#the only briefcase design ever

[fabydoll]

❛ . . . THE PREFECT TROPHY WIFE .ᐟ

ϑϱ⭒ ݁ waring ৎ ݁ ۪AU, dilf | himbo! jk ౨ৎ single daddy! jk ౨ৎ toxic behaviors ౨ৎ billionaire! jk ౨ৎ mentions of a milf | cougar! lisa ౨ৎ implied large age gap ౨ৎ implied foreigner! oc

masterlist ♡ next ♡

Jungkook was barely able to keep his large doe eyes from fluttering shut; he wasn't at all used to this—to any of this, from the countless and tiring meetings with the most boring and bland individuals he's ever met, to planning and making plans to better help maintain the company and keep investors interested. To keeping this multi-billion empire he had inherited running afloat, if he was going to be honest, he missed the days when all he had to do was look pretty and have crowds of people adore him.

Having no worries, no cares in the world, being free.

"Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jeon!" His secretary annoyingly yelled, snapping Jungkook awake from his reverie, snapping back to his much more boring reality. He gave everyone in the conference room an apologetic yet charismatic smile.

Immediately going into handsome older CEO mode.

"Yes? Chaerin, is there something you wanted to tell me?" Jungkook smoothly asked, giving her his iconically heart-stopping gorgeous smile, totally acting as if he hadn't almost fallen asleep in the meeting, missing half of everything that was going on.

"Um… um, yeah, um," Chaerin stumbled, trying to collect her thoughts together, her cheeks flustered as she fumbled with the documents.

"So, ahem," she cleared her throat, adding an awkward chuckle, "INUV wants you to sign the documents to begin the process of expanding our companies together." Jungkook nodded; he only about half understood what she was talking about, but as Chaerin was handing him the papers to sign, she stopped—getting lost in his big, beautiful, doe-warm chocolate brown eyes.

Was he even real?

"Chaerin, Chaerin, Chaerin, Chaerin! The documents?! Please!" Chaerin's cheeks flushed an even brighter red than before. Jungkook just snatched the papers out of her hands, mumbling yet loud enough, "I swear, secretaries these days always thinking you're in love with them or something."

Everyone in the luxurious, opulent conference room laughed, some hiding their giggles under the table, their briefcases, or hands.

Chaerin just quietly and embarrassingly plopped herself back in her seat.

"Here," Jungkook said, handing the documents back to a disgraced Chaerin, who, without looking up from the ground, gave it to one of the INUV executives, who was still trying to hold back his laugh.

Jungkook cleared his throat while adjusting the buttons on his designer Italian suit, clapping his muscular and tattooed hands to get everyone's attention back on him. "Anyways, besides that little interruption," side-eyeing Chaerin, "it was an honor to do business with you all, and we promise to do nothing but our absolute best."

He ended by shaking hands with the lead executive before walking out as everyone clapped, with Chaerin clumsily following behind him. He needed to get back to his office to finish some more paperwork that would officially finalize the deal, not before stopping to give one of his employees his autograph.

Then, after that, head to Sweet Bears, his favorite bar, to relax and unwind.

Jungkook was already in the elevator about to push his own private floor number, but midway stopped, hearing Chaerin's annoying high-pitched voice yelling, "MR. JEON!!"

He cursed himself for not going faster, silently praying that those doors closed before she could make it in.

But God only hears those who are faithful.

She slipped in before the elevator doors could close, huffing a bit from the fact she literally sprinted in heels to get into the elevator with Jungkook. He rolled his eyes; he thought after absolutely embarrassing her at the conference, maybe she would quit.

But no.

Jungkook internally groaned as he felt her seductively eyeing him up and down, biting her lips as she held her files close to her chest. He felt like he was being sexually harassed. Chaerin was an amazing secretary, and she knew how to do her job; if he was being honest, without her, the company would probably have already lost a few million.

But her infatuation and borderline obsession with Jungkook was either a reason he would fire her or the reason he would snap her in half once he got fed up with her.

The only reason why she was still here was that she happened to be one of Jungkook's biggest investors and his father's best friend's daughter.

There was an awkward moment of silence with the background of smooth jazz playing, as Chaerin still eyed him like he was the finest eye candy she had ever seen, which he was, but still.

"Miss Shin, hope there's nothing wrong for you to have come running in the elevator like that," Jungkook said through gritted teeth as he plastered

a fake smile on his gorgeous face.

She didn't even deserve to have him give her one of his beautiful fake smiles.

Chaerin giggled, a stupid one, and twirled her hair as she held her paperwork close to her chest. "Nothing much, I was just going to ask you if you were off tonight?" she said as she bit her lips with a seductive, flirtatious gaze.

Ever since Jungkook's private divorce from the wealthy and powerful businesswoman Lisa Manoban, young girls, older women, and men of all ages have been throwing themselves all over Jungkook.

Lisa Manoban is one of the most influential self-made entrepreneurs in all of Asia, having multiple companies that are each worth billions of dollars. When I say she has power, she has power. She met Jungkook through a mutual friend; at first, Jungkook was her pretty himbo sugar baby before deciding to marry him at his 20th birthday party in Bali.

She was the breadwinner and wanted Jungkook to stay at home and be her pretty trophy husband and house husband that she could flaunt his beauty and youthfulness to all her other rich older milfs and cougar friends. Having someone young and as beautiful as Jungkook depended on you was a new type of power, one that Lisa had never felt before. It was addicting—so was his sex power in bed, because damn, was he truly gifted by Adonis himself.

Who knew a guy could taste so sweet in bed?

And also, all the bragging rights that come with having a pretty himbo, boy toy, beauty pageant king, and supermodel as your trophy husband and house husband.

But after giving birth to their adorable toddler, Kwan, they quietly separated but did not publicly divorce. But people still thought they were married and happily threw themselves at the new handsome but beautiful now DILF Jungkook.

Who could blame them?

He still looked as handsome as ever, looking like he was still in his 20s (and acted like he was still in his 20s), now just being a hot young DILF. He aged like fine wine, being as attractive and charming as ever with his fit and muscular physique and flawless golden-tanned skin.

He still kinda looked like the beautiful and young, naive doe-eyed himbo trophy husband he used to be.

"I'm actually very, very busy tonight. It's my 4-year-old son Kwan's school recital tonight, and I promised him that me and mommy would take him out for ice cream. I also have some work at the office I need to attend to," Jungkook said, lying through his teeth. Kwan was with Lisa in Thailand, as it was her week with him.

"Oh, um, that's totally fine. Maybe we can—" Jungkook had already walked out of the elevator, and the elevator had already closed before Chaerin could finish her sentence.

He needed to find some way to fire her.

Quickly.

Sweet Beer was his favorite beer parlor and bar. He remembered how, when he was young, he would skip class just to come to the parlor with friends and pick up girls, flirting with the cute waitresses that would end up in his bed later that night.

He couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the memories while driving there.

Those were the good times, when he didn't have a single care in the world.

Ting! The small bell rang as Jungkook walked in, causing the 50-year-old woman to turn around to see who it was, immediately stopping her sweeping, dropping the broom and happily running to him, arms wide open, like a mother who hadn't seen her son in years.

Koko!! You came!" Mrs. Yun happily yelled.

Jungkook happily embraced Mrs. Yun as they rocked back and forth, unable to hold back the overwhelming feelings of joy they felt; it felt like years since they had last seen each other. "Mrs. Yun—Eomma! How could I not come!?" Jungkook said as they kissed each other on the cheek.

As Jungkook pulled back from the hug, Mrs. Yun cupped his cheeks, holding his beautiful face in her hands. She felt like she was about to cry; it felt like yesterday when a 16-year-old Jungkook would run away from home to come to her bar shop, complaining about the unbelievable pressure his parents were putting on him and how he wanted to run away.

She was always the one to comfort and reassure him that with time everything would get better.

Here he was now, all gowned up, married with a kid of his own; time had gone by so fast. "Oh, Koko," she sweetly said, giving him another big, tight hug before letting go and wiping her tears with her apron. Jungkook sighed, adding a small laugh. "Eomma, don't tell me you're getting emotional?"

"Me? Getting emotional? No, no, I'm just shocked you've grown up to be such a gorgeous young man," she said, having a pretty sappy tone in her voice. Jungkook smiled a little. "But enough talk about the past, how's you and Lisa going? Is everything going well? Hope she isn't giving you any trouble. And Kwan too, how's my Kiki doing?"

Jungkook just let out an awkward laugh; he hadn't told Mrs. Yun about the divorce—not yet anyway. He was still a bit shocked by it, truthfully, and still didn't know how to tell anyone about it. Knowing how Mrs. Yun was, she would probably let it spill to his parents, and for a fact, all hell would break loose then.

"Everything is going good; it's going extremely well actually, and Lisa and Kwan are doing great," Jungkook said, giving her one of his gorgeous fake smiles. Mrs. Yun gave him a look; she always had the motherly ability to tell if he was lying. "Are you sure, Koko? If something is going on, you talk to me."

"No, I promise Eomma, everything is grea—" The sound of crashing glass hitting the floor and breaking cut Jungkook off, who looked to Mrs. Yun for what or who caused that sound. Mrs. Yun just chuckled. "Don't mind that; it's just my new barista."

"New barista?" Jungkook knew every single barista that worked here—totally just from encounters and not sleeping with them.

So, who was that?

Mrs. Yun pulled him by the arm towards the bar. For someone who was in her late 50s, she was strong, especially considering how much Jungkook worked out and how tall he was. Jungkook looked at Mrs. Yun; was someone supposed to just appear? Mrs. Yun just winked at him.

"Y/n, dear, I have someone I want you to meet."

At first, it looked like she was talking to no one. Jungkook was about to ask her if she had forgotten her medication yet again.

But then a beautiful young girl appeared from the door by the bar. She had long and somewhat curly yet straight golden blonde hair with beautiful and angelic lightly sun-kissed skin, with some of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; they were completely two different colors.

"Yes, Mrs. Yun?" she softly asked as she carried more empty glasses of beer, almost dropping them on the counter. Giving both Mrs. Yun and Jungkook an apologetic smile, Mrs. Yun just smiled excitedly, introducing them to each other. "Meet Mr. Jeon and Jungkook, my love, meet Y/n, my new stunning barista!"

The sun-kissed girl just blushed as she heard Mrs. Yun call her a 'stunning barista,' before extending one of her small and dainty hands to Jungkook, shyly saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jeon," who shook it, holding her delicate hand in both of his bigger and larger hands before kissing it, mumbling against her soft skin.

"The pleasure is all mine."

BOUNS ੭ ꒰ for all my ogs before my account got deleted 😭꒱

Jungkook was barely able to keep his eyes open, he wasn't used to this at all, as his executive was talking about the 3.4 billion won deal, they had with a company that would love to partner up with them. He never liked meetings, but they were important to keep his multi-billion empire running a float. "So, Mr. Jeon do you have anything else you would like to add?" His secretary chirped out as she was giving INUV inc. the paperwork to sign.

"No, I have nothing else to add. But it's an honor to do business with you and we promise to do our absolute best." Jungkook said using his 'boss voice' as he shook hands with INUV's executive.

As everyone in the luxurious, opulent conference room clapped.

As soon as the meeting was over, he made his way to the elevator he needed to get back to his office to finish some more paperwork that would finalize the deal, but his secretary, Chaerin, voice stopped him as he was entering the elevator.

"MR. JEON!!"

He silently prayed that those doors closed before she could make it in.

But not all prayers come true.

She ran in before the elevator doors could close, Chaerin was an amazing secretary and she knew how to do her job well but her infatuation with Jungkook was either a, be the reason he fires her or b, the reason he fires her.

The only reason why she is still here is because she happens to be one of Jungkook's biggest investors and best friend's daughter.

"Miss Shin, hope there's nothing wrong. For, you to have come running in the elevator like that." Jungkook said through gritted teeth as he plastered a fake smile on his gorgeous face.

Chaerin giggled and twirled her hair as she held her paperwork close to her chest. "Nothing much, I was just going to ask you if you were off tonight?" she said as she bit her lips while eyeing him up and down with a flirtatious gaze.

Ever since, Jungkook's divorce with the Lisa Manoban, young girls, older women and men of all ages have been throwing themselves all over Jungkook.

When he was still married to Lisa, she was the one who was the breadwinner, with her owning large companies and being a supermodel.

She wanted Jungkook to stay at home and be her pretty trophy husband and house husband that she could flaunt his beauty and enjoy his sex power in bed.

Due to the fact that when Jungkook was in his youth he was a pretty himbo and boy toy when he first met her and had won multiple beauty pageants and was supermodel too.

But times have changed (kinda).

He still looked as handsome as ever, looking like he was still in his 20s (and acted like he was still in his 20s) with him now just being a hot young DILF.

He aged like fine wine, with him being as attractive and charming as ever with his fit physique and flawless golden tanned skin.

He still kinda looked like the handsome and young, naive himbo trophy husband he used to be.

"I'm actually very busy tonight it's my 4-year-old son, Kwan, um school recital tonight and I have some work at the office I need to attend too." Jungkook said lying through his teeth, Kwan was with Lisa, as it was her week with him.

"Oh, um that's fine maybe we can-" Jungkook had already walked out of the elevator and the elevator had already closed before Chaerin could finish her sentence.

He needed to find a way to fire her. Quickly.

But first he needed a beer.

Sweet Beer was his favorite beer parlor and bar. He remembered how when he was young, he would skip class just to come to the parlor with friends and pick up girls. And flirt with the cute waitresses that would end up in his bed later that night.

He couldn't help but smile and roll his eyes at the memories while driving there.

Those were the good times, where he didn't have a single care in the world.

"Koko!! You came" Mrs. Yun happily yelled as soon as she saw he was entering the door, hearing the ding from the bells up on the door.

"Mrs. Yun! How could I not come!?" he happily said as they kissed each other on the cheek and embraced, Mrs. Yun was just like a second mother to Jungkook, she was there for him even when his own mother couldn't be there for him.

"Well, you know how much it makes me happy to see you come here, it's been such a long time!" Mrs. Yun said as she pinched his cheek. The parlor had been going a little slower than usual, but Jungkook's presence had really brightened up her mood.

"I know, I know it's been such a long time and I'm sorry it's just the divorce with Lisa, work and Kwan along with everything that's been going on lately."

"I know it must be so stressful, but come I want you to meet someone special" Mrs. Yun said as she pulled him, for someone that was in her late 50s she was strong, especially considering how much Jungkook worked out and how tall he was.

She pulled him until they were at the cashier, Jungkook looked at Mrs. Yun who just wink at him.

"Y/n, dear, met Mr. Jeon."

At first it looked like she was talking to no one, Jungkook was about to ask her if she had forgotten her medication again.

But then a beautiful young girl came out of the big walking closet/cabinet near the cash register, she had long silky hair and some of the most beautiful eyes Jungkook had ever seen.

"Yes, Mrs. Yun?" she softly asked as she carried more empty glasses of beer where she placed them on the counter.

"Meet Mr. Jeon and Jungkook, my love, met Y/n my new stunning barista!"

Y/n blushed as she heard Mrs. Yun call her a 'stunning barista', Jungkook couldn't help but to smile too, something he hadn't done for a long time, as he saw her cute cheeks turn a light pink blush.

She was so cute and pretty at the same time.

Maybe, Mrs. Yun was right she was someone special.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . fabrianna's thoughts . . . yellow! I'M BACK! after my account got deleted i knew i still wanted to continue "the perfect trophy wife" series but changed a few things, like the first chapter i wanted to make it longer and with much more thought, detail and dialog. and i'm pretty happy with the finale result, tell me which one is better the original or new one? planning on doing the same thing with second chapter "Sweets of deals" but still don't know. i promise this time i won't just disappear and plan on releasing more ꒰ like a fanfic i'm currently with a dilf cop taehyung꒱ but anyway hope yall enjoy, toddles.

𝜗℘ㅤׁㅤ. . taglist . . . n/a

[fieldsofwriting]

Please write dad March I'm begging respectfully ❤️❤️❤️

Well since you asked so nicely. (And i’m stuck at work with nothing better to do)

Dad March HC be upon ye:

When you first tell him you’re ready to have kids/pregnant he is so fucking nervous. He can’t be a dad?? He’s an asshole! But after some reassurance from both you and probably half the town he’s ready.

Man goes full dad mode. He is panting the nursery- do not even try and help! You will be told sit your ass down and focus on growing the baby or whatever you do.

He gets Ryis to help him build/design the crib. Those are the only nails he doesn’t complain about making. He also refuses to have Ryis do anything but the bare minimum to assist.

“I’ve gotta do it, or how else am I gonna be a good dad?” His logic is flawed but he’s got the spirit.

When he feels the baby kick for the first time? He has genuinely never had a bigger smile. Looking at you with the most genuine and sincere smile, “That’s our little guy…”

He wouldn’t care what you’re having, he’d still insist on “teaching them the ways of the forge” from a young age.

You settle on a highchair a safe distance away.

He’s so protective over his baby. Like, no one gets to hold them until they wash thier hands, are positive that thier not sick, and have been through vetted by him.

It’s even worse if you have a little girl. “No man will ever be good enough for her. She is a princess.” “March you’ll give her an ego.” “Good, just like me.”

This would also be the #1 way to get him to be soft. I feel like that is something people seldom see. But when he’s rocking his baby to sleep, talking to them quietly about his day to them it just makes you fall harder.

You know that meme where it’s like Dads when thier kids are babies vs toddlers and it’s like one picture of them cradling a newborn vs throwing a toddler in the air? That’s him.

He would love to hear thier laugh, so he’d throw them up as high as he could manage, put them on his shoulders.

You know how cats have the scruff? He just picks up your kids by the back of his shirt and lifts them up like a little briefcase.

He has full on conversations with your kids. Even if they don’t make sense he is so invested. He just talks to them like tiny humans rather than babies.

You know how thier like big players with carpenter tools? he’d do that but it’s the forge and he’d use playdough to help show them how to do it. “It’s the family business!”

This man would cry the first time your baby goes to school. He’d try to pretend he didn’t but if they run off like nothing happened? He’s DEVASTATED.

Okay I could continue but I’ll be done for now-

[tilebytiles]

star treatment - a.t. (part 1)

summary: there's a strange man named alex that has a strange obsession with you, and he makes the strangest offer of your life. word count: 1.9k warnings: none

There was a strange man named Alex.

You hadn't learned his last name yet, and as far as you knew, you never would. He never seemed like much for words (or interactions. or people in general, really), always settling himself at the same table in the corner of the café you worked at. The way the building was designed, large windows spanned across every wall except the back one, meaning he always basked in sunlight that beamed down as if he had been specially picked by God.

His routine was simple, almost to the extent of being mundane; not like you could complain, though, since you led an almost painfully simple life. He came in, ordered his coffee, did the bare minimum in terms of small talk, then sat at his precious corner table and sipped at his coffee every so often over the span of an hour, poring over documents he'd brought along in his briefcase or letting himself become entirely immersed in a book. You never pushed his boundaries, tried to go beyond the expectations you two had unintentionally set up, mostly because you didn't know how to. You weren't much for words, either, and as important as predictable days were to you, there was a small pang of guilt that came with the thought of shattering his routine to insert yourself further into it.

You hadn't expected today to be any different. Customers came and went, some more chatty than others, and you did your best to show them all the same kindness and cordiality, especially if they seemed like they weren't having a good day. You figured it was the least you could do to leave your mark on the world. The bell above the door chimed as Alex stepped in, dressed in his strangely typical cream-coloured suit and his crisp, perfectly white dress shirt. It was a bit odd that something so formal was the only attire you'd ever really seen him in, but again, you didn't think you could judge.

He stepped up to the counter, conveniently not halted by any other customers, and flashed you a small smile before his gaze snapped down to the countertop, much as it always did. He could never seem to keep his eyes focused on the same thing; they were always looking at the floor, the counter, the till, the wall, outside through the window, the other customers, their coffee and snacks, whatever he could possibly get his eyes on. Sometimes he looked you straight in the eye, but that was rare.

Normally, he would have recited his order by now, getting it out before you could even offer a 'hello', but he was still staring down at the counter, seemingly lost in thought. You decided to take the initiative and asked, "What can I get you today?"

His head snapped up, and his eyes widened for a moment before returning back to their usual size. "Sorry, uh - just the regular, please."

"Will that be all?"

"Yeah, thanks." You punched in his order as he was already reaching into his pocket, pulling out and opening up his wallet. He always gave you a bigger note than he needed to, insisting you kept the change. It had gotten to the point where you stopped arguing. You watched him, knowing there was no point in reciting the price; he had memorised it a while ago, even with tax. His movements halted, his fingers pausing as they crooked around the leather, then he slowly closed his wallet and looked up at you again. "Can I ask you something?"

You blinked in surprise. "Uh ... yeah. What is it?"

His wallet came open again, but instead of giving you his payment, he pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. It was slightly crumpled, you assumed from how much it might have jostled around in his wallet. Your surprise increased tenfold when he unfolded it and offered it to you. "I want to know if you'll come to this."

Slowly, you took the paper from him, your eyes scanning over the printed text. It was a rectangular slip with a baby blue background and a thin white border. The text was written in black, some kind of fancy font you didn't recognise. 'The chance of a lifetime!' it read. 'Attend the grand unveiling of the brand new Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino! Voucher valid for one person only.'

Your gaze wandered back up to meet his, which was ... anxious? It was hard to tell; the rest of his face didn't give much away. "A hotel?" you asked slowly.

He nodded. "It's, uh, it's been a dream of mine for a while. You've probably seen me ..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his beloved table. "... with papers and such. I knew I had to invite people, and you were the first I thought of."

You had to hold back from letting out a sound. "Me? Why?"

He shrugged, his gaze drifting down to the till, then the floor, then back up to the counter. "Dunno. I've just seen so much of you, I figured it was only right."

You didn't really know what to say to that. You looked back down at the paper in your hands, mulling over the offer. You weren't sure what would make this hotel different from any other one you'd been in, but it was obvious he was antsy for you to come. You didn't want to be a jerk and turn him down. Besides, when was the last time you'd been in a hotel, anyway? It would be nice to get away from work for a bit.

"I'll come."

His face lit up at that, and he gave you another small smile, although you could swear it was bigger than the obligatory ones he normally gave you. "The, uh, details are on the back of the voucher. I look forward to seein' you there."

He started to walk away, but didn't make it more than two steps before you said, "Alex, you didn't pay."

With a sheepish smile, he returned and fished his wallet back out of his pocket. "I swear I'm not a thief. My mind is just ..." He made a waving gesture with his hand, his eyes widening for a moment for emphasis, and you couldn't suppress the small laugh that bubbled up within you.

Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, huh?

•••••

On the back of the voucher were the details, as Alex had promised, but there were also instructions that bordered on disconcerting. 'All you really need is your phone and your wallet!' 'Don't bring any extra clothes- you won't need them!' 'Bring your pets, whatever kind of animal they are!'

And so, you found yourself stepping off the train, feeling strangely emptyhanded. The stress that was put on not bringing anything beyond what was absolutely necessary made you nervous; what kind of hotel was this? The last one you'd been in didn't even have free pads or tampons.

Your walk to the address that was neatly printed on the back of the voucher was short, although the stiff silence around you and the fact that you barely knew where you were going made it feel longer. You eventually arrived at a large, empty lot, surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. There was a tall, imposing man dressed in all black at the gate, standing with his arms crossed and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. As you approached, you couldn't know for sure, but you knew he was eyeing you with nothing beyond contempt and confusion. You pulled the voucher out of your pocket and held it up to him. Silently, he took one look at it, then nodded. He unlocked the gate and pulled it open, the metal creaking and groaning as it dragged along the dry dirt beneath it. You folded the voucher and stuffed it back into your pocket, stepping out onto the lot.

There was already a rather large group of people, the wind carrying their chatter to you before you could even reach them. They looked and sounded about as excited and nervous as you were. You didn't think Alex would have invited so many people to a hotel opening, especially considering the hotel was nowhere in sight. You didn't even see Alex.

And then it hit you.

There was a fucking rocket.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer size of it; it was arguably one of the tallest things you'd ever seen, and you couldn't believe you were less than a kilometer away from it. The outside was coated in sleek silver metal, the screws they'd used to hold the thing together imperceptible from where you stood. There were windows scattered symmetrically across the outside, you guessed so people could marvel at the cosmos. As you got closer to the group of people, you realised they didn't seem even half as surprised about being so close to a goddamn rocket as you were. Had you just not gotten the memo?

As if he could sense your unease, Alex came up beside you, practically grinning. It was the happiest you'd seen him; the most emotion you'd ever seen on his face, actually. "Y/N," he said softly. "I'm glad you came."

"That's a fucking rocket," was all you could manage, pointing at the large contraption. "Why is there a rocket? Why does everyone else not seem impressed that you're loading us into a rocket?"

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, muttering, "They're all press. They've been in the know about this whole thing for a while. Sort of, uh, against my will, I suppose." He sighed a little at the thought. "To answer your first question, though, there's a rocket because we're going into space."

You stared at him like he had just deconstructed Einstein's theories in front of you. "Why are we going into space?"

"That's where the hotel is."

"You built a hotel in space?" you all but yelled, making some of the people you now knew were journalists glance over at you.

He shushed you, doing a gesture with his hand and everything. "Yes, it's in space."

"And you didn't think to tell me when you invited me?"

He offered an apologetic smile. "In hindsight, yeah, that was, erm, a bit of a dick move. I'm sorry. But you're here now, yeah? Don't worry, it's all completely safe."

"Alex!" a man yelled from the door into the rocket. Like something out of a film, there was a metal ramp leading up to it. "We're ready to go!"

Alex nodded and headed for the ramp, leaving you absolutely bewildered. He ascended, the metal remaining both motionless and completely silent, then stopped and turned once he reached the top. "Thank you for coming, everyone," he said, needing to speak louder so he could be properly heard from where he stood. "I'm very pleased to have you all here. Once we're all situated on the rocket, we'll be heading up into space. It should take no more than a few days for us to get to the hotel, assuming there are no, um, kinks in the process. Once we get there, you'll all be staying for a week, and then we can come back and you can write your articles, yeah?"

Everyone began to pour into the rocket, and you remained at the back of the group, looking more like a straggler that had managed to sneak into the lot than someone that had been formally invited. When you reached the doorway, Alex smiled sympathetically at you and even gave your shoulder a small squeeze, as if that would make anything better. It didn't, but you appreciated the thought. "I promise it'll be fine," he said softly. "Just stick with me, yeah?"

What were you getting yourself into?

[emperyans]

Can I request a soulmate!AU with a Clark Kent x reader? Where your soul mates name is on your wrist?

I.

Clark Kent.

It shows up sometime around your twelfth birthday. There’s no warning before it happens- you’re absentmindedly eating breakfast one day when you glance at your wrist and all of sudden it’s there, in neat, slanted writing.

You’re at a loss for how to react at first- hell, this is the name of your soulmate. A few minutes are spent staring in awe at the words on your wrist, before the shock falls away and you’re left feeling a little giddy- you finally know their name.

Every advice column ever written about the matter says not to obsess over it, but your pre-teen self can’t help but fixate on the markings whenever they come into your line of sight.

II.

Clark is not a very widespread first name, you discover. It always ranks around the four-hundred mark in popularity polls, both in North America and the UK.

Despite that, you run into a lot of them. Enough for you to begin to suspect that fate is playing a cruel game- really, how many Clarks can one person meet over the course of their lifetime?

To your dismay, you end up hating every single one of them. Thankfully, none of their last names even resemble Kent.

III.

Clark means scholar.

You wonder if he’s the academic type.

A lot of questioning is done on your part when you’re bored and have nothing better to do. Even more so when you're feeling lonely. Is he tall? What’s his favourite colour? Does he enjoy whole-wheat bread?

When you were a teenager, you had decided he was quite possibly going to be the most perfect person on earth. Your best friend at the time had laughed, telling you that no one was perfect.

You’re older, now. And while you no longer think Clark Kent, whoever he is, would be perfect, you still can’t stop yourself from picturing what he might be like after you have a bad day.

IV.

The first time you encounter it, you’re taking the subway home.

The newspaper is discarded on a scratched up subway seat. The headline is something about Lex Luthor - it always is in Metropolis- but that is not what catches your attention.

It’s under the headline, smudged to ruin by the previous reader's fingers. And yet still discernible enough to make your heart beat faster.

By Clark Kent.

V.

Finding out how to contact the newspaper is easy enough. You cant figure out how to reach him, though, and you wonder what the point of modern technology is if you knew someone’s full name yet still had no way of reaching them.

When you call them, the receptionist tells you that Mr. Kent is out. Leave a message.

You give her a reasonably vague excuse to have him contact you, double checking that she has your name written down correctly. There’s a hint in her voice that tells you she suspects what is going on, but she doesn’t comment on it. You’re infinitely thankful.

VI.

By the time you leave work, there’s a missed call and a voicemail left on your phone. You wait until you get home to listen to it, and it’s a smart idea, because you didn’t know you could get this unreasonably anxious just by hearing someone say your name.

“This is Clark. Uh, Clark Kent. I hope- did I say your name right? Never mind- I was hoping we could meet up?”

He’s stumbling over his words and you can’t help but laugh- at least you’re not the only one completely overcome by nerves.

The voicemail ends with an address and a time to meet up (“ That is, if it’s okay with you-“ ) tomorrow.

You send a text confirming that you’ll be there.

VII.

You’re at the designated meeting place- one of Metropolis’ many parks. How they manage to put them in a city with such high density is beyond you- still, you weren’t here to question their urban planning prowess.

You swear you can feel him before you see him.

The first thing you notice is how tall he is. Very, very tall. He’s dressed in a dark grey suit- carrying a briefcase, clearly having just gotten done with work. It’s not what you imagined- yet somehow, it’s better than anything you’ve ever dreamt up.

He has glasses, you note. They have the effect of making him look impossibly endearing.

You’re not aware you’re gaping at him until he says your name.

“Nice to meet you, Clark.” It’s hard to keep the grin off your face. “You’re saying it right, by the way.” You stick your hand out for a handshake, making sure to angle it so the words on your wrist are visible.

He takes it, a smile playing at his lips. Warmth envelops your hand immediately. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

[ladykailitha]

All My Roads Lead Back to You Part 2

We get to see a little bit more about the work Dustin and Steve do and Steve gets the shock of his life.

Part 1

***

Steve loved his job and getting to work with his best friend made it all the more awesome. Thankfully his Platonic soulmate wasn’t around to hear him say that.

But she was coming to visit this weekend and that was always made for a great time.

He stopped by the development team to say hi.

“Dusty!” he greeted warmly. “Hey, man! What’s up?”

Dustin gave him a hug. “Hey! I didn’t know you’d be in today. How’s my favorite god daughter?”

Steve laughed. “Don’t let Lily Byers hear you say that.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Well considering she’s in China with her badass parents at the moment, she’ll never know.”

Steve batted his eyelashes at innocently.

“Right, Steve?” Dustin asked. “She’ll never know, because you won’t tell her, right?”

Steve held out for two seconds longer. “Of course not. Her mother still carries that Russian pistol of hers. I’m not about to start beef between the two girls.”

Dustin just shook his head. “I always thought it was interesting that the only ones of our Party to have girls was you and Nancy and Jonathan.”

“As Max would say, ‘too many boys’,” Steve agreed. “Like she didn’t have three of her own.”

“All tall with red hair and freckles,” Dustin said.

“My daughter is doing just fine,” Steve murmured. “She’s finally found a replacement for Lauren in her band.”

Dustin smiled. “That’s great. They come up with a name yet?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope. I think right now they’ve been calling themselves The Band.”

“Ouch.”

“So the real reason for this visit is...” Steve said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously, “I was wondering if you had ear plugs I could use for their practice. I know I can just turn off my aid, but that does jack shit for my right ear.”

Dustin laughed. “Yeah, man. I’ve got you covered.” He went over to the design table and picked up a small grey box. He turned and handed it to Steve.

“They’re smooth with a flared base so they’ll slot gently into the canal,” Dustin explained. “You’d have to take out your aid or you just use the one. It’s up to you.”

Steve weighed them appreciatively. “Thanks, Dusty.”

“No problem,” he said with a grin. “I can’t imagine having to listen to a bunch of teenagers playing their instruments badly for a couple of hours.”

Steve grimaced. “What’s worse is that they haven’t figured out their style yet, so it’s a discordant mess of genres.”

Dustin made a face. “That’s rough, man.”

“How are you and Suzie getting along these days?” Steve asked gently.

Dustin sighed. “It’s official, she can’t have kids.”

Steve winced. “Even with in vitro?

“Yeah,” he replied mournfully. “We’re thinking adopting next.”

Steve nodded. “Let me know if you guys need anything right?” He squeezed Dustin’s arm in sympathy.

Dustin nodded.

Steve said goodbye and got back to work. He put the ear plugs in his briefcase so he wouldn’t forget to take them home. He shook his head. All his life he fought hard against being a business man like his dad. But it turns out that he’s good at it. Damn good at it.

He signed good morning to his receptionist, Vanessa.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, her voice a little off, the way it can some times get when you can’t hear yourself. “You have your ten o’clock appointment in fifteen minutes, but your lunch meeting canceled. Death in the family.”

Steve sighed. He signed back, “Send flowers and condolences and see if they want to reschedule. We need their micro chips.”

Vanessa saluted smartly and Steve flipped her off. He walked into his office and flopped into his chair with a sigh. He loved Vanessa. She had been with him since he went public with his hearing loss.

They had a great professional relationship and her husband, Nick loved Steve, too. He would tease her that he love Steve more than her and swore that he got Steve if they ever divorced.

Nick was hearing but his parents weren’t and that’s why Nick was Steve’s personal sign interpreter for his clients. Because Steve couldn’t be everywhere and he employed a lot of HOH and deaf people. Which he had gotten flak for when they first started. How would a deaf person be valuable to an audio company? And that was one of the reasons, Steve had come out as hard of hearing.

Because Steve was the reason S&D existed at all. As at the time he found out about his hearing loss, even the best hearing aids at the time were bulky, had a tinny quality to them, and were prohibitively expensive.

So of course big brained Dustin Henderson looked at them and said, “I could do better than that with a box of scraps in my mom’s basement.” And did. But the other thing Dustin was and still is, was mouthy. He couldn’t get investors to pay attention because he would end up getting mad and storm out.

Which is where Steve came in. He could sweet talk anyone. Was kinda famous for it, in fact.

There was a knock on his door and he looked over at the phone on his desk. It was flashing red. His appointment was here.

Steve stood up and greeted them with his most charming Harrington smile.

“Thank you for coming in today,” he said brightly. “Shall we get started?”

*

Steve got home from work to find Edith already home and doing her school work.

“Hey, sweetie,” he said kissing the top of her head. “How was school?”

“Hey, Dad,” she greeted. “It was okay. Algebra should be banned from schools forever.”

Steve got out a pitcher of water from the fridge and poured himself a glass. “Still having trouble with it?”

Edith sighed. “Yeah. It’s such a pain in the ass.”

“What did I tell you about swearing?” Steve asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Not until I’m an adult and not until I’ve moved out,” she grumbled. “Which ever comes last.”

Steve grinned. “Good girl. It’s more about trying to teach you that there are some places that won’t let you swear, like at certain places of business. And getting used to curbing your language will help with that.”

She sighed dramatically. “I know.”

He ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head again. “Your band coming over tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said. “If that’s alright? I know you said only once a week but we need to make sure that garage will be okay to practice in.”

Steve laughed. “I’m aware.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “Like you know what being in a band is like.”

He swatted at her. “I know you think I live under a rock but I had friend that was in a band before I married your mother.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Are they famous?”

“No,” Steve said solemnly. “Their bus rolled over and killed their bassist before they got the chance.”

Edith’s eyes went wide. “You mean like Metallica?!”

That startled Steve out of his funk. “Yeah, like Metallica, only not. Because they decided that they couldn’t continue without their friend and hung it all up.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “I’m not sure I would have been able to go on playing if Mandy or Kenny died.”

He nodded. “Just let me know if you guys need anything.”

“Will do!”

*

Steve could hear the band tuning their instruments and smiled. He paused. His face felt tight around his eyes and that wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t want a migraine at his little girl’s first band practice here at the house. That would be bad.

He took some Ibuprofen and hoped that would stave it off long enough until practice was over.

He then went out to the garage to say hi to everyone. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and his heart plummeted to his stomach. Standing there tuning a guitar Steve knew better than his own god damn name was a young man of about sixteen or seventeen with dark curly brown hair that fell about to his chin, big brown eyes and dimples in his cheeks.

“Dad!” Edith cried out. “Hey I want you to meet someone.”

Steve somehow managed to walk over to Edith’s friend. “Hey,” he greeted lamely.

He couldn’t remember if Dustin had said if Eddie had a kid. But this boy couldn’t be anyone else’s.

“H-man,” she said excitedly. “This is my dad, Steve Harrington.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said and Steve stomach dropped out further. His voice was almost the same, too.

“Dad, this is Harri Munson,” Edith said. “Mostly we call him H-man.”

Munson. There it was. There was no doubt now. This was Eddie Munson’s boy. The swooping feeling in his stomach became a roar.

“I met him in art class about a month ago,” she continued happily. “I learned he played guitar and I told him about our band and he was super excited to join. Which was great because after Lauren’s backstabbing–”

“Migraine,” he managed to croak to Edith before he dashed off.

Edith grimaced. “Sorry you had to see that. My dad gets migraines sometimes and I guess today is one of them. Poor bastard.”

Harri winced. “My papa used to get migraines, too. That sucks. Are we going to be able to still practice?”

Edith nodded. “Yeah, he said it would be fine. We just can’t turn up the sound to eleven.”

Harri laughed. “Gotcha.”

“You gonna need a ride home after?” Edith asked, not seeing a car.

“Nah,” Harri said. “My dad wants to meet your dad. Make sure I’m not going to get murdered or kidnapped or whatever.”

Edith rolled her eyes. “I know how that is. My dad is super protective too. Like I swear he went through major trauma he refuses to tell me about.”

Harri nodded. “Stupid NDAs is all Dad will say when I ask.”

“Yes! My dad, too!”

They both laughed.

The band started playing and about half way through they decided to stop and take a break.

Just then a car pulled up. It was slick black muscle car that made Mandy, the band’s resident gearhead whistle long and low.

“Who’s honey child is that?” she asked appreciatively.

Harri raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s my dad’s car.”

Edith frowned. “He’s not here to pick you up yet, right?”

Harri shook his head. “No, like I said he wanted to meet your dad.”

She nodded.

***

Part 3  Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10 Part 11  Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Epilogue

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk​ @trashpocket @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @mightbeasleep @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @steddie-as-they-go @lillemilly @callas-shitshow @bisexualdisastersworld @renaissan-vvitch

[marbleboa]

Out of all the possible options for Sakurai post-Claw I am always absolutely delighted by the comedy in the Smilemart decision. Just like. Imagine you are the manager at this convenience store. Many of your previous hires are older teens or college students just looking to make some money part time. The most severe looking man in a suit walks in for an interview like he took a wrong turn on the way to the corporate office.

He opens his very official looking briefcase retrieve his resume, upon catching a glimpse of the inside you see that was the only thing in there. The resume in question is well laid out design-wise but after a moment you realize there is just a single job listed. When asked he provides a well-spoken response on his focused work ethic and experience in a position of management—however, it’s so vague you still can’t quite figure out what exactly this job was. He apparently never finished middle school. Strange as the whole situation seems to be you give him a shot and even while he never loses that odd intensity of his he quickly ends up being the most hard working employee you’ve ever had.

[mlmxreader]

Securing Reservations | Billy Butcher x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ heyyy bud, is me Aldo on a brand new blog and I have a request :]

If you could write the prompt "Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now you fucking stupid bastard! You fucking bastard!" Whit Billy Butcher from the boys and an m!reader I would absolutely adore that!

Like maybe getting kicked out of a restaurant somehow or just him arguing whit somebody about restaurant reservations, also some soothing from the reader afterwards, anything unhinged and possibly gore-y is welcomed :]

Have a nice night too! - @slutordo ❞

: ̗̀➛ getting reservations for swank restaurants is a ball ache, but when it comes to you, Butcher is at least willing to try... however that looks.

: ̗̀➛ eyeball gore, gore, fighting, swearing, smoking

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You and Billy had decided a while ago that Sundays would be your date nights, as usually, there wasn’t much going on those days and it tended to be a lot quieter than normal; you both took turns planning where you would go and when, and while his ideas were often relatively small and intimate, yours weren’t exactly huge and extravagant either.

The biggest thing that the two of you ever did for date night was when you had had the idea of going into the city centre to check out the holiday markets that were littered along the high street; stalls adorned with various cheeses and chocolates and beers, clothing and jewellery, different little trinkets as well as every form of media from old school vinyls to blu-ray DVDs.

Billy wasn’t huge on the big and flashy, the lavish and luxurious; a pint down the pub and a takeaway chip shop meal would do just fine and he could grin and brag about it for the next week.

Yet, he knew that you deserved better than that; he scrimped and saved and skimped whatever he could, knowing that you deserved better than a pint down the pub and some shit Chinese takeaway.

He was trying his best, for fuck’s sake.

It was Saturday night, when Billy found a fancy restaurant that was taking cash reservations, but there were only a select few left, and the queue consisted of him and some fucking Vought cunt who proudly wore the company’s name on his briefcase beside his full name - Sean Patrick Bale; Billy clenched his jaw, eyeing him up.

He was muscular in build, but the type of muscle that was lended more to starvation and constant exercise rather than actual strength; neatly styled dark brown hair that came down to his white shirt collar; hazel eyes that were full of malice and contempt.

He wore a long black coat that went down to his calves, designer black shoes, designer black blazer, designer black trousers. Designer white shirt. Designer red tie with a subtle white pattern.

Billy knew the type, shallow and all shout flaunting Daddy’s money; he knew the type, middle class White men from suburbia who got into the big business because Daddy got him a high position job.

The type of cunt who went to that type of restaurant frequently; clearing his throat, Billy dared to approach, tapping him on the shoulder as he smiled falsely.

“Sean!” He hoped he sounded friendly enough as he leaned back slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Sean looked disgusted, sneering at Billy as he scoffed. “Who are you?”

Billy grinned, licking his lips. “Y’know, Donald! From accounting!”

Sean rolled his eyes, he never much cared about those on the floors beneath his office, so he sighed, and upon realising there were other people around, forced himself to smile. “Right! How could I ever forget! I’m so sorry, Donald! What are you doing here?”

Gotcha. Billy did his best not to laugh as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, smiling. “Well, I was just gonna book a reservation for me and my… partner.”

Don’t be too obvious, Butcher. He knew what Sean was like, the contempt held for anyone different. He had to watch his fucking mouth, but Sean merely shrugged as he nodded slowly. 

“What a coincidence,” Sean hummed. “So am I.”

“Tell you what,” Billy hummed, taking a quick look around. “Why don’t we got a smoke, eh? Only us two here, anyway.”

Sean was apprehensive, but shrugged as he followed Billy into the alleyway; the fucking cunt kept muttering under his breath about how much he hated to spend time with underlings, and once the two were well out of earshot and eyesight, Sean sneered at Billy once again. 

“Look, man, I’m not in any position to fucking promote scum like you,” he started, “and I’m certainly not going to fucking promote someone who dresses like he hasn’t seen an iron in years… do you even summer outside of the State? No. You’re just a-”

Billy didn’t hesitate, grabbing the back of Sean’s head and slamming it against the nearest wall; the bloody imprint stayed there as Billy dragged Sean’s face up and down the harsh bricks, slowly grating away the sloughing skin right down to the muscle.

But Billy wasn’t done, putting Sean on the floor and straddling his waist; he brought his fist up, slamming it down against his face again and again and again until he could hear the crunch of teeth falling from gums. The grinding of bone.

But the cunt was still breathing, so Billy pulled the knife from his back pocket, and shoved the blade into Sean’s eye; he could feel it pop as it deflated upon the blade, blood and fluid spurting as he dragged the knife out before slamming it into the other eye. He grinned as the blood spat upon his face. 

“Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now you fucking stupid bastard!” Billy howled, plunging the knife into Sean’s throat and dragging it down to his sternum. “You fucking bastard!”

Panting heavily, Billy got up, and wiped the blood from his face on the back of his leather jacket before he went back to the restaurant; the only one in the queue, he managed to get the very last one available, and relief crashed over him like wildfire as he smiled calmly.

He checked his phone, and nearly grinned when he realised that he had a text from you asking to meet at the end of the street; a slight skip in his step, he was surprised when you prevented him from hugging you, tilting his head and furrowing his brows. 

“What’d I do?”

You gestured to the wet patch on his leather jacket, daring to smile a little. “Care to explain?”

Billy shrugged, lighting up a cigarette and offering one to you. “Nothin’ really, just some cunt from Vought got in me way.”

“Billy,” you gently took his hand, examining his knuckles. “Look at your hand, love.”

He did as told, his gaze dropping to his knuckles for a moment before he opened his mouth to speak; but he knew that you were already a step ahead, as usual and as always, so he just raised his brow slightly, and frowned. “What?”

“I appreciate what you did,” you said soothingly, shaking your head before pressing a kiss to his bloodied and bruised knuckles. “But you don’t have to get violent, y’know. I would’ve been okay to have gone anywhere else.”

Billy scoffed, taking a step back as he lit up the two cigarettes. “Would you, though?”

You nodded, taking a long drag as you hummed. “Bills, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy to be and do whatever the fuck. I do not give a pig’s tit, as long as I’m with you.”

“I got the reservation.”

You grinned, doing your best not to laugh as you shook your head so fondly. “Fuck’s sake… you’re a nightmare, y’know, my favourite fucking nightmare.”

At that, Billy grinned. He knew that he had done right by you, and if he was honest?

The fight had taken a lot of the frustrations of the week from him as well; he was just about ready to take you home, to spend the night doing whatever you liked, and then getting to bed quite early.

He wasn’t so tense about everything, and he wasn’t so on edge either. But then he looked into your eyes, and even more of that tension dropped as he gently reached for your hand and held it rather tightly; not enough to make you uncomfortable, but enough that you would know he was actually listening, and that he did actually want you to open your mouth.

“You’re too good for me,” he told you. “Y’know that, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes at the remark. “Billy. I’m your boyfriend. As far as I’m concerned? We’re good enough for each other as long as we’re happy.”

[softly-potter]

Last Forever

Summary: Weiss is sick and hospitalized, and her wife pays her a visit.

Inspired by the series finale of How I Met Your Mother

Pairing: Ruby X Weiss

Word Count: 1,123

Warning: brief description of illness

A/N: Since every character in RWBY is named after a fairytale, I made Arial after Ariel in 'The Little Mermaid' and Gothic after Mother Gothial in 'Tangeled' :)

-

Ruby hated hospitals.

Since a young age, she couldn't stand them, ever since she went to visit her sister after Yang had fallen during soccer practice and broken her arm. Yang had to spend nearly a week in the ER, and Summer had dutifully brought Ruby to visit a few times. The place was stony, smelling of bleach and stale bread, and the nurses were always on the verge of shouting expletives at everyone in their field of vision. The machines were making a constant sound, each other differing from one another, and doors all looked the same aside from the names tagged on the plastic holder, repeating down a seemingly never ending hallway.

Ruby had hated every second of it.

Now, she didn’t mind them so much, aside from the plastic holder.

The smell of bleach meant that Weiss’s room was clean. The cranky nurses meant that she was being taken care of when Ruby was caught up with work or with the kids. The beeps on the machines meant that Weiss was still alive, still clinging to health with the assistance of technology.

The plastic holder with their last name in it meant Weiss was still sick.

Gripping her briefcase with her right hand, Ruby opened the door with her left, making sure the smile on her face was still intact. From her bed, Weiss stared out the window, her blue eyes unfocused and her hands limp at her sides. When she heard the door, she turned her head, and a little bit of life came back to her eyes as she spotted Ruby.

“Hi honey, how was work?”

The question was a simple one, as if this is how their days had always ended, Ruby visiting the hospital after getting off of work, but it brings tears to her eyes because that is not how their days had ended.

It used to be that Ruby would enter the bustle of their busy home, scoop up their daughters and listen to them recount their days as she unwound. After freshening up, Ruby used to help Weiss set the table for dinner, and they would all sit together as they ate, Arial and Gothial chattering away.

It seemed so long ago, how had it only been a few months that all that had changed?

“It was work,” Ruby sighed, putting her briefcase down to lean against the edge of Weiss’s hospital bed. “But I did sign off on the plans for that new building so we’re making headway.”

Sitting down on her designated chair, Ruby scooted it forward just a bit, and laced her hands with Weiss’s. Weiss squeezed it, and Ruby ignored how weak her wife’s grip felt. “That's wonderful, Rose.”

Ruby grinned, casting her eyes down. She couldn't help it, that nickname always invoked a schoolgirl emotion that made her head spin.

Looking up, Ruby raised a brow. “Harass any nurses today?”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “I can't help it if I know how to do their job better than them.”

“True, but it is their job, not yours.” Ruby countered and Weiss shrugged with a grin, and then her eyes narrowed.

“They’re disappearing.” Weiss said softly, her face changing to a frown.

“The nurses?”

“No.” Weiss replied, and turned her neck, looking away. “Your smile lines. I always…loved those about you. And they’re fading.”

Ruby inhaled sharply, squeezing Weiss’s hand.

They’re quiet for a moment, aside from the gentle beep of her breathing machine and Ruby allowed her eyes to wander over Weiss’s neck and face.

In the past few months, Weiss had lost a substantial amount of weight and it was beginning to be apparent, the tendons in her neck straining, her jaw sharper, her eyes deeper.

“I’ll bring Arial and Gothial to visit tomorrow,” Ruby said, hoping to put Weiss in a better mood. “Think it’d do them some good.”

Without opening her eyes, Weiss nodded. “Please do. I miss them.”

Ruby nodded, raised Weiss’s hand to her mouth and began to press feather light kisses to her knuckles. Weiss gave a little sigh, the sound one of contentment, and she turned her head back to Ruby.

“I’m a little tired,” She whispered. “If I fall asleep, can you turn the light out?”

“Of course.” Ruby replied, and Weiss gave her a thin smile before shutting her eyes once more.

Pressing another kiss on Weiss’s thumb, Ruby squeezed her eyes shutting, willing herself not to cry.

Crying didn't help. Crying didn’t make Weiss better.

Instead, Ruby gently placed Weiss’s hand down, before taking out her wife’s favorite book from her briefcase. Clearing her throat, Ruby began to read, keeping her voice low, pressing her thumb between the pages.

Weiss opened her eyes, her pale lips forming into a smile as she listened before closing once more, inhaling through her nose.

As Ruby read, she held Weiss by the wrist, her fingers encircling her wife’s easily.

 Eventually her breathing shifted deeper, and Ruby knew Weiss was asleep. She closed the book, dog-earring the page, and placed it back in her briefcase.

Standing, she gripped the metal pull of the lamp before looking down at Weiss’s sleeping form, and letting out a soft hum.

“You’re still pretty,” Ruby murmured, and pulled the light switch. “So so pretty.”

Bending, she pressed a long kiss to Weiss’s forehead, before collecting her items and quietly leaving the hospital.

-

“How was she today?” Yang asked, putting another clean dish onto the dry rack. Ruby sat on the island chairs, her legs crossed at the ankles.

“Tired,” Ruby said honestly. “She just seemed really drained, Yang.”

Yang gave a sad expression and turned off the water faucet, coming around the table and putting her arm across Ruby's shoulders in a side hug.

“Weiss is strong.” Yang said, giving Ruby a little shake.

“I know, I know,” Ruby said with a slight wave of her hand. She had heard this all before, especially when Weiss had first gotten sick. “Thanks again for watching the kids.”

“Of course,” Yang said and returned to the sink. “They’re only little terrors when they’re awake.” Ruby exhaled in agreement, and Yang began to wash another plate. “Besides, if Weiss is anything like those kids, she’s gonna be fine.”

Ruby smiled. “She said she missed them today.”

Yang raised a brow with a knowing grin. “See? Told ya.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, picking up a fork and made an attempt to eat the food in front of her, pushing the broccoli around her plate.

“She has to,” Ruby said quietly, and over the running water, Yang couldn’t hear her. She placed a fork full in her mouth, swallowing, before adding in an even lower tone. “We’re meant to last forever.”

[gamercats-fight]

Morgana from Person 5 vs Krampy from Cattails: Wildwood Story. Vote for your fav!!

Need help picking? Check down here!

Morgana - P-Studio - 2016 - Anthropomorphic tuxedo cat:

-If we’re including his abilities in Mementos/Palaces then he has a clear advantage of being able to use his persona to cast spells as well as fight. He also uses a curved sword and a slingshot. If hurt he also has healing spells. His appearance in this form is mascot-esque, but don’t let his big head fool you—he’s quite agile. Having a persona at all grants the wielder extreme abilities. Fast enough to dodge lightning, take incredible damage and even able to fight against gods. This strength is only granted in places they can summon their persona, i.e. not the real world.

Even in his cat form while in the real world, he is extremely dexterous: able to pick locks. He’s also taken a kick from a guy and having a metal briefcase land directly on his head following a bit of a fall. Not altogether impressive but still something for a cat to endure. He’s also smarter than the average cat, giving him a nice advantage.

He does eventually become human in Persona 5 Royal, but is just a cat at the end of the original game.

-He can turn into a car and run over any competition. He’s a master thief and fought god once. Also he has a slingshot.

-1: THIS CAT IS A HEALER! He gets the best healing spell in the entire game and when I got it on him, I don't think he ever left my party

2: THIS CAT CARES ABOUT YOUR HEALTH AND WELL BEING! It's become a meme at this point, but Mona wants you to go to sleep >:(

(P5 Spoilers Beyond this Point)

3: THIS CAT IS THE COLLECTIVE HOPE OF HUMMANITY! It's explained late game, but Morgana was created through the last scraps of humanities hope against the false god that the party eventually fights

4: THIS CAT EXPOSED A MURDERER! Its not important but the scene IS funny so I feel obligated to mention it.

THIS CAT IS YOUR BUDDY AND I LOVE HIM AND WILL DEFEND HIM WITH MY DYING BREATH!!!!

-Everyone hates him for the stupid “go to sleep” mechanic + some of his issues with another character but he’s such a good boy i love him so much. he’s always with you, helping you out and supporting you! plus he’s so little brother coded oh my god. baby. baby boy. spoilers for p5: also he’s literally the manifestation of hope like guys. hope is a cat. hope is stored in the cat.

Krampy - Falcon Development - 2023 - Gray tabby medicine cat

-He's so autism

-Cattails is like Stardew Valley for warrior cat fans, and Krampy is a fan favorite for several good reasons. He's a kind of eccentric medieval doctor who also has trouble relating to other cats because of his weird experiments and love of leeches, but that passion also makes him very charming as a character. He's got a tendency to ramble and tell long stories and is just really wholesome all around. Also he wears a plague doctor mask which is just a really cool design choice.

-The iconic doctor of the Mystic Colony. Who doesn't want a medicine cat with a plague mask?? And they are a real character too. Some of their best quotes:

"“Actually, I don't believe we've been introduced. I am Krampy the doctor, and don't worry! I am not a bird. Although when I had that concussion, I did think I was... ... What was I saying again?"

“Greetings young kitten. Do you mind if I put leeches on your tail? It's for science. And, I think it would be funny. Or I could do it to myself... But then what will I do tomorrow?"

“I think you should wear a beaky mask, it will protect you in this world. I wish not to see my friends hurt. Although that is bad for business... bit of a double-edged sword. Don’t get hurt too often!”

“You have the worst-smelling miasma I have ever smelled! I can smell you from miles away! Why don't you roll in some garbage? - It can only improve your odor, and you end up where you belong!"

[alicewhimzy]

My Dad and I like to talk about a lot of stuff. One of the things he's been fascinated by is media transmutability and using existing media to make new things. One example he mentioned is "This Spartan Life", a talk show done in the first person shooter Halo 2. This reminded me of the many many animations that many many creators have made over the years out of a game I've liked for a while and unfortunately have only recently been able to start playing; Team Fortress 2. One film in particular stuck out in my mind. I brought it up, we discussed it and after a while he agreed to watch it with me. That was a week or so ago.

🪚🩺🩸

Last night I watched Emesis Blue with my Dad. He was a bit surprised at how little dialogue there was but overall we both really liked it. The stylized design of the nine mercs and the other models works in this film's favor, giving the film a sense of identity that a more conventional live action film wouldn't have. It reminded my dad of the comic Sin City. It is a story with quite a lot of violence, which I think is to be expected considering what it's based on, but even then, it's not gratuitous, not much you wouldn't see in the game proper. It's in support of the plot, and even if there's not as much dialogue as other films, the visual storytelling makes up for it. Also the references to other horror works such as the shining are a nice touch.

One element I like in particular is the fact that the film misleads us so well. At first it seems to be a standard noir outing, especially regarding the storyline of Jacques and Columbo. There's a short fight and a mcguffin in a briefcase is introduced. But once we reach Conagher Slaughterhouse, there's an uncanny eerieness that quickly comes over the audience and never really leaves. We have no way of knowing how much of what we see is real or not, and neither do the characters involved, and nowhere is this doubt in reality shown more prevalently and brilliantly than in Dr. Fritz Ludwig.

Of all the stories told about the tf2 Medic I think this is the greatest I've ever seen. In game, Medic is famous, or infamous, depending on perspective, for being not quite all there in the sanity department. The kind of person who will brag about stealing someone's skeleton. The kind of person who can and has performed soul-transplantation multiple times. The kind of person who will casually mention implanting someone with a fully functioning baboon uterus pregnant with triplets, only a slight exaggeration. He's crazy, he knows it and we love him for it. In Emesis Blue however, this component of the Medic's character, the concept of being mentally unwell, is shown with care and nuance. He is never referred to by his class, but instead has the full name, Dr. Fritz Ludwig. This well-meaning but unstable man is put on a downward track from the moment we first see him, by forces he can neither understand nor control. He blames himself for Jeremy's kidnapping and later death, and wants to find a way to save or at least avenge him or redeem himself. But once he does so and the brothers are dead, his hope is only to survive. Every time he must fight for his life it deeply affects him as he is faced with unbelievable hallucinations. Is it some twisted effect the malfunctioning respawn machine is having on the world around it, or is it his own sanity slowly abandoning him. We see other characters hallucinating, but him? He has no idea. Fritz is constantly fighting a losing war with his own troubled mind, and the situation he's stuck in and trying so hard to get out of is only making it worse, as he gets closer and closer to what the enigmatic undertaker in black has already become. An unstoppable undying force of violence. Not even the others are safe from this, as Jeremy, Stalingrad, Mundy and Jacques clearly show.

Oddly enough however, the film ends on a somewhat bittersweet, if not uplifting note. The two timing schemer Archibald is dead, so is that asshole Jacques, and with no one else to run the company and its involvement in the gravel war coming to light, it's clear that it's going to crash and burn. Good riddance. Mr. Doe survives and makes it out of the funeral alive, secure in the knowledge that many, if not all crimes against him and the other mercs will finally come to light. Fritz is the last one holding the briefcase and even gets to finally reconcile with Jeremy at Dell's bar in the afterlife, even if he respawns one last time soon after. But by far the greatest thing about this film, and the thing that made up for the minimal dialogue for my dad, is the atmosphere.

The atmosphere is nothing short of mesmerizing, there's very little music, only just enough to supplement the tone in a few scenes. All other times the ambient sounds of the environment are all the scene needs to establish how creepy, surreal or hopeless the tone of a scene is. The nigh-omnipresent contrast of red and blue throughout this film, directly calling back to the opposing teams and their perpetual pointless war, is employed to masterful effect, whether to indicate a turning point in a scene, or to illustrate how conflicted a character is. It's simple, maybe even a bit obvious, but it's great nonetheless.

More than anything, watching this film feels like descending into madness in a way that I personally haven't seen an animated film do before now. The feeling that you have while watching Emesis Blue is like swallowing a hungry parasite, and I mean that in the best possible way. It comes upon you slowly but surely, you almost don't perceive it, and by the time you do, it's already got its fangs into you. It nestles deep inside your brain and squirms there long after the credits have run, so that hours later, awake in your bed, you're still thinking about it. Visceral. Terrifying. Beautiful.

Emesis Blue is a modern work of art. My dad thought it was a bit lacking in the script department, but I loved it. If you like your horror with existentialism, surrealism and lots of guns, then I recommend you check it out. It's available on YouTube and I only hope that Fortress Films projects will continue to entertain us in the future. Until next time, how long have I been waiting to do this one?

~A.W.

[non-plutonian-druid]

some miscellaneous otgw au remnants to wrap up halloween season for this year, including: girl on a bike (featuring the best and only bike ive ever drawn), five with a gazelle mask to blend in with the commission assassins who are all Just Actual Animals in this au, and an alternate AJ design

[ID: Three drawings of characters from The Umbrella Academy in the style of Over the Garden Wall. The first is the girl on a bike, who is a sepia-tinted grayscale except for her red nose. The second is of commission-era Five, wearing a suit and a large gazelle mask and holding a briefcase and an ax. The third is of A.J. Carmichael seated at a desk, except instead of being a fish in a bowl piloting a human body, he is an anthropomorphic fish with a large fish head staring upward where his fish bowl normally is. End ID.]

[feedingtheflockministry]

The Testimony of Khalil (a former terrorist for Islam)

Love it that Jesus still makes appearances to this day. He is so gentle and kindhearted to those He appears to. Hope you all enjoy this short 30 minute film. I sure did.

Story:

Khalil started memorizing the Qur’an at an early age and developed what he called a “love for the word of God.” As he grew older, his views hardened into a radical form of Islam and he joined an Islamic group. He engaged in terrorist acts designed to overthrow the Egyptian government, and for a time received military training in a remote, desert area of Yemen.

The group’s Emir, however, eventually came to the conclusion that a military option was not practical in achieving their aims against Christian missionaries. The Emir, instead, proposed an intellectual approach. He assigned Khalil the task of writing a book that would discredit Christianity by exposing the Bible as a corrupted text and revealing the passages in the Bible that foretell of the Prophet Mohammed. Khalil was repulsed by the idea that he would have to read the Bible as part of his research, but eventually took on the job at the Emir’s insistence.

When he had completed reading the Bible and cross-referencing it with numerous texts from the Qur’an (as well as commentaries on the Qur’an), Khalil discovered the Bible was neither inaccurate nor corrupted. Furthermore, he found no mention of the Prophet Mohammed, and he discovered the Qur’an itself acknowledges that Isa (Jesus), the Messiah, is God.

Growing doubts now made Khalil’s life miserable. He had always loved Islam and had always believed the only way to God was through the Prophet Mohammed. But now he asked: If Jesus and God are one, then who is the Prophet Mohammed and what is the way to heaven? Khalil began to put his thoughts on paper. He knew his conclusions were not what the Emir would want to hear, but his honest enquiry offered no alternatives.

One day, the Emir came to visit Khalil in his house and discovered the manuscript, which Khalil had entitled “Is the Qur’an God’s Word?” The Emir was shocked at Khalil’s premise, and especially his conclusions regarding Jesus. He threatened to kill him if he ever shared his heretical ideas with another Muslim. As far as the Emir was concerned, Khalil had become a kafir (infidel).

Khalil, however, could not deny his growing conviction that Christianity was the way to God. He began to cautiously seek out Christian acquaintances at work, hoping to learn more about their faith. One day, as he placed a phone call to one such friend from a café, his briefcase was stolen. The bag contained his manuscript, Bible and identity card. Khalil rushed home, troubled and tormented. Alone in his room, he repented for daring to think the Prophet Mohammed was not sent from God and the Qur’an was not the Word of God. He knelt on his prayer mat only to discover that he could not say his prayers or utter one word of the Qur’an. Instead, he prayed in his own words—from the heart—asking God to show him the truth.

That night, Khalil fell into a deep sleep. In a dream, a man came to him and told him he was the one for whom Khalil had been searching. He also told Khalil to read the Book (the Bible). Khalil said he loved the Book, but had lost it, to which the man replied, “The Book cannot be lost. Stand up and open your closet. You will find it there.”

Khalil awoke from the dream, got out of bed and opened his closet door. His Bible was inside on a shelf. Khalil hurried to his mother’s room, woke her up and begged her forgiveness for his years of harsh treatment. As the sun rose that morning, he went outside, greeting friends and strangers alike. He sought out the Christian owners of businesses whom he had robbed or mistreated, and begged their forgiveness, too.

Over the ensuing months, Khalil grew in his faith, gradually winning the trust of local Christians and finding fellowship at a church where he was baptized in water. He has braved persecution but is convinced that no price is too great to pay for the joy of serving the One who gave everything for him.

[reginaldqueribundus]

I watched Goncharov 2 so you wouldn't have to

I love seeing Goncharov have this weird renaissance on tumblr. It’s like when we all decided to get collectively obsessed with Dracula and the Epic of Gilgamesh. but did you know there's a sequel??

granted it's pretty obscure, like Eighties Bulgarian Treasure Planet levels of obscure, but you can actually watch the whole thing on YouTube for free. I can't even find the original poster, just this shitty DVD cover from Amazon:

FUN FACTS ABOUT GONCHAROV 2

released in 1985, long after anybody would've given a shit about the original

features none of the original cast (except, weirdly enough, the guy playing Andrey's driver, despite Andrey himself being absent)

SOMEHOW passes the Bechdel test

was apparently produced by Benito Mussolini's kid???

the movie starts with a weird, pointless nightclub scene with a ton of characters who get shot dead and are never seen again. it went on for so long I genuinely started thinking this was a Troll 2 situation, where somebody slapped completely unrelated movie's name on this for free clout; but no, this is actually supposed to be a sequel! the plot is that Goncharov's brother, who is also called Goncharov, just wants to sell flowers in Milan but his uncle Vladimir Espinoza (lmao) finds him and drags him off to fight a Galician crime lord named Iago for reasons that aren't clearly explained (and shamelessly rip off the Rocky training montage while they're at it). His Designated Love Interest™ is “Marina”, (imagine a Costco knockoff of Sofia with way more cleavage), whose job is to get kidnapped a lot. She sadly doesn’t get any sapphic undertones aside from a couple weirdly horny scenes with a nameless assassin masseuse who is inexplicably called “the Algerian” despite being portrayed by a Japanese actress (yikes).

The dialogue is so truly awful I strongly suspect English was not the writer's first language. At one point Uncle Vladimir tells his nephew to “gouge out their livers like a beak of the mad kestrel”. I'm 100% certain the guy playing him was hired for his weird resemblance to Al Pacino and not any acting talent; he delivers every line like there's a gun to his head but he also swallowed 30 Ambien. Iago is supposedly Spanish(?) but played by one of the whitest guys I've ever seen (Xander Crane, who has an objectively cooler name than his actual character — dude sounds like a Bond villain). He does a godawful fake accent and keeps accenting the wrong syllables. The part where he screams GON-CHAAAAAA-ROV!! has to be seen to be believed. The mangled English also makes the torture scene unintentionally hilarious, especially when Iago asks “Are you trying to f**k me?” and creates 20x more gay vibes than every Andrey/Goncharov scene combined.

some moments (ex. not-Sofia and Uncle Vlad keep mentioning Katya, but they talk about her like she was this Goncharov's lover) makes me wonder if they started the screenplay before watching Goncharov 1 all the way through, and it was supposed to be about OG Goncharov but they had to quickly rewrite it to be his brother instead. I really hope that's true cuz it would be hilarious and explain why they made a sequel to a movie where most of the characters die at the end.

Aside from (holy shit) Val Kilmer as one of Iago's bodyguards, no one involved with this film has worked on anything else you've ever heard of. The writer isn't even listed on IMDb, and Giuseppe Stromboli's entire filmography consists of this, a kids' cartoon called Spaghetti Briefcase and a bunch of weird Italian chewing gum commercials (which are also on YouTube btw). Matteo JWHJ pops up in the credits as a producer so I can only assume he was desperate for cash.

so yeah. Goncharov 2 is objectively terrible and problematic and lacking in gay vibes or juicy Goncharov lore, but if you want something to get drunk and laugh at with your friends it's got you covered

join me next time and we'll talk about the Goncharov director's cut

[llyncooljones]

one winter's night - twelve days of rowaelin '22.

ao3 || masterlist || twelve days of rowaelin ‘22 masterlist 

prompt: a christmas carol-esque retelling. word count: 1302 trigger warnings: language, tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @leiawritesstories @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @backtobl4ck @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

downtown orynth, the evening.

Rowan Whitethorn exited his building, a glass and brick masterpiece he’d overseen the design and construction of, it was to a scene out of winter wonderland.

Snow was falling, landing in his hair and melting off immediately, and the streets were turned some idyllic, hopeful shade of white that had every child losing their mind. Smiles had never been so broad as the children’s smiles were as they kicked at the snow under their boots, and Rowan narrowly missed a load of it heading for his shin—and ultimately the three-thousand-dollar trousers that covered his legs.

Some would call him extravagant, too attached to his money, and what it could mean for him, and he would call them naïve, and childlike in return. They’d huff, no doubt, and would sulk on the minutes for but half an hour before they found themselves in front of him—begging for a hug.

Not that he had a specific person in mind, not that the exact scenario had played out more times than Rowan could be bothered to remember.

Rowan shook out his hair when enclosed in his car, pulling down his visor to check over the fine ins and outs of his outfit and hair. He slid the glasses on his nose higher, allowing him to see better, whilst he adjusted his tie—straightening it.

He couldn’t afford to be caught with his pants around his ankles, so to speak. He’d been named Terrasen Magazine’s Most Stylish Man in the last month, which as much he hated the showboating around the fashion industry, he’d appreciated, and made an effort to continue.

His briefcase was lain on the passenger seat, driving gloves bundled inside, being able to have forgone them in his vehicle, equipped with heated seats, and a heated steering wheel. The engine spurred to life, and he was able to pull out of his parking space. He’d moved his driver to a different sector the previous month, after the light of his life, the love of his life, had complained to him about how pretentious it was, how rich it was.

She seemed to be shy when it came to some of the more common aspects of the upper echelons of society, whilst she had no problem accepting some of the more crazy, unexpected, and stupid aspects. He wasn’t sure why, but Rowan was pretty sure Aelin existed to confuse him, to keep his brain working even when he knew and understood most else.

Because he will never understand the crazy, bold, blonde he’d somehow made space for in his life. He’d forever be able to wax poetic about the golden hour sunshine on her hair, or the exact marbling of the turquoise in her eyes, or how he hoped that the gold of the engagement ring he’d chosen somewhat matched with her eyes.

He’d spend forever trying to solve her, in all her gorgeous entirety, only for her to reveal a new puzzle each time he thought he got close. He’d never tire of the surprises and the gifts and the love she granted him with—her whole heart full of love for him, even when each day she decants half of it into her actions towards him.

He’d given up some of the luxuries he most loved, purely because she had expressed an opinion that was decidedly not positive.

Each time he got home, he could barely believe that it was his life that he was living, not some alternate reality, not some dream universe he would wake up from. He never could remember what had been so twisted, so convoluted in his brain, and his heart, that had led to him almost losing her.

What was it inside of him, that had replaced her with money, with the insatiable desire for money, success—everything he could possibly have? How could money ever compare to the heat in his heart, and the warmth in his body she brought on? The sense of home, he’d never felt before.

She was invaluable to him, she always had been, and he would never let her slip from the number one space on his list of priorities (or his to-do list). Which was why he was leaving the office at five o’clock in the evening, saying goodbye to the executives who remained. Which was why he was headed home, an unshakeable smile drawn across his lips, too excited to see his wife, to see the love of his life.

The drive sped by, as he thought of nothing but his wife, of nothing but her hair, and her eyes, and her lips, and her body. The excited smile that shone every time she pulled open the front door pre-emptively, her body curled around it, watching his every move as he parked the car.

And before he knew it, he was pulling into their driveway, his wife was leaning around their front door, smiling the kind of smile that made him smile, and he was throwing the car into park. Grabbed his briefcase, and slammed the door.

The few metres between them were agonising, and each centimetre closer was like a breath of fresher, cleaner air. Her body draped in comfortable fabric, he envied her, sick of the suit he jammed his body into each and every morning. He was sick of the tie that choked him, and the cufflinks which clinked against his desk when he did anything.

He just wanted to be home, with his wife, with his Aelin, cuddled together on the sofa. They didn’t even have to be doing anything, just relishing in the other’s company, the underlying tone of undying love, the atmosphere of ‘to whatever end’. With Aelin, he was absolved of the pressure the world put upon his shoulder, he didn’t have to do anything.

He didn’t have to be some kind, benevolent, CEO; he didn’t have to be cold, calculating, and controlling, the owner and ultimate king of a fucking empire (of his own fucking making); he didn’t have to be anything but a man who loved his wife—and more than anything, that was why he loved Aelin Ashryver Galathynius-Whitethorn.

Because she would love him if he lived in a trailer, she would love him if they lived in an apartment above a Chinese takeaway, she would love him if they lived in a three bed two bath in the suburbs, and she loved him as they lived in an ostentatious monstrosity that satisfied all of his alpha male ego bullshit, that allowed him to sleep at night—knowing there was a state of the art security system protecting them.

His world came together as the front door closed behind him, and he felt complete: stood opposite his wife, he felt everything at once, and for once he wasn’t overwhelmed. He was calmed by the rush of emotion that overcame him as he watched her shift, and saw the fabric of her sweater reveal the bump to her belly.

His heart crumbled and came together stronger each and every time he saw his wife pregnant, each and every time he remembered that this ethereal, this powerful, this crazy, loving, wonderful, amazing, simply majestic woman was creating, was threading together a life. A life made of him, a life made of her, a life made of them.

This amalgamation of the parts of them, the very picture of their love and devotion to one another. He knelt before her, smudging the bottoms of his dress shoes against the seat of his slacks, hitting his knees too hard on the floors, hands flying up to cradle her bump. He pressed a kiss to it, and he was home in a way that could never mean four walls, a roof, and some trick of a mortgage.

[mudsnapperqna]

thoughts on the rest of the litigation team?

Hm. Seeing as I’ve already answered this question earlier, I’ll tell you instead some extremely chaotic facts.

- Kilo, at one time, printed off at least 20 variants of bizarre memes. And hid them around our living spaces. The only one that remains is crude image with an unflattering render of a video game character on it because it made Barry laugh out loud.

- Courtney uses one of her laundry hampers to condemn various dolls to Hell. She shakes it and screams at it. I don’t know if Diane knows about this but if she ever finds out I really hope she doesn’t make her stop because hearing keyboard shrieking out of nowhere and the sound of like. Barbies rattling around in a fabric bag is the funniest shit in the world.

- Barry will wake up from even the deepest nap in the world if you shake particularly fancy stationary paper by his face. It’s like when Toons wake each other up with pie but less psychically damaging. Don’t have TOO much of your hand on the paper though. You wouldn’t THINK a briefcase has high bite strength, but…

- Velma has literally pulled Ms. Morsecode out of the pit one time. We frequently forget that she can extend her limbs to extreme lengths and she was apparently designed for a LOT of heavy lifting work. It’s kinda unreal what she can just nonchalantly pick up.

[drzootsuit]

Half life 3’s credits roll. Earth is free, and even if the combine are not defeated, assurance and comfort is found in the fact that Earth is simply too insignificant to truly draw their gaze again.

As the credits go by, we are treated to a series of images showing the rebuilding of life on the new free earth. Specifically, Scenes of Gordon, Alyx, Shepherd, John, and the others with whom they formed a found family over the course of the third game, all working together to construct a communal home and plant fields of vegetables.

And then the credits end.

Darkness.

Soon, Gordon wakes up.

Remaining in first person perspective, we see Gordon rise, pawing for his glasses and slipping them on.

At long last, he’s out of the HEV suit, clad in an ordinary tshirt.

It’s very early. The sun is only just rising. He’s up before everyone else.

He gets dressed, and wanders downstairs, giving us a look at the home everyone has made. Scavenged but restored furniture, photos of the celebration after the final victory, the crowbar over the mantle…

The stillness of being the only one awake.

Gordon cracks open the instant coffee can and stirs up a mug, taking a moment to take in the view out the window. The sun is rising gorgeously over the fields, and we know it’s over a planet that has seen the last of outside interference.

Gordon turns back around, and there, on the threadbare red sofa, is the G-man.

Gordon doesn’t react. He merely takes a drink from his coffee. His visitor supplies a polite nod.

“Hello there… Mister Freeman. I am glad to see you are comfortable.” The man in the suit offers the most natural smile he is capable of.

“All is well that ends… well, as they say. I almost regret that this will be the last time we will ever meet.”

He rises from the sofa, briefcase in hand. Posture straight, he gestures with his free hand to a hinged wooden box on the table.

“My employers are… most satisfied with the performance. From all of you. Things have all ended according to their designs. But it would have been impossible without your cooperation.

As a token of their gratitude, I am at liberty to offer you this.”

The air begins to shimmer, as time and space fray apart and warp. The G-man turns, ready to slip away, out of reality.

Gordon says nothing, but he offers him a solemn nod. Thank you.

The G-man nods back. Thank you too.

And then he’s gone. Never to be seen again.

Gordon will often think about him, as will the others who have met him, but none of them will ever have anything resembling an answer as to who he was, or what he represented.

But they do have the box.

Gordon sets his coffee down on the windowsill and crosses the living room, lifting the box. It doesn’t seem that heavy.

His fingers run across its lid, as if feeling for anything out of the ordinary. But it’s ordinary wood.

He opens it.

Inside is a rusted and weathered six-shooter, chamber removed to make way for a spool of copper wire. Duct tape and random electronics cover it.

Cut to black.

The end.