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lavender-devotion · 2 months

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The Radio Demon has a WIFE??? And She was a WHAT??? (Alastor x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Mimzy stops by and brings up a little detail that Alastor forgot to mention: he has a wife...oh yeah, and she used to be a nun. How the fuck did that happen??? -Or- I was watching 'Call the Midwife' and got Alastor brainrot ideas while watching the romance between Sister Bernadette/Sheila and Dr. Turner.

Tags: Fem!Reader (for obvious reasons), She/Her pronouns, No Use of (Y/N), everything I know about being a nun is from a TV show (don't kill me pls), Husk is...so fucking tired, also I couldn’t find a midwife house in New Orleans so I made one up (don’t kill me pls x2) TW: None, other than my possible terrible idiocy regarding nun shit and Catholicism, I feel like me being the author should also be a TW in and of itself ngl Word Count: 2.4k Read it on Ao3 <3

"WHAT?"

Husk winced as Angel's voice echoed throughout the lobby, loud and full of indignation.

"There is no fuckin' way tall, dark, an' creepy is married," he insisted, staring down Mimzy as she took another swig from her glass, "you've gotta be fuckin' with us, right Husk?"

Husk pointedly ignored the question, turning his back to the two idiots and their quickly gathering crowd of spectators—the other residents of the hotel. Alastor didn't like people talking about him unless it was with hate, fear, or admiration- (the arrogant fuck) -and he liked people spreading his personal business around even less.

He wasn't stupid enough to get involved in this conversation, even if Mimzy and Angel apparently were.

Mimzy laughed, "oh please, that's not even the best part! Alastor's sweetheart actually used to be a sister!"

"A sister?"

"Yeah-"

'Don't fuckin' say it-'

"-like a nun!"

'Motherfucker.'

That statement had Angel choking on his drink, everyone else letting out various exclamations of disbelief—all of which only made Mimzy's smile widen. She was enjoying the attention.

"Yeah," she continued, "the pretty thing was actually part of one of the few nunneries that were up and running back in our day—although hers also served as a sorta home base for the midwives in New Orleans before it all became a hospital affair."

"So not only did Smiles somehow manage to get 'imself a sweetheart, but he managed to bag a fuckin' NUN?!" Angel asked incredulously, "how the FUCK did that happen?"

Mimzy grinned mischievously, "well-"

"Mimzy," Husk said, caution and warning in his tone. It was one thing to drop a couple facts and then shut up—Alastor was fond of her- (as "fond" as the bastard was capable of) -so she might be able to get off with a warning—but to start telling stories about his life? Spilling all his carefully guarded secrets?

Yeah, that'd get her killed. Or worse.

Even so, Mimzy either didn't know how secretive Alastor was- (doubtful) -or she was just under the delusional belief that he wouldn't hurt her for her slight- (bingo) -because she just waved off Husk's warning.

"Hm...where should I start?"

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

What everyone in Hell tended to forget was that the cruel, bloodthirsty, "Radio Demon" they all feared...used to be a man, used to be human just like all the rest.

Quite the human he was, though.

Obviously he did his fair share of terrible things, he didn't end up in Hell for being a saint, but before any of his...transgressions came into the public eye, people truly thought he was. He'd come from a poor home, his father ran off when he was young, and yes he was an odd child—but all of that seemed inconsequential the older he got.

He worked hard in school and worked his way up in the world until he finally became a famous radio host, the crown jewel of the French Quarter. Even so, all of the attention never seemed to go to his head. His mother's son, always his mother's son, he was the picture of a true gentleman—always polite, always chivalrous, always helping others. It certainly didn't hurt that he was handsome too, and his charm was unmatched by any other man in the city.

As such, it was no shock that he attracted all manner of attention from people vying for his affection, but no one seemed to catch his particular eye. That was, until he met her...

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

“Now, keep in mind, I don’t know very much about his missus before they got together,” Mimzy admitted, “but, from what I can tell, she'd always been a mystery, so I don’t think it really matters-“

“Obviously it matters!” Angel interrupted, his drink and everything else long forgotten, “for someone to get together with Smiles willingly, they’ve gotta have some of their own skeletons in the closet! C’mon toots, you gotta know something.”

Mimzy circled a finger around her glass, playing coy, “well…maybe I might know a thing or two…”

Husk wanted to bash his head against a wall.

Fine, fine, fine. It was one thing—one really fucking stupid thing—to talk about Alastor, but to talk about his wife? Especially to fucking gossip about her?

Yeah, no, these morons were definitely dead as soon as Alastor found out.

“Well?” Angel pressed, looking downright desperate for more information.

“Well…”

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

Alastor's sweetheart had always been an enigma since the day she arrived in New Orleans, every bit of her covered in that modest black and white clothing—all except her face and hands, of course.

By all accounts, she was a sweet girl—kind, attentive, always willing to help—but she was also very…secretive, one might say. It wasn't that the other nuns weren't reserved, because they were, but she was especially so, and her brand of reservation came across as more underhanded than anything else.

She never talked about her hobbies, her family, her life before taking her vows—hell, she never talked about her life before she moved to New Orleans. So it was no surprise that a fair amount of rumors followed her around, no matter how sweet she appeared to be.

Some said that she was a runaway, trying to escape an abusive father; others said that she moved there to get out of a loveless marriage; and a few even claimed that she was on the run from the law. There was never any evidence to support any of those rumors, of course, but people loved to talk.

One might think that Alastor was drawn to her because of all of those whispers, just chasing down another story for his radio show, but it was actually a mix of pure luck and her work as a midwife that brought those two together.

You see, midwives didn't only deliver babies, but they also offered all sorts of medical assistance to anyone who needed it. These services eventually brought her to his mother’s home one day, and it just so happened that Alastor was also visiting his ma at the time.

The two started talking and, between his magnetic charms and her sweet demeanor, it was no surprise that the two got along like a house fire.

From then on, every time she visited his ma to take care of her, he was there too. Then he started showing up at all of the events hosted by Saint Charlene’s, always finding his way to her side. And there even came a time where he started visiting her frequently, always welcomed by her fellow sisters and the other midwives with open arms.

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

“Wait a minute,” Angel interrupted, “I thought nuns weren’t allowed ta be in relationships. It goes against the whole point of bein’ a nun, don’t it?”

Mimzy huffed, “I was getting to that part!”

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

Obviously nuns weren’t allowed to have relationships, romantic or sexual, and most people of that time didn’t believe that men and women could simply be friends—so the friendliness they both shared fell under quite a bit of scrutiny. Everyone that knew a thing about that sweet girl knew she would never betray her vows, and everyone that knew a thing about Alastor knew that he’d rather die than be anything less than a perfect gentleman.

But, like I said, people in New Orleans liked to talk.

Neither of them paid any mind to it, though. Alastor was already dealing with the bullshit that came with showbiz and his sweetheart already had a bunch of rumors circulating about her, so what did they care if a few more whispers were added to the pile? But eventually, a painfully long time after the two first met and became friends, there came a day when something that wasn’t quite platonic bloomed between the two of them.

Obviously the two of them were horrified by this; Alastor, because he would never ask her to forsake her vows for him, and her, because she was worried that she was betrayin’ her God by feeling that way.

Eventually she talked to the other nuns, though, and got some help figuring out her emotions and what she wanted to do, and Alastor talked things through with his ma—who was, frankly, overjoyed that he’d finally found someone who he fancied.

Let me tell ya, even with all of the others helpin’, it took fuckin’ forever for those two to finally get together. Between their shared emotional constipation, everyone’s expectations of them, the worry that the other didn’t feel the same way, and the fear of crossing each other’s boundaries…yeah, it took over a year after the two of them figured out they liked each other for them to actually say something.

By the time they finally got their shit together, Alastor’s mom and the other midwives were already planning their wedding. Hell, the nuns were just about ready to rescind her vows themselves, they were so sick of the pining!

Everything worked out in the end, though. The two confessed, his sweetheart did the whole dispensation thing, and the two eventually got married.

----------

“Blah, blah, blah…they got a happily ever after and a white picket fence,” Mimzy finished with a lazy wave of her hand, “so, that's the story."

Angel just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly, “huh, I didn’t know tall, dark, and creepy had it in ‘im.”

Mimzy hummed, “yeah, he might seem all big an’ scary, but underneath all that he’s a total doll!”

Husk shuddered as the prickle of static suddenly made his hair stand on end, signaling Alastor’s entrance into the room—along with Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer himself. His eyes immediately found the small group that had gathered by the bar, and it probably wasn’t hard for him to figure out what exactly drew everyone there.

“Now, now, Mimzy, what have you been telling everyone about me?” Alastor chastised, making his way closer to their group. His tone was teasing, but it had a subtle warning at the end—one that said he wasn’t asking for shits n' giggles. It made Husk want to disappear into the wall, to get out of the way of what would follow if Alastor found out the subject of their conversation. Hopefully Angel and Mimzy would have enough sense to keep their mouths shut, but he doubted it.

“Oh, nothing you need ta worry about!” she said, waving him off playfully, “just a couple old stories from back in the day.”

“Is that so?”

Mimzy hummed her affirmative, finishing off her drink, and for one blissful moment Husk thought that the subject would drop and everything would be fine. He was wrong.

“Yeah, and I gotta say I’m surprised atcha Smiles,” Angel snarked, “who knew ya had a missus back home keeping ya on a leash.”

The room went dead silent.

The lights suddenly flickered, a dark red glow casting across the room as they did—mangled shadows dancing on the walls. Husk shrank back, trying his best to blend in with the bottles of alcohol that lined the shelf behind him.

Alastor’s voice was pure radio static, barely restrained rage filtering through, “w̶͚̫̰̰̟̌̆̓̚̚h̵̩̤̹͓̗̾̔͗̇̉å̴̱̩̝͚̎́̐̔̏͜†̸̡͔̲̠͔̔̎̆̀̕ ̸̲̠͔̟̗͗͑̾͐͘Ð̷̡̠̥̞͚̔̾̋̋͘ï̶̩̼̻̱̣̓̀̅͆̑Ð̸̣͍̞̬͖͋͑̽͗̚ ̶͈͙̤̺̲̒̒̒̎̀¥̷̭̻̥̘͈̇̓͑́́ð̵̢̲͕͈͇͐͊̓̀̓µ̴͕̬͕̟̟͊͊͂͗͘ ̵̪̲̫̳͍͑̑͒̔͐j̶̨̦̹̪̟̄̽̽̄͘µ̸̧̭͖͇̞̈́̔̀̒͒§̵̺̠͚͓͓̓͂̚͘͝†̷̛̖̤̰̗͓͋̄̇̑ ̸̢̩͙̙̫̊͗̃͘͝§̷̻̣̼̼͙̎͋̂͆͝ą̸̡̛̱̣̻̊̈́̈́̑́¥̶̢̟̼̘̲̃̿̐͑͠?̴͉̞̠̞̦̒͌̋͗̓”

‘Fuck.’

----------

You hummed quietly as you sat on the couch in your and Alastor’s shared home, sketching whatever came to mind in one of the small notebooks he’d bought you—working away the time and trying to ignore his glaring absence. It wasn’t often you were left yearning for your husband’s presence, finding plenty to do during the times he was gone, but today you wanted nothing more than for him to walk through the door. Luckily, you got your wish, although things certainly weren’t how you expected.

As soon as Alastor walked in, you could tell he was pissed. It was in his posture, his strained smile, the violent crackle of interference in the air. Even his shadow seemed agitated, flitting from one spot to another as if it simply couldn’t sit still.

“Al?” You asked carefully, “is everything alright?”

He turned to you, obviously trying to pass off the illusion of placidity, “everything is fine, my dear, why do you ask?”

“Well you just seem–” the lights around the house flickered, and you could hear a few of them bust in the other rooms, “...tense.”

He kept up the mask for a moment longer, still trying to fool you, but it dropped soon enough and he let out an irritated sigh.

“...certain people need to learn to keep their insignificant little mouths shut.”

You set aside your notebook and gestured for him to sit next to you, a request he obliged. Almost immediately your hands went to his shoulders and you began massaging them, trying to alleviate some of the tension practically radiating off of him—drawing an almost relieved sigh from his mouth.

You pressed a barely-there kiss to the back of his neck, “what happened, love?”

…

“Mimzy stopped by the hotel today and during her stay she decided to fucK̶̝̥̘̪͍̉͋́̈̅Ḭ̴̛̭̪͇̀͋̐̍͂͜ñ̷̡̤̩̖̰̈́͂̑̐͝G̴̞̯̭͈̘͋̒̑̅̚ ̵͇͕͓͕̗͆̃͛͊̂Ġ̶̝̱̪͈̘̽̌͗͝Ö̶̼̲̬̪̟̏̌̄̚͝§̴̺̱̲̫̝̍̈͆̃́§̶̧̞̣̼̮̂͊͋͌͠Ì̷̲̰̹̰͚͌̀̌̇̂þ̴̢̥̰̖̬͒́͌̏̿ ̸̝̺̪̟̈́͊̅̏̆ͅÄ̷͎̘͓̬͇̋̍͑̏͠ß̵̢̫͇̣̻́̊͆͆͝Ö̸̡̤̤̤͙̀̎̿͛͝Ú̸̟̯̺͈̪̇̓̊͐̊†̸̘̺͎͖̣̂̍̽̋̚ ̷̪̺̖̜͇̀͂͒̚͝Ö̴̮̯̗͙̑̆̽̄̚ͅỨ̸̫̯̰̺̼̈́̄̐͝R̸̨̢̧̭͓̒͊̋̇͘ ̵̧̥̗̰͖̅̌̒̿̃þ̶̦̞̫̙͕̈̒̀̿̚Ȩ̵̞̖̲͖̀͗̂̎͝͝R̸̢̪̟̜̮̉̌͒̉̃§̴̢̣͇̠̫̓̀̈͗̽Ö̴̟͕͓̤̀̈́̒͘͜͠ñ̶̛̙͍̼͖͔̎̓̐̋Ä̶̢̬͇͙̟̌͌̃̈͌L̴̨̪͎̟̦̄̇̈̓̿ ̶̨̧̰̼̮̈͒̀̒͝L̸͖̬̙̮̗̂̓̀͘̚Ì̴͙̠͈̺̣͌̓͊̓̓V̷̯̭̞̙͖͆̐̾͗̔Ę̴̪̻̤̀̾͑͆͜͝͝§̷̛͚̤͇̫̘̑͆̾͘.̵̡̥̪̫͇̽̋̑͝͝ §̶͎̣̝̳͓͋̊̀̌͆ð̵̢̼̖̝̭̏̇̕̕͝ ̵̘̜͚̠̫́͊̈́͐̽Ì̷̢̧͖͚͙̆̔̌̓̏ ̸̻̩̪͓̞̀͑͒̇͋†̴̧͉̯̻̳̒̽͋̾̋ð̵̟͙͍̳͈͒̈́̑̍̑ð̸̲̤̞̞̙̄̅͛̓͠k̷̖̪̩̭͇͋̒̀͘͘ ̶̢̛̗̞͍̱̒̅͐͘ï̸̢̢͕̩̰̍̍̽̈́̈́†̵̠̥̖̗̌̌̾̿͠ͅ ̵͙̹̦͎̬͆́̈͗͛µ̸̧̼̲̮̙͊͂̑̓͌þ̶̹̬̫̥̹̓̑̆͘͝ð̷̡̺͖̣̇̅̔͐͑ͅñ̸̼͙̦͕̼̏̐͗͘̕ ̵̢̱̺͖͋̄͌͊̊ͅṁ̸͉̜͙͖͍̓̍͗͝¥̶̨̠̜̮̜̑͑͗̎̌§̵̧̜͉̣̓́͛̇̓ͅḛ̸̠̲̝̤̂̓̎̓͌̈́ĺ̵̛̻̭͚̝̹̽͐̍£̵̠̫̲̹̬̍̊̾̍̕ ̴̧̭̘̞̀̀͋́̄͜†̵̨̰̠̫̖̎̋̃̂͘ð̴̨͍̭̤̙̄̑̎͝͠ ̴̯̟̟̖̜͒͂͌͒̉§̶̪̜̙͎͎́̒̍̾͝h̷̝̻̞̖̄̅̔̆̕͜µ̵̨̨̛̣̬͓̍̑͋́†̶̨̢̰̤͙̌̀̈̈́͆ ̴͔̟̻̫̐͊̓͑̉͜ĥ̴̢̯͔̯̈́̇̑͋͜ê̵̡̳̠͖̺͋͒͐̍̇r̸̝̘͍̙̂͑́̃͊ͅ w̷̸̼̠͓̟͍̣͓̪͚͊̈͗̉̄̊̍̍̇̀͜h̵̥͓͕̲͉̋̓͊́̈́ð̴̨̡͚̲̦̄̃̄̓͋r̸̖̲̮̮͐͌͑́̃ͅę̴͖͇͙̥̂̐͛͌͒̽ ṃ̷̨̱͈̭̀̃͂́͘ð̵̧̛͎̗̟̒̇̈̊ͅµ̴̨̛̖͈̱͈̑̋́̕†̵͚̝̜̟͍̔̈̀̈́̆h̵͚̞͔̗̖̀͒̀͛͘.̴̳̙̞̗̬͒́͆̂͂”

The sudden surge of static and shadow didn’t phase you, even as Alastor struggled to not shift into his demonic form—sharp cracks of green light appearing on the walls.

When you’d first found out about his…extracurricular activities, you had been afraid and confused, but now it was nothing more than background noise. He was still the man you fell in love with, still your husband, even if he occasionally killed and ate the degenerates of the world and anyone that pissed him off.

All things considered, you were just glad that you’d ended up in Hell with him, even if the things you'd had to do to ensure that were...distasteful.

You wrapped your arms around him, nestling your head into the crook of his neck. A luxury that no one else enjoyed but you.

“That does sound stressful. Is everything handled now, at least?”

“Yes,” he drawled, leaning back further into you, “unfortunately I was unable to get rid of the other l̷̡͈̼̘̩̾͌̉͝͠ï̸̗̭̝̥̺̈́̓̐̿̚†̴̢̡͕͖̹͌͌̋̈́͗†̸̢̣͖͚͔̓̌̉̾̐l̶̡̪͙͕͗͐̍́̕͜ę̴̡̦͕̜̂͋̏̅͘͝ ̵̰̥̩̺̪̀̋̉͑̍§̸̖̥̦̗͓̏̋̉̈́̃h̶͓͙̯͔͇̎̏̾̕̚ï̴̧̡̱̗̻̈́͗͆̃̀†̴̣̖̯̭͉̂͐͒̍̀§̵̧̡̹̼̹͒̿̍̋͠, as Charlie has taken a liking to them, but I trust that I got my point across.”

“Good.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Now…when do I get to meet these ‘little shits’ that get on your nerves so often?” you teased, drawing an amused chuckle from him.

“Don’t even start, darling.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #devotion’s posts: fic stuff 🪻

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mantisgodsdomain · 1 year

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It is still immensely funny to us that if we cherry-pick the notes of that one "unpopular whump opinion" post hard enough we can say we've never written a whump fic in our life. There's an immense variety of opinions and definitions of "whump" out there, and a great number of opinionated people, and all of this rainbow of thoughts and opinions gives enough variety that if we throw together enough random, contradictory rules, we can just define the genre out of existence entirely. Truly, this is what all genre writers aspire for.

#this would have to be INTENSELY cherrypicked because the definition of whump is different for everyone #but there are just enough no true scotsman arguments in there that its 100% possible to assemble a ruleset where nothing is whump #and its even MORE possible to assemble a set of rules in which whump exists but we've never written a whump fic #the rule “there must be a caretaker or it isn't whump” specifically knocks out like... almost our entire portfolio #eleven out of nineteen lack a caretaker entirely and for three more of them existence of a caretaker is dubious at best #and we can knock out a LOT more with “its not whump if theres no defined whumper”#this is ofc just for fun bc the variety of views of just what whump is is part of what makes the community what it is #but since like half the time what we do when we start doubting if our writing is really... whatever is deconstructing the genre #we sometimes find it fun to take no true scotsman statements and see how many it takes to define ourself out of existence #(usually it takes like three of them to take out all of our works)#we speak #we'll. tag this as whump in like a week when its unlikely to show up in the main tags. our apologies if it shows up anyways

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dannnnnny666 · 15 days

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Day 12: Time Travel

“Sooooo Phantom, do ya have any siblings?” Kid Flash asked as he tried to make small talk with the newest recruit to the team.

A few days ago, Young Justice was called to a meeting by Batman where he introduced their new team mate, Phantom. Phantom was a tough looking dude, he was jacked and towered over them all, even Conner!

Batman didn’t give them much information about the guy but apparently John Constentine was the one who suggested him for the team since he needed “community service hours”.

The dude was currently drinking some soda next to the computer as Red Robin searched for any new info on their latest mission. He turned his attention away from the can, and stared at Wally, his red eyes piercing into his soul.

“Why?”

“Well we are all about to go on a mission together and none of us really know you so I think it’d be best if we all got to know you better,” that was half true. Mostly Wally was just being nosey, but the dude really did make everyone nervous since he was this really tough dude with blood red eyes and apparently was here because John Constentine said he needed community service hours???? Constentine typically say some wild shit, but what the fuck do you mean by community service? Wally knows you can’t use those for school, he’s tried, and what else gave you community service? Juvie and prison!!

Phantom stared at him hard for a few seconds, his eyes searing into the back of Wally’s skull before saying, “Okay fine”.

The answer surprised everyone in the room, I mean the guy had barely even spoken the last few days and had rejected every question about his personal life.

“Depending on how you see it, I have 2 to 4 siblings”

“Is your father a serial adopter too?” Tim joked.

“Yes and no”

“Huh?”

“It’s pretty complicated,” Phantom shrugged, seemingly deciding to end the conversation there and taking another swig of his drink.

However, Tim, out of annoyances of every attempt to get to know this jerk being thwarted and a bit of confidence his family was more complicated, decided to challenge Phantom’s statement.

“Ehh, it probably isn’t as complicated as my family, we got about 50 more siblings adopted each month, all with lots much trauma”

At this, Phantom narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“I see what your doing, your trying to get me to talk tell you guy more about my family by acting like yours are more insane”

“Am I?” Tim asked, trying to hide the shivers going down his spine from the way Phantom was staring at him.

Phantom to a huge swig of his soda, emptying it and throwing it into the garbage, before fully turning to Tim.

“You’re lucky I am always good for competitions, now sit down this is going to take a bit”

Tim gladly obliged and soon everyone sat around Phantom as if it were storytime in kindergarten.

“Okay, so at first I only had an older sister and my parents” Phantom began, “but then they died because of a mistake I made and I had to move in with my evil godfather”

Megan raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t a godfather someone who is very close to the family? Why would your parents choose an evil person?”

“‘Cause my dad was oblivious to this and though they were good friends even though the dudes tried to kill him multiple times”

“I see,” Megan lowered her hand, no less confused.

“There I went mad with grief and had him remove my humanity and tried to kill all of humanity”

“I think that was a bit of an overreaction,” Wally joked.

“You tried to kill all of humanity? Why weren’t we told of this when it happened?” Kaldur'ahm asked.

“That was in a different timeline, I was a big enough problem that they gods tried to kill the younger version of me to stop me, so to avoid dying, my younger version decide to try to defeat me and the only reason he did was cause I was underestimating him,” Phantom emphasized the last part because he had to stress he didn’t not lose to a 15 year old boy because he was weaker than him.

“What happened next?,” Artemis asked, completely inraptured in the story.

“I was then imprisoned for sometime before escaping, causing problems and then realizing that causing younger mean the same pain I experienced won't bring my loved ones back,” Phantom continued to explain, “so I am now going to therapy, doing community service, and got the majority of my powers taken away”.

“Is your therapist open to seeing new patients?” Konner asked.

“No, but this timelines version of my sister is and she has a lot of experience so I can give you her number instead”

“Sure, that’ll work”

“Okay,” Phantom said before writing her number down and handing it to Konner, “The thing is I can’t go back to living with my real parents because they don’t know that I am Phantom so I have to go back to living this timelines version of my godfather”

“You gotta be kidding me” Tim groans.

“Exactly what I said!!” Phantom put his arm up defensively, “Fortunately, this version is a little better, he is no longer tiring to kill my dad and has stopped chasing after my mom, he did clone the other of me and now there is a genderbent version of him but my godfather treats her like a princess and will not stop spoiling her, which I am also guilty of”

Phantoms continues to explain more and in the back of Tim's mind he remembers he was supposed to be doing something but honestly this conversation was too good to care.

“Anyways that's how I technically have 2 to 4 siblings, Jazz and Elle are permanently my sisters and I love them so much, and even though the other Jazz is technically the same as this Jazz, I still think of her as someone else, someone I miss dearly. Also if I considered this Jazz my sister, I guess I’d have to considered the other me as my brother”

“Damn bitch your family is crazy” Wally said, happy he finally managed to get through Phantom’s tough skin.

As they finished up their storytime, the Zeta-tubes activated and Red Tornado and an upset looking Batman walked to the group.

“You all were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago”

1K notes · View notes

lucyrose191 · 3 months

Text

BROKEN DECISIONS| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Divorced!Toto Wolff x fem!engineer!Schumacher!reader

Summary; The news of Toto Wolff divorcing from Susie has just hit the media and you, Michael Schumacher’s eldest daughter and George Russel’s race engineer, are beyond shocked, even more so as your relationship with your boss begins to evolve.

Warnings; angst, light smut, heartbreak, pregnancy trope.

F1 Master List , Part 2

The paddock was overwhelmed with media reporters and cameras, way more than usual for a race weekend, the Mercedes garage was surrounded by people as well as the entrance to the track, all waiting for one man, Toto Wolff.

You had been more than taken back by the joint statements released this morning which both effectively said the same thing.

mercedesamgf1: Team Principle Toto Wolff announces divorce from wife Susie Wolff, both will continue to co-parent son Jack Wolff and will continue to work together happily, they wish nothing but the best for each other in the future and wish for the privacy and support they need during this time.

SusieStoddart: Toto and I have mutually decided to part ways and divorce after 12 years of marriage, both of us will continue to co-parent our son, Jack and will continue working together in the future. I wish nothing but the best to him for the future, please respect our privacy during this time and I hope you guys will continue to support us both from this point on, even on our separate paths. Thank you.

It all seemed so sudden to you, nothing has seemed out of place whenever they were in the garage together but you suppose that’s how the saying you never know what’s going on behind closed doors goes.

You squeezed your way through the crowd, ignoring all of the questions fired your way and the cameras and microphones that were shoved in your face, it wasn’t your job to be making comments about a relationship that had nothing to do with you and it was entirely unprofessional.

Huffing out a breath as you finally crossed the threshold of the garage, you straightened out your clothes and bag before making your way over to your desk that you sat at whenever George was out on the track.

Bono was already in his chair and looked up when he heard you pull your hair out, taking note of your flustered state. "I take it you’ve seen the news."

"It’s everywhere! It’d be a miracle if I hadn’t seen it," you huffed. Looking around, you noticed how flustered everyone else seemed to be whilst trying to do their jobs, you didn’t blame them because right now no one knew what mood the boss was going to be in when he arrived, if he arrived.

"Is he even coming today? I certainly wouldn’t." You asked.

Bono shrugged, "you know what he’s like, that man would be here even if his leg was falling off, he’ll be here and god help him when he is."

"Yeah, true. Am I blind though or did anyone else not see this coming because they were both at the factory two weeks ago and everything seemed fine to me."

Bono turned away from his monitor and completely turned to you, huddling closer. "I didn’t suspect anything either but they’re really good as keeping work life and private life separated. Have you seen some of the rumours though?"

You snorted and nodded your head, "I’ve seen the ones about Toto having an affair which is ridiculous, that man does not have the time to be hiding an entire relationship."

Bono laughed at your choice of words but abruptly stopped as he stared behind you causing you to look at him in confusion before turning around, pausing at the sight of your boss walking in with a face of stone.

"Ahh shit," you muttered, hearing a small hum of agreement coming from Bono.

Then you saw him heading into your direction.

"Double shit," You heard Bono mumble causing you to bite your lip, trying to prevent yourself from smiling.

"Y/N. Bono. Good Morning," Toto nodded his head in greeting.

You smiled up at him, "Morning, boss, feeling positive about today?"

Bono sighed from behind you which caused you to internally wince at your own words, now realising that might not have been a good question to ask.

"Yeah," Toto looked between the pair of you suspiciously. "Are you?"

"Very," you tried to sound convincing, "I’m sure George is going to drive like it’s his last race and if not then I’ll boot him up the arse."

Toto looked at you amused, "I believe you."

After he walked away you turned to Bono with a pained look on your face meanwhile he was trying not to fall into laughter. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

He laughed straight in your face as you sighed at yourself. "How an I supposed to talk to him normally when all I want to say to his face is ‘hey, heard about your divorce, that sucks and now everyone thinks you can’t keep a wife’."

"Yeah don’t say that," Bono grimaced at your words.

Everything was real now, it had been real for a while but now the news was out for everyone to gossip about.

Things hadn’t been right for a long time between him and Susie and whilst there hadn’t been any constant arguing or disloyalty between the two of them, there hadn’t been much else either.

You’d have thought working within the same industry would have built an understanding between them about their schedules and commitments and it had in the beginning but as formula one became more popular, their lives had only gotten busier to the point they hardly saw each other and even when they did it was only to ensure Jack was getting enough quality time with both of his parents, it was as though they had been coparenting with each other whilst they weren’t even split.

A year ago they had accepted the inevitable fate of their marriage and had been figuring out the logistics of their divorce but just like they had kept their struggles silenced, they had kept the news of their parting silent too.

But it had been over a year now and quite frankly the fake shows they were putting on were getting exhausting, they were both moving on and pretending to still be a happily married couple wasn’t doing well in helping them in the process.

Toto had found a particular thing that hadn’t allowed him to dwell in the sadness of his private life. Something, or someone, that didn’t even know how much they were helping him.

You.

Everyday you showed up to work with a smile on your face, eternally grateful for everything life had offered you. You had achieved your dreams of working within formula one, it might not have been on the track driving at record breaking speeds like your father but you had one of the most important roles in the team and you enjoyed it.

Even today as he walked through the doors trying to ignore all of the sad, pathetic looks people were giving him and the onslaught of invasive questions people were attacking him with and even if they weren’t verbally shooting words his way, he could see the unasked questions in everyone’s eyes, you greeted him like you did every other day and whilst he knew you were aware of the news, nothing in your face showed the slightest bit of curiosity towards the end of his marriage and he couldn’t express how refreshing that was and how much he needed it.

Slowly, he found himself looking forward to the days ahead where he could bump into you and witness the smile on your face as he tried to ignore the way your energy made his heart feel funny and when Mick signed as the team’s reserve driver he would use the fact that he was ‘mentoring’ your little brother as an excuse to see you, knowing that naturally he would be around you more.

You jumped up from your seat in excitement as you saw both Mercedes cars pass the checkered flag securing second and third place behind Max, obviously.

"George you fucking beautiful human bring!" You shouted through the radio before turning to look for Toto, hoping that these results would have put a smile on his face only to find that he was already looking at you intensely, not even acknowledging the pats he was getting on his back by team members.

He winked at you? And sent you what seemed to be a grateful smile before turning away to celebrate with those around him. You were thankful he did so and didn’t see the pink hue you could feel spreading through your cheeks.

A sudden weight on your back didn’t allow you to dwell on it. Mick had launched himself at you in his exhilaration causing you to quickly latch onto his legs so you both didn’t go tumbling, you laughed and spun the pair of you around before putting him down so you could all go outside and gather in the pits to watch the podium.

You always went out of your way to be a kind person but the moment your team was standing under the podium all manners went out of the way and you barged your way to the front of the barriers to watch, mumbling half-hearted apologies, you knew no one would take your behaviour the wrong way as you’ve known them for so long.

Looking up, you were happy to see the smiles on Lewis and George’s faces, tough seasons can really take a told on the mental health of the drivers and it can be easy to lose motivation, especially when you were part of a team that was so used to winning but they looked as happy as ever now and it made all of the hard work that everyone had put in worth it.

Two hands clamped down on your shoulders startling you, followed by the feeling of a firm chest being pressed up against your back. You looked up and saw Toto but he wasn’t looking at you, he kept his gaze up on the podium and the happiness on his face hadn’t subsided so you didn’t question it and turned back to the celebrations.

His behaviour was really confusing you and you wanted to talk to him about it but decided to push it away for another day.

His behaviour hasn’t been limited to that day alone.

The entire season has been filled with soft touches from him, from a small brush of his hand against your back as he walked past or light touches of your hips to guide you to the side when you were in his walk way.

Let’s not forget about the way he started to look at you. Toto’s stare was always intense but now you couldn’t ignore the soft shine his eyes held as he looked at you.

You hoped you weren’t reading too much into things otherwise that would be embarrassing but you couldn’t stop noticing the little things he would do and what was even worse was the way these things were effecting you.

These touches would leave your skin feeling tingly and your head fuzzy to the point your mind just turned blank and now whenever he was so much as in the same room as you, your mind became hyper-fixated on his presence to the point it felt like you were compelled to constantly glance in his direction.

You had worked for him for nearly eight years and not once had you even considered looking at him in any other way other than as your boss and a friend.

You acknowledged that he was handsome and had the charisma to match but you had never been attracted to him up until now, how was this year any different to the last seven?

Hands slamming down into your desk startled you from your thoughts, you looked up wide eyed at the grinning face of your younger brother causing you to grumble in annoyance and throw the pen that was sitting on your desk at him.

"What’s wrong with your face?" Mick easily dodged your attack and asked.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"My big sister always has a smile on her face and for the last twenty minutes you’ve been sat there staring at nothing with a frown on your face."

"Nothing," you muttered, turning back to your laptop screen that had long since shut off.

"Right," Mick replied sarcastically, "Come on, tell me what’s wrong."

You pursed your lips as you debated telling him or not. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

Mick’s face lost its teasing look as he realised you were actually troubled. "Of course." He replied sincerely.

You hesitated for a moment longer before asking "have you noticed that Toto has been acting strange lately?"

Mick looked at you surprised for a moment before smirking and nodded, "you mean the fact that the entire season he’s been staring at you like you’re the finest piece of meat he’s ever seen?" He asked teasingly.

"I wouldn’t have worded it that way but yeah," you responded.

"Then yes, I’m surprised it took you this long to acknowledge it."

You shook your head, "I noticed it at the beginning of the season but I thought I was imagining it and now I can’t stop noticing the fact that he-"

"Fancies the hell out of you?" Mick finished, a shit eating grin on his face.

You groaned and placed your head against your desk. "This is wrong, he’s my boss!"

"Tell me about it, he’s mine too and he fancies my sister!"

"Stop saying he fancies me!" You told him resulting in him just laughing at you. "Seriously Mick, what am I supposed to do?"

Mick sighed and looked at you seriously, "Do you like him?"

"I dont know," you replied honestly, "before this season I wouldn’t have even looked at him as anything but my boss and a friend but now he keeps looking at me and taking any opportunity to touch me and it’s confusing me."

Mick pulled an uncomfortable face at your words but gave you some advice. "Then do nothing until you know for sure."

You nodded and he smiled before walking around your desk and wrapping you in a tight hug which was more like a headlock but it was a hug nonetheless.

"Smile! We’re in Abu Dhabi and we’re partying tonight," he fake cheered as he walked away causing you to laugh at his behaviour.

And that’s exactly what you did. It had been a tough season for Mercedes, the team hadn’t nearly performed as well as they were used to but through a lot of hard work the season had ended on a high note and and no one was going to dwell on this years difficulties tonight.

You were definitely allowing yourself some freedom tonight to drink away and forget about the confusing thoughts that had been swimming around in your head all season.

The club was dark except for the colourful flashing lights that were roaming the entirety of the room that the FIA had rented out for all of the f1 teams celebrating tonight. You were already feeling more relaxed from the three drinks you hadn’t wasted time on consuming and had dragged poor Bono, who had zero rhythm, to the dance floor.

The man looked traumatised as he simply stood there awkwardly with you holding onto his hands, swaying his arms to try and encourage him to dance and have a bit of fun.

You kept him there for an hour before eventually taking pity on him and letting him go, you walked over to the bar to get another drink, not seeing the person approaching you until he was right beside you.

"You look lovely."

You turned to your right in surprise, Toto was mimicking your stance, leaning his side against the bar as he looked into yours eyes. "Thank you," you replied, a little shocked at his words.

"I see you were having fun with Bono," he commented absentmindedly.

You laughed, "Me? Yes. I don’t think he was having as much fun as I was."

"He’s not much of a dancer," Toto smirked.

"Oh, I know. He can’t move to save his life but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try."

The bartender placed your drink in front of you and you took a sip after giving him a thanks. "Have you been having fun?" You asked.

Toto tapped his fingers against the bar top and signed. "As much as I can after the shit season we’ve had."

"We’ll be better next year," you replied confidently.

He simply nodded in response, dragging his gaze down your body and back up again.

The feeling of his eyes trailing you left a burning heat on your skin and an unfamiliar fluttering in your stomach.

"I like this dress," he told you, nodding at the tight fabric that clung to your figure.

"I got it yesterday," you knew he didn’t care but for some reason you felt inclined to share that information with him, fighting the urge to look away and hide a smile.

"You picked wisely," he immediately responded and this time you didn’t fight the smile, his smooth responses settling within you exactly how he wanted.

"I’m glad you like it," your voice was quiet in the midst of the loud music and voices but it didn’t prevent him from hearing you words.

The way he smirked down at you made you feel much smaller than you were, the idea of how his stature and strength would help with the power he held over you made you burn with need and the want to find out for yourself.

You huffed out a breath.

You needed another drink.

You threw your head back into the pillows and gasped as Toto thrusted into you, pulsating pleasure rushing through your body with every movement.

You didn’t know how you got to this point, the night was a haze of drinking, close dancing and longing looks but the one memory that stood out was the warmth of Toto’s hands against your hips, after that everything blurred up until this moment.

Your arm wrapped around the back of his neck, your hand burying itself into his hair as you tried to ground yourself but you were hopeless within the haze of his kisses against your throat and hands holding your thighs spread for him.

"Toto!"

His breath was heavy against your skin. "You feel so good, schatz." The guttural groan he released sent you feral, you tightened your grip on him and pulled him closer so your chests pressed against each other.

Your vision went white as Toto just grazed that sweet spot inside you with one particularly hard thrust before he angled his hips in a way that with each bruising snap of his hips he made, the tip of his cock would brush against you just right.

As you felt yourself approaching your release, your back arched and the air remained trapped in your lungs, your grip tightened on Toto’s hair causing him to groan into your neck while your other hand shot up behind you and grabbed onto the headboard.

Just as you were at the precipice of your release, Toto reached down and circled your clit with his fingers providing the last bit of stimulation needed for you to let go and dive into a river of overwhelming pleasure.

The sight of your face completely blissed out made Toto’s cock harden more inside of you, he continued to thrust and work you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own, chasing his release as he felt his body fill with an indescribable need to continue rutting into you.

The groan of relief he let out followed by a warmth in your core brought you back to reality, Toto allowed his body to collapse onto your own and simply lay there as he caught his breath and recovered from his own orgasm.

Your hand continued to run through his hair, grounding his mind to reality and encouraging him back from his high.

Moments later, Toto removed himself from you and curled up behind you, wrapped an arm across your stomach and pulled you into his chest.

Both still feeling the haze of the alcohol in your systems, no words needed to be spoken between the pair of you as you both succumbed to much needed sleep.

You woke up feeling as though your brain was swelling beyond the capacity of your skull and dehydrated to the point you felt like you could drink about forty litres of water.

Every part of your body ached as you moved beneath the covers, flashes of last night flickered through your mind causing you to groan at the reminder of your drink choices.

You were definitely regretting it now.

A particular memory caused you to pause and look beneath the sheets, grimacing as you realised you were naked.

Then you froze, Toto.

Your head shot to the side and instead of laying your eyes upon your boss’ 6ft5 frame you were greeted by an empty half of the bed with only crumpled white sheets.

Your heart dropped as you looked around the room, there was no indication that anyone else had been here but the ache between your legs made it very clear that last night did in fact happen.

He had left.

After an entire season of fighting with your feelings and the way he made you feel, you had given in to him only for him to leave.

You felt sick and dirty and disgusting and used.

You pulled yourself into the shower and tried to to push down the need to cry but you were filled with an overwhelming sense of betrayal and couldn’t stop the rogue fear that fell down your cheek.

Waiting to board the plane back to England, you looked down at your phone, you had a feeling Toto was already there by now and you had messaged him ages ago but no response.

Had you been crazy believing that he could have feelings for you?

You were so mad at yourself for being as affected as you were by his actions, it felt like someone had your heart in their fist and found amusement in squeezing it, filling you with the need to just let go and allow your emotions to flow freely.

You didn’t need to be back at the factory until after Christmas so you went straight home and unpacked your bag before repacking to go and spend your time off in Switzerland with your family, Toto still hadn’t responded and you were positive he was just ignoring you now and you didn’t try to get a response.

You’d deal with that after Christmas.

Normally you’d wait a week or two after the season ended to go back home but you really had no reason to stay, you’d changed your mind on attending the FIA awards which had confused Mick when you told him but he could tell something was wrong and chose not to pry.

You seriously didn’t think the year could get worse, you were so wrong.

The last three weeks in Switzerland had been hell to put it lightly, Christmas was just around the corner but it was hard to be excited when you had caught the sickness bug, the amount of time you spent in bed throwing up was disgusting at this point and the coddling of your family wasn’t helping.

You knew they loved you but you wish they’d just leave you alone to wallow in misery.

Toto was still a lingering thought in the back of your mind and it was only adding to how rubbish you felt but you hadn’t made any other attempt to get in touch, he hadn’t tried either so you knew where you stood with him and that was enough.

New years had passed and you were now back in England to go back to work, you had never dreaded going to work in all the years you’d worked for Mercedes so the unsettling feeling in your stomach was new.

But that could also just be nausea.

You still hadn’t completely recovered from your sickness over the holidays, you were no longer bed bound but the urge to throw up and the loss of appetite was still there, the loss of weight was visible in the sickly paleness of your face so you had booked a doctors appointment for the upcoming Friday.

Your stomach churned as you walked through the doors of the Mercedes headquarters, as the daughter of Michael Schumacher you got a lot more attention in the building as you would’ve if you were just a race engineer so the nods from almost everyone as you walked in weren’t strange to you but the sympathetic looks were.

You hoped it was just because you looked as if you hadn’t seen sun for the past ten years.

Deciding to stop by hospitality on the way to your office for a bottle of water, you paused in the doorway at the sight of Toto and didn’t hesitate to turn right back around before your mind even processed his presence.

You got a few funny looks by the people in there but you truly didn’t care.

It stayed like that for the rest of the week, whenever you found yourself in the same room as your boss there was no time wasted before you left even if there were still things needed to be done in that room, you didn’t even try to be subtle about it either.

As soon as he entered the room you immediately took your leave, it was rude but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care and you doubted he cared either.

You had taken the day off work today to attend your doctor’s appointment so thankfully you didn’t need to waste your efforts avoiding him.

"Symptoms are nausea, sickness and weight loss," The doctor listed and you nodded in clarification.

She looked at you knowingly, "When did your last cycle finish?" She asked.

You pulled a face and leaned your head back in thought, it was probably before Vegas, but that was….. your face grew even paler than it already was.

"November," you whispered, your body filling with complete and utter horror.

The doctor’s face grew sympathetic at your reaction, "and you’ve had unprotected sexual intercourse since then?" She asked though your face gave her the answer.

You were at a loss for words so you resulted in nodding; the idea of you being pregnant only made you feel more sick.

"Okay," she replied softly, "We’ll have you take a test to confirm."

You didn’t even register the next ten minutes, lost in your own mind as an emptiness settled within you, your chest ached with pain at the idea that your whole life could be changed in just a few short minutes.

"Miss Schumacher, are you okay?" The doctor asked worriedly.

You snapped back to reality and nodded numbly.

"The test came back positive, Y/N, so I’ll refer you to a midwife and during this time you should think about what you want to do, okay?"

How you didn’t crash on the way home was a miracle because you definitely weren’t concentrating, you carried your body straight to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, you looked like hell.

Just the sight caused your eyes to well up and this time you didn’t fight the emotions, you welcomed the tears and allowed the pain to consume you, the pain of realising just how alone you were in this moment.

You slid down against the bathroom door and curled yourself into a ball, buried your face into your knees and sobbed until you no longer could.

The weight in your chest was still present as you walked into work the following Monday but you no longer had any tears to spare, you had made up your mind about what your future would consist of and today would mark the beginning of it.

Knocking on the door to Toto’s office, you waited for confirmation to enter and he clearly hadn’t anticipated you on the other side from the look of surprise on his face but you didn’t mention it and closed the door behind you.

"We need to talk," you wasted no time in pleasantries and sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Is there a problem with the car?" He asked, his formal tone cut through you like a knife but you refused to show the effect it had.

You wouldn’t have thought the pair of you were friends just two months ago.

"There’s nothing wrong with the car," you told him.

"What do we need to talk about then?" He asked.

He was royally pissing you off with the way he was pretending to be ignorant. "We need to talk about what happened between us-"

"This is unprofessional," he interrupted and you scoffed in disbelief.

"Unprofessional?" You laughed in his face. "Do you know what else in unprofessional? Sleeping with your employee."

His face dropped at the bluntness of your words, "look, you shouldn’t be bringing private matters into the workplace."

"How else am I supposed to bring them up? Over text message where I never get a response?" You looked at him incredulously. "This is important-"

"I don’t want to hear it, Y/N," he cut you off harshly. "What happened between us shouldn’t have happened, it was a moment of weakness and it will never happen again."

You looked at him stone faced before nodding, "fine." You got up from your seat and left without another word, not bothering closing his door.

You didn’t go to your office, instead you went to HR.

Walking past the different offices you went straight for the head of HR. "Chloe?" You knocked on the door quietly, opening it once you received a response.

She smiled at you in greeting, "Y/N, can I help you with something?"

You nodded softly and sat down on the sofa she had against the wall. "How many holidays do I have?"

She looked at you suspiciously, "All of them, you didn’t put one in for Friday so that went unpaid."

"Okay," you muttered under your breath, "I want to cash them all in, starting from tomorrow."

"What?" She looked at you shocked. "Are you sure? If there’s something going on we can figure out a better solution for you."

You smiled and shook your head, "Uhm no I’m sure, I want to use them all and then after that I’ll be taking early maternity leave."

Chloe’s eyes widened in shock. "Wow, okay, congratulations."

"Thanks, I want to spend my pregnancy in Switzerland so you won’t see me around."

You could see that she had questions but didn’t ask them and you appreciated it, "I understand, I’m happy for you Y/N, I’ll get it all sorted for you."

"Great," you stood up and headed towards the door.

"Y/N?" You turned around, Chloe looked at you sincerely, "Give me a call if you need someone to talk to, yeah?"

You probably wouldn’t but you nodded and left.

To say Toto was surprised when he found out they were down their usual race engineer for the season was an understatement.

It was completely unexpected and he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t happy about it, George was not at all in agreement to having a new voice in his ear.

It wasn’t even for a couple races either, it was for the entire season.

No one in the team had any information on what had happened except two people, Mick and Chloe.

No one could ask Mick because he had left to do the world endurance championship and when Toto had went to ask Chloe all he got was a shrug and words that sounded as though they’d been read from the companies handbook.

"It’s against an employee’s confidentiality rights to discuss the matters with you, even if you are the boss, all I can tell you is she’ll be back at work next year."

Meanwhile, in Switzerland you were slowly but surely feeling much better.

You were putting the situation between you and Toto behind you, you were recovering and as you did, your bump grew and the sight made you smile.

The horror and fear you felt when you found out about your pregnancy had dissipated weeks ago, leaving you filled with excitement and love for the journey you had ahead of you.

With your mother and sister around you, the loneliness you felt had evaporated as well.

You were doing good and felt amazing and that’s all that mattered right now.

#formula one #motorsport #formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x you #toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction #angst

2K notes · View notes

comicaurora · 4 months

Note

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

#asks #not aurora

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violet-butterflies · 9 months

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❥︎ yandere! Dilf Part 2

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ drugging, stalking, delusional, doing things without consent, masturbation, NSFW ( male yandere! oc x female reader ) Click to see part 1 and part 3 !

"You wanna join daddy and mommy in bed, Yoon?"

The four-year-old nodded at his dad cutely as he climbed onto the bed, right between an unconscious woman and his dad. As soon as the four-year-old was comfortable, his dad took both his son and the sleeping woman. He then kissed the cheeks of both his son and the woman in his arms.

"I wuv you daddy..." the kid sleepily said to his dad as he let out a big yawn. His dad let out a loving smile as soon as his son said the adorable statement.

"I love you too buddy... What about mommy? Do you love mommy?"

"Mhm! But... why can't I call her mommy daddy?" Yoon asked as he tried his best to keep his eyes open to listen to his dad's answer.

"Mommy doesn't know that she's a mommy yet... It's a big surprise and we'll tell her soon!"

It never occurred to Junho (yandere! dilf) that his perfect mirage of a family would be broken anytime soon. He's always followed a very specific routine that rarely changes. It's always dropping his son to kindergarten, working until it was time for his son to go home, watching the hidden cameras in his house as y/n brings his son home to babysit. Then, it was either drugging the girl so she would be knocked out on his bed and in his arms or letting her go home and watching her in her house through a hidden camera he planted in a teddy bear he gave her.

He was stuck inside of a fantasy where you were his wife and living a domesticated life with him and his son. One day that fantasy will come true, Junho is definitely dedicated to making that dream a reality, however, why rush when he has all the time in the world?

After all, y/n was always under his watch so at this point he knows everything about her!

"Junho! So I have this barbeque party that I'm gonna host at my place next week. You and Yoon should totally come!" y/n invited one day before going back to her place.

"Barbeque party? That sounds fun! What's the occasion?" Junho curiously asked as an asleep Yoon was carried in his arms.

She giggled before answering, "It's a secret until the party!"

y/n then said her last goodbyes before walking out of the door, leaving a curious Junho standing at his front door.

A secret? What is she hiding that Junho could possibly not know about? To be completely honest, Junho did not like surprises at all. He likes to know as many things as he can and a surprise could either be bad or good.

Junho grumbled his way into his son's room to tuck his lovely son before sliding into his room. He plopped himself on his king-sized bed before trying to go to sleep and yet, he couldn't.

After tossing and turning a couple of times, he decided to take something out of his nightstand drawer.

It was y/n's panties.

Junho always felt guilty when he has to take the article of clothing out. He never likes it when he does something behind your back, especially something so lewd.

With one swift move, he took off his sweatpants before bringing one of his large hands that clenched onto y/n's panties over his nose. The other hand, went to his cock which was already beginning to get hard at the thought of masturbating using the panties of the woman he loves. It's not the proudest thing he's ever done but, it was the closest thing he has to making love with his beloved girl.

"Oh y/n... My beloved wife," he sighed after taking a whiff of the scent the panties held. His other hand was furiously moving on his angry cock as he desperately needed a release. His head was filled with images of a naked y/n under his body, moaning beautiful noises and holding his muscular body tightly with her soft hands.

With one last grunt, he released white strings of cum all over his hand and stomach. Sighing for the final time, the carefully made sure to put the panties safely into his drawer without it touching any of his cum (because that means he would have to wash it and that would make all her scent disappear) before lying back into bed.

Now he was tired and ready for bed and he did exactly that, falling asleep before post-nut clarity decides to bug him with any unwanted thoughts.

The week after, a casually dressed-up Junho and his excited son, Yoon, were waiting in front of y/n's front door. Multiple cars were parked around her house, all probably belonging to the other guests who were also invited to her barbeque party.

"Ah, Junho and Yoon! Please come in! We just finished grilling the first batch of food!"

Junho and Yoon eagerly walked in, Junho taking in all of the details of his beloved (soon-to-be) wife's house since it was his first time really being inside.

The muscular man recognized some of the guests that attended the party; those guests being some of the other teachers from the kindergarten she taught in.

Junho got to mingle with some of y/n's friends as he and his son ate the wonderful food prepared at the party. It made him feel closer to you now that he's met the people you surrounded yourself with and it was also a treat to see his own son getting along with some of the kids present; happy laughter and chatter filling up the wide backyard.

"Ok can I please have all of your attention please?" y/n's sweet voice asked while she softly hit the back of a spoon to her glass with to get everyone's attention.

All chatter suddenly halted as all eyes were on the h/c (hair colored) woman smiling happily.

"So, I'm sure that you all are very curious as to why I suddenly held a barbeque party," y/n started, "And it's also been very hard hiding this surprise from the closest people I know. But, I wanted to make it a special event since it is something that would only happen once in a lifetime."

For some reason, Junho had a terrible feeling in his stomach. He had an inkling of a thought that suggested that whatever y/n was about to announce would be something that could absolutely destroy him but, for her, he chose to keep a bated breath as he waited for this big surprise.

Junho watched as her hands held another man's hands to help him stand up, a loving gaze present in both of their eyes.

'No please don't do this to me.'

The foreign man then kissed his beloved's cheeks tenderly making her lips stretch into a wide smile.

'It's not what I think it is right? It can't be it right?'

She then showed off a diamond ring on her finger with a giggle that would've sounded melodic if Junho was the one to be the reason behind it.

'This has to be a joke right?!'

"Everyone meet Josh, my fiance! I'm getting married soon!"

At that moment, Junho felt his perfect daydream be painfully ripped away from him as his heart stopped at the announcement.

A/N Please send help I wrote this chapter after playing League of Legends for 13 hours straight. My back is so sore ouch. I wasn't gonna leave you all on a cliffhanger but the post was getting super long and my back is slowly transforming me into a shrimp.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this upload, and keep an eye out for part 3!

#tw: stalking #tw: yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #lovesick #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #obsession #obsessive love #yandere blog #obsessive yandere #yandere drabble #smut #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #delusional

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theboombutton · 3 months

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The interesting thing about tmagp episode 9 is that, from one perspective, it's about a pair of dice that kill you if you roll a crit fail. And in TMA that would be very End-coded. Games of chance were End-coded, and death is obviously The End. Open and shut case.

Except it's not, here. The statement giver had never seen anyone roll a 2 before he ran into Gary in that coffee shop, even after thousands of rolls. That's not an End artifact. Those dice are going out of their way not to kill anyone, save those who try to part with them.

The compulsion to roll feels like the Web, but is it? Certainly games of chance can become addicting, but I don't think that's the whole story. The Web is about the fear of the loss of control, yes, but it's also about something else controlling you instead. Here that something else is an embodiment of "random" chance - although again, it's not properly-random, not even pseudorandom. I have thoughts on that but they're best addressed further on.

Weirdly, of all the manifestations of Fear from TMA, this statement seems most akin to Jude Perry's - rolling the dice with other people's lives and fortunes, for the thrill of sometimes devastating them.

Which brings me back to the possibility of AU Fears.

In the Protocolverse, why shouldn't there be a Fear associated with chance and luck and fate and misfortune that happens for no good reason? A fear of lacking control and losing everything, without anyone else necessarily having that control.

This is where the way the dice are rigged becomes possibly meaningful. Their outcomes aren't random - they're what humans expect random to look like. They operate according to the gambler's fallacy, where the longer a chain of bad luck you have the more you're due for a good roll, and vice versa. Snake eyes aren't just a normal outcome of the 1-in-36 chance of rolling 2d6 - they're reserved for when someone is cursed with truly rotten luck. Notably that isn't true of boxcars: those just happen sometimes, without prerequisite.

Logically, a Fear of Misfortune wouldn't operate on the actual rules of probability, would it? It would be shaped by the superstitions of those that feared it.

(Also, I hope this statement puts the "they're not fears they're desires!" theory to bed. This guy didn't want the dice, and didn't especially want to roll them, but seemed compelled to anyway.)

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp 9 #tmagp 09 #tmagp s1e09 #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory #tmagp thoughts #the web #the end #the fears #the desolation #the misfortune

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saiidahyunie · 2 months

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fake and true

minatozaki sana x f!reader || pt.2 pt.3

synopsis: you think you struck gold with an offer that's impossible to ignore, and sana thinks she's hit the jackpot in matchmaking.

warnings: fluff ; cursing ; alcohol ; money talks ; reader is terrible at narrating ; sana is a few years older than reader ; tzuyu x shuhua pairing ; college student / tuition struggles ; jihyo mentioned but never appears ; not proofread

a/n: haven't wrote for sana in a HOT minute, also my first fic that actually uses a proper twice song?!?!

you first hear about it first from your best friend chou tzuyu.

“it’s an app,” she says while sitting on your couch, painting gloss on her nails with your little makeup box that you keep under the nightstand in your room. tzuyu then tosses the small bottle back into the box next to her with no care for it; she’s usually careless about most of the things in her life. “it’s just a way to make money.”

make money? you think, and ask, with an eyebrow peaked up. isn’t that technically–like sex work? but minus the onlyfans biz—

“don’t be so reductive,” tzuyu corrects sharply. “it’s being called a sugar baby. and sometimes it’s not even that bad. sometimes the girls on there don’t even want sex. just company. they’ll pay you for dinner and that’s it. it doesn’t have to be so exclusive or that involved.”

“have you ever done it for yourself?” you ask.

“me?” tzuyu snorts. “no, of course not. but it’s all online. a bunch of women have talked about it.” she looks up from her hand and gazes at you meaningfully. “i’m not saying that you should do it, but if you’re that desperate then why not? it’s really not that bad.”

it’s really not that bad, you think, and just days later, you’re reminded with the numbers of your bank statements.

you rent was due in a week.

you just paid for the internet, drawing cash from whatever was left from your recent loan. most of the tip money you scrapped together for the necessary utilities in the house alone. there was also the debate if it was really necessary to cover the light bill when you could just go to bath and body works and use that money for strategically placed candles around the apartment instead. the water bill was necessary, obviously. and cheap, thank god—you never used it more than you needed to— but rent. rent.

unfortunately, you can’t cut corners with that one.

you take another bracing swig of your wine, staring hard into your computer screen. you phone rests right beside your elbow, and you glance at it, considering. mina had told you that you can always ask—

but no. your cousin never had much money to spare, and you can’t expect her to throw hundreds and hundreds of dollars your way every time you find yourself wanting, not when she needs it, herself. not when she’s the one who gave you the warning of going to grad school in the first place, having anticipated this happening. you can’t do that to her and live with yourself.

but then again, you can’t pay your rent and live in general. you were already on your landlord’s ass for the last overdue payment as it is.

so you let out an exasperated sigh, with your face in your hands, borderline breaking a sob, before ruthlessly scratching your hair and inhale through your teeth. you don’t know what to do.

you had a good case for compartmentalization. since you were little, you know that some parts of your life were meant to be separate and not coincide with the other. stress from school should not bleed into your work. a bad grade from an exam doesn’t mean that you can spend your day wallowing in the corner of your room and crying. your one option, the only option really, was to get better, try harder, and don’t cry. find your own solutions. it’s what mina kept preaching for you all throughout college: “find your own solutions.”

find, you think again, distantly, and you look at the black screen of your phone. your own solutions.

“it’s really not that bad.”

you bite your lip hard, mind racing, pulse jumping beneath your throat. your adrenaline spikes as you reach for it, taping the screen and opening the app store. the thought in your brain rattles much like: i don’t want to, i don’t want to, but you have to, because you never have enough money, and you can’t afford to work a second job while being a full-time student, and even then it might not be enough. may never be enough. and you have to. the rent is due at the end of the day.

a fingertip taps on the screen of the light pink app, and it’s downloading. once you open it, you refuse to give the urge to throw your phone across the room and forget that you ever thought of trying this; that you smash it into pieces and toss it into the garbage disposal. but that would be just another expense added onto the list, and you already can’t afford the one you have.

with a deep breath and another sip of the expensive wine, you suck it up and make a profile.

when the matches start coming in, you’re getting nervous.

you drew the line of age range maxing it at just pushing 30 and above, you didn’t want to play with the idea of speaking to anyone older, even if it was just for dinner. most of the women you see are largely unappealing. most of their bios are either cookie cut with the similar story of their life or skevvy, worst comes to worst of the thought being that it wasn’t a viable solution for her money situation.

the reality sinks in, and you’re nearly brought to tears.

you’ve only ever had three semi-serious relationships. two of them were in high school, the last being with your ex-girlfriend when you were in your undergrad courses: elizabeth. she was kind to you, and sweet, and very patient. she had a predilection towards arrogance, having grown up with everything pretty much handed to her, but she was good, down to the marrow. it was because of you that the relationship broke; you had aspirations to go to school and elizabeth wanted to settle down, and you were unwilling to meet her in the middle, knowing that something was off. despite all of her vitreus and being aware, despite the fact that you loved her– truly, honestly— she wasn’t the one: she wasn’t the person that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

and, you think wryly, staring down at your phone screen, at the new message notification. neither is park jihyo sadly.

but that doesn’t really matter, does it? you didn’t download the damn app to find a wife.

you click on her name. her profile is as spares as it was an hour ago: a brief descpirtion of her job—district attorney, head prosecutor– and three photos of herself, none of them were too grand, just her in a well fit dress or blazer. the photos all lend an air of importance, however. of severity. this is a woman who clearly knows what she wants and is used to getting it. you’re simply another play-thing she gets to choose. the thought chills you.

opening the message. it’s a matter of fact as you expected it to be:

do you like dinner?

hi! you type back, cringing with a stank face while your thumbs twiddle with the phone screen. of course i love dinner!

great. a few seconds pass before her icon pops up again, and your heart jumps to the hollow of your throat when you read: would you like to join me for dinner this weekend? and before you can ask, yes, you will be compensated for it.

the upper row of your teeth are latched to your bottom lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. the edges of your phone slide agaisnt your clammy palms. you can feel the pulse booming in her ears, like a rush of a tsunami. if you wanted to, this could be the last chance to say no, to delete the app and pretend you were never in this madness to begin with. maybe you can ask mina for money. what cost is your pride, anyway, when compared to this?

but you already had your mind set on what you were going to say before you could even type it out.

yes! i would love to. <3

it’s amazing for the bold courage you had to tell when you see her on campus, isolated in a corner of the library. tzuyu takes you completely by surprise when she shrieks in the quiet environment.

“you managed to get a fucking sugar mommy?!”

“shut up!” you hiss, looking around frantically. none of the other students nearby seemed to have noticed her outburst. “nothing is official. i only agreed to go out to dinner with her.”

“still,” tzuyu adds, leaning back in her chair, eyes appearing like she’s caught in a daze. “i didn’t expect you, of all people, to actually do it. you barely just lost your virginity.’

“that’s not true.”

“a vibrator doesn’t count.”

“i was talking about elizabeth!”

“who you broke up with two years ago. my point still stands,” tzuyu says. her bewilderment has melted from her face, leaving a begrudging amusement. “i still can’t believe you did it, though.”

“you’re the one who recommended it to me.”

“i know! but when the hell do you ever listen to me?” she retorts, setting her elbows on the table and cradles her chin with her palms, staring at you expectantly. “so? are you gonna show me pictures of her?”

“i wasn’t really planning on it,” you say wryly, but pull your phone out anyway. “it’s not like she’s a girl that i’m actually talking to.”

“oh, but she is,” tzuyu says, taking it. your attention shifts from her face to jihyo’s profile, flushing slightly when you notice the disappointed frown that tugs at her friends lips. “she’s cute, but i don’t know…”

“what makes you say that?”

“well….you know…”

you bristle, shaking your head, “you said it yourself, some women will pay you for the company. she said that i’d be compensated for dinner but didn’t mention anything after.”

“well, thank god,” tzuyu replies, scrolling through the messages now, pausing over the one selfie you sent to prove that you weren’t a catfish: her request to add by the way. “do you know what you’re gonna wear?”

“probably some cocktail dress. she said we’d be eating at a restaurant in a hotel. so, i’m not picturing anything that fancy.”

“i’ve looked through your closet, though. you don’t have any cocktail dresses.”

“yes, i do. the blue one. with the long sleeves.”

horror is drawn all over tzuyu’s face. “you mean the one you wore to your senior homecoming. when you were eighteen?”

“yeah, it’s nice.”

tzuyu takes your hand from across the table, giving you a look that makes your stomach clench form embarrassment; a look the precedes many of her statements about their different priorities, the vast gap between their socio-economic classes.

“no offense, y/n. you’re drop dead gorgeous. you’d look beautiful in a black plastic trash bag, but that dress? are you kidding? at–tell me about the restaurant again?”

“four seasons.”

tzuyu then slams her palm down flat on the table, earning a glare from the girl sitting behind her. “at the fucking four seasons? hell no. absolutely not. you’re not wearing that, especially if it looks like you got it from fucking windsor.”

to be fair, she was right about that one. although there’s no point in bringing it up now. “i mean, i don’t have anything else to fall back to.”

“i’ll let you borrow something. i have, like, a million cocktail dresses.”

“nothing you have will fit. i’m about your height but your waist is more snatched than mine.”

“that’s very true, but i’m sure it’ll fit!”

“should i ask shuhua for her input?”

“you can! her and i are similar in size so we can ask for her help too and i’m sure she’ll find something for you to borrow.”

you shift in your comfy chair, still uncomfortable. you’re not the kind of person to ask for anything. “are you sure? i think my dress would be fine.”

“trust me, it won’t be. and shuhua loves you and loves playing these kinds of games even more. she’d definitely say yes to helping.”

“if you say so.” you quip while leaning back, watching tzuyu pull up her other best friend’s contact, thumbs flying across the screen. a second passes before she whoops a little and shoves the phone in your face. you can see the clear—and predictable—dry text since she was at work and not with you guys: sure. i can give her the black one.

“do you know which black one she’s talking about?” tzuyu asks, brown eyes sparkling, unfairly dazzling under the muted fluorescent lights. “it’s this one i bought her. it’s a little tight and it has a sweetheart neckline. oh, t/n, you’re gonna look so hot.”

“i don’t need to look hot,” you retort, flustered, “it’s only—”

“dinner, i know.” she waves you off, texting again. “but trust me, you’re gonna want to make a good first impression. when is your date?”

you nick your eyebrow and your mouth winces at the word date, it sets an uneasy feeling in your stomach, a perverse malformation of what romance is supposed to be. “this friday.”

“perfect. i’ll come over with the dress and help you get ready. i’ll bring my makeup bag too, if you want?”

you blink at tzuyu, a flush rising beneath your cheeks. you don’t know how to say no. how to remind your friend that this isn’t a date but a transaction, and that there really shouldn’t be any excitement about this. however, before you can try, tzuyu grabs your hand again, grinning widely.

“this is gonna be so much fun!”

a week passes and friday rolls around frighteningly quick, giving you little to no reprieve or time to prepare, but tzuyu arrives just when she said she was going to. at 6:30 pm, right on the dot, smiling at your front door with a makeup bag in one hand and a garment bag in another. she waltzes in through the open door, gracefully, hair flaunting around, dressed like she was the one going out tonight.

she jostles the makeup bag on her shoulder. “where are we getting ready?”

you lead her to your room, crammed between her only bathroom and the small living room, directing her inside. tzuyu tosses the bag on your bed before walking towards the vanity and plopping down on the seat. she pulls the zipper of her pouch and starts pulling out miscellaneous products, an all-name brand: a small eyeshadow palette, a lipstick, bronzer. tom ford, chanel, MAC.

“so,” tzuyu says cherrily, hair up in a low ponytail swinging as she turns to look at you. “are you excited?”

“no.” the answer comes easier than you expected it to, especially out loud, but it’s true. you’re not excited, rather, you’re— “i’m scared.”

“what? why?”

“i don’t know this woman.” you walk toward your bed, slumping on the corner, shying away from the dress like it can burn you. “i’ve only talked to her a few times. she’s older and she’s important and she’s rich and—”

“and?” tzuyu asks, swiveling towards her. “you’ve met my dad and brother. both of them are equally important and granted, one is an esteemed businessman while the other is a professional formula one driver.”

“that’s different tzu. i’m not trying to be your dad’s sugar baby.”

“i see your point, but—”

“this is serious.” you snap, nerves fried, as they have been since you agreed to go on the fucking date. since you also realized that you were so dead broke that you had no other choice but that. “i’m going out with a stranger for money. i have no idea what’s going to happen and i’m scared.”

“i’m sorry,” tzuyu says, sobered, all wry humor wiped off from her face. “i’m being an ass.”

you look at the lingering wall, muttering your forgiveness, embarrassed at the outburst, but your friend stands up and makes her way over to you. she’s grabbing your shoulders, looking at you seriously.

“do you want to cancel?”

“what?”

“do you want to cancel?” she repeats. “if you’re uncomfortable then you can cancel. there’s no shame in that.”

“i don’t…” you glance at your feet, eyeing the glossy hardwood floor below you. you’ve been needing to sweep up the place for quite some time, but since your mind has been caught up with other priorities that shifted away from simple house care—

“i can’t. i can’t afford to.”

“there’s always other ways to make money. you can ask—”

“i’m not asking mina,” you say firmly. “i’d rather sleep with jihyo than ask mina for anything.”

tzuyu smirks and takes a step back with her palms up, held open in surrender. “it’s a good thing it’s just dinner than, right?”

“yeah. just dinner,” you say. it’s as much as a reminder to yourself, and does little to calm your nerves. but it’s the truth, that’s the good thing about it. if she expected anything more, she would’ve mentioned it by now.

“okay,” tzuyu beams, hands on her hips, grinning again. “let’s help you get ready.”

your uber—graciously paid by tzuyu—drops you off at the four seasons at exactly 8 o’clock; just when jihyo said she’d be there.

you mumble a thank you to your driver as you step out, pulling your coat tighter around you. the dress beneath was black, the hem would just be a few inches above your knees, and tight. tiger than you thought it would be, but should’ve expected given who the owner is. you had always been slim, but your hips and breasts are—full, is a word for it. you’ve blossomed at seventeen and had a history of finding bras your size since then.

tzuyu and shuhua, both tall and rail-thin, built like haute couture models. thus, the lent dress give to you would fit more snugly on you than you initially hoped, pulling tight across your hips, pushing your brasts up farther than you’re comfortable with. you feel like you’ve been put out on display, and the thought follows you as you steps inside the ritzy hotel, bundling up in the pit of her stomach like a coil: a woman who’s owned.

you want to vomit on the gleaming marble.

the nice lady behind the front desk directs you to the restaurant after asking. when you walk away, you wonder if she can sens the anxiety and desperation wafting off of you, the fear. and if she did notice, what does she think? are girls in her situation common? do they all look the way that you do, with their cheap shoes and expensive dresses, hand-me-downs from nicer women? are they older? younger? you can’t fathom it. something being younger and doing this.

when you walk into the restaurant, a sharply-dressed hostess in all black greets you with a smile. “hello, ma’am. are you meeting someone?”

“yes, i have a reservation,” you say. it comes out in a breathless rush. “park jihyo. she said to come at 8. she might be here already?”

“let’s see.” she walks behind the podium and picks up an ipad, tapping it. she scrolls down, brows furrowing, before looking at you. “oh okay. i do see a park jihyo here but she hasn’t checked in yet.”

“oh,” you breathe, trying to ignore the rush of overwhelming relief. “can i…do i wait for her at the table?”

she offers a sympathetic frown. “unfortunately, i can’t sit you until i get proof of ID from the person who made the reservation. it’s to prevent people from stealing other people’s tables.”

“oh. um, do i leave?”

“you can sit at the bar if you want?” she says, gesturing towards it. “i’m sure you’ll be waiting for just a few minutes anyway.”

you nod and send a tight smile in thanks, walking towards the bar, angleed against the other side of the restaurant. like everything else in the hotel, it’s disgustingly opulent. the counters are a dark, shiny marble, as black as onyx. the tall stools have golden legs, the cushions soft and leathery when you move to sit atop it. a beautiful woman smiles at you while you settle in. to your relief, there are very few patrons around you.

“hi. can i get you anything?”

you consider it for a moment. drinking wasn’t the plan. and you were always a lightweight, and you don’t want anything in your system that could impede her decision making. but…

“a lemon drop, please?”

she nods and moves towards the drinks, mixing with a quick, effortless efficiency that fascinates you, as eager for distraction as you were right now. the martini finds it’s place down in front of you, and you smile, fiddling with the straw. “i was a bartender for a little bit, you know?”

“were you?”

“yeah. i switched to waitressing, though.”

“oh, really?” her eyes dart down to her fancy dress, alight with curiosity. you try not to blush. “you came here for a nice date then?”

“um—”

just then, an older woman sitting a few chairs down snaps at her, calling for her attention. she sends you an apologetic smile before stepping away. you sigh and take a bracing sip of your lemon drop, trying to pace yourself.

you don’t.

half an hour later, you’re still sitting at the bar, your second lemon drop in front of you, and more than a litte woozy. the bartender—seulgi, your new friend—stands on the other side of you, drying a crystal cup with a rag, as much of a cliche as she is.

“do you want me to call a taxi?” she asks, concerned.

“i think my friend irene would like you,” you say, sitting forward; her question doesn’t register. “she’s got black hair, and a bit shorter compared to you–” you’re holding your hand out and waving it around, slightly above your own head- “she’s really cute.”

“i’m glad you think so,” she says dryly. “i don’t recall asking for a matchmaker, but—”

“a lot of us don’t ask for a lot of things, but we get them anyway.”

“that’s a bit of striking honesty.”

“well.” you swivel in your chair a little bit, resentful. “my cousin always says that i’m a gloomy brat with a big mouth.”

“and does your cousin live here? can he or she pick you up?”

“no,” you pout. “she lives, like, two hours away. i came here for school.”

“okay, what about your friend irene? can she pick you up?”

“she’s probably sleeping or studying,” you say, wiving her off. a thought strikes you then, and you smile. “you wanna meet her, don’t you? i can give you her instagram.”

she drops her elbows onto the counter and states at you. finally, seulgi shrugs. “yeah, let me see.”

your smile widens and you reach for your coat, now rumpled from when you carelessly tossed it onto the chair next to you after getting overheated. you pull out your phone and quickly scroll through your messages. nothing from jihyo yet, but you expected that, having long since gotten the feeling that you’ve been stood up; not that you really mind. you mourn the money more than anything else. it’s why you haven’t left.

“here,” you say, once you switched to instagram. “this is her username, renebaebae. you should message her.”

“i might,” seulgi says, winking at you, before turning over her head. she straightens up, once again slipping into a professional veneer. “hi, welcome. can i get you anything?”

curious, you turn over, blinking when you notice a woman sitting just a chair away from you. she’s thrown her suit jacket off and has her sleeves rolled up. her eyes follow the length of her toned forearm, lingering on her silver rolex, before moving up again, from the broad stretch of her back to the locks of brown hair. you only stop when you notice that she’s caught you, brown eyes twinkling, the flash of them almost fox-like.

she has a whiskey in front of her. they’re alone. seulgi had journeyed down the other end of the bar.

“do you need something?” she asks.

“no.” you take another sip of your lemon drop, just to keep from looking at her.

she doesn’t offer the same courtesy. “are you drunk?”

“no,” you sputter. “obviously not.”

she hums, disbelievingly and glances at the chair between you, as if in silent permission. you dip your chin and she moves into it, throwing her jacket onto the counter. if you inhale, you can smell her perfume: a rich, dark scent that settles into the pit of your stomach, slow-moving and warm. rich. her watch gleams beneath the golden lights, like her shiny oxford heels and the cuff-links she carelessly tossed into her pocket. she must feel at home here in the grotesque palace of wealth. you wonder if she can smell the fraud wafting off of you, thick as the victoria’s secret perfume you spritzed on just hours before.

“are you on a date?”

“no.” a wave of defensiveness rises up, bolstered by resentment, and the alcohol does little to dampen its sting. “and you? why are you here?”

“i’m drinking,” she says, and takes another swig. your eyes flicker down to the line of her throat as she swallows. when you look back up, her lips quirk. “i had a meeting.”

“a meeting? at the four seasons?” she really is rich.

“no, a meeting at the new york-presbyterian hospital and then dinner at the four season. my co-workers are a bunch of old men who fall asleep at 9:30 so i decided to get drunk instead of joining them.”

“you’re a doctor?”

“trama surgeon. you?”

“waitress,” you say dimly, ignoring the flush that warms your cheeks. you hastily add, “and i go to school here. finishing up my undergrad, actually.”

“nice.”

you lean into your palm, staring at her. “you look very young to be a doctor.”

“so everybody keeps telling me.”

“how old are you?”

brown eyes cut to you, sharp like a knife and mirthful in a way you can only describe as mean. “are you sure you’re not on a date?”

your flush spreads, hot beneath your skin, and you look away from her, taking another swig of the martini. you caught her meaning and you’re not sure if you actually like it, if she’s making fun of you.

after a beat of tense silence, she sighs and shifts closer, pressing her wrist lightly against her own.

“twenty-nine,” she says, “and my name is minatozaki sana.”

roughly about seven or eight years, you think. not that old or too old for that matter. “my name is y/n.”

“y/n.” and you never knew your name could feel like a caress in someone else’s mouth, but it does. “it’s nice to meet you.”

“you too.”

seulgi passes by you again, getting another whiskey for sana and a third lemon drop for you. you can sense that she’s reluctant to give it to you, and you know that you should be mindful of how expensive this tab can be, but you don’t care. after today, with the stress and fear and the adrenaline constantly pumping in your veins, you’ve lost the ability to; you’re numb.

and so you ignore it. “wanna take shots with me?”

“you’re really trying to get drunk, aren’t you?”

“aren’t you?”

“it usually takes a bit more than two whiskeys and a shot to do me in.”

“so no?”

“how much have you racked up on this tab y/n?” sana asks, and you visibly stifle a wince. “three lemon drop martinis. that’s probably over a hundred fucking dollars, knowing this place. why the hell would you go to the four seasons to get drunk anyway?”

the tone is definitely something you don’t like, the patronizing color to it. it makes you reckless. “i was invited.”

“by who?”

“someone that isn’t here.”

“so you are on a date.”

“no.”

“then who invited you here?”

“someone.”

“a man? woman? probably someone your age.”

you huff a bitter laugh and take another sip of the martini. “not my age exactly.”

“so older.” it’s not a question but a statement, and she leans back in her stool, eyes flat. “not a date, but you—some random, pretty-grad student—were invited to the four seasons by someone older than you. i’m assuming or man or woman?”

“mhm, a woman.”

“can i ask you a personal question?”

“you already have been.”

“why did you agree to come?”

why else? you’re pondering. “money.”

she stares at you for a few seconds. you keep waiting for the disgust to bleed in, or the judgment, or—if worse really happens let alone the unthinkable—the excitement for your perceived vulnerable, but she gives you none of that. instead, she curses softly under her breath and sits up, carding a hand through her brown hair. “that sucks,” she says, looking at you. the intensity of her sympathy startles you. “i’m sorry.”

“i-it’s okay.”

“she’s terrible for doing that, what a piece of shit. it’s rare these days how women act like that. even crazier that some can’t find real love on their own so they look for it in people like you. the ones that can’t say no.”

“i don’t think she wants love from me.”

her mouth thins, fist clenching atop the counter. “you mean sex?”

your eyes widen. “no, not sex.”

“then what is it?”

“company,” you say. “dinner. sometimes they’ll pay you for it. it’s all over the internet.”

“yeah, said by fucking liars. what woman is signing up to be a sugar mommy so that she can take a girl that looks like you out for just fucking dinner? how does that make any sense?”

you’re squirming in your seat, nearly cringing at the discomfort. sana’s saying everything that you’ve been trying to ignore for a week straight, and suddenly, you hate yourself for thinking that you could be so naive. that you have the privilege to be, like tzuyu.

“i—”

“did you drive here?”

“what?”

she stands up, reaching for her suit jacket. a pang of mourning shoots through you when you realize that she’s leaving. “did you drive here?”

“no. my friend ordered an uber for me.”

sana nods and looks over to seulgi, gesturing for her to come over. she whispers something to her, a request to her tab, probably, before looking back down on you.

“what time was your date?”

“eight o’clock.”

“i think you’ve been stood up.”

“i know.”

she shrugs the jacket on, fiddling with the cufflinks. she looks disheveled, but in a way that seems purposeful. enticing. seulgi hands her a black booklet, and sana pulls her wallet out. you glance away form her, always awkward around money.

“you probably shouldn’t talk to this girl again.”

“wasn’t planning on it.”

“you should also delete the…app—? she raises an eyebrow at you. you nod—”that you met her on. shit’s already sketchy as it is.”

“i know.”

sana steps back, and you bite your tongue, just in case.

"it's nice to meet you, y/n. maybe i'll see you around?"

unlikely but you’re entertaining with the idea, dipping your chin an acknowledgement because you’re still too afraid to speak. she turns on her heel, and you watch her, eyes following her back until she’s disappeared from sight. you’re hitting the one eighty to face seulgi, only to falter when you notices the black booklet in front of you. “am i cut off?”

“yup,” seulgi says, a smile playing on her lips.

you brace yourself as you slowly open the bill, cringing away from it like it can hurt her. however, it’s not the sight of an exorbitant price that greets you, but a wad of cash; hundreds of dollars. more than that.

and a series of numbers are written on the receipt, with a note on the bottom, penned in a somewhat elegant writing that shows a sliver of sharp intelligence.

“for subjecting you to an interrogation when you were trying to get drunk. good luck with school.— sana.”

“she left me a hefty tip too. for both of you,” she says, smirking at you. “you must’ve made a very lasting impression.”

a close of the hand slams the booklet, and your eyes were unseeing.

five hundred dollars.

you’re counting five hundred dollars.

five hundred. now 480 from the twenty you forked over to your uber driver on the way home. but five hundred dollars, given to you by a veritable stranger, along with—

the receipt is in your handbag, not messing with the thought of throwing it away. if not for her company, then for her generosity. and you really should call her; to thank her, send the money back, ask why the hell would she bother throwing that much money away on a poor, drunk woman wallowing away at a bar. jesus christ almi—

the trill of your phone startles you, ducking your head while you’re scrambling to the couch to yank it from your purse. tzuyu’s smile flashes at you from the screen, and you sigh deeply before bringing the phone to your ear. “hello?”

“hello,” she says, voice pitched in a lilting sing-song. “‘i’m with shuhua and you’re on speaker. say hi.”

“hi, shua.”

“sup, y/n.”

tzuyu chimes again, “so, how was it?”

“uh,” you glance down at your handbag again, at the wad of cash sticking up from the top of it. your pulse jumps. “it went alright.”

“was jihyo as scary as you thought she would be?”

she, well- uh– she never showed up.”

“what!?” you scrunch up your shoulders at the screech. “what do you mean she never showed up?”

“i got stood up.”

“oh, beb. i’m so sorry.”

“it’s fine.”

“so it ended up being all for nothing?” shuhua asks, appalled. “you got all dressed up and went down to one of the most expensive hotels in the city for fucking nothing? you’re still broke?”

tzuyu shrieks again, this time shushing in scolding, but you huff a laugh instead of getting offended, still reeling in disbelief.

“not for nothing.” you mumble out. and the line stays quiet on their end. “what did you say, honey?”

“not for nothing.” you repeat, louder. “i…i met someone, and she…”

“and she what?”

saying it out loud wouldn’t make it make sense, but you force the words out in vain hope. “she gave me five hundred bucks.”

the other end went silent again, clearly digesting this, seeing what they can make from it. that is, until shuhua barks out a mean laugh and asks, “don’t tell me you got on your knees for her or something?”

“shua!”

“it’s an honest question! what kind of old, rich woman gives a girl money for free unless she’s actually interested in?”

“i didn’t—” the lump in your throat rises while the heat flushes your cheeks. “nothing happened between us. we just talked. and she isn’t old.”

“...is she cute?”

you’re thinking of sana’s strong side profile, rolled up sleeves, and the low registered tone along with the bite of her tongue. “yes.”

“so if nothing happened, why did she give you money?” shuhua asks.

“i don’t know,” you reply softly, pulling up your knees to hug them. “i think…she just felt bad for me.”

“felt bad for you? what makes you say that?”

“i told her why i was there, pretty much. she seemed bothered by it.”

“if god was a woman,” tzuyu says, a smile in her voice, and despite her generosity, you don’t even know if you’d consider sana your saving grace; there was an intensity to her, to her kindness that belied normal human decency. you can’t even tell if she’d do it for anyone else.

but if that were the case, why you the? what did you do to earn that kind of attention?

“well, i think there’s something else happening that y/n is telling us,” shuhua says bluntly. “i don’t see why she’d be that nice otherwise.”

tzuyu hums along in agreement, considering. “what do you think, y/n?”

“i don’t know either, if i knew exactly the i would’ve told you.”

“maybe it’d be worth taking into account asking her then? let your curiosity get the best of you.”

you’re reaching for your handbag, pulling the crumpled receipt from it, smoothing your thumb over the fine printed calligraphy of sana’s name.

“maybe i will.” you whisper.

later after the call, you text her while you’re tucking yourself into bed, hoping that it’ll be late enough that she won’t immediately respond. the nervousness and confusion rumbling in your head to even go forward into speaking to sana. you toss your phone on the nightstand and turn over, willing not-so-tired body to sleep.

the hope diminsieses very quickly. phone vibrating for a few seconds to make you jump up, reaching over. you’re tapping at the unsaved contact and click on the text, trembling. your own message flashes at you innocently, and you just want to throw your phone into the toilet or damn fire: hi! this is y/n. the girl you met at the bar tonight. do you remember?

sn:

hey. and yeah i do.

y/n:

cool! your thumbs hover over the touchscreen. unfortunately, i think you might’ve accidentally left something with me.

sn:

it wasn’t an accident.

y/n:

oh, you think, typing away. i’im so sorry, and thank you so much for your kindness, but i can’t accept that.

sn:

why not?

y/n:

it’s too much money and you’re a stranger. i can’t ask that of you.

sn:

you don’t owe me anything.

a second passes before she adds: can i call you?

your heart skyrockets up to the opening in your throat while your adrenaline spikes. for a moment, you want to say no. you don’t know if you can handle it, hearing her voice after she’s done you such unnecessary kindness. but it’s the thought that loops around and convinces you: sana gave you five hundred dollars. the least that you can do is have a damn conversation about it.

yes.

your phone rings just seconds after you’ve pressed send, and you take a deep, steadying breath, willing your heart to slow it’s pace. you pick up. “hello?”

“hey.”

the low timbre of her voice makes your breath hitch. she sounds like she’s been sleeping. like she woke up for you.

“you wanted to talk?”

“well, you did. mostly.” you can hear a slight rustling on the other line. her shuffling in bed. “you said something about owing me.”

“i can’t,” you say firmly. “i’d have to repay you, and as you can guess, i’m not made of money right now—”

“i didn’t give you that because i though you would owe me something. to be honest, i didn’t know if i had a chance in hell of seeing you again. i was trying to be nice.”

“and i appreciate it, but i can’t accept it. five hundred dollars is a lot of money, and—”

“i’m a surgeon.”

“which is how i know you’ve worked hard for it. i’m sorry, sana, but i can’t accept it.”

“does anyone do nice things for you?”

you blink, “what?”

“you just seem to have a hard time accepting kindness.”

“i…i don’t…”

“fine,” she huffs. “i’m not gonna force you to keep anything you can’t accept.”

“can i give it back to you?”

“i was thinking more along the lines of: you could toss the cash in a fire if you want it—”

“no,” you say, horrified. “i want to give it back to you.”

silence lingers on sana’s end. your pulse roars in your eardrums and your fingers are gripping the sheets. you have this distinct feeling that you’re dangling over the precipice, waiting for the ball to be dropped.

“how about you meet me for lunch?”

“huh?”

“lunch. tomorrow afternoon at 2.”

“i…um…”

“or i can give you my mailing address and you can ship it back to me. whatever you want.”

“are you asking me out?”

her voice comes in lower, barely over a rumble over the crack of the speakers. deliberate. “if you’re okay with it.”

you remember sana at the bar, under the dim golden lights. how she leaned into you when you spoke, how she listened, the geunine sympathy in her eyes when you told her why you were there. the way you mourned the loss of her when she left, with an intensity to it that startled you.

answering in a breathless rush. “lunch. i-i’d like to go to lunch. with you.”

“cool.” you can hear her smile. “i’ll text you tomorrow?”

“yes.”

“okay. see you then.”

“see you.” you whisper, and drop your phone once she hung up. about two seconds pass before you pick it up frantically, dialing shuhua’s number.

she sounds annoyed, plus a giggle is heard in the background. she and tzuyu were definitely hooking up. “what?!”

“shua! i need another one of your dresses!”

half an hour before your date, sana texts you: “there’s been an emergency at work. i got called in.”

you, on the other hand, was in the middle of drawing a very sharp wing, not caring for the falling eyeliner when you reach for you phone, frowning.

y/n:

huh!? what happened?

sn:

one of the other surgeons had a heart attack this morning so i had to fill in for him

it’s been a shitty day.

y/n:

i’m sorry :(

a fleeting attempt to stave off the wave of disappointment that threatens to consume you, feeling ridiculous for it. childish.

but it’s not so childish however, to keep you from typing, “will you have to cancel? :(“

sn:

for lunch, yeah. but i was thinking we can reschedule for dinner?

y/n:

will you be able to get out by then?

sn:

my supervisor said i can expect to be out by 6. i can pick you up at 8:30 if you want?

you press a finger to your lips, smothering a smile.

y/n:

i’d love that.

sana’s reply comes a second later.

sn:

i’ll see you then.

#hyunie #sana x reader #twice x reader #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice sana #sana #minatozaki sana #minatozaki sana x reader #twice x you #sana imagines #sana minatozaki #twice fluff #sana twice

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antianakin · 2 months

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I never, ever say the Jedi were flawed, and here's why.

It's not because I don't think people can BE flawed, or that I don't think GOOD people can be flawed, of course they can. Even people who are genuinely doing good things and making good choices and trying their best to be selfless and kind and compassionate can make mistakes and have a bad day.

But there's really only two reasons I see anybody bring up "the Jedi were flawed."

The first is from Jedi fans who are trying to stave off the Stanakins and the anti Jedi crowd by adding that in as a disclaimer. "OF COURSE the Jedi are flawed, but it doesn't mean they aren't good people!" It's a meaningless statement because the side saying it doesn't even really believe it to be true and the side they're saying it TO thinks the Jedi being flawed means they all deserved to die. This is the kind of statement that leads to people deciding that individual Jedi are okay but their culture needs to be completely reformed in order to allow people like Anakin to just do whatever they want whenever they want and then they can all live.

The second is from people who DON'T really like the Jedi much and will insist that "the Jedi are flawed" is part of the whole point of the narrative of Star Wars, especially the prequels. This is the kind of statement that leads to people like Leslye Headland INSISTING that George Lucas intended for the story of the Jedi to be one of failure and criticism and casting the Jedi as "the evil institution" in her interpretation of Star Wars. This is what leads to stories like the Ahsoka show insisting that the Jedi were elitist bastards whose arrogance led to their own genocide. These people usually try to claim they like the Jedi, but they'll still cast the Jedi as the bad guys in the story instead of, say, Anakin. These are the people who genuinely have no idea what attachment is and don't care to learn. These people believe that, at best, the Jedi THOUGHT they were doing good, but that they had completely lost their way and were truly not that much better than the Sith anymore and their destruction was necessary to create balance in the galaxy.

I have no desire to appease people who don't like my interpretation of Star Wars, and I don't think that "the Jedi were flawed" was ever the point of Lucas's story and I genuinely think it takes a lot AWAY from his story to say that it does. So while I am perfectly happy to admit that people in general, even overall GOOD and kind and selfless people, are always flawed and can make mistakes, I will never, ever say that the Jedi were flawed. The Jedi lost, yes, but not due to their own flaws. They lost because of EVERYONE ELSE'S flaws, so what does it MATTER if the Jedi were flawed or not? If you truly believe the Jedi were good people who did everything right and simply lost due to other people's selfish choices, then what does it add to the story to insist the Jedi were flawed? How does it change anything, for the better or otherwise? The Jedi were right IS the point of the story, so insisting they were flawed actually takes away from that by distracting from how the Jedi were RIGHT, and it's people choosing not to listen to them or trust them or act like them that brings about the downfall of an entire galaxy.

The Jedi weren't flawed. The Jedi were RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING and that is the hill I will die on.

#star wars #jedi #pro jedi #prequels jedi

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on-this-day-mcr · 2 months

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On this day, March 22

In 2013: My Chemical Romance announced the breakup of the band, posting the following statement on their website:

"Being in this band for the past 12 years has been a true blessing. We've gotten to go places we never knew we would. We've been able to see and experience things we never imagined possible. We've shared the stage with people we admire, people we look up to, and best of all, our friends. And now, like all great things, it has come time for it to end. Thanks for all of your support, and for being part of the adventure. My Chemical Romance"

(🖤)

#announcement #march 22 #2013 #breakup era #dont even worry about it #(can we pretend to leave and then we'll meet again....)

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dantakeyoman · 1 year

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pls part 2 to neteyam defending you 🫡🤍 but this time i'd love a continuation to motherly neytiri tending to reader!! and her hinting at the fact she had seen them and their son share a kiss after trying to find out all the commotion once hearing overprotective jake lose his cool at ao'nung!

Jake Is Pissed At Ao'nung, and Neytiri Talks To You About Your Kiss With Neteyam After All the Commotion (SFW)

Part 2 of "Neteyam Defending You"

CW: my dude Jake goes crazy, starts talking really freely to the Olo'eyktan, Neytiri is so nice and caring, best wing-woman ever, jake x reader (platonic; father-daughter-ish)

"What the hell is the matter with you, boy?! I oughta fight you right now!" Jake shouted as his eyebrows furrowed, the boy doing his best to try and understand the angry, English words.

Jake always switched to English when he was mad.

It was instinct, and English had more expressive cuss words than Na'vi anyway.

"Mawhey, My Jake," Neytiri whispered, quietly stepping in front of her husband and resting her hands on his chest, her eyes flicking to the crowd of village people that started to form.

"Please. The people are watching."

The entire Sully family stood behind you and Jake, on one side of the walkway, while Ao'nung, his friends, and the rest of the Metkayina stood on the other.

It looked as if both sides were warring.

"Let 'em watch. This shit needs to be dealt with," Jake growled, carefully moving her out the way and getting ready to scream at Ao'nung some more.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Tonowari asked calmly, him and Ronal breaking through the crowd and stepping to the front.

His tone was calm, but you could see on his face that he was clearly angered with the fact that his on was injured, and the outsiders shouting at him.

"The problem here? I'll show you the problem," Jake whipped his head over to you, giving a firm nod.

You nodded back with a sigh, stepping in the middle of the clan divide and lifting your arms, putting all of your injuries on display.

The Metkayina gasped, and Neteyam had to be held back by Lo'ak and Kiri.

He hadn't realized the extent of the damage when he was carrying you, but looking at it now, he should've hit Ao'nung twice as hard.

You had hand-shaped bruises all over your arms, and one on your ankle from Ao'nung's demonstration.

Your face had a large bruise on it's right cheek, and a bloody nose from being dropped on your face.

And the statement piece of it all, the nasty, pillow-sized bruise on your side, which was leaking blood from Ao'nung's toenails.

"Your words. Treat these Forest people like brothers and sisters. I don't see this shit as very familial," Jake spat, pointing roughly at Rotxo.

"That little shit managed to squeal about everything done to (y/n). The grabbing! The kicking! THE KIDS DROPPED HER ON HER FACE FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Your breath hitched, silently thanking Eywa that the Metkayina did not have good English.

Ronal and Tonowari quickly turning to their son in anger, their gaze practically burning holes into the boy.

"Is this true?" the two hissed, no longer masking their rage.

And the look of absolute fear on his face was the icing on the cake.

It almost made you feel sorry for him.

....Almost.

"ANSWER!" Tonowari shouted.

"YES! It's true!" He admitted, hanging his head.

The entire crowd gasped, and Tsireya did her best to hold back tears as she looked at your injured form.

You were a very nice girl, and an incredible friend. You didn't deserve this in the slightest.

She could not believe her brother for doing such a horrible thing.

"My kids come back to me nearly everyday talking about how this kid is constantly harassing them-." "He calls us all freaks," Tuk sadly chimed, glassy eyed as she tucked her face into her mother's side, Neytiri taking deep, full breaths to keep her composure.

"But for the sake of peace, I let it slide. Well all that stops tonight! I want it to be made perfectly clear that if your son, or ANY of his little friends so much as lift a finger to ANY of my children, they will have to answer to me!" Jake finalized, resting a hand on your shoulder at the word children.

It almost brought you to tears.

You felt so loved, and protected, and safe. It me your heart swell with joy.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Rotxo and the other boys frantically agreed, terrified that, not only did they witness Toruk Makto's anger, but were the direct cause of it.

Everyone turned to Ao'nung to hear his response, but he stayed silent, dazed.

"SPEAK, BOY!" Tonowari shouted once again, pushing the boy forward with his staff.

"Understood!" he cried, turning his gaze down to the floor.

"Good," Jake huffed, un-puffing his chest.

"You have brought shame to this family. Go to the marui. You are grounded," Tonowari glared at his son, pointing his staff back to their home.

Ao'nung nodded, quickly turning around and speed-walking over, Tsireya following behind, ashamed.

Jake scoffed at the display, before turning to you with a softened face. "Now you. Are you okay? Wanna go get patched up?"

"Yes, sir," you nodded with a smile, quietly wincing from the pain of your bruised cheek.

"If you would accept, I could heal your daughter for you," Ronal stepped forward, apologetically bowing.

"I believe your family has done enough for tonight. I will handle this," Neytiri glared, stepping in front of you.

Ronal clenched her jaw, but nodded, turning around to follow her husband home.

"Come, child," Neytiri smiled at you, carefully taking your hand and leading you to the marui, Tuk and Kiri following close behind.

They entered, and the boys tried coming in after, but Neytiri stopped them.

"We must talk. Alone," Neytiri knowingly looked up at Jake, who nodded.

"That's alright. I gotta talk to these two, anyway," he agreed, resting his hands on the brothers' shoulders and leading them to a more secluded part of the island.

When Neytiri turned around, you were already sitting down, Kiri preparing the salves for your bruises.

She walked over and sat criss-crossed in front of you, picking up a special leaf to clean off your blood.

"My (y/n), are you alright?" she calmly asked, lightly swiping the blood from your nose.

"Yes. It looks worse than it feels. Truly," you assured, the loud wince you let out when Kiri touched a bruise quickly debunking your statement.

Neytiri sighed, carefully lifting your arm to wipe the blood from your side.

She needed to lift your spirits.

"You know," she started, a smile growing on her lips. "You and Neteyam remind me of me and his father when we were young."

You practically choked on the air you were breathing, the coughing fit you were sent into not feeling the best on your ribs.

Though it seemed like perfect entertainment for Kiri and Tuk, whose uproarious laughter could be heard from the next marui.

"I am serious," Neytiri politely laughed, halting her swipes on your side with a smile so you could catch your breath.

"He may not act like it, but your father used to be just as reckless as Lo'ak, maybe a little more."

"Really?!" Tuk asked, amazed.

"No way," Kiri scoffed with a smile.

Out of all the times he had scolded that boy, he was just as bad.

"But he was strong. He had a strong heart. No fear. Almost never hesitating to fight if needed," Neytiri continued, starting to smooth the salve over your rib.

"I see this in Neteyam."

She glanced up from her work, looking you in the eyes.

"For me, I was always calm. I wasn't as quick to fight as he, but I was still strong, and determined."

She looked back down.

"I see this in you."

Your cheeks turned a dark blue hue, despite the splashes of purple and red alredy there.

"The Great Mother knows all, and I feel she did not make this resemblance for no reason."

Was she saying what you think she's saying?

"Neytiri, what are you-?" "I am saying you and Neteyam have my blessing," she smiled.

Your breath hitched.

"Oh! I didn't....we weren't.....I wasn't-!" "No sense in denying it, (y/n). The whole clan saw you swapping spit with the boy as you came over," Kiri shrugged with a smile, teasingly poking you in the cheek, wary of your injuries.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, embarrassed.

"Oh, stop," Neytiri chuckled, tucking a stray braid behind your ear. "I think it is cute."

bonus !!

Jake sat down on the sandy shore, Neteyam and Lo'ak sitting on either side of him, concerned.

"You two listen, and listen good," he started seriously, his tone leaving no room for games.

The two nodded, and the man continued.

"I want you two to watch that Ao'nung kid, and his little group of friends, too. Be nice for the sake of peace, but keep your heads on a swivel. If they say anything to your sisters or (y/n), you tell me, I'll sort it out."

Jake did a quick perimeter check, making sure no one was listening in.

"But if any of those little shits so much as touch a hair on their head, I give both of you full permission to beat the living shit out of each and every one of them. Don't worry about the repercussions, I'll take the heat. But that's gonna be the new protocol from now on."

The two boys nodded firmly, giving their father a serious look.

"Understood," Neteyam agreed.

He was glad his dad was giving him permission, but to be honest, he was going to end up doing this anyway.

Today, he made a silent oath that he was never going to let you get hurt on his watch ever again.

"Alright," Lo'ak smirked, cracking his knuckles with his fist.

"And as for you," Jake started up again, turning to Neteyam.

The boy gulped, bracing himself for a scolding of some sort.

"Who taught you how to kiss like that?" his father smiled, giving his son a proud pat on the back.

"Oh, yeah! Those two were going at it! They were like-." Lo'ak jumped up from his seat, hugging himself and making kissing noises.

"Aye!" Neteyam waved off with a smile, that familiar heat rising to his cheeks.

Jake chuckled at his boys' antics, throwing his arms around each one and pulling them into a hug.

This was what a family was for. Protecting one another, caring for one another, healing one another.

Jake had no doubt in his mind that his family was, and truly is, his fortress.

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar #na'vi x y/n #na'vi x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #atwow #atwow x reader #omitacaya

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fazedlight · 3 months

Text

Awakening (Kara character study, small part supercorp softness)

“But why can’t I be matched to Tali, mom? She’s my best friend!”

Alura turned to Kara, her jaw tensed with frustration with the stubborn child. “Kara, you know better than this. Stable matching can only be achieved if there is a true bijection between disjoint sets-”

“We don’t even have a true bijection because the population is constantly changing, we don’t sort according to all possible preferences, we don’t even have-” “It is not in our nature, Kara,” Alura said, with a dangerous tone in her voice. “We are not Daxamites.”

“But-”

“The answer is no.”

---

Kara is thirteen Earth years the first time she’s called “dyke.” She doesn’t know what it means. She had only been to school for a couple of weeks. Before that, the only substantial English she had spoken was the couple months with Eliza, Jeremiah, Alex, and Kal.

Clark, not Kal. Saying “Kal” would put her baby cousin- her older cousin- her cousin in danger.

Alex’s face flushes, and her eyes almost burn with anger, as she shoves Jake Howell against a locker. Kara could do it easily herself, but showing her newfound strength to humans would put her in danger too, somehow. Kara doesn’t think asshole is a nice word, given how Alex growled it. But she suspects dyke isn’t a nice word either.

That night after dinner, Eliza sighs, and hugs Kara gently - and Kara resolves to never get called dyke again.

---

“She’s gorgeous, she’s smart, she smells nice. Hell, I want to date her.” Kara flushed with discomfort, as the words came unbidden from her lips. But Alex didn’t remark on the odd statement, and Kara shoved the thought away.

Just weeks later, awkwardness would turn to tension as Lucy growled. “You and Hank, why do you all lie?”

“When you are an alien,” Kara choked, “You’re willing to sacrifice anything, everything, betray your fundamental instincts - just to fit in.” Something tugged in Kara’s soul at that moment. That she had always tried to fit in, long before she became an alien. But there simply hadn’t been time to linger.

It was only weeks later, when Lucy was saying her goodbyes before leaving National City to rejoin the military, that Kara felt the uncomfortable spike again. “I do know what it’s like to hide,” Lucy confessed.

Kara tilted her head, questions like why? and what do you mean? floating through her mind. But she thought it would be kinder not to ask. “I hope someday, you can be all that you are.”

Lucy gave a small smile. “Me too.”

---

She hadn’t expected meeting Lena to feel like lightning in her veins. The younger Luthor was quick-witted, and beautiful, and playful. Kara felt herself flush with the gentle teasing during their first coffee, and found herself marveling at never quite having a friendship like this before.

---

“So… so she’s gay?” Kara asked, the word heavy in her throat. “And are you saying, you’re gay too?”

Alex sighed and paced in front of Kara, her frustration just as apparent as her confusion. How can you not know if you’re gay?, Kara wondered, at the same time feeling strangely allergic to the conversation. Wouldn’t it be obvious? “What’s changed?” Kara asked.

---

Yeah, he was… immature. Irresponsible. But they connected - orphans of a lost planet, who spoke the same tongue, who had the same bewilderment in their first moments on an alien planet with newfound powers. And if being in his bed brought her pleasure, it was only proof of their connection, that a good relationship could come of it.

Sometimes there were those flashes - Mon-El had been confused by Alex’s coming out, not understanding the concept. The more the merrier would ring in Kara’s head, and she’d chase away the image of Lena’s face.

---

“I couldn’t have done it, Kara.”

Kara’s chest heaved as she gazed down at Lena, hearing Kal’s words flash through her mind. Lena clung to Kara’s arm as Kara hovered above the reservoir, and some corner of Kara’s mind knew that she should go land, that the danger was over. That Lena was safe. That the city was safe.

But she could only stare down at Lena, whose heart hammered in her chest, whose panting breaths from her climb had not yet slowed. I almost lost her, Kara thought, forlorn. I couldn’t lose her…

It was that moment that her world came crashing down, that realization made her feel like she was drowning. That romantic love wasn’t merely a combination of friendship and lust. That shared experience didn’t mean a shared connection. There was something that ran deeper.

She was in love with Lena, and she could no longer deny it.

---

It was a drunken movie night, after Lena’s breakup with James, when Kara heard I love you fall from Lena's lips.

“It was always you,” Lena confessed, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol as Kara finished pulling the covers over her. “I just wanted to be close to you.”

Kara stood back, feeling her heart pound as she watched Lena slip into slumber. I wish I had told you, Kara thought, her mind flashing to a moment long ago in a forest. I wish I had told you, before…

Kara spent a fitful night trying to sleep on her couch, and Lena’s eyes flashed with shame the next morning as she woke. But they left for Noonan’s, leaving the conversation behind.

---

It felt impossibly brief, that window of time after Kara had revealed her secret, where everything felt almost right with the world. Maybe someday, she and Lena could finish that conversation.

But she found herself in a kryptonite shell.

The universe ended soon after, and even magic couldn’t fix how they had broken. Until the day Kara finally found her hands in Lena’s, vowing together to take down her brother, and Kara felt again that hopeful wonder of what a future with Lena could hold.

And then she found herself in the Phantom Zone again, the words ringing in her head, I wish I had told you.

---

Sleep had eluded Kara in the weeks back from the Phantom Zone. So she was already wide awake at 2am, when she heard Lena’s heart begin to hammer.

Kara tensed, rushing to her window and ears tuning in as she prepared to fight off an assassination attempt or catch Lena as she fell.

But as she shot into the sky, she nearly tumbled when she realized that Lena wasn’t in distress. The shaky breaths and small laughs caused Kara’s chest to tighten in anguish. She’s fine, Kara thought, feeling tears prick the edges of her vision. She’s fine.

---

“Are you okay?” Lena said, when she finally found Kara in the Tower, sitting on a step. “Alex said she couldn’t find you - you were in the Fortress?”

Kara glanced up from the steps. “I just, um. I was reading in the Fortress, I fell asleep there.” It had the benefit of being true. The Fortress was far enough to drown the sound of Lena’s heart out.

Lena shuffled next to Kara, taking a seat. “I don’t remember seeing any beds there.”

“I float in my sleep,” Kara shrugged, staring at her hands as she let silence fall.

Lena shifted, uncomfortable with the quiet. “Are you okay?”

Yeah, Kara almost said, but something stopped her this time. Perhaps it was the poor sleep. Perhaps it was the litany of I wish I had told you that would replay in her mind.

How many more times am I going to do this?, Kara thought. How many more times am I going to carry that regret? “I love you,” Kara said finally, sensing Lena tense up next to her. “I know… I know that door is closed. But I love you. I should’ve told you so long ago.”

“You… you heard me last night,” Lena wondered softly. “So you went to the Fortress?”

Kara grimaced. “I stopped listening as soon as I realized,” Kara said, fighting a panic. Will she be angry? “I never meant to- to invade your privacy. I’ll be more careful.”

“The door isn’t closed,” Lena said. “If you don’t want it to be.”

Those words made Kara brave enough - or maybe just confused enough - to finally tilt her head up to meet Lena’s gaze. “But- last night-”

“I’ve been trying to get over you. Not very successfully,” Lena added, with a wry grin.

“Really?” Kara smiled.

“Really.”

---

The matching laws had been long dismantled by the time a smiling Alura officiated their marital rites. Kryptonians didn’t have concepts like best man or matron of honor, but that didn’t stop the two women from inviting Alex and Kelly to stand at each of their sides as they said their vows.

Kara never imagined that it’d be a woman’s wrist she’d place her wedding bracelet on. Though she supposed she never imagined marrying on an asteroid of her father’s creation, or marrying for romantic love, or marrying someone her people would call Hero of Argo for the creation of a black rock.

She never imagined finally telling Lena her secret. She never imagined Lena’s forgiveness. She never imagined the feel of Lena’s lips pressed against her own, hands tugging at her robes, as she whispered zhao against Lena’s lips.

And she never imagined being the one to make Lena’s heart race.

#I deleted this WIP a minimum of 3 times before it finally became a thing #supercorp #mel writes ficlets

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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

Text

yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario [part two]

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to the second installment of this scenario, featuring Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 who helped me write this finale.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this series will be taken down.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive back into the cutthroat world of publishing.

Part One

The press conference went as expected.

Everyone wanted to know who accused best-selling author Abigail Crowley of plagiarism, where is the evidence to prove that an unidentified individual is the one who really wrote The Darkness and The Nightingale, and why are the representatives of the publishing company are now just finding out about it less than a month before its release date. Yandere!Literary Agent is good at his job, at least when it comes to standing in front of flashing cameras and phones shoved in his face, asking for a statement. He answered the journalists who patiently raised their hands and disregarded the ones who kept interrupting with asinine questions that had nothing to do with the subject of the press conference whatsoever. Yes, he had been contacted by the true writer. No, he will not give out a name to respect their privacy. Yes, there is evidence and it will be presented to a judge, should Abigail Crowley wishes to take Sailboat Publishing House to court and fight back against the claims. No, the printing date will not be changed. He is currently with the writer on revisions and he will not take any more questions at this time. Please speak to the company’s PR representative, Ms. Isley, for a formal interview. That is it for today.

The world now knows the truth. Social media was going to be a proverbial shitstorm; one side will defend Abigail Crowley and say she is the true author as she is still a great writer, and there will be people who speak trash to her out of spite for whatever reason. Some will even try to track you down online and harass you for days on end. Yandere!Literary Agent just hoped that you meant what you said about not being online anymore because of politics.

In any case, the projected million copies to be sold would have to decrease significantly. You told him over the phone that you didn’t mind, commenting that at least 100,000 should be a tidy enough number and he would still get his commission. He didn't have to worry about the fees since Abigail is going to pay for those, or fight back. That was the ultimatum Yandere!Literary Agent and the board members gave it to her almost a week ago.

It was six-thirty in the evening when he told you about what had happened. He was still in the office finishing up a few things, and he had you on speaker mode while he typed away at his desk. You were typing too, working on the revisions and thanking the universe that you had a digital copy of your manuscript on file too, so the task he had given you made things a little easier. So did taking two weeks off of work. But the way you saw it, the PTO either had to be used now, or it wouldn’t be rolled over because you had too much PTO. Yes, that can definitely happen in your career field because you need the hours to pay for bills and essentially being alive. You were making good progress and hoped that you didn’t need to pull another all-nighter just to finish up these edits on page 159.

You were diligent, Yandere!Literary Agent will give you that much. He reminded you of the deadline. You told him to focus on his work, and he’ll have a pristine manuscript in his inbox. Please stop the daily phone calls and text messages, he was putting the pressure on you. This is why you did not want to become an author.

He contacted you on Friday night about the press conference. The following week, an email titled The Darkness and the Nightingale - final edits popped up as soon he opened his computer on Thursday morning.

It’s done. Contact me only if there are edits that must absolutely be changed. Going to sleep. Night.

[First Name]

The manuscript had been sent to him at three o’clock in the morning. You had really cut it close but it was here. The story was finished. He quickly opened up the document. He looked over the edits, compared it to what was written before….and nodded in affirmation. Yes. Yandere!Literary Agent thought as he looked over the words, your words, with a small smile, leaning back against his leather chair. This is a story that will sell.

Yandere!Literary Agent placed the manuscript on a flash drive, arranged a meeting with the printing companies and sent you three options for the cover art and needed a response as soon as you were able to. All in all, everything had turned out. A week before the release date arrived, The Darkness and The Nightingale were loaded into trucks to be sold in bookstores across the country.

One task done. Now to move onto the next project.

He deleted your contact info. He had no reason to keep it, at least on his phone. Email was enough. Sure enough, another client sent him a pitch for a new trilogy that would act as the prequel to the original ones that were already popular with young adults, and Yandere!Literary Agent dove head first into it. He hadn’t realized that a month had passed since The Darkness and The Nightingale had been published. This is what usually happens when he concentrates solely on one client. A bad habit, yes, but as he has mentioned beforehand, he is good at his job.

No news yet in regards to Abigail Crowley, the plagiarism issue was dying down in favor of a startlet’s drug overdose, and there was a meeting on Monday to discuss sales. Another win-win for Yulian Prescott, the man who had single-handedly saved the company from going under. But on Friday afternoon, Yandere!Literary Agent received an email from the printing companies and PR department, concerning the sales of your book. Flummoxed, and a little worried that the number of copies unsold outweighed what was printed, he opened the email.

He blinked. And then blinked again before removing his glasses, giving them a good cleaning and placing them back onto his face. He re-read the email again, his eyes growing wider and wider. This wasn’t about copies that weren’t sold….it was a request from five hundred different printing companies to print your book. The demand wasn’t isolated to the States. There were demands from all over the world!

Unlocking his phone, he swiped over to TikTok, searched for Booktok and looked at the trending topics. There were reels, memes, and reactions about your book. There were people quoting about your book, reenactments of certain scenes, before and after reactions, etc. Of course there were some who didn’t believe that you wrote it, thinking you stole it from Abigail, but that was beside the point.

Your first book had taken the world by storm, and he hadn’t even considered this possibility because it has only happened a few times with Sailboat Publishing. He should have negotiated a higher number of books with you! But that was then, this is now.

He quickly opened a new message on his email, attaching the email he had gotten, inquiring you to see what he has seen and if you would allow more copies to be published. His schedule is open, so please answer when you get a chance. He received an email from you a few hours later, stating the following:

I work twelve hour shifts on weekdays and only have weekends to get my life together. Why do we need to discuss numbers? I already received the advanced copy. Were you trying to send an attachment? It didn’t go through. Wi-Fi was down until now.

[First Name]

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately responded, asking if you would like to meet up later today if that was possible. You said that you were still out running a few errands, but could meet him at Sally’s Diner or a Starbucks. Both places were located halfway between his office and your home, at least the ones you knew about. If he wasn’t at work today, where else did he want to meet? You don’t want to travel too far, and you’d like to take a nap before it gets too late in the day. He had to fight off the smile that was threatening to stretch across his mouth. Cheeky. He thought. He already had a light lunch, but he wasn’t opposed to getting a mid-afternoon pickup. When he offered to pay for your drink and a pastry of your choice, you responded that you would meet him there in an hour.

It gave plenty of time to gather what he needed to speak to you about the current situation.

He met you outside of the building at the allotted time, enjoying a light breeze before following you inside, holding the door open for you and a mother-daughter duo exiting with Strawberry Acai Refreshers in their hands.

Once the orders were placed under his name, Yandere!Literary Agent led you to the back of the cafe and sat down at one of the small tables. You followed suit, hooking the straps of your backpack on the back of your chair. “Did you read the attachment?” He asked.

You nodded. “I did. But….you’re absolutely sure the numbers are right, the ones you’ve shown me? Because if this is your idea of a joke, I swear to God -”

Yulian held up a hand in the air, stopping you from saying anything else.

"Believe me I thought the same thing when I first opened it, but this is no joke, [First Name]. Publishing companies from around the world have reached out, requesting mass publications in at least fifteen different languages, at the moment. And according to the PR team, more keep coming. Your work has gone global, [First Name], and more people are wanting to read it."

You looked at him in utter disbelief, leaning back against the chair with wide [Eye Color] orbs. Before you could ask him any more questions, the barista called out for Yulian.

Yandere!Literary Agent stood up, collecting the drinks and pastry and returning to his seat. Placing them down on the table, he gave yours, and put his black coffee to the side so that he could boot up his laptop. He pulled up the reprint requests so you could see it for yourself. The proof that you are a successful writer. You stared at the screen for a moment until you glanced back up at him.

“Why is it so successful? I thought the reason we agreed on a small number of copies to be printed was because of the plagiarism scandal. There’s been nothing on the news about it lately, or about Abigail.”

Yulian smiled. “Because you are a brilliant writer. While we did agree on a small account of copies to be printed, there’s high praise on social media. Everyone is clamoring to read it, hence why the demand is greater than anyone could have anticipated, myself included.” He folded his hands together, elbows pressing against the table. “Now, regarding the…situation with Ms. Crowley, the legal team still has the materials you had shown to me; the receipts from Etsy, the Google Docs, they all have timestamps. So even if she wishes to take it to court, no one can deny that she did indeed steal your work because you created this masterpiece while she was working on another series. And before you say anything, your personal information has and will not be released.”

You nodded slowly at his words, your shoulders dropping in relief before reaching for your beverage, taking a languid sip from the cup. Then another, obviously relishing the effect of caffeine giving your body that much needed energy boost. Yandere! Literary Agent knew the feeling all too well.

“Now, how many copies will you allow us to reprint?”

“What are the fees that will come with doing this kind of job?” You fired back. “If there is a global demand like you say there is, then someone will need to translate it. Not to mention there are different cover designs, marketing, all of that fun stuff. Will the royalties, if I am to receive any, be deducted to cover the cost? I do not want to get myself into any more debt that I already have.”

Yandere!Literary Agent pulled out his laptop from his messenger bag, pulling up the spreadsheets that the publishing and financing departments had created earlier in the week. The information included fees for translating, reprinting, and international shipping based on demand. On the very bottom of the last spreadsheet would be your net income.

He had no doubt that this amount of money would allow you to be debt-free and live comfortably…at least until you could write another book. Then he saw the confusion, panic, excitement and anxiety swirling in your irises. The mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. Yandere!Literary Agent had seen that stupefied look more than once. It was the expression of someone who had not expected to receive such a big paycheck, at least until he had kindly explained that there were some fees which needed to be paid, which would be deducted from the royalties. With you, it seemed like he did not have to hold your hand and explain how the business of publishing went, word for word.

Which is why he was quite surprised to see you suddenly standing up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. “Where are you going?” He asked, watching you push in the chair.

“I’m leaving.”

“But you still haven’t decided on a number of copies for us to reprint!”

“I’m sorry, but I am not liking where this conversation is headed. As I mentioned before, I write for fun. This isn’t about the money, and I have no desire whatsoever to be your next cash cow. Can’t you decide on a number and call it a day?”

“Not without your consent! That would be in direct violation of our contract, and you wouldn’t be paid for the reprinted copies!” He exclaimed. Yes, he knew that he was acting a bit…childish, but this is a serious matter! How could you even think of walking away from a one-in-a-million opportunity like this? Or even believe that he would use your writing to embellish the company’s reputation further by being the sole representative of an extremely popular, best-selling writer?

Because in the darkest corner of his mind, a nasty voice would gleefully agree with your accusations. This was nothing personal, it was a business. And he would go where there was talent, and money. Not to mention elevate his status even further as a high-in-demand literary agent for one of the biggest publishing companies in the States.

You raised an eyebrow at him, then leaned forward, putting your hands on the back of the chair.

“Mister Prescott, for a minute, please pretend I am not a client and explain in layman’s terms, why would I be paid for that? As far as I was concerned, once the book is out of my hands, it is your responsibility and how the printing is handled. Or am I wrong?”

A client. That’s right….you weren’t a client. You were just a hobbyist writer who had your work stolen by one of his clients. But you were still a writer, someone who could create worlds while working godawful shifts back-to-back. So he spoke plainly to you.

While you were not officially his client, your work was still part of Sailboat Publishing, therefore it is his responsibility to ensure that the royalties matched the time and effort you had put in creating The Darkness and The Nightingale. Yes, he had to make sure the quality of the book’s printing were high quality and not a hackneyed rush job just to keep up with the demand.

Then he said he would be delighted if he could be your official representative…in the near future.

You shook your head. “No need for that. You returned my story to me. After we decide on numbers, I’d say your business with me is done.”

“You don’t want to be an author on the New York Times’ Bestseller List.” It was more of a statement than a question. So why did his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the thought of never seeing you again once you walk out of the door?

“I’m pretty sure you have more than enough clients to keep yourself busy for a long time.” You said dryly. “You’d drive yourself crazy if you worked with me.”

“And how do you know that it won’t work out?” He challenged you with a small smile. You just gave him an ‘are-you-shitting-me’ frown before releasing a low sigh.

“I still have six more months left on my contract with the hospital. I can’t just quit or I risk having to pay back everything as compensation for breaching it before the end of the contract. I wouldn’t be able to do anything related to the book, like tours and interviews until…sometime next year? No, more like the beginning of next year, like around February. I am starting to outline the concept of another idea I have for a book, a standalone, but I only write on my days off or when I’m on my lunch break. Are you fine with waiting until I send you a query letter and the first fifty pages until next February? Is that too long for your liking?”

Yandere! Literary Agent was not bothered by this proposition. If anything, it worked out perfectly with his schedule. And there is the prospect of you becoming his official client. However, he did not want to push your boundaries any more than he already has for today. Instead, he said that it was fine with him.

“If you agree to us printing more copies of The Darkness and The Nightingale, then we’ll be all set until next year. Do you want to use the same cover worldwide, or do you want us to come up with some alternative covers for different countries, and send you the designs you like?”

“...Alternative.” You said, pulling back the chair and sitting back down, backpack plopped into the adjacent seat. “Do you have any artists that you recommend, or have portfolios I could look at?”

Decisions were discussed within the next hour, and Yandere!Literary Agent was satisfied with leaving Starbucks with an idea of what his Monday morning is going to look like. But what satisfied him more was the number of copies that he and you agreed on. Fifty-thousand, in each language.

It was enough to make his heart quicken with excitement.

Or is he anticipating the momentous day when you signed a contract with Sailboat Publishing and he became your literary agent? Six months might seem like a long time….but he prided himself on being a patient man.

Knowing he will be the best damned agent for you, because you deserve nothing less, and much more.

Knowing he will be the only one to read your WIPS, help you become a better writer, protect you from the paparazzi and anyone else who would dare to try to covet you like a trophy.

Knowing that in the end, all you will have is him. And he will have you, whether you like it or not.

If Abigail Crowley keeps trying to contact him, pleading that she wasn’t wrong and that she did have a new idea for a book so please read her emails she’s been sending please give her one more chance don’t ruin her life please…he might have to do something about it.

Noisy dogs need to be fed, right?

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