#“i have become a father.... like my father....”

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 1 | masterlist

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“I’m not looking for a babysitter that can only come by every now and then,” he says sternly and pauses for emphasis, brows furrowing to convey the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve got a busy schedule and his mom isn’t in the picture. I need a real commitment.”

You sit across from him wringing your hands under the kitchen table, wondering again what it is you’re doing here. Babysitting has never been your schtick; you’re somewhere in between too old to do it as a casual gig for extra cash and too young and inexperienced to be considered for a full-time position. 

Yet, it seems like that’s what he’s looking for, based on the information he’s told you and your general impression from having been in his house for less than twenty minutes. The house is a mess—toys strewn across the baby’s bedroom and the living room, dishes crusted with day old food sitting in the sink, the bookshelf in his study covered in a fine layer of dust that tells you that this man spends so little time in his own house that it’s become something of a requiem to single fatherhood. 

“So, a nanny?” you ask.

He hems and haws over that for a bit. “Bit too fancy for my tastes, but that’s more like it. It won’t just be watching the baby—I need someone who can help out around the house as well. ‘Used to run a tight ship before him, but cleaning’s not been my highest priority these days. Sure you’ve picked up on that.” He says the last part wryly, lips curling up into a crooked grin under his mustache. 

“Well…” You trail off while glancing at the mess in the living room out of the corner of your eye, toys and blocks scattered over the playmat. Your own smile is sheepish. 

“I work odd hours, so I’ll be gone a lot; you’ll probably have a few late nights here, but I pay well. Think that’s something you can handle?”

A polite refusal sits on the tip of your tongue until you swallow it back, suddenly conscious again of the dwindling funds in your bank account. It’s not that you don’t think you could handle the job. You’ve babysat before (only preteens, you correct yourself internally, but surely there are some transferable skills there). And, eclipsing all of your arguments in favour of walking out the door right now, is the very salient and pressing need for an actual income. 

“You’re military, you said?” you croak out instead.

He nods, hums. “Bit of a glorified desk job these days. They don’t put the old timers out in the field. Still, keeps me busy.”

You frown at that. “You’re not that old.”

That gets him to cock an eyebrow. “Love, I’m over twice your age, easy. I’m plenty old for a first time father on top of that; should’ve already been an old hand at this, but I’ve been married to the job for too long.”

You don’t ask if the baby was an accident or how it came to be that he chose to raise the baby on his own rather than try to work something out with the mother or give him up altogether. It seems uncouth. Rude. It’s none of your business and, more to the point, hardly relevant to the job. It’s just your own insatiable need to pry and know every little detail raising its head to sniff the air. 

“Well, I think—” You chew on your words and then backtrack. “—I can handle the job. I live nearby, so I can be here whenever you need me. If you need references, I can—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m a good judge of character. If you wanna help put the baby to bed, we can talk salary and I’ll go over my schedule this week with you.”

The chair scrapes against the tile floor when he stands up, pushing it out from under him. Standing, he towers over you, a big, fit man despite his protests to the contrary. Hardly out of his prime. You’d put him at forty-five at the latest, and still a work horse of a man at that; broad like a draft horse, like he flips tires and runs marathons for fun. When you push out your chair and stand as well, you’re still forced to look up at him. 

“Sure can, Mister…—?” You realize with a slight start that you only remember his first name, though it hardly feels appropriate to call him by that given the fact that he’s about to become your boss. Already is your boss. 

“Price. But John works just fine,” he corrects, his smile warm, almost paternalistic. 

You ignore the flash of heat up your spine and the way your belly constricts when he reaches across the table to shake your hand. His big, calloused palm dwarfs yours, fingers easily overlapping. You might as well be shaking a mitt. 

“Well, thanks for the job, John,” you say with a smile of your own, ignoring the way yours strains at the end, anxiety already gnawing a hole through the lining of your stomach that your stomach acid will now most certainly leak through. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, sweetheart.”

His words seem like a bellwether for something that you can’t yet articulate or even anticipate. Regardless, they make you swallow reflexively when you start salivating out of nowhere. You should probably quit on the spot actually, just out of principle alone, but again you remember the gut-churning sensation of checking your bank balance in the middle of the grocery store the other day before putting half of the contents of your cart back onto the shelf beside you. 

You follow him into the playroom instead, where a fuzzy headed infant gasps up at his daddy, blinking big lovestruck eyes up at him. Your own heart feels like a melted caramel in your chest when John picks his son up, eyes crinkling with affection. The baby is so tiny in his arms.

Any thought of being a good person evaporates from your mind. As if you ever had a chance.��

You don’t know how he found you. Through a friend of a friend of a friend’s dad’s coworker, maybe. Word of mouth. Watercooler conversation and a heaping cup of gossip.

“Did you hear the Captain’s looking for a babysitter?”

“For what? To bang?”

“No, dipshit. He knocked some broad up and she left him with the baby.”

“No kidding. The Captain?”

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ say that?”

“Price, you mean? Captain Price?”

“Are you fuckin’ deaf? Yeah—Price.”

“Christ. Godspeed to him. A baby. Goddamn.”

“Give it a rest, it happens all the time. That’s why you always wrap it up. Anyway, you know of anyone that’d be up for it?”

And then somehow, your name gets mentioned. Much to your relief. Job opportunities don’t knock on your door all that often, and when John finally gets around to telling you your hourly rate, you almost burst into hysterical giggles in front of him. It’s more than you expected. More than you deserve, if you’re being honest. You’re retroactively grateful that he didn’t ask you to name your rate because you wouldn’t have dared propose something anywhere close to what he offers.

It’s a straightforward gig. John doesn’t work the typical nine-to-five, so you show up at the times he made you write down on that first day in his living room after your interview and you leave whenever he comes home. The first week is fairly true to the schedule he laid out for you. He’s only late by around half an hour one evening, but that was another condition that he made you well aware of prior to giving you the job. 

You know better than to put up a fuss. You’re already learning on the job as it is; with your anxiety at a ten at all times, you appreciate the extra half hour to keep googling baby-specific information. What to do during tummy time. The benefits of baby massage. How to change a diaper. You’re learning all sorts of things these days.

To your credit, he could’ve done worse. The day after John hires you, you sign up for an intensive babysitting course over the weekend and read the online manual front to back. Your CPR certificate is still valid, but you book a refresher course as well just to be on the safe side. It’s a bit unbearable to watch the funds drain out of your account before you’ve even had a chance to earn your first paycheck, but it’s worth it for the burgeoning confidence that you bring on your first day.

Babies are fun to be around, you realize, much to your own delight. Babysitting—or rather, nannying, but John still introduces you to the neighbours as his babysitter, plus nannying requires a host of additional accreditations that you simply just do not have—might not have been a job that you ever expected yourself to like, but you find yourself kind of morose at the end of each day when you have to say goodbye to baby, and even going so far as to turn in early when you get home so you’ll be ready bright and early the next morning.

Babies also smell better than anything you’ve ever smelt in your life. You could huff the top of this little guy’s head morning, noon, and night. Milky and clean; it barely takes a few days to become addicted to the smell of his little head. When he’s cradled in your arms, you can’t help but press your nose to the top of his head and take a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. It’s some good shit. 

You keep a journal filled with notes to relay to John when he comes home at the end of the night and keep your phone close to you during babytime to film any important moments that John might’ve otherwise missed. 

“He started babbling today,” you tell John the second he walks through the door, the video already pulled up on your phone. You haven’t felt this excited in ages. “Look.” 

He’s still in his fatigues and everything, but he humours you and takes the baby when you pass him over, cooing and tickling his belly until the baby squeals and babbles again for him. 

“See?” you gush, mooning over him. You don’t have the presence of mind to be self-conscious in the moment. 

“Yeah,” John remarks, lifting his son up to blow a raspberry into his belly and grinning at his ensuing peals of laughter. “Ain’t that something.”

If the smile in his voice has anything to do with you, you don’t pick up on it.

On top of everything, John turns out to be a really good boss. Despite his gruff, intimidating exterior, he’s remarkably kind and patient with you. He doesn’t nag you for missing a spot when cleaning the bathroom. He doesn’t scold you the day your car breaks down and you’re forced to take the nearest bus to his place, tacking on an extra twenty minutes to your commute, even though that means that he’s invariably late for work. When you accidentally use scouring powder on the inside of his Le Creuset Dutch oven and scratch off the enamel, he gently talks you out of a sobbing fit, seemingly unbothered by the state of his scratched up crockery.

He shrugs when you bring it up. “It’s got a lifetime warranty anyway. I’ll bring it into the shop over the weekend. No use getting upset about it.”

Unflappable. That’s the word for it. It’s like as long as he’s able to come home to the baby and you in one piece, nothing else matters, and that sense of calm permeates the whole house; for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to walk on eggshells around someone. 

Your only qualm—and it’s hardly even a qualm, to be honest, more of just an observation—is that John is more of a physical person than you are. 

When he wants to move you, he does—two big hands clamped around your waist and only a fraction of his strength to move you away from the stove so he can take over cooking while you check on the baby, your mouth hanging open, aghast. Fuming at his nerve. The gall of him to manhandle you. 

You don’t hold it against him though. You haven’t spent much time around groups of men, but you’ve seen military movies before and it seems like the status quo for men to grab and push each other around. If anything, he’s gentle with you. 

It’s just that—and again, John’s the first adult man you’ve spent any one-on-one time with, what with it just being the two of you and the baby in his house, so your frame of reference is microscopic—you’re not completely sure whether it’s appropriate for your boss to be so touchy. 

You don���t mean to insinuate that he’s being inappropriate. It’s just that—and again you have to catch yourself before you go making assertions about people because John is honestly such a nice man and he’s done nothing but treat you fairly and made you feel safe and welcome, but…—sometimes he insists on you staying over for dinner after he comes home from work and doesn’t take no for an answer.

You’re never in any rush to leave. There’s not exactly anything waiting for you in your dingy little apartment. So when he asks you to stay, you have no good reason to refuse. It’s nice to get a free meal as well. With the way John gives you unfettered access to the fridge and pantry, you hardly need to buy groceries at all these days. You feel a little guilty about that, but you know what it’s like to go hungry.

Maybe that’s why you stay for supper the first time he asks a couple weeks into you working for him. You’re subconsciously mortified that you’ll eat his food when he’s not gone but not when he offers it to you.

At least dinner feels like something you’ve been given rather than just taking, taking, taking. 

Not to mention you’ve developed something of a rapport. There’s always something to talk about with John: the baby, his work, a show you watched on TV after putting the baby down for a nap, the new big Tesco four blocks from your place, his late teens before joining the military (“back when you weren’t even a thought in your mum’s head,” he jokes, cutting into his steak and something in your brain pops and fritzes out like the static between radio stations). 

The first few suppers are sporadic and never long enough to make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In all honesty, they’re the few bright spots in an otherwise dull life. Outside of your job and the infrequent dinners, you’re estranged from your family and you’ve only got a few close friends in town that you see maybe once or twice a month. Nothing to write home about. Some Friday nights, the yoga studio near your flat has a five pound community class that you pop in for, but those are infrequent too. 

Then there’s the odd night where he shoos you into the living room to put on a movie while he cleans up after dinner. You stare absentmindedly at his forearms when he rolls up his sleeves and then jump when you find him staring at you expectantly over his shoulder.

“Go put something on,” John tells you, a warning look in his eye. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry,” you whisper before slipping off into the living room.

You can’t relax on the couch while you wait. You flinch when he finally joins you, sitting down on the other side of the couch suddenly. You hadn’t even heard him coming; he’s light on his feet for such a big man. 

The buddy cop comedy you picked barely distracts you from the fact that your boss is sitting on the other side of the couch. You spend the whole two hour run time so nervous that you’re afraid you’ll buzz right out of your skin. 

For absolutely no reason, of course, because all John does is make light conversation with you throughout the movie. Conversation that you respond to in curt, choked whispers. When he walks you to the door after the movie, all you can focus on is how utterly embarrassed you are for being so weird.

Your dreams that night come frantic and heady. Humid under the blanket. The phantom feeling of a body heavier than yours weighing down one side of the couch and you sliding towards it gradually, unable to even cling onto the arm of the couch to keep from falling into his lap. 

Then hands on your belly, cupping and holding. Thick fingers with hairy knuckles. A warm, tobacco smell wafting under your nose, sweet like tonka bean and smoke. Nothing you can do to keep them from travelling down your stomach and thighs and spreading your legs wide, big hands curving around your inner thighs until—

You wake up panting, fingers pressed against your clit in your sleep. It takes nothing to bring yourself over the edge, dark blue eyes swimming on the precipice of your conscious mind. 

“Sleep well?” John asks you the next morning when you show up on his doorstep, handing you the baby before you’ve even said so much as a word. You hold the baby to your chest like a makeshift shield. Anything to put some distance between you and the man who has now taken to starring in your dreams. 

“Not bad,” you squeak. 

You flinch when he guides you in with a hand on your back and shuts the door behind you. Your cunt pulses when his fingers press firm against the small of your back, hand bigger than you remembered from your dream.

As if you were ever going to end up anywhere but here.

[teaboot]

TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

The Dr. Doolittle movies 1-3. He's a wacky guy who can talk to animals, and I thought the new lead in the 3rd was cute growing up, I don't have to explain myself to you.

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

[rafelandia]

Two Babies (dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready.

Author's Note: Hello! Please enjoy my first Rafe one shot. I would love to expand on this couple so if you have any requests or any blurbs you'd like me to explore, please send me a message! As always, likes and reblogs are much appreciated - it helps more than you know. Happy reading :)

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I do, but this is one of the rare times when I actually mean it. Those blonde curls! Are you freakin' kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers. 

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Melanie, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

Melanie lovingly squeezed the extra chub around the baby girl's thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, so don't overexert yourself if becomes too demanding. Breastfeeding is cheaper though," Melanie chucked, though in her head she was kicking herself. As if this family is in any need to save money. "Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?” she continued.

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Rafe's big head, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Melanie laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, admiring Y/N's wittiness even in the absence of her husband. Given the reputation of the Cameron family, others might think the couple were all work and no play, but Melanie had the privilege of getting to know them behind closed doors. While they took doctor's visits seriously, always paying close attention to what the doctors and nurses had to say regarding the health of their firstborn, her experience with the Cameron's changed her outlook completely. Y/N and Rafe were warm, welcoming, and quite funny sometimes - always making jests at each other or sharing little tid-bits of what their life is like at home. She wished everyone could see them this way. Melanie really wasn't lying when she doted on the little girl, they were the best.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Rafe's really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Melanie re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Melanie's head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Rafe been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Melanie was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, Y/N thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Melanie was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Melanie's face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a blood test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

//

Rafe came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the pasta dish she'd been dying for all week was. Their grocery store had been out of her favorite canned tomatoes for over a week and she’d nearly tackled Rafe to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with them the night before. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the baby pink, quilted playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Y/N's coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?” Rafe called out.

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times. 

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Rafe could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. The houses on Figure Eight were lavish, but not all of the bathtubs were - at least that's what Y/N told Rafe. Who was he to question his bride?

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the metal doorknob tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife. 

Good. She was sleeping. 

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings that forced him to dress nicely. 

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. He wasn't always this way - he used to love this shit, but something inside him changed indefinitely when his daughter was born. Rafe was a softy now and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects of his everyday life like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental because she was growing so much these days, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his heavy watch into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quiet yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Baby? You awake?” Rafe peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door. 

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“You sick or something? Can hear you sniffling."

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Rafe cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw what little he could her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips illuminated by the hallway light being the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Rafe tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for his wife again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk to me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Rafe could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so. 

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.” 

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Rafe asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. He cut his eyes towards the hallway in the direction of her nursery before looking back to Y/N.

“Is she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Rafe worry.

“I was telling Melanie about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Rafe turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list. 

“And?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Rafe whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, Rafe” Y/N quipped.

“That's not what I meant,” Rafe fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many blonde, chubby babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present would be the gift of being a big sister. 

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. Don't do that,” Rafe shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her chest tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of shock and excitement about taking the next step in building a family. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled button-down, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean, honey? Of course you can. I can take more time off work like last time and let the boys handle everything for a bit. I know it's not ideal, but we’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“It's not ideal. You've only just now gotten back to work full time. You said everything almost fell apart while you were gone. It would fuck everything up. Plus, she's only six months old, Rafe. I can't go through that again so soon."

Rafe paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Are you serious? Of course I can take more time off work. You are more important than anything that could possibly be going on at the office.” He was a bit stunned by her words. She almost sounded annoyed, which didn't sit quite right with Rafe.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there to do? Will you please tell me what you're getting at, because I’m starting to get upset.” 

Rafe's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this? 

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And you think I’m not? I'm trying my best to keep it together for your sake if you haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending the way the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one that's pregnant. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to feel like you're burning alive from the inside out for hours and then just have to lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides apart. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Rafe was yelling now. They hadn't argued like this since they were much younger, and he absolutely hated it.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting that it was. I'm not sure what you want me to say though. I’m sorry? Is that it? Sorry for getting you pregnant? Sorry for having a job that helps us get anything we want for ourselves and our family? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fucking planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Rafe,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense! Are you telling me you don’t want to keep it? Because I never fucking said that you have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands. 

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Rafe's hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Rafe peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just had that stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Rafe's hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Rafe's hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Rafe the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

//

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with sandy blonde curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Rafe's. Her eyes? A perfect, entrancing shade of blue akin to Rafe's. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of fleshy pink, just like Rafe's. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother was her nose, which was funny considering that Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Rafe before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. It was off seeing Rafe Cameron this way - being the one with his tail tucked beneath his legs. It was usually the opposite. He had changed out of his work clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of sweats that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistent on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Rafe loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Rafe's continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Rafe started.

“It was uncalled for,” she quipped.

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“It's not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one having the baby. It’s you that’s got to do all the hard stuff and I know how scary it was last time. I should've been more considerate before jumping the gun.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?” his voice was quiet and pleading.

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Rafe could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his. 

“I love you so much. You know that? I’d drop everything for you if I had to. I don't care about any of it anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you. You try to play it cool and I know that things are different now, but I also know that deep down you really like what you do.” The corner of Rafe's lips turned upwards, suppressing a chuckle at the fact that she really does know him that well.

“Well, just know that I would if you wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want to be here for you. For her. Don’t want to miss anything. I finally got my shot at being normal when I met you and I hate myself sometimes when I think about all of the bullshit I've put you through.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Rafe's cheek.

“You’re a good person, Rafe's. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Rafe's chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Melanie to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face. 

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Rafe jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Rafe spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known Y/N was pregnant until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have to have one birthday party because they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go to the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Rafe Cameron? The party connoisseur? Suggesting his two precious babies share a birthday party?”

Rafe pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the fact that he'd already planned his daughter's first birthday in his head. Down to the tablecloth colors and dinnerware.

“Got me there,” Rafe chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Rafe could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Rafe's heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together.

“Found those tomatoes at the store the other day, remember? Want me to make that pasta for you?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately perked up at the thought.

“Starting to wonder if that was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?” she proposed.

Rafe giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought it was a bit weird that you wanted it so badly, but I know better than to question you.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“I've got it, mama” Rafe quickly refuted. “Take a bath or something and I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Rafe used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now. 

Of course, she wanted more children with Rafe. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did. 

With two babies.

[hannieehaee]

HOW SWEET (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: after years of an unspoken fight between you and your self-proclaimed enemy, you find yourself forced to work with your life-long rival, kim mingyu, as your father offers him a position at the family bakery. with such forced proximity and endless arguments, how are you supposed to cater to your duties when mingyu's presence brings so much tension to the kitchen?

content: baker!mingyu, enemies to lovers, pining, one sided crush that becomes two sided!, afab reader, smut, teasing, semi public sex (its done in a public establishment but no one is there), breast play, food play (frosting on tits basically), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.2k (teaser); 8.4k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: december 20th

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: i dont think ive ever actually done enemies to lovers so i hope i did the trope justice!!

masterlist | patreon

Twelve years.

Twelve years dedicating yourself to your craft, attending summer camps, taking elective classes, paying for extracurricular classes, working summers at your dad's place, making all effort known to man, yet this is how it all ended.

Maybe claiming this to be the end was slightly dramatic, but that's how it felt at the moment. As you stared up at your dad and the excuse of a man standing next to him, far too cocky for you to allow your anger yo subside.

Today had been an average day. Throughout your life, you were content to admit that most of your days could be categorized as good, especially after years of having found comfortable employment at your father's renown bakery soon after high school (thank you nepotism). Attending culinary school whilst managing a part-time job at your dad's place had been anything but difficult. It was quite an easy and enjoyable job, one in which you could proudly say you'd had the chance to grow up in.

Your father had owned the place since before you could even walk, building it up to become a favorite in your city. Business was always booming, and it just so happened to fulfill your passion for baking — one which your dad had obviously passed down to you, but you weren't complaining. You occasionally took up shifts during high school, only becoming a full-fledged part-time employee during university, recently graduating and upgrading to full time. Life was good and steady.

So, it was fair to say that most of your days were good.

However, there was the occasional day that was ruined by the mere presence of a particular individual.

You hadn't meant to dislike him as much as you did. Anyone who knew you could vow for your likable personality and charismatic demeanor, meaning it was difficult for you to bump heads with people (at least most of the time). But there was just one particular person who made your blood boil from the day you met him. It had been so long ago, you couldn't date back the moment — nor the instance — in which your dislike had begun brewing. Fortunately, the dislike was completely mutual. You didn't have to feel like an asshole for scowling at the man any time you saw him, because you were usually met by a mirror of your expression or an annoyingly frustrating smirk — similar to in this moment.

The frustrating man in question was none other than Kim Mingyu, the resident heartthrob and well known for his passion and talent for baking. Hatred for the insufferable man aside, his abilities as a baker, and chef in general, could not be denied. The mere implication of praise made you gag, but you liked to think you were mature enough to admit talent when you saw it. This was something you'd never verbalize, however, knowing the man to also be one of the cockiest people you'd ever met.

There were a myriad of reasons as to why your current predicament ruined not only your day, but likely many upcoming ones. The main reason could be boiled down to the smile on Mingyu's face as he stood to your father's side. The cockiness emitting from him was enough to get your blood boiling and to create a carnal desire within you to beat him to a pulp.

The reason for his smile, however, was what truly took the cake.

Within the past moments in which you'd been processing your father's words, you remained silent and stagnant before them, leading your father to repeat the cursed sentence once more.

"Mingyu's going to be working with us from now on," he'd said with an innocent smile on his face, unknowing of your feud with the man in question.

Everything had come crashing down in that moment, but any more silence from you would mean Mingyu won this round, which was something you simply could not have — even under these circumstances.

Shaking all the anger and hateful memories from your head, you straightened your back and morphed a smile onto your face, one good enough for your dad to buy and for Mingyu to be unable to judge. Your hand extended as a courtesy, offering itself to Mingyu as a form of welcome, something which your father likely expected from you.

"In that case, welcome to the team," you spoke for the first time, sweetly enough to grant you a satisfied smile from your father. The poor man was blissfully unaware of your dislike for Mingyu, so no blame really fell on him for his blind decision.

Grasping your hand in his larger one, Mingyu shook hands with you, satisfied smile still on his face, "Looking forward to working with you," he said, far too content for you to not want to take him out back and-

"I know you kids already know each other from back when you were in school, so it should be easy for you to show him the ropes, right, kid?", asked your dad, interrupting your violent thoughts.

Your head whipped to him, "Show him the ropes?"

"Yeah. I was thinking you could train him? He's already an amazing baker, but maybe he should shadow you for a few weeks. You know, just in case," your father clarified.

Mingyu's close-lipped grin grew wider somehow, almost as if the knowledge of your discomfort at being around him overpowered his own dislike of your presence.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, dad," you found yourself agreeing against your will.

Your dad clapped his hands once in satisfaction, then proceeding to patting your back in encouragement as he tended to do.

"Thanks, kid. Well, I'll leave you two to it," he then turned to Mingyu, "Welcome to the team, son. Y/N here will show you where you can get your apron and give you a general overview of the place before your first day tomorrow," and with that, he made his exit.

Behind, he left a fuming you and an overly pleased Mingyu. Silence filled the room for a few moments until you found it vital to curse out the infuriating boy in front of you.

But, as per usual, he beat you to it.

"Happy to see me, cupcake?"

God damnit. You forgot about the annoying nicknames he'd insisted on calling you by since meeting back in high school.

Cupcake, baby, sweetheart, sweetiepie, babe, honey, darling. And these were the more tame ones. You did not want to think about the instances in which he'd called you hot stuff or sexy in public. They'd led to public displays of aggression you weren't exactly proud of.

"I thought you were studying culinary abroad. What happened? Got yourself kicked out?," you grumbled, walking over to the back of the restaurant with him following close by.

"Nope. Just decided my expertise could be used back home. And clearly since you seem to be the best they got around here."

It was as if he was allergic to not bugging the shit out of you.

You turned to face him, blinking harshly at the unexpected proximity before taking a step back and responding to his smirk with a frown, "Listen, Mingyu. You heard my dad. I'm in charge of you. If you disregard my authority, I won't hesitate to send your ass running. Do you understand?"

This made his grin grow bigger for some reason. Knowing he was getting under your skin was great for his entertainment.

"Yes, ma'am," he bit his lip in amusement.

...

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[poopylumpkins]

I finally watched this movie, it hit me so hard.

I’d been listening to the soundtrack for a while, as a bad habit, I tend to listen to movie soundtracks before watching the source material—and I’m really into Yeule’s music—so I discovered the movie thru the release of their featured song in the movie.

I finally gave it a chance and, wow.

Huge tangent under the cut <3

I’m nonbinary. I’m afab. This movie resonated with me so much.

Making this discovery was a hard one, it was like I’d opened Pandora’s Box.

One of my other (dearest) friends had come out as nb when we were younger and it scared me, it was something I was aware of but pushed away in fear of discovery. Same with my lesbian identity. But the TV kept glowing, I wouldn’t lose them over my own cowardice. Eventually I realized I was lesbian, I’d realized I was trans.

Sometimes I feel connected to womanhood, to my femininity.

For the sake of others, I sacrifice my otherness for their comfort. I go by all pronouns because I’m afraid of dropping “she” from everyone else’s mind. I go by they/she in public spaces where I feel safe enough to do so, but at home, I’m still just a woman, I’m still “her”. Only that.

And it’s difficult reconciling this when I do dress femininely, when I let my friends call me woman. Even when I do that to myself, because I am, paradoxically, as I am not. I don’t know, gender is hard. I present as a woman to a lot of people, so I have experiences socialized as such.

Not to tote any weird superiority complexes, but I like the way God is described in the bible. “I am that I am.” The image of everyone, man, woman, otherwise, all simultaneously.

I feel maybe it’s like that for me, with womanhood. I am woman, I am something else. I like masculine terms for myself sometimes. Sometimes it feels like an empty space. Like [Owen] described it on the bleachers to [Maddy]. I severely hate overly gendered conversation. As a transmasc person, I do like dude and bro but yk even that gets tiresome.

“Yes, Girl.”

“Queen.”

“Miss.”

Only my closest friends call me by “they/them” pronouns, even then, I let it slip when they don’t get it right. But they know me for who I am beyond the screen, and I do just go by any pronouns. But we’re also just used to pushing that away in the eyes of others who don’t see the screen glowing.

In I Saw The TV Glow, Owen and Isabel are parallels to each other (because they are one and the same), they’re both too cowardly for confrontation, Isabel realizes she’s dying [as Owen] and apologizes for the sake of others’ comfort, at the end of the movie, at the outburst her realization causes.

The ending is left up to interpretation, whether she buries herself in the ground with Tara, or she continues to die, living a life as someone fake.

I like to remain hopeful, optimistic. Though, “there is still time,” might read as a warning—you still have time, but it will run out eventually—I see it as a message of hope for those of us who can’t explore our gender identities as freely as others. An eventuality.

During the wire breakage scene, where [Owen] finds herself stopped in the road—where she finds the burning papers of the episode guides, she reads ��S06:e01” I like to think that that is where the movie ends and her true life begins. She does break out of the midnight realm.

She doesn’t continue to cower away, though she is wont to do. She opened her chest up and saw her missing heart, saw the “Pink Opaque,” and ran back to Tara, leaving this world behind, and saving face with her apologies.

..

This movie also filled me with existential dread.

When [Owen] watched the finale’s tape, when she launched her head into the tv and mourned the fact that her father wasn’t really her father—a foreboding, looming figure representing prominent patriarchal ideals—when she told us about how it was “time to become a real man,” when her father died, further burying herself into this life that wasn’t hers with a family that wasn’t either—it was terrifying.

We never see that family she had onscreen, and the mention of them makes [Owen] look so defeated. She watches the “Pink Opaque” again and it isn’t as she remembers. Just as Mr. Melancholy said would happen.

“Soon you won’t even remember that you’re dying.”

Whole movie was such a harrowing, representative experience. I sobbed. I mourned. It was like mourning for a past me, for the parts of myself that must stay hidden, for covering the screen.

And the fact that Tara was relatively butch in her real life, but was an awkward girl experimenting with her feminine expression up until she realized she had to escape in the Midnight Realm. I felt connection to her expression as much as I did Isabel’s egg crack.

They were so lesbians for each other, too, be it in a qpp sense or in another way.

…

Here I am listening to the OST again, replaying Yeule’s cover of “Anthems for a 17-year-old Girl,” on my 20th birthday (oh yeah that’s today) and just.. feeling such a frenzy of emotions.

Ultimately, just—

There will still be time. You’ll bury the you that isn’t authentic in the ground and rise as your truest form eventually. There will always be eventually. There will always be you..

I will be there waiting for me.

But I know that's not true. That's just fantasy. Kid's stuff.

I SAW THE TV GLOW (2024) dir. Jane Schoenbrun

[arc-misadventures]

The White Queen

The White Queen, Queen Willow Schnee Arc

Weiss: Wait… while you were in the, Ever After you found my mother who fell in with us…

Jaune: Yes.

Weiss: Where she travel back in time with you?

Jaune: Correct.

Weiss: And, because another cooky fruit thingy... Mom de-aged to the point where she was... is in her early twenties.

Jaune: She looks just like, Winter. Just less moody...

Weiss: And, she was taken by the previous king, the Red Prince?

Jaune: Proper asshole that guy was.

Weiss: Where he was going to make my mother his bride...?!

Jaune: Least the bastard had good taste...

Weiss: And, you saved her from that looney king fellow…

Jaune: Down with the king!

Weiss: After that, there was a power vacuum from when you dethroned the king...

Jaune: What do you expect to happen when you overthrow the ruling monarchy?

Weiss: And, my mom took the throne for herself to stabilize the kingdom?

Jaune: She was the only member of the royal family still alive to assume the throne... Technically... She didn't marry the, Red Prince, but Willow was the closest thing we had to royalty.

Weiss: And, you became her personal bodyguard…

Jaune: It was mostly just a title. I mostly spent my time with, Willow to train her to become a, Huntress grade fighter

Weiss: And, after you trained her to be a, Huntress grade fighter... You married my mother?!

Jaune: Indeed I did!

Weiss: The fuck is wrong with this place?! And, the fuck you think you're doing marrying my own mother?! You degenerate!

Willow: Hey! Don't speak to your father that way!

Weiss: I refuse to recognize this man as my father!

Willow: It's either him, or Jacques dear; Which will you choose?

Weiss: …

Weiss: Jaune…

Willow: That's what I thought~!

Jaune: Don't worry, Weiss, you don't have to start calling me dad.

Willow: Yet.

Weiss: …

Weiss: I fucking hate this place…

[lamiadrowned]

Hellooo! those jinx dating headcanons were so cute, could you maybe expand on Silco meeting Jinx's partner? 🩷

*:･ﾟ✧ silco meeting jinx’s partner

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

this made me so happy to write, the flashback we got of younger silco is heavy on my mind :,) missing him

it would definitely be a lot less intimidating than you’d expect!

in the month or so that you’ve been with jinx, silco isn’t immediately distrusting of you since she talks often about how great you are. not only that, but he can see the difference you’ve made in her life and her mental state. how cheery she becomes when she talks about you. how big her smile gets when he asks about you.

however, it seems she’s a bit embarrassed at the idea of introducing him to you. so, being the protective father that he is, he takes the initiative.

one day, as you’re heading home from work, you quickly reach for the switchblade in your back pocket when you feel a hand on your shoulder behind you.

you turn around to see there’s a woman (who is considerably taller and buffer than you) standing there, clearly surprised to see a knife pointed at her. “my name is sevika, i’m here on behalf of silco. he wants to see you in his office before the day ends. is now a good time?”

thankfully, you recognize the name. jinx had talked about going on a few missions with her. you lower your knife and shrug. “uh… yeah. yeah, now’s fine. lead the way.”

she nods and proceeds to walk with you a few streets down to the building, offering some polite conversation and reassurance– this meeting is solely for the purpose of introducing himself to you, since his daughter won’t.

she takes you to the door of silco’s office, opening it for you and wishing you good luck.

you don’t immediately see silco, but you do hear his voice. “take a seat wherever you’d like.”

once sevika shuts the door behind you, you take a deep breath and follow his instructions; sitting down at his desk and watching his own chair spin around so that he can finally come face-to-face with you.

your anxiety is through the roof and your heart won’t slow down no matter how many deep breaths you take, but you’re able to muster a polite smile.

he sees right through it, though. of course. like father, like daughter. “you seem frightened. i apologize if sevika gave you a scare.“

“oh, no– she was really nice. it’s just… i wasn’t expecting a meeting with the kingpin of the underground today.” you joke.

he laughs, which makes you a bit more comfortable. “another apology is in order, then. i know this is sudden, but jinx… she gets so bashful at the idea of introducing us. i figured, why don’t i take the big leap?”

you nod. “yeah, of course. she talks very highly of you.”

“and you, as well. she talks my ear off, a million words a minute if she finds a way to bring you up.” silco shakes his head with a growing smile. “it’s impressive, how quickly she’s become smitten with you. i’d think you were a sorceress if i didn’t know any better.”

you’re flattered by his kind words, and a bit excited by the fact that she seemingly talks about you so much. you must be doing something right.

the two of you continue on as you answer all of the questions he asks about your upbringing and your current life, and you ask questions about his. it almost begins to feel like you’re talking to an old friend, not the most feared and influential man in the lanes.

however, at one point, he suddenly becomes very serious.

“now, i feel this is an appropriate time to tell you this. you seem to be a genuinely good person, which is all too rare these days.” silco sighs. then, he clasps his hands together and casually leans forward onto the desk, resting his chin on his fists. “with that being said, if i ever come to find out that you have made my daughter suffer in any way, and you will never know peace again. do i make myself clear?”

your eyes widen. you’re finally starting to see why the entire population of zaun is scared witless by him. “understood. it will never come to that, though. i can only hope you take my word for it.”

silco nods in approval of your answer. he’s very impressed by your ability to remain calm in the face of his intimidation. it only proves to him that you’re as good as you seem, and that your intentions are pure– you have nothing to hide.

after a brief silence, he opens his mouth to speak again, but he’s interrupted by the sound of his office door slamming open.

“she’s missing!”

you’re shocked to hear jinx. she sounds frantic, voice hoarse and pitchy, like she can’t contain her terror. “i checked everywhere, high and low! we need to send one of your goons to–”

she’s silenced when she sees you turn around in your chair and meet her glare. her look of horror turns into one of confusion. “what the hell is going on here? is this an intervention?”

you snort at her question, patting the chair next to you, inviting her to come sit down. her shoulders slump and she lets out a dramatic huff as she sulks over to sit beside you. her arms cross defensively. “i don’t know what you weirdos think i did, but those fireworks going off last night were not mine, and to be frank, it’s kind of offensive that you’d assume i–”

“jinx, if you don’t mind,” silco puts a hand up, imploring her to stop talking. “we’ll talk about those fireworks later.”

“what?! i just said they weren’t mine.” jinx scoffs.

“you ramble when you lie. don’t you think i’d know that by now?” silco sighs. “that’s beside the point. since you had no plans to introduce me to y/n, i decided to introduce myself.”

you hum in confirmation. “that’s all. no intervention.”

it takes jinx a long moment to process this information; it seems as if she forgot silco has eyes everywhere, and when he wants something done, it will be done.

you’re almost expecting her to be upset before a beaming smile replaces the scowl on her face. “un-fuckin’-believable! i’m searching all over zaun for you, while you’re here, kicking back with him?!” she points in his direction.

“precisely.” silco steps in for you, aware that this is one of those times where she is very happy, yet tries to pretend that she is very upset. “if it’s of any reassurance to you– to both of you– this relationship has my badge of approval.”

instantly, you feel a sense of pride in knowing that you’d made such a good impression on him. he’s a man that’s very hard to impress, as far as you’ve heard.

you reach for jinx’s hand and squeeze it. her smile is almost as big as yours now. “look at that. i aced the big interview, and i haven’t gone missing.“

[icarusredwings]

Do you guys ever think about dementia Charles seeing Pietro and getting sad or becoming really happy because his poor mind connects the dots that he's Erik? It dosn't compute that this wouldn't be Erik because hes too young to be Erik rather assuming that he is young Erik and not exactly having the logic to understand that they are so differently aged.

"Oh! My old friend, you've gotten a haircut. Quite bold of you. It makes you look much younger."

".. yeah, yeah, old man.." he mutters, trying to avoid him best he can, but sometimes, when the others are busy, he can't stand to leave him alone. Coming to sit with him just to litsen to him gab about random nonsense, talking so fondly about his X-men and memories dear to him.

"Do you remember?"

"Do I remember what?"

"When Jean got her first bad grade and she cried to you about how cruel I was to her." He chuckles softly. "And all she got was a B-"

Pietro stares at him like he's crazy. Jean cried to his father? But why? He had his own children to take care of. So why would he treat her like that? It makes him a bit angry. "No.. I don't. What else?"

"Hm?"

"What else happened? With jean and my da- erm. Me."

"I believe it's Jean and I." He corrects his grammer, making the younger man roll his eyes in annoyance. Once a professor always a professor I guess.

"Sure. Jean and I.."

"You acussed me of being too hard on her, but when I explained it, you laughed... I haven't seen you laugh like that in so long.." It's sort of now that Charles remembers what's going on. Who he's talking to.

"..Im sorry. Who are you again?"

"Well you like to call me speedster."

"Pft. No I do not. Mr. Maximoff.. you've grown so big since the last time ive seen you."

'You just saw me yesterday' he thinks but makes that awkward smile and nods. "Yup.."

"Youll have to forgive me. Im not always.... here."

"I know.. are you alright?"

He shrugs in his chair. "About as alright as anyone could be in my situation." Ah yes. The paralyzed old bald man who was losing his mind still had jokes. Funny. But sad. He remembered him being so similar and yet.. so different.

It's not long before Jean comes to give him his medicine again, convincing him that it was for the kid's saftey. "You don't want to hurt them. Do you, Charles?"

"No... but I'm not that gone yet. I can decide when it's best to take my medication."

She smiles so sweetly at him. "Professor, you made this time schedule yourself. Im just doing what you told me. You always knew best for us."

"Oh.. well, alright then."

Before Jean can walk away, He stares at her.

"....Why did my father like you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Charles... he said.." He trails off, not sure how to say it without talking too quickly.

"He said you cried to my father. And.. he defended you."

Jean tilts her head. "I wouldn't say defended. I was just a child having a fit." She admits then shifts, looking at the walls as if remembering.

".. He was here a lot.. and then he just.. stopped coming. Im sorry. I don't know why. Like I said I was just-"

"Didyoureadhismind?"

"Uhm.. just a couple times."

"Jean used to con you into getting her ice cream." Charles smiles, closing his eyes, reminiscing.

"He.. got you ice cream?"

Jean's not dumb. She understands his frustrations, glancing at the old man and then to Pietro again. "Like I said.. I was just a kid.. I was just excited to be able to use my powers. I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't even know he had other children."

"...He never got us ice cream.. he didn't even bother sign my birth certificate.."

"Im sorry, Peter... Professor? Tonights dinner is potatoes gravy turkey with apple sauce. Remys making it so it might be a little spicy."

"Oh, that's alright. He means well. Erm.. thats the blue one right?"

Jean snorts. "No Professor. He's the card one."

"Oooh yes. Reeemmyy... right." He says his name slowly as if trying to connect 'the card one' to 'Remy' in his brain.

"...Bye Peter." She says, now awkwardly leaving.

"Remys that rat from the cooking movie" Pietro whispers and Charles' eyebrows raise. "Ahhh! Remy! That's right."

He might be an x-men. But he could still pull a little evil here and there.

[connorsui]

As much as I love aemond and would have thrown down my entire bloodline and my uterus to have this man become my husband and the father of my children ...you would not see me give up the opportunity to drive myself towards somebody like aegon who's practically on his hands and knees begging to wed me and become a soulmate to me ..

This man aegon would rather drown himself in his cups of alcohol that I swear to yall if this was modern he would go back to back with a shot of vodka to a glass of bourbon to make himself forget ever hearing we were getting married to his brother and not him...he has such an unhealthy target that having me as a wife would be his only salvation ..

And it makes me wanna rip out my own veins to present them on a gold platter cuz Jesus would I pray to have a desperate man begging for my hand like aegon

I love him so much 🩷✨️

Aegon has been in love with reader for years but she got betrothed to Aemond. She finds Aegon drunk at her door and she takes him in. He tells her he loves her and make smut happen please

I've been on a roll with these request this week! Only three days until the start of Season 2 *screaming*

Question: Should I add Cregan Stark to my character list? If yes, please send requests for him <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, drunk!Aegon, unprotected p + v, cheating (on Aemond)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When the news dropped, Aegon was devastated. He had always known his feelings for you ran deep, but hearing that you were to be betrothed to his own brother made him regret not asking for your hand sooner. The thought of losing you to Aemond gnawed at his heart.

In a fit of fury, Aegon stormed into Aemond's chambers, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘’You knew of my feelings for her, how can you do this to me?’’ he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. 

Aemond looked up from his book, his expression calm and composed. ‘’Father wanted to unite our families. I’m only doing my duty,’’ he replied, his tone measured and devoid of emotion.

Aegon’s frustration boiled over. He slammed his fist on the table, making the goblets and plates clatter. ‘’Fuck duty!’’ he shouted. His voice broke as he continued, ‘’I just…I just want her.’’

Aemond sighed, placing his book aside. ‘’I was asked to marry her, not you. You already have the throne.’’

The throne was given to him because he was the first son. Aegon never asked for it, never cared for ruling or showed interest in politics. He would rather spend his life with you and Sunfyre than sit on the Iron Throne. 

‘’I would exchange my birthright for her in a heartbeat,’’ he confessed, his voice unwavering.  

Later at dinner, Aegon didn’t come down to eat. He couldn't beat the idea of seeing you sitting beside Aemond during a meal. So, he stayed in his chamber, drowning himself with wine. His goblet wasn’t even empty that he would fill it up again. 

He drank until the sun went down and his pitcher was almost empty, and fell asleep on his couch with his goblet in hand. It wasn’t surprising considering how much he had drunk. 

When Aegon woke a few hours later, the castle was sleeping under the cover of darkness. He stood and found himself stumbling through the corridors. His feet carried him to your door in the guest wing, having been many many times. You always took the same chamber when you visited King’s Landing. Aegon raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door creaked open.

You expected to find a servant with your tea, but instead found your uncle Aegon. A frown of surprise and concern creased between your eyebrows. ‘’Aegon? What are you doing here?’’

He swayed slightly, leaning heavily against the doorframe with his undershirt untucked from his breeches. His eyes were red, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. ‘’You can’t marry him. Please, don’t marry him,’’ he mumbled, his words slurred from the wine.

You should have walked him back to his chamber or alert the Queen of her son’s state, but instead you stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. 

Aegon stumbled through the doorway, and you came to his side, helping him sit onto the bed bench. He leaned forwards as you let go of him, resting his forearms on his thighs and his spinning head in his hands. 

You watched him with a heavy heart, guilt knotting your stomach. ‘’I’m sorry for the betrothal. I wanted to tell you myself, but our parents sent the ravens before I could.’’ 

‘’Don’t marry Aemond.’’ Aegon grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him. ‘’Don’t do this to me.’’ He looked up at you, his eyes pleading. 

You stayed silent, looking down at him. There were a hundred reasons you should put a stop to this right now. Aegon was drunk. He wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, seeing him like this, vulnerability written all over him, made your heart ache for him. 

‘’You’re drunk. This wasn’t a good idea. Let’s get you back to your chamber.’’ You reached for his arm to help him up, but grabbed your wrist. ‘’Aegon…’’ you sighed.

He pulled you closer to him, but you remained standing. Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper, his words more a plea than a demand. ‘’It’s me you should marry, not my brother.’’ 

You pulled on your wrist, but his grip only tightened. ‘’Aegon, let go. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.’’ 

He shook his head, his eyes fixated on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. ‘’I know exactly what I’m saying. I…I love you. I always have. And I can’t bear the thought of you marrying him.’’ 

Your heart was racing in your chest. 

Despite the feud between your mothers, you and Aegon had always been close. He was there when you claimed your dragon, took the blame when you got caught stealing lemon cakes in the kitchen, and always invited you to dance at gatherings, even though he hated dancing. He even exchanged letters with you when you moved to Dragonstone, secretly writing back despite his terrible handwriting and his mother's interdiction. You were his favorite person, the only one he felt truly cared for him.

And now, he was sitting in your chamber, confessing his feelings to you out of pain and desperation.

You wanted to scream. 

At yourself for not recognizing his underlying feelings. At him for not saying those words sooner. At your mother and grandsire for arranging a betrothal with Aemond. He was closer to you in age, mayhaps it was the reason for their decision? And most of all, at the cruel twist of fate that had kept you blind to what was right in front of you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Thoughts swirled chaotically in your mind, overwhelming you. You needed time to think, time to process everything. 

But time wasn’t in your hands, it was ticking and passing fast, so you crashed your lips on Aegon’s. He brought you down to his lap, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed across your hips and thighs and everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to bring you closer. You could taste the wine on his lips, the bitter alcohol still lingering in his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair as a moan left his throat, igniting the fire between two dragons.

Impatient, Aegon pulled at the laces of your nightgown while you discarded him of his undershirt and threw it on the floor. Your nightgown found the same fate, goosebumps rising across your skin from the cool air or the room. 

His hands skimmed along your sides, coming to rest on your hips as he rocked against you, his body betraying his need. The rough fabric of his breeches brushed against your bare cunt, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. 

Your lips moved from his lips to his jaw, trailing a path of kisses along his jawline and down to his neck. His breath caught in his throat as your lips and teeth found the sensitive spot between his collarbone and throat. Aegon let out a soft moan, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving small imprints that would surely turn into bruises come morning.

His hands continued to roam, exploring every inch of your body that he could reach. He moved his lips down to your chest, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your breasts. You arched your back in response, the feeling of his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

What you were doing was wrong and breaking many rules, but you couldn’t stop. It felt too good. 

Aegon pushed you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he found your lips again. His hands fumbled with the ties of his breeches, desperately trying to undo them while keeping the kiss going. A soft groan escaped him as he managed to push them down, freeing himself from the constricting material. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. His body was hot and demanding as he pressed himself closer to you. A gasp left your lips when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, surprised by how warm it felt. 

You gripped his shoulder as Aegon pushed himself inside, your walls closing around him in a snug grip. Aegon’s breath hitched from how tight you felt, his eyes closing briefly as he sank deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as your body adjusted to him. 

When he started to move, you felt like he was splitting you in half…but in a good way. You clawed at his back, soft little sighs spilling from your lips as Aegon thrusted into you. 

Unfortunately, the pleasure didn’t last long. You were so wet and squeezing him too good that after only a few thrusts, Aegon spilled inside you. 

In his defense, he was drunk and not entirely in control of his cock. 

The sunlight coming through the large window woke you up. You turned away from the window and buried your face into your pillow, trying to fall back asleep, but your arm came into contact with something — someone. 

You opened your eyes, the late events of the night surfacing, and saw Aegon lying beside you. He was still fast asleep, his white hair tousled and messy. His face was relaxed, a stark contrast from his drunkenness. For a moment, you just watched him. He looked so peaceful and calm when he slept.

The light streamed over his face, illuminating the sharp planes and angles of his features. You reached out, gently brushing away a strand of hair from his forehead. 

He stirred at your touch, but didn’t open his eyes. ‘’What is it, Mother?’’ 

You chuckled softly, watching as Aegon stirred in his sleep. 

He mumbled again, shifting under the covers. His eyes still closed, he reached out blindly and brushed his fingers against your waist. The contact startled him, not expecting to find another body in his bed, and he opened his eyes. 

A mixture of embarrassment and confusion flickered across his face, remembering his drunk stumble into your chamber. 

‘’I’m sorry for last night,’’ Aegon apologized, his voice strained and hoarse because of how dry his mouth felt. ‘’I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?’’ 

You decided against mentioning his short sexual performance. ‘’More than usual? No.’’ 

He laughed, then groaned as his head pounded. 

‘’Aegon?’’ you said quietly. He hummed. ‘’Why didn’t you say you have feelings for me?’’ 

‘’Because I enjoy self-sabotaging my life.’’ 

You swatted his arm. 

‘’I need to speak to my mother,’’ you declared after a moment of silence. 

The hour was early, but she should be awake. 

You climbed out of bed, your naked body exposed in the bright light of day as you moved around your chamber. There was an ache between your legs, reminiscent of Aegon’s passage inside your intimate part. 

‘’I do not wish to go through the same suffering she endured in her first marriage.’’ You grabbed a dress from the wardrobe and dressed yourself. It was more difficult without the help of a handmaid. ‘’And I know exactly how to convince her to call off the betrothal. I broke my vows to Aemond, I let you take my maidenhood. They will have no choice but to let us wed.’’

—

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[childrenofcain-if]

So if I'm reading this correctly, C's dad was very abusive to them when they were little, right? I'm guessing it got physical as well. Will we ever get the chance to see the bruises and whatnot?

My heart hurts for what they've gone through and it's no wonder they're so closed off and angry all the time. I also hope we can beat up their father or somehow send him to jail. I'm not from the US but there must be some laws against child abuse, right?

C doesn’t have any overtly visible bruises on them anymore. they had the money and means to access the best of the best of cosmetic care to remove the scars and everything.

i will say that C sometimes walks with a slight limp because their right knee was broken by alain with a baseball bat when they were eight and it never healed quite right. it’s such a minor thing tho because even MC, who is pretty observant of their surroundings most of the time, will miss it until a bit later.

however, it’s not to say less of how aware MC can be about the people they care about. C just tries to actively hide their limp around you because to feel like you’re pitying them might as well be the thing that makes them chop off their entire leg (not literally tho 😭). eventually as they get more comfortable and open around you, you’ll start to notice it more and more and comment on it as well.

alain is a very rich and influential man. people like him are generally above law, and you bet he did everything he could to not get in trouble for the monstrous ways he raised C with. however, the tides are turning with you increasingly becoming an important part in C’s life and you can choose to confront alain with your fists, words, prison time, or all of the above.

[johnbrand]

Joining the Flock

Trying something different, please enjoy

With @henrypreppy

JD flipped the meeting invitation back and forth between his hands, the thin paper material an illusion to the actual weight its writing held. He could not believe he had actually agreed to this, let alone thinking about following through with it. It was not like his parents would have ever known. JD could lie about the entire ordeal and get away with it. But now he was officially registered for the first meeting of the year, his name practically carved into stone.

“Hey there, sorry I don’t mean to interrupt.”

JD rotated his head to the door, eyeing down the black-haired freshman standing patiently at the door. Slim, lanky, and could use tweezers, but by his posture JD could already discern that he was a casual fellow.

“I’m assuming you're Michael Freedman?”

“Mike will do,” Mike grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m assuming you’re my roommate?”

JD stood up and extended his hand. “You got it, I'm JD.”

The physical exchange allowed for their first day jitters to transmit like a frequency between them.

“JD huh, is that a nickname?”

JD did his best to hold back his embarrassment. “It’s short for Jeremiah Delgado.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose, “A little bit of a mouthful.”

“You should hear it with the middle names,” JD quipped. “It’s what you get when you combine a Hispanic father and Biblically-obsessed mother.”

“Then no wonder you stick to JD,” Mike replied.

Taking a seat back on his bed, JD decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “When did you move in? I didn’t see you this morning when I’d hauled everything up those four flights of stairs.”

Mike chuckled, “Perks of the top floor right? I assume I moved in right after you left. You’re not a clean freak or anything, are you?”

“God no,” JD answered, the tone shift catching him off guard. “I don’t have time to care about stuff like that.” JD had already picked up on Mike’s disorganization when he had arrived back at the dorm. It was a bit of a shock to see the place had already become a lived-in pigsty, even though they had just moved in. But JD truly did not mind the clutter, he was a bit on the uncleanly side too. Speaking of which, he realized he had forgotten to get a haircut before he left. The dullish chestnut mop was reaching shoulder-length now; JD was a bit curious to see what would happen if he let it grow even longer.

“Sorry if that was a bit blunt,” Mike plopped onto his own bed. “I just saw the invitation and I was curious.”

“The…?” JD paused, before picking up on what Mike was referring to. “Oh this? No sorry, it was pushed onto me at the club fair.”

The event had been just short of organized chaos. Practically a hundred booths had filled the auditorium, each of them advertising different clubs that the freshman could get involved with. Student Council, the Events Commission, even the CIA (which JD learned stood for “Chemists In Action”). He had been casually browsing, the only thing minorly interesting to him being the Pride organization, but somehow had accidentally strolled in front of the wrong stall.

“Looking to join the Campus Ministry?”

The man calling out to JD was rather put-together, probably the only person in the entire event showcasing a three-piece suit. As JD approached cautiously–hoping the man would not grab any more attention then he already had–he was able to inspect the stranger a little further. Late thirties, athletic, a ring on his finger and of average flair. He was not JD’s type, but he could still appreciate that the man held some appealing characteristics.

The man introduced himself as soon as JD drew close enough. “My name’s Peter, I’m the Campus Minister.”

JD replied accordingly, loathing his luck. He had chosen a college as far away from his parents and their strict lifestyle as possible, and yet now here he was, conversing with the very people who abided by their same morals and guidelines.

“Well Jeremiah, are you inclined to learn more about the mission of the Baptist Church?”

Wincing at the use of his full name, JD replied, “I actually grew up Baptist, but I’ve grown away from the faith since.” As soon as the words left his mouth, JD realized his mistake.

“Well you have come to the right place!” Peter exclaimed, a bit too over joyous. “The Campus Ministry is welcome to all, especially those returning to God’s graces.”

Before JD could protest, Peter had already handed him the formal invitation and written his name on the sign-up form. “The meeting is tonight, you won’t miss it!”

“I can’t believe you got sucked into that crap!” Mike was laughing after JD had finished replaying the scene for him. “Are you really planning on going?”

“I mean I have to, right? They’ve got me signed up.”

Mike shrugged, “It’s up to you man, but you don’t have a lot of time to decide.”

JD quickly eyed the invitation and then his phone and realized Mike was right. If he was going to make this meeting, he would have to leave now.

“Crap!”

———

By the time he got to the chapel, he had worked up quite the sweat. JD was not an active person, and as he entered the building, he realized he was also not properly dressed. Everyone else adorned their Sunday bests, some even more formal. The button-ups and slacks were a complete contrast to his own indie band tee and distressed jeans. JD shamefully placed himself in the back pew, hoping no one would notice the black sheep.

“Mind if I sit here, brother?”

JD obliged without acknowledging the stranger, cursing to himself as Peter ascended to the podium at the front of the chapel.

“Brothers and Sisters, I want to welcome you all to our first meeting of the year. As the Campus Minister, it is an honor to be able to guide you in our journey together, and with your trust lead you on the path towards God.”

All the members of the group came together to a round of applause. 

“Let me make one thing clear right away, brothers and sisters,” Peter began assuredly. “At the heart of the Campus Ministry is community. God did not create us to live alone in isolation. He specifically designed us to live together as like-minded beings. To thrive in Biblical communities where people who love Jesus Christ can enjoy fellowship with one another. To help each other grow in the faith, to become more alike. To learn from each other, incorporate a need for each other. God uses others to help us grow individually, and God uses us to grow other people.”

“I am reminded of a verse from Matthew 18:20: ‘For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.’ It is here that Jesus calls us to be sheep, His sheep, flocking under His name in likeness and in aspiration to fulfill His teachings. As a Biblical community, we find ourselves in Jesus. He is our center point, what draws us together, the common bond that we share. And as Baptists, we find ourselves following our shepherd, assimilating as one when we name ourselves a member of His church.”

“So why is community at the heart of the Campus Ministry? Whether you are eighteen-, nineteen-, twenty- or more-years-old, you came here searching for guidance. Guidance to tell you where to go, what to do, who to follow. Guidance found through relationships, through our collective relationship with God and His church. The Campus Ministry offers that guidance and more. Our community of brothers and sisters will help you navigate classes, properly study, and make wise decisions. They will eat with you, spend time with you, bring you into the fold, our flock, no matter what former walk of life. They will help you embody the classic look of a Christian.”

“Now, I would like to invite you to embrace that first step towards community. Take a moment and turn to your neighbor, introduce yourself to your new brother or sister.”

Finding himself slightly absorbed by Peter’s sermon, JD broke out of his haze to finally acknowledge the stranger he had allowed to sit beside him. However, JD found himself rendered speechless by the beautiful man before him. With coppery hair, a diamond-cut jaw, and inviting green eyes, JD gawked a second too long at his traditional counterpart. Pairing pleated trousers with a crimson sweater vest over a simple white button-up, the stranger exuded refinement. From his Ivy League haircut to his natural woodsy smell and even by the way the stranger sat, JD could feel heat rising from his own cheeks.

“Jackson Sanderson,” the stranger offered, and after a uncharacteristic stutter JD replied with his own.

JD was then introduced to other members of the club as they came around to introduce themselves. There was a Colton, a Bryce, a Jared, a Stanley. Eventually the names and faces began to blur together, each of them almost identical to each other. Attractive by traditional standards, reeking of arrogance and privilege. JD found himself almost unable to hide his large erection, loathing his existence. It was times like these he wished not to be “blessed” as his father had once grotesquely put it.

After everyone had returned to their seats, Peter finished his monologue. “Before you realize it, each and every one of you will become bonded through our Campus Ministry. It may not happen right away, but once you begin to know each other, you will begin to shape each other too. Now, let us end in prayer.”

———

JD’s first day of classes flashed by in an instant. Undecided, his schedule was mostly filled with the required objectives. A standard biology course, base level statistics, even a communications class–all of which had no actual assignments for the day besides reading the syllabus. But by the late afternoon after his final seminar, JD found himself ready for a lazy evening. He drafted plans involving picking up fast food, watching an episode or ten of some raunchy sitcom, and then drifting off to bed.

“Jeremiah!” 

The minister’s assertive baritone cut through JD’s headphones, which were slowly lowered to passive-aggressively demonstrate his annoyance.

“I wanted to thank you for coming to the first Campus Ministry meeting last night,” Peter explained as he approached. Today, he was dressed in a brown suit with a pattern meant for a man twice his age. “I was hoping to discuss some other things as well. Have a moment?”

Reluctantly, JD obliged, and soon he was following Peter to his office. Once inside, JD was able to discern a bit more about this man who had strangely taken an interest in him. Basic wooden cross on the wall, pile of materials on theology beside the desk, a picture of a woman around the minister’s age holding three children. JD accepted the seat in front of the desk, hoping this would not take long.

“Seeing the instantaneous bond that we have created over the past 24 hours,” JD restrained his eyebrow from visually questioning this statement. “I took it upon myself to become your academic counselor. As your minister, it’s my role to offer you structure and guidance during these impressionable years.”

JD was a bit startled by this statement, but said nothing.

Peter continued, “I’ve already taken a gander at your schedule and noticed all gen-eds. As you are undecided, I was curious if you had any majors you had in mind.”

“Not particularly,” JD answered, finding himself a little more relaxed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to think about it until a bit later, honestly.”

Peter’s direct eye contact intensified slightly. “Maybe it would be best to spread out your electives and place you in some courses designed to determine a major. Considering your passion for the faith, you could look into some classes in the Religion Department.”

JD found the minister’s wording a bit odd, almost belittling in a way. His response came out a bit muddled, “I never said that I had a passion for the faith?”

“Well, Jeremiah, I think it could do you a lot of good. As the Campus Minister, I’d be happy to offer you some additional resources as well.”

“‘Resources’?”

“Of course,” Peter’s face broke out into a big grin. “I’ll connect you with one of our students in the department. I have one in mind already, a sophomore: Jackson Sanderson.”

A blush broke out onto JD’s face. He could not perceive if the minister had noticed it or not.

“Jackson is one of our finest men,” Peter resumed. “You will immediately find him as a brother, perhaps one of your closest. After a while, you will feel the desire to emulate him, as he has the classic look of a Christian.”

Again, JD noted the strange diction, and a repeat of a phrase he had heard last night. But JD also noticed that he felt a certain calm when he listened to Peter. His voice just had a quality that kept one at ease. That was probably why he had become a minister.

“I’ll notify Jackson to get in contact with you shortly.” Peter then took a stand, prompting JD to do the same. “Until then, let’s begin thinking about your major and where we’d like to see you next semester. And further along, when you graduate.”

———

Jackson reached out to JD hours later, and after a bit of texting JD found himself roped into a study session the following day. He did not know what to expect, but he decided to put his best foot forward. Sure, he had no desire to engage with the church after his high school graduation, but JD rationalized that he could still be there to make friends.

“Jeremiah!” Jackson called out from one of the pews. He was surrounded by a swarm of men, all wearing outfits appropriate for more conservative times. JD had prepared for this, although his khakis and short-sleeved button-up still did not fit the bill.

“It’s JD,” JD corrected politely. “Thank you for letting me crash your guys’ study group.”

“Of course!” one of the men replied. JD should have known his name, but the person’s features were almost unrecognizable from the next. “Any brother is welcome to join.”

“Especially once Peter told us you were enrolling in the Religion Department,” Jackson added.

“I’m not enrolling in the Religion Department.”

“We get it, you’re ‘just interested’,” a second man insisted, to which everyone else began to chuckle as if he were referring to some inside joke.

“Anyway, don’t worry about it.” Jackson replied. The smooth quality of Jackson’s tenor settled JD’s nerves. “Let’s get to studying, shall we?”

The group agreed and promptly found themselves absorbed in their literature. While JD stuck to his reading and recording notes, the other men held a shallow conversation: one that any person could easily flow in and out of without paying too much attention. It began with simple topics at first; professors, extracurriculars, sports. None of these would typically entice JD, but he found himself occasionally tuning into the group’s monotonous channel. Eventually however, the topics converged into a singular subject: the Bible.

“I just think John’s interpretation is by far superior to the synoptic gospels,” Colton countered. JD could not believe he had remembered his name. “His use of monological writing is what makes Jesus more engaging to the interpreter.”

Jackson shook his head, “That may be true, but the synoptic gospels offer parables, short stories that people can relate too.” Jackson’s presence was different now then when they had first met. Before, frankly, JD had taken eroticism from Jackson’s standardized beauty. But now, he sensed something else. Rather than affection, JD recognized admiration.

“Enlighten us, Jackson, what parables can you relate to,” Bryce teased. “If we looked under your bed, would we find oil? As we already know you are a virgin.”

All of the men, including Jackson and JD, took joy in that remark.

“Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t,” Jackson finally replied. “But take our group for example, are we not fulfilling a parable right now? I would situate ourselves in the story of the Prodigal Son.” Jackson motioned to his peers, “Are we not the father?” And then to just JD, “And is Jeremiah not the Prodigal Son?”

The group pondered this thought, turning expectantly towards JD for an answer.

“Um…” JD stumbled, not expecting to be put on the spot. “I mean, that’s one way to look at it.”

Once again, the group exploded into laughter, their volume ascending to the roof of the chapel. JD chuckled along too, his nervousness fading as he became more comfortable with the group. By the end of the night, he found himself pleasantly surprised as he accepted the invitation to the next study session.

———

“Hey dude, are you interested in going clubbing?” Mike asked, having just exited the shower.

“When are you thinking of going?” JD was reorganizing his desk. For some reason, its cluttered nature had begun to bother him.

“In a few minutes here, hopefully.” Mike dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed some clothes off his bed. He gave a strong sniff to each item inspected, those too dirty were then tossed onto the floor. JD observed this but said nothing.

“Man, sorry but I can’t. I got a study group tonight.”

“On a Friday night?” Mike questioned. “This is like the fourth Friday in a row.”

“I know, but I already said I was going to be there.”

Mike frowned, scratching at his lower regions a bit. JD swiftly averted his eyes. “But don’t you study with these guys three times a week, and have lunch with them everyday too?”

“Yeah, but they purposely choose Friday nights to not be tempted,” JD finally answered.

The partially-answering statement held in the air for an awkward moment. Eventually, Mike responded. “Right…”

JD turned back to his task at hand, throwing out trash that should have been discarded earlier.

“Well,” Mike grabbed a jacket and his keys. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Uh huh,” JD’s response was dull. Once Mike shut the door, he released the long breath that he had subconsciously been holding. He wondered when Mike’s presence had become so taxing. Perhaps he compared his roommate to the study group’s austere quality. JD found those straight-laced men ironically soothing.

This theory was proven once JD arrived into the chapel, the smiling faces of his peers sending a warm tingle across his body. The study session went similar to the rest, beginning with actual work before simply devolving into lighthearted, yet engaging discussions. If these conversations were not surrounding the Bible, then they focused on a topic JD was even less familiar with. 

“I think I’m going to propose to Hannah,” Jared suddenly said, to which everyone in the group audibly gasped.

“Are you ready, brother?” Jackson inquired, to which JD nodded along. 

“He’s already got the ring,” Stanley answered. Weeks ago, this development would have shocked JD. Two twenty-year-olds marrying in this day and age? But now, the thought was not that unfathomable to him. He was becoming more accustomed to the men's ideology.

“I booked reservations for her favorite restaurant,” Jared announced, his typical stale manner of speaking almost giddy. Almost. “I’ll pop the question before dessert of course, it’s all arranged.”

To that, the men applauded Jared, shaking his hand vigorously and giving brotherly pats on the back. JD high-fived him, embracing the honest excitement for Jared. Once they cooled down, Colton continued the conversation.

“Now you’ve got me inspired, thinking I should finally pop the question to Mary.”

“You’ve been thinking about doing that since you first met her in private school,” Bryce retorted.

“And have you not pondered the same with Julia, brother?” Jackson smirked, to which the other men piggy-backed off of. “Speaking of women, have you set your sights on any yet, Jeremiah?”

JD blinked, unbothered by the use of his full name, “Uh…not exactly. I just haven’t  been looking for anyone I guess.” 

JD was telling the truth. Before college, he had planned on finally finding a male partner to love and hold. And to lose his virginity to. But since the first day of classes, JD had not felt a connection to any male in particular on campus–or in general. JD assumed his sex drive had been lowered, that he was just growing out of some awkward teenage phase.

“Perhaps we’ll have to set you up then,” Jared’s grin held an impish edge. “I believe Jessica is still looking for a potential husband.”

Jackson shot Jared a glare, to which all the other men hollered at. “Jessica is only a freshman.”

“And so is Jeremiah,” Stanley pointed out. JD tried his best to stay quiet, although he had to admit that he was having fun too.

“We’ll see if Jeremiah proves to be everything the minister has promised,” Jackson offered. “After all, Jessica will only take a man who has that classic look of a Christian.”

———

“Jeremiah! Thank you for meeting with me again. Please, take a seat.”

JD followed the instruction, placing himself on the other side of the minister’s desk.

“Already halfway through your first semester, isn’t that unbelievable?” Peter started.

“It certainly is,” JD’s response was friendly. “Can’t believe two months have already flown by.”

“I can’t believe it either, but I can see it,” Peter noted. “I’m assuming you’ve been having meals with your other brothers?”

“They’ve got me going to the gym now too,” JD sighed. “An hour every morning before class since last week.” 

JD had been dining regularly with his study group, at lunch and dinner and even the occasional breakfast. And since this habit had begun, JD found himself eating like his peers too. No more ramen and late night fast food deliveries. Fruits, vegetables, and lean proteins were now the major facets of his diet, leading to his cleaner skin and an overall healthier glow. It was strange at first to recognize how much of a difference this better diet–and as of recently the exercise–had improved his body. JD found himself a bit more muscular, a bit more jovial, and overall more energized.

“That’s not surprising, our men do like to stay in proper form, physically and spiritually,” Peter chuckled. “Speaking of which, last we talked, you had discussed that you were contemplating committing to a major in the Religion Department. Have you thought more on that topic?”

JD considered this for a moment, not remembering if that was what he had actually said or not. But something about the minister’s confident tone assured him that Peter was correct. That was why he had come to this college after all, as his parents had approved of the strong Baptist connection. At least, to appease their wishes.

“A little bit I guess,” JD replied, causing Peter to grin. JD at first thought of it as smug, but then corrected the thought to Peter simply being excited for him. “I mean I’ve attended all four of the Campus Ministry events so far, and being around the guys has certainly been an influence.”

“A positive influence,” Peter amended.

“Yeah…a positive influence,” JD slowly repeated back, before coming back to speed. “As of right now though, I’m still undecided on it all.” Peter carefully leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out a bit to accommodate. It was almost like the minister was trying to size him up, assert a bit more control.

“You are apprehensive because you still identify yourself as an outsider to our community.” Peter’s response was measured, continuous yet firm with every word laid out. “One thing that can be addressed is your attire. At the material level, you will follow the direction of your peers.”

JD tried to process this, although his brain felt a little hazy. “That might help, yeah.”

“That is something that can be addressed too, your intonation.” There was a particular glint in Peter’s eye, but JD found it easier to focus on the minister’s voice. “Just like your brothers, your inflection will remain in control and moderated. Your pitch will remain even and your vocabulary will become more refined.”

“Certainly.” While just one word, each syllable had required additional effort to come forth from JD’s mouth. The colorless articulation however obscured this exertion.

“It’s good that you’re taking my advice, Jeremiah,” Peter affirmed. “You have placed your trust in me to lead you on the path towards God.”

JD did not know if this was true before, but after Peter had said it, it felt as such.

“You will want nothing more than to become a part of our community,” Peter finalized. “I’ll inform Jackson of such, and he’ll help you along.”

———

JD stepped out of the bathroom, steam pouring out from behind him. He had never taken such a long and luxurious shower but it had felt so right. Jackson had recommended it, saying it was the best way to get rid of any excess hair that may have stuck to his skin after visiting the barber. He could not see it now, but JD already loved the shortened cut on his head. Once it was dried, the sides would naturally fall into a tight bowl-like shape. Then, JD would have the pleasure of applying the product–prescribed by Jackson–to fluff his bangs up into a traditional, conservative quiff. A proper style for a gentleman like himself.

In nothing but a towel, JD peered cautiously around the room. All alone, he allowed himself to freely disdain his roommate’s messy style. He had remained civil around the topic with Mike, but had secretly grown to loathe it. JD knew better than to say anything however, as that would have been pompous. Carefully placing his feet into open spots on the floor, JD tip-toed his way to his dresser, surprised to find a small note taped to the drawer.

A final gift, the classic look of a Christian -JS

Not thinking twice about the phrase, JD was surprised to find his boxers had been replaced with starchy, high-waisted white briefs. But his confusion quickly dissolved into recognition before fading into a simple, charming smile. The cotton fabric went up and over each of his legs in a matter of moments, the traditional cut making JD feel grounded somehow. Controlled.

Turning to face the mirror, it was almost shocking for JD to see the new reflection of himself. Only weeks away from the end of his first semester and the man before him was much different than the boy who had come to campus. Tanner, more muscular, an image of young masculinity. But those were explainable thanks to his improved diet and exercise. Other factors, like his wider jaw, broader shoulders, and inched-back hairline, were not as identifiable. JD questioned if it was incoming maturity, or perhaps something else.

Before he could reflect on the thought further, his body mechanically moved along to his wardrobe. A rack once filled with tees and crewnecks was now stuffed by dress shirts, vests, and blazers of assorted varieties. Tamer colors and patterns, only distinguishable to the distinguished eye. The rest of JD’s dresser now contained a variety of slacks, along with many different types of dress socks and ties. Loafers, oxfords, brogues among others sat in alphabetical order at the bottom. It was practical, and practically perfect.

When his peers had first offered to makeover his closet, JD had been apprehensive. Something in the back of his mind rang an alarm, whispering that he would also be sacrificing a part of his individuality. But JD’s body had decided for him in that moment, his head nodding in approval and with an amiable grin. And now after the swap, which JD later learned was in part financed by the Campus Ministry, he realized there was nothing he should have been afraid of.

After all, all of the brothers were remarkably different. Colton rocked a business cut with his blond hair, a style no one else had. Bryce had the most suits of the five, almost as many as their minister. Jared was the only one officially engaged (although JD predicted that fact would not last much longer. Stanley had his thick, time-honored black horned rims. And Jackson held his affinity for sweater vests, a Bonafede professional at styling them. They were truly all unique.

Quickly assembling his hair and a tasteful outfit–a white button-up, French navy-hued trousers, a currant colored tie and chocolatey derbies for his feet–JD assembled his school bag and made haste for the chapel. When he arrived, it was only Jackson awaiting him in the pews. The others had gone out to grab a quick meal.

“Jeremiah! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Jackson nudged as JD took a seat beside him in the pew.

“You know I would not miss our study sessions for the world, brother!” JD’s rebuttal was chipper and authentic. Since Mike’s first proposal of clubbing, the offer has never been made again. But JD had received other invitations for outings with his fellow peers. However, none of them were ever accepted. To JD, it always felt more appropriate to stick to his group. Their presence felt familiar, grounded. Right.

“‘They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship’,” Jackson started. “‘to the breaking of bread and to prayer.’” 

“‘And all the believers were together and had everything in common.’” JD finished.

“The Book of Acts, I’m impressed,” Jackson smirked. “I now understand why Peter was so serious about you.”

JD should have questioned what Jackson was referring to, but instead sunk into the warm glow of his brother’s approval.

“But there’s still one thing you have to do,” Jackson noted.

JD’s heartbeat hastened rapidly, something he had not expected.

“You have got to come to church with us!”

JD felt a glimmer of hesitancy. He had not gone to church since he had come to college. He tried to remember why, but a subtle pain clouded his thoughts. Was it because of his parents? No, they just wanted what was best for him. Then was it because JD did not feel accepted by the church? JD tried to follow that thread, but the deeper he ventured, the stronger the ache in his head became.

“Come on, what have you got to lose?” Jackson gave JD a playful shove. “Plus, the minister will be giving a blessing to all students before finals.”

Something was telling JD to reconsider. Something urged him to do otherwise. But JD could not figure out what was so wrong about attending a simple service.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

Jackson’s perfect smile was wider than JD had ever seen it. “That’s it, brother! Then you’ll be just like us.”

That statement triggered something in JD. As if following out a code downloaded into his vital operating systems, he made a note to schedule an appointment with his academic counselor.

———

“What can I help you with today, Jeremiah?” 

Unlike the composed minister sitting before him, JD was irritable, prickly. Words were begging to escape his mouth, although he could not figure out what they were. He tried to express them as best he could.

“I want to become a part of the Campus Ministry, a part of your Biblical community.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to be another sheep in the flock.”

A small smile tugged at one corner of Peter’s lip. “In other words, you are saying…”

The words flew out JD’s mouth: “I want to embody the classic look of a Christian. I want to fit in.”

That heavy, revealing truth tumbled before the two men, its release absolving JD of a burden unaware to him had been accumulating for months. Ever since his first meeting with the minister.

“It’s much easier to be just another piece of the puzzle, Jeremiah,” Peter began. “Never having to worry about anything else when you have a place to belong.”

The minister reached into his desk and pulled open a drawer, removing a small folder with JD’s name on it. Opening it, Peter pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it in front of him. JD’s eyes scanned the page before focusing back on Peter’s own.

“Your schedule that I have already drafted up for the next semester,” Peter replied, grabbing a pen. “You will join the Religion Department as a Theology major with a minor in Baptist Ministries. After graduation, you will continue your studies to receive a Masters of Divinity. By then, my proselytization will no longer be necessary as you will have become a permanent traditionalist.”

JD knew better than to say anything. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hand accepting the pen from Peter and with a delicate cursive, signing his name.

“Welcome to the flock, Jeremiah.”

———

“A healthy Christian learns and grows through community. A healthy Christian experiences spiritual and relational growth when surrounded by an affirming group of like-minded believers. Jesus spent a significant amount of time with his small group, the apostles, molding them and teaching them how to love and support one another and how to function as a healthy small group. Today, we do the same for our brothers and our sisters.”

Jeremiah sat in the front row next to Jackson, Colton, Bryce, Jared, and Stanley. The group was expertly dressed. Jeremiah’s baby blue button-up was paired with a matching tie underneath his charcoal suit. The tie, with cornflower polka dots on top of a banana cream yellow, was particularly chosen for its “vibrant and exciting pattern,” as Jeremiah had thought of it. Along with caramel wing tips that coupled nicely with his soft yet stiff quiff, Jeremiah felt dignified by his outfit. 

“It’s great to be part of a healthy, well-functioning group,” the preacher, an older, handsomely well-off man by the name of Dr. Ernest Holloway, continued. “However, our individual wishes can sometimes interfere with the overarching needs of the congregation. For our Christian community to remain intact, we need to come before God with an earnest desire to help others, and therefore maintain the needs of the group to truly experience the richness and glory of His intentions.”

“Being in a group is committing to one another by saying, ‘I want to laugh with you, share with you, study with you, and pray with you’.” Taking a deep breath, the doctor made his closing statement. “Being in a group is saying, 'All I want is to be like you’. Amen.”

“Amen,” Jeremiah and the congregation replied. The rest of the service went by quickly, and before Jeremiah knew it, he had finished singing the final verse of the closing hymn. Soon, the church was bursting with lively energy. Joyful conversations broke out between the Baptist brothers and sisters, nobody in a hurry towards the exit. Jeremiah found himself in a similar manner, following behind his peers as they sauntered their way towards the door.

As Jeremiah followed Jackson outside of the church, a young female voice rang out from behind them. “Well look at these fine, upstanding, proper young men!”

The pair turned around, now outside, to see who had beckoned them. Jeremiah caught the eye of the young lady, her coppery hair and conservative sense of style somehow familiar to him. 

“Both of you are so dandy and traditional,” she remarked. “A classic look for a Christian.”

“Jeremiah,” Jackson sighed. “This is my younger sister, Jessica.”

It took Jeremiah a moment to compose himself, a bit of scarlet peppering his cheeks. His hand nervously shot forward. “J…Jeremiah Joshua Manuel Delgado…nice to make your a...acquaintance.”

Jessica accepted his greeting. “I’ve never had quite this effect on one of your friends before,” she smiled to Jackson. “I think he fancies me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself so, Jessica,” Jackson denied. But all three of them knew Jessica was telling the truth. Jeremiah had gone nonverbal, the blood from his brain redirected to another destination. There was a tingling sensation around Jeremiah's genitals, his member slowly inflating. It was times like these that he was thankful to have “not been blessed” as his father once put it. If his package had been larger, there surely would have been an indecent scene.

Jeremiah knew what he had to do. With all the strength he could muster, he drew the only words he could think of to his mouth. His perfect jaw shifted, heavy brow furrowed, and he forced the sole sentence out of his mouth.

“Jessica Sanderson, will you marry me?”

———

“JD…Jeremiah, is that you?”

Jeremiah had finally grabbed the remainder of his items, the last bags of his belongings ready to go. Mike was standing at the door, blocking his path.

“Where are you going?”

Jeremiah scoffed, disapproving of Mike's irregular radicalism. “Somewhere that is cleaner, fresher, prim and proper. Somewhere where I can remain a dignified man dedicated to preserving tradition and culture in this world. If I am to embody the classic look of a Christian, then I ought to do so with like-minded brothers.”

Confused, not only by the fancified words but by his roommate’s overall preppification during their first semester, Mike asked a simple question. “Why?”

With a pleasant smile, Jeremiah handed over a small sheet of paper. He then exited the dorm, leaving Mike to flip the Campus Ministry’s invitation back and forth between his own hands and consider the harm of attending just one meeting.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 92 (Conrad's First Love)

cw: Conrad getting pretty spicy 🌶️🌶️🌶️ and not with Heather; references to human and drug trafficking (not depicted).

Follows the events of this post.

As she passed him to put away her gloves, a stunning redhead at Pappy Murphy's Boxing Gym caught Conrad's eye. Though he'd been deep in another bout of anger and self-pity over the death of his mother years earlier, he stopped his workout. Every inch of his being compelled him to talk to her.

She turned with a smile before he could stammer a single word. "Hi, handsome. Did you want a better look?"

He nervously introduced himself and she told him her name. "Ximena." The word floated from her lips like a song. He was instantly smitten.

"Ximena, could I buy you a drink?"

They spent the day in a local pub. He told her everything about his mother's death and his distance from his father in the years since. She listened, but she had a lot less to say about herself. "I live here with my brother. I'm a student, and I'm the only caretaker he has. Our parents aren't around anymore, and it's been just Rafa and me for years."

He could hear an accent when she spoke, and most people in Britechester weren't locals, so he made an assumption. "How long since you moved from Selvadorada?"

Surprised by his guess, she turned defensive. "I don't talk about Selva."

He liked her too much to press and push her away, so they spent the rest of the day flirting and discussing their interests until Ximena invited him back to her place. "You make me laugh, Conrad Gordon. My brother's still at school and I want to get to know you better without all this noise. I hate the music they play in here."

Once Conrad followed her out of the bar and back to the small home she shared with her kid brother, Rafa, he started following her everywhere.

He lost his virginity to her a week after they met. That night, she told him why she left Selvadorada.

"I was going to die or they were going to kill me. I wouldn't let them sell me to anyone anymore, so I made a plan and left with my brother in the middle of the night to come here."

She showed him the scars left by the cartel, and a resolve to keep her safe coloured his already steadfast affection. He let her cut his hair when she said she wanted to show him how freeing it felt to change his look. "It's nice not to recognize the person in the mirror, sometimes," she said.

She told him she was a student, often meeting him at Larry's Lagoon to study but usually distracting him into other activities. One afternoon, she introduced him to an old friend, Jimmy Stefano. "Can you help him out around campus? You're in the same major."

Something about Jimmy Stefano rubbed Conrad the wrong way, but he assumed it was jealousy. Despite this, he would already do anything for Ximena and agreed to take Jimmy under his wing.

He called his father to say he planned to stay at school for Spring Break. "Sorry, I know I said I'd come home to see you."

Stephen Gordon laughed him off, but masked slight disappointment. He had no idea whether his son was flourishing or floundering at college, unsure how he'd been coping so far from home. "Don't worry, son. I'm just glad you sound happy. You're making me and your mother proud."

He skipped classes to spend time with Ximena, but made no mention of this to his father, of course. He spent time with Rafa when Ximena said she had late-night classes, taking him to the park to play pirate captain versus sea monster, and talking endlessly with him about video games.

Rafa wanted to become a pirate captain in Sulani or a game tester in San Myshuno. He had almost no memory of life in Selva before his sister left, but he knew it was "the bad place." He liked spending time with Conrad because he said his sister was too strict. "She just loves you," Conrad assured him. "Parents have to set rules, and she can't just be your sister. She has to care for you like a parent, too."

He realized then how important it was to be a model for Rafa, who needed guidance as much as anyone his age. Conrad had always had his father, but who did Rafa have besides Ximena?

Conrad discovered how she paid for an entire house for her and her brother by accident, stumbling on an argument between her and Jimmy Stefano near the campus fountain. "The deal was thirty pounds for three grand."

"They said if I didn't have five grand they'd only give me fifteen. They had guns, Ximena."

"They all have guns! Knives, too. Get your own and figure out how to use it. Watcher, please, don't screw this deal up for me, Jimmy."

"Who has guns?"

"The cartel," said Jimmy, so nonchalant, yet it still hit Conrad like a missile. His stomach turned as he read Ximena's expression. Every lie she'd told him unravelled with a look.

"Are you really a student here, Ximena?"

"No. They're my customers."

He'd had his suspicions, but he'd always told himself he was wrong. Ximena was supposed to be perfect. Hoping against hope, he still tried to play the fool. "What do you mean?"

She dragged him back home to tell him the truth - how she'd bargained with the cartel to escape a life of servitude to the men who ran product all over Simlandia. She refused to serve them, but her way out was to join them instead.

Conrad was angry, but he couldn't stay mad at her for long. As they lay in bed that night, she asked, "Are you going to break up with me because of what I do?"

"Not a chance. I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiled, resting her head on his chest as he ran a hand through her newly blonde hair. "You look nice without glasses, Conrad."

"You already gave me a haircut, Xime. You don't like glasses?"

"Conrad, you're very sexy. But you hide it and it's silly."

"If you're going to give me a makeover, what should I get you?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Ximena, I want to give you everything you could ever want."

She blushed. "I want you, Conrad. But since I already have you, maybe...jewelry? Like a ring."

"You don't wear any rings."

"Because none are special enough, Conrad."

He smiled. "Alright, that's one idea. But say I wanted to surprise you, what else did you want?"

"You could join me running product for the cartel. Our lives would be made, and we'd always be together."

"I don't want to run product for the cartel, Ximena. But I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be there for you. Rafa, too."

"Right, but what if I go? Rafa loves you, Conrad, almost as much as me. But what if the cartel moved me somewhere else? Would you come with me? Maybe you could be, like, my security. No running, just keeping me safe. Always with me and Rafa."

He'd do anything to protect her, but he didn't answer her that day, refocusing on his studies until he returned to San Myshuno at the end of the semester.

He'd missed his father more than he expected, and they went for walks in warm sunshine by the Spice Market. They talked about school, and Conrad talked about Ximena - leaving out details of her career and focusing instead on her relationship with her brother. Conrad rarely asked his father about work, but Stephen hinted he was inching closer to retirement. "Chester's daughter Nancy is ready to take over the company, but Chester's not quite ready to retire. I think she's plotting a coup, but you didn't hear that from me."

"What happens to you if she pushes out her own father?"

"Hopefully, a retirement package. Chester may not be ready, but I think I am."

On one of their walks, they passed a jewelry store, and Conrad made a beeline for the ring counter. A confident salesman smiled as the Gordon men walked inside. "Welcome. What are we shopping for today?"

"I'm just looking," Conrad said. "What rings do you have?"

The salesman beamed. "Are we thinking of an engagement?"

Stephen eyed his son carefully, but Conrad shook his head. "Not right now. Just like, for an accessory."

"I don't know, son. A ring says you're ready for forever."

Conrad took his father's words to heart, considering what forever with Ximena might look like. He wanted to be with her, but he wasn't ready for a ring. He left that day with a nice bracelet for her, instead.

"Even leaving with a bracelet as nice as that one...she must mean something. I'd love to meet her."

Conrad nodded. "She might be able to visit this summer, if she's not too busy with work," he said.

Stephen smiled and the Gordon men continued their walk, strengthening the bond nearly severed by grief before Conrad returned to Britechester for another semester. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOT FUN FACT: Conrad got crab lice from Ximena when they slept together for the first time, which is gross but also fitting I guess. And yet I didn't make it canon because it didn't quite fit the vibe. Plus, he wasn't supposed to find out that early on that Ximena was problematic.

WCIF Poses Used? Various from packs Old Souls Love Differently by @simmireen (when Ximena is blonde), Our First Time by @eclypt0sims (redhead), The Kiss by @simmerberlin (black hair) and Nights Like These by @sakurasims-world (also redhead).

WCIF Jewelry Store? Jewelry Store by Guinifere on the Sims 4 Gallery. Very elegant interior and comes with crafting tables, a vault, charging stations - very nice lot! Needs dressing up with completed jewelry on the counters and in displays to look really spectacular (and I of course went the lazy route), but I wouldn't if I was playing a retail career, and this is a great lot for someone who wants to be a jeweler!

[galaxitix]

Ehhh... I'm wasn't even sure what to write...(⁠─⁠.⁠─⁠|⁠|⁠）

I accidentally set my friend up with a guy without realizing till I become the third wheel on a recent outing. (I don't mind being a third wheel but I'm more shocked that they were dating, nothing official yet. she nicknamed him shoe stepper, name self-explanatory. annoyed her by stepping on her shoes and pretending nothing happened in a joking way). My friend thought I set them up on purpose, calling me a secret shipper, I didn't confirm or deny that statement, cause it was funny to me, didn't even knew they were dating till that moment. Fyi, he knew I was coming along and had no problem, so no i didn't crash their date(even though I thought it was just a regular outing between friends). Happy for her all the same, kinda wish love was that easy for me, it's only been 3 months since we started school T-T.

Once had a guy get mad at me for 'leading him on' despite making myself clear from the start that I wasn't going to get start dating a guy who happened to walk up to me randomly one day, but I wouldn't mind being friends to get to know each other (I didn't knew the guy and he was like 5 or so years older than me who just graduated highschool at the time). I also re-stated this over text that I only wanted to be friends. Couple weeks of texting then he randomly asked how I 'felt' about him. Long story short, I 'friendzoned' him then he got all mad at me for being fake and 'like other girls', leaning him on and I reminded him that I told him before I only wanted to be friends from the start, send him proof of my text that specifically stated that. He ghosted me after that text and I couldn't care less, blocked him then and there. He was just playing nice guy to eat in my pants anyways. How I know? 1. this guy's first question to me was if I still have my 'V card' (should have blocked him then but curiosity killed the cat I suppose. ) 2. His status that he post said a lot about him, it's disgusted me but I wasn't really surprised 😑 (I'm a girl that hardly checked people's status on Whatsapp, hence why it took me longer to see his true nature)

Oh and I have freckles on the back of my hands, inherited from my father.

(realize I just ended up rambling but oh well ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

Tags...hmm @donnietheterrapin @littlemissartemisia @bubblegum-flavored-timemachine and anyone else who want to do a lore drop

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[merakiui]

Mera, with your infinite wisdom is there any chance you’d make an accidnetal pregnancy fic with floyd? you have the best understanding of his character that i’ve seen from any author. he wouldn’t be all too excited and irresponsible throughout fatherhood like most people assume. i think he’d be surprisingly chill and understanding with most stuff. (im staring at that one omegaverse fic you wrote for him out of the corner of my eye)

Omg yes!! I'd love to write an accidental pregnancy fic with Floyd. I'm so glad to know my portrayal of him is accurate! He's so fun to write for. <3 the scummy, sleazy Floyb fic (The Law of Magnetism) actually involved the accidental pregnancy trope, but I scrapped it for plot reasons. >_<

aaaaa the omegaverse fic!!!!! I definitely want to write another like it. I love the idea of exploring parenthood with Floyb. Sweetest eel who will take responsibility as soon as you break the news to him, who will be okay with whatever your decision is because it's your body, who just wants you to be comfortable and happy. In my mind he's quite mature about the entire thing, but then he's also not completely free of flaws. He's going to be inexperienced as any first-time parent normally is, but he's very good with kids in general (reference: first Halloween event) and so you won't have to worry about how he'll be with your kid. He's so full of love. :D

But also,,, I just think he'd be a little nervous himself. Having to tell his parents he got someone pregnant without even planning it and so they may or may not become grandparents if the baby is indeed on the way. But the Leech parents love and cheer for their boys fiercely, allowing them to be independent and make mistakes and succeed, so you and Floyd immediately have their full support. Mama and Papa want to meet you so badly and they don't even know if you're planning to keep the child yet! At this point, you're basically an honorary member of their family, much to Floyd's embarrassment sometimes. Having to sit there while his father shares all kinds of stories from when Floyd was a brat, and Floyd's just whacking him with his tail like "okay, I think Shrimpy's heard enough of that." >:/ grumbling with a flustered face, arms folded across his chest as he pouts..... he's so silly and cute.

One of Floyd's biggest appeals is his emotional intelligence and his ability to read the atmosphere in a room and be so in touch with his emotional self!!! I love that about him so much. T^T <3

[merlinmylove]

A fic of every person Merlin has ever sent to his mother:

Chapter one: Lancelot arrives in Ealdor, saying he’s looking for a woman named Hunith. “I’m a friend of Merlin’s, he said you might let me stay a while — I will help and provide anything you might need Madam. If only for a few days, so I may rest” Lancelot is kind and happy to help. He chops down trees for firewood to last her the whole winter, and even fixes the leak in the roof. He speaks fondly of his adventures with Merlin and what Camelot is like. Hunith notices he blushes at the name of a young maiden he befriended, he reenacts his knighting trial, and laughs at Merlin who dared forge a Noble house seal so that he may have a chance at becoming a knight. Hunith is sad to see him leave, but she knows he will be alright.

Chapter two: Gwaine arrives on horseback late one night. He’s flirtatious and easy going, happy to have found a new friend. “I see where Merlin gets his looks from, and dare I say my lady, you’re even more gorgeous” Hunith hasn’t laughed so much in a long time. She sees much of Balinor in Gwaines character; his disdain for nobles, his flirtatious nature and brash personality. The man is popular with the children in the village. He makes wooden swords and shields for them, teaching them the basics of how to defend themselves “against dragons and such”. Gwaine is unlike any other man she’s ever met, but she can tell he cares deeply for her son and is happy to call him her friend.

Chapter Three: When Gwen arrives with a cart Hunith frowns. She remembers the young girl who had arrived in her village years prior. All smiles and kindness. The young woman standing before her is quiet, withdrawn and ashamed. They don’t speak — Hunith takes her inside and readies the bed for her. Gwen stays with her for many months, and together they cry, grieve, and laugh. “Oh my dear girl” Some days Gwen is silent and crying, other times she seems to have found herself again. She works with the Smith family and shows them how a royal blacksmith works, fashioning jewellery for Hunith and the other ladies in the village. The day she leaves Hunith cries.

Chapter four: A young sorcerer arrives saying his name is Gilli. A friend of Merlin, and he is in need of a place to stay for the night. He’s been badly hurt in a fight with bandits — Hunith tends to his wounded arm as he tells her about his life. His father who died a good man, a sorcerer who never used magic for evil, and how Merlin is the reason Gilli changed course and is now learning to use magic for good and not for vanity. He is friendly, if a little shy, but she can see a similarity to Merlin in him. He only stays the one night, but she makes sure to pack his bag with some extra breadrolls and apples for his travels. Gilli thanks her as he leaves for another adventure.

Chapter five: Sirs Leon and Percival arrive on a warm day in the summer. They’re passing by on business with another noble house in Escetir, hoping to garner the Nobleman’s fealty to Camelot. They need a place to rest before they travel again tomorrow. “Gwaine and Lancelot speaks very highly of you, ma’am. And Merlin said you might be so good as to let us rest here for the night” Hunith gladly lets them inside. They’ve brought with them plenty of food and goods from Camelot, and have even hunted a deer which Hunith can share with her neighbours. The men are polite and friendly. Sir Leon helps her peel potatoes for dinner, and Sir Percival uses his strength to rearrange the heavier furniture for her. They talk amicably all evening, drinking the wine the King had gifted her. Hunith felt a surge of happiness knowing her son was in their company.

Chapter six: He says his name is George. He is King Arthur’s assistant manservant and he is travelling during his time away. His family lives in the village two days away. “Merlin said I might stay here for the night. If you permit it madam”. Hunith is not sure what to make of this strange fellow; his jokes are lame, his manners hard to describe, but she naturally allows him to stay the night. When she wakes in the morning, her whole house has been cleaned. The curtains dusted and pressed, the flowers watered, the kitchen stove cleared for smoke, and her dresses are hung in a colour coordinated order. She waves goodbye and hopes he might come by again….Perhaps in time for spring cleaning.

Chapter seven: The villagers of Ealdor have become accustomed to their local healer and midwife having strange visitors. They’ve seen knights, sorcerers, druids, and even some nobles stop by her house for a day or two. They think they’ve seen it all, until one day King Arthur of Camelot is knocking on her door. “Arthur! Hello dearest” She says as he sweeps her into a hug, kissing his face. “It’s good to see you again, Hunith. I don’t want to be a bother, but my horse threw a shoe as we were out hunting. Do you mind if we stay here tonight?” He resembles a young boy when talking to her, more so than the King he is. Of course she says, you’re always welcome here, dear. Merlin is soon seen walking towards his mother’s house, holding the reins of two horses, and a big smile “Mum!”

[handweavers]

several instances in the last year or so where i have been forced to reckon with the fact that in some ways i am still rather naive and trusting much like a dog, in a way that is a bit humiliating. i do not expect others to have bad or selfish intentions because i do not have those intentions, and am often hoodwinked by false kindness and flattery, and unwilling to admit when someone is a worse person than i thought. if you are kind to me i assume it is because you are kind and not that you want something from me; i assume sincerity in others because i do not know how to be anything but sincere. i hold onto the idea that someone is salvageable far longer than others do, even privately, to the point where it would be embarrassing to admit it. i am sentimental past any sense or reason. people will speak terribly of me behind my back and lie about me and i will still think well of them; i try to be angry and wear the anger wrong like an ill fitting coat. someone mistreated me and i am upset by the circumstances in their life that made them believe they had to do that; i am upset they did not choose differently. my cousins who are the only siblings i will ever have pat my head and say things like oh honey and i tell them i did see it coming but i wanted very much to believe in their capacity to make better decisions, and am deeply saddened when they prove my instincts right. i know when someone is not good for me but i see who they could be if they chose to be honest with themselves. i think a lot of people are content to lie to themselves constantly and they become so used to it they don't know how to do anything else. i lie to myself too from time and time and it never lasts very long because i can't bear it. people will make themselves sick trying to find ways to believe their own lies and implode their lives in the process. i have watched my own father do it and i know the signs and symptoms. it's difficult to watch because you know things would be different if they could just face the truth but they are too afraid. when someone doesn't know who they are and they want you to be the one to tell them but that's not how anything works. but people do not react well to being told these things