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yuzukult · 3 years

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from home 02 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 8.1k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: ;n; wishing this was longer than i made it... please expect the next one to take a bit of time! but you never know. i’m unpredictable.

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2

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Waking up on an unfolded futon is no comparison to a deluxe California King bed with pearly white satin sheets.

For one, it meant that he wasn’t actually on the futon itself rather on the floor instead. Jungkook has been having an exertion amount of time trying to not fall off the limited dimensions of his now mattress. In addition to that, even after going grocery shopping, he feels like he’s spending an endless amount of money on a daily just to keep his fridge stocked because every time he pulls that door open— there’s nothing in the fridge. How is that even possible?

At times like these, he missed the personal chef. Sure, he couldn’t remember the gentleman’s name, but he made a mean grilled cheese sandwich. Instead, Jungkook enjoys a sad and limp piece of string cheese for breakfast.

For once, he’s grateful that the distance from home to work is short, really being an approximate 10 minute walk, meaning that he didn’t need to take an Uber or possibly buy a car? How did poor people transport from one place to another? He thinks of you on his route to work; the things you yelled at him the night on Hoseok’s yacht, how he purely innocently asked if he could pay for your future endeavors and the reaction he pulled from you that could only be described to be full of resentment. You really didn’t like him.

True be told, the feeling of hatred is mutual.

Jungkook dreads coming into work, mostly because the sight of you is a constant and the current impression he has of you is that you’re just plain mean and bossy. He hates that whenever he’s in the midst of a task, you manage to always slide in to critique every action he performs. How old did you think he was? Some thirteen year old with an adult job? While at the end of the line at the cashier’s station, Jungkook places the bread at the bottom of the brown bag but before he’s ready to drop the jug of milk on top, you shove his hand away. “You’re going to flatten the bread if you do it like that. Heavier duty items are at the end of the pile. Lighter and fragile items on top.” He scowls. Or when he’s in the parking lot, while lost in his thoughts, he nearly propels one of the carts directly into a moving car, and surprisingly enough, you’re standing outside beside him, swooping in with your fingers wrapped around the handlebars with sweat dripping from your forehead while halting the motions. “You almost dented that guy’s car!” He wants to tell you ‘and so what?’ but he refrains from saying anything because when he turns to look at you, you’re already halfway down the lot, making your way back indoors.

Then when he’s stacking the canned goods on the shelves, you approach him from behind and tell him that he’s doing it incorrectly. “What’s wrong about putting stuff on shelves?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “The labels aren’t facing out. How are the customers supposed to know what it is?”

“Turn the can around?” He says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, so do it.”

When you walk away, he’s tempted to grab the canned corn he’s restocking and chuck it at the back of your head, but he holds himself back. This is for his mom, for the development of himself, to prove to his brothers that he wasn’t just some useless, spoiled kid. You didn’t believe in him anyway which is probably why you’re being so difficult— oh how he wished he could ask for a replacement trainer. So why waste his time trying to please you when he really just needs to sway his parents? The main goal is to get the money back into his pockets anyway.

Once finishing his list of tasks, he advances toward Hoseok who’s in the middle of mopping a spill in one of the aisles. Apparently, someone had dropped a jar of pickles, filling up the place with the stench of vinegar, scrunching up Jungkook’s nose. “Is she always this mean?”

Hoseok glances up from the pile of pickles on the ground, chin resting on the handle of the mop, discouraged to clean the mess. “Who?”

Jungkook skims the area to confirm that the coast is clear before he whispers your name discreetly. “I feel like she’s looking over my shoulder 24/7. It’s like she’s out to get me. Maybe she wants to catch me doing something stupid and get me fired.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes in response before finally crouching down to throw the scattered pickles into the trash bin beside him. “No, she doesn’t. You’re her responsibility, so if any higher ups saw you fucking around or fucking up and find out that she’s the one who’s supposed to train you, she’d lose her job. She can’t afford that, Kook.” Jungkook sighs, observing Hoseok as he’s trying to gently pick up the piece of glass that’s drenched in the juices. “Well? Are you just going to stand there and watch after what I just told you? Help me!”

Abiding by instruction, Jungkook still sighs heavily, bending his knees to grab the pickles cautiously between his index finger and thumb. This is rancid, and the way his face contorts in disgust when he flings it into the trash can says it all. He can’t believe that he’s in this position right now when he could be sitting in the middle of a golf course on a Wednesday morning, enjoying his fifth glass of merlot, with a pretty girl by his side, complimenting him every time he swings his golf club. “I miss the rich life. I don’t know how you do this everyday. Is this even worth it for you?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he grabs the last piece of glass on the floor as Jungkook tosses a handful of pickles he grabbed previously. “I just didn’t want my parents controlling where the money was going anymore. And I got tired of being called a prodigal. I wanted to be someone who could do things themselves without having my parents giving me money.”

“But how could you hate that! Isn’t that their job as parents? Taking care of you, giving you more than you need? That includes money. We’re just lucky because our parents are rich.”

Standing up from his position, Hoseok brushes his hands off on his apron as Jungkook follows in suit. “But that’s what I mean. Do you hear yourself? The ‘we’re just lucky because our parents are rich’ thing is getting old. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be just as rich but I want to be wealthy myself, not because my parents gave me the means to be.”

Hoseok makes a point but not one that Jungkook can fully grasp onto. He understood where the older male was coming from, but truth be told, Jungkook still wanted his parents’ wealth in the end. Hoseok had dreams he was chasing, ones where cutting ties from his parents would be beneficial but to Jungkook, he didn’t have any aspirations of his own to obtain like that.

“Anyway, I digress. She means well. She needs this and that café job too. Her parents don’t have any type of money, if anything, she purposely cut herself off from them so that they wouldn’t have to pay for her. Moving back home is her personal embarrassment, just like how being kicked out of your home is yours.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

Hoseok pulls his lips into a tight line, dropping the mop into the bucket to extract the vinegary liquid out. “Work with it. Be better than what she’s asking for. I learned a lot from her and I’m sure you can too. Who knows? Maybe she’ll pick a couple things from you along the way.”

That’s when he tests the waters.

For the past two hours, that’s exactly what Jungkook does. He tries. Harder than usual. When you walk by, he is especially polite to customers with the brightest smile his cheeks will allow. Or when he’s back to organizing cans on the shelves, he’s attempting to show all the labels, but you’re back, questioning why he’s even stacking cans with dents in them. Then there’s the time he’s standing at the station for the self-checkout... but he gets distracted while playing on his phone and you nearly smack the living shit out of him.

“Why do you freaking hate me so much?” He exasperates, arms dropping at his sides from frustration. The shift is finally over, thank god, but he’s still on edge as to why you always have something to say, so he chases after you into the locker room. “All you do is attack me the entire day and it’s already difficult for me to adjust to being here.”

“Listen, I get it. It’s hard. Well, I don’t really get it because I’ve been working most of my life, but this is completely new territory for you. Regardless, you still have to learn how to do this, Jungkook. Your parents aren’t going to be supporting you anymore.” Wrong. Wrong because in his mind, his parents are going to welcome him with open arms when he proves his capabilities. This situation is only temporary. “So, I want to help you. If you really need anything, here’s my number. Call me.”

“Is this a way for you to get my number?” Jungkook raises a brow suggestively. Clicking your tongue, you circle back into your locker, grabbing your bag of items. “Trust me, you would’ve known if I wanted to get in your pants. Plus, I’m giving you my number, not asking for yours, dumbass.” Flinging a crumpled piece of paper at his forehead that so happens to have your number on it, he pouts after rubbing his head. “Rude.”

“Jungkook,” You’re speed walking out of the supermarket with Jungkook trailing behind you as quickly as he can keep up with. Did you run track before? “I really don’t want to hear your excuses about why you were snooping on me while I was changing my shirt.” He didn’t see you changing, he merely caught a glimpse, but even so, it was only a bit of your tummy that he saw.

Nonetheless, he knows you’re just joking because of the light laughter that escapes from your lips afterwards that sounds like the melody of his favorite song. Maybe you weren’t so bad after all. Maybe it was just a facade you had to put up at work most of the time. “I wasn’t—“

“Jungkook.”

You freeze at the sound of his name; Jungkook’s reaction is delayed as he bumps into you from behind while his head turns to the voice. “Jungsik Hyung.”

Jeon Jungsik. Also labeled as the 3rd child or middle son of the Jeon Family. He’s known to be the philanthropist, the humanitarian of the Jeons, donating his percentage of the earnings from his family’s corporation to a different charity each time he’s the headline of an article. Jungsik in person is even more handsome than the pictures you’ve googled online; simply breathtakingly beautiful just like his personality and heart. Undercut hair with a navy blue suit that compliments his figure, he has a clean appearance with a demeanor that is nothing more than a calm and gentle nature. Despite all the greatness he possessed, he unfortunately had to go through the loss of his late wife, who the doctors had discovered she had cancer, later choosing to spend her last days in Africa, teaching the children English.

You may have looked up the prettiest Jeon brother on every search engine on a random Tuesday night, sitting on the floor with your laptop perched on the coffee table, glass of moscato in hand. Dating a guy like him would be a dream— yet, there you were, getting shit-faced drunk on moscato with a mud mask that was hardening on your face.

Your thoughts are interrupted at the tail end of Jungkook’s introduction between you and his brother, bowing abruptly at the realization. “... She works here. Currently occupied with training me.”

Jungsik grins, pearly whites blinding your eyes. “Admirable. Thank you for looking out for our little Kook. He’s not the best at working, so I figure he must’ve made things difficult for you.”

“Occasionally,” You joke, replicating the contagious smile on his face. “But don’t worry, Jungkook will get there. Once his training portion is over, I’m sure he’ll manage.” That’s not what you said at Hoseok’s yacht, is what he wants to say, but definitely not in front of the angelic brother. Jungsik chuckles deeply at your response, tips of his ears flushing pink at your interactions, and it makes Jungkook cringe.

“That’s great. I’m sure that you two have had a long day, so is there any way I can treat you guys to dinner?”

You can feel Jungkook’s hot breath down your neck, fuming with anger with smoke probably whistling out of his ears. “Why, why, why did you agree for us to have dinner with Jungsik? This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me!” He whispers aggressively beside you but you only ignore his reaction by flipping another piece of pork on the grill. “And why the hell would you suggest coming to this dump? He said he would take us out to a five-star restaurant!”

Admittingly so, a Korean BBQ joint located in some-what of an alleyway is far from a fancy restaurant, but this place was good, your favorite, and why not introduce Jungsik and Jungkook to food that doesn’t need caviar for it to be considered delicious?

Jungsik excused himself, looking kind of out of place in this low-ceiling location, but he forced a smile anyway before looking for the bathroom. “We can just tell him that we have to go or that you’re not feeling so well. He’ll let us make a run for it, trust me.”

You glance over at Jungkook. “You can do that. I’m staying.”

“But why!”

“Because he seems nice.” You’re adding more meat on the grill again. “Plus, I’m starving. I was going to come here anyway.” Jungkook pauses, watching as you casually maneuver the food with the prongs. “... You were going to eat alone?”

Dropping the prongs, you pick up your set of chopsticks to grab yourself a piece of kimchi. “Well, yeah. Who else am I supposed to eat with?” You shake your head, jumping back on topic. “If you want to leave, feel free. I’m still going to be here.”

“Hell no. I’m not leaving you with Jungsik hyung.”

Tilting your head with narrowed eyes, you blink. “What’s wrong with Jungsik? He’s literally an angel. Like I actually can’t believe that you guys are brothers.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip anxiously as if he’s holding back. “I just think he’s not a good guy. So I’ll stay.”

“Sorry I took so long,” Jungsik places his blazer on the seat beside him, rolling up the sleeves of his white button up. “I just needed to wash up. So... how long have you been working at my mother’s supermarket?”

You hum in thought, counting the months from when you first started. It was during University, possibly around the time you were starting your second year... “Probably around three years? And the café... maybe two? I think I’m approaching two.”

Jungsik’s mouth gaps open. “Wait, you work at my mother’s café as well?” Nodding in response, you place a couple of the meats onto Jungsik’s plate as Jungkook eyes you carefully. “Tuition doesn’t pay itself. And I plan to start a business one day, so two jobs is the only way to get to that finish line.”

“I—I offered to pay,” Jungkook interjects into the conversation, feeling like he’s the third wheel suddenly. “I told her she didn’t need to work the two jobs and I’d help her pay for the bakery.” That’s when Jungsik’s gaze meets Jungkook’s; his stare is unreadable and Jungkook can’t place a finger on what’s running through his mind. “Are you two... dating?”

“Why does everyone ask that?”

“Well, Jungkook is offering to pay for your business,” Jungsik begins, watching the expression on his younger sibling’s face who reciprocates the action, “and he never does that.” He pauses for a moment before breaking the staring competition with Jungkook, fixating back onto you. “But then again, Jungkook spends the family’s money heedlessly, so that’s expected. I’m sure your business is legitimate, but Jungkook probably didn’t even do any research before gifting you that proposition. And I don’t really see Jungkook in a relationship, let alone someone like you, anyways. No offense. I think you’re great, hence why I don’t think he could even land you.”

Cheeks flushing pink, you dip your head. “Thanks.”

There it was. Even when in front of a stranger, Jungsik is just like his other brothers, shamelessly speaking about Jungkook in a condescending manner. Jungkook confesses that Jungsik’s hypothesis is right— Jungkook did exactly do all those things he listed, but that doesn’t mean anything. It was a kind gesture, one that he figured Jungsik would’ve done himself, and he couldn’t see what was wrong with the decisions he had made. You were passionate about a dream, realistic with the expectations, and had mutual friends with him. He felt like despite the constant bickering, he still trusted you. More than his own siblings, at least.

The silence between the three of you was swelling, tension predominantly between the two males, so you shatter that glass by placing some beef on Jungkook’s plate. “Try that.”

“... You want me to try that? I don’t eat regular grade beef.”

“Well kid, you do now because you can’t afford any of the kobe stuff. Come on, Jungkook, just give it a shot.” Grabbing a bed of lettuce, you place a piece of garlic, swipe of gochujang paste, and drop a slice of beef onto it before wrapping and bringing it close to his mouth. “Here, try it like this.”

Jungkook can feel it. The way Jungsik studies the actions between you and Jungkook was a test. Jungsik traveled far and wide, spent time in first and third world countries, eating things that Jungkook can only imagine of eating... well, he doesn’t want to imagine some of those things, but ultimately enough, he’s testing the waters. Jungsik would go home later that night, report this to the other four siblings and to his parents in the luxurious dining room where they’d have their meetings, which meant one thing: he had to eat this concoction that you’ve created.

You lift the lettuce wrap up, gesturing him to open wide. Slowly, he parts his lips, just enough for you to thrust it into his mouth as he winces, the juices from the meat spilling out from the sides. As you wipe the spill with a napkin, his eyes dilate with a sparkle. "Holy shit. That's good."

Jungsik lets go of a breath he's been holding. "I didn't think you'd actually eat that. Don't think I've seen you eat anything without caviar, gold flakes or truffles."

Jungkook turns to his older brother, cheeks full of the lettuce that you've fed him. "Well, you thought wrong. I'm different now, hyung, and it hasn't even been that long since I've left home."

"Correction, since mother kicked you out." He retorts, attention turning back onto you. "Anyway, thank you. This amount on my plate should be enough for me tonight as for I already had a very large dinner before stopping by the market. I'm going to have to leave after this— but feel free to order as much as you like, I'll keep my card on the tab."

"Oh," Face crimson, you wave your hands in front of you in disagreement, "Don't do that. I don't mind paying."

"No, no," Jungsik says, taking a mouthful of the meat into his mouth. "It's the least I could do since you're looking after my little brother. After all, he needs all the help he can get."

When Jungsik says goodbye and exits the store, Jungkook found it inevitable to ponder why his brother decided to come by anyway. Despite his common reputation of being the sweetest and most caring Jeon, he was known to be devious to those who were close to him, shady majority of the time, and every step he made had a reasoning behind it.

The moment Jungsik steps out of the restaurant, he spits out the chewed up beef behind the door, eyes meeting with Jungkook through the windows before a mischievous smile stretches from cheek to cheek. What was he up to?

Inhaling sharply, he shoves it under the rug for future thought. "Enjoying the food?"

"Mmm," You hum, cheeks full of rice and kimchi, an unrecognizable amount of joy written across your face. "So good. Definitely worth dealing with you and your brother's weird relationship. Is this what it's like with all of your siblings?" In spite of the grain of rice stuck to your chin, he oddly thinks this sight of you is... cute.

"Usually. They aren't really fans and disagree with almost all of my life choices except for going to University. I graduated with all honors and on the Dean's List multiple times yet I'll never be up to their standards."

"Well, to be fair, those gossip magazines talked a lot about your scandals." You grab a napkin to wipe the area around your mouth and he suddenly misses the rice that rested on your face.

"What? A twenty-three year old guy can't sleep around? What's wrong with that?"

You shake your head in response, leaning back against the metal chair that begins to bring discomfort to your tailbone. "Nothing wrong with that, but your choices on who you decide to bed is definitely controllable. You keep luring in those rich girls who do nothing all day but spread rumors and make it their life goal to assure your life is a living hell." Tapping your fingers against the table, your lips purse up in thought before resting your arms beside your plate. "Wanna order some drinks? It's on your brother's tab and you seem like you need to loosen up a little."

Five shots of charm soju in, Jungkook's supple skin is flushed red.

"I only sleep with those types of girls because I think they have somewhat potential in dating me. But in the end, they're all the same. So I just end the night with a quick bang and go home." Strangely enough, even with Jungkook's history with drinking, he's actually a lightweight. You'd think he had a better tolerance with his constant intake but you've been proven otherwise.

Eyes hooded and face pressed against the palm of his hand while his elbows rest against the wooden table, he hums to an unfamiliar tune. "I just want to get through this part of my life. Bring home someone who's steady, realistic, and liked by my entire family where they actually have hope in me again."

"You can, just don't bring any of those girls home again." Alcohol doesn't hit you as hard as Jungkook does, or at least, five shots doesn't, but you admit you're a bit tipsy. "I'm sure someone like that will fall for you. You're like... pretty and with money."

He scoffs. "Hoseok would frown at that response. He hates when people associate him with his parents' wealth. I don't understand it."

"It's like when your family thinks you're incapable of working hard. People think he's incapable of working, too. In this case, associate him with his parents' money, and for you, they just think you won't make it out here alive because of your choices. You're both on the path of proving yourselves competent."

There's silence between the two of you, Jungkook deep in thought.

If Hoseok was on the same route as he was, why was Hoseok's approach entirely different? Why didn't he feel the same drive and motivation as Hoseok does, and why does it make him believe that there was another way to solve this issue? Instead of trying to make enough money to move out, he could just feed off of his parents' money and use it towards something else, earn money off of that and spend that newly collected money that was now truly his. Which brings to question, how can he hit two birds with one stone? Both introduce his parents to someone who was totally out of his league yet loved by them and demonstrate his ability to work?

Bingo. The answer is sitting right there in front of him. You.

You were a hard-working middle class citizen. From juggling two jobs to being a graduate at some University, you knew what it felt like to be poor. You hated people who bathed in wealth, especially when it's claimed to not be their own and stood for your beliefs. If Jungkook brought you home to present to his parents, they'd be so jubilant that he could imagine his stubborn, stone-cold face father doing cartwheels, mother's cheeks in pain from all the grinning, and brothers looking defeated, envied erroneously.

"Tell me a bit more about yourself, I feel like I don't really know you." There. If he studies you enough, maybe you'd be willing to jump in on his plan. After all, he still has to determine what he can offer you in this portion of his scheme to convince you to deceive his family, especially since you seemed to be fond of both Jungsik and his mother. "... Why are you suddenly interested?"

He shrugs. "I just wanna know. Where did you go to school, why did you choose a bakey, etcetera. If I'm going to be working with you, I should probably get to know you a bit better. Maybe I'll feel more inclined to cooperate." It was like in mere seconds, Jungkook wasn't intoxicated anymore— completely sober.

So you play his little game, it wouldn't hurt, right? "Got a scholarship to study abroad, so I was in New York for a couple years. Don’t get me wrong though, since it’s the US, it wasn’t a full scholarship, but I didn’t have any other opportunities that I wanted. Then graduated with a degree in Food Science. Then parents needed some money so I had to come back right after graduation and pick up a job at your mom's supermarket, paid off their debt and now I'm just trying to pay off mine. I also needed to put some sense to my degree and well... I loved baking in my free time. It was all I did when I was stressed from exams."

"You studied in New York?" If he wasn't sober a couple minutes ago, he was now.

You nod in response, finishing the last portion of pork that sits idly on your plate. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"But you started working at the market three years ago?" He asks, the space between his brows crinkle, trying to count the months in his head. He also takes note that he's older than you and that it'd come in handy later. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I finished high school early." The sizzle of the grill dies down, the ventilator shutting off from the lack of smoke. "I jumped a couple grades."

"A... couple grades. A couple grades, it doesn't sound like just 'a couple,' you literally graduated college at the age of what... fifteen?" He heaves, completely taken aback by this new information. "And then graduated college at eighteen? Yet you're working at a grocery store and some coffee shop when you could be running an entire company."

"Well, when you say it like that—"

"Okay, I have a proposition for you. Let's date." You nearly choke on the water you're drinking. "What?"

"Fake date, really. Be my fake girlfriend. You're a year younger than me, got a college degree at eighteen with attainable aspirations that I could cater to once my parents give me access to their money again. The entirety of this conversation is only giving me more reasons to invest in our relationship, to invest in you, and it'll benefit me in return." You squint your eyes at him suspiciously, but he continues. "My mom already likes you. Jungsik even thinks you're too good for me and that there's no way that you'd ever date me. If you actually did, imagine the look on his face!"

"Jungkook," You sigh, running your fingers through your loosen strands of hair. "I don't know. This seems wrong, lying to your family. They only want the best for you."

"Absolutely not. My brothers want to see me fail. If you agree to do this, I can show you what I'm talking about."

Hesitant, you nibble on the hardened dry skin on your lips, heart racing in uneasiness. "But you'd be giving up a lot. No more flings, no more getting wasted... you'd have to be completely serious and on board if you do this. It has to be convincing. But at the same time, how long and how are we going to keep this up?"

"Maybe until you get your shop up and running so that you're able to stabilize it yourself. I'm sure that wouldn't take long anyway, and it would be a great business deal if we go through with this. You'd be out of debt, starting your own bakery, all in a shorter span of time than intended. And all you have to do is come home with me to see my parents occasionally, attend some events, hold my hand, maybe exchange a couple kisses— but nothing out of your comfort zone though, I respect boundaries."

With how his hand gestures move, and how the ideas flow from his mind so effortlessly, you could've sworn that Jungkook was a con-artist. His words were a shell of plausibles and credibility— up to the point you had to tell yourself to stop and take a breather because all this material was starting to sound reasonable, and from your lack of experience with Jungkook, he wasn't the most reliable person you've met. "I'm going to have to think about this. As great as it sounds for me, it doesn't seem like much of a character development path for you."

"But it would," he asserts, putting emphasis in the way he speaks, "I'm investing in something I believe in. A business, one that I see potential in, in a person that I see potential in."

"Jungkook, you met me last week."

"Which is why it makes it even more impactful!" He exclaims, arms thrown in the air. "I know you hate me. But you have the qualities of what would help me get myself back into the estate. I'm not even sure if I'm written out of the will yet, and I'm praying that this whole 'changing' thing won't take so long that the idea is going to be thrown out the window."

"I really don't hate you, I just want people like you to be more aware of what's going on in the real world. They all view the lives of people like me through a sheer shower curtain with diamonds and pearls wrapped around their bodies, laughing away. It's like you don't see the problems we face everyday."

"And as much as I don't want to do that, let that be part of the deal. Get one 'ignorant' rich guy out of that stereotypical pool, and teach me how to be better. Then, I'll also be on the road to being a more... empathetic and educated man."

Puffing up your cheeks, you look away for a brief moment. “I still want some time to think about this.”

“That’s fine. But also, one more thing.” You turn your gaze to fixate back onto him. “Yeah?”

“Don’t eat alone if you don’t have to. Call me, I’ll keep you company.”

"... So I asked her to be my fake girlfriend." Jungkook ends the story of how your ‘fake love’ blossomed under the fluorescent lighting and smoke from the grill at a barbecue shack hidden in an alleyway.

Hoseok's jaw drops to the floor. "W-What?" He stutters, appalled by Jungkook's proposal for you. How could Jungkook just bring up an arrangement like that so effortlessly? Without even a second thought? "And what did she say?"

"That she needs to think about it a little more."

He sighs of relief, pushing his hair back through his fingers. "Good. Because she has a horrible history with guys. It always seems to go down in flames. I could only imagine what it means if she dated you."

"It's a fake relationship, what could possibly go wrong?"

"You might fall in love with her. Or worse, she'll fall in love with you. Literally every fanfic and romance movie trope that has to do with fake dating. Plus, imagine if she fell in love with you." He shivers at the thought.

“What’s wrong with me? Why are you making it sound like it’s the worst thing ever if she even so likes me like that? I don’t even think she’ll fall for me anyway. The mere thought of me seems to disgust her.”

Grabbing another box of cereal to restock, he rolls his eyes. "You really don’t get it, do you? It’s more like... you're not going to be serious about her if she did. You don't even know what it means to be in a committed relationship, let alone know how to handle a fake one. If she falls in love with you, she's done for. Then her guy streak really is horrible. You’re putting her in a tough spot, Jeon."

Tearing open another cardbox box full of inventory, Jungkook frowns in thought. What if you did fall in love with him? How would he go about that? Would he still invest in your business then? Taking a moment to let the ideas sink in, he’s already decided. "I'd still invest in her." He concludes. "Isn't that part of the journey? Learning how to be professional? If she falls in love with me, I'll give her space. But I still believe in her business and her goals to open one."

"But you don't even know her," Hoseok reminds him, stopping in the midst of his actions. "She really needs this. If you so much have any doubt of leaving this plan, she'll be devastated. Everything that she has worked hard for has to be halted because she trusts you. You can't play with people's lives like that."

"It's just a business," Jungkook clarifies, but Hoseok shakes his head in dismissal. "This is her life's work, Jeon. Have you even really talked to her about this? You need to either call this off or have a written contract or something because you're not only diminishing her love life, but her dreams too. So really think about this."

Jungkook slouches, body barely standing up against the shelves. “She still has time to decide. Trust me, Hobi, if she does fall in love with me, I’ll take care of her and make sure that she’ll still be able to have the business.” Hoseok eyes Jungkook in disbelief. “You found out she’s younger than you, didn’t you? I can already hear it in your tone. Don’t overlook the age, she’s still lightyears of experience ahead of both of us combined.”

unknown [6:22PM]: so, what’s the verdict? unknown [6:23PM]: my fault, it’s jungkook.

Letting out a large exhale, you shut your lids, phone in the palm of your hand after viewing the texts, allowing your body to fall against the wall behind you.

It’s another late shift at the coffee shop, one that ends around 2am before the cycle of waking up for an additional eight hours at the Jeon market. Although the bags and dark circles that begin to reside underneath your eyes are evidence to your exhaustion, gradually taking a toll on your body. The days were getting shorter, nights stretching longer, and you weren’t sure when your next day off would even be.

Then the thoughts of your loans come to mind. There was another email sent to your mailbox, reading that the next bill was approaching and due soon, causing the weight on your shoulders to inflate. If only the figurative load built your muscles because then you’d be able to pick up a job on a construction site, possibly making a bit more money than you do now with both jobs combined.

You glance at Jungkook’s text again.

The belief that you were independent goes out the window if you cave into Jungkook’s premise. You were practically selling your body at that point... but your personality was part of the package as well. Then there was the lying— you admit, being yourself around the Jeons was easy, but having to lie to them about dating Jungkook seemed... difficult. They were relatively smart people, what if they’re able to see right through your act? And what about Jungkook’s past? Would it continue to haunt you during the relationship?

For instance, what about the women he dated? Rephrase: slept with. There’s pretty much a guarantee that scandals would arise with the announcement that Jungkook was going steady with someone who wasn’t an aristocrat, a child of money. What about you stood out that Jungkook would fall for you to convince other people that you were good enough to be part of their world?

But you go back to your debt.

The biggest regret yet also your biggest accomplishment was going to college in New York.

The expansion of knowledge you were able to obtain during your years there was irreplaceable. If anything, really, it molded you to the person you are today. But at the same time, the debt was like a dark, rainy cloud that followed you around wherever you went.

Having to plan your every expense week by week was draining.

Declining meetings with friends because you couldn’t afford to pay for your portion of the meal, let alone for everyone else.

Jungsik offering to pay for dinner despite your inclination to decline and pay for yourself was a blessing. Veritably thankful that he didn’t take your ‘no’ as answer and left his credit card, if you were being completely honest, you wouldn’t have picked that location if you knew he wasn’t going to pay for it. It’s been a while since you were able to afford KBBQ.

You weren’t poor, no, or at least, you believed yourself not to be. Just... all your money seemed to go toward your debt and savings account for the bakery.

Feeling demoralized, you’re tempted to text Jungkook to let him know you’re surrendering, but he beats you to it.

unknown [6:30PM]: i just want to be able to help the both of us. you can lead the relationship, i’ll follow. i know how much your independence means to you, so... i’ll bottom. unknown [6:31PM]: be mine? you [6:31PM]: 🏳️ (white flag)

Sliding your phone back into the back pocket of your jeans, you make your way back behind the counter with two girls who studied at the university nearby, giggling and slapping each other’s arms elatedly. You’re slightly envious of their lighthearted laughter, wishing that you could do so freely without this heavy feeling in your chest, yet you push those feelings aside anyway, a smile tugging on the edges of your lips. “What are you two laughing about?”

“Jiwoo has a crush!” Injae exclaims, pushing the aforementioned girl to the side with a cackle. “She saw him working at the supermarket you worked at the other day and I swore I saw her staring at him in awe, a river of drool coming out of her mouth. Should’ve put a wet floor sign—“

“Injae!” Jiwoo whines, bottom lip jutting out. “Stop embarrassing me in front of Unnie. She probably thinks we’re immature.” Not really. You kind of wished you had a crush too. The butterflies in your stomach, hands palmy and cheeks flushed pink. Eagerness to see the person; each touched exchange making your heart race faster... “Who’s the guy?”

Injae glances over at you mischievously as you watch her prepare to get hit by Jiwoo. “Jeon Jungkook—” Slap slap slap. Injae’s arm is definitely going to be red tomorrow morning if not right now. But oh, Jungkook? The one you just agreed to date about 5 minutes ago over text?

“I think he has a girlfriend.” You respond uneasily, chewing on the nail of your thumb anxiously. “Who?”

“Hey,” The three of you turn to the customer, quickly straightening your postures and aprons until your eyes meet his, halting your breath. Jungkook has a knack for timing because there he stands, hair disheveled from probably rushing over, in a grey hoodie and baby blue jeans with tears at the knees. “What’s good here?” Yet his gaze doesn’t shift from you. Legs rooted into the ground, mouth parted in surprise, you finally shake yourself out of ice before clearing your throat. The girls seem to be just as stunned as you are because they haven’t moved an inch.

“Cold brew is my personal favorite. But if you want a safe option, americano is great too.” Logging into the iPad, you’re ready to tap in his order but grabs onto your wrist and you grimace. “Can we talk?”

“... You could just say that and not grab me, Jeon. Not everything has to be a K-Drama moment.” In all honesty, you were kind of embarrassed of the girls knowing your newly found relationship with Jungkook. He was definitely not your kind of guy, his brother Jungsik probably being closest to your ideal type and even the girls knew that.

Sitting by the window and across from Jungkook with your fingers tapping against the plastic cup with your cold brew inside, he continues to observe your face briefly while drinking a sip of the americano. You don’t even take a second to look at him, rather your attention is glued to the crescent moon out the window. “White flag? That’s all you can say?”

“How did you want me to respond?”

“Yes or no? Are you usually such a dry texter?” He rebuttals, prepared for anything you throw his way. He’s learning, you take note, because he usually just stands there dumbfounded whenever you’d shoot back with a response.

“Yes, it means yes, I surrender and I agree to your terms. We can date, I’ll be your girlfriend, you can be my boyfriend, blah blah.”

“Not my terms,” He says, rephrasing his text. “Your terms. You’re leading this relationship, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable just because I suggested the idea. I’m not a jackass, you know. I don’t even sleep with women who say no.”

“Are you supposed to get a ‘congrats’ or reward for that? Because that’s the bare minimum, Jeon.”

“You know what I mean,” He retorts back. “I respect women.”

“But lead them on and sleep with them even though you know that you don’t want a relationship with them but they want a relationship with you—“

“Now I have you.” Jungkook interrupts firmly. “I’m having a serious, committal relationship with you. No more of those girls anymore.” You nearly felt your heart swell out of your chest cavity but you remember that he’s just saying it to convince you to date him, despite the fact that you’ve already agreed to it.

“I don’t get where you’re going with this conversation. If you got the answer you wanted and expected to hear, I’m leaving. I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“Quit then.” You scoff at his swift resolution. He’s too impulsive. “I can’t just quit. I need the money.”

“I said I’d help you pay for those things, did you already forget? That’s what this arrangement is all about.”

Rolling your eyes, you stand from your seat, snatching your drink along with you. “In case you forgot, you don’t have the money yet. I agreed to be your girlfriend, happy?” He looks like a puppy with his round eyes peering through his shaggy hair, grin stretching from cheek to cheek. “I am. This means you have to let me do boyfriend things for you.”

“Fine.” You respond through your gritted teeth. Truth be told, you want him out of the café as soon as possible because the college kids behind the counter were starting to whisper. “But you still have to treat this professionally when we’re at work.”

“Deal, love.” His teeth are peeking from his excitement. You squint your eyes at him. “Jungkook.” You warn.

“You’re at work, I’m not.”

You’re going to strangle him.

Walking out of the supermarket after another long night shift, you’re stuck between Jungkook and Hoseok as they exchange stories of parties they previously attended, emitting a sigh from you.

“Tired of our old shenanigans, baby?” Jungkook teases, tugging on the sleeve of your jacket. Hoseok shoots Jungkook a glare. “You’re going to die tonight if you keep that up, man. She’s scary when she’s mad.”

“Oh please. She likes it when I play around.” The innocent smile on his face makes you want to punch it in. “No,” Hoseok says, pulling Jungkook over to his side and looping his arm with yours. “She’s hungry. Let’s go tame this beast.”

Jungkook just stares.

The three of you are at a 24 hour convenience store just outside his house, three bowls of ramen prepped at the table while you all sit on the stools provided. “What’s this? How was it made so fast?”

“It’s ramen, dumbass,” You hiss, breaking the wooden chopsticks that Jungkook watches in reverence. “It’s literally called instant ramen. You’ve never had it before?”

“I’ve had ramen in Japan.”

“Oh, dude, you’re going to be so disappointed when you have this then.” Hoseok laughs then winces when you kick his shin underneath the table. Gesturing the bowl and Jungkook to Hoseok, he frowns, tearing the paper wrapping off the chopsticks and hands to the younger male. “Do what she just did. Break it.”

“Break... this? Chopsticks? Who invented these?”

“Does it matter?” You chime in. “Just break it. Hurry up, we’re trying to show you how this works so we can eat. Why are you acting like an alien? You’ve seen chopsticks before.”

“Well, honestly, at the Jeon estate, we only use—“

“Fuck what you use at the Jeon estate. We’re at the...” Turning to look at the sign above the store, you point to the logo. “... KTH 24 CONVENIENCE. They’re telling us to quickly break our chopsticks so we can go nomnom.” Rapidly, he attempts to snap the chopsticks, only for it to crack unevenly and you stifle a laugh.

“... Good try,” Hoseok shakes his head, tearing the rest of the lid off of the bowl. “Maybe you’ll be better next time. You’re stuck with your screw up now, but least you can still enjoy your shitty bowl of ramen noodles.”

Jungkook swallows. The sight of the noodles floating in soup that looks painfully diluted with water, the aroma from the bowl was still alluring. Stirring the soup, he finally picks up a portion with his wonky chopsticks, blowing on it before taking a bite.

It’s... actually not bad.

“How is it?” Your voice is calmer and much more soothing than it had been a minute ago, but he makes the assumption that it’s because you’ve finally gotten food in your stomach. He takes note of this for future reference. “Oddly enough, not bad. I kind of like it.”

“Well, get used to it. It’s cheap and efficient. You’re part of the broke squad now, Jungkook.”

Broke Squad. Feels nice to be part of something.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gyukultfics

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jade-marie · 3 years

Note

Heyyy. With all this supposed romantic jealousy and like you said ‘dick measuring’ game that Nick and Rio are playing, I think about the scene in the car after Beth got Rio arrested and Nick got him out. Rio said: “so what do you want to do about [Beth?] and Nick said “not what you want to do.” This scene makes it seem like they have a plan that they’re BOTH in on to deal with Beth. I’m at first I thought they were playing good cop/bad cop (I still think they are) but now Rio is clearly uncomfortable with Nick’s plan. What the fuck is going on because I am confused?

Also do you think the dynamic between Nick and Rio will become clearer by the finale? They seem to have a very complex relationship and wow, who would have thought utilising one of your best and most underused character that LITERALLY DRIVES THE WHOLE MAIN PLOT would make the show interesting again 🤔

Hi, doll! Ok, you’re gonna have to bear with me because my brain is messy at the best of times and I’ve had a non stop headache since yesterday morning, so making sense of my thoughts is hella difficult right now lol. I’m just gonna break this up into sections to help me keep track of everything!

P.s. I’m sorry this got long 🥴

Rio and Nick’s dynamic

So, from what we’ve seen so far, Nick is extremely narcissistic, manipulative, and selfish. In my opinion, he doesn’t really seem to have a very strong sense of self or morality, he just becomes whoever he needs to, in order to achieve the goal at hand. Whether it’s kissing ass at the golf club, playing politics, or having Rio thrown in jail/beaten with a stool. He’s always thinking about the long game, always about the bigger picture, he likes to use every situation/person to his advantage. He seems to have some sort of resentment and/or jealousy towards Rio and that comes out a lot in his desire to take from Rio. He took his dreams of being a boxing a boxer, his freedom, trivial stuff like the burger and the basketball. I also think he wants to take Beth but they’ve not made it clear in what capacity he wants to take her. Whether it’s because he’s clocked that Rio has/had genuine feelings for her, or because he thinks Beth is a business asset. Either way, he sees that Beth is a sore spot and he’s going to keep pushing as a way to exert power and feel like a man.

Rio, on the other hand, likes to see immediate results, and he can be pretty impulsive. He’s also very self-assured, he is who he is and he doesn’t change that for anyone. He literally has a giant tattoo across his throat which he displays proudly because he doesn’t care how anyone else sees him. But he has a natural charm and charisma that he can use when he needs it, without having to become a completely different person. I think he’s a very emotional person, regardless of how much he tries to hide it, which can make him pretty reactive to situations – see: basically every interaction with Beth.

They’re wildly different people and this would cause conflict in itself because they immediately want to handle situations differently, like with Annie being kidnapped. The girls owed him money, Rio was mad about it, and he wanted an immediate resolution to that problem, whereas Nick didn’t care so much about the short-term financial issues, in comparison to the long-term benefit to him of keeping Beth onside. Within their organisation, the structure is still kinda murky because he doesn’t seem to be the boss, but then he does and ehhh. Supposedly Rio handles all the illicit stuff and then Nick pushes through city contracts to shell corporations he owns and also makes money from that, as well as keeping Rio out of jail. The actual power imbalance between them still irks me because Nick is literally a councilman. He has no real clout. There’s no reason for him to have such a hold over Rio, especially when Rio knows exactly what Nick is and he also knows that Nick wouldn’t have dick without him. But I digress.

The conversation in the car

I definitely think that conversation is very relevant to what’s happening with Beth right now. In that moment, I think Rio wanted revenge, plain and simple but he was also thinking long term. I don’t think he was planning on going out to kill her, but that’s where Nick’s mind went because he severely underestimates how much of a “big picture guy” Rio can be hence telling Rio, “not what you want to do”. Presumably, there would’ve been a discussion between them off screen where Nick decided exactly what was going to happen and how they were going to use her. My guess is that going forward they were basically going to play a game of ‘good cop bad cop’. Nick offers himself up as the friendly local councilman, shows concern for Beth, helps her etc, while Rio is more menacing than ever. Rio is reluctantly going along with this plan because of the stupid power imbalance, but I think he’s got something up his sleeve. I think the discomfort we’re seeing from Rio stems from their difference in opinion on how to handle Beth, Rio chafing under Nick’s control and also the resentment Rio holds because of Nick’s constant routine of taking what’s his. I kinda spoke about it in this post.

Last time Beth got Rio arrested, he shot Dean - he’s not shy when it comes to payback. Typically, he’s always quite reactive to situations and that can (has) come to bite him in the ass but he knows this. He was there. He knows that every time he pushes Beth, she pushes back with equal force, so he needs to immobilise her. While Nick just wants to use Beth to benefit himself financially, by using her to push through contracts for shell corporations etc, I think Rio wanted to kill two birds with one stone. He can use Beth as a shield for his business and make money off her, then later on, I think he probably wants to use her to get rid of Nick and potentially let Beth go down with him as payback for her betrayal (at least, I think that was his original plan but he may soften to her and end up forming an alliance once Nick is out of the picture).

Romantic Jealousy?

As for the jealousy, it’s still not the word I’d choose to describe Rio. It probably fits, to a degree, but I always associate it with pettiness and wanting stuff you don’t have - i.e. Nick. With Rio, it feels more possessive over what he already has because he knows Nick wants to take it. This now extends to Beth because she was and is his, at least in a business sense. I don’t think he’s ever been particularly jealous of her in their personal relationship because neither of them ever truly gave into whatever it was. In business, she worked for him, she answered to him, if she needed help – she came to him, and he’s created that dynamic with Beth by keeping her isolated from his wider organisation. He was effectively trying to mentor her and make her in his image. Now, Nick comes along and suddenly Beth’s going to Nick for help, Beth’s doing what Nick says, and she’s looking to Nick as a mentor. So, once again, Nick is taking what belongs to Rio. That’s why I think he reacted the way he did in the strip club. He realised that he was about to lose to Nick again, and he wasn’t willing to let that happen, so he pulled out the ol’ carrot and stick. He took her money away as a punishment, made her think on her feet, and then rewarded her for a job well done. He showed her that she doesn’t need Nick because then Nick has no hold over her. He’s showing Beth that she can get shit done on her own, but also reminding her that he essentially made her what she is. He taught her. He believed in her. He asked her what she gained from being on the city council and doing what Nick tells her, knowing full well she gets fuck all out of it because he knows Nick. Then he gave her a reward to make ‘team Rio’ all the more appealing. Yes, there could well be some romantic feelings under that but I don’t think that’s what’s driving Rio right now. I think this is firmly about him and Nick, while Beth has become another toy for them to fight over.

#rio x nick #good girls nbc #rio good girls #nbc good girls #beth boland #brio #gg season 4 #rio x beth

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Chapter 4 - (totally uninterested.)

I didn’t really know why Harry was in such a bad mood on our Tuesday shift. He’d been fine on Sunday--the last time I saw him--and in fact, he’d been more playful than usual when I told him that Ethan was sure to fall in love with me by Thanksgiving. But now, he barely even looked up at me when I said hello and he certainly didn’t make any effort to help me stack the returns.

So, instead of letting him know that he was pissing me off, I took the returns and my headphones, and headed to go put them all back where they belonged. A minute away from him felt necessary right now.

I’d just made my way to the non-fiction section when I saw Ethan pick a table on the second floor. He was alone, his backpack was the only other occupant of his table as he headed for a water fountain to refill his nalgene.

I figured, though, that this was my chance to get a minute alone with him. Say hi, crack a joke, anything to get this show on the road. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Hanging out with Harry’s friend was fun and all, but the sooner I could just move on to Ethan, the sooner I wouldn’t have to deal with Harry’s mood swings.

With a stack of books in my hands, I made a beeline for his table, placing them down with a thud as he opened up his computer.

“Hey,” I said casually, running a hand through my hair.

“Hey, Nora, what’s up?” He adjusted the hat on his head and smiled up at me, his blue eyes reminiscent of a salt-water pool we’d dip into on our honeymoon.

“Just workin’, y’know,” I motioned around the library, immediately cursing myself for the awkwardness between us. “Mini-golf was great the other night,” I continued. “Even though I came in last.”

He let out a laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I’m no Niall Horan either--the kid is incredibly good.”

“It’s not even fair that he played, really,” I let out a laugh. “It would have been a much more level playing field without him there.”

“Seriously--he made four hole-in-ones in a single game. I don’t think I’ve made one ever.”

I laughed, appreciative that Ethan and I were engaging much more casually than we used to (which, realistically, was not at all).

I was about to reply when I saw Harry appear behind the elevator doors. He looked around the room, and when his eyes landed on mine, he approached.

Ethan followed my gaze and offered a wave. Harry didn’t look like he was in the mood.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Ethan. How’s your homework?” Harry asked the question, but he didn’t really seem interested in the answer.

“Eh, pretty shitty honestly.”

“Babe,” Harry said, completely cutting Ethan out of the conversation. “Want help with those returns?”

“Uh, yeah--okay. I was just on F.”

He took the books in my hands and walked away from us, leaving both Ethan and I to exchange a look of ‘what kind of stick is up his ass?’

I offered Ethan an apologetic smile and turned to follow Harry into one of the rows of books. Once we were behind enough cover, I tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a pointed glare. “What the fuck was that about? Why are you being such a dick?”

He let out a sigh, almost as if he knew I was going to light into him. “I’m not being a dick, Nora.”

“You’re absolutely being a dick. You just blocked! You broke rule five.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, simply placing a book into the shelf between two other spines.

“What is your problem?” I asked again, side stepping as he walked away from me and into another row. I followed behind him, but he didn’t speak until we were deep in the next aisle.

“Just having a shitty day--is that allowed?”

“Why are you having a shitty day?” My arms were crossed and I was getting into the territory of just being curious now--not so much mad about the fact that he definitely broke rule five.

He let out another dramatic sigh and then turned to face me. He had three more books in his hands now, held in front of his chest as some sort of protection. He shook his head and seemed to search for the words to say. “I thought things were going somewhere with some girl but they’re not.”

“They’re not?” I asked, hoping to get more information.

“They’re not,” he said again.

“How do you know?”

He shook his head again--almost as if he were annoyed by my questions. He should have thought about that before coming up here with an attitude big enough for the both of us. “I saw a snapchat of her with some other guy this weekend--they definitely hooked up. But I can’t ask anyone because I’m dating you.”

I shrugged, kind of missing the big deal. Sure--I get it. He was upset that someone he was into was into someone else. We’ve all been there. “I can ask.”

He let out a huff and turned again, making his way towards another aisle. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind--honestly. Who is it? I’m sure I could get some information for you.”

“Nora,” he said, turning on his feet to face me suddenly. “Don’t. Just give it up, okay? Just leave it alone.”

“Okay, alright,” I said, rolling my eyes at his temper. “Relax. You don’t have to be such a twat.”

He rolled his eyes at my insult but then turned to walk again. “I’ve never heard you say that word before.”

“I learned it from you,” I told him honestly. “I mean, I knew it before you were around--but hearing you say it made me like it. It’s fulfilling. Twat.” I said it a little bit louder now.

He laughed at this, trying to fight the smirk on his face.

“Twat!” I said even louder, peering through the shelves to see if anyone could hear me.

He looked over at me with raised eyebrows, silently egging me on to say it even louder. “Twat!” I said again, this time gaining a few glances from students nearby.

He laughed again, putting the last book where it belonged. “The good news is that you can’t get in trouble. You’d be the one kicking yourself out.”

“Or you could,” I reasoned with him.

He tilted his head head to the side and nodded in agreement with my words. “Yeah--but I wouldn’t do that.”

Wednesday night was meant to be quiet--just me and Kristen and the guys had all agreed to get food and hang out in Harry’s apartment. I should have known, however, that there’d be alcohol involved.

It wasn’t much--especially since Harry and Ryan had to be up for an 8am class--but it was enough to leave me a little tipsy as I sat on the couch and watched as Alex and Niall pretty much embarrassed Ethan and Kristen in a game of pong.

It was sort of nice to be hanging out with them all without the other people around. Sure--we’d gone mini-golfing (which had been a mild success), but the majority of my interaction with Ethan and the rest of the gang so far was in a party environment. It was harder to interact with him in a big group setting than in the comfort of Harry’s living room.

“Give Niall another drink and he won’t be as good,” Harry said over the music, watching as Kristen took a shot and missed.

“You’re all just miffed that I’m the King of Ball Sports,” he said, his tone confident and somewhat conceded. I rolled my eyes, looking over at Harry, who offered a cheesy grin.

He seemed less grumpy than the night before, and honestly, I was just appreciative to be somewhere other than the library. My weeknights off were typically spent in my dorm with Kirsten, or at the library getting work done. This was a welcomed difference.

Harry lifted his arm onto the back of the couch and nodded his head towards the door. He didn’t say anything, he just kept his eyes on me.

I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to silently communicate what?, but then he brought his eyes down to the space on the couch right beside him.

Oh. He was inviting me over to sit next to him. I looked down at the spot on the couch and then back up at him (he rolled his eyes a bit at this), and then I slid down on the couch and pressed my side up against his.

His arm immediately slunk around my shoulders, and I took a quick scan of the room to see if anyone had noticed. Kristen was too busy watching Ryan sink another shot, but Ethan seemed to let his eyes sweep over both Harry and I.

As soon as Ethan’s eyes were on us, Harry leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “You’ve got to step it up a bit, Hanson. We’ve been hanging out for two weeks now and you’ll barely touch me.”

I pulled away from him and whispered back. “I’ve been touching you! I held your hand for a hot second the other night after mini-golf.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What a thrill!”

I hit him in the stomach for that one. Niall called our attention back to the game when he sunk the ball in the second to last cup.

“Alright! This is it! Balls back. We’re gonna end it right here,” he shouted and seemed to smack his hands on Alex’s shoulders in order to get him hyped.

Kristen offered Ethan a sympathetic smile as I felt Harry’s fingers lace into my hair. For a second I was stunned--I looked over to my side to see his thumb and forefinger pulling gently at a light brown strand. I turned to look back at him, to give him some kind of inquisitive look about the touching he was currently doing. Surely this was in violation of rule six. I mean, I get it--Harry and I had to touch each other to a certain degree to really sell it (rule four), but this felt sweet and intimate and not completely necessary for Ethan to totally buy into our charade.

Niall--sure as shit--did sink the ball and win the game for he and Alex. After a quick victory lap around the room to get a high-five from anyone who’d give him one, Niall turned to address the group. “Alright--a round on me. Let’s go.”

If there was one thing I really resented about Kristen, it was that she couldn’t--for the life of her--have a poker face. She shot me a look and waited hesitantly for someone else to respond to Niall.

“I mean, I’m down if you are,” Harry turned to me and waited for a reply.

“Uh,” I tried to think on my feet. I mean--Harry and the rest of them could go. I, however, being a few months shy of 21 and still without a fake ID, would be forced to hang back. But, if I was going to sit this one out, I definitely wasn’t going to do it alone. And based on the fact that Harry probably needed to know that I wasn’t 21 (and based on the fact that Kristen seemed to be enjoying herself more in the last few weeks than ever before), I decided Harry should be the one to sit out beside me.

“Why don’t we stay here, babe? Kristen, you should go,” I nodded in her direction. Harry looked from me and then to Kristen, his eyes narrowed as they landed back on my face. He didn’t seem angry or annoyed--he simply seemed confused and unsure of what I was up to.

“Positive?” Kristen tilted her head--hopefully somewhat aware that I’d be forced to stay behind whether I wanted to or not.

“Positive, have fun!”

“Yeah,” Harry waved a hand at the rest of them as they scattered to find coats and wallets. “Have a good time.”

He turned to face me once more, clearly interested in my game plan but still unable to ask any questions. Once the door shut behind our friends and we were alone in the apartment, I turned to face him with a smirk on my face.

His eyebrows dipped once more as he watched my face--still with his arm around my shoulders and my knees bent against his legs.

“I’m not twenty-one yet,” I said slowly, waiting for his obnoxious (and undoubtedly dramatic reaction).

His eyes went a bit wide and his lips parted. “You’re not? When’s your birthday? You’re twenty, though, right?”

“Yeah--relax, you’re not robbing the cradle,” I teased, immediately unsure of if my words were too forward for our pretend relationship. “I’ll be twenty-one in November. Only another two months.”

He laughed a little, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. “Why haven’t you told me that?”

I pulled away from him, ducking out from under his arm to put more space between as we spoke. I shrugged my shoulders and looked around the room--suddenly feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I dunno--I’m seriously the last one out of all of us. I didn’t want to be the Debbie Downer of the group.”

And I realized, then, that somewhere along the lines of Harry and I and whatever we were doing--we’d kind of become a group. Me and Kristen and Harry and his friends. We’d go to the dining hall, go the parties, there was even a group message now with me and Kristen added in.

He let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not a Debbie Downer.”

I watched him for a second, kind of unsure how all of sudden Harry was my friend and his friends were my friends and he was reassuring me that I wasn’t getting singled-out in our friend group. Maybe it was just rule four--maybe Harry was acting like he liked me so we seemed more natural when we were actually in front of our friends. More importantly, in front of Ethan.

The thought of rule four seemed to kick me into motion, I stood from the couch and acted as if he hadn’t said anything nice.

His face twisted in confusion again as I made my way for my backpack that had been left on his kitchen table. “Where are you going?”

“Rule two, remember?” I grabbed for my phone and keys and turned just in time to see him making a face as he tried to recall the rule. “We can only hang out outside of work two times a week.”

He pursed his lips and nodded slightly. “I mean--it might be kind of weird if they come back and you’re not here, no?”

I thought on it for a second. “Maybe Ethan will think we fought and realize it’s his turn to swoop in.”

Harry kept his eyes on me for a second in a totally unreadable expression. “Right, yeah.”

“Okay.” I said, awkwardly hovering in the middle of the living room as he stared up at me from the couch. “See you tomorrow.”

He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

Going to be a bit late tonight--clock in for me?

Yep!

I’m bored.

You’re bored?

Yeah. Super bored. Kristen’s at work and I’m just sitting on my bed doing nothing on a Friday night.

What are you wearing?

You’re gross.

Relax!!! I’m kidding.

What are you doing?

Finishing up a paper with Niall and Ethan play FIFA.

You can come over if you want.

Eh. Maybe I’ll just take a shower.

Always an option.

Your place tomorrow night though? Is it just us or are other people coming?

Other people too. You can invite friends if you want.

Okay :)

I’m gonna shower.

Now I definitely know what you’re wearing.

Goodbye!!!!

Apparently, after twenty years of being bad at ball sports, I still hadn’t really learned my lesson. Which is why, on Saturday night, I ended up on Harry’s team against Ethan and Ryan in a classic game of pong.

“Babe,” Harry’s voice was suddenly close in my ear, his hand on my waist as he continued to speak. “The back left--it’s yours. Sink it.”

“Babe,” I turned to look at him, my eyes wide with accusation. He let out a snicker and pulled away, crossing his arms as he waited for me to make the shot.

Of course, I did, and of course, I missed.

“Apparently your sweet words don’t do much for her, Harry,” Ethan let out a laugh as he dropped his ball into a cup to wet it before his turn.

I pulled my eyes up to Harry--who I knew would be irritated beyond belief at this comment--and couldn’t help but smirk up at him.

“You should hear her in the bedroom,” Harry said, tossing the ball quickly and landing it in the third cup from the top. He raised his eyebrows at Ethan but then turned to look at me, completely aware that he’d broken rule three.

He smiled down at me, slinking an arm around my shoulders in apology, but I shrugged him off and rolled my eyes. At this, he placed a hand on my shoulder and gave my the most playful pout I’d ever seen. “Baaaaabe,” he whined a bit, holding a beer bottle in his free hand and he started to rub circles on my skin.

“Don’t even,” I laughed, trying to pull away in protest, unable to completely stay annoyed at him with the obnoxious grin plastered to his face. “You’re an asshole!”

And then, as Ryan made some kind of noise in protest of our interaction, Harry leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.

And while I might have been stunned for a minute, I played it off well, immediately reaching for my own drink to wonder if maybe, Harry was drunk and I was drunk and we were just too good at pretending.

But then, as the door opened to reveal Kristen--who said she’d come by after her shift in the student center--I realized that it was only 10pm and Harry was on his second beer and I was on my first drink altogether.

Maybe I was reading into it. Maybe I was just overthinking the fact that Harry and I were good at faking it and I was dedicated (as fuck) to make Ethan fall for me. I looked at him across the table, he offered a smile in my direction before tossing the ball--it landed in the cup in front of me with a splash.

It took another few shots for Harry and I win--which was just as surprising as the fact that Harry kissed me on the forehead. Kristen, who’d managed to stay in the corner of the room with Georgia and Kate, was keen on an update when I wandered over.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders, thankful that Kate was knee deep in a story about her sociology professor to keep she and Georgia occupied while Kristen and I discussed my current state of affairs.

“You think it’s working, though? Does Ethan seem more interested in you than he did before?”

I shrugged again, letting my eyes scan over to where Harry was standing with Niall and some blonde girl I didn’t recognize. I watched them for a second, unsure of the strange feeling in my stomach when Harry threw his head back in laughter at whatever the girl had said.

“I mean, I definitely spend more time with him. And we’re all friends now--worst case scenario we at least have people to hang out with and play mini-golf with, right?”

“You’re gonna stay friends with Harry if this doesn’t work out?” She asked, her red solo cup clasped in both hands in front of her heart.

“I don’t Kristen,” I turned back to face her more directly--having confidently decided that I didn’t want to watch Harry flirt with some other girl while his ‘girlfriend’ was in the room. “He’s obnoxious as fuck and moody and stupid a lot of the time--but he’s kind of tolerable now.”

She laughed, bringing the cup up to her lips to take a sip. “Well butter my biscuit and call me brunch.” My face must has twisted in confusion--because she continued talking to clarify her sentiment. “I’m surprised,” she said.

“Me too.”

“Nora,” I turned at the sound of my name, surprised to see Ethan standing behind me, his own drink in hand as he smiled at both Kristen and I. “That was pretty good--didn’t think you’d play that well after the whole mini-golf thing.”

Kristen dipped into the kitchen with Georgia and Katie, leaving me to have a second alone with Ethan Davis (something I never thought was possible).

“Yeah, you and me both,” I laughed. “I mean, Harry’s definitely better than I am, but it’s a team sport, they say.”

“You have a few good shots, you definitely played a role in that win.”

I smiled, watching as he adjusted the backwards hat on his head. “Has your semester picked up at all?” I asked, hoping to get more comfortable just talking to him like a human. I was still kind of nervous around him (especially when we were the only two in a conversation), mainly because it increased our chance of deciding to forego words altogether and just make out.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I feel like it always takes the month of September, pretty much. A few weeks of the new schedule and stuff. How about you?”

“Yeah, I’m working more this semester than last, which is nice.”

He nodded, a smile on his face. “Yeah, and more time with Harry, so that must be nice.”

I forgot about that for a second--I forgot, when I was staring into Ethan’s blue eyes and admiring the way his hair seemed to swoop under his hat--that he really believed that Harry and I were together.

“Right,” I forced a smile. “It’s great.”

“Hi there,” Harry’s arm rested on my shoulders, he looked between me and Ethan. “Anyone need a refill?”

I stared up at him, hoping to communicate my displeasure with his timing. “All set,” I told him.

“Your cup is kind of empty,” he looked down at it, causing me to laugh and shoot Ethan a smile to act as if I weren’t annoyed.

“Okay, let’s go refill it,” I said, hoping to get a second alone with Harry. He clapped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, but instead of heading for the kitchen to refill my drink, I detoured into his bedroom and shut the door behind him once he followed me inside.

His eyes were narrowed as he walked to sit on his bed, clearly waiting for me to explain myself.

“You just blocked him,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but the anger still clear and present as I pointed at the door to signify Ethan.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back on his bed for a second before sitting back up. “Nora, relax. Don’t you think he’ll wonder what we’re doing in here right now?”

“I don’t know what he’ll think, Harry--because I’ve barely gotten a chance to speak to him.”

He let out a sigh. “Okay, fine, sorry I’m trying to be a nice boyfriend and get you a drink.”

I made a face at him and crossed my arms. “You still broke a rule.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Okay? I’m sorry.”

I changed the subject quickly when he stood from his bed, my curiosity getting the best of me. “Who was that girl you were talking to?”

“What?”

“That blonde girl with you and Niall? Purple shirt?”

“Allie?” He shrugged his shoulders as if to downplay it. “She’s a girl.”

“Wow, I had no idea.”

“She’s from my economics class. She’s nice.”

“She looks,” I paused, trying to think of the right word. “Dull.”

“Dull?” He tilted his head to the side, completely confused by my thinly veiled insult.

“Okay,” I shrugged, trying to make myself more clear. “Air-headed. Bimbo. Stupid.”

“I get it,” he shook his head, definitely somewhat bothered by my attitude. “Whatever, she’s just a girl I know. Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” I defended. “She just looks stupid.”

“Alright, Nora,” he sounded defeated. “Fine. Is that all?”

“Yeah,” I said, moving towards the door. “That’s all.”

You left your wallet on the couch.

Fuck.

Do you need it before work tomorrow? I can just bring it then.

That’s fine, thanks.

No problem.

______

AN: hi everyone!!! thanks again for reading and letting me know what you think! I love to hear feedback, comments, questions, predictions! all of the above!

#totally uninterested #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles story #harry styles au #harry styles uni au #harry styles writing

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buckysforeverprincess · 5 years

Text

Unsteady

Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 3968

Warnings: Language, divorce, emotional abuse? Angst, but a happier ending.

A/N: When I wrote this fic someone asked me if I was ok. Yes. Sometimes in order to write a fic or even get somethings off your chest, you have to take from personal experience. Enjoy.

“I'm not hungry.” Steve walks in and looks at the spaghetti and meatballs you threw together in a hurry for dinner.

“What are you going to eat?” You inquire of your husband, who obviously has no plans on joining you and the kids for the home cooked meal.

“I had a big lunch at the office, I'm good.”

The heavy sigh escapes your lips and you don't have the strength to continue. “Fine.” You concede and remove his plate from the counter. “Want me to save you some?” You look back at your husband who’s already walking away from the kitchen.

“Don't worry about it.” His voice trails off, disappearing somewhere in the house and you shake your head in defeat.

“Sorry, guys…,” you join your twins, Isabelle and Jefferson, at the dining room table, “doesn't look like daddy's joining us tonight. The seven-year old’s both shrug their shoulders and continue to eat the food in front of them.

“It's ok…,” Jefferson looks at you with his father's blue eyes, “we’re used to it!”

“Steve…think you can take out the trash, please?” You yelled out from the kitchen to your husband sitting on the couch in the front room. The kids had just gone to bed and you needed to do some last minute clean up before you could head upstairs yourself. You usually did everything on your own, but you were exhausted and wanted just a little bit of help getting things done.

“Yeah.” Steve answers and you go back to handling the dishes in the sink. You still had to wipe down the counters and sweep the floor, but Steve getting the trash is one less thing for you to do and the quicker things get done, the faster you can get to bed.

The dustpan was on the floor in front of the pile you swept, and you whisked it into the pan and walked to the trash can to empty it. A heavy sigh of frustration escapes you seeing the trash you asked Steve to change almost an hour ago still full and needing to go out. “Every damn time.” You grab the bag out of the bin and go through the house to the garage and place it in the trash receptacle.

“Hey, Steve?” You stand at the entrance way to the living room seeing your husband watching television. “Did you forget something?” You cross your arms to your chest and give him your best fake smile.

“No, I said I'd do it, and I will.” Steve never looked up at you, instead taking a drink of his beer.

“Don't worry, I did it, it's done!”

Steve finally looks over at you and shakes his head. “You couldn't wait five fucking minutes for me to do it?” His tone is filled with attitude.

“Steve, I asked you almost an hour ago-,”

“And I said I'd do it!” Steve interrupts you with a raised voice. “God, I'm so tired of your bitching if I don't do things right when you want them done. Not everyone is as perfect as you!”

Steve gets up off the couch, passing you by and heads to the kitchen to put away his bottle. He sees the trash can void of a bag and places fresh one inside. “Happy, your highness? There's a new bag in now?” His voice is mocking you and it makes you cringe. “Have a good night!” Your husband retreats upstairs to your room leaving you in a state of disbelief and irritation once again.

You sat down at the dining room table and the tears begin to fall. Your ten-year marriage is falling apart, and you have no idea where to begin to fix it. What started out as blissful and happy, has turned into quick glances and resentment, and you’re not sure just how much more you can take. Your fingers gravitate to the ring on your left hand, spinning it around your finger. “It'll get better…it has too.” You whisper, but a little voice inside tells you it won't.

“Where are you going?” Steve's dressed in his khaki shorts and a white polo dri fit.

“It's Saturday…,” he grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, putting it next to his wallet and keys, “I'm meeting Bucky, Sam, and Tony for golf.” He turns away from you grabbing his stuff and heading to the garage door.

“You're not going to the kid’s soccer game?” Steve hasn't been to a single game yet, and his lack of support is really cutting you thin.

“Are you trying to tell me I can't go?” He turns around and looks at you like you've grown a third eye and wants to cut off your head.

“I'm saying your kids have a soccer game and you have yet to attend, so yeah…it'd be nice if their father showed up and offered them some support!”

Steve scoffs at your attempt to guilt him and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Here!” He holds it out to you. “You call the guys and tell them they need to find a fourth, and I'll go to their game!” Steve's glares at you challenging you to take the phone.

“No.” You shake your head at him. “What's the point?” This is the moment it finally hits you that things will never change.

“Jesus, Y/N! I'm so tired of you bitching about everything I do!” Steve raises his voice, and you hope the kids are still in their rooms getting ready for the game. “I never get a moments peace! All you do is bitch from the time I get home, to the time I go to bed. Hell, I can't even go golfing with my friends without you throwing a fit! You seriously are worse than my mother!”

Steve turns around and walks out before he can see the tears begin to fall down your face. “Bye, Steve.” You whisper at the door, your resolve finally broken enough to put an end to the shit hole that has become your marriage.

Three Months Later…

“Mom, is dad coming to our play tonight?” Isabelle asks, gathering up her bag of needed items to take to school.

You shrug your shoulders and make a sad face, “I don't know...I texted him the information, even asked uncle Bucky to tell him. We'll just have to wait and see.” You kiss her forehead and she smiles back at you.

Things have been strained since you filed for divorce. Words have been said, furniture broken, and your husband of ten years moving out and in with Bucky; putting the hard reality of the situation fully in your face, forcing you to truly acclimate yourself to the life of a single mom.

It's not like you weren't used to it. Steve stopped being involved years ago leaving you to cook, clean, run kids around, grocery shop, pay bills, and work full time, all while having minimal interaction with his family. It was obvious to see he resented you, and it was time to let it all go.

“Hey, how're you?” A tall bulky blond man cries out, sitting down next to you in the auditorium.

“I'm good, Thornton! Surviving, but good.”

He nods and smiles back at you. “Steve coming this evening?” The two men had known each other in high school, but lost touch until they met again at parent night a few years back, staying in contact and your kids forming a bond.

“I'm not sure. He didn't text me back...even asked Bucky to tell him.” You let out a heavy sigh reflecting on Steve's actions of ghosting you and the kids. “I can't make him want to see his kids.”

Thornton nods in agreement, “It's hard, I know. Divorce is never an easy thing and it affects everyone differently. You just have to trust in yourself and know things will eventually work out for all of you. It just takes time.”

You smile at the man you know is speaking from experience. “Thanks, Thornton. I appreciate it.” You lean in giving him a hug and he wraps his arms around you in acceptance.

“Don't mention it, you look like you needed a friend...and please, call me Thor. My parents were ridiculous with the naming of us children. I have a brother named Lokness as in the Loch Ness monster, we call him Loki and an older sister named Helashia, Hela for short. Too many drugs in their past.”

There's a laugh that leaves your lips, and it's the first time you've done that in a long time. “Those are horrible names!”

Thor nods chuckling along with you. “Pretty sure there was an acid period our parents went through and they thought it was a good idea to give us all disgustingly mind-boggling names.”

The two of you continue to talk and enjoy each other's company as the other parents file in and take seats around you. It just flowed, the conversation and content never stopping or seeming awkward. Thor made you smile...gave you hope for a brighter tomorrow. You knew there would be a life after divorce. It'd just take time to make it happen.

One month later…

“How's the divorce progressing?” You were sitting across from your therapist at your usual monthly visit. Another month had passed, and Steve still hasn't made contact with you.

“According to my lawyer, he's not agreeing to my terms.” You sigh and lower your eyes. “Which I find ridiculous, honestly. I'm asking for joint custody and the house, oh and child support. That's it. No additional money or alimony. He gets to keep his precious car, and the vacation home in Aspen. I don't want anything to do with them.”

Natasha, your therapist, nods in understanding. “Did the lawyer give you any indication why he won't agree?”

You shake your head and shrug your shoulders, “No. I guess we'll get his counter offer soon. All this seems like a delay tactic, like he’s just stalling to punish me for divorcing him.”

Natasha raises her eyebrow in question, “Care to explain?” She asks, crossing her arms to her chest waiting for you to explain your thoughts.

“Steve regrets his life.” You begin to tell her. “We got married young…too young. Twenty. Committing our lives to each other at that age was an appetite for destruction.” You see Natasha nod but say nothing, just letting you continue.

“We had the twins just a year after we graduated college. Steve had immediately gone to work at Stark Industries and me at Shield, and then we find out we're pregnant. He seemed happy at first when the twins came...he was a really amazing dad and I was overjoyed, since I didn’t really know my own dad.” You pause for a moment and the tears begin to fall.

“Things changed...he began staying at work late, and when he did come home, he didn't interact with us. Steve was short with me…ignored me mostly. When we did talk, it always turned into a fight. The sex between us even stopped. Steve hasn't touched me in two years.” You let out a sigh and let the silence take over the room.

“Sounds like he's upset about his choices.” Natasha speaks, breaking the quiet in the room.

“I'm positive he resents getting married young, having a family, not getting to have as much fun as his friends. None of them are married or have kids. I'm sure that's the life he wants.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha questions you. “You said he hasn't agreed to the terms. Maybe there's something he's not saying.”

You look at her and shake your head, “Nah, I'm sure he just wants the house too.”

“Maybe the two of you should talk, reach out to him. See if he'd be willing to meet with you...not hide behind his lawyer or friends.”

That was a good idea, but Steve won't return your texts or calls. It's so hard to get him to communicate with you. “I'll try.” You agreed with her. “That's the best I can do.”

“Thanks for agreeing to finally meet with me.”

Steve sits down at the table across from you and just looks at you. Bucky finally got him to return your text and he said he'd meet with you and talk. You were praying all would go smoothly…all you want is some communication to get this over with. Was that too much to ask?

“Don't thank me, it was all Bucky.” Steve looked at you and quickly turned away not wanting to meet your eyes.

“Whoever it was, thank them for me.” You gave him a soft smile and began fiddling with your hands.

“So, what did you want?” Steve gets straight to the point, obviously not wanting to waste any time.

“Well…,” you swallow hard and look up into his eyes, “I want to talk about the divorce.”

Steve shakes his head at you and looks away again. “Why? Ready to move on with your new boyfriend?” He looks back at you and you're the one shaking your head in confusion.

“What boyfriend? I have no idea what you're talking about. A boyfriend is the last thing I'm thinking about right now.”

“Really?” Steve's now looking at you confused. “You're telling me Thornton and you are not an item?”

“No!” You shook your head. “Thor and I are just friends…and honestly, that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Steve scoffs, not wanting to believe there's nothing going on between you two. “You two looked awfully chummy at the kids play. Could've sworn the hugs I saw exchanged were more couplely than friendly.” The look on his face reeked of jealousy.

“Steve…,” You couldn't believe you were having to explain this to your husband, but it's better for him to know and not question any further, “there's nothing going on with him and I. He's just helping me…giving me advice. Thor’s been through this with his ex-wife, so he's been a great friend.” You sighed heavily and lowered your head once again to avoid Steve's gaze. “I don't have any friends...all that I had were yours. I'd never make them pick a side, so it's easier to let you keep them. I'm ok with that.”

“Sorry...I didn't realize...they're still your friends too, ya know? They miss you.”

You look up at Steve and give him a half smile, “I miss them too, but I'd really like to talk about the divorce.”

“Sure.” Steve finally agrees. “What about the divorce do you want to talk about?”

“Well...what terms aren't agreeable? I don't think I'm asking for a lot, so I’m wondering what it is you really want?”

Steve sits back in the chair and crosses his arms to his chest. “Why are you so quick to have this over, end our marriage?” He inquires of you, wanting you to explain your reasoning to him.

“Because I want you to be happy.”

Steve relaxes his stance and his arms uncross from their previous position. “What do you mean, you want me to be happy? I guess I don't quite understand.”

Steve…,” you lean into the table, placing your arms on top, “I know you hate your life. You resent me for the marriage, and you hate that I tied you down with kids.”

“That's not true-” Steve begins to argue.

“It is.” You interrupt him, silencing him in the process. “None of your friends are married or have any kids, and that's the life you want. I should have done something about it earlier, but I thought things would change.” Steve sighs and lowers his head, knowing you've hit the nail on the head. “My regret is letting it go this long... I should have let you go a lot earlier.”

Steve raises his head, looking like a lost puppy. “No, you didn't do anything wrong.” He runs his hand through his hair and nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “You're right about me wanting to live the single life. I just wanted to do what they do, and I may have allowed them to talk me into putting my family on the back burner.”

Steve looks away at a family sitting down not too far from you enjoying their time together. “I-I just got caught up in what they get to do, and began to feel bitter and blamed you, but in reality it was me and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for how I behaved. I'm really sorry, Y/N.” Steve looks back at you with sorrow filled eyes.

The apology is sincere and genuine and reminds you so much of the Steve you fell in love with years ago, but that Steve is gone. Replaced by resentful, still want to act single Steve. That's the guy you can't be with anymore. The one that broke your spirit for the last time.

“So, about the terms. How can we come to an agreement?”

Steve looks at you and scrunches up his face like he's contemplating an answer. “Can I make a request?” You swallowed hard but nodded, willing to listen, hoping this would move things along.

“Therapy.” The request throws you for a loop and you look at your husband like he's bat shit crazy.

“I am doing therapy, you need proof?”

Steve shakes his head at you, “Maybe therapy isn't the word...maybe counseling? For couples?”

“Marriage counseling? You want to do this now, when I've suggested it before in the past? Why, Steve? I'm a few months away from giving you your freedom. Why now?”

The tears are forming in your eyes, ready to break through. All he had to do was agree to the terms and sign the damn documents and he'd be free. Why complicate things any more than they already are when he was so close to living the single life he wanted?!

“Why…because I'm an asshole!” Steve blurts out and you chuckled in agreement. “Because this isn't what I wanted! I'm not agreeable because…. because I don't want this, Y/N! I'm not ready for our marriage to end.”

Steve…,” you whisper, head looking down at the table in front of you, “you seriously can't stand to be at home or near me. We haven't had sex in two years! We're more roommates than husband and wife, and you really don't want this life and I can't take the emotional turmoil.” You look up at him, tears have made streak marks down your face.

“I do though, Y/N!” Steve's face has lit up like a Christmas tree. “This...this is the life I chose, and I've made some pretty shitty mistakes, but…,” he pauses and sighs heavily, a half smile appears on his face, “these past four months have been hell without you...I can't live like this anymore. Why do you think I haven't talked to you until now?” You nod at the reminder of just how absent he's been.

“For better or worse, right? Richer or poorer? Well, we're not hurting for money, so let's work on the worse part and make it better.” Steve pleads, hoping you'll reconsider his request. “And if counseling doesn't work, then I'll agree to a divorce and you can have everything!” He looks at you, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“Therapy.” The simple word escapes your mouth.

“Therapy? What about it?” Steve looks a little lost at the word.

“You will see a therapist, regularly. This is not a request.”

You see him swallow and nod his head in agreement. “I can do that.” Steve gives you a smile that reminds you of the good guy lost inside him.

“If were putting this on hold I have some stipulations….”

Six months later…

You sat across from Natasha, the woman trying to scrutinize your body language. “So, how does that make you feel?” Her demeanor stays blank and emotionless. It's something you've come to appreciate in the almost year you've been seeing her.

“Good. Things are progressing in the right direction. He's actually making more of an effort then he has in years.”

Natasha nods and writes something down on her notepad, and you watch her hands flow on the paper. “And the kids...how to they feel about their father finally moving back in?”

There's a smile on your face, remembering the reaction of Jefferson and Isabelle when Steve came back home last week after having moved out ten months ago.

“Excited. They were happy to have him home. They missed him...we all did. They love the level of involvement he's given to their activities, and he's the dad he should’ve been, and they couldn't be happier if they tried. I think it was good, making him work for it, not just letting him move in right away. It gave him time to prove that this was what he wanted. I have no regrets.”

Natasha gives you a smirk for your assessment. She had told you from the start to keep Steve at a safe distance until his own therapy made him understand how to navigate his needs and his wants and prioritize the most important things in his life. You could finally agree what you had done was the best thing and so far, it’s worked better than you thought it would.

“How is he handling Thor? He's not upset at you, is he?”

You shake your head and let out a slight chuckle, “Steve's actually been very supportive.” There was a little more enthusiasm in your voice. “It feels so good to have friends outside of our mutual’s. I've met Thor’s brother and ex-wife, and they're great to hang around. Steve and Thor talked about everything, so he knows there's no need to be jealous.”

“What about your personal relationship. Has that gotten any better?” This is the one she's been saving for last. She knows how bad things were when you first started seeing her. Natasha just wants to make sure you're not sacrificing your happiness for his.

“Improving every day.” The smile you've been displaying becomes wide, and you think you can see one on Natasha’s face. “He has dinner with us every night, and even tries to make it home to help. We talk a lot more and we listen to each other. Oh, and date nights have been a much-needed addition. Getting out of the house, just the two of us is a game changer….and we may have started having sex again. A lot.” You laugh at just how much sex Steve and you are having, trying to make up for lost time.

“So overall things are good?” The redhead leans in to her desk like she's about to read your thoughts.

“Yeah. It's not perfect, but marriage seldom is. We're learning to appreciate each other in ways we didn't before, and communication has become the new normal. There's a lot we need to work towards, but we'll get there. Marriage is work, and it's important we devote the right number of hours to make it through.”

“Am I right to assume you're no longer going through with the divorce?” It's taken every moment of the six months, but you think you can finally answer this and not regret it in the future. Eleven years is a long time to let go of.

You look to Steve whose been quietly sitting next to you the entire time you've been in the session with Natasha. He'd been coming with you the last couple of months trying to get a better grasp on your thought and feelings.

Steven squeezes your hand and smiles like the sun. “Yes. I plan to stay Mrs. Steve Rogers...till the end of the line.” You raise your entwined hands to your mouth and kiss the top of his hand. “Till death do us part.”

#steve rogers #steven rogers #steven grant rogers #steve rogers x reader #steven rogers x reader #steven grant rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #thor odinson #divorce

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dredakreationist · 5 years

Text

The Runner

or The Others?

by: Dre Jones aka Dre Da Kreationist

I don’t know what to call it really...just read the short story. Let me know what you think. I have written a few different versions. I made this version to submit for a horror short story contest which I didn’t win. WARNING: It does have some disturbing content. So you’ve been warned.

Enjoy!!!

John was not a successful man. As a kid he dreamed of being an astronaut or a police officer like most kids but none of that happened for him. He was constantly reminded of his short comings by his wife, his boss, his older sister and especially his in laws. He had endured the abuse by everyone from childhood, chiefly by his father almost gratefully. John had not attended the man’s funeral. That day he checked himself into a cheap motel and attempted to end his life. That hadn’t been the plan initially but as he swallowed more pills, he had thought just how quiet the idea of death seemed. He was so turned on by the thought that when he woke up a day and a half later, he was still erect. Day after day, his focus was on the negative and at every turn bad luck seemed to wait with a sign labeled: KICK ME ready to be placed on his back; the words meant for the rest of the world. He had never been a man with the moxie required to take control of one’s own destiny. He had trotted through life as if on a never-ending bus tour; always the helpless spectator watching as the action unfolded. Through suggestion or sheer force, he was pushed to do everything only because the others wanted him to and he was always eager to please the others, but he couldn’t quite get that part right either. He always took slight comfort in this fact. His inner secret voices always whispered to him that if he failed at one thing or another, it was never really his fault. Blame the ones who made you do it, the voices would proudly whisper. These voices, which could be nothing other than the fractured shards of his broken psyche, would taunt him whenever he decided or rather when one of the others had decided that he should start something new. On more than one occasion, one or another of the voices had adequately predicted many failures. Lately, the dominant voice had decided that his next failure would be his marriage and slowly this voice was proving itself to be more than accurate. One thing after another had threatened to destroy the family he has dreamed of starting. Was this his dream or someone else’s dream for him? John could hardly know anymore, and he was becoming exhausted. Since his marriage to his beautiful wife Tammy, he had failed to be what the world says a man should be. Four years into it, the longest he had ever worked at four different jobs was 14 months, including one where he had worked for his father-in-law. He had been let go from that job via an expletive-filled and abrupt phone call within four months after he had unsuccessfully cremated a body. It turns out, it’s not something that can be rushed. His wife Tammy, who was the heiress to the funeral and crematory dynasty, would always call on her father for help when things became tight. This was most of the time as far as John was concerned. John resented her for asking for handouts and in the beginning, she did feel guilt for going behind his back for help but soon it had become such a routine that it was second nature. Her father, who took immense pride in knowing that he was right about John from the beginning, paid their mortgage and for their cars and most of their bills and all of Tammy’s clothing and jewelry, etc. That nigger bastard could never give my Tammy all that she deserves. This was the phrase that John heard echo in his brain whenever he sees his father-in-law, they are the words he once overheard him say and it sums up this man’s feelings quite effectively. Even at their lavish wedding, Tammy’s father never truly acknowledged John. He disregarded the elephant in the room, even if said elephant had sat on the man and threatened to squeeze the life right out of him. Those same words were cosigned by that tiny and evil voice in John’s head every time his wife brought home groceries paid for by her father or when she paid the utilities with a check written by her father. John started to believe those words from others and from the others and was beginning to allow the reordering of the hierarchy of the voices in his head, out of sheer fatigue.

John didn’t love his wife when he married her, he mostly went through with things just to piss off those around him that had always pushed him to do this or that with his life just so they could heckle him when this or that had blown up in his face. He has fond memories of his wedding day however, as it was a rare moment where he felt in control. He remembers distinctly thinking to himself as he watched Tammy walk slowly down the aisle alone - her father refused to escort her citing a mysterious back injury from golfing, John knew better and so did most of people attending the wedding - John proudly thought of those who said that no woman would ever agree to marry him for he was a sorry excuse for a man. John felt victorious that day as he and Tammy recited their vows. John refused to lie himself about the fact of her being a white woman sweetening this victory. It almost made it easier to endure the racism from her father and other members of her family. Well, his family now. But Tammy did not actually love John. Tammy had her reasons for going through with things, similarly she craved freedom from her father’s over-protectiveness and wanted a safe-ish escape; one that placed her just out of her father’s reach but not quite far enough that he would disown her. Marrying John was nearly enough to cause her to be disowned. Now John was feeling some pressure and knew that any day his marriage would end in some dramatic fashion and this was starting to make him unhappy. But it’s inevitable. She sees right through you. You can’t hide it from her forever. It’s only a matter of time before the whole world knows. Sometimes he thought that Tammy leaving him would be a chance to start new and fresh. Ultimately John realized that if Tammy left it would only be yet another example of his many failures.

John had slowly come to despise his own tragic predictability. It was like a rash that kept appearing on his skin, even after adequate treatment with salves and bandages, this itchy, burning and oozing rash would always come back. The others were dead quiet whenever John became depressed. So, he had decided one of his many sleepless nights, he would try. It won’t hurt to at least try. This thought, one of his own creation, echoed in his mind into a powerful crescendo and he soon felt inspired and restless. He looked over at Tammy’s back and, for a moment, watched and listened to her breathing and he tried to imagine what she dreamed of. Was it of a man who could be her hero? Or did she dream of being somewhere else altogether?

John launched himself out of bed as that voice in his head tried to speculate on what Tammy was dreaming of. Her boyfriend, that’s what she dreams of you idiot. She’s dreaming of his thick, throbbing WHITE cock! John closed his eyes and took deep breaths to stave off the nausea he felt every time he would feel that lingering suspicion. Tammy always seemed a bit too complacent with his failures lately. Her nagging and criticisms were down to the minimum and she seemed to be prancing around the house smiling for no reason. John knew deep down that it was nearly impossible that he could be the source of her euphoria. Nonetheless, he would always shake off his suspicions. He decided he would go for a run. He never ran anymore, and he remembered the inner-peace he felt as he let go and fell into the rhythm of a good run, he also couldn’t deny that he had been in much better shape before he had previously stopped running. He slipped out of his boxers and slid into a pair of shorts. The clock said it was 5 am, he wrote his wife a short note and placed it next to her on the nightstand and then he quietly slipped out of the house.

In the park, the morning air was cool yet heavy with moisture against his naked skin. At first, he struggled to find the right pace and to control his breathing but soon it was like second nature, it was as if he had never stopped running in the first place. He was lucky to live just a few streets over from the small park with a man-made pond at its center. He had driven past it many days and told himself he would make plans to visit the park, maybe have a picnic with Tammy out on the grass. Finally, he felt the freedom doing something that he planned on his own. “Baby steps,” he said quietly to himself as he started his first lap around the pond. John stopped for a moment and looked around and listened somewhat cautiously to the quiet. Most of the landscaping surrounding the pond was low shrubbery, a few sparsely placed trees with little foliage and it also was well-lit, and besides this was a very safe neighborhood. But is it safe from you? John winced and started back running. He continued around the kidney-shaped pond and realized he was headed into a section that didn’t seem as manicured and well-lit as the rest of the park. He felt a prickly chill but pressed on, he could see that he would only end up coming out a seemingly short distance on the other end where the pond would once again be well-lit, and that visibility would improve once again. He slowed a bit and ducked under the canopy of trees decorated with moss that covered the walk; his steps echoed faintly off the thick trunks of the trees around him. It was much darker here than John had imagined it would be and it was almost as if there was someone else running just behind him or were they in front of him? He couldn’t quite tell the difference. The syncopated patter of his sneakers hitting the concrete seemed to become louder as he moved on. He picked up his pace once again as this space felt sinister. The pavement beneath him seemed to glow as if it had absorbed the light from the previous day and was now releasing the last of its reserves to light his way. But the echo of his footsteps seemed off again, he was sure that the sound of the echo of his footsteps were yet and still becoming louder. And then the echo was nearer and less frequent. He stopped and looked to his rear and when there was only silence, he forged ahead. He was still looking back as he did so and just as he turned to face forward, he tripped. This stopped his lower half while his upper half was still in motion. John rotated one and half times before landing on the cool and damp grass on the shoulder of the sidewalk first with the back of his head, then his left shoulder and while attempting to bring his feet around fast enough to try and break the rest of the fall his bottom instead slapped the ground with a muted thud. He lay still; his feet were higher than his head as the grass started a shallow decline into a dark abyss beyond the sidewalk. Lights seemed to flash in John’s eyes and although his body had come to a stop, his head was still in rotation and he felt as if he would soil himself any minute as the pain of the fall slowly started to follow closely behind the blood now quickly pumping throughout his body. This is perfect.

“Fuck! Oh FUCK!” he screamed. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my God, are you alright? I’m so sorry dude! Oh my God,” someone said. John blinked and made an attempt to sit up but this was much too painful. He took a deep and labored breath and rolled onto his side in the direction from which he had heard the voice. “You okay man? No, don’t get up! You might be hurt.”

John attempted with all his strength to see who was talking but everything was still spinning and now he could taste rusty warmth in his mouth. Tastes good. He could only make out the silhouette of someone moving near him. Whoever this was, they had a soothing voice John thought. A warm hand had now been placed on his bare chest and it was as if he was shocked back to consciousness. He took another breath and soon the figure came into focus. A man, whose face was only an abstract form, stared down at him. His skin must have been so dark because it didn’t look real. It was wet with sweat and caught the light that barely filtered through the trees. The luster made his face look like an eerie film negative. John was captivated by this and still delirious from the trauma of the fall, he muttered, almost indistinctly, the word “beautiful”. The man’s face seemed to smile as he pulled his phone from its strap on his bare arm and turned on the flashlight, maneuvering it quickly up and down John’s body. “Not so bad yourself,” the stranger said.

And John sat up so abruptly that his head collided with the stranger’s head and he had again nearly knocked himself unconscious and lay back again and attempted to grab his head, but this quick movement caused more pain to shoot down his side. Yes, there it is. Let me out. LET ME DO THIS. WE NEED THIS JOHN. The stranger yelped in pain and grabbed his head while again placing his hand on John’s chest. John suddenly felt an urgent yearning to escape. He sat up on an elbow carefully but quickly swiped away the warm and soft hand. He tested his strength by scooting back. Although this was painful, he could take it. More.

“Wait,” the stranger said softly. “Let me help you. It’s the least I can do after almost killing you.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine just leave it. I got it man,” John realized he had snapped at the kind stranger. Simultaneously he realized that the sudden hostility was truly uncalled for. John’s loins began to prickle with little teasing and undulating waves of heat.

“Okay,” the stranger drew back and sighed. “Just be careful. You had a bad fall and you could be hurt. Do you live close by here?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” John was now up one knee and laboring through the pain. “I think I’m scraped up.”

“Do you think you need a doctor?”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll just go home and clean up,” John finally was able to wobble into a full standing position. He was cursing himself for having the foolish thought to go running around a pond in the dark. Oh, but it never stopped us before now has it?

“Well…I apologize for tripping you. I was pulling on my shoe. They tend to slip off sometimes when I get sweaty,” The stranger moved closer with his hand out and John could see his face. His eyes were the first thing he made out and their beauty awed him and made his brain useless for the moment. “I’m Michael by the way.”

Michael’s hand was in midair for just a few seconds longer than it should take before John reached to shake it. And he still only stared into Michael’s eyes which were grey and shined so that they seemed to glow in the darkness. Michael’s smile was honest and warm. Michael’s face seemed perfect, too perfect in fact; John almost questioned his reality and thought for just a moment that he may be dreaming. He wanted to run as fast as he could away from this beautiful and kind stranger but he couldn’t seem to make his legs work. Oh, he is perfect. He’s ours. All ours. Michael shook John’s limp hand and with a light laugh asked, “And you?”

“John.”

“It’s nice to meet you John. Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little…out of it.”

“I’ll be fine. Just gonna take it in. I’ll be okay.” NO.

“Okay. Well are you sure you don’t want me to walk you back to your house just in case? Is there anyone you could call? Wife maybe?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” John started off with a limp in the direction from which he had come. The skin on his back and side stung simply from the breeze which was heavy with humidity and he could tell he was probably was, in fact, scraped up pretty bad from the fall. He looked down and felt ashamed. Looks like someone likes it. John was lost in his own self-hate when he felt that warm hand which was now almost familiar touch his shoulder.

“You’re forgetting your other shoe John,” Michael held out a sneaker and John looked down and realized he was in fact missing a shoe. Wordlessly, he reached for the shoe but instead he grabbed Michael’s hand and placed it on the bulge below his waist-line. The stranger drew in a breath and John moved against his hand and exhaled. Michael started to massage his penis slowly. John closed his eyes and let go. The lights behind his eyelids danced with joy. I’ll take it from here.

“I know a more private spot just behind those trees. You down to suck me up?” The voice said.

“Okay,” Michael said quietly. “I had no idea this was a cruising spot. Or is this just my lucky day?”

“I’m not usually this forward but I guess I couldn’t help myself.” John led Michael into the darkness beyond the sidewalk. Soon they were well-hidden behind a group of trees. John leaned against a tree and led Michael’s hands down his sweaty body, no doubt trailing blood and dirt along the way. He pulled down his shorts and felt his penis throbbing with anticipation. “Wait. No. Please don’t!”

“What’s wrong?” Michael said.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all. I thought I heard someone coming,” The other regained control. He grabbed the back of Michael’s head and pushed him down to his knees. He moaned in ecstasy as Michael took him into his mouth. Once Michael found his rhythm, his muffled whimpers crept up through the darkness. John opened his eyes and listened with concentrated purpose as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He moved his hand slowly in the dark and reached for the earbuds plugged into Michael’s phone that was attached to the strap on his arm. He used his other hand to control the depth as he thrusted in and out of Michael’s skilled mouth. “You like that?” And Michael confirmed with a deep muffled groan. He hadn’t noticed the chord wrapping around his throat.

“Yeah boy suck it,” John could feel himself growing even more aroused. He made sure to not be as rough as he truly wanted. Not just yet. Almost. Just then he grabbed Michael’s neck pulling him up and twisting him around faster than the unsuspecting stranger could react. John pulled the chord tightly around Michael’s neck and broke the man’s wrist with a sharp snap. Michael yelped in pain as he tried to struggle free. John could feel his penis dripping pre-ejaculate in anticipation of the last breath. Michael tried without success to use his good hand and his legs to free himself. John laughed lightly to himself. Michael was weakened by the pain of his broken wrist and the grass was too slippery to try and run away. John wrapped one his legs around Michael’s and braced himself harder against the tree. He took immense pleasure at the raspy and wet sound Michael was making as he struggled for breath. He tightened the noose. His eyes had adjusted well to the dark and he realized he wouldn’t have enough time before sunlight to finish his business with Michael. He would have to be quick. And then the deed was done. Michael went limp and John caught him and lowered him slowly to the ground, making sure he was face down. He quickly removed his pants and giggled with delight as he realized the late Michael wasn’t wearing underwear. John was engorged to the point of eruption as he forced himself inside of the body. He shuddered as he felt the warmth. He knew from experience that the body would soon start to release the contents of the stomach and intestines, it would come in all states of matter. Liquid, solid and gas. This he didn’t mind, in fact, it made things more interesting but he knew he wouldn’t have the cover of darkness for much longer. Damn it. He increased the speed and depth of his thrusts and whispered obscenities that fell quite literally upon dead ears. Once he felt himself nearer to the point of climax he bit down hard into the neck of the late Michael, breaking through his damp skin. He erupted into him in five satisfying bursts. He collapsed there, taking a few seconds to recover. He stood, tasting the still warm blood on his lips and used Michael’s shorts and underwear to quickly wipe himself off. Too bad we didn’t have more time together. You taste so good you.

“Authorities are still searching for clues as to the whereabouts of Jennifer English. The 24-year-old was last seen leaving her place of employment nearly four months ago. Jennifer had just started her new job as a Math Teacher at the local High School. Her fellow teachers and her students are still shocked at her disappearance which comes six months after the disappearance of a city maintenance worker who went missing three months prior. Police are saying the two incidents may be related but neither incident shows any signs of foul play. There was no forensic evidence left behind to work from, in either of the incidents. Jennifer English’s family is still pleading with the public to please come forward if they have any information that could help police locate the missing woman. Her family is remaining hopeful that she will be found alive, but authorities are, at this point, running out of leads and fear the worst. ‘We just want our little girl back. Please. If you have any information, please come forward…’ The family has set up a website where you can view photos of Jennifer and make donations…”

John opened his eyes just as the dancing colored lights dissipated. He noticed that he was sitting in his car in the garage. He lowered the volume of the radio and looked around, confused. He smelled food and noticed a bag from Dunkin Donuts on the passenger seat and two cups sitting in the cupholders. Nice try loser. You think you can woo her with a damn sandwich from Dunkin Donuts? John cut the engine and sat for a moment trying his best to remember when he had decided to go out and get breakfast. You went for a run then you came home, showered then went out and got breakfast. Can’t you remember? You idiot. John relented to this logic. As he got out of the car, he dropped a set of keys that had been sitting on his lap. He picked them up and read aloud the small tag attached to the ring. “Ferguson’s Funeral Home…” He became frozen with terror as the cups of coffee crashed to the ground spilling their contents all over the garage floor. John’s hands trembled wildly as he grabbed the back of his head and winced in pain and then he felt the burning skin on his side. You have got to be the most incompetent person to ever have walked the Earth, John.

The End?

#horror #fiction #shortfiction #shortstories #new writers on tumblr #blackwriters #blackcreative #necrophilism

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onceuponamirror · 6 years

Note

Drabble prompt: SweetVee - Canon au - post-high school - Veronica visits her mother's home town Riverdale for the first time and meets Sweet Pea. Perhaps she gets lost and stumbles into south side? Maybe she's hosting an event and he's working catering? Do thy meet via her newfound Riverdale friends?

a/n: i took some liberties. also, had way too much fun with it. also, what is this

summary: There are always things that bubble. Laughter, anger, attraction— champagne, most of all. In those golden, floating bubbles are the thoughts she should avoid, things she shouldn’t dwell on, tries not to, guilt to stamp out.

It never really works.

[ao3]

She has a headache.

A headache that may be more accurately qualified as a migraine; more precisely a pre-hangover; more exactly as a tsunami of roughly a decade’s worth of pent up frustrations.

This whole night is awful—a joke, if she’s being honest, all these preening people, money fluttering down from the heavens, playing with people’s lives as they always do.

She just needs to get away, away from the glittering chandeliers and bubbling drinks, and stalks out of the ballroom in search of liquid salvation. Veronica crosses through the lobby and finds the hotel bar empty, just as she’d hoped. Daddy had practically rented out the whole venue for this fundraiser, which means she’ll be left undisturbed in any other part of the hotel.

Veronica slides onto a stool, allows herself a moment of eyes-wide-shut careful breathing, and then opens a look onto the bartender. “Martini. So dry it makes me think of climate change.”

“Think that would probably be the opposite. Rising waters mean more storms,” the guy behind the bar says, throwing her a skeptical look. He’s clearly wearing the hotel’s uniform, but pairs it with a ridiculous beanie that she’s quite sure would never fly anywhere else but this absurd place.

He adjusts the cardboard box in his arms, which clinks with the movement. “But I’m not the bartender. You’ll have to wait.”

Veronica inhales sharply. “Tell me. Does anything in this post-surrealist town run at normal speed?”

He looks back at her, as if unsure if he appreciates the joke. “No,” he says flatly after a moment, and then disappears behind a kitchen door, which swings after him. She stares at it, her head gives a pound, and she decides she doesn’t care.

She throws her legs off the stool and slides down, a decent drop to the floor for her, and cuts around the bar. She’s been drinking champagne already and all those bubbles tend to rise right to her amygdala, something her mother would sneer at as a dangerous combination.

Of course, except having taken the bar exam, she’s never tended a bar itself. But she’s been mixing drinks since she was thirteen and filled with an impetuous desire to prove something—and she’s preferred mixing her own since sixteen, for reasons she doesn’t hold dear.

Even in her heels, it’s a bit of a reach for the better gin, but she manages it, her bracelets jingling with the effort. She’s just begun shaking the ice when the kitchen door swings back open and a tall—quite tall—guy appears through it, blinking when he sees her behind the bar.

He’s wearing a similar hotel uniform as the beanie-clad scowler, and his neck arches as he takes her in, folding his arms at once. Like his predecessor, he seems to regard her with inherent suspicion, but there’s something different as he runs his eyes up and down her form, lingering on the sequins on her dress and pearls around her neck.

“I was told there was someone waiting for a drink. Guess they didn’t wait,” he says after a moment. Veronica rolls her eyes and finishes with the shaker.

“Women get nowhere when they’re too patient,” she replies with a sarcastic flutter of her eyelashes, reaching for the gin and adding it to the mixture.

The guy pushes off the wall, pulling the vermouth off its higher shelf with no difficulty. She supposes bartending is an apt position when one is as tall as the model skyscraper in the Time’s Square FAO Schwartz.

He hands it to her, and then his posture immediately returns to crossed, studying her carefully, as if watching and waiting to see if she actually knows what she’s doing.

It’s only when she’s nearly prepared the martini and turns to him and says, “Olives?” in her most expectant voice that he breaks into an amused look. He reaches across her, picks out a toothpick from one container and stabs three olives at once, and offers her the skewer with a slightly mocking bow.

She carves an eyebrow his way, and accepts the offering, dropping it into her glass. Veronica then draws her clutch bag open, fishes out two tenners and snaps it shut, putting it back under her arm.

Lips and eyes lifted, she reaches up and tucks the bills into his uniform breast pocket as she walks past on her way to the other side of the bar, sidling back onto her stool and sipping gently at her drink.

After a long moment, the bartender decides to move, putting away the bottles and passing her a small napkin for her drink. “You’re pretty dressed up,” he says, running a rag up and down the counter. “You’re here for that fundraiser in the ballroom, I guess.”

Only Veronica herself has been known to spit the word fundraiser with such contempt—years of resentment over cancelled recitals and forgotten performances in lieu of some event her parents neglected to tell her they were attending—don’t waste your time pouting, mija, it’s unbecoming—and she rests an elbow on the bar, appraising him.

“Unfortunately, indeed I am,” she agrees, sipping again at her drink. Not bad, she thinks, trying to remember when she last shook her own martini.

For the first time, the bartender smiles. It’s an appealing look, and then it shifts, clearly a darker thought taking hold. Veronica is surprised to hear herself think it does nothing to diminish his attractiveness.

His uniform runs high along his neck, but there’s a dark spot peeking out along the brim of it, and she realizes it’s a snake tattoo.

Veronica stares at it, and wonders with gleefully morbid curiosity how furious Daddy would be if she brought home a bartender with a neck tattoo.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “They’re tearing down people’s homes for a fucking golf course.”

Veronica runs her tongue along her teeth, considering her words. He obviously doesn’t know who she is, or he wouldn’t be saying that to her. Or—perhaps not in such a confiding tone.

“I take it you’re not in favor of progress,” she says, tilting her head at him.

His smile runs thinner. “It’s nice that they keep coming up with new words for ugly bullshit. Progress,” he adds sharply, raising his eyebrows. “My grandma’s trailer makes way for progress.”

She pauses, sipping at her drink, perhaps to stave off a sizable pang of guilt. Truthfully, the past couple of years, Veronica has made an effort to not think too hard about her father’s business deals—she knows it puts a sour taste in her mouth, and she’s chosen her own profession, independent of his, for a reason.

She’s just here to smile pretty for photos, not dirty her hands, even if that feels harder to justify in the face of the one across from her.

It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

A thought she’s sat with for months, as long as she’s known about Daddy’s plans to demolish half of the town he grew up in—out of spite, she’s fairly certain—her lips pursed against voicing it, afraid of her father’s wrath for hearing it.

Ever since she announced she wanted no part of Lodge Industries, that she would forge her own path, her father has treated her like an outsider, a stranger, a betrayal he took personally.

And perhaps, in the angry, neglected heart of her, that’s how she meant it.

“Listen, I agree with you. But from what I hear, development is already underway,” Veronica sighs, putting down her martini. The drink is as bitter as the truth. “I’m sorry. Really, I empathize. I just don’t think there’s anything left to be done about it.”

But the bartender just shakes his head at her, wearing a wan grin. “People like you always say that.”

“People like me?” Veronica repeats, offense tinged on every word. “You don’t know me.”

Though if you did, your argument would be stronger, she admits to herself, holding down a sigh as her finger traces the dew on her glass.

“Look at you,” he scoffs, gesturing vaguely at her glitzy outfit and pearls. “This kind of town—these kinds of lives—must just look like something on a map to you.”

Veronica frowns, running her eyes across his face, something about his words uncorking a long-buried thought in her chest.

Eventually, he shrugs. “And there is still shit to be done about it. We’re protesting the groundbreaking tomorrow, me and a bunch of buddies. Everyone in the trailer park agreed not to move. So we’re not giving up, even if we have to shell out for some fancy lawyer.”

“That’s her,” a voice from across the room sounds, and it’s the beanie-wearing guy from before, pointing right at her. A blonde woman about Veronica’s age with a notepad offers him a far more thankful smile than necessary, her hand squeezing at the interloper’s arm—Veronica can practically see his blush from here—and then beelines straight for her, ponytail bouncing.

“Miss Lodge, I’m Betty Cooper, with The Riverdale Register,” she says without preamble, shoving her hand out to shake, which Veronica does, shocked into habit. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes regarding your family’s plans for demolishing Sunnyside trailer park in favor of needless gentrification. Do you realize you’ll be uprooting roughly thirty families with nowhere else to go?”

The bartender scoffs loudly, as if it’s an inadvertent sound, staring at Veronica in a completely new light. Certainly not one that happens to be flattering. His expression is practically florescent. “Unbelievable,” he says blankly.

Veronica blinks at him before forcing her gaze back onto the reporter. “I’m—I’m not associated with the company business. I’m just a lawyer.”

“But you’re Veronica Lodge. You must have an opinion,” Betty insists, a type of intrepid concentration in her eyes Veronica recognizes and, truthfully, respects.

The bartender is shaking his head at her, disgust on his face, and for some reason—Veronica can’t stand that. And he was right, of course, right about it all, about what Daddy is doing. It’s—it’s—

“It’s awful,” she says before she can think on it further, sitting up straighter in her stool. “My opinion is that it’s awful.”

Betty’s mouth falls open, pencil comically poised against the notepad, and then seems to snap out of it, a dangerously excited gleam in her eye. “Are you saying, on the record, that you stand with the local protestation of the demolishment and gentrification of Riverdale’s south side?”

What will Daddy think?

What will Daddy do?

And then—

Fuck him, she thinks.

Veronica raises her neck and sits at her full height, recrossing her legs.

“Yes,” she says clearly. “In fact, would there not be an obvious conflict of interest in personally representing the interest of Sunnyside trailer park, I would offer to do it. In lieu of that, I am more than happy to make the right calls so that this inevitable court battle gets handled by the best in the business. Pro bono,” she adds, throwing a sharp, pointed look at the incredibly stunned bartender.

Betty’s eyes flick from him to the other guy, who has moved next to her, all trading expressions of shock.

“That’s very kind of you,” she eventually manages to stammer out. “Would you be willing to set aside some time for a formal interview with The Register to discuss plans for fighting your father?”

Realizing the full weight of what she’s just done and feeling neither guilt nor shame about it, Veronica’s conscious feels clear for the first time in—well, perhaps, ever.

It’s a feeling she didn’t know how badly she craved, a weight she had no idea was so heavy until it was gone, and she revels in it now, like she might float right out of her skin.

“I would be happy to, Betty,” she says cheerily, and then twists in her seat to face the bartender, reaching back into her clutch bag for two of her business cards and offering one up to her.

“We’ll set up a lunch.” Then she turns to the bartender. “You’ll need one as well,” she says, passing it to him, and he takes it with surprisingly nimble fingers.

He lets out a breath, his expression wholly wide and wholly unreadable.

Veronica slides off her stool, throwing back the rest of her drink and settling it firmly on the counter. “Call me tomorrow,” she says, and he nods, once. “I’ll need your name, to know who to expect.”

“Um, it’s…Sweet Pea, actually,” he says, after a moment. Veronica gapes, and then a laugh bubbles out of her.

“Oh, god. That’s going to make Daddy even more furious,” she says on a sigh, grinning. “Well. Talk to you then, Sweet Pea. We have a lot of work to do.”

#sweetvee #sweet pea #veronica lodge #fics #riverdale #riverdale ff #what IS THIS #tagged under: yet another fic where veronica lodge is a lawyer #FIGHT ME ON IT it's the only job for her #2k words later from a simple prompt #tallulalusa #writing prompts

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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MY FAVORITE HUSBAND ~ Season 2

July 2, 1949 - June 25, 1950

“My Favorite Husband” ~ Season two aired on CBS Radio from September 2, 1949 to June 25, 1950. There were 40 half hour episodes sponsored by Jell-O. Episodes were also aired on Armed Forces Radio & Television Service (AFTRS) without advertising.

Regular Cast: Lucille Ball as Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Cooper, Richard Denning as George Cooper, Gale Gordon as Rudolph Atterbury, Bea Benadaret as Iris Atterbury (and others), Ruth Perrott as Katie the Maid, and Bob LeMond, Announcer.

Season 2 Guest Cast:

Hans Conried (17 episodes), Frank Nelson (11 episodes), Hal March (8 episodes), Jay Novello (5 episodes), Eleanor Audley (5 episodes), Peter Leeds (4 episodes), Elvia Allman (3 episodes), Richard Crenna (3 episode), Herb Vigran (2 episodes), Jerry Hausner (2 episodes), Anne Whitfield (2 episodes), Doris Singleton, Jack Kruschen, Rolfe Sedan, Joe Kearns, Wally Maher, Johnny McGovern, Sam Hearn, Norma Zimmer, Sam Edwards, Jim Backus, Gege Pearson, Joe Forte, Mary Jane Croft, Harry Bartell, and Veola Vonn (1 episode).

To Experience the Full Episode Blogs - for both “My Favorite Husband” and “I Love Lucy” - simply click on the hyperlinked (underlined) text.

“The Elves” ~ September 2, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz and George arrive home from summer vacation to find that someone has been ordering strawberry ice cream from the milkman every day, and the pink trail leads to the doorstep of their new neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wood, and their ten children.

“The Auction”* ~ September 9, 1949

“The Bank Outing Baseball Game” ~ September 16, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz is determined not to be left out of the baseball game at the Annual Bank Outing, so she persuades her neighbor Mr. Wood to teach her how to play the game.

“The Attic” ~ September 23, 1949

Synopsis ~ One of George’s old Glee Club friends is in town and George wants to find his old ukulele, so he and Liz search for it in the attic but get locked in.

“Women’s Club Election” ~ September 30, 1949

Synopsis ~ George has cause for alarm when Liz is elected treasurer of the local women’s club because he knows how much trouble she has with figures but Liz has a surprise for him.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “The Club Election” (ILL S2;E19)

“George Needs a Raise”~ October 7, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz tries every trick in the book to convince Mr. Atterbury to give George a raise. To get results she even resorts to selling apples in front of the bank where he is employed.

Basis for “Ricky Asks for a Raise” (ILL S1;E35)

“Too Many Television Sets” ~ October 14, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz can’t get George interested in buying a television set, until they spend an evening at the Atterburys, who have one. With his interest piqued, George arranges one be sent over on trial. Little does he know Liz has done the same thing - as have the Atterbury’s!

“Liz’s Superstitions” ~ October 21, 1949

Synopsis ~ A chirping cricket in the Cooper’s hearth is driving George crazy, but Liz is convinced it means good luck. When Liz insists that it isn’t lucky to banish a cricket, George gets upset with her superstitions.

“Halloween Surprise Party” ~ October 28, 1949

Synopsis ~ The Atterburys decide to throw a Halloween surprise party for Liz and George, but when Liz hears about their party at the beauty salon, she thinks that she and George just weren’t invited.

“Mother-in-Law” ~ November 4, 1949

Synopsis ~ George gets a letter from his mother that she’s moving to Sheridan Falls. Liz has no doubt that means staying with them! But when will she ever leave?

Although similarly titled, this radio episode is not the basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy’s Mother-in-Law” (ILL S4;E8) in 1954.

“BABY SITTING” ~ November 11, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz takes up baby sitting to balance her financial books and earn money for George’s Christmas present.

Shares plot elements with the “I Love Lucy” episode “The Amateur Hour” (ILL S1;E14)

“Liz The Matchmaker” ~ November 18, 1949

Synopsis ~ After dating Mr. Negley the postman for three years, Katie feels that their relationship is not going anywhere, so she enlists Liz’s help!

Although similarly titled and themed, this radio episode is not the basis for the “I Love Lucy” episodes “Lucy Plays Cupid” (ILL S1;E15), “Lucy is a Matchmaker” (ILL S2;E27), “The Matchmaker” (ILL S4;E4), or “Lucy, the Matchmaker” (HL S1;E12).

“College Homecoming”* ~ December 2, 1949

“The French Lessons” ~ December 9, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris are humiliated when they can’t read the menu at a French restaurant, so they decide to take French lessons. The lessons lead to the prospect of a duel between her favorite husband George and her amorous French teacher.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episodes “The Adagio” (ILL S1;E12) and “The French Revue” (ILL S3;E7)

“George’s Christmas Present” ~ December 16, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz vows to finish knitting George a sweater by Christmas. She finds George’s Christmas presents for her and exchanges it too early.

“The Sleigh Ride” ~ December 23, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz is taken for a sleigh ride (figuratively and literally) when she and her neighbors borrow a milkman’s horse and make a jingle bell trip to the countryside for a yule log. The party turns sour down when the horse insists upon making all the stops on his milk route.

“Liz & George Are Handcuffed” ~ December 30, 1949

Synopsis ~ Liz is playing ‘cops and robbers’ with little Tommy Wood from next door, and lets him handcuff her and George with what turn out to be real handcuffs! During the time the Coopers are linked George finds himself under the hair dryer and Liz later has to stand by at the barber’s while her husband gets a shave.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “The Handcuffs” (ILL S2;E4)

“Is There Another Woman?” ~ January 6, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz buys a book that lists the danger signs to look out for to tell if your husband is being unfaithful, and George has them all! Liz then she finds herself innocently coupled with her husband’s boss!

“Liz Teaches Iris To Drive” ~ January 13, 1950

Synopsis ~ The Atterburys have bought a new car but Rudolph refuses to teach Iris how to drive. Liz readily volunteers to be Iris’s driving instructor.

“Liz & The Green Wig” ~ January 20, 1950

Synopsis ~ George goes over Liz’s accounts and discovers that she has listed $180 for miscellaneous expenses! George decides she can eliminate the $10 a week she’s spending on her hair. Liz buys a green wig to show George what might happen if she dyed her hair at home.

“Liz Writes a Song” ~ January 27, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz is convinced that she is a musical talent, but when a music professor tells her she’ll never be a singer, she decides to take up songwriting.

Portions of this script were used as inspiration for “The Benefit” (ILL S1;E13)

“Country Club Dance” ~ February 3, 1950

Synopsis ~ Iris and Liz want to go to the country club dance, but George and Rudolph want to go to the fights. The girls decide to get dates and go anyway, until their plan ends in disaster.

The plot inspired elements of the story in “The Girls Want To Got To A Nightclub” (ILL S1;E1)

“Mrs. Cooper’s Boyfriend” ~ February 10, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz decides that the only way to keep George’s mother from coming over on Valentine’s Day is to get her a boyfriend.

“Liz Teaches the Samba” ~ February 17, 1950

Synopsis ~ George talks Liz into teaching Wally, the son of the bank’s newest director, Mr. Forsythe, how to dance the Samba, and Wally gets a crush on Liz.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” “The Young Fans” (ILL S1;E20)

“Liz Redecorates the House” ~ February 24, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz wants to hire the town’s new interior decorator, Andrew, to redecorate her house, but George tells her she’ll have to do the job all by herself.

Although this script never directly inspired any specific episode of “I Love Lucy” it is most like 1952′s “Redecorating” (ILL S2;E8)

“Women’s Rights - Part 1″ ~ March 5, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris start a campaign for equal rights, so George and Rudolph take them out to dinner but insist they pay their own check. With no choice but to do dishes, Liz plots to make the boys resent abandoning them - but even when everything is patched up they still want equal rights.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episodes “Equal Rights” (ILL S3;E4)

“Women’s Rights - Part 2″ ~ March 12, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris have bet George and Rudolph that they can hold down a job, and the boys have bet the girls that they can take care of the housework and cooking.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “Job Switching” (ILL S2;E1)

“The Wills” ~ March 19, 1950

Synopsis ~ After Liz and George make out their wills, Liz is convinced that George intends to do away with her. Liz is startled to find a receipt for some arsenic and rope in his pocket, but is shocked when George suggests a trip to the country - with a one-way ticket for Liz!

Basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying to Murder Her” (ILL S1;E4)

“Liz’s Radio Script” ~ March 26, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz’s entry is a finalist in a playwriting contest, and the Coopers and the Atterburys perform it on the local radio station.

Portions of this script inspired the “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Writes a Play” (ILL S1;E17)

“April Fool”* ~ April 2, 1950

“Hobbies” ~ April 9, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris are tired of waiting at home on weekends while George and Rudolph are at the golf course, so they decide to leave half-smoked cigars around the house to make the boys jealous.

Some elements that were later used on “I Love Lucy” in “The Golf Game” (ILL S3;E30)

“Anniversary”* ~ April 16, 1950

“Liz Appears on Television” ~ April 23, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris make an appearance on a television show celebrating Friendship Week. Their friendship is tested, though, when they discover they’ve bought the same dress for the occasion.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3)

“Spring House Cleaning” ~ April 30, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz sends George an anonymous love letter that she wrote to him during his bachelor days, and he thinks its from his secretary, Gladys.

”The Health Farm” ~ May 7, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz and Iris are fed up with their husbands taking them for granted, so they check in to a fat farm.

This episode features elements that later went into the “I Love Lucy” episodes “The Diet” (ILL S1;E3) and “The Charm School” (ILL S3;E15) as well as the “Lucy Show” episode “Lucy and the Countess Lose Weight” (TLS S3;E21)

“Numerology” ~ May 14, 1950

Synopsis ~ Mr. Curry, George and Liz’s landlord, is raising the rent, supposedly on instructions from his late wife, Bernice. Liz figures that she can fix things with a crooked Ouija Board.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episode “The Seance” (ILL S1;E7). It is a revision of the script used for “My Favorite Husband” episode #24, also titled "Numerology” when the characters were then known as the Cugats.

“Mrs. Cooper Thinks Liz is Pregnant” ~ May 21, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz tells George’s mother that she’s ill so the older Mrs. Cooper won’t try to come to Liz’s bridge game, but George’s Mother thinks Liz is really pregnant, and tells all of Liz’s friends what she thinks.

“Liz Sells Dresses” ~ May 28, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz accidentally returns a dress to a more expensive store than where she bought it, and makes money on the deal. She then decides to go into business buying dresses at one store and returning them at another.

Basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “The Freezer” (ILL S1;E29). It was a revision of the script for episode #14 from season one, when the characters were known as the Cugats.

“George is Messy” ~ June 4, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz is fed up with George’s messy habits around the house, so she draws a line down the middle of the living room and divides the house in two -her half and half his.

Basis for “Men Are Messy” (ILL S1;E8) of “I Love Lucy”

“Liz Learns to Swim” ~ June 11, 1950

Synopsis ~ George makes a bargain with Liz: If she’ll learn to swim, they can go to the beach with the Atterburys for their vacation.

“Be a Pal” ~ June 18, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz feels thinks George would rather not spend time with her anymore, so she tries everything she can think of to be a pal to her husband.

Basis for the “I Love Lucy” episodes “The Camping Trip” (ILL S2;E29) and “Be a Pal” (ILL S1;E2). It is a revision of the “My Favorite Husband” season one episode "Be Your Husband's Best Friend" when the characters were named Cugat.

“Dance Lessons” ~ June 25, 1950

Synopsis ~ Liz cons George in to taking her to a nightclub by telling him it is to celebrate their anniversary but it is actually to celebrate the anniversary of the last time they went out to a dinner dance.

#My Favorite Husband #Lucille Ball #1950 #CBS Radio #Richard Denning #Hans Conried #Hal March #Frank Nelson #Jay Novello #Eleanor Audley #Gale Gordon #Bea Benadaret #Bob LeMond #Ruth Perrott

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 6 years

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Laser on the Moon family scam

Hyun Jin Moon

by Ashamed Korean – October 14, 2012

It is not widely known that Hyun Jin met Hak Ja Han during the funeral debacle when Hyun Jin was in Seoul. Hak Ja Han is trying to do a face saving deal to kick out Kook Jin and air brush the Moon schism to paint a reunified family.

Hak Ja Han, the ultimate false mother, cares only about power and money in that order.

She is ... worrying about how the current conflict might impact the Moon empire and in particular the Cheongpyeong scam outfits’ ability to continue defrauding and ripping off the Japanese, and of course to ensure that they can hold on to their ill gotten gains.

She has tried to persuade Kook Jin to move back to the USA. She argued that he should be satisfied with the fat monthly haul of the scam proceeds from the Japanese to one of his foundations in the USA. However Kookie has his pride and he is not thrilled at the idea of taking the fallen-man role. He does not want to be painted as the villain while Hyun Jin gets rehabilitated. He particularly does not like the fact that Hak Ja Han told him that Hyun Jin appears more telegenic and saleable than himself and is better for securing the assets.

Kookie so far does not want to play ball as he knows that he will be regarded as ass-whooped clown if he leaves now and gives up the fight mid-way.

Meanwhile, Hak Ja Han is trying to instate Hyun Su Han (Hyun Su Kim), the totally corrupt son of Kim Hyo-nam (alias Daemo-nim), as the controlling Chairman of the Tongil Foundation.

The irony does not stop. Kim Hyo-nam terrifies the gullible Japanese into bankrupting not only themselves but any one else they can in order to “liberate” x generations of ancestors in the spirit world in exchange for pardons for their sins. Meanwhile her son lives the life of a Gangnam playboy bankrolling Korean actresses and singers with a notorious reputation for forcing them to have sex with him.

The crimes and hypocrisy of the Moons and their cronies have no bounds. Sun Myung Moon will go down in history as one of the greatest religious criminals of the last thousand years. The only tragedy is how long it is taking for the deluded to demand the proof, check the truth and face the fact that they have been deceived in the most vile and evil way. Moon and his family and organization are completely satanic.

http://howwelldoyouknowyourmoon.tumblr.com/post/33571428848/another-filthy-moon-deal

“You shall know the tree by its fruits”

by Ashamed Korean – October 16, 2012

Hyun Jin was livid when Hak Ja Han, Peter Kim and Kook Jin in his own words (verbatim) “pulled a stunt and put those two little pricks in my place over my head”. Now no one, with any actual accurate personal knowledge of Kook Jin or Hyung Jin could possibly disagree with his complaint or description.

Hyun Jin was and still is personally incensed, because he was very proud to have taken on the white-washing job of settling down the members after the Nansook Hong exposé. He often boasts how he was the only one who took responsibility to restore members’ faith and considered that this was a major factor along with the fact of him being the eldest living son and his telegenic appearance for the fact that “Abojee promised me I was to be his successor, he f*cking promised me.”

He screamed and cursed out those involved with his “betrayal” in private. His view on his siblings and their past (as well as the inside dirt on how this came about and the inside story of his parents) is instructive.

“Kook Jin is a devious little prick, he was always a sore loser, even as a kid. His favourite game at that time was Risk.”

(Risk is a war strategy board game described by its makers as “It’s appeal is timeless. Make the “right moves” and you’ll conquer the world!”)

“The problem was Kook Jin used to cheat all the time to try to win and would throw tantrums when he lost.” Well nothing has changed here with him to date.

Hyun Jin went on to say “Kook Jin’s problem is he always had a complex about me, I was better at everything than him—sports, study, looks, speaking—and it used to eat the little prick up… Whatever I did, he tried to copy, but he could just never make it. When I did Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, he did it too, but I always whooped his ass, when I went to Harvard, he tried to get in but failed so he had to get in by other means, with members to do his study papers for him and church money to provide donations to get him in by the back door.”

What Hyun Jin could not forgive Kookie for, is the fact that he “saved the little shit’s ass and then he stabbed me in the back!”.

He went on to explain what a number of mostly Top Korean leaders and 2nd gen know but keep strangely secret, that when Kookie was living in Miami he had an adulterous relationship with a mistress and made her pregnant, “when Parents heard they freaked out and threatened to cut him off”. Hyun Jin went down to Miami and interceded on behalf of the “little prick” and got him forgiven on the condition that he arrange a quiet abortion and get “re-blessed” with a Korean.

The mistress was paid off $500k and told to disappear. Kook Jin also added a threat that if he exposed her he would have her killed.

Once Kookie was rehabilitated, we all know the rest of the story.

However, Hyung Jin, according to Hyun Jin, “was and still is a stupid little prick and a total fraud”. “I raised the little prick, I know him better than anyone. He was useless at most things and kept fantasizing about being different people [like] Bruce Lee, then a Buddhist monk, but he is just an actor. Not only that but he screwed around in addition to being lazy… I had to slap him from time to time to keep him in shape”.

Hyun Jin maintains that the instating of Hyung Jin as the spiritual leader and successor of the movement was a complete set up engineered by Han Hak Ja, Kook Jin and Peter Kim who he calls a “freaking snake”.

Hak Ja Han resents Hyun Jin because he would not pander to her whims. She was frightened that after getting liberated from the control of her husband, if Hyun Jin were to be the successor she would not be able to inherit control of the movement which for her means money and power. Her fears were blown up into a frenzy by Kookie, out of jealousy and resentment, and by Peter Kim, out of greed and fear as he knew Hyun Jin could not stand him and would look to kick him out the moment he got power.

Hak Ja Han then framed the succession issue as a choice between either Hyun Jin or all the rest of the Moon children. Initially the old man would not budge, Hak Ja Han got hysterical and with the help of Hyo Nam Kim, she gave him an ultimatum: Either appoint Hyung Jin and Kook Jin as a Undynamic Duo or she threatened she would leave him, which would finally give the lie to the fiction of the “True Parents”.

Old man Moon blinked and the rest is history. More to follow.

Postscript “Iknowmoon” praised me for my honesty on my last post but added I was wrong to defame Moon. I can only respond by saying I have no idea how one could defame the infamous.

I would like to remind everyone of the old mantra of the church in the past when they were trying to convince people that Moon was the messiah. “You shall know the tree by its fruits”. What they meant was that people would see the upright conduct of the rank and file sacrificial members and be fooled in to thinking that Moon and his family and cronies were similar. Well, the truth is coming out in buckets these days, but you may have noticed that they never use this quote any more.

No blowing hot and cold when it suits them; these crooks cannot have it both ways “You shall know the tree by its fruits” is exactly right. The children and the cronies of Sun Myung Moon are king pin abusers of money, power and sex. They obtain money by defrauding deluded members and live by lies and hypocrisy and convoluted deceit which creates the means for their power and money. These fruits are from the tree of Sun Myung Moon himself.

http://whatisonthemoon.tumblr.com/post/33734389743/ye-shall-know-them-by-their-fruits

Was Hak Ja Han behind the ‘Sokcho incident’ fake spirit world message used to remove Hyun Jin, the eldest living son?

Daemo-nim liberates 182 million golf course

Moon in 2012: “You bastards are making me into a puppet. Don’t do that!”

Preston Moon (Hyun Jin)’s last visit to his father in hospital

Obsessing with “Creating the Mother of the Universe” a year before Moon died

Shock: “Ashamed to be Korean” gives a report on the Moon scam

#Sun Myung Moon #fraud #scam #Hak Ja Han #FFWPU #Hyun Jin Moon #Kook Jin Moon #Hyung Jin Moon

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matthew-phillip-blog · 7 years

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DAMN. in Early Recovery

by Matthew Phillip

The other day at 5:00 a.m. I found myself outside with a coffee and a cigarette. I wake up this early on a regular basis now – a symptom of PAW (post-acute withdrawal), which I experience as a recovering addict.

I’m 21-years-old, and during the last year, I used cocaine, alcohol, and other mind-altering substances every day. I attended a treatment centre for the last two months, and have been sober for two months and ten days. I feel like shit.

The mug I was sipping from was my dad’s; it says: I’d Rather be Golfing! A lie, I thought, “I’d rather be doing cocaine.” Following that thought, I immediately called D., my sponsor.

D. is 39-years-old, has long, dangling hair, a thin face, a tattoo of the solar system on the inside of his right arm and a tattoo of an astronaut on his left. Like me, his DOC (drug of choice), was cocaine. A husband, father and now a friend to me, D (after being sober for nine years, relapsing and getting sober again) is approaching three years clean.

One night, while driving me home from a Cocaine Anonymous (C.A.) meeting in downtown Toronto, D. asked me what of music I listened to. I skipped the “Oh I listen to everything,” preamble,” and answered: “Rap.” He asked me if I listened to Earl Sweatshirt. I told him I did and we blasted Doris the entire way home. He dropped me off and I quickly went to my room and hit the mattress. It was there I realized you could be cool and in recovery.

This time, when I called D., he greeted me in his usual chipper manner and asked if I’d heard of a group called Flying Lotus. I told him that yes, I have heard of him and that he should listen to the album You’re Dead! He’s a brilliant producer and there’s a great Kendrick Lamar feature on there. He also did some work on Kendrick’s To Pimp a Butterfly, one of my favourite albums of all time.

Later in the day, I texted my friend Ali to give him my musical opinion that DAMN., Lamar’s latest album, is superior to TPAB. I listened to both albums frequently during active addiction, along with Yeezus, by Kanye West. Together, these three records were the soundtrack to my year-long addiction.

Yeezus was my binge, or spree, album during my addiction cycle. Listening to it, I felt powerful, without limitation. I felt like a God, and if you didn’t see that you could “Go fuck yourself,” because I had total control over the present. That aside, my life was falling apart. I lost my job, my girlfriend, and many close friends.

To Pimp a Butterfly was the counter soundtrack during this cycle. It’s social and political awareness made me feel grounded in reality and sobriety for a brief period before I would get overwhelmed and turn back to substances.

The covers of the three albums say it all, to me. Yeezus is a blank CD in a blank CD case, with a red strip on the right-hand side; it is perfect for doing lines off of.

The cover of To Pimp a Butterfly has a black and white photograph of shirtless black men (Lamar included) in front of the White House, standing over a dead white man. The image addresses the relevant social issues of our time: racial injustice, white privilege, the prison industrial complex – issues I would know more about had I not dropped out of school to major in cocaine.

On the minimal cover of DAMN., is a picture of Lamar, who looked high-as-hell to me when I was using. Today, he looks painfully sober, like a dry-drunk.

Lamar, in my opinion, is the best rapper alive – and a fierce intellectual. Listening to DAMN. and looking at its cover, I think of him as a university professor who has given up. He’s imagined the photograph on the cover of To Pimp a Butterfly, and isn’t confident it will ever appear in a slideshow during one of his lectures.

Over the course of DAMN., a 55-minute lecture, he meditates on his many thoughts, feelings, theories, and suspicions. Sometimes he becomes so involved in them that he forgets where he is and is only reminded when a student noisily gets up to leave early because he’s been made uncomfortable by the topic. He’s disappointed but tries not to show it. He knows his dissection of each topic is both insightful and a banger.

I now listen to this album every morning as I transcribe old journals from rehab. In reading my old notes, I stumble upon feelings which I’d numbed through addiction. These days, in addictions counselling, I’m encouraged to look at those moods, feel them without resistance, and watch them go by. To just be. And let me tell you: this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Learning to live with myself, void of substances is exhausting.

That’s the look I see in Kendrick’s eyes now. He’s stuck in his head, too, fighting thoughts and feelings as they go by. Listening, I realize I am no longer alone. I realize that my life – and recovery has been about three things: Fear, Love and God

FEAR. Being forced to feel scared me to death. I resented my environment because I wasn’t willing to properly accept life, and blamed others for it. I couldn’t accept people, institutions, and concepts for what they were. I couldn’t see myself in relation to these large forms, so I was scared of them. In rehab, doing my self-inventory, I realized my resentments were formed by my fear of looking at myself and my part in these relationships. Drugs were the most convenient route for numbing this fear, life-destructive consequences considered. “If I could smoke fear away, I’d roll that motherfucker up” raps K.Dot, knowing it doesn’t work.

LOVE. Not too long ago, I realized that I was in love at last. A girl entered my life and suddenly I wanted to be with her. We trusted one another. We made each other feel at our best. We noticed the little things about one another and fell deeper in admiration. But I put cocaine, my greatest love, above her, and it ended. How crazy I was to give that up for drugs? I was too uncomfortable in my own skin to love myself, and her by extension. I realize this now and have made amends to her.

GOD. Upon entering rehab, I believed treatment to be a cult. “No way am I buying into this,” I thought. Less than five minutes into my first counselling session, I started bawling. I had been failing at life. I was an isolated shell. I was depressed and scared to death. I realized I could no longer live by my own means. I came to believe in the program, and eventually God, seeing it/him/her as something greater than myself, which I could never understand. But “what happens on Earth stays on Earth,” voices remind us throughout DAMN. I need to do my part. I can’t expect God to do anything for me without paying back.

I recently ordered a new copy of Yeezus. I hung it on my wall next to my length of sobriety chips. 24 hours. One month. Two months. It’s there to remind me of the past, so I never forget how bright my future can be.

Last night, D. picked me up and we drove to a nearby C.A. meeting. I played DAMN. front-to-back the whole car ride. He said m.A.A.d city was better, and we left it at that. We were headed to hear a speaker with nine years of sobriety sort his way through his thoughts, feelings, fears, theories, and suspicions. Still, after nine years. Damn.

#kendrick lamar #damn.#recovery #personal essay #article #hip-hop #rap #writing #prose #cocaine

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scoops404 · 7 years

Text

New Fic:

Til Death Chapter 1

Summary: After discovering that Dan's recent strange behavior is caused by a brain tumor, Dan and Phil make some interesting choices.

Word Count: 4,777

“What are you doing, Dan,” Phil cuts off the camera with an uncharacteristic aggressiveness, “We can’t use any of that. What’s up with you?”

Dan looks at the computer screen in front of them, loaded up with the Golf with Friends start menu. They were just doing their introduction for this new video and Phil won’t let him say anything. Dan caters to Phil’s criteria when they are on his channel, but this is for the gaming channel and he can say whatever the fuck he wants, “What are you talking about?”

“Dan! You just implied I’m going to use golf balls as anal beads on you! What do you mean ‘what are you talking about?’” Phil looks ready to pull his fringe out and his eyes have gone a bit crazy and even though Dan still doesn’t get why that’s a big deal, he respects that Phil’s upset about it.

“Okay okay, I don’t see what was wrong with that, but let’s do it again,” he says, taking off the obnoxious green felt golfing hat that Phil insists that they wear whenever they play this game. He already has green fuzzies all in his hair and no manner of brushing his fingers through the curls is going to make all of them disappear.

Phil doesn’t take his own hat off, he just stares at Dan until Dan starts to feel like he’s x-raying his non-existent soul or something. It’s very unnerving.

“What?” Dan says, the staring totally getting to him.

Phil finally comes out of the trance, throws his own hat off and chucks it onto the sofa behind them, “Really, what’s up with you? You’re usually so careful about what you say and how you say it and for weeks you don’t seem to care about that anymore. It’s gotten really bad these last few videos. Editing has been a nightmare and I still couldn’t get rid of everything without missing large chunks of Dil’s life.”

Dan sighs and just keeps himself from rolling his eyes. That definitely won’t help the situation. Phil rarely decides that they need to have a conversation these days, but when he does, he takes it very seriously.

When Dan doesn’t speak, Phil continues, “and it’s more than that. You’ve been tweeting some strange things, like strange even for you. The fans are starting to pick up on it. Are you okay? Are you going through something? You know you can tell me anything. I just want to help.”

“Phil,” Dan begins, not really knowing where the sentence is going to take him, “I’m fine. I’m just loosening up some, being more candid with the audience.”

“That’s not true,” Phil protests, “you would have discussed that with me. You know our brand is so intertwined that what you do affects me and you’ve never been so uncaring before,” He stares uncomfortably into Dan’s eyes again and Dan resists the urge to look away, because that would be a sign of weakness, “it’s almost like you don’t even realize, like you haven’t thought through what you’re going to say. Like your filter is gone.”

Dan stands up, “I’m going to get a ribena. I’ve gotta—“

Phil pulls at his arm until he’s forced to sit again, “Why are you so uncomfortable?”

Dan shakes him off his arm, he really doesn’t want to be touched right now. Even if it’s Phil, who he’s never minded touching before. In fact, he usually finds his touch calming and grounding. Something about the touch this time grates on him, not physically, but there’s something he’s avoiding in his psyche, that he’s purposefully blind to, and Phil’s touch is shining a spotlight on it. Something in Dan knows that he’s supposed to keep it hidden.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice is careful, like how he speaks to scared animals and overwhelmed fans who need gentleness and Dan resents that he’s had to bring it out right now, “are you okay?”

“I’ve been having really bad headaches recently?” Dan says totally without knowing he was going to say it, “and I haven’t been sleeping, like, worse than usual.”

Phil nods and gently places his hand on Dan’s arm again, “is something keeping you up this time?”

“Nothing I can point to,” Dan says and a corner of the Unnamed Hidden Thing comes into the light. Dan almost wants to blink.

“There’s usually something that keeps you from sleeping, right?” Phil asks and Dan knows he’s thinking 2012 when Phan got under Dan’s skin and he’s thinking about Dan’s university freak out and he’s thinking about countless other things that have bothered Dan over the years enough to disrupt his sleep. He’s not wrong. Dan’s cursed with overthinking himself into a sleepless frenzy. It’s how he handles stress and anxiety and even if his methods are not super healthy, that’s his usual routine until Phil catches him and distracts him with anime or animal facts or whatever weird thing he’s gotten into lately.

“Usually,” Dan says.

“So you’re not sleeping and you’re having really bad headaches and you’re mood is all over the place—“

“My mood is not all over the place,” Dan says because his mood has been fine. What is Phil talking about?

“Dan, you got legitimately angry at a Youtube comment yesterday. You haven’t done that since the first year you started making videos.”

“She said you looked like an alien mixed with emo Peter Pan!” Dan says, getting mildly upset thinking about it again, “I couldn’t let that go.”

“Exactly,” Phil says like he’s won the argument, “you would have laughed at that before. I mean, it’s kind of funny.”

“It’s not funny,” Dan argues, “it’s mean and cyber bullying and I don’t like people talking about my friend like that.”

“Thank you, really, I think it’s sweet you want to defend me. But I’ve been able to defend myself since before I met you. And you know that. Which makes this out of character for you. Do you see where I’m coming from?” Phil’s still touching his arm and the Unnamed Hidden Thing is becoming much less hidden and much scarier as a result.

Dan nods.

“I really think you need to see a doctor,” Phil says carefully, like he knows Dan is likely to blow up at him about this.

“A doctor, really?”

Phil ignores his whine and grips his arm tighter, “Yeah. You aren’t sleeping, you’re having headaches, you’re having weird mood swings, and your brain-to-mouth filter has disappeared. There’s too many red flags, Dan. Go to the doctor and get checked out.”

He hesitates. He really doesn’t want to go to the doctor, that involves going outside, taking transportation, having someone poke and prod at him and no real visible symptoms he can point to. The brief reprieve he’s had from the headaches suddenly seems fleeting. Just thinking about it makes him feel the beginnings of another headache.

“I want you to know that I’m listening to what you’re saying, Phil,” he says, using his free hand to rub at his temples like that can scare away the headache sure to follow, “but can we talk about this again tomorrow. I can’t—I can’t deal with any more right now, okay?”

Phil looks at him and reads that he’s genuine. He lifts his hand off Dan’s arm and turns the camera back on, “Alright, but I’m bringing it up again tomorrow and if I need to, I’m making the appointment myself.”

Dan smiles, grateful that Phil dropped it for now and grateful that he cares enough to bring it up in the first place. Mostly he’s grateful he doesn’t have to think about it for a few hours.

“Where’d my hat go?” Phil asks himself as Dan takes some deep breaths.

“You threw it over there in your rush for confrontation,” Dan teases him, needing the seriousness of their conversation to disperse before they have to be lively and funny for the video.

“I wasn’t rushing for confrontation, Mr. Stuck-in-his-own-head. Let’s just play,” he picks the hat up off the floor by bending over awkwardly in his chair and places it on the desk next to him, “and no more weird innuendos about anyone’s butt.”

Dan smirks, “no promises.”

It turns out that Phil doesn’t have to wait until the morning to continue the conversation because Dan has a seizure after dinner.

One second he’s sitting on the couch with Dan’s feet in his lap and the next second, Dan’s rolled off the couch and thrashing around and Phil goes from comfy to utterly terrified in the space between heartbeats.

He knows he’s read about what to do if someone has a seizure, he’s seen it on tumblr or something, but he can’t grasp anything coherently with his best friend seizing on the ground in front of him. He falls off the couch as well, screaming his name, and after a split second of hesitation, decides to put one arm over Dan’s legs, trying to keep them as still as possible, and throws his other arm and body over Dan’s to keep him from moving as much as he can. When that doesn’t seem to work much, he has another panic moment before taking a deep breath. He looks around frantically. He sees his phone on the arm of the couch, laughing at him. He feels Dan’s phone under his arm, still snugly in his pocket. Phil fumbles with his friend’s pocket, grabs the phone and dials 999.

They get to the flat very quickly, Phil thinks and remembers resenting the sirens outside the old flat for sounding out every few minutes. He’s glad to hear those sirens now, he’s overjoyed to think that help is close. Phil’s never been this terrified before in his life. He lets the EMTs in and leads them to Dan. It takes a while, Phil’s lost all sense of time, but they stabilize him and get him ready to transport to the hospital. Phil answers questions about what happened and he answers as best as he can, but honestly, he thinks he’s in shock and has no idea what he’s already said.

He follows Dan’s stretcher down to the street and starts to get in the ambulance with him when a middle aged EMT politely stops him.

“Sorry, love, you can’t come in the ambulance with us,” she says kindly.

“What?” Phil says, watching them load Dan into the back, “but that’s my best friend. I need to go with him.”

“You can’t,” she says again, “I’m sorry, but you’re not family so you can’t ride in the ambulance. But you can meet us at the hospital.”

Phil shakes his head a bit, having a hard time concentrating. It’s no use arguing, that’s only going to delay Dan getting to the hospital, and it looks like they’re about ready to go.

“Which hospital?” he asks, trying to find his phone to call a cab.

“St. Bart’s,” she replies, “and maybe grab some things for him. I have a feeling he’ll have to be admitted overnight and he might want some of his own things when he wakes up.”

She steps away, jumps into the passenger side of the ambulance just as the EMTs in with Dan close the door and suddenly the sirens are blaring and Phil’s watching his best friend drive away and he feels like absolute shit that he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even ride with him and hold his hand.

Phil takes a second to breathe and quell the panic of the last ten minutes. Has it really only been ten minutes?

“You a’right, mate?” he hears from his right and there’s the neighbor that told him off about trying to befriend the pigeons and suddenly Phil realizes that he’s standing barefoot in the street in just his pajamas, dried tears on his cheeks, and there are people staring at him.

He doesn’t bother to answer. He runs back upstairs, changes into regular clothes. He grabs Dan’s phone, his laptop, charger, some clothes, the book he’s been trying to read the last couple nights, and orders a car. He decides it’s better not to count how many things he’s dropped and had to pick up, his natural clumsiness a dangerous combination with muted panic.

Once he’s safely in the car, Phil calls Dan’s mum to let her know her son is in the hospital. It’s not too late, just past 9:00pm, but they deserve to know.

“Dan, honey?”

“Actually it’s Phil, Mrs. Howell,” he says, one eye on the GPS at the front of the car trying to gauge how far away they are from St. Bart’s.

He hears her confusion, “Phil, what’s going on? Why are you calling from Dan’s phone?”

“Sorry, it’s just the one I had in my hand,” what he means is that he thought she would be more likely to pick up a call from her son then her son’s best friend and flat mate. “I’m not really sure how to, uh, say this… but, uh, Dan had a seizure tonight and had to go to the hospital.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers, “is he okay?”

Phil swallows harshly, “The EMTs say he’s okay, they had him stabilized when he got in the ambulance, but they also said he’d probably have to be admitted.”

“Okay, which hospital?”

“St. Bart’s,” he sees the hospital ahead and breathes out a sigh of relief that he’s close.

“I can be there in two hours,” she says.

“Why don’t you let me see what they say, and if you need to come, I’ll let you know. No need to come out here if they don’t actually admit him. I’ll call you back in thirty minutes, okay? I can see the hospital now,” he gathers his bag of his and Dan’s things and throws the strap over his shoulder, ready to jump out the second the car comes to a complete stop, forgetting momentarily that he needs to pay the driver.

“You didn’t ride with him in the ambulance, Philip?”

“No ma’am,” he’s still upset about it, “they wouldn’t let me because I’m not family.”

Her voice is soft and so lovely when she says, “of course you’re family, dear. Of course you’re family. You’ve been taking care of my boy for years and you’re going to take care of him tonight. I’ll wait for you to call me in twenty minutes and I’ll pack in the meantime in case I need to come. You go see about Daniel and call me when you know something okay?”

He blinks, “I will. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, love.”

Even if he didn’t remember to pay the driver, the driver so helpfully reminds him with a few choice words that Phil wouldn’t be able to repeat in a video. He shakes his head, like he can clear away the cloud where his brain should be and start thinking clearly, but all he can think about is Dan shaking on the ground, scared and alone and with no knowledge of what happened.

At the reception desk, he asks the nurse for where Dan is and is politely told that he can’t see him but he’s welcome to wait in the waiting area where they have coffee and tea provided. Phil is getting really sick of people telling him he can’t see his best friend, no matter how nice they are about it.

“Will you at least tell me the second I can see him?” he asks hopefully and isn’t buoyed with hope looking at her face.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says and Phil knows that she means it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, “he came through not five minutes ago. No one except immediate family is allowed back until the doctor clears it.”

Phil feels his head drop and he’s looking at the drab hospital tiled floor through very watery eyes. He tries to blink the water away, but he’s not very successful. “Okay, well, I’ll be in the waiting room. Please let me know what’s going on as soon as you can,” he pleads with her, “his mother is waiting on me to call with news, so…” he trails off and even with the kindness in the nurse’s eyes he can’t help but resent her.

He turns away and walks to the Waiting Room and grabs an open chair away from the only other occupant in the room, a man in his thirties with his head in his hands rocking back and forth. Phil’s heart goes out to him.

Twenty minutes go by with absolutely no word from anybody. Phil calls Mrs. Howell to let her know and apologizes that he can’t be of more help.

“Phil,” she says in that reassuring way that mums have, “you’re doing the best you can. Please don’t punish yourself. He knows you love him and that you wouldn’t leave him alone by choice.” The watery eyes make a dramatic return and Phil swallows a lump in his throat. He knows she’s right. Dan knows. Dan knows Phil wouldn’t leave him alone. He doesn’t leave him alone at parties, and that’s just social awkwardness. He hasn’t left him alone in years now, really. Dan’s even invited to his family vacations these days because they can’t bear to be apart. Because Dan is family, even if it’s not by the strict definition by societal standards.

“I’m leaving the house now, I’ll be there in two hours,” Mrs. Howell says in his ear, “do what you can until then. And Phil?”

When he speaks, his voice is husky and sounds nothing like he normally does, “Yes?”

“Thank you for everything.”

Dan falls asleep after the first round of testing. He vaguely remembers the ambulance ride, remembers hearing the sirens and wondering who got stabbed before he groggily realized the sirens were coming from the outside of the vehicle he was in. He remembers the vague shape of the EMT looking him over and he remembers wondering where Phil was.

He’s not sure how long he stays in the emergency part of A&E but next thing he knows, a very burly man is rolling his bed down the hall and then he has his own room. The doctor comes in and explains that he had a seizure and that they want to do an MRI. He has an irrational thought that he’s glad he didn’t have this seizure in America where he’d have to pay for an MRI before he remembers that the doctor probably needs his permission or something. He nods at the doctor and then they’re rolling him down the hallway again.

He has a flashback to the Manchester hospital and wonders if they’ll give him morphine this time. Then he’s in the MRI machine and honestly it’s one of the creepiest things he’s ever experienced and he wants Phil to tell him he’s being stupid and that it’s fine. He wants Phil to talk about something ridiculous and make ridiculous observations about people like he does sometimes and Dan wants to dramatically roll his eyes at him even though he’s actually very amused and they both know it.

He wants to have his head in Phil’s lap like he’s only allowed when he’s feeling very poorly and have Phil stroke his hair while they watch a re-run of an anime season that they both love.

He wants Phil next to him while he talks to the doctor because he knows that Phil will remember everything the doctor tells them and ask intelligent questions or the not-so-intelligent questions but ones Dan is dying to know, but knows is stupid. He wants Phil to explain what’s happening to him because currently he feels like he’s swimming underwater and everything is distorted and he can’t really breathe.

He falls asleep when they bring him back to his room after the MRI. He’s tired and confused and they might have drugged him, he’s not sure, but he can’t keep his eyes open and he drifts into sleep.

When his eyes open back up, he can tell it’s been hours. He’s on his side staring directly at the wall. The small window in the room has a small amount of light filtering in when he swears before that there wasn’t any. By the light, he can see his mother fretting with the TV remote. He turns over onto his back and bumps into Phil, asleep with his head pillowed on his arms on the unused part of Dan’s hospital bed. A soft smile reaches his face.

“Mum?” he says and his mother jumps a bit.

“Daniel,” she says, putting the remote down and her hand over her heart. The muted TV seems to be stuck on the news, “how are you feeling?”

He has to think about it for a minute, “like I can finally think.”

Phil twists a bit in his sleep and Dan speaks more quietly, “Everything is kind of a blur until right now.”

“Do you know what happened,” his mum asks, walking to the unoccupied side of the bed and putting her hand on his arm.

Dan knows something happened, knows that he wouldn’t have been admitted to the hospital without a good reason. Even though he can’t remember everything, he was definitely in an MRI machine a couple hours ago. But why he’s here? He doesn’t know that.

“No, I—“ he squirms in the bed, trying to get comfortable and his hand winds up on Phil’s arm. He doesn’t move it.

“I remember Phil telling me yesterday that I needed to see a doctor even if he had to schedule the appointment himself,” Dan says, “we had a bit of a row to be honest. It was mostly my fault, I think.”

“But you don’t remember how you ended up here?” She asks, eyes searching his face.

“No,” Dan hates that he doesn’t know, “Mum, what happened?”

“You had a seizure, baby,” her hand come up to move his fringe out of his eyes, “you gave poor Phil quite the scare.”

“A seizure?”

She nods, “Phil said you were watching TV after dinner and then you fell off the couch.”

“Oh,” he says quietly and honestly doesn’t know what to do with that information. Just then, he feels Phil start to stir under his arm. He looks over in time to see him blink awake.

“Hey,” he says dumbly while Phil stares at him.

“Dan,” Phil yawns, “hey.”

When neither of them say anything else, Dan’s mum chuckles on the other side of the bed, “you two are ridiculous. Phil, you spent the entire night demanding to be as close to Dan as possible, even when they wouldn’t let you ride in the ambulance or back in A&E and you’re just going to say ‘hey?’”

Phil shrugs, “Well I’m here now and I didn’t do anything he wouldn’t do for me.”

Dan thinks about it for a second, grateful that his mum told him what Phil’s been through because he knows that Phil would have left that part out or downplayed it.

“I probably would have lied or manipulated a bit more to get to you, but yeah,” he says as he realizes his hand is still on Phil’s arm and slowly brings it away, “thanks for staying and sorry I scared you.”

“Not your fault,” Phil says, yawning again.

This makes Dan yawn as well. He pauses mid-yawn when the door opens and a gray haired man in a white coat walks in with the air of someone who belongs there. Dan has a vague memory of him from the night before and he must be the attending or something.

“Mr. Howell,” he says, grabbing the chart, “you’re awake. Good.”

Dan nods and suddenly feels about eight years old.

“Has your family told you anything about what happened?”

“They told me I had a seizure,” he says and almost adds ‘sir’ to that and is glad he didn’t because he would have been mortified.

The doctor nods, “it’s a little more complicated than that, son,” he says and he has a voice that booms. Like one of those people who thinks they’re whispering when they’re talking at a normal volume, “The seizure was just a symptom and not the big kahuna.”

Phil’s hand sneaks its way into Dan’s and as strange as it is, it’s more comforting than anything else. They’re best friends, sure, and they’re more tactile than a lot of other best friends, but they’ve never just held hands. So while it comforts him, Phil holding his hand also raises his alarm bells because Phil’s pre-emptively comforting him and that can’t be a good thing.

“Then what’s wrong with me?” Dan says and squeezes Phil’s hand.

“Well,” the doctor looks him straight in the eyes and Dan has a bout of panic and his knuckles are white, “Your friend Phil here told us about your mood swings and the headaches and trouble sleeping. So we did an MRI of your brain and, well, there’s a small tumor on your left frontal lobe.”

Dan’s vision whites out for a second and he can’t hear anything past tumor.

“Dan,” Phil says softly and it sounds more like a question, like a ‘are you ready for the doctor to keep going yet?’

He looks over at Phil and sees his own fear in those sharp blue eyes.

“Please go on,” Dan says, “is it…. Is it cancerous?”

Dan’s mum squeezes his other arm and Dan’s so very grateful to be surrounded by the two people who love him most in the world.

“We don’t think so,” the doctor reassures him and, well, at least that’s one good thing, “but if you don’t have it removed in the next month, it’s going to kill you regardless.”

Well, rip that plaster right fucking off then, mate.

“We’ve got you scheduled for surgery in a week’s time. Pre-op is two days before. I’ve given all the information to your family,” the doctor goes on and it’s all Dan can do to comprehend what he’s saying let alone analyze it and let it soak in, “you can go home now, there’s nothing else to do except take the tumor out. You should still experience the same symptoms you were experiencing before until the tumor comes out, but with the medication we’re going to give you, the headaches should decrease in severity.”

Dan nods woodenly.

“Do you have any questions, son?”

“How,” he begins shakily, “how successful is this surgery? Will I be fine afterwards?”

The doctor pauses before answering and that tells Dan all he really needs to know. His mood blackens and he almost doesn’t hear the doctor when he says “the surgery itself is pretty risky. Anytime we poke around the brain it’s considered risky. But the chances of you making a complete recovery should the surgery go well are very high. The surgery itself is the big risk.”

Dan absolutely doesn’t want to have surgery. He imagines himself in the surgical theater, surrounded by doctors in faceless masks saying things like “scalpel, stat” to each other and drilling a hole into the back of his head with the kind of drill Phil’s dad got him for Christmas and Dan shakes his head so hard that he almost gives himself another headache.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the doctor says, “you’re thinking you don’t want to have the surgery at all.”

Dan nods.

“Here’s the thing about that,” the doctor tells him, “your chances of dying without the surgery are 100%. There’s no two ways about it. The tumor is growing at such an exponential rate that it’s going to take over your brain and start impairing your motor function, your ability to see, your ability to breathe. It’s already affecting your judgment and your mood. Do you really want to give this tumor that much power over you?”

Dan shakes his head.

“I know it’s scary, but we’ve scheduled the surgery in a week because that’s when the U.K.’s top neurosurgeon is back in London. You’ll have the best of the best, Mr. Howell, I promise.”

Dan nods again, recognizing that he seems to have lost the ability to speak.

“Thanks, Dr. Reynolds,” Phil says when he sees that Dan’s not going to ask any more questions.

“Of course, and by the way boys,” Dr. Reynolds says, picking the chart back up and walking towards the door, “I loved you guys on the BBC. I’m sorry I had to give you this news.”

Dan smiles shallowly. It’s always nice to meet a fan.

#phanfiction

1 note · View note

lynchkavinskyparrish · 7 years

Text

Ronan/Kavinsky

11. “You’re going to make it. Just stay awake.”

Ronan was at one of Kavinsky’s substance parties, steadfastly ignoring said party’s host. Ignoring the smug looks and ignoring the thought that, Kavinsky, in his element, was truly something to behold.

He may have come to Kavinsky on his own recognizance, but he had given up enough of his pride by showing up to the damn thing, he wasn’t about to give Kavinsky any more satisfaction by staring. That didn’t mean he couldn’t listen.

The strange crossbreed of the New Jersey and Bulgarian accent gave Kavinsky’s voice an almost melodic lilt. It made him easy to distinguish from the crowd and nearly impossible to ignore. His particular cadence was marred by the harsh words he spoke with even harsher syllables, but Ronan found he didn’t mind the added roughness.

It was to be expected from Kavinsky and, recently, Ronan had found comfort in the expected. Everything in Ronan’s life had been turned on its head, nothing felt stable. Even Gansey, the most constant part of his life, had become irregular. Gansey’s Glendower obsession had become more real and Ronan had become less tethered.

Everything was changing, but Kavinsky, Kavinsky was a constant. Ronan liked to use that idea, liked to pretend that was the only reason he came to the party. The alternative, the idea that he was drawn to the fire in Kavinsky’s eyes, was less desirable.

It was pathetic but, while Ronan may not have done any of the substances at the party, he was there to meet an addiction. Every so often, he had to visit Kavinsky, just to reminded himself of why he was a bad idea. Ronan would stage a ‘chance meeting’. Kavinsky would say just the wrong thing. And Ronan would leave, anger temporarily burying desire.

The problem was that, recently, Kavinsky hadn’t been too bad. His insults had become routine and they’d lost their potency. Ronan was having to replace quality for quantity.

He knew it was a shitty excuse, but anything was better than admitting that he simply wanted to see Joseph Kavinsky. Every time he saw him though, it was getting harder and harder to deny the way he affected Ronan.

Kavinsky reminded him of lightening; bright, violent, alive, and impossible to contain. It was more than just that though, Kavinsky was loud. There was an air to him that told Ronan that there was no possible universe where Kavinsky wasn’t a king. Here, he may have been the king of the damned, but he could have made himself a king of any situation.He was something other, something ethereal.

Kavinsky seemed to only get harder to understand the more Ronan tried. Unfortunately, the reverse didn’t seem true. Even through his obnoxious glasses, Ronan could feel Kavinsky’s piercing gaze.

Kavinsky understood things about Ronan that no one else did. He saw through Ronan; he had taken him apart and put him back together again in just a few encounters. Yet Ronan only knew enough about Kavinsky to know which pieces were the most artificial. He knew more than most, probably because no one else cared enough to try, but that was the problem. Ronan cared. Ronan cared about Joseph Kavinsky.

And anyone who knew anything about anything knew there was nothing more futile than caring about Kavinsky. It was like re-watching a sad movie, knowing what was going to happen, and hoping, against all odds, that it wouldn’t. Kavinsky was a train crash waiting to happen: hard to look at, harder to look away from. Most everyone knew this; it was fairly obvious Kavinsky was mentally unstable, perhaps even deranged, but that was part of the appeal to them. They wanted a show. They wanted the spectacle that was the rumor of Kavinsky. No one cared that the drugs and booze were poorly-disguised, self-destructive, coping mechanisms.

No one but Ronan that was. And even then, Ronan resented the fact. It was useless to care about someone who couldn’t be saved and Kavinsky was king of the damned for a reason.

Ronan knew all this but, sometimes, he needed the visceral reminder that was Kavinsky in the flesh. He finally broke his vow of stubborn apathy and looked over at Kavinsky.

He was leaning against Proko’s golf, surrounded by his pack and some people Ronan didn’t know (he doubted Kavinsky knew them either). The party-goers seemed to orient themselves towards Kavinsky even when he wasn’t doing much of anything. Kavinsky, however, decided to face Ronan.

His smirk seemed to grow when he realized he Ronan was looking back. “You here to party Lynch or are you just creeping?”

Ronan rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

Kavinsky then patted the hood of the car he was leaning against, as if beckoning a loyal dog.

When Ronan scowled and flipped him off, Kavinsky changed tactics. He leaned down towards to cooler at his feet, grabbed a bottle of beer, and waved it in offering. He was offering a way for Ronan to do what he’d requested without forfeiting his pride.

Ronan could have gotten a beer himself. He could have ignored the offer and walked away. Better yet, he could have gotten back in his car and left the party all together.

He did none of those things.

Instead he walked over to the car, the crowd parting for the ‘guest of honor’, and took the beer.

Kavinsky’s started shit talking as soon as Ronan leaned against the car. “Dick know his pet’s out for a walk?”

Ronan started standing up to leave, but Kavinsky held out his arm to stop him, silently agreeing to stop the Gansey comments, at least temporarily. He then patted Ronan’s chest and made a tsking sound. “So sensitive.”

That didn’t even receive an eyeroll from Ronan, but Kavinsky persisted. He pulled a baggie of designer silver pills out of his pocket and offered one to Ronan. Ronan shook his head but Kavinsky didn’t quit. “What the fuck are you doing at my substance party then?”

That was a question Ronan couldn’t answer, but he knew what to say to get Kavinsky to drop the subject. “I can leave.”

Pursing his lips and sighing, Kavinsky took a pill for himself, and put the bag away.

They both knew this game.

Kavinsky knew Ronan would have taken the pill had they been alone. And Ronan knew Kavinsky didn’t want Ronan to leave. It was a precarious balance that, more often than not, ended poorly for everyone involved. That never stopped them though.

The party went on, unconcerned with their hard-won balance. Unfamiliar music rocked the car, people came up to Kavinsky to exchange substances and money or favors. No one talked to Ronan, and Kavinsky was occupied with other people, but Ronan would be lying if he claimed he wasn’t enjoying himself.

With Kavinsky being less obnoxious than usual, Ronan was forced to acknowledge his charm. He watched him strike deals and manage the party effortlessly and couldn’t help but appreciate his sharp wit and silver tongue. And, even Gansey would have had to admit, Kavinsky wasn’t hard to look at.

When the crowd died down Kavinsky caught Ronan staring. He had been planning to say something lewd and insulting but he was stopped by the look in Ronan’s eyes.

The spark there captured Kavinsky; he was temporarily frozen, trapped by the electricity between them.

Kavinsky felt vulnerable and exposed. Even so, had they been alone, he probably would have acted on it. But they weren’t, so he took a swig of vodka and tried to brush it off. He paid no mind to Ronan as he climbed on the hood of the car and made an announcement. “Who’s ready to fucking go?!”

The crowd, drunk and high, cheered at the vague statement.

Kavinsky then jumped off the car, motioned to Jiang, and walked over to one of the many white Mitsubishis without looking back at Ronan. Ronan saw Jiang nod and get in his own car.

People moved closer to the edges of the dirt road, vying to get a better view as they placed bets on the race. Ronan abstained, choosing to move to the top of the golf and watch silently instead.

He wasn’t hurt by Kavinsky’s reaction. Ronan understood and he was, quite honestly, grateful Kavinsky had killed the moment. It wouldn’t have ended well for either of them if he hadn’t. Ronan had been acting stupidly. There was no happily ever after for them, and there never would be.

Still, Ronan couldn’t help but fantasize about a different universe. One where Kavinsky wasn’t as broken as he was. A world where his sharp edges weren’t quite as sharp and didn’t cut as deeply. In that world, a world where Kavinsky could get better, Ronan thought they could have worked. But it was a futile, reckless, thought and Ronan tried to quash it right away. He decided to blame his stupidity on the alcohol and turned his attention to the race.

Kavinsky was slightly ahead of Jiang but, when they rounded the corner, he veered off the track. He drove his car head first into a tree without slowing down. It was as if he hadn’t even attempted to correct his course at all, and all Ronan could think was that it hadn’t been an accident.

He jumped off the car and moved towards the crash site. No one else moved. Possibly, no one else knew what to do when the commander could no longer command. More likely, they thought it was all part of the show.

Giving up all pretense of emotional detachment, Ronan started running towards the wreckage. Apparently, his concern was contagious, because someone finally decided to call 911. The call, and the knowledge that the police were en route, killed the party and Ronan heard people heading out.

Soon enough the the sounds of the rapidly departing party-goers died down and the fair grounds were silent except for the ticking of the dying engine and the arguing of the core members of Kavinsky posse. When Kavinsky hadn’t open the car door they’d joined Ronan in rushing over.

Ronan, in an uncharitable moment of bitterness, was genuinely surprised they cared.

He pushed these thoughts asside as he arrived at the car. He couldn’t see much over the smoking engine but thankfully the driver’s side door wasn’t completely trashed. He was able to pry it open and Kavinsky, having forgone his seat belt, fell out onto the unforgiving red dirt.

Ronan pulled him the rest of the way out of the smoldering vehicle and kneeled next to his head. He was conscious, but just barely.

The only thing Ronan could think to say was, “the ambulance is on its way.”

Kavinsky groaned and managed to glare at Ronan. He cursed in Bulgarian. Ronan’s confused stare seemed to remind Kavinsky of his company.

He translated his cursing in a strained voice. “Fucking ass face.” The anger in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. “I don’t need a god damn hospital.”

Raising his eyebrows skeptically, Ronan replied. “Yes. You do you idiot. You could have fucking died.”

Kavinsky laughed, slightly manically. “That’s sort of the fucking point dick.” His laughter was cut off by a pained groan and a cough.

Ronan went from worried and confused to furious. His next words were spoken through clenched teeth. “You might still get your fucking wish.”

Kavinsky turned his head to the side to cough out blood before snorting and letting his eyes close, apparently too tired to keep responding.

By this point, the remaining few had congregated around the pair. They remained silent and Ronan ignored their presence completely.

He didn’t shout at, the possibly unconscious, Kavinsky, but it was a near thing. “You selfish asshole!” Ronan took a deep breath in an, unsuccessful, attempt at calming down, before continuing. “I finally start fucking caring and you - you try to fucking off yourself?!” When Kavinsky just coughed Ronan kept going. “You’re a God Damn coward Kavinsky.”

Kavinsky sighed and weakly patted Ronan’s thigh. Ronan was suddenly drained of his anger, more exhausted and worried than anything else.

He lowered his voice and spoke in quiet desperation. “You’re going to make it.” He close his eyes briefly. “Just stay awake.”

Ronan opened his eyes in time to see Kavinsky crack one of his own open. He tugged roughly on Ronan’s bracelets then closed his eyes and struggled to speak. “Fucking … hypocrite.”

There was nothing Ronan could say in response, but he knew better than to let Kavinsky fall asleep, so he slapped Kavinsky across the face. It worked, but only enough to make Kavinsky glare at Ronan as he spoke through coughs. “just … let me die … fucker”

Kavinsky’s eyes closed again but Ronan could hear the ambulance approaching. It drew nearer, the noise increased, and Ronan felt secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be heard over the sirens. “I swear to God, if you survive, I will fucking make this work.”

Ronan’s voice cracked and he fought the tears gathering in his eyes. “Drag your dumb ass to rehab or some shit.” He couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t care about the broken boy, dying in his lap.

His desperation reached a crescendo and even Ronan couldn’t tell if he was addressing Kavinsky or God. “Just give me a fucking chance!”

Before anyone could respond to Ronan’s request, the paramedics took Kavinsky away. Then Kavinsky’s pack scattered and Ronan was left alone, kneeling in the dirt, covered in a dying king’s blood.

Eventually he’d clean himself up and drive to the hospital. But, for now, he waited. He waited until the sirens were only a distant echo and even then, he didn’t move. After an unquantifiable period of time of this, waiting for nothing, he stood up and walked slowly back to his car.

He’d head to the hospital, visit Kavinsky, see if he lived, and go from there.

It may have been an awful, pointless, decision but Ronan had said he would try and Ronan Lynch was everything but a liar.

#rovinsky #ronan lynch #joseph kavinsky #kavinsky #fic ask meme thing #fic meme #fic meme game #fics #i could post the rest but i thought this was long for a drabble anyway #so just hmu if you want a continuance #or even prompt me maybe #thnks #2358 words

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lalka-laski · 4 years

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1. Candyland: What is your favorite type of candy? Sour patch kids. Or really any kind of sour gummy! 2. Chutes & Ladders: Do you have a fear of going up on ladders? Does your house have a laundry chute somewhere? Ha, interesting question. I don’t fear ladders much but I *am* super clumsy, so I need to exercise more caution than the average person. And no, my house doesn’t have a laundry chute. I don’t know anyone who does? 3. Operation: How many surgeries have you had in your lifetime? I had a tonsillectomy as a little kid and then two dental surgeries in my teens. 4. Sorry!: Do you sometimes apologize, even when it’s not your fault? I’m VERY guilty of that. But I had animosity/awkwardness so I’d rather just own up to something that wasn’t my fault for the sake of clearing the air.

5. Game of Life: What is your greatest accomplishment thus far? What do you hope to do with the rest of your life? I like how this question is forcing me to think positively. My bachelor’s degree & the honors with which I graduated top my list of accomplishments, along with the fact I lived in my own apartment entirely solo for almost a year. I’m also really proud of the breakthroughs I’ve made in therapy, specifically through the use of EMDR. I’ve come along way and I deserve to congratulate myself for that.

6. Cootie: Did you really used to think that boys/girls had cooties? Nah, I don’t think so. My best friend growing up was a boy. 7. Trouble: What is something big that you got into a lot of trouble for? Underage drinking in the park. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t a big deal at all but the cops insisted on driving me home in a squad car and making me wake my parents. I still resent that to this day. I know that most people face WAY WAY worse abuses of power at the hands of cops but I still felt that was an unnecessary move for them to make. I was only 6 months away from turning 21 and I wasn’t even fucking drunk. 8. Puzzles: When was the last time you felt puzzled/confused? How often do you feel like you don’t fit in? Um, daily? And I regularly feel like I don’t fit in. I guess I’ve just never had a niche group where I belonged. It probably stems back to elementary-high school where I never had a core group of friends. I had friends from all different groups and backgrounds but no single clique where I felt completely accepted and welcomed. I wasn’t “cool” enough to be one of the popular kids but I also wasn’t “uncool” enough to be accepted by the nerdy crowd. It was a weird time and honestly something I still struggle with. Which is why I just make it a point to be friends with anyone and everyone now and I don’t like to associate with cliques. 9. Hungry Hungry Hippos: What’s your favorite meal to eat? PIZZA. With garlic dipping sauce.

10. Uno: Can you count to ten in another language? If so, which language? French and Polish 11. Go Fish!: Have you ever been fishing before? I used to go here and there with my best friend and our dads. It’s not my ideal hobby but we had fun memories. 12. Old Maid: Did you ever have a maid in your house, growing up? HA HA HA you can’t be serious. 13. Simon Says: Did you always do everything you were told as a child? I was a pretty straight-laced goody two shoes, so yeah. 14. Red Light, Green Light: When you approach a yellow light, are you more likely to slow down or speed up? I don’t drive. 15. Are you any good at jump rope, hopscotch, or hula hooping? Have you ever used a pogo stick before? I’m really good at the first three activities. I never learned how to pogo stick even though I always had one growing up 16. Do you prefer chalk or bubbles? I loved both! I guess I’d choose chalk though since I was very artsy as a kid and I LOVED drawing. 17. Did you used to go on a lot of bike rides as a child? Tons! Another one of my favorite activities. Sometimes my parents wouldn’t see me for a whole day because I’d just take off on my bike for hours and hours. 18. Capture the Flag: What is your country’s flag? What about your state’s flag, if you have one? I’m pretty sure we all know what the American flag looks like, no? And I live in New York state, whose flag illustrates Lady Justice and.... Lady Liberty? I think. I’ve never given it much though because who gives a shit? 19. Tic Tac Toe: When you played, were you the “hugs” or the “kisses”? I preferred being X! 20. Have you ever won a game of Marco Polo in the pool without cheating? Oh yes! 21. Scrabble: Are you any good at spelling? I’m pretty great at it 22. While playing rock, paper, scissors, which do you usually throw down first? Scissors

23. Were you always stuck being the pickle in the middle? 24. Limbo: How low can you go? Not very low at all. I’m not flexible! 25. When playing, did you usually pick “Truth” or “Dare”? Always truth! I’m comfortable being emotionally vulnerable but no way in hell was I gonna prank call my crush or streak through the neighborhood or whatever dares kids came up with

26. Have you been involved in any innocent games of Spin the Bottle or 7 Minutes in Heaven? Mhm

27. Twister: Are you a flexible person (figuratively or literally)? Nope on both accounts 28. Did you used to pretend that the floor was lava? Um, I STILL do. 29. Guess Who: Are you any good at guessing games? No. But I did love Guess Who! 30. Clue: Do you think that you would be able to successfully solve a murder case? Absolutely not 31. Mouse Trap: Have you ever felt trapped before, in some way? Of course I have. I’m working on techniques for how I can escape those feelings, though. 32. Labyrinth: Have you ever gotten lost in a maze? Corn mazes as a kid! 33. Jenga: Are you careful about what choices you make in life? I’m not the most cautious person. I have a tendency to act irrationally and without thinking. 34. Bop it or Skip-it? OH, I loved both. I’d choose Skip-It just because it wasn’t as anxiety inducing. The pressure of a Bop It was INTENSE! 35. Tag: Are you in shape? Do you enjoy running? No and No. 36. Kickball: Did you kick the ball over the fence a lot as a kid? Ha, never. 37. Are you any good at mini-golf? I wasn’t particularly good or bad at it? 38. Telephone: What do you do with a rumor once it’s been told to you? I won’t lie. If I hear something particularly juicy I do like to go discuss it with someone. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to serious secrets or information that could hurt somebody. 39. Hide and Seek: Have you ever hid so well that it felt like it took somebody forever to find you? What was your best hiding spot? I think so. Though I don’t recall what the spot was. 40. What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?: When were you old enough to tell time on an analog clock as opposed to a digital one? I’m not gonna lie, I still struggle to read an analog clock. 41. Mother May I: Did you always ask your parents for permission? I pretty much had no other choice 42. Follow the Leader: Can you be bossy at times? Just the opposite, actually 43. Monopoly: Are you good with your money/finances? I’ve always been more a saver with just a small tendency to splurge here and there. My biggest issue is spending too much money on food and booze. 44. Chess: Have you ever wanted to be king/queen? Princess 45. Play-doh or Slime? BOTH! [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

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729renegades · 5 years

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UP CLOSE & PERSONAL – STEVE MATTHEWS

Hello everyone, welcome to another edition of Up Close & Personal for the Renegade Magazine. As always, I’m here but there’s a little bit of a twist today, in the fact that I’ve got Dave Dean with me. I’ve been around to all the Renegade Faculty and interviewed them, so, the only one that’s missing is me! Now Dave Dean is going to interview me. Hi Dave, how are you?

Dave Dean: I’m very good Steve… Welcome to Up Close & Personal.

Steve Matthews: Thank you Dave.

DD: It’s an interesting twist isn’t it, you usually being on the other side of the chair so to speak. I’m honoured today to be able to bring this interview to the magazine because I think it’s time people heard your story. You’ve brought everybody else’s story, you’ve done a little bit of travelling… Of course, you forced me to go to San Francisco to interview James Vanreusel but I think it’s time people heard who’s the real Steve Matthews. It’s a pleasure for me because we’ve worked together now for some time, and it’s been an absolute pleasure to work with you, so I think that the readers of Renegade and people listening into the podcast are going to get a very interesting insight into where the character they see within Renegades was forged and built.

SM: I’ll do my best, I met you five years ago, and I’ve been on a downward spiral ever since.

DD: Let’s kick this off Steve, I know these calls are more really about our business and our careers, but I want to delve into how Steve Matthews became Steve Matthews, what contributed to this character that you’ve become?

SM: Well, I was brought up on a council estate, one of the toughest council estates in Wales apparently, although it didn’t feel like that when I was growing up if I’m honest. I was brought up on an estate called Wildmill and it’s just down the road from where I live now… with the old adage of the Rottweilers go around in pairs, boy scouts throwing grannies across the road. It was rough but didn’t feel like that growing up. I’m really proud actually, to come from somewhere like that. I tell everybody, I meet a lot of people in my life who try to forget where they come from for whatever reason. I’m quite proud of where I came from actually… so, council estate boy, my father was a policeman who did 33 years’ service and finished as Police Inspector, and my mother worked for HSBC Bank or Midland Bank as it was originally before HSBC bought it and she spent nearly all her working life there before she retired. So, I certainly didn’t get my entrepreneurial spirit from my parents, they thought I was mad actually. Talk about inner circle and listen to the people that you surround yourself by, when I told my Mum and Dad that I was going to start up on my own, I got, “no, no, no for goodness sake”. So just the normal route really, I had some good friends, the council estate humour as you see all the time… bobby knocking, playing football against garages, rugby. I had a great upbringing and a really good family. I’ve got my sister, a bit younger than me but honestly, I had a great upbringing.

DD: It’s interesting that you were in a very tough area of Wales and had a great upbringing, that happens a lot doesn’t it, in communities where they are challenged because economically it’s driven, it’s a very low GDP. There are many areas like that in Wales. I know, I was brought up in one myself but you often find in those communities, that camaraderie, that ‘we’re in this together’ spirit… but it’s interesting that those who buck that spirit, those who have ambition beyond it, they get up and leave, they have to because you’re not going to achieve what you want to achieve in that area. Now, your choice of where to go was, you decided to go and join the Navy.

SM: I did yea… I obviously did Secondary School. I have to say, a bit of a precurse about where I came from is, I didn’t want for anything growing up, Mum and Dad didn’t have a load of money, but I didn’t want for anything. I had loads of love, I had anything I wanted at Christmas, there were lots of people on the estate far worse off than myself. So, it was tough in the fact that there were loads of nutters there really, rather than tough for me. So, I went through Secondary School and when I got to do my GCSE’s, all I wanted to do was go out and work. I found out what earning money was because I had a part time job, I’d worked all the way through the summer, which we’ll probably come back to because I think this is where I probably got my entrepreneurial spirit… I just wanted to earn money. So, the exams weren’t really massive for me. My Mother was desperate for me to do A Levels and go to University, but I just knew it wasn’t for me. And that’s probably the only time that me and my Mum have ever fallen out really, she was saying, “you need to carry on with your education”. In fairness I was quite bright, I passed all my exams, but I knew the world of education was not for me. We compromised, so instead of doing A Levels in University, I said I’d go to Technical College and do I.T. I don’t tell many people that actually, I tell everybody that I’m useless at I.T. and I was useless at I.T. So, I went to Technical College, a local College and did I.T. and that wasn’t for me either, and because I’d done it under duress, I literally spent 2 years on the golf course. I kind of rebelled against my Mother, I thought I’d pretend I was going and just went and played golf. So, I wasn’t very good at I.T. but my golf was fantastic. I got down to 3 handicap, played in the South Wales Boys, best round of 68 on a par 72 course. Golf was my game but then I thought, ‘I’ve got to go and do something’, so I went and joined the Royal Navy. I had a dose of reality before I joined the Navy mind. I went to work in a factory, and the factory was responsible for injection moulding, which is doing backs of televisions as it was then, printer cases for Epsom, that kind of stuff. It was production line, shifts… mornings, afternoons, nights. I got the job actually because there was girl I was in school with also who went to College with me, she was in the Accounts Department, she knew I was looking for work and said, “will you pick up litter”? So, I spent 2 weeks just walking around picking up litter. What they didn’t know, it was the middle of summer, so I used to go out on the lash, have a few beers the night before and honestly spend all day sleeping under the trees. I started picking up litter, they said I did a great job at that, and did I want to come into the injection moulding plant, as they were taking on shift workers? Mornings, afternoons and nights, for those of you who’ve never done it, mornings was 6 til 2, 2 til 10 was the afternoon shift and 10 til 6 the night shift. It was the most boring job in the world, and I tell my son all of the time and my daughter actually, that you have to be careful of the career choice you pick… The people there were fantastic by the way, nothing against the people what so ever, but the job was so boring. And I know for a fact, and I left that job when I was 18, there’s people still doing that job today. So, in other words, they’ve done that for the last 30 years… Picking up a part, cutting off a little bit, wiping a bit of oil off, put it in a bag and stick it in a box… and more power to them. All they did was work for their 2-week holiday a year, in Spain or whatever, looking after the kids, hard workers but always resentful of management. It was a big learning curve actually. When I left they stripped me naked and tied me to a post, they cling filmed me to a post, so that was my initiation when I left.

DD: Any photographs, any evidence?

SM: I did used to have a photograph of that actually, I don’t know where that’s gone. I remember, I had red pants on at the time which wasn’t very pleasant, I wasn’t expecting it. And then I went and joined the Navy. Again, another fantastic life experience… That and golf actually made me the man that I am today! I can honestly say, for the discipline and the ability to talk to people. Golf is fantastic for that, anybody listening who wants to push their kids into some kind of sport, Golf is fantastic for that. It’s the only sport I know, first of all, you’re playing against yourself all the time, and not only that, you’ve got to stand on the first tee and you’ve got to spend 4 hours with people from all walks of life. I’ve played with everybody from factory workers and bin men to royalty. I’ve played with Princes and do you know, when I was in the Navy, I was the best golfer on the ship and so the Captain used to take me everywhere. I used to play with dignitaries all over the world and it gave me the ability to talk to people. Hence, why I can talk forever really! So, when I joined the Navy, I was an electrician that was scared of electric. And because I guess I was a good talker, and used to making people laugh, I literally spent 7 years as a glorified painter and decorator, who was very good at cleaning. I sunbathed for 7 years.

DD: That’s not the job description you want to advertise.

SM: I’ve got to be truthful, the only reason I joined the Navy, was because I wanted to get out of Bridgend, which is where I’m from, I wanted to see the world, I’d heard all the stories about how all the nice girls like a sailor… That’s what I was hoping was true. I did try, but it’s not necessarily true. That’s all I wanted really, I wasn’t worried about a career, I just wanted to go in and honestly have some fun. I wasn’t worried about going up the ranks but because I’d done so well in my exams, when I went to sign up, they said, “you’ve got so many qualifications, you’ve got to go in as an Officer”. I said, “I don’t want to”, but they said, “with these qualifications, you’ve got to go in as an Officer”, so after some duress, I signed up. There was a bit of a wait, that’s why I got the job on the production line, waiting to go in… Because my Mother couldn’t afford my drinking habit, so I thought I’d better pay for that myself. I went down and did the Admiralty Interview Board down in Portsmouth, at HMS Sultan, but I knew I was doomed from the start…

Listen to the rest of the interview at 729Renegades.com/ podcast

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