you know i had to do this for my husband

Joseph Christiansen Secret/Cult Ending Manuscript

I went digging through the Level 18 gibberish and sorted out all the dialogue into a manageable manuscript if anyone is interested in reading this secret wild ride. None of the dialogue is labeled so I did my best to interpret who was saying what so any mistakes are my bad. It took a few hours to put together but I felt like some people would like more than just a summary so here is the full text:

MC will be short for Main Character or your player.

** edit 07/26/17: minor text fixes, better formatting, the insertion of more images (courtesy of purpledragon42) , and insert of a working readmore **

Level 18- Joseph Bad Ending or True Ending ( Who knows? )

This appears to take place after MC and Joseph Christiansen engage in sex in the yacht, except you don’t wake up to what you expect. This takes place in Cult_Dungeon1.

(Photo Credits: Game Grumps)

START: You’re A Monster

MC:

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawn. What time is it? Must have been asleep for ages. I wonder what will happen now that Mary is gone? What about Joseph’s kids? And how will Amanda feel about all this? That’s what matters… . Well, we all have each other. I guess time will tell, right? Better get up and greet the day.

Am I tied up?! What the hell?! How did I get here? What’s going on?! Joseph? Anybody?

You’re probably just dreaming. Why would there be a… Don’t panic… . a dungeon. An evil dungeon. Why would there be an evil dungeon here? This can’t be real. Maybe I had too much Twilight Rouge. I’m dreaming, or something.

???:

Oh, I guarantee this is real.

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went to a househunters-watching party over the weekend; here’s my impression of the show

VOICEOVER: She wants a historically accurate thirteenth century castle in the heart of bustling downtown L.A. He has his heart set on living in a small metallic orb that would float over a bottomless gorge, beyond space and time. Can this pair of newlyweds see eye to eye???

WIFE: The location is nice but I don’t know about these staircases…I just had my heart set on an escalator made of sand and artisan brie.

HUSBAND: Well it’s definitely not a small floating metallic orb.

REALTOR: That…would defy several laws of physics.

WIFE (squinting): Do you have anything that is simultaneously larger, cheaper, newer, and more historic?

REALTOR: Um.

WIFE: And I need a big kitchen. I love to cook!

(Cut to footage of the wife in her current kitchen, wearing an apron and surrounded by pots and pans. She is hitting a banana with a hammer. On the counter next to her is a pile of doll hair.)

HUSBAND: Yeah, get her a nice kitchen. Of course, I won’t be spending any time in there, ha ha! (His laugh is loud but his eyes are so empty. They are empty all the way back.)

WIFE: And I need a room for my shoes. That is simply non-negotiable.

HUSBAND: Also, if we can swing it with our budget, I’d love a finished basement where I can really unwind and stew in my toxic masculinity and repressed emotion. And hardwood floors.

WIFE: And hardwood floors.

HUSBAND AND WIFE IN EERIE UNISON: Hardwood. Floors. (somehow it sounds like way more than two voices, more like the collective whisper of an army)

REALTOR: Okay, I will certainly, um. See what I can do? Anyway, this next house, it’s a metallic orb hanging on a sturdy cord near a ravine—

WIFE: Well it’s definitely not a genuine thirteenth century castle—

HUSBAND AND WIFE: (stare at each other in open contempt)

REALTOR: Heyyy so why don’t we take a look inside?

2

“I appreciate [success] because I’ve had nothing. You know, when you’re poor, you’re invisible…What I have now is because I’ve had to work so hard to get everything that I’ve gotten in life. It’s like the saying, ‘The happily ever after comes after you’ve done the work.’ Like food, like a well-stocked cabinet, like having my daughter have a nice coat, like having a husband that loves me and is there for me, or being able to reach in my pocket and give. I don’t have to have Alexander McQueen dresses. I don’t have to have a big house — although I do have a big house. But it’s the small things that just make me bask in the glory.” — Viola Davis

Secret Revealed

prompt: Combination of: · Okay now I really need to see Batmom and Batman fighting at a league meeting and someone(maybe Question?) calling out their bs, and An imagine where the justice league guy members shamelessly flirts with batmom just to rile batman up and he snaps when superman does it? He’s all like wrapping his arms around her waist and says : my wife not yours mine" and ·Can I have one on what would happen if Green Arrow sees Batmom for the first time and not knowing who she is turns to Jason -who had been standing next to him- and ask if Batmom is single?

AN: Cute and fluffy!

Words: 845


       Clark sits down in the seat next to yours and smiles, before reaching out to take your hand. You raise one eyebrow in question but don’t pull your hand back just yet. “So, I was thinking we could have dinner tonight. I know this restaurant by the sea, really nice place.”

          You bite back a laugh before looking over your shoulder to find Bruce standing just a few feet away, his eyes focused on you and Clark. He’s not the only one though, the rest of the league are staring as well.

          You lean in close and ask, “What did my husband do to tick you off this time, Kent?”

          Clark just smiles and says, “I have to write the wedding announcements for the next month because I disagreed with him over something. Plus, this also payback for all those fake fights I’ve had to endure over the years.”

          “How about I get you back on sports and I turn you down gently?”

          He grins, “I’ll take what I can get.”

          You lean back in your chair and say, “Sorry Superman, I’ve got plans.”

          “That doesn’t answer the question Hell Cat.” You turn to face Ollie, who’s grinning at you.

          You raise an eyebrow in question “And what answer are you looking for?”

          “That yes you’re single, and that yes you’re free Friday night, because I know this unbelievable little restaurant in Milan.”

          Your eyes flash to Bruce. His teeth are clenched and the look in his eyes is enough to make Jason back slowly away.

          You frown, “Sorry, I’m busy that night too.” Your eyes slide to Clark who’s trying so hard not to laugh.

          “So who’s taken up all your free nights Hell Cat?” You turn to Hal, who is leaning against the wall. “Cause when I asked you out last month, you were busy then too.”

          You take a deep breath and say, “Well you see boys, I’m married with two kids, so that doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.”

          There’s a moment of silence before the men burst out in laughter. The few women in the room however are studying you closely. Huntress in particular has a knowing glint in her eye.

          The laughter is still going on when Question sneaks into the room. More often than not, the man would have gone unnoticed. He’s good at sneaking around, you’ll give him that. Helena’s grin just widens before she calls out, “Question.” The man just stops and turns towards his girlfriend. His hands are in his pocket, but he’s giving her his full attention. “Truth or Lie, Hell Cat over there is married with two kids.”

          The answer comes immediately “Truth. Hell Cat is married to the Batman. They have two adopted children, Nightwing formerly known as Robin, and the current Robin. They’ve kept their relationship hidden among the League for the past eight years, simply because they found it fun to mess with people’s minds. If someone were to look close however, they’d notice that the fights they put on never lasted more than twenty minutes, and they always left together. Their children find it infuriating.”

          There’s this stunned silence before Jason cries out, “Finally!” Then spins on his toes to face Green Arrow, “My mother is not single, stay the hell away from her!”

          You ignore the surprised faces of the Leaguers in favor of Question. “When did you figure it out?”

          “My second week. I noticed that your fights, while entertaining, never subtracted from the quality of a meeting, meaning it never interfered with something that needed to be done. In the case of a crisis there would be not contention on either of your parts, even if the two of you had argued about it previously. My theory was confirmed when I spotted the two of you making out in a dark corner.”

          You hear Jason groan, “Oh come on! I’m supposed to be the teenager here, not you two.” Then he turns around to leave the room and says, “If you need me, I’ll be on the phone with Nightwing telling him that everything has finally been exposed.”

          You smile as your eyes slide to the women in the room, mainly Shayera and Vixen, who are grinning at you. You grin before asking, “Yes?”

          Shayera grins, “You’ve been holding out on us.”

          Vixen nods, “All those girl’s nights out over the years, and you never told a story.”

          “Not every day a girl kisses the Batman. Spill.”

          You smirk and say, “That’s private,” before mouthing the words ‘next girl’s night out.” That seems to satisfy them.

          Standing up you stretch and walk over to Bruce. “Let’s grab our traumatized son and go home now.”

          “Grab Jason, I’ll be there in a minute.”

          You shrug and walk out of the room. Bruce turns to Clark who’s still smiling before he says, “You can have your sports section back, but you’re covering nothing but golf, chess, and badminton for the next three months.” Clark’s smile fades and all Bruce says is, “My wife, not yours.”

I’m falling apart

A/N: Reader is Jensen’s little sister who is going through a tough time with depression and Jensen is determined to help her. If this becomes a series it’s gonna be super dramatic & probably kinda twisty.

Trigger warning: Depression, suicidal thoughts.

Jensen threw his head back laughing at a joke Jared made. Looking around the table he realized how lucky he was. He was sitting at a table in Rome surrounded by his friends and fellow cast mates, enjoying the night. Tomorrow was the first day of the convention and the few days following it him and Jared would tour the city some before heading back home to his family. A gentle smile fell on Jensen’s lips when he thought about Danneel and the kids in Austin and all the plans they had for the hiatus.

Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Jensen grabbed it, smiling even wider when he saw Danneel’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“Hey babe.” He answered.

“Hey Jay.” Danneel’s voice responded, only something sounded off in her tone.

“What’s up?” Jensen said, standing up from his seat and walking away from the group, “You sound worried.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing but…” Danneel trailed on.

“You’re kinda worrying me here Dee. What’s going on?” Jensen pushed.

“It’s Y/N.” Danneel responded.

“My sister? Is she okay?” Jensen quickly pushed.

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Dream Daddy Cult Ending

Okay, so I’ve gone through Dream Daddy’s files, and have found the cult ending! I’m pretty sure you can’t actually get this ending, but I wanted to share it. I know I got frustrated trying to find it online.

CULT ENDING BELOW CUT

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Can We Pretend: Part 1

Author: @sincerelystiles
Pairing: Stiles x Reader
Word Count: 2,783

Warnings: public sin ;)

A/N: i wasn’t too sure about writing or posting this at first, but after thinking it over multiple times, i decided to just do it. thankyou so much to my baby @dylanobsessed for encouraging me that this was a good. i hope that by putting this out to you guys in such a way, will make you more aware of someone’s true intentions with you.

Originally posted by sensualkisses


Parties had never been my thing. The idea of being almost suffocated by intoxicated bodies never really tickled my fancy. But, this was Lydia’s party and God knows she’d have my head on a stick if I didn’t attend. It was only an hour in, and I had already drunk more than intended.

You see, I hardly drink. Being seventeen and best friends with the “popular girl” would make you believe that I party and drink all the time. But I don’t. However, when I do occasionally drink, you’d think I was a forty year old alcoholic who’s husband and kids just left with his secretary.

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The Morning After

Request: I would love a Bucky smut where him and reader have to go undercover as a married couple.

Summary: You were supposed to go on a undercover mission with Steve, not the man you despised- James Buchanan Barnes.

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, fluff

A/N: I have another draft of this written up but it was all over the place and I didn’t like it so I switched to this one.


“I know you were expecting to go on this mission with Steve, but we have a job to do.” Bucky threw a towel over his shoulder, heading toward the door of the hotel room.

“Well, once you took Steve’s place this mission just got exponentially harder.” You stepped out of the bathroom, towel and sunscreen in your hand.

“How so?” He smiled, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You jutted your hip out, rolling your eyes at him. Your bikini was nothing special; it had a pushup top that accentuated your breasts perfectly, but that was about it. The top and the bottom matched with blue and white stripes. You topped the outfit off with red sunglasses; the suit was meant to get a chuckle from Steve, not Bucky.

“Because now I have to pretend I’m head over heels in love with you, not Steve.” You flipped the light off. “Let’s just go check out the damn pool.”

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master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

The List - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Quite NSFW)

Summary : You and Bruce, are making a list of all the people you slept with…Because why not ?

I just had this stupid idea when I was at work and sorry for it…hope you’ll still kinda like it and boom, here :

Do NOT read if NSFW/smutty things make you feel uncomfortable, you can go check my other fluffy and angsty stories instead, over there ;-) : 

My masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

________________________________________________

You don’t even remember who started it.

You don’t remember if it’s you who made a snarky comment first, or him.

You both were equally gifted in the sarcasm area, so it really could be any of you. And none of you could actually remember the instigator of it all…

But oh someone definitely started it, and now, you were both sitting on the floor around the coffee table of the living room, a pen in hand, a blank sheet of paper in front of you, thinking about all the people you had sex with. 

Or rather, about the people you had sex with and that you both knew. 

Who cared about some unknown guy from a bar, or a girl from a gala ? 

They meant nothing. They were just pleasure on the spot, something that didn’t matter at all and…to be honest, both you and Bruce didn’t care about those one night stands with people you didn’t give a damn about…You both knew you weren’t each other’s first time after all, and one night stands ? They were long over and there were not nearly as much as everyone thought…Bruce had only a few, and you too. And again, it was such a long time ago, and so meaningless (definitely not your favorite kind of sex, and Bruce would agree with that). 

This list was about the people you had sex with, with whom you shared part of your life, and/or someone you both knew. 

You knew almost everything about each others, but your past relationships ? You rarely talked about it. You never felt the need to, as you were too in love with each others for anyone else to really matter…

Both of you already stated multiple times, in your long years of marriage, that you never loved anyone like you loved each other. That all those past relationships were nothing compared to what you felt to each others. 

But…Curiosity always got the better of the two of you. 

And besides, when Bruce learnt that you used to date his best friend, Clark, he started to wonder if you slept with anyone else he knew, after all, you knew lots of Justice League members before knowing him so…He just wanted to know (he would never admit it, but he was quite jealous really. Grumpy Broosh). 

And so here you were, after one of you made a comment about it (wether it was you comparing Bruce to Clark or him saying something about Selina, you didn’t quite remember), writing a list. You were writing the last name on yours when Bruce raised his head and, very sternly said :

-I’m done.  

You smiled as you finished the last letter of the name you were writing and looked up, smiling at him. 

-Me too. 

Just another proof of how you were always so damn in sync, finished right at the same time. He doesn’t smile, and you smirk at him as you exchange papers. And…Exact same number than you. You quickly look over it and chuckle a bit, he detached his attention from your list (his frown getting bigger by the second as he was reading it), and, a bit suspicious, says : 

-What ? 

-Bruce, I think the two of us basically slept with the entire league. We’re super-sluts my heart. 

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Behind The Towel

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Summary: You’re at your mom’s house with your kids when your husband sends you a very NSFW photo while he’s away.

Word Count: 1,116

Warnings: children (because apparently that needs a warning), a stubborn toddler, NSFW photo under the cut, embarrassment, sexting, implied smut

A/N: @wayward-girl sent me this photo and my brain just kicked into overdrive so… here ya go. This is also my (very late - I’m so, so sorry) submission for @frickfracklesackles‘s 1,000 Followers Celebration Challenge. My prompt was “I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.” and is bolded below.


Jared was in Los Angeles, shooting some promo shoot for something he wouldn’t tell you about. It seemed sketchy, but you shrugged it off for the most part. Packing up the kids, you headed for your mom’s house, knowing she’d listen to your worrying about there being another woman while also helping you with Jake and Lauren. 

Day two without Jared, and you were missing him. You woke up that morning and shot him a text, just saying, “Wish you were here,” with a kissing emoticon. After laying in bed for ten more minutes with no reply, you sighed and planted your feet on the floor. Trudging to the kitchen, you clutched the warm black mug between your hands, savoring every single sip of the holy liquid you were taking in.

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The kindest Queen, My Queen. (ThranduilXReader)

Request for @amralimedeano​;  Hiya! I have a request, I’d like an Imagine where the reader is Thranduil’s wife but she is the opposite when it comes to personality. She is soft and kind with everyone. So, the thing is the dwarves arrive to *Mirkwood bc they need somewhere to sleep and Thranduil wants to kick them out but then the Reader appears (being as majestic as Galadriel for example) and lets them stay and Bofur develops a crush on her and she notices and smiles at him and wishes him luck for the journey. Pls?

Hope you like this.

Word Count: 1087

You walk up the stairs towards your husband, Thranduil who sat alone on his throne. A delicate smile pulls against his soft lips and his arms open to welcome you into his arms.

Smiling, you let him pull you close and gently settle on his lap. Thranduil sighs in delight and buries his face into your hair. Giggling slightly you tease your precious husband; “You willingly show affection in front of your guards, your highness?”

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Poseidon

Greek Gods Series
Prologue Poseidon Ares Aphrodite Apollo Hades Hermes Zeus
Ship: Pirate!Mina | Pirate!Reader | Merman!Jimin
Description: Pirate!AU | Beginning your new life as a pirate had its hardships- and it all started with something called Fate.
Warnings: Fingering, Oral, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism? Violence, Assault, Angst, Death
Word Count: 15,257
A/N: Cover finally up! Enjoy the first part of this series! It took me forever to write.

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3

‘Sgt. Pepper’ at 50: How a Corn Flakes Ad Inspired 'Good Morning Good Morning’

Today’s installment tells how John Lennon’s TV obsession led to the creation of “Good Morning Good Morning.”

John Lennon indulged in a myriad of mind-altering substances during the recording of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, but his drug of choice may have been television. “A couple of weeks of telly-watching is as good as pot,” he professed at the time to biographer Hunter Davies. “I think a lot when I’m watching telly. It’s like looking into the fire and daydreaming. You’re watching it, but your mind’s not on it.” After the band vowed to abandon live performances in the fall of 1966, Lennon relied on TV and drugs to fill the enormous void left by the absence of the Beatles’ extensive concert schedule, which had provided structure to his life since he was barely out of his teens. “I didn’t know what to do,” John remembered shortly before his death in 1980. “What do you do when you don’t tour? There’s no life. What the hell do you do all day?”

His days were spent mostly horizontal at Kenwood, the 27-room luxury estate he shared with his wife Cynthia and three-year-old son Julian in the staid upper-class London suburb of Weybridge. He’d never been happy in the area, consenting to move there in 1964 at his accountant’s suggestion (Kenwood was the third house they viewed). “Weybridge won’t do at all,” he told journalist Maureen Cleave two years later. “I’m just stopping at it, like a bus stop. Bankers and stockbrokers live there; they can add figures and Weybridge is what they live in and they think it’s the end, they really do. I think of it every day – me in my Hansel and Gretel house. I’ll take my time; I’ll get my real house when I know what I want. … You see, there’s something else I’m going to do, something I must do – only I don’t know what it is.”

The constant motion of Beatle business had provided a long-term distraction, and now the downtime forced Lennon to confront the day-to-day realities and responsibilities of being a husband and father. Seemingly overnight, his self-styled existence, steeped in excitement, privilege and fierce individuality (not to mention fan worship on a colossal scale), had been replaced by a stodgy life he barely recognized. For everything he had achieved, for every wild childhood dream that had miraculously come true, Lennon still wound up trapped in the same cozy suburban haze he had often railed against.

Depressed, he dealt with the letdown by escaping into his mind at every opportunity. “If I’m on my own for three days, doing nothing, I almost leave myself completely. I’m just not here,” he told Davies. “I’m up there watching myself, or I’m at the back of my head. I can see my hands and realize they’re moving, but it’s a robot who’s doing it.” This sensation was no doubt aided by the mortar and pestle he kept nearby to mash together a dizzying array of pharmaceuticals onto one unpredictable mega-pill.

Cynthia grew distressed at how distant, apathetic and inert her rock-star husband had become. “When he was at home, he’d spend a lot of time lying in bed with a notepad,” she later said. “When he got up, he’d sit at the piano or he’d go from one room to the other listening to music, gawping at television and reading newspapers. He was basically dropping out from everything that was happening. He was thinking about things.” His estrangement from reality was so total, he often asked incoming phone callers, with genuine interest, what day of the week it was.

The songs Lennon wrote in this period are all meditations on the mundane; a child’s painting (“Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”), a poster in his living room (“Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!”), a newspaper (“A Day in the Life”), all drawn from within the four walls of Kenwood. Another is “Good Morning Good Morning,” which owes its existence to his love of television.

“I often sit at the piano, working at songs, with the telly on low in the background,” he explained to Davies. “If I’m a bit low and not getting much done, then the words on the telly come through. That’s when I heard 'Good morning, good morning.’ It was a Corn Flakes advertisement.” Kicking off with a pastoral rooster crow, the irrepressibly peppy jingle chirped out from the set: “Good morning, good morning!/The best to you each morning/Sunshine breakfast, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes/Crisp and full of fun!” The tune was at the same time annoyingly chipper and chillingly lobotomized. In other words, it was the perfect soundtrack to his world at Kenwood.

Inspired by his total lack of inspiration – which had previously triggered the Rubber Soul track “Nowhere Man” – he began to write. Words of bland domesticity tumbled out: “how’s your boy been, going to work, heading for home, time for tea.” “John was feeling trapped in suburbia and was going through some problems with Cynthia,” Paul McCartney confirms in his biography, Many Years from Now. “It was about his boring life at the time. There’s a reference in the lyrics to 'nothing to do’ and 'meet the wife’; there was an afternoon TV soap called Meet the Wife that John watched, he was that bored, but I think he was also starting to get alarm bells and so, 'Good morning, good morning.’”

On December 12th, 1966, Meet the Wife aired an episode entitled “This Christmas, Shop Early,” chronicling holiday shoppers frantically making their last-minute gift purchases. The plot may very well have inspired the line that immediately preceded the reference to the show: “People running round, it’s five o'clock, everywhere in town is getting dark.”

It’s a rare active moment in a song packed with boredom that borders on nihilism. The word “nothing” appears eight times in the two-minute, 41-second track, and each verse ends with the assertion that the narrator has nothing to say, “but it’s OK.” For someone who strenuously avoided writing “fiction” songs in the vein of McCartney’s “Eleanor Rigby,” “Lovely Rita” or “When I’m Sixty-Four” (“He makes 'em up like a novelist!” Lennon once marveled), “Good Morning Good Morning” can be read as a revealing confession of complete and utter apathy. “Nothing to do to save his life,” the opening words, ring out like the final gasp of a man surrendering to daily claustrophobia.

But one brief line may offer a glimmer of hope. Author Steve Turner observes that the lyric “You go to a show, you hope she goes,” may be a reference to a woman Lennon had recently met that November at an art exhibition: Yoko Ono. Though it’s pure speculation (and likely that she hadn’t captured his imagination just yet), Lennon’s involvement with Ono meant that his days adrift in a sea of domesticity at Kenwood were numbered.

(X)

And The Oscar Goes To
Also on AO3
Being publicly in the closet means Stiles can’t go to the Academy Awards with who he really wants, but it’s not like he’s going to win so he doesn’t have to worry about slipping up and thanking Derek in his speech… right?

This one is for my OSA (one sentence anon) who keeps cheering me on and motivating me. I wouldn’t have finished this WIP if it wasn’t for you, so thanks dude, whoever you are!

Earlier in his career, Stiles Stilinski had thought that walking one red carpet meant he had walked them all, but this award season had proved that assumption to be totally false. Walking a red carpet when you’ve been nominated for an award at the show was an entirely new experience. Sure, he had been nominated for People’s Choice Awards and more fan-driven ones before, but this year he had finally broken out of the rom-com and buddy comedy genres and into roles that challenged him. And this year, he was walking the red carpet at the Oscar with the chance to win not just one, but two once he entered the building.

Some had called 2016 his breakout year, others had said they knew that he could do it all along, and others still had questioned his ability to take on some of the more serious roles until they saw the films he was starring in. So here he was, at his third Academy Awards, but this time he was nominated instead of just attending. It had been a nerve-wracking award season that had left Stiles with a Golden Globe, a SAG award, and two Critic’s Choice awards, but none of that would hold a candle to this.

“Stiles, you have to move,” Lydia Martin–his agent and manager–said to him, pushing him toward the final reporter along the carpet. “Smile more.”

Stiles resisted the eyeroll that he could feel building; he didn’t want to be on the cover of some trashy tabloid with his eyes rolled back in his head and a caption commenting on his mental instability or an attitude problem. “Stiles! You look great,” Erica Reyes from Access Hollywood said, her voice sweet as syrup and her lips fire-engine red.  

“So do you, Ms. Reyes. Are you sure I can’t convince you to leave your husband and run away with me?” Stiles said with a charming smile. He had gone to UCLA with Erica’s husband Vernon Boyd and they had been, and still were, good friends. Boyd was currently the star wide receiver for the New Orleans Saints and would kick his ass if he were here in that moment.

“Ah ah ah, you know that I’m loyal,” Erica said with a smile. “But what about you? Who are you here with? Have a hot date that you’re hiding somewhere?”

“Of course I do,” Stiles told her. “My dad’s right over there.”

“Oh! Of course he is; he’s your permanent date during award season.” Erica said and then waved. “Hi, Sheriff.”

John Stilinski waved back with a smile, “Aren’t you going to ask me who I’m wearing?”

“I would, but that’s Laura Hale and I need to catch her before she gets inside. She and that hunky artist brother of hers skipped half the reporters already; I can’t let them skip me,” Erica said, giving Stiles a little smile. “It was lovely talking to you Stiles; good luck!”

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The key to love, my father told me, was to never love someone more than they love you. So when, after dating for five months, Christopher Moore was the first to say “I Love You”, I thought I had hit the “Love Jackpot”. I say this because, prior to him saying it at that very moment, I had never given thought to the possibility that I could love him in return. Standing in front of my apartment building, nervous and excited, facing him and his smile, I questioned whether love was the word to describe what I was feeling. High school love, after all, is quite trivial with it’s ins and outs. Nevertheless after weighing the theoretical pros and cons of love, I decided that I was in love, at least in some respects. He was handsome, smart, sweet, and I enjoyed his company. This is what I believed love boiled down to; four factors. Honesty, clearly, was something I overlooked. About a year and 7 months into our blissful love affair, after graduation had passed and we had spent the summer taking all the cliché couple pictures, Chris decided that he “just couldn’t go on lying to me anymore. “Jenine” he told me “this guilt is eating me alive!”. I imagine there wasn’t much of him left, as it had been “eating away at him” for 6 months. This is when I learned that there is no “key” to love; no guide, no tips, no 101 course, because love is lived and learned; never taught. Try as you may, to forgo the pain of love, you’ll find joy in knowing that it’s survive-able and moreover, sometimes the good outweighs the bad. No, Chris wasn’t the love of my life, but he gave life to my ability to love.

“Never” my father said “let love override your faculty of reason.” Easier said, than done. My next love was Jeremy Bishop. Before you ask, of course there were others between Chris and Jeremy. But this is a story about love; not “almost loves”,“semi loves”, and “could’ve beens”. Jeremy’s love was the worst kind of love. The kind that doesn’t have a reason to exist but somehow it does and you’re glad. Its sole purpose is to debilitate your mind, forcing you to follow only your emotions. While Jeremy was dreamy, I learned that the man of your dreams can sometimes be the root of your nightmares.

I met Jeremy my junior year at _________ University. It was a Sunday and I had been studying in the library for an anthropology midterm and decided that I would take a break. Putting my highlighter down & flexing my hand I stood up & headed towards the bathroom. As I walked through the stacks, passing my hand across the rows of books I’d never read, my friend Denise spotted me and waved me over. Walking swiftly I made my way to the table she was stationed it & gathered that she had been studying all day as all. Splayed papers, open textbooks, two highlighters, & her laptop with several window open screamed “cram session” to me. After having sat & talked for some time about school & it’s “scammagry”, I noticed that someone had taken a seat at the end of the table. You know those typical movies where two people look up at the same time & smile coyly at one another? Well that’s what happened with us…….minus the smiling. When Jeremy & I caught eyes it was more of an inquisitive stare down. I relented because who really stares at a stranger for lengths at a time? Apparently Jeremy does because every time I looked up he was looking at me or perhaps through me. Whatever the case was I asked Denise if she could “Excuse me for one second?” as I got up from my seat and sauntered over to Jeremy, running my fingernails along the wooden table that both separated and joined us.

He was brown skinned but it was a rich brown that I often found myself lost in. He had brown hair that was cut low to avoid maintenance & also to spite his mother who so much loved it longer. His eyes were almost black they were so dark, yet you never asked someone to hit the lights when staring into them. He had a slight dimple on the right side of face that only presented itself in the presence of his mother, its creator.

“I know you or something?” I said, to which he looked up & responded “No you don’t. But since you’re already here, I’m Jeremy. Nice to meet you….” he said moving his hand in that circular waiting motion “this is usually the part where you tell me your name”. He was sarcastic & forthcoming and I liked it. “This is usually the part when I’d say Jenine. My name is Jenine. Though I’m not sure it’s nice to meet you.” “Well Jenine, do you have HIST 256 on Mondays & Thursdays? I think that’s where I’ve seen you before.” “Well Jeremy, had I known you were a stalker I would’ve stayed at the other end of the table” “A stalker Jenine? Really? I think you’re mistaking my keen eye for details.” “I stand corrected then. I just had no idea I was noticeable to your "keen eye”, I said, making air quotes. He leaned in & said, “Maybe Jenine, just maybe there’s a lot of things you don’t know. I’d be happy to fill you in though. If you were ever free.” “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me, Jeremy, that you’re asking me out.” “It seems that way, because it is that way. But enough with this, would you be interested in going out?” “I’ll contemplate it.”

A week later Jeremy picked me up in his beat up silver 2010 Toyota Corolla. Got out & offered to close the door for me not because he was a gentleman but because I literally couldn’t close it myself. He told me he wanted to show me his favorite place in all of Brooklyn. We drove for about 15 mins and parked in DUMBO; my favorite place. As we walked to the pier he barraged me with every menial question from favorite color to top five movies. I stopped his questioning because I realized I knew nothing about him. “What about you?” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” “I’m a Taurus. Now back to you.” “Your sign. You gave me the third degree and in return you tell me your astrological sign??” “I’m really not that interesting. I kind of just go with the flow nothing special really.” “I could say the same about myself but you don’t see me spewing monotonous facts about myself” “That’s just it though. You’re very interesting. I see you twice a week & you never look the same to me. Always a different hairstyle, new lipstick, different outfit. You keep me guessing & well…I like that.” “Different outfit…Did you expect me to have the same clothes on like a cartoon character?”

Jeremy took my clothes off the way he took down my walls; slowly & intently. I never felt exposed or vulnerable. It was easy with him & who doesn’t like easy? The first time we had sex he kissed every scar and stretch mark on my body while he whispered beautiful and for the first time I believed it. This is when I knew I loved him; this is when I knew he loved me. We fell into a routine & inevitably, that’s how we fell apart. We saw each other four-five times a week in between work, school & our respective friends. I’d meet him after work or he’d meet me after class, we’d get some food or I’d cook, we’d talk, then go back to his dorm room or my house & somewhere in between there we’d fuck once or twice & that would be that. Talk, Eat, Fuck, Repeat. This, I should inform you, was the foundation for our dismantling. Jeremy grew tired of our monotony, I suppose, & because of that he started talking to a female customer who had “just so happened” to frequent his job. In talking they “just so happened” to find they had “so much in common” & somehow Jeremy’s dick “just so happened” to be in her mouth when I walked into his dorm room to get the spare phone charger I left there just in case. “Oh Mahh Gahhhh” is what Celeste said with his dick slighty tucked to the left side of her mouth because it wouldn’t have been polite to pull it out all together; though I’m sure there was no God she could ever call her own. Startled yet surprisingly indifferent I found my charger in the first drawer of his night stand now decoratively arrayed with ripped condom wrappers and I closed the door behind me.

Walking out of the apartment I didn’t feel anything but when I reached the stairs it hit me and when Jeremy came running out of his room, pulling his boxers up I looked up at him from the top stair I was sitting on & hit him right in the groin. “Shit! Ahh! Damn, J! Come on!” he winced . “Come on?? Excuse me?!? You’re such a fucking dickhead. Like what the fuck?” “I know. I know. I’m sorry babe. You gotta believe me! I swear it’ll never happen again.” & that’s what I wanted to believe after all; that this was just a bump along our road; that we could get through this because we could get through anything. So when Jeremy crouched down in front of me, put his hand under my chin, looked me right in the eye and told me he was “so sorry”, that he “really loved me”, that he was “mad stupid for doing that” I believed him & gave us another chance because I wasn’t ready to admit failure.

Celeste Soto was the average full figured broad who just “couldn’t help” falling for other women’s boyfriends, husbands, fiancés, you name it. Walking back into his room, I found her putting her left shoe on with one hand on his desk for balance. “You gotta believe mama” she said “I didn’t know he even had a girl. You feel me? I wouldn’t have done anything with him. Thas crazy disrespectful. My bad.” as she adjusted her bra strap and pulled her hair into a messy bun. Turning slighty towards Jeremy, I looked at him as if to say “really?!? THIS was the best you could do??” and he lowered his head, and stared at this one spot on the carpet that he could never get out. Not only had Jeremy cheated but he chose the lowest of women to do it with. “First of all, I’m not one of your friends so I don’t know why you’re calling me "mama” & no I don’t “feel” you nor do I intend to. Get your shit and get out!“ When she was gone I searched the apartment for remnants of her presence, prior to that days visit. An earring, a hair tie, maybe a lip balm. I found nothing or maybe I wasn’t really looking.

For eight months straight Jeremy was on his BEST behavior. He’d let me know where he was at all times as to ensure that he wasn’t out cheating; send pictures as proof on some occasions. I have to admit, though I was secure in his whereabouts, I was also sure that this was not how healthy relationships works. Nevertheless I looked forward to each notification because afterall "once a cheater……"you know the rest. One night I went over to his place to cook dinner, partially to ensure he wouldn’t be feeding Celeste or any other girl his penis but also because this is what I missed most about us. I had become so preoccupied with deciding whether or not I could trust him that I wasn’t concerned with trying to make us seem normal. After dinner we were in his bed tearing at each other’s clothes & after switching positions five times he looked down at me & said "I can’t do this”. Looking back at him I said “it’s cool I wasn’t feeling it either honestly”. “Not this” he said falling to my side, facing the ceiling “I mean like this….us”. Somehow though I knew that was what he had meant. This ball of something akin to both fear & anger welled up in my throat & grew until finally all I could say was “oh”. One tear fell from my eye & couldn’t allow myself to shed another. “This whole time” he said getting up from the bed “I wasn’t with you because I wanted to be. I was with you because I didn’t want to let you down.” He was pacing back & front at the foot of the bed, lifting his hands to his head then retracting them, looking over at me occasionally for assurance of my understanding. So he continued "I couldn’t let your last image of me be somebody who betrayed you. I had to prove you wrong & that’s selfish. I’m sorry. I don’t want to be in a relationship I’m not fully committed to. It isn’t fair to either of us J & you can hate me but I’d rather you hate me for being honest.” “Is this a joke? Please tell me you’re kidding right now” I said, half laughing half crying. “Let me get this straight” I said, sitting upright in his bed, pulling my shirt over my head “You cheated…..You lied…..YOU fucked up….You begged for another chance!…and my stupid ass gave you one. I’m just so lost right now.” This is when I realized I never should have sat on those steps & cried. I should’ve ran out of that building like it was on fire because guys like him will always burn you.

Some nights I could still hear his footsteps pacing the floor & I’d wonder when in the hell it would be over. When I’d stop crying; when I’d realize I was better off without him. But there’s this moment & I know it sounds cliche but you just wake up & you feel different you feel like you can begin again. One morning I woke up and knew Jeremy would never have a hold on me the way he did before, but more importantly I didn’t want him to.

The thing about baggage is that you never realize how much of it you carry around. In fact you assume that more often than not you don’t carry any at all because you’re “over it” or you’ve “moved on”. You’ll find yourself compromising because you just want someone to call at night; that wants only you. “Trust me.” my mother said “There will be others and don’t think that you have to look for them or that you have to settle.” My mother had a way with words. I’m not sure if that’s necessarily a good thing but the fact remains that when she said those words to me I wished she had kept her opinion to herself. I would never settle…..or at least I didn’t think I would.

I knew I didn’t love Benjamin the first time he came inside me & I wished I had never come to his apartment, let alone into his room splayed with dirty laundry that he was “gonna get to”. More importantly I knew I couldn’t love Benjamin, not the way I wanted to at least, when he told me I’m just like my mother. This sounds stupid I know, but let me explain.

After a week of working overtime, my best friend Selene dragged me out of my apartment for a night of bar hopping. Upon walking into our third stop, Benjamin grabbed my hand & told me I was pretty. That was it. There was no drawn out conversation, no playing hard to get, it was very low stakes. I gave him my number & before I got to the next bar he had called & asked when he could see me again. “Tomorrow” I said.

The next evening Benjamin showed up at my apartment with no plan other than to show up. We decided to see a movie.

The movie we saw doesn’t matter. Neither does the fact that we went to the movies. What matters is that after we left the movies, Benjamin grabbed both my hands & kissed me. When he stopped & I looked up at him he said “You taste like stale popcorn”. I thought “what the fuck?” & then he reminded me that we shared a popcorn. Our entirely relationship was like this; constant reminders of things I should have been aware of.

Ben was different from Jeremy because he never lied to me. That doesn’t necessarily mean that’s a good thing though. His honesty was one that I had to grow accustomed to. We had been dating for about two months, when I called him asking if he wanted to get dinner later & he simply replied “no”. No explanation, no rain check, no apology; he just hung up. Later he’d text me & say that we should get breakfast instead the next day because he liked being the first person I talked to in the morning. He never hid anything from me. Girls would text him, telling him how much they “missed him” how much “fun” they used to have & he’d show me his phone while laughing & ask what I thought he should say in his reply. It was almost inconceivable, how much he included me in his decisions when it came to other women. Co-workers would invite him out to dinner & drinks after work, over to their apartments, concerts & he would ask me, not if he could go (because he was going to do what he wanted regardless) or if I wanted to come with, but how I’d feel if he went it with them. We’d be waiting for our heart rates to drop back to normal after sex; our skin still dewy and tingling and he’d say “the last time was better” or “you faked it, but that’s cool” as he got up and ambled to the bathroom & I’d wonder if he had to be so honest with me all the time.

I woke up one day to him sitting at my kitchen table in just some sweatpants, signing a card. Next to him there was a huge bouquet of sunflowers. I walked over to him, fixing my bed hair into a bed bun & when I sat down he was startled. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early” he said & I looked over at the clock on microwave. “It’s after 11……does that even count as early?” I said. He looked up at me, then at the clock, then back at me & shrugged “I guess not”. I asked “Who’s the card for?” & as he sealed it, he handed to me & said “Happy Anniversary Sweetness” with no inflection. My face dropped to the floor, along with the card. “An anniversary?” I thought “have we really been dating a year? Maybe it’s like a six month anniversary? But that’s not even an anniversary!” After a few mental “Fuck!!”’s, I pulled myself together, awkwardly smiled as I picked up the card & opened it. It had been a year since I moved into my own place. In the card he wrote about how happy he was for me; that he knew how big of a deal it was for me to live on my own & he wanted me to know that it was just as important to him. I cried out of relief. He thought I was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, primarily because as I closed the card, hugged him, wiped my tears and sniffled into his neck, I whispered “Thank you. This means a lot.”. One year of independence; something I should have been aware of.

The first time he told me he loved me, I opened my mouth to respond & he placed his index finger on my parted lips. “Stop” he said. “Not everything I say deserves or should be met with a response Jenine. I love you. That’s it.” I of course flew into defense. “So I can’t say it back? I can’t love you in return? What kind of bullshit is that Ben? You can’t just say something like that & expect me not to say anything back.” “I never said you can’t say anything back. But think about it baby, I said I love you & your first instinct was to respond. You didn’t even really take the moment in. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want you to love me back because I love you. I want you to love me because you actually love me.” I felt little, like a child, like I had been put in my place, handled, dealt with, but I wouldn’t let him know. “You’re such an asshole sometimes” I said “but that Benjamin, for your information, is why I love you. Because you’re only an asshole sometimes”.

There are two important things I remember from when I broke up with Ben:

1. It was raining.
2. He told me I should’ve ended us a long time ago.

I came back to the apartment from the gym. As I shook my umbrella walking through the door, Ben sauntered by in his usual attire, house sweats and no shirt, saying “You must love mopping.” in a condescending tone. I happily returned the tone saying “Definitely. I just love it! Can’t get enough.” as I rolled my eyes and the umbrella up, fastening it shut. I walked over to the kitchen & checked the fridge. All that was left was this chicken Parmesan “thing” I had attempted to make three days earlier & it looked like a big pile of mush at that point. I chucked it & decided that take out sounded good. I had a taste for some pad thai so the choice was easy. Picking up my phone & dialing the number I thought it might be a good idea to ask Ben what he wanted but I figured he’d eat whatever I ordered him. So I made the call, ordered Chicken Pad Thai and another peanut sauce dish with shrimp, and hung up. As soon as my phone had ended the call, Benjamin started an argument. “Why would you order food without asking me what I wanted?” he asked me walking out of the bedroom and I replied “I ordered food for us both. No need to say thank you”. He walked towards the window to look out but really it was all dramatics because our window looks directly at the alley behind our building that holds nothing but two dumpsters and a few forgotten cats. “Why would I say thank you to you for doing something I never asked you to do?” he said with his back turned to me “Sometimes” he scoffed, almost laughing, as he looked at the rain collect in the window sill. “Sometimes I don’t get you. Like after all this time you still do shit that irritates me and I wonder why the fuck I still want to lay next to you at night or wake up with you in the morning.” I was sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly playing with the tag on this pillow I bought two years before when he & I had just started dating. He told me the pattern on it reminded him of us; that the lines never intersected. They just changed direction. “Nobody is holding you here Ben. You can leave anytime you’d like.” I said as I picked up the remote & turned on the television.

Thirty-five minutes later I was annoyed that the food hadn’t arrived but also because Ben never left the window. He just stayed there staring at the rain while it sheeted down the window screen and when thunder roared he’d just sigh. “What could be taking this food so long? The place isn’t even that far.” I complained. “It’s the rain Jenine. Everything slows when it rains. People, cars, buses, trains, bikes, they all slow.” He paused “You also might want to factor in the idea that a bunch of people order take out on a night like this.” I answered back “I knew that!……why are you always telling me things as if I don’t know them? As if I’m not aware? It’s just annoying. You’re annoying.” Ben walked away from the window & towards the kitchen counter. He planted his two hands palm down on the counter, hoisted himself up to sit on it, looked at me & said “Maybe it’s not me that annoys you Jenine. Maybe you can’t admit that I’m ever fucking right! I can’t ever make a point without you saying “I knew that!”. If you knew it Jenine…..then why would you say half the shit you say or do half the shit you do.“ I paused the lifetime movie I had been somehow become invested in and pressed a metaphorical "play” on the scene that was unfolding in our living room. “I don’t know Ben. Maybe you’re right” I replied as I sat up, crossed my legs and interlaced my fingers over my knee. “Maybe I can’t handle the fact that you make valid points. Or perhaps it’s the fact that you can’t ever let me be wrong without making me look like a complete ass. You’re always so philosophical. "Oh thee "all knowing Ben!” Ohh he who knows more than anyone!“ I mocked. "It’s insulting. For someone who is just so wise you damn sure don’t know how to do your own fucking laundry, or wash a dish, or aim your penis directly into the bowl when you pee. Stop with the bullshit. We both have our faults.” My phone rang. The food was downstairs.

I threw on my worn out flip flops and shuffled down the 3 flights of stairs. Walking back into the apartment with food in hand, I saw that Ben had returned to the window. He walked over to the kitchen counter where I was standing, taking the food out of the brown paper bag & said “You said your ordered me food.” “I just ordered two things off the menu. I figured we’d just share.” I reasoned. “Right I get that but I don’t like peanuts. You know that. Don’t you? I’ve told you this. I’m sure I have as we’ve been together give or take I don’t know 2 & half years!” “Dammit! I whispered to myself. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking & I was hungry & I’m…..sorry. I’m just sorry.” “It’s fine” he said. “I should’ve just picked something up on the way home. It isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. You’re like your mother in that way.” “Like my mother? All of this over some take out? Listen, good luck with dinner.” I said as I grabbed a plastic fork at the bottom of the bag & headed back to the sofa. “Yeah, like your mother.” he continued, following me. “You’re always complaining that she never listens to you; that you have to remind her of things you’ve already told her. Yet, here you are never listening to me. It’s not even about the apology. It’s that I just don’t think you’re really sorry at all.” he retorted. “Fair enough.” I said, putting my food down on the coffee table. “You wanna know what I’m really sorry about Ben? Huh? Fine. I’m sorry I moved in with you. I’m sorry I’ve been in this relationship for this long because we’ll never be good enough for one another. You know that right? We’re always going to be like this Ben.” I said, pointing at the pace between with both hands. “It’s never going to be enough that we love each other. There’s gotta be more to love than whatever the fuck we’re doing. I just don’t think this is healthy. I don’t think we’re growing here. Do you?”. “Now that J…that’s the most honest thing you’ve said to me. You’re always saying what you think I want to hear and that’s my problem with you. You never say what the hell you want because you think too much about it. We are growing, it’s just apart from one another.” He sighed, finally saying “Look, I’m tired.” as he walked exhaustedly back towards the bedroom, on an empty stomach & closed the door behind him. I couldn’t figure out if he meant he was tired of us, of the arguing, of never really getting back to how we were or if he was honestly tired.

I slept on the sofa & I use the term “slept” very lightly. What I really did was stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out if this was really it for Ben & I. If that was our last real conversation; if that even counted as a conversation. I planned out what I’d say in the morning after we’d both had time to think & reflect. I’d tell him I was sorry about going off & that it’s not that I don’t want to try to make it work but that I don’t even think trying is worth an actual try. I thought about it & felt like the whole relationship was a perpetual “try”. We’d just kept getting up, dusting each other off, & holding hands until we’d fall again thinking it didn’t matter because we’d fallen together. How many times do you have to fall before you realize that perhaps it isn’t the ground that’s tripping you up? That it might just be you. Do you have to scrape your knees a few times or fall flat on your face? How do you know when you’ve had enough?

I laid there falling in & out of sleep. I had this weird dream that I was baking a cake. I kept checking on it. Ben was there but he didn’t really say much. Finally I took it out of the oven & it was burnt around the edges. He shuffled over to the stovetop & looked at the cake with a somber face. “I told you it was done 10 minutes ago. You should’ve taken it out.” he said & I just stared at him blankly because he was right. I turned the pan over and the cake popped out. I let it cool, frosted it and cut a piece. Jeremy hunched over the counter top and watched me put the cake on a plate with confusion. “You’re just going to eat a burnt cake?” he questioned me. I had just taken my first bite and was going in for a second when I looked up at him and said “It still tastes good so what’s the difference?”. “The difference, Jenine, is that you know the whole cake doesn’t taste good. Only certain parts do. Why don’t you just throw it out and make another one?” he said walking over to the cake, lifting the plate up at different points and angles to get a good look at it. It was as though he was wondering how the frosting did anything but make the cake look even sadder. I licked the last bit of frosting off my fork and said “Because, burnt or not burnt, I still love cake.”

I woke up to a sliver of sunlight shining through the living room across the floor & stopping right at the front door. I sat up & checked the time. It was 7:06. I decided I’d go to the bedroom and get some real rest. I stood up & stumbled towards the bedroom. As soon as I reached the door, Ben was coming out of the room. He was dressed & had 2 bags with him not including the backpack he’d never leave the house without. All of the things I had planned on saying were forgotten. I could barely see straight, let alone gather the words I wanted to say. He looked at me then said “Sorry. Can I just get by?”. “Sure!” I blurted out as I moved to the left, almost jumping. He walked towards the front door & I asked “Umm can at least ask where you’re going?”. He stopped moving and turned, telling me “I thought about what you said J. About us not being enough for one another. I guess I just always thought it would work itself out. But I see what you mean. I don’t know the exact moment when you came to that conclusion, or maybe you decided it, but you should’ve ended us then instead of now. So I’m leaving. I guess I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff over the next couple of weeks.”. That’s it. He was gone. Whatever he had left, the “stuff” he mentioned, was never picked up. They were minuscule items really; a toothbrush, some body wash, a value pack of razors. Things that made you think of him, even though they were all replaceable. It didn’t take long for me to realize that much like the burnt cake, I still loved Ben.

To be continued or whatever…….

An Arranged Marriage Chapter 2

Dean Winchester x Reader

1800 Words

Story Summary: An AU of sorts. Where hunter’s have communities, and arrange marriages for their young. Y/N is from the Northwest region, arranged to marry Dean, from the midwest region.

Catch Up Here: Chapter 1

Dean’s POV

Sitting there, in the dark interior of the Impala, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the women curled into the corner of the back seat. She was still wearing her plain wedding dress, her fingers nervously picking at the hem as she stared out the window.

“Y/N, I know this marriage wasn’t of your choosing either. I just want you to know that I’m not going to expect a real marriage. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want. You can have your own room, and if, after a couple of days you still feel the need, you can leave. I won’t come after you, I won’t force you to stay. I want you to be happy, and if that includes staying with us, then you are more than welcome to.” I found myself saying, watching as her wide gaze landed on mine through the rear-view mirror. She hadn’t said much the entire day, and I didn’t blame her either.

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The Thirteenth Doctor is... Jodie Whittaker!

The BBC today announced to the world that Jodie Whittaker will be the Thirteenth Doctor in Doctor Who.

Details from the press release follow:

The identity of the new Doctor was revealed exclusively on BBC One and on social media around the world after the Men’s Wimbledon Final on Sunday 16 July.

She will be the Thirteenth Time Lord and take over from Peter Capaldi, who leaves the global hit show at Christmas.

New head writer and executive producer Chris Chibnall, who takes over from Steven Moffat on the next series, made the decision to cast the first ever woman in the iconic role.

Jodie Whittaker says:

 “I’m beyond excited to begin this epic journey with Chris and with every Whovian on this planet. It’s more than an honour to play the Doctor. It means remembering everyone I used to be, while stepping forward to embrace everything the Doctor stands for: hope. I can’t wait.”

Chris Chibnall, New Head Writer and Executive Producer, says: 

“After months of lists, conversations, auditions, recalls, and a lot of secret-keeping, we’re excited to welcome Jodie Whittaker as the Thirteenth Doctor.

“I always knew I wanted the Thirteenth Doctor to be a woman and we’re thrilled to have secured our number one choice. Her audition for The Doctor simply blew us all away. Jodie is an in-demand, funny, inspiring, super-smart force of nature and will bring loads of wit, strength and warmth to the role. The Thirteenth Doctor is on her way.”

Peter Capaldi says:

“Anyone who has seen Jodie Whittaker’s work will know that she is a wonderful actress of great individuality and charm. She has above all the huge heart to play this most special part. She’s going to be a fantastic Doctor.”

Charlotte Moore, BBC Director of BBC Content, says: 

“Making history is what Doctor Who is all about and Chris Chibnall’s bold new take on the next Time Lord is exactly that. The nation is going to fall in love with Jodie Whittaker - and have lots of fun too!”

Piers Wenger, Controller BBC Drama, says: 

"Jodie is not just a talented actor but she has a bold and brilliant vision for her Doctor. She aced it in her audition both technically and with the powerful female life force she brings to the role. She is destined to be an utterly iconic Doctor.”

Matt Strevens, Executive Producer, says: 

“I’m so thrilled that Jodie Whittaker said yes to playing the Doctor. I’ve been a fan for years and always hoped to work with her. She is an actor of great emotional range and inhabits every role with complete passion and conviction. Just thinking about what she will bring to the Doctor makes me as excited as a kid at Christmas. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”


Thirteen questions about the new Doctor answered by Jodie Whittaker

1. What does it feel like to be the Thirteenth Doctor?

It’s very nerve-racking, as it’s been so secret!

2. Why did you want the role?

To be asked to play the ultimate character, to get to play pretend in the truest form: this is why I wanted to be an actor in the first place. To be able to play someone who is literally reinvented on screen, with all the freedoms that brings - what an unbelievable opportunity. And added to that, to be the first woman in that role.

3. Has it been hard to keep the secret?

Yes. Very hard! I’ve told a lot of lies! I’ve embroiled myself in a whole world of lies which is going to come back at me when this is announced!

4. Who was the first person you told when you got the role?

My husband. Because I was allowed to!

5. Did you have a codename and if so what was it?

In my home, and with my agent, it was The Clooney. Because to me and my husband, George is an iconic guy. And we thought, what’s a really famous iconic name? It was just fitting.

6. What does it feel like to be the first woman Doctor?

It feels completely overwhelming; as a feminist, as a woman, as an actor, as a human, as someone who wants to continually push themselves and challenge themselves, and not be boxed in by what you’re told you can and can’t be. It feels incredible.

7. What do you want to tell the fans?

I want to tell the fans not to be scared by my gender. Because this is a really exciting time, and Doctor Who represents everything that’s exciting about change. The fans have lived through so many changes, and this is only a new, different one, not a fearful one.

8. What are you most excited about?

I’m most excited about becoming part of a family I didn’t even know existed. I was born in 1982 - it’s been around longer than me, and it’s a family I couldn’t ever have dreamed I’d be part of.

9. How did Chris sell you the part?

We had a strange chat earlier this year where he tricked me into thinking we were talking about Broadchurch. And I started to quiz him about his new job in Wales, and asked him if I could be a baddie! And he quickly diverted the conversation to suggest I should consider auditioning to be the 13th Clooney.

It was the most incredible chat because I asked every question under the sun, and I said I’d take a few weeks to decide whether I was going to audition. He got a phone call within 24 hours. He would’ve got a phone call sooner, but my husband was away and there was a time difference!

10. Did he persuade you?

No. There was no persuasion needed. If you need to be persuaded to do this part, you’re not right for this part, and the part isn’t right for you. I also think, for anyone taking this on, you have to want to fight for it, which I certainly had to do. I know there will have been some phenomenal actors who threw their hats in the ring.

11. What are you going to wear?

I don’t know yet.

12. Is that your costume in the filmed sequence which introduced you as the new Doctor?

No.

13. Have any of the other Doctors given you advice?

Well they can’t because they haven’t known until now, but I’m certainly expecting a couple of calls - I’ve got a couple of mates in there. I’m mates with a companion [Arthur Darvill], I’m mates with a trio of Doctors. I know Matt Smith, Chris Eccleston and obviously David Tennant. Oh! And let’s throw in David Bradley! Four Doctors! So I’m hoping I get some calls of advice.

Lucky

For the anon whom I promised Niall fluff to the other day: this is my gift to you. ❤️



“But Niall, look at her!

You were cradling your newborn baby girl in your arms as you looked at your husband, distress coloring your features. Your baby was fast asleep in your arms—she had your lips and Niall’s nose, and a mixture of both your stubbornness.

She was a tough baby, in the sense that it had been incredibly difficult to get her used to any kind of sleep schedule. She cried at all hours of the night and had a very difficult temperament at that time, so you took the whole “when baby’s sleeping mom should be sleeping” thing very seriously.

You had to admit, caring for a baby was difficult. You and Niall had never felt exhaustion like it before—you had been sleeping in no more than three hour increments for the past two months, and it was all catching up to you. You had bags under your eyes like never before, and sometimes it took everything you had inside of you to keep up a simple conversation. Sometimes you would walk into the kitchen, baby in your arms, and catch your husband half-asleep as he brewed the coffee.

It took it’s toll on the both of you, but it was completely worth it.

“C’mon babe, give’er to me,” Niall reached for the baby in your arms, causing you to huff stubbornly.

“Don’t wanna,” you complained, cradling her closer to your chest and nuzzling your nose against the top of her sleeping baby head.

You had been cooped up in the house ever since your daughter had been born. It had been two months since you stepped foot out of your home—you gave your one hundred percent into motherhood, and you were getting the hang of taking care of your baby for sure. But there were times when Niall would have to kindly remind you to shower, or make you eat something before going to sleep because you hadn’t eaten anything all day.

You were drained, and it had been so long since you’d done something for yourself. Which is why Niall had scheduled this brunch with one of your best friends.

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