#Should have bought life insurance

[nando161mando]

Should have bought life insurance

[all-thestories-aretrue]

Holy fuck y'all i should NOT be awake 😭

[bladeofthestars]

.

[deadmandead10845]

Brady - Fat2Fit2Fat

(243lbs) Brady works at an insurance agency in Kansas City. He’s far away from everything, and hates his job. He hates commuting and has two acquaintances and no real friends. He’s let himself go pretty badly, but he doesn’t have the will power to hit the gym or change any part of his life. Thankfully, he’s been at his company for 10 years and earns a 3 month sabbatical with full pay to use.

(243lbs) Brady took the first part of his sabbatical to hike in the mountains solo. He stumbled upon what looked like an abandoned shack with smoke coming out of the chimney. He knew nightfall would be soon so he wanted to ask the local if he could crash at their place for the night. He knocked on the door and it opened itself. He let himself in and called.

BRADY: Hello!!!

(243lbs) A mysterious figure appeared around the corner. The woman introduced herself as Cora.

CORA: I’ve been practicing witchcraft in the mountains since I was little and now I am the only one left. Some witch will reveal too much about herself and then she’s hunted by the locals. I chose to reveal my house and myself to you because I can tell you’re not from here and you have an open mind.

BRADY: I definitely have an open mind. I came here to the mountains to find myself. I am on a sabbatical trying to find some sort of motivation.

CORA: What is one thing you don’t have control over that you wish to have infinite control of?

BRADY: *looks down at his soft out of shape body and looks up*

His body has always been a sense of insecurity that made him feel inadequate and less than because he wishes he was fit.

CORA: Nothing with power, career, money?

BRADY: I just want to like how I look and control what I look like.

CORA: *rummages through the cabinet and throws some leaves into what looks like a brewing potion. Once all the ingredients were stirred in, the liquid began to glow a pale orange color.*

BRADY: Is this legit going to help me?

CORA: You drink and find out. Or you can go beg your doctor for Ozempic and forget you came here. At least this is free!

BRADY: I’m not being drugged right now?

CORA: You are, just not a bad kind.

BRADY: *takes the vial of orange liquid and drinks it*

CORA: How do you wish to look?

BRADY: I just want to lose like 75 pounds.

(165lbs) Brady’s pants fell down immediately and his blue polo shirt wore him like a dress.

BRADY: Holy shit I must be hallucinating.

CORA: You’re not but I figured you’d have this reaction. Sleep it off.

Cora snapped her fingers and Brady’s vision blacked out.

—

Brady woke up in his hotel room down at the base of the mountain. He walked to the bathroom and sure enough he was completely thin. He went to put on an outfit and quickly realized nothing in his suitcase would fit him. Everything he had was a 40” waist and all his shirts were XL. He ran through the closest Walmart holding his shorts bunched up in his hand hoping he wouldn’t drop them and bought a new pair of 30” waist shorts. He was so happy.

After his 3 months concluded, he returned to Missouri and submitted his 2 week notice. He wanted a fresh start where he could show off his new skinny body and get laid for once. He was a gay man living in the Midwest with approximately 5 blank Grindr profiles within a 25 mile radius.

(149lbs) Brady packed up all his belongings and moved to Miami. He looked in the mirror and audibly said “I wish I was a twink.” And in the blink of an eye another 15 pounds disappeared off his body. He met Javi at Twist, the local gay club near his apartment. After almost 2 years, the two fell in love and became inseparable and lived together. Javi told Brady he should start going to the gym and getting big arms and a six pack because he wasn’t super into twinks. Brady quietly looked at himself in the bathroom mirror once or twice a week asking for just 1 pound more trying to subtly get larger for Javi without alerting him to his powers given to him by the witch.

(195lbs) Brady had gotten extremely fit and did no work for it. The potion he took two years ago was unbelievable. Javi loved Brady’s new extremely fit body and Brady loved the attention. Brady however, wasn’t sure he loved how he looked. Javi was going away on business to Houston for a month, so Brady booked himself a trip to Hawaii by himself to hopefully ground himself.

(210lbs) Brady wished another 15 pounds of muscle onto his body before he left for Hawaii. He wanted to look his best for the beach so he could post photos of his body online for attention. He wasn’t the happiest, so the online attention helped. Once he landed in Hawaii he took the private boat to the small isolated island resort he had booked.

(175lbs) Brady hated how he looked so he wished 30 pounds off his body because he thought a leaner look would suit him and he tried to walk around the beach and feel comfortable but he really wasn’t sure why he wasn’t comfortable with himself. Brady had an idea, he went to the surf shop in the lobby and bought himself a pair of 2XL swim trunks and went up to his room. He bought himself a case of beers and drank away. He got in the mirror looked at himself and asked for a dad bod.

(280lbs) Brady, still very much in shape but much larger (100lbs larger to be exact) walked down the beach with his beer gut and massive arms. He was happy. He actually liked how he looked. No one recognized him from earlier and all the other guests just thought he was a new arrival to the resort. Brady went back to the surf shop and bought a 2XL Hawaiian shirt before returning home to Florida.

(305lbs) Brady was a huge guy. He wished himself even bigger and squeezed himself into the premium economy seat he booked on points and flew home to Florida. He spent nearly 12 hours total on the plane and when he walked in the door felt like everything was all wrong. He was skinny Brady in Florida, not big and beefy. Javi was due to arrive at any minute. When Brady heard the lock turning, he ran to the bathroom and wished his body back to his 195lb self.

Javi found the 2XL shirts and asked and Brady told him he was trying oversized fashion and didn’t like it, so he threw the shirt away. Brady couldn’t stop thinking about his little escape he had in Hawaii and after a few months went back to the bathroom and wished to be a bit bigger. Javi hated it so much. Javi kept telling Brady to hit the treadmill and to eat less.

(243lbs) Brady was back at the same weight he was before he met Cora the witch. However, he had so much muscle on his body he was a lot smaller than Javi still hated it. Brady loved his small belly and missed playing with the belly he once had when he was an insurance agent back in Missouri. The two attended couple’s therapy to no avail. Ultimately, it let to Brady and Javi breaking up. Javi kicked Brady out of the apartment. Just to get back at Javi, Brady lost all the weight before coming to the apartment to collect his belongings.

Brady needed a new start so he called one of his buddies in New York who was starting a boutique insurance agency and cofounded it with him.

(327lbs) Brady wanted a fresh start in New York so he bought a 3XL hoodie and sweat at the last Walmart before the Holland tunnel, and sat in traffic looking in the mirror and wished to be fat. He’d never been as big as he was now. He watched his body tighten the dress of a hoodie he had put on and fill it out. Compared to last week in Miami, he was completely unrecognizable. He was truly starting over. Once he showered in his apartment he got a look at his new fat body covered in stretch marks and rolls. Brady was generally happy with his size. The only drawback and he couldn’t find much clothing in the city stores that fit him well so he was barely able to dress well.

(327lbs) Four years went by and Brady’s joint venture had taken off. He was able to buy an apartment and afford more than ever. He seemed very content. He was overworked. One fateful day on the train he dozed off. In his dream he was even fatter than he is now. The dream was so vivid he could feel his body sloshing with every step.. when in reality the jerky subway train was sloshing him around. He missed his stop and rode the train to the end asleep. In the dream, Brady said he wanted to get fatter and…

(415lbs) He woke up. His shirt had ridden up his entire belly and his pants completely ripped. He was huge. Brady embarrassed walked to the next departing train that would get him home attracting the stares of everyone for the lack of clothing he had one, especially for his size. Brady decided to take several months remote from work after that, to give his business partner a believable timeline for his nearly 100lb weight gain.

(415lbs) Brady went to Industry, a New York gay bar and opened up his shirt in hopes he would find a chub chaser. Unfortunately he just got stares.

(451lbs) Brady had to get an entire new suit made for him because of his sheer girth. His seamstress couldn’t believe the size of him. She had made him his suit four years ago when he weighed more than a hundred pounds less. Brady knew it wasn’t going to last long because he planned to put a little more weight on. His business partner couldn’t believe the size of him either. Brady needed to remove the armrests on his desk chair so he could fit.

(485lbs) By the summer, Brady had willed another 35lbs onto his body. He attended a big party on Fire Island having fun with his friends. All of the sudden he saw a familiar face.

Javi.

BRADY: Javi???

JAVI: Hiiii…. Have we met?

BRADY: Javi it’s me

JAVI: Where have we met you look so familiar??

BRADY: It’s me, Brady

JAVI: Brady who?

BRADY: Your ex boyfriend.

JAVI: There is just no way. I thought you lost all the weight you put on.

BRADY: Then I gained it back, and then some

JAVI: Holy shit Brady you look awful, do you need me to get you a nutritionist? I am worried.

BRADY: No not at all. I am super happy the way I look.

JAVI: Weren’t you happy when half of Miami wanted to f*ck you?

BRADY: No, but I am happy now.

JAVI: Can I ask how much…

BRADY: How much I weigh?

JAVI: ….

BRADY: Four Hundred Eighty Five pounds last I checked. I don’t really fluctuate.

JAVI: God, this is just insane to me..

Javi walked away.

About 10 minutes later, Javi’s friend Andres walked by and…

ANDRES: Brady?

BRADY: Andres long time no see

ANDRES: I’m sorry Javi said all that… he’s just insecure and projecting on you.

BRADY: Yeah that’s why we broke up all those years ago.

ANDRES: Well, let me tell you. I like the change

Andres grabbed Brady’s belly from underneath and leaned in and kissed Brady on the cheek. He began to walk away.

BRADY: Wait a second, Andres!

Brady grabbed Andres’s hand and pulled him back for a real kiss. Andres’s hand found its way back to under Brady’s belly jiggling it while the pair made out.

Javi watched from a distance fuming with anger.

BRADY: Does a guy like me get to ask you for your number?

ANDRES: Definitely.

Javi walked over

JAVI: Wow Andres making out with my fat ex in front of me is really classy.

ANDRES: Sorry you’re too superficial to understand what a big guy can give you.

(508lbs) After texting for weeks, Andres invited Brady to go golfing with his friend.

ANDRES: Hey big fella.

BRADY: Hey handsome, ready to play?

ANDRES: Yes it’s been a while.

BRADY: It’s been too long for me too.

ANDRES: Shirt’s a bit small Brady…

Brady, embarrassed tried to pull the shirt down over his belly. He knew it was way too small but wanted to test Andres.

BRADY: Wow, I seem to have grown out of it…

ANDRES: Been a while since you wore it?

BRADY: I think this fit me when we met a few weeks ago.

ANDRES: Are you going to try to tell me it shrunk in the wash then?

BRADY: No, I just have put on about 25 pounds since that pool party and haven’t bothered to go shopping.

ANDRES: Wha— … how?

BRADY: Guess I’ve been hungry

Andres knew that Brady was the man for him in that moment. The two began dating.

(528lbs) Brady had gotten into the bad habit of putting 15lbs on every time he was going to be seen at an event to show that he was a growing man. He attended one of his friend’s backyard weddings and knocked over one of the displays with his huge belly.

Everyone who saw him at this point was asked if he was doing ok or if he needed anything. Some of the attendees even offering to give him a doctor referral for weight loss drugs. He assured them he was perfectly ok.

(600lbs) Brady admittedly took it too far. Brady had weighed in at 551lbs this morning. He had some room in his suit and had a big event for his company. He and his business partner were announcing the sale of their company to a big insurance company. He stood on the scale and watched the number go up until he hit 600lbs on the dot.

He was now basically 75lbs heavier than he was 4 months ago. After the sale of his company, Brady was to retire with enough money for him and his grandchildren (if he ever had any) to live comfortably.

When he got home, he totally forgot he would be facing Andres.

ANDRES: Brady…

BRADY: Hey honey.

ANDRES: Something is different

BRADY: What happened.

ANDRES: You look different. Something is just off.

BRADY: I am not sure what you are talking about.

ANDRES: Wait. Is that the suit you had made last week?

BRADY: Yes

ANDRES: Then why does it look like it’s about to pop.

BRADY: Oh yes something is different.

ANDRES: What.

BRADY: I got fatter.

ANDRES: Since this morning?

BRADY: Babe I think it’s time I tell you something.

Brady explained to Andres the whole story about his past life in Missouri. His sabbatical, meeting Cora the witch. He explained how he lost all the weight for Javi. Went to Hawaii and experimented with his body in different sizes.

ANDRES: What do you expect me to believe you have powers or something?

BRADY: Watch this

Brady walked into the bathroom, and willed himself to be a twink again. He walked out weighing 150lbs adorned with abs.

Andres walked to the kitchen and splashed cold water in his face. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

BRADY: I would never tell anyone about this.

ANDRES: You chose to be fat?

BRADY: If I didn’t I wouldn’t be living with the man of my dreams so let’s not.

ANDRES: Ok you’re scaring me you look emaciated.

BRADY: Oh yeah.

The two started to make out while Brady’s body slowly inflated back to 600lbs. Brady’s face filled out and his abs disappeared. Slowly a belly started to form along with soft supple moobs. His love handles expanded outward and his body started to widen. His thighs began to push against each other as they filled with fat.

Andres was so horny watching his boyfriend blow up to such a massive size and came hands free when he watched the fat pad swallow up Brady’s dick.

ANDRES: So how much do you weigh now?

BRADY: Let’s go see

The scale read 600 pounds.

Brady maintained 600 pounds for a while and about a year and a half into dating Andres, knew it was time. He popped the question getting down on one knee.

He couldn’t get back up after getting down which was very hot to Andres, who eagerly said yes.

(705lbs) Brady returned to the mountains. He bought three aur plane seats and filled them up with his girth. He struggled but he hiked his way all the way up to Cora’s hut wearing a suit to thank her for her potion that changed his life.

Brady knocked on the door which immediately opened. His belly knocked over a beaker off the table which led to Cora running into the room.

CORA: How did you get in here??

BRADY: I opened the door.

CORA: How did you find my house?

BRADY: I’ve been here before.

CORA: Who are you??

BRADY: Do you not remember me?

CORA: No, and I would.

She looked down at Brady’s belly.

BRADY: Oh right would this help?

Brady pulled out his phone and showed her a photo of him from about 10 years before. A photo of him and Javi together where he was less than 200lbs.

CORA: What was your name.. Bradley?

BRADY: Brady, close enough.

CORA: Did I do something wrong with the potion, brew it wrong?? I am so sorry!! Let me help you slim down.

BRADY: No, I am this big by choice. I could get down to this weight again any time.

CORA: Why?

BRADY: I was skinny for a while and I just didn’t like it. I was constantly making adjustments to my body so other men would see me as hot. My boyfriend left me when I decided to try out a *very slight* dad bod.

CORA: So you did this? You could’ve been half the size and still been fat.

BRADY: Well some days it just doesn’t feel like enough.

CORA: I never expected you to look like this. I expected you to have gotten massively jacked and been narcissistic.

BRADY: You were wrong

CORA: Very.

BRADY: I came here to thank you. It took me a long time to get up the mountain, but I knew that before long it would not be possible with my size.

CORA: You could’ve shrunken down to climb up here…

BRADY: But that isn’t me

CORA: Well I am happy.

BRADY: Being confident with my size and my body found me the best fiance ever.

CORA: You mean a chub chaser?

BRADY: —

CORA: Right.

BRADY: Well I mean you would have to be to like me at this size anyways. People stare.

CORA: I am staring.

BRADY: Well thank you for doing this for me.

CORA: Any time. Here, let me get you something.

Cora made a green cocktail of ingredients. She bottled them up.

CORA: You two are getting married?

She said looking at the Lock Screen on Brady’s phone.

BRADY: Yes

CORA: Wait until your wedding night to drink this. You both need to drink it for it to work.

BRADY: What is it?

CORA: You two will never break up or fight.

BRADY: This is perfect.

CORA: You also will never get health issues from your weight because you look like a heart attack waiting to happen.

BRADY: Hey!

CORA: So don’t have one before your wedding!

(750lbs) Brady and Andres had a lovely wedding.

The two got married and after the reception concluded, drank the potions together.

(785lbs) Brady loved going out and seeing the reactions on everyone’s faces seeing his size. He would eat for hours just for show and go home stuffed.

(830lbs) Brady was walking through Central Park. Let’s be real, he was barely moving and barely waddling. Suddenly he saw a familiar face again.

BRADY: Javi!!

JAVI: Holy fuck Brady you are huge.

BRADY: I know. Why are you here?

JAVI: I moved here for work. I got a job at an insurance company.

BRADY: You mean the one named after my last name that I just sold?

JAVI: Oh my god..

BRADY: Yup!

JAVI: What's new with you. I haven't seen you since you hooked up with my best friend at a pool party. I haven't seen him either that was so messy and rude of you.

BRADY: We got married.

JAVI: What…

BRADY: Yes we've been married for just about a year.

JAVI: Bet he didn't expect you to get fatter than you already were.

BRADY: He probably didn't but he loves it. He takes care of me and all the things I can't do anymore.

JAVI: I am so glad I left you before this happened.

BRADY: Me too. Next time you see me, I'm sure I'll be even bigger.

Andres walked up between the two of them.

ANDRES: Javi?

JAVI: This is insane. You married him??

ANDRES: Yes.. of course

JAVI: Why did you let him get this big

BRADY: I’ll answer that. He likes his men big, and I wanted to get big.

JAVI: Is that why you tried to get a dad bod all those years ago?

BRADY: Yes, and now I weigh more than eight hundred pounds.

ANDRES: 830 to be exact.

Javi stormed away.

The end.

[eideticmemory]

BABY DADDY | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

A one night stand leads to much, much more than either of you bargained for.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warning/Includes: BabyDaddy!Matthew, duh!!! Smut Lite™️.

So, the thing about babies is that they don’t really give a fuck about context. They truly couldn’t care less about what you’re doing, what’s happening in your life, your goals, your dreams, your ambitions. It’s all irrelevant. They will show up anyway. And what the little clump of cells in your uterus has failed to realize is that you do not know their father. At all.

Seriously.

You know him biblically. Obviously. You’ve shared drinks and a bed. You’ve seen him naked. He’s seen you naked. You’ve spent, maybe, an hour and a half together total. And you spent the majority of that time making the conscious decision to leave together, undress and fuck. You’re pretty sure the last thing you said to him was, “Safe travels.” As in, I don’t want to see you again. As in, If all goes well, I should never have to see you again.

You used a condom. You’re not dumb, you used a condom. So when weeks passed by and your period was late, you didn’t think anything of it. It happens. Sometimes periods are just late.

But it never came.

You bought the pregnancy test just to be safe. In fact, you were so sure that you were playing it safe that you didn’t take it for another three days. Pushing it back and back, hoping your period would come.

It didn’t.

So you squatted over the toilet and got a good amount of pee on the thing and waited two minutes just for it to stare you directly in the eye and say: FUCK YOU, DUMB BITCH. YOU’RE PREGNANT.

Okay, it just said pregnant. But that’s what went through your head. Your knees buckled and you grabbed your stomach, almost like you could feel the thing just hanging out in there. You doubled over, thinking you were going to puke, but you didn’t. You eye the test again and then, out of pure nerves, you puke.

You buy two more tests. They call you a dumb bitch again, just a little louder. You want a bottle of wine but you don’t have one because you’re pregnant. You want a lighter and a goddamn cigarette but you don’t have one because you don’t even smoke and you’re pregnant.

You sit down for lunch with your friend and it’s the first time you say these words out loud.

She yells, “You’re what?”

Pregnant!

You give her this look that says please don’t make me say it again and she doesn’t. She heard you very well the first time.

“W-wh-what…” she trembles. Shaking, like she’s the one knocked up. “What? H-how…what? who’s the daddy?”

You sigh, cut your eyes up at her, and her jaw drops, stuttering, “O-oh…no…no…[y/n]…no.”

“It’s gotta be him. He’s the last guy I had sex with. I had gotten my period before then. Now, no period, three positive pregnancy tests.”

“Three?” she shouts. “Oh, so you’re pregnant pregnant?”

“Yeah, I took three just to be sure and they all told me to go kill myself. So.”

“Oh my god…” she shudders. “Oh my god? Oh my…” and she chugs her glass of wine in one big gulp. It looks good.

“What are you going to do?” she asks you.

You shrug, your mind made up, “I’m keeping it.”

“What?”

“Okay, you need to quiet down now before we get kicked out of here.”

“What do you mean keeping it? As in, giving birth? As in, raising a child?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“O…kay…and the baby daddy?”

You shrug, “What about him?”

“I-“ she slams her hands down. “[y/n].”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

“Why would I? I have a house and a job and insurance and a 401K, I can take care of my kid.”

“Well, yeah…but it’s…his kid, too? Why-why are you keeping it if you’re not gonna tell him?”

“Because I want a baby. I don’t know. I-I thought about…getting it sucked out of there, but I don’t wanna. I want a baby. I want a kid. And yeah, this…isn’t the conventional way of doing that, but I never much saw myself with a husband anyway.”

“So…what’s the plan? Matthew’s just walking down the street one day and a little carbon copy of him comes out of the shadows saying ooh, aah, look at me! I’m the love child you unintentionally abandoned 10 years ago! That’s fucked.”

“What if he doesn’t care? What if he wants to abandon the kid? What if we’re on the same page?”

“Then at least give him the option.”

“Ugh.”

“[y/n], just give him the option. What? You can gargle his cock in your mouth but you can’t have a conversation? You need to tell him.”

“Okay…” you roll your eyes.

“And whatever the outcome, he stills owes you money. He stills owes some type of financial support, whether you want it or not.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Whatever. Look, I work with him when he’s in town, okay? I see him, I have to interact with him, I can’t hold on to this and I can’t be the one to tell him. [y/n]…please…”

“Okay!”

“Okay?”

You huff, “Okay. Fine.”

“Okay. You have his number?”

“No.”

“Classy,” she quips as she scrolls through her phone and you roll your eyes, “Okay, I’m airdropping it to you now.”

His contact comes through to your phone and you only stare at it long enough to accept and then you plant the device face down on the table. You suck back an anxious gulp of water and fidget with your hands, “This is your fault, you know?”

“What? How?”

“You’re the one that introduced us. At that launch party or whatever. What was that even about?”

“It was the launch party for a new production company and fuck you, you whore. I didn’t force you to go and get yourself knocked up. That was all you, Matthew and those free shots.”

“Oh, please, you practically threw us together.”

“Yeah, well, sue me, I thought you guys would hit it off,” she shrugs. “Not quite this much, but…”

The two of you sit in silence, looking around the restaurant, picking at your food.

“So,” she pips.

Your eyes flicker up at her.

“How was it?” she smirks. “Worth a baby?”

You let a long sigh, shaking your head with a very violent roll of your eyes, “Honestly…yeah…”

So far, pregnancy doesn’t suck. You’re still early, still not showing. There’s been no nausea or bloating. The insomnia, however, is getting ridiculous. You’re normally the type of girl to crash in bed as soon as possible, knocked out the moment your head hits the pillow. It is now midnight and your eyes are wide open, unable to relax. You check everything possible off of your to-do list, even scheduling your first obstetrician appointment. The only thing you haven’t done is call Matthew, having had his number sitting in your phone for close to a week now. To make it worse, all you want is a cinnamon roll. But not just any cinnamon roll. One from the late night bakery down the street. This is especially dangerous because you know very well that they are still open and somewhere out there is a cinnamon roll with your name on it. It would be nuts to leave the warmth of your bed right now, walk a mile in the dead of night, just for a cinnamon roll.

But you’re going to.

You bundle up and head out into the summer night, looking completely insane. Hoodie, sweats, tattered sneakers built for walking down the New York City sidewalks. It’s not far and you walk fast, faster than normal tonight because the craving is just that strong. You make it in all of ten minutes and within five more, you have the box cracked open and are tearing a piece off with your bare hands.

You look up for merely a second and your eyes catch him immediately. Now, you’re tired. Your blood sugar’s just shot up but you’re pretty sure it’s him. Posing for a picture with a fan. Tall. Beautiful. Smiling. His eyes land on you and he excuses himself, throws up a wave. You jump, looking around, contemplating running. But, yeah. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all. By the time you stop fidgeting, he’s standing over you and you’re trapped.

“Hi!” he greets you. “Hi, [y/n], how are you?”

You wipe frosting from your mouth and chuckle, more caught off guard by his remembering your name than anything. You cough, “Hi. Matthew, hi. I’m good. I’m doing good. How are you?”

“Good! Just heading home.”

“Oh! Oh, you have a place in New York?”

“Yeah, near the park, just a few blocks over. You live around here?”

“Uh…” you did not know this so you’re forcing your brain to catch up. “Uh, yeah, yeah. About a block over, just… couldn’t sleep. Wanted a cinnamon roll.”

“Looks good,” he giggles. “You look good.”

“Oh, you’re full of shit,” you smile.

“No! No, I mean it. You look great. I love the cinnamon roll run outfit. Honestly.”

You blush, you don’t mean to, but you blush. “Well, thank you. You look good, too.” He does. You can tell he’s just leaving somewhere because he’s dressed up and you suddenly remember very vividly how you ended up pregnant.

“Aw, thank you. I appreciate that…” his eyes scan over you. “Where did you say you live? Can I walk you home? It’s late.”

You want to shout No! Thank you! and run. It wouldn’t be hard to do. Why not? Still, you say, “Yes. Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so the two of you stroll down the empty sidewalks together, he does most of the talking. You can hear it in his voice that he’s flirting. You’ve heard it before. It has been successful, with you, before. Yet, you’re too busy this time around trying not to puke. He walks you to your door and you notice your cinnamon roll has gone cold in your hand.

“This is me,” you tell him. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “We should get together again, if you’re up for it.”

You nod, “Mhm. Yeah. That sounds nice. Um, I’ll give you my number.” He instantly pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it over. He’s serious. You type your name and number in and hand it back, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Perfect,” his fingers linger on yours as he takes his phone back. “I’ll call you. Hey, could I use your bathroom? I pee fast so I won’t inconvenience you too long.”

No!

You snicker, “Yeah…” you start to unlock the door. “Of course. Sorry in advance, it’s a little messy.”

“Oh, a little mess doesn’t scare me,” he laughs.

You let him in and point out the bathroom and as soon as he disappears, closes the door behind him, you release the breath that’s been trapped in your chest and plop down on the couch. “Fuck,” you mutter to yourself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The toilet flushes and then there’s a loud bang from the bathroom and you snap back to reality. “Matthew?” you call. “You alright in there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he calls in response. “Just kicked over your trash can. Sorry!”

“That’s okay!” you reply. You relax.

It is definitely not okay.

You hop up and sprint to the bathroom door. You don’t even knock, you just burst into the bathroom where Matthew is picking up the spilled trash. Your eyes instantly land on the pregnancy tests and you can’t do anything but stand in wait.

When he notices them, he laughs. Not a cackle, but a soft giggle, almost silly, “You pregnant or something?” he asks. It’s a joke. He’s making a joke.

He looks at your face. It’s not a joke.

He stops laughing. He stops smiling. You’ve never seen someone’s entire being go so pale.

“Oh, you’re…” he stutters. “You’re…” he breathes. “Is it mine?”

You can hardly look him in the eye but you do and you nod.

“How long have you known?”

You gulp, “Like…a week. I haven’t been to the doctor or anything.”

“Are you…” you can see his chest heaving. “Are you serious?”

You nod, “Yes.”

He looks around the bathroom, wobbling on his heels and you worry he’s going to pass out. Instead, he slams the toilet seat down and sits on it, falls on it. “What…what are you going to do?”

“I’m…” you clear your throat. “Keeping it.”

“Oh.” he says. “You don’t...you’re not…”

“No. I don’t want that.”

And this is where his words became jumbled. Mumbled. Barely incoherent. He, himself, cannot even figure out what he’s trying to say.

“Look,” you interrupt him. “You don’t have to be involved, okay? You don’t even need to be on the birth certificate. I can handle this. I will handle this. If you wanna drop me a couple hundreds bucks every month and call it a day, that’s fine. If you don’t? Also fine. But I need to know because we’re…not…confusing this kid, okay? So, you need to be all in or all out.”

“Are you...” he cuts his eyes up at you and then promptly rises to his feet. “I can’t do this right now.”

You’re so dumbfounded as he rushes past you that your brain doesn’t even fully process it until he’s almost out the door. “Where are you going?”

“I have to clear my head. I-I have to get out of here.”

“Uh, okay...” he closes the door in your face. “Bye…”

And in the wake of all this exciting, suddenly surrounded by silence and cut tension, you remember your cinnamon roll. You want it after all.

When your friend asks if you’ve told Matthew, you say, “Yes.”

“Oh, shit. You called him?”

“No.” And you have to explain. You have to explain every awkward, uncomfortable, terrible second.

“And I haven’t heard from him since,” you shrug.

“Really?”

You nod.

She sighs, “Wow…fuck him.”

“Fuck him.”

And you meant that. You’re content with that. You feel like you can move on. Prepare, nest, move forward. Then he calls you. Out of nowhere. His name pops up on your phone and silences the music that had been playing while you took a bath. You stare at the screen for a long time, wondering if it’s best to protect your peace. It is. But still, you answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, [y/n]?” he clears his throat. “It’s Matthew.”

“Matthew,” you sigh. “Hi.”

“Hey, um, when is your first doctor’s appointment? Has that passed already?”

“Um…” you furrow your eyebrows, genuinely confused. “No. It’s on the twenty-sixth. At Aster on the upper west side. Eleven o’clock.”

Silence.

Then, he says, “Okay…okay, I’ll be there.”

You shrug, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You arrive at 10:45. You do not expect him to show up, like truly expect him to show up. So when he comes walking into the waiting room, your heart genuinely stops. You cross and uncross your legs, shuffling in your seat.

“Hi,” you whisper, with very minimal eye contact.

“Hi.”

The nurse calls your name and Matthew follows you into the examination room, taking a seat beside you. The technician asks you a series of questions about your last period, your symptoms, your health history and Matthew hears none of it.

“And are you dad?” she asks him.

He feels like he’s going to throw up. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

You roll your eyes and luckily, this kind woman cuts the tension pretty quickly. She slathers this cold gel on your belly and presses the wand to your skin and the heartbeat picks up immediately.

“Oh, wow, strong heartbeat already!” she grins at you. But you can’t take your eyes off the monitor. Matthew either. “You’re right around ten weeks so there’s the little head and you can see their arms and legs starting to form here.”

You can. You can really see it. There’s a baby in there. Barely. But a baby! You look at Matthew and his look of pure terror mirrors yours. It’s kind of comforting.

The nurse wipes you off and says, “So your estimated due date is March 10th, but again, that’s just an estimate so take it with a grain of salt because babies tend to follow their own schedule. You’re looking at anywhere from two to three days before or after.”

“Holy shit,” Matthew swears. “That’s the day after my birthday.”

“Is it really?” you tilt your head and at this, the nurse is dumbfounded. At this, Matthew is completely silenced.

You ask for two separate copies of the ultrasound and the technician has gotten over the shock. She’s not going to question it anymore, not going to give it any thought. Let you two sort it out.

As you stand outside afterwards, twiddling your thumbs, unsure of what to say or what to do, he asks, “Are you hungry? Can I take you to lunch?”

You cross your arms, wanting to say no. Wanting to lie. Instead you sigh, “Yes,” you nod. “Yes, please. I’m fucking starving.”

So he takes you to a cafe down the street where you order possibly the biggest burger even seen and fries and a cup of veggies and a piece of cake. It’s awkward, silent, and he just watches you eat. Almost like he can’t wrapped his head around it. You come up for air and catch his gaze.

“Hey,” you swallow. “Don’t look at me crazy. You’ve never had something in your body competing for resources.”

He chuckles, “No judgement. Eat what you want.”

“That was my plan.”

He picks at his food for a few moments and then sighs, “So…how…how are we gonna do this?”

You would ask for more context but you don’t need it. You know exactly what he means. You shrug, “I don’t know…” you shrug again. “I don’t know, just…do the best we can, I guess?”

He nods, “Yeah. Yeah, that always seems to work for everyone else.”

September | 14 Weeks

The deal is that Matthew will come in every four weeks for your appointments. This is what he agrees to, but you’re not convinced it will happen. But your next appointment rolls around and you’re shocked to walk in and find he’s beat you there. This time, he sees you and he smiles. His eyes scan over your figure as you take a seat, he goes, “Oh, you’re…you’re kinda starting to…”

You glance down at your tiny baby bump and you have this weird urge all the time to touch it so you do. “Oh. Yeah. I finally had to start telling people at work. They made me a registry.”

“Oh, that’s nice. What…what do you need me to get? What does a baby need?”

“God, dude, too much shit, I swear. Plus, I don’t even know what I want to dress her in. There’s like a million different brands and they all look the same or are made from spider silk or something stupid. I don’t know.”

He tilts his head at you, “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. I don’t think we can find out just yet anyway but, maybe?”

This little grin appears on his face and he almost reaches in to your bump, but he doesn’t. He shuffles in his seat, clears his throat, “A girl would be nice.”

You smile, “I think so, too.”

You both get your updated ultrasounds to go and the technician is greatful to not feel so suffocated this time. The energy around the two of you has shifted. Not much. You’re still strangers and it shows. But it’s different. You smile, you joke around, Matthew speaks up, asks questions.

It’s different.

At the end of the appointment, he asks you, “Hey, are you busy tonight?”

“Oh…” you’re caught off guard. “No. Why?”

“I was wondering if you might want to come over? For dinner maybe?”

“Oh.”

“Nothing…weird. I just…want you to know where I live and…I don’t know, I thought we could just talk.”

“Um. Okay. Okay. Send me your address.”

“Okay. I will.”

And so because you reluctantly agreed, you show up at his doorstep at six o’clock sharp. You’re not dressed up or anything, but it’s starting to get cold and you just threw on this big puffy jacket.

He opens the door and greets you with a bright smile, saying, “Hey, you. Come in.”

“Thanks,” you meekly walk in and instantly look around his place and oh, it’s fucking gorgeous. Comforting. Because you can’t have a baby with someone who lacks interior design skills.

“Are you still craving chinese? I got us a fuck ton.”

“Oh, my god,” you sigh in relief, smelling the food, instantly plopping down at the kitchen table. “Oh, my god, yes, thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles.

You look around and notice the ultrasounds on his fridge, staring at them as he sets up a plate for you.

He takes a seat beside you and takes a bite of his food, then asking, “So, where are you from?”

It catches you off guard so you laugh, “What?”

“Where are you from? What’s your family like? Where’d you go to school?”

“Um, okay…what…you interrogating me?”

He laughs, “No. No, sorry. I just…uh, I wanna get to know you better, that’s all. You can ask me anything you wanna know, too.”

“Hm,” you nod. “Okay.” And you spill your guts.

You wrap your life up in a nutshell and it becomes this rapid game of back and forth about whose parents did this and how many siblings do you have and who was your first crush. Who’s your best friend. Who’s the last person you dated. Tell me about all the people you’ve dated!

Your baby daddy is kind of a slut, but, honestly, who are you to judge?

He’s funny. As far as you can tell, he’s honest. He doesn’t have or want to hide anything from you. What’s the point?

“So, um,” he says. “Why don’t I make you a drink and give you a little tour? Oh, wait, you…”

“Can’t drink,” you nod. “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “I have sparkling cider.”

“Bleh.”

“Sparkling water?”

“Bleh.”

“I…orange juice?” he laughs but you’re dead serious.

“That sounds so fucking good right now.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles. “Okay, you got it.”

And so, with your cup of orange juice, you follow him around his home. You see his bedroom, his office, and in the corner of the house, an empty room where he proclaims, “This will be the little guy’s room. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with it yet, but definitely something.”

It’s beautiful. Lots of natural light but he says he’s already started looking at blackout curtains. “And then in my room,” he adds as you walk by. “I’ll have one of those little beside bassinet things, y’know? Just until he gets a little bigger.”

You look up at him with this sober look. You stumble around until you find somewhere to put your glass down and he asks, “You alright?”

You turn back to him and almost immediately jump into his arms, mouth open, a whole growing human between the of you, but still you are close. But still, you are kissing.

“Woah…” he huffs. “W-what…what are you…”

“Sorry,” you breathe out. “It’s nothing personal. I’ve just got a lot of blood rushing to a lot of different places and w-what?” you stutter because he’s caressing your face. “Y’know, it’s not like you can get me pregnant. It’s more like a…a favor?”

His eyes scan over your face and he nods, scoops you up in his arms like it’s nothing. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense,” and he carries you into his bedroom.

October | 18 Weeks

The greeting this week is different. In the past few weeks, there’s been a lot more casual texting. A lot of Matthew asking: Hey, how are you feeling today? Do you need anything? Do you have groceries? You appreciate it.

He walks into the waiting room a few minutes after you and you actually stand to say hi.

“Hi, you!” he pips and he gives you a big hug. This time, he is not so shy and he takes a hold of your bump in both his hands, leaning down to say, “Hi, you! What are you doing in there? Woah!”

“Ah,” you groan. “Yeah, kicking the shit out of me. lately. Don’t get her riled up.”

But he pokes at your belly again and those legs come back swinging. He laughs, “Oh, my god, that’s so cool!”

“Yeah, not so much when it’s the middle of the night and it’s directly on your bladder.”

“Oof. Sorry, I should be stern,” he leans down. “Knock it off, kid.” And the kid kicks back.

“Oh! Jesus. Okay, that was…bad. Keep practicing.”

He cackles, “I will.”

In the exam room, the technician asks, “Do you wanna know the gender?” The smile on her face tells you that she already knows.

And as you shout an enthusiastic, “Yes!” Matthew is shaking his head, saying, “No.”

And then there’s silence.

“What…” you chuckle. “What do you mean no?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I kinda just wanna be surprised.”

“Hm…” you furrow your eyebrows. You turn to the technician, “Well, I wanna know, will you put it in an envelope for me?”

This envelope is hand delivered to you at the end of your appointment and you hold it tight in your hands all the way out the door. You tear into it as soon as you step outside and Matthew shouts, “Wait!”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna know! Open it when you’re alone.”

“Okay…” you shrug, putting the envelope in your purse.

The two of you stand there, silent, avoiding eye contact.

“Fine, open it,” he says.

“What?” you laugh. “I thought you didn’t wanna know?”

“I don’t! I don’t. But-but you should know. Open it.”

You roll your eyes at him and take the envelope out of your bag, breaking the seal, flipping it open and showing absolutely no emotion. You rise and fall from the tip of your toes, biting down on your lip.

“Oh, c’mon!” he groans. “What is it? What is it? What is it? Just tell me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You positive?”

“[y/n]…” he whines.

You chuckle and turn the paper around to face him and his entire expression goes blank.

“A boy?” he whispers. Followed by, “Oh, my god, a boy!” Then, “A boy?” Finally, “A boy…”

You giggle and nod, “A boy.”

Halloween falls on a work day, after which you immediately come home to take a nap. You awake to find missed calls and texts from Matthew, the last of which reads: I’m coming over. You see this just before he rings your doorbell.

You answer and flinch, caught off guard by his costume. His makeup, the whole thing. “Oh…” you say. “You did say you were weird about Halloween.”

“Um, I don’t know if weird is the word I used but…here! For you,” he hands you a bag full of candy and you laugh, taking it from him.

“Thank you.”

“And…also, for you,” and he hands you a pumpkin.

“Oh! Thanks?”

“It’s the exact same weight as the baby. Weighed it myself.”

And your heart just kind of melts. “Aw…that’s so cute…” you hold the thing in your hands and look down at it. “Wow, what? No fucking way that’s in there.” you say in disbelief, holding the pumpkin level with your belly.

The two of you burst into laughter and Matthew sighs, happily exclaming, “Yeah, that’s him.”

November | 22 Weeks

Before your next appointment, Matthew calls you to ask if you’ll spend Thanksgiving with him in Vegas.

“Y’know, I told my family and-and they were…y’know shocked. But, they wanna meet you. I’m sure you already have plans but if you don’t…I’d really love it if you came with me.”

You sit in silence for a second. “I…I don’t have plans. I’ll go.”

“Really?”

“Oh, did you…want me to say no?”

“No,” he laughs. “No. I just thought you would. Um, well, okay, cool! Cool. I’ll book the flight.”

“Okay. Cool.”

Matthew meets you at your place the day before Thanksgiving, greeting you with a hug and a kiss on your belly. “Hey, you ready?”

“Yeah…” you grumble. “I’m all packed, just tired.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Ha…ha…no, thanks.”

“I’m so dead serious. I’ve been lifting weights, gotta train to carry a baby around.”

“I’m telling you, this fucker is heavy.”

He laughs, “Yeah, he looks it already. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you sigh. “Can you just carry my bags?”

“[y/n].” He looks you in the eye. “I was going to do that anyway.”

You get sick on the plane and the flight attendant gives you ice to chew and a cold rag for your forehead. Matthew is constantly rubbing your leg and fanning you with the safety booklet.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry. What can I do?” he asks.

“Will you be the pregnant one for a little bit?”

“Yes, if that’s what you need.”

His face is serious and you can’t help but laugh, “Fuck you.”

As you drive through the desert, you have to keep your eyes closed to feel peace. You only open them when the car slows down and you arrive at the house.

“Oh, by the way,” Matthew says as he shuts the car off. “My family thinks we’re together. Like dating.”

Your eyes goes wide and you shoot up in your seat, “What? What?” you yell.

“Look, look, I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to say!”

“Uh, how about I got a little too drunk and horny on a Friday night and put a baby in someone? You don’t lie! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I…ugh! I’m sorry. I know, I know. I will tell them the truth, but not right now. [y/n], please.”

“No.”

“[y/n]…”

“No. Fuck you! How could you wait until we get here to tell me that bullshit? You’re insane!”

“Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry, let’s just, please go inside and I will fix it.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna go inside now. You pissed me off.”

“Oh, my…” he huffs. “[y/n], please.”

“No!” you cross your arms. “I’m staying in the car.”

Just then, his mom comes rushing out the house, waving to you both from the front door and you have to put on a smile very quickly.

“I will tell them,” he whispers.

“Oh, you fucking better,” you sneer, still smiling. “Or I will.”

You play along as you’re introduced to everyone. You tell them about yourself. You show them the most recent ultrasound, you pig out on all the food just laying around and somehow, along the way, you forget why you were mad.

Until you retire to bed and they have you and Matthew set up in one room. Then, you are pissed all, over, again.

You rush into the shower to avoid him and when you come back out, he’s laying in the bed.

“Hi,” he smiles nervously.

“Fuck you.”

“Okay.”

“Did you tell them?”

“No. I’m sorry. I will.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Matthew.”

“[y/n]-“

“Matthew!”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll tell them now.”

“Yeah.”

Still, he lays there. “I…I pulled out your maternity pillow. All ready for you.”

“Get out the damn bed,” you grumble and he’s up before you lay down. And worse, he just stands there.

You roll over from your side, looking at him. He’s looking at you and his face pisses you off so you shout, “Matthew!”

“Okay!” and he leaves the room.

He comes back in after you’ve fallen asleep but still, half awake, you ask, “Did you tell them?” and you don’t even question it when he lays beside you, cradles you in his arms.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good.”

And you fall asleep just like that.

Thanksgiving goes well, despite the recent news. You practically clear the table yourself because you’re eating for two and one of you is much greedier than the other. You meet Matthew’s dad, who spends the entire evening lulling you into security just to later pull the two of you into a separate room.

Here, the conversation gets legal. And while you were not expecting it, you’re grateful. You hadn’t thought of any of this. Custody, exchange schedules, schools, primary addresses, out-of-state trips. All of it.

His dad finally asks, “And what last name will the baby be taking?”

You say, “[y/l/n],” as Matthew says, “Oh, Gubler, for sure.” And the two of you just slowly turn to look at each other.

“Oh…” he dad says. “You two should probably discuss.”

That discussion lasts well into the night. Through the drive to the airport. Through the flight.

By the time you land, you’ve compromised. You’ll hyphenate.

December | 26 Weeks

Your next appointment is just over a week before Christmas. Matthew agrees then to spend Christmas Eve with you. Your family comes into New York just to keep you from flying yourself. When they arrive, your home is cluttered with boxes and pieces of the crib and a dismantled bassinet and bottles and boxes of diapers and wipes. Your baby shower was a huge success. You and baby boy want for nothing. But you’re big, you’re stressed, you’re aching and you can’t stop crying.

“Baby, let us put the nursery together for you,” you mom suggests.

“No. No, we’ll do it. It’s fine. I want to do it.”

“Okay. Speaking of, is your baby daddy gonna be here any time soon?”

“Yeah, he’s on the way.”

And as if on queue, Matthew walks in and everyone exclaims, “Hey! Baby daddy!”

Your sibling walks up to him immediately and says, “Love Criminal Minds, dude,” and you put your face in your hands.

Matthew gets everything stuffed into the nursery just for now so there’s more space for everyone to move around. He helps your mom with dinner and he doesn’t mind when they poke and prode into his life.

“So, baby daddy, what part of New York are you in?”

“So, baby daddy, is this your first kid?”

“So, baby daddy, do you think you might propose to [y/n] someday?”

“Baby daddy, what’s your net worth?”

And this is not an exaggeration. By the end of the night, he responds to baby daddy like it’s his actual government name and he confesses to you that it makes him uncomfortable.

Standing on your balcony, he wraps a blanket around you and rubs your shoulders, “Y’know, I understand the terminology, definitely. But…damn.”

You cackle, “Well..you are my baby daddy. We’re having a baby together, but were not together, but we have sex sometimes. It fits. Hey, I’m your baby mama!”

“Aw, well…” he sighs. “Thats sweet.” And he grins at you as you burst into laughter.

Your family leaves to stay at a hotel and Matthew stays to make sure you’re okay. You’re pretty fucking exhausted to be honest. So he tucks you into bed and runs his hand over your hair, “You need anything?”

“No. Just sleep.”

“Okay,” he touches your belly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

When you wake up in the morning, your first thought is that you need to eat. You remember some sugar cookies that your mom had brought by last night and you decide to have them for breakfast. You walk to the kitchen and passing by the nursery, you almost don’t notice. Then, you stop in your tracks, tilt your head and walk backwards.

It’s done.

It’s done!

The crib is built, the dresser and changing table are assembled, the mobile’s up and running, the rocking chair is in the corner. Even the wall art you picked out is hanging up.

“Wh-what…” you stutter and then you march to the living room where Matthew is passed out on the couch. “Matthew!” you shout. Still, he doesn’t wake. So you rush over and shake him, going, “Matthew! Matthew!” and he jolts awake.

“What?” he takes hold of your hands. “What? Are you okay? Are you alright?”

“Yes. What…what the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean?” he rasps. “Oh…the nursery? Do you like it?”

“Do I…” you cut yourself off and run back to the nursery, where you wander around the room unable to focus your attention on just one thing.

Matthew follows behind you and watches you from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well?”

“It’s…” you gleam. “Exactly like my pinterest board.”

“Of course it’s exactly like your pinterest board, I’m not insane!” he laughs.

You feel this peace wash over you and you hug your baby bump as you breathe out a slow exhale. You turn to him with a smile and he thinks you’re running to give him a hug. So when you all but tackle him, take him a kiss, push him to the floor, tear off his clothes, it all happens so fast.

When it’s over, you have no bottoms on and your head is laying on his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably stop attacking you like that.”

He chuckles, “No. Don’t. I don’t mind.”

January | 30 Weeks

Your appointments are every two weeks now. This is the time you expected Matthew to miss at least one, but he never does. He’s always there. Even when he’s not with you, he’s always there.

When your insomnia is at its very worst, he facetimes you in the middle of the night.

“Hey,” he smiles at the screen. “I knew you’d be up.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Insomnia still kicking your ass?”

“Every night this past week.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, honey,” he frowns. “But since you’re up, I thought we could talk baby names?”

“Oh,” you say. You had forgotten about that. “Oh…right…names.”

“I know, we kinda dropped the ball on that one,” he laughs. “Now, it’s kinda a Gubler tradition that all the boys have the middle name Gray. Y’know, alliteration and all.”

“Oh..that’s…” Boring, you think. “Unoriginal. Can we compromise?”

“Well, I’m already compromising with the hypenating so I don’t know.”

“Oh, good g-“ you roll your eyes. “Sir, you hyphenated like 7 months ago, let it go.” And he lets it go. You add, “I like the name Lincoln. Link.”

“Ooh, no. He used to bully me in school. What about Silas?”

“Yeah, cause he’s a vampire? Veto. I like Noah.”

“Cause he’s building an arc? Veto!”

“Ugh.”

“What about Simon? Y’know I voiced him in the movie.”

You roll your eyes, again. “Yes. We know. Veto.”

Silence falls over the call as you both rack your brains for another suggestion. And like a domino, it naturally falls into your mind, “Theodore?” you shrug.

Matthew smiles, “Teddy?”

“Aw!” you squeal. “Teddy Gray…” you say aloud and then a tear falls from your eye and then you’re full blown sobbing in front of the camera. “Teddy Gray, that’s it. That’s his name.”

And Matthew is freaked out because he’s never seen you cry before. Ever. Not at the doctor, not in the nursery, he’s never had the pleasure of meeting your hormones face to face quite like this. “Yeah…” he chokes out a sob. “That’s it,” he wipes his eyes. “Fuck, why am I crying?”

“Oh, why would you be, you fucking freak?” you shout and he thinks it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said.

Suddenly, your doorbell rings and it silences you, scares you. “What the fuck?” you whisper. “Is that you?”

“Nope. I had something delivered.”

“What? Right now?”

“Just a little cinnamon roll and a milkshake, but I can tell them to leave if you don’t want it?”

“Oh, my god,” you rush out of bed and immediately waddle to the door, “You’re amazing. I wanna have your baby.”

February | 34 Weeks

Your customized pillows and blankets have come in the mail. They all say Teddy and his baby book says it too. It is perfect. It’s your son. At your last appointment, he weighed about 7 pounds and you certainly feel every ounce weighing you down.

But for Teddy, it’s worth it.

For now, you’re still going to work and taking an afternoon nap for survival. Matthew jokes all the time that you can quit your job whenever you’d like. That he can take care of you both, just say the word. That was never the deal, but you appreciate it.

When you arrive home on Valentine’s Day, you’re just getting settled when your doorbell rings. You look through the peep hole and the delivery man is holding the largest vase of roses you’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” he greets you. “[y/n] [y/l/n]?”

“Yes,” you nod and take the roses in your arms. “Thank you.”

He hands you a tiny bag and you carry everything inside, setting them down on the table.

“One more thing,” he tells you and when you turn around, it is a teeny, tiny vase of snipped roses. The vase is personalized with the name Teddy.

“Aw,” you want to cry but you can’t do it in front of this random man. So only when he leaves, you let the tears fall and you set Teddy’s vase near in the window in his room. You leave your flowers on the living room table and take a small jewelry box out of the bag. Inside, are the most gorgeous pair of ruby pendant earrings and you audibly gasp.

The card accompanying it all reads: Sorry I can’t be with you and Teddy today, but I’m thinking about you both. I’m always thinking about you.

Happy Valentine’s Day, baby mama!!

M

March | 37 Weeks

“Any day now, [y/n],” your doctor beams, rolling the wand around on your belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you nod. “Excited. Scared. I didn’t give it much thought about how I was gonna get him out of there.”

Her and Matthew laugh, Matthew holding your hand like it’s No Big Deal.

“You’re gonna do great. You’re right on track for your due date, but it’s possible you’ll start feeling some contractions in the next week or two. If you notice them coming really close together or your water breaks, I want you to put that birthing plan in motion, okay?”

“Okay,” you and Matthew say in unison. It would’ve annoyed you before. Now you just smile at him because you think it’s cute.

Matthew escorts you back home and he’s hoping you’ll settle in and maybe rest. You don’t. You end up in the nursery, walking around like maniac. There is absolutely nothing to do. Nothing to move. Nothing to fix. Still, your brain tells you there must be something.

“Honey, honey,” he calls, taking you by the hand and guiding you to the couch. “Come lay down, please. Everything is all set.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he laughs. “You’re just nesting, I read about it online.”

“Oh, you and your baby google.”

“There really is so much out there!”

You roll your eyes, smiling as he covers you with a blanket. “You still going to Vegas this weekend? For your birthday?”

“Oh, no. No, I think I’m just gonna stay in New York.”

“What? Why? I thought your mom was planning a whole thing for you? You can’t miss it.”

“Well, I don’t wanna miss Teddy coming either. I don’t wanna leave you alone like that. The doctor said any day now.”

“Yeah, but, she also said it could be well over another week before I start contracting.”

He sighs, visibly anxious.

“Hey, look,” you pull him into your arms. “I appreciate you wanting to be here, I really do, but I want you to enjoy your birthday and I highly, highly doubt this kid is planning on escaping any time soon. Plus, my friend will be here if anything happens so, just, go, baby daddy, we’ll be fine.”

He sighs, “Fine. But you’ll call me if anything happens?”

“I will call you.”

“Immediately?”

“Immediately!”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

March 9 | 37 Weeks and 6 Days

The eve of Matthew’s birthday, you get roughly four hours of sleep. You rise with the sun and sit in Teddy’s room, folding his clothes, piling them in his dresser.

You friend wanders in, having just woken up herself and she sighs, “What the hell are you doing, crazy lady?”

“Nothing.”

“This nursery looks like it’s straight out of Architectural Digest. There’s nothing else to do, why don’t you go lay down?”

“Why is everyone always wanting me to lay down?”

“Because you’re carrying a human maybe? Duh?”

“I’m fine. I feel fine. I need to check on the bottles and make sure I have the right sized nipples because I’m not sure…”

“[y/n], you have all the nipples in the world. The ones, the twos, the threes, the ones on your tits. It’s fine!”

“I’m just checking!” And as you step towards the kitchen, you suddenly stop in your tracks, grab onto your crotch in shock.

“[y/n]?” you friend rushes to your side. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…I, um, I think I just pissed myself?”

“Wh-what? Pissed yourself or did your water break?”

You look up at her in fear, “Oh my god.”

“I’ll get the hospital bag.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get some pants and shoes on, dude!”

“Oh my god,” you repeat. “I-I have to call Matthew.”

So you do. You do. Just in the knick of fucking time, your name pops up on his phone and he quickly grabs his luggage and sprints off the plane that was doomed to take off any second.

When he arrives at the hospital, he bursts into the room at full speed, thinking he’s already missed everything. Thinking it’s over. He finds you bouncing on a birthing ball and you grin at him.

“Hi, baby daddy!” you huff. “Happy birthday!”

“Hi! Hi…” he walks up to you, takes your hands in his although you do not stop bouncing. He kisses the top of your head, “Are you okay? How far along are you?”

“Three centimeters,” you pant. “And I am not getting off of this ball until it’s 10!”

“Okay, well, you have to take a break at some point. Do you need some water?”

“Nope! Just need to bounce.”

You last, maybe, five more minutes and then you need to lay down. Except you can’t. Because your contractions are ridiculous and you can never get comfortable and you end up on all fours in the bed, crying and groaning.

And three hours later, you are only 5 centimeters dilated.

Matthew lays in the bed beside you, patting your face with a rag, feeling absolutely useless. “What can I do, [y/n]? Tell me what to do.”

You cry and squeeze his hand until this contraction passes. You pant, “Y-y’know…I’ve heard sometimes…when a baby won’t come out…p-people….sometimes…”

“What? What do they do?”

“They…y’know…”

He is still confused.

“Like!” you shout in frustration. “Like, what gets the baby in also gets the baby out!”

It clicks, “Oh!” he exclaims. “Oh. Will that…will that hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “But he’ll sure as shit get the message.”

And so, two fingers, ten minutes and six big pushes later, Theodore Gray [y/l/n]-Gubler is born. He weighs eight pounds, five ounces but he feels so heavy in your arms.

Finally in your arms.

Matthew, like a big baby himself, can’t stop crying. Can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop kissing your face, “Look at him! He’s beautiful! You did it! Oh, my god, [y/n]! Look what you did!”

Teddy is truly the best birthday gift Matthew has ever gotten.

Two days later, you’re discharged from the hospital. Matthew arranged for a car to drive you home and he installs the car seat himself. He pushes you out in a wheelchair, despite your frequent protests, and gets Teddy buckled in. He then helps you and into the car before sliding in on the opposite side of the car seat.

You cover Teddy with his blanket and touch your fingertips to his face. He’s fast asleep, but this little grin forms on his face and the two of you chuckle.

“Hey,” you coo to him. “Hey, mister man, what are you doing? Huh? You…really don’t look a thing like me.”

Matthew cackles, “Yeah. Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus.”

He follows behind you with the car seat as you unlock your front door and lead them inside.

“Should we…I mean, do we just let him sleep?” he asks you.

“Until he’s hungry, yeah,” you nod, taking Teddy from his carrier. “Oh, hi…” you whisper to him. “Hi, mister man, you wanna lay in your bed? Hm?”

You place him in his crib and he doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t make a move. Matthew plops down on the floor, legs crisscrossed and you sit right beside him.

“He’s so fucking cool,” he tells you.

You giggle, “The coolest.”

The two of you could stare at him all day. You will.

“Is it still okay if spend the night?” he asks.

You look up at him with a smile, “Yes, we’d like that very much,” and you put your head on his shoulder.

His kisses your forehead softly, saying, “Cool.”

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 7 (end)

"I said I like it fucking quiet.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi thought it would be bliss from now on, but not yet. Not until you both own the city.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: angst, plotting, kidnapping, blood, violence, knifes, guns, physical violence, death. (Am I forgetting something?)

A.N. Ahh, no way I could just let them be happy, okay? Not without suffering first, it's my style 🤣 Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for helping me around the clock and being incredible betas! Check out their fics too! Now get ready 😎

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | < Previous Chapter

Yoongi didn't know life could be like this. Once, he had been sold on that dream; it was the reason why he got married, bought a house, and started on the force. He wanted a loving home and family, and everyone told him to follow those steps to get there.

You were everything he had ever dreamed, immersing him in a bliss he never thought possible. That day, at the charity event, you took charge of things. You left with him, took him home, and spent the next twenty-four hours making up for the lost time. Your sheets didn't witness just your bodies reattuning to each other, but also the other moments when your hearts did. When you told him so much more about what you did, what you had in motion, what you proposed to secure both his and your positions, and how you planned on providing the best for your unborn child.

“Ours,” he corrected gently, kissing the back of your fingers.

You looked up with your head on his chest, and a moment later, you just nodded, “Ours.”

At that moment, he was willing to compromise for you — whatever you needed. He just didn't think it would come in the form of you not letting him leave.

He all but moved in with you soon after, and at 34 weeks, he believed he'd never leave. You adored snuggling up to him at all times of day, especially because he massaged you all over while you talked. Someone almost busted a plan of yours? You could vent while he thumbed the ball of your foot. A politician was acting ridiculous? Your hands and arms needed to let go of the stress you accumulated during the day. You had stood for hours at a charity event? Those idiots should be sued for having you standing like that; your legs needed the soothing of his fingers. You were still on your computer when he arrived home from work? Your shoulders needed to be relieved of the tension.

He still had to work and there was no way you'd pause your work, not when you had a grand plan to own the city, just like he suggested. You had decided you didn’t need to excel in every business you had to control the city, especially because the top was naturally the first to be challenged. You were too branched out, and it wouldn’t pay off — if you tried to dominate everyone, you were inviting multiple enemies to ally themselves to throw you down. Not even Yoongi would be able to help you, despite him assuring you he would. 

“I’m not interested in destroying what makes you our good half,” you had chuckled when he brought it up again. You looked beautiful under the dim lights of your bedroom, naked with your baby bump up, half lying on him in bed. This was something he couldn’t do without anymore. “We’re stronger if they don’t suspect you have hidden interests. If they think I’m a woman alone, I seem fragile. A kid will help. It’s all about finding the right balance, because if I’m too weak, they’ll destroy me. You can be our secret weapon.”

Your teasing grin as your tongue peeked between your teeth made him laugh. Ultimately, you knew your way around that world far better than he did. He’d always trust you with it.

Your strategy was to have insurance. If you had dirt on everyone and monopolized at least that market, you would be as safe as possible. Your downfall would just be too risky all around, and it would be less likely that your enemies would become friends trying to overthrow you. You wouldn’t be a significant enough threat to alarm other organizations, but you’d easily manipulate things in the shadows — everyone won.

You had started with medium management, as you liked to call it, and worked your way up. You already had a pretty big web of people working for you on the inside in various industries — other mob families, prisons, the police, the military, the entertainment and media conglomerates, even hospitals and pharmaceutical companies, without mentioning politics. Your tycoon status allowed you to keep an eye on the echelon, which meant you had everything covered. A politician wanted to do something you didn’t like? You knew of their kids’ DUIs, and the scandal was just too easy. Someone didn’t want to fundraise for the Mayor you had chosen? You had reports of companies faking quality control reports for products or negligence in the hospitals; you would leverage the media to destroy their business overnight. The media heads themselves didn’t want to cooperate? Too easy to leak footage of them in brothels or orgies that could ruin their entire reputation. And all mob families had their weaknesses; having people in the prisons and low-level thugs meant you’d know what you needed to keep them at bay. In essence, a network that gave you just enough to have leverage but not enough to be a direct threat to anyone.

He admired you for handling everything with such zeal and trusted you absolutely to take care of things. On his side, he was more worried about assuring the one thing you were most likely to overlook: your safety. First, he became intimately involved with your security details. All of your staff answered to him, which he liked. On top of that, he had his officers keeping an eye on you as well. Some probably suspected this wasn't about a case, but Yoongi didn't care as long as you were safe.

You had worked hard all over those months to carry out your master plan. It was ambitious, and if the pieces fell into place, not even Jae Seong Seok could touch you. The frustration was in getting the last piece of information — if you could find out who he was working with now, you'd be able to use your network and have him in your hand. But whoever he was working with, he was keeping it under wraps.

“It's ridiculous!” You whined, despite Yoongi massaging your shoulders. “It's a better kept secret than who the President's mistress is! Fuck!”

You jumped up from your office chair in a burst of anger, only to groan and take support on the desk. Yoongi was instantly behind you as you rubbed your swollen tummy; he didn't even flinch when you gave him a look between petulance and tiredness.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It fucking does,” you insisted, falling back into him when he hugged you from behind. “Without knowing who is doing the Commissioner's bidding, we’re blind to his plans. It means we have a blind spot and—”

You held your breath, scrunching your nose with instant relief. He had just taken the weight out of your strained back by raising your belly, and you could breathe freely for a moment.

“Is that okay?” 

His voice was a whisper to your ear that had you sighing praises. He kissed your neck the whole time until he had to let go slowly, gently, distracting you with his lips on your skin before you’d get grumpy again.

“Didn’t you have someone on his team?”

“I lost them a couple of weeks after I told you that. He took exile in Heuksando last I heard.”

Your head fell back into his shoulder and he hummed, “I’m sure we’ll know something soon. Between your people and mine, we’re bound to hear or notice something. It’s a matter of time.” You pursed your lips, rubbing your belly again; time was a luxury you did not have. “Besides,” he spun you so you’d face him. “He’s not stupid. He wouldn’t just attempt to get rid of you; he probably knows we’re together.”

Your expression didn’t smooth, “For as long as he does bullshit without us knowing, we won't own the city.”

He nuzzled you, “He’s just one man. One tiny, meaningless man. Don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t seem fully convinced but you definitely relaxed in his arms that night, and the few nights after. Yoongi believed what he had told you: if the both of you were blinded to the Commissioner’s movements, then he was to yours too. You were stronger than him, you were together. You were bound to win.

But that night when he drove to the Aether at the maximum speed his car allowed, he wondered if he’d been too naive. If it was right to think that owning 98% of the city was enough to protect you and your child, only to learn the worst way possible that it could all fall through the cracks.

He arrived at the club, and from the outside it might have looked like the security were handling a typical problem, like a rowdy customer. When Thoma greeted him at the entrance, Yoongi followed him hurriedly, his blood freezing inside his veins. Your head of security didn’t just make that face for no reason.

Still, Yoongi couldn’t have believed it until he saw it with his own eyes. Before he got to your office, he passed your security and staff being checked by medics in the hallway, some even bleeding on the floor, almost passed out. Yet, when he entered your office, the situation dawned on him.

You had put up a fight. Your office was completely upside down, with your screen and papers on the floor, fallen chair, and broken glass everywhere. There was blood on the floor, which he kneeled to see. His fists closed instantly at the thought of you getting hurt, but maybe you had hurt them instead before they took you. You were good with your knife. He looked around; he couldn’t see it anywhere.

He got up, “Who the fuck?”

He asked simply, quietly, and Thoma answered, “Look at the back of the door.”

Yoongi turned, his dark eyes scanning the open door for traces of it being used or handled some way. His long, black raincoat billowed behind him as he moved and quickly used a glove to push the door closed.

I also prefer it quiet.

The scribbles or the paper glued to the door made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Does it mean anything to you?”

Yoongi’s eyes were the color of death, “Yes, and it does for you, too. You’re going to do exactly as I say.”

Thoma disagreed with Yoongi’s instructions, but he’d carry them out anyway. Yoongi didn’t care about the man’s opinion; it wasn’t him who was about to lose his whole life to a bug he didn't squish properly.

When Yoongi had decided to help you back when it was a conscious decision. Not just to step into your life, but to stay in it. To make it better. To use what he had at his disposal to do so. He didn’t regret it for a second, not even now. Some would say he was reaping what he sowed, but that was a stupid understanding of the situation. A coward’s subservient view on what was happening — when they touched you, they knew there were only two possible outcomes. And for Yoongi, there was only one. 

Of course, Thoma didn’t like calling the police and reporting the assault or that you were kidnapped. But the police responded to Yoongi in that area, so that wasn’t the problem. He didn’t like that he was to play dumb and not tell them who had done it. Eventually, they would be shown footage that Officer Jung could recognize, all to buy Yoongi the right amount of time. 

Because to Yoongi there was only one outcome. As he stopped in a hidden alley without cameras, he opened the trunk of his car and pulled the bottom to reveal a secret compartment where he had an arsenal. He picked and loaded a pistol, screwed in the silencer, and hid it along with magazines under his long raincoat. Then, he made his way to the back of the Evgeni Sports Center.

Yoongi refused one of the possible outcomes as if it wasn’t possible. That was maybe why he entered the building casually and unnoticed amidst a football game, making the big crowd watching it on the flat screen completely wild. The beer was plentiful, as were the cheers, and he was able to swiftly enter the kitchen in the back, where the staff didn’t dare look at him. He was a man with a purpose and only one option.

When he reached the back door and went down the stairs, he grabbed his pistol and started his work. There was only one justice down there — the one he inflicted himself. Big or small, he didn’t care. People fell like flies before the commotion began and even then, to reach him was a nearly impossible task. He was an agent of death dealing it swiftly to everyone who had dared to condone this heinous crime. To touch you at any point would have been dangerous, but now? It was a death wish — the only possible outcome.

Blood tainted the walls at his passage while he shot, punched, and kicked whoever dared to stand in his way to find you. He noticed the heavy metal doors, knowing they hid bullshit that wasn’t meant to be found, but he continued. It would be a shit show, but he didn’t care. His officers would show and turn the place upside down. Weapons? Drugs? Torturing people? He huffed and wiped the blood off his knuckles; all fine and dandy, but not what he was looking for.

He didn’t mean to, but he ended up cleaning that floor like it was a military operation. No one but people being tortured were left alive in his wake; no witnesses, no surprises. All he wanted was you, he’d leave once he got what he came for.

He held his gun up and in position as he faced the last door at the end of the corridor. It took him one second to calculate the odds of finding you there. Then he risked it and opened it, only for a kick to hit his hands hard.

He grunted, and although he didn’t instantly loosen his grip on the weapon, a punch to his back made his form crumble.

A series of punches made him grunt and raise his arms to defend himself, and a careful dance ensued. Yoongi almost lost his patience as he handled that single amazing enemy, but then two things happened: his pistol fell to the floor, and he saw you.

You were sitting on a lonesome chair in the middle of that humid, dark storage room, tied and pale. He instantly saw your shining eyes and the hairs glued to your forehead with sweat, your chest heaving tensely over your swollen belly, and knew he hadn’t come fast enough. He needed to get to you.

Those fuckers just had to keep their strongest guy next to you. It pissed Yoongi off; he much rather shoot him too. But he was forced to fight and manage the situation, not letting him get near you or the gun.

After a succession of punches and counters, Yoongi landed a punch on the guy’s ear and made a judgment call that put everything in jeopardy — he ran to you. Your eyes widened, seeing the guy behind Yoongi rush for the gun on the floor. He was dizzy from the punch, and your brain struggled — even if you warned him, Yoongi would never make it back in time to grab it.

So you shook your leg frantically, “The knife!”

Yoongi rushed to kneel before you and grab the knife, thinking to use it to set you free, but you kicked him as hard as you could.

A gunshot echoed and Yoongi’s breath caught as he fell back to the floor. For a second, he thought his life was over — not because he had been shot, but because you had.

But a split second was enough to hear the bullet ricocheting off somewhere and hear the guy fall to the floor. Yoongi’s training kicked in and two seconds later, he was on top of the guy, trying to finish it. His enemy was brave, dizzy, and without balance, but he was still a tougher foe than most people Yoongi had encountered in his career or training. The pistol had fallen somewhere when the guy had lost his balance, so it was all about the knife. They started fighting for it and in a slip of his hand, the guy caught it, and slash.

Yoongi grunted and fell back, holding onto his face more with shock and instinct, than actual pain. He thought he was blind for a moment, feeling something thick on his fingers while his sight darkened, but he couldn’t stop. To stop was to endanger you, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He opened his good eye and, seeing the guy with his back turned advancing toward you, Yoongi rushed to kick him as hard as he could in the back of the knee.

The guy fell forward with a grunt, letting the knife fly away, and in your attempts to escape him, you leaned back on the chair. The push was enough to make you gasp and fall back with a bang that scared Yoongi shitless. His head was hurting, and along with the blood covering his eye, it put him off balance, to his frustration. He gritted his teeth, trying to get to the fallen guy by crawling; it wasn’t like it was his ears, so his balance was fine. It was just his damn eye!

But he didn’t move fast enough; suddenly, he heard steps rushing and tried to get back on track and jump on the guy, but he couldn’t see him. It was too late.

A gunshot echoed again, and this time a body hit the floor. Yoongi sat up and rubbed at his eyes roughly, widening his eyes to check on you , and there you were. In the same dress as this morning, though covered in sweat, dry blood, dust and now even chair bits from when it shattered with your fall, standing a few steps away from him, emotionlessly eying the guy you had shot in the head.

Then, you rushed to his side and kneeled. Yoongi wanted to grab you close, speechless, but you grabbed his head instead and brushed his longer dark hair aside.

You sighed in relief, “You’re okay, it’s just a scratch.”

He blinked at you, finally acknowledging the sting on his eyelid and cheek and that he could see fine, but instantly it didn’t matter. He widened his eyes at you, raising his arms around you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

You meant to get up, but you groaned. Something wasn’t right.

Yoongi called your name and you looked at him. It was as though you had gone deaf; his lips were moving but you could barely hear him.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding,” he repeated, supporting you more steadily, trying to calm you, but you were confused.

“I’m not, I’m fine. I wasn’t shot.”

“No,” he brushed your cheeks gently, trying to make you focus. “You’re bleeding.”

It was like a CD entered the slot and it finally dawned reality on you. You looked down, holding onto his arms around you, and the pain hit you like a truck. You were bleeding down your legs, and suddenly you were dizzy. Your legs couldn’t hold you; you only wanted to curl around yourself and he let you down slowly.

“It hurts—”

“Breathe.”

Yoongi started the breathing exercises you both had learned but the way you glared at him was enough.

“I’ll carry you out. Ready?”

Your groan had a pitch of fear, but you bit your lip and screamed through the pain as he lifted you in his arms. Everything was a blur; hot and cold sweats going up and down your spine as you tried not to scream your pain out. It was visceral, terrifying, and rife with despair— something was wrong. You needed help. Now.

Once upstairs, people had scattered in a commotion, but fortunately, it seemed nobody quite knew what was going on. Some were running outside, others were filming, but the center's staff was surprisingly quiet. It was almost like suddenly, there was no one to take charge.

Fortunately, an ambulance had already been called to tend to the reported distress at the building. So when Yoongi stepped out with you in his arms, the paramedics quickly turned to the pregnant person with a bloody dress instead of a drunk making a scene.

In a matter of seconds, you were on a stretcher being carried inside the ambulance, and Yoongi wanted to go with you. 

But you held his hand, “No.”

He frowned, but you just looked behind him and then gave him a look, and he understood. He let go of your hand and instantly turned back as swiftly as possible. The crowd was in shock with the reported noise and the bloodied pregnant woman that just passed by them, and so, distracted.

Yoongi rushed downstairs, leaving the door closed behind him. He grabbed your blade and his pistol, then quickly looked around. It was a storage room with all sorts of boxes and containers, and he needed something that could destroy evidence fast, but not so fast that all the people tied up in other rooms, bleeding to death, couldn’t be rescued in time.

In the end, he found flammable paint and poured it on stacks of documents far back in the room before setting them on fire with a lighter. He hoped the humidity made the fire spread slowly enough, but even just the water from the sprinklers would help once they were triggered.

After dealing with that, he made his way completely upstairs through another set of stairs that weren’t accessible to the public. 

He had been there before, so he knew exactly where to go and that there were no cameras. He assumed he had killed most of the goons because only a handful tried to stop him. By then, he had reloaded, and nothing could stand in his way. Something was wrong; you weren’t supposed to be bleeding. It was too soon. It was all those fuckers fault!

He reached the office of Prokhor Evgeni and staggered for a second — Jae Seong Seok was sitting right there as though he had had an audience with the Russian. Both older men looked scared, which made the situation strange, almost comical. Only Yoongi wasn’t in a laughing mood; he raised his pistol and shot precisely twice.

Each man fell back onto their chair or on the floor while Yoongi pushed his hair back with annoyance, flaring, “I said I like it fucking quiet.”

Before his anger could go further, his phone started buzzing inside his pocket, and he sobered up. That meant Thoma had told Officer Jung what he needed to know; that signaled that the force was establishing a perimeter and a team to swarm the place.

He holstered his gun on his belt, then quickly put on gloves and searched for each man’s guns. Prokhor had one in his desk drawer, and Yoongi used it to shoot Jae Seong Seok a couple of times before shooting all around the room and throwing it on the floor. The Commissioner had a revolver with him, and it wasn’t hard to shoot in Prokhor’s direction and simulate a scene. Would it raise questions? Absolutely. But the more questions it raised, the harder it would be to get to the actual truth.

Yoongi went downstairs and blended in with the crowd still lingering about before reaching for the fire alarm to pull it. A loud siren went off, and the fire in the basement must have finally triggered the sprinklers because they went off, too. He made his way out amongst everybody else. Then, he faced the sky and started laughing.

He thought to just take out his raincoat so no one would know he was inside, but it was raining outside. So he stood there under the rain, smirking, letting it wash away the blood from his face, clothes, and any evidence that he had been inside.

He stood under the elements the whole time, the image of diligence coordinating the police and firemen who responded to the scene. It was a bloodbath and instantly the bodies became the reason for a national scandal. The media couldn’t get enough of it, especially the bit about the Commissioner and the Head of a Mafia family. The officers, though, were more inclined to believe the Commissioner had come to save you in person, and something had gone wrong. Maybe your child was even his. It would make sense, considering both your statuses. Maybe you were having an affair.

Yoongi focused on making sure that everything was accounted for, even the witnesses that said he was seen before the firemen and police arrived. He made sure their statement was taken too because they were contradictory with other witnesses. Some saw him carrying a pregnant lady, some only saw him when the alarm went off. The more information the police had, the better.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you. He understood why you asked him to stay, he needed to finish things and handle the outcome. After all, you both needed to own that city.

But he was dying to hear news from you. He had texted your people as soon as he had a second, so he knew they were with you, but still. Waiting just wasn’t possible, not tonight.

He was smoking and wrapping up the last details before the scene could be sealed when his phone buzzed inside his pocket. He picked it up this time, and the wails of a baby caught his breath.

“Is it done?”

“Yes,” he breathed, then he closed his eyes. “Our boy?”

“Eager to meet you.”

“You?”

“Come see for yourself.”

He didn’t need anything else to tell the last Officers on the scene he was leaving. He walked away to reach his car, then drove calmly to the hospital. He was drenched, so he left his raincoat inside the car and got on the elevator straight to the level you were in.

You were in a private, spacious room with everything you could need. It was just you, already wearing something of your own under the sheets, snoozing with a baby to your chest. Yoongi neared you and kissed your forehead, closing his eyes with the relief flooding him. You awoke with his touch and leaned in closer. He smelled of rain and new beginnings.

When he pulled away, you reached to touch the cut. Someone had cleaned it, leaving it red and furious across his eye, top to bottom. Looking into each other’s eyes, you knew the other was fine. Each with your own pain, but united in that moment, at last.

Finally, Yoongi took a look at his son. He was reddened too, with puffy cheeks and pouty lips, just like yours. He leaned in to kiss and nuzzle his son with a heart so full, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was sit on the bed, embracing you and him in his arms. 

You were looking at your baby before you noticed your position, englobing your son on two fronts, completely. Your lips curved, and you looked at Yoongi. You had finally won.

There we have it! I hope it was a nice, wild ride! 😁👋💜

[batmansymbol]

can't remember the last time i made a blog post on this blog. i really am becoming the hermit i always aspired to be.

looking for somewhere to put this particular exhaustion though and journaling makes me feel lonely and lately all interpersonal interactions leave me with the feeling of having transgressed in many secret ways unknown to me. so vent follows. although for the record someday when i am a true hermit i will have found inner peace, and i will no longer make posts like this, and i instead will be able to identify a cypress tree on sight.

for now, i've been having this feeling of kneeling in the surf with my mouth open and the ocean trying to force itself down my throat. i'm working four jobs to make ends meet. they are meeting, barely. my 16-year-old car broke down for the last time, and this week i bought a new one from a man at a dealership who lied to me over the phone about hidden fees as though $900 meant nothing. now i have new car payments every month but i no longer hear a steady drip behind me in the car when it rains, can't decide which of the two feelings of dread is more potent. i loved that leaking car into its grave. i often wish i had a soul-crushing 9-to-5 that paid me $75,000 every year like clockwork. i am spreading myself too thin socially. i love everybody in my life. sometimes i receive profound and beautiful reactions to my writing, and also with four clicks i can see criticism of my work online that makes me feel like i should never have been born. i struggle to weight these experiences in a reasonable way in my mind. i have not read a new book since sally rooney's intermezzo. i hate everything i write but luckily the hatred comes in cycles, counterbalanced by defiant love, like my relationship with my forehead. i have to believe everything i write is the one (the one that will financially or artistically save me). i have to tell myself the one doesn't exist so as not to get my hopes up. i have to remind myself my problems are atomically small compared to nearly everything. i have to remind myself of this because sometimes it's the only thing that makes me feel human again. i have dreams about friends i had in high school and the shitty jokes i made to them, how much more sensitive i could have been. in the dreams they hate me, or forgive me, or hit me. last april at age 28 i began to have back pain every single night from a degenerated spinal disc and now at age 30 i have anti-arthritis pills in my toiletries bag. it hurts to lean back in a chair, but i have all my limbs and my mind. i wonder every day why i'm not doing something differently. my inability to do anything meaningful disgusts me. i find meaning whenever i open the blinds. i have forgotten to switch my car insurance to my new vehicle, so after i press Post Now i will go to the website that will ask me for my password and to confirm i am myself.

[holylulusworld]

Gun for hire (Prologue)

Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd

Gun for hire masterlist

Lloyd crosses one leg over the other. He observes his newest client’s every move. His mind and eyes focused on the task. 

So far, he knows two things. The man in front of him has no clue about style, and he’s a cheating bastard. 

Lloyd grins as the man nervously tugs at his cheap jacket.

He wonders if the man has enough money to pay him for his service. If not, the boring guy will end up dead.

Lloyd Hansen. A hirable killer. The man you call, if you want someone to disappear and never get found, has two rules. He doesn’t kill people without getting paid for it, and he hates wasting his time.

He’s a simple man. Nothing gets in his way. No feelings. No remorse. No conscience.

“Who do you want me to remove from your life?” Lloyd stops the man from pacing back and forth. “I don’t have all day. I rarely meet up with my clients. I made an exception because you offered me double my payment.”

“I-“ the man clears his throat. He nervously rubs his arms before daring to look at Lloyd. “You see…”

“Use words and stop stammering,” Lloyd raises his voice. He’s tired of the guy’s antics. “I told you to not waste my time when you first contacted me. Spill it, or I’ll go, and you will regret wasting my time.”

“My…girlfriend.”

Lloyd cocks his head. He quirks his brow and runs his index finger and thumb over his mustache.

Lloyd Hansen is a stone-cold killer. It doesn’t matter if the client wants his wife or gardener dead.

Money is money. A dead body is a dead body.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” The man asks. “I thought you were not asking questions.”

Lloyd huffs. “I said, you are not allowed to ask questions. You should learn to listen, sunshine.”

“She paid half of the house and my car. Now that she found out about my affair with my secretary…” Lloyd snorts at the man’s admission. “She wants her money back, or me out of the house.”

“So,” Lloyd nods thoughtfully, “you want me to kill your girlfriend to help you keep a car?” He huffs now. “I hope you got my money. If not…” Lloyd slides his index finger over his throat, smirking. “You don’t want to know what happens then with you.”

“I’ll have the money after her death,” the man hastily says. “She’s got life insurance. It includes murder and such.” He grins, proud of himself. “I’m the beneficiary.”

Lloyd runs one hand down his face. He knew from the beginning this was a bad idea. He could’ve bought the exotic beard wax he read about. But no. He decided to listen to this dumbass and his boring story.

“I won’t wait for months to get my money. I’ll kill her within two weeks. I want half of the money tomorrow, the rest after I deliver.”

“Tomorrow?” The man hiccups. “I-I don’t have so much money right now. I need more time. I wasn’t prepared to pay in advance.”

“I give you two days. Meanwhile, I’ll follow your girlfriend and find out more about her daily routine. Get me my money, and I’ll make your life so much easier…”

Part 1

Tags in reblog.

[randomreasonstolive]

Hello friends! N here

I thought I should give y'all a little update on C's health...

So first off, THANK YOU to everyone who has helped us so far!

Especially to the person who out-right bought us the mattress we needed - that has been a life saver beyond my ability to explain. (I don't have to sleep on the floor anymore!)

Your kindness, kind words, and support have been wonderful and C and I both appreciate you all so, so much.

So, update!

C's insurance company is still refusing to pay for his (stage 4 cancer) treatment, so he's still not being treated yet. He is constantly sick and in pain. But he still keeps adding more and more to the queue here, because he doesn't want y'all to be without support, even while he's in agony.

(This country's health care system is so broken, smh...)

Our state's emergency paid leave act is also taking their sweet time and causing us and his doctor to have to appeal. So, because he's not working, we don't have any income coming in. Hopefully it will be fixed before the 1st so we can pay our rent, lol.

We are currently not in any desperate need of money or items, but if you would like to help us out;

Here is our amazon wishlist

Our paypal is teamcibby@gmail.com

And if you can, please leave words of kindness in our ask <3

Thank you all so, SO much! We appreciate everything you all have done for us over the years. Thank you all so, so much!

[eelhound]

"What is a city for? And to whom does it belong? If you believe that a city belongs to its people, as a place for them to live, work, eat, sleep, sing, love, argue, and ultimately die, then there’s no particular problem with graffiti. It simply expresses all of those things, which make up life itself. But if you believe that a city belongs to its property owners, then graffiti is very bad indeed. After all, it’s not that politicians and members of the economic elite object to the act of writing on walls as such. They write on walls all the time, and on a much larger scale than anyone else; they just call it 'advertising.' The giant gold letters spelling out T R U M P on a skyscraper are this kind of elite graffiti, the biggest 'tag' of all. But the elite believe that only those with money should be allowed to write their thoughts on the city’s surface. They take it as an article of faith that the right to do so must be bought and paid for, as they believe all things must — and in turn, that those who can’t pay have no right to leave a trace of their existence.

This way of thinking has nothing to do with aesthetics. A sublimely beautiful piece of graffiti on a bus shelter will be removed, while an ugly ad for a dentist or an insurance firm will stay up. Graffiti, which is free to anyone with a Sharpie or spray can, is an act of transgression by humanity against the existing order of property and power. That is why politicians and police are disgusted by it and spend a disproportionate amount of time, money, and effort trying to wipe it from existence. Giving the game away somewhat, Richard Ravitch — the former head of New York’s MTA, and later lieutenant governor of the state — once called graffiti 'a symbol that we have lost control.' (Someone should have asked him: who are 'we'?) More recently, after far-right blowhard Tucker Carlson visited Moscow, he praised it for having 'no graffiti' in sight. The kind of city he and people like him want is clean, orderly, prosperous, extensively policed — and utterly inhuman."

- Alex Skopic, from "In Defense of Graffiti." Current Affairs, 19 August 2024.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

I totally did not miss a day of disability awareness month because I accidentally skipped a day when scheduling my posts. And if you think I did... that's ableist...

Today's Disability Awareness Month post

Time blindness

What is it?

It's a complete inability to accurately measure time. That internal clock that says it's been 5 minutes? Yeah, that no works.

Cool. How can I know I have it? Because I don't really think anyone can accurately tell when 5 minutes have gone by

So a few years ago. I fell hard. Dislocated my shoulder. After a few days, I'm like "Yo. My shoulder been hurting too long after this bad fall. I should see my doctor about that". The doctor asked how long it had been. I told him 5 days... in my defense I really thought it had been 5 days... I texted my friend to confirm.... it had been 5 weeks...

Wow. That sucks. So like how do you manage that?

So like. I try to frame of reference based on what was going on around that time. Like "When did that truck randomly park in front of the house?" Well I remember being really worried about fireworks hitting it during 4th of July. So it's at least been that lot. And I know it wasn't there the week before because my friend would've definitely bitched about it being in the way. So that gives me a frame of reference of about 5 days.

So like you're talking about remembering time on past events. But you also mentioned being unable to tell when 5 minutes have gone by

Absolutely. Time blindness both impacts "I don't remember how long ago this event happened" as well as "I can't tell when 2 hours have gone by and I need my lunch break".

Another way I experience time blindness is meetings. I have a reminder at work that'll be like "meeting in 15 minutes". And I'll be actively trying to keep that in the front of my brain while I'm trying to get some last minute things done. Like "meeting in 15 minutes. Meeting in 15 minutes." Then next thing I know 2 hours have gone by 😅 and I'm like "when did that happen?"

Sounds like you're looking for an excuse to be lazy and inconsiderate of others time

No. There's actually ways you can manage your time blindness. I have an alarm for literally every. Single. Thing. In my life. I have an alarm when I should be taking lunch. When I need to go to bed. If I have a doctor appointment I'll have an alarm for when I need to make sure I have my paperwork (I aim for 2 days before). An alarm to make sure I have my insurance card (the day before). An alarm to start getting ready to leave. And an alarm to be heading out the door. Lots of alarms. Lots of reminders.

Sounds like you need a planner

See... time blindness is associated with ADHD... so that planner... do you want to see the pile of unused planners that I bought then completely forgot I had? If that planner isn't right in front of my nose as all times or screaming at me. I'll forget it exists. That's why I like alarms. They scream at me.

Cool. But I also have this thing where I can't tell how long a task will take

Fun fact. That is also time blindness. I'll be like "Cool. I'm just gonna wash the dishes real quick before I go. Should take 30 seconds..." *15 minutes later*

Time blindness makes it really hard to plan your day because you don't know how much time it'll take to do shit. One time I was like "I'll put this shelf together real quick after work". Real quick took 2 hours. How the fuck am I supposed to plan out my day if I can't figure out how long it'll take to wash dishes or put a shelf together?

-fae

[frauhupfner]

My 19 years old daughter ran away from home 3 weeks ago. At first she said that she only would want to pick up her friends from school and I always knew that she would be home the next day. We still had contact in the first days but that stopped since that Saturday. My mother had the idea to visit her one friend to see if she is there since my daughter still wasn't home and didn't reply anymore. The mother of her friend was there and said my daughter wouldn't be there anymore- but we heard her in another room. No contact since that day- I only saw that she saw my Insta-stories and liked posts from pages we both follow, so I knew she is alive. On Friday, after nearly two weeks without any contact, my parents notified the police if they could check on that family if my daughter is still there and that she is well. Today my parents got the information that the police finally met someone there (the family didn't open the door the first few times the police was there), that my daughter is still there and they also talked to her. She told the police that she doesn't want to come home, that something had happend at home why she doesn't want to come home but she didn't wanted to tell them and she wants an own home. There wasn't anything terrible the last days before she left. When we got home from vacation she had a lot of letters from the jobcenter (they knew that we aren't home) and also from the health insurance. Since June she is unemployed and has no more school, she just didn't tried to find anything. And so she should have informed the jobcenter so she could at least get some money and help in finding a job or school or something. She also doesn't have a health insurance anymore. I always told her that I want to help her with that on the weekend or when I'm back from work- but she wasn't home on the weekends and when I got home from work she also was already gone to meet her friends. The evening before she left we got into a little fight because of all this (she has asthma so it would be better to have a health insurance) and I told her again that I want to help her with all this before she gets in real trouble. She told me that she wants to meet her friends the next day but that we could do this all when she is back. Well, she never came back home. I totally understand that she is 19 which means she is an young adult now but why is she telling the police that something bad had happend that she didn't want to tell? What does she mean? We just had a fight because of all those paperwork that I wanted to manage with her, that's all. No beating, no abuse or anything else. Just a helpless mother who wants to help her only child to get her life back on the tracks. And this is such a bad thing to run away from home? She always wanted to work at a hospital or doctors office, she wanted to work with blood and real wounds and such, she wanted to help people. And now she isn't doing anything, which means she doesn't get any money not even from the jobcenter. The only money she has is what she got from her father who passed away nearly two years ago (the last amount I know about was 20.000 Euro, but since she left with only the clothes she was wearing, her phone and such things I guess she bought some new clothes). That's never enough for rent and furniture and bills, esp. when she is not working and doesn't get any money. I feel horrible, I can't sleep or eat, I'm crying alot, none of my hobbies can let me think about something else. I miss my daughter, I love her and I really hope she is not doing anything that she will regret or get into any deeper trouble. I would be here if she needs me, no matter what. No matter if she is 9, 19 or 39- she is still my daughter and I always only wanted the best for her. It's so hard to know that I can't do anything. I miss her so much. 😔

[bitchesgetriches]

I moved into my (29F) partner’s (30M) million dollar house he bought in cash (no mortgage) as a roommate, and we are dating now and I still pay lower than COL but still significant rent (same amount). I do not want to continue paying rent on this house forever. When is the stopping point here? How do I even bring that up without sounding like I’m trying to freeload?? Should I be paying rent in this situation? I don’t know what’s fair to ask for here. Please help Aunties

... your romantic partner is treating you like a tenant?

Sigh. Ok. I don't know how long you two have been together, what your future plans are as a couple, or what your respective financial situations are but... this doesn't sound right.

When you move in together as romantic partners, that's supposed to be a step on the way to a long-term commitment (MAWWIDGE). If there's a mortgage or rent to be paid, you split it! Equitably, equally, however you like, but you split it. If there's no mortgage, you split the insurance and taxes on the house. That makes sense. But charging a romantic partner RENT when this is supposedly a step toward long-term life partnership?

Yeah I'm not cool with this. Talk to him about the money. Ask if you're paying half the taxes and insurance or utilities or whatever. And if he says no, ask him how he determined your rent. Then ask him what he's using it for and why he wants you to pay it. You can decide from there how you feel and express that to him accordingly.

How Dafuq Do Couples Share Their Money? 

A Guide to Sharing Finances with Someone Other Than a Romantic Partner 

If you found this helpful, consider joining our Patreon.

[deariemay]

Regarding Isis Morales —

By the time women are 40, 83% of them will be mothers. If you do not care about the systemic oppression of mothers, you do not support the rights of most women.

Isis first became pregnant at 17. She was a baby herself, not yet finished with highschool. She described the men who were the fathers to her first two boys as “from the hood”. She stated this was an unstable and unsafe place for her children, and left.

Isis did at one point have a job which paid 90k (before tax) annually, however working a 40+ hr a week full time job is an incredibly difficult task when you are the mother of two children who aren’t old enough to be enrolled in government-funded school and need to be cared for 24/7. Childrearing and homemaking are labor, so in reality she had two full time jobs. No, on 84k a year (after tax) you cannot hire a full-time nanny, which cost an average of 60k a year in California.

America is one of the few developed countries that have no government-mandated maternity leave. Women with children are left to fend for themselves for three to six months, and often lose their jobs upon returning. We have no subsidized childcare for working women past a certain income threshold, nor child health insurance. Putting your children through college costs tens of thousands of dollars each.

Isis was homeless and had two unsheltered children with nowhere to go after her lease ended with her ex. At this point, it’s likely her and her children had no health insurance either. Her husband said he would only give her a place to stay if she married him. This is coercion. Essentially, he bought her. This is exactly what men want. They want women to exist in a society where they are vulnerable and have no place to go, where women are expected to both work themselves to death and do all domestic chores, or legally sell their body to men.

Marriage is an arrangement where women legally sell their bodies in exchange for safety. We live in a country where women are encouraged to financially rely upon men and yet we blame women for financially relying upon men. Every facet of government encourages marriage— tax breaks, shared ownership of assets, shared retirement fund, widow’s pension, shared medical insurance, and more. Whereas single mothers don’t get shit.

And yet, everyone is more upset with Isis than her husband, who raped his own biological children, aged 2 and 4. We are upset because Isis married a rich man, in an attempt to secure her children’s future. We are upset that Isis didn’t ‘make sure he was good’ as if men who seem sweet and kind don’t murder their families again and again. We’re not talking about the man who raped his own toddlers.

Isis and her trophy-wife guides are simply a reflection of what society demands of women: shave your arms, do whatever men want, pretend to be whatever they want, dress nice, don’t gain weight, be submissive, do housework. She was teaching women what men want, and she was right. Men don’t want an individual, they want a blow up doll. She did not create these standards. Men did.

Isis states, “I built this whole channel around being this man's wife.” Then, “I didn't realize that the person I married was actually going to be my biggest nightmare."

Isis herself was the product of rape and had been sexually assaulted in her childhood, and always kept a close eye on her children to keep it from happening to them (they were not allowed to be on family members laps, or kissed, or hugged if they did not want it.) Learning her husband who she devoted her life to was abusing their toddlers absolutely destroyed her.

Instead of screaming “men should stop raping their babies” feminists are screaming “she’s so stupid for not knowing better”

Some statements from feminists about Isis:

Some women would rather advocate for forced abortion, eugenics and sustaining the deeply abusive foster care and adoption system than let mothers have human rights.

Tell men in the government to give single mothers adequate financial security. Tell men to stop raping toddlers.

Focusing all your energy on yelling “stop making tradwife tiktoks” and “scope out men first to make sure they’re nice” are going to get us no where. This is why feminism is so unproductive. ‘Nice men’ is a misnomer when women are more likely to be murdered by their husbands than anyone else. Marriage needs to be abolished and women should receive government-funded full childcare support. We don’t blame men because it’s just too easy to blame women.

[shego1142]

I know yall probably know about poverty and generational poverty and what not but I just want to vent….

Because like… the things people don’t like know about generational poverty unless they’re experiencing it is just how… trapped you feel… weighed down by absolutely everything.

See I honestly think something may be up with our gas line

Which is a terrifying thought.

Now, idk if it’s a leak per se (though we’ve got the windows cracked just in case) but if we turn on our stove the gas smell is really strong, the flame flairs out of the sides of the stove, etc.

Shit that shouldn’t be happening.

Shit that is really fucking dangerous.

We know this is dangerous, we’re not stupid.

We know we should get it fixed.

But here’s the thing, okay?

The floors are just base boards, they’re falling in and there’s holes everywhere.

There’s rats that we’ve tried every trick in the book to get rid of, short of hiring an exterminator. We’ve borrowed traps, had traps “gifted” to us, tried poisons that friends and family have bought for us, etc. It cuts them down but they come back.

All of our food is in thick sealed plastic containers and yet they’ve eaten some of the containers open. They even ate our soap and makeup and cleaning supplies and that didn’t seem to stop them. (Our soap and cleaning supplies are now in plastic containers too but idk how long it will deter them, and the makeup is thrown away)

We have shoddy wiring in the house, done by my own grandpa back in the 70’s when they first bought this place.

Our roof has cracks in it that have failing patches, done by a family friend.

Our AC doesn’t exactly work very well and it’s been reaching 100°F weather (with 70% humidity no less) and to fix it we’d need $10k at least, but we’d also need new flooring, so it would likely be more than that…

Etc.

And like, it’s not that the house is dirty, but that it’s falling apart.

And here’s the deal… calling someone who knows what’s what about houses to check the stove means calling someone who is going to inspect the whole house, someone who’s going to say:

“hey uh, your gas is messed up and your electricity is messed up and so’s your plumbing… Your floors are bad… we have to condemn this house and if you can’t pay to fix it up then you’re going to lose it.”

And it’s not like we got this house and destroyed it by a lack of maintenance, this house is like, 50+ years old, and has been my home since I was born.

My grandma and I couldn’t take care of everything because my grandpa had Alzheimer’s and he was going downhill and it was me and her caring for him.

My health is really bad and I can’t work a regular day job because of it, but I haven’t been able to hire a lawyer to apply for disability, so we’re living off one income and whatever side gigs I can do from time to time.

We don’t have the money to pay the mortgage, buy groceries, pay the home insurance, the gas bill, pay medical bills, buy pet food, etc and also then pay for our house to be inspected and potentially condemned for things I didn’t even do in the first place, things that came before I inherited this house…

My whole family has been poor my whole life, from my great great grandparents to my parents, etc.

It was always “you don’t pay for a professional to fix it, you either fix it yourself or get a family member or a friend of a friend to fix it”

Which means that if we ask a building inspector to tell us what’s wrong with the house… well… it’s going to probably be everything. Because this house has never been “professionally” fixed, it’s only ever had family members and friends of family members slap duct tape over glaring issues and say they’ll only charge you a glass of sweet tea.

Which means it’ll probably cost nearly the entire value of the house to fix tbh.

I just feel like I’m on a ship that’s sinking and way more water is coming in than I could ever manage to get out. I keep trying to patch the leaks but the materials just not available, and besides, if I stop bailing out the water for even a second to go and try and patch the leak, I’ll go fully underwater.

And you know, it’s not fair. It’s not right that it’s like this. This is our home and we love it. This has been my home for years and we love this house, this land, the trees and plants that grow, everything here is loved. It’s cared for. We try to take pride in it.

But you wouldn’t know that because we’re too busy trying to bail out that sinking ship. We’re too busy from constantly working and cleaning and repairing.

It’s not okay that it’s set up that way. We need help, we need community. We should be able to call someone and be like “Hey, we love this house, we’ve never been late on a payment, we’ve worked our butts off to try and keep things going, but we need help. Can you look at everything this house needs to function and be in good condition and help us get those things?”

Like, hell a payment plan option would work, wouldn’t it? Why isn’t that the done thing?

I mean, I know why, the more houses that are taken from the poor means the more real estate that’s available for the rich, they’re already trying to make our whole neighbourhood into some corporate venture instead of a residential area. And besides, if they manage to make us homeless they’d be just as happy throwing us in jail for the “crime” of being homeless and poor and making money off free labour.

Like that’s why it’s normal practice not to help anyone keep their home when they actually have a home. The system is set up for you to fail unless your family is at least moderately wealthy.

It’s just such an unforgiving cycle. And I know I’m beating a dead horse with this vent. I know that like over half of America’s population is likely in the same shitty place we’re in.

It’s just… I’m so tired of being in cycles like these.

I’m too sick to work, too poor to afford to get on disability, and both too poor and too exhausted to go to the doctor to get proper treatment, and it’s just a loop.

I’m too exhausted to fix the house, too busy cleaning the house to rest, too exhausted to make money to have professionals help fix the house, rinse and repeat.

The house breaking down is very likely making me more sick, but I’m too sick to be able to get the house fixed.

My grandparents didn’t have money to fix the house, my parents don’t have money to fix theirs, I don’t have money to fix my house.

Every step forward is like ten steps backwards and I genuinely don’t know what the solution to all of this is.

I feel so fucking trapped. I don’t even have the energy to run a gofundme for myself to try and get the help we need, because it takes so so much to to actually get a gofundme up and off the ground, I have tried before and it’s always been a failure because I just literally never have enough energy for it.

We have so many things we’d love to do. We’d love to make this house into an eco-friendly, sustainable home, with solar panels and a huge garden. We want to make a farm stand with fresh eggs and vegetables and fruit and let it operate on an honour system, so anyone who needs food can take what they need and pay what they can, yes even if it’s $0. I want to crochet hats and mittens and set those out too, for sale or just for those who need them…

We want so badly to take care of our community… but it feels like our community isn’t there to support us, not because people don’t want to support one another but because we’re all trapped or are being prevented from supporting one another.

Because having a farm-stand means you need to buy business licenses… building a sustainable home means you need to buy a building permit.

Every step of the way feels like good intentions are wasted, road-blocked.

I can’t even begin to explain how many jobs I’ve applied to, writing, editing, working as a cook or a waiter, data entry, etc.

In school they told me I’d be able to do anything I wanted to. I was a “gifted” straight A student and as I’m sure many people on this site know, that’s not bragging. It’s the opposite. The school system, the system that is supposed to help me be successful in life, told me I would be, and now I would be lucky to make $7.25/an hour while living in a place where the minimum liveable wage is $35/an hour.

It costs $35 an hour for one person to live moderately comfortably in my town. And this isn’t an arbitrary number, it’s literally on our county’s government ran poverty assessment website.

And that’s not a thriving wage it’s a surviving wage. It’s Home, Food, Utilities, Transportation & Clothes.

It leaves no room for medical care, comfort, entertainment, etc.

So what the hell are those of us who are working for anything less than that, or those of us unable to work, supposed to do?!

And like I said, I know I’m preaching to a choir rn, I know everyone is experiencing some version of this. I just… I need to be able to express it from time to time. To talk about how unfair and ridiculous and needlessly cruel this is.

It’s so deeply flawed and evil that we’re unable to have legitimate health concerns inspected because we’re worried about the house being taken away from us.

It’s trash. It’s inhumane.

And if anyone has any like… suggestions or advice that would be great… I’m considering just having our gas service canceled by our gas company and buying a small electric grill instead… but our gas also powers our hot water heater so…

:/

[rallamajoop]

I love your Wintersberg smut fics 😭😭😭 Do you have any more fic drafts/ ideas that are bouncing around in your brain? I'd love to hear... Ethan getting his smart mouth shut up for once and getting fucked stupid is my favorite trope.

Aha, I take it you enjoyed Atypical Side-Effects? Does Medical Log count too? Either way, now I'm very amused that the last ask I got like this one was from someone who was into Ethan bantering his way through sex ‒ I mean, nice to know I'm appealing to multiple markets here! XD

I did post a list of stuff I had in the works back in September, but a lot of those have been checked off and posted since then, so maybe we're due for an update. There's not as much wintersberg on the current list as there was, but we'll see where it goes.

So, fic I have actually made progress on in the last month or two:

The second chapter of Atypical Side-Effects I've been promising everyone is with my beta now, though I cannot tell you there's much smut in this one, and it's currently second in the queue behind...

That post-RE7 Mithan fic where Mia actually gets to come clean that I mentioned in my last WIP post, which has somehow grown into a veritable monster (how tf did this thing break 15k I do not know), and is responsible for stalling progress on most everything else around it while it ate writing time. But it is at last (hopefully) done, and my beta is trying to sort out if it's ready to be unleashed on the world now.

As mentioned in a comment or two, I've also been working on a sequel to my Yuletide Lost Boys fic Pater Unfamilias. It's about halfway done now, I think?

In other misc fandom news, I've still got a couple of semi-cast-off bits of Deus Ex fic that came out of my Spare Parts anthology not-quite-finished (and which I've been promising myself I will totally get back to and finish sometime after that big one above was done). Whether they end up getting added to that story or whether I wind up posting them as their own things remains to be decided.

But back in Resi-land, I may have mentioned in that last post that I had part of a continuation of That One Where Heisenberg Follows Him Home, and that's one I'm still picking away at between other projects. Eventual Ethan/Mia/Heisenberg, just for a little variety, but it's got its teeth in me and definitely wants to go somewhere.

So overall, possibly not quite as much wintersberg as you might have hoped? Though I may have kind of promised someone there was still more of that one Beauty and the Beast wintersberg AU still very much in my plans. And one or two other things from that older list are still in the 'may get back to' pile too.

But if you’re asking about ideas that haven’t necessarily made the draft stage, well, I could always list you a few…

I have forever been toying with the idea of a post-canon Heisenberg-lives idea, where he ends up working for Chris’ outfit as a medical examiner who specialises in cutting apart whatever horrific BOWs have been brought back for study, and also in terrifying any hapless intern who so much as wanders into his lab. I mean, he’d be perfect for the job: plenty experienced in studying bioweapons, utterly un-squeamish about cutting up dead things, and as a bonus, completely qualified to defend himself whenever some ambitious specimen decides to get up again unexpectedly. Speaking of which, mundane AUs where Heisenberg’s some kind of medical examiner should really be more of a thing too (sure, mechanic works too, but is it really gross enough for him?)

Speaking of Heisenberg-lives possibilities, the idea of a universe where he survives (unbeknownst to our heroes) thanks to having bought a ‘life insurance policy’ from the Duke which involves him being resurrected via mould trickery is another one I’ve had forever. Did actually mention it in my last in-progress post (it’s the fairy tale idea titled simply ‘Koschei’), but haven’t really made any progress on it since.

Alternately, in a hypothetical Ethan-lives-Heisenberg-doesn’t AU, the idea of a Heisenberg who continues to haunt Ethan as a mould-ghost ala virtual-Eveline has to rank pretty high on the “has no-one does this? Because someone should totally do this”-scale. No really concrete ideas for this one though, so consider it very much free to a good home.

In more recent ideas, someone pointed out to me a little while ago the possibility that Heisenberg might be able to feel it when Ethan touches anything metal (which sure does cast Ethan’s own arsenal in an interesting light!) Don’t know if I’ll ever actually get around to doing something with this one, but I’ve definitely given this one some thought.

On a related note, look, I still say the idea of Heisenberg deciding to make Ethan appreciate his genius by trapping him in a massive soldat-orgy is one I want someone else to write for me, but I’ve definitely now spent enough time explaining it to certain people that I can’t deny having given it some real thought.

In other free-to-a-good-home ideas, has anyone ever written a decent little Eveline-wins-AU horror story, with Mia and Ethan stuck playing ‘families’ with her, and only conditionally conscious of what’s really going on? Because there just is not enough real horror or fic willing to treat Eveline as the horrific little monster she canonically is around this place.

And just for something completely different, some kind of surreal Mia/Zoe thing set during RE7, with Mia constantly shifting between different levels of awareness of what’s going on, how much she can remember, and what she thinks her relationship to Eveline really is preferably with some at least R-rated Mia/Zoe smut is another of those ideas I’ve been sitting on forever now.

...and I hope that about answers your question, because that's me about out. *g*