just helps with it like... AAAAKSBJZBDJS
WARNINGS!! (PLS DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS) self-hate, self harm, depression, breakdowns and so-so anger issues ANGST AND FLUFF
ANYWAYS, HEAD CANNONS:
•When you first met, I imagine it to be like in a theatre where you were acting on stage, and he'd disguise himself as a human, and gift you flowers.
•And then boom, he'd somehow find your address, (REMEMBER THIS IS LIKE ANCIENT CHINA OR SMTH IDK) But he'd send you cute letters as a secret admirer, and just maybe he dropped a few hints on whom he was.
•and finally FINALLY, when you got together he got to know you better. Bro found out that you were a theatre kid AND WORKED AT A THEATRE. (talk about dream job)
•You were not as pompous and as bitchy as him, but you were told that you both shared some qualities.
•Like bro, you both diss the hell out of people like your gods or smth and laugh about it.
•But (BING BANG PLOT TWIST BOOM) You had some insecurities that made you act the way you do.
DRABBLE'N SHIZZ:
Peng wanted to visit you since it was a bit late and he hadn't seen you in a few days. He was missing your beautiful face, your soft hair and the scent of your clothes just made him long you more. When he got to your sleeping quarters of your mansion, he snuck into the window, but saw it was dark and dreary, and it wreaked of dispair. He looked for you inside the dark room and saw a faint figure by the corner. Dressed in a shambled and ruined robe, with hair as messy as the room itself, was you. You with a dagger by your side and tear-stained cheeks, the sleeves of your robe stained in red as so did the dagger. Peng rushed to your side and cupped your cheeks. You didn't seem to be injured fatally, but you were weak from crying and sulking within the last few days. "Oh my sweet humming bird, what would posses you to do such a thing as to cut yourself?!" He said out of worry and with just a sigh and a a shaky breath, he knew that you weren't okay. "I just.. I just didn't like the way I act.. Nothing much..." You said bluntly, not looking at your dire situation. "Nothing much?! My love, you are hurting yourself only because you don't like the way you act, how is that nothing?!" He asked, but you just looked away in shame, as another wave of tears washed over you and cried silently. "Do you know why I act like I'm a god.. Even though I'm not?" They asked, maybe trying to explain something. "No.. No I don't, my love"
"..."
"Because I hate myself so much.."
Peng looked flabbergasted by your statement. How could you act like a person everybody loves, if you couldn't even love yourself..?
"I always feel like everybody hates me... That's why I act like everyone loves me so much, and it makes me feel selfish and stupid, and it makes me hate myself and I'd think everone hates me and then... The cycle continues with no remorse.."
You explained as you intertwined you fingers with Peng's, and your eyes looked at nothing.. Looking numb.. And dead.. "I love you.. I love you so much Peng.. But how could you love me? Me who has such an attitude? Me who has such an ego? How?" You asked calmly, yet your voice cracked in pain with tears flowing like waterfalls..
Peng didn't know how to respond. He never thought about that too.. How? Why did he love you? Maybe it was just you who did everything.. Maybe it was all you.. Never him.. He just smiled at you with sad eyes, filled with more words than his mouth could ever say, and you understood them all. With just a kiss on the head, a few bandages to the arms, and a night with cuddles and whispers on your bed... He knew that you'd be okay... At least for now...
ΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔΔ
OMG THAT WAS SO LONG ISTG I AM SO SORRY THAT THE HC WAS SO SHORT I JUST NEEDED TIME TO VENT LIKE AAAAKDBJDBDJFJSND....
any ways
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⚡ Scared of thunderstorms for Lao Shi and JakeRose's kids. Great grandpa tells the kids how their parents met.
I ... Think I turned this into something neither of us intended BUT I read this prompt and I was listening to the perfect song and before I knew it we had a whole thing happening before I even got out of the shower so um ... Now I’m finished and this was a lot and it took over my head and 10/10 I loved it 0/10 do not reccomend it happening again do what you will with that ...
⚡ Scared of thunderstorms
The song is The Night We Met by Lord Huron
Warnings: mostly written on my phone, major character death(s), 1 swear
Send me more!
I am not the only traveler
Who has not repaid his debt
I've been searching for a trail to follow again
"Gramps! Gramps!"
Lao Shi bolted awake as his bedroom door flew open. In his own cot at the end of Lao Shi's bed, Fu Dog snorted. In the doorway, were the three children. Ten year old Cecilia, who looked the most like her mother, had five year old Julia and three year old Ash tucked under her arms. In the dark of the night, the thunder rumbled and the lighting flash, Lao Shi understood.
"Come here, come here," he urged and Cecilia led the charge, diving under the covers.
Lao Shi could tell that she was trying not to cry. He knew she felt that she was the oldest and she had to be strong; Lao Shi had known a boy like that too.
"Everyone in, come on," Cecilia said, pulling Ash up with her.
"Fu Dog too!" Julia cried and, obendiently as a real dog, Fu jumped onto the end of the bed, settling between the younger two siblings.
Ash, who didn't understand the terror, pet the dog. Julia, who only vaguely understood the dynamics of being scared, was happy to let herself be distracted by Fu. It was Cecilia, who had seen the worst, who had made the distress call that fall night three years ago, tucked herself up to Lao Shi and rested her head against him, crying out as the thunder boomed again.
"I've got you, my girl," Lao Shi said soothingly, holding her close. He wondered if he should call Susan and Jonathan.
"I can't forget, Gramps," Cecilia whispered, keeping her words away from her younger siblings. "Every time I hear the thunder or see the lightning I remember it all again."
Lao Shi didn't have the words to reassure her, although he wished he did. He wished he could take away all of her memories and his own. He wished that everything was different for his great-grandchildren.
"Let me tell you a story," Lao Shi offered. "I can't take it away but let's give you something better to think about."
"Is it a story about Mom and Dad?" Cecilia asked hopefully.
Julia's head perked up. She had only been three and Lao Shi didn't think she remembered them. Ash had only been two weeks and Lao Shi knew that when he grew, he would think of Susan and Jonathan as his parents. Only Cecilia would carry the burden of remembering for all of them. It made Lao Shi's heart very heavy indeed.
"Yes," Lao Shi promised. "It's a story about your parents."
But he wondered which one was the right one to tell.
Take me back to the night we met
And then I can tell myself
What the hell I'm supposed to do
The story, told forever after, was that the first time that Jake saw Rose, he forgot his own name. When he was younger, he would go red and deny it, but as he got older, he was able to laugh about it and, even on rare occasions, admit that it was exactly what had happened. They were teenagers, in a school hallway, and Rose had been standing at her locker. Spud and Trixie had been on either side of Jake, arguing over his head, but Jake couldn’t ever remember what they’d been arguing about. It was unlikely that he’d even been paying attention in the first place.
Rose had shut the door of her locker and had laughed at something the girl next to her said. Jake had turned his head to look and that had been the end of him, before he’d even known her name.
Once he learnt her name, it was a torrent, a rollercoaster of feelings, a story that would be one to not only tell their children, but to put down in the history books. It had all felt exactly that momentous the first time that Jake had really kissed Rose, their noses bumping and their teeth scraping in their sheer desperation to be close to one another and share something so precious.
“Yeah, well, I’m going to marry her.”
“Jake, kid, you’re eighteen,” Fu Dog said, very practically.
Lao Shi probably would have said the same thing, about any other eighteen year old couple, in any other circumstance.
Jake eyed his grandfather, waiting for the agreement with Fu and for Gramps to try him scare him off of Rose, again.
“Not soon, probably,” Jake added, when the silence became too much for him. “But eventually, you know, when we get to an age where that’s normal. ‘Cause she’s not going anywhere.”
“So long as you wait until after the marriage for the children,” Lao Shi said, looking at his grandchild and feeling the years. It was so hard for him to imagine that Jake was old enough to be talking about these milestones. He remembered when Susan had first brought Jonathan home and how he had felt old all of those decades ago.
Jake was not sharing in his grandfather’s sentimental moment and was, instead, choking on his tongue. “Gramps, I can’t have kids, do you know what kind of father I’d be? God, I still forget to brush my hair some mornings.”
“This is why you’re not ready to get married,” Fu said sarcastically.
Lao Shi admitted that was true but he also admitted, to himself, that Jake was going to be a fantastic father, and he only hoped that he was around to see it.
And then I can tell myself
Not to ride along with you
I had all and then most of you
Jake married Rose when they were only twenty-two.
For most of the world, it was considered quite young, to those who knew the couple, they wondered down inside, what had really taken them so long. Not that it really mattered, in the scheme of it, where there was a Jake, there was a Rose, and where there was a Rose, there was a Jake. Any onlooker could tell that they were both were they were supposed to be when they were sitting next to one another, trading conversations in glances, communicating all the other needed to know in the touch of a hand.
The bride was beautiful, walking down an outdoor aisle in late spring. The flowers seemed to bloom along the ground as her skirts swept by, the breeze adding to the illusion as it gently fluffed her veil and long blonde curls. At the altar, Jake cried the moment he laid eyes on her. He was long past the teenager who would scoff away him emotions because it was masculine or cool to admit that he had them. When Jake looked at Rose, he could feel the enormity of their life together and all of the years that they were going to have. When Jake looked at Rose, he knew she was the thought he lived and died by. Their hands touched and their vows were said. The first time they kissed as husband and wife, the universe felt the rightfulness of the moment and the sun shone brighter and the grass was greener and as they made their way down the aisle, arms linked together, the flowers even smelled sweeter.
Lao Shi was finally able to dance with the bride when the sun was setting over their garden reception. Rose was absolutely stunning as she took his hands and let him lead and, even though she looked nothing like his late wife, Lao Shi had always thought that she and Rose would have gotten along wonderfully - they had the same spirit and the same fire. They had to, to fall in love and make a life with a dragon.
“Welcome to the family, Rose,” Lao Shi said gravely, though they both knew that she had been considered one of the family for a very long time.
“Does this mean I can call you ‘Gramps’ too now?” she asked, mostly teasing,
But, she had been signing birthday cards and holiday cards along with Jake for years, both of them having immediately moved out of their family homes and into a cramped studio apartment together the moment they had been permitted to. Standing with her now, Lao Shi could visualize her loopy scrawl ‘To Gramps Love Rose and’ with Jake’s chicken scratch at the bottom to prove that Rose hadn’t done it all for him.
“That would make me very happy,” Lao Shi said and was delighted when Rose kissed his cheek.
Some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Jake and Rose were no strangers to fear, to hardships, to doing the right thing even when it hurt. They had been tested more in the first years of their relationship than most couples were in a lifetime together. They had cried for one another, for themselves, for them as a unit. There were times of despair that would haunt a person but that melted away when they were together. It was right, then, that that they be gifted joy. It was right then, that when Rose confessed to Jake, in the middle of the night as they lay nose to nose, that she wanted a family so large that they couldn’t all fit in one house, Jake had laughed and agreed and taken her into his arms. He, too, wanted little feet along the hardwood floor, a cacophony of little voices crying out ‘DAD! COME WATCH!’ as he walked through the door. He wanted sibling fights and backyard barbeques. He wanted to dance in an embarrassing way at his child’s wedding. He wanted to feel the world move when he heard someone’s very first breath.
Jake and Rose went to the water, taking a picnic basket, and sitting under the stars. It was the Fourth of July and Jake popped open a beer. He offered it to Rose but she gave away nothing when she told him that she wanted something else from the basket. Jake had good-naturedly reached for things, sorting through the snacks and drinks as she replied ‘not that one’ until he pulled out a candy that he hadn’t seen in a very long time - a Baby Bottle Pop. Rose always told the story after laughing because Jake was focused on the retro candy and not why she might have given him that treat in particular. It took him offering a taste of it to her to even ask why she picked it up and, in a dry tone that everyone who had ever met hear could hear, she told him that it was more romantic than handing him a stick she’d peed on. There were no words to describe the joy on Jake’s face when he understood and the fireworks they felt when he kissed her, touching the spot on her bare stomach where their first child would first kick, had nothing to do with the holiday.
Lao Shi heard what, he was sure in his old age and wisdom, was the sanitized, cute version, but only after being invited to family dinner at Jonathan’s and Susan’s house. When the dessert was cleared and Haley couldn’t even complain about her thesis anymore, Jake cleared his throat.
“We have an announcement.”
The last announcement had been their wedding and, as one, he and Fu Dog turned their heads. Lao Shi could already tell, from the beaming look on Jake’s face, what it was going to be, but he still had his breath. He remembered hearing those words from his wife, from his daughter, and now his granddaughter-in-law, and though the years made his very bones hurt, he was grateful to be able to experience it all, and he hoped that he would be able to meet this child. He was not as young as he used to be.
“We’re going to have a baby!” Rose blurted, her cheeks pink and her excitement palpable.
Susan screamed, as Lao Shi knew she would. They were all swept into a family hug, everyone’s voices overlapping one another as people wondered about due dates and genders and when did they find out and was there a story.
“I still think of him as the kid who couldn’t find his tail,” Fu Dog said, his voice watery, because Fu Dog was definitely the more emotional one.
This time, Lao Shi had to agree. So many times over the years had he looked at his grandson and granddaughter and wondered how they had grown up so quickly. Amongst the hubbub, he went to Jake’s side and gently touched his elbow. Immediately, Jake leant down.
“What do you think, Gramps?” he asked. “Boy or girl?”
“I think that I’m very proud of you and that no matter what, they are very lucky to have you as their father.”
Jake took Lao Shi’s hand, the squeeze saying more than words ever could as they looked at one another and shared the moment.
“But when do you find out if it’s a boy or a girl?” Haley asked. “Are you going to find out?”
The moment was broken by Haley’s shrill question.
“Gramps,” Jake said, “You still have to vote: boy or girl?”
Haunted by the ghost of you
Oh, take me back to the night we met
There was something so stark about waiting rooms. About the possibility and impossibility of it all. Everything and nothing was real, sitting amongst other families in the states of disbelief and their array of questions. There was anxiety when a doctor arrived, relief and terror when they called someone else’s name. It was a place that Jake didn’t know well and he didn’t know what to do now that he was here. He was barely thirty and he had two healthy daughters, sleeping peacefully at his mother’s house, because Rose had stopped him in the middle of the park today to tell him that she was in labour and their first son was going to come. Like with the birth of all children, the world carried on spinning as Cecilia and Julia were taken to their grandmothers. It felt almost like routine now, three children in seven years, with Rose determined to have at least three more in the next seven, as they walked into the hospital. Jake knew how Doctor Jiang would shake their hands. Doctor Jiang’s hands were safe hands. They were the hands that had delivered both daughters, who had held the wand so they could hear the heartbeats of all of their children, who had written down genders to be stuffed into an envelope so that Jake and Rose could be surprised by the colour of the icing when Susan made cupcakes.
It wasn’t right when Rose became light-headed. It wasn’t right when there was blood. It wasn’t right when Doctor Jiang had grasped him arm and explained that they had to take Rose down to surgery and there was a chance that they could only save one of them. Doctor Jiang had said that everyone was going to do everything to make sure that both of them came back to Jake and that their family didn’t have to suffer but Jake appreciated the fact that there were no lies. At the very least, he could start preparing, but he didn’t know how to prepare. He didn’t know what to do. It was all of these words that Jake had spilled over the phone, in the hushed limbo of the waiting room, and Lao Shi had promised to come.
“I couldn’t call anyone else, Gramps,” Jake said, when Lao Shi sat down next to him. “I needed you.”
“You have me,” Lao Shi said, “and it’s going to be all right.”
“Long?” a doctor that was not Doctor Jiang was standing in the doorway. “Family of Rose Long.”
“I can’t breathe.”
Lao Shi took Jake by the elbow and together they walked to the doctor.
“Come with me.”
“I’m her husband,” Jake said as they followed the doctor into a private spot. “I’m ... I’m the father.”
“I’m Doctor Avery. I was the surgeon on Rose’s case and I want to let you know that both Rose and your son survived the surgery.”
Jake fell to his knees.
“But?” Lao Shi asked.
“Your son was full-term and was able to be delivered quickly via C-Section. We have him under watch in the NICU but there is no reason to think, at this time, that he won’t be fine.”
“Thank you,” Jake whispered. “Rose?”
“She’ll be waking up from anesthesia shortly,” Doctor Avery said, “and while we do expect a full recovery, it’s important that you understand that in order to save her life, we had to perform a hysterectomy.”
“But you did save her life?” Jake said.
Nothing else would matter if Rose was not saved. Lao Shi knew that Jake would try. He would try for the community he swore to protect, he would try for his family, and most of all, he would try for his children. Susan hadn’t been nearly as young as Cecilia, Julie, or even Ash were when she had lost her mother, but Lao Shi knew that it had haunted Susan, and he didn’t want that for his great-grandchildren.
“Yes,” Doctor Avery promised, “We saved their lives.”
When the night was full of terrors
And your eyes were filled with tears
When you had not touched me yet
When the tales are told, it was always a normal night that blossomed into something else. It was the most mundane of times when lives were changed and it was always hoped to be for the better or, even best yet, that life was left alone. Perhaps it was just a flash of lightning. If it was not a flash of lightning, perhaps it was a symbol, not an omen. The torrents of rain didn’t have to be foreboding - it could just be weather. The crash of thunder didn’t have to be a catalyst for fear, but, rather, a reason to stay up late with two daughters and bring them cocoa. It was what Jake did when the sky became grey and the storm started rolling in. Rose had just been allowed home and she was propped up in bed, Cecilia and Julia on either side of her, although being careful. They had been warned so many times that Mommy was sick and it was heartwarming, they way they would take turns kissing Rose’s temples and telling her they were ‘Feel better wishes!’. Ash was sleeping in a small cot in the corner of Jake’s and Rose’s room and once his daughters had their cocoa and Jake had checked on Rose, Jake watched his son. Ash was the only one who looked like Jake. Julia looked like a better blend of Jake and Rose, whereas Cecilia was her mother, through and through. Jake didn’t think it fair that he wasn’t there for Ash’s first breath, for the cutting of the cord, for the placing of the baby on Rose’s bare chest, where they would kiss over his little head. It was what had been done for all for his daughters and it was overwhelming that, despite all of their plans, it wouldn’t happen again. Jake watched Rose help Julia with her mug and it didn’t matter. They would adopt. They would have a surrogate. They would foster until their hair was grey and their joints gave out, just to have the house filled with children’s laughter in the way they had dreamt.
The thunder roared; the window panes shook. Cecilia whimpered.
“It’s okay,” Jake told her. “It’s okay.”
It was still okay when Julia went up to bed. It was okay when Ash was taken from the little bed in his parents’ room to his nursery next door. It was still okay when Cecilia refused to go to bed, wanting to stay up a little longer.
“Just one more story, Mommy,” she begged. She begged like she knew, but but no one else did.
“It’s late,” Rose said, “and Dad says off to bed and we have to listen to Dad, right?”
“Yeah,” Cecilia said, but she was reluctant about it.
Jake swung Cecilia up in his arms. “Come on, tell Mom you love her.”
“I love you, Mommy!”
Jake bowed Cecilia down so that Rose could give her a goodnight kiss and then he swung her up, up so high it felt like her feet were going to touch the Cecilia.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
“I love you,” both of her parents had said.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Those were the words that Cecilia repeated to herself ever after. The last words she had ever said to them, that they had ever traded back, on the last night when thunder was thunder and lightning was lightning for her, for her family. But, not for the world. For the world, at the time she was hiding with her siblings, teaching a five year old how to convince a one week old to suck on her finger so he wouldn’t cry, at the time she was sneaking down the stairs, wondering what the word ‘fuck’ meant but not realizing the depth of it until decades later, at the time the her little fingers and the soles of her tiny feet were covered in blood as she reached for the phone, at that time, for the world, it was just a storm.
Lao Shi had been on the way back from an artifact trade show when the storm hit. His wings were not as good in the torrential downpour as they once might have been. He pushed himself harder than he had in many years because he didn’t want to be here when the lightning struck, when the skies became dangerous. His little apartment was light brightly and was warm, Fu holding down the fort as he yapped on the phone to a little Pomeranian from British Columbia. Lao Shi shook out his dragon wings in the kitchen, splashing rain water everywhere. At the time his phone rang, he almost didn’t answer it.
“Hello?”
“Gramps, you have to come. And you have to call Aunt Haley, because the other kids are hiding and she needs to get them so they don’t see.”
“Cecilia?” Lao Shi asked.
At the time, it was eleven at night.
“Gramps, you have to come. It’s scary and I need you. I didn’t know who else to call. Please.”
“Cecilia, let me talk to Mom or Dad, okay?”
“I can’t,” Cecilia said, with a child’s frankness that would chill the world forever after. “They’re dead.”
Oh, take me back to the night we met
I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
Sometimes, the simplest things become the worst things. A phone call to a granddaughter. A dragon taking flight. A doorknob, in the middle of the night.
Lao Shi sent Haley into the nursery room. Ash and Julia were there, crying as Haley scooped them into her scaly arms and rushing them to Susan’s. Lao Shi hadn’t the heart to tell Haley of the phone conversation. He hadn’t the will to speak it, lest it make it true. He had said there was an emergency. That he needed to get Cecilia and Haley had to get her niece and nephew and guard them until Lao Shi called. Haley hadn’t understood but, for perhaps the very first time in her life, she knew enough not to ask questions.
Lao Shi had left it to himself to open the front door and pull Cecilia into his chest. She didn’t cry as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her long blonde hair looking like behead, her blue eyes dazed, her hands bright red. Lao Shi hid her face in his dragon’s shoulder as he darted into the living room, where there was Jake. Jake, bloodied, eyes at the ceiling, one hand a dragon’s claw, killed before he could transform. Rose, at the entrance to the hallway, blocking the way to the children’s room, her stitches pulled and a bullet wound in her forehead.
Lao Shi could never prove what happened. The police could never solve it. He knew, deep down, that it was not magical. He had asked Cecilia once, and only once, and she had said that the door had opened and Daddy, who had been carrying her up the stairs, had put her down. He had told her to go to her room but she hadn’t. She had been scared of the lightning and was waiting for him to come back. Until she heard him say “what the fuck”. It was such a bad sounding word that it had made her scared and her parents had always told her that when it was an emergency, when she was that scared, that she should go into Ash’s room, to the body of the hippo, where a secret door was hidden, where they would go and stay safe, until Mom and Dad came to get them. Cecilia hadn’t thought it was an emergency, not that kind, until the thunder was inside of her house. When the thunder was in the house and Mommy was screaming Daddy’s real name, Cecilia went to Julia. Julia was sleeping under her Care Bear comforter, the blankets pulled all the way up to her nose, when Cecilia took her hand. Cecila had to pull the sides of the crib down to get Ash. She was very, very, very, careful with Ash, she was sure to tell Lao Shi, because Mommy and Daddy had already told her so many times with Julia, how to be careful with a little baby’s neck. She didn’t hear her mother scream that night but in the nightmares that came in the years after, she would swear that she did.
It was an unfairness in the universe, an unbalance that could never be rightened. In a world where everything was just and people got what they deserve, a villain who gave herself to a hero, a hero who sacrificed his love for her happiness, would find the world bright when they came back together. A besotted man who proposed on her twentieth birthday when they were out for ice-cream cones who find himself growing old with the love of his life. A blushing bride who enjoyed the day but was thinking of the future and her grandchildren would get to meet them. In a world where everything was right, two people who did everything they could to do everything right, would meet the world that they deserve.
They would meet their ends in old age rather than a startle of blood.
Take me back to the night we met
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
“Gramps? Gramps?”
Lao Shi was startled back to the present, thinking that in the darkness, he could see it all happening at once. He could see himself attending Rose’s and Jake’s wedding at the same time that he could see himself attending Rose’s and Jake’s funeral. He could see his grandson at the age of fourteen with the blush of first love on his cheeks never dreaming that the blush of his first love would be the blush of his last love.
“Cecilia,” Lao Shi said.
Together, they turned and watched. Ash was sleeping against Fu’s stomach and Julia was nearly there herself. With the company around them, the storm didn’t hold any fears. For them, thunder was allowed to be thunder and lightning was allowed to be lightning. There was no worry that when they left the bedroom, there would be blood on the stairs, brain on the area rug that was a wedding gift. They would grow up asking Cecilia why she moved to a place where there were no hurricanes and asking what their parents sounded like. At ten, all of that seemed very far off, but Lao Shi knew it all happened separately and at once. He wished that he could preserve his family, keep them all in the week where Ash was born, when the puzzle fit together, and everything made sense.
“I miss them.” She would eventually be the only one who held onto true pieces of them, the only one who could pass down real memories. One day, none of that would matter either but, for a very, very long time, that would matter very much.
“I miss them too,” Lao Shi said, because, sometimes, the simplest words were the ones that were needed.
Haunted by the ghost of you
Take me back to the night we met
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OTP Asks: Boom! Comics; Billy/Skull (turnabout is fair play~):
Who gets flustered watching the other peel and eat a banana?
Who's the sensitive one (physically)?
Who's the sensitive one (emotionally)?
Do you have an AU thought?
If turnabout is fair play does that mean I get to send you Javelia? Don’t answer that.
Who gets flustered watching the other peel and eat a banana?
Billy! Skull knows just how much Billy tries to maintain a reputation, and while he wouldn’t want to do anything to tarnish it, that would hurt the boy, he is more than happy to make Billy get flustered with eye contacts and the very seductive eating of the banana, AFTER they start dating. So, this is how it goes: they’re sitting in the juice bar… so far, only Kim has managed to get it out of Billy, that the two of them are together— no one else knows (ok Bulk also knows) and Eugene just makes eye contact with Billy the first occasion he finds. After that, Billy is glancing at Eugene nervously anyway, and Skull finds THIS the best moment to take a banana, gently peel it, rub it along with his hands and— meanwhile Billy is just looking all red in the face and Jason Zack and Trini are just trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. They don’t know that his pants are too tight. They suspect it’s the shoes.
Who's the sensitive one (physically)?
Billy is the more physically sensitive one. He’s got a smaller frame, and a more sensitive body, with heightened senses in a lot of places anyway, and Eugene always makes sure he’s not hurting Billy every time they get together. He knows that Billy has a giant “Fragile: Handle with Care” sign printed all over his body. He know it, he respects it. For Skull, he’s not that physically sensitive, because the tough life has given him lessons, and under Bulk’s wing, he’s taken up a lot of exercise and workout routines, trying to fix his malnourished, used to be sensitive body. (Someone pleaee hug him.)
Who's the sensitive one (emotionally)?
SKULL SKULL SKULL SKULL SKULL. THERE IS NO QUESTION ABOUT THIS. ITS A GIVEN. He has a tough exterior but he tries. Oh god he tries to make it feel like he’s got no emotions. But he’s an open book, one that Billy can read even if he didn’t know the language— and he practically has a PhD in it. So Skull tries to hide his emotions, and he’s got a lot of them. Sometimes, when something hurts him, he lets it be, even though it kills him slowly. He wouldn’t confront Billy on disappearing to ranger battles when he didn’t know Billy was a ranger, keeping it to himself, the hurt that came with the self depreciating fact that “maybe I’m not good enough for him, and that’s why he’s making excuses to get away from me”. Billy found out, and he cried because he thought Eugene should trust him more than that, at least. “I love you. More than anything else. Please. Never say something like that again” That’s how the first confession from Billy had come around. And Eugene promised to be less self loathing, though that would still take some time— it’s not easy to mend what’s broken inside of you, you see.
Do you have an AU thought?
Excuse me, AN Au thought???!!?!!? I have AU thoughts for these idiots EVERY DAY. I mean it. They’re right after my Javelia AU ideas, I’m not kidding (can’t count SkyZ. I’ve exhausted AUs with them. Ask anyone) lets see: College AU, Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Mafia AU (ngl that one sucked in my mind) I’ve got a roommates one already in my drafts, and a demolition lovers AU that I can list off the top of my head ^^
Now let’s see, what should we elaborate on rn?? Yes. Florist x Tattoo Artist AU. Involves ton of flower language and symbolism (yes, your line with the lilies got me thinking bout this… if you remember?) so Skull runs the tattoo place in a worn out run down area of the city, and Billy has a flower shop in one of the the better areas. Billy wants to try out new things, so he decides to get a tattoo, but he doesn’t know of what exactly. It’s another cliche meet cute, where the tattoo artist he finds is Skull and asks him to draw whatever feels like it’ll go with Billy’s personality, and weeeellllll��.
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hey bee! i’m supposed to be sleeping but i just need you to know how happy you make me? (and you’re worth more than what you do for others, like i appreciate you just for being you, but often you being you happens to involve being funny or kind or creative and i appreciate that)
if i had more time i’d go on the full rant of appreciating you and your asks, but since sleep is a thing, i just want you to know that like. your experience with wwda genuinely means to much to me? like i keep almost going to my one irl friend to be like “I wrote about my mess of a gender in my fic and this amazing person read it and it helped them!!” but then im like ‘oh i don’t want to brag’ but it’s just...a lot of things don’t feel so great, with covid and everything, and in a lot of ways i feel like i wasted my 18th year. but knowing that i helped you? even if you were the only person i helped and it only helped you for a single moment, that makes my year more worthwhile, yknow?
sorry this is so sappy and maybe a little sad im in a weird mood but the point is that i really appreciate you and the enthusiasm you’ve shown for the fic (but also!! if you decide tmrw you hate the fic? that’s cool too! don’t feel any pressure to like it or anything, i just think it’s cool that aang’s gender storyline and iroh’s flower metaphor seem to have meant something to you)
💜💜💜💜💜have an amazing day bee, remember you’re amazing and valid and beautiful
FIRST OF ALL WATCH YOUR APOLOGIES BOOM THERES NOTHING AT ALL TO APOLOGIZE FOR *ESPECIALLY* YOUR FEELINGS ANYWAYS 💜💜💜
*me in tears * *sniffle* i- idek what to say in literally crying rn b o o m - i’m sure you helped So many other people aside from me i just tend to rant to Everyone about things i love i just go bat shit crazy with that stuff hfsjb
i wont up and decide i hate the fic suddenly dw i genuinely don’t think i could Ever hate it (honestly i think telling your irl wouldn’t be bragging you just want to express something you’re happy/proud about yk? but do whatever youre comfy with 💜)
if there’s something you should be proud of doing for your eighteenth year Definitely take credit for helping me (and others!!!!!!!) bc holy shit i can reread wwda and tell you how Every little thing helped me (honestly 👀 i’m not opposed to the idea ,,) wait i need to figure out how to put this in paragraphs um okey anyways just yeah
covid really fucked things up ik but you!!! wrote this amazing fic based on your experience and hm you’ve helped ***so*** many people you say you’re thankful for my experience with wwda but know that im just ‘!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love i love i love’ about it im just. a h h just it helped a lot hfdjf (once again i Can write how/why smthg helped for literally everything but would that be too much? if you’re still reading then lmk)
and!!!! wwda Wont help me for just a moment HONESTLY just know that it has Very much affected me in a way that like ill remember for the rest of my life? that made sense right??? there’s just So much like there’s a lot that i relate with and seeing the characters work through it themselves and seeing That outside perspective on it i’m just like ‘*i* can do that’ soo it’s just really Neat. ooh six paragraphs oops. but i wont apologize bc i would gladly write 1000000 paragraphs for you boom 😌 mwah mwah mwah ily!!!!! you mean So much to me too!!!! i hope today treats you with the Utmost kindest you’re amazing and attractive and soo very valid too!!! (also its literally a given for how happy you’ve made (and will make!!!!!! *screams* hfdh excited) me but !!! just know okay idk how to express it but envision a tiny human (omg also youre basically the same height as me we’re like the same person by default) jumping around everywhere and that’s how happy you make me feel!!!) 💜💜💜💜🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂
wait oops i forgot to tell you to try and sleep more tonight 💜 MWAH MWAH ILYSM 💜💜💜💜💜
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Reconnecting (Zayn!reader)
Hello Hello Lovelies ! Sorry I was unavailable, I had a lot on my mind lately. This imagine was asked by @ready-4-fanfiction and @louis-gorgeous ! I hope you guys like it :) xx
I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry. I quit.
Less than 10 words. That’s all it took to turn your world upside down. You and the boys were two months in on the On The Road Again Tour, when Zayn broke your heart for the first time into a million pieces.
You knew being in the public eyes was hard for him, the scrutiny and the comments were getting to him. You had numerous talks with him about anxiety and feeling like the whole world was watching your every move. But you really thought that he was telling the truth when he said he was fine. All of you cried that day, hugging your now-former bandmate tightly. But you all knew that it was better for him to leave now and take care of himself, after all, your brother’s happiness had to come first. You all wanted him to be happy.
The band went on a hiatus a few months later. The brown hair boy broke your heart a second time a few months after that, during an interview. The critics of your guy's music were a hard blow, but it’s not this comment that got you. He said he didn’t make any friends. Boom. That the sound of your heart breaking again. After reading this interview you couldn’t breathe. You had spent hours on the phone with the guys, crying. Louis and Niall had to come to see you in your house and you spent hours hugging and talking some more.
You even went to Harry’s house in London, because he took the interview pretty hard. Seeing him cry made your heart break for the third time. And it’s also made you mad. For the first time since his announcement on tour, you were pissed at Zayn. Properly pissed. Coming after your boys was a big no-no. That’s why you decided to tweet. Of course you were not going to say what you were thinking, you wanted to be cryptic. Like Harry. So you tweeted a simple word. Infinity.
That was a direct link to the song you wrote after he left. How many nights does it take to count the stars? That's the time it would take to fix my heart Oh, baby, I was there for you, All I ever wanted was the truth
Then you send a second tweet : Well, hello to you too.
It’s all it took for fans and people magazines, to speculate. But you didn’t care you felt betrayed. You knew Zayn would see it. You hoped he would see it, and understand that he broke your heart. And he did.
A few days after you were in a meeting with your manager. Your phone started ringing and you asked your assistant to pick it up. He did and left the room to answer. A few minutes later he came back the phone against his chest.
Hi sorry, you should take that
I’m busy, who is it ?
The look on your assistant face was explicit, with a sigh you excuse yourself and took the phone from his extended hand. You didn’t recognize the number.
Allo ?
Hey Angel.. that voice, you hadn’t heard that voice in months. You gasped. Please don’t hang up. Tears started gathering in your eyes. Softly, because you didn’t trust your voice not to break you asked, What do you want Zayn ?
The line went silent for a little while. Probably because he knew that you were pissed at him, or you wouldn’t have used his full name.
Can we talk ? He asked softly. That made you snap.
Now you want to talk ? After months of radio silence ! You. Know what I can’t do that right now, I’m in the middle of a meeting and you are literally in another country Zayn. So no we can’t talk. You hung up the phone. Tears were now flowing freely on your face, and you kept looking a the offensive machine in your hand. After a few minutes, you pulled yourself together and went back to the meeting.
A few hours later you were exhausted, driving back to your house in London. You had been distracted after the call, obviously. And you didn’t know what to do, did you need to call the boys to tell them ? You were racking your brain about that while pulling into your gate. That's where you saw it. A black Range Rover. You knew a lot of people with that kind of car, and that got you wondering. Did you have something planned that evening ? Did you forget dinner with some friends ? All those questions were answered when you got out of your car and you saw a silhouette sitting on your front porch.
Bleached blond hair, black skinny jeans, a leather jacket, arms and hands covered with tattoos. arms and hands covered with tattoos ? You stopped in your tracks. Zayn.
Your ex-bandmate lift his head when he heard your car door close. His eyes were a little red, his hands were twisting the few rings on his finger, but you saw them shake a little.
What. The. Hell.
You stared at each other for what felt like hours. As angry as you were at him, seeing him after all this time, all you wanted to do was hug him.
I know you probably don’t want to see me Angel, and I get that. But please I can we talk ?
Right now your feet seemed very interesting. When you looked up at him, you saw the apprehension on his face. The only word resonating in your mind was his Please, he sounds so broken and anxious.
Would you like to come in for tea ? You saw him nod before he followed you inside.
You took off your shoes and coat after opening the door, and went straight to your kitchen. Zayn doing the same and following you. Or so you thought.
After putting the kettle on and grabbing two mugs, you turned around noticing his absence.
You went back to the living room, finally finding him standing in front of your « success » wall, that’s what your friends like to call it. On the wall, was all your memorabilia from the band. Picture from tour, all the plaques from the albums.. that was your now little museum. And Zayn was standing in front of it.
Taking a little trip down memory lane ? You ask with a small smile
You see him drop his head, his handsome face is grazed with a timid smile.
It seems like it’s from another lifetime, he says
The air of the room thickens, the emotion is heavy. You decide to go back to your kitchen. Zayn joins you by the time you are pouring the tea in the cups.
So, you wanted to talk. I’m listening.
I don’t… Look Angel I’m sorry, he starts but you decide to cut him off. Suddenly the faces of the boys crying came back to you, and you were getting mad again.
What are you sorry about exactly ? Saying that you didn’t like the music that we made together ? Or what about us not being friends ? Oh or about you not being close to H ? Really what are you talking about ? You were ranting at this point. But Zayn had the decency to look ashamed.
Angel I…
NO ! You stated shouting now. Do you know what it felt like to read all of this in the press ? The fucking press Zayn ! The same fuckers who loved to tear us down every time we did something !
I KNOW ! He roared getting up from the stool he was seating on. You know what they do, I didn’t say it like that ! It was taken out of context ! Do you really think I would say something like that ? You know me Y/N !!!
DO I ? That made him stop in his track. The look in his eyes made you close your mouth shut, he was looking at you like you just broke his heart. Are you the same guy who I used to stay up all night with to play video games when you were anxious ? The one who would hold me and tell me everything will be ok when I was bullied online ? My best friend, my big brother, my Z… because you left me, and I know it was because it was too much and you were losing yourself, but you left. And when you didn’t call for months, and the only news we get is this fucking interview it broke my heart..
It took him a moment to look at you, but when he did, he grabbed both of your hands before saying. I never intended to hurt you, any of you, you guys are my family and I’m sorry I lost sight of that.. The only thing I said is that we weren’t close anymore and that we were losing that bond.. I swear to you that you meant everything to me, you guys were the only thing who got me through all the shit.. You are my family and I’m sorry Angel..
You knew it took him a lot to say that, and that made you think. You got in this industry when you were 16 years old, and from day one the pressure from the media was something that you guys had to deal with. The rumors, the out-of-context sentences that the press love to twist around to get a reaction, the constant chase with paparazzi… But you guys always dealt with this together. Together. Even if he was out of the group, he was still family.
That all it took for you to launch yourself in his arms. Hugging him tightly. And when he hugged you back, you finally understood that sentence you saw online. A hug from a loved one can really bring all your broken pieces back together.
I love you Z, you said against his neck. That made him hug you even tighter.
After what felt like hours you two finally let go. That's when he surprised you even more. You are my little sister, Angel, always and forever. And that’s why.. he stopped himself.
What ? What’s wrong ?
Nothing’s wrong love, actually it’s fucking fantastic ! I know we just reconnected but I want you to be my daughter’s godmother
WHAT ?! Gigi’s pregnant ? Oh my Gosh ! The smile that grazed his face was the size of the freaking sun ! His was glowing. And for the first time since he left the band, you saw your old Zayn’s back
Oh my… You started tearing up, of course, I would love to !
After another round of hugs, you grabbed your cup of tea, and smiled.
What ? Zayn asked
You do realize you’re going to have to talk to the guys right ?
Yeah.. Louis is going to beat my ass, isn't he ?
Well, that’s the Tommo way for ya love, you said winking at him.
Laughing the two of you spend the next hours catching up on each other’s life. And for the first time in months, you had your brother back. And maybe, you thought, you could start all over again.
« And I can lend you broken parts
That might fit like this
And I will give you all my heart
So we can start it all over again »
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three's a crowd | nomin
synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.
warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop
disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.
note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!
the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.
it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.
"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"
stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.
if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.
"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.
"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."
screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.
now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!
the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.
you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.
"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."
this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.
jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.
no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.
he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.
"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"
"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"
"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.
"convince me?"
you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.
it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.
and you weren't stupid.
you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.
"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"
the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.
if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.
you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.
that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.
while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.
it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.
you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.
you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.
but you've overestimated lee jeno.
"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."
"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"
you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.
how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.
"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."
you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?
you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.
you've never ran out as fast as you did.
and jeno swears it'll be the last.
you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.
although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.
and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.
but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.
jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.
you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.
although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.
it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.
one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.
so this was how he got them to bully you?
"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"
"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"
all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.
no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.
because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?
we lost :(
you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.
in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.
not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.
tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.
jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.
and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.
jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.
he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.
you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.
as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.
after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.
the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.
you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.
they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.
you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.
"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."
it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.
you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.
you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—
"what are you doing here?"
the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.
"i said, what are you doing here?"
their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.
particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.
particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.
this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.
"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."
coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.
you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.
"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.
fuck this.
"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"
originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.
everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.
you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—
"why are you in such a rush, pet?"
crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.
with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.
jaemin was right.
it was addicting to stare into them.
especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.
jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.
he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.
"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"
no. this can't be happening.
"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."
you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.
with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.
if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.
"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."
the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.
this is really happening.
you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.
"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"
you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.
"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"
his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.
with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.
you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.
"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.
you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.
until it slips and—
you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.
oh no.
"jeno—"
the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.
the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.
until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.
"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"
his patience is nonexistent.
jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.
"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"
the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.
your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.
"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.
"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."
with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.
you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.
the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.
"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."
his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.
jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.
the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.
"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"
someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.
you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.
you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.
in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.
it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.
the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.
when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.
in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.
you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.
“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.
jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.
while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.
he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.
you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."
you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.
"no—!"
your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.
"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"
you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.
it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.
the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.
you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.
it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.
jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.
you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.
"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.
"jeno, do you see this? fuck."
you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.
you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.
if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.
"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.
"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.
he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"
"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"
you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.
you felt… filthy.
his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.
you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.
"i'm the favorite!"
"i'm the favorite!"
as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.
all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.
you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.
thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.
but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.
"who do you like best?"
you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.
jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?
but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.
because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.
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I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.
I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.
In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.
Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.
Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…
You can set the bar so very low and yet…
The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.
It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.
And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.
By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.
Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.
Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.
We worked hard. And hard. And hard.
And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.
But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.
It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.
In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.
"What's in the-"
"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.
"What's happening," I asked Blue.
"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."
"Blue… what does that MEAN?"
"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."
I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.
Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.
Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-
Four.
Tiny.
KITTENS!
Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.
They immediately started climbing up my arm.
"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"
"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."
"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.
"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"
So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.
In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.
This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.
The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.
Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.
Sounds great, right?
The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.
So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.
'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.
If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.
And you can't just tape the box shut.
So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.
Mood.
I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.
Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.
It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.
"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"
Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"
Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."
Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.
Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.
We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)
Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.
Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.
It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.
And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.
They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.
Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.
Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.
And then there was one.
There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:
We are the Skeleton Crew.
We once were seven but now are two
We don't know what to do
So we just work, work, work.
Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.
And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.
All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.
It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…
I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.
The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.
Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.
But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.
In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.
This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.
We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.
Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.
We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.
It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.
Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.
"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.
"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."
"Okay, then."
She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.
Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.
"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."
She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."
"I'll say."
"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"
"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."
She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."
"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"
"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."
This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.
Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.
And they wanted to take that away from us.
And they did. Because who was going to stop them?
'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'
Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.
There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.
But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.
Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.
Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.
I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.
But I powered through. I adapted.
Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.
I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)
An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?
And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.
But we adapted. We created a rhythm.
Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…
Okay, so before I forget:
Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.
It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.
...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.
By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.
Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.
By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.
At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.
This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.
There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.
But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.
So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.
The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.
If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.
Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)
That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.
But I powered through. I adapted.
Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)
And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?
"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.
Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.
In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.
Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.
"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."
She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.
And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.
She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.
But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.
"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."
We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.
One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.
Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.
At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.
Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.
And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.
I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.
I really should have beaten them up.
But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.
And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.
And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.
I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.
Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.
So they paid her hourly.
...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.
And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.
I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.
And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.
I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.
When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'
And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.
But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.
A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.
Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.
Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.
And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.
When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.
I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.
As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.
"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"
The best she could do was nod.
"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."
He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.
That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.
I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.
So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.
But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.
To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.
They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.
And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…
I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.
I felt like I was made of splintering wood.
I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.
So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.
That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.
If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.
On this one… nothing important happened.
We were… slow.
Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.
Sounds great, right?
...heh…
Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."
I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.
And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.
"Why are the counts off?"
Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.
"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"
...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.
"We need to know where they are."
We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.
But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.
We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.
And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.
We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.
I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…
But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.
So fucking much.
And yet it's our fault.
I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.
The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.
But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.
Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.
I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.
"Grandpa, I have to quit."
I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.
"Why?"
"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."
I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."
"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.
"...it's not me, is it?"
"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."
"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."
So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…
...but they understood.
Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.
He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.
But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.
No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.
This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?
They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.
Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?
Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.
It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.
And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.
I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.
I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…
I didn't.
It was probably stupid.
But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.
That's something, I think.
About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:
"Hey guess what."
"What," I replied.
The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.
"Pop-eye!?"
"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.
The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."
"What!? Why?"
"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."
"Are you okay? How are you doing?"
"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."
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10. I still remember the way you taste.
yoongi x f!reader
w.c: 3.8k (YES I GOT CARRIED AWAY SUE ME)
warnings: smut, semi unprotected sex, make up sex, some angst. Briefly edited.
note: lol i think I forgot how to write smut but anyway, hi, um, yes I got carried away lmao. But yeah let me know your thoughts. Send me a drabble prompt hehe. Thank you for reading I hope you enjoy.
drabble game
“I still remember the way you taste.” Yoongi’s knee is wedged in between your thighs as he attacks your neck in desperate open-mouthed kisses. “Yoongi, f-fuck, s-stop.” You say in between pants, placing your hands against his chest in an attempt to create some sort of space between the two of you.
Yoongi smirks against your skin and lifts his head, eyeing you down, pushing his hips further into yours, showing you how much he needed you. “I’ve been holding back from you all weekend. The guys even have a bet going on to see how long I can keep my distance from you.” His hand travels down the side of your body, bunching your silk dress up to your thighs. “Safe to say Jungkook, Hoseok, and Seokjin have lost.”
You roll your eyes. “God, don’t talk about them right now.” You run a finger down his clothed chest, stopping above the first button of his vest. “At least not when you’re about to fuck me in the bathroom of your best friend’s wedding reception” You pop the first button, earning an enticing low groan from your ex-boyfriend.
“Hey!” He exclaims flicking your forehead lightly, “he’s your best friend too.”
“Yoongi, I’m serious I hear their names come out of your lips one more time and I’ll leave you to take care of yourself.” You say as he apologizes with a nod of his head. You unbutton the next two buttons of his vest, stopping before pushing it off his body finally taking in the situation and your surroundings. The bathroom wasn’t dirty, nor was it clean. It had a musty smell making you wonder if someone had already done the deed before the two of you walked in. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.” You quirk a questioning eyebrow.
He shakes his head in disbelief, “I’m not walking through the reception and the hotel lobby with a boner.” He grinds his hips against yours, proving his point. You let out a moan throwing your head back, hitting the wall behind you lightly. He felt so good, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the hand dryer was painfully digging into your back. You would’ve agreed with his statement.
“Just stay behind me, I’ll cover you. Who’s room is closer?” You push him away, finally creating the distance you needed. You turn to face the mirror, fixing your smudged lipstick. Yoongi was shocked, staring at you. God, you were so sexy, the product of his late-night escapades by himself. Especially after the two of you had mutually called it quits.
All throughout the weekend you were driving him crazy, reeling him in to then push him away. He suspects that was your revenge for breaking up with you. One you only agreed to because you knew that once his mind was set on something, there was no way to talk him out of it.
He had almost survived. Almost. That small buzzword was thrown out the window the second you entered the green room where he and all the rest of the groomsmen were waiting in to let them know the ceremony was going to start in five minutes. The long silk lilac dress you were wearing left little to his imagination, one he didn’t have to use much because he had spent years memorizing every single part of your body.
You giggle at his dazed look, sending him a wink through the mirror before turning to face him again, planting a slow sensual kiss against his lips, pulling away before he could respond. “Hurry up or I might change my mind.” You pat his chest and walk past him. “I’ll wait outside.” You say in a sing-song voice and Yoongi was now fully convinced you were messing with him. Exuding your revenge and he had foolishly fallen into your trap.
The walk through the reception was a nightmare.
Yoongi felt like he couldn’t breathe, his hand sweating in between yours. He sent glares into your back and they only got worse every time you stopped to talk about your new start-up business, with someone he barely recognized. He was proud of you for finally leaving your job. He had witnessed many of your angry breakdowns, his heart shattering every time you cried into his chest because of how unhappy you were working for your dream company. That when he finally got word that you had left and started your own company, boldly rivaling your old one. The sigh of relief he let out was monumental. He was proud of you and would’ve told you, praised you, as you happily explained your ideas. That’s if he was thinking with his head and heart not his dick, which was straining painfully against the waistband of his slacks. If it wasn’t for his suit jacket doing most of the work in hiding it he would’ve died out of pure agony and embarrassment.
“We finally found an office and we’re moving in when Jimin gets back from his honeymoon. Sadly, he says I’m not allowed to start decorating without him, scared I’ll put an outside fountain in the middle of the whole place.” You say, prompting a booming laugh from Jimin’s dad.
Jimin’s mom shakes her head, “he gets his perfectionism from my side of the family, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, honestly, I don’t have an ounce of interior design in my body, so I’d rather he be there to supervise before he yells at me saying that I’ve ruined everything.”
Yoongi could feel the sweat start to pool above his brow, tuning you and Jimin’s parents out. He had never felt this needy in his entire life. He supposes it's the adrenaline rush of seeing you in such a revealing dress or the fact that he missed you. The last year and a half without you had been awful. Everything reminded him of you and he had to fight the urge to just call you. He never did. Afraid you had found it in yourself to finally hate him for breaking your heart.
“Yoongi, sweetheart, are you okay?” Jimin’s mom asked, placing the back of her hand against his forehead, making him flinch. “Oh dear, you’re burning up, maybe you should go lay down.” The worry in her voice was evident, melting his heart. Jimin’s parents always treated him like he was one of their own, welcoming him with open arms when Jimin had first invited him and the guys over for lunch after school almost ten years ago. When Yoongi’s parents had kicked him out for choosing to study music production instead of something ‘meaningful’ they had taken him and even offered to pay for his school expenses. He owed them a lot, and if circumstances were different he would’ve thanked them profusely, just like he always did.
“I think he has a fever so I’m going to walk him back to his room.” You nod your head, letting go of his hand and looping your arm with his. “It must’ve been the shrimp appetizer, he’s never been good with seafood, right baby?” The evil glint in your eye was too much. You’re teasing was getting too much for him to handle. He’s never seen this side of you. It excited him.
“Right!”
“Oh please, hurry, we’ll let Jimin know you had to leave early I’m sure he’ll understand.” Jimin’s mom said, pushing the two of you towards the exit.
Once the two of you were away, closer to the double doors of the reception hall you leaned in, “How are you holding up?”
“Get me out of here before I drag you to the nearest bathroom again.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” You hold your hand out before Yoongi can step any closer to your body. A sound of annoyance erupting from his chest. Once upon a time, Yoongi had prided himself in being patient. Tonight was not one of those times.
The second the two of you were alone in the elevator, his hands and mouth were all over you. Painting beautiful flowers with his mouth against your skin. The noises he had elicited from you made his chest swell with pride and his cock throb painfully against his pants. Every ounce of self control he once harbored was long gone. He didn’t want to miss another second where he wasn’t touching you.
Yoongi had almost lost his mind while you were fumbling to get the door to your hotel room open. Though, that was mainly his fault, he literally couldn’t keep his hands off of you.
Yet, now that you were finally in the safety of your hotel room, Yoongi didn’t understand why you were still resisting him and it made him even more frustrated both sexually and emotionally. “What, what do I have to wait for now, I’m so close to coming in my pants please just let me fuck you.” He all but begged, even considered getting down on his knees and kissing the ground you walked on. Though, when he saw you smirk, he knew he had done exactly what you had hoped he would do.
“Fuck you.” He closed the distance, sighing when you innocently took a step back.
“I’m trying to but I need to take my shoes off.” You pouted, pointing to your heel cladded feet in front of you, arms behind your back as you swayed from side to side. Yoongi shook his head before taking you into your arms and walking you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. You fell back sitting down as Yoongi got down on his knees in front of you.
“Are you punishing me?” He asked with a pout on his lips.
You giggled placing both of your hands against his cheeks and squishing them. “Yes.” You affirmed kissing his lips, “I think you deserve it for leaving me.” You gave his cheeks a light tap. “Now get to work or I’ll kick you out.”
Yoongi scoffed, placing your left foot on top of his knees. His fingers unbuckling the buckle around your ankle slowly, his eyes burning holes into your soul. You swallowed nervously as he slipped it off, his lips connecting with the skin of your ankle, kissing the tiny stick n poke tattoo he had given you after a particularly stressful week of finals, almost three years ago.
It was crooked. The points of the star weren’t as perfect as he would’ve liked them to be. But it had been entirely your fault. You kept moving, yelping out in dramatized agony every time he poked the needle into your skin, tears welling up in the corner of your eyes. He knew you were just doing it to scare him. Your pain tolerance was higher than any normal human being, which is why he continued his masterpiece, ignoring your pleas to stop. Nevertheless, with a childish pout you had expressed your love for it in more ways than one and vowed to never cover it up no matter what.
You had kept true to your word.
“I didn’t mean to.” He sighed, kissing your inner thigh, then moving to the other one. He had long removed your other heel and was now showering you with all the kisses he hadn’t been able to give you in the last year and a half. “I didn’t want to break up with you.”
His hands traveled up the side of your legs, pushing your dress up further until the white lace of your panties were visible to his soft eyes. He bit his lip, taking in how much of an effect he still had on you. In all honesty, it made him feel on top of the world that your body was still so responsive to his touch.
“Why did you?” Your voice wavered and you blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Though, you had agreed with his decision to break things off. It had hurt more than you had intended it to hurt. You were left dazed and confused wondering how he could just wake up one day and decide that you weren’t enough for him anymore.
“You stopped chasing your dreams because of me.” The guilt he had felt every time he held you while you cried out in anger spilled out. The tears now fell down your eyes while he laid you down, taking your dress with him, bringing it over your head and throwing it to the side knocking over the glass of water you kept on your nightstand every night.
You jumped hitting his chest, “That dress was expensive.” You sniffed and wrapped your arms around his neck, “you’re the biggest idiot I know, I hate you.” You said, burying your head into his chest, mascara staining his pristine white dress shirt, while you unbuttoned it.
He knew you weren’t crying because of the dress, but this was also not what he meant when he wanted to have you crying tonight. You were right, he was an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” he pleaded, grabbing your head making you look at him. His own eyes were now filled with tears as he wiped away your own. “I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t happy.” He kissed your cheek then moved down to your neck, tonguing the spot underneath your ear that he knew would have you weak in your knees. “I-I wasn’t happy.” He confessed against your skin.
He had never once said it out loud and now that he had, while you pushed his shirt off his shoulders, undressing him further, he felt childish. “You could’ve just talked to me about it.” You sighed moving your hands down his chest, your manicured nails scraping his skin lightly. He shuddered, the coldness of your touch was something he had never been able to get used to. He had missed it.
“I know.” He licked down your neck, his fingers playing with your bottom lip, taping it lightly. “I didn’t know how to approach the situation.” His eyes all but rolled back as you took his fingers into your mouth, moaning around his digits. Your mouth was so hot and wet. He wanted to be inside of it, fucking it until you were sputtering and crying tears of pleasure, his precum mixing with your saliva. But he decided he could wait to fulfill his fantasy, right now he needed to show you much he still loved and cared about you.
Yoongi took his fingers out of your mouth, trailing his moist digits down your neck, painting a masterpiece until they wrapped around your nipples, pinching it, while his mouth kissed around your other nipple. The low sighs of pleasure you were making were astronomical. A beautiful melody he will never get tired of listening to.
“S-So you decided to break up with me, f-fuck.” You gasped when he lightly bit down on your nipple. It was euphoric, enough to have you reaching your orgasm. You were overly sensitive, overwhelmed with the fact that he was so close to you again.
“I thought we already agreed that I’m an idiot.” He joked and sat back on his knees, pushing your thighs apart with his hands. The only thing keeping you covered were your panties that were sticking onto you like a second skin and it was driving him insane.
“Let me keep reminding you then.” You smirked and sat up on your elbows, lifting your hips from the bed to meet his. “Break my heart again and I’ll cut off your dick, and this time I sincerely mean it my love.” He shuddered, your menacing words filled with possibilities and hope. Hope that after tonight you and him could start over again.
“Have I ever told you how much you actually scare me?” He tilted his head with curiosity, pushing your panties to the side. His mouth watering when he felt how truly wet you were for him. He wanted you in every single way possible. To drink you up like sweet honey dew juice. If he wasn’t so impatient he would’ve buried his face in between your legs, until you were cumming on his tongue.
“Once or twice.” You lifted your hips as he slid your panties down your legs. He threw them to the side giving your hip a light kiss. “Maybe more than three times.” You gasped as he pushed two of his fingers inside of you.
His eyes catching sight the other miniscule stick n poke tattoo he had given you after graduation. This time it was a beautiful cursive ‘y’ adorning the skin of your mound, the adrenaline along with the alcohol that was running through both of your veins that night, had numbed you out enough to have you lying still, giggling at his concentration instead of screaming out in pain.
He moved his fingers, his cock aching to be freed from it’s constraints. He was so painfully hard, aching to be buried inside of you. “I think I told you more than that.” He curled his fingers, hitting the mushy spot inside of you making you gasp.
“Yoongi, whatever, just please get inside of me before I kick you out.” You arched your back, lifting your hips as his fingers slowly teased you, opening you up for him. You hadn’t been fucked in such a long time. In fact, the last person you had sex with you was the one teasing you right now.
He huffed rolling his eyes and took out his fingers. “Stop threatening me like that.” He said, bringing his fingers up to your mouth, painting your lips with your arousal. “It hurts my feelings.”
“Then hurry up.” Your fingers reached over playing with the button of his pants, popping it open as you eyed him through lust filled hooded eyes, “We can play more another day, right now I need you inside of me before I die.” You pleaded. His eyes got wide, his mind ran faster than usual, making sure he had heard you right.
Another time, you had said. He had heard you right. His hearing wasn’t as bad as he claims it to be, especially when it came to you and anything that leaves your mouth. He nodded and helped you push his pants along with his boxers down his legs. He kicked them away. A low moan escaped his lips when he felt your delicate hand wrap around his hard cock. Your thumb running over his red tip, spreading around the precum.
“Do you have a condom?” He asked in a choked whisper as he tried his hardest not to cum in your hand.
You shook your head no, a pout forming on your lips, “I don’t, I thought you would have one.” You kissed his chest lightly as you kept moving your hand around him. “I’m still on the pill though.” You pulled away and looked up at him giving him a knowing wink.
He swallowed and pushed you softly, laying you down. “Honestly, I didn’t think this would ever happen again so I didn’t bring anything.”
Your hand around him fell to your side as he climbed over you slowly. “Tell me if it hurts okay, I’ll stop.” He reassured before aligning himself up at your entrance. He ran the tip of his cock over your pussy gathering your essence before pushing himself in.
“Y-Yoongi, oh my g-god, f-fuck.” You arched your back, digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders. You felt so deliciously good around him, your name falling out of his lips like a silent prayer.
He buried his face into your neck, planting open mouthed down your neck, biting down lightly when he felt you clench around him. “Can I keep going?” He mumbled. “I need to feel all of you.”
“Yes, please Yoongi please.” You gasped when you felt him bottoming out inside of you. The pleasure was mind numbing. Your pussy stretching over his cock after such a long time was otherworldly.
His hands found yours and he intertwined your fingers with his, placing your arms above your head as he started thrusting into you slowly. His eyes burning into yours, refusing to let your gaze go.
Nothing was heard, except for skin slapping against skin. His low grunts combining with your loud moans as he fucked into you faster. The sound of your wet pussy motivating him to continue his ministries. Neither of you were sure how much time had passed, the only thing that mattered was the desperate chase of your highs.
“Make me cum please.” You pleaded over and over again, as he pistoned his hips into you faster and harder. The knot forming against the pit of your stomach. You kept clenching around him and he knew you were close to the edge. He was too, he could feel the tightness of his balls as his thrusts became sloppy.
“B-Baby, I’m close.” He bit down on your neck as you arched your back, your nipples brushing against his lightly.
You dug your nails into his knuckles, raising your hips to meet his desperate thrusts. “Me too, I’m so close.” You gasped as he rolled his hips into yours. The change of rhythm had you screaming out in pleasure.
He let go of one of your hands, not wasting a second in finding your swollen clit, rubbing fast circles against it with his thumb, “Gonna cum around me my angel, gonna let me paint your walls white.” He panted, his sweaty bangs falling over his eyes. He looked like a greek God, Adonis himself.
“F-Fuck yes Yoongi, fuck I-I’m coming.” You choked out, the pressure at the pit of your stomach finally breaking. Your pussy fluttering around him, your orgasm taking over your body in pleasure filled spasms.
Yoongi pushes into you harder, his thumb working against your clit as you ride out your high beneath him. Seeing you so fucked out was enough to tether over the edge, in a silent moan, his own orgasm taking over his body, painting your walls with his sticky substance, filling you up to the brink. “G-God, I love you.” He said after he had somewhat composed himself.
You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into your body. You didn’t want him to move yet, “I love you too Yoongi.” You whispered leaving innocent pecks against his jawline. He chuckled laying his head against your chest. You brushed his hair away from his face. Both of your chests heaving at the same time, as you tried to catch your breaths.
“Was that okay?” He spoke after a long moment of silence. He rested his chin against your chest looking at you through worrisome eyes. “You don’t hate me anymore right?”
“I never did.” You smiled, making his heart sore, “It was perfect, I missed you...a lot” You added kissing his nose.
“I missed you too, maybe a little too much if I’m being honest. I really am sorry angel.” He cuddled into you further, feeling himself grow soft inside of you. You felt his arousal along with yours slide down your legs and you had to hold back from begging him to take you again and again.
“I know just don’t do it again.”
“I’d be actually crazy if I did.”
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Oh, what am I supposed to do without you
Loki x daughter!reader
Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.
A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.
Master list
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The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.
As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head.
“What am I supposed to do without you”
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Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.
Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.
It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved.
Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why?
Because she has her mothers eyes.
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“Loki”
“Get out”
“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”
“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”
Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming.
“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”
“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”
“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”
“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother.
Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair.
“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months.
His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him.
“My lord, you--”
“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child
**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”
Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”
Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**
The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth.
She would have loved it.
He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there.
“The babe is with your mother my lord.”
He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.
“And where is my mother” He asked
“In-in the dining hal--”
He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.
*** “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”
“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”
Her laughter reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”
“Oh? and what is that ?”
“Love” ***
“oki--”
Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes.
“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”
“I wish I can say the same.”
Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of.
“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”
Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence.
“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.
“It?”
“The child.”
“Oh brother, Y/n is--”
“Y/n?”
That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.
*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting.
“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine.
Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.
“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.”
Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table.
“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!” Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,”
“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it. He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”
Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”
Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”
Loki smiles as his love beams at him.
“Thank you father.”**
They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part.
Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound.
Thor walks up to him with the baby.
“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”
He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child.
Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well.
No, this was not his child. Not anymore.
“Get rid of it.”
Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga.
“Loki you cannot be serious.”
“Brother..”
“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.”
And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.
He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.
“What am I supposed to do without you”
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CAN U DO THR REST OF BTS AS DADS PLS I NEED IT FOR MY SOUL
oh i absolutely can, my dearest!
cw // pregnancy, babies, general fluffiness :]
kim seokjin:
obsessed with your pregnancy glow. he literally stares at you 24/7 to the point where it’s almost creepy
“jin, you’re staring again.” “i know, i can’t help it”
is disgusted with your weird cravings but will make whatever you ask of him, even if the pickles and marshmallow combination makes him nauseous
very very emotional during your entire pregnancy. you’d think HE was the one who was pregnant
watery eyed during every ultrasound appointment
cried so hard he almost gagged when he first heard the heartbeat
and when you found out you were having a little boy? mans almost passed the fuck out
the first person he told the gender to was jungkook who also cried with him and kept a copy of the ultrasound photo in his wallet
at this point, you’re basically the 8th member of the group. the boys treat you like family
jimin always wants to feel your tummy and when he first felt the baby kick, he was weirded out that you could see it but loved the feeling. hes always shopping for maternity clothes with you and makes sure you know you’re a bad bitch even though it looks like you swallowed a watermelon
taehyung is always taking super cute pictures of you and your bump and just super cute photos of you and jin and the boys and he makes a scrapbook for you and jin as a gift after your son is born
namjoon loves to ask a bunch of questions about your pregnancy and buys jin one of those pregnancy books but ends up reading it himself. he’s also always buying cute baby stuff he sees. you literally have a never ending supply of baby clothes and toys bc joon has no self control
hoseok likes to do prenatal yoga with you and is always looking up new moves to try or ways to relieve some of your aches and pains. is also always down to rub your shoulders and takes you on walks all the time
yoongi is such an enabler and is always indulging your cravings when jin isn’t around. if you’re craving anything at any hour, just let him know and boom he’s at your house with multiple takeout bags and in his comfiest pajamas, ready to pig out and watch netflix
and jungkook is the most excited about the baby, aside from jin (he actually might be more excited than jin). he’s at your house all the time. the spare room at your house is practically his now. he loves to feel the baby kick and talks to your tummy whenever he can. the two of you get so close during your pregnancy he’s basically your baby brother at this point. he’s also asks the sweetest questions about the baby and your pregnancy all the time
“noona, do you think the baby will recognize my voice when he comes out?”
“noona, can i come to your lamaze class with you? i wanna help out too!”
GRRRR he’s the cutest ever . anyways-
jin is singing to your belly all the time. not a night goes by where he isn’t singing some sort of lullaby or something. even if it’s just over the phone
will definitely put a pair of headphones over your belly so your son can listen to bts
“babe, he probably won’t even remember this when he comes out” “no no no, he knows his appa’s voice!”
once you go into labor, he’s freaking the fuck out. he’s more scared than you are.
you gotta call yoongi to drive you two to the hospital bc he’s the most calm and jin is about to pass out again
he let’s you squeeze his hand as hard as you need to while pushing
and when he hears your sons first cry, he cries too. the nurses are kinda concerned bc he sounds like a dying donkey but it’s kinda endearing.
he’s so scared to hold him because he’s so much smaller than he could’ve imagined and he’s just so fragile
feels his heart grow 100 sizes while watching you hold your son for the first time
immediately sends pictures to the group chat he has with the boys
“5lbs 6oz, kim daeshim, born at 5:47 pm!!!!”
kookie is the first to reply with a bunch of crying emojis and hearts and asks when he can come see his joka (nephew)
eventually they all trickle in throughout the day, admiring how quiet and tiny your son is
jungkook is the first to hold him and he definitely cries a little bit bc he’s just so happy for the two of you
“yah, he’s so beautiful. are you sure he’s yours, hyung?” “fuck off, yoongi.”
he’s so scared to bring him home but is very relieved to be out of the hospital
he drives so slow the entire way home
loves watching you breastfeed in a non-sexual way. he’s just so enamored with how your body works
just watching you be a mother makes him so inexplicably happy!
he’s already for another one but won’t tell you yet
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The Thought Of Losing You
Word Count: 2,507
Status: Not Requested!
Fandom: Lethal Weapon 1987 {1}
A/N: This follows sort of around the ending of the first Lethal Weapon film where both Riggs, Murtaugh, and Rianne were being tortured in separate ways. I know it sounds brutal, but trust me, it isn't that bad. AND! Happy ending! (Spent all night on this!)
Relationship: Martin Riggs x Reader
Summary: When a team is formed, Roger Murtaugh and Martin Riggs are solidified together once Y/N is added to the mix, squeezing in perfectly. Although very fiery and stubborn at heart, childish games and teasing became common place for sergeant Y/N and Martin, unable to let the other out-trash their own trash talk. But, when there is a complication during the final breakthrough of the whereabouts of the heroin-trafficking cartel, Y/N is separated from the duo. Only coming together when a kidnapping sends her in a desperate spiral trying to save the people she loves, especially Riggs.
Warnings: violent themes, kidnap, manipulation, torture, violence, language, attempted!self-surrender/suicide, 18+ audience suggested, read at own risk
Masterlist Lethal Weapon Masterlist
Prompts: #67, #68, #100 (from this list @palettes-and-prompts) & #6, #8, #17 (from this list @waiting-for-motivation)
{I do not own any of the prompts, credits to original owners above, nor do I own the gif below -> @leofromthedark}
Strolling around to the back of the supposed drug dealer's extravagant condo, Murtaugh, Riggs, and I engage in light conversation, silently noting and observing our surroundings. Stopping just near the edge of the rather expensive-looking below ground pool, Murtaugh and Riggs catch sight of two brunette women inside. Rolling my eyes, I expect Riggs to do something flirtatious, a painstakingly common reaction to almost every woman he lays eyes on. Every woman... except me. Yet, I pay no mind, Riggs' crazy nature probably too much for me to handle anyway.
Murtaugh flashes his gun, indicating to the women that he is armed. In a flash of a second, just merely after he had shown his weapon, the women duck and run from within the glass-paned wall, just in time for a man to blast a shot from behind. More specifically, the source being a shed occupying the space on the opposite side of the pool we resided on, destroying bits of its siding from the sheer distance and voracity of his attempt of subduing at least one of us.
But, we came prepared, although we were slightly taken aback, Murtaugh's swift abilities with a gun coming in handy as he lands on the drug dealer's right knee, lower thigh area. Splitting off, Murtaugh and I take either end of the pool's side, desperately trying to corral the person of interest. All the while as Riggs takes the women from in the house outside and to the nearest tree, in case of them being suspects as well, handcuffing their wrists together around the tree.
Once the task is done, Riggs hurries over to our aid, following our one, sole purpose: keeping the suspect alive for questioning.
Coming around the perimeter of the pool, Murtaugh reminds Riggs of this rule, replaying it to refresh his sometimes questionable mind. This, however, does not work in our favor as the man pulls yet another gun, this time a pistol, as Riggs had went to pull the man up.
"He's got a gun!" I scream, yet it's all in vain, as Riggs tries to act just as fast as his reflexes would've allowed, lifting the man's aimed arm as the trigger was pulled.
Yelping in surprise, I clench my teeth as the copper red liquid instantly encompasses the injured area, jerking as far away from the incident as possible.
"Y/N!" Murtaugh yells, instantly coming to my side as I go crashing to the concrete floor, catching my head and my left side as I now slowly lean into the ground below me, clutching the stinging injury to the right of my abdomen.
As Murtaugh had come to my side, Riggs took care of the suspect, unfortunately not being able to accomplish our sole purpose of being here, but overall getting rid of the threat.
"Cocksucker," he all but grunts, as he makes sure to shoot the man once more, pissed at the fact that I had gotten shot, although that fact being unbeknownst to me. "I'll call the ambulance," he all put spits out some time later, not making any attempt to check on my well being nor even making eye contact, stalking back through the side gate we had entered through.
//Some time later//
Now nestled safely and securely, I lay within the gloomy walls of the hospital, hooked up with some anesthetics and monitors, all for separate purposes. The stitches surely going to leave an awesome scar, only adding to my aggravation and exhaustion as the day finally settles and the slightest of movements constantly sending sharp pains within my whole body.
The doctors, coming in every so often, had reassured me of a discharge after the course of at least 2-4 days, only needing to ensure the proper sanitary measures are used and stitches being durable and strong without issues or tears.
Staring off at one of the four blank and colorless walls, in a daze, my ears perk up at the sound of a knock on my door, followed by Roger and Martin entering the room.
Handing me a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, I smile at Roger as he pulls a chair beside my bed, asking, "How ya' feeling, Shortie? How're they treatin' ya' here?"
Giggling at the nickname, I respond with an, "I'm doing just as good as I can I guess. It's not so bad here either. The nurses are nice, although they're all pitiful glances and meek gestures, coming in and out as quickly as possible. I guess bullet wounds aren't their preferred cases?" I joke lightly, trying to lighten the tension in the room.
Roger catches on instantly, having caught wind on Martin's rather uncharacteristically quiet sulking in the far corner of the room. Turning to look at him briefly, he all but shrugs at me as he comes up with no response or solution to his partner's unknown issue.
Checking the time, I make up an excuse, assuming Riggs just didn't want to be here maybe? "Damn, look at the time...It's almost 9 pm guys, don't wanna be late for Trish's cooking do ya'?"
"Shit, really? Come on Riggs, you know the ass whoopin' I'm gonna get? Let's go, minus well feed you too, huh?" Murtaugh says, getting his coat and squeezing my shoulder, giving me a sympathetic look that I swipe away quickly. Riggs just gets up, side-eyeing me once quickly, but above all, ignores my presence and leaves the room. With one final look from Rog, he shuts the door, leaving me to my boredom for the remainder of my stay.
//Some time later//
Having been discharged, Roger had caught me up on the recent news, and how they had left to finish the job a day before I had gotten out of the hospital, that being yesterday evening, and it now being a full 24 hours of no communication from them.
This had struck me as odd, given that they were very advanced in their fields. Finding the whereabouts was the last big hump of every mission, the rest supposedly coming easy. This had all changed as soon as I had stepped foot onto my front porch, a not left hanging slightly within the pocket of my mailbox.
The words shocking me to the core;
"Come to xxxxxxxxxx if you want to save your partners. 8 o'clock. Sharp."
Rushing to my car, I waste no time, pulling out of the driveway and to the given destination, the time being almost too close to the deadline as I preferred it to be.
Once outside of the destination, an old, run-down warehouse stands gloomily in front of me as I slip my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Another, tucked against my ankle within my boots.
I move quietly, staying alert as I enter the warehouse quietly, instantly hit with the cries of what could only belong to Riggs, my heart wrenching. A new feeling that I instantly push aside. Following the pained screams, inching closer to the source, I catch wind of yet another's set of booming cries as well, recognizing it as Murtaugh.
With this new set of knowledge, my heart does another painful flip, as the sheer terror now courses through my veins as if it was my blood. They were the toughest men I had ever known. At least that is how I had always felt, how I feel right now, but with their pained screams, it makes me feel utterly hopeless.
Drawing my gun, I aim it before me, right beside the wall I hide on, lining it up around the corner, my full intention at being able to at least shoot down one of the three men guarding one of my teammates; their identity unknown to me at the moment with the unfortunate dimness.
Taking the shot, I hit one man, the two now swinging to guard the area, looking my direction. The man held captured, Riggs, tied to the ceiling, consistently doused in water, making the homemade shock therapy increasingly unbearable with multiple relentless blows.
"Come out now, Little Rabbit, or I pull the trigger," a booming voice commands, me now peeking out from the corner to see none other than Mr. Joshua, the man we've been after, pressing a firm gun to Riggs' limp form.
Coming out from my hiding space, Joshua motions for his goons to grab me, now taking Riggs off the hook, and into another room. The room we are led to happens to be the room Murtaugh is in, his daughter beside him, both incarcerated and handcuffed. Moving Riggs to the chair beside the pair, he is tied down just as I am, the four of us now completely helpless.
Mr. Joshua, confident and prideful of his work, moves Riggs to the center of the room, starting his interrogation, answering with beatings and threats here and there. The cause: the information given by Hunsaker on his heroin-trafficking cartel.
Just as Joshua leaves yet another powerful blow, Riggs' strength starts to run low, just watching him making me squirm in my chair, wanting nothing but to take him in my arms and drag him as far away from here as possible.
"If you have to kill one of us, kill me. Take me instead, please? Just stop! Stop all of this now," I say breathlessly, doing anything in my will to get their hands off of Riggs.
"What would I want with someone as pathetic as you?" Mr. Joshua answers bitterly.
"Information. That's all you want right? You just want details about the business, you went through all this trouble, and for what? Just to kill us in the end? I know your type. You can't get off without getting what you want, and this would've all gone to waste without it," I respond, determined now.
"So, what do you want? To strike a deal?" I nod. "So, if I let them go, you'll give me what I want?" I nod again.
"Y/N no," Riggs says, now worried about what you're going up against.
"Shut it," Joshua states strictly.
"Y/N, listen to Riggs! You can't do this!" Murtaugh adds, now borderline terrified as everyone in this room is filled with the most important people in his life, all threatened with the only thing that could take them all away: death.
"SHUT IT!" Joshua all but screams now. "Fine. I'll take you up on your little deal. However, you fuck with me, I'm killing them."
"I don't agree with you unless you cut them loose right now, and I am assured that they are out of this building," I say confidently, yet shaking with fear.
He nods his agreement, showing a security camera view from one of his computers, watching as Rianne, Roger, and Martin are all led back outside, handcuffs removed, and all moved into my car, them pulling away from the warehouse.
Pulling the computer's view away from me now, he turns to me sharply, my gaze turning upward as my arms are still strapped behind my back, behind the chair. "Now," he starts, the voice strict like a parent beginning to question a toddler, "The information. What did Hunsaker tell you?"
Taking a breath in through my nose, I exhale through my mouth as I ponder my response, "Just as much as he's told you."
With this, Mr. Joshua lets out a scream, landing a punch to the jaw, my body leaning in on the stitches. Taking notice to my sharp intake of breath from the movement, Joshua uses that to his advantage, grabbing a knife, lifting my shirt, and pressing the cool metal along the line of handiwork. The only thing keeping my skin together at the moment.
"Let's try this again, what information did you receive from Hunsaker?"
"I told you. I. Don't. Know."
"Bullshit!" He digs into the skin, smirking at the cry of agony and shaking engulf my body.
"I-I don't know anymore than you do! Please! He was killed before we got anything from him!"
"Bullshit," he answers playfully now, dragging the blade of the knife wherever he pleases now, enjoying my pleads.
As he opens up my stitched bullet wound, he goes to start at another spot, the attempt being short-lived as a bullet wound of his own goes through his skull, the source standing in the doorway alongside Murtaugh with Rianne tucked under her father's arm.
Crying now, I sigh in relief as Riggs rushes to me, cutting me loose and lifting my limp body. Carrying me to the car, we make our way to the hospital once more.
During the wait and multiple switching of rooms, Riggs stays, waiting for me, only getting up once I emerge from the exit, patched up and clean. He smirks at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leading me to Rog's car, taking us to the only place we find comfort; his house.
//Some time later//
Getting settled in at the Murtaugh residence, Riggs and I share Rianne's room, which was so generously offered as one of the youngest decide to have a sleepover with her.
Looking over at Riggs, he looks at me, covered in open cuts and bruises, dirt and grime, and, taking a first aid kit from Rianne's desk, I make it my priority to get them fixed up.
"What are you doing?" Riggs asks, tiredly amused.
"Taking care of you, it's the least I can do," I reply determined once again.
"Awww! Someone's got a little crush on me huh?"
"Hey! When I finish patching you up, I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass for making me worry about you," I say jokingly. Riggs replying by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer.
Locking eyes on one another now, I couldn't help but joke once more, adding a sly, "Is this the moment that we kiss?"
Giggling, he looks down, placing his head on my chest, murmuring, "I think I'm in love with you and I don't know what to do. I mean, I've been married before, and I- I lost her and I don't wanna lose you too- I couldn't live if you go too, I-"
Grabbing his chin, I tilt his head upwards to meet my gaze, "Look at me, Riggs. Look at me. I love you."
Eyes watering, he leans in for a kiss, my hands finding way to his hair, while his pull my hips into his lap, wrapping lightly around them. After leaning back for air, we giggle once more, leaning our foreheads against one another.
"I never want to ever feel the fear of the thought of losing you again, okay? So don't be a dumbass, Dumbass."
"Yeah, yeah," Riggs answers once more, leaning in for another kiss.
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