#bless you angry space wife

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

Tags:

@jksjx @lovingkoalaface @junecat18 @babystarcandyjk97 @wobblewobble822 @a-gayish-unicorn @neverthefirstchoice @whipwhoops @hubbytaehyung @jalexad@cassies-cookies @llallaaa @marshieeeemallow @baechugff @lovemazespluto @eegyo @iwanttobecalledaurora @harmonyflora @francheskarm34 @sftlrmin @saba-ya @11thenightwemet11 @yoursnixni @zafirowwa2909 @btsffreader92 @junniesoleilkth @iamcamlb @bangctans @lilliankoo @talyaaas-blog @blackswan18 @appleh4ad @hoseokteardrop @613tannies @whoa-jo @borahaeb1ch @getougf @chimmisbae @kookcobain @miniekookiegucci @purplelanterns @eegyo @inthemiddleofsomething22-blog @darkuni63 @bibimboppin19 @phanniefoo @chieftoadturkeynickel @existenciosa @dasommwa @hrndez2008 @minayas1998 @sumzysworld @pwd54gr54 @jellycake2109 @sigxx123 @00frenchfries00 @importantperfectionmiracle @stigma93 @lpgirl2324 @youremyjinearth @moonups-stuff @bubblyyz @hvnnibvni @ttanniett

side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can I please headcanons with Agni/reader/Soma triangle, where both fell in love with a maid of Phantomhive who is older than Soma, but younger than Agni (about 23-26 years old)?

For your information, Soma is 17 years old and Agni is 31 and I just decided that the darling is 24 in this headcannon. Also as an additional information, there is a passage of time in those Hc’s so Soma is at the beginning of those Hc’s 17 but turns 18 as the story progresses.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, clinginess, delusional behavior, stalking, overprotective behavior, manipulation, guilt-tripping

Taglist: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz

Falling in love with the same s/o

🍛​🤜​You are bound to get acquainted with both Soma and Agni, considering that Soma likes to spend time with the young Earl which would be the fastest way for you to meet the duo as well as the case where you would see those two the most. Soma in that case would be the one who would fall for you first without a single doubt, absolutely enamored with you and everything you do. Really, it isn't hard to notice that he is head over heels for you as he is talking about you nonstop and likes to follow you around. He is distracting you from the work you are supposed to do and this is where Agni decides to hold his prince back to give you time and space to finish your chores. He understands that you need to do your duties and that Soma is for the better or worse just hindering you from working as efficient as you normally could. Agni is also just as aware that all of Ciel's servants are extremely skilled and dangerous even if they may not look like it on first glance. You are no exception.

🍛​🤜​Whilst Agni has yet to fall and has sympathy with you, Soma is far more entitled than that. He is angry and frustrated whenever Agni has to pull him away from you and he is almost acting like a bratty child at times, awfully spoiled. Yes, he knows that you are technically the servant of Ciel and not his own but he still wants to spend time with you and your chores seem to be constantly in the way. Can't you just let someone else do them for you or just drop them and spend some time with him instead? Soma is very distracting and it only because of your patience that you seem to be able to skillfully blend him out whenever you are focused on your tasks, much to his dismay. The young prince hates to be ignored, especially since he has even been neglected by his biological family since he had so many siblings. He is whining, complaining and even forcing himself in front of you just so that you have to look at him with a frustrated pout on his face, upset that you ignore him as often as you do.

🍛​🤜​You receive presents, flowers and much more from Soma as the young prince seems to already have the wedding planned for you two. Being delusional truly can be a blessing and a curse at the same time as he even informs Ciel about this spontanously. The young lord is in his office working on some documentaries when Soma suddenly slams the door open and a flustered and apologetic Agni follows him and urges him to think it over again. Yet nothing can stop Soma who slams his palms on the desk and blurts out in Ciel's face that he plans to marry you and that Ciel will have to let you go because Soma doesn't want his wife to work for someone as a wedded couple should spend all of their time together. So bold and confident is he that Ciel chokes on his own saliva for a couple of seconds before he gives the prince a flabbergasted look. The entire household finds out about it within the same day as Soma walks around and declares to all of them that he's going to marry you. Agni is the one who is left apologising to everyone, including you.

🍛​🤜​You get quite close to Agni due to all of the commotion that Soma causes as he is the one defending you against his own prince. He is loyal to the young prince of course but he knows that you work for the Earl of Phantomhive and respects your own wishes. He promises you that Soma is a good person but just very easily caught up in his own daydreams and you can truly see that every single day where Soma follows you around like a lost puppy and tells you about what clothes he wants you to wear, considering which color would suit you best and even brings you jewelry he wants you to wear on your wedding. So ecstatic is he about it all that he even wants to marry you two times considering that you grew up in London and he grew up in India. You can plan the second marriage in England if you want to. Agni can only silently thank the heaven that you are as patient and considerate as you are as you could have easily broken Soma's heart multiple times by now, although somehow Agni doubts Soma would stop even then.

🍛​🤜​Agni's obsession is honestly a slowburn and barely noticeable to the point where he himself doesn't even notice. You spend time with Soma because you like him in a way you would like a friend, you reject his proposals and Agni can only tell his prince exasperated that he should respect your feelings yet Soma doesn't believe you when you tell him that you don't see him in a romantic way. You're just hiding your feelings because if you wouldn't feel the same way he does, why do you still spend time with him? As Agni is busy holding Soma somewhat back from his delusional love, he himself barely realises that he starts growing feelings for you too as both of you also spend a lot of time together and even do chores together when Agni offers his help. Soma offers to help too because he doesn't want to feel left out and doesn't want Agni to just hog your attention but he most of the time only ends up giving you two more work. Soma never learns though so the cycle repeats itself again and again.

🍛​🤜​Agni is much more subtle than Soma, which is admittedly not that hard, but still. His creeping obsession is expressed in his growing protective feelings over you despite knowing that you are very capable of protecting yourself and by the time he comes to realise what has happened, it is already far too late to stop himself. He feels guilty though as he knows that Soma is already a bit overbearing for you and the last thing that you would want is him acting the same. Agni is much more practiced in his own self-control though which is why he holds himself back and that becomes even more apparent as soon as he is aware of his own emotions. He almost grows more distant to not make another burden from you and instead likes to observe from a few steps away but at the same time he also feels bad when you approach him and ask him if something has happened as you have noticed his change in behavior. He doesn't want to give you the impression that it is your fault after all.

🍛​🤜​Soma and Agni are pretty capable of sharing but Agni just doesn't have the courage to tell you nor Soma about his feelings. He feels guilty for admitting that he has fallen the same way for you as Soma has and at the same time he doesn't want to take your time away from Soma as he knows how much Soma adores and loves you yet he also feels guilty for keeping this from the both of you. It is a quite complicated situation Agni finds himself in and he spends days and nights pondering how he could tell the both of you. he actually decides to tell it to you first as he is worried that Soma would react too dramatically. He knows that you will react to it in a calmer way than his prince would and he actually apologises to you for his own feelings. Soma, as expected, is reacting very dramatically. Above all though he is disappointed that Agni hasn't told him about it before and has instead kept it a secret from him. Whilst Agni reassures his prince that he won't try to steal you from Soma, it is actually Soma who makes the decision that Agni should still spend time with you.

🍛​🤜​Agni has been nothing but loyal to him after all. At least Agni balances out Soma's clinginess and delusional thinking as he can hold the young prince back from being too overwhelming with you. The age difference will also have some influence as you tend to treat Soma like a young boy due to him being younger than you and whilst Soma is definitely spoiled and acts like a child at times, he still insists that you see him as a man and stop thinking of him as a boy. Agni on the other hand at times feels more inclined to protect you because he is older than you. Soma is very open with his adoration as he literally worships everything you do but it is worth mentioning that for Agni you are also something more than just his love. You have given him a new meaning to a new life that was given to him by his prince and whilst he isn't as physically touching or as verbal as Soma is, he does a lot of quiet gestures to show you his eternal love.

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Dark!Rhys, mafia AU, very much in the “omegas are property” type of omegaverse here. Non-con in future chapters.

Chapter II

Feyre

“I’m not sharing a room with you. You can forget that now.” The room was lovely of course. The whole villa was. Built for luxury, the two story home was all open space and clean lines, one room flowing smoothly into the next while the dark color scheme of blue and black dominated most of the property. At least the first floor, which was the only one she’d had the time to see before her captor’s tour led them to his bedroom.

“Omega.” 

That single word was an order in itself and she almost caved to it. Probably would have if she wasn’t so angry at his presumptuous attitude. “I’m already your prisoner. I won’t be your toy too. And I don’t care how much money and power and influence you may have in this city. I am not a thing to own and order about like one of your goons.”

Sighing, Rhys took her by the hips and forced her backwards until her legs hit the end of the bed and she lost her balance. Though her skimpy auction dress had been replaced with jeans and a loose top before they’d deplaned, Feyre still felt entirely exposed to him when he leaned over her, fists braced on either side of her head, the width of his hips forcing her legs wide. 

He was so damn big. Some tiny, yet not-insignificant part of her wanted to roll over and obey every word that rolled off his tongue—fall into the trap her mother had tried to push her into when Feyre first presented as a pre-teen, mere months after her sister had been sold off to some wealthy alpha looking for a sweet little broodmare.

But surely in this day and age, omegas could find more than a life of servitude, couldn’t they? She felt horrid even thinking it, but she was stronger than Elain in some ways. She could fight that instinct to bend to an alpha if she really wanted to. Keep her autonomy. There had to be a limit to an alpha’s dominance, surely.

“You will have a role here, Feyre. I doubt you’ll enjoy it at first, but you’ll cooperate.”

“Fat chance.” She made a swing at him, but he caught her by the wrist before she could actually land a blow, pinning both hands over her head with humbling ease. “Get your hands off of me!”

One sharp growl and she was baring her neck to him, crushing any hopes of fighting her instincts as an omega. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say, little girl. Or you’re going to end up with a very sore bottom. Is that clear?” She swallowed, hating how the command bled into her, setting her shivering beneath him. She was in no position to ask him to purr for her after being so difficult, not that she wanted to turn to him for comfort in the long run.

“What is my—my role,” she choked out, ignoring that base urge to lick up the column of his throat when he leaned in closer. He was a monster, she loathed the man. But he was also devastatingly handsome, and after so long hiding away from alphas… it was just her body’s natural response. It said nothing about her as a person—or her mental stability. “Why did you bid for me?” 

It was likely just a matter of the rarity of omegas. Having two in her family was unheard of; their family tree suggested it was a genetic “blessing”, but it hardly seemed to matter now. She just hoped this was about more than a rich guy wanting a trophy wife. She wanted to be worth more than that, even in this cruel world where it was so unlikely.

Rolling off of her, Rhys arranged her so she was straddling his lap, gently bending her arms so he could both cage her torso with his arms and keep her wrists clasped in his hand. “I won’t try to hit you again,” she mumbled. She had to put space between them before she did something stupid on impulse alone.

“Forgive me for doubting your honesty, darling.” The half-smile her comment earned slipped from his face. “As I said, this arrangement is purely for my benefit, but I expect you to cooperate. If you can’t manage that then there will be consequences.”

“Like a spanking?” she grumbled.

“Perhaps. The severity will suit the infraction, that I promise.” She wasn’t sure how honest he was being then, but she didn’t dare say as much. “All that said, it’s up to you just how unpleasant this has to be. I’d love nothing more than to spoil you rotten, but I won’t tolerate you fighting me constantly.”

“I can fight you sometimes, then?” She clamped her mouth shut immediately, flinching away as much as his hold would allow.

He chuckled. “Bratty little thing. I’ll let you decide the risk and reward in that.” Again, his humor slipped away all to quickly. “In my line of work there are many risks, and precautions I have to take. Contingency plans, if you will.

“There are more people than I care to admit who want me dead, Feyre. The next in line to take my place is an unfavorable option.” The pieces were coming together. She knew why she was here, and yet she still prayed he wouldn’t say it. She was barely nineteen. “You’re going to give me an heir, Feyre. Several if I have it my way.” And he would have it his way, she knew. Alphas always did. “Your next heat will be induced, unless your cycle is approaching in the next few weeks.”

Cold dread rushed through her at that. “You can’t force a heat.”

“I assure you, little one, a single injection and you’ll be begging for my knot within a few hours. When was your last heat, Feyre? And do not try to lie to me.”

She swallowed. “June.”

“You have a year between them?” She nodded. “Once you’re settled I’ll call for the doctor. Start making your nest, pet.”

“And if I don’t?”

Clearly unimpressed with her pointless argument, he leaned in, the tip of his nose dragging across the tender skin beneath her jaw. “If you don’t nest, Omega, you’ll be feeling even more vulnerable and stressed all through your heat. I’m going to fuck you whether you make a nest or not. I already told you I want to make this easier for you. Stubbornness isn’t going to save you this time.” ~~~~~  Feyre made a half-hearted nest on the floor that night, though her captor had certainly done his best to coax her into the massive bed. If there was one good trait Rhys had it was basic respect for the creation and occupancy of a nest. Feyre might not be acting out at the moment, but she didn’t trust him. And until he gained her trust—which was never going to happen—he wasn’t getting anywhere near her nest.

With the fluffy blankets and body pillow beneath her she was perfectly comfortable on the floor, not to mention exhausted from jetlag. But she still found sleep impossible to reach. The heavy sigh from the bed an hour after the lights were turned out told her all of her tossing and turning was keeping Rhys up too.

“Feyre, come here.” She laid still, hoping he’d roll over and forget about her. No such luck, as a moment later two strong arms were hooked under her knees and back. She squeaked, but didn’t struggle.

Not when he was already purring for her. It immediately soothed her anxious energy.”New places are hard to sleep in, aren’t they, sweet girl? We’ll get you adjusted.” Against her better judgment, she melted into his chest, groaning softly when his fingers carded through her hair. “That’s it, darling. So sweet for your Alpha.”

“Alpha,” she murmured, nuzzling in just above his collar bone and letting his addictive scent wash over her. “Smell good.”

“So damn sweet,” he muttered again. “Eyes closed, sweetheart. Sleep now.”

“Purr?”

“Of course, darling. Sweet dreams.”

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[halfetirosie]

✩‧₊˚ Let's Get Confused!!! :D ✩‧₊˚

(Star Message 01 - 05 React-os!)

1) Wait, so you're telling me that Blade's storytelling put kids to sleep???

That's quite odd!

I mean, yeah, a lot of what he was saying was confusing the kids. But I would think that, with how animated Blade was being, it would still be entertaining enough to keep them awake. 🤷‍♀️

It's funny how polite Olivine is being about it---spinning it into a positive outcome. Bless your little heart!

2) Uh-oh! My workaholic wife is back at it again! 😂

My mans really does overwork himself...

If I were the Captain, I would've forced a ton of vacations onto him, too! :D

I personally can't really relate to this side of Edmond's personality---the obsession with his work. I'm the kind of person that has had to do way more work than I was comfortable doing in the past, to the point that my personal life was non-existent, but as soon as it wasn't necessary to have such a large workload I didn't push myself to keep up that insane schedule.

Edmond, on the other hand, has just gotten so used to constantly working, that at this point it's difficult to stop...

Maybe it's because he had that sort of schedule for even long than I ever did, since he's a noble? That, combined with his natural integrity/work ethic?

3) Eiden out here validating the fans' comments about the space-appropriateness of their clothes---

---and Blade giving a very reasonable explanation---

I like to think the the tailor also has a devious mind, determined to bring out the maximum sexy-potential of each project they receive (even if their "added elements" will require them to do an additional wardrobe-change later)!

It's also very possible that Eiden's collaborations with them have tainted their formerly-innocent tastes...

😈😈😈😈😈

4) Edmond, sweetie---no offense, but HOW is this any more scandalous than your usual outfits??? 🤨

Is it because your stomach is showing?---No, that can't be it, because the ceremonial clothes in his Knightly Night SSR show his stomach.

Is it because your shoulders are bare?---No, because the shirt in the prison guard outfit of Vigilant Observer is sleeveless...But then again, perhaps the guards are expected to keep that jacket/overshirt on over the sleeveless shirt, so maybe that really is the reason???

I AM CONFUSION!!!

EDMOND, PLEASE EXPLAIN WHAT YOU CONSIDER "MODEST!"

It is quite nice seeing Blade and Eiden being so supportive to Edmond, tho.

They see him feeling a little uncomfortable, and Blade immediately reassures him [of the clothes' utility] while Eiden hypes him up. It's so sweet!!!

5) Blade and his not-at-all worrying ideas °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Can I just say---I LOVE the fact that Edmond takes Blade's question seriously.

I (along with many other fans) see Blade as strong representation for neuro-divergent individuals; and IRL, many such people act "eccentric" or ask questions that people think are "silly/weird."

So, Edmond taking Blade seriously---just like he treats everything/everyone seriously---without getting angry or annoyed is such a delight! We love to see it!

6) I love it when Blade hops into Robo Mode at the most unexpected times!

It's funnier when the situation is less serious than this, but hey, I still enjoyed it!

Also, the voice-acting bit during this part was fantastic. Blade's voice sounds so cool!

7) Blade, honey---are you telling me you can catch a FUCKIN METEOR all by yourself????

BRUH.

I knew he was built to be a hella-strong sorcerer-murderer robot, but putting his strength in the context of earth-science terms makes it even more insane.

8) It's quite impressive how nonchalant blade is being about all of this... (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Like, he and Edmond just stopped a FUCKIN METEOR from crashing into the tower and killing people, and he's over here cracking little jokes!

What a legend!

9) So, as soon as I saw this---

---for some reason, I immediately thought of this;

Which is a fine and dandy meme, but I'd say that Blade is completely justified in his assumption that the thingy from the sky is alien tech; it isn't a crackpot theory, an thus, I wouldn't say this meme is completely applicable... But maybe I'm just being too picky with my meme-etiquette. :D

10) Wait, so this isn't even the first time that "starscape creatures" have sent a message to Klein?

🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

But from what I've gathered so far, the message is just supposed to be a sort of audio message---so how does he know about what kind of environment the starscape creatures live in???

Does the audio talk about where they live??? Do they speak the same language as they do in Klein, or is it somehow possible to interpret the alien language when given no context/prior exposure to that language????

11) Rei, no offense, but you kinda suck at explaining things....

Seriously.

WAT? ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) ?

Am I just stupid, or did Rei just say the same thing twice but in different ways?

I can't be the only on that doesn't get it, right?

Would this make more sense if I knew more about audio transfer, or like, how radio works???

12) *Voice dripping with sarcasm:*

Oh boy, how reassuring! 😂😂😂

I know for a fact Rei is perfectly capable of making people feel better, but I guess he ain't feeling very charitable right now! (Which, I would think he would be, since they brought him an interesting new thing to research...)

★ End of report! ★

[ghoulishundertakings]

✒️

Mae enjoyed the spectacle of the gallows, the theatrics, so different from the field of battle where death was merely a breeze across the face and another placed in line. It buzzed here, filled the (admittedly limited) spaces between person. Those around seemed livelier for it. Funny that. She smiled to herself, pleased with the joke.

Her view was distressingly obstructed from the main event. She slid, pushed and more than once poked with the tip of her knife to get close.

Literature would have her look at the gallows with awe, fear, a measure of romanticism, borderline otherworldly in its purpose to summon death. It should strike her as a huge, larger than the lives it was built to snuff out. However, when she looked at the man on the back of the wagon, it seemed like it might be built too small. He was handsome, dark haired, broad, tall -- a striking man, really. And he grinned as if this was all a joke too. She found she agreed, and while they may be laughing at a different joke their smiles were equally wide.

The cacophony of the crowd was a small price to pay for the show. "Murderer, kill him, witch," all accusations sounded in equal parts around her and as she smelled the air of the wagon passing, through the grime, dirt, and blood on him they were right one one account.

It seemed Mae was not the only one to notice, his eyes found her quickly, locked on her until she thought his neck might break. He should thank her it didn't, she already made her way through the crowd, following the cart with more force than strictly necessary, and faster perhaps than should be possible for a woman with a cane. She might pay for the exertion later in the day, but the calculus had been done.

Alive was better than dead for her. There was a lot of power in him and a life debt would do her a great deal of good. Unfortunate for him, she supposed, but he would have many a year to come to terms with it and she did not plan on being much about -- it would be nearly freedom.

The horse and cart stopped at the same time she did. By the time they had unloaded him she had already found her way to the priest.

"Priest, I will have this man for a husband for his freedom. And I will take him from this town." An old law, near ancient, she did not even know if any would honor it now. The priest seemed equally uncertain, but lacked the ability to hide it. He stared at the man, who must have just arrived, and who grinned all the more.

"I will have her if that is your concern," he assured, turning his smile to her once again. She did not smile back.

A bystander heard, and soon the crowd quieted, awaiting the result or perhaps deciding if they preferred a wedding to a death. In truth, it was a barely more than a child that made the decision for them all, a young woman.

"Mercy, a wedding." Whether she meant the wedding a mercy, or it was a simple exclamation, Mae could not say. If it were the first, she would disagree.

The cry was soon taken up by another and another until the crowd was booming once more, and the priest outvoted. He sighed relieved, offering his hands up to the hangman and law keepers as a sign that it was out of his hands and in God's despite the fact that none made a move to argue.

The wedding was short, only a blessing and vows after which she turned once again to face him, wondering if he ever stopped smiling. It would seem he did, if only for kissing -- a smart move, the crowd cried out in joy at it, that should keep them from turning angry mob before they left.

Mae stared up at him as he pulled away, slightly annoyed that she had not thought of the idea first. Not one to be outdone, even if these particular dramatics were not her forte, she blinked quickly as if blinded by the sun and smiled back at him.

"Come husband, we must go home."

"After you, wife."

@wretchedxdivine

[fuwaprince]

I'm howling as in doing whatever Howl is doing here in this gif

Got no family, my friends are all far and most aren't even in positions to support themselves (bless them) let alone others/questionably-worthy me. Life feels almost loveless, the economy sucks and I still haven't got a job. I get daily reminders that the people closest to me don't particularly enjoy me taking up space.

My body is twitching and I'm just so alone. I don't speak as in talk to anybody who actually likes and wants to talk to me so whenever I use my voice it's usually to defend myself or escape an interrogative situation. Barelyyyy eating enough. I'm actively losing weight not in a good way

This next one is big.

The one person willing to help me irl is a disrespectful creep to say the least. I'm hurt that people can be so shallow and sickly motivated. I'm sad that no one else here cares. His care comes off so insincerely when he says it's "because he GENUINELY loves me" but consistently doesn't fuckin act very loving. Do I block him? HOW COULD I? I TRULY depend on him for emergencies... rides to interviews, for covering the difference when I'm short on rent, for food when begging doesn't work. He was the only person willing to look for me when I was on the streets and maybe his reason for doing so wasn't very nice but he did it. That means something to me I guess? What does it mean?

I straight up BEG this dude "PLEASE... DO NOT only decide to help my desperate ass based on the premise that you expect your fantasies (that I'm going to be pressured enough into becoming your wife legal possession at the end of all this) to turn into reality!!!!!!".

When I need a hug and have no one but he says he's willing to drive to see me, I HATE knowing I need to say no because I know it's also like saying yes to something else secretly!!! I just want hugs. Innocent physical intimacy. Handholding, just sitting on a bench close enough to touch! I need a hug more than I need food sometimes so it feels.

If I ask him to stop, he asks WHY HUH? 😡 while continuing. Anyone remember Boris from Dreaming Mary? He does this all the time so I expect it when I see him and he immediately gets touchy. When I kindly remind him that I'm not interested, he suddenly shifts into offended fucking asshole. Rude comments. Degradation. Suddenly starts talking about his gun and how he wants to shoot it and wants a new one 🙄. Sometimes it's pettier punishment like I'll be lucky to get a response if I dare mention anybody else especially if I love them more than him. I grieved my ex gf and he was just not happy about that at all. Kept demanding I explain why it couldn't be him and kept being all "what makes her so great? 🙄 pfft" ( EVERYTHING BTW SHE WAS THE MOON AND STARS AND I WILL FOREVER STAY LOYAL TO HER). But no this dude gets NASTY MEAN. Don't fall for the sad boy shit. Like he hopes I fucking starve without him type shit!!!!!!!!!! He'll ignore me complaining about hunger pains all the time but when he wants to he'll ignore me and then come back after some period of punishment (shunning) like "did you want food? get ready so you can get a small snack" "there's snacks at my house" and what am I going to say??? No???? Well actually that is exactly correct. I do say no because I'm that fucking seriously not interested and I choose to starve over taking that.

He gets angry but he knows his demands aren't possible. NOT A CHANCE . I'll say it to his face. I have to walk on eggshells but I still hate to be taken advantage of because I'm not standing my ground.

He still tries to tower over me and shit when I'm turned around and I elbow/kick behind me to remind him I fucking feel his body heat because that's how close he is without actually touching me. He likes to do that in stores. I was in so much pain from cramps that I accepted his offer to go to the store in the middle of the night. There was a store open down the street from my house but he chose to drive to the one farthest away and says oops when I ask where he's going. He misses every exit he possibly can before I catch on when taking me back to where I live on the way back from trips like these. He always does that. It's so manipulative and shitty. Just take me fucking home.

One time he saw I had a stun gun in my bag while going through it without my permission and he said I didn't need to carry that around him and I said I sure as hell do. Which fucking sucks. Any normal person would just exit and block but if I did that, who would I be able to turn to? He really has caused me trouble but I would be in greater trouble without him and that's the truth. The only answer is to lean on myself or get the support of the state, which I was receiving and then my mom sabotaged (!) So it got cancelled which is why I'm depending on the help that he happens to offer! Do you see the issues there? I don't have any family. My friends can't help me besides sending me virtual hugs and everybody is so tired. They're doing their best not to be depressed and here I come! A doomsday cloud big enough to cover the sun. I wouldn't want to talk to me either. I've been blocked for asking for help from friends just because people don't want to be involved and don't want the stress. I remember "I want that shit out of my hair".

Another thing: I call my stuffed animal my son because like... Idk. He's my son!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And that creepy asshole fucker kept calling him HIS SON and OUR SON and I got so pissed and kept correcting him. The same way I would correct him when he'd call me his girlfriend to his friends.

Can someone who isn't him please care more than he does?

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #1:

Joan Baez's Come from the Shadows

Joan Baez had a lot of options of where to go next in 1971.

She could elbow her way into the new female singer-songwriter space alongside Joni Mitchell, Sandy Denny and Carole King and kick some privileged male ass (Blue, The Northstar Grassman and the Ravens and Tapestry all came out in 71; Dylan and Young put out absolutely nothing).

She could shrug off that ridiculous challenge and compete with the blossoming Linda Ronstadt, turning songs by men into sexy, feminist anthems. Or she could play the dedicated wife to her jailed husband David. Finally, she could dump him and proudly sleep with strangers, all the while pining after Dylan.

Or she could just protest the damn war.

Come From The Shadows, which you can easily find in your local record store's dollar bin (that's what we will be doing in this blog: trolling through my hundreds of dollar bin records; thanks for reading!), has a cover which clearly announces that her priority is Protest.

Can you think of a less commercial and less self-promoting record cover? (I can: her husband David's painting of a funeral on her previous record, Blessed Are..., makes the cover of Self Portrait look like high art; the cover screams "don't buy me for kicks. I am an ugly bummer." Happily the double album is oddly full of light and joy.)

Come From The Shadows' cover photo of two elderly Vietnam protesters under arrest strikes a similarly confrontational tone, but this one isn't ugly. Instead, we know right off that we are either with Joan and her groovy octogenarian jailbirds, or we are pro-war. I'm obviously pro-Joan.

I wish I was in the room when this cover was discussed. Joe Salesperson must have choked on his pipe smoke while ordering a telegram that both begged and ordered Baez to put her pretty face on the cover instead. Somehow Baez had the chutzpah, clout and fierce determination to potentially doom her own record in the name of justice. And so we see these rain drenched hippies, who are matched on the reverse of the gatefold by a concise and angry essay from Joan herself, where she tells us, "in 1972 if you don't fight against a rotten thing you become a part of it." Sounds about right to me!

While we are at it, can you name one record cover by any other female artist before Court and Spark that does not focus on the woman's looks? (Damn, I just thought of one: Joni Mitchell's first record...). Anyway, Baez's cover (and the photo of her on the album's backside, in which she sports a reckless, can't be bothered haircut) manages to protest the war and female objectification at the same time.

But drop the needle on any battered, long-ignored, bargain bin copy of this record and everything gets way more complicated. Turns out that Baez had just about every goal possible in 1972, and all at the same time.

Prison Trilogy, the first track, is in keeping with her cover, as she protests the American prison system (not too surprising a topic given the fact that she'd married a guy, allegedly my mother's cousin's roommate at Stanford, who'd been in prison for refusing the draft). But Baez wrote it. Look out singer-songwriters, Joan's in the game! Songwriting wasn't entirely new for Baez; she'd written Song for David a few years before. But half the songs on this record are penned by Baez, by far her highest quota to date. None of her tracks here touch what Sandy, Joni or Carole had done in the preceding months, but they're all pretty good.

What's more, there's some weird stuff going on in her writing. She has a song about the crisis in Bangladesh and, as near as I can tell, she had nothing to do with George Harrison's male-centric benefit concert that had taken place at the end of 71. We know Stephen Stills was at that show, but was Joan? Stills, who doesn't belong as low down in Rock and Roll Hell as Mike Love but still shares the same zip code, spent the night of the Concert for Bangladesh backstage drunk and annoying everyone. He seems to have made that one of his specialties actually. Night of Hurricane found him demanding a whole room full of coke before he'd perform; and check him out in the bonus/rejected footage of The Last Waltz; it looks as though he is unaware of how one makes music. Anyway, was Baez riding the coattails of Harrison with her song about Bangladesh, or did she do this on her own and set the stage for the men to follow? Who knows!

Baez writes another song on this record that is straight-forwardly about sleeping around with some male stranger. There's nothing ambiguous about it; it's called Love Song to a Stranger and there's talk of him standing "nude by the mirror" while presenting her with a rose. A lovely image! I'll bet her husband would have loved hearing that one in the slammer. But he got out in 71, just before this came out, so I suppose she played it for him when he got home; hopefully the stranger had put on some pants by that point. I'm not passing any judgment here; it's a better approach than Clytemnestra took when Agamemnon walked in the door and I'm impressed with how bold and unapologetic Baez is here. We all know that non-males still get judged for being promiscuous while men still can get grinning props for the same thing. Happily, it turns out that Baez has been shouting at us from the dollar bin about this form of injustice for the past 51 years.

Growing up we had a copy of Diamonds and Rust, Baez huge hit record from a few years later. It was a relic of my mother's pre-motherhood life as a feminist who lived out the plot of 9 to 5 a full dozen years before that bizarro film was conceived. She also happened to have Kris Kristofferson as a cousin, which is endlessly cool. Anyway, the title track of Diamonds and Rust always struck me as a big deal because it's obviously written to and about Dylan, and it's intense. Well, it turns out Diamonds and Rust is the second (maybe there are more?) song Baez wrote directly to Dylan. Side 2 of Come From the Shadows keeps up her trend of obvious song naming; it's called To Bobby and it calls him out unambiguously for ditching The Movement to write songs about the man within himself whose ubiquitous brown coat appears on every cover instead of Joan's anti-war grandparents. Did Dylan listen to songs like this that are obviously about him? What was their conversation like when they next saw each other?

Bob: Hey Joanie, that's an intense song you wrote there. Who's it about?

Baez: You Bob. It's about you.

Bob: Gee wiz, Joanie. Just don't tell my wife, okay? I just wrote one called about you too. It's called Wigwam.

The songs on Come From The Shadows not written by Baez are an odd grab bag of moods. Baez out Ronstadts Linda by covering Imagine just an album after covering Let It Be. Both Baez covers are solid, with Baez sounding less strident than she can at times. But I'm guessing everyone on planet earth, including your great grandparents, had heard these tunes before Joan included them. We may scratch our heads at such obvious and seemingly redundant covers today, but keep in mind that for most of the listening public The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down was a song by Joan Baez.

Unlike Imagine and Let it Be, the album's very best track, Rainbow Road, didn't make its way into every progressive 70's summer camp songbook. My cool queer kids think it's a gay anthem - and it should be! Take a listen, and thanks for joining me in the Dollar Bin.

[anerdquemoraaolado]

A place in the world

So, here you have it guys! Neteyam x Oc story first chapter, I hope you enjoy!

If there was one word that defined Lay'ti, according to her own conception of how she saw herself, it was confusion. First, she had a huge responsibility since she was a child, but the day she would assume that responsibility, no matter how much she grew up and was older now, it seemed to never come. Growing up dealing with that idea confused her.

Second, every young Omaticaya had to become a hunter to be part of the people effectively. Though well schooled by one of the best warriors and hunters in the tribe, she had barely survived her ritual in the Hallelujah Mountains. She had scars on her arm from her ikran bites to prove it. It had been a fight she didn't think she would survive, but here she was, alive, part of the people, truly, even if she wasn't the most prodigious of hunters.

What made Lay'ti feel really useful was cooking and learning how to be tsahik directly from Mo'at, whom she greatly admired, the two had created a strong connection since Lay'ti was just a child, for more than a reason.

The young woman remembered seeing the confused Olo'eyktan, looking at her, and at the boy beside her, his son. A ten-year-old Neteyam, silent, as embarrassed as she was. Glancing up, she saw Jake staring at her parents.

-You must forgive me for what I'm going to say, but that seems strange, forced to me - he said with all possible caution - she's just a child, they're children, it seems unfair to me to take that decision out of their lives.

-Ma'Jake, it's tradition, for them it would be an honor to be part of our family, and I feel that this is Eywa's will - Neytiri, the leader's wife tried to appease him, explaining as best she could - if it comforts you in some way, they can grow together, let's make sure that at least a friendship exists between the two, so that when the moment of union comes, it will be more pleasant for both of them.

Not having much to go on, Jake just nodded, finishing making the deal with Mignah and Tupi, Lay'ti's parents. The girl in question was confused.

She looked at Neteyam one last time lostly, not having much idea what was going on, leaving with her parents.

-What happened? Why was Olo'eyktan so angry with us? she wanted to know as she reached her own familiar space.

-He wasn't angry with you, it's just that since he didn't grow up as a Na'vi it's difficult to understand our customs - her mother explained, as gently as possible.

-I hope this doesn't happen again - her father murmured, worried - but the deal is done, that's what matters.

-What deal? What's happening? - the girl wanted to know.

-My little Lay'ti, listen to me carefully - Tupi bent down to her height, stroking her hair - our family has been blessed, you will be the wife of an Olo'eyktan one day, tsahik of the Omaticaya people, when Neteyam is leader.

-You mean I'm going to marry him? But I don't even know him well, I know who he is, but he's not my friend - Lay'ti protested, processing as much as her 9 year old mind could understand of the whole situation.

-You have the same concerns as the Olo'eyktan, now I understand - her mother smiled, understanding - for that, my dear, you'll have to be friends with Neteyam, it's good that you're together, to get to know each other better.

-I understand - Lay'ti lowered her head, still processing what all this could mean.

Her child's mind simplified everything to one simple thing, she would be friends with Neteyam now.

It wasn't hard to sympathize with the Sully children, for one thing, they weren't boring at all, with their up and down games, competitions and teasing each other that was quite amusing. Neteyam made a point of including her in the group, he always called her to play, told how he was becoming a better fisherman with his father's lessons, about the things he found interesting about the sky people. Thus, Lay'ti grew up with the Sully children being her friends, and especially, the oldest of them, as a fulfillment of the mission that had been given to her.

The biggest confusion Lay'ti had witnessed so far had started on an ordinary day.

-Hey! Good Morning! - Neteyam took her out of her chores, separating some herbs she had picked earlier.

-Good morning, I see you, how are you? - She looked at him quickly, waiting for his answer, ready to hear it.

-I'm okay, I'm going hunting, I intend to catch a huge yarik and after that, ask you a favor - he proposed in a noble way, without seeming provocative, as Lo'ak always was, it was one of the things that Lay'ti admired on the eldest.

-You can ask, if I can do it for you - she smiled, waiting for him to complete his idea.

-I'll bring the meat straight to you, you can leave a separate part for me, I mean, for us - he explained himself, looking slightly embarrassed - you know I love your spice.

-Oh, really? All this because of that? - Lay'ti i ended up laughing and patting him on the arm - y'all say I cook well and all, but really, an Omaticaya who isn't that good a hunter is a bit of a shame, don't you think?

-Don't worry - Neteyam clicked his tongue and shook his head - you're good at other things, which are also important for our people, and don't worry, tsahiks have occupations more similar to the ones you already do.

The mention of her future position made both of them shiver in the brief moment. It was common for him to joke about what made him nervous, to use humor to deal with difficult things, but the truth is that he found the engagement arranged between them embarrassing. He knew that one day he would have to get married, but losing the right to choose who he wanted before he could even do that was confusing, strange. When that kind of rebuttal filled his head, Neteyam made a point of recalling what had become a mantra since he had become fully aware of the situation.

"You were born to be Olo'eyktan, it is tradition that your wife is chosen from an early age, this is your duty as the future leader of the Omaticaya". After all that seriousness, he added a thought of relief like "you could marry someone far worse than Lay'ti, at least she's nice."

After recapitulating all of that, he sighed, returning to the present moment.

-Yes, I think so - Lay'ti replied quietly, with her own reservations about the matter - I think you'd better go soon, I don't want to have to cook your yerik so late, good luck on the hunt.

-Thank you-he thanked and giving his intended one last greeting, turned his back on her, ready to face what was to come in the forest that he loved so much.

[jacepicableme]

ENTRY #2: Way Back Home

Today, (well actually that moment technically resides within the confines of yesterday, but my body clock respects no concept of time sooo...) my very soon to be wife and I went to Tandang Sora Ave. to view the house we would potentially live in together.

It sounds cute amirite? Here we are, starting our lives together before we could even get to know each other for longer than 12 weeks (fuck the 3 month rule) as a testament to how sure and ready we are to obsessively drone around each other until one of us dies. #goals

But...

The road ahead was met with unexpected obstacles, and I was feeling lost in more ways than one. First of all I didn't know exactly how to get to the location. Secondly, a ghost from the past forced me into a negative introspection, which sucked me back into the void —I know this feeling all too well, and I wish I didn't. But the livid emptiness of this void had been a close and persistent acquaintance, like a permanent resident emotion.

I wanted to crack my knuckles with an inherent exasperation, but my dumb masochist of a wife offered hers instead. Blindly indignant, I indulged her request to squeeze her hand to release the tension in mine, but I soon came to my senses when I felt her bones rub against each other under my painfully tight grip — I loosened, despite her protests that it is beneficial as it will jolt her into a waking state. I raised my brow.

There, sat opposite me in McDonalds, watching me eat world famous fries with an angry stare and hot angry sighs was my life partner. I felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and she, my mom who waits patiently while simultaneously making me feel like I am wee wee pissy baby (curiously, she never made me feel my feelings were invalid, she makes me feel quite the opposite in fact, yet she has a way to reflect unto me the ridiculousness of my short-wired temper).

"I am hurting you,"

"No, you're not."

"I might crush your hand,"

"Then squeeze with only half of your strength."

"...okay."

I heard what she said but I know the meaning went beyond what her words told me. I knew she meant to ask me to share half of my pain, half of my sorrow, half of my misery, and half of every undesirable emotion. She's always been that way, at least to me. Cryptic yet pellucid that she will carry me, in my bare naked weakeness, if needed be.

Needless to say my anger dissipated like steam out of very efficient steam header as I gripped her hand with just enough force to help me dismiss my anger and at the same time hold her hand with burning passion. In doing so, I felt her pull me back from the void just as the world was starting to look like the tasteless sullen gray color-grade template of every single fucking movie's representation of London.

I spent the next few minutes cogitating about the gift of peace of mind that she has bestowed upon me until we arrived at the potential new house's location. We got busy checking every nook and cranny of the house, while simultaneously imagining how we would be filling up the space with furnitures. I am not sure about her, but I imagined beyond that because I could almost see a holographic playback of our corporeal selves inside that house — lying in bed, cooking together, doing each other's laundry, and having coffee outside the door while it's raining. I've lived half a lifetime with her in my head in that house that I forgot I was supposed to be mad about something. It felt like home in there. It really felt like home, finally.

As soon as we got back to her dorm, I reminisced how her small but meaningful gestures saved me from having another episode with either my depression, or my anger issues. I stared at her face and I could almost mutter a prayer thanking every deity that ever existed for blessing me with the chance to meet her.

I reminisced more how she has made me feel human, and demanded no apology from me when I expose my blunders as one. I felt valid and I felt loved. I felt myself inch away from the proverbial ledge of depression and I am now walking towards a greener grass, one where I could flourish under her nurture and care.

I stared at her, almost memorizing every detail, shadow, and shape of her features screaming "thank you" as loud as my eyes could. And as she beckoned me closer to let me lie on her chest, I felt a pang of nostalgia lift away from my homesick heart just by listening to her heartbeat. From there I understood that home is where the heart is, and I am finally at home with @worthleslie

[conflictandscotchblog]

Trying To Meet Women The Old-Fashioned Way

I'm not sure why women would give me their numbers, even unsolicited on my part. When they do, and I reach out, why do they not return my calls? Is it a game, give out their number, then see which idiot calls. Is there a bell near their phones that they ring, like bartenders when they receive tips.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

I have a face made for online dating. Not because I am devilishly handsome, and women fall for me at first sight.

On the contrary, with online dating, I control the first look women have of me. I decide which slightly blurry old photograph, taken at just the right angle, where I pass for attractive. This way a woman could get to know me before meeting me face-to-face.

Why do I need this buffer?

Well, if there is one thing I know about myself, I can write funny e-mails. Once I get someone to laugh, I've won half the battle.

However, before online dating, I had to meet women the old-fashioned way.

Drinking, and going to bars.

I admit, I’ve never been good at meeting women, whether in a bar or on the street (not hookers). There aren’t many success stories of a long-term relationship with a woman I met in a bar. I met my ex-wife in a bar, though (enough said).

Maybe it was me, the way I presented myself. One Friday night long ago, I stood at the bar at a local restaurant. After only two beers, the bartender asked me if I was alright.

I assured him I was fine, but asked why the inquiry.

"Okay," he said, "I had to ask,” then added, “you look angry."

The next night, in another bar, after one or two beers, that bartender came up to me and asked me if I was okay.

I assured him I was.

"Okay," he said, "just wanted to check,” then added, “you look angry."

I understand, but let’s look at the other side of that coin.

Would you rather see someone upset, or see a six-foot-two-inch man, with wild grin, alone, at the end of a bar, as he sipped a beer and stared off into space?

I’ll take what’s behind Door Number One.

Live and learn.

Although, I did have a few barroom encounters which I thought could have ended better.

Let me preface this first encounter by stating the following:

After my initial separation, I had a hard time concentrating or getting any sleep. This went on for quite a while, to the point where I needed some help.

A doctor (bless her heart) to whom I just told my aforementioned problems, reached into a drawer and handed me samples of Zoloft. Not only that, she prescribed additional supplies.

While on Zoloft, I had no anxiety, zero.

I credit Zoloft and the beer I wasn't supposed to be drinking, with what happened next.

It was a random Saturday afternoon in Hoboken, New Jersey, and found myself standing alone in a bar. I looked over and saw a very pretty woman being bothered by the man that stood next to her. With each step back she took her unwanted companion matched it with his own step forward.

I then did something I had only seen done in movies. Something I had never done before, or since. I stepped in between the woman and her unwanted friend, slipped my arm around her waist and said, "There you are, I've been looking for you" and glided her away.

Thank you, Zoloft.

The rest of the day flew by, we had great conversations, and we laughed, a lot. She lived in Brooklyn but her family was originally from East Brunswick, New Jersey, which is not far from me. Just before she left with her friends, I asked for her number, and she gave it to me.

The following Monday I called her from work.

"Hello?" she answered.

I said who I was, and she quickly replied, "Can I call you right back?"

That was over a decade ago, I'm almost ready to give up hope she’ll return my call (almost).

Jump ahead a few years from that encounter and again I’m in a crowded bar (Zoloft free). I’m with my friend Kevin, who looks over my right shoulder as we talk. He told me a woman across the bar kept looking at me.

I laughed it off, but he insisted that she was. I turned and scanned the crowd (I am so smooth) and found the woman on the other side of the bar. A man stood next to her, who leaned in close, and talked to her, continuously.

She looked bored, and a few seconds later, she turned away from him and looked directly at me. She then repeated the routine.

She listened, she listened, she turned, she looked.

This was new.

A short time later she left her companion and moved toward the restrooms. However, instead of taking the less obstructed route, she cut through the crowded bar and squeezed past me.

"She did that on purpose," Kevin said, and I surprisingly agreed.

On her return, she took the same path back, until we stood eye-to-eye. Her right hand appeared, and she handed me her business card, all without saying a word. She returned to her companion but continued the flirtatious glances in my direction.

The next day (too soon?) I called the number on her card. Unfortunately, it went directly to voice mail.

I told my female co-workers what happened, and asked them if I should call her again since she hadn’t replied. They unanimously agreed that I should not call her again. They all agreed I should wait for her to return my call.

So, of course, I called again and left another message on her voicemail.

Maybe she was on the phone with the girl from Hoboken, but I never heard from her.

I'm not sure why women would give me their numbers, even unsolicited on my part, and then never return the calls.

Why not just give me a fake number, anything that begins with ‘555’ will be fine.

Once met a woman at a bar, she gave me her number, and I called it as soon as I got home. Just wanted to be sure she didn’t give me the number for the local Pizza Hut (it wasn’t).

Back to online dating I went. But, just to be safe, if in the future you happen upon a slightly blurry man who, given the right angle could pass for attractive, and is grinning wildly to himself while sipping a beer, that will be me.

[jrhughes]

What an Amazing, Forgiving, Merciful God

(Sunday, August 27th 2023)  

Genesis 13:1-18  

Golden Text:       3 And he went on his journeys from the south even to Bethel, unto the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Hai; 4 Unto the place of the altar, which he had made there at the first: and there Abram called on the Name of the LORD. - Genesis 13:3-4  

As we look in on Abram, we remember that he has just made a huge mistake. He told his wife to lie and perhaps be taken into the harem of Pharaoh in Egypt. What should he have done?  Well hopefully we learn that what Abram should have done is call out to God.   

God had sent him to Canaan land and God could have kept him. Perhaps he was supposed to be in the famine and others were to see the blessings of God on his life and begin to ask what is keeping him in this severe famine. Perhaps, but we will never know.  

What we do know is apparently clear that Abram did not call upon God. Abram left Bethel (house of God; Beth-El, a place in Palestine). Abram left the place of God to go into Egypt.  He used his own understanding and fear replaced faith.   

Later on Abram (Abraham) would be called the Friend of God, but here, his testimony was not so stellar.  He allowed his wife to be taken in to the house of (?harem?) of Pharaoh.  Pharaoh (trying to be liked and respected) gave gifts to Abram and then Sarai was bought and paid for. She was to become one of the harem of Pharaoh. And there God showed up.  

God protected Sarai. God plagued Pharaoh’s house and people. And we are not told if God or an angel spoke to Pharaoh, but Pharaoh knew this was the wife of Abram. So in his disease weakened and most likely angry state, Pharaoh rebuked the man of God. There was only a rebuke as Pharaoh must have also recognized that God was at work behind the scenes directing everything.  

17 And the LORD plagued Pharaoh and his house with great plagues because of Sarai Abram's wife.  18 And Pharaoh called Abram, and said, What is this that thou hast done unto me? why didst thou not tell me that she was thy wife?  19 Why saidst thou, She is my sister? so I might have taken her to me to wife: now therefore behold thy wife, take her, and go thy way.  20 And Pharaoh commanded his men concerning him: and they sent him away, and his wife, and all that he had.  Genesis 12:17-20  

Message Text   -  Genesis  Chapter 13:1-18  

1 And Abram went up out of Egypt, he, and his wife, and all that he had, and Lot with him, into the south.  

And Abram went up out of Egypt, he and his wife. God granted extra mercy to the man who lied and the wife who agreed with him. We know that God does not appreciate lies. Considering the sin they had committed and what could have happened to the reproductive path of the mother, who was to give birth to the line that leads to King David and then Messiah, God intervened and showed great mercy. And before you wonder whether or not Sarai would also be considered responsible for joining in the lie of Abram, consider Acts 5.  

1 But a certain man named Ananias, with Sapphira his wife, sold a possession,  2 And kept back part of the price, his wife also being privy to it, and brought a certain part, and laid it at the apostles' feet.  3 But Peter said, Ananias, why hath satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land?  4 Whiles it remained, was it not thine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God.  5 And Ananias hearing these words fell down, and gave up the ghost: and great fear came on all them that heard these things.  6 And the young men arose, wound him up, and carried him out, and buried him.  7 And it was about the space of three hours after, when his wife, not knowing what was done, came in.  8 And Peter answered unto her, Tell me whether ye sold the land for so much? And she said, Yea, for so much.  9 Then Peter said unto her, How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? behold, the feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out.  10 Then fell she down straightway at his feet, and yielded up the ghost: and the young men came in, and found her dead, and, carrying her forth, buried her by her husband.  - Acts 5:1-10  

And all that he had. Abram left Egypt with all that he had brought into Egypt from days in Haran (Genesis 12:5, 16). And of course we read that he was given wealth and servants. Was one of those given to them, a very young Hagar?  

2 And Abram was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold.  

Abram was very rich in cattle, in silver, and in gold. God had blessed Abram in Haran, had given him, a wife and wealth. When Abram obeyed and began on his way to Canaan, God again blessed his efforts in Haran (Charan). But after coming into the land God had appointed, Abram started to think for himself. That was almost tragic. They went into Egypt to avoid death in the famine. Did they fail to realize that God would have provided for them if God had them in Canaan? Did they believe that would be too hard for God? How about you, how big is your God? Then God had intervened and had been the husband, protector to Sarai and preserved her virtue.  

3 And he went on his journeys from the south even to Bethel, unto the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Hai; 4 Unto the place of the altar, which he had made there at the first: and there Abram called on the Name of the LORD.  

First smart move of Abram. He journeyed back to the place of first love, the place of the altar to worship God. This may be evidence of repentance and coming back to the first love of Abram.  

4 Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love.  5 Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent. - Revelation 2:4-5  

And he went on his journeys. Abram left Egypt and went (journeyed) back to the place where he first worshiped God at an altar at Bethel, near Ai. Did he use the same camping grounds, and pitch the same tent?  Did he build a new altar or return to the old altar?  There was an altar mentioned in Genesis 12:7 in Sichem, but this location was the altar described in verse 8.  

And he removed from thence unto a mountain on the east of Bethel, and pitched his tent, having Bethel on the west, and Hai on the east: and there he builded an altar unto the LORD, and called upon the Name of the LORD. - Genesis 12:8  

And there Abram called on the Name of the Lord. This was most likely a more profound and deeper love for the AWESOME God who had protected him and Sarai. Now Abram knew and had a deeper respect for God and a worship of ONE he now understands has EVERYTHING under control. The Name of the Lord. Does that mean he called on the Name that would one day be Jesus when He took on flesh and lived as a man?  

5 And Lot also, which went with Abram, had flocks, and herds, and tents.  

And Lot also, which went with Abram, had flocks, and herds, and tents.  

It is interesting to note that God had not sent Lot to Canaan, God sent Abram and Sarai, his wife. Lot was, it appears, the idea of Abram. It may be that Abram had become a second father to Lot. But we will see soon that Lot does not appreciate all that Abram and God are doing for him.  He seems to have an “entitlement” attitude. He (Lot) thinks he deserves the best.  

Lot also who went with Abram (literally, going with Abram), had (most likely given to him by Abram) flocks and herds and tents. The prosperity provided by God to Abram had been in part, passed on to Lot. So, although Lot may not have recognized it, God was prospering them both.  

6 And the land was not able to bear them, that they might dwell together: for their substance was great, so that they could not dwell together.  

And the land was not able to bear them. Literally, there was not enough grass and food for the large flocks and herds of these two men. God had poured out a blessing that they could not contain. There was not enough food for the animals or the people (servants) of both Lot and Abram. The land could not support them both and their households and flocks. They, therefore came to the conclusion that they could not live together. Not so much the famine, as the blessing of God. We believe that Abram was now finally aware of this fact, but Lot may have continued to believe that it was through the efforts of Lot, that his wealth and prosperity was obtained.  

And if that was not enough:  

7 And there was a strife between the headmen of Abram's cattle and the headmen of Lot's cattle: and the Canaanite and the Perizzite dwelled then in the land.  

There was a strife between the headmen of Abram's cattle and the headmen of Lot's cattle. There was strife  Strongs No: H7379: a contest (personal or legal): adversary, cause, chiding, contend(-tion), 1) strife, controversy, dispute; 1a) strife, quarrel; 1b) dispute, controversy, case at law.  

Apparently the two sides were fighting, quarreling or even more. They two could not agree on who was to be where.  Finally Abram decided this had to stop.  

The Canaanite and the Perizzite dwelled then in the land. By this phrase is God telling us that this was a terrible witness that these two believers were showing to the outside world?  They say they have the True, Living, Creator God, they say He is the God of love, but look at them: they fight and war just as do we. Thus the testimony would not be that which might bring men to God.  How is your testimony?  How are your actions? Could you and I try harder to do better?  

8 And Abram said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be brethren.  

Abram said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, Abram took the initiative to calm the strife. (Should we follow his example of calming the strife, arguments, disagreements, battles?) But notice that although the land was given to Abram, Abram goes the extra mile to settle the dispute, the troubles between them. Could he have not reminded Lot that God gave this land to him and that Lot is (more or less) an afterthought? God gave ME this land. He would be telling the truth. Abram could have insisted on his rights. He did not. Why?  

For we be brethren.  

(A Song of degrees of David.) Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!  2 It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard: that went down to the skirts of his garments;  3 As the dew of Hermon, and as the dew that descended upon the mountains of Zion: for there the LORD commanded the blessing, even life for evermore. - Psalm 133  

Christians are to be different. We are to set an example for the rest of the world.  

9 Is not the whole land before thee? separate thyself, I pray thee, from me: if thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left.  

Is not the whole land before thee? separate thyself, I pray thee, from me. Why are we fighting over a plot of land? And again Abram does not say God gave ME this land. There is plenty of land and God can bless us both no matter where we go. Perhaps we should separate for the best of all concerned. You and me and the people in the area. Let them see us in unity and Godly love.  

If thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left. This land that God has given to me, I am willing to give up my rights in the land. I will let you choose the land you want and I will take what is left over. I have faith in God, that HE will bless me, where ever I go, as long as I stay in His Will.  How about you my reader friend? Do you have the same TRUST? God is the same forever and ever and ever. GOD IS THE SAME.  

Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.  Hebrews 13:8  

For I Am the LORD, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed. Malachi 3:6  

10 And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where, before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the LORD, like the land of Egypt, as thou comest unto Zoar.  

And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where, before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot looked out at the land and chose for himself the best, most prosperous land. His eyes could see that this was the best land. And since his older uncle had given him a choice, he would let his eyes make the decision.  

Abram dwelt in a tent.  Why? He was a sojourner and a pilgrim. His permanent home was a place not made with hands. So he chose, by faith and Lot chose by sight.  

         7 (For we walk by faith, not by sight:) 2nd Corinthians 5:7  

It is interesting to note that Lot who operated by sight eventually lost everything. And Abram who was directed by his faith in God is known as the father of the faithful, of the nation of Israel and of those who are in the faith by belief in Jesus (Jesus means Jehovah our salvation). Abram operated in faith.  

26 For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.  27 For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.  28 There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.  29 And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise. - Galatians 3:26-29  

11 Then Lot chose him all the plain of Jordan; and Lot journeyed east: and they separated themselves the one from the other.  

Lot chose him all the plain of Jordan (river) and Lot journeyed east. Lot looked out of eager, lustful greed (Genesis 3:6 forbidden fruit). And Lot saw a land that it was well-watered everywhere. This was where his eyes and greed told him he could prosper with his cattle, livestock and servants. He separated from the man of God, Abram and headed toward the worldly pleasures of Sodom.  

Jordan was the largest river in then Canaan. He was headed toward Sodom and Gomorrah where Lot would eventually lose everything.  

12 Abram dwelled in the land of Canaan, and Lot dwelled in the cities of the plain, and pitched his tent toward Sodom.  

Abram stayed where he was or moved away from Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot on the other hand, now embraced the world and the riches he could obtain.  Abram was also wealthy, but Abram knew the source of his wealth and prosperity, but Lot believed it was all his doing.  It was all in his power to make a man rich.  

Deuteronomy 8:18: But thou shalt remember the LORD thy God: for it is He that giveth thee power to get wealth, that He may establish His covenant which He sware unto thy fathers, as it is this day.  

1st  Samuel 2:7: The LORD maketh poor, and maketh rich: He bringeth low, and lifteth up.  

This verse says that Lot pitched his tent toward Sodom. He was not yet in Sodom and he was in a tent. We later learn that he was living inside of Sodom in a house, a permanent residence, when the Judgment of God comes upon them.  

13 But the men of Sodom were wicked and sinners before the LORD exceedingly.  

But the men of Sodom were wicked sinners before the Lord exceedingly This verse is full of meaning. Men of Sodom were wicked sinners:  Strongs: H7451; bad or (as noun) evil (natural or moral):-- adversity, affliction, bad, calamity, + displease(-ure), distress, evil((- favouredness): 1) bad, evil, 1a) bad, disagreeable, malignant,  1b) bad, unpleasant, evil (giving pain, unhappiness, misery), 1c) evil, displeasing, 1d) bad (of its kind-land, water, etc), 1e) bad (of value); 1f) worse than, worst (comparison).  

We know that God is merciful and long suffering, these men had to be worse than you and I can imagine. They were evil (into immorality, wickedness, depraved, vicious).  

25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, Who is blessed for ever. Amen.  26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:  27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet (proper). 28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; - 32 Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them. Romans 1:25-28; 32  

14 And the LORD said unto Abram, after that Lot was separated from him, Lift up now thine eyes, and look from the place where thou art northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: 15 For all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever.  

And the LORD said.  the Lord said - speaking probably with an audible Voice. This would be the third occasion on which God spoke directly to Abram. Abram - who could readily recognize the Voice which had twice as He already spoken to him. This happened after that Lot was separated from him. Thus God approved that separation of Lot from Abram.  

Lift up now thine eyes, and look from the place where thou art northward, and southward, and eastward, and westward: for all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed for ever. Lot looked first and took what he saw as best. Now just as God gave Solomon riches when he only asked for wisdom, God now says okay it is your turn to look at this land. And everything that you see, I God give it to you. And it is not just a temporary thing. I will give the land to you and your seed (offspring, children). I will give it to you and them and it is yours FOR EVER.  

16 And I will make thy seed as the dust of the earth: so that if a man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy seed also be numbered.  

God is making a bold promise to a man who is yet to have a child. God has promised to make those who come after him, so numerous that they cannot be numbered, like the dust of the Earth.  God is, we clearly believe, including those of the country of Israel, those who are the direct descendants of Abram and also those of Galatians 3:29 who received Christ Jesus are the heirs according to this promise.  

Seed: Strongs: H2233; seed; figuratively, fruit, plant, sowing-time, posterity:--X carnally, child, fruitful, seed(-time), sowing- time. 1) seed, sowing, offspring,   1a) a sowing, 1b) seed, 1c) semen virile, 1d) offspring, descendants, posterity, children.  

17 Arise, walk through the land in the length of it and in the breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee.  

Arise, get up. Go exploring. Walk go and walk through the land all of it, the length and the breadth of it, look at all the Lord has given to you.  Look at your future blessings. It is yours, since God has said, I will give it unto thee. Strong: H5414: Orig: a primitive root; to give, used with greatest latitude of application (put, make, etc.):--add, apply, appoint, ascribe, assign, X avenge, X be (healed), bestow, bring.  God is clearly giving this physical land to Abram and his descendants.  

18 Then Abram removed his tent, and came and dwelt in the plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the LORD.  

After the exploration Abram (Abram = "exalted father") removed his tent and lived in the plain of Mamre (fatness, strength of the land), which is in Hebron (Hebron = association:  1) a city in south Judah, south of Jerusalem and approximately 20 miles (30 km) north of Beersheba and near where Abraham built an altar .  

There Abram built an altar and we believe he sacrificed a blood sacrifice, an innocent animal: looking forward to the Messiah and Savior to come.  

Conclusion: We see an amazing, forgiving God who had rescued Sarai and acted as her real protective husband and rescued her from the harem of Pharaoh before she had been compromised. Pharaoh in his rebuke of the lie of Abram, said  

19 Why saidst thou, She is my sister? so I might have taken her to me to wife: now therefore behold thy wife, take her, and go thy way.  Genesis 12:19  

They left the land and Abram returned back to his first love of God. God accepted him and forgave him and spoke to him. But shortly thereafter there was trouble between the herdsman of Lot and those of Abram. Abram humbly settled it and gave Lot a choice of the land. Lot chose by sight and Abram trusted God.  

Then after they separated God again spoke to Abram in an audible Voice. God seems to have approved of the separation. Then God once again renews His promise to give all this land to Abram and his descendants. God has Abram explore the land that will belong to him and his heirs, for ever. This promise is made to Abram who is childless and is an older man.  

Has God made a promise in your life?  Will He keep it?  You know He will.  

PRAYER: Heavenly Father, we know that You are God and beside You there is no other. Forgive me and cleanse me, I pray. Help us Lord to believe what ever You tell us. Help us to believe that with You all things are possible.  Help us to learn from this lesson to depend upon You, to walk in Your faith. Help us to be humble.  Please forgive me of all of my sin and unrighteousness, please help me to trust You more; to believe in You more and to Obey You more because You are older and wiser than am I. Help me to be Your willing bond servant and to do what pleases You. Thank You for the example of Abram. May I be one of his children. Help me to understand and to hear from You and do Thy Will,  I pray in the Mighty, Magnificent Name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen and amen.  

 Brother J. R. Hughes

[islamic-scholars]

Dear mother: Why the double standards?

Written by Naadira Chhipa

Dear mother when you shout for Safiyyah to help you cook and set the dinner table please remember to call Ridhwan to assist you aswel. How is he going to learn to serve himself if you have been serving him for two decades?

Dear mother when you scream at Fathima for not making her bed or for throwing her wet towel on her bedroom floor please remember that 5 minutes ago you were waiting for Suhail to wake up so you could clean his room which looked like a tornado hit it. How is he going to learn to tidy up his personal space if you keep doing it for him?

Dear mother when you check Halimahs phone as you have become suspicious of her spending too much time texting please remember to also ask Idrees to hand his phone over for you to examine. Why is he allowed to be on his phone 24.7 without you becoming suspicious?

Dear mother when Amina hands over her report card to you and your face saddens with disappointment as she scored two Bs please look closely at Ahmeds report card as he did not even achieve a single A, yet he was congratulated for passing. How would he improve if you do not encourage him to do better?

Dear mother when you angrily question Habiba for arriving at home five minutes late from campus please give Hameeed a call and ask him why is he two hours late. How would he learn to respect and value boundaries if you do not set any for him?

Dear mother when you yell at Alia for not attending family functions with you please ask Ali to accompany you to the next family gathering aswel. How would he recognise and socialise with your family if he is allowed to stay at home alone all the time.

Dear mother when you advise Faheema about her duties at home after marriage, her responsibilities as well her loyalties after nikkah, towards her husband and his family please give Faraaz the same advice. How will he know how to assist his wife, respect his in laws, be a responsible husband, father and son in law if you do not advise him?

Dear mother when you reprimand Hannah for raising her voice or back chatting when she is angry please do not ignore Hamzahs disrespectful behaviour and anger control issues. How would he learn to control his anger, be gentle, kind and caring if you do not acknowledge his faults?

Dear mother when you speak to Naeema about zinah, sexual abuse, rape, physical abuse, emotional abuse, relationships, drugs, bad influences as well as indulgences please do have that talk with Khalid. How would he learn to respect a woman's body, mind and soul if you do not teach him. How would he learn to protect himself from evil if you do not teach him?

Dear mother when you remind Raeesa to read her salaah, fast in Ramadaan, cover her body, recite the Quraan and hadith please remind Muhammad to do the same. How would he become an asset to you as well as the Ummah if you do not inculcate the love for Islam in his heart?

Dear mother remember the boy have been blessed with from Allah is your son today, a student of life tomorrow, a wonderful husband to a beautiful lady and an amazing father to your grandchildren in the future. Insha-Allah. Raise your sons to be independent and efficient, do not make your sons so dependent on you that they find themselves unable to cook, clean or take care of their daily chores without assistance. The Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W), mercy upon mankind yet he did his own chores. Why are we following a tradition and culture that cripples men by not allowing them to serve themselves. Today there are some men who will not even eat if their food is not cooked, served and dished out to them into their plates. This is a sad reality of generation of boys who feel entitled to everything being done for them by the females of their household. This is a sad reason for the breakdown of many marriages as the husband expects to be served by his wife just as he was served all his life by his mother and sisters.

Dear mother let us change this mindset, let us raise respectful, responsible , successful, understanding, caring, loyal, humble and kind men who will be a means of comfort, peace, happiness. Ameen.

Dear mother do not set double standards as this will cause chaos and destruction in your home.

Dear mother we have the best example, let us raise our sons in accordance with the beautiful Sunnah of our beloved Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W).

Dear mother let us raise good men.

May Allah bless us mothers with strength, love, wisdom, patience and understanding always. Ameen

[deaconwords]

Filled with Emotion

In today’s Gospel lesson Jesus describes acts and the emotions that precede them. And his teaching is specifically about these emotions.

When discussing murder and the anger that causes it, Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not murder'; and 'whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.' But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.” Jesus is saying that we must concern ourselves with more than the acts of sin, we must be mindful of their preceding emotions; they too can separate us from God.

Jesus then addresses adultery and the emotions that surround it. And again he focuses on the emotions in saying, “But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”

And then there is divorce. What matters to Jesus is the underlying motivation for divorcing one’s wife. Jewish society had abused divorce in Jesus’ time. It had become a means to discard an unwanted wife, stigmatizing her and casting her out, sometimes into homelessness.

So Jesus clarifies the use of divorce. “But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of un-chastity, causes her to commit adultery.”

And then there is the swearing. Jesus says, "Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.' But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is God’s footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black.”

Jesus is interested in our motivation for making promises. We only have control over ourselves and even in that we fail. So, if we have no control of heaven or earth or Jerusalem, then what business have we using them to inflate and legitimize our promises? None, whatsoever.

I believe that Jesus wants us to honestly look at ourselves. When we say ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ mean it and carry out the promise, nothing more is within our power to assure completion of the deed.

Now, in all these matters I don’t believe Jesus is condemning us for having emotions. He is pointing out, however, what can happen when we mishandle them. Regarding anger, do we cling to it; do we let it fester? Do we allow ourselves to fantasize how we might use it to gain personal justice? Or, do we deal with it openly, honestly, work it out, and let it go? Because if we retain it, it will fill our consciousness and prevent God’s grace-filled moments from registering there. If we are filled with hate, there is no room for love.

Have you ever wondered about Episcopal liturgy? You know, why are the various segments of the service arranged as they are? On a typical Eucharist Sunday, we confess our sins, we reconcile with one another in the sharing of the peace, and then we come to the table.

You see, the liturgy, in its very structure and sequence, takes us through the steps necessary to do as Jesus has told us to do when he says, “So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.”

In today’s world, it is ourselves we offer as a gift when we come to the Eucharistic table. To do so honestly we are to empty ourselves by confessing our wrongdoings to God and each other first so there is space to receive into ourselves that most blessed body and blood of our savior.

We needn’t feel bad for having emotions. We need simply be honest with each other about them, thereby preventing them from filling us up so that we have no room left for God and God’s graces. Amen.

—Offered at St. George’s Episcopal Church 2-12-2023

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

After The Dawn

Hello, hello! I am indeed still around, and sometimes even do non-work-related stuff. About, oh, 2 years ago, this got sent in as a prompt, so have a little 4 times + 1 thing, for the occasion of me processing my recent DS9 comfort-rewatch (by which I of course mean “mostly spending a lot of time gazing adoringly at Kira Nerys and crying”). As far as I recall, I’ve never actually posted anything from my giant decade plus WIP pile of Trek stuff, so this is a first - I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

The prompt was “five different sunlights”. So here are five snapshots of Kira Nerys from joining the resistance to DS9 and beyond, ~4400 words. Veers into Kira/Jadzia because I’m hilariously predictable. Also includes brief appearances by (in order): Lupaza, Furel, Shakaar, Damar, Garak, Kaksidy, and Jake. Mentions of several others.

Contains discussion of the occupation of Bajor and canon character deaths, but nothing explicit I can think of to warn about.

---

After The Dawn

1. 2356

The raid was long over but her fingers still shook – cold, always because of the cold, never from fear. Every so often they would twitch more decisively, as if recalling the sensation of the phaser rifle she was just barely big enough to hold jerking to life in her grip. But then they’d travel to her right ear of their own accord, tracing the lines of her new earring. A proper d’ja pagh all of her own, with the symbol of the Kira family emblazoned in the metal – echoing the beautiful engraving she’d always admired on her father’s. 

Lupaza had worked through the night to make it for her, by the feeble light of one of their few still-working heaters, with skill that seemed otherworldly to Kira (who, though by far the youngest among them, knew better than to ask about anyone’s life before joining a resistance cell). Lupaza, who had looked at the scrawny thirteen-year-old hanging around their camp, and who’d chosen to believe in her, and speak up for her. Who’d presented her handiwork to ‘their newest member’ at sunrise, during the change of guard at the mouth of their current cavern hideout, letting the winter light glimmer on its silvery surface for all to see. And Kira had beamed at her, not caring about who’d been around to witness it or how young it may have made her look. 

I’m in the Resistance, she wanted to shout over and over again until the reality truly set in, flooded and near-overwhelmed by the newfound sense of belonging and pride and brightly burning defiance mixing in her chest.

Again and again her fingers went – over the cuff hugging the shell of her ear snugly, down the single deceptively delicate chain, to the simple but beautiful main piece. She could almost believe it was still warm to the touch, heated by the orange-glow burn of Bajor’s atmosphere on Cardassian hull metal – made from stolen Bajoran ore, mined with stolen Bajoran labour. It was only right and just that it be returned this way. The rest of the beritium hull salvage they’d stripped from the ship would be used for lining the walls of their hideout, shielding them from sensor sweeps and the bite of the winter cold alike. But this small bit of it was a shield all Kira’s own.

It was a comforting presence, a slight but grounding weight with a depth of meaning that its size belied. Lupaza smiled at her fascination and distraction every time she happened to pass by, promising she’d get used to it. Furel agreed, for once without a trace of a joke in his voice, and slapped a hand on her bony shoulder with a gruff: “You’ve more than earned it, kid.” 

Shakaar himself, in between whatever it was his leaderly duties entailed, took a moment to consider her. “It suits you,” was all he said on the matter, though if he meant the earring or the phaser Kira had for the first time stuck in her own belt instead of giving it back after cleaning was anyone’s guess. Then, turning to leave, he added, “Good job out there.”

There was something like sadness behind all of their eyes. Kira chose not to see it, or dwell on it.

She was in the Resistance.

She didn't even know if any of her (many) shots during the ambush had found their mark, but it didn't seem to matter. She could, she would help protect her father and his little garden, scrounged up, cobbled together, but growing. Protect her remaining brother, for the one she had failed to. She would honour her mother, the bravest woman I've ever known, Nerys. She saved us all, at great cost to herself.

Whenever her fingers floated back down and twitched for want of a rifle trigger again, she told herself to be patient. There would be more work for her, more chances to be useful, more chances to prove herself. No more sitting idly by, and no more fear.

-

2. 2369

Even after weeks on the station Kira had yet to manage to sleep through an entire night, but she sincerely doubted it was the bed's fault. Sure, the Cardassian-designed beds in the Cardassian-designed quarters on the Cardassian-designed station left much to be desired, but they certainly beat the ground of a half-frozen cave. And yet here she was, with endless damn bunking arrangements as one of the most frequently brought-up complaints among the crew body. Why and how those PADDs always seemed to end up on her desk was anyone's guess. She'd been prepared for a more administrative role, yes, but…

“The time is oh-six-hundred hours,” the computer helpfully informed her.

Kira huffed, and tossed aside another PADD with a blinking Request denied, then shrugged on her uniform jacket and made to leave her quarters for a quick breakfast.

It was still an odd thought that took getting used to: her quarters – hers alone; a viewport in the bulkhead, allowing her to see the stars and, when the rotation was right, Bajor’s own familiar sun from a very new perspective. Regular meals thanks to Federation engineers patching up Cardassian replicators and whipping them into shape. Shops and eateries opening on the Promenade. The ruinous mess the Cardassians left behind them slowly coming together again into something functional. Kira permitted herself a wry twist of the mouth at the thought – hopefully the planet the station had formerly orbited could manage to do the same.

The discovery of the wormhole brought fascinating, colourful crowds to the station so quickly and in such volumes, she didn't envy Odo at all. Even the small segment of the Promenade she saw on her way from her quarters to the replimat was enough to reinforce, every morning, that this was no longer Terok Nor: grey in every way imaginable, filled with throngs of terrified, beaten-down Bajoran workers and their Cardassian overseers, delighting in the former’s disposability.

The small but lively, chattering crowd in the replimat seemed to underscore all of her thoughts – no more waiting in line for gruel with the exhausted shift that had just left ore processing.

“Good morning!”

Instead, a friendly Federation face. The pattern of spots that ran down the sides of Lieutenant Dax’s face and down her neck was fascinating to Kira still – not Bajoran, and certainly not the grey, flared bony Cardassian necks that had made up most of Kira's world up until not so very long ago. She had to stop herself from staring often, even though, judging by that smirk, the Lieutenant did not seem to mind. She appeared to relish attention in general, of all kinds. Kira ducked her head, and tried to focus on the replicator instead.

“Something wrong? Quark interfering with the menus again?” Dax was right behind her, peeking over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, and smiling. Somehow she always seemed to be doing that.

“Oh, no, nothing like that, thankfully. Still not quite used to this, is all.” She shuffled her feet and made no real move to complete an order.

“Hm. Well, if I may, Major, I’d recommend the raktajino for early morning starts like this.”

“Raktajino?” Kira repeated oafishly, biting back the Early!? her mind had immediately supplied.

“Klingon coffee. Try it – I think you’ll like it.”

Kira was sceptical, but Dax seemed to be very sincere – so after a few button presses she found herself holding a large mug of something hot, dark, and quite thick. She wrinkled her nose and took a sip.

“It’s, uh… strong.”

“Hits the spot, right?”

The crooked, almost sly smile on the Lieutenant’s face was contagious. Kira didn’t even feel like bringing up growing up under an occupation-enforced famine as an excuse for her own lack of a developed or sophisticated palate or culinary taste in general.

The drink did have a real kick to it, and Kira took another sip. “Yeah, it does.”

“Just don’t go overboard with them – let me tell you, I made some grave mistakes there right after I became a host. Curzon,” Dax smirked, shaking her head, then waved at the table they’d found themselves next to. “Mind if I join you?”

Kira thought about it, but only for a moment.

“Not at all, Lieutenant.”

And ah, there it was then, as soon as they sat down: the small, incessant, bitter sting of you knew what they were doing to us and you sat by and did nothing that insisted on making itself known at very inopportune times. It was, however, becoming more bearable by the day and with every individual met, every new reassurance that they were here now, despite everything, to make a good start. Together.

When the Cardassians came they were helpful and charming too, nagged the little voice at the back of her mind. But this couldn’t be like that, and just looking at Dax was enough to… well, perhaps Kira was being a naive fool, but there seemed to be ground to build here, and she found herself willing to try. And after all, she knew she herself was ready to do anything, to lay her life down for Bajor. She just needed to be pointed the right way – or, rather, she needed to be able to point herself the right way. Now that knowing who the enemy was and who the enemy could turn out to be had gotten more complicated. Still, if nothing else: she wouldn’t let it be a repeat of anything, and she was prepared to be a thorn in anyone’s side, Federation or provisional government or otherwise, for as long as was necessary. 

“You seem to be mulling over something grim already. Everything alright?”

The concern was genuine enough, but Kira had no idea how to even begin to explain all of it, even if she’d wanted to.

“Just thinking about some complaints about quarters I need to handle,” she lied smoothly – or what she hoped was smooth, anyway.

Dax caught on, and backed off. Lifetimes of experience to thank – or perhaps Kira was just that easy to read. A transcript of Trakor’s annotated ninth prophecy just waiting on a lectern, as Lupaza would say. 

“Sure. Let me know if I can help.”

“With station admin? Aren’t you a science officer?”

“Absolutely. But it's in all our best interests to get this place running as smoothly as possible as fast as possible, right?”

Kira narrowed her eyes at her, entirely unconvinced. “Right.”

“Fine,” Dax threw her hands up in the air in a very silly, exaggerated gesture, “I admit it, I’m after juicy gossip. There’s bound to be quarter reassignment requests in there! What could be juicier?”

Kira couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, then. “You are ridiculous.”

Dax grinned right back. “Glad to be of help. Let’s get to Ops, you can tell me all about it on the way.”

When Kira got to her feet, both she herself and the entire day – if it could truly be called that on a space station – felt somehow lighter already.

-

3. 2372

It was swelteringly hot under the sun of some new, as of yet unnamed planet, in the midst of a survey mission that had already gone on longer than scheduled. Hardly Kira’s idea of a good – or productive – time. 

The place was an unpleasant dustbowl broken up by stray glass-encrusted rock here and there, and Kira was surrounded by a bunch of bustling, tricorder-armed Starfleet explorer types she would have sneered at, not so long ago – but many of whom she’d now consider fast friends. She’d hardly consider herself an ideal choice for helming this particular mission, but Sisko had been insistent, and so here she was. It would appear that, if nothing else, it gave her time to indulge in reverie – a truly rare occurrence.

The unfamiliar stars of the Gamma Quadrant, unimaginably far from everything she’d ever known, could now be reached within seconds, thanks to the wormhole – more proof of how the Prophets kept looking out for Bajor in sometimes quite unexpected ways. And Kira, as Bajor’s official representative on the mission, was determined to do her best to facilitate and build upon their efforts.

“Take a look at this, Major!” It was Dax calling her over, her tricorder beeping over some bizarre green-magenta form of plant life she found beneath a rocky outcrop a little off the not-so-alien dirt path Kira was stomping down. 

“What've you got for me, Lieutenant?”

“Some kind of elaborate root system stretches on for more than a kilometer underground, running beneath the very acidic soil, with an impressive – and perfectly symmetrical – array of large tubers.”

Kira shot the sensor readings a look. “Huh, could’ve fed a whole resistance cell for an entire winter on nothing but a few of those.”

She frowned as soon as the words left her mouth – Jadzia Dax, decorated Starfleet science officer and dedicated, studious initiate who’d earned the approval of the strict Trill Symbiosis Commission, certainly hadn’t had such prosaic, practical implications of her findings in mind. For a very, very brief moment, Kira felt a sting of embarrassment – but then her mind snapped decisively back into its standard guarded, resolute position: she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Dax, as had somehow become a somewhat frustrating habit of hers, seemed to be able to encompass Kira’s entire internal dialogue with a glance. But somehow she did it… gently, without making Kira feel small or inadequate in any way. No smug Starfleet superiority here, even with all the accumulated bragging rights of all the lifetimes under her belt. And – perhaps most importantly – no trace of pity to be found. Instead, a wellspring of enthusiasm.

“Their composition is interesting, I agree. Starchy, and rich in several key proteins – this has potential for significant contributions to agriculture. I bet Keiko will love to get her hands on this – see what she can set up in one of the hydroponics bays.”

Her smile was as bright as the orange-tinted light of the unfamiliar sun, but Kira took up the challenge of matching it.

Jadzia leaned in, almost conspiratorially, “Help me catalogue it?”

“I, uh, don’t really know what the procedure–”

“No worries, I’ll walk you right through it. It’s fun!” Kira’s scepticism must have been written all over her face. “I swear it is! I’m not just saying that, you’ll see.”

“Not to mention,” Jadzia winked, “it’ll get us under some nice shade and right next to a cooling unit.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“And you love it.”

Kira couldn’t disagree.

-

4. 2375

The weak, grey light of Cardassia Prime’s sun filtered through the slits in the cellar windows – if they could even be called that.

Another very literally bleak dawn. No contact with the Federation. No hope of reinforcements, or extraction, or help of any kind. Negligible chances of news from Deep Space 9, of the fleet, of Odo’s health, of anything at all. And here, far behind enemy lines, Kira and her unlikely comrades presumed dead, their network of allies and carefully-hidden carefully-built-up resources destroyed, all three (three) survivors hidden away in the capital of a people she’d once have termed her worst enemies, relying on the goodwill of an old woman.

Kira, a veteran of hopeless causes, had been in worse spots – but not many.

Whatever Damar’s less… pleasant compatriots had thought, she found no joy in any of it. Not even a flutter of satisfaction at all the irony the situation was positively dripping with. It was enough that it meant that twice now she’d been witness to oppression and destruction on an immense scale – civilisation-ending, one might term it. It was wearing, and wearying, no matter who it happened to.

Would she have cheered for the destruction of Cardassia as little as a handful of years ago? Perhaps, if it would have meant Bajor being left alone. The moral quandary aspect certainly wasn’t something she wanted to be thinking about at the moment.

While the others seemed to still be asleep, Kira lay on her back on one of the thin blankets Mila had provided them, and thumbed almost idly through a list of signals intercepted nearby, identifying potential sabotage targets. There were still things three people with extremely limited resources could do to make themselves useful - or disruptive, depending on your perspective. 

Two Jem’Hadar barracks complexes (a hatchery would be better, and far less dangerous). A comms central (they might not have the proper tools available to make it truly worth the risk). Long-term storage warehouses (they needed to maximise short-term effects on the Dominion occupiers, not minimise the chances of Cardassia’s eventual recovery). Weapons manufacturing plants (tempting security gaps during shift changes, but still far too well-guarded for the three of them to take on alone). A power distribution junction (...remote, potentially high-impact, and definitely worth looking into). Kira made a note to ask Garak for any further details he could muster about it.

She should have, perhaps, been saving her strength, getting what rest she could while she could. Restless, that was what she was, even with all her experience and her awareness that so, so much of a resistance fight was simply spent waiting, biding time. With another brief glance around the murky room, she gave up even the pretense of repose, and got up to stretch her legs and pace out her nerves.

Garak was asleep in his corner, or at least pretending to be. Whatever suited his purposes best.

“Commander,” came a low murmur from the other side of the room: Damar, sitting up on his own improvised bed, very much awake. The Starfleet rank still sounded strange to her, but Kira could appreciate the way Damar made sure to respect it from the start, and never allowed himself a slip. “There’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about. If you have a moment.”

“Somehow I have both far too much and far too little time these days. What is it?” She asked quietly, stepping closer, though the chances of Garak actually sleeping through whatever their conversation was going to be were negligibly low – as were the chances of him ‘waking up’ before they were done.

“I know it might not make much difference. And I do not ask for your forgiveness, or understanding. But I wanted – no, needed to tell you this. I'm sorry – for what I did to Ziyal.”

Her mood miraculously sank even lower. “For murdering her, you mean,” Kira didn’t even try to hold back the bite, nor had she ever been one for softening any blows.

Damar’s lips twisted. “You are right to call it what it was. Hiding from the truth won’t accomplish anything anymore. I killed her, and I deeply regret it.”

Kira said nothing, and Damar continued. “I’m not asking you for anything, believe me. But I hope… she can become a herald, of sorts. Her presence can live on in our alliance, a spirit of cooperation, and a new dawn for both our peoples.”

It was hardly the first time Damar made her think there could be a future for Cardassia after everything, one of reinvention and coexistence. Even Kira, with her underdeveloped imagination (Jadzia's efforts notwithstanding – ah, there was the stab of that hastily half-handled grief), could let herself imagine it.

Kira nodded, and pursed her mouth. Forgiveness wasn’t something she felt was hers to give, even if she wanted to. Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s.

“Nice speech, Damar,” she said, flatly. Ground out, almost. “It’ll be good for you, to’ve had the practice.” Then, after a moment of consideration of what she was prepared to give: “I hope I'll get to hear you make more of those someday soon. And I hope Cardassia will get to hear them, too.”

It only took another tragically small circle paced before the weight in the room became unbearable. Kira decided to make for their somewhat improvised refresher and what little privacy could be scrounged up – and caught Garak watching her, lying motionless but as alert as ever.

She silently met his eyes, then turned away.

-

5. 2376

The first day of her long-awaited leave dawned beautiful and clear. It seemed a small thing, to be sure – but perhaps the Prophets, prompted by their Emissary, had had a hand in making it so. No matter the reason, the sun shone on a Bajor that was growing prosperous and whole in ways Kira had feared it wouldn’t ever be again. 

The document that had just brought peace to two quadrants of the galaxy was called the Treaty of Bajor. There was talk, increasingly common and growing louder, of reactivating Bajor's suspended Federation membership application, and Kira had been made aware of the validity of her Starfleet field commission and the implications on her future career. The Vedek Assembly would be announcing their choice of the new Kai within the week. The soil beneath her feet was healthy, fertile, fully reclamated and ready for planting. There were now schoolchildren on Bajor who had never lived under the occupation. 

And there was Kira, who had helped liberate it, and hadn’t lived on it since.

This was the first time she’d returned to her home planet after the formal end of hostilities with the Dominion, and all that that had entailed. The light of B’hava’el was strong but not harsh – the same sun Kira had spent most of her life under, but that had never hit her more differently than it felt now. B’hava’el, that she had now seen from so much closer and so much further away – had, in a horrifying, memorable incident, helped prevent the destruction of, even. Her! Not just scrappy little Nerys from the Shakaar resistance cell anymore, small enough to slip through narrow passages in the labyrinthine caves of the Dahkur province and gaps in the Cardassian sensor nets alike.

She was Colonel Kira Nerys, commander of Deep Space 9, and, as a dear lost friend had made sure she was aware a while ago, a public figure in her own right. Ah– her own importance was something she would need to confront some other time, perhaps, right after she somehow went head to head with her grief. Ezri had been dropping some suggestions, in her capacity as a counselor, for all of the senior staff and beyond. It would be foolish not to consider her recommendations, both as the commanding officer and as a friend.  

Kira was well aware she had lost so much and so many. And she could sit down and catalogue the losses on a PADD, like freighter cargo inventory, but what for? She had gained, too, and lost again, and gained yet more. Like waves and eddies, pulling along a lightship on its way through the stars.

“Prophets help me if I try being a poet, too,” Kira mumbled to herself. Maybe she would take up writing tortured metaphors about the Prophets watching over and guiding ancient Bajoran star sailors on their journey all the way to Cardassia, for better or worse. 

A stray breeze toyed with the chain of her earring, carrying the scent of ripening moba fruit, and as she crested the hill, the outline of a house well under construction came into view.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Kasidy asked from just behind her, Jake right at her side, holding her arm.

“Just thinking aloud. Nothing important. Anyway… where did you want to start?”

Her two companions caught up to her quickly enough. The gasps of surprised joy at the sight of all the progress that had been made on the house were by themselves more than worth the trip planetside.

“Well,” Kasidy began, “we have all the plumbing specifications and details all worked out thanks to the local architect you recommended – thanks again, by the way. I think… the kitchen should be first.”

It was an obvious tribute. A longing and anticipation there, too. Kira's heart ached just a bit stronger then, for a beat or two. She nodded, scrolling down a PADD loaded with floor plans and interior concepts. “I know some people who can help with that, too. Ceramics and pottery artisans, and a few others. I’ve got some favours to call in.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Kasidy started, but didn’t get too far.

“Yes I do, Kas. We’re going to see this through, and we’re going to see it done properly.”

“Only the best for the Emissary?” Jake asked, pointedly. There wasn’t bitterness there, though Kira would have understood it, and perhaps expected it, from a young man longing for the return of his father. 

“For a dear friend and his family,” Kira corrected. “But – yes, I’m sure they’ll be happy and honoured to contribute. Now, Julian and Ezri will be down with the next transport, just in time to meet us for dinner in the village. We have a few hours to handle things here, check on the progress so far, make notes – any complaints or requests you might have. Remember, I’m here to make sure they listen to you.”

They started down the path into the almost startlingly green valley, Kira catching herself marvelling along the way at the visibility of all the growth and healing made possible by the hard, dedicated work of so many. Who knew what could be in store for an old civilisation of artists, architects, and philosophers, forced to reinvent itself, and the sometimes tenuous connections to vast stretches of heritage that Kira herself had grasped at in various ways for most of her life, born into struggle and desperate, determined rebellion, like so many others. 

Well. Nothing to stop her from trying her hand at poetry, after all.

She felt her lips twist wryly at the private joke – she knew her place and her strengths. And she thought she could say she knew herself, too – precious knowledge, by any accounting. She knew there'd be no rest for her, not really, as long as there was something to be done for Bajor, and for her station, and for her unlikely family, wherever they might end up, scattered among and beyond the stars.

But Kira allowed herself a moment, gazing up in what she imagined might be the direction of the wormhole’s entrance.

[ilalos]

Worth it (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) Part 1/2

Summary: You’re Simon’s cousin and you are ready for your first social season, excited for the courting and dancing. Your plans are shattered when you find yourself in an arranged marriage to none other than Lord Anthony Bridgerton, the one man who avoided love like it was the plague.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, arranged marriage, tiny bit of angst, Anthony is an idiot, if you think of anything else please let me know.

Word count: 2.5k

It was the second season the duke and duchess had the pleasure of enjoying together in their London home. The duke’s household had been rejoicing in the arrival of baby A for a year now and the family was also preparing themselves for the birth of their second child. One might think that they would rather spend these blissful moments away from the chaos that the social season brought, and one might be right.

Simon and Daphne had opted to miss this social season in view of the fact that Daphne would be heavily pregnant when the summer started and would be at risk of having the baby in London instead of the comfort of her home. They chose instead to visit the Bridgerton home before the season started so Daphne could be with her family for a couple weeks with no added stress.

But their plans changed when Simon’s aunt, seeing that they were going to London, decided to ship you, her daughter, with them so you could be part of the social season and hopefully find yourself a husband. The couple had agreed to take you to London and also to chaperone you throughout the social season.

You were a good, polite, and well-prepared lady; your mother had sent you to the finest finishing school in the country to make sure you were molded into the perfect bride. Despite the extensive preparations your mother had subjugated you to, there was one thing they couldn’t take away from you and that was the desire to marry for love. Everyone told you that what mattered was how well you could marry, that you’d eventually grow to tolerate your husband and that your children would give you more than enough joy; but that just didn’t seem enough for you. It didn’t matter how you felt about a loveless marriage though, your mother had been clear when she told you that you had this one season to find a husband and if you didn’t she’d choose for you whomever she seemed fit.

On the day of your arrival you learned she didn’t intend to give you even one season and, with no previous notice to you or him, you were introduced to Anthony Bridgerton as his bride.

Violet Bridgerton had grown tired of her son’s refusal to marry and after pressing him about the matter he admitted he was looking for a wife this season; she didn’t trust him to choose well and when Daphne wrote to her mother about you, she decided it was the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. And so, with your mother’s blessing, Lord Bridgerton was given your hand in marriage.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony was shocked, to say the least.

“You heard me, son, this is Lady (y/l/n) and she is to be your bride”

You couldn’t think, move or do anything but stand there staring at the man you were supposed to marry. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish and Daphne had to guide you to take a seat because she feared you might faint. Anthony then excused himself and fled to his study with Simon hot on his heels.

“I’m deeply sorry for throwing this at you with no warning, your mother warned that if you were told before you got here you might have refused to come at all” Violet apologized taking a seat in front of you and taking one of your hands between hers.

“Anthony is a wonderful man and I’m certain you will learn to like him, maybe even love him” continued Daphne.

Meanwhile, in Anthony’s office, a similar conversation was being held.

“What excuse do you have now to reject her?” Asked Simon

“I don’t know her, that’s enough to not want this marriage”

“You said you didn’t wish to love the person you had to marry, so I don’t see the big deal in not knowing her” Simon served himself and Anthony a drink as he spoke.

“Even with that being true, I also said she had to be smart and at least interesting to talk to” he took a small sip of his drink “and also that it wouldn’t hurt if she happened to be beautiful”

“And isn’t she?” Simon raised a brow behind his cup before continuing “She is incredibly smart, kind and she also attended the best finishing school available in the London area, which means she is as proper as a lady can be”

“Well yes, but-”

“Your only problem with her is that your mother forced her upon you”

“My only problem is that I saw in her face she had no idea she was betrothed to me, it is not fair for her to be forced to a short and loveless marriage like ours will be” Anthony finished his drink and slammed the cup on his desk, he knew there was no way out of this.

“She, as any lady in the country, knows that her duty is to marry well” Simon placed his cup softly besides Anthony’s “You’re the most desirable bachelor this season, there’s no better man for her if we look at status, money, and age”

Anthony limited himself to roll his eyes and remained silent, he knew Simon was right but it still stung that because of him you were now forced to be married to a man you didn’t love.

“Well, she’ll be a young widow so she’ll eventually have a chance at finding love”

A knock on the door interrupted Simon’s answer and he was thankful because he was quite frankly tired of Anthony’s certainty that he would die young, he understood that Edmund’s death had been hard for him but it was still tiresome to hear him speak like that constantly.

“Yes?” Called Anthony from his desk, prompting Gregory to enter.

“Mother requests both your presences in the dining hall for supper, now”

The rest of the day was uneventful, Anthony refused to speak to you and you were too shocked to utter a single word to anyone. After supper you excused yourself and went to bed early, when you had laid down Daphne entered your room and gave you a letter from your mother before saying good night and wishing you sweet dreams. You sat up and decided to read the letter before bed, maybe it would bring you some comfort.

“My dearest daughter,

If you’ve received this letter it means that you know about your engagement to lord Bridgerton, we couldn’t find a way to tell you because we feared you might refuse to travel to London if you knew. I hope you understand that all I’m trying to do is securing your future, the viscount is a kind man and you’ll be safe with him. I sincerely wish for you to be happy by his side, and maybe even learn to love him.

I know your father is looking down at you proudly and I’m certain he’ll bless your union with happiness, you were his sunshine and he’ll always take care of you no matter where he is, as will I.

Love,

Your mother who loves you”

You couldn’t help but feel angry at your mother for lying to you like that as if you were a child with no control over your own emotions. It would’ve been nice to know about your fate before you got here, it would have saved you from daydreaming about balls and love matches that you now knew were never going to be possible. Still, you were grateful that they had chosen Anthony, they might as well had promised you to an ugly old man. So you fell asleep that night disappointed on the false expectations you were allowed to have, but grateful for having secured the best bachelor in the season without even trying; it might not have been a love match but at least it was a good one.

-this time jump is brought to you by Roma, my golden retriever-

“If we are to be married no matter what, shouldn’t you spare me the pain of courting her?” Anthony was straightening his tie as he spoke to his mother.

“Courting, in this case, isn’t meant to convince her to marry you, it’s so society can see your intentions are respectable” she took over his hands and settled the bow tie once and for all “this ball is the perfect opportunity for everyone to see you both as a couple”

“And you act as if you weren’t already attending for Eloise” Benedict entered the room also dressed for the ball.

“Chaperoning, not dancing” clarified Anthony.

“It’s only one dance, my lord, it will be over before we know it” you had entered the room without anyone noticing and Anthony was a little taken back by your beauty, but recovered quickly enough.

“The dance might be, but the ball will be unending” with that he left the room to go and rush Eloise, they were going to be late.

You frowned a little looking at his retreating form, he hadn’t said anything about the way you looked, not one single compliment for his future wife. Benedict must have noticed your disappointment because he swiftly stepped in to make you feel better.

“You look positively stunning (y/n)” he kissed your hand with a small wink “My brother sure is a lucky man”

“That he is” called Daphne from the door “Here you go darling” he placed a tiara on your head, “I told you it would look wonderful with your dress, now let’s go” she patted your back softly “Simon’s waiting for us in the carriage”

“We’ll see you at the ball, my dear” called Violet seeing her daughter to the door.

The ball was beautiful and you felt overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Simon and Daphne guided you through the room and you felt everyone’s stares on you, you hadn’t presented before the queen because you were already in courtship with Lord Bridgerton so everyone was seeing you for the very first time.

Daphne had begun to feel tired and Simon had left to fetch her some lemonade while she found somewhere to sit down for a while, leaving you unchaperoned and praying no one would approach you while they were gone.

“Excuse me, miss?” So much for prayers.

“Yes?” Yo faked a smile as best as you could looking at the old man in front of you.

“I see you have so much space in your dancing card, perhaps I could book myself the next dance?” Your card was in fact empty because your darling fiancé had yet to appear.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible Mr. Wyatt, since she’s dancing with me,” said Anthony who had gotten to you just in time.

“Perhaps the next one, then?” Persisted Mr. Wyatt.

“That would be my dance” this time it was Benedict who saved you “Would you look at that? Her card is full, maybe you could try on the next ball” You hadn’t even noticed them scribbling all the Bridgerton’s names on your dancing card until it was full, but it now was and you were thankful for it.

“Thank you so much, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had had to dance with that man” you thanked Benedict.

“What are brothers for if not to protect future sisters-in-law from dancing with horrid men?” He joked back, making you giggle.

“Well then, let’s have our dance and get this over with” Anthony broke you from your fit of giggles.

“Remember you two, you have to look madly in love” at his brother's comment Anthony only managed to huff some curse words under his breath, dragging you to the dance floor by the wrist.

Once on the dance floor, you both got in position, and when the waltz started you began gliding through the dance floor gracefully.

“For someone who says he doesn’t like balls, you are an exceptional dancer,” you said in a playful tone.

“Mother made us take classes when we were little, any respectable man should be a decent dancer”

“They paid off, it’s a pleasure dancing with you” he didn’t respond to anything so you continued “Are there other talents you are hiding from me, Lord Bridgerton?”

“Not that I’m aware off, miss (y/l/n)” his answer was short and it was clear he didn’t care for conversation.

It had been like this since the two of you had been introduced, any attempt you made to get to know him better was quickly shut down by him. It was as if he wanted to remain a stranger to you, but you were to be married and you at least wanted to know a little about him besides his name and his clear lack of humor.

When the dance ended you left the dance floor and met with Colin by the beverages table.

“Why so sad, love?” The pet name caught you off guard but you assumed it had something to do with the alcohol you could smell on his breath.

“It’s nothing, Colin” you attempted to smile as you served yourself a small glass of lemonade “Have you seen my cousin?” You asked before he continued asking questions.

“He is by those tables with Daphne, a ball is no place for a pregnant lady” Colin pointed to the other corner of the room.

You thanked him and walked to where he had pointed, you were ready to leave, and also what Colin said was true, being in this ball was very stressful for Daphne so the earlier you left the better. Soon you spotted your cousin, his wife, and, to your horror, Anthony.

“Cousin! What are you doing here? I thought you’d be dancing with Benedict” said Simon.

“I was thirsty so I went to get some lemonade, here” you handed a glass to Daphne “I brought you some”

“How nice of you, thank you” she took a small sip “shouldn’t you be having fun? It’s your first ball dear”

“I think I’m quite tired already” you turned to look at Simon “Perhaps we could leave, cousin?”

“If you wish” he looked you up and down, making sure you were alright “Why don’t you and Anthony promenade around the room while I send for the carriage? Just to end the night right, at least in the eyes of the people”

You simply nodded and watched the way Anthony rolled his eyes as he offered you his arm. His plain rejection of you always hurt you, you knew he didn’t love you but never did you expect him to despise you. You walked by his side with a soft smile planted on your face but on the inside, you were hurting because with each day you saw your future clearer, and what the future held for you was being married to a man who could not stand you and would never love you. But then he lead you to your carriage and kissed your cheek when you were out of everyone's view, maybe he didn't find you so bad after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hi! I hope you enjoyed reading this, if you like it let me know i love the feedback. I’m kind of in love with Anthony atm so that’s why this is the second story I’ve written of him. Thanks for reading! :)

[erwinscrybaby]

𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧.

levi ackerman x fem!reader. nsfw. power play, kind of roleplay, maid outfit, brat taming, dom!levi, housewife!reader, teasing, unusual punishment, fingering, oral (m receives), ass play, use of a butt plug, penetration, clothed sex all for part ii.

note: it's long, got too excited and there's no smut yet so i'm sorry hzhah i hope you like it!! & reblogs are appreciated :p i'll try to write the second asap cause i got a sad writers block >:)

3.086 words. for the kinkmas collab by @chikaiomoi <3

As Levi Ackerman’s wife, you had a single—not meaning it was easy—task. Being the housewife.

You, the woman he had chosen to marry, have a good list of qualities he appreciates, loves and flaws he do not despise at all. Good manners, caring, a compatible mood to his usual cranky face. Gorgeous, an amazing body, velvet lips that could drive crazy even the most controlled Levi. Patient, understands him whenever he needs space, takes care of him when he’s about to collapse in so much paperwork.

In fact, the woman he never actually dreamt about, but fell in his life as a gift from God, or something like this. He could never deny such a blessing.

Because, beyond all the qualities he’s seen during your years living together, Levi would never dismiss the qualities he likes the most about every single person. Just like him, you’re cleanand perfectionist. The good amount—never obsessed, but also never sloppy; looking for the best of you whilst doing your tasks yet not getting frustrated and angry with yourself because it isn’t as flawless as expected.

Fulfilling the expectations he had on you, you’ve never given in to the laziness feeling and let the house tasks for later. Early in the morning, the breakfast is being cooked as Levi takes a shower; his lunch is also packed when he’s leaving to the headquarters. By the time he gets home again, the dinner is almost ready—you don’t finish a few things so when the both of you finally sit down to eat, the food is still warm and tasty.

Not to say about the house—from Sunday to Monday, it has not even a single thing out of its place. Bed is organized, wardrobe smells like the floral fabric softener you use, his uniform, dirty from the previous day, is already ironed and put on a hook. Dishes are never in mountains on the kitchen’s sink; the sofa’s pillows are all arranged. It’s a pleasurable sight when Levi opens the door of his house, tired of the long day, and sees the rooms all neat, the only mess being your endless books, notebooks and colored pens on the small corner table in the living room.

And, making him even happier, when Levi walks towards his room, he can see the average room the both of you choose to be the miscellaneous part of your home. His art and photography frames are never less than rigidly put side by side, following the alphabetic order of the author’s last names; his small winery has his bottles arranged by decades and Safra.

Thus, it is a genuine surprise for him when he opens the mahogany door of his well-designed apartment and sees the uncommon scene of nothing else but books and paper sheets all over the sofa, socks on the carpet and… is this one of his favorite beverages on the center table?

Levi takes a deep breath before stepping inside his place. You do not jump out of nowhere to greet him nor is close for him to see, and a small warning sign starts to sound in his brain. As he walks, he catches the pair of socks, rearranges a few books that don’t look exactly interesting for him and brings the wine bottle with him.

As Levi continues, in order to put at least his precious cabernet sauvignon back into its place, he still listen nothing coming from any other room. Not even a trace of you. Trying to keep it together, ignoring the annoyance growing, he tells to himself you must be sick, too tired to clean the house today. It happens sometimes; you’re not a machine after all. Added to your ridiculous habit of not telling him whenever you’re feeling back if he doesn’t push you, that must be the probable answer for this.

No more mysteries, he thinks. Perhaps you’re just taking a nap to help the pain.

Then he opens the miscellaneous room and the true answer is right under his nose.

Levi should have known better than think it isn’t any of your jokes.

Sick, yeah. Chances are you got the brat’s disease. No, it’s always there, inside you. It just found today a good moment for you to put all of his frames upside down, in an order he did not put. The brat inside you took control of his pretty and well-mannered wife and also replaced his Porto wines by merlot or sauvignon blanc ones. On the floor, a strange combination of objects—a teddy bear you use for decoration, headphones and a butt plug Levi have not heard about yet.

Mess did make him a visit through you, uh?

Yet every cell of his body can’t wait for him to put you to rearrange every single shit of his damn room, priorities exists and one of them is to talk to you, discover what happened.

Is he being a bad husband? Is he being mean to you; not giving what pleases you just like he promised when you said you’d prefer to stay at home and don’t work to be his perfect maid? Why is he being punished with such a clutter right when everything he wants is to get home and appreciate and reward you for your great job?

Does he deserve it?

When Levi gets to the bedroom, it’s hard to keep for him a sharp commentary. He knows if you’re sensitive you might get hurt by his words and he does not want this, regardless the anger he feels as he stares at the room that could easily pass by a hurricane victim.

And, contrasting with the mess every fucking where, there is your silhouette. An angelical scene, your body covered with a t-shirt, shorts as you lie down, calmly reading another book with shirtless men on the cover. As soon as you notice him, you look up, a grin on your lips instantly.

“Hi,” you shake your hand, closing the book. “Why do you have that angry face at me?

Levi forces himself to keep only his classical bored expression, not the pissed off one. You may have made him angry, but he’s not one to tell you or let you know. Instead, he enters the room and finds himself a place on the bed, between energy drink cans, orange peels and a map he didn’t remind of existing.

“Didn’t know tornados could hit a single apartment,” he answers, calmly, yet approaching from your body, dodging coloring books, crayons and pens to hold your waist, his grip tight enough to make you squirm and complain.

“Did you like it?” You shrug, your voice sounding like you’re talking about a silly thing. “Thought you’d like a change of ambient?”

“Sure you did,” Levi murmurs and, pushing away more colored pencils, a small copy of the Communist Manifesto and a Latin dictionary, he gets on top of you, between your legs. Kissing your neck slowly, he continues. “I’ll look for a new housekeeper tomorrow, and get you a job, since you’re not being an efficient wife anymore.”

He moves away just enough to see your face becoming an unsatisfied one. You lift your chin as you notice his gaze, but the warmth on your cheeks is not as confident as you try to look when you tsk, placing your hands on his nape.

“Try to look for,” you mumble, rolling your eyes just like an annoyed teenager would do. “Stop complaining; I was planning to fix everything up and you can rest while I organize.”

Levi put his fingers between your hair locks, pulling it until you’re face the ceiling. You bit your lips, kind of nervous, as he comes closer, nose touching yours and forehead leaning on yours. He truly hopes you can see how unpleased he is with your indifferent answer when mentioned he was going to replace you.

But he’s aware of it since the day if happened for the first time—a bratty wife like you cannot be tamed with threats. Then, making you pay for it is the best option.

“On your knees. Don’t disobey me once more,” Levi tells, staring at your irises deep, until your nonchalant smile is nothing but a grimace.

“Make me,” without missing a beat, you shake your head.

A challenge he accepts with pleasure. Levi surely will make you kneel in front of him with no mercy, because it’s all about the power and control he has over you, being the house’s man; he’s your Sir as you’re only the maid he pays with a good place to live and how many orgasms do you want to get. It has much love between, but it would never interfere in the way you should be treated, especially when it comes to bad behavior.

As long as you’re behaving like a grown woman, Levi is treating you like a fucking queen. However if you decide it is acceptable to keep acting like a ridiculous bratty teen, he must treat you as you deserve. God (and you) knows how he can be harsh with his discipline lessons.

It all starts with you between the man’s legs and counting every mistake and ends with you babbling some words he can’t understand properly—whether it’s because he’s fucking you dumb or not fucking you, it’s up to his mood.

“Want me to put a fucking gag for you to stop talking bullshit?” Levi suggests, his fingers around your jaw, firm as his voice. You difficultly shake your head and he pushes, all of sudden, three of his fingers inside your parted lips, where your tongue poked out.

You don’t move your tongue. His knuckles go until the fingertips are touching your throat, making you almost choke, but you refuse to do anything else. Levi sighs, impatient, and you raise your eyebrows like you’re smiling.

“If you want me to suck you must ask for it,” you tease, every word sounding stupid because of your muffled voice.

Fortunately, he understands very well. Putting aside the mountain of dirt you’d placed on your bed to the floor, Levi gets on his feet again. You yell while he pulls you together until you’re on his shoulder, being carried like a sack of potatoes. Fingers hit his back, but doesn’t make effect. Soon you’re sitting on the floor, full of broken crayons and random objects hurting your thighs and ass.

Levi feels satisfaction with your unbothered expression and sits on the bed. You’re pretty in his basic black t-shirt, black shorts that hide nothing of your pretty wet pussy—who needs to use the panties husband buys you, uh? Not even a little intimidated by his hard ways to make you do what he wants, you amaze the man with your endless stubbornness. Despite his wish to continue rough on you, the way you’re unconcernedly putting crayons aside as he stares at you makes him want to go a little easier. He wouldn’t give in to this feeling, though. The wines in a mess are enough to have him convict to apply your punishment.

You cross your legs and look up.

“I suppose you had fun while messing up with my portraits and wines, hadn’t you?” Levi inquires, but there’s no time for you to answer. “I want you to list the artist’s surnames in the order they were. If you can’t, I want the year of all my Porto and merlots.”

Your soft smile disappears. And his smirk grows up. The perfect balance, it must be. A silence persists as you breathe in and out like nothing’s happening. Levi also crosses his legs, arms behind his back to support his weight, waiting for any answer from your pretty lips. When he doesn’t receive any, he repeats what he wants to hear.

“Don’t know any. Memory is weak,” is your only argument, and Levi nods.

“I see.”

“Do you know? The dates,” you ask, sounding awkwardly sincere for the whole situation.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t say further. Instead, he put his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers together. “Pick your punishment then, bratty maid. Options are very good. Once you choose, there’s no coming back.”

You nod and he continues, watching your chest up and down a little faster. Too easy to have you nervous, fuck. But what can he do? Your face is so cute when you’re trying to hide that you’re scared of all the possibilities he may offer you. Lucky you, he’s not in the mood to be extra sadistic.

“You can say the years and the artists. You can walk there and say every single year of my wines in roman numbers,” Levi starts. “Or you can just put yourself on your knees and beg until God feels pity on your humiliation. What do you want?”

Levi knew lots about your flaws before marrying you. None of them were exactly a problem for him, since you’re able to control your feelings very well, but your massive pride surely is an exception. He has never met such a proud woman and, as he forced himself to be the altruistic of the relationship through the years, it is clear that if it wasn’t for his efforts, your marriage would not last.

Yet an annoying trait of yours, it could be interesting in situations like the one he’s put you now: the man is absolutely aware of your hate on roman numbers, especially if they are larger than a hundred. You cannot remember not even the artist’s name of the last portrait he bought last week. In theory, Levi offered you three options, but two of them are cruel and useless. You’re against the wall—you’ll have to swallow your pride down, get on your knees and make sure you’re crying in apologizes because of your mess.

Levi also knows you’re not doing it at all. The times he tried to, you and your smart tongue found out another exit that truly had a meaning, so he couldn’t just ignore your proposal. It is quite funny to bet with himself what will be your excuse now.

The man is not allowing you to write down lines at least fourty five times. You can’t convince him taking your clothes off and saying you’ll take the punishment in physical pain—you enjoyed too much. God, he wouldn’t even allow you to kneel down on Lego’s pieces until he feels bad about your shaking legs like the last time.

Small things do not work with him and his mind is limited now—despite his wish, he cannot thing like the strategist he is—, for him there’s no way out for you.

Finally, Levi is getting to see your face in tears as you beg for mercy. Fuck, how long he waited for it?

“What is it?”

“May I say my suggestion, Sir?” You raise your hand quickly and Levi sighs.

How the fuck do you do it? You must hate the idea of kneeling to him other than to suck him off and despair makes your brain work, since there’s no damn way you could have thought about a way to get rid of the humiliation in less than two minutes.

Unless you already thought about it alone, doing your stupid mess. Sometimes, having a smart wife sucks.

“Hell, no,” Levi dismisses with a hand move. “Do what I have said, I plan to finish as soon as possible to bring you to fix my room.”

Levi watches you struggling to spit the word you know will allow you to speak.

“Please, Sir” you finally say. According to the expected, your voice tone changed to a softer one, almost cute.

It’s always like this. When you can’t beat him at first, you slow down and start again when he’s not waiting. Mind does work hard to read your next moves, as do yours. Using of all you have in store definitely has Levi proud of his choice—you’re intelligent, sharp and cunning. Moments like this are mind games he appreciates a lot, even more when reminding other’s lives aren’t bet.

Your eyes are curiously waiting for his permission. But, seeing Levi with arms crossed and an unsatisfied expression, you conclude it doesn’t seem to be close. So you try to catch his attention by revealing what you planned to say only after resolving this.

“The maid uniform is inside the wardrobe,” you start, and he raises a brow. Shrugging, you continue as if it’s nothing. “I also bought a collar with leash, so you can guide me to clean every centimeter of our house in the way you prefer.”

“You talk too much,” Levi murmurs, annoyed.

Annoyed not with you, obviously. With himself and how easily he fell into your trap—the man should have known the single thing you did not mess inside your bedroom was the big box with the pretty uniform that had his dick hard with the idea of fucking you dumb in it. Or you on his feet, cleaning his shoes after giving him a kiss and his lunch. Even better—you cleaning and putting his bottles of alcohol in their right places as you squirm with a tiny vibrator inside your cunt, fighting to remember the XIX century starts in 1800’s, not 1900’s.

It’s adorable how you get so dumb with a pair of fingers or some silicon buried into your folds.

Levi doesn’t move a muscle to hide the growing bulge between his legs and you notice it, internally claiming your victory as he stands up and brings closer the box.

He throws the uniform on you, with no extra care.

“Wear and find me on the room you fucked up,” you see him looking for something in the drawer you usually put your panties. A commentary you make has him angrily staring at you, red cheeks. “Don’t want to hear your voice again. Come in silence.”

After getting the lube he was looking for, he leaves and you remain alone in the bedroom, listening to your own breath and smiling with excitement. As soon as you put on the black and white uniform, adjusting the tie, you look at yourself on the mirror. You hold the collar and the leash in one hand, the other is on your waist. Your legs are covered by thin fabric stockings and you wear nothing on your feet. Your eyes shine, eager for what Levi’s going to do with you.