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#I’m still not over an actual middle aged person trying to start shit with me
justagalwhowrites · 21 days
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TikTok Trend
Beautiful decides to take part in a TikTok Trend with Joel. A New in Town drabble.
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^We're borrowing Mr. Ben for a late-40s Joel, OK? I desperately need more gifs of Pedro's Joel from that era, I'm too reliant on other characters and actual Pedro gifs for these fics GIVE ME SOMETHING PLEASE
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from New in Town
Warnings: Not much! Age gap but not the focus of the fic (reader is 36, Joel is 48). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only.
Length: 1.4k
A/N: I got stuck thinking earlier how Joel would react to the "call your boyfriend your husband" trend and this is how I think it'd go. This is set about 3 months before the last chapter of New in Town. This can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's best friend and Joel and Reader have an established relationship of about a year.
“So what’s this for again?” Joel asked as he sat down at the picnic table in the park. 
“It’s a TikTok challenge,” you said, settling in beside him. Joel opened the paper bag the two of you had just gotten from a food truck and started taking out the tacos, putting some in front of you and him. 
“Right,” he said. “And… I’m sorry, baby, but what’s the point?” 
You laughed as you set your phone against your water bottle so it was propped up and ready to film. 
“There isn’t really one, I guess,” you said. “It’s just a fun little video you make and then share. Those interns I have until May are all about it, they were showing me some of theirs the other day. Figure if I work in marketing, I gotta keep up with the trends!” 
Joel smiled a little. 
“So this is the kind of shit Sarah does, huh?” 
“Yeah, she does,” you laughed again. “Her and the interns made one for the company social page the other day, actually.” 
“Can I see?” He asked, interest suddenly piqued. 
“Sure,” you picked your phone back up and found your company’s TikTok, scrolling to the video and handing it off to Joel. 
“We work in marketing, of course we over analyze every ad we see,” Sarah said through your phone, a small smile on Joel’s face as he watched. 
It made you smile, too. One of the fun parts about being in the strange middle ground between your boyfriend’s and best friend’s ages was serving as a bit of a translator between them. Joel still didn’t quite get TikTok. Sarah didn’t understand why her dad refused to go all in on streaming and still had cable. You, at least, could see both sides. 
But this TikTok effort had nothing to do with Sarah. You did try to keep up with the trends on social media to better craft campaigns and content - capitalizing on trends meant that you had to move quick and you couldn’t afford to be out of touch - but your personal TikTok account was mostly empty. It was pretty private, anyway, shared with only a few close friends like Sarah and Maria. All it had were a few reposts of things you liked, some montages of video snippets from you and Joel’s first vacation together, that sort of thing. 
“You should do some of the trends!” Jason, one of your interns, said earlier that day. 
“Just being in the loop on trends is plenty for me,” you waved him off but smiled. “I don’t need to participate.” 
“But it’s fun!” Kenzie, your other intern said. “They’re not all dances and stuff, you know…” 
“I know,” you said. “But it’s just not what I want to spend a lot of time doing is all.” 
“Some don’t take much time,” she said, opening her phone and scrolling for a second. “Here, this one’s easy. You said you have a boyfriend, right?” 
“I do…” 
“Cool,” she said. “So all you do is record yourself making a video where you call your boyfriend your husband, just to see how he reacts. No crazy edits or anything, it’s super easy.” 
You caved after some light convincing and came up with a plan to get Joel in front of the camera. You told him it was a spicy food challenge, just to see which of you handled the heat better and, while you knew he wouldn’t really get the point, you knew he’d be supportive. He always was. 
But there was something about this trend in particular that made you a little nervous. It’s not like the two of you hadn’t discussed marriage. You’d been together a year now, you’d just moved into his house. It had definitely come up. But it had come up in the way that far off things do, something that might happen some day if things fell into place in just the right way. You didn’t want to push it, didn’t want him to feel rushed or obligated, especially since you’d only been cohabitating about a month. Bringing up marriage - even like this - made you nervous. 
“OK I think I get it,” Joel handed you your phone back after watching Sarah’s video twice. “But we’re not doin’ that same thing, right?” 
“Nope,” you said. “We’re going to see who handles the spice better.” 
“Think we both know which one of us is gonna win that one, Beautiful,” he teased, nuzzling his nose against your temple before kissing your cheek. “Us southern men are made of sterner stuff…” 
“Yeah yeah,” you rolled your eyes but smiled, leaning close to him. “We’ll just see about that.” 
You set your phone up to record again, propping it against your water bottle. 
“Here, you gotta get in close because the TikTok format is vertical,” you said and Joel adjusted so you were half beside and half in front of him, his arm going around your waist, hand finding your hip, thumb slipping up below your shirt to find your bare flesh above the band of your pants and brushing you slowly, sensually there. You gave him a look. 
“What?” He asked, brows raised, smile barely contained. 
“Don’t act all innocent,” you shook your head. “You know exactly what you’re doing…” 
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s make your little TikTik video…” 
“TikTok,” you rolled your eyes but adjusted yourself, your heart pounding. 
“Whatever the kids are using now,” he said. “Because the sooner we’re done the sooner I can get you home…” 
“Alright, I’m going to record,” you cut him off. “Behave yourself!” 
“Always do, Beautiful.” 
You rolled your eyes again but took a deep breath, leaned forward and pressed record. 
“Hi everyone,” you smiled, watching the recording of you and Joel as it was made on the screen. “I’m here with my husband and we’re going to do the spicy food challenge…”
“Your what?” He cut you off and you turned so you could see him a little better. 
“What?” 
“Did…” he paused, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were losing it or he was. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad. “Did you just call me your husband?” 
“Yeah,” you shrugged, turning back to the camera. “Anyway, my husband and I both really love spicy food and…” 
You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence. Joel grabbed your chin almost roughly, pulling you around to face him and all but crushed his lips against yours, clutching you close, kissing you deep and hard, like he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally let you go, you looked at him and laughed a little, watching him. 
“What was that for?” You asked. 
“You wanna call me your husband?” He asked, a serious look on his face. “Beautiful, we will go to the courthouse right this damn second, don’t tempt me…” 
“Joel, it’s 7 p.m.,” you laughed. “The courthouse is closed.” 
“Don’t care,” he said, giving you a quicker kiss this time. “C’mon, we’ll grab Sarah on the way, see if Tommy wants to meet us…” 
“That’s all it takes, hm?” You teased, heart pounding but for a good reason now. “Just me slipping up and calling you my husband and you’re ready to run down the aisle?” 
“Baby, I’ve been ready to run down the aisle for about a year,” he pressed his forehead to yours. “Just been waitin’ on you to catch up.” 
“Well,” you kissed him softly. “I’m more than caught up. But think I’m still gonna make you ask.” 
“Good luck stopping me,” he said, kissing you again, longer this time, needier, until you pulled away with a groan. “Forget this food challenge, I gotta get you home and devour you. Let’s go, wife.” 
You laughed and stopped the recording on your phone, saving the video to drafts as Joel gathered up the food. You made the mental note to edit out that last part before posting, no need for the interns or Sarah to know quite that much about your sex life. 
“Sorry for ruining your little video,” he said as you started back toward the car. “We can try again later, promise to actually behave myself then…” 
“That’s alright,” you smiled, lacing your fingers with his. “I already got everything I need.”
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jawz · 3 months
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i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way my ethnicity affected the way i was gendered as a child, my drive to transition, and even my detransition…
as a hispanic growing up with my white mom and white stepdad and white brother and white extended family in scandinavian hell (minnesota), i always felt different, always felt wrong. (my parents divorced as a baby, and my dad and his family, cuban and italian, all live in florida.) my neighborhood wasn’t so bad; it was way more diverse than the metro area itself. growing up i had mixed friends, i had friends with curly hair… but us trailer park kids were only a fraction of the population of our schools and district. a sea of blonde hair. there were times in elementary school i would literally pray to god to make my hair straight, make my eyes blue. grown-ups touched my hair and always asked “is it naturally curly?”. my classmates urged me to straighten it and by age 13 it was part of my ridiculously time-consuming “feminizing” beauty rituals.
much earlier, by the age of 8 or 9, i already had thick, dark hair growing on my legs. other kids, boys and girls alike, called me “gorilla girl”, faked gagging when i wore shorts, insisted i was actually a boy. that one became more and more common as i came into my personality: bold, class clown, competitive with the boys. (always wanting to charm the girls, but i didn’t recognize that back then.)
my mustache was there by 8, as well. just a little peach fuzz above my lip but dark enough to notice. are you even a girl? my mom would spread wax over her own face and soon began waxing my stache as well. it hurt so badly. i put up with it because she said it would make the kids stop teasing me. of course i was a girl- she was a woman and she had peach fuzz too!… but i felt self-conscious at the fact that my body hair was so much more noticeable, even as a child. my mother’s hair is very thin, straight, lighter brown; her complexion is warmer than mine, pink where mine is olive, green and yellow. i worried you could see the strands about to burst through. i was worried that to be a girl- a woman- i must hide parts of myself every day. i must cover the shoots of grass, the weeds that reveal that i’m not fit for society, that whisper i’m wild and untamed.
it wasn’t actually until i was 18 at least that i actually started to consider myself latino. i had sometimes said ‘hispanic’ growing up, as that’s what my family in florida called themselves; they referred to themselves as “spanish”, which i found out was not quite true after compiling my family tree and discovering that those ancestors emigrated from havana. in their minds they were white: “descended from spanish royalty” (as if!!)… i had spent my youth constantly trying to claim solely whiteness, confused as to why everyone was asking me “are you mexican?” “are you jewish?” “are you middle eastern?” - even though inside i think i knew. i knew my family didn’t look like me. i resented my surname being changed to Lind when i was five, my stepdad’s name, in order to give me the same name as the rest of them. despite my apparent envy of swedes and norwegians i knew it wasn’t my name; i still stood out terribly. i glared at myself in the mirror every day, i never could move past how the kids at school said my eyes were the color of shit, that my hair looked like pubes, that i must have had a sex change without being told because that would explain the mustache, the aggression…
by the time i was fourteen i was entirely primed to accept an alternative explanation to what was “wrong” with me. my sexuality was becoming more and more apparent but before i could ever come out as lesbian or even bi, i had discovered what it meant to be trans. i was so immediately certain that this was the key, THIS was why everyone said i didn’t fit in, THIS was why my behavior wasn’t girly, THIS was why i wanted to date girls. it was 2011, still deep in the “brain sex” era of the trans community, and i was sure without a shadow of a doubt that i was physically female, mentally male. all that needed to be done was to “correct” my body and bring it in line with my brain. despite the fact that very few people knew what transition actually was back then, i genuinely assumed it would make sense to everyone else, too: they had told me i wasn’t ‘really’ a girl so many times i had no trouble believing it.
transition, of course, did not suddenly de-latinize me LOL. first i became a total Other, outside of both the minnesotan ethnic norms and the gender+sex norms; eventually, with hormones and surgery at a very young age, i was able to pass as a boy, but by the time i could grow actual full-on facial hair, i realized i was still the pan-latin american enigma to people around me. multiple times someone would call me “sanchez” as some sort of attempted insult or joke. police looked at me differently than they had before. shop owners followed me, accused me of shoplifting. and sometimes, the white girls i dated told me that i was way cooler than all the boring white boys they knew. one girl even called me “exotic” to my face. it was, apparently, a compliment.
when i was 21 i heard that my girlfriend had referred to me to others as “a POC who identifies as white”. it felt as though she didn’t even know me at all. i’d never claimed either of those things to her.
moving to the west coast (socal specifically, where being latino/a is not considered ‘abnormal’) illuminated a lot of the bizarre and unnatural racial expectations of my midwest upbringing; i think by this point i was beginning to realize what so many things from my childhood had meant. that they weren’t really saying i was a boy. they were saying we don’t like girls who look like you, and we’d rather not have you included in our category.
it took me another three years to fully reckon with this. by the time i decided to detransition i had a much better understanding of the circumstances of my life; conversations with close friends who are also latina and have walked similar paths to me, heard similar insults, similar “compliments”, opened my eyes to the fact that i was not alone. i no longer feel weird for thinking the race/ethnicity boxes on government forms are hopelessly reductive. i know who i am and who i am not.
(around this time, i happened upon some old pictures of my dad’s side of the family. beautiful and glamorous women: adela, my uncle’s mother, the piano player; melanie, my aunt, the wife, hostess, and addict; lauren and andrea, my cousins, the restauranteurs; stella, my dad’s mamma, the widow and matriarch. and on all their faces, thick dark eyebrows, and, yes, that ever-familiar peach fuzz. i swear it healed something in my soul. despite my lack of beauty and glamor, we are not so different after all.)
that’s not to say all things are easy now. i’ve spent three years living as a GNC woman and if that wasn’t enough to confirm most all of my hypotheses on people’s perceptions of me, i don’t know what is.
detrans spaces (like most trans spaces) are overwhelmingly white- or at least that’s who dominates conversation. i see SO much downplaying of the things that naturally hairy women go through societally. i see trans allies who purport to be “okay” with detransitioners, saying “what’s the big deal? if you took testosterone you can just go off it and get laser hair removal!! :)” as if laser isn’t expensive as hell, painful as hell, and also WAY more of a process for a woman with dark curly hair than it is for one with straight blonde hair lmfao!!! i see detrans women obsessed with removing all traces of hair from their bodies (even though most of them clearly don’t have a neverending five o’clock shadow like some of us do! my lower face has a constant blue-green disturbance under the surface which makes female spaces incredibly daunting) and insulting the rest of us for being ugly and hairy and making no effort to look like women or what the fuck ever. basically, a lot of people who claim to support us are just racists and essentialists and believe that sex is visual and not biological…🤨
anyway… i guess my main takeaways from all this are:
1. please stop acting like detransition is an entirely internal process and that it’s easy for all of us to be seen as our sex again (some of us like. actually transitioned and passed as the opposite sex), or that potential physical interventions aren’t incredibly invasive and difficult
2. stop assuming all transition and detransition journeys follow your own experience of lifelong whiteness and hairlessness
3. it is a distinct experience to be regularly de-gendered or denied your sex, PRIOR to ever thinking of yourself as literally trans. many trans/detrans people had this happen to us (we were once the vast majority of trans people). but many did not, and generally shock others when they begun breaking gender norms. i really think people from the second group often have trouble understanding that for the first group, changing gender expression is basically a bandaid over an abscess… we have lived entire lifetimes being denied our sex, being told our bodies are not “truly” ours, that there is someone else inside trying to break out. kicked out of the bathroom, the changing room, alienated from single-sex peer groups. transition just flips this experience and instead separates us from our preferred gender group, reinforcing the feeling that we have no place, anywhere.
race/ethnicity, being homosexual or bisexual, mental illness stigma, disability, and low economic class all play an additional role in this. stop perpetuating this and denying us our biological sex.
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shekeepswriting · 9 months
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A Little More Heart
[Syverson x Reader]
Word Count: 3977
Summary: On a night out with an old friend, Sy meets a woman who catches his interest.
Warnings: Just cursing and a little bit of alcohol
A/N: This could become a series? I’ve got little bits and pieces and some fun ideas. Let me know if you’d be interested in that. I’m new to this part of tumblr and very nervous...
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Sullivan’s was pretty barren that night, not that anyone could expect much for this late on a Thursday night. A few regulars warming their usual barstools, making conversation and laying out their woes to a characteristically haggard Billy Sullivan as he filled the pretzel and peanut bowls. A duo of middle aged women talking gratuitous shit at a table near the middle of the room with frequent smoke breaks. A  group of four guys, barely on the right side of 21, trying to boost their cool kid points by getting good at pool. One woman sitting at the end of the bar with a notebook, leaning heavily on her forearms in a way that read more fatigue than alcohol consumption. Looked like she was drinking lemonade. 
Everyone who had been there when Syverson and Danny walked in two hours earlier was still holding steady.
They’d made their way through the stages of conversation people usually had drinking with old friends. The short term catch up, funny argument over something stupid, brief foray into more emotional territory, shared memories, hypotheticals. Their night, at least, was starting to wind down. 
When Sy came back from the bathroom, Danny was staring at the woman at the bar, finger tapping idly on his glass. Having known him since he was fifteen years old, Sy knew that face very well.
“Not gonna go your way,” Sy said mildly, with a hint of a smirk.
“No? How d’you figure?” 
“She’s sitting at the very end of the bar with a notebook and pen. She didn’t come here to make friends or get hit on.” 
“She could’ve stayed home to write,” Danny argued, but his face was thoughtful as he watched you.
“We could’ve stayed home to drink.”
Danny rolled his eyes.
“Alright, take it easy. I’m not gonna harass the woman. Just gonna introduce myself. If she’s not interested, I’ll go. Not trying to be an ass.” 
“Nah, you don’t gotta try. You’re a natural.” 
Danny squinted, snatching at Sy’s glass and downing the rest of his drink in retaliation. 
“You go then. Looks like you’re running empty anyway.” 
“I don’t do that shit anymore.”
“Oh, I know it. Old man Syverson ain’t known the touch of a woman in fifty years,” Danny said, exaggerating his accent and wiping away an imaginary tear. 
“That’s enough of that now.”
“Come on, man. Look at her. Frowning and drinking alone. She’s your soulmate.” 
Sy shot him a frown, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Not drinking alone though, am I?”
“You talk to her or I will.”  
Sy gave an unconvinced grumble, but the look on Danny’s face made it clear it was no idle bluff. Now, there was nothing wrong with Danny. He wasn’t aggressive or pushy; he knew how to take no for an answer. But he’d give it a solid effort, and he was the most extroverted person Sy had ever met. 
If you were uninterested in company, the way that he was almost certain you were, it would be easier to avoid the whole process entirely. And if Sy took up the bar stool two spaces to your right, Danny wouldn’t have a clear view to know whether or not the two of you actually spoke a word to each other.
He stood up from the table with a deep sigh, making sure his annoyance over the disruption of his night was fully documented.
“Happy hunting, Captain,” Danny said with a stupid grin and a sloppy salute that had Sy rolling his eyes as he turned towards the bar.
As you noticed his approach, your shoulders tensed up, lips slightly pursed but eyes still trained on your journal. Sy gave you space, careful to only observe you through his peripheral vision as he claimed a stool a fair distance from you, leaving a buffer seat between you.
Billy approached as he sat, brought him a beer with minimal conversation.
You fidgeted, clicking your pen three times in rapid succession. 
There wasn’t much more Sy could do to set you at ease without blowing the whole operation, but he set his phone on the bartop, scrolling absently through contacts and pictures to give himself something to do, something to help you feel less observed.
Your leg started bouncing and you glanced at him, quick as humanly possible. 
There was a silent standoff for a few minutes, one Sy was trying very hard to will out of existence. But you were still tense on your barstool, expectant.
You broke first.
“No pitch, huh?”
You were looking right at him this time, fully turned to face him, eyes intense but not unfriendly. 
“Pitch?”
“You left that cozy corner table to come drink by yourself on an uncomfortable bar stool. Usually the kind of move that’s followed by an introduction, maybe some pickup lines. A pitch of some kind.”
Sy turned his head just enough to see the table he’d been sitting at out of the corner of his eye. Danny turned his head away too fast, feigning interest in the record cover art hanging on the bar walls. Idiot. 
“Saw me over there, huh?”
“I’m a woman drinking alone in a dive bar, and you are literally the largest threat in the room. Of course I saw you.”
Sy frowned.
“Not a threat to nobody.”
You raised your eyebrow, reaching out with a speed that had Sy struggling not to tense up as you looped your pen under the chain barely peeking out of the neckline of his shirt. 
“You don’t strike me as the necklace type. Military, right?”
“Retired.”
You hummed, letting the chain drop back against his skin as you retreated from his personal space.  He reached up, patting the shape of his tags as they resettled against his chest beneath his shirt. It felt strange, wearing them again. He wasn’t used to it anymore. Normally they lived in the back of the top drawer in his desk, out of sight and as far out of mind as he could manage to keep them. But anniversaries were psychologically significant. He’d learned that in therapy. So he’d decided to honor this one, the anniversary of his initial enlistment, by putting them on again. Going out with a friend from before… everything. It was why he was here. 
“Military,” you repeated quietly, your eyes back on your notebook again, still tilted out of Syverson’s view as you flipped the page, stared at the blank expanse for a moment before giving your pen two thoughtful clicks. “Always a threat.”
Sy’s stomach lurched uncomfortably.
“Not to you. Not to anyone in this bar,” he said firmly, tilting his head to add as an afterthought, “Long as they mind their fuckin manners.” 
Your mouth curved up at the corner, just the hint of a smile, the first he’d seen from you all night. Not that he’d been watching. Much. It disappeared after only a few seconds, replaced by a focused frown that traced a crease between your brows as you put pen to paper.
His eyes flicked down towards the bartop, but the cover of the notebook still shielded the page from his view. He was tempted to drop it, leave you to your work, whatever that might be. But your body language gave him pause. You had shuffled around on your stool during your brief conversation and remained that way even now, shoulders and hips pivoted slightly in his direction rather than running parallel to the bar in a position more comfortable for writing. He fiddled with the label on the bottle of beer the bartender had brought him, the corner peeling back easy under his thumb before he smoothed it back into place. 
“What’re you doing?”
You glanced up at him, flashing that little smile again, though this time it looked a little sharper, caught somewhere between self-conscious and amused.
“Chasing the muse, I guess.”
Sy raised an eyebrow, gave a neutral hum.
“Not sure I know what that means.”
“Sure you do,” you said quietly, eyes tracing thoughtfully over his face before you turned your attention back to your notebook. “It’s a pretty universal concept, I think.”
“Maybe.” He took a sip of his beer. “Just figured most people don’t come this far south looking for it. More of a New York and LA kind of thing.”
“Just because those are the places most people look for inspiration, doesn’t mean those are the only places you can find it.”
You were some kind of artist then. Interesting. 
“Can I ask what you’re looking to inspire? Or is that too personal?”
That earned him another look, something quiet and appreciative. Two quick pen clicks. 
“You can ask. I kinda want to hear you guess though.”
He looked again at your notebook. It wasn’t the tiny kind, but it wasn’t full sized either. Leatherbound or something like it, not spiral. He couldn’t see the paper to know whether it was lined or not. Could be for writing small amounts. Drawing maybe. You could even be writing song lyrics in there. He hadn’t been around enough artsy people in his life to know a damn thing about it. 
But he was observant, good at cataloging behavior, pretty decent at reading people. When he had first approached, your hand had been gliding in straight lines across the page, but now it was moving more erratically. There was something different in your glances too. Slow, almost too intense to be polite, analyzing. Maybe you were drawing him on that page you kept so carefully hidden from his gaze. Or maybe you were still deciding whether or not he was a threat to you. Sy wasn’t totally comfortable with either option, but he’d prefer to think that the current turn of the conversation was proof of you softening just a little towards him. 
He hedged his bets a little, just in case.
“Don’t see any paint on ya. That’s about the best I can do,” he said mildly.
“That was an awful lot of thinking for ‘don’t see any paint on ya,’’' you said, tilting your head. A bit too gentle to be an accusation, but you still wanted a better answer.
“Alright…” Sy shifted on his bar stool, angling towards you. “Looked like you were writing before I got here. But now you’re either scribbling or drawing. Maybe even drawing me by the way you keep looking at me. Unless you’ve got another reason to be staring like that.”
Right answer. You were smiling again, a little freer than last time.
“I’m not staring.”
He shrugged. “Studying, then.”
“I’ll take studying,” you said with a slow nod. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”
“I’ll live.”
“Of course you will, but that’s not an answer.”
“Sure isn’t,” he said, taking another drink.
His own lips curved up into a smile, almost against his will, when you laughed. Bright and open. You were fully facing him now with the kind of smile that was impossible to ignore, genuine and joyful and inescapably contagious. 
“Let’s try this then…” you said, trailing off into soft humming sounds as you added a few last hurried lines to your notebook before setting your pen down.
You ripped the page out as cleanly as you could manage and set it on the scarred bar top, giving it a little push towards him.
And it was his face looking up at him from the paper, rendered in wild pen strokes of blue ink, but no less detailed for the messy style. The close cut of his hair, sharp furrow of his brows above focused eyes, the beard that had needed trimming for two days at least. Neither unflattering nor romanticized, just honest. The way you saw him. A little intense, a little rough around the edges, but not harsh. There was kindness there somewhere in the lines of his face, but he couldn’t pin down exactly where.
Sy hummed, gestured toward your pen.
“Borrow that for a minute?”
You slid it down the bar to him with a raised brow. 
He nodded in thanks as he took it, snagging an unused napkin as well. With an excessive slowness, he sketched out his very best stick figure, looking up at you with an evaluative stare when he heard a muffled laugh. You dropped your hand from your mouth, meeting his gaze with a playful smile, tolerating the long look with amusement dancing in your eyes.
He dutifully added two dot eyes, pausing for a moment before drawing eyelashes and eyebrows, trying not to tear through the napkin. A very geometric nose followed, and a wide open smile. After another long look he added your hair, actually bothering to get the shape right since it seemed much more attainable even with his limited art skills. 
You were still smiling as you watched him sign the corner. 
“Those your initials or is that your name?” you asked, tilting your head to read the tiny letters.
“My name,” he answered, sliding the napkin and pen back to the bar space between your two stools. 
“Sy,” you said slowly, as if testing the sound of it. He smiled too, just a little, not remembering when he’d last liked the sound of his own name so much. 
“You didn’t sign yours,” he reminded you, and you squinted your eyes at him, knowing full well what he was after. 
Still, you took up the pen and signed the loose sheet of notebook paper. Probably exactly as you signed everything else: mostly illegibly. He could decipher the initials, but not much else.
You let out a snort at the unimpressed look he leveled at you. 
“Now you’re just causin’ problems on purpose.”
“It’s not my fault that you write like a caps lock keyboard and I don’t.”
He sighed. 
“And here I drew you a real pretty picture,” Sy said slowly, tapping the napkin. 
“You did,” you said with a smile. “But I’m still holding out for the pitch.” 
“I still don’t have one.”
“Come on, now,” you said, a challenging spark in your eyes. “I’ve never met a man who didn’t have a pitch. A line. A move. You’ve got something.”
“Haven’t done none of that since I was a teenager,” he said. “I’ve got no use for that shit.”
“Sure you do. Because I’m asking. And don’t tell me you haven’t flirted since you were a teenager. I don’t believe that for a second.”
Sy shifted in his seat.
“Didn’t say I never flirted. Just said I don’t use lines.” 
You rolled your eyes playfully at the distinction, resting your chin on your hand. 
“Come on now. You want to know my name, that’s the price. And I expect your best work, Sy.” 
He let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his forehead. This was about to be real fuckin embarrassing. 
“Alright. Not promising anything good, here. I only ever had two.”
“Efficient,” you said with an approving nod.
“They’re not good,” he repeated.
“But they worked?” 
“Mostly. God only knows why.”
“Stop stalling,” you said in a stage whisper.
“First one…”
“I’m ready.”
He cleared his throat, looked straight into your eyes. 
“Wanna make out later?”
Your mouth dropped open in surprise before stretching into a wide smile. 
“Oh my god,” you laughed. “I wasn’t ready.”
Sy shrugged, took a sip of his beer while you stared at him in awe.
“That worked for you?”
“Yep,” he said with a small smile. “What, you don’t appreciate honesty?”
“I… do,” you answered slowly. “Okay, I guess I see it. What’s the second one?”
“Excuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to bother you, but I can’t seem to find my phone number. Could I borrow yours?”
“You turned your accent up for that one,” you said with a delighted laugh. “Full force southern charm. My God, what a little heartbreaker you must have been!”
“Now you’re just bein’ mean,” he said, turning back away from you.
“No, I’m completely serious. I fully believe those worked for you, and now I kinda want to see pictures.”
“Now, you’ve gotten more than enough outta me for one night.”
“Fine, fine,” you sighed. 
You picked your pen back up, wrote your first name in small block letters under your artsy scribble, your best approximation of his own handwriting.
“Bullyin me,” he muttered even as he committed your name to memory.
“Imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you said breezily, laughing at the look he shot you in response.
“So, what, you’re some kind of artist then?” he asked, changing the subject. “Draw and paint and all that?”
You shook your head.
“Not really, no. That’s just for fun. I like drawing people.”
He looked at the paper again.
“Well you’re damn good at it. If that’s not the muse you’re chasin, what is?”
“Umm,” you sighed, like you were preparing to give an explanation that you’d given dozens of times before. “I write online for a magazine. It’s… kind of like a travel blog, but it’s less about the places and more about the people? Here…” 
You reached into your pocket for your phone, tapping around for a bit before handing it to him. There was a picture of you at the top, a profile view of you driving, but it was so strongly backlit by a late afternoon sun, that it left your features mostly indistinguishable. Smart. Probably safer that way. Below that, a US map covered in multicolor pins, a calendar view, with dots on days you’d posted, and finally a list of posts. Abbreviated views of each one showed a first name and city, a pen drawing like the one you’d done of him, and the first two sentences of your story. 
He nodded slowly.
“You gonna write a story about me, then?”
You fussed with your hair, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. 
“Probably not. Unless you want me to. I always ask permission first.”
“I’m sure you do. Didn’t mean nothing by it.”
You sighed again. Sy frowned.
“So what’s the problem then? Looks like there’s a lot here. Doesn’t seem like you need a lot of help.”
“I didn’t think so either,” you said with an unhappy smile. “But my editor has decided that I need to attract more dedicated readers. People who check the website every day, not just when they think to. Subscribers. And to do that, I apparently need to add a little more heart.” 
“What’s that mean?” Sy asked.
“Good fuckin question,” you said, lifting your glass as if in a toast. “I guess some sort of emotional buy-in. Something personal and specific so the readers get invested in me specifically, not just the people I talk to.”
“And that brought you down here?”
You shrugged.
“My grandma lives here. Seemed like as good a plan as any.”
“I’m sure she’s glad to see you, whether it helps with your writing or not.”
“Yeah,” you said quietly, your eyes softening. “She really is.”
“How long you think you’ll be staying?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got two weeks of posts queued up, so I bought myself at least that long before I have to figure out how to… do the emotion thing.” 
“That damn emotion thing,” Sy said, shaking his head, smiling a bit when it drew a soft laugh from you.
“Yeah…”
“Maybe I’ll see you around again then,” he ventured, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.
“It’s a tiny ass town,” you said with a smile. “So probably.” 
“You’d be okay with that?” he checked.
You laughed again, nudged his shoulder.
“Yeah, I think so. Long as you mind your fuckin manners,” you said, taking on an overplayed surly tone as you repeated his earlier comment back to him. 
“I always mind my manners,” he said matter-of-factly, glaring playfully at you when it elicited a snort from you. 
“Oh, sure you do,” you laughed, checking the time on your phone.
You took a deep breath in the companionable silence that followed, reaching down to drag your bag up from where it had been tucked safely between your feet. The napkin with Sy’s drawing curled your lips into another smile as you closed it between the pages of your notebook and stowed it in the main zipper pocket along with your pen. Your phone went back into your pocket. 
Looked like his time with you was almost up.
He leaned back on his barstool a little, glancing back at Danny who was now schooling the young guy at pool with a self-satisfied smile. 
When he returned his attention to you, you were giving him that searching look again. 
“About that time?” he asked.
“I think so, yeah,” you said. “It was nice meeting you, Sy. Sorry for giving you a hard time.”
“Nah, you’re not.”
You laughed, shrugged your shoulders.
“I’d like to think it did you some good. But seriously. I had fun talking to you. Thanks for the company.”
He nodded, gave you a smile.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“Hope so.”
You took another breath and slid off your stool. Billy came to collect your glass, mostly melted ice now, and you gave him a polite smile. 
There was a moment of hesitation, like you wanted to say something else but weren’t sure what. You settled for a little wave as you started to turn towards the door. Then it was Sy’s turn to feel it, the suddenly urgent need to say something, to drag the moment out just a little longer.
He called out your name, a plan forming in his head when you turned quickly back to him.
“Yeah?”
“Well, ‘fore you go, I figure I should ask you...”
“Ask me what?” 
If you had any idea what he was about to say, you were hiding it extremely well, just staring at him curiously, head slightly tilted and smiling softly. Almost made him change his mind. Almost.
“You wanna make out later?”
Your eyes lit up, a laugh barely kept in check, locked behind a widening smile. 
“Oh, I see. I get it now,” you said, taking a step closer. 
Sy raised his eyebrows.
“It’s the eyes that do it. You weren’t doing the eyes before.” 
“I’m not doing nothing with my eyes,” he argued, but a smile slipped free when you took another step closer. 
“Yes you are,” you laughed. “You’re smoldering.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t smolder.” 
“It’s more lighthearted than most,” you admitted. “Dare I say even playful. But it’s still a smolder.” 
He shrugged easily, eyes scanning over your face.
“Still ain’t answered my question.”
“Did you mean it?” you asked, raising your eyebrows in challenge.
“Said it, didn’t I?”
You looked him over, humming thoughtfully. He didn’t move, kept right on looking until your eyes returned to his.
“I’ll think about it and let you know,” you answered with an unreadable expression.
“And how are you gonna manage that?” he asked, spinning on the bar stool to keep his eyes on you as you moved towards the door.
You clicked your tongue, patting at your pockets with increasing concern until you finally met his eyes with a despairing frown.
“Oh God, you’re right! I totally lost my phone number. Any chance that I could borrow yours?”
Sy shook his head with a sigh, holding his hand out for your phone as you approached him again, an inescapably smug smile on your lips.
“Think you’re real cute, don’t you?” he muttered, biting at the corner of his lip to keep a smile in check.
“You certainly think so, or it wouldn’t have worked.”
He handed your phone back to you, watched you send him a wink emoji before you turned to leave again with a parting flutter of your fingers.
He shook his head again when the door closed behind you and saved your number as “Trouble.”
-----------------------------------
A/N: I’m very nervous. Please let me know what you think and if you wanna read more! Thanks for sticking with me this far
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The Tour V
Warning: swearing, smut
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This day is shit. Actually shit is an understatement for how the day is. You know you look like complete and utter crap the next day but you don’t care. Everyone stays away from you, including Colson, and to be perfectly honest with yourself, it was fucking lonely. You know that everyone is pretty wrapped up in the tour and therefore doesn’t have a whole lot of spare time to deal with your personal existential crisis but you were pretty disappointed that when everyone returned from interviews and publicity appearances, no one ventured into your room to talk. You’re still not even sure how Colson got into your room last night and it’s eating you alive.
You get a text from Ashleigh around 5:30, informing you that everyone is heading out to dinner at 6 and if you feel up to joining. You don’t even get a chance to respond before Rook comes blinding into your room.
“Seriously, how is everyone doing that?!” you screech as you rush for a pair of pants to throw on.
“Doing what?” he asks with a goofy grin and an eye roll at your reaction.
“Getting into my room without me letting them?” you kick him off your bed with a shove which just makes him roll his eyes again but he saunters over to the sofa.
“Ashleigh gets extras of everyone’s room keys in case we lose them and get locked out of our room or if we slept through our alarm.”
Wait, so Ashleigh knows Colson came in last night?
The thought terrifies you because you can’t really think of a reason as to why Colson would need to come into your room at 2am. What did he tell her to get the key without her asking questions? If there’s one thing you know about him, it’s that he’s not one for answering questions he doesn’t want to.
Or for sticking around after sex.
“What the hell is going on in that brain of yours?” Rook looks seriously concerned as he watches you stand in the middle of the room.
“I…”
You’re desperate to say the words out loud. To tell someone so you don’t feel completely alone and lost in your feelings but you’re conflicted. Rook is not only your best friend but Colson’s too. You don’t want to put him in an uncomfortable position but you worry that you may suffocate trying to keep this to yourself.
“Colson and I had sex last night and then he took off when I went to use the bathroom without so much as a thank you.”
Rook’s face drops and his skin pales. He sits there staring at you for what feels like forever. He closes his mouth and opens it so many times he genuinely looks like a fish. You need him to say something, anything!
“I’m gonna fucking kill him!” he growls, jumping to his feet and striding to the door. You quickly jump in front of him, blocking him from the door.
“No, please don’t do anything!” you beg but Rook has that murderous look in his eyes that makes you nervous.
“Get the fuck out of my way Y/N!”
“Rook,” your bottom lip quivers and his face softens slightly.
“Aw honey.”
He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to him, desperately trying to comfort you. Rook hates when you cry because it happens so rarely, he’s always unsure of how to go about it. He pulls you towards your bed and you sit next to him while he rubs circles on your back. You tell him everything. About the couch, the kiss, him coming to your room. Once you start talking it’s like word vomit. You tell him how conflicted you are, how you’re stuck between wanting to wring his neck and runaway to lick your wounds, alone.
“Has he said anything about why he’s been in such a shitty mood lately?” Rook finally says after a few moments of silence.
“That’s your takeaway from everything I just told you?” you’re completely dumbfounded and your tone conveys that clearly.
“I’m sorry it’s just you’re the first person he’s properly spent any time with in months, I thought maybe it would come up.”
“Yeah in between orgasms he told me his biggest, darkest secrets and we bonded while he braided my hair.”
“Ok, point taken! And don’t ever mention your orgasms to me again.”
You roll your eyes because sometimes you think Rook forgets you’re a woman who has sex. To him, it’s like picturing your little sister having sex. A knock on the door interrupts your banter and you stand to answer it. You’re surprised to find Colson on the other side, looking at his feet and you peer over your shoulder to see Rook visibly tense.
“Are you coming to dinner?” Colson asks, still not looking at you. You can feel the glare Rook is shooting at him because it’s boring into your back.
“I…I don’t know, I’m not that hungry.”
“Listen Y/N,” Colson finally looks up and spots Rook over your shoulder. “Oh, hey man. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I came to get her for dinner,” Rook’s voice is tight, like he’s barely managing to keep himself calm.
You look between the two of them, feeling the tension building in your chest as they stare at each other. Neither of them makes any attempt to lighten the mood and the atmosphere is physically suffocating you. You have to remind yourself to breathe and you let out a breath you were holding. Rook’s eyes twitch to your face before looking back at Colson, daggers in his eyes.
“Couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut for at least 24 hours, huh?” Colson shoots his own daggers at you and your stomach drops.
“Don’t fucking talk to her like that!” Rook is across the room and in Colson’s face in seconds.
Even though Rook is a head shorter than Colson, he could definitely hold his own in a fight. You step between the two of them, both their chests rising and falling against your shoulders as you squeeze your way into the small space they allow. Rook relaxes as you stand between them as you knew he would. He would never put you in harm's way and getting in a punch on with you so close would do exactly that.
“I’m not hungry,” you mumble to no one in particular just as Baze and Slim come to your door.
“Jesus, what the fuck is going on in here?” Baze jokes but when no one laughs, he scratches the back of his neck nervously.
“I’m not coming to dinner,” you answer him as Rook moves away. You can tell by the look on his face that he wants to stay with you and be a good friend but he’s torn because you’re sure he’s starving. “You go Rook, order a big steak for me.”
“Pfft, not like you could afford one,” Colson mutters under his breath.
Slim, Baze and Rook’s mouths all drop open. That was below the belt, even for him, especially in front of everyone. Rook looks like he wants to beat the shit out of him and Baze and Slim look like they want to hold Colson down so he can get as many hits in as possible. You square your shoulders and lift your head high as you look directly at Colson.
“Ooo, pointing out my lack of funds, real original asshole. At least if I had money, I wouldn’t waste it on alcohol, drugs and hookers. Unlike some people, I don’t need to pay to have others in my company. I get it all for free.” you punctuate each word so what you’re saying really sinks in for him.
Yeah all these people are my friends because they want to be, not because I pay their salary.
“Fuck you,” he spits at you before turning on his heels and heading back to his room, slamming the door behind him.
After your big blow up with Colson, everyone pretty much scrambled as soon as he left. Rook gave you one last hug before heading with the guys to dinner. You were completely fuming at what he’d said. Why is the money thing such a big deal to him? Is he pissed that you’re making money off him by simply being on the tour as his personal babysitter? Maybe it bothers him that the record label felt the need to hire you to keep him on track. It is kind of insulting considering he’s a grown man.
You decide it’s driving you insane just sitting around your hotel room so you decide to get ready for the concert earlier than planned. The cars aren’t leaving until 8 for a start time of 9:30 but you decide you might head to the restaurant everyone else is at for a drink. You hop in a boiling hot shower, washing your hair and shaving your legs twice to help drain some time. As you look down at your bruised breasts, your mind drifts to Colson and his lips on your skin. You hadn’t noticed until you were undressing for your shower that his fingers had left bruises on your hips from when he held you down as he ate you out. Your nipples harden at the thought and you have to push the images away.
Be mad at him.
When you get out of the shower, you blowdry your hair and run the straightener over it. You go heavier than usual on your makeup but it always makes you feel more confident when you’re all dolled up and you don’t want Colson to see how much he affects you. You wrap the towel around your body as you step out of the bathroom to pick your outfit. You stop dead when you spot a shirtless Colson lying on your bed, arms behind his back, his eyes staring at the ceiling. A cigarette hangs from his pink lips and your insides quiver.
“Why the fuck does everyone keep inviting themselves into my room?” you spit at him.
He doesn’t look at you and you fold your arms over your chest, pushing your tits up a little. His eyes zero in on that movement and you suddenly feel very self-conscious that there’s nothing but a towel between your body and his eyes.
“Only sluts wear red lipstick,” he muses, staring at your chest and your face heats with embarrassment. You square your shoulders and think of a quick retort.
“As I remember, I wasn’t exactly a saint in that bed last night.” His jaw twitches and you see a flicker of lust cross his face as he looks at you again.
Hmm interesting.
“Pretty sure I remember you moaning my name as I came all over your dick, begging me to call you daddy.”
He growls and swings his legs over the bed to face you. You stroll over to him, hips swinging, tits bouncing with every step. His hands are clenched so tight that you can see nothing but white on his knuckles. His eyes are large as he stares at you, lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling as you stand in front of him, his face directly at chest height. You see him inhale deeply and his eyes flutter. You’re enjoying this game you’re playing with him way too much to stop, even though you know you should.
“Left all those marks on my tits and my hips so I’d remember exactly who I spent the night with. Exactly who ate my pussy so well that I creamed all over his face, like the slutty sinner I am, right daddy?”
A mix between a guttural moan and a snarl erupts from his throat and his lips are on yours, slamming you against the wall. He strips the towel from your body, throwing it behind him. He presses his body to yours, rubbing his hard cock against your bare pussy. You moan into his mouth, the friction heaven on your dripping pussy. As much as you’re enjoying the feeling of being pressed up against the wall, you want to be in control. You put your hand in the centre of his chest and push with force. He stumbles back, falling back on the bed with a thump. Before he can react you’re on him, straddling him. You grind your hips down so you’re rubbing over his growing erection. You flick his jeans open, pulling his briefs down just enough to release his cock. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him. He’s so large in your hand, you’re suddenly intimidated.
How the hell did that fit last night?
You drop to your knees, licking the purple head tasting his precum. He moans your name as you swirl your tongue around. The thick veins in his dick throb as you tease him. You lick underneath from the base to the tip and back down. You take him in your mouth, sucking in your cheeks to create a deep suction. The top half of Colson’s body reels up and he stares down at you between his legs, wrapping your hair around his hand and pushing you down. You gag but push deeper until you can feel him down your throat.
“Jesus fucking Christ baby,” he whines as you bob your head up and down, creating a comfortable pace that has him panting and swearing.
You want to stop. A loud voice in your head is screaming at you to stop. The game you started has taken a completely different turn and you don’t know if you can bring yourself to follow through. The throb in your pussy is begging you to satisfy her but your ego is desperate to teach Colson a lesson. Right as he’s on the edge, the precipice just within reach as you continue to work him with your hand and your mouth, red lipstick smearing his cock, you pull away. You stand, dabbing around your mouth to clean away your saliva and fix your lipstick.
“I should probably get dressed,” you smile down at him sweetly, licking your lips to be cruel.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims and the look in his eyes is pure murder. “You’re just going to leave me throbbing for you like this?” that sentences makes your pussy quiver with desire but you tell her to calm the fuck down.
“Why give you something for free?” you call over your shoulder and disappear into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.
Take that motherfucker.
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neobubz · 8 months
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PREVIEW - full story coming soon! ★ The Tutor (SFW version XP) ★
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this is the first 7k of an over 23k story. i'm finishing this up but wanted to give everyone interested a preview. this is the sfw (safe for work) version of the story. nothing too scandalous going on... yet : ) so i hope you enjoy this and come back for the full release <3333
Word Count: approx. 7.1k
Pairing(s): fem reader x johnny (dad and high school math teacher) feat. jaehyun (as her math teacher)
Warnings: explicit language
Note: in this story Johnny and Jaehyun are the same age ^^
It wasn’t as if you didn’t try. You did everything humanly possible to turn your grades around. Studying to all hours of the night; going to the tutors on campus for help — all of which ran for the hills when they saw you coming. Even asking your bestie, Doyoung, for help, knowing full well what a pickle you were in he ‘volunteered as tribute.’ However, when he saw how truly helpless you were he forfeited and told you to change career paths.
Currently in your second year at Neo University, you were acing every class except one. One single class in which you were warned about. No one passed with flying colors, even Doyoung struggled. Doyoung, the Valedictorian when the two of you were in High School — acing his classes with flying colors in Elementary and Middle school, but when it came to this class — barely passing with a D+. This class was a different beast all together. Some girls in your dormitory actually cried when their final grades came in. Only sending shivers down your spine for the following semester where you too would find yourself in tears time and time again. 
Sadly, all of your feeble attempts only resounded in a giant letter in blood red ink, F. Again! This has been your fifth F of the semester. Thankfully completing all of the homework assignments, even the extra problems was keeping your head above water. But still, an F was not what you wanted to see. Not only that, your teacher decided to emphasize the triumph with a thick red circle. And to top it off he scribbled underneath, ‘stay after class,’ written in beautiful cursive. This was it. The talk. You were dreading this moment. Every year, every teacher from primary school to secondary has given you the talk. 
‘What is wrong?’ ‘What aren’t you understanding?’ ‘If you were struggling this much you should have asked for help!’ ‘Have you tried a private tutor?’ Groaning you let your head fall flat onto your desk. Mr. Jeong wasn’t going to be any different. He was going to say the same things you’ve heard all your life. 
At this point you were sure that Math was just a big douche who loved to shit on you time and time again – your personal kryptonite in the world. All of the functions, equations, a million fucking ways to do one single problem because some sick twisted asshole came around and said ‘hey, I’ve discovered a new method,’ only adding to everyone’s frustrations! Yeah, Math hated you and you hated it. Case closed.
When the bell rang and everyone scattered out of the classroom all too eager to leave, you stayed back, as instructed. Raising his arm and slicking back his dark brown hair — a habit Mr. Jeong had that made all the girls swoon, yourself included, he made his approach. Eyes dead set on you. Lips in a hard line, he pulled out the chair in front of you sitting down. 
“I’m guessing you know why I’ve asked you to stay back,” he starts a long tired sigh leaving him.
“I swear I’m trying!” You rush to get everything out before he even has a chance to ask you the same questions every other teacher has asked you. “I went down to the tutoring classroom. They all have decided I’m a lost cause. I even asked my friend who took your class last semester! He only looked at me like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid by the way,” you hiss surprising Mr. Jeong. A tiny smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve struggled with Math my whole life. No matter how hard I try to study I just can’t seem to grasp any of the concepts. At this point I’m pretty sure it’s my arch nemesis!”
“Why didn’t you seek my help from the very beginning?” He asks calmly.
“I don’t want to look like an idiot right off the bat! I hate being peoples’ ‘little project.’” You roll your eyes at the label you’ve been placed with since childhood.
Turning his head away Mr. Jeong covers his growing smile with the back of his hand disguising it as a cough. “Well, I for one don’t think you’re stupid.” 
“Eh?!”
“I just think you need some guidance. May I see your test?” Nodding you grab the paper from your folder sliding it to him. “Right here, you used the right equation, but made the tiniest error here,” he points with a blue pen circling the area of your mistake. Thank heavens it wasn’t a red pen. By the end of your college days red is going to be a color you would never want to see again.
Looking up at Mr. Jeong stunned you shake your head in disbelief. “S-So I just goofed?”
“Well, yes and no. Do you go over your work and double…triple check your answers?”
“I never know if I’m right or wrong and I get freaked out and second guess myself. So I just think it is what it is and hand in my paper. I promise I’ll triple, no! Quadruple check my work next time!”
“Checking your work is only half the problem. You still aren’t understanding all the equations.” He points to the problems on the second page. “These equations are all wrong. You mixed the second page equation setup with the third page. So, ultimately, they’re wrong.”
Groaning you slam your head on your desk. Mr. Jeong moving his hands away just in time before you made another blunder and crushed his fingers. “Maybe I am stupid. I’m sorry, Mr. Jeong.” 
“You’re not stupid. Please don’t call yourself that and please don’t slam your head down that hard. You’ll hurt yourself. Now, sadly, I myself am booked up solid with tutoring some of my other students. But, I do have a friend who I know can help you.”
“Really?!” You practically spring up from your seat.
“Y-Yes,” he moves away from you. “His name is Johnny Suh. He teaches Mathematics at a high school not far from here. If you don’t mind I can give him a call and see if he’s available to help you.”
“Yes! Please, Mr. Jeong! My mom is going to kill me if my grades don’t start taking a turn for the better.”
And with that you stand outside of Mr. Suh’s house, or mansion? Your head tilts to the side wondering how in the hell a high school teacher is able to live in a home that can be used in itself as a small school for kids. Checking down at the address Mr. Jeong gave you, you check to make sure you’re in the right spot. 7716 Zennie Drive. 
Shrugging you ring the doorbell and place a gentle knock on the door. After your talk with Mr. Jeong, the next day you had his class he pulled you to the side when you walked in. Having said he talked to Mr. Suh, and he was more than willing to help. 
Apparently the two went way back to their early high school days as best friends. You were told you’d be well taken care of but the only time Mr. Suh’s schedule was free was Wednesday, Friday and Saturday from 4PM to 7PM. Thankfully, you scheduled all your classes in the morning hours — your last class ending around 12PM each time, giving you ample time to eat and rest up before going to hopefully your saving grace. 
But the door remains closed. No movement. No sounds coming from inside. Checking your phone you make sure that today was in fact, Wednesday. Yep. And it is 4:14PM. Having trouble locating the home at first put you behind schedule. Yet, you’re still standing outside the massive door. 
“Mr. Suh!” You knock on the door calling his name this time. 
Stepping back you wait. Shuffling back and forth you try to focus on any signs of life coming from behind the door when a blood curdling scream comes from the other side of the house.
Jumping at the sound your hand goes to your heart. “What the —” Looking around hoping you weren’t the only one who heard the scream you find yourself alone. Great…
Reaching into your pocket you grab your keys which hold not only a rape whistle – provided so kindly of the females on campus, but a fresh new canister of pepper spray. Gripping the spray tightly in your hand you slowly make your way around the side of the house. 
“M-Mr. Suh…” you whisper. No answer. Sticking yourself to the wall of the home you make your way around the first corner only to see something you didn’t expect.
“No!” Another high-pitched scream pierces your ears.
“I’m going to get you!” An older gentleman chases after a small girl in a tutu around a massive backyard.
“No! The evil troll king!” The little girl wails. 
“Get back here with my gold!”
Blinking a few times you hope your mind is making up the scene in front of you. This is Mr. Suh?! The man in front of you appears to be around the same age as Mr. Jeong, but he is much more…he lets out such a light hearted laugh that you step away from the scene before you… handsome. 
“Fuck…” you whisper to yourself.
Mr. Jeong was already the hottest teacher on campus. Granted, not exactly your type. He held some kind of mystery behind his eyes that unsettled you the numerous times you’ve made eye contact with him. Perhaps it was a look of pity he had knowing you were bombing his class, but there was something darker and mysterious. Something in his gaze that made your stomach twist and turn. 
Many girls would gawk and stare when he’d walk across campus after his classes ended before his break. Admittedly so have you. Every time he walked it seemed as if there was a red carpet or some type of runway he was strutting down. The man was a living breathing luxury brand model! Definitely up there with the Versace or Prada models. 
Mr. Suh, gulping the saliva that was threatening to pour from your parted lips — he was a different type of handsome, and absolutely your type. Short jet black hair sticks to his forehead the longer he plays with the little girl. A loose fitted white button down shirt, with three buttons undone revealing a glimpse of his chest. Despite the loose shirt, he definitely has a broad chest and just the thought of what he looks like shirtless has your heart beating faster. You were entering dangerous waters with your gawking but you continued. Loose fitted trousers that didn’t give way to the shape of his legs but with the overall size of Mr. Suh, his physique overall just screams toned.
“U-Uh,” you try to find your voice holding up your hand. “E-Excuse me,” you manage to squeak out.
Freezing, the little girl and who you assume is Mr. Suh turn in your direction. 
“Daddy!” The little girl clings to him, her gaze peeking out from behind his long legs.
Daddy? You stare wide-eyed. He’s a father, already?!
“I’m sorry,” you start to back away. “I don’t mean to intrude. I heard a scream and —”
“It’s fine,” a chuckle comes from the man. “You’re the student Jaehyun sent over, right?”
“Jaehyun?” Your head tilts. “M-Mr. Jeong?” 
Nodding, Mr. Suh walks forward, his daughter clinging to him for dear life. “Sorry, yes. Mr. Jeong,” Johnny towers over you. “I’m Johnny Suh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reaches out his hand.
Saying your name quickly, you enclose your hand around his only to gasp at the size difference. “N-Nice to meet you too…” you say in awe.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long. I lost track of time. This is my daughter, Lily.” He gestures to the girl glaring at you from behind him.
Bending down to her level you try to give her your sweetest smile. “Hi, Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”
“No!” She shouts running away from you and into the house.
“U-Uhhh…” a sliver of sweat rolls down the side of your face. 
“Lily!” Mr. Suh shouts. “I’m sorry, for her behavior. I think she’s a little shy.” He brushes his hair out of his face. “Please, come inside. So, Jaehyun told me you’re having trouble in his class,” he starts off the conversation.
“Y-Yes,” you follow behind him. “No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to understand a single thing he’s teaching. I’ve tried asking for help on campus but no one seems to want to deal with me. It’s sad to say that you too may fall prey to my idiocy and drop me as well.”
Chuckling Mr. Suh slides open the glass door leading straight into the kitchen. “I’m sure we can figure out what the problem is.”
“I hope so. My mom’s going to kill me if my grades don’t improve soon.”
Taking off your shoes at the door you’re led to a small table in front of a window. “Please, have a seat and I’ll be right back. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?”
“A glass of water would be lovely.”
Heading over to his cupboard he grabs down a glass, goes to the fridge and pours you some water. Thinking he would do what your father always does when you ask for a glass of water and get it from the tap — this was definitely an act of kindness. 
“I’m just going to go check on Lily, and then I’ll be right back.”
“I can leave and come back some other time if this is an inconvenience for you. I don’t want to take your time away from your daughter.”
“Nonsense. She’s just a little crabby today,” he rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you get your book out and start on your assignment and I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, sir,” you scramble to take out your book and binder.
When Mr. Suh was out of earshot you exhale a long deep breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. This is terrible. Absolutely terrible! Taking out your phone you shoot a round of texts to your best friend Jennifer.
I’m in deep shit!  My tutor is soooo hot! Like fucking hot!  And he’s sooo tall! What do I do Jen?!!!!
Hiding your phone under your leg you wait for her reply. Having seen the time she should be getting out of soccer practice soon and heading for the lockers. Twiddling your pencil in your hand you try to focus on the problem staring back at you.
This was going to be grueling. How is it that for the last year and a half you haven’t stepped foot in front of a man you thought was handsome — but when you need help because you’re a dumbass, the Universe places a walking Greek God before you? 
Then again, you scoff. “He’s married, you idiot. And he’s a dad! Focus!!”
Finding a smidge of peace from your rampant thoughts you get to work. The homework seemed easy when Mr. Jeong was explaining it. All you had to do was follow the equation that you just learned. Simple enough.
Or so you thought... An eon went by and you were still staring at the first problem. Pencil snagged between your teeth, bite marks up and down the piece of wood. A personal habit you picked up specifically from Mr. Jeong’s class.
“You use this, to solve this.” You start talking to yourself quietly. “Then why is it so damn hard to solve this problem?!” 
“Stuck already?” A voice whispers next to your ear.
Jumping back, your phone crashing to the floor you stare wide-eyed at Mr. Suh. With a small cat-like grin he takes a seat next to you, picking up your phone in the process.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. You were just hyper focused and I couldn’t resist.”
“Uh, y-yeah,” you reach for your phone only for it to slip out of your hands. “Shit,” you curse.
“About the language,” Mr. Suh clears his throat.
“Oh no!” You pop your head up from under the table. “Yes. No. I’m sorry. I know you have a child. I’m just nervous I guess. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.”
Nodding he leans back in his chair. “Why are you nervous? Is Jaehyun stressing you out with all the work?”
“No!” You shout. “I mean,” you try to speak calmly. “I’m just nervous that you’ll find out I’m unteachable.”
“No one is unteachable. I’m sure Jaehyun will tell you the same thing. He’s given me a heads up on what you’re having trouble with, but if you don’t mind me asking, may I see your tests?”
Horror befalls you. He can’t be serious. He doesn’t actually want to see that travesty. Surely Mr. Jeong told him how much of a dumbass you are. He has to know that you’re in desperate need of help.
“My-My tests?” 
“Yes. I want to see exactly where you’re struggling. This tutoring is going to be in regards to your Final. For the next two and a half months I’m going to try my best to bring your grade up so you can pass and put this class and Jaehyun behind you. In order to do that, I need to see everything that you’re struggling with.”
Begrudgingly you sigh opening up your binder. “Fine…” Fishing out all of your tests and quizzes, every proof of your failure – you hand them to Mr. Suh one by one. “I’ll understand if you want to quit while you’re ahead.”
“Oh stop it can’t be —” he pauses mid-sentence his mouth falling open. “Oh, wow…” he mumbles.
“Yep. Told you. I’m stupid. Still want to take on this walking nightmare?”
“I mean he told me you were really struggling but I didn’t think this badly.” He glances up at you for a second to see the pout on your lips and in your eyes. “I’m not going to run away. I’m just shocked he waited until you were this deep in the hole to do something.” 
“Maybe he thought I would magically get better.”
“He said his schedule is booked solid with tutoring other students?” 
“Yep.”
“He’s so blind,” Mr. Suh shakes his head. “Okay, how about today I help you with your homework for Monday, and by tomorrow I’ll have a study plan and a guide all made up for you!” 
“Eh?! You still want to help me? Are you sure? I won’t be upset if you say no. Even my best friend abandoned me.”
Laughing he waves a dismissive hand. “Believe it or not, Jaehyun wasn’t the Math genius he is today. Even when he was back in college he struggled a little. Everyone needs help every now and then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Suh! I won’t let you down!”
Just like he promised, he helped you with your homework. Shockingly only looking at you incredulously a few times when he needed to dumb everything down for you to the point his daughter would be able to understand. Feeling a little better after your first tutoring session, you head back to your dorm with your head held high. Maybe this is going to be your second wind. A power up to keep you in the game!
You were sure of one thing. You would not let Mr. Suh down. 
When you got to your dorm room your best friend, Jennifer taps her foot impatiently outside your door, her fingers being gnawed by her teeth. “Where the hell have you been? I was worried about you. I tried calling and texting back.”
“Eh?” You grab your phone. “My phone was on the whole —” you press the home button but it doesn’t turn on. “This can’t be. I charged it before I left. I had a full battery.”
Pressing the small button on the side you find your phone had been turned off completely. A cold shiver rakes over you. Did Mr. Suh turn off your phone when he picked it up? Your Lock Screen appearing, a text from your friend the only thing displayed.
A hot tutor?! How hot is he? A scale of 0-10? Take a picture I want to see!
Gulping you show her your phone. “I-I think Mr. Suh turned off my phone. Jen! What do I do? What if he saw your message?! How can I show my face around him again? He probably thinks I’m disgusting! He’s a married man with a child! What do I do?!” You stomp around like a kid as you open your door.
“Don’t freak. Maybe he just turned it off. He could have a no phone policy.”
“You think?”
Nodding she ushers you to your bed where she plops down beside you. “So, tell me everything! Seriously! How hot is he?”
x - - - - - - - - - - - x
Giving his daughter one last kiss, Johnny wishes her a goodnight and sweet dreams. Today was a day like no other. Little did he know when he would take on the job of being your tutor would he find out you needed a savior. Sighing he reaches into his pocket for his phone. 
Jaehyun had a lot of explaining to do. Why didn’t he tell him you were so far behind in your studies? When he said one of his students needs help and he’s booked solid he assumed it was just a normal case of an over achieving student. Seeing your grades brought on a whole other problem. You would need to get at least a B+ on your final to even have a passing grade. Why would he let you get so far behind, and how does Jaehyun expect you to get your grades up in such a short period of time?
It didn’t make sense. Jaehyun has always been active in the Math Lab, as well as private tutoring jobs on the weekends. During his breaks he helps any student who can’t meet up with him after his usual working hours. Something had to be up. There is no way he would let you slip through the cracks like this.
Holding the phone to his ear, Johnny steps away from his daughters’ room.
“Hey!” Jaehyun says on the other end. “How did it go?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Johnny hisses quietly. “Why did you let her get to this point? When I saw her grades I thought I was seeing things! Seriously, Jaehyun…what the hell is going on?”
“I didn’t intend for this to happen.” Jaehyun snaps defensively. “I’ve been booked solid since the semester started. She was doing poor in the beginning but so were a lot of other students. This course is one of the hardest courses to teach and learn. I figured if she was really having trouble she would ask me for help or go to the Math Lab.”
“She’s in deep trouble, you know that, right?”
“Of course I know that! Which is why I sent her to you... Plus,” Jaehyun pauses alarming Johnny. “I wouldn’t have been a good tutor for her anyway.”
“Why not? You’re her teacher! You know all the answers. Everything! How would you not be a good tutor?” Johnny heads for his study.
Mumbling into the phone Jaehyun confesses. “A conflict of interest.”
Stopping dead in his tracks Johnny stares out into the empty hallway. Jaehyun had to be kidding. He couldn’t have possibly — “For fuck’s sake, man…”
“I know. I didn’t intend for this to happen. I don’t even know when it happened. But it did. That’s why I sent her to you. You are the only person who can help her. I talked to those in the Math Lab and they can barely help the students who understand the basic concepts of what I’m teaching. She was never going to get help from them. I would help her but I can’t.” 
“No shit!” Johnny rubs his forehead feeling a migraine slowly creeping up. “I’ll handle things here. She seems to need a lot of one-on-one guidance. What you’re teaching her isn’t hard but at the same time it is. Exactly what major is she in?”
“Well, this class is for those who are education majors. Primarily those who want to teach either Elementary or Middle School. Sorry for all this. I really wish I could help.”
“Yeah, I know. I may need to push some things around,” Johnny opens the door to his study. Off to the side a liquor cabinet rests with his favorite brands of wine, brandy and vodka. Putting his phone on speaker he pours himself a glass of vodka. The tension leaving his body. “If I’m to help her get a B, she’ll need help every day.” He chugs down the hard liquor wincing as it burns the back of his throat.
“What about Lily?”
Laughing, Johnny plops down into his chair. Your face when Lily ran away from you resurfacing. “Lily got scared of her and ran away. She asked me who she was and then asked if she would be around a lot more,” he smiles gently. “She had such a sour face it was hilarious.”
“So, Lily’s staying strong?” Jaehyun asks gently. 
Swirling the small amount of liquid left in his glass Johnny exhales. “As good as can be expected. She still doesn’t understand what’s going on. Hell, neither do I.”
“Have you heard from —”
Johnny quickly stops him. “No! And I don’t want to talk about her,” he glares at the snug silver ring wrapped around his finger. A daily reminder of the love of his life’s betrayal. “I’m done with her.” He touches the ring, fiddling with it. “I’ve given up. It’s been two years. I need to focus on Lily.” He slides the ring up his finger but pushes it back down. 
“I really am sorry man. I thought she was the one.”
“Me too…”
x - - - - - - - - - - - x
Looking at the problems you do exactly what Mr. Suh told you to do. Breathe. Take your time. Go through each step slowly. There is no need to rush when it comes to homework. It’s all about understanding the basic fundamentals and building confidence. Solve the problem and get an answer. Check so that you don’t miss anything and especially check to see if you made a mistake and got the answer wrong. Everything seemed to be going great. For once your confidence seemed like it was soaring. Then again…
“Only three right?!” You slam your pencil down onto your small desk in your room. This was useless. For the past two hours you worked hard to try to figure out the problems. Doing exactly as instructed only to end up with three out of seven answers right!
The worst part is that you don’t understand where you got the problems wrong. Which part did you hiccup on and why didn’t you see it and how you can avoid it for next time. You did everything right. Triple checked to see if you missed a step or did something wrong and yet, the same thing happens. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
Closing your book for the night you trudge to your bed plopping down. Tomorrow you’ll ask Mr. Suh where you made a mistake and hopefully he can help you.
Mr. Suh, you try to hold back the smile creeping on your face. After having talked with Jennifer you were for sure going to love and dread spending time with him. Love, getting help and finally seeing your grades turn around for the better — at least that’s what you’re hoping, but also for the eye candy factor. His whole presence just made you feel weak in the knees. The dreadful part, actually having to learn all this bullshit your University was calling Math and the fact that Mr. Suh is a married man with a cute adorable little girl. 
“His wife,” you whisper. “Why wasn’t she home too?”
Shrugging, you tear your thoughts away from her unknown whereabouts. Whoever she is she’s most likely beautiful. To find a man as handsome as Mr. Suh, and have a cute daughter like Lily, she’s bound to be a gorgeous woman. Someone who works to help others just like Mr. Suh a power couple and their precious angel.
Rolling over onto your back aggressively, you kick your legs like a child. If only you could find your one true love too. To have what Mr. Suh has. Actually, first, you need to get through Mr. Jeong’s class, and then find yourself a job, and then you can worry about finding a man. Just as your eyes start to close your phone dings startling you. An unknown number and a message sits on your Lock Screen, making you spring up.
Next time the cellphone gets turned off when the lesson begins. No distractions while you’re under my tutelage. You can swing by tomorrow around 1PM. We’ll have more time to work. Sleep well. You’ll need it. J.Suh
And boy was he serious when he said you would need sleep. Actually, for the past three weeks he’s been working you like a dog. Having put together an entire binder of what to expect on the Final and of what you didn’t understand from all of your quizzes, tests, and the Midterm. A Bible of information completely personalized to suit your needs. Every day you went over to Mr. Suh’s house to get help. When you showed up on Saturday after your first study session, he stated he thinks you should come by every day. Monday through Friday your lessons were from 3PM- 7PM. On Saturday’s, secretly the worst day out of the week, you spent six grueling hours being tutored. 
Honestly, how a man who teaches all day can have the energy to help your dumbass self is beyond you. But, there was a silver lining. At the end of each day, Mr. Suh would create a tiny three question pop quiz talking about the main concepts he helped you with. And after the first week, a complete bombshell, you actually started to grow in confidence. The problems were making sense and with this last pop quiz, you got all the answers right! 
His method of madness was actually working. He taught you something! After that small victory you were positive you could end up learning what Mr. Jeong was teaching and you would find a way to turn your grades around. On the topic of grades, that is one thing Mr. Suh never talked to you about. On three separate occasions you asked him what grade you needed to get on your Final in order to pass. He would brush the question off by saying,
‘The final is a long ways from now. Let’s focus on your upcoming test.’ 
However, today is the day you’re getting back your first test since you started getting tutored. When you were taking it, you heart started to beat quickly. The numbers and questions becoming blurred and spiraling out of control but thinking about everything you’ve learned you took a deep breath and focused. The whole class was empty by the time you finished. Mr. Jeong waiting patiently as you took up until the bell to complete it. 
Now, you will see whether or not your efforts were in vain — that is as soon as Mr. Jeong shuts up and hands you back your damn test! 
“Okay, you can start packing up,” Mr. Jeong places the whiteboard marker down onto his desk. “I’ll be handing back your tests from last week. Please if you have any questions or concerns, feel free to ask me.”
Your leg starts to shake. Your pencil rammed into your mouth. This was it. He makes his way across the first row. One by one you see your classmate’s expressions. Some surprised, some angry, some…well; you know that look all too well. Defeated. As you stare at each of your classmates your nerves start to take over you. Your whole body tingling with anticipation. Mr. Suh would be in the middle of teaching his second class by now and told you to send him a message about how you did around lunchtime. 
Mr. Jeong stops in front of you, his eyes unreadable, lips in a hard line. He grabs the corner of your paper flipping it over onto the back before moving onto the next student. Saying a quick prayer you turn the paper over. 
Your whole body becomes numb. A cold sweat spreading over your skin like wildfire. This can’t be happening. Flipping through the pages of your test you go over everything with a fine tooth comb. But it was happening. In very bold and almost threatening letters, ‘stay after,’ was bleeding through the first page onto the second. 
The bell rings and everyone leaves except for you. Again. Not even bothering to pack up your belongings until after Mr. Jeong had a word with you, you wait until the last student leaves his classroom. He wishes them well and closes the door. Gulping you sit up straight. 
“I think we should talk about your test,” Mr. Jeong starts.
“Y-Yes, sir…”
He saunters up to you, once again seeming like the ground is his runway — pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down. Combing his fingers through his hair he shows you something you never expected to see. A huge smile with his dimples on display. 
“Congrats!” He leans back into the chair. “You did a wonderful job!”
“Wonderful?!” You scoff. “I got a C- practically a D! How is that wonderful?!” You point to the paper. “After all this work I thought I would for sure get an A this time.”
Laughing, Mr. Jeong turns his face to hide his beautiful smile. Wow. Something else you would have never expected to see from him. 
“Trust me. You did a wonderful job. You can’t expect in such a short time to see massive results. You should feel proud of yourself.” He rests his hands on your desk. “Seriously, this is making me feel that you won’t have to take this course again next semester.”
“That would be a gift from God himself,” you mumble only to realize what you said. “Ah! S-Sorry Mr. Jeong, it’s just —”
“I understand. When I had to learn how to teach this course I wanted to run away myself. It’s not easy and I know it’s hard to learn. I’m just glad you’re doing better.”
“Well, it’s thanks to you and Mr. Suh. I owe everything to the two of you.”
“Speaking of Mr. Suh, how is everything?”
“Great!” You beam. “Mr. Suh went through all of my old tests and quizzes and pointed out where I made mistakes. How to solve the problems and how to find my errors,” you bring out the binder he created for you. “He’s gone above and beyond anything I’ve ever experienced and I’m so grateful for that.”
Mr. Jeong takes a look at the binder his eyes widening. You were right. This was going above and beyond the call of duty. Scanning over the little quizzes he’s even given you, Mr. Jeong’s happy demeanor starts to fade. He was happy you were doing better, but at the same time he knows full well he would have never thought of doing this for you or any of his students. 
“Impressive,” he clears his throat. “I’ll have to treat Johnny to a beer or two for his help.” He hands you back the binder. “So, everything is okay? He’s treating you nicely?”
“Oh, yes! He’s very nice!”
Nodding Mr. Jeong leans forward. “I’m happy for you. I do want to apologize for not trying to do something to help you sooner.”
“No. It’s totally fine. It was my fault. I should have asked for help, or asked questions in class something so that my grades didn’t fall to this point. Oh! Mr. Jeong, I’ve been wondering, exactly what grade do I need to get on my Final in order to pass your class? Mr. Suh keeps avoiding the question which is making me a little nervous.”
“Oh, uh,” Mr. Jeong turns from you his eyes trembling. “I think if Mr. Suh wants you to focus on your studies that’s what you need to worry about. The Final is still some time away.”
Pouting you glare at him. “It’s going to be impossible for me to pass this class isn’t it?”
“No, it’s just going to take a lot of work,” he rubs the back of his neck. “If you want, we can get a better look at your grades and what you need to do in order to pass this class.”
“Yes, please!”
“Well, I’m free for this break period unless you have a class.”
“Nope. My next class doesn’t start until 11.” 
“Great, follow me.”
Quickly you pack your backpack and follow Mr. Jeong through the hallway where people were coming and going to their classes. As you make your way through the halls you notice that people are staring your way with strange gazes. They weren’t shocked, or angry, more like perplexed with a dash of spite. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. 
Jeong Jaehyun, Mr. Jeong, the campus hottie. The Professor every girl and woman wishes to have but only those in the Education department ever get. Walking beside him you glance up to see his side profile. He is extremely handsome. Eyes laser focused on the path he’s walking. Shoulders straight and broad, his body has a natural sway that shows nothing but confidence. Upon further inspection he dresses nicely as well. 
On most occasions he wears a button down white shirt, black slacks, with black shoes – a simple style but on him, luxurious. The only person you think that can compete with such a simple style is Mr. Suh. Laughing to yourself you see how they became friends. They have a similar aura about them but Mr. Suh is a lot easier to be around. Then again, it’s probably because he’s not your Professor and you’re not terrified of failing his class.
“Exactly how long are you going to stare at me?” Mr. Jeong asks you a playful tone in his voice. 
“E-Eh?! Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” 
Keeping your eyes down at your feet you walk a few steps behind him ashamed of your ogling. It wasn’t like you to stare at someone so shamelessly. Then to be caught red handed, the embarrassment sweeping over you is all consuming. 
“I don’t mind the staring,” Mr. Jeong continues. “I get stared at all the time.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I really didn’t mean to stare.”
“Please, class is over. You can call me Jaehyun.”
Stopping dead in your tracks you stare at your Professor. There is no way in hell you can call him, Jaehyun. You are his student and he the teacher. It would be improper. 
“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle nervously.
“When you’re with Johnny, what do you call him?”
“Mr. Suh.”
“All the time?”
Nodding you smile. “He is my tutor after all. He’s there to help me. Not to be my friend. Plus, he’s already taking a good chunk of his time to help me instead of spending it with his wife and daughter.”
“His wife?” Mr. Jeong walks up to you. “What do you mean his wife?” He grabs you by your shoulders.
Looking down at his hands you see them tighten onto you. “U-Uh, well I haven’t seen her at all, but he has a wedding band.”
Sighing in relief Mr. Jeong releases you. “Oh, okay. Sorry about that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Has Johnny talked to you about his wife?”
“No, Mrs. Suh’s never come up in conversation. Actually, nothing personal has come up at all. It’s strictly school work and studying.”
Nodding Mr. Jeong starts walking again, heading down the stairs. The light atmosphere surrounding the two of you long gone the moment you mentioned Mr. Suh’s wife. Was she a sensitive topic? For the last three weeks you’ve wondered why each night you never saw her. Why she wasn’t in the kitchen getting dinner ready for Mr. Suh and Lily. By the time your tutoring sessions ended it was 7PM, she would have at least started cooking by then. 
A thought strikes across your mind. What if she’s sick? What if she can’t get out of bed and that’s the reason you’ve never seen her. Slowly your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. Mr. Suh’s wife lying in bed ill. Not able to play with her precious daughter, or spend time with her husband in their beautiful home — at least what you’ve seen of it. Smiling brightly you plan out something just for her. A gift that will hopefully brighten her day. 
Holding open the door to the side of the building, Mr. Jeong allows you to walk outside first. “Mr. Jeong,” you keep up with his pace. “What type of woman is Mr. Suh’s wife?”
“She, uh,” he starts fumbling over his words. A strange sight for the suave Professor everyone adores. “Wh-Why do you want to know?”
“I want to get her something. I can only assume that since I’ve never seen her she must be sick, right? I can’t imagine what Mr. Suh must be going through having to juggle teaching, Lily, taking care of his wife, and now tutoring me. He truly is a saint.”
“No. You’ve got it all wrong,” he grabs your wrist stopping you. “Johnny, his wife, she’s not sick.”
Your heart that was wading in the dark depths of your stomach instantly bounces back to its proper place. “Well that’s wonderful news! I still want to thank her for sharing her husband. I know all this tutoring must be an inconvenience for her. I was thinking of getting her chocolates and flowers. Does that sound like a good idea?”
Shaking his head Mr. Jeong runs a stressful hand through his hair. “No. It doesn’t. She won’t get them.”
“Why won’t she?”
“She left. She’s gone. Don’t ever bring her up in front of Johnny or Lily.”
Gasping you cover your mouth with your hands. “Sh-She died?!”
And that is all for now XP I hope that you look forward to the full release of this story. With how long it’s turning out to be it may be broken down into a longer main portion and smaller continuous portion (so 2 posts) if you want to be notified of when the story is released let me know with a comment saying you want to be added to this stories tag list and I’ll put you in ^^ Hope you have a wonderful day/night and I hope to see you in the full release <3333
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and-claudia · 1 year
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His Heir pt. 27 (Darth Maul x pregnant reader)
IT IS FUCKING HAPPENING!!!! (What is "it" read and find out)
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Warnings: mentions of throwing up (yay), mentions of medical stuff
Word count: 1585
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Waking up in Maul’s bed felt different now. It felt… nauseating? Shit. 
I quickly shoved Maul’s arms off of me and scrambled to get off of the bed. I was cursing the fact that he had such a massive bed. My frantic movements quickly woke him up. He could be heard behind me as I finally freed myself from the comforter and made it to the refresher. Maul followed in quickly behind me. I dropped to my knees and began to empty the contents of my stomach. It felt like it was taking every ounce of my energy away, and I gripped the sides of the seat for support. 
Maul has learned that if I was getting sick, I didn’t like to be crowded. I needed my space. Even if he wanted to be by my side for comfort, he knew better. So he stood over by the vanity, prepping a cool rag for once I was finished. Once it finally felt like nothing would come up, I sat back on my heels and let out a small groan as I lifted my head up. 
“Finished?” His voice didn’t hold any annoyance or disgust, he was just concerned. 
“Yeah… yeah, I think so…” I said nodding slowly before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. 
He walked over and handed me the rag to which I gave a small thanks. I wiped the sweat off my face and the back of my neck. Maul offered me his hand and I hesitated to take it. 
“Not yet.” I mumbled. 
Maul gave me a small frown and sat down with me, still giving me some space in case I got sick once again. I took a few more deep breaths and after I decided it was only nausea and I wasn’t going to actually throw up again I scooted closer to Maul. He immediately shifted to allow me to sit between his leg, my back to him, and lean back into him as his arms came to wrap around my middle loosely. I sighed and relaxed into him, turning my head to rest it against my shoulder, blocking out the light of the room. 
“I thought this was supposed to end after the first trimester.” I whined slightly. 
I had just entered week 19 of my pregnancy. I hadn’t gotten sick since week 16 almost and now it seems as though it has come back with vengeance. 
“I’m sorry dear.” Maul said, rubbing a hand up and down my side.
We sat in silence for a few minutes before I spoke up again. 
“What time is it?” 
“Just about time to start getting ready.” 
I sighed. 
“If you want, we can just go to your appointment then I can bring you back here so you can rest for the day.” Maul offered.
I shook my head, “No, I need to keep working.” I insisted. 
“The only thing you need to do is keep yourself and our baby healthy.” He said back.
I knew he was right. Ever since the nausea came back work had been kicking my ass. But there was a lot to plan for. Maul and I were finding out the gender today but were going to keep it between us for a few weeks then host a banquet to announce it to everyone, Dasar had sent us the invitation to their wedding and so we were trying to figure out the logistics of that, it seemed like everyone was requesting meetings with Maul, it was just a lot. 
“Okay…” I finally sighed, sitting up so he could get off the floor and then help me get up as well. 
I got dressed and went to the kitchen where Maul had prepared a small breakfast for us. 
“I wasn’t sure if you’re appetite was still there, but you need to eat something at least.” He said. 
I nodded and grabbed a piece of toast off his plate. 
“Thank you.” 
After we ate we both finished getting ready for work before leaving for the day. We walked into Maul’s office before he lead me into mine and Qi’ra’s and over to my desk. 
“I’ll come to check on you around lunchtime, I have meetings until then. In the meantime, if your appetite comes back anymore try to eat something, okay?” Maul said as I sat down. 
I nodded, “I will.” I sighed as I leaned back into my chair more, grateful that Maul had gotten me a new one. 
He nodded before leaning over and pressing a kiss to my forehead.  
“I’ll see you later dear.” 
I turned in my chair and watched him walk out. 
“He’s quite affectionate today.” Qi’ra commented once he was through the door and it had closed behind him. 
“Yeah, I think he’s just excited about my appointment later today. We’re going to attempt to find out the gender, again.” I said as I turned on my datapad and began working on it. 
“I thought you guys already knew?” 
“We were supposed to find out a few weeks ago but the way they were positioned, the med droid couldn’t get a clear image. They’re quite stubborn, like their father.” I said with a small laugh. 
“So, if it’s not a boy, are you going to wait a while and try again?” She asked. 
I could tell her question was genuine but it still rubbed me the wrong way. I knew traditionally an heir is male, but if Maul and I were to have a daughter, she’d be just as good an heir as a son would be. It made me worry some if it were a girl, would she be accepted as well as a boy would be? 
“No, if it’s a girl she’d be his heir.” I said, slightly snappy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… He mentioned your appetite wasn’t there this morning. Is everything okay?” She asked, changing the subject.
“Morning sickness came back, and it came back strong.” I sighed, leaning back, one hand on my stomach, the other still holding my datapad. 
“Remind me to never have kids.” She said causing us both to laugh. 
The day passed without much more excitement. When Maul came to see me during lunch I informed him that my appetite had returned and that I was starving. So we each took a small break to go have lunch in his office. Then after that, it was back to work. The closer we got to my appointment though, the more anxious I got. 
I was in the middle of reviewing a report from a lower advisor when Maul walked in. 
“Are you ready, dear?” Maul’s voice caused me to jump slightly. 
“Shit! Don’t scare me like that!” I said, turning off the device. 
Maul stifled a laugh, “My apologies. Are you ready to head to the appointment?” 
“Yes, will you help me with my shoes?” I asked, seeing as I had slipped them off under my desk earlier.
He nodded and came over to help. 
“Lady Qi’ra, com me if anything happens.” He said, after he helped me stand up, I wasn’t to the point where I quite needed the help but it was appreciated nonetheless because I knew I would actually start needing it soon. 
“Yes, Lord Maul.” She said giving us a small nod as we walked out. 
I opted to hold Maul’s hand instead of his arm as we walked. I hadn’t realized quite how hard I was holding it either. 
“Are alright dear?” He asked. 
“Yes, nervous is all.” I reassured him as we walked into the medical unit. 
No one was there, Maul always made sure that my appointments were completely private. So we walked in and were taken straight back. They did all the necessary check-ups that needed to be done on me and the baby before beginning the actual scan. 
“Have they moved into a better position to tell what we're having?” I asked as the droid silently ran the probe across my belly. 
“Yes, I have a clear view now. Would you like to know the sex of the baby?” The droid asked. 
I looked to Maul, and he gave me a small nod. 
“Yes, please.” I said, squeezing Maul’s hand. 
“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” 
It took a second for the words to process. Suddenly everything felt so real. Maul and I weren’t just having a baby. I wasn’t just carrying his heir. We were going to have a son, our own little boy. 
“Leave us.” I heard Maul say to the droid, though it felt like he was far away. 
He cleaned off the gel from my stomach before helping me sit up. His hands came to cup my cheeks as he wiped away my tears with his thumbs. 
“A boy, Yn, we’re going to have a son.” He said, smiling brightly. 
I nodded and grabbed his hands mine to move them from my cheeks to my stomach. My hands rested on top of his as I looked up at him. 
“That’s our baby boy…” I smiled before leaning up to kiss him. 
He pulled away and rested his forehead against mine. 
“I know… It feels a lot more real now, doesn’t it?” 
I nodded slightly. 
“We can’t tell anyone though. Not until the gala.” I said. 
“I won’t. We should get to planning that soon though.” 
“Yes, but let’s just celebrate tonight.” I asked smiling as he smirked back at me knowing exactly how I wanted to celebrate. 
A/N: I KNOW everyone LOVES Girl Dad! Maul but when I first had this concept I wanted him to have his son first to rectify the childhood that he never got as a boy.
A/N2: I already have a name picked out, but I want to hear y'all's theories on names
Taglist: @fan-g0rl @mxkyrie @onceuponanightmareisawme @lothiriel9 @wordsfromshona @kgbtardis @wondermia69 @mh073099 @ktrivia @fifithexeno @perseny @justalittletomato @pomiotszatana @ameliachastain @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @its-me-meg @kbarnes-2001@bluusugar @happyheartsss @clairebear1621 @rljart @xxxqueenlaufeysonxxxxo @lilallybug @ghoulishjester @kizzyxren @welcometothepedroverse @kaos-bringer @asxrum @kittenlover614 @kugelblubb90
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valyrou · 2 years
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hi, i asked this to someone else but got ignored so- could you write a vance hopper x reader where the reader works at the grab n’ go and was best friends with vance (probably a secret mutual crush) but then vance gets kidnapped and the reader reminisces by the pinball machine (maybe happy ending where none of the kids got killed and the reader reunites with vance)
A/n: shame on the person that ignored you! (Jkjk) It’s such a good request!!
So we all know vance is a Hard Ass, so instead of ‚failing‘ to kill the grabber he actually did kill him ;)
Hurt to comfort Vance x Gn!Reader
Warnings: kidnapping, mention of injuries, cursing, typical Vance behavior (let me know if there’s anything else)
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Here with you
The grab n‘ go store was always packed in the Summer times. You liked and hated it at the same time. You liked it because a lot of cash would fly in the register but hated it because sometimes some boys and girls tried hitting on you or started a fight. If you had to guess around this time of the year you would have to call the police at least 5 times.
The actual good thing was, that Vance was always around. He would always play with that pinball machine and sometimes you would sneak some snacks to him. He was a weird one because you couldn’t tell if he liked it or if he hated you sneaking snacks to him. He would often say „what the Fuck is this shit, you think I’m poor??!“ but he would still take it.
Over the time you came to realize that it was the nature of the curly haired boy to always seem tough and rude, so everytime he‘d curse at you, you took it as a thank you wrapped in insults. To your surprise the two of you somehow got close to each other.
Vance started to stay after the store had to close, or your shift ended and walk you home. You started to believe that he did it on purpose to get close to you, but when you brought it up to him he immediately got defensive and say stuff like „As if I’d want to get ‚close‘ to some freak like you! Dream on dickhead“ and storm off.
He didn’t talk to you for a week until you apologized for it. Nonetheless, you knew that something was up because every time a boy would try and hit on you, he‘d be there to fuck them up saying „they‘re just some fucking Bully, they just want to fuck with you idiot“ even tho you thought it was brutal and overprotective, it was somehow still sweet of him to care for you like that.
Until one sunny evening when you just got off of work and didn’t see Vance waiting for you Infront of the store. It was unusual since he would wait for you, but you just brushed it off thinking that he had something important to do. You walked home yourself and noticed a black van in the street. It creeped you out and you wanted to turn the other way and avoid that creepy van until you heard yelling coming from it.
You immediately knew whos voice that was and didn’t think twice. You ran in record time to that van and saw a struggling Vance trying to break free from some middle aged man. You looked around for a weapon but couldn’t find anything, so you decided to just throw yourself in the fight.
„LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU PERV!“ you screamed while running full speed at the stranger and tackling him in the side. The unknown man yelped but wasn’t affected to much and just kicked you in the guts making you fall to your knees coughing. Vance cocked his head back, hitting the kidnappers nose who then dropped him.
You scrumbled to your feet, Vance tried to get to you but was yanked back. The stranger sprayed something in his mouth as he tried to scream and you could see how Vance body fell limp in just mere seconds. Vance was roughly thrown in the back of the van and you tried to throw a punch at the middle aged man. He caught your fist and roughly twisted your arm „Fucking kids“ he swung and hit your face so hard that it knocked you out asap. He just dropped you on the pavement and drove off as quick as he could.
When you woke up you were at the hospital. Your memories were poor and all you could remember was Vance getting thrown in a van. You couldn’t remember where it happened, how the kidnapper looked like or what the van looked like. You had a really bad concussion and a sprained arm. You felt awful for not being able to help Vance..
You were advised to stay home and rest, but the thought of doing nothing was unbearable so you went to the only place you know you made good memories with. The grab n‘ go store.
You actually got the owner to make the pinball machine inaccessible, so Vance could play where he had left his Highscore at. If he ever came back.. the owner respected you a lot and even let you stay longer at the store. Even after closing time, you would sit on the floor next to the pinball machine and wait.. you didn’t know what you waited for.. maybe for Vance to show up? Maybe you just wanted to drown yourself in pity? You didn’t know anymore
Every passing hour you grew more anxious about him. You had to admit, Vance was a huge asshole, but he was your asshole. He was your protector, maybe not guardian angel but guardian devil for sure. If only you knew in what distress Vance was down in the basement. He thought the grabber did something to you.. something far more horrible than kidnapping.
Maybe the thought of not knowing if you were okay gave him the strength he needed to kill that kidnapping bastard. And he did. Oh Vance killed that perverted old man with a smirk on his face. He was alive, but that didn’t matter to him. What mattered to him was, if you were okay.
He always tried to be distant to you, but he just couldn’t help himself falling for you. When he saw you trying to save him back when he got kidnapped, that was when he finally admitted his feelings to himself..
You thought your heart stopped when the police reported that Vance hopper was found alive and well in a neighborhood not far from yours. You heard everything they said but couldn’t register it in your head, you just hurriedly threw on some shoes and ran to Vances house.
When he opened the door you froze up, taking all his features in. He had a bruise here and there and a few patched up wounds but he looked fine. Before he could even say a word, you jumped into his arms hugging him tight. You were sure he would try to push you away and throw some insulting things at you, but to your surprise he hugged you back in the most soft and gentle way you could have ever imagined.
Just after feeling his touch you couldn’t hold back anymore and every tear you had bravely held back the days he was gone flooded over your cheeks like a river, and he was there. Vance was there to comfort you without saying a word. Without making fun of your pathetic tears „Vance!“ you cried out, sobbing into his shoulder „I thought I lost you“ you felt as if your tears wouldn’t stop rolling down your face
„I‘m fine y/n… I‘m here with you“ he said. That was the first time he ever said your name and when he did, you couldn’t stop your face from flushing into a deep red „I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.. I tried I really did-“ you ranted but he shut you up by just pulling you tighter to his chest „just shut up.. I know you tried your best“ he said. It was weird hearing him sound so genuine.. so calm.
You didn’t say anything and just stood in his arms, embracing each other „I like you y/n“ that hit you unexpected „are you okay vance? Did you hit your head?“ you looked up to look him in the face but he just scoffed. He was about to let go of you, when you hold on tight „I‘m just kidding!“ you chuckled „I like you too“ you smiled sheepishly „good because it would have been fucking embarrassing if you didn’t“ he said. You both started chuckling. You were glad he was ok.. And he thought the same
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jacobjingle · 6 months
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@christian-political-blog
The furry blocked me so let’s try this:
That’s still not what actually happened. If we “followed people into alleyways because they wear Trump hats” half of Vancouver Washington would be a war zone. Patriot Prayer started there. You think they’d have done that if we summarily executed them? Imagine like the characters of Portlandia doing that and you get why I laughed at you initially.
I don’t know why it’s so important to you to pretend that you personally have some kind of insight on this, but as I said, if an openly queer middle aged Portland resident coming after you because of a Trump hat makes you feel better, feel free to pretend it’s me. I’ll make some more spooky noises for you.
And: gay bashing is common enough that most gays over 30 have personal experience with it. I certainly have, multiple times, when I lived in red areas. It was pretty common to be called fag and have shit like beer bottles thrown at you when I was a kid. My best friend in fourth grade died from the level of bullying he faced. I’m not interested in the oppression Olympics or anything, but it’s clear you haven’t had a similar amount of personal fear like we have.
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deer-with-a-stick · 9 months
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It’s been nearly a year (10 months?) since the Rings of Power show was released and yet somehow I keep finding it on my dash. I have Thoughts and decided to share them.
This will be my attempt to review the show (keeping in mind that I’m part of the group that started it and never really finished but still got spoilers) as civilly and eloquently as I can.
A lot of the debate over this show has just ended up in a screaming match, with some die-hard fans screaming “racist bigot racist bigot racist bigot” while some die-hard haters scream back “woke shit woke shit woke shit”.
I am going to try and express my opinions of the show without that, and if anyone wants to have a civil conversation, feel free to talk to me :)
(Also, this got very long holy moly) 
Going to preface this entire thing with “I do not condone criticisms of this show just because it’s ‘woke shit’ nor do I condone bashing the actors themselves for decisions the directors made”. I think it’s wonderful that they’re adding diversity to a world like Middle Earth and I honestly don’t think that canon really contradicts this.
I do have to say something about the whole “token POC character” thing though (please don’t attack me for these opinions. I do also have to say that I am a POC, albeit not black.) Some might argue that they have multiple POC characters that are important to the plotlines and that therefore there isn’t a ‘token POC character’ trope in this show. 
One of my main issues with this is that there is only one POC character per race. It feels token-y, especially since the background characters are still all...white. 
The second main issue: the diversity in this only extends as far as white people and black people. There is no Middle Eastern representation, there are no South Asians, no Pacific Islanders, and there aren’t even East Asians (who, unfortunately for the rest of Asia, tend to be people’s go-to “Asian diversity casting” these days). It would have been easy to make some of the dwarves some flavor of Asian, seeing that Khazad-Dum has had dwarves come in from all over Middle Earth. You could have made at least some of the Numenorians Pacific Islanders, and the elves could quite literally have the most diverse range of ethnicities.
Moving on from the whole diversity casting thing, I’m going to talk about the changes.
I’m fully aware that the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Hobbit were modified, but they’re adaptations. Changes are expected. I am also fully aware that had I been one of those Tolkien fans before the movies were released, I too would have likely been pissed over some of the changes: Faramir and Denethor’s personality changes or the army of the dead in Minas Tirith, for example. That being said, I likely would still have enjoyed the trilogy and some of the changes. Changing Glorfindel in for Arwen might have made me a little annoyed, but in the end, I could see why they chose to give Arwen the role of saving Frodo or why they cut Tom Bombadil and the Burning of the Shire.
I have tried to extend this same courtesy to Rings of Power. I have a lot of issues with the things they did, but I am not entirely sure how much of this is actually my opinion and not the influence of social media, so I will be typing them out and working through why these changes bothered me. 
Making Galadriel have to work towards the version of herself we saw in Lord of the Rings was something I’d expected to enjoy. But I hadn’t expected them to go for the whole “angry warrior out for revenge” type of thing. For me, it compressed the timeline too much. Had this show been set in the First Age, I would have been all for it. 
That Galadriel, having crossed the Helcaraxe and having witnessed the elves that she’d grown up knowing all her lives die horrible deaths on the ice as they tried to make their way to Middle Earth, only to find everything in flames, is one I could see as being this type of character. But this is the Second Age, and this is character development I’d expected her to already have gone through. I had expected her arc to around trying to heal, perhaps, from the scars left by the kinslayings and from the threat of Sauron to this new life and realm she’d been trying to build. That would have created timeline issues as well, but it would, at least for me, have been more believable, especially with the timeline compression they’ve been doing.
I really liked Galadriel because she was a strong female character that didn’t have to be all angry and brash and, I’m not sure if I want to use this phrase but I don’t know how else to say it, hyper-masculine. Strength doesn’t always mean physical strength, and I liked that Galadriel was very obviously portrayed as a strong character without having to lug a sword around everywhere.
For me, I think, I would have enjoyed an arc about Galadriel struggling to put down the sword, or having to pick up the sword again against Sauron after having struggled to put it down, especially with Celebrian alive now.
Furthermore, I find her reactions to certain people...confusing. She’s certainly older than Gil-Galad, and I certainly believe that she wouldn’t seem to act like a petulant child next to him. The whole “Valinor as a gift” also confused me. The Noldor, including Galadriel, had the opportunity to sail back whenever they wished after the War of Wrath. Galadriel chose not to, and sailing isn’t something the High King can demand of the other elves.
Bronwyn and Arondir had potential. I won’t get mad about introducing new original characters because that can go very well, especially in things that take place in worlds like Middle Earth (and also I would be a very big hypocrite because I didn’t mind Tauriel in the Hobbit). I would have loved to see the events of the Second Age and the Last Alliance from the perspective of a common elf and human.
But how they handled it...I think that this could have been an excellent tragedy. I’m not a Tolkien scholar or anything, but I personally think that having this specific arc end up as a tragedy would fit with Tolkien’s themes really well. Bronwyn’s village is relatively small, I think, and Arondir is a soldier stationed there. 
The story that could result from the two groups they’re from banding together to stop the orcs as much as they can, knowing that they’ll be overrun but at least it will be worth it because the next generation will survive to continue the fight for a better future, is a story that is more appealing to me than the Sauron’s sword plotline and the mini resistance. 
In many of Tolkien’s stories (in the Third Age at least), the hero is one of the common people. In the Second Age, where we have Numenor and the Elves and Khazad-Dum, I think I would have been more impactful to see a village and some soldiers, people whose names wouldn’t normally have been passed down through history and to those Third Age characters, take a stand against the inevitable darkness. And, like the common people, they die, they fail, but they don’t fail in the ways that matter. 
They slow the orcs down just enough, perhaps, so that the heroes that history would laud can finish the enemy off. They protect their children the best they can because what they’re fighting for is a future for those children. The common people might not care about the fate of the world as a whole, but they certainly will care about that which they love. 
This kind of story, I think, would show that they aren’t the exceptions; they mounted a resistance and they all died in the end. But despite that, their actions mattered, and even if their names won’t be passed down through the history books, the final victory wouldn’t be possible without them, their courage, and their sacrifice.
The Harfoots...alright. I lied. I haven’t moved away from the diversity casting thing. The Harfoots definitely could have been cast better. From what I know, they are described as being “browner of skin” and again, this would have been an excellent opportunity for the show makers to actually display diversity, instead of placing a singular person of color into each race. 
I don’t necessarily understand the whole of what is happening about the Irish accent debate, but seeing as I am not Irish and I do not actually know what is going on, I won’t discuss this.
That being said, with the compressed timeline, I suppose it makes sense if the show makers wanted to introduce some Hobbits early. They would have had to come from somewhere, but I think they tried too hard to make them relevant to the plot. The storyline was cute, but if I am going to be honest, the Harfoots plotline is a fairly large part of this show’s “too much going on” problem.
I disliked how they introduced the Stranger. I suppose that it’s fairly obvious that they wanted to get in references to The Lord of the Rings, but they already had Galadriel, Elrond, the Balrog, and the Hobbits. The entire point of the Istari being introduced to Middle Earth was because Sauron had lived, despite the effort of the Last Alliance.
The Valar only sent the Istari because a: they themselves could not interfere with Middle Earth’s affairs directly, due to having sunk all of Beleriand the last time they did, and b: a massive alliance between the three major races of that time, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Nírnaeth Arnoediad (I believe), had failed in defeating Sauron.
The Second Age has no reason to send the Istari. The inhabitants of Middle Earth have not shown that they are incapable of dealing with Sauron by themselves, so the Valar won’t interfere.
I suppose an argument could be made about how Gandalf showing up early is like how Legolas showed up early in The Hobbit, but in The Hobbit’s defense, it makes sense for Legolas, someone who lives in Mirkwood, to appear when the Company travels through Thranduil’s realm. Gandalf is not native to Middle Earth, and originally, he didn’t want to go out of fear.
Moving on from Gandalf, I’m going to talk very briefly about Celebrimbor and the rings of power. I am quite upset that for a show called The Rings of Power, the rings themselves aren’t all that important until the last episode, and even then, they’re forged in a few moments. I am also fairly upset that Celebrimbor and Sauron’s (or rather, Annatar) relationship that completely thrown out of the window (even if I would have gotten annoyed at the influx of Silvergifting in the fandom). 
The show technically wasn’t able to use the Silmarillion, but if they were, I certainly hope that they would have kept this relationship because it’s another illustration of how the Noldor continue to bring their own doom onto themselves.
I think the show tried too hard with the whole “decay of the elves” plotline, but I will accept it for plot and timeline purposes.
I will take issue with the whole “tree with the last light of the Silmaril” thing. I recognize that this is a myth, and would have accepted it had Gil-galad and Celebrimbor not accepted it as truth. But since they do... which Silmaril? Maglor’s? I don’t think Ulmo will give that one up. Is it Maedhros’? That one is in the core of the earth, how could it have gotten into a tree? It certainly isn’t Earendil’s, seeing as that was the first one to be “lost” and that it’s still in the night sky. 
Myths and folklore are fine, but it doesn’t work so well when the elves, the immortal race who still remember the truth of these things, believe the myths. Gil-galad and Celebrimbor were both born during the Year of the Trees; Feanor is Celebrimbor’s grandfather (Gil-galad may or may not be related to him, as he is still Son-of-Plothole). I don’t see how both of these two would believe this myth.
If a young elf, one born after the Sinking of Beleriand and part of a family that had (somehow) been disconnected from the Sons of Feanor business in the First Age had proposed this, I might have said “alright, I can accept that this elf doesn’t really know what actually happened to the Silmarils,” especially if an elf who had been alive in the First Age contested that later. 
But as it is now...Even if they didn’t have access to the Silmarillion, they had plenty of other options to explain mithril. They could have, for example, explained mithril as Aule taking the few scarce remnants of the Trees’ Light and scattering it across Middle Earth as a last gift to his dwarves and as a way to show to Yavanna that not all her work was lost.
I have mixed feelings about Halbrand. I understand that they didn’t have access to the Silmarillion so they had to make do. I can kind of understand why they chose to have Halbrand echo Aragorn in a way, but I do wish that they’d kept his storyline something close to Annatar’s anyway. Maybe part of my issue with this is the way they compressed the timeline.
Barad-Dur was supposed to rise before Sauron’s deception of the Noldor in Eregion and I think that the mystery aspect of this show could have been more interesting if these two were happening at the same time (if the timeline had to be compressed). They could have explained Halbrand as perhaps an escaped thrall, going to the Noldor with blueprints of a secret weapon that could keep Middle Earth safe from Sauron.
Halbrand and Galadriel’s relationship is something I firmly dislike. Not only does Celeborn deserve more than a throwaway line implying his death, but Celebrian deserves to exist. 
Shipping Galadriel with others has been a recurring problem, I suppose, with the specific scene in The Hobbit, but I actually never read that scene between Galadriel and Gandalf that way. For me, the kiss on the forehead was just a form of endearment (although this might actually just be “blind aroace things”).
Halbrand and Galadriel, on the other hand, are explicit. The ship does not make all that much sense to me and frankly, I don’t see the point of including this. Most changes when adapting something have a point. 
Denethor’s character was changed likely due to timing issues (especially since we get more book-canon Denethor if the extended versions are considered), Faramir’s character was changed to be more flawed (and more “interesting” for some), and even changes like the Ghost Army have a purpose (even if that purpose is just ex-machina and possibly getting through canon faster).
But there is no purpose to Halbrand and Galadriel, besides perhaps to make Halbrand’s betrayal more potent and give Galadriel further motivation and a tiny bit of character development.
The thing is though, Halbrand’s betrayal should already have been potent. In the books, Eregion falls and the last confirmed living member of the House of Feanor (as well as the kindest), Celebrimbor, is tortured to death. This destroys a haven for the elves and for the Noldor and Galadriel loses yet another relative.
Her character development, in my option, should have been one of gaining confidence as a leader and balancing her desire to put down the sword with the need to pick the sword back up. The “character goes from brash and arrogant warrior to mellowed out and wise person” arc is better given to a human, dwarf, or even a younger elf. What’s more, is that elves tend to change slowly. Galadriel’s arc in the show is very human in terms of timing.
It would make sense for immortal creatures like elves to change slower (although this particular nitpick might just be a me thing). Even a change as drastic as Maedhros’ (from a relatively new leader and fighter that could be argued as relatively innocent and naive to a seasoned war general, tactician, and diplomat) was brought on by roughly thirty years of torture within Angband.
Back to Galadriel, I don’t think she needed more motivation. Finrod was killed by Sauron (in both show and books) and Celebrimbor was too, not to mention that Sauron posed a threat to everything she’d built in Eriador and to the relative peace she’d found after the First Age.
Moving on from Galadriel is Elrond. I actually don’t have as many issues with Elrond, I just wish that they’d not tried to go for the whole “politically ambition son of no-one” kind of plotline. Tolkien loves his “power corrupts” arcs and Elrond has consistently rejected power. He has embraced his duties, raising Rivendell after Eregion fell and leading people when they require it of him, he does not seek it out. He doesn’t want the role of High King of the Noldor, and he rejects it when the crown is offered after Gil-Galad dies. 
His lineage is one that could invite genuine criticisms of “Mary-Sue” as he is quite literally part elf, part human, and part angel, with connections to most of the important people throughout history. He is descended from the rulers of Doriath and of Sirion, and his brother founded Numenor. His father is Earendil and his mother defied the Sons of Feanor, and he marries Celebrian, Galadriel’s daughter.
The derisive tone Gil-Galad adopts when he said “Peredhel” in one of the first few episodes rubbed me the wrong way. There is quite literally one person who could claim that title and therefore claim a relationship to Beren and Luthien, and it is viewed with scorn? I don’t understand that particular decision.
All of this being said, I loved Elrond’s friendship with Durin and Disa. Those parts were the only parts I actively looked forward to and enjoyed. The friendship felt natural and the banter was very much reminiscent of Legolas and Gimli’s relationship in some parts. It also made some excellent memes. (I do wish that they didn’t cut Celebrimbor and the Noldor’s friendship with the dwarves, however.)
I love Tolkien’s dwarves, for all their flaws and occasionally problematic portrayals. The thing that drew me to them was, in part, because of their designs. Erebor and Khazad-Dum in the movies were beautiful, and one could easily tell the difference between elven and dwarvish architecture. 
Khazad-Dum in the show, on the other hand, takes after elvish sensibilities. The show’s creators explained this as how Khazad-Dum had looked before greed and corruption and decay had set in. But I disagree with Ramsey Avery. Perhaps I am reading into this too much, but I dislike the implication that the elves are the pinnacle of perfection. To me, what this statement implied was that the dwarvish fashion was a result of corruption and greed and that the elvish style was superior in its perceived purity. Those geometric columns, symmetry, and towering ceilings? You can find those in nature. Dwarves try to make their stone beautiful. With gems they shape and polish it and with rock formations like the ones in the Glittering Caves, they leave them alone, so it makes sense that the dwarves would shape and mold the stone.
Dwarvish culture and elvish culture are very different, and their architecture shows this. Elves prefer spaces open to the sky, greenery, bright colors, and curved lines and arches. Dwarves prefer grand halls, jewel and metal tones, sharp angles, and straight lines. The stark differences showed that, without a doubt, these two cultures were vastly different and unique and I would have preferred them to have kept this.
Now that we’ve moved away from lore changes and characters, I’m going to continue talking about the world in this show and its design. The still shots and cinematography of this show are stunning and from a distance, it’s beautiful. I still couldn’t help but be disappointed when the camera came in closer, however. 
The production quality for the clothes and armor is...not as good as I’d expected. The metals seem to be made out of tinfoil or spray-painted cardboard at times and there is often a strange quality to the props that reminds me of a cheap cosplayer’s prop that was thrown together in a few hours. The armor was particularly bad. Who proposed the armor-design-printed-onto-shirts idea?
Some of the outfits were decent, but most of the time, I found myself wondering “What are they wearing?”
My main problem is most likely that the clothes they wear don’t give me the problem vibes. The elves seem too...human (as evidenced by the scene where the ship-wrecked humans don’t recognize Galadriel as an elf until they see her ears), Disa’s white-cloth-with-gold-triangles outfit just straight up confuses me every time I see it, and some of the outfits that the humans wear seem out of place and out of time.
Some people find the short hair elves fine, some find them a sin, and I am...somewhere in between. I really would have preferred long hair elves, although if some of them had shorter hair due to the whole “going to war against Sauron” aspect, I would be fine with it. But the modern fade haircuts...they break immersion for me. The way the show makers explained this change also angered me greatly.
The thing about elves, and I will say this again, is that as immortal beings, it would make sense for them to change slowly. Beyond the show makers’ explanation of “oh, hairstyles change over time,” I have been given no reason as to why they all have short hair and why they all have a specific style of hair.
And for a show that liked to laud the fact that they had a strong female character that broke molds, I find it a bit strange that only Galadriel’s hair wasn’t touched. The show makers said they made Galadriel a warrior because of the etymology of her name (which implied a pinned-up hairstyle I believe), but they kept her hair down and loose in fights while giving Finrod (who’s name means Great Hair Guy) a generic fade haircut.
I disliked the beardless dwarf women immensely. At that point, when I saw female dwarves without beards, all I could think of was “Why do elves and dwarves have to follow modern human standards of beauty?” Dwarven culture is “the bigger the beard the more beautiful,” so why are all of the female dwarves beardless? I had really looked forward to see the female dwarves and was sadly disappointed.
(I will address the possible hypocrisy of my criticism here as I quite like The Hobbit. Thorin (as well as Fili and Kili), for the movies, was given the excuse that he’d shorn his beard short after Erebor fell as a way to remind himself of the dishonor of losing Erebor. This is a bit of a thinly veiled excuse to have the actor’s face less covered and more appealing to the audience, but in the flashback scenes that took place before Erebor fell, Thorin does indeed have a longer and slightly more elaborate beard.)
Moving on: Numenor was particularly bad and was honestly like 75% of why I quit the show. Perhaps some people might find beauty, but I got whiplash. I think they tried to mix in too many forms of architecture (I am saying this as someone who has only a few crumbs of architectural knowledge) and the Roman, Greek, several other types of architecture, and the marine life-inspired designs didn’t mesh very well. I would see stone columns (all hard straight lines) and then be immediately hit with a fish carved into an arch.
The armor and fashion did the same thing and the dissonance nearly made me quit. Nearly.
The tipping point was really the army. Numenor, the Atlantis of Middle Earth, known for their powerhouse of a navy, had five ships? Two of which were burnt? If we consider the HMS Victoria (one of the largest wooden warships ever built), she held around 1000 people. So let’s say that Numenor’s navy consisted of somewhere between 5000 to 6000 people (since it’s possible that a few stayed behind). 
Comparing this to the Imperial Japanese Navy (as Japan is also an island nation that had been previously isolated from the rest of the world), we see that the Imperial Japanese Navy had lost around 300,000 people by the end of World War Two. This means that there were definitely more than 600,000 people serving in that navy during the war. Even with the Industrial Revolution in my example, it’s clear to see that Numenor’s navy is a joke.
The landing party for the beaches of Normandy was 156,000 people in comparison. Unless the Numenorians decided to abandon their three ships, this means that the landing party and the resulting Numenorian army was less than 5000 people, no where near the “massive army” that had been raised to defeat Sauron in the books.
I am also upset about the changes to Numenor’s story. Numenor is Atlantis, a fact that is widely established. But whereas in the books Numenor falls because of the kings’ pride and hubris, the pride and hubris are shown to be traits that Queen Miriel does not share. Personally, I think that by changing Pharazon to be a simple advisor instead of the King means that the story is less impactful.
I can’t help but get the sense that even in a show like this (that loves to call itself progressive), the female characters have to be irrevocably good. Miriel refuses Galadriel’s demands (and I would have thought that Galadriel would find the act of killing people and stealing their ships abominable) because she wants to protect her people, only agreeing later because she believes the Valar/Gods themselves told her to.
I see a pious and good ruler, a ruler that would have fit in perfectly if the story had not been set near the end of the Second Age (which seems to be between 100 to 200 years due to the compressed timeline). What I do not see are the final warning signs before Numenor’s collapse. Numenor’s story has less of an impact if their rightful ruler, the one whose lineage is directly blessed (as their ancestor was Elros, brother of Elrond, descendent of Luthien and Beren) had been trying to follow the Valar’s rulings and protect their people.
(Also, where is Isildur’s brother, Anarion?)
Adar and the Orcs are...interesting. I suppose that I don’t have too much to say beyond “they might be trying too hard to make a ‘grey’ villain with the whole ‘orcs just want a homeland’ story beat.”
The volcano scene I won’t touch on because I find myself laughing uncontrollably every time I think of it, and also because I left off before that episode. Well. I won’t talk about it beyond “the science isn’t there, although this is a fantasy show, so they’ll get some leeway.” Whether or not I am willing to bend the laws of the natural world enough for me to believe that scene is still up for debate.
My final thought will be on the strange white-clothed women. Who are they, why are they relevant, where did they come from, and what was the purpose of including them in this show?
That’s more or less all I have to say. If you’ve read this far, I have to applaud you because I wrote quite a bit and am not entirely sure if it all made sense. In the end, my issues with the Rings of Power is that it takes things too far. Changes to canon I can accept: it’s an adaptation, after all. But there are too many in Rings of Power and I am quite tired of having my immersion broken so much. It had potential, but they could have, should have done more with their plotlines in terms of fleshing them out and matching them to Tolkien’s themes. Ironically, the show also tries to have too many plotlines, and it got rather tiring of keeping track of Halbrand and Galadriel in Numenor, Elrond in Khazad-Dum, Nori with the Stranger, Bronwyn and Arondir, and also the various side plots in those four main arcs.
If you enjoyed this show, good for you. All I ask is that people be civil when they discuss things. 
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bloogers-boogers · 9 months
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do you have any more yandere/possessive kyle brain juice?? 👀👀
Oh~ I see I got a risk taker here 💅
I wouldn’t say I’m into the idea of Kyle going all yandere on Cartman, cause I just don’t see that happening because I feel it’s too far off from his character unless it’s some gag then maybe?
However, I DO see him sabotaging alot of Cartman’s relationships like some crazy obsessive psychopath.
If Cartman were to marry somebody while he’s actually been around Eric for the longest time waiting patiently for an opportunity, then yes, you could bet he would try sabotaging the wedding and if he fails he’ll try to break their marriage somehow.
I see Kyle as this sly bitter man who wants things handed to him even if he outright says outloud that people have to work hard to get what they want to archive. And yes, you could see Kyle working his ass off for superficial things, to boost his imagine as a man who has got his shit together.
However behind walls he's far from that, he's a sad lonely broken man who's only goal in life is to pursue this image of what's considered normal for a man his age "follow the typical stereotypes" of what you're supposed to be doing instead of what he truly would want to do.
And the only mistake he's done is not working or even attempting to change his relationship with Cartman; the only person worth Kyle's wait.
The only person he'd dive deep inside a abyss for, actually make an effort to change, the only person who'll give him that life he so desperately craves; one that isn't planned, one that's unexpected, thrilling in a sense. He loves how unpredictable Cartman is and what chaotic things it'll bring alongside with into his life.
They're ladies that come and go; Kyle is shit when it comes to relationships cause he is a closeted cartmansexual! Jsjsjs he's so down bad for Cartman man, he subconsciously puts their dynamic onto the women he's dating sometimes just to make it 'spicy' and interesting, even being an ass and intentionally forcing them to eat more.
It's sad cause it's shown in canon that Cartman can move on from this obsession with Kyle but Kyle can't.
He so craves Cartman's soul to be only bonded to him even if denies it with a passion.
He'll preferred a hundred times over the choice of Cartman being just as alone and miserable as him than for Cartman to be happy with out him.
So I can picture him snapping at some point, photoshopping Cartman with some woman making it look he was having an affair and sending it to his wife and anonymously spreading doubts to her.
Considering in this au I see Kyle being still considered a "close friend" for Cartman and his family. I see Cartman's wife knocking at the door in the middle of the night with just her night robe and slippers on while her makeup was a pouring mess. Kyle feigned ignorance and added a small gasp which was completely fake, "what happened, Elizabeth?" He rested his hand on her shoulder to mimic sympathy, gesturing inside, "come on in, I'll make you a cup of coffee."
She explained with full detail of what happened as Kyle nodded attentively while sipping his cup of coffee.
"I just- why would Eric ever do this to me? I never thought he'd be the type of man that-" she began bawling once more; devastated. Kyle wince by the noise she emitted.
Kyle denies with his head now feigning disbelief despite wanting to kick her out and get back to bed, "well, it is Cartman and I did warned you before marrying him that he was— something."
She wiped her tears, nodding now "understanding" Kyle's "concerning" intentions before, "you always been such a great friend, Kyle," she smiled sadly standing up from the table as she approached him as he rested himself in the counter.
"I should've just listened to you from the start, you we're just worrying for me and I shoved all away your warning and I'm so sorry," she grabbed Kyle's free had in a pleading gesture.
Kyle had to hold back a mischievous smile, before placing his cup in the counter, "no hard feelings he's quite a good actor."
"So you do believe he actually did cheat? Tell me the truth, Kyle, you know him better than anyone-"
'You got that right,' Kyle thought shallow.
"You're his friend so you must know if he do such thing."
'Surprisingly he would not, but you should know that if you actually knew him.'
"Look Elizabeth," he shush her hand away courteously, as he touched the tiles of the counter with his fingers, "Cartman's my friend, but I can admit when he's a bigoted selfish lying dick. Trust me, he definitely cheated on you."
Elizabeth bawled even harder and smash her face against Kyle's chest, Kyle looked at her in disgust cause he knew damn well she was gonna leave all her damn snot all over his pj's.
After a couple of minutes she calmed down and immediately came on to him, grabbing his arm and pressing her knee against his crotch, whispering in a sultry manner, "maybe I should try paying him back with the same coin?"
Any man would've folded, however Kyle wasn't one of them unfazed and indifferent to her provocative touch.
Kyle thought for a moment, this would definitely guarantee Cartman leaving her. However if he ever found out he was the one to had slept with her Cartman would never forgive him for it.
Besides, a easy slut like her was not deserving of his body, so he pushed her away denying with his hand, "I'm not the type of man who'll volunteer in adultery. Besides, Cartman's still my friend whatever goes on with you guys isn't my issue to get involved with." He smiled lightly, "however I do wish you much luck."
And with that she left quite bitter for being rejected but took it as initiative to start packing her shit and leave Cartman.
Kyle smiled proud and accomplished of himself while taking another sip of his now cold coffee.
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natsbelovs · 2 years
Text
— twisted perfection
chapter three: complicated
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series masterlist | chapter four
pairing: rockstar!natasharomanoff × blackfemale!oc
— authors note: thanks for all the love that you guys have been showing the series! i’m gonna try and update at least possibly another chapter tonight, if not posted tonight then it will be posted tomorrow. so, be on the look out for it. !DO NOT STEAL MY WORK!
— warnings: 18+ minors dni strong language and minor fluff.
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TWO DAYS LATER
Natasha groans in annoyance, “Cut, cut, cut!” She yells, turning towards a middle aged brunette. The Brunette’s eyes widened in fear.
“Shit,” Yelena face palms, under her breath.
Natasha would have laughed, but, in all honesty she was too pissed to do so. The brunette looked as if she were about to shit her pants. It’d been two days since the band visited Genevieve asking if she could be a replacement— well Yelena asking if she could be a replacement.
But, of course Natasha wasn’t having it. And now, here they were having auditions to find someone.
“Okay one you’re off key, two you’re playing the chords completely wrong, and three…just get the hell out.” Natasha yells, pointing towards the door of the spacious garage they’d practice in. The brunette scoffs stomping out towards the door.
“I’m letting everyone know how big of a bitch, Natasha Romanoff is.” The brunette says, and turns away slamming the door to the garage.
Natasha shakes her head, setting her guitar down, “Everyone that has auditioned so far has been complete shit.” Feeling a hand on her back, she sighs running her hands through her blonde hair.
“You know, maybe….it isn’t such a bad idea if we have Genevieve in the b—“ Bruce starts.
“We are not having her in the band, how many times do I have to say that?!” She snaps angrily, slightly pulling at her hair.
“Natasha, she’s the only person that knows our music—“ Yelena intervenes.
“And?! We can find someone else that knows our music as well as we do.” Natasha says glaring at her sister who rolls her eyes.
“You’re so fucking selfish, I swear!” Yelena snaps dropping her drumsticks on the ground,“this isn’t just about you, Natasha. This is our band too, and we have a say in things too!”
Bucky drops his head quickly, knowing if he were to intervene it would only make things worse.
“Excuse me? If anything this is my band. I don’t recall you being there when it was in the making, nor do I recall you writing the first fucking album. Actually, to think about it…I don’t recall you doing shit until I asked you to be in the band a year later. So, again if anything this is MY band. So, what I say goes. I make the rules here, you don’t. If you can’t get with that then GET THE HELL OUT!” Natasha screeches angrily, glaring at her sister who stood there in complete shock.
Who would’ve thought Natasha could be so careless?
“Oh? Okay.” Yelena laughs, shaking her head and grabbing her belongings. Natasha's eyebrows push together as she began to watch her sister walk towards the door.
“Natasha, apologize.” Bruce says. “We can’t afford to lose, anyone else. You know you need Yelena, letting your anger get in the way won’t help.”
Natasha stares at her sister quietly, swallowing. She hated saying sorry but truth be told, she didn’t mean a word she said to Yelena. To be honest if she were ever to lose Yelena she wouldn’t know what the hell to do.
“…I’m sorry…” She says, clearing her throat. “I didn’t mean any of that. I’m just still upset that Steve upped and left and the fact that Genevieve may be the only option we have.”
“She is. And you know that.” Yelena says, “I know you guys have your history. But, Gene could really make the band better than what it was before.”
Natasha sighs, running her hands over her face as she leaned into Bruce. “I need some air.” She says promptly, now pushing off of Bruce.
“Babe—“
“Not now.” She says, now walking towards the door and outside to the backyard. Patting at her pockets, she pulls out a cigarette, lighting it up and putting it to her lips. Inhaling the smoke deeply into her lungs she stares up at the sky for a moment before sitting down at the wooden bench.
Contemplating, really.
Hearing the door squeak to the garage, she turns her head slightly to see Yelena. “I thought you quit smoking?” She questioned curiously, now taking a seat beside Natasha who shook her head lightly now taking another hit.
“I lied.” She says, now offering the cigarette to her sister who swatted her hand.
“Unlike you, I actually quit.” Yelena says, a small chuckle leaving her lips.
Nodding quietly Natasha sniffles, licking over her lips. The slight taste of the smoke now lingering on her lips. “I really am sorry.” She murmurs, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I know.” Yelena says resting her hand over her sister’s. “I shouldn’t forgive you so easily but, we can’t hold grudges against each other can we?”
“No, no we can’t.” Natasha says letting a breathy laugh fall from her lips. Now meeting Yelena’s eyes. “I love you so much, I know I don’t say it a lot but, I truly do. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you…”
“Me neither.” Yelena says, now resting her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Both sat quietly, staring up at the sky that began to get dark. It’d been awhile since they sat with one another and actually spoke on how they were feeling. They didn’t do it most of the time due to never being around each other as much, but, when the time came they could sit in silence for hours and not say a word.
They truly just enjoyed each other’s presence at the time.
Clearing her throat, Yelena lifted her head back up looking over at Natasha who looked as if she were battling with herself. “Still debating whether you want to let Gene in, huh?” Natasha chuckles to herself, now taking in the last bit of smoke before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it.
“Yeah.”
“Would it be so bad?” Yelena questioned quietly.
Natasha hummed to herself, as she looked down in her lap picking at her Cherry red polished nails. “I wouldn’t fucking last being around her, she’s so aggravating, Yelena.” Yelena laughs loudly, as she rolls her eyes.
“She probably thinks the same thing about you.” Yelena says with a small smirk. “But, seriously, Natasha, we have a meeting with Happy this week, and you know he’s gonna give us hell if we haven’t found Steve’s replacement.”
“I know, I know.”
“Well, if you know, call Genevieve and tell her that you would like for her to join the band.”
“No.” Natasha says with a huff, now getting up and walking back towards the garage.
“Still being stubborn, I can’t believe you.” Yelena says yelling after her in disappointment.
“That’s how I am.” Natasha says with a laugh.
“Why won’t you hire her?” Yelena says now walking with her sister, Natasha now briefly stopping and looking at her.
“It’s complicated.”
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taglist here! @sincerelii @lainjupi @franfineashell
next chapter will be up soon !
comments and reblogs are appreciated !
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mercuryferns · 1 year
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Not to “vent” on main, but i want to speak about pride and autism for a bit
I’m currently in a weird place in my life where im trying to accept many aspects of my identity that i considered ugly for a long long time. one of those being my autism, which i was diagnosed with a little earlier on this year. having that diagnosis fundamentally changed how i viewed myself in ways i struggle to describe to you. i had a brief phase where in desperation to dissociate myself from the stigmatized perception of autistic people that had unconsciously polluted my brain, i swore to use terms like “aspie” and “high functioning” “level one” as if allistic society seeing me as not human but in a slightly more appealing way (that being that instead of being seen as a four year old incapable of original thought i would be a weird carbon copy of albert einstein destined to cure cancer) would somehow make my life easier.
it doesnt, all it does is reinforce the same pseudo scientific eugenic hierarchy of what a clever worthy person is and what a broken unintelligible undeserving one is. realizing that was tough, because i grew up coping with my autistic traits by being whatever people wanted. i was like cheap air dried clay where the more i tried to mould myself into something i wasnt the more i started to crack, smooth over it meticulously with spit and desperation. im still in this spot of fragmented identity, in a liminal space between what i always wished i could be and the disappointing reality of what i actually am.
is it disappointing? is it only disappointing because i’m who i was taught was wrong?
i got what is known as an “unofficial” diagnosis. in other words, we went to a psychiatrist, did an evaluation, and was told hey yeah you’re right. this was because my mother wanted me to be diagnosed with asbergers, which is no longer recognized. i know she meant well. she didnt want me to feel like i was carrying a label too heavy for me. but theres a major part of me - especially after finding out exactly why the label “asbergers” exists - which is in violent opposition to it.
and. upon finding validation in the online autistic community i discovered just how unfounded my shame is. Being autistic is beautiful in so many ways. it makes me so sad that i would ever dismiss it as a part of me. I dont know how i managed to evade diagnosis for so long.
(when i look back on my childhood, i find it riddled with memories of rooms with yoga balls and swings; middle aged ladies with pixie cuts and the same lipstick spending hours trying to teach me how to write the letter C; pulled out of class “where am i going?“ “i think you need to calm down” “i am calm”; my father eyeing my ankles and calling “flat feet” as a reminder to let my heels touch the cold grainy tiles of our stoep, drawing faces on my erasers and sobbing for days when a girl threw penelope in the bin of the afrikaans class; reciting “just think about something else just think about something else just think about something else just-“ while attempting to get myself to eat egg and toast that was too toasted and anything with more than two identifiable textures; seeing someone in my spot in my spot in my spot in my spot in my spot thats my spot thats my spot thats my spot feeling something boil in my stomach; what are you doing i dont like it i dont understand are friends supposed to do this to me?)
Yeah. I have to study for my history exam now. But the point is that im autistic. And thats not only okay thats fucking awesome. Its a huge part of my life and if your idea of normal is what has caused me so much pain and dissociation throughout the years then deal with it when i actually embrace my own brain.
allistics who are cool, this is not intended to shit on you. just some thoughts ive had lately.
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lordarsonizzzzt · 1 year
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YESSS DUDE Iceberg and Kondraki not being on good terms is so funny to me— they hardly do anything about it though because Iceberg will just. Skip the argument and go straight to violence.
Kondraki calls him a glorified secretary and Iceberg throws a chair at him. Draven and Julian have to have tri-monthly “please don’t kill my dad” conversations, and in all of them, Julian points out how Kondraki always starts it, and by going in for the kill at the start of the argument, he’s actually preventing them from saying more shit. So instead of an argument lasting a few minutes and making a massive scene, it lasts like thirty seconds. Konny says something, Julian smacks him, they move on.
The only time Julian got really pissed at Kondraki was when the two of them and a few other doctors were having lunch together. Julian said something a little snide, and Kondraki said;
“I’m not taking this shit from someone who spends his day kneeling under a desk. Why the fuck did they even hire you?”
Everyone braces for Julian to skip over to physical violence. Instead, Julian calmly takes in a breath, then exhales.
“You know what? I’m done. I’m done! I’m not taking that kind of disrespect from a washed-up photographer whose only personality trait is being a dick to people and self loathing. I try really hard to tolerate you and keep our fights short because I like your son, but turns out that’s because he’s nothing like you, you dried up cat turd smelling son of a bitch, you snaggle-toothed butterfly-humping ketchup packet ass motherfucker, looking like you just crawled out from under a bridge— you’re calling me dumb? Saying I fucking spend all my day under a desk? Nah, I spend my day doing your paperwork, Clef’s paperwork, Bright’s paperwork, and the paperwork half these motherfuckers are too lazy to do themselves, and I still get my shit done! You think I don’t deserve my job? You think I’m under qualified? I’m a doctor of chemistry— I bet the only element you know is Lithium. I could run circles around you and your arthritic knees you decrepit little vulture. And didn’t you get your dick stuck in a water bottle? At your big age? Your fucking Jurassic age? Holy shit. When you die, I’m pulling up to your funeral as your ex-wife’s plus one and shitting on your grave. I’m done. Fuck.”
And Julian storms off, leaving Kondraki and the others to wonder what the fuck just happened. Gears, meanwhile, is pretty sure he’s feeling either admiration, love, or heartburn
-Brainworm anon
HES HAD ENOUGH YOUR HONOUR !!! HE IS INNOCENT !!!!
I mean they are both pretty violent already- that can't go too well, Kondraki likes provoking, Iceberg is easily provoked.
I can literally see these two having screaming matches in the middle of some rooms and everyone just,,, passing around them, with fear of not getting into the fight. If someone asks what happened this time you bet your ass is something like 'Iceberg somehow, found pictures of Kondraki's ex-wife and he photoshoped himself into them, then left them at Kondraki's desk'
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darrowsrising · 2 years
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thirsty anon here- I did start my re-read! While I do think Book 1 is the worst of the bunch, and it falls prey to a lot of unfortunate trendy tropeyness, it still holds up well and I enjoy it as much as I did when I first read it in middle school. Tbh Darrow was never really my favorite but now I’m reminded why he’s *the* one. Knowing how sad their arcs end up kind of hangs over it but I’m also really enjoying Tactus and Roque’s dialogue and drama, the series is actually hilarious at times
Hello, thirsty anon!
I think you are a bit too hard on Red Rising, tbh. It does not fall prey to 'trendy tropiness', I do not believe that is even a thing. Though I get that Divergent popularized throwing cute tropes at the wall and glueing them together with lazy world-building and completely flat characters, thay is not something Pierce Brown suffers from. Tropes are not the problem in any writing, the execution is. At least in my opinion.
Many things are subverted: the protagonist comes from a poor background, he loves his family who are still around and influence him and he cherishes that as though he comes from royalty; the hero ia so severely traumatized that his coping mechanism become both useful and troubling deppending on circumstance; the book dares to humanize the oppressors, but still nail down the fact that they are wrong; the protagonist learns that his own people are capable of horrible crimes and the justice vs. vengeance is explored in a way that makes sense and does not feels preachy; Darrow is not your classic hero at all and you get the opportunity to dislike him, because the and the author do not really seem to care - at least surface wise that what it translates as - because Pierce simply refuses to make it easy for him to always make the right choice, no matter how capable and skilled he is.
Simply put, it's a New Adult, Dystopian Sci-Fi that does its own thing. Also, tropes are not a bad thing at all. They are gears people use to make a story, without it, there would be no actual stories. Pierce uses tropes in a good way, trying to write them in his own, unique way.
Also, it's a personal preference, but I believe Iron Gold is the worst book in the Red Rising Saga, because it feels like an unedited, messy prequel to Dark Age, the true masterpiece. But then again, I only read it once, I dislike most people in that book. That is certainly a book I can wait to re-read, but Red Rising, I truly love, it's a good book - 3,5-4/5 from me.
Oh, yeah, I love the humour in Red Rising too - when it's not american in flavour, which sometimes does happen. But thr camaraderie and humour are so natural, I loved that a lot.
Tactus has been interesting from the very start, very compelling characters, even though utter trash fire. Roque never clicked for me, I cared for him to the extend of how Darrow's feelings would be affected. Which is weird fornme to like Tactus and shit on Roque, so props to Pierce for that.
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worm-tired · 2 years
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OC TIME BAYBE!!
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Beloveds <3
OC names, pronouns, and more stuff down here :D
(It’s kind of long, read if you like ramblings about ocs)
I’m gonna start with the characters who aren’t on the posters (posters are also oc stuff hehe)
Left -> right
Billie, she/her (maybe she/they? Or she/he? I’m not sure it’s weird for me changing ocs pronouns after having them for years ;;)
Erin, she/her
(In the middle there is Matthew, who uses he/him and I forgot he was there)
Jaden, he/him (or any pronouns, he doesn’t really care much)
Randall, he/him
The people working aren’t technically part of this specific oc universe? But at the register is Journey (they/she) and in the back is Calvin (he/him).
I call this oc universe San Perlita, and it consists of about 40 high school age characters who just do teen stuff.
It’s kind of a slice of life type thing, and some of the characters I made just because at the time (2019) I was dealing with shit.
Most of the characters are queer (shout out to my one cishet guy, love you Viktor <3) and that definitely plays into some stuff.
I know my oc stuff doesn’t do too well here, but I think I’ll post more about them again because I do genuinely love my ocs :)
With that out of the way, the movie posters!
/!\ my stories have some dark themes sometimes (death for 1 and 3, cannibalism for 3) /!\
Again, left to right.
The first one is a poster that I actually have :D it’s fallen on me at least twice in my sleep and it scares me every time it does. It’s for my yet-to-be-real story, Truth! It follows a girl, Eliza, who was blinded in a car accident that also killed her older sister, Truth. Truths best friend, Maya, was hopelessly in love with her, and she feels so much guilt over what happened, because Truth had invited her out to a party that night and she couldn’t go. A while after the funeral, Maya summons Truths ghost. However, before Maya can get much of a word in, something goes wrong. Maya gets possessed by a demon and Truths ghost has to try to protect Eliza (and Abel, the brother of the drunk driver who inadvertently killed Truth). The story ends with a fight between Eliza and “Maya”, wherein Eliza ends up killing “Maya”, breaking the possession but unfortunately killing the real Maya in the process. Maya is reunited in death with Truth, and Eliza and Abel, now besties for life, go on to live happy lives.
The second one is my Mermaid story! I really want to make this one a webcomic aa!!
Ok so I’ll be vagueish, but it’s another slice of life type thing :) it follows Nyssisa and Mako who have a sort of Romeo and Juliet thing going on. The Dolphins (Nyssisa) and the Sharks (Mako) are at war, and have been for longer than pretty much any living Mermaid remembers. They end up running away together to the surface, and silly goofy times ensue (plus angst sometimes because I love me some angst <3)
And the last one is a true crime documentary about my oc Robby :) Robby was a sweet kid who ended up killing and eating quite a few people. She ended up getting caught after a victim escaped (the victim died shortly after being found, as they were probably missing some bits). He was tried for murder and cannibalism, and got sent to a psychiatric hospital instead of prison on account of insanity. However, about a year after being put away, they just… disappeared. They killed about 2 nurses while escaping the hospital, and then they were unable to be found. Some theories say that Robby never even committed the crimes, and was framed by the government, die to their record of being a really sweet person and lack of reports of violence. Plus the later interviews with his parents and brother, who are still looking for him and miss her, where they always say that she wasn’t capable of commuting these crimes and other stuff. Plus PLUS they never showed like… generic murderer traits (killing animals being the main thing, Robby loves animals), and like yeah they were seen as weird but it was the 90s and before and she’s neurodivergent.
(they DID commit the crimes and he’s in the backrooms now living happily…ish. She still misses her family, from what she can remember of them).
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stuffmyfriendssay · 1 year
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walk me home
My fill for whumptober day 7: the way you shake and shiver
I went the panic attack, shaky hands route, ina kind of experimental first person POV. I'm really happy with how it turned out, but as its based on my own thought processes, I don't really know how it would come across to other people. I'd love any feedback people are willing to give!
Ah shit, fucking panicking fucking wow, thanks brain.
We were doing fine weren’t we, just out for a walk, didn’t even see one of my triggers you just decided to be a bitch and make me feel like I’m dying? Okay then, be like that, see if I care, see if I…
Oh.
Oh, wow. Huh.
Yeah, no, this sucks. This sucks, this sucks, this sucks, this…
Shit.
Well it’s only like twenty minutes to walk home from here, right? Maybe I can get home before this gets, like, properly bad or whatever.
Route home’s easy, so… deep breathing. Grounding exercises. From your stomach or whatever. Imagine you’re filling the corners of a box with your breath, got to get all the way out to the corners. In. Out. In.
Wonderful, I am officially, according to my therapist, able to breathe. Success is sweet.
Step 2: grounding techniques. How about that five things one? What is it, five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can touch? Or is it four things you can touch and three you can hear? Whatever, doesn’t matter as long as it works right?
Okay, what can I see? Uh, there’s a fucking building right there. Is that specific enough? No? Maybe? Big concrete building, lots of windows, ugly. Better. Two: super weird looking tree/bush thing in the park. Three? Umm, oh, wow, umm… yeah, breathing, huh. 
Three… there’s a guy running, he’s got bright pink trainers on that’s kind of funny. He’s running super fast actually. Right towards me. Should probably move out of the way, huh.
“” “” “” “” “” “”
Shit. 
Why are we on the floor, brain. Why are we on the floor.
Running guy, right.
There is a crowd of people just standing and staring and one of them is coming closer is trying to touch you is touching you is…
Fuck. Well that solves that I guess. Way to go on ‘not solving your problems with violence’ though. Okay get up, get off the floor. Get your water bottle off the floor. Grounding clearly isn’t working, so how about just fucking walking, how about that. 
Get away from the crowd of people, nope, the other way, we wanna go home don’t we. Okay, back through the crowd? Hell no, that is not a good idea, that is not a…
Okay.
Okay, okay, okay.
Around the corner, once, twice, three times. 
Now home. Just walking. Home. Then breakdown. No more grounding techniques and definitely no more being run into by guys in pink trainers.
Just walking, I’m just walking. Nothing bad is happening, just walking, just gonna keep walking until I stop walking I can do that I can walk. Shit. Shit what was that? Oh, fuck, just dropped my water, that’s fine, that’s fine, just stop walking, just for a second, pick it up, start walking again.
Shit, dropped it again. Stupid fucking hands shaking. Gotta keep walking, keep a straight face, get home. We can break down when we get home, yeah? Get it together brain, all you’ve gotta do is keep me walking, keep my face neutral, and stop my fucking hands from fucking shaking fuck.
Shit. 
Dropped the fucking bottle again. 
Okay, maybe not walking, maybe not walking, but we can do breathing, right? We can still do breathing? We can’t do walking but we can still do breathing? Maybe? Oh, no this is harder than it should be, this is… Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Breathing.
Just breathing.
Just in then out then in then- 
Wow. Chill dude. It's just breathing, nothing deep. Nothing we haven’t done before.
Right, breathing: tick. Straight face: good enough. Walking: nope, we are standing still, just stood here, just stood in the middle of the street, not walking, not walking, just stood dropping the same water bottle over and over again, okay. People will start staring if we keep standing here, brain, people will keep staring until they get concerned, and when they get concerned they’ll either call the police or come over and you can’t deal with either of those right now, can you, brain? So walking. Just walking, straight face, breathing. Just til we get home. Just til… 
Fuck, okay.
Fuck.
We’ve got this, one foot in front of the other, just walking, breathing, face neutral, no-one will know, then we can break down at home, yeah? Just two more blocks, just 5 more minutes, just walking and breathing. Okay.
Okay.
Breathing is under control? Walking is… happening, what else were we worried about, brain? Huh? Oh, right yeah, shaking hands, dropping bottle. Okay, bottle in pocket, that’s just one extra motion we’ve got that. Okay, bottle, into pocket, hands free to shake without worrying about dropping things.
Now we can worry about shaking hands. Can’t put them in my pockets, cause those are full of water bottle, and we’ve got to focus on walking not just this. Think, think, umm. Clasped together? No. No, that’s not helping, that’s… that’s… okay. Okay, just walking for now, deal with shaking hands later. Okay, one more block, two minutes. Okay. 
Okay.
Hands are shaking, but like, that’s nothing new, hands are shaking, we’re walking, almost home, then we can break down, no more walking, no more neutral expression, just whatever happens, happens.
Whatever happens.
Just open the door. Keys in the lock, turn, open. Fuck, keys in the lock. Shit. Stupid fucking shaky hands fuck. Keys–slowly–in the lock–careful–and then we can… okay, keys in, turn, open.
Home. We’re home now, we’re home, we don’t have to walk anymore, face can do whatever, breathing would be nice, I guess, but oh. Oh, maybe not. Okay, just not breathing, not breathing, can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
“” “” “” “” “” “”
Okay. 
Okay I’m tired now.
But I can breathe, that’s something. Hands still shaking but I don’t think it’s in a panicky way anymore, thank fuck. Oh I just want to go to bed. Oh please just a nap, just sleep for eight hours I don’t really care at this point.
We should probably shower first, shouldn’t we, brain. That would be nice. 
Right, okay. One, two, three, up… oh that does not feel great. Oh wow, okay. Back down we go. Right, slower this time, maybe, huh? One. Two. Three. And, up. Mostly. Okay maybe not shower first, maybe drink some water, eat some food, then have a shower. Then go the fuck to sleep. For like the rest of time or something. That sounds nice.
Okay, water: kitchen… then a glass… over to the sink… fill, drink, fill, drink, stop. And food? Maybe? I’ve got some chocolate around here somewhere, right? Hey, brain, where did we put our chocolate? Oh, nevermind, it’s literally right here. That’s good, that’s nice, that’s… oh. Wow. I really needed that sugar, huh?
Now, shower. 
Then bed. Then work tomorrow morning and no-one needs to be any the wiser. Right? No-one needs to know.
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