#but his wife is like. a cfo or some shit

[bisexualalienss]

my brother and his wife are always in new zealand or denmark or some fun place. oh to be rich

[rammy]

insane double feature for the ask game incoming but tell me about either n gin or charles offdensen or both IDK

IM DOING BOTH. HI

n. gin first (wife privileges)

sexuality and gender i thinj hes bisexuals with like kind of a male preference. His gender is unknowable like honestly he's got some kind of .. Genderous Swag .. to him in a way I cant describe. and is one of those characters where literally any gender headcanon i've seen I've just been like "yea I can see that"

my OTP with n. gin is with MEEEEEEEEEEEE no but actually i'm like at least a little endeared when people draw him with n. brio ig. I don't know if i'd call what is happening with him and cortex a Ship not even in an "I dislike this" way i'm just like Woah. That's Crazy. N. Gin so freaky. Like it's beyond my perception of a normal Ship they're not even a Divorced OTP like cortex/brio they're just. Involved in such a strange way. But my selfship is the one true romance relationship I am invested in with him honest to god not even kidding that's my wife

BROTP idk I think its cute when he's like nina's designated batshit insane babysitter for the day. I liked seeing them kill ppl together in tag team racing when you played it. maybe i'm biased because I also love nina (*cortex voice* MY DAUGHTER)

NOTP i'm sorry him x n tropy is kind of nothing to me but maybe that's because I'm not that interested in n tropy like idk he's blue and British. it's not bad though i'm just like Eh

Random headcanon idk i like the idea of his palette change in twinsanity and eventually the radical ent. games being that he's like basically undead and all corpsey but he's still kickin like all the crazy shit done to him like the missile life support system is no matter what happens still. SUPPORTING. the hair color change is unrelated he just realized he's goth so he dyed it. I like how he acts like such a 2000s mall goth XD random wafflez no preps type of guy at his old age. cute.

my overall opinion on this character is that we're married

CHARRRRRLEEEEEEESSSS TIMEEEEEEEEEEE

Gender and sexuality headcanon honestly for the most part for years i've been on board with him being a trans male and gay but the more people posting about butch cfo the more it starts to embed in my brain. it's inspired.

OTP umm I enjoy seeing nathan/charles content it's cute i know I have my nathan/pickles bias but idk.. it's cute.. plus I've seen people make nathan/charles/pickles content before it was cool. also just pickles/charles i see very little of but I do kind of see the vision. all the Charles x dick knubbler fan art i've seen is pretty cute too

BROTP I loveeeeeeee when people draw charles and abigail and knubbler being dethstaff friends. bonding over those stupid assholes they work for. i understand why they went with abi leaving to like. Live her own life away from the inherent fuckedupness of working for dethklok but in a world where there were more episodes and they got the chance to like. Write her more as a character and give her more content then i'd like to see her bond with at least the dethstaff I can see it more than her palling around with actual dethklok to be honest. Also Im sorry I have to say it I want more cute dethstaff art with edgar included HE'S WORKING THERE TOO!!!!!!!!!! COME ON. anyways.

idk if I have a "NOTP" with him I mean I've seen him and magnus as ex lovers(?) which i guess I haven't been sold on enough. I've also seen him shipped with fucking idk melmond MELMORD THATS HIS NAME IM TOO USED TO CALLING HIM ARIN HANSON.

Random headcanon idk does me thinking he's autistic count

My opinion on charles offdensen is that his butch swag is what brought him back to life

[magalidragon]

So this is in response to a prompt ask I got awhile back from @freesoulladyaic— they requested beauty underneath and I am not sure exactly what but I think there was a mixup for which prompt list and number was requested so I went with the one I thought made most sense I hope you don’t mind and so sorry it has been so long! Enjoy!

Prompt: “I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too.”

"Fuck!"

"Language."

Jon looked up from where he'd stabbed his thumb with a pin, a series of them stuck between his lips.  He made a face at his wife, who was on the other side of the room, working on another dress form.  He lifted up the yards of shades of red soft organza and tulle, which he'd been alternating in a macrame styling on the bodice of the gown.  He'd been pinning them to the waist, already marked on the form.  It was giving it a very ethereal look, but with the deep colors, indicative of the Targaryen crest, the overlay looked equal parts ash and fire.

He finished off the bodice, taking the remaining pins from his mouth, and turned the form, frowning at the back, where he wanted to make the two straps criss-crossing from shoulder to waist thicker, both in black.  The red was just the detailing.  He pursed his lips, contemplating how best to achieve this, and felt eyes on him.  He lifted his, meeting Dany's gaze across the studio.  He smirked.  "What?"

"You're so focused, so intense."  She licked her lips, arching her brow teasingly. She purred, "You know what that does to me."

"Keep it in your pants, we've got dresses to finish."

"Hmm, the auteur himself, Jon Snow, working on his creation."  She sauntered over, in her long black housecoat, which she wore when working, her feet bare on the hardwood and jeans rolled at the cuffs.  Her hair was bound up in a scarf, kept from her eyes while she worked.  It was a decidedly unsexy look, measuring tape over her shoulder, pincushion strapped to her wrist and her pockets heavy with thread and a little set of scissors tucked into a brace on her other wrist, like she was some sort of sewing superhero.

He smirked up at her, the stool he was on swiveling over to her.  "Well I promised the client that I would have my best men on it."  He puffed his chest.  "And that happens to be me."

"Funny, I thought I was the client."

"You are, what do you think so far?"  He chewed his bottom lip, studying her face as she perused the fabric draped and pinned to the form.  He pretended like her opinion meant nothing to him, but in reality it was the only one that mattered.  If there was even a hint of dislike, he'd destroy the entire thing and start again.  It worked both ways.

She trailed a finger along the macrame detailing, the straps across the back, and lifted up the tulle strewn along the floor.  On the table he had sketches of the design, fabric samples pinned to a board on an easel, and at least one of the leather leggings he'd been sewing to go underneath.  While she studied everything, he got up, too nervous to watch her, and went into the adjoining office, picking up his vape.

Clamping his lips around it, he puffed, holding it in his mouth like a 'binkie' as Dany teased him, and picked up some sales reports, flicking through the assessments from their CFO.  They'd poached Willas Tyrell from his grandmother, mostly because he was bored with the steadiness of the established company and wanted something new.  He was brilliant, had taken their sales higher than even Jon had imagined-- and that was pretty far.

Dragonwolf had become the most sought after couture house in Westeros, while he transitioned L.Stark into an upscale ready-to-wear line, headed by Sansa.  Dany still maintained her CEO position over Dracarys, but Missandei had taken over as creative director.  It afforded him more time, he'd discovered, to do the things he really enjoyed doing.

Hanging out with Ghost, coming up with new creations, and Dany, not necessarily in that order.

He sucked down the fake smoke from the vape, tricking his brain it was actually a real cigarette, the action habitual and relaxing his nerves.  He sank into his chair, glancing at the photo of his mother he kept on the edge of the desk, smiling briefly at the image of her laughing, arms around him as he was wrapped up in fabric from playing in her studio.  His gaze darted to the image right beside it, of Dany in the same pose, hugging him after she had wrapped him up in fabric too.  It was in the same place, the same location he'd just come from, their private studio in the old townhome in Winterfell.

The vape still between his lips, he moved to the window, cranking it open and blowing smoke into the nighttime air, glancing towards the castle up on the hill.  The dresses were for the annual Winter's Eve Gala event, something of a who's who in the zoo of the Westerosi peerage and entertainment industry.  It was a chance for the Starks to show off the castle, everyone to arrive dripping in icy couture and jewels, and pretend like they gave a shit about the lesser people among them. There would be a famous silent auction, fundraising for the Lyanna Stark Memorial Fund-- which was incredibly important to his heart-- along with an award that would honor someone who had contributed significantly to Lyanna's chosen cause-- orphaned children.

But the thing people seemed to care most about was what everyone would be wearing.

He was making Dany's dress and she was making a dress for a new young actress as well as the young cousin of her friend Ser Jorah Mormont.  Lyanna Mormont was a Lady, technically, but you wouldn't know it.  She was a pistol.  This would be her first big event after her first movie had hit the scene, garnering her immediate raves and attention.  It was a big deal for her to be getting a chance to wear a Dracarys creation, especially handmade by Dany herself, but it was the least Dany said she could do for the young girl who made her smile and laugh every single time she encountered her.

Jon finished his vape, returning to the studio, and found Dany back to work on Lyanna's dress.  There were no notes left for him, so he continued to work, both of them silent.  He kept at it, accepting her kiss and murmured "don't stay up too late" with a distracted nod, remaining at his station into the night.  He pinned and draped and sewed, every stitch even, like his mother taught him.

Around two in the morning, his eyes burned, but he leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, and Ghost under his legs, fast asleep.  He was working on the leggings, finding hand-sewing leather to actually be a relaxing task.  It was soft in his hands, buttery almost, and he likened it to his mother, watching her work on making her own riding clothes.  He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and pulled on thread, slipping it in and out, until his eyes drooped further and further, until he was fast asleep.

--

The suit he'd chosen to wear was one of Dany's. The irony of L.Stark by Jon Snow, award winning and bestselling couture men's designer wearing a suit from anyone but his own line, especially Dracarys.  It was something he never would have thought possible two years ago when they were at the height of their hatred for each other.  Nay, he corrected himself, it wasn't hating, it was unresolved tension, best resolved by the explosion most everyone witnessed at the MET gala.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror, smoothing the velvet brocade over his chest, eyeing Ghost, who looked like he wanted to run up to him.  He pointed his finger, warning.  "No way. This is black velvet.  I'll never get your fur out."

Ghost wagged his tail, thankfully staying put on the bed.

Indeed, it was an incredibly comfortable and finely detailed suit, black silk tie with matching black velvet brocade along it-- if you got close enough you could see it was wolves and dragons running and tangling throughout, swirls of flames and snow following them.  That was a hallmark of Dany-- her ability to tell stories with her designs and the intricacies of her attention to detail.

He left their room, knowing she was elsewhere in the suite at Winterfell, where they'd deigned to stay that evening to prepare for the event.  He thought it a little silly; they would have to pretend to "leave" just to "arrive" at the same location and walk up the icy blue carpet with photographers.

Price they paid, he supposed, for business.

He left the suite, taking his time down the set of stone stairs spiraling down from their sitting and bedroom areas, into a receiving hall.  Davos was already waiting, their constant taskmaster, and he had Satin floating about somewhere.  "Where's Arya?" he asked.

"I believe she said and I quote 'fuck this shit, I'm not going.'"

He snorted, fixing his cufflinks.  "Sounds about right."

Davos checked his watch.  "I'll go check on the car."

"Stupid Davos, this is stupid."

"It's just a whip around the block."  Davos nodded, signing, resigned.  "Although aye, it is stupid."

"What's stupid?"

Jon heard Dany's voice before he saw her, and turned, looking up the stairs to where she was at the top, waiting for him.  He gaped, mute, and jaw dropping the moment his eyes rested on her form.  It took his brain a second to catch up with his body, which was already responding in kind, and another second for his voice to return.

He choked, watching her smirk at him, knowing exactly how she appeared and what she was doing.  Especially with the slow descent she took, every step tiny, allowing the full effect of her appearance to settle.  He could not believe it.

It was one thing to see a dress on paper, another in progress, and even the final version on the form or on a model down the runway.

It was another when it was on the person who inspired it, who it was meant for, from the first sketch to the final stitch.

Dany floated down the stairs, the dress whispering around her, the crimson and black rippling through the soft tulle.  It gave her a fairy-like appearance, but it was the black macrame, the black strappy heels on her feet, and her black fingernails, leather leggings, and crimson lips that warned eveyrone she was no simpering little thing.  She would burn you alive.

The skirt floated about her and she had topped it off with the see-through tulle gloves he'd made at the last minute.  Her silver tresses were spun in a complicated braided style, mountains of them criss-crossing and tangling in a crown about her head.

Someone asked her once why she always wore her hair in such intricate braids-- it had become her trademark.  "When I was growing up I learned a lot about the Dothraki tradition of a braid for a victory," she explained.  She had smirked.  "I grew up with the Dothraki.  They were my family.  I have never been defeated.  The braids show that."

Jon couldn't believe how gorgeous she was.

Or how lucky he happened to be.

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, found his voice.  "You know, I prefer you naked but that dress looks really good on you too."

Dany beamed, her smile beatific.  She offered her elbow to him, to take and lead her away to their car, but instead he lifted her hand delicately, even though that had was stronger than anyone would have thought at first look.  Eyes on hers, unblinking, he dragged his fingertips up the tulle, delighting in her breathy hiss.

He dipped under the top of the glove, above her elbow, and began to peel it down, agonizingly slow.  Her pupils dilated and mouth fell, her tongue darting out to nervously wet her lips.  He plucked at fingers, removing the glove.  With her skin bared, he stroked her forearm and then lifted her knuckles to his lips, brushing over them.

"Jon," she gasped, brows arching.  "We're going to be late."

"Do you think I care?"

"It took forever to get into this dress and look like this."

He spun her into his arms, tossing the glove down, and nosed at her neck, whispering along her racing pulse.  "I made the dress, I'll be careful."

"Not a word in your vocabulary."

He didn't acknowledge that, because he was kissing her.  After a moment, he lifted her under her knees, hurrying her back towards the stairs, to her delighted giggles.

Occupational hazard, he thought, later when they were late, racing down the carpet instead of allowing photos taken.  He made her the dresses, even though honestly, she looked good in anything.  Or nothing, as the case may be.

"Dany, who are you wearing?" someone called out.

Dany shouted back.  "Who do you think?"

He laughed, racing after her and not even bothering to answer the same question directed at him.

[starkergames]

Title: New Years Artists: @lilsoshie (Sketch), @iammagicfishhook (Lineart), @marveling-marvelous (Color) Writer: @darker-soft-starker The years will change and people will change as much as they stay the same. Some changes though, Tony finds, he really doesn’t mind.

Fic below the cut

Some things never change.

Like, being riddled with nerves whilst attending big events. 

Or, the little ticks he’s adopted to mitigate the uneasiness, like bouncing his leg up and down, firing off questions to anyone in earshot like, do you think they’ll have sushi at this thing, I have a craving. 

Or Pepper singing along to whatever is playing on the car ride over, and Morgan answering his inane questions with things like, ew, sushi.

Some things do change, though.

Like, coming back to life after five years of being dead. 

Or being delegated to the backseat next to his daughter, despite the honourable resurrection. Or having his wife remarry in the years following his death. 

You know, typical resurrection things, like realizing that the entire world and everyone you knew has changed. 

Tony’s got a thing about control. Always has. He likes to know, has to know, all of the variables. He thought he knew all of them before he snapped his fingers and prayed to the stones in his gauntlet.

Here’s the thing about infinity stones: they’re sentient. They like balance.

They’re also assholes with a perverted sense of symmetry.

Somehow, perfect balance and perfect symmetry translated into bringing Tony back to life after five years. Or, being suspended in the ether that was neither life, nor death, the holding cell between worlds. 

That was the airy-fairy, hand-wavey way that Strange explained to him. Sparkles and mystery. But Tony doesn’t remember any of it. The not being alive. One moment his heart was giving out, the next he was clawing himself out of the earth. 

That was pleasant.

Emerging dirty and naked to find he’d missed five years of his life was also a barrel of laughs. Missing five years of his daughters growth, finding out his wife had moved on? Hilarious. Best cosmic joke to have happened to him yet.

Though, Tony supposes this is how the recovered Snap victims felt, after. Chasing and chasing the years that were missed, feeling as if they will never be completely caught up.

But that was months ago, his resurrection. Reawakening. Whatever. Seven months and three and a half weeks, if he’s counting. He’d say he isn’t, but he definitely is. 

He’d used the time mostly caught up on the life of his friends and family, shed his tears. He’s lamented Steve, grieved over Natasha all over again. Wondered why the divine equilibrium didn’t include her sacrifice. 

But he’s learned to be okay. He’s living back at the re-built compound with Clint and Wanda and the old-new crowd of super-people that populate the place he used to call home. 

He doesn’t don the suit, hasn’t since he came back, worried that the moment he activates the housing unit that it will all be over, and Morgan will lose her father for the second time. 

He’s a consultant, now, for the new team. Financier. Benefactor. It’s very boring.

“You sure you want to go to this thing,” Tony says again, stretching his legs so his knees hit the driver's seat in front of him, where Peppers’ new husband sits. “You don’t want a quiet one at home? Ring in New Years with the llamas?”

“Morgan wants to go,” Pepper repeats, peering back to smile at her daughter. “Right, sweetpea?”

Beside Tony, Morgan looks up from her hand-held video game and nods vehemently, smiling brightly. Tony feels betrayed by her enthusiasm.

“Are they paying you to say that?” he leans in, whispering close to her ear. “You can tell me Morgasboard, name your price. I’ll beat it.”

His daughter flicks her gaze between her mother and Tony. She leans into her father and whispers loud enough for the entire car to hear, “Uncle Peter is going to be there. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly, nodding along, even though he knows she saw him two weeks ago. 

“Forever is a long time,” he agrees. 

That was another change that Tony feels weird and wonderful about. 

Somehow, in the time that he was six-feet-under, his former protege had become something akin to family to his daughter. Which, if he’s honest, in the years after the Snap, was the goal, the dream as he skipped through time with the Avengers, the proverbial what if that drove him to say yes that one, final time. 

Happy families, he’d thought. What else could two wayward orphans hope for?

Tony’s at least glad that Peter got that part of the deal. That Morgan got Peter. 

Even if Tony didn’t really have either, after.

“Uncle Peter could go back to the compound or the penthouse with us,” Tony offers, nudging his daughter. “You could ask DUM-E to be your new years kiss.”

“You have a speech scheduled, right, babe?” Peppers husband, Greg, cuts in. He was hired as CFO of SI three years ago and it was heart eyes at first sight, Tony is told. He watches as Greg frees one of his grubby hands from the steering wheel to reach across the console and squeeze her knee.

“Sure do,” Pepper smiles, snaking her hand down to clutch his, squeezing their fingers together. 

Tony’s not jealous. No, really. He’s adjusted, he’s over it. 

But he’s still Tony Stark, so he’s unapologetically petulant. And it’s Pepper, what kind of ex would he be if he didn’t properly field the prospects of the one woman he truly loved?

Feigning a stretch, he kicks his feet out again and jolts the driver's seat, delight welling up when Greg huffs irritatedly. Morgan giggles as if it’s some kind of game, and all the adults pretend that it is to please her. 

The unimpressed stare from his ex-wife caught through the rear-view mirror does little to dampen his satisfaction.

It’s the little wins, Tony thinks, as they pull up to the building, paparazzi huddling around the rope barriers that flank the red carpet, flashes firing through the tinted windows as they come to a stop.

Just because some things change, doesn’t mean he has to.

It’s that mentality that gets him through the dreaded, interminable walk from the car to the ballroom entrance. This is old hat, he tells himself as he waves to the crowd. You could do this with your eyes closed. God, he used to be so good at pretending to care about this kind of crap.

Reporters brandish their network-issued microphones at him, at his family. Fans shoulder against security, all of them yelling out in a cacophony of noise he might call white were it not the sound of his own name, in all of its iterations. 

Although he’d rather make a beeline straight to the ballroom he stops and greets a few fans, shakes a few hands, high-fives a few kids. After a slew of signings and selfies the comparatively calm interior of the ballroom is blissfully welcomed. The quartet supplying tunes in the far corner is a reprieve. 

So is the way that Pepper clutches Greg’s hand and leads him away at the same time Morgan clutches Tony’s. She looks back and says, be good. Tony doesn’t know if she’s directing it to him or their daughter.

Socialites swan around them, but Tony just looks down at his daughter and smiles. He squeezes her tiny fingers.

“You wanna dance, Morgarita?”

Her serious expression turns gleeful as she drags him to the centre of the room to dance without a shred of shyness. 

She’s a lot like she was before he died. Smart and mischievous, cute as a button. But she’s markedly different, caught in that pre-teen phase where she’s gaining modicums of independence. Tony’s getting used to not needing to make all her meals or do her hair for her. He kinda misses it.

Little things. It’s always the little things.

She’s taller now, too. That was a change, to have his daughters head rest against his chest when she hugs him. She’s too tall to be picked up, too proud when Tony offers. So she wraps her arms around his midsection and they sway together on the dancefloor. 

Only a few couples are dancing. The night is still young. But, like anything in high society, it’s all smoke and mirrors. 

Which means most guests are mingling, telling each other how beautiful and fabulous they are, filling the room with so much re-circulated pomp and hot air the room is practically a hotbox.

Of course it’s a business event as much as it is a philanthropic one, so not even Tony can avoid the inevitable schmoozing that comes along with it. When Morgans tired feet demand a break they seek out seats and snacks - and they too, are sought out.

To his ire, associates come and go like a conveyor belt to shake his hand, politicians and socialites thank him for reversing the Snap, the Blip, the Click, the Dusting, all of the stupid names and his daughter is sitting right there, growing more and more morose at each mention of the worst thing that ever happened to her.

So Tony looks down at his daughter, mid conversation with a senator and says, “Hey, sweet child of mine, wanna go to the dessert table?”

She perks up at that and is off like a rocket to the other side of the room where swathes of mouth-watering sweets are spread over an eighteen foot table. 

Tony follows her beeline without saying goodbye to the senator, mentally rubbing his hands together at the grub. He’s sure he will pay for directing his daughter to a trove of sugar and hyperactivity. But desperate times. 

Who is he kidding. He’s going to need all the sweet stimulation he can possibly consume to get through this shit-show himself. 

When he catches up Morgan already has chocolate smeared on her lips. Fancy desserts perch daintily upon gold lined plates, on tiered stands. Thin streams of velvety, liquid chocolate trickle out of apex fountains, flakes of edible gold cover the setting.

She points excitedly with messy fingers to the ones she wants Tony to try. He should resist, right? He’s really isn’t supposed to eat dairy. That, along with his faulty levels of serotonin, was something the all powerful stones failed to fix. Which was really just plain lazy, if you ask him. 

But he spies a flamboyant looking fruit-pastry and thinks, fuck it.

Then he sees a yellow-treat that makes his mouth water and thinks, I can work it off tomorrow.

He reaches over and crams an entire portugese egg tart in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Morgan laughs, tipping her neck back in unbridled delight.

“Do it again!” she says, bouncing on her feet.

He does. And then again, and again.

Which is how Peter Parker finds him no more than ten minutes later.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony nearly chokes in his haste to chew and swallow the pastry when Peter swans into view, dressed to the nines and grinning a mile wide. He hears Morgan gasp delightedly beside him, running off to catch up with the younger man while Tony tries not to quietly asphyxiate.

Swallowing roughly, Tony gives him a thumbs up.

Several feet away, Morgan throws her gangly arms around Peter. She buries her head into his chest, just like she does with Tony, brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she embraces him tightly. Peter settles his arms around her neck and leans down to kiss the crown of her head, whispering something to hear that Tony can’t hear.

There’s a weird pang somewhere behind his ribs at the sight. 

He swipes his half-empty flute of champagne and downs the remainder in one gulp to cover it. 

“Mr. Parker,” Tony greets, rocking on his feet when his daughter and former protege walk back to him hand-in-hand. “Didn’t know you owned a suit in your size.”

The younger man holds his free arm out, twisting it to test the fit. It’s a grey suit with a maroon dress-shirt, tailored to perfection. It looks new.

Peter smiles. The action has creases forming at the corners of his eyes; a small, subtle nod to the years Tony missed. Gone is all of his baby fat, his face angular and defined. He holds himself with more self-assuredness, even now. 

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter grew up handsome. 

Worse, he grew up to be Tony’s type.

“Oh, this? I didn’t pick it - but it’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. You, uh,” Tony swallows roughly, eyeing the man from head to toe. “You look good. You clean up well, kid.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at the compliment. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You - you too. You look... good. Really good.”

Peter meets his gaze, his cheeks a furious shade of pink. 

The motion of the room slows as he watches the sparkle reach Peter’s eyes. Everything in his peripherals becomes dull, unfocused. His own heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest and his sure his face is doing something without his permission. 

Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stepping closer. 

Now, Tony thinks, staring at Peter’s face, the earnest smile still tugging at his lips. Now is the time he would say something to curdle the mood. 

Peter being a full-fledged, rent-paying adult adult is new. Being on an even footing with Tony as a person and a professional is new. There’s so much new about him that Tony still has to learn.

There’s plenty that has stayed the same. His soft-spoken, courteous nature, his ethics.

But Tony can read the unfamiliar in Peter’s posture as much as he does the carefully curated vocabulary, how he stops himself from stammering into subjects he might have stepped into, before. The barely-there lines of age around his eyes, the confident squaring of his shoulders. 

And how Tony finds that his imperfect teeth compliment the ever-wayward hairs of his eyebrows - and how all of it, all of Peter, is now somehow charming, rather than awkward.

“How have you been, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling forward

“Good,” Tony says, lips stretching onto the first genuine smile of the night. He’d try to tug those corners down, were it not for the infectious way Peter’s mouth does the same. “You?”

“Good, yeah. Super busy.”

“That’s good. Good to keep busy, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “It is good. Keeping busy. And how are you? -- Wait, shit, sorry, I already asked that.”

“This one keeps me going,” Tony tugs on a lock of Morgan's hair, taking mercy on him. “You been too busy to see the news about Spider-Man? I know you’re a fan.” 

Peter steps closer again, clasping his hands behind his back, smiling coyly as those around them perk up in interest.

“Which news?”

“Taking down Kingpins empire. Fisk behind bars.” 

“Oh, I think I heard something about that.”

Tony nods.

“What a guy. New York’s never looked cleaner. Although, take that from a guy who hasn’t seen the city for five years.”

“That’s some high praise,” Peter says, wringing his hands together as he nears. 

“He’s a hero,” Tony looks to his daughter. With an affirmative nod of dark hair she concurs.

“I think he’s just a regular guy,” Peter huffs, snorting when Morgan giggles knowingly.

Before Tony can inch closer, maybe to do something impulsive like what his hands have been itching to do and grip the lapels of Peter’s suit jacket, the moment is broken by a nearby cry.

“Peter! There you are!”

Sweat beading along his receding hairline, a heavy arm slung over Peter’s shoulders, Otto Octavius swims into view, nodding politely at Tony and Morgan.

“You’re a slippery one, Parker,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

“Otto, this is --”

“ -- Got some guys that want to meet you,” Octavius interrupts, thick fingers squeezing Peters bicep. He leans in and and whispers in a way Tony is sure is meant to be discreet, “They’re keen to meet the brains behind the project; come say hi.”

Another change Tony never counted on was the trajectory Peter’s life took after his passing. 

Peter never went to MIT like Tony had dreamed for him. He went to Empire State University.

Pepper informed Tony that she in fact had reached out prior to his graduation and offered him a position. But Peter had declined. He hadn’t said why, but he’d chosen to work under Otto Octavius at Octavius Industries instead. 

One thing that Tony learned in his short time back in the land of the living was that Otto was infamously proud of his new employee and favoured immensely. 

It’s what Tony would have wanted for Peter, really. Doing what he loves, being given the respect his intellect and kind heart deserves. He seems to be happy and all grown up. As if Tony needs the reminder.

It’s just that Otto was always an insufferable do-gooder. Save the trees, save the bees. ALl noble notions that Tony agrees with - but Otto is like the human personification of a PETA ad. He’d never been a fan of Tony’s, even after he reformed, literally. 

Still, do-gooder or not. There’s something about him. Something that Tony doesn’t like. Just a vibe he has. He’s got good instincts after all of these years and he knows he’s got a solid hunch. There’s something about that man, he knows it.

It’s got nothing to do with the proprietary hand Otto has on Peters shoulder, like the younger man is just a thing to show off. Or how Tony wanted to be the one doing that.

It’s got nothing to do with the way Peter’s suit perfectly fits his frame, or how the maroon and grey compliments his clear, milky skin.

It’s definitely not related to the way Tony’s heart beats just a little bit faster when Peter is in the room.

Yeah.

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Peter smiles apologetically at the Starks, eyes softening at Morgans pout. “I won’t be long, you owe me a dance little miss, remember?”

Tony waves dismissively at him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiters tray. He swallows another generous mouthful, bubbles burning on their way down. 

With Morgan munching on a gold flaked cheesecake at his side, Tony watches as the young hero is led away. Otto’s hand on his back, guiding him to make nice with some university hacks. Five years ago Peter would have fumbled through these introductions. He would have gone bright red and blurted some weird factoid to make conversation. 

But he’s polished now, Tony watches. Not perfect, but his posture says confident adult, not awkward teenager, like the last time he wore a suit around Tony. This suit really does fit him like a glove. His handshake looks strong, too. Firm.

Were Peter’s hands always that big? 

Tony sips his champagne, observing the girth of his former mentee’s fingers. It’s not until he feels the burn of Morgans stare on the side of his face that he breaks his gaze.

“What,” he says.

She points a chocolate covered finger at his face. 

“You know how I feel about people holding up one finger at me. If you’re gonna do it, it should be the middle one.”

“You like him.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I like him. He’s your Uncle Pete.”

“No, dad, you like like him. You want to be his boyfriend.”

“What -- I do not,” Tony says, casting her an incredulous stare.

“You do. You want to marry him,” she says, scrunching up her face and making kissy noises. 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.”

“I --” he huffs, gesturing to the room at large as his words run away from him. “Do not. I’m the adult. You’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. Case closed.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, here,” he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and slips a crumpled fifty out. He waves it in her face. “Take this and never speak about it again.”

“Can I speak about it to mom?”

He slips out another fifty and hands it to her.

“No.”

She smiles, neatly folding the notes and tucking it into her little bag. Tony stuffs another tart down his throat, knowing he’s been played.

She really is his kid.

----

It’s not that Tony doesn’t know.

He knows.

It’s familiar after decades of experience. That weird feeling he gets. The fluttering of his heart, the topsy-turvy motion in his stomach, were he any younger he might call them butterflies.

He just doesn’t get it.

There’s a lot of things that were jarring when he awoke, soil under his fingernails as he tore through the earth in the desperate search for oxygen. He remembers waking up, confused and naked, body restored to the moment before he snapped his fingers. He remembers stumbling onto a rebuilt compound, unable to speak, learning that the entire world had moved on and changed without him.

With FRIDAY as his guide Tony had seen all of the monuments and the altars in his name, fresh bouquets propped against them, even years after his death. The adoration and the glorification immortalised in murals and statues, in grants in his name, in tell-all books. 

They’d even made a shitty movie about his life. 

The actor who played him was too short and the woman who played Pepper wore a wig. It was funny. Not like, funny haha, but funny in that uncanny, meta photo-within-a-photo kind of way.   

But when Peter had come to the compound that first time and they talked after they both finished crying -- it was different. And every time after, it was different. 

It was… awkward. At first, they didn’t know how to be around each other, automatically falling into old molds of mentor and protege. It was almost immediately clear that their old roles weren’t going to work -- too much between them had altered to fit back into the old model. 

They needed to recalibrate, and quickly.

Their dynamic did change. If Tony thought about it long enough, innocently enough, he might dare to call it a friendship.

He would, but there was that feeling in his chest. Beat, beat, bang.

It was a work in progress, to reconcile the flutter in his stomach with the Peter now, with the Peter that was, before. A man who had lost all his baby fat, who was old enough to have colourful stories and a wealth of life experience, who had remarkably broad shoulders looked damn good holding a wrench.

It was the hands. 

They looked very dexterous. Capable.

But that didn’t stop him from spiraling into deep, existential pockets of despair as he wondered if the stones really thought it was best to revive him so he could actively thirst over someone he used to be responsible for. 

Peter is barely fifteen years older than his daughter. He’s lost count how many real and missing years are between them now between death and the Snap. Five a piece.

He can’t tell his road-runner heart if that’s better or worse, though. 

But, too high on the adrenaline of seeing Peter, he forgets to tell his body to stop, to remind his stupid heart that this one is not available. 

----

Sometime after eleven the gala is in full swing. The mood perks right up in anticipation of the New Year.  

Most of the remaining guests are pleasantly tipsy by this point, if not outright drunk. All of the stirring speeches have been made, Peppers included. 

Tony tried to listen, however got distracted by - well, anything. But the effort was there. Something about giving and starting the year fresh, clean slates. 

The relaxed atmosphere has more couples dancing on the floor. The Mayor and his wife stumble over each other, moguls and A-Listers mingle and take selfies against attractive backdrops. 

Even Morgan grew tired of Tony’s ornery approach to the evening, departing with a kiss to his cheek to dance with her mother.

Tony forgets, sometimes. That people expect something of him, something more. Like his resurrection was divine intervention, and if the universe intended him to be here, surely it was for a purpose higher than acting like a morose old man, hiding in the corners of ballrooms.

It’s just. He doesn’t know where his place is anymore.

Norman Osborne stops by to crow about his latest achievements, his contract with the NYPD to provide surveillance towers all over the city. Tony’s seen them. They’re hard to miss.

“Design’s a little archaic, don’t you think? Not very discreet. A pettier man would say you were overcompensating for something.”

He’s not really paying attention as he’s speaking, too distracted by the debacle before him. 

Harry Osborn and Peter dance together in the centre of the room, leaned in close to one another and snickering at what the other has said. 

They look loose and comfortable around one another, as if they were old friends. Or something else.

Peter leans in close to Harry’s ear to whisper something, the flush on his face creeping down his neck. In one swift movement Tony throws back the rest of his champagne, wishing the liquid would drown him, stomach turning to cement.

Whatever Norman says in response goes unheard. 

With the crowd dispersed, Peter catches Tony’s eye and waves exuberantly, nearly hitting Harry in the face.

Tony raises his glass, wincing. 

At least some things stay the same.

“They roomed together at ESU,” Norman breaks Tony out of his musings.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries his best to appear indifferent. Why should he care? That’s right, he doesn’t. Not even remotely.

“I see.” Play it cool, he thinks. “They look close, are they —?”

Nailed it.

“No. They tried, but it didn’t work out. Harry’s engaged now.”

“Huh.”

“But Peter is always welcome in our home,” Norman drawls. “He’s like a second son, really. Wasn’t he your protege once?”

Osborn is so smarmy. All at once Tony remembers why he hates this man and his dumb, weathered face. His covetous tone makes Tony want to hurl, or send a suit to the nearest Oscorp building and play rain of fire.

“Good god, imagine if he was your son,” Tony says blithely. “As if you need another one of those to mess up.”

Norman huffs.

“You’re hardly the authority on raising well adjusted children, Stark.”

Ire spears up hot to his throat, but before Tony can deliver a withering reply, he’s interrupted by the arrival of Pepper and Greg. 

Morgan trails behind, dragging a laughing Peter with her by hand. She weaves her thin body through the crowd, having pulled the man away from his dance wearing identical grins.

He watches his daughter cut through swathes of the elite in a trail of chiffon, delight clear in the laughter that follows her. Tiny heels clack against the polished ballroom floor, and Peter indulges her mischief, catching Tony’s eye and winking as they near him.

It’s the first time he’s seen his whole family look truly carefree since he came back. 

And Tony is where he should be. An inscrutable mass against the beige, peeling wallpaper. 

The look of distaste on Normans face as he walks away is enough to dampen some of his churlishness as his family form before him. Pepper makes small talk with Peter and Greg smiles awkwardly at a passing senator. Morgan dives for a profiterole before anyone can stop her. 

For a moment Tony feels like he’s in a McDonalds playground instead of an upper-class charity event.

Pepper must have had a hand in choosing Morgans dress, Tony thinks, because it has pockets. And, watching her as the adults talk, she sneaks handfuls of tarts and truffles into the grooves of her dress. Tony wants to laugh, to wink at her conspiratorially at the same time he wants to tuck her into bed, new years or not. 

Morgan beckons Peter closer to the sweets table. The younger of the two piling her favourite sampled sweets onto a napkin and thrusts them towards Peter, fervently requesting that he try them, they’re so good, Uncle Peter. 

“Not everyone wants dessert for dinner, little miss,” Tony reminds her, swiping a napkin off the table and wiping the melted chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a baby, dad,” she complains, taking the napkin from him.

He forgets that too, sometimes.

Peter smiles between them, delicately plucking a single strawberry off one of the offered miniature flans and popping it into his mouth. 

Lust spears through him so suddenly Tony sways on his feet. Fuck. 

His daughter and ex-wife are right there. 

“Mr. Stark. Would you - uh,” Peter breaks off to swallow audibly. “Would you like to dance?”

Otto is by the bar. Harry, by the French Ambassador. Tony is in his self-made corner of the room, nibbling on vol-au-vents and sashimi to pass the time. 

He can smell Peter’s cologne and his sweat when he steps closer and sheepishly offers his hand and Tony’s entire damn body wants to just reach out and interlock their fingers, to pull Peter close and breathe him in. Never has Tony wanted to bury himself in another body before and not come back out, not like this.

Tony would consume all of what Peter had to give, if Peter let him. The offering look in Peter’s eyes say that he would let him.

“I… uh,” Tony begins, searching for a quip to cover his falter. Smiling at his companions, Tony smooths his hand down his tie, pretending the curious looks of concern are just the alcohol. “I need fresh air.”

“Tony --”

“Mr. Stark --”

He waves them off and smiles apologetically at Peter.

“-- I’ll just be a sec. Is it hot in here? Is anyone else hot? I’m like, sweating here, wow. It’s just pooling under the armpits. I’ll just be a minute, excuse me --”

The crowd parts for him like the red sea as he marches through it in search of the nearest door. But he’s never felt less powerful in his entire life.

Or lives, as it were.

----

Outside, the air is blissfully fresh and cold. The rooftop is far less crowded than indoors, only a few patrons lean against the railing, cigarette smoke curling up from their fingers, some in quiet conversation with another.

There’s a carefully constructed pyramid of wide, vintage wine glasses brimming with champagne. He’s careful not to topple the entire thing over when he goes to reach for one. Overheated, even as the winter wind nips at him, he takes his drink and finds a quiet corner to sulk in.

Perching upon a stone bench away far away from the others, Tony tips his head up at the starless sky and huffs. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing?

The New York City skyline is alight before him in all its glory, but the memory of how Peter’s face dropped flashes across Tony’s mind on a loop. He looked taken aback. Hurt even. 

Shame wells up low in Tony’s stomach and doggedly stays there. 

It’s for the best. Right? It has to be for the best. Peter deserves the best and Tony is not that.

It’s not right for him to want to fit himself into Peter’s life when he seems to be happy and successful without Tony - there’s one thing he knows unequivocally about himself is that he would ruin that. Ruin Peter, one of the few good things he has left.

His heart doesn’t get the memo. 

Because when he closes his eyes, all he imagines is the way Peter’s firm body would feel against his. What it would feel like to curl together on the sofa, in bed, under the sheets. How his curls would tickle the underside of Tony’s chin, and what it would be like to trace the lines that branch from his eyes when he smiles, or to stroke the narrow slope of his nose as he sleeps. 

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong because Tony doesn’t fit there. Not there, nor in all of the places he used to. He’s not Iron Man or a businessman. He’s not a husband or a full-time father. He’s not even Peter Parker's mentor. 

What he is, for all of his resurrected glory, is an afterthought. A spectre, hovering in the fringes of all of the places he used to be the centre of.

He smiles, raising his glass to the smoking couple as they nod politely at him.

It’s fine. He’s happy that everyone is happy.

But it’s been months. He ain't Jesus, but surely by now he’d find some sense of purpose.

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony opens his eyes Peter stands before him, clutching a perspiring glass of wine.

Tony doesn’t want to notice, but he does anyway. The look of concern written on his face is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the rooftop, the nearby flamelight serves to deepen the frown lines on his young face.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark? Sorry to follow you out here, you just seem kind of...”

“Surly?” Tony guess. “I’m fine, kid. Just had a few too many. Didn’t want to hurl all over the drapes. No need to worry.”

“I was gonna say overwhelmed, but yeah,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony’s bent knees hit the top of Peter’s thighs - his stomach swoops, again. “I’m gonna worry anyway.”

“Yeah, well, happy New Year,” Tony says dryly, knocking their glasses together. 

Peter taps his smart-watch with a finger. 

“Still got five minutes before that. Can’t break into Auld Lang Syne yet, Mr. Stark.”

“We could if we were in Halifax,” Tony counters. The younger man tilts his head agreeably and Tony calls the easing of tension from Peter’s shoulders a win.

“Let’s stick to New York.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be? You got four-something minutes.”

“Right here, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony doesn’t know if that’s frankness or fiction, but he smiles all the same, patting the slab of stone he’s sat upon invitingly. 

“Well, come aboard, Mr. Parker.”

Without pause, Peter hoists himself on the bench with a single hand, delicately balancing the glass of champagne with the other. He shuffles to get comfortable, swinging his legs as he settles.

The firelight catches onto the curve of Peter’s curls, slicked down into wilted tendrils from the sweat dotting his hairline. 

His heart is positively thunderous in his chest. He raises his hand to soothe it and at once, sickeningly, painfully misses the comforting heat of the arc reactor.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, after a moment.

Tony smiles wryly, mostly to himself. Of course, there’s nothing that escapes Peters notice.

“Trust me, kid. There’s not much to say.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Peter says, fishing something out of his pocket and handing it to Tony “I, uh, thought you liked those. I took the last one.”

It’s a portugese egg tart, Tony notes, warmed slightly from Peter’s body heat. Fuck. He does like them. They’re his favourite. 

Tony pretends like his heart isn’t swelling to the point where it feels it's going to burst and breaks the tart in two, passing over the other half to Peter. 

“Thanks, kid. Try some.”

They eat their halves in relative silence, save for the sound of chewing and Peter’s shoes hitting the stone as he swings his legs. But the mood grows quieter, noticeably pensive after they finish eating. It makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“You know,” Peter says softly, as if raising his voice would shatter the moment, “you’re not the only one to come back to find years lost. To find the world different. I know it’s not easy. Especially on nights like this.”

Tony swallows roughly, chasing it with a mouthful of champagne. 

“You seem to have managed well.”

Peter huffs. “Oh yeah, real well. God, you don’t even know how --” his voice breaks off, voice wet with emotion. He looks away, throat bobbing as he gathers himself. “You just -- you don’t know.”

The moment feels fraught with enough gravity that it would bring the moon down between them.

“Hey,” Tony chides, trying to diffuse the heavy emotion with what levity he could utter. “Come on now, it’s supposed to be me out here maudlin. Don’t steal my thunder, Charlotte's Web.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to pencil in sad hours for later.”

“Appreciated.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. A woman, visibly drunk, passes them and raises her glass to Tony, the liquid sloshing out from the glass and down her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and stumbling away.

That would have been Tony ten years ago (in his lived years). On the weekends without Morgan, sometimes it still is.

“Got any resolutions, Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. Take Morgan to Saturn. Run for president, get back on the Cosmo’s Bachelor of the Year.” 

“Most people just join a gym.”

“I didn’t come back to life to break my hip on a treadmill,” Tony says, offended. “What about you, Peter Rabbit?”

Peter takes a sip of his drink as he visibly deliberates. Wayward drops of champagne gather at the corner of his mouth before he scoops them with his tongue, eyes drifting to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get this guy that I’m into to take me seriously.”

Tony hums, stomach dropping.

“Some guy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I’m like, super into him, but he still sees me as a child.”

His stomach swoops back up.  

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, daring to hope, “this guy’s an idiot if he can’t see you for the man you are. You’re a catch.”

Peter shrugs, inching closer as he adjusts his balance. Their hands are nearly touching and Tony can feel the heat radiating from the man's body and he hates himself for it, just a little bit, he’s too old to feel like a kid with a crush again. 

“He’s not an idiot. Well, he is, sometimes. Not all the time.”

“You sure this guy is good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking out at the skyline again. “He’s just lost. I can wait.”

“What if he’s not right for you?” Tony says, throat closing unexpectedly. “What if he’s not worth the wait?”

Peter shuffles closer. 

“He has been so far,” he says, bravely extending his pinkie so it curls atop Tony’s. In the cool night air the touch of skin against skin is scorching. “Worst case scenario has already happened. I’ve already lost him in the worst possible way. I could do without him calling me kid all the time though.”

“He makes no promises on that.”

“I thought as much.”

“You deserve better than lost, Pete,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. For a moment he can’t speak, the memories of electricity ripping through his body in a moment of love much like the feeling he has now. “You deserve the best.”

But Peter doesn’t say anything. He tugs on their linked pinkies to intertwine their fingers, resting them in the interstice of their pressed thighs. Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s palms are damp against his, how they tremble ever so slightly. It’s grounding, to know Peter is as nervous as he is.

When he gets brave enough to stroke the back of Peters hand with his thumb some of the mired shame melts away.

“Deserve is subjective,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And I decide he is the best.”

“What if he wants you back,” Tony whispers, shifting closer on the stone until their sides are entirely flush together. “But he has nothing to offer you. Doesn’t fit in with your life.”

“What about what I can offer him?” Peter clutches his hand tighter, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of Tony’s hand. “What if I'm there while he finds his way?”

“Pete.”

“You have time, Mr. Stark. You can figure the rest out as it comes to you.”

“And until then?”

“You go with the flow.”

“How?”

“Like this,” Peter whispers, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

Closing his eyes, Tony leans into it and lets himself fall. Peters lips feel soft, pillowy, the kiss chaste and unassuming. When Peter pulls back he looks dazed, which is silly, because that was a tease for Tony. 

Eyes on the glistening bow of Peter’s lips, he wants to dive in and tug it between his teeth. So he does.

“That’s -- yeah,” Tony says, sliding their noses together, “Were you -- were you always this confident?”  

“I’m not confident,” Peter replies, kissing him again, pulling back to exhale shakily against Tony’s lips. “Holy cow. That was, like, a super big risk for me. Wow. Did I fool you? Are you fooled?”

“Bamboozled,” Tony says, staring at Peter’s lips again. “Just to confirm, I’m the guy, right? Resolution guy?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

 “Good,” Tony says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Fireworks bathe the couple in an electric array of neons, and crowds can be heard cheering from all around them. Tony pulls away to see Peter illuminated in brilliant colour, lips wet and swollen.

“Is this okay?” Peter reaches his free hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. “Is it weird? It’s a bit weird. Right?”

“It’s weird. But weird-different,” Tony amends. “Good different, right?”

“Right.”

“I should, maybe, keep kissing you to be sure.”

Peter’s answering grin against his lips vivifies the lights exploding around them.

To the soundtrack of waning fireworks, Tony gets lost in learning how Peter kisses, the shape of his lips, how the heat of his tongue feels against his own. 

Struck suddenly by a memory Tony pulls away from Peter to groan.

“What?” Peter queries, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong?” 

“I literally paid Morgan a hundred bucks to not tell you I was hot for you.”

Peter balks, staring at Tony as if he were stupid.

“Um, I have enhanced hearing, remember? And she told me, like, two months ago.”

Tony squints. 

“That little brat.”

——

The knowing smiles when they walk back into the ballroom from their family is a little uncalled for. Morgan is asleep in Peppers lap so she isn’t even awake to crow about her victory.

But the way Otto splutters as his eyes dart between the bruise on Tony’s neck and their joined hands is deeply worth it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Octavius!” Peter beams, swinging their hands together. 

“And - and you. Mr. Parker.”

“Sorry to drop this on you last minute, would you mind if I get another ride home?”

“Well, I --”

“Let me compensate you for the cab,” Tony offers, dropping Peter’s hand to wind his arm around the younger man's waist, pulling their sides flush together. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry, Peter’s ride will be very enjoyable.”

“I take it you’re not coming back to the penthouse,” Pepper cuts in, sharing a look with Greg.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, already pulling Peter away. “When Morguna wakes up from her beauty sleep tell her she owes me a cut of the winnings, okay? Good. Happy New whatever.”

They stop by the dessert spread on their way out.

-----

Their taxi driver sends them scalding stares from the front seat.

It’s fine, Tony will compensate him generously in tips. Though, if he were the driver, he’d probably be pissed too. 

For all of his stealthyness as Spider-Man, Peter is not quiet right now. He bucks into Tony’s touch, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s hand. He breaks their kiss to moans lewdly into Tony’s mouth, breath hot against his face.

“Oh god,” he exhales shakily, tugging on Tony’s tie to bring their lips together in a filthy kiss.  

“Good?” Tony mumbles against his lips, grinding his palm down harder. Peter nods, tilting his head back to groan as Tony’s mouth latches onto his neck. The creamy skin is mottled with teeth marks and barely blooming hickies. 

Tony sucks and and laves his tongue over the heated skin to hear how his breath hitches, those high ahh-ahh’s that fall breathlessly out of his mouth, to hear him moan --

“M-Mr. Stark!”

Tony winces, pulling back.

He sighs. “Kid, if we’re doing this, you really gotta call me Tony.”

In an instant Peter’s face turns stony, somehow looking stern despite his swollen lips and wrinkled shirt. He looks like a petulant pitbull.

“If we’re doing this you really gotta stop calling me ‘kid’, Tony.”

Tony undoes the first button of Peter’s dress shirt, then the second, parting the folds of fabric to get a view of his collarbones.

“I suppose I would be amenable to such amendments, Peter,” he nods, “on the condition that you let me take you on a date.”

As Tony snakes a hand over the curves of his clavicle, Peter’s deft fingers undo the knot of Tony’s tie until it lies loose from his neck.

“I would be amenable to that. Conditions accepted.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you again now.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.”

-----

With a heavy arm slung around his midsection, Tony finds out what Peter’s body feels like curled around his body when he wakes up the next morning.

There are a lot of little discoveries on New Years Day.

Like the feeling of Peter’s morning wood pressed pleasantly against his ass. Or how Peter squints adorably as he wakes up, as if he were confused by his own consciousness, his bedhead a mad nest of curls. Or how much Tony doesn’t mind the humid exchange of morning breath. 

“Do you always take your first dates to bed?” Peter queries over breakfast, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“That was not a date,” Tony points his fork at him. Scrambled egg falls from the utensil onto the table. “And we didn’t even have sex. That’s misleading, mister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tony sniffs.

“You’ll find out when we have our first date, won’t you? Friday at seven. Yes or yes?”

Peter sips his coffee to hide his smile, but Tony still sees it.

“Yes.”

-----

They got their date. 

Six months after the New Years festivities comes Morgans eleventh birthday. 

Tony’s had a lot of dates with a lot of people, including Peter, but nothing quite trumps this. 

It’s a double date. With his ex-wife and her new husband. Plus twelve other kids and their parents at a McDonalds. 

All four are seated at a table, Peter to his side, squirming on the terrible, hard chairs while Pepper and Greg sit opposite. Several servings of burgers and fries lay cold between them. Mostly melted McFlurries ooze off the provided plastic spoon when disinterestedly stirred.

It’s terribly romantic.

Morgan wanted McDonalds with her friends for her birthday, and before the big move to middle school. It fell on date night. 

The garishly decorated diner is alive with the sounds of yelling and laughing, kids and their siblings running after one another, pushing each other down slides and following each other through narrow, plastic tunnels.

Tony’s never really been a double date kinda guy, particularly when it involves the mother of his child and his new, twenty-something lover. It was stilted in the beginning, made more awkward by Tony’s foursome jokes, but Peter keeps the conversation afloat, dipping the congealed fries into Tony’s melted ice cream. 

He rubs Tony’s lower back as he speaks. Soothing, grounding circles that inadvertently keep Tony in the present.

Peter likes being in constant contact, Tony found. Now that he has the permission. Whether its holding hands, a casual grip on Tonys knee, his thigh, his back. 

It’s… actually nice. Maybe because he does it too.

It’s not always about comfort though, Tony concedes, as Peter’s hand dips a little lower, brushing over the swell of his ass.

They share a knowing look. 

Tony knows now, what that odd twinkle in Peter’s eyes mean. That little pervert. He knows it in the way Peter bites his bottom lip, as if canary feathers are about to flutter out of his guilty mouth. He wants to lean over and kiss the look right off them.

Greg keeps a close eye on the playground, loafers tapping anxiously on the tiles when a kid pulls a daring move and nearly misses their landing. 

He’s not the worst, Tony concedes, wearily assessing the other man. He cares for Morgan which is a plus. But he’s greying gracefully and is genuinely so nice and humble that Tony can’t help but test him every now and then. How earnest can he truly be with Tony stealing a fry here and there and knocking his knees ‘accidentally’. 

The conversation turns to Morgans transition to middle school. Pepper thinks she’ll outgrow her peers in months and will pursue a more scientific-focused academic curriculum. 

It’s one of those rare, transient moments of life that Tony’s here to witness. He’s getting used to feeling like everything is going to be okay, like maybe he wasn’t brought back just to be a part of another fight. But there’s a lingering anxiety, he just doesn’t know how to deal with without a solder or a suit to tinker on.

He’s working on it though.

“Should we manhandle her highness back in for the cake?” Tony asks, hand snaking down to squeeze Peter’s firm thigh.

Peter, not missing a beat, sends him a smirk that says I’ll manhandle you. 

It’s only right that Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s thigh, smiling proudly to himself when Peters breath hitches.

A kid knocks into the back of Tony’s chair, screaming as they run towards the playground. Tony winces, the moment broken.

“Need I remind you two that we’re in a family establishment,” Pepper stresses.

“Yes,” Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to the playground of rambunctious, screaming children. “How could I forget.”

“Tony.”

“You heard her, Pete, keep it safe for work. You’re making people uncomfortable,” Tony says, clamping down tighter on Peter's leg. Speaking to the couple, he gestures to Peter with his thumb. “Real horndog this one. Insatiable.”

“Me?” Peter says accusingly, jaw dropping.

Pepper raises an eyebrow cooly. “Please, Tony. Don’t think Morgan hasn’t told me about the time she walked in on you two. One time you told her you were checking each Peters temperature. With your long thermometer -- honestly, Tony. Try not to traumatise our child.”

Peter visibly colours at the mention.

“Wait,” Tony says. “That little -- I paid her twenty bucks not to tell you that.”

“So did I,” Peter frowns. “And I gave her the rest of my Reeses to seal the deal. Ah, crap.”

“You got played,” Greg snickers. Tony hates him again.

He nods at Pepper. 

“She gets that from you.”

Pepper smiles, unbothered, looking every ounce the image of class as she raises her plastic cup of milkshake to them.

Tony sighs, not even mad.

Some things never change.

-- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games! <3 <3 <3 this is fabulous and we hope you enjoyed yourselves!

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Silas Browne Species: Human Occupation: Mechanic at Garage Babineaux Age: 39 Years Old Played By: Saf Face Claim: Joel Kinnaman 

“I’ve learned to balance everything I do between chaos and control. It’s fucking scary when you feel like you’re going completely in one direction or the other.”

If you look closely at every seemingly pristine family, there is bound to be some sort of flaw. This flaw can come in all shapes and sizes—rumors, scandals, and skeletons in closets—but in the case of the affluent Brown family, theirs was a child unremarkably named the black sheep. Their outcast was Silas Browne. Silas was birthed to Walter Browne, a powerful billionaire businessman, and his wife, Faye Browne (née Reed). Originally hailing from California, the couple made the move in the early 70s to the quaint town of White Crest to manage their business on the east coast. The Browne family rose to prominence in the 1800s, having established a banking business during that time. The sons and daughters of the Browne family were instructed to venture out to various financial centers around Europe and the United States to conduct business and build their empire. Their investments and assets were held mostly in properties, stocks, and bonds. Today the family’s worth is estimated to be $82 billion. Walter was a descendent of this powerhouse bloodline, and there were pressing expectations of his only son and soon-to-be heir, Silas.

However, from a young age, Silas proved to be everything but. The young boy had an insatiable appetite for rebellion and destruction. It started with him bouncing around the walls of his parents’ mansion, obliterating anything in his path. Thousand dollar Middle Eastern lamps shattered over the white marble floors and Baroque paintings scribbled on as if they were nothing more than ordinary children’s toys—invaluable playthings. Words of warning had been issued as the worst-case form of punishment, and Silas was continuously let off easy each time. He was bored and sick to shit of his patrician lifestyle and grew to resent it all. His entire life, Silas struggled to find a role within his family and society. He was feral and passionate. He felt too wild and raw to live within the mundane and traditional narratives he existed inside of. And he’d eventually found his outlet in magic.

Music was this magic to him. Better than any high he’d felt, and somehow, better than the relief he’d felt of giving into destruction. The kitchen countertop, the dining table, the walls, and pots and pans became his drums. To Silas, everything was a drum. He was fourteen years old when he bought his first drum kit, and soon after, the hushed halls of his home were filled with raucous percussive beats. By his early twenties, Silas had made a name for himself in the underground world of metal, known for his blistering sound and aggressive speed. He was drummer of thrash metal band Repentless—the group he’d formed with three of his closest friends. They were on their way to becoming metal’s newest icons; having earned approval from illustrious bands, groups such as Machine Head and Slayer. He’d found his niche in life, and he was fucking unstoppable.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end.

Silas, his girlfriend at the time, and one of his bandmates were on their way to New York for a show from Maine while the other two were traveling from Boston. He and his friend reached, but the others did not.

It was during the late hours of that night they’d learned that half of their band had been involved in a fatal car crash, instantly killing the musicians.

All Silas remembered was feeling numb. Then grief. The drummer no longer felt the same desire to keep playing.

Soon after the remaining members stated that they would be disbanding. There was no Repentless without all of their members, and Silas couldn’t carry on without his friends.

It’s been nearly twelve years since then, and for ten of those years, he’s been working as a mechanic at Garage Babineaux. His mother had begged for him to take his father’s spot as CFO of his family’s company, telling him he’ll always have the opportunity, but the resentment still ran deep in his veins. While he hasn’t entirely given up on music, Silas longed for a more balanced and secluded life after everything. His income was stable—albeit not much—and had the same bed to sleep in every night.

Character Facts

Personality: Defiant, calculating, insensitive, withdrawn, morally ambiguous, perceptive, daring, virtuoso, individualist

In light of everything, Silas is still on good terms with his family. Though he’s not taking over as CFO of his family’s company, he’s still set to inherit his parents’ fortune.

He’s covered in tattoos but his most prominent one is of a blackwork style dragon covering his entire left arm.  

Total skeptic; wholly doubtful and disbelieving of the supernatural. Though he’s heard of strange deaths and disappearances in passing, and the word ‘monster’ thrown around, Silas chalks it up to nothing but freak accidents and “stupid ghost hunters and conspiracy theories”.

 He’s an introverted extrovert, meaning he’s very selective of the people he befriends and keeps as company. Like he’d rather be alone than settle for company he doesn’t find riveting, and similarly burns out if he’s around people for too long.

Is a regular at Soul On The Rocks—loves the beer, music, and company. From time to time he’ll play shows with a couple other of his buddies.

[withyounct]

What’s wrong kid? (3)

Reader X Single dad!Jaehyun

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2.7k

Prompt: You notice a child crying at a school playground. You decide to see what’s up and meet an extremely stressed/extremely handsome father.

Prev | Next

A/n: Enjoy!

“You were so hesitant to take the key, but you use it the very next day.” Jaehyun commented as you strolled into the living room while saying ‘what up it’s your girl’.

“My morning class was cancelled, and I forgot my lab book here. Plus, I'm here to make your daughter’s dream come true.” You scanned around the room and found the book on top of the bookcase. You looked back at Jaehyun to find him staring intensely at his tablet with a mischievous smile. You tightened your lips and squinted at him. You were short, but incredibly prideful. So, you jumped. You heard him chuckle behind you. You whipped your head around to see him still staring at the tablet. Smile more visible than ever. You let out a small whimper trying to reach the book on your toes. Letting out a pout, you returned to your feet. You turned again to see that he had set down the tablet and was hiding his smile behind his hand.

“In my defense I put it up there so Hyunjin wouldn’t draw on it.” He confessed, walking over to you and handing over the book with ease.

“Oh, so it wasn’t to see me struggle?” You suggested.

“No. Of course not.” He lied. You scoffed, gently hitting his side with the lab book before putting it in your bag. You asked him about his normal morning routine since this was an odd time for you to be there. He informed you that Hyunjin was going to wake up in the 20 minutes or so and he had to prepare breakfast and her lunch. You offered to help, and he accepted the offer with smiles.

A childish argument about which was better, pancakes or waffles, erupted between you two. Jaehyun was adamant that waffles were superior, and you almost quit on the spot. A quick rock-paper- scissors decided pancakes were the meal of that morning.

You were happily mixing blueberries into the batter when you felt something being smeared on your cheek. You looked to your side to see Jaehyun smiling down at you before quickly retreating. Raising an eyebrow, you grabbed the whipped cream can next to you. The pure horror on Jaehyun’s face almost made you break into laughter, but you kept your face straight.

“Y/n listen. Here’s a paper towel, I'm sorry.” He pleaded moving away from you. You smirked, but persisted. “I literally just washed my hair, Y/n.”

“And I'm wearing make-up!” You yelled, lunging at him.

You two wrestled with the can and you successfully got some in his hair. While you were laughing in triumph, you let your guard down and was pinned to the fridge. Jaehyun quickly threw the can out of your grasp and held your wrists above your head. You tried to push off, but the strength of Jaehyun and the weakness of your laughter kept you pinned. You were too busy laughing to notice Jaehyun glancing at your lips.

“Daddy. Y/n.” Hyunjin’s voice croaked sleepily. You both looked at her confused expression and slowly drifted away.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Jaehyun said dumbly as if he was caught doing something terrible. You immediately collapsed to the floor laughing at how dumb and random that was. Jaehyun looked down at your sobbing figure and broke out into laughter as well. Hyunjin, who looked like a cute disaster, finally realized what was going on and ran to your side.

“Y/N. You’re here and its morning!” She screamed excitedly while falling on you.

“Morning, angel.” You greeted as you pulled her into your lap. You told Hyunjin about how mean her dad was being to you. Hyunjin, being the truest ride or die, helped you cover Jaehyun’s hair in whipped cream.

The rest of breakfast went off without a hitch. Hyunjin was changing into her uniform while you and Jaehyun finished cleaning the mess that was the kitchen.

“I can drop Hyunjin off, since it’s on my way.” You said putting away the last of the dishes. Jaehyun was filtering through some documents on the island, trying to get some of the cream debris off them. You glanced at them apologetically.

“I would appreciate that. Thanks.” Jaehyun sighed, sending you a small smile.

“Busy day ahead?” You inquired pointing at the stack of papers.

“No just a meeting I'm dreading.” He confessed. You hummed understandingly.

Hyunjin announced that she was ready. You both said your goodbyes and left.

 Jaehyun was collecting his things when he spotted a ‘Good Luck! 😊’ note attached to his keys.

 “It’s 8:45 in the morning and we have a meeting in an hour. Why the hell are you smiling?” Johnny grumbled whilst downing his coffee. Jaehyun shrugged, writing his points for the meeting that he wasn’t even a little bit ready for. Johnny, being Jaehyun’s COO and best friend, was comfortable enough to call him out on his bullshit.

“Does it have something to do with the cute college student/babysitter Hyunjin told me about?” He teased. Jaehyun’s shocked expression immediately gave him away. “Holy shit. I was right.” Even though Johnny was the one to tease him, his face matched Jaehyun’s. He slammed down his cup and made his way over to Jaehyun’s office phone.

“Yuta, I need help. Jaehyun came in SMILING and it wasn’t because of Hyunjin.” Johnny said franticly into the phone. Not even a minute later, Yuta rushed into Jaehyun’s office with a tired Taeil and annoyed Doyoung following suit.

“I brought help.” Yuta stated in a slightly panic tone.

“Talk.” Doyoung said simply. Jaehyun sighed and pushed himself from his work. He shyly recounted the evening and morning that he spent with you.

“A key. He gave her a key.” Yuta muttered quietly. The room was silent for about five seconds before it erupted into chaos.

“Guys chill out, it’s okay for him to like someone.” Taeil spoke for the first time that day. All eyes fell on Jaehyun and his ears turned red at the sudden accusation of him liking you. The room fell into chaos once more.

“Shut up. I can hear you guys from down the hall.” Taeyong announced entering the room. He was greeted with scream of ‘keys’, ‘whipped cream’, and ‘kabedon’. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“We have a meeting with the shareholders in 30 minutes, so let’s leave our CEO to prepare, okay.” He reasoned as he filtered everyone out.

“Jaehyun.” He called. Jaehyun turned to his friend.

“If it’s serious, take her out on a date.” Taeyong smiled.  “And we want to meet her.” He said as he closed the door.

The meeting went as well as planned. The shareholders were happy about the progression of the company and signed off on the funds for their new project. Which happened to be your university’s new art building. Johnny, being ever the bearer of bright ideas, decided that they could do some scouting that the university during lunch. Jaehyun initially refused, but got dragged into it anyways.

“You do realize this campus is huge right?” Jaehyun asked being dragged from one end of the quad to the other. “Plus, she might be in class.” His brows knitted worriedly. He would be lying if he said that the thought of seeing you didn’t make his heart leap, but he was worried about how you would take his sudden appearance on your campus.

“Well you won’t tell us what she looks like or text her to let her know you’re here so,” Yuta said before he stopped a student to ask if they knew you. Jaehyun cringed at how shameless his friends were being.

“Science building.” He grumbled softly.

“What?” Johnny whipped his head away from a random student.

“She’s a biology major, so she might be in the science building.” Jaehyun saw the smirks on both Johnny and Yuta’s faces and knew he fucked up.

On the way there Jaehyun spotted you walking with one of your friends and stopped. The smile that made its way on your face from laughter made his heart stutter, and then reality smacked him in the face. Here you were in the prime of your life, hanging out with your friends and having fun. No real responsibilities and no real worries. He was reminded of his late wife, how she had to put her life on hold to take care of Hyunjin. She of course did it happily, but he still always felt bad. You were about the same age as her at the time, and his heart began to break at the thought of taking away your youth early just because he liked you.

“Let’s head back to the office.” He said suddenly as he watched you disappear into the library. Johnny and Yuta were about to protest when they saw how serious his face had become and how stale his tone was.

“What did you do?” Sicheng hissed at Johnny and Yuta when they arrived back. Jaehyun had said nothing to no one and locked himself in his office. Johnny and Yuta both shrugged and told them everything was fine until he suddenly changed.

“Well something happened.” Doyoung concluded. The group voted for Taeyong to go talk to him stating the ‘he’s scary right now and he only listens to you’. Taeyong, being the CFO, had a key to Jaehyun’s office and let himself in. He looked at his friend’s troubled features and sighed. He sat himself on one of the sofas in silence

“I can’t.” Jaehyun said simply rubbing his face. Taeyong hummed, encouraging him to continue. “She’s at the beginning of her life and I can’t just walk in with a child and mess all that up. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“So, you’re just going to decide what’s best for her without her knowing? Full offense, but that’s an asshole move.” Taeyong said bluntly. “From what little I've heard of her I can tell she would be hurt by that. But I'm not going to lecture you.” He got up, patting Jaehyun’s shoulder and left.

The rest of the afternoon went by way too slow for Jaehyun’s liking. He got virtually nothing done and felt shitty.

“Get up we’re leaving.” Sicheng suddenly said as he barged into the office. He didn’t give Jaehyun a moment to get confused as he pulled him outside. “Taeyong has deemed himself CEO of the day since you are ‘a terrible human being at the moment’, so we’re all getting off early.”

“My work.” Jaehyun tried.

“Will still be here when you’re reinstated as our CEO tomorrow, for now let’s go home.”

You had just finished putting Hyunjin down for her afternoon nap when you received a ‘I'm sorry in advance’ text from Jaehyun. Before you could reply, the front door slammed open and 6 very loud men barged in with an embarrassed Jaehyun behind.

“Hyunjin’s sleeping.” You shushed them harshly without much thought.

“I like her already.” Two of them said.

“Hey. I'm Johnny. The two who probably just adopted you are Taeyong and Doyoung. The short one is Taeil, and that’s Yuta and Sicheng.” Johnny introduced holding out a hand. You laughed at the group, shaking his hand.

“I'm Y/n. I've heard a lot about you guys.” You smiled.

“Aw she's cute.” Taeyong cooed.

“Okay bye.” Yuta said before he pushed you into Jaehyun. The group pushed you both out the door and locked it. You stood stunned and glanced at Jaehyun.

“They do know we both have keys, right?”

“Probably forgot in the excitement.”

Jaehyun asked if you’ve eaten to which you said no, so he drove you both to a restaurant. During the ride there and the lunch itself you noticed Jaehyun was more reserved than usual, it’s like his personality did a 180⁰ from that morning.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked, the worry evident in your voice. Jaehyun looked up from his drink and smiled, but you could tell it wasn’t real.

“Yeah, sorry. I'm just thinking about work.” He lied. You hummed, but continued to stare at him. You thought of something and had to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling. You pulled out your wallet and placed the bills down before Jaehyun could protest. You dragged him out the restaurant and demanded his keys.

“I want to take you somewhere special.” You whined cutely. He reluctantly handed them over and you drove.

“An indoor ice-skating rink?” Jaehyun questioned when you arrived.

“It’s one of my favorite places to go to and no one is here during this time, so it’s awesome.” You smiled and handed him his skates.

“I’ve never done this before.” He confessed nervously.

“That’s okay, just hold my hand.” You offered pulling him onto the ice. The moment he entered; he fell. You had to expel every ounce of will power not to laugh. You tried to help him up and ended up falling yourself. That broke your serious facade and you giggled. You both raised to your feet and Jaehyun held onto you for dear life, which you thought was beyond cute. Holding both of his hands, you pulled him around. Somewhere along the way, you saw the confidence make its way on his face and let go of one of his hands. A wide smile painted his face, eyes turning into crescents and you had to calm your beating heart.

“Okay this is kind of amazing.” He said in awe. You nodded smiling.

‘yeah this kind of is’

“Are you feeling better?” You asked returning the skates. The face that Jaehyun made was one of surprise.

“Wait, you did this for me?” He asked stunned.

“Well yeah. I like you smiling better so,” You blushed. Jaehyun’s blushed matched yours, but you decided to blame it on the coldness of the room.

The drive back was better than the trip there. Jaehyun was more engaged in the conversation and made way too many lame jokes. You found yourself laughing at everything he said and learned that your music taste was similar. After a short detour for ice cream, you made it back to his place.

You walked in to find his friends chilling in the living room with a sleeping Hyunjin cuddled on Taeil. Jaehyun promptly kicked his friends out while you put Hyunjin to bed. Since it was fairly early in the night, Jaehyun suggested a movie. Having trauma from the first movie session he deemed you un-trustable and picked the movie. To your dismay it was an action film.

“Tasteless.” You mumbled under your breath. Jaehyun heard and just chuckled. Throughout the movie, popcorn was secretly thrown between you two. The climax of the secret fight ended with Jaehyun pouring the entire bowl on your head.

“You win this time.” You squinted with a handful of popcorn in your hair. Jaehyun was in tears as he helped you pick them out. You both finished the rest of the movie in relative peace and you helped him clean up the mess.

“I should go. I have a test to probably pass in the morning.” You announced stretching. Jaehyun laughed at how weird that phrasing was.

Jaehyun, like always, walked you to the door. You turned to say goodnight when you felt a hand wrap around your neck. Your eyes flew to his then slowly down to his lips. You saw him do the same and smiled. Jaehyun slowly brought your lips together and your eyes fluttered close.

Kissing Jaehyun was like experiencing something new. The unknown aspect made you a little hesitant and scared, but the softness of his lips and the gentleness of his hand washed that all away. Jaehyun felt you relax and found the confidence to move his lips. He moved his hand from your neck down to your side and pulled you against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let out a small whimper when you felt his tongue graze your bottom lip.

Just as soon as it started, it ended. He placed one last kiss on your forehead before pulling apart.

“Goodnight Y/n.” He smiled.

“Night.” You said in a daze.

The moment you were in the safety of your apartment, you let out a scream. Kun and Ten came rushing out their respected rooms in a panic.

“You good!?” Ten yelled.

You stared at them for a second before giggling and hiding your face in your hands.

“She’s fine.” Kun sighed.

Unbeknownst to you, Jaehyun was laughing like an idiot too.

[confidenceatitsfinest]

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn) Ch. 7

Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin

Description: Mafia au

Jungkook was Jimin’s most trusted right-hand man. While Jungkook is dutiful and devoted towards Jimin, their relationship and past is slowly unveiled, but not without turmoil and conflict.

Author’s Note: I AM BACK! With a short chapter this time, but I’ll be working on the next part since I’m in quarantine with more time to do things. 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Crossposted on AO3

Jungkook tilted his head to the side back and forth, rolling his shoulders in an effort to relieve some of the ache from staying in the same position for so long. Despite so much training and multiple recon missions, having to stay quiet and still managed to drain him every time. It’d been five hours since he had stationed himself in an inconspicuous spot in front of Jeon Wonwoo’s home, close enough to monitor any movement but still within the blind spots of the cameras lining the perimeter of the large house. Jungkook had taken a caffeine pill earlier, but it did nothing so soothe the tension he felt in his triceps and lower back.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, trying to get rid of the edges of tiredness he felt creeping onto him. Then, he noticed one of the lights turn on in the second floor office. The curtains made it difficult to see anything clearly, but he could make out the shadow of what he presumed to be Jeon Wonwoo on the phone. The man was pacing back and forth, hands making wild gestures. Jungkook wondered what had the CFO so frustrated. He made a note to install some bugs when Jeon left for work the next morning. The call had lasted an hour, five minutes, and thirty-four seconds. Jungkook had counted with nothing better to do. Who knows, the information might come in handy later. For the rest of the night, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and before he knew it, Jungkook witnessed the first streaks of sunrise.

From what he had gathered, once Jeon Wonwoo left for the company, he would not return until the clock hit at least 9 P.M. His wife and kids were also out of the house by 9 A.M. and wouldn’t return until later that afternoon. The housekeepers weren’t allowed in the office and the alarm system was turned off since people were in the house, giving Jungkook the perfect opportunity to do some investigating of his own. Of course, that didn’t mean it was easy to break in. There was no balcony or side entrance. Jungkook would have to break in through one of the bedroom windows. While he knew he’d be able to do so without being detected, it was still a tedious task.

‘Alright, time to get to work. I should make this quick so I can at least see if anyone suspicious wanders into Jeon Enterprises.’

Jungkook made his way to the tree branch closest to the master bedroom balcony, trying to minimize the amount of noise he made. On his way, he’d almost knocked a squirrel off, but quickly apologized mentally. If only he could be as unnoticeable as a squirrel in a tree. Life would be so much easier. He sucked in a breath before making the leap to the balcony’s guardrails to avoid the cameras and then hopped onto the square tile that he’d marked as a blindspot, landing solidly on both feet. Now that part was over with, time for the riskiest part. Jungkook peered into the bedroom. The bed had already been made and everything else looked to be in order, which meant the housekeeper wouldn’t be coming in any time soon.

He made quick work of the balcony lock and entered the room. It took him three minutes to install various listening devices throughout the master bedroom. Now, time to head over to the office two rooms down. He slowly opened the cherry wood door and peered out into the hallway. No one, as expected. Without wasting time, Jungkook quickly slipped out and towards the office when he heard voices coming up the staircase.

‘Shit, I swear I better pick this lock faster than I ever have in my life. I don’t want to kill any innocent people if I don’t have to. Jimin hyung would be so disappointed if I did.’ His eyebrows furrowed as he fumbled with the door handle. Jungkook breathed a soft sigh of relief as he heard the quiet click and made his way inside. He closed the door as gently as possible and turned around.

He bugged the whole room the same way, but didn’t put as many to avoid possible detection. Jeon Wonwoo’s office looked like any normal home office, but Jungkook knew it wouldn’t be locked off it didn’t have any secrets. He looked for any safes first since those usually contained the most sensitive information. He ran his hands along the walls, searching for a hollow spot or any place that looked to have more marks than usual. His fingers ran along a groove and he couldn’t help the smile that lit up on his face.

‘Aha, found you.’ He pressed around the edges to look for a button and found one at the top right of the square he’d mentally traced out. Jungkook wasn’t sure if pressing the button would send an alert to Jeon Wonwoo so he wouldn’t risk it for now, but knowing it was there was helpful.

Jungkook combed through the desk drawers until he found the bottom of the top drawer suspiciously unstable. Knowing that people like this liked to keep things hidden but close at hand, there had to be something relatively important. He lifted the bottom of the drawer to find a thin file hidden underneath. A false bottom drawer, just as he thought. Jungkook opened the file to be faced with a picture of himself.

Jungkook almost dropped the file in shock. He felt his heart rate increase and watched as his hands shook, holding the papers. Why did they already have his picture? How did they even know all of this information about him? His age, blood type, height, weight. All of his basic information was listed.

He turned the page to find more pictures, but these made him freeze. They were worn photos of Jungkook. These photos, they were undeniably him. Except he was a child, no more than maybe four or five years old.  

‘No, even I don’t have these photos. How? Who are these people? Who am I?’ Jungkook quickly looked through the rest of the documents, hoping to find answers to his past, but found nothing more than pictures of him with Jimin at the party. Those were expected, but his childhood pictures. He hadn’t known they existed until today.

Jungkook turned his head quickly when he heard the sound of footsteps nearing. He quickly put the file back in place neatly and hid underneath the desk. He held his breath until the voices were too far away to hear. He needed to go back to Jeon Enterprises soon. With whatever materials they had on him now, something was bound to happen. He needed to be cautious now, but all that filled his mind were questions and uncertainties. From his past, he’d only remembered being at the tender age of twelve when Jimin had found him and taken him in. Before that, everything blurred together in a whirlwind of bitter cold and starvation. Past those two years, Jungkook couldn’t remember anything. Not a single memory or fragment of a memory.

‘I need to ask Jimin hyung how and where he found me when I get back. This is insane.’ Jungkook cursed quietly, realizing the implications this had not only on him, but on his precious Jimin hyung’s safety. He had to get out of here quickly. Getting back out was easier than coming in, and Jungkook was back on the motorcycle towards Jeon Enterprises within minutes.

He punched in Seokjin’s number on his burner phone quickly. He never called Jimin in order to protect him and his privacy.

“Jungkook-ah, what’s up? Are you hurt? I thought you were still on your assignment.” The man’s soft, concerned voice filled his ears through his earpiece and he couldn’t help but relax just a little.

“I am, hyung, and I’m safe, but I need to you to tell Jimin hyung something for me.”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?” Jungkook loved how Jin never asked many questions and just trusted his fellow members like he trusted Jimin.

“Can you tell him I’m going to be back earlier than expected and that I really need to see him once I get back? In approximately twelve hours, hyung.”

“Sure, Jungkookie. Just don’t get into trouble, alright?”

“You know I won’t, Jin hyung. Have some faith in me, hmm? I’m the best at what I do after all.”

“Alright, brat. Don’t get cocky or you’ll really get yourself killed and your poor Jin hyung won’t have anyone to taste his concoctions.”

“Yes, yes, will do, hyung. Okay, I have to go. I’ll see you when I’m back, thanks.” Jungkook hung up, feeling better after hearing a familiar voice.

He eyes narrowed in concentration again as he parked a block away from the Jeon Enterprise headquarter building before finding a place to do some spying. It was broad daylight so finding a dark, hidden spot was harder. He managed to find a rooftop, propped up with a pair of binoculars. He trained his line of sight towards the entrance and raised it to the top floor where Jeon Wonwoo’s office was every five minutes. Nothing had happened yet, but he couldn’t afford to lose sight of anything.

A black car pulled up to the curb of the building’s entrance, catching Jungkook’s eyes. A man stepped out, surrounded by bodyguards on all sides. Jungkook squinted, trying to make out the vague features as the man’s back was turned to him. When the man turned to tell the driver something, Jungkook gasped. He recognized this man. He’d seen his face in numerous files. He’s seen his face at parties and social gatherings Jimin attended.

This man was Park Jihyun. Jimin’s uncle. Successor to Park Incoporation if anything ever happened to Jimin’s own father.

What was he doing at Jeon Enterprises? Did Park Suwoong have knowledge of this?

[iseulcwu]

hey hey ♥, it’s nie again!! this time i’m bringing you one hot mess with so many daddy issues, kwon iseul!! like before you’ll find a tl;dr with some history regarding iseul, some potential plots, and the works below the cut. stats, bios and what not to come. can’t wait to get this train rolling once more ♥

this leo sun, capricorn moon, leo rising is the daughter of a former escort-turned-model-and-actress and the ceo of an imports/exports business. there’s a lot to unpack here.

a very brief stats situation —

name: kwon iseul age: twenty birthplace: seoul, south korea canon: lust club and position: book club, vice president major: double major in philosophy and economics with a minor in business administration birthday and zodiac sign: july 28th, 1999 — omg she’s a leo sexual orientation: bi for some reason languages spoken: korean ( fluent ), japanese ( conversational ), english ( conversational ), french ( conversational )

this life she’s lived —

♔ iseul’s mom was not her father’s first wife. no, she was the third. the two had met after he requested her once for an escorting service, and then five and then twenty more times. it was an odd marriage, still is ( if you can believe that they’re still married on paper ) ♔ mom leaves the home when iseul is four and comes back here and there between trips around the world. she brings her daughter gifts, but these are empty things and no true replacement for a mother’s love. ♔ her father, who gives her just a little more love has the young girl wrapped around her finger. but what little he gives her is never enough. ♔ why is iseul never enough? ♔ she’s not enough for the mother and father who have other priorities, and she’s not enough for the friends she’s made — she seeks them out but it is never the other way around, they only want her around when they need something from her. ♔ when she tires of chasing after the love of others, she decides that all of these emotions are more disadvantageous to her than anything else. she tires of chasing after her friends and begging anyone and everyone to lover her. she deserves so much more than this, right? sure. ♔ attendance was mandatory for company parties; as her father’s only daughter, she should ( in theory ) inherit the company one day, and the parties, more than anything, were a good way for her father to introduce her to future business partners. ♔ by the time she was a sophomore in high school, the sweet smiles that were so natural for iseul had turned bitter, and she feigned happiness at these parties. ♔ her worldview had matured ( and had become cynical ) at the same time that her body had matured; and people noticed.  ♔ the first person she sleeps with ( ever ) is the cfo of the company. a little older than her father, but much gentler in the way he carried himself. he treated her well, and in return she allowed him to indulge himself with her body. ♔ she’d sneak off to see the man often, after the after school violin classes, his driver would pick her up and spirit her away. ♔ it was taboo in every sense of the word; even more so, because iseul was underage...this was a crime. still, this was the only way she knew how to feel. ♔ the second person to ever lay with her was an actress, the wife of a client of her father’s.  ♔ the third was the president of another company, the fourth her father’s own secretary.  ♔ iseul had last slept with a governor when the rug was pulled out from beneath her feet. the governor’s husband had found the two post-coitus, and had immediately contacted the young girl’s parents. ♔ her mother is surprised but impressed. her father is mortified and all too disgusted. ♔ at home the man is enraged, calls her a string of derogatory names and laments the kwon reputation. how could she do this? they argue late into the night, the young girl’s tears matching her fathers, “was this a punishment?” he had asked her “what did i do wrong?” ♔ she wanted to feel bad, really she did, but feeling one thing would lead to feeling another and she wasn’t sure she could do that anymore. she was scared of the strength of her own emotions. it is 3 in the morning when he sits her down at the dinner table and demands she write down every last name of every last person she’s had sex with ♔ a pregnancy test, as well as several other tests and half a dozen nda’s later her father sat down with her again. “you will never do something like this again. you will not shame me like this, i didn’t raise you to be this way. iseul, i have to send you away. the nda’s reassure me that neither you nor them will talk about this, but that’s not enough for me. i’ve made a few arrangements, and you’re going to go to school in japan.”

plots? plots... ( ? )

♔ always wanna start this off with friends!! would be fun to find a dynamic for iseul where someone still hangs around despite the bitchiness and crazy amounts of sass. she’s an asshole, but she knows how to be a good friend. ♔ okay so who is lucky enough ( or unlucky enough idk ) to be her roommate????? ♔ you were going out with so-and-so and iseul slept with so-and-so and now you and so-and-so are over. maybe iseul didn’t know you were going out, but maybe she didn’t...i’m not sure she would care at this point. BUT DRAMA, you do not like her one bit. ♔ mayhaps she slept with your mom or your dad...and mayhaps that ruined your parents relationship, mayhaps not. but the first time she saw you she probably said something along the lines of “ oh!! you’re (insert mom or dad’s first name of all things)’s kid!! ” ♔ a one night stand becomes a two night stand becomes three. a long time ago. now neither one of you indulges in the other like before, but when things are rekindled between the two of you, its more intimate now, friendship more for you than the sex could ever be. ♔ you know me, a hoe for that lovie dovie shit. okay for iseul, sex has become a hobby, something that she does often and without much feeling ( but, damn, she does it well ); she wants to pretend so badly that she’s as unfeeling as they come but that’s untrue. ♔ probably someone who is not as experienced in the sexy things as iseul and iseul is just like “hey you wanna hear about the time i did [xxx] with the ceo of [xxx] in his office, right before a meeting??” and probably helps this person come out of their shell ♔ and like before, other plots?? like i said last time ( verbatim ): i can always brainstorm with you guys and see what flows. can’t wait to write with all of you <3 i’ll probably be sliding into your discord dms later!!

[arrogvnces]

     snow falls, as the calendar says goodbye to november and hello to december. sinclair tries to keep his life together, balancing schoolwork, friends and family. they all pretend he’s okay, taking his smiles as the truth, knowing better than to prode for what’s really underneath the surface. he’s thankful for it, for the space they give him, for the late nights where it’s just him and his car driving down an empty road. it allows him to breathe, to take in how much his life has changed those past two years, to grieve all that’s been taken from him. sometimes, when breathing isn’t enough, he’ll send henri a text, certain it’ll be answered promptly. no one really knows they still talk. if he happens to pass her by on campus, they’ll both look away and their friends will get extra loud to distract them. there’s nothing shameful about texting, but he knows simon will chastise him for holding on if he finds out. he doesn’t want to have to explain that he’s resigned himself to never getting over her, or that he prefers the rush of a notification at two in the morning than nothing at all. so he doesn’t. and the days pass, following his schedule perfectly until his phone beeps with an invitation he all but wishes he could reject. 

     friday night, instead of stepping into yet another of simon’s hot new clubs, he finds himself uncomfortably sitted at a luxurious table between his father and mother, both on opposite ends. facing him on the other side, ren and tristan are uncharacteristically quiet, as their parents eat their food with all the poise and serenity in the world. he wonders quietly what would happen if he stabbed his hand with the fork he uses to play with his meal. when his father clears his throat, he knows what words will come out of his mouth before he even opens it. 

     “your mother and i have decided it is time we go our separate ways,” he announces, eyes flitting between his three children. the two youngest stare at him in confusion, while sinclair discreetly scoffs. you didn’t decide shit. “i know it might be hard for you to adjust, but that’s the way life goes. my own folks divorced when i---”

     “hold on, is that why you dragged us out of the overwatch tournament?” tristan asks, increduously. their father frowns, an expression sinclair used to fear as a child, but that instills almost nothing in his little brother. leonard was never around long enough to discipline them the way he had with his oldest. “to tell us you and mom are over? fuck, i thought everyone knew that. are you kidding me?” 

     “watch your language,” leonard says, quietly but severely enough that tristan hesitates. but not for long. 

     “you can pretend to be a dad when you and your new trophy wife have kids, but until then,” he scoffs, crossing his arms in blatant rebellion. “you don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

     a silence settles over the table as he fumes in his corner, leonard quietly stunned in his seat, taking the very first look at the man his second-born is becoming. he switches his gaze over to emily, who continues eating without a care in the world, then finally to sinclair. 

     “is that how you’re raising your siblings? to show me no respect?” he questions, fingers clenching, the tan mark of a missing wedding ring on his finger. 

     “it’s not sinclair’s job to raise them,” his mother answers in his stead, dabbing her napkin at the corners of her lips. “it was yours. don’t fault him for being more of a man than you’ll ever be.” 

     “right, this again,” leonard sighs, snapping his fingers at a waiter passing to ask for more wine. “neither of you have to worry. i’ll right my mistakes. if you need me to be more involved, i’ll be involved. and then maybe we can teach you some manners.” he looks pointedly at tristan, who all but raises his arm to give him the finger, before receiving a kick under the table from sinclair. the two brothers exchange a heated glance, before the youngest cowers in defeat. 

     “is there anything else you wanted to tell us, or can we go home and move on with our lives?” sinclair says, addressing leonard for the first time tonight. the two stare at each other, a silent battle that’s been going on for as long as he can remember. he no longer sees his father when he stares at that man. instead, he sees a stranger dedicated to pissing on his life again and again. but no more. when the papers are signed, they’ll be done for good. 

     leonard looks over the table, a mixture of hatred and defiance in each of their faces. only ren looks appropriately sad, eyes gleaming with the lost hope that her parents might’ve been able to work it out. he nods sharply, once. “if you have nothing left to say, then you can go.” 

     chairs scrape at the speed of lightning, as sinclair watches his siblings rush to the front of the restaurant. his mother and him take their time, emily eyeing her soon-to-be ex-husband with an emotion her son can’t quite place. his parents don’t say anything, as they gaze at one another, decades of a life together likely replaying in their minds. even if love was never there, it must do something to them. the moment is over in a flash, however, as his mother turns on her heels without another word and follows her children out. sinclair attempts to follow her, but he’s stopped mid-step.

     “not you,” his father stands up, one hand in his pocket even as his shoulders slump a little. “come on, i’ll take you home.” 

     “i’m good, thank you,” sinclair tries to walk away again, but leonard is faster, grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him towards his car. 

     “i insist,” he says, which really means it’s an order. sinclair closes his eyes for a second, tired and wanting nothing more than to call henri to tell her all about this nonsense. but he steels himself in his father’s arm, following him out without saying a word. soon. 

     outside, his mother throws him a confused look as the valet opens the car door for his family. he waves reassuringly, watching as they leave first, wishing he went with them. both park men stand in silence waiting for his limousine, snow falling quietly on their heads, one blond and one brunette. when the car arrives, sinclair steps in front of his father, finding refuge inside first. they take off into the night, new york passing by outside the tinted windows. 

     “i’m not going to beat around the bush,” leonard starts, running a hand through his head full of hair. “i want you to come work to park corp again. a real job, this time.” sinclair stares at him for one, two, three seconds before bursting into laughter. he can’t help it, even as leonard scowls at him. “i don’t see what’s so funny about anything i said.” 

     “are you kidding me?” he asks, the smile taking its time to disappear from his face. “why in the world would i come work for you again? so you and theodore can humiliate me some more? are you sick?”

     “i didn’t humiliate you, i taught you how to survive,” his father argues, the wrinkles in his face suddenly too visible for his son. “and you did. you even went as far as to expose a mole i had no idea about. imagine what you could do with more training.” 

     “and who’s going to train me? your perfect little cfo?” 

     “me. i’ll train you. with my experience and your brain, we could do the unimaginable.” 

     the words sink into his brain, taking root and expanding into a vision he used to harbor as a younger man. him and his father, working side by side. sinclair, making leonard proud. his dream could become reality. except --- except it’s not his dream, anymore. he grew up from that, found other things that he wanted. things leonard park took from him. first medicine, then henrietta. 

     “you know, if you had asked me a year ago,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “if you hadn’t stripped me of my pride, i might’ve said yes. even if it wasn’t what i wanted, i would’ve still said yes. that’s how much i wanted you to like me. respect me. be proud of me. but now?” he looks at him right in the eye, a mirror reflecting his appearance twenty years from now. “now all i want is for you to rot somewhere, far away from me.” 

     a heavy silence sinks into the limousine, only the quiet sound of the motor resonating across the empty space. he fools himself into thinking the rest of the ride home will be peacefully quiet, until a boisterous laugh rings in his ears. he turns a frustrated expression towards leonard, who’s thrown his head back in apparent delight. when he stops, however, sinclair gulps at the darkness in his gaze. 

     “did you know your mother said the exact same thing to me?” he reveals, smirking. “i spent so long trying to raise a son like me, but you ended up being exactly like her. and tristan--- god, he’s going to cause me so much trouble. i know you think you’re free from me, sinclair, but things won’t happen the way you want them to.” 

     “what do you mean?”

     “i mean, if you think i’ve been cruel this far, then you have no idea what i’m really capable of---”

     he opens his mouth to reply, but a bright light coming from out his father’s window blinds him. he moves to grab leonard’s arm, but it’s too late. the crash punches all air out of him. his world goes spinning, his feet now above his head then back as the car keeps rolling and rolling. he teeters in and out of conciousness, a ringing in his ears that deafens all other noises. when they finally stop, it takes him a few minutes --- or maybe it’s seconds --- to realize he’s been flipped over, held to his seat by the seat belt. warm liquid runs over his forehead and down his eyes, and he realizes belatedly that it’s blood. he tries to move his arm to wipe it away, but the pain nearly has him fainting again. he tries to call out for leonard, but his voice doesn’t come out the first three tries. 

     “da--d?” he asks, weakly, into the silence of the car. there’s no answer. “dad.” still nothing. he closes his eyes, the pain taking over his entire body, blood now coating his lips. it’s harder to stay awake, with each passing second. he keeps waiting for his father to speak up, but there’s only him. 

     he’s never been religious, though he’s always believed in god. it was hard for him to devote himself to a higher power, when he’s always had exactly what he wanted. but now, as death knocks on his door a little while after his twenty-first birthday, he thinks it’s the perfect time for his very first prayer. but the words are jumbled in his head, and he’s falling asleep faster than he’d like to. before he goes, he manages to send up a single thought.

     please, don’t let henri suffer too much. 

[the-end-of-art]

To find our way back to each other

From Listening to Shame TED Talk by Brené Brown (https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame/transcript)

12:07

There's a great quote that saved me this past year by Theodore Roosevelt. A lot of people refer to it as the "Man in the Arena" quote. And it goes like this: "It is not the critic who counts. It is not the man who sits and points out how the doer of deeds could have done things better and how he falls and stumbles. The credit goes to the man in the arena whose face is marred with dust and blood and sweat. But when he's in the arena, at best, he wins, and at worst, he loses, but when he fails, when he loses, he does so daring greatly."

12:47

And that's what this conference, to me, is about. Life is about daring greatly, about being in the arena. When you walk up to that arena and you put your hand on the door, and you think, "I'm going in and I'm going to try this," shame is the gremlin who says, "Uh, uh. You're not good enough. You never finished that MBA. Your wife left you. I know your dad really wasn't in Luxembourg, he was in Sing Sing. I know those things that happened to you growing up. I know you don't think that you're pretty, smart, talented or powerful enough. I know your dad never paid attention, even when you made CFO." Shame is that thing.

13:28

And if we can quiet it down and walk in and say, "I'm going to do this," we look up and the critic that we see pointing and laughing, 99 percent of the time is who? Us. Shame drives two big tapes -- "never good enough" -- and, if you can talk it out of that one, "who do you think you are?" The thing to understand about shame is, it's not guilt. Shame is a focus on self, guilt is a focus on behavior. Shame is "I am bad." Guilt is "I did something bad." How many of you, if you did something that was hurtful to me, would be willing to say, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake?" How many of you would be willing to say that? Guilt: I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Shame: I'm sorry. I am a mistake.

14:21

There's a huge difference between shame and guilt. And here's what you need to know. Shame is highly, highly correlated with addiction, depression, violence, aggression, bullying, suicide, eating disorders. And here's what you even need to know more. Guilt, inversely correlated with those things. The ability to hold something we've done or failed to do up against who we want to be is incredibly adaptive. It's uncomfortable, but it's adaptive.

14:56

The other thing you need to know about shame is it's absolutely organized by gender. If shame washes over me and washes over Chris, it's going to feel the same. Everyone sitting in here knows the warm wash of shame. We're pretty sure that the only people who don't experience shame are people who have no capacity for connection or empathy. Which means, yes, I have a little shame; no, I'm a sociopath. So I would opt for, yes, you have a little shame. Shame feels the same for men and women, but it's organized by gender.

15:30

For women, the best example I can give you is Enjoli, the commercial. "I can put the wash on the line, pack the lunches, hand out the kisses and be at work at five to nine. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan and never let you forget you're a man." For women, shame is, do it all, do it perfectly and never let them see you sweat. I don't know how much perfume that commercial sold, but I guarantee you, it moved a lot of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds.

16:04

(Laughter)

16:08

Shame, for women, is this web of unobtainable, conflicting, competing expectations about who we're supposed to be. And it's a straight-jacket.

16:20

For men, shame is not a bunch of competing, conflicting expectations. Shame is one, do not be perceived as what? Weak. I did not interview men for the first four years of my study. It wasn't until a man looked at me after a book signing, and said, "I love what say about shame, I'm curious why you didn't mention men." And I said, "I don't study men." And he said, "That's convenient."

16:46

(Laughter)

16:49

And I said, "Why?" And he said, "Because you say to reach out, tell our story, be vulnerable. But you see those books you just signed for my wife and my three daughters?" I said, "Yeah." "They'd rather me die on top of my white horse than watch me fall down. When we reach out and be vulnerable, we get the shit beat out of us. And don't tell me it's from the guys and the coaches and the dads. Because the women in my life are harder on me than anyone else."

17:26

So I started interviewing men and asking questions. And what I learned is this: You show me a woman who can actually sit with a man in real vulnerability and fear, I'll show you a woman who's done incredible work. You show me a man who can sit with a woman who's just had it, she can't do it all anymore, and his first response is not, "I unloaded the dishwasher!"

17:53

(Laughter)

17:54

But he really listens -- because that's all we need -- I'll show you a guy who's done a lot of work.

18:00

Shame is an epidemic in our culture. And to get out from underneath it -- to find our way back to each other, we have to understand how it affects us and how it affects the way we're parenting, the way we're working, the way we're looking at each other. Very quickly, some research by Mahalik at Boston College. He asked, what do women need to do to conform to female norms? The top answers in this country: nice, thin, modest and use all available resources for appearance.

18:35

(Laughter)

18:37

When he asked about men, what do men in this country need to do to conform with male norms, the answers were: always show emotional control, work is first, pursue status and violence.

18:51

If we're going to find our way back to each other, we have to understand and know empathy, because empathy's the antidote to shame. If you put shame in a Petri dish, it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and judgment. If you put the same amount in a Petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can't survive. The two most powerful words when we're in struggle: me too.

19:16

And so I'll leave you with this thought. If we're going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path. And I know it's seductive to stand outside the arena, because I think I did it my whole life, and think to myself, I'm going to go in there and kick some ass when I'm bulletproof and when I'm perfect. And that is seductive. But the truth is, that never happens. And even if you got as perfect as you could and as bulletproof as you could possibly muster when you got in there, that's not what we want to see. We want you to go in. We want to be with you and across from you. And we just want, for ourselves and the people we care about and the people we work with, to dare greatly.

[nervousruinscreation]

You know why this place is amazing? Because very few people here are afraid to fail. And no one who gets on the stage, so far that I've seen, has not failed. I've failed miserably, many times. I don't think the world understands that, because of shame.

12:10

There's a great quote that saved me this past year by Theodore Roosevelt. A lot of people refer to it as the "Man in the Arena" quote. And it goes like this: "It is not the critic who counts. It is not the man who sits and points out how the doer of deeds could have done things better and how he falls and stumbles. The credit goes to the man in the arena whose face is marred with dust and blood and sweat. But when he's in the arena, at best, he wins, and at worst, he loses, but when he fails, when he loses, he does so daring greatly."

12:51

And that's what this conference, to me, is about. Life is about daring greatly, about being in the arena. When you walk up to that arena and you put your hand on the door, and you think, "I'm going in and I'm going to try this," shame is the gremlin who says, "Uh, uh. You're not good enough. 

You never finished that MBA. Your wife left you. I know your dad really wasn't in Luxembourg, he was in Sing Sing. I know those things that happened to you growing up. I know you don't think that you're pretty, smart, talented or powerful enough. I know your dad never paid attention, even when you made CFO." Shame is that thing.

13:32

And if we can quiet it down and walk in and say, "I'm going to do this," we look up and the critic that we see pointing and laughing, 99 percent of the time is who? Us. 

Shame drives two big tapes -- "never good enough" -- and, if you can talk it out of that one, "who do you think you are?" The thing to understand about shame is, it's not guilt. Shame is a focus on self, guilt is a focus on behavior. Shame is "I am bad." Guilt is "I did something bad." How many of you, if you did something that was hurtful to me, would be willing to say, "I'm sorry. I made a mistake?" How many of you would be willing to say that? Guilt: I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Shame: I'm sorry. I am a mistake.

There's a huge difference between shame and guilt. And here's what you need to know. Shame is highly, highly correlated with addiction, depression, violence, aggression, bullying, suicide, eating disorders. And here's what you even need to know more. Guilt, inversely correlated with those things.

The ability to hold something we've done or failed to do up against who we want to be is incredibly adaptive. It's uncomfortable, but it's adaptive.

14:59

The other thing you need to know about shame is it's absolutely organized by gender.

If shame washes over me and washes over Chris, it's going to feel the same. Everyone sitting in here knows the warm wash of shame. We're pretty sure that the only people who don't experience shame are people who have no capacity for connection or empathy. Which means, yes, I have a little shame; no, I'm a sociopath. So I would opt for, yes, you have a little shame. Shame feels the same for men and women, but it's organized by gender.

15:34

For women, the best example I can give you is Enjoli, the commercial. "I can put the wash on the line, pack the lunches, hand out the kisses and be at work at five to nine. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan and never let you forget you're a man."

For women, shame is, do it all, do it perfectly and never let them see you sweat. I don't know how much perfume that commercial sold, but I guarantee you, it moved a lot of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds.

16:07

(Laughter)

16:11

Shame, for women, is this web of unobtainable, conflicting, competing expectations about who we're supposed to be. And it's a straight-jacket.

16:23

For men, shame is not a bunch of competing, conflicting expectations. 

Shame is one, do not be perceived as what? Weak. 

I did not interview men for the first four years of my study. It wasn't until a man looked at me after a book signing, and said, "I love what say about shame, I'm curious why you didn't mention men." And I said, "I don't study men." And he said, "That's convenient."

16:50

(Laughter)

16:53

And I said, "Why?" And he said, "Because you say to reach out, tell our story, be vulnerable. But you see those books you just signed for my wife and my three daughters?" I said, "Yeah." "They'd rather me die on top of my white horse than watch me fall down. When we reach out and be vulnerable, we get the shit beat out of us. And don't tell me it's from the guys and the coaches and the dads. Because the women in my life are harder on me than anyone else."

17:30

So I started interviewing men and asking questions. And what I learned is this: You show me a woman who can actually sit with a man in real vulnerability and fear, I'll show you a woman who's done incredible work. You show me a man who can sit with a woman who's just had it, she can't do it all anymore, and his first response is not, "I unloaded the dishwasher!"

17:56

(Laughter)

17:57

But he really listens -- because that's all we need -- I'll show you a guy who's done a lot of work.

18:04

Shame is an epidemic in our culture. And to get out from underneath it -- to find our way back to each other, we have to understand how it affects us and how it affects the way we're parenting, the way we're working, the way we're looking at each other.

Very quickly, some research by Mahalik at Boston College. He asked, what do women need to do to conform to female norms? The top answers in this country: nice, thin, modest and use all available resources for appearance.

18:39

(Laughter)

18:41

When he asked about men, what do men in this country need to do to conform with male norms, the answers were: always show emotional control, work is first, pursue status and violence.

18:55

If we're going to find our way back to each other, we have to understand and know empathy, because empathy's the antidote to shame. 

If you put shame in a Petri dish, it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence and judgment. If you put the same amount in a Petri dish and douse it with empathy, it can't survive. The two most powerful words when we're in struggle: me too.

19:19

And so I'll leave you with this thought. If we're going to find our way back to each other, vulnerability is going to be that path. And I know it's seductive to stand outside the arena, because I think I did it my whole life, and think to myself, I'm going to go in there and kick some ass when I'm bulletproof and when I'm perfect. And that is seductive. But the truth is, that never happens. And even if you got as perfect as you could and as bulletproof as you could possibly muster when you got in there, that's not what we want to see. We want you to go in. We want to be with you and across from you. And we just want, for ourselves and the people we care about and the people we work with, to dare greatly.

[tellywoodtrash]

sanjivani 30.10.19 lb

..... can this show not afford the rights to other sad songs? like, come on, we've heard this song twice already, it has no more emotion remaining in it.

SOFT BOIS, THE ONLY ONES THAT CAN BE TRUSTED, ARE HERE.

neil's soffffffft voice trying to comfort her is just breaking my heart some more. what a goooood bean he is. the bestest ever. 

ishani wants answers. in a crazed kinda way.

rahil is like ishani, snap the fuck outta it.

he seems to be losing his cool more often these days. bechaara, yeh bc saare milke usko pagal bana rahein hain, mc ke bachche.

juhi is the most unrealistically understanding boss in the history of capitalism.

OK SID..............

support de rahe ho, achchi baat hai, par tu abhi do minute pehle hospital mein personal emotions ka lecture deke aaya hai. UNHAND HER THIS SECOND.

lmao ishani has now turned into gossipy mohalla aunty who cannot believe ke padosi ke ladki ne LOVE MARRIAGE karliiiii!!!!!!! apni love story toh bataoooooo (taaki main usmein apna extra mirch masala daal ke sab mein phaila doon!)

sid i swear to god, she should drag your ass to HR for this kinda harassment. aise kaise just giving her cases to "your wife"??????

glass uske sar pe maarti sis. shaayad akal thikaane aa jaati.

oh ishani. have you considered putting this time and energy into a duolingo course instead? i hear norwegian is the hot new language to know! it's gonna give you a better ROI than being in your feelz about a dumbass guy anyway. if nothing, you can go to norway and get yourself another tall hot supermodel doctor who is part viking!

even anjali, who's drinking coffee to spite her dad, is disappointed in sid and his decisions.

is this the nisha case? vardhan is now CFO-cum-office boy, passing old files around to everyone. 

oh ho ishani. tum toh video game villain ki tarah har jagaah prakat ho rahi ho.

change in strategy: targeting asha instead. coz she's clearrrrrrrly the kamzor kadi here.

lmao asha like KAUNSA GRIH KISKA PRAVESH? YEH SAB BHI KARNA HAI??????? I DID ALL THIS TO CONTINUE TO LIVE HERE AND BE A DOCTOR INSTEAD OF SOME ASSHOLE'S WIFE, AND TUM TOH MUJHE USSI JHAMELE MEIN GHASEEET RAHE HO????????

why does she need to saamne se hatt jao?? itta saara toh rasta hai bagal mein, chale jao. kuch bhi.

*SRK VOICE* HAATH KYUN PAKDA?!?!!?!?!?!!?

DONO KE HAATH MAIN KAAT KE NAALE MEIN NA PHENK DOON????????

lmao asha's faceeeeeeeeeeeeee. ishani ki haaye toh lag hi rahi hai sid ko, asha ki alag se lag rahi hai. ab hua na tu sach mein manhoos!?

oh ishani.

lamentations against bhagwan.

i'm almost thankful for vardhan and his fuckery rn, it's providing me much-required levity from the rest of the doom and gloom.

yup. knew it, juhi ke haathon kisi ki maut hui, and shashank covered up to save her career. 

the question here is, if vardhan knows all this (assuming this IS his sister’s case), why's he still behind SHASHANK for revenge, and not juhi???

WOOP.

lmao anjaliiiiiii, is this the issue now????? ki he can sense juhi!??! aana kaaryathinde edekku chena karyam. (malayalam saying about obsessing over small details - a yam - when there's a much bigger issue - an elephant - at hand.)

yup officially time for juhi to take fellow broken-hearted baby ishani AND GTFO HERE, LEAVING THESE FUCKING MEN AND THEIR BULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLSHIT BEHIND.

i'm not even mad at you anymore. this plot is an improvement over all that's going on here rn.

oh this is some mohalle ki aunty, not asha's mom.

SACH MEIN SHAADI KAR LI KYA TUM MANHOOSON NE!???? RE DEVAAAAAAAAAA. SAU KEEDEIN PADE TUM DONO PE.

"achchi hai, par meri pareshaani nahi hai." AW GUDDU. I LOVE YOU MOST.

guddu is all of us.

god roshni is literally the best mom ever. she's supportive and giving him space and time, even though she's so so disappointed in his choices.

this shaadi is looking pretty real to me you guys. which makes me lol coz, siddhu is perfectly willing to chadhaofy bechaari asha ki bali, as per his superstitious belief, huh? she doesn't even know about his manhoosiyat ka record like ishani does!

um ishani, why do you keep ketchup and jam in the freezer????

also uhhhhhhhh, that's the kinda ready to eat food that doesn't need to be kept in the freezer? it's shelf stable.

MTR waalon ko pata hai ki unke khaane ki thok ke bhaav ki beizzati ho rahi hai is show mein????

THIS IS SHIVAAY/ANIKA'S ANGST SONG. IDHAR KYUN GHUSAAYA????? OUFFFFF. KUCH TOH ORIGINIALITY RAKHO YAAR.

yeah i'm afraid you shedding half a tear at the sight of a paratha isn't gonna cut it for me, sid. i need big time suffering. BIG TIME.I NEED TEARS OF BLOOD, AND YOU LYING PROSTRATE ON THE FLOOR, BEGGING ISHANI TO ACCEPT YOUR LOVE.

lo subah subah hi aa gaya, iska din kharaab karne. LET MY GIRL LIVE, YOU STUPID ASSHOLE.

louwe failure suicide case. ishani's like #relatable #bigMood. and now siddhu's terrified and is gonna have to be on suicide watch.

ishani pls, mard ke liye hum apna naakhoon bhi na kaatein, nas to door ki baat hai. RISE ABOVE IT SIS!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE A BADASS MEDICAL BOSS BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CAN’T THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY FOR SOME DUMBASS BOY.

ishani, juhi, and anjali, all srsly need to get their fucking shit together and take over this hellhole, fueled by sheer female rage and spite.

———————————————————————

abbe oh, ishani ka "yeh haal" yeh sab kaand karne se pehle sochna tha. fucking asshole, abhi palti maar raha hai and trying to ruin asha's life also. WILL YOU LET AT LEAST ONE BITCH LIVE PEACEFULLY!!?!?!?!!?!?

also asha, ajeeb khudgarz ladki ho? at least let her know the reason. she might even help. aise chupaakar you're just fucking with her.

yeah asha, i'm afraid an ice pack isn't gonna cut it anymore. either give her answers, or opioids.

[marvelous-avengers]

In Bloom - 4

summary: Bucky’s got some scars in more places than he cares to admit, and thinks some art is the key to helping him recover. What he doesn’t expect is for a certain tattoo artist to settle his soul. Modern AU with tattoo artist!reader

pairing: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

warnings: angst, talks of depression, therapy and recovery, slow burn lovin, some fluffy fluff and heart skipping, a surprise guest

a/n: it takes me forever and a day to update anything and for that i am sorry. so much has happened lately and life is a mess lol. this really is kinda a filler chapter and im not %100 okay with it but i wanted to get it out. i may or may not delete it, but we’ll see. also what the fuck why did staff get rid of line breaks???

---

It’s a week when Bucky’s phone pings! with an email. 

His heart skips a beat as he reaches for it on the kitchen table, fingers twitching as they pause over the device. 

The notification stares at him dead in the face, taunting him with your name. He bites his bottom lip, his other hand fisting on his knee. Anxiety floods his veins faster than a bolt of lightning, thoughts even faster. He feels his heartbeat start to accelerate and takes a deep breath.

In and out. In and out. 

His thumb hovers over the white notification on his home screen.

In.

He presses it.

And out.

He slides his thumb to the right and the screen goes white before the email opens up. 

He smiles, a warm feeling overtaking the anxiety running through his veins.

Hi Bucky!

It was great meeting you last week. After sitting down with you I couldn’t seem to get your idea out of my head. So I took the liberty of creating a few designs for you, which I have attached here. I’m really excited for this piece. Let me know what you think and we can go from there!

Y/N

True to her word, there are three attachments with the email. He clicks on the first one which shows a beautiful arrangement of flowers, some he mentioned and others that simply complimented the piece. He goes to the next one and then the next, heart lighter as he examines each. Roses, lilies, peonies, marigolds, a big and bright sunflower, and some baby’s breath, all equally delicate and beautiful. 

“Holy shit.”

“Shit.”

Bucky nearly jumps out of his chair and turns to see a little girl with dark brown hair peeking at him from the hallway.

He gives her a look, and she only giggles. “Morgan, you know it’s not nice to scare me,” he chides softly, reaching out his arm towards her. She walks forward and grabs his hand and he hoists her up into his lap, placing his phone down.

She gives a kiss to his scruffy chin and settles into his lap, head resting against his chest. “I’m sorry, Uncle Bee.”

He moves the hair out of her face and she beams up at him, brown eyes sparkling. “It’s okay. But no bad words, okay? Mom and dad don’t like bad words.”

“But mom and dad say it all the time,” she counters, face pouting in confusion. “Daddy says shit is mommy’s word.”

“That’s right,” he nods, “so only your mommy gets to say it. Okay?”

She sighs, a little exasperated and into his chest. “Okay.” Her big brown eyes flicker to the table where his phone rests, picture still lit up, and she points and asks, “What’s that?”

He smiles lightly and picks up his phone to show her. “They’re drawings. Do you like them?” She nods, taking his phone in her hands and flipping back and forth between the images. He leans his cheek against the top of her head, settling his arms around her. “Yeah, I do too.”

When Bucky first arrived back home from the army, on top of everything else that he was already going through, he had the struggle of finding a job. After a few failed interviews over the course of a few hard weeks, Bucky’s downward spiral had only gotten worse. Not everyone wants to hire a retired veteran with a heavy heart and a heavier mind. 

However, after phoning a friend and setting up an interview, Steve found Bucky the perfect opportunity. 

Tony Stark, owner and CEO of Stark Industries, the most advanced tech company there is, was able to find a position for Bucky that worked with his schedule. Bucky was detailed and organized, with an eye for precision that made him perfect for handling complicated budgets and some light programming. Pepper Potts, Tony’s wife and CFO, handles all of his paperwork and triple checks his work, which is always up to standards. He was part time, could work from the safety and privacy of his apartment and had full benefits. And on occasion, he’ll watch their wonderful five-year-old Morgan. 

“Did you draw these?” she asks now, pressing something on the screen and the image goes away. She pouts and Bucky chuckles, taking the phone from her and placing it back on the table. 

“No, my friend Y/N did,” he says with an ease that surprises him. But then again, calling Y/N his friend was a lot easier than explaining to a five-year-old that his tattoo artist drew them. Or is he just saying that to combat his nerves? “She’s going to draw it on my arm, make it really pretty.”

Morgan purses her lips and tilts her head before grabbing at his hand, holding onto his fingers. “You’re already pretty, Uncle Bee.”

Bucky feels his heart grow and fill his chest, removing any trace of sadness or anxiety that may have been present. “Thank you, angel.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, wrapping the arm that she’s leaning against around her in a hug and she just smiles at him. Before he can get too emotional, he decides to switch the subject after placing another kiss atop her head. “What do you want for dinner? How do raviolis sound?”

She practically jumps in his lap. “Yummy. With sauce?” She wraps her arms around his neck and Bucky hoists her up as he gets up from his seat, heading towards the kitchen, phone abandoned on the table. 

“Of course, angel.”

After dinner and a showing of 101 Dalmatians, Morgan is fast asleep on the couch. Bucky lets the movie play again just in case she wakes up, and grabs his computer from the coffee table. He opens it up to your email and the designs that you have drawn for him, eyeing the words typed across his screen.

I’m really excited for this piece.

The smile on his face is small, a flicker of...something in his heart.

---

tags:

@buckyhalf @softlybarnes @sgtjbuccky @barnesrogersvstheworld @sweetboybucky @captainrogerss @buckyywiththegoodhair @delos-mio @kentuckybarnes @evanstar @evanstarff

@bitchingwintersoldier @theunicornotaku@beansstan @aveatquevale-@faithfullpanicmoon @aljadams369 @callmedaddys-blog @dontneedbiologytoadopt

[lydsfm]

funny how i’ve had this bitch for a good year or so, began using her in january, Stopped, and have absolutely no recollection of the bg i made up for her since it’s likely in a dm i’ve lost track of SFSGFLDK so we’re starting over !! i’m gonna make this short and sweet bc dealing with three kids under the age of ten when i could’ve been wrapping this up a few hours ago took me O U T, not to mention i’m watching masterchef as i type this, but i’m kat, about to become an old hag come sunday bc i turn 22 and.. idk, i could use a glass of moscato right about now sdfjlkgdf enough about me bc you’ll see me bitching about something soon enough, so with that i’ll introduce you all to miss lydia hyunh ! stats will be up later hopefully, plots..... we’re going off the cuff with them until i cave and make one up so until then —

╰   * ✶ . ever notice lydia hyunh kinda looks like hillary trinh ? they’ve got 4.8m followers on instagram, but that’s no surprise. their instagram bio says they identify as cis female and go by she/her. they just turned twenty-one, right? word around la is they’re kinda vainglorious and nonchalant, but you couldn’t tell online. does it matter when your family’s net worth is $270m? ❪ kat, she/her, gmt-2:30 ❫

she comes from a new money family at the helm of a hong kong-based real estate development firm, but her geographical background is a tad more complex than that sijfg

not to mention her mother being a miss universe contestant-turned-supermodel who still walked the occasional runway after two kids à la the iconic 2010s victoria’s secret models, but anyways —

her dad’s a british national ( and started off as a financier, then switched to real estate, tHEN became a cfo of his own firm fdgsdklfdgfl ) as are she and her brother, so while he and his family were busy building up their company with many trips abroad, lydia, her brother and her mom hung back in london for the most part — though some of her summers were spent in hong kong or along the beaches of the mediterranean when she wasn’t embracing the countryside of her home country during term breaks

however, at age 10, she and the family moved to edinburgh so she could attend a more prestigious private school — and so they could be a bit closer to her brother who was spending time at the renowned st. andrew’s university 

.. basically, i need a sister in arms when it comes to bastardized accents, so have this british bitch with a scottish twinge FDSGJSHDGFSLK

speaking of her brother, they clearly have a sizeable age gap, so while they do love each other and all that, they aren’t necessarily close. he’s primed to be something of an heir and he’s more than cool with that, while lyds is more keen on taking her time to figure out what she wants to do with her life and her parents encourage it..... not to say he was ever pressured but, y’know

all the while, mama hyunh was busy appearing on.. idk, something like america’s next top model and project runway when she could — maybe even masterchef ?? GJSFGF — trying to work her schedule around lydia by taking her with her on sick days or during the summer months

so lydia had a taste of hollywood during her early teens with these trips, absolutely enamoured, fucking gobsmacked that her mom was in the industry bc with the way they lived back home it was as if she was merely privileged as hell

connection idea right there folks !

should note bc it feels weird to glaze over it even if it disrupts the flow, but lydia ?? LOVES her mom. so much. she’s a family girl in general, but she really does look up to her mom and appreciates the little things she does to help or impress her

we’re all about wholesome family relationships here, js SLKFDGJSLFD but anyways

she keeps up this lifestyle of studying in edinburgh, travelling wherever the fuck her parents wish to take her and getting ( almost ) whatever she wants

bc if there’s one thing either of her parents put to her, it was to know her limits and to at least recognize her privilege, even if they knew she was a little too spoiled in her own way to be thoroughly humbled. sounds fake but i always thought of them as traditional hard workers who want their kids to be the same, so 😔

and with that, upon graduating and attending uni in glasgow the following fall, lydia kinda.. separated herself from some aspects of her wealth, wanting to be a normal student with some obvious luxuries bc. she can’t help herself fsdgljgdfs

especially when you have a damn model for a mom and you’re Kinda known to be her kid

and yknow what, it worked out for the most part. ofc she couldn’t hide her roots so people knew this annoying brat came from money, but they weren’t complaining bc at least it meant they had some GREAT parties bc of some loans she’d give out for the sake of having a good time herself

long story short, she loved uni, still does, but she loves the breaks even more as she’s been consistently visiting hollywood since she was 18. mama hyunh became more involved in being a tv personality now that both kids were out of the nest and her husband kept himself occupied with work ( when he couldn’t see her, which ofc is routine as he recently moved up to be ceo ), so she spends much of her time in beverly hills 

so much so that lyds’ summers were spent reconnecting with her mom, and having a wild time on the side too gfsdkjgfd

this year, however, her dad decided to open an office in l.a. to be more present with his wife. and to capitalize on the market

and after hearing that.. something in lydia Snapped. ksldfgjkldf like she v quickly decided to take a break from school and stay here for a bit

which some would find weird bc really ? NOW ? when your parents are around ?? but eh....... using the excuse of “ family bonding ” to really take advantage of whatever ounce of star power she has here is fine by her LFSKDGJSDFG

probably lives with her two cousins to save her ass from being dragged

PERSONALITY AND OTHER SHIT

according to my little blurb on my p much Dead indie: “ ( upper middle class-turned ) trust fund baby who tries to downplay her privilege but usually fails; adventurous and charming, she's a soft player who likes being pursued so long as she calls the shots ”

so uh.. that hasn’t changed much GFLKSDFL

i love the ( closet ) sad little rich girl and all those classic tropes as much as the next person, but lydia happens to be one of the most unbothered chicks you’ll probably ever meet FGJKSDG

vulnerability ?? don’t know her ! she’s just here for a good time and doesn’t know anything But !

laidback af, not to mention i never saw her as particularly defensive of her status and such, and i’m sure her uni life reflected that all by itself

the fact that she’s had it relatively easy in the sense of no real trauma or family issues helps, who knows fdsjglk

doesn't mean she won't lay into you if the time calls for it, especially if you have a god complex or something. she’s of the mindset, “ you do you and i’ll do me, but act like a fool and i’ll happily remind you of it for the rest of your days, ” so it's safe to say that someone could bring out the bitch that lurks beneath if they're not careful SGFJDKLGF

can she be selfish and indulgent ?? .. yes, but does she carry herself as such ? ………. also yes, bUT not by much, which makes a difference ! 

LKSFDGLF jk, but she is restrained in how she displays these tendencies ( for the most part ) or else she probably would’ve gotten her ass handed to her back in uni. thank god she’s well-mannered enough

wild child ! gets around ! don’t think i need to elaborate aside from the fact that she’d rather NOT get an sti or wind up in the er over dumb shit, so there’s a sense of caution with it all

basically, she can be materialistic as hell and takes advantage of the shit she has while she has it, but she’s practical enough to know her limits or to just. know better

idfk, i feel like this makes zero sense bc i’m so drained, that this seems like it could be the setup for a m*ry s*e which..... ew, and that i’m missing a lot of extras but i’m DEAD so we’ll leave it there fdklgjsg

[nice-bright-colors]

Back On The Silver Bullet

Barreling through the major metropolitan area, heading towards the large metropolitan city. Funny how my sense of fear is diminishing these days. I’m very much starting to feel at ease with the forth coming move to working remotely, and flying in every couple of months.

The Office doesn’t feel the same already. Some of the kids are finding out via Facebook (thanks to the Wife). Bossman and Wife are expecting, he’s moved out of the back hotel suite, and now uses that as his office. CFO and Green Director share his old office.

The Wife and I managed to move all our shit without killing each other, or without any major fights. I do miss my sofa though. The can’t wait for my travel schedule to start up again. Looks like 2 projects at one property outside Pittsburg this year. Then one ground up the other side of PA. Most likely a large hotel bed—-all to myself. No Wife, No dog pushing me out. No getting up to pee, dog takes your spot. No waking up with a sore back.

Not even officially moved into my Father’s house yet, and I’m already planning my move out of there.

[sojournlist]

If you’re a blogger or writer or aspiring writer and have low page views and a bit of flexibility in your time. Read this. It’s long but I also wanted to get my backstory in to describe why I’m doing this.

I started out adulthood pretty clueless. Like a lot of clueless 18 year olds, I figured I’d join the Army. I spent 5 years as a Photojournalist in the Army.

While in, I traveled the world, met famous journalists and celebrities, received a letter of commendation from the president. I was pretty confident things were going to turn out okay.

I got out and failed miserably at becoming a freelance writer, so miserably in fact, I lost my truck, my apartment, my girlfriend and became homeless for a short time.

A friends mom put me back on my feet, and I worked in a factory that produced pipelines for oil rigs making 6 dollars an hour. I was the only white guy and 6 months later I found out I outlasted the betting pool that all the immigrant workers had put together on how long I would last.

I never wanted to sleep on the streets again.

I eventually went to college, figuring if I couldn’t make a living in Journalism and English, I’d make a living in Math. I started out planning on majoring in finance, buying into the whole Gordon Gecko greed is good mentality. But wound up switching to accounting. There were ethics that appealed to me. We were protecting the investor and it paid good.

I had been diagnosed with ADHD years before and college was a struggle, not because I didn’t understand the material, but because I hated the length and work of it all. I graduated, became an auditor, I worked for large CPA firms and small ones, primarily in governmental accounting, but specializing in low income housing audits.

Bored yet? I was.

One day a recruiter came knocking and said that he had a CFO position at a small magazine publisher. I was excited. I took the job, and dove super deep into it. I learned as much as I could. I redesigned the books, I got involved in analytics projects regarding sales and projections and budgets, was introduced to how Advertising sales works, and all of that. I also learned I had high functioning autism. I kept that a secret. I also learned exactly why journalists get paid so low and who benefits.

I also had a pretty volatile boss. He would yell and scream and throw fits. We actually got along fine. But because I mostly towed the line.

Then he hired a new sales manager, felt he needed to impress her or something by flexing his power and in a meeting loudly demanded that I collect 50k in A/R or he would withhold my paycheck. He looked smug and asked “How do you feel about that.”

I replied, “I feel like that would be the last day I work here.”

He flipped the fuck out and disappeared for a few days. I usually let stuff fall of my back, but I was pretty angry. The next week, he had me talk to his consultant. It was a good meeting, It was supposed to be confidential. I told her about the autism diagnosis. She immediately told my boss.

The next day, we had a closed door meeting to go over our conversation. Then he got mad at something and the argument renewed and he brought up my diagnosis. I was a bit shocked that the consultant told him despite the promise of confidentiality.

He then told me, “I knew you had a low emotional intelligence when you brought donuts to work and didn’t clean up after everyone. When you bring stuff into the office, it’s your responsibility to clean up after yourself.”

I replied, “I didn’t eat any of the donuts. I brought them in for everyone else.”

“Yeah, and a person who has emotional intelligence would know that they need to clean up after them.”

I was also under the impression that at work you clean up after yourself. Plenty of signs at plenty of workplaces illuminated that for me.

He also got mad, that an IT project of setting up a better WiFi system that I was halfway through resulted in a box filled with half the stuff I hadn’t finished setting up the day prior on a table.

“I don’t need some fucking autistic guy fucking up my office,” he shouted. “You have two weeks to help me find your replacement.”

I told him I’m not helping find my replacement. Packed up my stuff and left. It was April 12, 2019.

Stewing over it for the next few days I devised a plan. I was going to mix the low income housing business model with publishing. A model where by separate entities sharing responsibilities risk is reduced, expenses are decreased and profit is maximized for everyone involved from the reader to the writer to the advertiser and to us.

Why? My boss had regularly mentioned that publishing has a low cost of entry. I also had shitty bosses at small firms in Public Accounting. I never understood why bosses in industries, where their employees could easily up and become competition would be cheap with their employees pay and treat them like shit. Especially since they could walk out the door and become competition.

My boss would often tell me that our magazine didn’t really have any competitors.

I wasn’t eager to go back to working for someone else and I really wasn’t eager to go back to accounting.

So I decided I would try and become a competitor. The business did have a low cost of entry, however, I had 18 dollars to my name on April 12th.

A few days later, I told my wife my plan, she was impressed and thought it was a good idea.

I told a buddy I was in the Army with my plan. He left Army Photojournalism and remained in communications. He thought it was genius. He’s now our editor.

I threw together a rough business plan, told a friend and he entered us into a University of Washington business plan competition.

We didn’t win, I had lots of positive feedback. A guy who informed me he was an angel investor and his wife was formerly a journalist loved the idea. A developer looked at me like I was an idiot and told me my idea was impossible.

I pushed ahead anyways. Another friend from high school who is a website developer offered to help, and the website started and went live on July 15th.

A month later, we had racked up 10k visits and 50 or so profiles, 15 writers submitted material.

The site was slow and it was bothering me. I had also been practicing building websites on the side.

So I hired a guy from Fiverr to optimize the site, he did, but he also destroyed our log in process, which is kind of necessary. I broke the site in an effort to fix it.

So I took it down. Spent a month rebuilding it by myself, and it returned live a month later.

I spent pretty much next to nothing on the site. Maybe a few thousand. But I wound up building a travel and tourism blog / social media site that does a 75 percent revenue share and profit share with content contributors. We have an ad server where advertisers can go in order, schedule, manage and track their ads.

We have close to thirty writers now, nearly 70 submissions from amateurs and professional writers, a unique bucket list feature, basically a system that is designed to help writers make a better living, keeps our costs low, allows us to charge less for advertising, and has the potential to get readers free stuff for simply being members and interacting and reading material.

The site is 95 percent complete. Just need to make a few more additions to the bucket list, update our achievement images and make them shareable and once again fix the speed issues. It’s an impressive piece of work and we’re proud of it.

This last month, we’ve cleared 12k page views and now have over 130 profiles.

I accomplished this with no website building experience, no marketing experience, no SEO, no backlinks, and I think our DA score is zero.

I did it by taking research on the effectiveness of micro influencers and reversing it and applying it to small Facebook groups and it’s been rather successful.

We’ve even gotten some interest in our first hosted ad sales. 3 1/2 months in.

So please, join the site. We are strictly geared and dedicated to helping writers.

http://sojournlist.com