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folkookie97 · 7 months

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❝ karma is coming ❞ — jjk

— SUMMARY: ❝After feeling used by you, Jungkook wants to bring some chaos in your boyfriend's life. Karma is coming and there's nothing Jungkook does better than revenge.❞

— PAIRING: punk!Jungkook x preppy!female reader

— TYPE: suggestive, slight dark | criminal!au

— WORD COUNT: 1,225

— WARNINGS: Past/Secret relationship, Cheating, Criminal!Jungkook, Curses, Argument, Jungkook has a gang, Slight!Toxic Relationship, Open ending, Jungkook wants revenge (but never hurting you), Yoongi is Jungkook's best friend, Mentioned Jack Harlow, Reader is a preppy girl and dates a rich boy (maybe a relationship of convenience)

— NOTES: HEEEEYYY who wants a scenario inspired by the "3D" MV teaser?

— RELEASE DATE: September 28, 2023

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3

"So tell me, little princess.... what I needa do to have one more chance with you?" Jungkook walked at you the moment your feet turned the street corner and you were forced to pass by the dubious quality restaurant.

Like every Friday afternoon, at the same time, Jungkook came to you with his typical bunny smile and sparkling eyes. An expression so cute and for a few seconds it made you forget the big problem behind it.

The perfect mask to disguise a messy and broken soul.

"Jungkook… I'm late." You warned, trying to walk faster to avoid him, but failing miserably when your high heels started to hurt your feet.

Ignoring the boy who competed with him in an amateur chess match, Jungkook got up from the low-budget chair and reached you at almost the speed of light.

You wanted cursing not only your high heels that hurt every inch of your feet, but you also wanted punching Jungkook in his face for his persistence on coming closer to and for daring to look down at your entire body.

"You look really hot today." He smirked, his impure thoughts very clear while his eyes darkened and he ran his tongue between his own lips. "Hotter than ever."

The same compliments as always. The same character flaw and red flags.

"You've been more creative." You rolled your eyes, allowing yourself pausing your walk to avoid any more pain in your skin. If your quick mental calculation was right, you would still have a few minutes to rest when you got home.

"I'm sorry, little princess. But I guess this isn't a good time to say that I wanna see your ass in motion, riding my dick like a 3D video." Jungkook pointed behind him, where his blond and curly-haired friend was watching us with a curiosity and fun mix. "You know… not around Jack at least."

You just rolled your eyes again, trying your best to not be rude and give Jack your middle finger or getting arrested for hitting Jungkook's nose.

As if he was thinking about something, Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, nibbling his side piercing in his mouth right after. You saw a flash of sadness pass across the boy's face and you ended up giving into slight worry.

Even though you shouldn't.

"Are you okay?"

His dark eyes lit up again and a regret hit you hard when you saw his dirty smirk return.

"Wow! That's the first time my little princess has worried about me since we broke up."

"I'm not your little princess. And we're not broke up." You snorted and crossed your arms, deciding to walk and do it faster than the Korean man in the black sweatshirt and white stripes. An impossible task since Jungkook would be able to catch up to you immediately even if you were trying hard running away from him.

Jungkook chuckled when he noticed your efforts to free yourself from that talk and from his pathetic praises.

"So we're still together?"

"We never even dated. To be honest I just needed something new since my relationship was boring."

Another scoff left Jungkook's lips and you knew you reached very dangerous ground. When it came to his pride, Jungkook could be a little shit. Hitting his inflated ego was as damaging and dumb like hitting your head against a wall a hundred times.

It was like picking a fight with the Devil and then begging for forgiveness and mercy.

But fate was in his favor. Jungkook would never physically hurt you. Even if his life depended on it.

"So you used me to satisfy your horny that your rich shitty boyfriend wasn't interested?" He stopped walking and you imitated him, shocked not only by his bitter words but also by the hurt following it. "I was just a distraction for a preppy girl with a dick-starved little pussy? Just because her boyfriend was on vacation?"

Your eyes widened and your hands itched to tear out Jungkook's eyes, who was now looking at you with the angrier face possible. His eyebrows furrowed into a frown so deadly it made you feel tiny.

"FUCK YOU! You knew everything from the beginning." You shouted not caring about the people around the street who were entertained by the situation unfolding.

"I thought we'd at least keep fucking around. BUT GUESS WHAT?" It was his turn to shouts. "You seem a lot more interested in being a cockslut and just use your pussy in exchange for expensive gifts from that rich bastard guy."

"At least he has a company that makes a lot of money. And you? You're nothing more than a punk boy who leads your useless life stealing people and picking fights with other gangs out there." You pointed your index finger at him as you shouted the insults pained in your stomach. "I'd rather be a cockslut to someone who has something to provide me with than having a relationship with a man who could be arrested at any moment. You're just a futureless criminal."

No caring about an answer, you gathered all your body efforts and following on your way. Jungkook didn't join you to continue the swearing match and you were relieved for that. You were no longer in the argue mood. You just wanted to get home and cry because of your anger.

It didn't take long for Jungkook returned to the chair where he was sitting before. To his surprise, Jack wasn't sitting there anymore, the place now being used by one of his other friends.

Yoongi had a freshly put out cigarette still in his mouth and a thoughtful look. Jungkook knew his best friend as well as the back of his own hand. That look just would mean one thing; quick reflections.

"What's your great idea?" Jungkook asked him, without beating around the bush due to his bad mood about the previous talk with you.

Chuckled with the cigarette stuck in his teeth, Yoongi used his left hand to brush away his dark hair falling on his face while pulling out his cell with the others free fingers. Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows when the long-haired boy showed him the talk content on the screen. Reading some messages, Jungkook saw that the other boys in his gang also looked interested in Yoongi and Jack's sudden plans.

A wicked smirk took over Jungkook and everything made more sense. Jack's sudden departure to get his van, Yoongi's arrival and even the older man's thoughtful look.

Jungkook felt a heat rise up his back almost immediately. His excitement and enthusiasm for the coming chaos increased the temperature of the sunny street even more. Without blinking, he ripped off the sweatshirt covering his torso, the black tank top underneath it allowing his tattooed arm drawn glances from the girls walking through the neighborhood.

Ignoring the other people's whispers, Jungkook turned to Yoongi with a "thirst for revenge" look. His pretty face doesn't justice to the darkness in his wicked eyes.

"Well… we needa stop at my house first to get my hammer and call (Y/N). I think she'll like to know about our friendly visit to her boyfriend's company."

Yoongi nodded, chuckling and patting Jungkook's shoulder twice. "That's it, little boy. Tell her karma is coming."

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idesofrevolution · 1 year

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These Boots Are Made for Rockin’

Cory took a deep breath as he turned the corner, eyes tightly shut. Passersby likely stared with aloof confusion, but he didn’t care. This was the moment he’d dreamed of for almost fifteen years. Broadway, Nashville: the dream strip of country music nightclubs, southern apparel, moonshine, whiskey, and instruments. The gentle hum of twangy ballads tickled his ears, played by talented singers in the honky tonks along the street. It was now home. And as he opened his eyes, that dream was now reality.

The street was bustling, even in midday. Tourists, buskers, musicians, and surely a few stars strolled past entranced in their own worlds they’d taken for granted. It took everything for Cory to get here- or rather it had cost him everything. Not that he minded. The move, to him, represented the beginning of the life he’d always dreamed he would lead: becoming the man he fantasized in his head. With his first steps, they were the first steps toward that goal.

Walking slowly, he made his way down Broadway, aimlessly enjoying the ambience and palpable culture. Not that he was oblivious to his surroundings; this was his reconnaissance mission for today. Looking for prospects, opportunities, or a cheap souvenir for his new apartment. The latter became his focus, as there on the corner sat a clothing store. His first intention after all was to fit into the community, so dressing the part was the primary objective. As he walked up to the front doors, pulling the door open, the scent of leather, cedar, and smokiness flowed out of the open door. He took a deep breath, entering the wide open store. The two story atrium was filled with racks of denim, flannel, and rhinestones for the more flamboyant of folks. This was heaven. Surely he’d be able to find the authentic Nashville look here.

Pushing past rows of bootcut jeans and plaid button ups, suspenders and denim jackets, he stumbled upon the footwear department. Shelves wall to wall, filled with the freshest and most pristine of cowboy boots. Each gave such a different vibe. One pair had intricate embroidered designs up and down the tall funnel of the boot, another was fastened with harnesses upon thick rubber treads. Finding the right pair would be quite the task, as he stared nervously down the long aisles.

“You need some help, friend?” Cory spun around, startled at the sultry low voice from over his shoulder. Standing behind him was an employee, and the precise man he’d want to emulate. Muscled below his tight button up shirt, messy hair below a leather Stetson hat, tight bootcut jeans of heavy denim and topped off with a pair big well worn cowboy boots. He oozed a sense of stereotypical Southern Masculinity, stoic and unfazed by the world around him. “You lookin’ for a pair? I can help you find one if you like?” His twangy accent paired with a deep, low timbre nearly made Cory breathless for a moment.

“Uh, yeah. What’s the price range here?” The man raised a confused eyebrow at Cory, until it was clear on his face that he was helping an ‘out of towner.’

“Well, most boots like these go for a few hundred at least. That’s mostly what we carry.” The man put his massive boot onto the seat next to them, worn heavily but precisely what the doe eyed customer was looking for. He clutched at the wallet in his pocket- knowing full well that a few hundred was far outside his budget. Immediately taking notice of the flushing of Cory’s face, the man smiled. “Here, I think I have just the pair for you.” A glimmer of hope. Walking toward the back of the store, past the elaborate embroidered boots and jean jackets, the duo came across the clearance section.

“So these are our vintage pairs. They’re recycled… kinda. So since a lot of them were pre owned they tend to be a lot less than our newer models.” As he looked up and down the racks, finally the man stopped and pointed to the very last pair on the wooden shelf. They were clearly well loved by their previous owner, the glimmer and luster of any shine on the brown leather had long since been washed away with heavy use. The tips were scuffed, the heel and soles were annihilated… but for whatever reason, they seemed to beckon out to Cory. “My guess is they’re gonna be a bit big on you, but no harm in seeing if you like em! Give ‘em a try and I’ll be back to check in on you.”

The associate walked away, the click clack of the Cuban heel of his boots would soon mirror his own footfalls. Gingerly grabbing the left boot, he pryed the boot open a bit more, seeing the size marked US 14. That was almost twice his own shoe size. Taking a deep breath, he was prepared to let out a sigh of defeat… perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. That is, until the subtle scent hit his nostrils. It started as just the slightest hint of old leather, perhaps a smidgeon of tobacco… but just that little whiff was enough to encapsulate Cory. Looking around to ensure that no wayward glances would catch him, he brought the boot to his face, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

What was subtle from a short distance quickly turned strong as he took in the scent from the source. Hidden beneath that candle like quality was the unmistakable odor of foot musk. His eyes clamped shut, Cory envisioned in his mind’s eye what the original owner of these books would look like… some southern stud, handsome and rugged, a confident swagger in each step: the man he was destined to become. He opened his eyes and plopped down onto the small bench, removing his cheap Walmart sneakers and eagerly slipping his foot into the boot.

Unsurprisingly, his feet were minuscule in comparison to their cavernous confines. They certainly did not fit. Yet, looking down at his feet within them, the electrifying power he felt from simply sporting them, the idea of his own feet soaking up some of that incredible smell… it was a done deal. He’d stuff some cotton in the toes to help them fit, never mind the appearance to any objective bystander that they were clown shoes on this lanky dudes feet. Preparing to walk to the checkout counter to finalize the purchase, he tugged on the soles to pry them from his feet. They would not budge. Confused, he yanked a bit harder at the heel… no dice. His feet were so small compared to these boats… how could they be stuck?

His body began to ache, as if he’d run a marathon just a moment before, his breath became bated and shallow, his legs wobbly and unstable. A wave of incomparable exhaustion crashed over him like he’d never before experienced. A small moan escaped from his mouth as he felt his feet begin to spasm within the boots. Quiet cracking sounds began to emit from within them. Cory began to panic, feeling his toes slowly move to fill out the entirety of the boot. Gasping and groaning at the dull but pulsating pain, the sensations began to climb further up his legs. He watched in horror as his ankles slowly crept out of the bottom of his jeans, the firm material slowly growing tighter and tighter as his calves and thighs swelled and grew beneath it.

His core and chest became seized by a tightness he could compare only to a heart attack, watching his shirt slowly compress against the increasing size of his lean abdomen. The sounds of snapping stitches and ripping fabric echoed in his ears, nearly drowned out by the hastening beats of his heart growing stronger and louder. His arms convulsed, stretching and contorting into impossible angles at the joints, while pinpricks of black slowly began to rise from beneath the skin.

In his mind, Cory imagined himself in a sort of medieval stretching machine he’d read about in his studies years before. Every part of his body was being pulled outward, downward, side to side… while it was painful and incredibly difficult to endure, within the recesses of his subconscious, the dulcet, twangy sound of plucked guitar strings began to overtake him. The sound soothed him in a desperately needed respite from the cracks and creaks emanating from his bones. The music grew in intensity, the guitar growing in crescendo and tempo. It was becoming a comfort, a release, a passion… while it soothed his mind, his body was finally nearing its final state of metamorphosis. The formerly strained, constricting fabric of his cheap clothes began to loosen and change. His shirt turned dark; the sleeves had retracted into a comfortable tee shirt, casual but striking. His jeans stretched downward, the pristine denim flaring out into a bootcut style, flattering his long, toned legs.

Cory couldn’t help but mimic the struts with his calloused fingers, expertly performing the riffs as if his Stratocaster was in his hands. His head began to sway and crest to the beat of the song in his mind, letting his lengthening hair gently caress the side of his face and beard as he played. All thoughts exited his brain. The music had overtaken him. The need to rock. The need to perform. The need to write his soul in musical form became his only goal, while the remnants of who he once was slowly drifted away.

….

The employee strutted back to the clearance section, wondering if the strange little guy had made his decision. He’d been back there for quite some time, and the boss lady reiterated the “no loitering policy” to him once again. Turning the corner, he was surprised. Who stood before him was clearly not who he’d helped before. The tall, toned, bearded stud confidently posed in front of the mirror in the worn boots he’d shown the prior customer. Guess he wasn’t interested after all.

“They sure are beauties. Hard to find someone who fit them, they’ve been here quite some time.” The man turned, a smoldering grin shellacked upon his face.

“Yeah, man. I’ve been needin’ a new pair. These are perfect.” His twangy southern drawl tickled the associate’s ear. The customer turned to him, that bright, confident smile beaming as he looked him up and down. “Hey. I got a gig after this down the street if you’re not doing anything after your shift. I’ll get you the first round?” He suavely slid closer to the associate, the salty sweet scent of tobacco and masculine sweat wafted from his inked skin. How could he say no? Smiling, he tossed his arm around the associates shoulder. “Maybe afterward we could stop by my place, if you’re interested.” Winking, he strutted toward checkout. The associate blushed, catching his breath. Most definitely he’d be taking him up on that offer.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #musk #boot transformation #southern #country #tattoos #gay transformation #mental changes

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mileslovesdick · 1 year

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Edgeworth getting Gumshoe one of those cheesy coupon books for a special occasion due to a lack of better gift ideas and immediately regretting it.

"We may order fastfood (yes you can eat it on the couch)" "I will overlook you eating in our bed" "You can wear those abominations you call sweat pants (not valid if we have guests over)" "You can pick what we watch on movie night (I won't point out the plot holes)" "The dogs can sleep in bed with us"

They're very innocent things... when done separately.

Later that week Gumshoe walks up to Edgeworth with three coupons and a takeout menu in hand. He's in his decade old sweatpants (shudder) so Edgeworth can assume he knows what one of the coupons is for, it's movie night so he has a pretty good idea what the second one is and the takeout menu tells him all he needs to know about the third coupon.

They end up ordering in from some coney island restaurant and watching some weird, low budget detective/spy/western mix that makes absolutely no sense. It takes everything in Edgeworth not to point out the many, many inaccuracies in the portrayal of the old west but he manages to keep his mouth shut. He glances over at Gumshoe who's wiping his greasy fingers on his sweats and let's out a sigh of relief that at least he's not wiping them on the couch... again.

The movie ends and Edgeworth starts to bring their leftovers to the fridge but before he can even make it to the kitchen Gumshoe pulls out another coupon. "I will overlook you eating in our bed" Edgeworth tries to fight it, arguing that he meant snacks, like crackers or maybe a cookie, not sloppy, messy chili dogs and greasy fries! But then Gumshoe just has to go and flash him those big ol' puppy eyes knowing damn well Edgeworth will give in every single time.

So Gumshoe finishes up his dinner in bed, much to Edgeworth's dismay. It makes a mess of their sheets but Pess and Missile are quick to clean it up, loudly lapping up all of the crumbs and spilt chilli and nudging Edgeworth with their snouts to get at the crumbs that rolled underneath him.

Edgeworth has never been more annoyed in his entire life but when Gumshoe throws his arm around him, pulls him into a big cuddle and mumbles "I had fun today," he just knows he can't stay mad. Perhaps he'll let Gumshoe pick movies and dinner more often.

#gumworth

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mcbitchtits · 2 years

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verdantrivers reblogged your post “i will not do theme park analysis of the jurassic...”

#do a theme park analysis of the jurassic world movies

so it’s worth noting I only ever saw the first jurassic world, and i thought it kind of sucked, so I never watched the rest of them.

my main reaction, aside from “i need seventy Margaritaville Isla Nublar” shirts, was that their whole park capacity was extremely low and the resort price of getting a single person in the park was going to be, like. $10,000 a day per person. so i think there’s a lot lacking in the sequels by way of the park conceit, but given the rest of the writing that’s not really surprising.

free range ride vehicles? lol. lmao. i mean i guess at $10K a day and negligible hourly capacity it becomes sort of a moot point, but i think the interesting thing about all of that is that the inevitable result is that this “theme park” is actually an extreme luxury resort. not “a luxury extreme resort”, but an “extreme luxury” resort. already the insanely wealthy are the only people who can afford to go, but you know what’s interesting about that? it’s kind of the same problem disneyland has right now.

DL has a capacity problem. they own a lot of land in anaheim but not enough for the number of people who want to go there. so for the past 20-30 years (i’m really approximating here), they’ve been jacking up ticket prices. supply and demand, right? if you only have so much capacity, then to drive disinterest, you increase the ticket prices. it hasn’t exactly worked; disney is so successful in being THE place that people want to go to and return to that there is definitely an amount of “we will pay anything” to go there. and now a one-day park hopper ticket for DL/DCA on a high capacity day are OVER TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS. just to get in the door! that doesn’t include parking ($30), or food, or souvenirs. or hotels. the highest DL pass (yeah yeah, it’s not a Pass anymore, whatever) is something like $1400.

and you know what? disney is not disincentivized for their parks to be seen as a “luxury” product. the disney parks are the most consistently profitable part of the entire disney company. and i can assure you that profit is not going back into the parks much; relatively no more than any other product arm gets funding. in fact, in mostly just gets bled dry. (RIP to all the great live entertainment that has suffered lately.)

so what happens when you drive prices up for decades, completely detached from actual value? (unrelated: did you know it costs like $30K annually to be a member of club 33?)

well, you have a new problem: an american “middle class” family is starting to realize that disney dream vacations are way out of their budget. WDW is up there too, not just DL, because the hotels and travel are expensive as hell also. but do you know what the number one predictor of a family taking their kids to disney parks is? if they went as a kid themselves. so what happens when you have a generation of people who couldn’t, who can’t, afford to go? well, we don’t know yet, and also disney doesn’t care, at least in DL, because their problem right now is they have too many people. they jacked up the prices and tried to limit capacity and all that’s done so far is get them sued by passholders! (i don’t imagine this suit will go anywhere, but i’m not a lawyer, so who knows.)

anyway, what does this all have to do with jurassic world? again, I didn’t see the latest two or three or whatever we’re on. so this really lacks significant nuance and is mostly a reaction to the post about how Dominion felt empty because it was suffering the same problems “as a park” that the movie suffers “as a franchise”. I.E. the park designers trying for New and Novel and Big and Exciting when really it’s all messy and empty and totally lacking the critical elements that make it substantial and interesting.

I do agree with that analysis as a franchise problem; I think it haunts almost every franchise, any kind of episodic storytelling-- the urge to up the narrative stakes by upping the risk. I think that’s a mistake though, because 1) you eventually run out of room narratively, if you’re continually successful, and 2) as you grow the scale of the story, you also start moving away from the intimacy of your characters. And it’s very, very, very difficult to maintain a consistently growing ensemble. the characters we see in dominion are flat and empty and the stakes are impersonal and vacuous and there’s no narrative tension anymore because we’re not invested. (theoretically, i say, having not seen it.)

But anyway.

so my understanding is that the company that owns the dinos is doing this in a bid to create Bigger and Better and Newer, regardless, of, you know, ethics and sustainability and safety and whatnot. and the tumblr post is saying that this is a critical part of theme parks, which I think is a little bit inaccurate, or at least enough to bother me, even if it isn’t wholly untrue. theme parks are, generally, always building new attractions, and safety and interest are all parts of what goes into them. advertising the biggest/the fastest is a part of that (and it can get you killed).

but you know who doesn’t have to do that? disneyland.

of course, disney the company wants to see marketing putting up advertisements and driving sales to the park and whatnot. but disneyland has too many guests. they don’t have to actually drive people to come here because their problem right now is they can’t stop people from coming!

so why would Jurassic World have to? people keep coming to see the dinosaurs, generation after generation, enough where they’re willing to pay X thousands of dollars per person PER DAY likely, to do so. at that point, just having dinosaurs really might be “enough” of an attraction. you don’t have to dig into it being a zoo or not a zoo (or nahtahzu), because it probably already succeeds financially at its most central directive, which is get paying customers in the door to see dinosaurs.

I don’t think Jurassic Park(s) are quite a 1:1 to Disneyland, and when it comes to the storytelling, I can assure you that the limited plot construction makes zero nuanced understandings to theme parks; it’s just the conceit. But I do think it’s interesting that there is this IRL luxury ticket problem, and in my estimation Jurassic World has to be a luxury resort of a kind. I doubt they’re trucking in guests with $50 tickets just to get capacity up; the park couldn’t sustain those numbers.

On the other hand-- maybe this is completely the wrong way of looking at it! Disney also just rolled out the Halcyon galactic starcruiser vacation, which is the star wars immersive experience, and they pitch it akin to their cruise line packages. (From my recollection, it’s all-inclusive sans souvenirs.)

Aaaaaand it’s potentially flopping. It’s $1200 a night, per person. (Roughly.) It’s moderately popular, but the general consensus seems to be that the prices are too expensive to maintain full interest. And it’s not because it’s bad (though, god knows they also suffered from a lot of design cutbacks), it’s just fucking expensive. From observation, after the initial months, reservations seem to have opened up a lot. However! Disney is also hinting that they want to build one in Anaheim, which also could be that it’s popular enough with the wealthier crowd.

And then Disney also just went and did this:

The luxury market may be well and truly solid, and that wouldn’t surprise me, to be honest, since wealth inequality is greater than ever. (Interestingly, I feel like this offering from Disney strikes about right on par with my Jurassic World estimation-- it’s about $10,000 per “park”, or $5000 per day per person. Presumably including flights-- which I would assume the Isla Nublar ticketing would also.)

So! There’s two ways of looking at Jurassic World imo. I really do think they are a luxury vacation in all likelihood, and in that sense you are on a completely different playing field. People don’t buy $5000 gold-plated donuts because they like them, after all. And regardless of that, I don’t think you spend decades building and rebuilding dinosaur parks if they were 1) unpopular on their own, 2) people keep going despite the fact that people have died and the parks have imploded.

OR, and this is more in line with the original plot, it’s all capitalistic roulette. Maybe it’s so absurdly pricey that they can’t attract enough guests and they can’t feed the animals. Maybe they’re cutting corners on design to save money. It’s not impossible. But again, beyond the primary conceit-- it’s a theme park, and the attractions are inherently dangerous to the point of death, beyond mere injury-- the text doesn’t bear out much detail. (Again, I say, having not seen the newer ones.) So all we’re left with is a lot of talking around stuff, analytically.

On the other hand, there is this weird thing about theme parks: they already are inherently dangerous. The animatronics in pirates of the carribbean won’t bite your face off, but you can certainly get injured trying to climb out of the boats. And how much electronic/hydraulic force do you think is behind the motions in one single animatronic figure? Now multiply that to moving a false room that’s bigger than a literal boulder. I mean, hell. The yeti cracked its foundation, and now it’s turned off for esssentially ever. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous! That’s kind of the whole magic of it!

Theme parks and amusement parks and even carny rides are all about perceived risk. There is inherent thrill from walking that line between safety and danger. These are novel problems but they’re not unheard of. I don’t think dinosaurs would really be that much different. It really all comes down to execution, which is different than design (guess who cuts the checks).

Jurassic Park/World is weird, but in some ways I don’t think it’s unrealistic. It really is a matter of hitting the right or wrong market in the right or wrong ways. And where the movie flopped, out of a sense of lacking coherency or relevance or whatever-- I completely think the park could succeed, as an attraction, commercially and profitably. New custom dinosaurs or not.

#i deleted like four paragraphs of wandering off topic from this whole thing #is this coherent? i'm not sure tbh #i kind of just started rambling #also the new editor botched the formatting on this like seventy times so i apologize if there are missing parts of errors. thanks tumblr

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themosleyreview · 4 months

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The Mosley Review: Worst Films of 2023

So here we are. 2023 has ended and what a year of disappointments it has been. This year we saw alot of franchises return. A few in particular wanted one last chance to redeem themselves and in my opinion should've stayed in the shadows of their past glory. We also saw the end of a cinematic universe and how messy that was handled. Not all was bad though. We got to see a film with a fun concept that went all out on its gory promise and well, actually, it was pretty forgettable. I'm not gonna beat around the bush anymore. Without further ado, I give you my list of the worst films of 2023. As always, if you want a more detailed review of all the films on my list, just click the title of each film. First up......

Cocaine Bear: Talk about a wild story that was sort of true. The thought of a cocaine fueled bear on a rampage in a forest set in the 80's seemed like a ludicrous idea reserved for the back corner of the low budget horror section of Blockbuster. Well it was exactly that and for about 30 minutes, the idea was fun and had the right tone. Somewhere along the many lines of snortables, the film took a wrong turn and had no idea what it was trying to be. The tone was shifting from drug recovery to family comedy to romantic comedy to hardcore monster movie and so much more. It lost its appeal really quickly and failed to stay in the pocket it initially carved out. Such wasted potential.

The Marvels: And so Marvel Studios attempt to give their one overpowered and unlikeable character a second chance to be liked and actually have some form a story and character development. This time she had 2 additional heroes to come with her on this action packed romp and for the most part, it worked. Where the film truly failed is its terribly written plot that could've been summed up in less than 20 minutes and the fact that they made their main hero the villain without any sense of repentance for her actions against an entire civilization. There was an emotional core there that should’ve been fully explored and not drowned out by the needless action scenes and unnecessary musical sequence. The real standout of the film was Iman Vellani as Ms Marvel and I hope for the future that she takes the lead from now on. Everyone else in the film felt like an after thought, but at least the chemistry between the 3 leads saved the film from being a complete disaster. Speaking of disasters, don't get me started on the god awful mid credits scene.

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny: There was a small chance that this beloved franchise could rise from the ashes of the fourth entry and truly lay Indiana’s fedora to a satisfying rest. You had a great director, Harrison Ford dawning the fedora one last time and all the hopes of us Indi fans. What did we get? A over budgeted, character inflated, time traveling mess of a finale that spits in the face of what made those original 3 films magical. It wasn't about the action set pieces and the over use of CGI, but the fact that it was small, simple and real. There was a goal that had its other worldly properties whether it was the Arc of Covenant or The Holy Grail, but it felt more real than the finale of this film. What was really heartbreaking was the fact that once again our hero become sad, old, broken down loner with everyone in his life leaving him to rot in silence. It happened to Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and now Indiana Jones. This film introduced one of the worst characters in the franchise and one that I hated with a passion as she did everything in her power to try and get Indie killed or try to profit off of his dead friends. And you expect me to believe she all of a sudden cares about Jones in the last 5 minutes of the film?! Piss off! Kingdom of the Crystal Skull had more respect than this piece of trash.

Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom: Ah yes. The end of an era lands on a sequel to a fun first entry that had stylistic problems, but nevertheless was good. Now, we get this extremely scatter brained and ridiculous excuse for a sequel. I felt that the tone wanted to have an underwater Lord of the Rings type of mythos which if edited and rewritten properly, could've been massive. Alas, we get this hot steaming pile of crap that was boring after the third overly CGI action sequence and weak one noted villain motivation. Jason Mamoa and Patrick Wilson were the only reason to watch this film. Jason was himself most of the time while cosplaying as Aquaman and Patrick Wilson was brilliant and sometimes dumbed down as Orm. The brotherly love and chemistry between them actually saved the last act of the film. Other than that, this film illustrated why the DCEU had to end and I wish it had stuck to their original plan of having one last meet up with Ben Affleck's Batman instead of the stupid mid credit scene we got to a joke that was great once.

Now we've come to the end of the road. There were some truly horrendous films this year, but none of them match the level of disappointment this film did. Ladies and gentlemen, the worst film of 2023 is........

Expendables 4: There was an idea to get all of the best action stars of the 80's, 90's and 2000's together in a pure action film that featured all of them together for the first time. It was The Avengers of action film stars and it worked...... in the first 2 films. The third film saw the horrible decision to make a PG-13 entry to appeal to the younger audiences. They realized that mistake too late and it cost them dearly. Well, now they came back with a hard R rated fourth entry, as it should've been, but with only a fraction of the stars that began this franchise and it was absolute garbage from beginning to end. The relationship between Sylvester Stallone's Barney Ross and Jason Statham's Lee Christmas was at the heart of the franchise and that is stripped away. What we're left with is a piss poorly edited, overly CGI'd mess of wasted time and money. Not even Statham could save this film from mediocrity or the horrible sight of Megan Fox trying to act or look like she could do any sort of fight sequence. You had one of the best action stars in Iko Uwais and you did nothing with him. Seriously, that man would destroy Jason and he barely got one or two worthy hits in. Andy Garcia was the only person that understood what type of film he was in and he truly went for it. John Wick 4 was one of the best action films in years and it showed that the action genre has moved far beyond these fossils.

And that's it everyone! That is my list of the shiniest turds known as the worst films of 2023. If you missed any of these films last year and have any interest in watching them, take this list as an advisory to what you're about to watch. Do you agree with my list? Let me know and tell me what your worst films of 2023 are in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

#worst films of 2023 #megan fox #jason statham #phoebe waller bridge #brie larson #ray liotta #indiana jones and the dial of destiny #expendables 4 #the marvels #aquaman and the lost kingdom #cocaine bear

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yesterdanereviews · 1 year

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Super Stooges vs. The Wonder Women (1974)

Film review #547

Director: Alfonso Brescia

SYNOPSIS: A tribal village is constantly under threat from a band of Amazon women who lead raids and terrorise the people of the area. The villagers seek help from three men: a man with superhuman strength, a martial arts ,master, and a man who claims to be a God, and the three team up to stop the Amazons and save the village.

THOUGHTS/ANALYSIS: Super Stooges vs. The Wonder Women is a 1974 film, also known as Amazons and Supermen, Return of the Barbarian Women, Barbarian Revenge, amongst others. The film is a derivative of both the film Battle of the Amazons (itself a derivative of the 1973 film The Amazons), and the Three Supermen series. Interestingly, the film is actually made by the same production companies who made those films (with them making the 1973 film Supermen Against the Orient a year earlier). Despite these connections behind the screen, there are no returning characters or story points from these films, and the only similarity to the Three Supermen is that the film stars three men. The plot is simple enough: a tribe of Amazon women are terrorising neighbouring villages. One in particular has turned to a man who claims to be a God, who seemingly protects the village. The plot of the film is simply having these three men (eventually) team up and stop the Amazons. The story does take a while to get going and have the main characters meet up and confront the main threat of the film, but it’s entertaining enough with a mixture of comedy and martial arts. With a runtime of about ninety-five minutes,

Each of the characters have their own unique skills and talents, and perhaps surprisingly, their own story arcs. We have Moog, who has super strength, played by Marc Hannibal, who played for the Harlem Globetrotters. There’s also Chung, a martial artist, and finally Aru, who uses pyrotechnics to fool the villagers and Amazons that he is a God who is protecting the village, and also does a lot of acrobatics too. The variety in the characters and their different origins is pretty interesting, although they don’t really have much time to develop any chemistry between them with the main plot and the individual stories to deal with, but it is at least a decently defined cast.

The Italian/Hong Kong co-production, like in Supermen against the Orient, provides a mixture of Western slapstick comedy, with Eastern martial arts which were popular at the time. There’s a good balance between the two, and while there’s nothing that particularly stands out, at least there’s enough action to keep things energetic and entertaining. We also get some typically scantily-clad women in regards to the Amazons, and while their story doesn’t make too much sense, they get some very odd scenes, such as the opening, which depicts one of their forms of entertainment being to duel with bows and arrows on top of stilts or something...truly bizarre. Overall, Super Stooges vs. The Wonder Women is a silly, cheesy, and messy film that doesn’t offer anything special, does throw a lot of varied characters, entertainment and action into the mix to at least be interesting enough to keep your attention. The runtime is slightly too long for a low-budget film such as this, and could have easily have been trimmed down, but at least the pacing is good, and there’s no protracted scenes of inane dialogue to stretch it out. It feels well made and a decent effort in some parts for a low-budget derivative film, but nothing special otherwise. It’s a bit of a laugh in a “so bad it’s good way” if that is something you want to watch.

#movie #movie review #super stooges vs the wonder women #amazons vs supermen #three supermen #film #film review #1974 film

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miraltrax · 2 years

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Canon 35mm f2

#Canon 35mm f2 professional#

Leavitt blogs at Shooting on a Budget, where this article was also published. With many budget constraints around him at times, he does what he can to not let them hold him back at all. Be sure to check that out to see more thoughts and discussion on this lens.Ībout the author: Jay Leavitt is a hobbyist photographer who tries to push himself as far as he can go. Soft (badly) in the corners, but decent all around.Įditor’s note: We posted a different in-depth review of the Yongnuo 35mm f/2 earlier this week. It features a 1635mm focal range for superb perspective control, with a fast, constant aperture and the outstanding image quality you can expect from a Canon L-series lens.

#Canon 35mm f2 professional#

Read more reviews, see if future copies improve, etc.Īll in all… it’s a good lens so far. The EF 16-35mm f/2.8L III USM is an ultra wide-angle zoom lens for professional and enthusiast photographers. You have to determine yourself if this impacts you. I shoot portraits, so sharp enough in the center, and soft in the corners is a nonissue, this shouldn’t affect me much, if at all, softer, more bokeh’ed corners could be a good thing. It is ideal as an everyday lens and is very effective in low. There are some distinct differences between the two… The Yongnuo (at least the two copies I have to test) are not as sharp as the Canon, especially outside of the center, though is a strong competitor in all other elements. The EF 35mm f/2 IS USM Lens from Canon is a wide-angle prime lens with a fast maximum aperture. The Canon 35/2 also has a 5 bladed aperture setup, does it suffer the same? (Again, these shots are f/2 – f/4 – f/8) The Canon 50/1.8 II had some pretty harsh bokeh stopped down, with its 5 bladed aperture it was pretty ugly. I think the Yongnuo gets washed out a little less (and that’s my experience with the wider apertures too, overall) – again, not a fancy test, it’s a wider lens, so flaring is expected when shooting in the general direction of the sun, I wanted to include a shot that shows the characteristics of sun flares for those who like to involve those in shots (as I am wont to do). Even stopped down to f/16 there’s little difference (please excuse the mess, I’m building a fire pit, this corner of the yard is messy). I tried to test out flaring when shooting against open sun, but being as wide as it is, anything shot at f/2 in a situation where you’d expect flare when shot at f/2 ends up just being a general wash with no distinct difference between the two.

#Canon 35mm f2

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weskerluvr69 · 3 years

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trade with @palletdrop <3 this was so much fun to write

You’ve been in the entity’s realm for so long you’ve gotten to a point where you feel relieved seeing one killer over another. Trials with the Trickster are more bearable than most because if you play your cards right, you can get him to talk about himself and easily get out of there.

Unfortunately, you’re not in a match with him. You’re in a match with the Spirit.

You hate going against the Spirit. No, not just going against her. You hate her in general–with a passion. All her stupid noises and her stupid fast phase-walking, the fact that she’s never merciful and goddammit you just can’t ever escape when it’s against her!

You’re not even five seconds into the trial when you hear a “WAH!” in the distance, and you can feel the stress lines forming on your forehead. Do you really wanna deal with this right now?

No. No, you don’t. With your mind made up, you make your way to the closest locker and decide to take a page out of Dwight’s book. You’ll wait there until the entity tells Spirit where you are, and then you’ll die on hook. Easy as pie. You’re sure your teammates won’t mind too much. Not like they’ll last that long, anyways.

You open the locker door and step inside, a little confused by the lack of space. This is a much tighter squeeze than you remember. Is the entity suddenly on a budget? What’s with the smaller lockers?

“Hey there, sweetheart,” someone purrs next to you, and you scream. The mysterious man quickly covers your mouth, muffling your cries for help. “Shh, sh. You don’t want Rin to find us, do ya?” He doesn’t sound mad, almost... Amused?

You finally recognize the cocky tone of voice. After a few seconds of silence, he removes his hand from your mouth and slowly trails it down your body.

“...Ghostface?” you ask, and the little laugh you receive is enough answer. You almost didn’t recognize him without his leather gloves on.

“No need for formality, babe, we’re not in trial. You can call me Danny,” he says, and you can practically hear his grin.

“I am in trial,” you answer flatly. “Wait. There’s already a killer! What are you doing here?”

Is the entity trying to spice things up? Hiding other killers in lockers seems like something it would do...

“Well, I kinda forgot to head out when I heard the alarm sound off,” he says casually.

“That doesn’t explain what you were doing here in the first place. Don’t killers have their own base?” you ask.

“So many questions, doll!” Danny laughs. “We don’t have too much time left alone... Why don’t we spend it in a better way, hm?”

The flirtatious tone makes you pause. “Huh?” you say, like a genius.

Danny cups your cheek and your body betrays you by leaning into his touch. His thumb traces in small circles as he hums to himself. “The entity’s little spies are getting ready to snitch on your location as we speak. We can have some fun in the meantime before the party’s over.”

“Are you crazy?” you ask incredulously, face heating up at exactly what he’s implying.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Danny whispers, his hot breath on the back of your neck making you shiver. Wait...

“Are you not wearing your mask?” You try to turn and look at him, but Danny quickly grips your chin and holds your head in place.

“Ah, ah. You don’t wanna ruin the surprise, do ya babe?” he teases. The fact that he has the audacity to bite your neck answers your question.

You close your eyes and fall back into his chest as he continues press messy kisses down to your exposed shoulder. He uses his free hand to slide up under your shirt, fingers just barely graze your skin, his touch making you jump.

Still gripping your jaw in place with his thumb and ring finger, Danny pushes two fingers into your mouth unexpectedly. You make a noise in surprise, but quickly understand that he wants a show.

You’ll oblige, but only because it’d be really boring if you didn't. Or at least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself later when met with inquisitive teammates.

You run your tongue along the pads of his fingertips, then slowly start to suck on them. Danny lets out a sigh, and you even hear a muffled curse under his breath.

“If only these lockers weren't so damn small,” he says, voice low. “What I wouldn’t do to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

You make a face at his crudeness, but you can’t deny that his words are making you feel hot all over. When you insistently press yourself into him, he chuckles and removes his fingers from your mouth.

“No peeking,” Danny sing-songs.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes but close them nonetheless. As Danny slowly tilts your head to face him, you find yourself inching closer impatiently.

You’re so close to him you can feel the cocky smirk at your neediness.

“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you, babe,” he says.

You can’t tell if he’s feeding you a line or if he's actually being genuine, and you don’t really care either way.

Danny turns you fully so you’re both chest to chest, and finally presses his lips against yours. There’s nothing chaste about kissing Danny Johnson. He takes control in every sense of the word–his hands are everywhere on your body as if he can’t help himself, he’s rough and it’s messy and you’re both making obscene noises that are most definitely alerting the Spirit better than any crow could ever.

He bites down on your lower lip and pulls teasingly, making you moan. You breathe harshly from your nose and reach your hands up to grip any part of him but he stops you, gripping your wrists tightly and pinning you against the doors of the locker.

Then, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.

The locker doors swing open, someone grabs you and throws you over their shoulder.

Oh yeah. You’re in a trial.

Your eyes fly open as you immediately start wiggling for your life, and the last (and only thing) you see of Danny is his hand playfully waving goodbye as he shuts the locker.

#ghostface x reader #danny johnson #dbd ghostface #the entity is a cockblock... but I'm not 😈 if there's enough love on this I'll write another part <3 #doc wife writes

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hawnks · 3 years

Text

Party Attire

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

r18 (mdni)

wordcount: 1,600

my drabble for the valentines day exchange uwu. for @some-kindofgnome hope i did your wants justice. smooch.

warnings: dom/sub undertones, oral s** (giving & receiving), edging, spit, size kink

.....................................................................

He’d warned you about that skirt.

In the hall outside the bathroom of the four star restaurant his parents invited you to. Crowding you against the posh wallpaper. Fingers digging into the skin just below your hemline. Admittedly, it was pushing the boundary between business chic and let me get railed on my five break and then meet you back here to talk about the budget requests. A cute, pink pleated number you’d thrifted a few months back. The weather had just turned right to wear it with some knee socks. It was fun and flirty, you thought. A little daring, sure, but not enough to draw any attention that was too salacious.

Katsuki had other opinions.

“We get home, I’m fucking you so hard you won’t be able to form a coherent thought for days.”

He made good on his word. And after pampering you a little bit (no thinking required with your boyfriend literally carrying you wherever you needed to go), Katsuki passed his final judgement on your dinner attire.

“No.”

You put on your best pout, waggling the (now very stained) skirt at him. He slapped your hands out of his face, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the swish of the fabric, or how they fell to the marks he left on your thighs.

“Throw that shit out,” he groused.

You know he would never actually dare to tell you what you can and can’t wear. You also know he had a soft (and inexplicable) spot for that particular outfit. So you don’t feel bad about tucking it away for a rainy day -- after a very thorough washing, at least.

Now seems like the perfect occasion to break it out again.

Your boyfriend hasn’t been home in three days. The two of you keep up a constant back and forth over text, but you could tell the stress is beginning to wear on him, his responses getting pricklier and shorter the longer he’s away.

Finally, you get the message you’ve been waiting for. Home in ten.

Just enough time to get ready.

You hear Katsuki pull into the garage. He likes his cars fast and loud, which has never bothered you -- but the sound of the motor cutting out has your heart thundering in your chest. You’re seated on the plush couch in the den. You’re not sure if you should arrange yourself pleasingly or just plant yourself. You try several poses before you hear the front door open and shut, and Katsuki appears in the doorway, peering at you through the dimmed lighting as you struggle with one leg on the floor and one off.

It’s an uncomfortable position, and you can’t extract yourself without doing a bit of an awkward shimmy, which you suspect is endearing but not exactly seductive. Finally you end up with your legs hugged against your chest, your eyes trailing over to your boyfriend as he watches you, not moved from his spot by the entrance.

He’s in civilian clothing, sweats and a dark t-shirt, both perfectly fitted. It’s the first time he’d changed from his hero uniform in days, and the loungewear feels strange on his skin. Unnatural.

He leaves his coat on the floor in a heap, forgotten as he finally starts stalking toward you. His expression is bland, impassive -- but you catch a glimpse of interest in his eyes before your gaze darts, landing on his thighs. They’re massive, just like the rest of him. Sometimes you catch yourself watching him on slow days, as he leans over the stove, or grabs something from the top shelf from you, just marveling at the sheer size, the strength of him. It’s like he was designed with you in mind. Like he was made to make you feel small.

You can feel the divine heat of him as he stops before you, knuckles brushing your chin up until you meet his gaze. “Cute.”

You lean into his touch, and he cups your cheek, thumb petting the soft skin. “Missed you,” you say.

“Oh, yeah?” He stares at you for a second, the arches and slopes of your face. His thumb continues stoking, moving ever so slightly until he’s rubbing your bottom lip, dragging it down until he can see the dark color of the delicate inner skin. His forefinger creeps in, prodding against the soft point of your canine before finding your tongue. He presses down, a gentle pressure, but one that won’t let you ignore it. “Prove it.”

Your tongue presses back against his finger, licking around it, sucking. You do all of this without modesty, groaning when he presses back, gagging when his finger sinks deeper, edging toward your throat.

Katuski has big hands. You know that -- how could you ever forget that every part of him is a mountain -- but it’s moments like these that remind you just how big. How much bigger than you. How well he can fill you, in any way he chooses.

Your teeth are held open against his knuckle, and strings of drool begin to trail down your cheeks, land on your chest. Katsuki takes all of this, you, in with red eyes hooded, his other hand clenched at his side until he can’t hold himself back any longer.

With one arm he picks you up by the waist and repositions you, laying on your back beneath him as he straddles your midriff. He wipes the spit from his index finger off on your cheek, peering down at you as you let out another low whine.

“Impatient, huh?” he murmurs. At your eager nod, he grins, all teeth. “Guess I gotta show you who’s in charge here.”

One hand on the arm of the couch, the other cradling your chin, he crawls up your body until his hips are hovering over your face.

He lets go of you for just long enough to rip down his sweats, cock hard enough to tap his stomach, just from playing with your tongue, then his fingers are back on you, teasing open your mouth. He grits his teeth as you so willingly let him tap himself against your tongue, a dab of precum already budding at the tip.

You’re caged in by him from all directions, his thick thighs framing your temples, his hand stroking his cock in slow jerks just above your face. You should feel smothered—instead you feel intoxicated, drowned in his and his domination, and your lips continue to part further and further as he teases you, until you’re gaping and he’s grinning down at you.

“That’s it baby,” he hisses, nudging his cock in (finally in) to the warm cavern of your mouth.

He’s too big for you to take all of him like this, laying down, his legs splayed over you, but he continues to prod at the back of your tongue, his hips rolling in a firm, shallow rhythm. He edges himself in your mouth, pulling out and letting his cock smack gently against your cheek, smearing precum and your own spit across your skin.

“Yeah,” he says, voice worn thin, self control fraying. “So goddamn cute.”

Twice more pulls out just before cumming, smearing your face with your combined slick, groaning as his hips jerk against your jaw.

With a hiss he crawls off you, goes to his knees on the floor. In less than a second he’s manhandled you into the position he wants, hips hung off the couch, your whole body supported by his strong arms. With a wicked growl he flicks your skirt up, then he lowers his face.

Nothing Katsuki does could ever be considered sloppy. He’s perfect, sometimes maddeningly so. When he’s between your thighs he does things with a brutal finesse, one that you appreciate to the fullest extent. But what’s happening right now can only be described as messy.

He still knows how to treat you right, the exact pressure to make you buck, the spot inside to stroke with his index and middle finger while his other hand squeezes the meat of your thigh just this side of painful. But all of that is interspersed with split seconds of ravenous mindlessness. There are moments you don’t know what’s happening because it’s all so much, before he pulls you back in with a perfectly timed tweak of your clit, a particularly firm thrust.

And when he pulls back, just before you reach your peak, once, twice, three times, his praise is gravely and soft, his eyes have that mean glint that you hate love.

“Too soon, princess?” he says.

Or, “I told you to be fucking patient.”

Or, “Look at you, so fucking fucked. Just let me take care of things baby, I got you. Fuck that look on your face. So good for me—“

And when he finally (finally) let’s you cum on his tongue, he’s quick to follow after. You didn’t even know he’d been jerking off while he was eating you out, but you watch him rise up onto his feet, keeled over as he spends right on your pretty pink skirt.

He takes a moment to just look at it, you, all fucked out, a loopy smile on your face. He doesn’t think about what does it for him, how he likes how delicate you are compared to him, or how sometimes he just wants to fuck you up a little, how the urge lives closer to the surface when he’s stressed. Like today.

He runs an index finger through the cooling puddle caught in a pleat of your skirt, brings his wet finger up to paint your swollen bottom lip.

He says, “Was thinking about Italian for dinner tonight.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x y/n #im sorry i know we said like 500-800 words but i like talking abt messy stuff aklalkgjaerlkgj;aefgkllaadfg

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

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hey Katy!!! i hope you’re having a good day and your baby is feeling better :) i had a slightly specific prompt that i hoped you could write out for me. Hotch and Reid thinking back to their first kiss but they remember it in completely different ways... do with it what you want, i’m sure i’ll LOVE it :)

Okay I will admit this took me a sec to decide where I wanted to go with it, but here is what I have for you <3 and thank you for thinking of us! He’s doing well, we’re just waiting on insurance to get their ass in gear so we can schedule his surgery. This ask was a wonderful distraction, so thank you for that as well.

This got hella long so it’s under a cut <3 basically a blurb/fic, hope it’s what you had in mind my dear.

Alright here we go.

Despite the fact that both Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid have completely different skill sets when it comes to memory recall, both near perfection between Hotch’s observational techniques and Spencer’s ability to soak up information like a dry sponge, they both fail to remember the specifics of their first kiss.

Or at least, they fail to accurately remember it.

When Hotch thinks back to his first kiss with Spencer, what he remembers is the hotel room door. At the far end of the hall, where he and Spencer were sharing the room -- usually Spencer shares with Morgan, or everyone gets their own rooms, but this case was different. This time budget cuts took precedent and they were covering multiple cases at once. He and Spencer were alone in that city, in that hotel, and it had been a long night with a high speed chase and a shoot out with an unsub they hadn’t profiled as armed and ready to go out in a blaze of glory. If they hadn’t been so well trained, if they hadn’t known each other so well and worked so in sync, it could have ended badly. They could be in a hospital, instead of approaching their room at half past one in the morning.

When he unlocks the door and looks back to Spencer, holding it open to usher him inside, Hotch remembers the weight of that door -- always thicker, heavier than normal doors, like most hotels are -- because he held it for what felt like an eternity. Spencer stalled right there, when his eyes caught Hotch’s, something passing between them that was charged and spoke volumes of what almost happened. What could have been. What was almost lost. Time slipped away from his awareness, in that moment, and although Spencer stopped right there in his space -- barely a breath away -- he didn’t press forward, or pull away.

It was up to Hotch to decide.

Hotch remembers making the first move, closing that miniscule amount of distance between them as he shut the hotel room door, his other hand pulling Spencer in and then...

In a fit of madness, he kissed him. There’s no other explanation for it. But Spencer kissed him back, and all second guessing or self-reprimand melted away between one swipe of lips and the next. Everything that followed, dates and dinners and goodnight kisses on apartment doorsteps, he can remember with much more clarity.

But that first kiss, it’s a little bit of a blur -- the only thing Hotch knows for sure is that he made the first move, and Spencer kissed him back.

When Spencer thinks of that first kiss, the thing he remembers most is Aaron’s eyes. They’re always a kaleidoscope of emotion locked behind the dark shades of his irises, but that night the depths of them were fathomless. The number of unspoken words and sentiments astronomical. Spencer kept catching glimpses of them, whenever their eyes would meet for split seconds at a time, and he’d seen the full spectrum over the course of that evening. Categorized them, as best he could.

Pride, connection, fondness, determination; all at the stationhouse, giving the profile, Hotch never failing to be quietly impressed by him and Spencer feeling the same about the older man, in turn.

Fortitude, strength, trust, apprehension; when they were out in the field. Aaron was always the one that trusted Spencer the most to do his job, be the Agent required of him in such dire circumstances. But he always worried about him, Spencer could see that in his face plain as day even when no one else could.

Panic and anger when the unsub started firing, relief and rage mixing messily during the shoot out, until that stone-solid, steady handed grounding took over and they handled the situation as smoothly and cleanly as they ever had. Bright, sharp glints of pride and a few other nameless emotions flickering there in the dark depths of his gaze when Spencer held his own. Just like Aaron had taught him to all those years ago. Time honed in the field. Whatever they were, they burned white-hot against something in Spencer’s own chest. Sparked like kindling when they met.

Stayed burned and singed there, long after, glowing like low embers.

The walk down the hallway of their hotel was long and deathly quiet. After all was said and done, and the case was over, and the unsub dead on a slab in the morgue -- when it could have so easily been either him or Aaron lying there, from where they’d been standing when it all started. It was also charged, and Spencer didn’t know what Aaron was thinking or feeling or if he’d already put it all behind him. Wouldn’t know until he could see his expression, those deep brown eyes that darken to black more often than not. So when he opens the door, Spencer looks up at just the right moment, where he is so close he can see every shade of brown in his eyes and every emotion hidden behind them.

What he sees stops him dead, and they stand there for far longer than necessary.

But Spencer... Spencer had to be sure, because what he saw? An array all it’s own, of trust and worry and care and passion and

Love.

Aaron moves to close the door, Spencer takes that final step into his space, and kisses him. Full, on the mouth kisses him, and doesn’t even have time to panic that he... really shouldn’t have done that. Because Aaron kisses him back. Presses him against the closed hotel room door, and the rest of that moment melts into a molten mess of Aaron’s body and Aaron’s lips and Aaron’s breath fanning against his face and... Spencer can’t really recall the exact sequence of events after that with much clarity.

But the one thing he knows for damn sure; is he kissed Aaron first, and Aaron kissed him back.

This obviously becomes a point of contention for the both of them. They spend years arguing over it, to the point it gets brought up in Morgan’s best man speech at their wedding because he’s had to hear about this damn night so much that he felt everyone at that reception needed to share the burden with him.

They don’t really care, in the end. It turns into a playful thing, something to pick a fight over when they want to make up in the best of ways. Tease each other about it, endlessly. “I made the first move.” “Like hell you did, you just stood there staring at me.” And so on, and so forth.

But what actually happened?

It wasn’t slow, at all. The way they thought time had slowed, condensed, became obsolete, was all in their heads. The only moment of stillness was immediately after Hotch opened the door and Spencer made to step inside, barely a heartbeat passing, contained in the split second where their eyes met. Two men caught up in the threshold, standing far too close, brown on brown in different hues.

In truth, neither Hotch nor Spencer made the first move, because they collided at the same time.

Hotch closed the door with one hand, the other snagging Spencer’s waist and pulling him in at the same time Spencer took hold of Aaron’s face and neck and dragged him in close and kissed him. Spencer remembers it being a long, drawn out kiss; Hotch remembers it being sweet and slow.

It wasn’t.

It was frantic and desperate, and Hotch indeed pressed Spencer to the closed door to kiss him deeper, haul him closer, but Spencer’s hands were already sliding up to bury long fingers in Hotch’s dark hair, guiding angles and kissing with deeper trajectory, and they became more and more entangled with every slide of lips and slip of tongues. Shared breath, deep bass exhales blending into sharp high-pitched gasps, and time did get away from them. They made out against the door until they could barely breathe, until they felt as close as they could get with their clothes still on, until Aaron pressed his forehead to Spencer’s and closed his eyes in search of finding metaphorical solid ground to stand on. While Spencer nudged the man’s nose with his own and breathed deep and attempted to get his head to stop spinning.

It was messy, and wild, and perfect, and rendered that impeccable memory recall completely useless.

It would be the beginning of everything, and remain the one thing that they could never, ever agree on. For the rest of their lives.

#asks #this got so sappy I kind of love that #you jumped the line because this sounded cute and I needed the distraction #and you also asked about my son so thank you for that #I'm... not feeling like myself tonight and I wasn't sure how this was going to go #I might like it better in the morning #I'm aware it's 2am shhhh #I couldn't sleep #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #rereading this it's a little convoluted but I'm not really in my right mind rn so I hope y'all still like it

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

gorgeous

#corporate masterlist

summary: it’s the office holiday party, and when you show up wearing this dress, jungkook doesn’t know what to do with himself. (jk pov) word count: 3014 warnings: alcohol, cursing, smut 18+- jk jerks it in a bathroom, he’s very into oc and she doesnt know it, jk is pining a/n: here is a lil holiday-esque drabble. this story takes place about a month after the team returns to seoul from ch 6. pls enjoy this first attempt at smut for jk. ty to @taestybae for her endless support <333

Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect from this office holiday party- apparently there had been a huge budget surplus this year and the regulatory department had decided to go all out. The party planners had booked an evening at one of the ballrooms in one of swankiest hotels in Seoul. Meaning that the party itself was semi-formal, or close to it.

Meaning that Jungkook would rather be at home playing video games and eating pizza than dressed in a suit. He’s tired, it’s been a long few months, and he just wants to go home.

But he plays the part, and he plays the part well. Namjoon introduces him to a few people, higher ups, after he grabs a glass of spiced wine from the open bar.

Maybe he can at least get a little drunk. As a treat.

His thoughts drift to you for a moment. He wonders what you’re doing. Maybe he’ll text you later, if he’s feeling a little brave. Maybe with some liquid courage.

He’s already looking forward to it. But he doesn’t have to, because you walk in through the doors with Seokjin on your arm.

Jungkook audibly chokes on his wine when he spots you. Namjoon gives him a strange look but Jungkook ignores it, in favor of staring at you. Jungkook’s throat goes dry the closer both you and Seokjin get to him, Namjoon and Sana.

He can’t be next to you, not when you look like that. Not when you look so much more pretty than anything his own dreams could have conjured up.

“Hi, Jungkook,” You say, your voice low and sweet at the same time.

He nearly faints.

“Hi,” Jungkook mumbles, “What are you doing here?”

“Huh? Should I leave?” You tease, pointing at the door with your thumb.

“No, I just- I thought this was a reg thing?” Jungkook asks desperately, digging himself into a deeper hole. You only smile even wider at him.

“Oh, am I not good enough company for you people then?” You scoff, “Maybe we should leave, Sana.”

“No,” Jungkook nearly whines, “That’s not what I meant-”

Jin is having a blast watching Jungkook tripping over his words as the younger man confirms his own already existing suspicions.

Namjoon tells Jungkook that he had invited you and Sana and you reply saying that you had come along with Jin.

What you don’t say is that Jin probably would have found a way to drag you to this party regardless. His jaw had dropped when he had picked you up from your house and you’re flustered under his gaze, something that has only happened a handful of times since you’ve known Jin-

“What? Is it too much? I thought they said semi-formal,” You panic, “Jin, I don’t have anything else! Should I go change? Fuck it, I’m not coming. Jin! Will you say something!”

“You look good, stupid,” Jin says easily and unabashedly lets his eyes roam, “You’re sexy.”

“Oh.”

Your dark green dress hugs your curves but still leaves enough to the imagination. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your shoulders and the dip of your chest, where he sees more of your tattoo that he’s ever seen before. He swallows nervously and when you walk with Sana to the bar, he sees the slit in your dress and an eyeful of your thigh.

Jungkook chugs his drink. The pink flush of his cheeks can be attributed to alcohol after all.

You’re perfectly elegant and sexy, unaware that Jungkook is having a minor breakdown while trying to stave off popping a boner at this very public event.

He’s not having much luck.

Jungkook is now on his third glass of spiced wine, in an attempt to stop himself from searching for you. No matter where you are in the room, you seem to pop up in his periphery. Whether you’re speaking to Hae-ri, or you’re shoveling appetizers into your mouth with Seokjin, or you’re speaking with Namjoon’s boss… you always seem to be in his line of vision.

He seems to be one of the youngest people in the regulatory department, a fact that Jungkook’s colleagues seem to always want to bring up. Remarks of how they’re old and of ‘kids these days’ as they look pointedly at him, saying that he’s young and spry are the norm.

It’s annoying and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. He just grins and bears it, going through his third glass of wine much quicker than expected.

These people always say they want change and fresh ideas and somehow refuse to embrace them. It makes Jungkook scoff. He’s happy with his small team of Namjoon, you and Sana. He’s happy that you’re all young at heart and that things aren’t so competitive. He knows he’s blessed in that aspect.

Jungkook is thankful when Seokjin pulls him away to introduce him to his own boss-

“You’re Namjoon’s golden boy,” Seokjin shrugs, “Everyone already knows you.”

He wants to ask, do people know you? But he refrains, not wanting Jin to get the wrong idea. Jungkook shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when he sees you standing next to Namjoon with Jin’s boss and one of her colleagues.

Now he really has to keep himself in check. You make him weak and despite his best attempts to avoid looking at you, his eyes land on you anyway. And how can he not turn his gaze to you?

He’s a goner, and he knew it from the minute he saw you walk into the venue.

Jungkook watches your red lips move as you speak with Seokjin’s boss and he vaguely wonders how your lipstick has remained intact this long. Your laugh is like music in his ears, you even throw your head back in genuine mirth at something that Seokjin’s boss says.

You’re not watching him. So he sips his wine and allows himself to enjoy your presence, all wrapped up in front of him in possibly the prettiest dress on the prettiest woman he’s ever met.

Your whole body shakes as you laugh unabashedly and fully and Jungkook dares to ogle your chest for longer than he should of a colleague. But you’re you, and he’s just a boy.

You’re his dream girl and he’s just a boy.

He wonders what your skin might taste like- you always smell so good, the faint scent of something warm and comforting always surrounds you. Your skin is glowing, the ink on your shoulders shining with the light from the chandeliers above.

And then your thigh peeks out and the sight of your leg sends an arrow of arousal straight down his spine. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of color on your upper thigh but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.

His throat is dry again. He needs another drink.

While he wants to look at you in peace as if you were a painting made just for him, he wants your attention too. Before he can slide into the conversation and see your pretty eyes light up for him, you turn to him on your own.

“Hi,” You murmur to him once it’s clear that Seokjin has steered the conversation with his boss away from you, “Feel like I didn’t get to say hello to you properly earlier.”

“O-oh,” Jungkook mumbles, “No worries.”

“Got any plans for the holidays?” You ask softly. Your voice rings loud and clear in his ears, the sweet taste of wine on his tongue has nothing on what he imagines your lips feel like against his.

“J-just goin’ to my parents’. My brother’s coming for a few days, with his girlfriend,” Jungkook says, letting himself relax around you. It’s easy for him to do, when you give him a smile and a laugh that makes his heart lurch.

“Oh! You have a brother,” You reply, “Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Ah, so you’re the baby of the house,” You tease, looking at him over the rim of your glass. Jungkook is momentarily distracted by the glossy taupe of your nails. And then his eyes travel up your fingers, as he catches exactly two small tattoos over your knuckles.

“I’m not the baby,” Jungkook complains and your teasing eyes melt away, instead replaced by a warm ember of something more. Your eyes are dark and hooded as you take him in, and it sets his blood alight.

“I know, Jungkook,” You murmur, your voice low and raspy. The corner of your lips quirk up into a smirk and all Jungkook can do is swallow his nerves down. He feels like he’s vibrating, just from your simple look. He preens in your gaze, wanting any and all of your attention.

Not for the first time, he struggles to keep his eyes above your neckline. Jungkook chugs the rest of his wine hastily and your eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jungkook is struggling to maintain his composure and if he doesn’t get his shit together, you’ll surely notice the small tent in his pants. Only you, looking so gorgeous in green can pull this kind of reaction from him with just a few words.

Jungkook is a sucker.

The hungry look in your eyes passes and instead you ask him about his brother and his family. He falls into easy conversation with you, telling you about last year’s holiday and how he had baked about fifty cookies too many for his family so he had eaten them all instead. He asks you what you usually do for the holiday, to which you reply that sometimes you and Grandma spend it with Seokjin and his family.

The lines between colleagues and friendship have long been blurred between you and Jungkook. At least, that’s how you feel. Normally, you wouldn’t offer that kind of information up to a colleague. But Jungkook feels like a little more than a colleague to you.

“Uh. Do you want to sit with me and eat?” You ask almost shyly and Jungkook feels his cheeks heating up. He nods immediately and follows you to the buffet line, enjoying the way your ass looks in that dress and eating up any glimpse of your leg he can get.

Happy holidays, indeed.

“How messy do you think these people get after a few glasses of wine?” You muse, observing the higher ups chatting with each other on the other side of the room.

“Pretty damn messy,” Jungkook replies, “Look at Hae-ri, she’s wasted. And Yunho too-”

“Maybe there will be a day where we can act like that and not worry about whether we’ll be fired or not the next day…”

“It’s all about control,” Jungkook says knowingly, “You just gotta fake it till you make it.”

“Don’t gotta tell me that twice,” You scoff, “I feel like I can never get drunk at these things. Feels like big brother is watching, you know?”

“Can’t relate,” Jungkook says smoothly, “What’s the point of a work party if you won’t take advantage of the open bar?”

You laugh loudly, and Jungkook nearly jumps when your hand floats over his forearm to steady yourself. Jungkook sharply turns his face towards yours, meeting your electric eyes. You cross one leg over the other, the skirt of your dress falling a little bit to the side.

And Jungkook sees even more of your upper thigh tattoo than he had before. Now he knows for certain that your ink wasn’t just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry,” You mumble.

He doesn’t know what you’re apologizing for, but he misses the heat of your hand when you place it back in your lap.

When you ask him if he wants to get seconds at the buffet with you, he immediately nods. You say nothing as he reflexively puts his hand at the small of your back. He’s a man, but he’s a gentleman, after all.

The simple touch and heat of your skin through the fabric of your dress is enough of a memory for him to store for later. He allows himself the luxury of it and when you stand a little closer to him, he can’t help himself from letting his thoughts wander.

Jungkook needs to leave. He needs to either find a bathroom or get his ass home, because the longer he’s in your presence, the harder it is for him to conceal himself from you.

Specifically, his boner. His cock seems to jump whenever you’re in his line of sight and it’s messing with his head.

He’s painfully hard by the point in the night when speeches from the higher ups are being made. They’re thanking the department for their hard work for the year and wishing everyone a prosperous new year. Meanwhile Jungkook isn’t paying attention.

He’s tipsy and he’s thinking about how you’d fit in the crevices of his hands. He’s thinking about how your hips might feel in his hands, how the column of your throat would taste, how you’d look with his head buried in between your inked thighs.

He wants to shove his face into your tits and he nearly groans out loud at the thought. He wonders how his cock would look in your hands, how you’d stroke him, how your mouth would feel…

Jungkook sneaks away from the ballroom in search of a private bathroom. He leaves quietly, not wanting to answer questions. Not when he’s this painfully hard, and the mere thought of you in that dress is seemingly enough for him to cum in his pants.

He swiftly walks through the halls with his jacket subtly covering the front of his pants. He’s mortified that it’s come to this, but if he doesn’t make himself cum in the next ten minutes he might explode.

Jungkook finally finds a bathroom and shoves himself inside, immediately standing in front of the mirror and pulling his belt off.

He’s so desperate. He wonders if you’d like that, if you’d like his desperation that stems from you.

Jungkook pulls his cock out of the confines of his boxers and strokes himself slowly at first. Teasingly. He sighs softly at the relief that his right hand gives him.

Fuck. Would you like that? Would you like that he’s this desperate for you? Would you praise him?

He squeezes his eyes shut, pretending that it’s your hand on his cock and not his own. He can see you in his mind, your lipstick beyond smudged, eyes watery and your dress rumpled.

He can see your tattoos on display for him, the ones on your shoulder, your chest and your thigh. Maybe you’d even tell him that they all mean.

The thought sends another rush of blood to his cock. He pumps himself faster, groaning softly and biting his bottom lip.

He imagines you telling him to be loud for you, to let you hear him. In that low, sexy voice.

Jungkook moans your name into the empty bathroom. He’s long been leaking precum from his cock, perhaps since the moment he laid eyes on you. He’s so close…

Everything suddenly feels magnified- his touch on his cock, the thought of your tits spilling over the bodice of your dress. The feel of your lips on his.

His mind runs wild when it comes to you.

Jungkook strokes himself even faster, only to stop abruptly. Start, stop. Start, stop. He whines to himself and peels his eyes open to watch himself in the mirror. His eyes are hooded, cheeks reddened and lips pouty and swollen from biting down.

He needs more than his own hand. He needs friction.

Without a second thought, he plasters his hands over the counter and rocks his hips into the edge of the surface. With a loud, broken moan he grinds into the counter. Wondering how your pussy might feel instead of the cold surface. Or your hands. Or your tits.

He slows down to a slow grind, teasing himself with the thought of you. What would you look like when he made you cum? What would you look like when you came on your own fingers?

He speeds up a little more, groaning and whimpering as the need to cum quickly approaches. The knot in his belly has become even tighter, ready to burst. Jungkook feels like his skin is on fire, his hands doing little to alleviate it.

He pulls off of the counter and strokes himself harshly with rough tugs, groaning your name under his breath. Jungkook thinks about you, waking up next to you after a nap together, bringing you ice cream after a long day, kissing you just because he can in his fantasies.

Thick ropes of white coat his hands and spray across the counter recklessly as he moans brokenly for nobody to hear.

Jungkook’s knees feel weak as he tries to regain his breath. He braces himself on the counter before taking a paper towel to clean himself up. After, he wets a paper towel with soap and cleans up the counter and the mirror.

His cheeks are blazing once the gravity of what he just did hits him. How is he supposed to face you now?

He doesn’t regret it. You’re his dream girl.

It’s no surprise that soon after Jungkook emerges from the bathroom, the closing remarks are just about to finish. That’s great timing because once they do, he’s booking it out of the hotel as fast as he can.

And that’s exactly what he does. He leaves, only saying goodbye to Namjoon and makes a beeline for the exit. His Uber is already waiting for him.

He doesn’t notice you looking for him to say goodbye.

It’s later, when he’s in the safety of his bedroom and in his pajamas, that his phone lights up-

you: hey, u must have left before I found you. Just wanted to say bye and happy holidays Jk 💓

Jungkook can’t help his heart doing cartwheels or the smile on his face at your text.

He also can’t help his cock from jumping, either.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #bts x reader

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remakethestars · 3 years

Text

RAVENCLAW 💙🦅🤎

Headcanons.

❝Even in the blackness, light can be found. My enemy can be outsmarted.❞

— Alex Hirsch, Journal 3

This is my house, y'all; buckle up!

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, & Slytherin. Headcanon masterlist.

The door'll let you in for witty responses.

We prop it open during exam season, when everyone's coming back from dinner, on party nights, & when no one can solve the riddle.

Questions become more difficult to answer after curfew.

Everyone waits outside & pretends not to know first night until the first-years figure it out.

Today's riddle & answer posted on the back of the door every morning; check before you leave just in case.

Sometimes you find the prefects debating over what the answer is; no one leaves the common room until someone's figured it out, so sometimes, the entirety of Ravenclaw is late to breakfast.

Again, if we absolutely can’t, we’ll prop it open.

If the door’s propped open and you remove the prop, we’ll use the guillotine on you.

Everyone has at least one hill to die on.

There's a podium by the fireplace with a record book on it of all the books in Ravenclaw's library that you can ask for help finding books from (pages flip in their own).

If you’re in a reading slump, describe what you're looking for; we've probably got it!

If you don't like writing & highlighting in the books, it'll disappear while you have it, but everyone's free to mark in them.

So good at reading their own messy notes and the notes their friends wrote they can read a doctor's handwriting.

And there are notes everywhere. As organized as some Raveclaws wish they could be, you can't make notebooks & journals as organized as Google Doc & Word documents. Unless, ya know … someone made a spell for that — hold on, I gotta write that down!

Professors find notes — ideas for spells & potions — on the back of homework & tests. More knowledgeable teachers will add their ideas or advice before handing it back.

Everyone leaves a copy of their favorite book with annotations before they leave seventh year.

There's a coffee/tea cart in the common room.

Hallways to the dorms are covered in graffiti from students long passed.

Dorms branch off based on your year.

Girls can walk into the boy's dorms & vice versa.

All rooms are extended for more space.

Beds are built into the wall like window seats & have bookshelves where the head and footboards should be.

Dark blue curtains can be drawn shut if you're feeling introverted.

Trunks go under the bed, so they're kinda high off the ground.

Cast an extension charm if you’re claustrophobic.

At the end of every year, everyone congregates in the common room, someone casts glisseo on the stairs to Ravenclaw tower, & everyone slides their trunks down (it's called "the trunk shoving").

No one gives a single sh¡t about house points.

Ravenclaw’s are always blowing something up & losing points.

Dramatic about stubbing their toe, but super casual about ending up in the hospital wing because they "wanted to test a hypothesis."

If you have a question or don't understand something, ask it loudly in the common room; someone will undoubtedly answer or direct you to another who can.

Just don't use bad grammar, or sixteen people will correct you in unison. 😅

Learn (a) new language(s) in the common room 20:00–21:00 Mon.–Fri.

Tutoring sessions are in the common room at 21:00–22:00 Mon.–Fri. Or ask for private lessons to work around your schedule.

If a particular teacher's sh¡t, we host a class in the common room after dinner.

Also, there're just classes for random stuff: art, budgeting, codes & code-breaking, cooking, dancing, darning, fencing, ice skating (in the winter months), knot tying, lock picking, makeup, Morse code, muggle martial arts, sewing…

First years are all offered a class on note taking.

A lot of us do our homework on Friday night so we don't have to worry about it all weekend, so there're no party activities tonight, but you can play a muggle board game if you want.

Karaoke on Saturday nights.

Dungeons & Dragons on Sunday nights.

D&D’s swapped out for a play once a month; screw the theater ban! (For an explanation of Hogwarts’s theater ban, see Albus Dumbledore’s notes on “The Fountain of Fair Fortune” in The Tales of Beedle the Bard.)

Morning yoga in the common room — feel free to join; we'll teach you some poses.

Ask around; whatever you're looking for — info, candy, contraband — someone probably hands it out, sells it, can get it for you, and/or can tell you where to find it.

Pass around a spell that allows them to clean themselves. Who has time for showering?

And a potion that gives them the same feeling & energy as if they slept. Who has time for sleeping?

Yes, we're building a guillotine in the common room.

Please don't utilize it in the decapitation of any living person or thing (unless it's the Snape or Umbridge)!

Our next project is a carousel. With working lights & everything.

Yes, we're building a house of cards in the common room; please don't blow on it.

Be quiet until noon on the weekends or get hexed.

Thank Merlin they teach sign language in the common room every year & everyone knows enough to get by.

Parties are highly regulated.

People volunteer to walk people back to their dorms & put up protection charms so you don't get assaulted. Those people are vetted with Veritaserum first to confirm the authenticity of their intentions.

People often get into academic debates, which can get a bit loud; just silencio them & move on.

The entrances to the dorms are hidden behind moving bookshelves.

The Ravenclaw copy of Hogwarts: A History will tell you more than you realized you needed to know; there're enough notes in the margins to make a second book, including how to enter the kitchens, how to sneak out if the castle, how to find the Room of Requirement…

They've located more secret passages & rooms in Hogwarts using spells they created than the Marauders were aware of.

First-years are told how to put extension charms on their backpacks so they're not heavy — that's a crap-ton of stairs.

There's an incredibly thick book by a armchair near the fireplace that's full of testaments of Ravenclaw's alumni. "What's one thing you wish you'd known when you started Hogwarts?" First-years are encouraged to flip through it.

And taught a low-concentration spell for levitating books while laying down so your arms don't get tired (flick wand to turn page).

Common room's extended to fit all kinds of activities (and the bookshelves).

Some third-years built an aquaponic system on top of one of the window seats; take a cucumber, if you want, or stop to look at the fish.

Again, explosions are not uncommon. (Please don’t drop any explosives in the fish tank. As water isn’t as compressible as air, this will kill the fish.)

Everyone just kinda glances over to make sure you’re okay before going back to what they were doing.

There's always a record playing.

They host a hike through the Forbidden Forest once a week, because what even are rules?

If you hear an intelligent conversation taking place, feel free to sit down & listen or jump in!

The wind whistles against the windows all year round, but they've been charmed to keep water out.

Played The Floor is Lava before it was a meme.

There's a two-way mirror on the wall above the fireplace. There's a muggle television on the other side. No one's sure whose T.V. it is, but a lady comes in in the mornings in hair curlers & watches the news.

She puts in V.H.S. tapes of Disney movies at the start of term. Hypothesis says it's for the first years & this person's a half-blood or a muggle-born.

Sometimes, people work together to solve the Friday crossword in The Daily Prophet. It's the hardest all week.

Look at each other like they're the camera in The Office when someone says something stupid.

Oh, boy, if someone's found a really good mystery book… That sh¡t’s getting magically copied & passed around. We discuss theories at meals, pass notes in class, & set up a murder board in the common room.

Actually, Ravenclaw house has solved a number of murders in its free time.

Visit my Ravenclaw YouTube playlist & Pinterest board.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ These headcanons are what I consider to be canon in my fanfictions. They may be others’s headcanons I’ve subconsciously filed away in my noggin. If one’s yours and you want it removed or credited, please send me your post and let me know.

#Ravenclaw #Ravenclaw Headcanons #Headcanons #Headcannons #remakethestars

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clairenatural · 4 years

Text

destiel, 2k. mafia!Cas/Kingergarten teacher!Dean from an anon prompt for mafia!dean or Cas protecting the other at all costs. I’m not entirely sure what this turned into but it was fun to write so I hope it’s also fun to read :) it references stuff that happens in 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets.

“Sir, we have a problem.”

Castiel sighs. His five least favorite words. He glances up, frowning at Inias. “What kind of problem?” He doesn’t add that it had better be important to justify the younger man barging into his office like this, but it’s implied.

Inias takes a deep breath before stepping fully into the room, letting Castiel’s glass office door shut behind him. “The DA’s office is refusing to back down on the Ishim case.”

“And you paid them the standard amount?”

“Yes, sir. But one of the DDAs refused it.”

“Refused it.”

“He’s new. He doesn’t understand our arrangement.”

“Hm.” Castiel closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, considering both the situation and the man in front of him. They hadn’t had a problem with the DA in years—at least, not since Castiel had taken over. Their messes were less messy and they paid more generously for silence. “How much does he need to understand?”

“That’s the problem, sir. I don’t think he will.”

Castiel scoffs. “Anyone in power can be bought off,” he replies, because in all his years he’d never met someone who couldn’t be. Power corrupts, after all.

Inias shifts uneasily, and Castiel can tell he isn’t going to like how this ends.

“We’ve received word that he’s begun investigating independently.”

Castiel groans at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But don’t worry!” Inias continues quickly, hurridly. “We can put our best men on the assignment, have him taken care of by tonight—”

“Wait,” Castiel cuts him off with a sigh. He forces his eyes back open. “I’m not mad,” he says before anything else, because Inias looks like a deer in the headlights and even after all this time his employees still need occasional reminding that he is not his brothers.

When he’d taken over for Michael he’d promised himself—he’d promised everyone—less bloodshed. He swore to defend his family, business, and territory from Crowley and his cronies, but he’d been determined to stop ending innocent lives. For some reason, though, innocents just love getting in the way. He sighs again. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

And, well. That certainly complicates things. He’d known when Sam announced he was going into criminal law that this was a possibility—in some ways, he thinks he should have expected this.

“Sir?” Inias asks, and Castiel realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at him. “Are you…do you know him?”

Castiel blinks back to reality and glares at him. “Call them off,” he orders, and cuts Inias off when he tries to protest. “Call them all off, Inias. Now.”

“But, sir, what about—”

“I’ll deal with Sam Winchester myself. Nobody else is to touch him.” Then, just for emphasis, “Until I say otherwise, consider him under my protection.”

Inias is still staring at him, baffled, but after a moment he nods, and Castiel is thankful that he’s decided not to argue. “Alright, I—yes. Understood.” He nods again before leaving the office and Castiel sinks deep into his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes.

His phone buzzes and Castiel watches as a text message lights up the screen, revealing the photo from his wedding he has set as his background. It’s a message from Dean, because of course it is, asking him what he wants for dinner and if he wants wine with it.

Castiel looks around his office, awarded to him based on his surname but paid for in blood, and he’s never hated it more.

————————————————————-

They get half an hour into the low-budget western Dean had insisted in watching before his husband sighs, pauses the movie, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table. “What’s going on with you?”

Castiel frowns up at him from where he’s lying on the couch, cheek against Dean’s thigh, his own wine glass barely touched. All things considered, Castiel thinks he’s been doing a great job acting like everything is fine. He forgets, sometimes, how easily Dean can read him.

“Work was…long,” he answers, and it isn’t a lie. Then, because Dean is looking at him like he doesn’t believe him, he follows up with “How’s Sam?”

It’s both a deflection and an answer to Dean’s question, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean thinks he manages a hedge fund. Which he does. Technically. Legally, at least.

Dean knows he’s changing the subject but he doesn’t press it, and his face lights up the way it always does when someone asks about his brother. Castiel loves him for it. Dean starts on about Sam, how he’s doing with Eileen, how they just moved into a bigger house because they want to start a family. Castiel isn’t paying attention, not really, because Dean’s fingers are playing with his hair and he doesn’t really want to think about anything else.

“—I said I’d help him out, though.”

That catches his attention. “What? Why?” he asks, a bit too quickly, because even though he’s missed most of the context he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, babe. I never get to use my degree anymore.” He shrugs. “And it sounds fun, you know? Helping my baby brother take down a corrupt criminal justice system. I feel like Serpico.”

“No.” It comes out more forcefully than he had intended and he sits up, turning fully to face Dean. “No, Dean, you need to stay out of it.”

Dean blinks at his husband, and Castiel immediately backtracks. “I mean, um. You don’t—you don’t have any evidence.”

“That’s the point of me helping,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I know I chose teaching five-year-olds over working in cybersecurity, but I still know my way around.”

“You’re going to hack into the DA’s office?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”

“It is bad.” Castiel knows he’s being too insistent, is pushing too hard, but Dean can’t get involved, too. He can’t. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know who else could be involved.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. You just don’t understand—”

“Understand what, Cas?” Dean snaps, and now it’s the fight Castiel didn’t want to have. “What could I possibly not understand that you do? A kid is dead and the DA is trying to cover it up and just maybe I can help figure out why.”

“There are things you don’t—” Castiel is already halfway through his next argument when the second half of Dean’s sentence catches up with him, and he stops. “Did you say a kid?”

Dean scoffs. “You weren’t even listening, right? Great. Yeah, some asshole killed his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend and her kid and the DA is refusing to press charges. Says there isn’t enough evidence. Sam thinks they were paid off.”

“No,” he says, quietly, because no. The daughter was never supposed to—that’s not what happened. He had been told that’s not what happened.

“What do you mean, no?” There’s less heat in Dean’s words, and Castiel thinks it’s because he himself has completely deflated.

He stares at his husband—the love of his life, the beautiful, generous, selfless man he doesn’t deserve—and realizes he’s never going to be able to talk Dean down from this. If he could, he wouldn’t be Dean.

He thinks about all he’s done to keep this part of his life safely tucked away. He cultivated a reclusive public image to keep Dean safe from being the husband of Castiel Novak, manager of the Novak Group. He expanded their territory to encompass the school Dean works at, something his family still holds against him as a waste of resources, to protect him from being the husband of Castiel Novak, leader of the crime syndacate. He’s hidden his marriage from nearly the entire family, labeling anything to do with Dean as the most privileged of information.

The only reason he’s still doing this at all, really, is Dean. He could have jumped ship when Michael died, when Gabriel left, when Lucifer took the fall and was sentenced to life, but that meant giving everything to Raphael, who promised to hunt both him and Dean down if he left. So he took the reins instead and he’s tried his best to keep his family safe while managing the business—both the above and underground aspects.

And now, despite all that, both Dean and his brother have somehow gotten themselves involved.

Dean is still staring at him, brows furrowed, and he doesn’t move away when Castiel reaches out to take both of his hands into his own. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and Dean looks taken aback but he doesn’t break the eye contact. “I love you. I don’t want you to end up in trouble.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softens. “Hey,” He squeezes Castiel’s hands lightly. “Come on. Have a little faith in me.”

And all Castiel can do, just like any time Dean looks at him like that, is smile back. And nod. And lean forward to kiss him, just once, softly.

“I do, Dean. I always do.”

Dean leans their foreheads together and Castiel can tell he’s still concerned, but he doesn’t want there to be any more yelling tonight, so instead he pulls back to lie down in Dean’s lap again. He hears Dean sigh before picking up the remote with the hand not still intertwined with Castiel’s, and then he restarts the movie, and Castiel tries not to think for the rest of the night.

————————————————————-

The next morning, though, he’s storming into his office, ready to lay into anyone involved with lying to him. He doesn’t get far—Naomi is sitting in his chair. At his desk. For a brief moment, he sees red.

“That’s my chair.”

His aunt regards him, cool as ever. “Is it?” she asks, and she stands, but only to walk around the desk and into his space. “And who gave it to you?” In her heels she’s taller than him but he glares anyway, refusing to be intimidated. He doesn’t respond.

“Why are you protecting Sam Winchester?” she asks after a moment of silence, still standing just as close.

“Why did you lie to me about the incident with Ishim?”

Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but something close to surprise flickers across her eyes and she backs off to lean against his desk. “I suspect the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“May Sunder was never supposed to die,” he presses, not backing down, and Naomi looks at him as if he’s being an unruly child.

“Yes, but her mother threatened to go to the police. Come now, Castiel, you’re old enough to understand these things.”

“I never authorized that.”

Naomi stands again. “You think you have to?”

This, of all things, catches him off-guard. “I—yes?”

His aunt steps forward, crowding him again, and he hates himself for taking a step back. “You’re a figurehead, Castiel. You’re in power because you’re Michael’s brother, people like you, and we thought you’d at least be loyal.”

“I am loyal,” he retorts, and she sighs.

“I’m not the only one who’s begun to question your sympathies, Castiel. Who are you loyal to?”

“My family.”

“Does that mean us? Or Dean Winchester?”

Castiel freezes, stunned. “How—”

Naomi cuts him off with a smile. “You think we don’t know? We’ve been letting you play house because it kept you distracted. Now, it seems, it’s making you weak. If you don’t fix this, I’ll have no choice but to cure you of that weakness.”

At last she steps away and turns towards the door. “You have an army here, Castiel. Don’t lose it for one man.”

And then she leaves.

And then, Castiel makes a decision.

In the next few hours, he makes several more—and then he’s driving home with all his family’s secrets copied onto a hard drive, the few items from his office that he actually cares about, and a plan forming on how to take the whole system down.

It’s almost funny, he thinks, the decision Naomi expected him to make—that she’d expected him to choose the family over Dean. That she’d expected him to choose anything over Dean.

She has no idea what’s coming.

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel one-shot #deancas fic #deancas #spn #the destiel starts after the cut!!#mafia!au #teacher!au #background saileen #my words #over 1k words

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llendrinall · 3 years

Note

As we all know, Charlie Weasley could have played for Britain had he not gone off chasing dragons. There’s a lot of gold that comes with being a good international player. What do you think it would have been like if the Weasleys were doing better financially?

Frankly, I don’t think things would change all that much. Not everybody is a Ronaldo or a Messi (to draw parallels with football/soccer) making really stupid amounts of money. At least during the first few years, until Charlie became a Big Name, he would make money, maybe even tons of money, but I doubt it would be enough to change things significantly.

Mostly I think Charlie would be very unhappy and Percy’s break with the family would be much more intense (what! After the way he behaved in canon? Yes, more than that. Percy would be the next Charlie, getting a job far away and visiting home rarely).

The question here is: why are the Weasleys poor? There is a quick and dirty answer, which is that JKR wanted a rich=bad, poor= good - noble, structure. But she didn’t build a reason as to whyit is so. (There is also no reason why the Malfoys are rich, but money has inertia so we can half buy it). Thus, she accidentally made the Weasleys come across as reeeeally financially irresponsible and the creators of their own poverty.

Let’s look at the money. Supposedly, Hogwarts is free for all students, which makes sense because a significant portion of those students will me muggleborns and I can’t imagine how that conversation would go with their parents (“Your child is gifted! Magical! Now let us take them for 10 months of the year and give us money”). Hogwarts budget must come from the Ministry and the expenses are supervised by the Board of Governors. This, together with how big the Ministry infrastructure seems to be, makes me think that taxes in the wizarding world must be pretty high.

(US readers, double whatever number you are thinking).

Let’s say… 40% of income at the very least. That’s a big chunk for the Weasleys, considering they only have one salary. Since Arthur is overlooked for promotions, we can guess his salary isn’t high. He is head of a department, but it’s a joke department.

The books hint that the Weasleys own the land they live in. If they were renting the Burrow, and it would be hilariousif their landlord were Malfoy, then the house should be in a better state and they wouldn’t be responsible for the gnomes or the ghoul. Since there was no dramatic subplot about Malfoy trying to kick them out, I will assume they own the house and the land. Maybe they have a mortgage on it? One with ridiculous high rates, for argument’s sake.

So that’s most of the money accounted for. What other expenses do they have? According to the ONS the average UK household, after taxes, has a budget as follows (simplified):

Housing (rent, interest and upkeep) – 33%

Food and utilities – 20%

Transport – 14%

Recreation – 12%

Holidays – 11%

Restaurants – 7%

Other – 3%

Let’s say that the mortgage has an insane rate, so 40% of the budget, after taxes, is going there. But we can scratch transportation right away since they have apparition and side apparition and, more importantly, they have nowhere to go. The kids are homeschooled and the one person in the household who has to go to work everyday, can simply apparate right before the office. So that 14% of transportation can go to the housing budget.

Next, food. The Weasleys have many more children than average so the food expense should be higher. On the other hand, they have a lot of land. Supposedly a plot of land of 24x30m (80x100 feet or, for the Americans, about the size of a small Starbucks, the kind that is integrated inside a business) is enough to feed one person for a year in an exclusively plant-based diet. My experience is that a plot of 10x10 meters (32x32 feet or a small Subway shop) can feed a family of 4 if they supplement with eggs and milk and they are smart with the crop distribution.

If the Weasleys kept hens and an orchard, they could keep the food costs low enough that the large family size wouldn’t matter. Plus, during the teenage years, when the calorie demand is higher, the kids are in Hogwarts 10 out of 12 months of the year.

This still leaves them with a very small budget. But considering the only thing magic can’t produce is a) food b) a property deed, almost everything else can be procured with a spell. Furniture wear and tear? A reparo will take care of that. Kids are growing and we need bigger beds? Transfiguration. Clothes? Buy the fabric and use a spell. Maybe it won’t be pretty, but it will be cheap. There will be many luxuries they can’t afford. No eating out, no holidays, no fancy broomsticks. And there are some unavoidable expenses, like school supplies (although books could be reused). Although with the exception of Ginny, there are 2-3 years between children so they have time to save. The moment a kid reaches Hogwarts age they have to make a big investment of wand, cauldron, etc. and then they can write them off. The high taxes also mean they have services like free healthcare and free education with board and room.

It’s a difficult situation. But notice that it’s one that I have created myself. We don’t know if they have a mortgage and we don’t know the tax duties. I’m just coming up with reasons for the expenses while not giving them supplemental income, like Molly selling preserves and whatnot.

I still think that things shouldn’t be so tight that they can’t afford a new wand for each kid. Yet Ron went to Hogwarts with Charlie’s old wand and spent a whole academic year with his wand broken. The Weasleys should had been able to afford a wand. Sure, they just bought Ginny’s school package, but Harry gave her some of the books. It might set them back, it might mean no new robes for the family, but they ought to have that money. Books you can reuse and hope the content is pretty much the same. Wands, you cannot. With broken wands, you are putting your child’s education and even life in danger.

Ron didn’t get the new wand because it was useful for the story that his wand was broken, but the internal logic of the story speaks of extreme economic irresponsibility. Despite all the excuses I tried to come up with (high taxes, high mortgage, Molly is working all day at the garden) not giving Ron a new wand points at a situation of extreme financial ignorance.

So, if Charlie went the Quidditch route the Weasleys would do a bit better, they might pay off their debt, but I don’t think they would be able to grow savings because they simply don’t know how. Charlie would have the added stress of not only performing well in his job but also being the main bread-winner for the whole family. Percy, who is quite observant, would have constant fights about what he considers unnecessary luxuries. He would resent his father even more and he would accept the first job that took him out of the country. The twins would probably resent Ron and Ginny a bit, since they would be the ones to experience having new things.

Charlie would have to make truly astounding amounts of money so that his earnings overcome the family’s blundering of the budget.

#asks #weasley family #hypothetical finances #textpost

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uwua3 · 3 years

Note

hello! it's me again!! um.. can i request a day at an amusement park with taichi please? i feel like he doesn't get enough love.

thank you so much for requesting, clover~ ♡ please enjoy this super fluffy piece, just for you~ ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊ i put lots n lots of #LOVE in it! <3 i love you with all my heart!!!

summary: even cupid deserves love, too!

warnings: bad relationship (slight mention), envy/jealousy, loneliness, misunderstandings

author’s note: happy valentine’s eve eve, my friends! i’m sooo #Happy !! i love valentine’s so much ♡(*´･ω･)(･ω･`*)♡ if you are Free on February 14, i am here waiting with flowers <3 (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**💐 (please celebrate v-day with me TT) ~ in celebration of my favorite holiday, please smile at this fluffy headcanon of taichi as the lovely, adorable cupid! 🏹💗 i love you all!

word count: 3,567

music: heart attack – loona (chuu)

stupid cupid.

🍁🛹 nanao taichi

every year, taichi spent valentine’s day alone

february 14th was another day of being absolutely single. but, for him, there was nothing better than seeing love in the air

especially as the “cupid” working all february long!

as cupid, taichi looked forward to becoming the epitome of pink & red hearts every year. it was a job no one else except him could do; who else to predict the probability of relationships than the matchmaker himself?

taichi loved love! he always could tell when people had crushes on others growing up like it was second nature. he couldn’t even count on both hands how many successful relationships he’s gotten together

love came easy to taichi. it was everything valentine’s was: floating heart balloons, bouquets of red roses, sights only romance movies would show, chocolates that came in heart-shaped boxes, poems from the heart, and so much more~!

the moment taichi set his eyes on someone, it was like he was the one who loaded the arrow and fired it. he knew who liked who, it was what he did best. his intuition was second to none, he was the amusement park’s cupid

for a month, all taichi had to do was sit at a booth and predict a person’s love life leading up to valentine’s day. it was easy money considering his success rate was 99%!

(we don’t talk about the time taichi accidentally caused a break-up... but, that’s beside the point!) (at least they’re happy now...)

yet, there was one thing wrong: taichi was loveless

despite being made of love, breathing love, living out of love, taichi had never celebrated valentine’s. it seemed like all the arrows missed him completely

taichi had never experienced any of the things that made love love, but that was okay! sure, it was a little lonely seeing happy couples all month but... it was worth it to see the smile on people’s faces! love wasn’t just romantic, platonic love was super important!

still... taichi forced himself to smile to apply the heart-shaped blush to his cheeks. there was a part of him, a hole in his heart, that longed to know what valentine’s felt like

FEBRUARY 1 — taichi fluttered the pair of angel wings excitedly, happy to be back in his valentine’s attire. he couldn’t help but jump up and down, squealing about how good it was to be “back in business”

even without his usual pink & red contacts, taichi’s eyes would’ve had heart-shaped pupils with how much love he had for this holiday season! as he greeted his coworkers for the first time in a year, taichi stood out amongst the crowd of workers listening to their orders for the day

as usual, taichi would be the cupid at a small, glittery booth that was louder than life itself. sure, it was a very discreet and low-budget set up, but it always was a fan favorite to catch this valentine’s season

taichi couldn’t help but run off to his station the moment he was dismissed, his wings flapping behind him and sling of heart arrows jostling. he almost slid past his stool but skidded, luckily landing in the right place with a bright grin on his face

when the afternoon officially began with people beginning to come in to the amusement park, taichi tapped his feet with exhiliration. showtime!

“welcome~! find out your love fortune this valentine’s season!” taichi happily advertised, putting his heart and soul into gathering the attention of the masses. slowly but surely, people began flocking to his side, unable to resist the teen’s infectious love and happiness to be here

it was like taichi raised the bow & arrow and fired into the squad. it captured the hearts of a hundred as people sat down across from him, seeking his love & relationship advice

there was a multitude of ways taichi could make someone’s day. whether it was reading love oracle cards or mixing up candy hearts, taichi loved putting on a show for people to enjoy

during a gap between couple sessions, taichi leaned his cheek against his hand and quietly whined to himself. he had recently just met such an adorable and lovey-dovey pair, even he felt sick with how much sweetness there was!

taichi wished he had that... before looking up. suddenly, his heart skipped a beat

it was like the gods & goddesses of love had heard his prayers because today was the first day he saw you

someone passed by the forming line. you hadn’t even noticed him, but taichi had certainly noticed you. when the moment passed and you disappeared, taichi had to focus before getting back into his cupid persona, smiling charmingly like nothing had happened

but, something did happen. taichi had just experienced love at first sight!

taichi hadn’t even had time to load his arrow before you hit him with his

it’s not like he was going to see you again, though... taichi’s loveless life wasn’t a romance film. nor a sappy piece of literature, unfortunately

though, for once, cupid wished he had someone to share this special month with like everyone else

FEBRUARY 3 — taichi was in charge of the valentine’s decorations comimg up. this was perhaps, the best news he had received in his entire life

there was something about folding a million origami hearts that made taichi’s own heart grow a thousand times larger. it was calming during his breaks to fold and fold again, with no thought process behind a skill that came naturally

as taichi cut the colorful paper into the perfect size with ease, he was humming the latest pop song on the radio before he heard something that made his heart break

arguing?! in the loveliest season of the year?!

taichi glanced around and noticed a distinct couple. the pair was fighting rather publicly despite the other person trying to keep their voice down and calm their partner down. before taichi could turn away and mind his own business, they sighed and turned in his direction

taichi felt his breath hitch in his throat as his hands froze, the paper suddenly bent in his tight grip. it was you, the person from two days ago!

so much for it being an one-time thing... taichi could already feel the butterflies in his stomach just at the thought of this being fate. twice in a row? did this mean something?

as taichi tried to search through his brain for what the chick flicks and rom-coms liked to say, you had already left with the person you were arguing with. as they walked ahead of you, you hung your head low with the shame and embarrassment of public humiliation

for some reason, taichi hated seeing you like that despite not knowing anything about you. he was irrationally frustrated as well; how could anyone just make you sad like that and not apologize?

taichi figured he could do one last love reading for the day

when you passed by his booth, you didn’t notice how taichi had left a surprise in your jacket pocket

you exhaled softly when you arrived home, leaning on the door and closing your eyes. when you put your hands in your pockets, you paused as you felt something between your fingers

pulling it out, you noticed a small red origami heart. inside, was a message in a messy, hurried scrawl

“leave them, you deserve better. be with someone who makes you smile! — cupid ♡”

despite everything, you smiled

FEBRUARY 5 — taichi barely had time before there was a person at his booth: you

before taichi could even process that you were real, you spoke: “i broke up with them.”

taichi blinked. this was the first thing he’d learn about you, and it wasn’t even your name! this type of news usually wouldn’t make taichi feel like this, but he was honestly over the moon. he didn’t need to know anything else to know your previous partner had little to no consideration for your feelings

he’d definitely be a better boyfr—wait, what?!

“oh.” taichi said lamely, but his heart jumped when you laughed. it was a nice sound, one that made him think of giant teddy bears and sugary sweet candy. taichi wondered how hard the arrow hit, it must’ve gotten bullseye

“what’s your name?” you took the words right out of his mouth, and taichi blushed under the attention. despite being the main focus of the valentine’s event every year, it was different coming from you. it was like... you were really seeing him

“cupid, at your service!” taichi quickly jumped into character, bowing with a flourish. if he was in an anime, he’d be sparkling with rose effects right now, taichi thought proudly

but, you didn’t clap or amuse him like his other customers. instead, you observed him with a questioning look. it was like you were picturing him without the valentine’s attire, without the wings, bow & arrow, and glitter across his face

“i meant your real name.”

taichi blanked. you were a surprise; he had never been this speechless in his entire life... it was honestly kinda embarrassing for him, taichi was flustered for once

“but, why do you want to know?”

“because you make me smile.”

when taichi told you, you said it aloud and he finally understood what it meant to have a crush

all it took was one conversation and taichi was head over heels for you

FEBRUARY 7 — taichi had never been a target of love before. no one had ever liked him, nor had he ever developed a serious crush on someone before. he was far too busy fixing everyone’s disaster of a love life, never mind his own!

yet, it was like the world aligned so you two could meet. taichi swore the stars aligned, fate was working its magic so you both would meet at this giant amusement park during the most romantic month of the year

even though it had only been a week or so since taichi first met you, it felt like you two knew each other for your whole lives. after getting over the fact you made his heart beat way too fast, taichi quickly warmed up to you and vise versa

while you only came to actually thank cupid for helping you get out of a bad relationship, you realized you very much liked the person behind the angel wings. taichi was everything you expected and more, with his personality that reminded you valentine’s maybe wasn’t so bad

speaking of, taichi was absolutely in hysterics when he found out your stance on valentine’s

“what?! what do you mean you don’t....” taichi took in a deep breath, as if it pained him to continue. “you don’t like valentine’s day?!”

you knew it was ironic to befriend literal cupid when you didn’t have a taste for romance to begin with, but you tried to hide your entertained expression with a lighthearted eye roll

“i’ve never celebrated it. it seems like a capitalistic excuse to buy a bunch of overpriced stuff, to be honest.”

you physically winced when you heard the crack of taichi’s poor, poor heart. his puppy eyes widened at your revelation and leaned forward, uncharacteristically serious for his cupid persona. luckily, he was taking a fifteen-minute break so the curtains were drawn to hide his immense sadness

“b-but!” taichi spluttered, his brain running a million arguments at once, which was way too fast for his mouth. “it’s valentine’s day! it’s sooo romantic! love is everywhere! how can you not love love?”

you thought about it some more before shrugging, crossing your legs and trying to not break taichi’s heart even more. the poor cupid, it looked like he was going to cry like a baby

“why do you love love then?”

only you could render taichi silent. he had never been truly asked that question before, nor had he reflected on why he was the first person to become cupid every year

when taichi struggled to answer, you waited before he started speaking. it lacked the usual wonder and excitement he always had, it seemed like it was almost... personal

“i love love because... love is who i am. i didn’t...” taichi stopped, as if considering sharing with you before continuing, not giving you the second to tell him he didn’t have to. he wanted to, anyways

“i didn’t have love to call my own, at least, not the way i wanted it. so, i made my own love. i love people, i love the world, i love everything. everything deserves love! just because i love a lot, doesn’t make it any less special.”

you thought taichi would’ve said the expensive bouquets florists made of the prettiest roses. or the largest stuffed animals holding stitched plush hearts in their paws. or sunsets with classical music playing in the background like a nicholas sparks film. not... not that

“okay you sap, maybe valentine’s day isn’t that bad if you like it, then.”

taichi’s wings fluttered and he sat up, a smile upon his face

“i promise, valentine’s day is the best!”

now, that i’ve met you, taichi thought

FEBRUARY 9 — taichi came to work only to find a bouquet of flowers upon his booth. they were the grandest displays of affection yet, with the best-smelling hundred petal roses he had ever imagined

you, on the other hand, weren’t so impressed

“cupid, have you stolen the heart of another?” you said in the tone of a dramatic shakespearian actor, pretending to swoon when taichi hid his face in the flowers

“i... usually get flowers like these when i work, it’s nothing, really.” taichi mumbled, holding the flowers to his chest as a warm feeling spread across his body. he usually never got flowers, this was the first time someone had found his charms alluring enough to gift him such a pricey present

one look and you already knew he was lying. your heart fell a little when you noticed how happy taichi was, but you pretended to not care as you winked at him

“oh~ taichi has a lover now, huh?” he giggled in response, adamantly denying it despite holding the bouquet like it was his most prized possession. you glared a little harder at the red roses more than you’d like to admit

why were you feeling so... jealous? it’s not like you wanted the flowers or anything so—oh

when taichi turned that lovesick gaze towards you, you suddenly felt like you were on a sugar rush

when taichi performed his role better than ever with his newfound love for all things traditionally romantic, you watched off to the side

you reached up to your chest to feel the arrow, but to no avail

have you fallen for cupid?

FEBRUARY 11 — taichi shuffled the cards professionally, but his behavior was anything but that. the last time you had sat on the other side of the booth was days ago, but here you were, waiting for your love reading

when taichi met you, you weren’t a person who heavily believed in love. romance wasn’t something that made you happy nor did valentine’s day make you count down to february 14th like him. yet, you suddenly paid for a reading

you stared expectantly at him, your face once again unreadable and hard to distinguish. even if taichi was friends with you, he never mastered the art of reading you like a romance book. it was one of his most prominent talents, too, so it was strange why he couldn’t

you only showed him what you wanted him to see, unfortunately. regardless, taichi did the whole shebang, theatrics and all even if you had seen it a thousand times by now

“welcome to cupid’s love booth! let me read your love life~” taichi laid out the pink cards in a pretty, attention-grabbing manner before asking you to pick three. you did so relatively quickly, which taichi admired you for (he had once sat waiting for someone to pick, but they had taken nearly ten minutes. there was only so much cupid could do)

when taichi flipped them over, it was surprising, to say the least. of course, you didn’t understand a thing as you waited for him to explain. however, taichi fell quiet, reading the cards with furrowed eyebrows

“awww, come on, cupid, give it to me straight. am i destined to be single forever?” you joked but a part of you worried about taichi’s reaction. even though he wore his heart on his sleeve and always expressed his feelings, he had never reacted this negatively to a reading before

taichi laughed at your joke, but it felt like a customer service one. it seemed strained and before you could ask if he was okay, taichi’s brilliant wink put him back as the amusement park’s favorite cupid

“is there someone you’re not telling me about~? it seems like you have a friend you like, am i right?” taichi had hit bullseye; how did he know just from those cards? you didn’t answer, just offering an innocent shrug as if you didn’t care. you very much did, though

“so i am! i’m seeing that you’ve recently liked them, ahhh, young love~” taichi sighed, as if in love with the concept already. “looks like love’s in the air, my dear, so don’t worry about a thing! they like you back, without a doubt.”

you looked up at this, eyes wide before returning to your nonchalant state. taichi wondered what that could’ve meant even as he tried to maintain his shaking hands

“they do? how do you know?”

taichi held a finger to his lips, as if it was a secret only cupid could know

“shhh, i just know. trust me, they’d be a fool to not like you back.”

you could tell it wasn’t cupid just talking, and you knew what you had to do

“i’ll ask them to be my valentine tomorrow, then.”

taichi’s heart broke but... as long as you were happy, how could he say no?

FEBRUARY 13 — taichi wished he had a valentine. if only you liked him, maybe he would’ve asked you, his first crush, to be his this month (and even longer). but, you were somewhere else, asking someone else to be your valentine

taichi frowned, finding it hard to maintain his happy excitement forever as the line began becoming longer and longer. taichi huffed, looking around as if you’d suddenly appear. but, taichi’s life wasn’t a movie...

“hey cupid, why so sad?”

taichi turned around to see the biggest plushie he had seen in his entire life. it covered your entire frame, with the dog ears flopping over its giant black eyes cutely. in its arms was a red heart with the cursive words “i like you!” in white stitching

before taichi could even react, you peeked over the plush’s shoulder with a slightly embarrassed look

“can you take it already? i’ve been getting weird looks from everyone i’ve walked by.”

taichi took the plush and placed it on the seat next to him, about to speak before you pulled out an even bigger bouquet from behind your back

they weren’t just red roses. they were a rainbow of them, ranging from pink, white, yellow, blue, red, and even black! taichi could barely even count how many there were before you passed it to him, doing your best to not pass out and die from how sappy this all was

“see, these are even better than the bouquet you got last time. i clearly am the better, uh, person for you, you know?” taichi didn’t have the time to respond before you turned around again and presented a display of chocolates, all of them heart-shaped and tied in ribbon

“you like chocolate, right? yeah, of course you do, i also got—” before you could keep rambling, taichi gently held your hand. your heartrate skyrocketed and you froze, unsure of what to do when taichi was looking at you with his heart eyes

“you got all of this... for me?” taichi was genuinely amazed and flattered, a light dust of red across his cheeks at how romantic all of this was. you blushed as well, looking away bashfully

“i mean, yeah. i don’t see anyone else around.”

“but... you don’t like valentine’s day?”

you sighed, knowing the next words out of your mouth are word he’s going to never let you forget

“but, i like you.”

“but... i thought you liked someone else?”

“stupid cupid, i like you. only you.”

taichi stood up, not as cupid, but as himself. when he softly turned your head towards him, he smiled gently, squeezing your hands with all the appreciation in the world

“i like you, too. with or without the romance, i would’ve said yes to being your valentine no matter what you did.”

you breathed a sigh of relief. sure, you didn’t love love like taichi, but... he deserved it

“i have an idea.” you proposed, leaning in closer as taichi awaited your response with bated breath

“you should open a kissing booth.”

“you’d be my only customer.”

“then give me my kiss already!”

FEBRUARY 14 (valentine’s day) — every year, taichi spent valentine’s alone. until, he met you

“stupid cupid, i like you.”

you and taichi were shot by cupid’s arrow this valentine’s day

#nanao taichi #taichi nanao #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #taichi x reader #a3! taichi #a3 taichi

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

Text

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Chapter Three

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Synopsis: Based on the response to this post. :) Jude’s not sure what she expected motherhood to be like, but it isn’t this.

(SO MUCH FLUFF HERE. Really. Just. The fluffiest. I can’t help myself.)

Chapter Three: The Third

I think maybe I am meant to be a cautionary tale, not a happy ending.

I think that someone who has manipulated and lied and schemed as much as I have is destined only for tragedy.

And now it’s finally come for me.

I think this over and over again, like a spell I’m chanting to grant myself some measure of grim acceptance, while Cardan and I ride a ragwort horse all the way to the mortal realm. It’s the best course of action we can come up with in the moment of panic.

The moment I knew we were facing a potentially devastating complication, I wanted – no, needed – a human doctor.

Pregnancy is rare among the Folk, and I now find I’m not interested in trusting faerie midwives with a decidedly human condition. If there is something wrong with me, or with our baby, I want to know what it is, everything about it. I don’t trust anyone who might want to strike a deal for my child’s wellbeing or concoct some potion that, while saving the pregnancy, also gives our baby a third eye or snaggle-teeth or an appetite for blood. I’m also having flashbacks of a conversation long ago with Oriana, when she divulged details of Oak’s horrific birth. How there’d been complications that had cost Liriope her life. How Oriana herself had carved the baby out of her friend’s stomach.

I shudder hard at the recollection and press my cheek hard against Cardan’s back as we ride, my face between his shoulder blades. Hard pass. On every bit of that. Just – one massive hard pass. We are finding a real doctor.

Cardan didn’t even argue. Though he insisted it was time to tell The Court of Shadows, if only for safety reasons while we made an unannounced, unplanned emergency run to the mortal realm.

Nothing goes like either of us had hoped. There are no tears of joy. There are only tight, grim expressions and tense words while plans are made. How we will prevent our enemies from learning of the child and our absence. How we will remain protected while among mortals.

I have hardly a word of help to offer, and that alone is horrifying. I have always schemed and survived – it’s what I am. But there, instead, I can only sit with a hand at my flat stomach, my sole focus on willing this little rebel in me to hear her mother’s first command.

Don’t go. Please. I love you.

Please stay.

Please.

I’ve resented this for weeks, and now I’m begging for the nausea, the aches, the exhaustion to stay – all of it. Any reassurance that I’m not losing this newfound love before I’ve even really gotten to know it.

But I also wonder if I should just accept fate. I have always felt from the beginning that I did not deserve this. That I am stealing a happiness that I have not earned.

“How are you faring?” Cardan asks me over his shoulder, the whine of the wind in my ears. We’re somewhere over the sea, jostled by the roll of the ragwort horse’s gallop beneath us.

“The same,” I answer. Sick. Dizzy. Terrified of what comes next. Unconsciously, I grip his body to mine harder. He’s tense, every muscle on edge. This is unlike any journey we’ve made yet. There’s nothing to fight, and still everything to lose.

“Nearly there,” says Cardan, but it sounds like he’s saying it more for his own benefit. He hates the journey over the sea, the precariousness of ragwort horse travel. I’m not in any state to offer reassurances, or even tease him to lighten the mood.

Sure enough, the clouds part, and the city lights along the coast of Maine wink up at us. It’s evening, and dark beneath a heavy rain cloud, and as soon as we’re low enough, we’re being pelted with sheets of rain. By the time the ragwort horse alights its oaken-hooves on the pavement, Cardan and I are both soaked to the skin.

We dismount, invisible beneath a glamour, at the far end of a hospital parking lot. The sign at the entrance glows with a red cross and the name, Down East Community Hospital. It was the best I could think of to do at a moment’s notice: instruct the ragwort horse to find us an emergency room.

I wrap my arms around myself as Cardan holds out a hand to gather up the horse. The leaves of its mane and the bark-like coat of its body begin to curl in on itself, like a plant rolling in on itself for the night. A moment later, it’s only a few leafy twigs that Cardan can hide in his pocket.

We both look absurd, and I’m just now realizing it. We look like we’ve just run out of a community theatre dress rehearsal for a low-budget melodrama. Cardan’s tried to dress down, but he’s still Cardan, and he’s wearing tight black trousers and tall boots over his calves. He’s thrown one of the zip-up hoodies I keep in my wardrobe for trips to the mortal realm over a loose white shirt. He also must have been feeling particularly festive this morning after last night’s romp, and he’d gone and added a bit of kohl to his eyes before I’d woken up and shit hit the fan. And he’s still wearing gold rings all over his fingers and in his pointed ears. Combined with his soaked, inky hair, he looks a bit like a member of an 80’s rock cover band who’s recovering from being pushed into a pool.

It’s kind of nice. He rarely looks a mess. It makes me feel like we’re in this together, at least.

For my part, I didn’t let Tatterfell braid my auburn hair today, and now it’s just long and windblown, so I’ve tried to pull it all to one side to keep it managed. I’m wearing a simple pair of brown trousers with little silken flats that were my least flashy pair of shoes. I’ve got a shirt and olive-colored vest on beneath a hoodie similar to Cardan’s that was supposed to keep me warm, but now it’s sopping wet.

We both pulls the hoods on our sweatshirts up over our heads as we make a mad dash for the automatic sliding doors of the ER, racing against the onslaught of rain. Once we’re inside the vestibule between sliding doors, I stop a moment to grab Cardan’s arm and gather myself. He puts a bejeweled hand over mine, his expression tightened in concern.

“I’ve never done this before,” I confess, breathless. Hospitals, emergency rooms, doctors. It’s all foreign to me.

“I’ve done it even less.” Cardan’s looking more pale by the minute. The rising terror in both of us is palpable.

“I should call Vivi,” I spout, and Cardan’s nodding furiously in agreement, for once graciously not pointing out how he’s been saying this very thing for weeks.

But when I look around, there’s not a phone in sight. There’s only a poorly lit waiting room on the other side of the glass vestibule, and bored-looking nurses waiting at intake windows. Shit. Shit. How do mortals do this? How to they get treatments for mortal ailments and weaknesses and not fall to pieces fretting over their inherent, inevitable vulnerability in the process?

Suddenly, the surety of immortality is looking rather cowardly by comparison.

“Maybe one of the nurses will let me commandeer a phone,” I mutter, and I let my fingers slide from Cardan’s arm to his hand. My palm is starting to sweat when he laces our fingers together, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

The glass door to the waiting room slides with a hissing whisper, and inside there are people crowded in the cheap chairs lining the walls. Somewhere, a toddler is wailing out of sheer boredom while the evening news anchors jabber on a TV mounted in the far corner above a potted plant. Cardan’s already drawing stares with his ominous, messy appearance. He found a beanie in the pocket of the sweatshirt to cover the pointed tips of his ears, but there’s still kohl streaking his prominent cheekbones. I’m gonna need to clean him up at some point.

Right now, all I’m focused on is slipping into the first open intake seat and figuring out how in the hell I’m going to see a doctor for the first time in my mortal life. I am going to be brave. I have trained for nothing less.

“Hi, how can we help you today?” says a warm-looking middle-aged nurse behind the desk. She has short grey hair and floral scrubs, and a pair of readers perched on the bridge of her nose. Her badge says her name is Josie.

“Um.” My mouth feels dry, but I push on anyway. “I am—I am pregnant, and, um, I’m having some…” I draw in a shaking breath. Why is this so hard? “Some bleeding. I think I need to see a doctor right away.”

“Of course, honey,” Josie says, and peers over her readers. “Have you spoken with your OB?”

“I don’t have one,” I shake my head, my face starting to flush as Josie’s concern increases. I’ve never felt like I belonged in the mortal realm, and it’s never felt more apparent that I’m an outsider.

“Okaaay,” Josie says, slowly, adjusting her readers as she turns to her computer. “Let’s get you registered. Name?”

I hesitate again. I’ve never given my name in any sort of official capacity here among mortals. Especially not since I’d gotten married. What do I want to be called?

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar,” I hear myself answer. From the chair beside me, Cardan titters a little amused laugh to himself and then bites it back when I shoot him a look. He likes the sound of it, too.

“Okaaay,” Josie says again, pecking at her keyboard. “I’m gonna need you to spell that for me, honey.”

I appall Josie further as the registration process yields the fact that I have neither a driver’s license nor an insurance card. With each of Josie’s judgmental sighs, I can sense Cardan stiffening with repressed irritation next to me, and it’s only stressing me out more. I should have had a talk with him first about promising not to curse anyone. I’m half-expecting Josie to sprout cat ears at any minute.

“While we can’t legally decline services based on insurance,” Josie says, doing little to suppress her concern, “I will need you to sign this agreement that says you understand that, since you are not presenting insurance today, you will be personally responsible for the entire cost of today’s visit.” And she shifts a clipboard toward me.

“Oh, look, love,” Cardan suddenly chimes in. He slides a wet leaf from his pocket across the registration desk as his voice takes on the heady, dangerous quality of magic. He’s conjuring a glamour. “I think you can see all of the insurance information you require here.”

“Oh, good, you found your card!” Josie exclaims, delighted, as she takes the leaf and begins happily clacking away at her keyboard.

“Do not get carried away,” I hiss at Cardan while Josie’s distracted. “That should be a one time thing.”

But Cardan just slits his kohl-lined eyes at me, looking like the smug bastard he’s always been, and leans an elbow on the registration desk, throwing Josie a coy smile. The glamour in his voice when he speaks again is just as sinfully seductive.

“And Josie, my sweet,” he says, “you’ll let my wife borrow your phone to speak with her sister, won’t you, dearest?”

“Of course, Mr. Greenbriar,” Josie replies, with the charmed-sweet smile of the glamoured. She shifts her desk phone to me, handing me the handset. “Just press nine for outgoing calls, honey,” she tells me.

I’m frowning at Cardan’s wicked smirk as I accept the phone.

“I don’t think that was entirely necessary,” I whisper to him while Josie types away. He grins at me. I don’t really want to admit that he’s just been pretty useful, and he knows it.

Regardless of how ill-gotten this privilege is, I do need Vivi. I dial her cell phone, one of two numbers I know, and wait while it rings.

And rings.

“She might be screening her calls,” I say to Josie, sheepishly. “Her father is…” Oh, how to describe what Madoc is like these days. “…over-bearing and tricky.” And I hang up and try again. Josie gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, peering over her readers.

“You are not concerned about how unusual this is,” Cardan tells her, the glamour dripping off his voice, and I smack his arm to get him to stop. Josie settles again as the phone keeps ringing.

I have to hang up and dial two more times before Vivi finally picks up. She sounds irritated when she answers.

“Vivi, this is Jude,” I say, slumping in relief that she’s finally answered.

“Jude? Seriously? What?” The annoyance in her voice vanishes as she’s scrambling to understand. “You’re calling me? Where are you? Are you ok?”

“I’m at the Down East Community Hospital emergency room,” I say. “Can you come?”

“Oh, my God.” It sounds like Vivi’s suddenly frantically looking for her keys. “Yes, I’m coming. I’ll be there. Why are you there? What’s going on?”

“It’s a lot to explain over the phone,” I say, slowly, white-knuckling the handset. “I’m ok, and Cardan’s here, but I just really need you.” I hate it more than anything, but I can’t keep the frightened younger sister out of my voice now that I’m actually talking to Vivi about this. The first rush of relief hits me when Vivi replies without hesitation:

“Ok. It’s gonna be ok. I’m on my way.”

I let out a long breath as I hand the phone back to Josie.

“The nurse will call you back when they’re ready for you,” says Josie, and gestures to the crowded waiting room. “Have a seat.”

“Or--” Cardan starts, leaning forward, and I know he’s about to throw out another glamour to speed things along. In the blink of an eye, I clap a hand over his mouth before he can say another word.

“Thank you,” I tell Josie, through a gritted smile, and urge Cardan to move along.

“Your moral stance on glamours ought to have a loophole where our child is concerned,” Cardan gripes as we shuffle to the nearest available two chairs.

“You Folk are like addicts with glamours,” I snap back as we take a seat. “You don’t know when to stop.”

“I believe I’ve proven myself capable of great restraint,” Cardan says, looking miffed for a moment until a People magazine on a nearby table catches his eye and his curiosity of mortals gets the better of him.

He has the right idea, I think. Distraction would be the key to getting my mind off the blood and not falling apart right now. I’ve done everything I can at this point, and now we must wait.

I busy myself for a moment by wrapping the cuff of my sleeve over my fingers and wiping off the rain-splattered streaks of kohl off Cardan’s face, so that the father of my child looks less like the troubled D-list celebrities his People magazine is trashing. He’s not drawing any less attention, but there’s not much either of us can do about that. If you’re not accustomed to the allure of the Folk, it’s nigh impossible to not stare and stare and try to decipher what it is about them that’s so otherworldly. But at least now they’re staring for the right reasons and not at his ruined eyeliner.

With nothing more at arm’s length to distract me, I rest my head against the wallpaper behind me and let my vision go unfocused in the general direction of the TV in the corner. I don’t want to think about the whining toddler in the room, who’s mad at his mother for not bringing the right stuffed animal with them to the hospital. What would I do with a half-human child in Faerie who fell ill or wounded? What would we do? Would the land let Cardan heal him? Would we have to make this journey again? What if I forgot the right stuffed animal, too??

Amazing that I’m suddenly assuming this child is going to survive whatever’s happening now, I realize, and this worry spiral is helping no one.

Once upon a time, I’d been the girl determined to become a thing feared. What has happened inside me, that I’m now this terrified woman? I hate it. I hate it, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re not afraid of that everything will change?” I remember asking Cardan, three moons ago. I had thrown out the last of my birth control that day. We’d snuck away from a revel to lie beneath the massive tree that grew out of the top of the palace of Elfhame, staring at the stars above and dreaming of what they could hold.

Cardan looked to me, his hands behind his head in the loam, his crown slightly askew. He smiled, and the moonlight made him almost too beautiful to bear.

“I cherish every change you’ve ever brought me, Jude,” he said, and he stretched out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers softly lingering at its rounded edges. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“You’ve not always felt so gracious about the changes I’ve foisted upon you,” I pointed out. “And you don’t get to exile me now if my parenting pisses you off.”

I’m not sure what I thought he’d think of such a statement, but it was out in the night air anyway. His gold-rimmed eyes darkened as he pulled his hand back, folding it over his chest. I watched him as he stared up at the stars again, waiting for his response, and with each second, regret began to sink in.

“I consider myself fairly thick-skinned,” he said at last, “but that was uncalled for.”

“I was teasing--” I started, but he shot me a dark look.

“There was a measure of truth in your voice,” he countered. “You don’t lie as well as you think you do.”

“I don’t see what you’re so put out about,” I huffed, pulling back to glare at the night sky. “You weren’t the one living in exile.”

“Not this again,” Cardan groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Five years, Jude. It’s been five years,” he sighed into his palms.

“And now we’re discussing children, and it’s a very large and potentially aggravating change,” I said. “Maybe I am a little wary.”

“Of me?” The moment I saw the unguarded devastation on Cardan’s face, it was like I’d slapped him, and not in the fun way. I wanted to be swallowed down by the loam, covered in a grassy grave. Everything about this was awful. I wanted children with this man. Why was I dredging up ancient history?

But Cardan had been right. There’d been a measure of truth to it. It’s been a deliriously wonderful five years, but we are not entirely new people. We have a terrible past. And I feared what demons a significant change like this could summon.

When I didn’t answer right away, Cardan sat up so his back was to me, burying his head in his hands.

“Cardan…” I shifted so that I was propped up on my hands.

“What else can I give you to make this right?” he fretted to the ground in front of him. “I have given you everything. Every part of me, everything you see before you. It was wrong for both of us to take our games as far as we did, but I would have thought by now--”

“It was an off-handed comment made in poor taste.” I wanted to put a stop to everything that was happening. Rewind the whole evening.

Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me, visibly aching.

“I will not be like my father. I refuse it,” he retorted, and when I cocked my head to the side, not understanding, he went on. “Eldred collected consorts and sired children the way some people curate shoes: to suit his vanity. And I have that in spades already; there’s no need to spawn more. What I would want for a child, more than anything, is to not know what it is to grow up as an accessory. To not fear that his mother will be discarded. Jude, if you cannot trust so little of me, then this is poorly timed. Perhaps we need another five years. Or ten. Or however long you require.”

I sat up and scooted next to him, tucking my chin against his shoulder.

“I trust you,” I assured him in a whisper, and, as if he couldn’t help it, his eyes closed as he leaned his head towards mine. He smelled like oakwood and leather, like everything I’ve ever wanted. “I would not still be with you if I did not trust you.”

I wanted to push back the thick curls from his forehead, and so I did. And held my palm against his jaw as I leaned my forehead to his while the stars twinkled overhead.

Five years later, and sometimes we’re still finding little bits of armor that need to come off. For me, becoming a fearsome thing is not an option for handling motherhood, just as Cardan refuses to mirror his father’s vanity. But when I take off this bit of armor, this need to be feared and respected, it feels as if there is nothing underneath yet. Only vulnerability. Only terror.

I think of it now, in the ER waiting room of the Down East Community Hospital, while I snake my arm through his, looking at him while he’s ogling People magazine. He looks a mess, and there is no one I trust more. I’m still not convinced we’re shining examples of excellent would-be parents. But I’m afraid and vulnerable in the worst ways, and there’s no one I’d rather see me through it.

“Eldred would never have done something like this for any of his consorts,” I point out to him in a whisper, and he looks back at me with a pleased smirk.

“You are my wife,” he indicates, and gives my cold knuckles a swift kiss before turning back to whatever filth is engrossing him in People.

“Jude Duarte-Greenbriar?” There’s a nurse at the emergency room door calling my name. I draw in a breath. Here we go.

The nurse in blue scrubs takes my vitals and makes us somewhat comfortable in a makeshift space where we’re surrounded by taupe-colored curtains on three sides while I wait on a hospital bed. There’s a squeaky grey plastic chair for Cardan to sit on, and no more TV or People magazine – just the assurance that a doctor will see me soon. And then we’re left with our dread to stare at the taupe curtains around us, listening to the squeak of hurried shoe soles against linoleum and the occasional beeping of hospital pagers. The air is acrid, like someone’s tried to scrub it clean, and it’s making my stomach lurch. It must show on my face as I swallow hard against the rising bile, because Cardan swiftly hands me a blue plastic barf bag that the nurse has left him in charge of. He’s wary of my empty threats to aim for his shoes.

“Jude, are you decent?” calls a voice from the other side of the curtain. “You have visitors.”

The curtains scrape against their tracks on the ceiling, and I can’t hold back a relief grin at the sight of Vivi and Heather.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” It’s all Vivi can say as she sweeps in to wrap me in a hug.

“Hey,” Heather graciously greets Cardan while the two are awkward to the side. She’s looking effortlessly cool, with her shoulder-length pink hair in soft waves. She has holes in her jeans in all the right places, and she’s wearing a breezy, colorful boho top that shows off her brown shoulders. I try to give her a wave while Vivi is squeezing the life out of me.

“What are you doing here?” Vivi demands when she pulls away, holding me by the shoulders. She’s given her golden hair a short, edgey chop that almost hides the pointed tips of her half-fae ears when it falls the right way. She tends to favor t-shirts and jeans, but today she’s in tight black pants and a grey v-neck under a jacket, and I’m hoping I haven’t interrupted a date.

“Well.” I shift a glance between the two of them, simultaneously gladdened that they’re here and nervous with how I now I have break the news. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out…” And then Vivi gasps.

“Are you pregnant?!” she squeaks.

“Oh, my God, V,” Heather rolls her eyes. “You can’t ask people if they’re pregnant.”

“She’s right, though,” I interject. “I am.”

“Jude!” Vivi exclaims, fondly, and takes my face in her hands, and, for a brief moment, I realize this is all I’ve been wanting for weeks. I grin, sheepishly. Then Vivi narrows her cat-like eyes at Cardan.

“You knocked up my sister?” she jabs.

“Bold of you to assume it’s mine,” he quips back, and Vivi feigns a disgusted gasp as throw the empty barf bag at him.

“Force of habit,” Cardan tells Heather with a shrug.

“Congratulations, Cardan,” Heather replies, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“But why are you here?” Vivi turns to me again. “Does Taryn know? Does Madoc?”

“No on both counts,” I shake my head. “It’s early. And we’re here because--” Ugh, I hate this. I hate this. “I started bleeding.”

“Oh, no.” Heather’s face is etched with genuine concern. It’s been a roller coaster of a few minutes.

“But why are you here?” Vivi tries again, and I see what she’s getting at. Why not be seen to by the royal midwives?

“I’m mortal,” I say, quietly. “This is a mortal thing. I felt like I needed a mortal doctor.”

And Vivi takes my face in her hands.

“I completely, one-hundred-percent agree,” she says, whole-heartedly, and there’s relief there, too. She’s always wanted me to spend more time in the mortal realm.

We crowd around the hospital bed for a while to catch up. Heather makes a run to the vending machine to bring back some snacks, and soon the tightness in my chest is releasing and unwinding. This was the distraction I needed. For a few minutes there, I could almost forget what had brought us to this weird, curtained-off corner to begin with.

But then the curtain scrape on the track again. There’s an orderly waiting there in blue scrubs, pushing a wheelchair.

“They’re ready for you in ultrasound now, Jude,” he tells me, and indicates that I’m supposed to ride in the chair. I bristle at the gesture. I’m not sure of the last time I’ve been asked to do something so vulnerable and humiliating. I am not ill. I don’t need this.

Vivi notices and puts a hand at my arm.

“It’s just standard hospital procedure, Jude,” she says, in her tone of voice she uses to convince Oak to eat vegetables.

So I comply. Heather and Vivi tell us they’ll wait for us to get back, and then we’re off. Cardan follows the orderly, and every once and awhile, I hear him having to jog to catch up – he’s easily distracted by what all the mortals are up to in this place.

I’m wheeled into a dark room with an exam table. Next to it is a bunch of strange equipment I’ve never seen before – screens and wands and all sort of buttons. A technician waits for us there, a woman in pink scrubs with a badge that says her name is Brenna. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back tight against her scalp, and she has kind brown eyes that smile when she tells me to make myself comfortable on the exam table.

“And is this Dad?” Brenna wants to know, cheerfully waving Cardan in to have a seat on a grey plastic chair next to me.

“Not my dad,” I say, not understanding the question at first. Then it dawns on me. “I mean, he’s the father, yes. Of the baby.” Oh, my God. This is off to a great start. Cardan’s trying very hard to not laugh outright at me and failing miserably. His laugh comes out like one long snort.

“Happens all the time,” Brenna says, with another cheerful wave, which makes me wonder why she’s still asking it, then.

“First baby?” Brenna now wants to know, making small talk while she’s queuing up her equipment.

“First everything,” I reply, hoping that will explain my nerves. “First baby, first ultrasound, first try.”

“Oh.” Brenna sounds impressed and looks to Cardan as she wheels around in her swivel chair. “Nice shootin’, Tex,” she tells him, with a wink.

“Thank you, Brenna,” Cardan accepts graciously, puffing out his chest a little. I roll my eyes.

“This may be the only time I’m ever complimented on my marksmanship,” he tells me. “Let me have this moment.”

“All right!” Brenna interrupts. “Let’s see what you’re cookin’ in there, mama.”

She rolls up my shirt and tucks in some scratchy paper into my leggings. Then squirts some cold gel across my abdomen. I watch in fascination while she rolls her device over my stomach, and then she turns her screen to us.

“And here’s your little guy,” she says. “Or gal. Can’t tell yet, obviously.”

For a moment, time stops.

Next to me, Cardan draws in a breath.

Something squirmy and alive curls and stretches in the grainy black and white pixels of Brenna’s screen. It doesn’t look quite human. Or fae. It looks kind of alien, if I’m being honest. But I can see its tiny limbs and the outline of its perfectly round head, and it’s moving. Like a manic little seahorse, our little shrimp is bobbing all over the place, alive and well.

“Looking good,” Brenna says, and Cardan barks out a surprised laugh. I’m smiling so hard my face might break.

“Oh, I was sure I’d stabbed it,” Cardan sighs in relief, slumping in his seat, and it’s my turn to laugh.

“That’s not actually possible,” Brenna tells him, and maybe now he’ll believe it. “Let’s see if we can hear the heartbeat.”

She clicks and clacks at some buttons, then turns a knob. Pushes a little harder on my abdomen.

A fluttering, steady whooshing sound fills the speakers in the room. I don’t know when I grabbed Cardan’s hand, but I’m squeezing it hard now. I glance at him. He’s utterly transfixed on the screen, his dark eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like how I feel when I’m in bearing witness to great and ancient magic.

This isn’t all vomit and exhaustion. This is happening. This is real.

We are making something new. Something entirely unique. Like magic.

“Ok, this might be your issue.” Brenna breaks the enchantment, zooming in on something dark on her screen. My heart, which moments before felt like it might burst, squeezes and contracts in panic now.

“This is a sub-chorionic hematoma,” she says, pointing to the screen and making some notes. “The doctor will explain all this to you.”

“What is it?” Cardan’s voice is tight, panic thinly-veiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“They’re pretty common,” says Brenna, not looking at us while she takes measurements and notes. Like she drops these kinds of bombs regularly. “It’s basically an accumulation of blood between the uterine wall and the fetal membrane. It can cause bleeding, especially as the baby gets bigger and jostles it around. They usually resolve without much issue.”

“Usually?” Cardan’s not assuaged.

“Well, again,” Brenna says, looking at him sidelong, “the doctor will read this and give his advice. But it can increase the risk of miscarriage in some cases. Not always, though. The doctor will tell you how he wants you to treat it, but it usually involves some bed rest or limited activity, nothing too strenuous or crazy. Don’t go horse-back riding!” And she laughs as if only a crazy person would get on a horse while pregnant.

I look to Cardan. He looks to me. It’s hit us at the same time.

The ragwort horse.

How the hell are we getting home?

“Huh.” I barely had time to digest my realization about the ragwort horse before Brenna was back with more. She swivels the device on my stomach around some more. Cocks her head to the side.

“Are either of you a twin?” she asks.

Cardan points at me like I’ve done something wrong he doesn’t want to be blamed for.

“Why?” I ask, slowly, cautiously.

“It does run in families,” Brenna says, and turns the screen to us again. “And I’m seeing two babies here.” She looks back at Cardan. “And on the first try, Tex,” she says, looking impressed again.

Now, nothing feels real. I think I might leave my body. There are two squirmy aliens in the black and white screen, the lazier of the two now floating into view. Brenna adjusts the knobs some more to bring the new heartbeat into focus, just as strong as the first.

“Jude.” I can’t decipher what Cardan’s feeling now. He looks unlike I’ve ever seen him before. Something between elation and sheer dread is warring between his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He grips at the beanie over his hair like he’s trying to keep his own head from flying off.

“Are you and your twin identical?” Brenna asks. I nod, stupidly.

“These, too,” she nods, and points at the screen. “See: they’re sharing a sac.” She draws in a deep breath. “This does elevate the risk more, with the hematoma. The doctor will go over all of this with you. But I’ll bet he’ll want you on some kind of bed rest. Weekly check-ups. That sort of thing.” And then she squints hard at the screen. “What is that?” she wonders aloud. “Is that a tail?”

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, but he’s so flustered and shell-shocked, he’s forgotten to use the glamour.

“I think I might, though.” Brenna squints harder.

“You don’t see a tail,” Cardan says, louder and hurried, this time with the weight of magic heavy in his tone. “Everything you see looks normal to you.”

A glamoured smile flutters over Brenna’s pleasant features as she lifts the device from my belly and clicks off her equipment.

“Everything looks normal,” she hums, happily. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Everything but the hematoma, right?” I cock my head to the side as she rolls away her swivel chair. “The doctor will speak to us about that.”

“What hematoma?” Brenna’s still smiling as she stands with her clipboard. “Everything looks normal. I’m going to call an orderly, but pretty much you’re free to go. Congratulations!”

“Cardan,” I accuse under my breath as she leaves, leveling a glare at him.

“You are carrying twins.” He’s just agape at me, either unaware or unrattled by how the poor wording in his glamour just muddled everything.

“The doctor won’t know about the hematoma now!” I exclaim.

“We’ll scrounge up another one somewhere,” Cardan waves me off. “Jude. Twins.”

It’s not helping me feel any better, him saying it over and over again. I slump into my hands, weighted by disbelief and frustration. What am I going to do? This can’t possibly be real, can it?

“I am going to get so huge,” I moan into my palms in self-pity. I know it’s vain, but at the moment, it’s all I can think. In the land of willowy Folk, I already stick out like a sore thumb. Now I’m going to be a sore and massively swollen thumb.

Cardan’s shifted to stand in front of me on the exam table. And he runs his hands up and down my arms, almost reverent.

“You are magnificent,” he reassures me, softly, and presses a kiss against my head.

“Why are you not freaking out?” I ask, and pull him by the hoodie pockets so I can hug him again if I need it. I think I may need it. “This is two babies. We don’t even know Thing One about taking care of one baby, and now there will be two.”

“We may require a few more house cats,” Cardan jokes, and when I scowl, he asks, “That’s still not amusing? I shall persist. One of these days.”

“You know, I hear that’s a mortal fatherhood trait,” I point out. “Persisting over and over with the same unamusing joke to the embarrassment of everyone around you.” And I wrap my arms around his waist as I look up at him. He’s warm, and everything is a little more bearable when he’s close and smiling.

“I think you are implying that I’m excelling at fatherhood so far,” Cardan grins down at me, and I’m surprised to see it looks as if his gold-rimmed eyes are glistening.

“Are you all right?” I ask, softening at the sight. He blinks, furiously, as he buries his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me close as he looks over my face.

“I just--” His voice is hoarse when he starts, so he clears it and tries again. “This is more than I ever dared to consider,” he says. “I did not dream that this kind of life would ever be an option for me. Family that looked after each other, that loved each other – that always seemed to me to be a strictly mortal gift. As if the Folk had bargained for everlasting life long ago and forsook all hope of familial love in the process. I had accepted that it wasn’t mine to have. But you.”

He shifts his hands so that he holds my face, and I feel swallowed by the adoration in his admission. All I can do is close my eyes as he holds me. I can think of nothing else when his nose brushes my forehead.

“I am overcome by all you have given me,” he whispers, and I think I might cry. My hands twist in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears.

“I love your words,�� I whisper back, “but you give me too much credit.” I pull back to look at his mirthful, glistening eyes and say: “If it were left up to me, I would never have given you twins.”

He laughs outright, unguarded and thrilled.

“Lucky for me, then,” he says, and kisses me.

I have kissed him hundreds, maybe thousands of times. We have shared passionate, unbridled kisses and desperate, devouring kisses. We’ve kissed at quick partings, and we’ve kissed with soft, gentle comfort. I like everything about them all. But this is something entirely new, something that surprises me still. It’s filled with gratitude and promises and dreams of the future, and though it is intimate, I would not have felt ashamed if someone had walked in.

It’s the kiss of complete trust, and in that moment, I feel assured that, in Cardan, I have not made a mistake. There is much to figure out still. But this is right.

So, we will have twins. I will meet this challenge with resolve. For right now, anyway, the quantity of babies is the least of our concerns.

“How in the hell am I supposed to get home?” I ask, the moment we pull apart. Cardan rests his hands on my shoulders, screwing up his beautiful mouth in thought. The ragwort horse. The bed rest. The doctor we must scrounge up somewhere. There are a dozen new bullets swirling on a to-do list, and none of them lead us back to Faerie any time soon.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” he confesses. “Which further complicates matters, because there is absolutely no chance that I am leaving you here.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” I say, and press back a smile. “And also glad,” I add.

Cardan meets my smile with a little wicked smirk of his own.

“Is it time we scheme together once again?” he asks.

We cannot get home until this is resolved, and we cannot leave Faerie ungoverned. I have no idea where to even start on this problem.

But that’s certainly never stopped us before.

There’s a knock at the door. The orderly has arrived with the wheelchair to take us back to Vivi and Heather. I give Cardan a secret, knowing smile.

“I suppose it is,” I agree.

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

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#the folk of the air #tfota #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jurdan fanfic #vivienne duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #post-qon #babies!#baby fic #pregnancy fic #fluff #jurdan fluff

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