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thoughtlessthinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

Reflection

A short fic with old!jmart for TMA Body Positivity. Discussion of weight and scars. @tmabodypositivity

Martin looked down fondly where Jon had fallen asleep on his lap halfway through the movie. Gone were the days when Jon could stay up all night working. Now, Martin was halfway impressed if he made it to 8 o’clock. Yawning, he reflected that he wasn’t much better. Two old men, set in their habits, who just wanted a quiet early night.

He shut off the TV, figuring that Jon wouldn’t want to miss the ending. They could watch the rest tomorrow. In the black screen, he could see the faint, blurred reflection of the two of them on the sofa, Jon happily using him as a pillow.

He supposed they made for quite a sight. He was wearing an old t-shirt that he’d had for at least thirty years, and at this point it was more holes than shirt. But no matter how worn and stretched out it was, it was far too comfortable to ever get rid of. Jon, who tended to always feel cold these days, was completely burritoed in a blanket that he’d spent the evening hogging. Even in his sleep, he was holding onto it as if Martin might dare commit the crime of trying to steal a small corner of it.

Martin smiled at the reflection in front of him. After ages of self-hatred, years of not understanding what Jon needed to hear to feel comfortable in his skin, finally Martin could look at the two of them and see nothing but how beautiful they both were.

He brushed the now completely gray hair out of Jon’s face with a hand now covered in wrinkles and the dark spots of age. Jon leaned into his touch without waking. He’d have to move him eventually — his back would hate him if he fell asleep like this — but for now, he could let Jon sleep.

Honestly, it was a bit of a miracle. There had been so many times that he was certain he was going to die, or that Jon was. Or that both of them were. But here they were, an apocalypse and a lifetime later, fully settled into a blissfully mundane existence. Being old felt like an accomplishment.

Gently, he ran his fingers over some of the exposed worm scars on Jon’s cheek. They were faded, but still visible enough to get the occasional stare from strangers.

Martin still had a lot of regrets, and he’d had a lot of time to think about them. If you asked him decades ago, he would have listed all the moments he might have been able to save the world. But now, if he were to rank them, all the times he failed to tell Jon what he needed to hear at his most vulnerable moments would be at the top of the list.

The scars were just one small example. For ages, Martin had hated Jon’s scars. Not because of any shallow or cruel reason. But every one of Jon’s scars represented some pain Jon had felt, some tragedy Martin had been unable to save him from. So, he’d seen reminders of the past that would never fade.

And so, there had been the moments when he’d assured Jon that he didn’t mind. That he was beautiful anyway. The times he’d said the scars didn’t matter, even though they did. He’d thought they’d been good words, comforting words. But they’d been wrong.

He got it now, rather too late (although Jon assured him it wasn’t.) That Jon needed every one of his scars to be kissed and treasured.To be told that he shouldn’t have to hide them for anyone’s comfort.

Now, he understood that when he told Jon how lovely he was, he couldn’t let there be an “anyway” or a “despite.” That there should never be a qualifier on that statement. Every mark Jon bore was part of him, so therefore it too was beautiful.

When Martin thought of the scars that Jon bore that were beneath his skin, his regrets grew even deeper. Jon’s experiences had marked him in many more ways than the physical. These scars included his need for statements, the way he had to regurgitate the horrors he’d seen, the way he was no longer quite human…

Martin knew what he thought he’d been saying in those cases. He thought he’d been saying “I hate that this is happening.” Or “I hate what’s been done to you.” Or even just “I’m frustrated with this situation.”

It had taken years of recovery in this new world for Jon to finally confess that what he had heard was “I don’t accept all of you. I hate these parts of you and wish they’d go away. I don’t acknowledge them as a real part of you, so it doesn’t matter if I reject them.”

Not for the first time, Martin’s heart had broken. He couldn’t fix the past, but he’d resolved to do better. Because there was nothing more important than letting Jon know he was loved.

It had taken him time to learn better words. To learn how to gently kiss every one of Jon’s scars while telling him how gorgeous he was. To tell him that nothing that had been done to him, no changes he’d gone through, either mental or physical, could make him any less perfect.

He grinned ruefully at his reflection and shook his head slightly. Getting to the point where he loved what was looking back at him had been a hell of a process. Because if showing Jon he loved and accepted him properly had been a challenge, learning to accept himself had at one time seemed like a pointless impossibility.

He’d never liked what he saw when he looked in the mirror. Not since childhood. He’d always seen his weight, his body that seemed to take up so much more space than it should. He’d spent years trying to make himself look smaller, less threatening. Less like a person who was taking up room they had to right to. He saw a body that often couldn’t keep up, couldn’t help when he needed it too. And then, thanks to Elias, he’d learned that the face staring back at him was that of his father. The man who’d abandoned him as a child without a second glance. It had taken years before he’d stopped thinking of that every time he saw his reflection.

And he’d often imagine that other things, hidden things, must be as clearly visible to everyone else as his face. It was no wonder that the invisibility the Lonely offered had been such a temptation. Because when he looked at himself, he’d see his own failures, surely as if they were written on his skin. Every time he’d failed to act. Every time he’d pushed people away and hurt them. The fact that something within him still occasionally needed space when that was the opposite of what Jon needed, and the fact that he still occasionally would say the most thoughtless things when he was irritated or frustrated.

But now, even though he still occasionally nursed old hurts or glared at his graying reflection, he’d found a sort of peace.

This was a body that had trekked through the apocalypse. It was a body that was good at cuddling and holding (even if this currently meant accepting that Jon was pressing his rather cold nose and hands into Martin’s slightly exposed stomach.) And it was a body that was still capable of picking up Jon and moving him to the bed, even if he really probably shouldn’t be doing that anymore at his age.

He was going to anyway. Until he physically couldn’t.

And Jon, his Jon, who had spent so much time being tormented body and soul, was beautiful. He wasn’t beautiful because of it. He wasn’t beautiful despite it. He simply was beautiful, inside and out. And every mark on his body was beautiful because it was a part of him.

Martin wondered what strangers would think if they could see them. Maybe they’d see the flab and the wrinkles. The way Jon’s hands shook a bit now, or the way Martin now needed to hold his glasses away from his face a bit in order to see. Maybe, they’d just focus on the scars. It didn’t matter.

Because he knew what he saw in that blurry reflection in front of him, and he knew that if he could take a picture, make a painting, project this image into the stars for all eternity —he would in a heartbeat.

Because despite - no, not despite. That word had no business in this conversation. Never despite.

Because with the signs of age and past torment. With the fact that both of them could be incurably grouchy old men. With every single scar, both the ones that could be seen and the ones they both bore inside their hearts.

Because with all of this… Martin knew there had never been a more beautiful sight. Because here they were, after everything. Still with the strength to hold each other. So every inch of both of them was perfect.

Martin must have been deeply lost in thought, because he completely failed to notice that Jon had woken up until he said, “Watching something good?” Jon’s eyes looked towards the blank screen that Martin had been engrossed in, then back over to him. He quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

“You know what, yeah,” Martin said, running his fingers through Jon’s hair. “I was.”

Then, groaning slightly as his back protested, he stood, cradling Jon in his arms. “Best view in the world.”

#tma #jonmartin #tmabodypositivity

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backtobackbakubabe · 3 years

Text

Speak Easy Part 13

Dabi x Reader , Bakugo x Reader

Words : 3125

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together.

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

********************************************************************

You watched as Dabi paced in front of you as you hugged your knees to your chest. Shoto had come to sit next to you and you were grateful for his calming presence. He kept giving you a weird look and then looking at his brother. He obviously wanted to ask what was going on between the two of you, but you mouthed, “later” at him and he shrugged it off.

“Ok. So what? He has a list of my safe houses. That’s okay… That’s arguably a good thing actually.” Dabi was thinking out loud trying, and even though his voice sounded calm, you could see the way his hands balled into fists so tight his staples were pulling.

“No one knows about this place. This is the safest house out of all of them. I bought it after I left the League, it’s in the middle of nowhere, and the security is the best money can buy.” He stopped his pacing and looked at his brother, “So…”

Shoto draped a lazy arm around you and you released a tense breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He quirked his head at his older brother, “So…? What? Why is that a good thing?”

Dabi’s eyes got this scary look. They practically glowed and you could tell whatever he was thinking probably wasn’t good. “It means we can pick them off. Set up traps for them at my other safe houses. It might take some time… we won’t know what houses they’re targeting so at first it’ll be a lot of guess work.” You could see a scheme hatching behind his eyes and for once he truly looked like a villain. “You said Bakugo was already out looking for them, right? I can meet up with him! They’re my houses after all, no one knows them better than me.”

He took off towards the bedroom mumbling something about needing to pack. Your wide eyes connected with Shoto’s, “How long before he remembers he’d have to leave me behind and panics?”

Shoto hummed, “I’d say about thirty seconds after he’s done packing.” He shrugged, “It’s not a bad plan honestly. I see he’s gotten rather attached to you lately though.”

You could hear the unspoken question and you weren’t sure you were ready to jump into that conversation just yet. It was bad enough that Katsuki knew. You shrugged and averted your eyes back to the door Dabi had disappeared behind. “We’ve gotten pretty close. You learn a lot about someone when you’re stuck in a house with them.”

“SHIT!”

Shoto sighed, “Sounds like he just remembered.”

Dabi stomped back into the living room and stopped a few feet in front of you. His stare was intense almost like he was trying to see through you. You could see his frustration growing as he battelled internally over what he should do. “I can’t leave you here by yourself… I don’t want to leave you at all. But- But I can’t take you with me either.” You could see his mind running a mile a minute trying to come up with a solution.

“You can leave me here, I’m not totally useless. I have the collar, so you can call me, check on my location and vitals and all that creepy shit.” You gestured to the younger Todoroki sitting next to you, “And I’m sure your brother and Izuku are dying to have some time to catch up. They can keep me company. Kiri too if need be.”

Dabi kneeled in front of you and laid his arms on either side of you, caging you in. “It would drive me insane leaving you here.”

You brushed your thumb over the spot between his eyes, smoothing out his worried expression. “More insane than if you stayed here and let Katsuki handle this on his own?”

His body sagged and he leaned his forehead onto your shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you want me to go.”

You leaned your head on his. “Of course I don’t want you to go idiot. But I hate to break it to you, I know you pretty well… And I don’t think sitting here day after day listening to you complain about how you could do it better, sounds like fun.” He groaned because he knew you were right. “So, go ahead and go. I’ll be fine here I promise. Go catch some bad guys with Katsuki.”

“Ugh don’t say it like that. You make is sound like a cheesy buddy cop movie. I just hope your little hero friend isn’t squeamish because I’m not going to hold back.”

Shoto cleared his throat, “Some of us… little heroes… have seen enough shit to last a lifetime. Bakugo’s the hardest working and grittiest out of us all, so believe me when I say you don’t need to worry about him.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes at his brother who he had just realized was practically cuddling with you. “Seeing death and dealing it out are two different things. I know he’s capable of killing someone, but mentally I don’t think he could cross that line.” He held a hand up to stop Shoto from arguing with him. “And I don’t care if he doesn’t want to get his precious hero hands dirty. Because that’s what I’m here for, and I’m honestly looking forward to it.”

You huffed, “Listen, I really don’t like the look you get when you talk about killing people. It’s sick… killing isn’t supposed to be fun you psychopath.”

His eyes shifted back to yours, “Baby girl. I want to make something clear. I will find the sick fucks that kidnapped you. I will torture them in the most painful and humiliating ways possible. By the time I’m done… they will welcome death with open arms. I’ll be doing them a favor.” His forehead pressed against yours. “Unless you’d rather I save them for you…My destroyer of men.”

You hit his shoulder, “I’d rather you let Katsuki arrest them! You know how I feel about killing villains.”

His hand gripped the back of your neck hard to force you to look at him, “…No. You know I can’t do that. The sooner you accept that, the easier all of this will be.” His thumb rubbed your cheek, “I know it sucks. But this is the world you live in now. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves.”

Shoto cleared his throat, “Listen I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from being kinky in my presence.”

Dabi growled, “Fuck off! You literally let yourself in unannounced… When all of this over I swear we’re leaving the fucking country. I’m so sick of you brats just coming over whenever you feel like it. We’re gonna leave and you’ll never see us again.”

Shoto quirked an eyebrow, “So… Even after all of this is resolved… you plan to still live with y/n?” You could see the gears turning in his head as he pieced all of this together. “Hmm interesting.” He got up and stretched. “Well I guess I’ll give you guys some alone time to… do whatever this is… just without me having to witness it.”

“Hey before you go… You sure you’re okay with keeping an eye on her while I’m gone?” You hadn’t heard Dabi sound so uncertain before. Usually he carried so much confidence that it was overwhelming. But now he sounded lost.

Shoto nodded, “Yeah it’s not a big deal. Izuku and I can take shifts. Kirishima will probably take over every now and then depending on how long you are gone… But we don’t mind. Y/n was right when she said we’d like to catch up with her.” He gave you an awkward wink that was completely out of character for him. “You’ve been hoarding her all to yourself for months now.” He walked down the hall and shouted, “Try not to be too loud. I’ll just pick the room that smells the least like sex.”

“Good luck! I’ve fucked her on every surface of the hou—” You slammed a hand over Dabi’s mouth to cut him off.

You hid your face in Dabi’s shoulder to stifle your laugh. “I love your brother so much. He has no filter and it’s honestly so refreshing.”

A quick slap to your thigh had you gasping, “I don’t appreciate you talking about my brother that way.” He nipped at your earlobe harshly, “Especially after I just agreed to let him stay here while I’m gone.”

Before you could respond he was standing up and throwing you over his shoulder, “I think I need to remind you who you fucking belong to.” He slapped your ass as you shrieked, “I might be gone for a while, so I think I need to give you something to remember.”

“You are so ridiculous! He’s literally in a committed relationship with another man!”

Dabi tossed you onto his bed and immediately fell on top of you. “He’s also my brother and I know that slut swings both ways.” He bit down hard on your shoulder, “I’m going to leave my fucking mark all over you before I go.” He sucked a bruise into your neck, “Tonight… I’m going to claim every fucking inch of you.”

He had you naked underneath him within seconds, kissing down the column of your neck. He continued down to suck a nipple into his mouth and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from screaming.

“Come on baby, let him hear you. Let him hear how good I treat you. Let him know that there is only one Todoroki for you.”

You wanted to argue with him. There was no way Shoto was interested in you at all. He’d been in love with Izuku since high school. But you were also enjoying the way Dabi was marking his territory. There was something so peaceful about giving up control to another person, especially someone you trust.

You let him kiss and suck and grope every part of you. In this moment you were his to do with as he wished. You didn’t care he was leaving mark after mark on your skin. He was claiming you, he was daring others to lay a finger on what it is his. And you fucking loved it. You loved the peace and the comfort that came with the idea of him declaring that you are his. The security of knowing he wouldn’t let another soul touch you.

He bit harshly into your inner thigh, making you yelp and buck your hips.

He chuckled darkly as he came back up and rubbed his nose against yours. “Baby girl, just look at your face. I haven’t even touched your pussy yet and you already looked so fucked out.” He dragged his fingers lightly over your stomach, across your ribs, over your breast, and finally let them settle on your neck.

You shivered and closed your eyes, “Dabiiii, stop teasing me.”

His fingers tightened around your throat. “You said some shit earlier that really got under my skin. And now I can’t decide if I should punish you or not.”

Your head spun as it tried to think about what you possibly could have said to upset him. “What – what did I say?”

Dabi leaned in sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before biting down hard. “You said…. You loved my brother.”

Your heart pounded in your chest and you felt an intense heart overwhelm your face and neck. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Was he jealous? Did he want you to say you loved him? Is that really what he wanted to hear?

You hadn’t noticed him pulling his own pants down until he was thrusting into you. “I’m a selfish man y/n. I’m greedy. I don’t share. And hearing those sweet little words said about someone else.” His hips snapped into yours harder, as his fingers got even tighter around your neck to the point where you were sure there would be bruises.

His pace picked up and you could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead, “I wanna hear you say it. Who do you love?”

Your eyes rolled back as you croaked out a horse “you”

“That’s not good enough doll. I said! WHO do you FUCKIN LOVE?”

His fingers let go of your throat and as intense pleasure washed over you, leaving your legs shaking, “YOU!”

He fucked you through your orgasm before he followed right behind you, “That’s what I fuckin thought.”

He only parted with you long enough to clean the two of you up. He wandered to the bathroom to get a warm, wet towel. You hummed contently as rubbed it all over your body, especially over the sore new marks he had made on your skin. When he was satisfied, he tossed the rag to the floor to deal with later and rejoined you in bed. He pulled you to him, your back to his chest, and let out a huge sigh. “I’m really nervous about leaving you here. And it honestly makes me angry. I’ve never cared about another person like this, hell I’ve never even cared about my own well being this much.” You could feel him resting his chin on your shoulder, “It makes me feel weak and I hate it.”

You intertwined your fingers with his that were wrapped around your middle. “You know what they say about bravery right? Bravery isn’t not being scared. Only stupid people aren’t scared of anything. Bravery is being scared of something and doing it anyway.” You sank further into his embrace. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared too. Which is equally as frustrating.”

You could feel him kiss your shoulder, encouraging you to continue. “I used to be incredibly independent. I lived alone, I worked alone, because of the classified nature of my job I was pretty isolated. I didn’t need anyone, and I was more than happy to get shit done on my own…Now the thought doing anything without you gives me anxiety.”

He sighed, “If anything that makes me feel worse… I believe we have a classic case of codependency… it’s your fault by the way. For sucking me in to your annoyingly needy arms.”

“Says the guy who has his arms currently wrapped around me like a vice.” You wanted to stay in this sweet moment. He was never this open with you, never this soft. “And even though it’s not my fault, I will admit that I did kind of need you for everything when I first got here.” You felt his chest rumble with silent laughter. “But you never really complained, did you? To be honest I had thought you would have been… I don’t know… a little more… cold I guess.”

His hands heated up as they rubbed circles into your stomach. “To anyone else I definitely would have been.” He turned you around so he could pull your chest to his and rolled onto his back, tucking your head under his chin. “I was fucking toast the second you fell into my arms though.” He groaned, “UGH! I sound like such a pussy. I hate it.”

You pressed several kisses to his chest, “Well I don’t hate it.”

There was a long stretch of silence in which the two of you just held each other, not wanting to burst your bubble.

Dabi cleared his throat and you knew he wanted to talk about it. “Listen… While I’m gone all of the laws are still valid. You still need to take care of yourself. Just because I’m not here to force you to eat lunch doesn’t mean you don’t have to.” His fingers rubbed up and down your spine. “I’m sure if you ask the guys, they’ll work out with you, but they need to keep their filthy hands to themselves.” His hand stopped at your collar, “And as much I hate saying this. Don’t call me.”

You lifted your head and gave him a confused look, “What? You worried your side chicks will hear?”

He reached down and slapped your ass, “Shut up. I literally live with you and we never leave the house. That jokes not even funny.” His hand started to rub the same spot he had just slapped, “I’m being serious though. I don’t want you to call me. If something happens and they get my phone, or hell if they somehow capture me, I don’t want anything tying me to you. Shigaraki suspects you’re with me otherwise he wouldn’t be going through my safe houses. But he doesn’t know you’re with me, and I want to keep it that way.” His voice got quitter as he mumbled into your hair, “Besides… I think if I heard your voice I’d give up and come home.”

You froze, “Okay, that is officially the softest thing you’ve ever said to me… and I love it.”

He growled low in your ear, “That’s it, I’m going to start calling you whore, and making you call me sir. I’m losing my damn edge.”

You just giggled, knowing he was bluffing, but then again… he did get you a collar.

“I’m going to miss you… sir.”

“I’m gonna miss you too… my special little whore.”

You sarcastically beamed at him, “Aww you think I’m special?”

That night, you barley slept. You were so worried he’d leave without waking you up to say bye. So, as a consequence you woke up several times throughout the night and every time, he’d pull you closer and mumble a sleepy “still here.”

When morning finally came you sat on the bed with your kneed tucked under your chin as you watched him finish getting ready. Your eyes followed him as he walked around the room, taking his time. He knew the sooner he got dressed the sooner he’d have to leave.

Finally, when he had no other choice, he laced his boots up and looked at you. “Come here…” He held his arms out to you and you quickly slid into his embrace. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, okay?” He kissed the top of your head. “Listen to Shoto and try not to give him too much shit. Follow the laws, don’t watch any of our shows while I’m gone, if there’s any big emergencies have one of the guys call Bakugo.”

You nodded and looked up into his bright blue eyes, “You be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Come back preferably in one piece please.”

He chuckled, “I will do my best doll.”

************

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99 @squichymochi

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dangermousie · 3 years

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CFC 134

1. And now evil cop wants to meet XQC in the middle of the night, alone.I know horror movies, don’t gooooo! Luckily HY is there and XQC tells him he’s going but can you imagine if he didn’t crash in his dorm? XQC would go and disappear or god knows what and nobody would know.

2. Great, and the meeting is at an abandoned factory with terrible reception. That is totally fine fine fine.

3.!!!!! This was merely a nightmare! Meatbun, queen of psyching us out (should have known it was not real because no way would actual HY let XQC go off by himself in the middle of the night.) BUT! Seeing that in XQC’s dream, evil cop is murdered like other org members, listen to your subconscious, XQC!

4. His greatest fear is not wanting anyone he’s close to die any more. Oh you poor man, this is going to be BAD! But he’s clutching HY’s hand as HY is comforting him and even if he lets go as soon as he realizes, this is still feeding me!

5. HY dragging XQC into bed with him to give him comfort and warmth. YESSS! and XQC is all nope, don’t want to be hugged by men (ummmm...) and they tussle and HY gets turned on and the whole thing is delightful.

6.HY kissing XQC and when XQC is all “don’t do that stuff, it will make it worse” (because XQC doesn’t return his feelings) but HY saying it’s 12 years too late - i.e., it was too late from the first moment they met and I am dying dying dying. ”Because you came, my world had hope.” Honestly, how could HY not love XQC? If HY was straight or if XQC was not attractive to him or w/e, it wouldn’t be romantic love, but XQC would always be the most influential, important person to him.

7. “I just like you, Xie Qing Cheng. If you think I am wrong, then I am always wrong. Go on, I can be wrong for a lifetime, until the day I die, I will prove I am right.” Swoon territory but also this total open and unstinting adoration that HY reiterates over and over is something that XQC - who clearly doesn’t think he deserves good things - needs badly, especially in light of the fact that the disaster of his marriage made him extra dubious about seeming infatuation that burns itself out.

8. This passage! This devotion is really what moves XQC - even if he, clueless, thinks what he is feeling is merely sympathy for HY’s unrequited feelings.

And this:

And then they start mutually making out!!!! OMG!!! But damn, ruined by the phone ringing noooooo! BUT! It snaps XQC out of it and he realizes what he was doing and pushes HY away but the thing is - he needed to be snapped out of it because he was into it - he was really drawn in and enjoying it, which is why he is so miffed at himself and just guuuuuh the ice is less icy now! And I love that what’s winning him over is HY’s adoring devotion but also HY’s inability to give up and keep pushing and pushing at his walls.

9. And the call IS from the cop, like in the dream. Interesting, does XQC have precognition?

#meatbun doesn't eat meat #case file compendium #cnovel

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snelbz · 4 years

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What Happens In Vegas... {3}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz / @tacmc collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

I felt like I had just fallen asleep when someone began hammering on my door.

“Feyre? Are you in there?” The knob shook and it sounded like whoever it was was trying to get in. I’d locked it after the incident with Rhys, just in case he wanted to come back and finish the fight we’d started.

I blinked and sat up, looking around the room, bleary eyed. The last time I had looked at the clock, it was 4:17. It had taken me hours to fall asleep, with the loud music below and the knowledge that Rhys was probably giving Belly Chain the night I should have gotten in Vegas.

Another knock had me climbing across the huge bed and hurrying for the door, but as I reached it, I realized I wore nothing but Rhysand’s shirt he’d left in Vegas. Whatever he’d washed it with, it didn’t smell of puke. The man had some serious laundry skills. Aside from my ruined dress and a couple of other tops, it was all I had with me, so it would have to do.

I reached the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“Amarantha. I’m Rhysand’s PA.”

I cracked open the door and peered out. The elegant redhead from last night stared back at me, unimpressed. From being made to wait or the sight of my bed hair, I didn’t know. Did everyone in this house look like they’d just slunk off the cover of a magazine? Her eyes turned into slits at the sight of Rhys’ shirt.

“His representatives are here to meet with you. You might want to get your ass into gear.” The woman spun on her heel and strode off down the hallway, heels clacking furiously against the terra-cotta tiled floor.

I hesitated, watching her disappear around the corner before closing the door behind me. I slumped back against it with a groan before stumbling into the adjoining bathroom. After a look in the mirror, and a cringe, I decided that a shower was definitely necessary.

The shower was amazing.

The cost of the bathroom alone was probably equivalent to everything I owned. I quickly washed my hair and scrubbed my skin, and I was letting myself out. After brushing through my hair and putting on the same clothes I felt like I had been wearing for years at this point, I was wandering into the hallway.

Amarantha hadn’t told me where they were waiting for me, and in a house this big, I wasn’t excited about looking for the right room. When I walked down the staircase, though, there was a group of men in suits, and I figured that I wouldn’t have to look too long.

“Feyre?”

I nodded, my reality settling in around me. I was about to get divorced. Divorced at twenty-one. What a fucking dream.

“Follow me.”

Me. Although there were four of them in the group, he was clearly in charge. He was probably a few years younger than my dad, clearly full of himself, and obviously rich as hell. His suit was pristine, designer, his hair luscious and just trimmed and styled.

“My name is Darren Hybern,” he said. “The band’s manager.”

I noticed he didn’t offer to shake my hand. “Feyre. Sorry I’m late.”

He smiled and his teeth were too white, too perfect. “It’s fine, not a problem at all.” His tone suggested differently.

He led us to a room by the front door, an office of sorts. There was a large table, the likes of which I’d only seen in boardrooms and interview scenes on tv and in movies. He gestured to the men, who’d sat down on one side of the table, a show of power in their impressive, immaculate suits. “Gentlemen, this is Ms. Archeron,” Hybern announced. “Jeffrey Baker, Bill Preston, and Ted Clark are Rhysand’s legal representatives. Why don’t you sit here, Feyre?”

He spoke slowly, as if I were a feeble-minded child. He pulled a chair out from the table for me directly opposite the team of legal eagles, then walked around to sit on their side. Wow, that sure told me. The lines had been drawn.

I rubbed my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans and sat up straight, doing my best not to wilt beneath their hostile gazes. I could definitely do this. How hard could it be to get a divorce, after all?

“Ms. Archeron,” the one Hybern had identified as Ted started. He pushed a black leather folder full of papers toward me. “Mr. Lunasa asked us to draw up annulment papers. They’ll cover all issues, including details of your settlement from Mr. Lunasa.”

The size of the stack of papers before me was daunting. These people worked fast. “My settlement?”

“Yes,” Ted said. “Rest assured, Mr. Lunasa has been very generous.”

I shook my head in confusion. “I’m sorry. Wha—.”

“We’ll deal with that last,” Ted rushed on. “You’ll notice here that the document covers all conditions to be met by yourself. The main issues include your not speaking to any member of the press with regard to this matter. This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. This condition remains in force until your death. Do you fully understand the requirement, Ms. Archeron? Under no circumstances may you talk to any member of the press regarding Mr. Lunasa in any way while you’re alive.”

“So I can talk to them after I die?” I asked with a weak little laugh. Ted was getting on my nerves. I guess I hadn’t gotten enough sleep after all.”

Ted bared his teeth. They weren’t nearly as impressive as Hybern’s. “This is a very serious matter, Ms. Archeron.”

“Feyre,” I said. “My name is Feyre, and I do realize the seriousness of this issue, Ted. I apologize for being flippant. But if we could get back to the part about the settlement? I’m a little confused.”

“Very well.” Ted looked down his nose at me and tapped a thick, gold pen on the paperwork in front of me. “As I said, Mr. Lunasa has been very generous.”

“No,” I said, not looking at the papers, “you don’t understand.”

Ted cleared his throat and looked down at me over the top of his glasses. “It would be unwise of you to try and press for more given the circumstances, Ms. Archeron. A six-hour marriage in Las Vegas entered into while you were both heavily under the influence of alcohol? Textbook grounds for annulment.”

Ted’s cronies tittered and I felt my face fire up. My need to accidentally kick the prick under the table grew and grew.

“My client will not be making another offer.”

“I don’t want him to make another offer,” I said, my voice rising.

“The annulment will go ahead, Ms. Archeron,” said Ted. “There is no question of that. There will be no reconciliation.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

Ted sighed. “We need to finalize this today, Ms. Archeron.”

“I’m not trying to hold anything up, Ted.”

The other two lawyers watched me with distaste, backing up Ted with sleazy, knowing smiles. Nothing pissed me off faster than a bunch of people trying to intimidate someone.

Hybern gave me a big-toothed, faux-fatherly grin. “I’m sure Feyre can see how kind Rhys is being. There aren’t going to be any delays here, are there?”

These people, they blew my mind. Speaking of which, I had to wonder where my darling husband was. Too busy banging bikini models to turn up to his own divorce, the poor guy. I ran my fingers through my wet hair, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Trying to get my anger managed. “Wait—.”

“We all just want what’s best for you given the unfortunate situation,” Hybern continued, obviously lying through his big, bright teeth.

“Great,” I said, fingers fidgeting beneath the table. “That’s … that’s really great of you.”

“Please, Ms. Archeron.” Ted tapped his pen imperiously alongside a figure on the paperwork and I dutifully looked, though I didn’t want to.

There were lots of zeros. I mean, really a lot. It was insane. In two lifetimes I couldn’t earn that kind of money. Rhys must have wanted me gone something fierce. My stomach rumbled nervously but my puking days were over. The whole scene felt horrific, like something out of a bad movie or soap opera. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks hijacks the hot, rich guy and tricks him into marriage. Now all that was left was for him to use his people to chase me off into the sunset.

Well, he won.

“This was all just a mistake,” said Hybern. “I’m sure Feyre is every bit as keen to put it behind her as Rhys is. And with this generous financial settlement, she can move forward to a bright future.”

“You’ll also never attempt to make contact with Mr. Lunasa ever again, in any manner. Any attempt on your part to do so will see you in breach of contract.” Ted withdrew his pen, sitting back in his seat with a false smile and his hands crossed over his belly. “Is that clear?”

“No,” I said, scrubbing my face with my hands.

They actually thought I’d fall over myself to get that money. Money I’d done nothing to earn, no matter how tempting accepting it was. Of course, they also thought I’d sell my story to the press and harass Rhys every spare moment I got for the rest of my life. They thought I was cheap, trashy scum. “I think I can honestly say that nothing about this is clear.”

“Feyre, please.” Hybern gave me a disappointed look. “Let’s be reasonable.”

“I’ll tell you what…” I stood and retrieved the ring from my jeans pocket, tossing it onto the sea of paperwork. “You give this back to Rhys and tell him I don’t want any of it. None of this.” I gestured at them, the table, the papers, and the entire damn house. The lawyers looked nervously among themselves as if they’d need more paperwork before they could allow me to go waving my arms about in such a disorderly fashion.

“Feyre…”

“I don’t want to sell his story, or stalk him, or whatever else you have buried in subclause 98.2. I don’t want his money.”

Hybern coughed out a laugh. Fuck him. The phony bastard could think what he liked.

Ted frowned at my big sparkly ring lying innocently among the mess. “Mr. Lunasa didn’t mention a ring.”

“No? Well. Why don’t you tell Mr. Lunasa he can shove it wherever he feels it might best fit, Ted.”

“Ms. Archeron!” Ted stood, his puffy face outraged. “That is unnecessary.”

“Going to have to disagree with you there, Ted.” I bolted out of the dining room of death and made straight for the front door as fast as my feet could carry me. Immediate escape was the only answer. If I could just get the hell away from them long enough to catch my breath, I could come up with a new plan to deal with this ridiculous situation. I’d be fine.

A brand new black pickup truck pulled up as I tore down the front steps.

The window lowered to show my guide from last night, Cass, sitting in the driver’s seat. He smirked from behind black sunglasses, his hair tied at the back of his head. “Hey there, child bride.”

I threw a vulgar gesture in his direction and jogged down the long, winding driveway toward the front gates. Toward liberty and freedom and my old life, or whatever remained of it. If only I’d never gone to Vegas. If only I’d tried harder to convince Joey that a party at home would be fine, none of this would have happened. Gods, I was such an idiot. Why had I drunk so much?

“Feyre! Hold up.” Cass pulled up alongside me in his truck. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

I didn’t answer. I was done with all of them. That and I had the worst feeling I was about to cry, damn it. My eyes felt hot, horrible.

“Stop.” He pulled the brake and climbed out of the truck, running after me. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

I said nothing. I had nothing to say to any of them.

His hand wrapped around my arm gently, but I didn’t care. I swung at him. I’d never hit anyone in my life. Apparently, I wasn’t about to start now. He dodged my flying fist with ease.

“Whoa! Okay.” Cass danced back a step, giving me a wary look over the top of his shades. “You’re mad. I get it.”

Hands on hips, he looked back toward the house. Ted and Hybern stood on the front steps, staring after us. Even from this distance the dynamic duo did not appear happy. Evil bastards.

Cass hissed out a breath. “You’re fucking joking. He sicced that ball sucker Ted onto you?”

I nodded, blinking, trying to get myself under control.

“Did you have anyone with you?” he asked.

“No.”

He cocked his head. “Are you going to cry?”

“No!”

“Fuck. Come on.” He held out his hand to me and I stared at it in disbelief. “Feyre, think. There are photographers and shit waiting out front. Even if you get past them, where are you going to go?”

He was right. I had to go back, get my bag. So stupid of me not to have thought of it. Just as soon as I had myself under control I’d go in and retrieve it, then get the hell out of here. I fanned my face with my hands, took a big breath. All good.

Meanwhile, his hand hovered, waiting. There were a couple of small blisters on it, situated in the join between thumb and finger. Curious.

“Are you the drummer?” I asked with a sniff.

For some reason he cracked up laughing, almost doubling over, clutching at his belly. Maybe he was on drugs or something. Or maybe he was just one more lunatic in this gigantic asylum. Batman would have had a hard time keeping this place in check.

“What is your problem?” I asked, taking a step away from him. Just in case.

His snazzy sunglasses fell off, clattering on the asphalt. He swiped them up and shoved them back on his face.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a house at the beach. We’ll hide out there. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

I hesitated, giving the jerks on the front steps a lethal look. “Why would you help me?”

“Because you’re worth helping.”

“Oh, really? Why would you think that?”

“You wouldn’t like my answer.”

“I haven’t liked a single answer I’ve had all morning, why stop now?”

He smiled. “Fair enough. I’m one of Rhysand’s oldest friends. We’ve gotten drunk and out of control more times than I can remember. He’s had girls angling to snare him for years, even before we had money. He never was the slightest bit interested in marriage. It was never even on his radar before. So the fact that he married you, well, that suggests to me you’re worth helping. Come on, Feyre. Stop worrying.”

Easy for him to say, his life hadn’t been skewered by a rock star.

“I need to get my stuff.”

“And get cornered by them? Worry about it later.” He held his hand out, fingers beckoning for mine. “Let’s get out of here.”

I put my hand in his and we went.

—————————

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the beach house we pulled up to wasn’t it. It was right on the water, the house lining the sand. It wasn’t as massive as the mansion we were just at, but it was pretty big. Much bigger than my parents’ house, anyways.

“What do you think?” Cassian asked, putting his car in drive in the driveway.

“It’s….nice,” I answered, at last, unsure of how to judge a house strictly from the outside.

“Nice?” Cassian laughed. “This is my favorite place in the world...and you tell me that it’s nice?”

I laughed, purely because of his exasperated expression. “Well, I have to see the inside first.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged before helping himself out then walked up to the front door. I stayed close behind, afraid that the paparazzi would be hanging just around the corner.

The inside was much more marvelous than the outside. It was simple but sleek and modern. Plenty of space surrounded me, and between that and the beach just outside the backdoor, I was growing calmer by the second.

As I admired the line of instruments lining the walls, I asked, “How many instruments can you actually play?”

Cassian shrugged. “A few.”

I snorted. “Right.”

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

I shrugged. “A little bit of everything, mostly country.”

He groaned. “That’s, like, worst case music to like being married to a rock star. Do you even like hardcore?”

The smile I gave him as I walked into his living room was pained. “Sorry.”

Cassian’s house was clearly a bachelor pad/den of iniquity. I’d had a vague notion to make lunch to thank him for taking me in, but there wasn’t a single speck of food in the house. Beer filled the fridge and vodka the freezer. Oh, no, there was a bag of oranges used as wedges to go with shots of vodka, apparently. He’d ruled out touching those. Coffee, however, was something they both agreed was essential. After drinking three cups in the space of an hour, I felt a lot more like my old well-planned, caffeinated self.

Cass dialed for pizza and we watched TV late into the night. Mostly he found his joy in mocking my taste in pretty much everything: movies, music, the lot. At least he did it good-naturedly. We couldn’t go outside because a couple of photographers were waiting on the beach. I felt bad about it but he’d just shrugged it off.

This is my everyday life. It’s nothing new to me.

He paused on the country music channel as we were eating our pizza.

“What about this song?” he asked. “You like this?”

Miranda Lambert strode on screen in a cool ’50s frock and I grinned. “Miranda is a badass.”

“I’ve met her.”

I sat up straight. “Really?”

He chuckled. “You’re impressed I’ve met Miranda Lambert but you didn’t even know who I was. Honestly, woman, you are hard on the ego.”

“I saw the gold and platinum records lining the hallway, buddy. I’m thinking you can take it.”

He snorted. “Can’t you at least pretend to worship me?”

I bite into another slice of pizza. “Nope. Sorry.”

With a scoff, Cassian began to surf through the channels. Football, home shopping, Jeopardy!, and me. My face on tv.

“Wait,” I said.

He groaned. “Not a good idea.”

“No, just…” I held up a hand, and that seemed to have do it. He didn’t change the channel anymore, but I was fully aware that he was watching me.

The reporter showed up on the screen, talking about everything and nothing in between. I couldn’t help but try and grasp the concept of what she was saying, although the words really didn’t sink in.

“Rhysand Lunasa’s new wife-.”

“Is that all I’m going to be seen as from now on?” I muttered, not really sure if I said it outloud or not. “Rhysand Lunasa’s new wife?”

Cassian didn’t respond. Or, maybe he did and I just didn’t hear him. The footage of me at the airport streamed across the screen and I frowned. I looked so scared, so off guard, so nervous. And I was, that wasn’t the point, but I figured the first time I would ever be on t.v. would be because of a great accomplishment, not because I was accidentally married to a rockstar.

Cassian rested a hand on my shoulder and I looked at him. “Rhys is the favorite, darlin’. He’s pretty, plays guitar, and writes the songs. Girlies faint when he walks by. Team that with your being a young ’un and you’ve got the news of the week.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“And he’s twenty-six. It’s enough of a difference if they hype it just right.” Cass sighed. “Face it, child bride. You got married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator to one of rock ’n’ roll’s favorite sons. It was always bound to cause a shitstorm. Given there’s also been some crap going on with the band lately… What with Tamlin partying like it’s 1999 and Rhys losing his music-writing mojo. Well, you get the picture. But next week, someone else will do something wacky and all the attention will move on.”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“I know so. People are constantly fucking up. It’s a glorious thing.” He sat back and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Now smile for Uncle Cass, cause like I said, this will all blow over in a week or so. You know you want to.”

I smiled halfheartedly.

“That’s a bullshit smile and I’m ashamed of you. You’re not going to fool anyone with that. Try again.”

I tried harder, smiling till my cheeks hurt.

“Damn. Now you just look like you’re in pain.”

Banging on the front door interrupted our merriment.

Cass raised his brows at me. “Wondered how long he’d take.”

“What?” I trailed him to the front door, lurking behind a divider just in case it was more press.

He opened the door and Rhys charged in, face tight and furious.

“You piece of shit. You better not have touched her. Where is she?”

“The child bride is otherwise occupied.” Cass cocked his head, taking Rhys in with a cool glance. “Why the fuck do you even care?”

“Don’t start with me. Where is she?”

Calmly, Cassian shut the door and turned to face his friend. I hesitated, hanging back around the corner.

Cass crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You left her to face Hybern and three lawyers on her own. You, my friend, are most definitely the piece of shit in this particular scenario.”

“I didn’t know Darren would go at her with all that.”

“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know,” said Cass . “Lie to everyone else out there, Rhys. Not me. And sure as fuck not to yourself.”

“Back off.”

Cassian sighed. “You need some serious life advice, friend.”

“Who are you, Oprah?”

Coughing out a laugh, Cass slumped against the wall. “Hell, yeah. Soon I’m gonna be giving out cars, so stick around.”

“What did she say?”

“Who, Oprah?”

Rhysand just scowled at him. He didn’t even notice me spying. Sad to say, even a scowling Rhys was a thing of rare beauty. He did things to me. Complicated things. My heart tripped about in my chest. The anger and emotion in his voice couldn’t be concern for me. That made no sense, not after last night and this morning. I had to be projecting, and it sucked that I even wanted him to care. My head made no sense. Getting away from this guy was the safest option all round. “Rhys, she was so upset she took a swing at me.

“Bullshit.”

“I kid you not. She was nearly in tears when I found her,” said Cass.

I banged my forehead in silent agony against the wall. Why the hell did Cassian have to tell him that?

My husband hung his head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Seems you didn’t mean for a shitload to happen.” Cass shook his head and tutted. “Did you even mean to marry her, dude? Seriously?”

Rhysand’s face screwed up, his brow doing the wrinkly James Dean thing again. “I don’t know anymore, okay? Fuck. I went to Vegas because I was so sick of all this shit, and I met her. She was different. She seemed different that night. I just… I wanted something outside of all this fucking idiocy for a change.”

Cassian pouted. “Poor Rhysie. Did being a rock god get old?”

“Where is she?”

“I feel your pain, bro. Really, I do. I mean, all you wanted was a girl who wouldn’t kiss your ass for once and now you’re pissed at her for the same damn reason. It’s complicated, right?”

“Fuck you. Leave it alone, Cass. It’s done.” My husband huffed out a breath. “Anyway, she’s the one who wanted the fucking divorce. Why aren’t you giving her the third degree, huh?”

With a dramatic sigh, Cass gestured towards me. “Because she’s really busy hiding around the corner, listening. I can’t disturb her now.”

Rhysand’s body stilled and his blue eyes found me. “Feyre.”

Huh. Busted.

I stepped away from the wall and tried to put on a happy face. It didn’t work. “Hi.”

“She says that so well.” Cass turned to me and winked. “So did you really ask the mighty Rhysand Lunasa for a divorce?”

“She threw up on me when I told her we were married,” my husband reported.

“What?” Cass dissolved into laughter, tears leaking from his eyes. “Are you serious? Fucking hell, that is fantastic. Oh, man, I wish I’d been there.”

I gave Rhys what I hoped to be the meanest look in all of time and space. He stared back, unimpressed.

“It was the floor,” I clarified. “I didn’t throw up on him.”

“That time,” said Rhys.

“Please keep going,” said Cass, laughing harder than ever. “This just gets better and better.”

Rhys didn’t. Thank God.

“Seriously, I fucking love your wife, man. She’s awesome. Can I have her?”

The look I got from Rhys spoke of a much more reluctant affection. With the line between his brows, it was closer to outright irritation. I blew him a kiss. He looked away, hands fisted like he was barely holding himself back from throttling me. The feeling was entirely mutual.

Ah, marital bliss.

“You two are just the best.” A chiming sound came from Cassian’s pocket and he pulled out a cell phone. Whatever he saw on the screen stopped his laughter dead. “You know, you should take her to your house,man.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rhysand’s mouth pulled wide in a truly pained expression. I didn’t think it was a good idea either. I’d happily go through life without setting foot inside the house of horrors ever again. Maybe if I asked Cassian nicely he’d fetch my stuff for me. Imposing on him further didn’t appeal, but I was running low on options.

“Whoa.” With a grim face, Cass shoved his cell at Rhys.

“Fuck,” Rhys mumbled. He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and squeezed. The worried glance he gave me from beneath his dark brows set every alarm ringing inside my head. Whatever was on that screen was bad. Really bad.

“What is it?” I asked. “Oh, you, ah… you don’t need to worry about it.” His gaze dropped to the phone again, then he passed it back to Cass. “My place would be cool, actually. We should do that. Fun. Yeah.”

“No.” For Rhysand to be so nice to me it had to be something truly bad. I held out my hand, fingers twitching from impatience or nerves or a bit of both. “Show me.”

Rhysand didn’t budge. “It’s not important.”

“Show me,” I snapped.

Cassian frowned as he looked at Rhysand. Rhys, on the other hand, was staring daggers at his bandmate, his friend.

He handed the phone to me.

My cheeks instantly heated as I glanced down at the picture on Cassian’s phone, the picture that was all over the web.

I was looking at a picture of the tattoo of Rhysand’s name on my ass, a picture that I didn’t even know had been taken.

I tensed, my heart falling into my stomach. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. I had no idea how it had happened, and the thought of a picture of my asscheek ending up all over the internet had me ready to puke.

“Excuse me,” I breathed, shoving the phone into Cassian’s chest. The second he took it, I was hauling ass down the hallway, into the bathroom, where I slammed the door shut behind me.

I locked it and sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, trying to slow my breathing, trying to be calm. There was nothing I could do. The picture was already out there. This was no death and dismemberment. It was a stupid picture of me in a compromising position showing more skin than I liked. But so what? Big deal. Accept it and move on. Despite the fact that everyone I knew would likely see it. Worse things had happened in the history of the world. I just needed to put it in context and stay calm.

“Feyre?” Rhys tapped lightly on the door. “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” No. Not really.

“Let me in?” I gave the door a pained look. “Please.”

Slowly, I stood and flicked the lock. Rhysand wandered in and shut the door behind him. No slicked back, styled hair today. His dark hair hung down, framing his face on one side. He had three small silver earrings in one ear playing peekaboo behind his hair. I stared at them because meeting his eyes was out of the question. I was not going to cry. Not about this. What the hell was even wrong with my eyes lately? Letting him in had been dumb.

With a heavy frown he stared down at me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it is. I should have looked after you better.”

“No, Rhys.” I swallowed hard. “We were both drunk. God, this is all so horrifically, embarrassingly stupid.”

He just stared at me.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, you’re allowed to be upset. That was a private moment. It shouldn’t be out there. We were in a private room. This should never have happened, but people get offered a lot of money for this sort of thing.”

I nodded, knowing this sort of thing happened to them all the time. He must have thought I was having a meltdown for no reason. “Can I… can I see it again?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not really.” I chuckled, but there was no humor in the words. They sounded slightly unhinged.

Rhys handed me his phone regardless.

The image I was looking at this time was a different angle, more zoomed out, but there could be no doubting what it was, even on the small screen. There was a lot of skin on account of my being bare from the waist down. My naked butt sat front and center in all its pale glory. The party dress had been pushed up and I stood, bent over a table while a tattoo artist worked hard inking my rear. My panties had been cinched down, barely covering the basics.

At the other end of the frame, our faces were close together and Rhysand was smiling. Huh. So that was what he looked like when he smiled

I remembered it then, the buzz of the needle, and him talking to me, holding my hands. At first, that needle had stung. “You were pretending to bite my fingers. The tattoo artist got mad at us for messing around.”

Rhys tipped his chin. “Yeah. You were supposed to be keeping still.”

I nodded, trying to remember more but coming up empty.

I blinked, trying my damndest to keep my chin from wobbling but I knew I was about to have another round of tears. “Rhys, I- I’d really like to be alone for a few minutes…”

He made a growly noise and suddenly his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in against him. He caught me off guard and I stumbled, my nose bumping into his chest. It hurt. But he smelled good. Clean, male, and good. Familiar. Some part of me remembered being this close to him and it was comforting. Something in my mind said “safe.” But I couldn’t remember how or why.

A hand moved restlessly over my back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “so fucking sorry.”

The kindness was too much. Stupid tears flowed.

“I’d hardly even shown anyone my ass and now it’s all over the Internet.”

“I know, baby.” He rested his head against the top of mine, holding on tight as I blubbered into his T-shirt. Having someone to hold on to helped. It would be okay. Deep down I knew it would be. But right then I couldn’t see my way clear. Standing there with his arms around me felt right.

I don’t know when we started swaying. Rhys rocked me gently from side to side as if we were dancing to some slow song. The overwhelming temptation to stay like that with my face pressed into his shirt was what made me step back, pull myself together. His hands sat lightly on my hips, the connection not quite broken.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Of course.” The front of his shirt had a damp patch, thanks to me.

“Your shirt’s all wet.”

He shrugged.

I ugly-cried. It was a gift of mine. The mirror confirmed it, demon-red eyes and flushed fluoro-pink cheeks. With an awkward smile I stepped away from him, and his hands fell back to his sides. I splashed my face with water and dried it on a towel while he stood idly by, frowning.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he said.

“Really?” I gave him a dubious look. Rhysand and me alone? Given the marriage situation and our previous sober encounters, it didn’t seem the wisest plan.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hands together, getting all enthused. “Just you and me. We’ll get out of here for a while.”

“Rhys, like you said out there, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You want to stay in LA?” he scoffed.

“Look, you’ve been really sweet since you stepped through that door. Well, apart from telling Cass about me puking on you. That was unnecessary. But in the preceding twenty-four hours you dumped me alone in a room, went off with a groupie, accused me of trying to get it on with your bandmate, and sicced your posse of lawyers onto me.”

He said nothing.

“Not that you going off with a groupie is any of my business. Of course.”

He turned on his heel and paced to the other end of the bathroom, his movements tight, angry. Despite it being five times the size of the one back home, it still didn’t leave enough room for a showdown like this. And he was between me and the door. Because suddenly exiting seemed like a smart move.

“I just asked them to sort out the paperwork,” he said.

“And they sure did.” I put my hands on my hips, standing my ground. “I don’t want any of your money.”

“I heard.” His face was carefully blank. My statement prompted in him none of the disbelief or mockery it had in the suited bullies. Lucky for him. I doubt he believed me, but at least he was willing to pretend. “They’re drawing up new papers.”

“Good.” I stared him down. “You don’t have to pay me off. Don’t make assumptions like that. If you want to know something, ask. And I was never going to sell the story to the press. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay.” He slumped against the wall, leaning his head back to stare up at nothing. “Sorry,” he told the ceiling. I’m sure the plasterwork appreciated it immensely. When I made no response, his gaze eventually found me. It had to be wrong, or at the very least immoral, to be so pretty. Normal people didn’t stand a chance. My heart took a dive every time I looked at him. No, a dive didn’t cover it. It plummeted.

Where was Joey to tell me I was being melodramatic when I needed her most?

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he repeated. “I know the last twenty-four hours have been shit. Offering to get out of here for a while was my way of trying to make things better.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And also for coming in here to check on me.”

“No problem.”

He stared at me, eyes unguarded for once. And the honesty in his gaze changed things for me, the brief flash of something more. Sadness or loneliness, I don’t know. A kind of weariness that was there and gone before I could understand. But it left its mark. There was a lot more to this man than a pretty face and a big name. I needed to remember that and not make my own assumptions.

“You really want to go?” I asked. “Really?”

His eyes were bright with amusement. “Why not?”

I gave him a cautious smile.

“We can talk over whatever we need to, just you and me. I need to make a couple of calls, then we’ll head off, okay?”

I nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

With a parting nod, he opened the door and strode back out. He and Cass talked quietly about something in the living room. I took the opportunity to wash my face once more and finger comb my hair.

“Give me the keys to the truck,” said Rhys, squaring off against Cass.

He winced. “I was joking about giving away cars.”

“Come on. Quit bitching. I rode over on the bike and I don’t have a helmet for her.”

“Fine.” With a sour face, Cassian dropped his car keys into Rhysand’s outstretched hand. “But only ’cause I like your wife. Not a scratch, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rhys turned and saw me.

A hint of a smile curled his lips. Except for that first day on the bathroom floor, I’d never seen him smile, never even seen him come close. This bare trace of one made me light up inside. My knees wobbled. That couldn’t be normal. I shouldn’t be feeling all warm and happy just because he was. I couldn’t afford to have any feelings for him at all. Not if I wanted to get out of this in one piece.

“Thanks for putting up with me today, Cass,” I said.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he drawled. “Sure you wanna go with him, child bride? This prick makes you cry. I make you laugh.”

Rhysand’s smile disappeared and he strode to my side. His hand sat lightly against the base of my spine, warm even through the layer of clothing. “We’re out of here.”

Cassian grinned and winked at me.

“Where are we going?” I asked Rhys.

“Does it matter? Let’s just drive.”

#snelbz whiv #snelbz tacmc collab #the shara tag #snacmc #feysand #what happens in vegas #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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thelonesomequeen · 2 years

Note

I was reading some comments from anonymous Oscar's voters earlier today and honestly the entire system needs a major reset. Apparently it isn't mandatory for the voters to watch all the submitted films. How can they make the best decision then? I mean it seems unfair and no wonder they keep nominating movies, such as Don't Look Up because of their star power, while ignoring more deserving ones like tick, tick... Boom!, for example.

Another said they were torn between Andrew Garfield and Will Smith for the best actor award but were going with Will because of his entire career. Again, this is so unfair. If they want to honour Will Smith, give him a lifetime achievement award or something. Don't rob Andrew of an award he so richly deserves! He honestly gave the best performance this year, imo, among men or women, in a lead or support role. He did something so special with Jonathon Larson. I know it probably won't happen but he deserves the Oscar.

I loved Denzel's performance too. He was incredible as Macbeth. I wish that movie had gotten more awards recognition as it's absolutely breathtaking.

No, it isn’t mandatory for a voter to watch all films and I disagree with that so much. I would hope that if they can’t pair fair judgement on a category that they’d abstain from voting for it, which they can do. I’ve seen people share that they’ve abstained before from specific categories on their ballots.

All of the dialogue I’ve seen around Will Smith has been “it’s his turn!” or “he’s waited long enough!” and I honestly can’t stand statements like that. It honestly makes me so mad. I don’t think it should matter how many times someone has been nominated without a win when Academy voters select who the winner will be. The winner should be the best achievement in the category, period. The award should be earned, not just simply given. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone actually comment on how good Will’s performance was this year like they have Andrew or Benedict. It’s just simply “well he’s been nominated so many times before and didn’t win, so this is his year!” and it just frustrates me. Also, notice how that mindset is always used in male acting categories (Will Smith, Leonard DiCaprio for years before his win) but no one gives the same expression for women? No one is saying Jessica Chastain should be the winner because she’s been nominated multiple times before without a win. They’re actually having dialogue about which actress gave the best performance to have warned the title of Best Actress. Will and Jessica have had the same number of nominations without a win, but the conversations about their performances and who should win the category are completely different. I just find it interesting… 🦎

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kpop---scenarios · 3 years

Text

Mated (3)

Mated (1) | Mated (2)

Pairing: Sehun x Reader / Suho x Reader

Genre: Wolf AU

Warning: Violence, Blood etc

Word Count: 2.1k

"Lay!" You call you, helping Sehun into the house. "It happened again." You sigh, helping him onto the couch as Lay comes over to take a look at Sehun's wrist.

Again.

"What the hell triggered it this time." Lay asks, examining the clearly broken wrist.

"Look I'm fine. I heal quickly." Sehun spits, standing up.

"Good, then I can fuck you up again." Suho spits, walking into the house, slamming the door shut. "Yanno Ayn, you're my mate too. You shouldn't play favourites." He spits at you.

"I'm not playing favourites. As I recall, I spent the day with you yesterday." You say, justifying yourself.

"You don't need to be an asshole." Sehun chimes in, making you sigh heavily.

"Should I break your other fucking wrist?" Suho snaps, charging towards Sehun. "Maybe just snap your neck this time."

"Stop it!" You yell. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" You cry. You push between them, storming out to the yard to clear your head.

You weren't sure how much longer you could live like this. The constant fighting between the two men who were supposed to love you unconditionally was emotionally draining, the fighting for your attention, one always making it seem like the other was getting more was draining, the fact that you couldn't stand to be in the same room with them together was draining. And it wasn't just your relationships with Sehun and Suho that were suffering, the pack was as well.

Suho wasn't acting like the leader he should be, his temper was short, he wasn't the kind and caring man you once knew. He didn't care anymore, his focus was now beating Sehun in every single way possible, it was an unhealthy obsession they both had.

Sehun was the same way. He had a hatred for his leader that he once considered a brother, he needed being the better mate, the better man, just all-around better.

Their competition was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You headed back into the house, grabbing your keys before taking off in your car, heading to the one place you hoped had the answers you desperately needed right now. As you drove you thought about your options, you loved them both, they each had their set of faults along with their good qualities but as of now, everything bad was overshadowing the things that were once good.

"Oh my god." You giggle, running behind the couch. "Stop, please." You beg Sehun.

"No." He laughs. "It's called payback, baby."

You squeal as he lunges for you, running into the kitchen where you're grabbed by Suho.

"I'll save you." Suho smiles, hoisting you over his shoulder and play fighting with Sehun to protect you.

"Put me down." You say, lightly tapping his back.

Suho sets you down and you look up at him, giving him a small peck on the lips. "My hero." You smile before walking over to Sehun and kissing him as well. "My other hero. I'm so lucky." You sigh, looking at the two men who love you most in this world.

Before you knew it, you pulled up outside your parent's house. Your mom had passed away a few years ago but your dad still lived there, mostly spending his days sitting on the porch, drinking coffee while reading his book. He had a lot of knowledge in mates and you knew he would be able to help you out in your situation.

"Hey, dad." You wave, getting out of your car.

"Oh hi, bug." He chuckles, standing up to greet you. "What a nice surprise. What brings you here?" He asks.

"I need some advice." You say, giving him a small hug before sitting down next to him.

"What's on your mind?" He asks.

You pause for a minute, unsure of where to even start when your dad pipes up again. "It's the mates, isn't it? They're different."

"How did you know?"

"Despite there not being much research on it, I did see a Gemini mate once before in my lifetime." He smiles.

"Well, what happened?"

Sehun runs down the stairs, his body is tight, he's pissed off and ready to snap at any moment. He figures now would be a good time to go for a run, trying to get some aggression out while you're gone. Of course, he felt bad about putting you into the middle of his fights with Suho, but he couldn't help it. Even with how long it had been he was still jealous. You were never supposed to be with Suho, Sehun never wanted a mate he had to share but he adjusted to it, for you. But now enough was enough. He couldn't stand the way Suho looked at you, the way he smiled at you or spoke to or about you. Sehun needed Suho to disappear, and it needed to happen fast.

He walks out the door, slamming it behind him, making the rest of the men in the living room jump.

"This needs to end." Baekhyun sighs. "I can't walk on eggshells around them anymore."

"I worry if I cough too loud." Chanyeol whines. "Suho yelled at me for breathing yesterday."

"Things are tough but they'll get through it." Minseok sighs. "They have too."

Suho runs through the forest, not yet wanting to switch to his wolf form. He feels the burning in his legs as he picks up his pace, sweat dripping down his face as he pushes himself to do better. He knew he needed to be better, for you. But he was struggling because of Sehun. He wanted the whiny fuck away from you, if Sehun wasn't in the picture then things would be so much better. You'd be happier too, he just knew it. If only there was a way to cut the younger one from both of your lives. Suho knew it would be a big risk, somehow getting rid of Sehun, but you would eventually forget about him, and then finally Suho would be the only one in your life, the one that made you smile, the one who had your whole heart. That's all he wanted, was for you to be happy with him.

That evening you sent a message to both Sehun and Suho letting them know that you wouldn't be coming home that night. You had too much on your mind and you just needed space to think about things.

"You have to choose one, bug." He tells you. "There's no way around it. Wolves are extremely territorial creatures that do not do well sharing. It's a surprise you have lasted this long before things got bad."

Thinking back you remember the first time you noticed them starting to get short with each other.

"Get the fuck out of my way." Suho snaps at Sehun. You had been sitting on the couch with Sehun, watching a movie when Suho approached, snapping at the two of you cuddling before wanting to get in the middle. You honestly had thought he was joking at the time.

"What are you doing?" You giggle. "You know this is his night."

"Yeah, my night, now fuck off." Sehun growls.

"Okay.." you pause. "Are you both serious?" You ask. You look at both men whose eyes are locked on each other, their chests heaving as they stare each other down. "What the hell is happening?" You ask, moving out of the way.

"I told you, it's my night." Sehun growls.

"What the fuck, you guys?" You yell. "What's wrong with you?"

Suho shakes his head, coming out of whatever mood he was in. He looks at the two of you before apologizing and walking away.

That was only the beginning.

"I know." You sigh. "Maybe I should go and talk to them tonight."

"Can't hurt bug. I love you." Your dad smiles, kissing you on the forehead.

"Thanks, dad. I love you." You say, giving him a quick hug before running to your car. This talk couldn't wait until the morning.

"Do you wanna come out?" Lay asks Suho, who was drinking a glass of water.

"No." He answers, placing his cup in the sink before walking away.

"How about you Sehun? You wanna join?" Minseok asks the younger man. He shakes his head no, his eyes never leaving the TV.

"Try not to kill each other while we're gone." Baekhyun mutters as the rest of the pack leaves the two men alone.

Sehun's breathing becomes heavier as he feels Suho still in the kitchen. He hated being even this close to him, he could smell the pathetic need for you from where he was sitting.

"Christ." Sehun snaps, turning off the TV.

"What the fuck is your issue?" Suho spits.

"You and you're fucking need to have her is my issue. She was mine first. Mine!" Sehun yells.

"Well, now she belongs to both of us." Suho chuckles. "You just know if she chose, it would be me. You're too immature for her, she needs a man."

"Doubtful she would choose you. You should hear the way she talks about you after I've shoved my cock in her." Sehun laughs. "Pathetic."

"I'm done." Suho says. "I'm done with this two mates thing."

"Good, so leave us the fuck alone." Sehun smiles.

"No. We fight for her." Suho says. "You and me, tonight. The winner gets to be her mate."

"Loser dies." Sehun declares.

Both men nod at each other before heading outside into the field where the battle will begin.

Both men stand on opposite sides of the field, shifting into their wolf forms. They stand there on all fours growling at each other, each one waiting for the other to lunge.

Suho takes the first leap, running for Sehun. Sehun takes off, both their bodies colliding, snarling at each other.

Suho's mouth grips Sehun's neck, tearing a chunk of fur and skin off making Sehun yelp, but come back even more aggressive. He lunges for Suho, opening his mouth and comping down on his leg, twisting it to break. Suho claws at Sehun, using his head to knock him off.

They both back away, dropping low as they circle each other, snarling and snapping, waiting for the other to lunge until Sehun does.

You sped through the dark streets, making your way onto the gravel road just before the house. Out of the corner of your eye you see two large, what look like dogs fighting in the middle of the field. You turn your head to look and instantly recognize the two wolves that were tearing each other apart. You swerve your car into the ditch, driving into the field before throwing it in park and running towards the two men you loved the most.

"Stop!" You yell, your voice cracking as the tears fall from your eyes. You can smell the blood as you near them, both of their bodies are limping, tired and bloody.

"Please stop." You cry, running closer towards them. You should have stopped, you shouldn't have run in any closer but you did. The moment Suho opened his mouth to lunge for Sehun's neck, you stepped in the way, his teeth gripping your neck and shaking before he realized what he had done.

Within seconds Suho releases you and your body drops to the ground, blood spewing from your neck. Instantly they're both back in their human forms, huddling over you, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Ayn.. baby, I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry... I'm so.. sorry." Suho cries as you struggle to breathe. You reach your hand up, stroking his cheek before your eyes turn over to Sehun who is kneeling in the grass, tears shedding. A tear rolls down your cheek as you hiccup, your rigid breath becoming your last as you fade into nothingness.

Rage fills Sehun as he stares at the man who murdered his mate, the man who used to be his brother and leader but was now someone he didn't recognize.

"You did this." Sehun calmly says. "You killed her!" He yells, getting up and charging for Suho who just kneels there. Sehun tackles him, knocking his beaten body to the ground. Suho barely fights, he lays there as Sehun wraps his hands around his throat.

"Do it." Suho whispers. "Kill me. Let me see her again."

Sehun releases his neck, standing up, towering over the man. "You don't deserve that." Sehun says, limping towards the house as he hears the other men running towards them in the field.

"What happened!?" Minseok yells, stopping Sehun before he reaches the house.

He blankly stares at Minseok, trying to speak. "He.." he whispers. "He murdered Ayn." He finishes, moving past him to walk into the house, the fire that was once burning bright inside him was now gone, he was no longer mated.

#exowritersnet #exo wolf au #sehun wolf #oh sehun #kim suho #junmyeon wolf #exo #kpop

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mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Three

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Three: Rival Musicians

Adrien received the shock of his life when he went up on deck to find Luka and Xavier-Yves Roth hanging out in the upstairs living room.

He froze in the doorway, trying to comprehend what was going on.

The last thing that Adrien knew, XY had stolen Kitty Section’s music and look and had tried to pass them off as his own. Seeing as this had ended in Luka’s akumatization, Adrien didn’t think that Luka was on speaking terms with the slightly older popstar.

…And yet, Luka and XY were lounging on the couch together, laughing as XY recounted some inane story about trying to find proper American varieties of cheese (like Velveeta and the eponymous “American Cheese”) in France.

“You do realize that those are crimes against the word ‘cheese’, don’t you?” Luka snickered, slumping back in exhaustion from laughing so hard.

XY turned, hooking his arm over the back of the couch. “You only say that because you haven’t had Velveeta before,” he scoffed with a playful smirk.

The bottom dropped out of Adrien’s stomach as XY leaned into Luka’s space and Luka didn’t so much as bat an eye.

“Next time I have you over, Six Strings, I’m gonna make nachos,” XY announced. “Then, you’ll see.”

Luka snorted, shaking his head fondly at XY’s antics. “You’d have to pay me to eat that.”

“Done and done,” Xavier-Yves crowed. “That new amp you’ve been eyeing is yours, and I’ll still let you eat as many nachos as you want.”

Luka cursed, giving XY’s arm a halfhearted shove. “That is completely unfair.”

“Serves you right for having a type,” XY preened.

Luka looked away and crossed his arms, blushing furiously as he sulked, “I do not have a type.”

XY rolled his eyes as he infringed even more on Luka’s personal space, teasing, “You totally have a type.”

Luka turned his head to rebuff Xavier-Yves’s claim only to stop short when he realized how close their faces were.

It felt like someone had punched through Adrien’s chest and now had their fist wrapped tightly around Adrien’s heart, squeezing it mercilessly.

He contemplated coming out of hiding and interrupting them.

Thankfully, XY’s phone did the dirty work for Adrien.

“Crap,” Xavier-Yves hissed, looking down at the caller ID. “It’s my dad. I’ve gotta go.”

“Text me later so we can figure out when you’re making nachos for me,” Luka instructed, bumping XY’s shoulder with his own.

XY quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Luka snickered. “I want that amp.”

XY rolled his eyes and punched Luka’s arm. “I’ll text you as soon as Dad’s done with me. It might be late.”

Luka shrugged. “Since when do I sleep?”

Xavier-Yves shook his head, grabbing his laptop off of the coffee table and getting up to go. “Check ya later.”

“Later,” Luka echoed, waving.

Adrien waited until the other blonde was out of sight before making his presence known. “Was that XY Roth just now?”

Luka jumped. “Oh. Hey. Adrien. Yeah, Xavier-Yves is a friend.”

Adrien arched an eyebrow as he took a seat on the couch next to Luka. “Really? When did that happen? I thought he was your nemesis or something after he and his dad stole your music.”

Luka burst out laughing.

At Adrien’s slightly hurt look, Luka rushed to explain, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry. It’s just…that was almost five years ago. It seems like a different lifetime.”

Adrien chuckled bitterly, looking away. “Hn. Yeah.”

Luka winced. “Sorry.”

Adrien shook his head. “Don’t worry about it…. So…you and XY?”

“He showed up here one day about six months after The Incident, and he wanted me to show him how to love music,” Luka explained.

Adrien’s head whipped around, a look of befuddlement on his face. “He did what now?”

Luka shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe you’ve noticed, but his father, Bob Roth, is kind of an abusive, manipulative jerk. He treats Xavier-Yves really poorly, but Xavier-Yves isn’t willing to break things off because he loves his father.”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably at the pang of recognition he felt for XY’s family situation.

“Xavier-Yves used to do music because it was what his father wanted, and he wanted to make his father proud and happy. He didn’t used to love music himself,” Luka continued. “So, he showed up here, and he asked me to teach him how to love music…so I did.”

Adrien nodded. “You’re really amazing to be able to forgive and help someone who wronged you like that.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Luka snickered. “He’s kind of obnoxious until you get inoculated. For about a month, I wanted to slap him…but then I really got to know him…and now we’re friends.”

“Just friends?” Adrien pressed, even though he suspected the answer would hurt.

Luka’s brow scrunched together into a deep “v” of confusion. “Yes?”

“But you like him,” Adrien rebutted, gaze locked on a knot in the floorboard. “And he likes you.”

“No, no, no,” Luka laughed at the very idea. “No. Adrien, nothing romantic is going on between me and Xavier-Yves.”

Adrien took a chance and looked up, meeting Luka’s gaze. “But you two were flirting. He was all in your space, and you didn’t look like you minded at all. And wasn’t he about to kiss you at the end before his phone rang?”

Luka’s cheeks coloured in embarrassment as he scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Oh my gosh, no. That wasn’t… Adrien, you flirt with Nino, don’t you?”

Adrien blinked speechlessly as he considered this new evidence. “…I mean…yeah.”

“And you and Nino snuggle and get all in each other’s space, right?” Luka added, buttressing up his arguments.

“Yes,” Adrien admitted.

“Okay,” Luka sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So, think of it like that.”

Adrien bit his lip and considered. “…I mean…if you say so.”

Luka broke out in a startled laugh. “Someone doesn’t sound convinced…. Adrien…are you jealous?”

It was Adrien’s turn to blush as he asked, “Why would I be jealous?”

He mentally kicked himself because he knew he had no right to be jealous.

Just because Luka had been kind to him when Adrien was feeling vulnerable and taken care of him when Adrien couldn’t take care of himself, that didn’t give him the right to be possessive. He didn’t have a monopoly on Luka’s time or kindness or affections.

Luka deflated a little. “Right. Sorry. Stupid question. You’re right. There’s no reason for you to be jealous…. Xavier-Yves really is just a friend, though. We hang out, jam a little, watch dumb movies, talk…just as friends. Just like you and I do.”

Adrien nodded, still not persuaded.

Maybe Luka thought that there was nothing there, but Adrien had been oblivious to his own feelings too many times to take Luka at his word. There was definitely a spark between Luka and XY, whether Luka was aware of it or not.

“What did he mean when he said you have a type?” Adrien looked back at Luka.

This time it was Luka who looked away. “Oh. You know. He thinks I have a thing for blondes.”

More specifically, rich, pretty, sheltered blondes with daddy issues, but Luka would literally die before admitting that to Adrien because Xavier-Yves wasn’t wrong, and Luka would be a fool to risk messing up his friendship with Adrien by confessing his longstanding crush on him now.

Adrien’s brow crumpled into a frown. “But Marinette isn’t blonde.”

“Precisely,” Luka agreed, leaving out the fact that it was blonde men he had a thing for. “Thank you. So, you can just ignore Xavier-Yves because he’s, honestly, a total idiot.”

Adrien hummed thoughtfully, leaning back into the couch cushions. “He seems nice. You should introduce us. Maybe we can be friends.”

It would be good to get to know the competition, and, that way, he could perhaps monitor the evolving romantic situation between XY and Luka.

“Uh…sure,” Luka tentatively agreed, not certain that he wanted different parts of his life merging like that.

He mentally smacked himself because how selfish was he to deny Adrien the opportunity to make more friends? It was going to be hard on Adrien going forward, now that people primarily recognized him as “Papillon’s son”. Luka needed to put his own wants aside to be there for Adrien.

After all, he’d promised.

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celiabowens · 4 years

Text

Book recommendations, Literary Fiction edition(?)

A companion to this post (which should be updated, at some point lol)

Short Story Collections:

Salt Slow by Julia Armfield: grotesque and disquieting collection about women and their experience in society, how they view and perceive their own body and desires. Pretty strong mythic, magical realism, body horror elements in here.

The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks: fascinating collection in which Sacks reminishes some particularly odd stories of patients who had to cope with bizarre neurological disorders.

Home Remedies by Xuan Juliana Wang: a collection focused on the Chinese millennial experience. Stories about love and loss, family, immigration and the uncertainty of the future. (also there’s an extremely beautiful short story about a pair of Chinese divers that broke me forever!!!)

Bestiary: The Selected Stories by Julio Cortázar: unforgettable selection of short stories that mix surreal elements to everyday life and apparently ordinary events. Would also recommend All Fires the Fire by the same author.

Novels:

How Much of These Hills is Gold by C. Pam Zhang: one of the biggest debuts of 2020, it follows two recently orphaned children through the gold rush era. An adventurous historical fiction piece that focuses on themes like gender, identity and immigration, this is one of my favorites 2020 reads so yeah, I’d really push it in anyone’s hands to be honest.

Burial Rites by Hannah Kent: historical fiction inspired by the last days of a young woman accused of murder in Iceland in the 1820s. A quite bleak, but beautiful novel (the prose is stunning).

The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave: historical fiction novel set in Norway in the 17th century, following the lives of a group of women in a village that recently (barely) survived a storm that killed all of the island’s men.

The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead: the 2020 winner of the Pulitzer Prize. The book follows the lives of two boys sentenced to a reform school in Jim Crow-era Florida. A bleak, but important book, with a shocking final twist (side note, I’ve been recommended The Underground Railroad by Whitehead as well, but I haven’t gotten to it yet. If you’re looking for something quite peculiar, if a bit less refined when compared to The Nickel Boys, The Intuitionist is a quite odd pulpy noir set in an alternate NY about...elevator inspectors *and racism*).

The Leavers by Lisa Ko: haunting book about identity and immigration as the main character is apparently abandoned by his own mother (an undocumented Chinese immigrant) during his childhood. Mainly a story about living in between places and constantly feeling out of place.

The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa: when everyone would probably recommend Murakami (not much against Murakami besides his descriptions of women and their boobs), I suggest checking out some of Ogawa’s books. The recently translated The Memory Police, published in Japan in the mid 90s, is an orwellian dystopian novel set on an unnamed Island where memories slowly disappear. Would also really recommend The Housekeeper and The Professor, a really short novel about a housekeeper hired to clean and cook for a math professor who suffered an injury that causes him to remember new things for only 80 minutes.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong: Ocean Vuong’s debut novel, following a son writing a letter to his illiterate mother. The book seems quite polarising due to Vuong’s writing style (his poetry background is really quite clear and the book doesn’t really follow a regular narrative, rather than portrays events and memories in brief flashes), but I loved it and I’d really just recommend going into it without knowing much? It’s a beautiful exploration of language, family history, trauma, sexuality and more.

Exist West by Mohsin Hamid: this book was fairly popular when it came out (in 2017 I believe) and was often incorrectly marketed as magical realism. Hamid’s book is a brief and quietly brutal journey with a few fantastical elements, following a couple trying to escape their city in the middle of war, as they hear about peculiar doors that can whisk people far away. The doors are, of course, a quite effective metaphor for the immigrant experience and the book does a great job at portraying the main characters’ relationship.

Family Trust by Kathy Wang: this has a really low rating on goodreads which...wow i hate that. Family Trust is a literary family saga/drama about a Chinese-American family residing in the Silicon Valley. It’s often been compared to Crazy Rich Asians, but I believe it to be more on the literary side and definitely less lighthearted.

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee: historical family saga (one of my favorites tbh, I’m absolutely biased, but this book deserved more hype) set in Korea and Japan throughout the 20th century, following four generations of a Korean family. While I wasn’t the biggest fan of the prose, the book has really great characterisation and absolutely fascinating characters. (I’d suggest checking out eventual TW first, in this case).

The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker: another recent read, The Silence of the Girls, while not faultless, is a pretty good retelling of The Iliad, narrated through Briseis’ perspective. The prose can feel a bit too modern at times, but it provides the reader with some really strong quotes and descriptions.

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng: and also Little Fires Everywhere by the same author, to be honest. If you’re looking for really really good family dramas, with great explorations of rather complex and nuanced relationships? You should just check out her stuff. Vibrant characters, good writing, and some superb portrayal of longing here.

Nutshell by Ian McEwan: i’m starting with this one only to grab your attention (if you’ve even reached this part lol, congrats), but McEwan’s one of my favorite authors and I’d recommend almost everything I’ve read by him? Nutshell, specifically, is a really odd and fun retelling of Hamlet...told from the pov of an unborn baby. But really, I’d also recommend Atonement (of course), The Children Act, Amsterdam? All good stuff.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles: I’ve read this book this summer and, while I’m still unsatisfied with the ending, I’d thoroughly recommend this? The novel follows Count Alexander Rostov, who, in 1922, is sentenced to a lifetime of house arrest in the Metropol, a luxurious hotel in the center of Moscow. A singular novel, funny and heartbreaking at once, following a vibrant cast of characters as they come and go from Rostov’s secluded life.

Human Acts by Han Kang: from the bestselling author of The Vegetarian (which honestly, I thoroughly despised lol), Human Acts focuses on the South Korean Gwangju uprising. It’s a really odd (and at times grotesque) experimental novel (one chapter is narrated from the pov of one of the bodies if I remember correctly), so one really has to be in the mood for it, but it’s a really unique experience, worth a chance.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon: sort of a really chunky historical adventure novel following two artists in 1940s/1950s NY, who create a superhero and use him to wage a one man war on the Nazis. A bit slow in places (the pace can be uneven at times and the book is quite long), but an enjoyable novel that does a pretty good job when it comes to exploring rather classic themes of American contemporary fiction: the American dream and the figure of the artist (I think there’s a particularly interesting focus on how the artists navigates the corporate world and its rules) and their creative process.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: this is a pretty classic rec, the book really got a lot of hype when it came out? It’s a dystopian-ish novel set after civilisation’s collapse, following a post-apocalyptic troupe (of Shakespearean actors). It’s a really odd, but surprisingly quiet book. Not sure if a pandemic is exactly the right time to read it, but I thoroughly recommend it.

The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng: I feel like this book is extremely complex to summarise to be honest. In short, it’s a book set in Malaya at the end of the 1940s, following a woman who, after surviving Japanese wartime camps, spends her life prosecuting war criminals. But truthfully this book is about conflicts and contradictions and in particular about remembering and forgetting. Lovely prose.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: and also The Goldfinch. I’m sure no one really needs me to introduce Donna Tartt?

The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton: quite cerebral mystery set in New Zealand in 1866. Honestly you have to be a patient reader who enjoys novels with a pretty complex structure to like this, but if you’re into this sort of challenging read...go for it? It’s a book of interlocking stories (with 10+ pov and main characters) with a really fascinating structure based on astrological charts, which provide insight to the main characters’ traits and personality as the mystery unfolds.

The Hours by Michael Cunningham: ok...do not watch the movie first. The Hours is an incredibly difficult novel to describe to be honest: it begins by recalling the last moments of Virginia Woolf’s life, as she’s writing Mrs. Dalloway. The book focuses on three separate narratives, each one following a specific character throughout a single day of their own life. Goes without saying that I’d suggest being familiar with Mrs. Dalloway itself first though.

An Artists of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro: not one of Ishiguro’s most famous works (most start reading his work with Never Let Me Go or The Remains of the Day), but probably my favorite out of those I’ve read so far. The novel follows Masuji Ono, an artist who put his work in service of imperialist propaganda throughout WWII. Basically a reflection and an account of the artist’s life as he deals with the culpability of his previous actions.

Stoner by John Williams: I feel like this is an odd book to recommend, because I don’t think someone can truly get the hype unless they read it themselves. Stoner is a pretty straight-forward book, following the ordinary life of an even more ordinary man. And yet it’s so compelling and never dull in its exploration of the characters’ lives and personalities. Also, I’ve just finished Augustus by the same author, which is an epistolary historical fiction novel narrating some of the main events of Augustus’ reign through letters from/by his closest friends and enemies. Really liked it.

Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien: back to integenerational family sagas (because I love those, in case it wasn’t clear lol), Do Not Say We Have Nothing follows a young woman who suddenly rediscovers her family’s fractured past. The novel focuses on two successive generations of a Chinese family through China’s 20th century history. While not every character got the type of development they deserved, the author does a good job when it comes to gradually recreating the family’s complex and nuanced history.

There’s probably more but I doubt anyone’s going to reach the end or anything so. There’s that lol.

#book recs #book rec #litblr #2020 reads #all the typos are my own LOL #also i didnt put here philip roth or auster #but tbh #i dont think anyone needs me to rec them???

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floralseokjin · 4 years

Text

;glazed & dazed (m) COMING SOON

Vanilla, that’s what you do best as one of the industry’s most loved stars. Only you want a change. Taking the plunge to taint your pure image, knowing so many fans would love to see it sullied, even if just for one movie.

There’s only one man for the job in your eyes. One you’ve always admired from afar, and the only one who’s perfect enough to take your innocence in the most fitting way. Seokjin Kim. Even more famous than you; a pro, a veteran, and someone you can’t wait to give your all for. Together you will be unstoppable.

pairing; kim seokjin x reader genre; pornstar au, pornstar! seokjin, pornstar! reader, explicit smut, romance, some angst bc it’s me! estimated words; 30k

(!) warnings to be confirmed

RELEASE DATE; AUGUST 4TH 9PM BST

T E A S E R (2.4k)

Glazed and Dazed: Good Girl Gone Bad XXX

Porn’s most loved good girl like you’ve never seen her before... Devoured by Porn’s most filthy leading man... Buckle up everyone, you’re in for a (sweet) treat...

To get hired, there’s just one simple motto to remember: “The magic is always in the hole.”

・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・◦・

The day of the dinner came around quickly and you were oddly nervous. You had made it very clear how you wanted this to be a personal, independent job, that you wanted to spend significant time discussing and storyboarding the movie yourself, so of course you were thrilled he understood that and wanted to meet up. You just hadn’t expected the one on one just yet. Usually these things were discussed between manager and manager, not adult star and adult star. The only interaction you’d have was when you met up to shoot. This way was a lot more nerve wracking.

Despite being the complete opposite, it almost felt like you were getting ready for a first date. Not that you could remembered such a feeling. It had been a long time since you’d dated anyone, so long ago that you often wondered if you’d ever get the chance again. Dating and relationships seemed like something your future would never hold at this point, and somewhere along the line you’d become okay with that…

Still, you could faintly remember the nervous buzz a first date bought and that’s what you were feeling right now as you applied your mascara in the mirror. These nerves were something else entirely though, of course. You were going to discuss sex. You were going to try and convince this man to make a movie with you. It was a pretty terrifying thought. You’d grown confident over the years, but this was a totally brand new situation.

Irene had text you the location of the restaurant this morning, Seokjin in charge of the reservation, and had warned you to dress fancy. This place was no Cheesecake Factory google soon informed you. You hadn’t worn a dress in months, and that had only come about because you were forced to attend the AIA’s; a tacky award ceremony filled with mostly vulture like men hiding behind a professional title. You were beginning to realise your distaste for the industry had always been there, in the back of your head, it was only lately that it had made itself louder…

You took an Uber there, hardly flashy but that had never been you, so why change now? You would’ve driven yourself but you’d probably need a glass (read: bottle) of wine during dinner just for some Dutch courage, even if it was a bad idea. You attempted sophistication when you made your way to the reception area, beginning to regret the size of your heels halfway there, and relayed Seokjin’s surname to the host, clutching your purse uneasily. What if he wasn’t here? What if he wasn’t coming at all? They were dumb fears but they were still there. However, they soon disappeared when the host smiled and nodded, calling a female colleague over to lead you to your table. You didn’t miss the way his eyes glazed over you a little longer than they should though, the faint look of recognition on his features. He was wondering how he knew you. It no longer fazed you, you got that surprisingly a lot. It was just one of those things. This man had watched you get fucked…and maybe he’d watch you get fucked by Seokjin soon enough…

Your table was in another room, cut off from the busier main area. It held a few tables but tonight it was just Seokjin and you. He sat waiting for you at the furthest table and he stood once you entered. Your waiter turned to leave, telling you to ring the bell when you were ready to order and you thanked her, Seokjin joining you. And then you were alone.

You stood in the entrance way like someone lost. You had not expected this to be so intimate. You had expected other customers eating around you, not just you and he alone. Light music played from the speakers, the only thing filling the silence until Seokjin smiled, stepping forward, around the table to greet you. “Good Evening.”

“Evening.” You found yourself easing immediately, smiling back. It was hard not to upon hearing his voice. It was so gentle, so polite. The complete opposite of his on camera persona. The filth that flew from his mouth was unholy. Here, he looked like every mothers’ dream son in law.

There were a few details you’d forgotten to offer up regarding Seokjin, which seemed absurd because it was the first thing anyone noticed. He was ridiculously handsome. Like out of this world handsome. Drop dead gorgeous most would say. Enough to make any woman or man weak at the knees while in his presence. Or maybe that was just you right now. You walked forward, desperate to sit down.

“Oh, let me hang up your coat,” Seokjin offered, and you stopped, lowering the black textile off your bare shoulders. This room was comfortably warm, now all you had to worry about was breaking out into a sweat. He handled the garment with care, attaching it to one of the bronze hooks beside the entrance door while you took a seat, tucking yourself in discreetly.

You definitely didn’t have to worry about over dressing tonight. Seokjin was in a black two piece suit, the jacket sinfully figure hugging, stretched over his broad shoulders, the dress shirt underneath crisp and white, loose at the neck. His hair was parted to the side, his usual style, black locks sleek. He was a distinguished man. Somehow soft yet angular. It just depended what way the light caught him, and age had been kind to him. He wasn’t much older than you, perhaps five years or so, but he didn’t look a day past 25.

The strong arch of his eyebrows almost made you feel intimidated as he made his way back to the table and sat in front of you, so much so, you had to look away from his gaze, spotting a glass of iced mineral water already waiting for you. You picked it up and sipped, wetting your dry throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what you drunk else I would have ordered something a little stronger to start off with,” he apologised with another smile.

“That’s okay,” you reassured.

“Here, take the drinks menu. There’s plenty to choose from.”

“Thanks.” You took it from him, catching his eyes as you did so and he chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m acting weird. I’m nervous.” Your eyes widened a little in surprise. He was nervous? Not going to lie, that made you feel a lot better. “It’s really nice to meet you.” He continued, laughing louder this time. “I’m honestly pretty awestruck.”

You nearly snorted. You were the only one allowed to be awestruck, surely? You shooed him away with a hand. “Please. Shouldn’t I be the one lost for words? The man, the legend.”

“That’s just nonsense.” You were both laughing now, embarrassing one another. The apples of his cheeks were tinged pink, a reaction you hadn’t been expecting from a man like him, and you lifted your hand up to your face just to check how hot you were, wondering if you were blushing too.

“No, honestly. I’m a fan of your work,” he told you earnestly. You must have looked unconvinced because he chuckled again. “Don’t look so dubious. Can’t take a compliment!?”

“Actually, that’s never been a strong point of mine,” you admitted. Plus, it seemed pretty crazy that The Seokjin Kim was a fan of what you made. You were polar opposites. Wasn’t your stuff way too tame for him?

“So, do you have any questions?” You asked, puzzling how you should start this discussion, wanting to divert the attention from you. This was all new to you, and you were trying to fight through your awkwardness.

He smiled. “Let’s order first. Get to know one another a little.” You watched him pick up the main menu that laid next to him. “I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to think of this as a business deal, more so, hm…” He paused to search for the right words, smile turning into a grin when they came to him, “an agreement between friends.”

You dipped your head, smiling coyly. It was hard not to agree with that.

“Now, any thoughts on that drink?” He prompted.

You spent half the dinner getting to know one another, nerves slowly depleting as you laughed and joked. Despite hearing all these good thing about Seokjin, nothing could prepare you for how truly well-spoken and well-mannered he was. He was charming but definitely not with intent. He was easy to be around, a warming presence. You spoke about mindless things really, hobbies, favourite tv shows, books you were currently reading. If anyone could see you, they’d think you were on a first date. In reality you were here to discuss the deal of a lifetime.

You were halfway through the main course when Seokjin brought it up again, intrigued and impressed that you were determined to take the reins with this project. You had made sure his agency was aware of that. How much work would go into the discussing and creating of this movie. How close you would work together, and how you were willing to do just about anything. You had chosen Seokjin because of this. He was known in the scene for being extremely professional and respectful. To both the actresses and staff, and you had kept that all in mind, and on top of that, he had been in this industry for over a decade. He knew how things worked, and despite not knowing him personally, there was a trust there when it came to that. You looked up to him.

You thought about telling him all this, but it just seemed all too official. You were embarrassed. Would he think that you were being over the top? Over stepping boundaries? However despite you reluctance to open up, he seemed more than excited about this offer, which surprised you. In the greatest of honesty, you hadn’t even expected to get this far, predicting an email where his agency declined the offer, not that of a dinner invitation with the man himself.

“I have to say though, I’m surprised it’s me you want,” he admitted almost, what was that…bashfully?

You watched him over the rim of your wine glass, taking a sip before you replied. He hadn’t consumed any alcohol tonight, driving here himself, so you were actually still on your first and only drink, in fear of overdoing it and making a fool of yourself. You didn’t drink often so you were a bit of a lightweight.

“You were the only choice.”

You could hear your heart beating against your ribcage, but thought what the hell? Why were you so scared to let him know how much you wanted him to be your co-star? He was perfect for the job and you knew you’d be great together. You told him just as much.

“Well,” he gobsmacked, chuckling lowly. “I’m truly speechless right now. Incredibly flattered, but speechless.”

You dropped your head. “I know I’m not what you’re used to but this is my chance for some change. I truly want this, and it would be just as much your project as it is mine,” you reassured. You’d gladly let him take charge. You had so much to learn from him.

He smiled your way, and you took a shaky breath, needing to know his answer. “So what do you say?”

He paused, smile widening. “I say it sounds fun. I’m in.”

“Really?” You almost gasped, too excited to hide your reaction. Relief flooded over you.

“I think it would be great. Honestly, shooting anything with you would be an honour. You never know,” he laughed, “maybe it’s time I had a shakeup too. I can pull off softcore, right?”

You burst out laughing, realising how unflattering it might look at the last second and shot your hand up to your mouth in a bid to stop yourself, but he laughed freely, not caring what you thought. He had a cute laugh, almost dorky, despite his untouchable appearance.

“You could pull off anything.”

“So could you,” he told you, turning serious, the genuineness in his voice making you shift in your seat awkwardly. “Trust me, I don’t have some crazy expectations when it comes to the women I work with. I think you’re amazing and I would be honoured to work with you. I’m honoured that you thought of me, and…” He trailed off, hesitating. “Actually, I think I should let you know something…”

You raised your eyebrows, curious, and unable to guess what he wanted to disclose. You waited patiently.

“I’m going to be retiring soon.”

Your jaw dropped. “Y-You’re what?” That you had not been expecting.

Seokjin was the it man in porn. You could never imagine him leaving the industry. Men often had it easier like that. Not that they didn’t have struggles, not that you didn’t hear stories, but when it came to longevity, it was easy being a man in porn. Women had a sell by date. In fact, at 27 you were probably near pushing it yourself. Only a certain few kept their fame for decades, and then they were boxed in, stuck doing the same type of movie over and over. The thought made you suddenly bitter. You didn’t want to be boxed in.

“It’s my time. I’ve been here far too long,” he shrugged. Mood dropping, you looked across at him sadly. You felt funny, couldn’t put your finger on it. “But can you keep it quiet?” He asked. “It’s something I’ve been discussing with my agency. I don’t know when it’ll happen yet, but I thought you should know.”

You nodded, feeling a little wooden from the shock, but you quickly forced yourself to smile. “Secret’s safe with me. Honest.” He didn’t even have to tell you, but you appreciated it. Didn’t really understand why he had in the first place.

“Secret,” he repeated, amused. “It’s funny, right? Usually something like this would benefit the both of us, help sustain our careers, but I’m calling time and you’re,” he paused, watching you carefully as he continued. “I guess you want a change in direction?”

A Change in direction? Did you want that? You didn’t know what you wanted. In a way you were lost, not bored. He was still watching you, as if searching for some kind of reaction. Some kind of answer.

“Fucking me will change everything, you know,” he told you finally with a tilt of his head. “But I think that’s what you want, right?”

Change. You think that sounded better. One word. One feeling.

Just what type of change did you want?

#so nervous for this one #pls let me know ur thoughts/if ur excited!!#seokjin smut #bts smut #jin smut #fic:glazed&dazed

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thejacketandthehook · 4 years

Text

The Art of Pretending

Title: The Art of Pretending 1/?

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary: Killian Jones needs a family and needs one now. In order to impress his boss, Killian hires a single mother and her son to pretend to be his wife and son for the weekend. Nothing can go wrong, right?

Author’s Notes: Hello all! Here is my submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon!This is based off of the Lifetime movie, "Borrowed Hearts," starring Eric McCormack and Roma Downey. The movie came out in 1997, and I consider it to be one of the first made-for-tv Christmas movies.

A couple of years ago I was watching it and thought this would be a fantastic scenario for our favorite Captain and Savior. I wrote it and then stopped, and then started it again, only to stop again. When I saw this movie marathon, I knew instantly this was the movie I wanted to do and I wanted to make sure that I finished it this time.

I hope you enjoy it!

Rating: Teen (for language mostly)

Word Count: 3534

A3O

Henry Swan looked up at the night sky and closed his eyes. If anything in his eight years of life has taught him, it was the first star you saw was the one you always made a wish on. And so he did. He closed his eyes so tightly, his little fists clutched, and his mind could only focus on one thing.

A house.

Not necessarily a home, because at eight he really didn't understand the difference between a house and a home. To him, they kind of meant the same thing. And he did have a home, with his mother, Emma, and their landlord, a fiery older woman she insisted that everyone call "Granny." But it was Thanksgiving, and he knew that he should be giving thanks for the fact that he has a roof over his head, friends and family to eat with, and food on the table - even if his mother does make him eat vegetables.

But they lived in a small apartment where you can hear every sound all the tenants make. You couldn't have the air conditioner on at the same time as the oven, and God forbid you try to take a bath without the neighbors below complaining of a leak. Henry's room was also the size of a closet, which could only contain his bed, a small dresser, and an even smaller toy box. He was getting too big for the room, honestly. The rest of the apartment was rundown, and he knew that his mother was doing the best that she could. She worked really long hours as a waitress in a local diner.

But no matter how hard she worked, it never seemed to be enough. The only thing he asked for for his birthday this year was a fairy tale book he saw at a secondhand book store. The book is amazing, but it also cost upwards of fifty dollars. He felt bad, because he knew that his mom was getting a bill after bill after bill. She tried to hid it from him, but he knew was "LAST NOTICE" meant.

(He looked it up online, honestly.)

So while he was wishing for a house, a smaller part of him was hoping his mother could get a better job or something to help get more money. They needed it.

Henry also needed a bigger room.

"Henry!" his mother called from the dining room. "Food's ready!"

Walking away from his window, Henry took a deep breath before bouncing into the room. "Smells delicious, Mom!"

"Oh, thanks kid. But Granny's the one who cooked everything," she said, gesturing to the older woman who walked in carrying the turkey.

"Hey, I made the dessert!" Granny's only grandchild, and fellow waitress at the diner that Granny owned and Emma worked at, Ruby piped up. "It's apple pie." She winked at Henry. "Your favorite."

"It's supposed to be pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving," Emma said, coming into the room wearing oven mitts as she carried a casserole dish filled with mashed potatoes.

"We have that too," Mary Margaret Nolan chimed. She was Emma's best friend, and Henry's godmother. Henry looked at her as more like a family member than a friend, along with her husband, David, who was putting ice in the cups. "David made a fresh pie this morning."

"Only the best for my nephew," he said, grinning at Henry.

The table that was only supposed to seat four sat the six of them somewhat snuggly. Henry was squished between his mother and aunt, and he smiled as he looked around. After everyone sat down, Granny insisted that they should say grace, and though Henry only went to church for Easter and Christmas (and the occasionally Sunday when Emma feels that they should go), he bowed his head too.

He might have said his only little prayer, because when you're desperate for a change, you'll pray (or wish) to anything.

"Let's eat!" Granny announced as she got up to cut the turkey. There was a lot of chatter and music playing softly in the background. Emma filled Henry's plate with turkey, mashed potatoes, and corn, and he thought that maybe the house wasn't big, but his heart certainly was.

~*~

Three weeks before Christmas. God, did he hate this time of year. Everyone was so fake, pretending to be in the Christmas spirit when really they were just looking for a way to buy their mother a gift that was way too expensive because they're not actually sure what she would want.

Killian Jones sighed as he entered his place of work and walked past the receptionists who might have said hello to him, but he wasn't sure. Because right now, he had big news. Huge, really. And he really needed to get to the thirty fourth floor to find his business partner (and perhaps closet friend) David Nolan.

Killian began working for the Woodman Corporation right out of college. He started as everyone does, an intern before just working his way up. Now he's the manager of this branch in New York, and overseas hundreds of workers. Not bad for a boy who came over to America when he was fifteen with his brother and barely any money in their pockets.

The Woodman Corporation was the company you wanted to hire when you wanted a building made. "We make dreams come true!" had always been the slogan. And though Killian wasn't exactly sure about the dreams part, they certainly did make wonderful buildings. And the owner, Marco Woodman, was just the kindest soul one could meet. Killian had the occasion to meet him once before, which was when Mr. Woodman came to visit his New York office, and Killian had just started getting paid for his work at that time. There was another branch in Boston, one in Chicago, and one in Los Angeles. Rumor was that Marco wanted to go overseas, and back to his home, London. Killian would almost kill for the position. Killian too was from London, and would love to go back. Nothing was really keeping him here in New York anyway.

Killian got on the elevator, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had to see David and tell him the news. Now. He was going to burst if he didn't tell his partner the news in the next minute.

Killian has known David for only the last number of years, but it certainly feels longer than that. While Killian had already been working here when he arrived, David had an air about them that screamed “Royalty” and walked around like he had a stick up his butt. In actuality, Killian and David hadn’t really become that close until two summers ago when they were accidently stuck in an elevator together. Though it was only forty-five minutes, the two men realized that they had quite a bit in common and after that moment became fast friends. David is the first person that Killian runs to with news, and vice versa. So it’s no wonder that not only would Killian practically run to his friend’s office, but that he knew David would share the same excitement with him.

Finally, the elevator dinged and he got off, quickly making his way to David's office. Barely greeting David's secretary, Killian burst open the door to David's office before proclaiming, "He's coming here."

David looks exactly how you picture Prince Charming from those fairy tale stories you probably heard about years ago. Tall, masculine, with blue eyes and sandy-brown hair, he was definitely the typical “boy-next-door” that every daughter wants to bring home to show their momma. Fortunately for David, and unfortunately for all the women who work at this branch, David met his soulmate when he was in high school and married her straight after college. Killian thought he was foolish to marry the one and only girl he ever truly loved, but David told him that she was “the one who he made sure would never get away.” Killian scoffed at that, and called him a blind-loving fool in his mind.

When Killian came bursting through the door, David looked up from his desk. "Who? Jesus? Has the second coming come so close to Christmas?"

"No, you ninny. Marco is coming here."

David stood up slowly, a look of astonishment and awe on his face. "Are you serious? Dude, this is huge. If he's coming here that means..."

Killian started to grin. "I know."

"Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe he is going to make a branch in London."

"Oh, how I hope they are."

"That might be why he's coming. Maybe he's here to offer you the job."

Killian crossed two fingers. "I do sure hope you're right."

David pretended to be hurt. "And you would consider leaving me and Mary Margaret in this our hour of need?"

"Our of need? Mate, she's pregnant, not dying. And she's got another three months to go. I can come back from London by then."

"Would you really go?" David asked, sitting back down behind his desk.

Killian shrugged. "Probably. I mean, Liam is back there, you know, with Elsa and my nephew. And I do love New York, but...I don't know. Maybe I should go back. Besides you, I have nothing really tying me here, you know."

"I'm touched that you would consider staying for me."

Killian smirked. "You know I love our bromance. Is that what Mary Margaret called it?"

"Yeah, apparently, that's what her students call it nowadays. A friendship between two men."

"They're ten. They don't know what's hip any more than we do."

"They're closer to understanding it."

Killian sighed as he sat down. "Isn't that true? But back to the matter at hand – Mr. Woodman coming here. Now. I wonder if Regina knows about this.”

“Probably,” David sighed as he sat back down behind his desk. “She’s the head of P.R. here, if anyone should know about Mr. Woodman’s return, it –”

“Men,” Regina Mills, said sternly as she threw open the office door. With her dark black hair and dark brown eyes, Regina was beautiful, but she was by no means a warm woman. However, she had a sort of soft spot for Killian and David, which is why they only gave a small jump when she walked into the room, and didn’t scream or nearly jump out of their chairs (which Killian would be ashamed to admit may have happened once. May have.) “Did you hear the news?”

“About Mr. Woodman?” David asked, as Regina walked further into the room and nodded. “Yeah, we did. We were just discussing why he might be coming here.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? He wants someone to take over the London section.”

“And what, you want the job?” Killian asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Please,” she scoffed, as though the thought alone was ridiculous. Killian has known Regina long enough to know that she was being serious with her answer. “The last thing I would want is to move to London. All that rain and eating fish?” She shuttered, and Killian and David gave a small grin to each other before looking back at her. “No thank you. No, I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Woodman, and….”

Just then, David’s assistant, Ariel, popped her head into the office and said, “Mr. Jones – sorry to interrupt, but your assistant called. He said that you have Mr. Woodman on the phone.”

Killian, David, and Regina all looked at each other. Killian was so excited, he barely noticed Regina’s face pale as he replied, “Send the call through to here.” Ariel nodded before closing the door behind her.

“Killian, before you take that call—” Regina started, but Killian waved her off.

“Whatever it is, it can wait, Regina. This might the moment my life changes,” he grinned at his friend, who grinned back at him.

“Yeah, about life changing…” But before Regina could get another word in, the phone on David’s desk rang.

Killian smiled before he leaned over, picked up the phone, and pressed the button to except the call. “Mr. Woodman, sir, what a wonderful surprise.”

“Mr. Jones? How are you doing?” Marco asked in his old Italian voice.

“I’m fine, sir, just fine. And how are you?”

“Bene, fine. I needed to talk to you, Mr. Jones—”

“Please, call me Killian.”

Marco chuckled. “Killian, eh? Killian, I needed to talk to you. I would love to come to New York to visit, yes? I want to see how we are doing there.”

“Oh, you’re coming here?” Killian asked, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice, even though he looked at David and both pumped the air. “Oh, sir, that’s wonderful. In fact, I insist that you stay at my house, as my guest.”

“Killian, that is very kind, very kind. I would love to stay with you and your family.”

He smiled and was about to respond when Marco’s words registered. Smile fading, he shook his head as he asked, “Stay with my family—?”

Before he could ask what exactly Mr. Woodman meant by that, Regina took the phone out of Killian’s hand and said, “Mr. Woodman? Regina Mills here, how are you?” She paused as he answered. “Oh, I’m fine, just fine. Yes, Killian is fine, he just got into a coughing fit, poor thing.” She lied, looking at him and then glancing away when he mouthed, Regina, what the hell? “Oh, yes, Killian would love to have you come and meet his family, I’m sure.” She paused again before, “Yes, Mrs. Jones and their child are anxious to meet you too.” Killian’s eyes almost bugged out of their head, his mouth dropping before he looked over at David, who was just as stunned as Killian was. “Yes, I will pass along the message. Yes, Killian is fine now. We can’t wait to see you either, Mr. Woodman. Ciao.”

As soon as the phone was back in the receiver, Killian all but screamed, “Regina, what the bloody hell is he talking about?! What family does he want to meet?!”

Regina leaned on David’s desk, and though her shoulders were back and her back was straight, she kept looking down at her shoes. She muttered something under her breath.

“What was that?” David asked.

She cleared her throat. “I may have touched up your image a bit.”

Killian raised his eyebrows even higher and leaned forward. “Wait. What?”

“Well, it’s just,” she paused before continuing. “I know you’re a hard-working man, but…Marco has certain expectations, and Killian….”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you just…don’t meet them.”

“What do you mean? You just said I’m a hard-working man.”

Now she looked at him. “You are! And you completely deserve that London promotion. But Marco is a family man, and he expects his employees to also be family…people.”

“You’re not a family person,” David muttered before sinking further into his seat when Regina gave him a glare over her shoulder.

“That may be true,” she added softly as she looked down before flicking her hair over her shoulder. “But I’m not the one who needs to impress Marco for a job.”

“What are you saying, Regina, that you ‘spruced’ up my image?” Killian asked, his stomach going somewhere near the floor.

Looking him straight into the eye, she proclaimed, “That’s exactly what I did.”

Killian shook his head and began pacing behind the chairs that were facing David’s desk. “Wait, you told Marco that I have a family? What kind of family?”

She shrugged. “The normal kind. A wife and kid.”

“Regina, why would you do such a thing?” David asked. “Killian’s not a bad guy.”

“No, I know that,” she insisted. “But I mean…you may have a bit of a reputation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Killian, don’t play stupid, it’s not a good look on you,” she snapped at him. “You know how it looks that at every Christmas party or celebration we have in the office, you either show up with a woman no one has seen before or sees again, or you come alone. And Marco is a well-established business man, who prides himself on a having a good family.”

“Didn’t he adopt?” Killian asked.

“Does it matter?” Regina replied. “He has a kid. He loved his wife until her passing. He prides himself on hiring people who are loyal and respectable, and who know that family is above all else.”

“How in hell do you know so much about this?” David asked.

“I’m the P.R. person, of course I need to know almost everything about our C.E.O.” She rolled her eyes.

“There’s just one problem with your plan, darling,” Killian said, clutching his hands on the chair and leaning forward. “I don’t have a bloody family!” Taking a deep breath, he said as calmly as he could, “You know that I only have my brother who is in London right now.”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” Regina nodded. For once in her life, Regina paused to think about what she should say next. "I might have come up with a hypothetically family for you, yes. In all honestly, I just said it so he would meet with you."

"We have met!"

"Yes, years ago. Killian, you were barely out of college when you two met. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say he doesn't even remember you."

"Well, gee, thanks," Killian replied sarcastically.

"So," David interrupted, finally. "Let me get this straight. When Mr. Woodman comes, Killian - who just invited him to stay at his house - is going to showcase his family, which he doesn't have?"

Regina nodded. "Yes, that's pretty much the story."

David looked Killian sympathetically. "You're screwed, man."

Killian gave him a look before he replied sarcastically, "Thanks mate."

"Listen, we'll fix this." Regina stated.

"How? Are you going to tell Mr. Woodman that my "family" died tragically in a car accident? Because I don't see how we can fix this?"

"We'll give you a family, dumbass!"

Killian raised an eyebrow before looking at David and commenting, "She's the one who invented a family for me, but I'm the dumbass?"

"I was trying to make you look better!" Regina argued. "I don't think Mr. Woodman- once more remind you, a family man - would want to hear stories about how you have dated every woman in New York."

"That's not true," Killian scoffed. "I haven't dated you."

"Thank Heavens for that," David commented.

"Can we focus on the problem at hand? Where the hell are we going to find a family that will suit our needs?"

David suggested, "Craigslist?"

"We call acting companies," Regina replied, already taking out her phone and, knowing her as he did, started looking up nearby acting organizations. "I'm sure for the right price, anyone will pretend to be married to you for two days."

"Hey!" Killian shouted, feeling the slightest bit insulted.

"Wait, I think..." David started to say, his eyes wide in thought. But just as quickly, he shut his eyes and quickly shook his head. "Nah. Never mind."

"What mate?"

"Well, it's just...I actually know a single mom with a young boy. And she could really use the cash."

Killian looked at David like he was an angel from up above. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Completely. She's a single mom living in an apartment that is basically the size of your living room. I think she's trying to save money for something bigger, so you would totally be helping her out."

Killian scratched the back of his neck as he looked at Regina. "What do you think?"

She shrugged. "No harm in asking. It would work perfectly in all honestly." She looked over at David. "This woman is trustworthy?"

"Emma? Oh, completely," he replied without a bit of hesitation.

"What about her son? How old is he?"

David thought about it for a moment before replying, "I believe eight, and he's got a wonderful imagination. He'll have no trouble selling the family part, I promise."

Killian still looked unsure. "I don't like this. Faking a family for a business deal?"

Regina took him by the shoulders as she whispered, "Killian Jones. This is not just a business deal. This business deal could help our company go global, if we sell to London. Who knows, Paris could be next, then Germany, you don't know! But this is the deal that you worked day and night for."

"The one that she was willing to lie for, to make you look better," David added. Regina gave him a look with a raised eyebrow.

Killian shrugged off Regina's hands as he said, "I know, I know. I just...I don't like the idea of being dishonest."

"I know it's not ideal, mate, but it's a hell of a deal."

“Do you think she would go for it,” Killian asked David. “This…Emily?”

“Emma. And…honestly…I don’t know. She’s the only person I’ve ever met who is more stubborn than you are. But I can ask.”

Killian took a deep breath before replying, “My fate lies in your hands.”

#captain swan #captain swan movie marathon #fanfiction #CSMM #CSMM2020 #cs ff

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griffelkinn · 5 years

Text

All the Transwomen I Met

I've felt the need to write this and share it, for a few years.

About 5 years ago, I moved to San Francisco. I didn't know anyone in the entire state, so I spent a lot of time and effort meeting new people, and going to social events, and accepting invitations from most everybody who invited me to anything. I met a ton of people.

When I moved out there, I didn't really know anything at all about transgender people. I was told about that idea pretty quick once I got there. I thought it was really great that people were comfortable being themselves. The idea that men who enjoyed wearing stereotypically "women's" clothes, were becoming more comfortable doing that. And the idea that men were rejecting stereotypes of men that were forced onto them from childhood, so they could be themselves without shame. And the reverse... women rejecting uncomfortable stereotypes of women so they could be happy. It was an exciting idea that if more and more people started doing this, it would become more and more obvious that none of the stereotypes about what women are like and men are like are actually real. Sexism would be almost completely done away with!

I wish that was what happened. I was really excited to see it happen.

But that isn't what happened. Something bad happened.

In San Francisco, there were a LOT of transwomen. And so while I was meeting all of those people, and doing all that socializing, I ended up meeting and becoming acquaintances with a lot of transwomen. I have written a brief description of literally every single transwoman who I became friends with or got to know at all. I left none out. There are nine. I have felt like this was very important for me to share.

The first transwoman (man who likes to be called a woman) I knew, rubbed his penis on me when he thought I was sleeping. This was shortly after I told him I didn't return his romantic feelings for me, which I had told him many times already.

That same man had previously told me that he'd spent most of his young adult life pressuring girls to have sex with him.

The second transwoman I knew, became enraged when I casually commented on sexism in commercials. I thought what I said would be met with obvious agreement. I hadn't known many transwomen yet, and I thought that they would understand sexism and feminism a little more than men on average do. I learned that I was very wrong. I'd commented on how a string of commercials we watched featured men speaking with intelligence, confidence, and authority, and they featured women speaking in forced baby voices, sounding insecure, dumb, giggly, and weak.

This man advanced on me physically to where I was sitting, with another angry transwoman, very loud and mad, and was very upset with my comment. He said women like talking like that, and also their vocal cords physically are only able to talk like that. Then he said my comment could be compared to women who really want to wear high heels to work, but people don't let them. Which is obviously ridiculous, because that is exactly the opposite of reality... women are being forced by their workplaces to wear high heels, which most women hate and which injure feet. That is still a sexist reality in many places that women are fighting to end. He was somehow saying I was like the fantasy people who don't let these fantasy women wear high heels to work, because of my comment.

This same man told me that he was really respected in China, which is where he was born, because he's a woman and in China women are dominant and considered superior to men. That is true, isn't it. Yes, very accurate. Not at all incorrect or literally opposite of reality.

The third transwoman I knew got upset with me at Halloween season, when I commented that women should be offered normal costumes just like men are, rather than only "sexy" versions of costumes in most places. There should be the same options for girls and boys, and women and men. He immediately disagreed and would only repeat that "Women like wearing sexy costumes!" I repeated that girls and boys should both be offered normal costumes, and obviously if anyone, man or woman, wanted to wear a "sexy" version of a costume they should wear whatever they want. He still disagreed. He said that "women have very little opportunity to dress femininely and sexy, and Halloween is a chance they can do it." I explained that was the opposite of reality. Women have tons of times when they are allowed, encouraged, and pushed to dress femininely and "sexy". That includes work, after work, weekends, and... all other times I would say. I'm pretty sure he was thinking of men, for whom his comment would have been accurate.

That same man got very angry when I said women were made to feel they have to wear makeup, and that is bad. He became very angry. Not just a little. Very angry. He kept saying (angrily) "Women like wearing makeup!"

That same man told me he was a pedophile, and had to keep himself away from children.

That same man told me that "sexism is good for some women".

That same man supported Gamergate. That same man told me that the separation of women's and men's sports are not at all related to people's biological sex, and that men who want to be called women should compete in women's sports.

That same man told me that sexism doesn't exist at all in America, and people are treated exactly the same their whole lives whether they're female or male. (I know, it contradicts his other statement that "sexism is good for some women"). I said that I had a lifetime of many many instances where I experienced sexism. From when I was very little until the present. He mockingly told me to name just one. I was so horrified that he honestly thought I would be unable to think of a single experience of sexism, and that he was mocking me about it, that I told him that it would demean me to answer to his demand of one example. It would obviously be lowering myself too far.

That same man told me that sexism in countries outside America don't have any effect on me.

The fourth transwoman I knew, I saw a movie with. It was good, but I noticed some very obvious sexism in the portrayal of female characters and male characters, which I later learned most everybody noticed. And while most everybody including me agreed it was a great movie, the extreme sexism was obvious. After the movie I said so, how I loved it - but it was very sexist in these examples. And this man started insulting me and being very annoyed. He said venomously that the portrayals of female and male characters was "realistic", and then just as venomously asked me "What are you, a FEMinist?" Clearly he felt the only acceptable view of feminists is to hate them. Somehow he expected me to want to insist to him that I wasn't a feminist. Obviously I loudly said "Yeah. I am a feminist. Aren't you a feminist?"

I never saw him again. We had been casual friends for a few months, but apparently that interaction made us both lose the desire to try and meet up again.

That same man, weeks previously at a fast food joint, told me ever since he started taking estrogen that he's become extremely physically weak. He was grinning while describing to me how wonderfully weak he was, and clearly that was an idea that made him very happy. A personal fantasy. He said how now his arms are so weak, he can barely throw a frisbee! I asked him to arm wrestle and he beat me with no effort in one second. I'd assumed that would happen.

The fifth transwoman I knew, was a very nice person. He was kind, and fun, and not a misogynist, and didn't get angry if anyone criticized anything sexist. He also didn't mind going into men's public bathrooms. I really liked him. We were friends.

The sixth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall, and had a fantasy that men would rape him. He would only ever dress in cartoonishly sexual stripper-style outfits. He described multiple times to me how he was worried that men would rape him when he walked around in public. In a voice and level of description that made it obvious this was his personal sexual fantasy. He suggested that he and I are both equally in danger from sexual assault. I'm 5'1 and just trying to live my life. He was over 6 feet and that was his sexual fantasy. We were very different in our experiences of the threat of sexual assault.

The seventh transwoman I knew, I went to the movies with and he put his hand in my crotch area. I said "WHOA I am not comfortable with that." And I physically took his arm and returned it to his own seat. He immediately put his arm around my neck and shoulders and said in an annoyed whiny voice "Well can I at least do this?" And I had to say no again. We barely knew each other, and were not at all romantic. I had zero romantic thought of him. He clearly didn't care or consider if I did or not. It didn't affect his feelings that he should be allowed to do things like that for his pleasure.

The eighth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall and white. He came up to me suddenly and told me that he is twice as oppressed as me, because he has sexism, as a woman, like I do, and he also has "transmisogyny". I was so shocked that he would say he experiences sexism like women that I was speechless. Obviously he was a man and so he did not. He was also gigantic. I don't really know why he wanted to come up to me and tell me that he had "twice as much oppression as me". After he said it he just kind of looked at me waiting to see what I would say. That was the first instance I learned about the "oppression olympics". I had never used the word "oppression" before and very rarely heard it used in person. But I was disgusted by his competitive declaration of victimhood. Since then, of course the word "oppression" has become extremely popularly used in conversation, and that's usually a good thing, but there is definitely this unsavory world of people like him who build their identities around having the "most" oppression, like an impressive commodity, who have no basis in reality.

That same man, after my lack of response, then told me that he also doesn't have white privilege because he grew up poor.

That same man told me that he'd spent much of his life pressuring women to have sex with him.

The ninth transwoman I knew, told me he would only ever date women who shave their bodies. I know that men have no idea the level of pain and insecurity that teenage girls go through because of the forced shaving culture, so I gave him a break and replied with a kind of friendly comment that even though shaving their bodies for women is an extremely torturous social norm, everyone has preferences about their romantic partners and that's fine. Though I felt like that particular preference is specifically a preference for women suffering an unhealthy lifelong ritual born completely out of insecurity. I figured I'd just write this guy off, and there was no point in saying so. But I couldn't help poking the misogynist bear a little. He was trying to get me to hang out with him. So I asked if he just won't have a relationship with a woman who doesn't shave her body, or if he can't even stand to see them at all in any setting. Because it was summer and I love going to the beach in shorts, and I needed to know if I shouldn't invite him to to beach. I actually thought I was being funny and that he would know that, but he answered seriously that he "would feel grossed out if he looked at me." Imagine one person feeling comfortable telling someone that they would feel grossed out to look at you. That man sure felt comfortable saying it to me.

I have also known some transmen. They are usually very kind, thoughtful people. I have known some very closely for years before they decided to be transmen. Most of them, years after that decision, still fight internally against the feeling that they have to wear makeup every day or else be ugly and worthless. Most of them still mentally fight to nurture any sense of self-confidence to speak their opinions, or take up space in a group as a full person, who deserves as much free immediate respect as any other.

Those are things that women experience.

Almost all transwomen are now saying that they are not men breaking social expectations. They are women. And women are sexist stereotypes.

Men breaking social expectations would deserve respect and props for being themselves despite social pressure. That would be a cool move. But they are instead insulting women, supporting sexist stereotypes religiously, closing down women's shelters, women's rape trauma centers, and women's festivals. They are taking women's government positions, women's scholarships, and women's awards.

**CONTENT WARNING for below **

Transwomen have made it so now any and all men are allowed to go into women's bathrooms, women's changing rooms, and women's shelters. And MANY of them have been raping and murdering children and women. They've been kidnapping, videotaping, and sexually harassing women and children.

There are many myths that transgender activists send around social networking sites. There's one that is very popularly shared that says transwomen in America are in danger of being murdered. That is a lie. White transwomen in America are less likely to be murdered than white men who don't identify as a transwomen.

Even if they were in danger, that would be a separate issue from women completely, and they would deserve their own safe places to be and escape violence. They should not take away all resources to help women, and allow all men into women's changing rooms and bathrooms and prisons.

I'm pretty sure most people know that women are not allowed to talk about this. We are not allowed to speak our discomfort. If a woman says she is uncomfortable with any of that, transwomen (men) bombard her with rape threats, very descriptive rape threats involving their own penises. They also do this to any lesbian who says lesbians don't want to have sex with penises. Any woman who is a feminist. Any woman who wouldn't even call herself a feminist because that word takes a lot of courage to use, but who still speaks of helping women and ending sexist beliefs, or describes reality without pandering to make these men feel good.

I used to think the transgender social movement would bring us all leaps and bounds into a brighter future, but I really think it has dragged us all back far in time and rolled back women's rights and safety and respect many decades into the past. I used to think all those violent women-hating transwomen were just the rare bad apple, and most are good people who don't want to hurt women. But that list of transwomen that I described is every single one I've known in person. 8 out of 9 were extreme examples of the most misogynist of men. My experiences have made me wary now, and I can barely even picture in my imagination a transwoman saying the words "It's impossible to feel like a woman", or "Women deserve to be allowed to get together and talk about women's issues".

The misogynist slur TERF means: Dyke. Feminazi. Cunt. They all know this.

It pains me to see women being caught up in this social movement, clearly just trying to be polite and "politically correct", or seeking male approval. Most of them are insecure. I understand. But I wish they would speak up and be honest about the truth, and not just do whatever these men tell them they must do and say to avoid being called a TERF.

#terfs please interact #terf #terfs #terfs do touch #radical feminism #radfem #feminism #feminist

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vonnyphant · 3 years

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To Blog or Not to Blog?

“You should start a diary and write about your experiences. It may help people going through the same thing.”

Honestly? If there’s one thing I discovered about this diagnosis, it’s that it makes me pretty damn selfish. I don’t want to help other people (not just yet, anyway). But putting some thoughts down about this time in my life may be of some sort of therapeutic value, and I do want to help myself.

(Maybe for once, saving the world can wait. Do you remember how, soon after the pandemic hit, people stopped avoiding plastic and single-use items? When your health is at risk, suddenly rainforests and polar bears and the planet are deprioritised- not that anyone will admit to this. But this is my diary and I can say what I want!* Writing for myself it is.)

Having established my less-than-Mother-Theresa-like reasons for this blog, my conscience cleared, it’s time to start. This is where the Lifetime movie shows me, in a half daze, mellowed out on drugs while they sew a mediport into my chest to start administering chemicals. A fast lane to my bloodstream. A docking station. The soundtrack? Hopefully ‘Across The Universe’ by the Beatles (possibly Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. If I get a say in it, I veto The Walrus) Time to pump this body full of drugs that’ll make my hair fall out.

Wait, what?

Voice Over: “Yep. That’s me. You’re probably wondering what I am doing here…” //record scratch - freeze frame - fast rewind to the psychedelic outtro of A Day In The Life//

Two months ago, during rub-a-dub-in-the-tub (less naughty than it sounds, was just washing myself), my mind inexplicably went to an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, s1 (aired in 1992- yes, I am that old), where Brenda Walsh has a breast cancer scare. I say inexplicably, because my usual shower fantasies do not include Ms Shannon Doherty - if I was going to pick a shower lady, I’d opt for Charlize Theron, Kiera Knightly or Winona Ryder in their short-hair phases, but that is neither here nor there.

Say what you want for 90s television- weird outfits and ponytails notwithstanding, in their AfterSchoolSpecial PSA way, they dedicated a whole scene to the girls giving themselves a breast exam, including how-to instructions**, and eventhough I was only 11 years old when I saw it, I remembered what to do, and for the last 30 years, every now and then I have randomly carried it out while wondering how I always preferred Brandon over Dylan and how my tastes have changed over time.

But this time - my hand actually found something.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down the same way I did after finding spots on my skin, lumps on my head and every time I sneezed since covid-19; by telling myself to fucking snap out of my hypochondria tendencies. One cannot go to the doctor every damn day after all. Breast tissue is pretty lumpy and I assumed it was just imaginary. I made an appointment to see a therapist, and put it out of my mind until a few weeks later, when one of the kids came crashing down on me (literally) and faceplanted in my boob (as they do).

Now this always hurts af, but it just hurt that little more that day, so that I grabbed the appendage in question and went “WHAT THE--!” And I felt it again- the lump, more defined than a few weeks before.

Cue a lot more freaking out than the first time, and after a sleepless night, imagining what my funeral would look like (as one does), I decided to go to the gynocologist the same day or risk never to sleep again.

After a long wait and an ultrasound, my doctor assured me that while there really was a mass, it had every indication of being benign. We should keep an eye on it. If I was worried, I could schedule a second screening, but would not likely get an appointment before April. I scheduled one and tried to focus on preparing our first lockdown Christmas.

But over the holidays, the lump started hurting, even when I wasn’t poking it or having a kid catapult themselves into my chest. I’d be Netflix and Chilling, and suddenly - ZAP - like someone stuck a hot needle into it. Repeatedly. My nipple would go numb or start tingling like a bodypart that fell asleep. It freaked me out, and in the new year, I realised I couldn’t wait until April - I had to get it checked out again or I may worry myself to death.

My gynocologist did another ultrasound and again, told me not to worry. I told her it was way too late for that as I had been worried for weeks, and I wanted the thing biopsied (they gave Brenda Walsh one too, after all! It’s the only way to be 100% sure). She referred me to the hospital. At the description of my symptoms, I could come directly, and the radiologist told me in no unclear terms: “I will not let you leave this room until we draw blood and take several biopsies.” Okay- not exactly what one wants to hear at that point, but at the same time, I figured knowing would be better than guessing by the shape of it.

Test results took a week. I went in, being prepared to be told (like Brenda) it was a harmless clump of random cells or a cyst we could have removed like a wart. Only it wasn’t. It was breast cancer, an aggressive, fast-growing kind, and had I waited until April, that could have had disastrous consequences.

While the doctor explained we now needed to determine the scope of the spread and take more tissue to determine what kind of chemo (if any) could be applied, all my 2020-PTSD brain could think was:

“.............of course”.

Didn’t hear much of what she said afterwards.

Another harrowing 4 days went by, with a CT screening with contrast solutions that gave me an intense stomach ache as well as a migraine, and finally, a fully rounded diagnosis and treatment advice could be made.

Thankfully, all my organs as well as lymphnodes were clear, so it appears to be a localised tumor. And here we are - to fight this thing with chemicals and then cut out whatever is left. Genetics testing to see about the likelihood of a recurrency (and a possible double mastectomy if so - ‘pulling an Angelina Jolie’, ‘not saving the tatas’, insert ‘Think About It meme’...can’t have breast cancer if you don’t have breasts! THINK ABOUT IT***).

Chances are good. I need to cling to that while I wait for this port and treatment to start. I have accepted the inevitable hair loss, have scheduled a ritual ‘crazy hair cutting party’ with my kids for this weekend (as I would rather shave it off in one go than clean up clumps and strands over the course of weeks and look like Gollum), and I have sewn several funny little hats for inside wear and ‘going out’ (though where will I be going in pandemic, idk).

I was going to end this post on a light and happy note - but I must admit my confidence just took a really big hit in real time, as I googled how to spell Shannon’s last name for this blog entry and found out that she was treated for breast cancer in 2015, initially succesfully, but it reappeared metastasized in 2020 (again: ‘of course...when else’) and she is now in stage IV. Fuck 2020.

What are the odds that the woman whose character made me discover my own breast cancer is now, in fact, dying of the same disease? This will surely haunt me for a long time to come.

More tomorrow? Or soon? It may take a while. Until then: outro to It’s Getting Better.

*also for the record I would like to state that I’ve sewn my own masks from upcycled pillowcases and continued using fruit- and vegetable nets to avoid plastic; maybe that makes up for me being utterly selfish at the moment. Karma +1?

** https://youtu.be/pkgYXITkrfw (the scene from BH 90210)

***cis men / trans women without breasts can also get breast cancer (even though it’s rare) so this meme doesn’t really hold up, but that’s the whole point of the meme ;)

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