#big grief is an indication of big love

[crayonverse]

i love .. making creatures for wittawood . anyway heres the Cake Fox that i love

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 (tent)ative enemies - e2l, camping request

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content: friendgroup camping trip, e2l vibes, banter, tension, penetrative sex (unprotected), make out, tent sex oop, backshots, hair pulling, one slap to the ass, big dick jk, creampie, fluff lowkey, argument / angry confession (very cheesy)

note from cherry: omg i love this sm (this is a cloud anonie request so everyone mentally say thank yewww to our baby)

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"Who's idiotic idea was this again?" Miso asks, the thumping of her boots heavy on the soil,

"Jungkook's who else" you reply, rustling through leaves and branches, the striking heat burning the top of your head

He gruffs, pushing you slightly with his arm

"Might wannna hit the gym more, i'm chilling" very evidently, Jungkook is lying. The sweat trickling of the side of his face, the stains on his grey tank top and the pink hue on his honey toned skin are obvious indicators that the stupid, exhausting hiking- camping trip is getting to him.

Just like it has been getting to you and the three remaining people

Miso, someone who barely gets out of the house, has it the worst.

She's been complaining about it ever since the first hour of the trip

Brilliant idea.

Jimin and Taehyung are dealing with it as dramatically as expected

"Oh my god we need to take a break" jimin huffs, his hands pushing on his thighs with every step forward,

"I know right. Kook how much is left?" Tae agrees, moving his head torwards the younger male

"An hour. How many times have i told you it's a three hour trip" his reply makes your blood boil,

This all-knowing, cocky, ego attitude of Jungkook is unbareable

And you'd have to endure it for a total of two and a half days

You have been enduring it for two hours straight and it's to the point where one more stupid comment will make you burst

Worse than the sun burning your head, worse than the sweat ruining your freshly washed hair

"We're not taking another fucking break tae just push through"

Miso rolls her eyes too, shooting you a look to which you only manage to shrug,

"I told you" resting at the tip of your tongue, it wasn't your idea after all, it was Jungkook's and you had warned the group about this exact scenario

Being no stranger to his stupid endeavors, you might be the most familiar with his personality, having known the campus jock and heartthob since his middle school days

Is he your best friend technically?

One might call him that,

Is he also incredibly annoying and you can't stand being alone with him for 20 minutes?

Yes. Yes he is.

The hour passes and it feels more like three with each step,

Each lyric blasted into the forest by the group, shouted out to drown the heat out

"This is the campsite?" Miso says, out of breath and water, just like everyone else

"Yeah" you breath out, looking over the scenery

"Dude this is crazy!" Tae shouts, excitedly wrapping his arm around jimin and ruffling his hair

"Ouch- yes, yeah so cool" he agrees, stepping closer while trying to pry off his best friend

Maybe three hours through what felt like the Amazonas and five stages of grief were worth it after all

The glistening lake in the very back, the shade between pretty flowers and trees, the solitude and animal chirping?

It's beautiful, mesmerizing and screams relaxation,

Who are you kidding. Nothing could repair three hours of enduring jeon jungkook

"Alright, lets set the tents up" you sigh, taking big steps torward the grassy patch under a shady tree,

"I want that spot" Jungkook says, standing right in front of you

"Too bad. Take that one" you say, pointing to the tree next to yours with an overexaggerated smile,

He scoffs, messing your hair up while walking past to the tree you pointed at,

You angryly readjust your hair, watching jimin and tae goof around, almost pushing one another into the lake

"I wish i was this careless" miso says, shaking her head while also watching them

"Me too" you sigh back, fumbling with one of the tents bars,

Everything had gone fine this far but this one bar simply won't stay where it needs to

Frustrated, you slam the bar down in the grass, watching the half set up tent fall into itself

A chuckle can be heard from next to you, approaching steps accomodating it

"Need help with that?" Jungkook asks, his knees coming down next to you, eyes scanning over the mess of pieces

"Obviously"

Jungkook tsks, hands working fast to reassemble the bars and fabric,

He is making am effort to stay focused, bottom lip tucked between his teeth somtimes, his tongue grazing over the lip ring carefully

Your eyes move down to his hands, gently working on building you a place to sleep in

"You done?" He says, waving his tatted hand in front of your face,

"Huh?"

He clicks his tongue, a amused smirk slowly spreading on his face when he moves it closer

"I said, are you done" repeating himself, you just now notice that he is the one that is done, having finished assembling the small, cozy tent

"With what?" You ask, already annoyed with this attitude he carries

"Staring. If you want me, just tell me. Open that loud mouth, won't you?"

"Ew you're gross. Thanks for the tent but i won't suck your dick for it"

His smile is insufferable, that cocky, low tone and the way he leans into your face only adding to the irritaing charm he possess

"How cute. I didn't even mention that, but look who's imagining things" he hums , his thumb tracing over your cheek before standing up, leaving you to yourself on the floor

"Oh god shut up" you tell him, kicking into his leg from below,

He laughs it off, jogging towards the rest of the group

"So what you're saying is, you need to go to the supermarket?" Jungkook groans, sitting down on a folding chair,

Miso nods, "dude we totally thought at least one of us had a car with stuff"

Jimin agrees, "but turns out you were serious about the three hours"

"And you notice that now?" You reply, eyes practically rolling back into your skull

Three idiots that share half a braincell.

"Well no- but- i mean, it was too late anyways" Tae mumbles, rubbing his nape

Three idiots who were responsible of bringing food for the night,

None of which managed to bring anything but crisps who are, to no surpirse, already eaten up.

Jungkook pinches his nose bridge, sighing with evident frustration

"Now what?"

Crickets.

"Guys come on" you chime in,

Miso looks at her phone, "i could call a cab to the main street? It's a 25 minute walk to there"

Jimin and tae hum,

"Okay. It's the best option" you sigh, combing through your hair

Jungkook looks up at you from his seat

"Yeah. We'll set up the fire and you guys go to the-"

"No way", you scoff, looking at him with wide eyes,

He responds with an annoyed laugh, running his hands over the visible muscles on his thighs

"Seriously?"

You nod, "dead serious"

Silence, once again.

Jungkook takes off, practically shooting up from his chair and walking to the fireplace

For the very first time, the air feels heavy.

You look back to the other three who are all staring at you like a deer in headlights,

"Go. Just go, i'll take care of him" you shake your head, watching them wander off to the main street.

A pit forms in your stomach, the anxiety creeping up in your throat when approaching a visibly angry jungkook

You've never felt bad for bickering with him, mostly because he always returned it

But this time, it hurt. Something shifted when you saw his doe eyes glimmer, almost like he was hurt himself.

The way his jaw clenches when you stop in front of him makes you shiver,

"What?" He snaps, breaking a couple branches and throwing them on the stack,

"I'm sorry" you mutter, the pride in you never backing down, your voice sounds as annoyed as it did 4 minutes ago,

He takes a second to respond, stepping closer to you,

"You piss me off so much" he says, locking his eyes on yours, his gaze is dark, almost intimidating

The air feels even heavier now, you try to ignore it, ignore the goosebumps you get from his voice,

"We're equal then"

His tongue grazes the inside of his cheek, eyebrows furrowing slightly

"No we're not. We can't be"

The anger inside you boils up quickly,

"Why? Because you're so much better than everyone?" you spit out, mockingly pouting at him,

"No. because you think i'm insufferable and don't want me around" he replies, almost cutting you off in the sentence

"Whats not equal about that? You literally hate me-"

"Shut up" he says, this time fully cutting you off

"What did you say?" you laugh out in utter disbelief,

"I said shut. Up."

"You know what? No because-"

"Oh my god will you shut up? I hate you? Are you insane?" borderline yelling, his eyes never leave yours, staring you down

This time, you have nothing to say.

"I hate you? Seriously? Like i haven't been in love with you for years? Like i can't take my eyes off of you, and the only reason i show off is to impress you? Like it doesn't hurt my feelings when you pretend like the worst thing is to be near me?"

The words leave his mouth so quickly, neither yours nor his mind can catch up, panting, he looks at you, biting his lower lip, seemingly realizing what he just admitted to

His hands run over his face,

"Look i-"

"Jungkook" it's your turn to interrupt him now, looking him dead in the eyes,

You're met with nervousness,

"Yes?" he says, whispering

"If you don't kiss me right now i'll kill you"

There's no time to think when he ruthlessly crashes his lips to yours, grabbing you by the waist with greedy hands and pressing your body to his,

His lips are needy, eagerly moving against yours with groans muffled into the kiss,

You sigh softly, hands finding his jaw to pull him in closer,

His teeth bite at your lower lip, making you open up just enough for him to slip his tongue in, exploring every inch of your mouth

A couple minutes of this heated kiss go by, until he breaks it, ragged, heavy breathing fanning against your lips

His forhead rests on yours,

"Holy fuck" you whisper, making him smirk slightly, connecting his lips to yours again,

"I need you so bad" he mumbles into the kiss in a deep groan, pushing his lips against yours with desperation

You pull away this time, hands on his shoulders while your face is moved back enough to see him in full view,

Swollen pink lips, barely illuminated face

"If this was a ploy to sleep with me you're gonna drown in that lake" you laugh, slapping his shoulder lightly

He snarks, hosting you up in his hands before carrying you to his tent,

"Unfortunately i am an embarrassing amount in love with you, but hey, if you don't wanna fuck-"

You shut him up by kissing him,

"Don't ruin the mood" you say, climbing into his tent on all fours

His eyes focus on your ass, round enough to show beneath the shorts,

With now both of you inside the tent, his hands immediately find your hips,

"We don't have much time pretty, i'll make it up to you at home" he says, pulling your shorts and panties down in one go,

Your back arches immediately, the noise of his joggers being pulled down only adding to the exciment

"It's okay kook, i'm as desperate as you are" you reply, only to feel him smack your ass harshly,

"So you did imagine sucking my dick?" he says, groping at your soft skin,

"Many times jungkook"

suddenly, you feel his thumb move down to your entrance, pressing in only slightly before pulling away

"Fuck you're so sexy. Can i pull your hair?" He groans, pumping his heavy cock before guiding it to slide between your folds,

"You freak, god, yes, you can"

A strangled moan leaves your lip when he pushes his entire length in, one of his hands gripping your hip tightly while the other one gathers up your hair, pulling on it

"Fuck, you're so tight. You're not a virgin are you baby?" he huffs, snapping his hips against yours slowly at first,

You giggle between moans, gripping at the tent floor with what you can gather,

"No- i'm not. You're just- fuck- huge"

He throws his head back, pulling on your hair harsher while his hips speed up significantly, hitting that soft spot inside you over and over again,

Both of you are trying to keep the moans down, yours muffled by the ground under you, jungkook's deep growls quiet enough for only you to hear

"You feel so good, i wanted to fuck this pussy for ages" he mutters, letting go of your hair to harshly pull your hips back, making you meet his thrust half way,

Your knees feel weak, pressed into the ground and that pool in your stomach only grows, threatening to snap any second

"You're mine now right baby? My girl? My pussy? My bratty little thing?"

you let out a high pitched yes, followed by a desperate plea of his name,

"Gonna cum?" he groans, pushing his hips deeper inside of you,

You only manage to nod, mind having gone practically blank with the way he feels inside of you,

The knot snaps, legs shaking and cum coating his dick entirely,

"Mhm fuck, coming baby" his moans are deep, pushing a few slow thrusts into you, splurting his milky cum inside your cunt

A few minutues of silence pass before he pulls out, watching your pussy pulse and release his cum slowly, his entire shaft covered in the both of yours arousal,

Suddenly, you feel him kiss the side of your hips before softly flipping you around, making you lay on your back

You smile up at him weakly, watching as he cleans the both of you up carefully, pulling your panties and shorts back to normal before laying down next to you

"I left fingerprints, does it hurt? I didn't realize how rough i was pulling you" he says, placing small kisses on your cheek

You shake your head, intertwining your hand with his,

"It's okay. You're actually nice, wow" the urge to be teasing him returns, nudging his nose with yours

Jungkook bites your cheek playfully, then, he kisses all over your face,

"Stoooop" you whine, a broad smile creeping up to your face,

"I'm obsessed with you. God, you don't even know" he mumbles, cupping your face in his hands

"Should we knock or something?" Tae says,

The three of them standing a couple meteres from your tents,

They have been, for the past 20 minutes,

Bags in each hand,

"Uhm? Sure" Miso says, turning her attention to the tent again,

"Well," jimin starts, "at least they get along now"

[venusbyline]

Envy ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 02, oct.

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x sister!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: breeding

— summary: After Jaehaerys' murder, Aegon needs a new heir. His sister-wife is incapacitated by grief and you are the perfect choice to carry the next king.

— word count: 3.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 2nd day, Targcest (older brother/younger sister), Targaryen!reader, dark!Aegon, breeding kink, dubcon, loss of virginity, degradation, blood, creampie, sexism, overstimulation, slapping, sadism, dom!Aegon, sub!reader, minor Helaegon, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n

— crossposting: AO3

We must to say that Aegon II being furious about the murder of his heir was an euphemism. He ordered all ratcatchers should be executed and he wasn’t worried at all about the negative impact this might have on his image as King. He didn't care if the commoners would consider him a cruel man or not, he wasn't worried if the Small Council or even his own mother would give him an unbearable lecture.

Seven Hells, Aegon was the King. He sat on The Iron Throne. He should have the right to decide how to deal or not with grieving for his son. His little boy. His heir. His Jaehaerys.

Aegon needed an heir. He needed someone who would be dignified of sitting on The Iron Throne. Someone who would be brave and strong like Jaehaerys could have been if he had lived long enough to be an adult. Someone who wouldn't be so fragile and stupid like Jaehaera would probably be over the years. Someone who would be a man.

He needed breed another boy and ensure his bloodline on the Throne. However, just one look inside the shared chamber was enough to see that Helaena couldn't stand it. Even with the candles already out, Aegon could see her disheveled hair and the way she was lying on the bed, curled up like a ball, her big eyes staring at the windows of the room. She wasn't sleeping, but she didn't look alive either.

At worst, Aegon could force her into the act. But he wasn't in the mood to be so cruel, at least not with Helaena, not like this anymore. Despite doesn't loving his sister-wife, Aegon knew she was suffering too. Maybe even more than him. She was traumatized and it was clear. Having sex with her in that state would be exceeding a limit that he already promised himself wouldn't happen again. Not with her.

The King sighed, closing the door and leaving Helaena alone for her sake. He walked aimlessly through the castle's hallways for more than five minutes, trying to think about any alternative to that whole mission.

When he saw one of Alicent's maids walking around with a pile of dresses in her hands, a slightly macabre idea crossed his mind. The young man held the woman by the arm, while staring at her scary face with a cold gaze. "Take my other sister to my special accommodation. Immediately. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, unless you want to end up hanging just like those bastards rat-catching."

Aemond's twin sister was a complicated little thing in Aegon's life. You were sweet and naive like Helaena, but unlike his sister-wife when they were forced to marry, the youngest girl cultivated real affection for Aegon. Even more than for her own twin.

"Brother?" You asked confused as soon as the maid left you into Aegon's forbidden room with a worried look. You didn't know much about that specific chamber, just that Aegon didn't allow anyone to enter there without his permission. You had also heard many whispers through the hallways that indicated sometimes Aegon brought his favorite courtesans there to get more pleasure, away from the chaos of the brothels on the Street of Silk.

Your eyes narrowed, analyzing the dimly lit place with a keen curiosity, until you finally heard your older brother's voice coming out of the shadows.

"Rytsas, my little dove. You look beautiful tonight." Aegon whispered with a hoarser voice than usual, lighting some candles that were nearby.

The girl blushed at the routine pet name, smiling softly at her brother. "Kirimvose, Your Grace." Then you watched Aegon's tired face and swallowed hard before speaking. "I want to express my profound condolences about Jaehaerys again..." The same speech he had heard most during those last hours filled Aegon's ears and he grimaced, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, knowing you were just being kind and genuine. His beautiful and sweet little sister...

"Enough. We won't talk about my son's death now." Aegon murmured, trying so hard not to sound too cold, and gestured to the large bed next to him. "Sit with me, my little dove. I need to talk to you..."

You furrowed, fidgeting with your fingers by a bit of agony. Things were really weird that night. When your mother's maid called you with some urgency saying that the King wanted to see you, you thought Aegon just wanted someone to talk about Jaehaerys's grief. You were one of the few people who seemed to understand his suffering and the weight the crown was bringing to his mind. But now, being inside Aegon's forbidden room didn't seem like very appropriate, especially when Aegon wasn't in his best mental state.

"Brother... I don't know if-" Aegon interrupted you with a shout.

"DON'T YOU DARE QUESTION MY ORDERS!"

Your violet eyes filled with tears as you nodded and moved to the mattress, sitting next to your dear brother. That wasn't normal. Aegon never yelled at you like you were a mediocre servant. You were his favorite person... "Look, darling, I didn't mean to yell at you..." Aegon began, sighing and caressing your cold fingers. "I just... I need your help, do you understand? I need you to listen very carefully and not interrupt me. No stupid questions until I finish explaining myself."

Aegon took his sister's silence as a good sign and took another deep breath, moving his free hand to your delicate face, his calloused thumb touching your soft skin.

"You know how much I love you, hāedar. You're my favorite sister and I would never want to cause you any harm..." He whispered, his fingers playing with one of your blonde curls. Aegon didn't have much opportunity to see his sister with her hair unbraided, as Alicent always insisted that her daughters just undo their hairstyles during bedtime. And here he was, biting his lip as he watched how beautiful you looked without those stupid hairpins. "I don't want to hurt you, little one... The thought of hurting you in any way doesn't make me proud. I would never want that..." Aegon moved close enough so that his mouth were close to your ear, one of his hands still touching your chin and the other one playing with her blonde strands. "But I guess you know me well enough to know that I will spare no effort in punishing you if you don't understand me or don't obey me."

Aegon noticed how his sister was shaking, sitting on the mattress and trying hard to keep her eyes on him, trying her best to pretend to be confident despite the situation. The realization of what you could face was starting to become clearer by the minute, and you didn't know how to feel. Angry? Hurt? Afraid? Horny?

"I need an heir, my little dove. I need a son to sit on the Iron Throne after my death in the future..." Aegon practically purred in his sister's ear, the fingers that was touching her chin starting to go down to her collarbone, quite exposed by her nightgown "I can't let my bloodline end."

"But Jaehaera..." The girl tried to argue, but Aegon pulled roughly a strand of her hair, forcing her head back and making her whining with surprise and pain.

"I told you not to interrupt me with stupid questions until I finish speaking. Are you deaf?" Aegon growled impatiently. "Only a mindless king would allow a woman, such a stupid, fragile and influenceable creature to be part of the line of succession and rule a kingdom."

You swallowed hard, his words reminding you of Rhaenyra, your half-sister who you barely got the chance to get close to before the war. "Jaehaera's just a little girl, a child."

Aegon snorted, rolling his eyes. "And in the future she will be as foolish and fearful as Helaena always was. A daughter will always follow the same fate as her mother. It's inevitable. You women are born premeditated to suffering and failure. There's no other path for all of you than the pain of never be good enough."

Not knowing what to do, the princess bit her soft, pink lips, each piece of the puzzle that fit together making it harder for her to reason. Aegon smirked, feeling horny at the sight of your thoughts working hard to understand the complexity of what he was about to ask.

"Helaena's incapacitated at the moment, perhaps forever. I can't sleep with her in that state, it would be cruel for both of us." His argument made you nod slowly. In fact, you really didn't want your older sister to submit herself to a carnal act under such conditions, especially during the mourning phase. "I need a dignified Lady to bear my heir. A fertile, pure girl, with platinum hair. No one will ever even know that the boy will not be a result of my marriage with our sister."

Aegon distanced himself for a few seconds, analyzing you over from top to bottom, admiring your satin nightgown. He moistened his slightly chapped mouth, the feeling of his body starting to react to the sight of you was very tempting. So beautiful to the point that he even forgot Jaehaerys for a while, as well as forgetting his obligations as King and the only true need to bring another heir.

"Have you had your first... Blood, right?" Aegon questioned, and his rosy cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you. He was embarrassed to ask about such a feminine subject, even though he knew it was necessary to know if you were able to bearing children for him. Otherwise it would all be a waste of time. At least that's what you thought.

"Yes, lēkia, I had. A few years ago I started to... Flowering."

The smirk on Aegon's face returned just as quickly as his hands began to touch the soft skin of your thighs, the calluses on his fingers making you sigh by a mixture of surprise and hesitation. "That's great, little dove. Now I need you to be a good girl for me."

Aegon dreamed about fucking the youngest princess so many times that it was impossible to count the number of promiscuous dreams on his own fingers. He always imagined what it would be like having his face buried between her legs. What it would be like eating her out as she trembled and came on his face. What it would be like seeing her gag as he fucked her throat hard until those beautiful, innocent eyes filled with tears.

Ever since you grew up, Aegon dreamed about defiling you. Corrupting you. Making you his. His property, someone no other man could touch unless they wanted their necks cut off. However, nothing in the entire world could compared to that intoxicating feeling of power, knowing he wouldn't only take your virginity, but also do something much more prestigious than that... He was making you the mother of his new heir. He was giving you the honor of carrying the next Targaryen King in your own womb, the one who would succeed him and sit on the Iron Throne in the future.

"F-fuck, hāedar... You're squeezing my cock so hard..." Aegon chuckled amidst the moans, holding his sister's legs on top of his shoulders so he was sure she was feeling every inch with each thrust.

You grabbed the bed sheets, the dim lighting in the room making it difficult for your vision to stay completely focused. All you could see through the unfamiliar haze of pleasure was Aegon's body moving fast as he held your legs up, his heavy hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs by an attempt to steady himself. Despite everything, you knew he was holding back from being too violent.

"A-Aegon..." You whimpered, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. "It feels so good..."

Another low mockery escaped Aegon's lips. "It feels good, doesn't it, little sister? I told you..." He smirked almost devilishly, now only using one hand to keep you in that position, the other pressing one of your breasts as you squirmed due his rough touch. "Seven hells... I can't wait to see your tasty breasts full of milk, very hefty..."

You couldn’t help but moan again at Aegon’s dirty words. The image he placed in your head, making you arouse as you pictured yourself carrying the next Targaryen King in your womb, your body molding itself to bring him into the world.

"Oh, did you like that?" It was Aegon's turn to moan, almost whimpered, when he felt your pussy reacting to what he said, your walls practically crushing him. "You spoiled little cunt... Are you enjoying picturing yourself carrying my heir? And perhaps even more children?"

When you didn't answer him immediately, due to your brain that was still trying to get used to the pleasure and discomfort that was being fucked for the first time, Aegon caught your attention with a slap on your face with considerable strength, to the point of his wedding ring causes a small cut on your warm cheek.

"ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" Aegon ordered with a hoarse yell, stopping moving his hips, as a way of punishing you and at the same time attracting your attention to what he was saying.

"M-my apologies, My King!" Your pathetic whimper sounded like music to Aegon's ears, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a mischievous smile. "Yes, I am... I'm enjoying picturing myself like this..."

Your admission was all he needed to keep fucking you. But Aegon already seemed bored by the same position, turning you onto your stomach with agility, barely giving time for your brain to process what was happening until he had returned inside you, the chambers filling with your surprise moans as his cock fills you again.

“Shit, I could fuck you for hours…” Aegon gripped your hips tightly, your skin starting to feel sore. "I bet you always envied Helaena for that, didn't you, little sister? You always envied the fact that she's the queen consort and for the time being you're nothing special... Just a stupid little princess."

His provocation caused a pang in your heart. Well, in a way, that was true. You knew the heavy burden that Helaena had carried since she was a child because she was forced to marry the older brother. Sometimes you heard her venting about how happier she was before she was a queen... And now because Jaehaerys' murder, you were sure that being married to the King brought more harm than good. And yet, you envied her.

"You're right..." You admitted with a bit of tears in your eyes. It was a confession you wanted to keep secret until your death, but you knew it would be impossible. You felt how Aegon's cock was starting to throb inside your pussy. The sounds he made and the faster but more irregular lunges indicating how close to the limit he already was. If you didn't tell him the truth soon, you would probably get more slaps on the cheeks. Or worse. "I envied her... I still envy her..."

Aegon let out an almost guttural growl, his fingers moving to your scalp, where he pulled violently, forcing your head back and also arching your back. "I'm going to put an heir inside your hot little pussy, do you understand me, you fucking whore? I'm going to cum inside you until my seed starts dripping out because you will be so full. And you're going to take every drop, then you will thank me for getting you pregnant, do you understand?" He growled in your ear and started fucking you deeper.

There was no concrete response, your body was focused on shaking and writhing with the pleasure that abruptly hit you, but Aegon interpreted your orgasm and your silent and desperate moan as agreement, enjoying the feeling of your pussy squeezing him even more than before, spilling all of his essence inside you afterwards.

You remained unfocused, your vision blurred and your heart racing. A few minutes passed before Aegon withdrew, a gasp of pleasure escaping his lips at having the gift of witnessing your little hole dripping with his seed and a few drops of blood too, consequences of the loss of your innocence. He ran his finger over your center, ignoring the tremor in your legs and bringing the exotic flavors blend to his own tongue and tasting it.

"Are you alright, my little dove?" Aegon whispered with a soft voice, a contrast to his previous behavior. He watched you nod slowly, your lungs straining to bring your breathing to normal. Aegon smiled, laying down next to you and pulling your sweaty, shaking body to snuggle on top of his chest. “You did very well, little sister… You were so good for me. Such a good girl." He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. "What's a good princess supposed to say after getting pregnant by the King?"

Your cheeks heated up as you processed his speech. "Thank you for breeding me, Your Grace." Your words came out breathless and tired, but Aegon's smile widened and his hands caressed your belly.

"You will look so pretty pregnant with my heir..." His lips touched your neck, giving you goosebumps. "My future heir, my legacy..."

You just nodded, about to close your eyes before he stopped the sleep you were about to fall into. "We will try this every night until we're sure you're pregnant."

"And what about Helaena?" You managed to question, confused about how your sister would react to all of this.

Aegon looked at the wall, considering some alternatives for a while. "Helaena won't be a problem for us. If everything goes well, in a few months I will be free to get married again." He said, staring at the tower closed window, both of you hearing the soft breath of the night wind. He cared about Helaena, even if he didn't show it, but perhaps that was better for everyone, especially her.

Your eyebrows furrowed for a few seconds, your heart aching for the macabre meaning of what Aegon was promising to you.

"But what if... What if something goes wrong? What if I get pregnant with a girl?"

Aegon looked at your after hearing the whispered question. His gaze was cold, as if it could tear your entire soul apart. You expected curses or anything even more violent and brutal. However, Aegon surprised you when he ran his thumb over his tongue. You didn't understand why he did that, until you let out a low whimper when he pressed the cut on your cheek, the spit on his finger burning your newly bruised skin.

A faint but sinister and almost disgusting smirk appeared on the King's features. "My dear little sister, if you disgrace me by becoming pregnant with a girl instead of a worthy heir... You will suffer a far worse and more painful fate than poor Helaena." His voice was bittersweet, like a calm threat. Perhaps you were right to envy Helaena after all.

HOTD Edition - Masteslist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. jungkook x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 5k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.  inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up.

part one: the storm, the envelope and the granddaughter ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ next. masterlist

i. the storm

  for the first time in a long time, your eyes flutter open to the golden curtains of the sun and not the blaring noise of a royalty-free iphone alarm. the rays are harsh and welcoming all at once, as you blink away the stinging sensation and adjust to the muddy path ahead. there was no mistake about it, the town withstood an unforgiving storm last night. however, mud coating the wheels of your bus seemed to be the only indication, as you became distracted with the kiss of summer from the skies above and the clear cerulean painted across cotton candy clouds. 

  memories of amber valley became bygone over the years, as memories always do. but, amber valley seemed to be a long lost chase you haven’t won in years and the older you became, the town disappeared entirely. it was like the smell of your favourite scented markers and the feeling rumbling at the pit of your stomach on the first day of school - nothing but faint ideas from your childhood. 

  “we’re not going to visit grandpa this summer?”

  at age twelve, you couldn’t fathom missing out on the midsummer festival or being away from your horse, marshmallow. for that age, absolutely everything felt like the end of the world, whether it was missing an episode of your favourite show or not getting an invite to a classmate’s sleepover. it was a little different for you, though, as you looked at your dad’s dull eyes. they’d been dull since the divorce went through that february. they never shone since and that’s how you knew things weren’t going to be the same.

  he shook his head at you, but never met your eyes. “no, i’m sorry. he’s coming up for to the city at the end of july, though - “ it would be later in life, precisely at age 25 and months removed from your grandfather’s funeral, when you would learn that he only began coming up to the city to regularly see a hepatologist, “ - so you can see him on your birthday.”

  you did, in fact, see grandpa for your birthday and for the rest of the years to come. he laughed with his whole body and his smile never failed to reach his eyes when he gave you updates on the farm and amber valley. grandpa did his best, but time passing came with you losing your bright eyes whenever he spoke fondly of his town. it was inevitable, when the big city enveloped your teenage self and you became more concerned with interests that come with the turn of youth - clothes, parties and boys.

  now, there was absolutely nothing wrong with any of those ideas. you stood by this at heart, embracing femininity and defending it alongside your love for science and life. you grew up and began wearing high heels to dates, to university lectures and finally, to your 9-5 on the busiest corner of your city’s financial district. you had long outgrown your riding boots, likely tucked away at the back of your closet in your studio apartment. you began just politely smiling and nodding when your grandfather shared local amber valley gossip about individuals who were just names to you now, also tucked away at the back of your mind.

  even though you eventually grew past the age where you needed your parents’ permission to make the trek over to amber valley, past the period of time where your mother refused to speak to your father to coordinate your trip to see your grandfather, the idea of returning to the valley never crossed your mind. like summer camp, it was something you thought you didn’t need anymore and preferred spending your school-less months with your friends in your hometown, working away at your first part-time job and getting your first ever drivers’ license. a seventeen year old city girl wouldn’t want to waste her summer at her grandfather’s old farm.

  “mrs. oh’s husband just left the valley for his deployment overseas. may god watch over that family.” it was one of the last times you saw grandpa, late on christmas eve when everyone else went to bed. your mom, her new husband and your little sister had bade their goodnight’s by 10pm and left the two of you sipping honey lemon tea by the fireplace. 

  your mom’s new husband made a lot of money. that was one of the first things you noticed about him and it was so different from the two bedroom inner city apartment you were raised in. it was certainly different from your grandpa’s farmhouse, where the television only got three channels and all of the windows never fully opened because they would fall apart entirely if you pulled too far. you and your grandpa mused these thoughts on their white leather couch, when the conversation slowly moved back to how the old farm was going.

  you tried to sound interested. “oh really?” the reality was you couldn’t remember if the oh family was the one that ran the general store or the one couple who seemed to be constantly fighting, on the verge of divorce.

  grandpa grunted in response. “mhm. thankfully, they have jungkook helping out around the store. ah, the wasted potential with that boy, but such a kind heart.”

  “jungkook..?”

  “oh, you remember him! the two of you would always bike by the beach,” he said. “i’ll never forget, you two would always come back and show me the seashells you collected that day. always made a competition out of everything.”

  he chuckled and you joined in, hiding the despondence for being unable to recall. grandpa didn’t seem to notice, though, continuing to discuss amber valley. cranberries and pumpkins were the strongest crops of the fall, mayor kim was re-elected for a third time and something about the town soon getting their first chain convenience store since amber valley’s founding. then, grandpa’s face lost his smile and a serious expression formed on his ageing features. he asked you about your job and how life was for you.

  by now, you’re 22 and working an entry-level position with nothing but a bachelor’s in your pocket and a hunger to climb the corporate ranks. like any fresh college graduate, there was no meaning to life if it weren’t for paying overpriced rent, mimosa sundays, dating apps, and maybe remembering to go to the gym every now and then. the life you lived was loud from city traffic and heavy from looming student debt. 

  “my job is..okay. i’m just starting out and i’m really just trying to do my best,” you replied.

  grandpa, still with a serious look, placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “it gets stressful, doesn’t it?”

  you opened your mouth to respond again, but failed to find your voice this time. your stress was found in a growing caffeine addiction and getting too tired to give your parents a call on the weekends. adulthood was everything you expected and nothing you expected. you secured a job that you dedicated four years of studies to and just like that, was pushed into a world of hustle and bustle and nothing in between. once this realization settled, you tried to hide it by cracking a faint smile. grandpa saw through it, though - he always did. 

  “well, darling, if it ever does get too stressful..” you became confused when grandpa reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. he handed it to you and you turned it over, finding no writing other than your name in your grandfather’s decorative penmanship.

  you asked, “what is this, grandpa?”

  he finally smiled again, but shook his head. “a gift. it’s yours for when you find that you need a break from the challenges of life.”

  grandpa only gave gifts from the heart. only, this time, you wouldn’t know that he was giving you his entire heart and soul. you had taken this envelope and slid it in the drawer of your desk at home, where you tirelessly worked after hours, even after returning from the office. it was hidden away, but always poked your curiosity at the back of your mind. however, you restrained from opening it, even when it eventually became one of the last things you had from grandpa. 

  ii. the envelope

the only time you took the pristine envelope out of your desk was on the day of his funeral. 

  it was no surprise that grandpa wanted to be buried in amber valley, his home for over fifty years and his birthplace. it was once your heart’s home, too, once upon a time when you were a child skipping rocks by the town river and rode your horse through mustard-hued sunflower fields. for that, you were nervous to return and confront the realities of your coming of age in the face of a town that only lived in your memories, sickeningly reminding you of the years that have gone past.

  wedged between your mother and father who had only began speaking to one another as of three years ago, you stared blankly at the onyx coffin that, in about 20 seconds, was gone from your sight and lowered into the ground. it happened all too quick. you clenched your arm tighter, squeezing the envelope tucked underneath and protecting it from the rain. your very last summer in the valley was marked by constant rain and wind and once again, you greet the town amidst storms.

  the drive was quick, having gone directly to service after the three hour drive from the city. you couldn’t make much of the town through the gloom and suddenly, the valley was so much colder than you remember. like your being since your grandfather’s passing, it lost its colour. it was unwelcoming and felt like a punishment for your neglect over the years. amber valley was unforgiving as much as it was perfection. 

  you couldn’t make out much of the attendees through the gloom, either. many of them appeared absolutely devastated, sobbing and cold-faced at the goodbye of a beloved neighbour. your grandfather was always well-liked amongst the townspeople, helping out his friends with mundane tasks whenever he had free time away from the farm and shared his warm personality at community events. this was affirmed through the stories that were shared about him at the service, recognizable for his distinct good heart, but seemed so far away for you, having detached yourself from amber valley.

  “oh, an unfamiliar face! what’s your name, dear?” a man around your father’s age with salt and pepper hair was handing out hor d'oeuvres at the post-service gathering in the church basement. he seemed to be the most upbeat one in the room - though, it wasn’t saying much, considering the occasion.

  you told him your name, while looking around for either one of your parents. being in a room of strangers wasn’t your favourite activity, especially following a funeral. the last thing you wanted to do was socialize, feeling like you weren’t even in your own body all day. while you were saddened and to an extent, numb, you knew your grandfather’s passing was coming up. his illness was going to catch up to him and you spent months mentally preparing yourself for the day you would have to say goodbye. despite not being surprised, your grief was accompanied by the painful nostalgia of the town that raised you in the summertime.

  the man looked at you, appearing to search your face for something. “you’re the old man’s granddaughter? bunny?”

  the nickname almost made you flinch, having not heard it in so long that you were surprised you recognized it. you began searching the man’s face, too, also looking for some signs of familiarity. for so many years of your childhood, you were almost exclusively called this nickname by adults and friends alike.

  there wasn’t room for a response when the man pulled over another individual by his sleeve, merely attempting to walk by in peace. this one was a man closer to your age and you were too distracted by the glisten of his facial piercings to scan for recognition. the second thing you noticed the adornment of tattoos peeked from below his sleeve and trailed onto his hands. the third and final thing you noticed about him was how gentle his hands were. this was realized because the sight of this man made you drop whatever was in your own hands in surprise.

  the only thing you were holding was your grandfather’s envelope, no longer pristine and stained with a few raindrops. you noticed that you had been clutching onto this keepsake the entire service. you bent down to reach for it, when he also attempted to make the save for you. your hands brushed and you looked up at his eyes, suddenly taken away by confusion.

  “jungkook, you remember bunny?” 

  you forgot the older man was in your presence, as he was the one who pulled jungkook over in the first place. jungkook. this was the little boy you spent hours running around with all those years ago. although you seemed to forget when your grandfather had last brought him up, those moments began to rain down on you upon taking sight of him for the first time in years. you had barely looked, but it hit you.

  jungkook handed the envelope over to you and you cleared your throat, standing up properly and trying not to wobble on your favourite high heels. he also stood up and seemed to mirror your confusion, not understanding who was the person in front of him. you muttered a thank you and fixed an imaginary snag on your cardigan.

  “i just go by my first name now,” you said through a tight smile to both men, still feeling like your gut was punched in after hearing the nickname that your grandpa coined,

  “oh, of course. you’re all grown up now!” the man exclaimed. “do you remember me? mr. kim?”

  the truth was that you didn’t remember him by face, but instead remembered that your father mentioned a man of this name being the mayor. if he was the same person, mr. kim’s father was the previous town mayor, as well, and was your grandfather’s best friend before his own untimely passing. given his larger than life presence, it was same to assume that the man in front of you was the tiny valley’s politician.

  “mayor kim, of course.” you hoped you sounded convincing.

  jungkook was still standing to the side, the same confused look etched on his face. “you’re the girl that tricked me into eating mud that one time?” he blurted, as if an imaginary lightblub flashed above his head

  that took you by surprise and you almost snorted. “i didn’t trick you, you just went for it.” the quick snap back also took you by surprise, having left behind a bit of your normal self in the city before coming down to the valley for the funeral, as well as your instant recollection.

  somehow, this memory was clear as day and you could remember jungkook as a seven year old with a horrible bowl cut and missing teeth. you wore light-up sneakers and candy bracelets that day, sitting on the porch of your grandfather’s farmhouse with him and were exchanging dares to see who would give up first. maybe that was why your grandpa said you two were - 

  “ - always competitive,” jungkook said.

  although the two of you surely shared countless more memories, it was this one that stood against the test of time and it showed when it immediately hit you with a laugh. it took jungkook a second, too, but he eventually gave in and joined with his own. you hadn’t realized it until his swollen eyes became crescents in his giggles, but he seemed to be having his own trouble of a day.

  “there it is, jungkook! nice to see you finally cheer up a bit,” mayor kim encouraged and jungkook’s chuckle immediately fell back to a straight face, almost intentionally. you suspected that this was not the first time today that mayor kim was on his case.

  before mayor kim could add on, his attention gravitated towards something at the other end of the room. he sighed and set down the hor d'oeuvres, checking the time on his wrist dressed with gold. 

  “oh, i’m being called over,” he sighed and turned back to you. “it was a pleasure seeing you again, i hope to see you around town before you have to go back to the city.”

  swiftly, mayor kim weaved his way through the crowd and just like that, it was just you and jungkook.

  you took this opportunity to give jungkook an actual once over, comparing it to the faint image you had of this man from when you were children. undeniably, he was handsome, but you were more concerned with the fact that this was still the little boy you spent your summers with. he grew into his face and you didn’t realize that you accidentally said this out loud.

  jungkook looked as much taken aback as he was amused. “oh, you got jokes, huh? that’s what you learned growing up in the city?” he teased.

  “i didn’t mean it like that - “ you started, but he waved you off with a laugh.

  the conversation was a bit overwhelming, considering you were still stuck in a church basement following your grandfather’s funeral service and could not locate your parents anywhere. jungkook recognized this in your face and eased into a sympathetic smile. somehow, you felt okay enough around him to drop your tense shoulders for the first time that day.

  “i’m sorry, i should be giving my condolences. your grandpa was a loved man by everyone here.”

  looking around the room, it was clear. everyone had shared fond stories and were making toasts in his honour. you felt out of place, but more so because you felt like you should have been joining in with the attendees. instead of being a kind of extended family that once saw you grow up, these people were strangers. you weren’t sure if anyone recognized you, having tried to lay low and not draw any attention to yourself. the only times you seemed to have caught anyone’s eye was when you were sat beside your parents at the burial, but no one dared approach you then.

  “you were like a son to him, too,” you offered. it was true, given the amount of time you spent with jungkook as a child, maybe even going so far to call him your best friend at one point. 

  he let out a long breath, eyes moving to the enlarged portrait of your grandfather propped up on the wall. “that’s nice of you to say. i miss him already. i’m sure you feel the same.”

  you learned quickly that, in light of your disappearance from your grandfather’s farm over the years, jungkook was the one who began helping out and taking over what were your old chores. your grandfather was physically able, but he kept the young boy around for company and made feeding the chickens an excuse to have his presence. hearing this made your heart drop, feeling an unknown sense of regret that you didn’t know existed when it came to the farm.

  “it’s not like that!” jungkook cut in, seeing the tears well up in your eyes. “he would always talk about the two of you going on adventures in the city and how he loved spending time with you whenever he came up to visit. he knew that’s where your heart was.”

  you sniffled a bit, having already promised yourself to limit your breakdowns to two that day, and took a second to reel it in. “sorry…i don’t mean to - “ you sighed. 

  “it’s okay. it’s weird being back here, huh?” 

  it was weird. it was so damn weird that the air of amber valley stuck with you for the months following, like bubblegum in your hair and a melody on loop in your head. you couldn’t shake it. not when you were working an extra 20 hours overtime in a week, not when you became stuck in traffic everyday, and especially not when your boyfriend of three years dumped you because you “changed” so much since the start of the year.

  and, it was true. you changed a lot since your conversation with your grandfather on christmas eve, with his words echoing about the stressors of life everyday. it opened your eyes to how much you were really struggling and it wasn’t simply you who had changed, but your outlook on life. ever since you were twelve years old, everything shifted to the fastlane and years breezed by you in the blink of an eye. everything moved so fast and you never got a chance to catch your breath. one moment, you were 15, sneaking a sip of your first ever drink, and the next, you were 24 and drinking straight out of the wine bottle on a tuesday evening. you wondered how you suddenly found yourself jaded at a 9-5 black hole of a job that sucked out your energy and passions. 

  these days made you think about what truly deserved your energy and what truly were your passions. did you like your everyday routine of gluing on false lashes and slipping on pantyhose? were you happy, alone in your apartment with not even a cat to talk to? your parents had their own worlds and new lives to deal with and long stopped asking why you never call. your friends were co-workers, having no time to meet anyone new. you didn’t even have time for hobbies, given how tired you were every time you finished work and the amount of overtime you did.

  one thursday night, you arrived home from work at 10:13pm and decided you had enough. it was constraining, nearly strangling you with exhaustion everyday. you spent the entire day wondering was “it” was and when you kicked off your loafers by your doorstep, it hit you. this was what your grandfather was talking about.

  almost walking with fear of what was to come, you creeped over to your desk. after your grandpa’s funeral, his envelope no longer lived underneath manila folders in your drawer, but found a place on the surface. you kept it there, as it mocked you every time you opened up your work laptop after hours. you didn’t realize why you left it in plain sight, until this moment when you came to terms with the fact that you were reminding yourself of him.

  “if you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of change. the same thing happened to me, long ago. i’d lost sight of what mattered most in life. . . real connections with other people and nature. so i dropped everything and moved to the place where i truly belong.”

  it took you precisely two weeks to pack up your things after opening the envelope. nobody could convince you not to. your mother complained that you were wasting your degree and your father had concerns about the massive role you were about to take on all by yourself. it didn’t matter.

  two weeks later, you met amber valley and its sunlight for the first time in years, pretending that the storm ceased and the sun shone to welcome you back. 

  iii. the granddaughter

the sun faded quickly when you realized the bus dropped you off on a plain dirt road in the middle of nowhere. the movers took the rest of your belongings separately, so you were left with nothing but a duffel bag and a cell phone that couldn’t find any signal.

  “oops,” was all you could say. you didn’t think it was a crazy idea, that there would be service at the very least.

  it took you a few moments to let the situation settle in and for you to realize that you were abandoned in a place that was unfamiliar to you. was it unfamiliar? you looked around, seeing nothing but fields on fields and accepted that there was no way you could even try to remember where you were, even with the help of the maps app. you knew you made it to town, but you were certainly left at the farthest point of the borders. 

  and then, you heard it.

  it was over at least ten years since you last rode, but your ears perked up at the sound of a horse’s gallop naturally. you had to squint, but it was unmistakable.

  they were going in the other direction and they were going fast, so you had to think fast. you tried yelling and waving your arms, but quickly saw that it was useless. so, you dropped your bg and brought your hands to your mouth, releasing the loudest whistle that your vocal chords could handle.  

  the horse and its rider kept going and for a few seconds, you thought you lost hope. but, then, as you were about to pick up your bag in shame, you watched them take a wide turn back around. they were headed to you.

  you waved your arms back and forth again, affirming that you needed their attention. as they came closer, you could make out a figure of a man with chestnut brown hair peeking out underneath his cowboy hat. he wore medium wash, stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt. 

  “that was the loudest whistle i’ve ever heard,” he hollered, drawing closer to you.

  you shook your head bashfully. “didn’t even know i remembered how to do that.”

  “pretty sure the whole town heard. my name is namjoon, are you visiting someone here?”

  likely a few years older than you, you tried to recall someone named namjoon from your memories. his appearance didn’t ring a bell, so you were searching your brain for his name or if you heard it from somewhere.

  you told him your name and then squinted at him, pausing for several moments before speaking again. “are you. . .joonie?”  

his eyebrows shot up immediately, looking at you like he couldn’t understand what language you were speaking. “pardon me?”

  joonie. he was mayor kim’s eldest son, who was sent to a fancy arts camp every summer when you were younger. you only met him a few times throughout the years, as he often arrived back the same week you were due to leave your grandpa to go back to your parents, but one feature stuck in your mind always. his dimples. you thought you recognized namjoon’s polite smile and piecing it together with his name seemed to be the key. 

  “i’m pretty sure you’re mayor kim’s kid. i’m bad with faces, but you’re joonie, aren’t you?” the confidence in your voice was fuelled by the fact that no one really left amber valley. it was the kind of place where families would raise their children with the kids they grew up with themselves. 

  namjoon seemed to still be calculating your appearance in his head when you heard the faint noise of galloping once again. the two of you looked over to see another person on a horse who was looking around the field, likely looking for namjoon. the man in question brought his hand to his mouth and released a whistle similar to yours - though, you did gloat silently because yours was, in fact, louder.

  still, it was enough to get the person’s attention and they finally made eye contact with the two of you. they began approaching and you could make out that it was a man’s figure. still, even with how small of a town amber valley was, you were surprised to see who it was.

  “jungkook!”

  “namjoon, i just spent fucking 15 minutes looking for you - “

  you tried to keep your expression neutral when you saw that it was actually jungkook on the horse. he wore an all-black outfit of cargo pants and a wife beater tank that exposed his tattooed arms. it made it hard to keep your expression the same.

“oh, hey. did you come to collect something from your grandpa’s property?” jungkook suddenly ignored his previous frustration at namjoon, cleared his throat and dropped his voice by an octave, in addition to cutting his voice’s volume by a cool half. he swiftly hopped off his horse, too cleanly to be casual.

  namjoon’s confusion only doubled, darting eyes between the two of you. “sorry, have you guys met?” he didn’t miss the way that jungkook straightened his shoulders without even trying to be subtle.

  you missed it, though, having cut away your stare to double check if your phone managed to get any signal. none. sighing, you shook your head at jungkook, as he began explaining to namjoon.

  “ - we called her bunny. remember bunny?” he nudged towards you.

  namjoon looked back at you again and concern formed. “you’re the granddaughter. oh, you were at the funeral - i’m sorry about your loss. your grandpa was such a great person.”

  you put on the same tight smile every time someone mentioned him. the worst of the grief came back on some days, but you learned how to manage it day by day as time went on. jungkook watched you do so and cleared his throat.

  “the old bus stop is the worst,” he interrupted, gesturing towards the tiny sign that indicated that it was in service. “people get lost all the time when they arrive. well, we don’t really have a lot of people visiting by bus - “

  you couldn’t help but cut in. “i’m not visiting.”

  the two men gave you and your single chanel duffel bag a blank stare and wondered if the idea was so hard to believe. it was for your parents, who both thought you caught them on some sort of prank show when you told them about grandpa’s envelope. you were wearing platform mary janes and a leather skirt in the dead of the june sun, so maybe they had a reason to be confused.

  there was a moment of silence, so you decided to speak again. “yeah, i’m not visiting. um, i’ve decided to take over my grandfather’s farm. i’m moving to amber valley permanently.”

[mmhcs]

The Big Dance (Prom AU)

Summary: Inspired by Chance the Rapper's 2019 album The Big Day (if you've listened to it, please tell me your favorite song off the album in the comments!).

Features: Gender-neutral reader, no mentions of reader's gender

Warnings: Mentions of grief and missing a loved one

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆˙🕸️🕷✮⋆

Miles Morales likes to consider himself brave.

Throughout the past four years, he's done a lot of brave things—especially during his career as Spiderman.

For one, he leaped off a skyscraper and into raging traffic. He was half-confident in himself, but he did it anyway.

And then there was that time when he followed Gwen into the portal, helped Pavitr and Gwen save Mumbhattan from collapse.

Oh, and when he challenged Miguel O'Hara about his understanding of the Multiverse. That was scary. But Miles did it and he managed to survive.

Point is yes, Miles Morales considers himself to be a very brave person.

Which is why he is so confused as to why he's struggling to simply even imagine asking you the question that has been lingering on his mind since September.

"Dude," Ganke says, looking away from his phone screen. "Just ask. You've been crushing for so long that these feelings might actually crush you."

Miles knows he's caught now. For the past few months, he's been casually mentioning that he wants to ask you to prom. And for the past few months, Ganke has only listened to Miles' ramblings with nothing more than one-word responses and nods that indicate his support and agreement. It's part of the reason why Miles loves to talk to him especially about this; in infinite universes full of people who demand so much and always want an answer, Ganke is the person that listens and understands.

Until now, though.

Ganke looking up from his screen is very rare. But when it does happen, it means that he's serious and is either about to give Miles some advice or tell him how stupid the decisions he makes are.

"I know, I know," Miles says as Ganke opens his mouth to say something else. He begins to pace back and forth, spouting all the possible things that he feels his best friend is about to say. "Miles, the world's not gonna end if you get rejected! Miles, we're still gonna go to Prom and turn up either way. Don't worry, man!"

"Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that," Ganke crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "And secondly, did you just say that we're gonna 'turn up'? I swear, sometimes you act like someone's twenty-six year old uncle,"

Miles pauses his pacing. "What? I think it sounds cool. Is that not what we say today?"

"No, Miles, that's not what we say." Ganke sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyways, look, man, you've been talking about asking (Y/N) to Prom literally all year now. I think you should do it—you two are always together—but I can't make the decision for you. If you want to do it, do it. If you don't, that's sad but Prom is gonna happen either way. All I'm saying is don't let fear stop hold you back."

With that, Ganke turns back to gaming.

Miles stands there, letting his words sink in.

Ganke is right.

If Miles hadn't jumped off of that skyscraper, he probably would have gone home and stuff his suit so far back in his closet that he would have thought it to be an old Halloween costume the next time he pulled it out. If he hadn't stood up to Miguel, then his father would have died. And, if Miles doesn't ask you to the prom, then he could possibly miss out on one of the best nights of his life—and regret it.

"Yeah," Miles says to himself, slowly beginning to nod his head.

He will ask you to Prom. And either way—whether you say yes or not—he'll walk into the venue and end his high school career knowing that he finally did one of things that he's been wanting to do for the past four years.

"Yeah!" Miles yells now, wanting Ganke to hear. "You're right, Ganke! I'm gonna ask (Y/N) to Prom!"

"Knew you'd do the right thing," Ganke's tone is slow and lackadaisical once more and his concentration is still on his video game. But Miles knew that his friend was being sincere.

"I'm gonna go—"

"Score!" Ganke yells as his player in the game dunks a basketball into the hoop.

"Exactly!" Miles is nodding frantically now, hyping himself up. Before he has room to further question himself, he opens the door and says, "See 'ya, Ganke! Don't wait up!"

"Uh-huh."

And with that, the door to their shared dorm closes and Miles sprints through the halls of Visions Academy, with a mission (and no plan).

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"Okay, let's see,"

Miles opens his contact list and begins to scan through the potential givers of advice that he could do.

First up was his dad, of course. That man, as square as he is, was able to pull his mother. And credit has to be given where credit is due, Miles supposes.

Second is Peter B. Parker. Though when he and Miles met, things with MJ were less-than-ideal, Peter managed to change, win her back, and now they have a baby together! You have to possess some pretty good game to pull that off.

Third was...everyone else.

Of course, there are a million and one other people besides his father and Peter B. that Miles can ask for advice but those are the first two options that came to his mind and he's kind of stressed for time.

Smiling, Miles goes to click on the contact icon for his father. He's about to press the 'call' button when he remembers Jefferson's words from the last time that Miles called him at work.

"Miles, son, I love you—I really do. You're my son and I'm always here for you. But please, don't call me at work unless it's an emergency. And, for reference, not knowing where the Cheez-Its are is not an emergency. I'm talking when lives or grades are in danger and your world is ending—that's when you call me!"

Miles makes a face.

Technically this is an emergency. The trajectory of his life could be changed. Who knows? Maybe he and you would get married someday. Maybe you two are destined to be and if he doesn't ask you to Prom then he'll have screwed up the positive trajectory and you two will be cursed to live miserable, loveless lives.

Miles inhales sharply at the thought.

Yeah, he's calling.

"Hello?" Jefferson picks up on the first ring. "Miles, what's up?"

"Hey, Dad," Miles says the words slowly and awkwardly, not knowing how to proceed. "I, uh, need your help with something."

A sigh comes from the other side of the line. "Miles, if you're calling to ask me where the fish crackers are, I swear, it's gonna be me and you boy—"

"No, no, Dad, it's not that!" Miles waves his hands as he speaks as if Jefferson could see him. "It's—I'm planning on asking someone to the prom and I wanted your advice on how I should—"

"Oh, is this your little friend that you met freshman year?" Jefferson asks sounding ten times happier and calmer than a second ago.

"Yeah," Miles nods, glad that his father remembers you but also impatient. "I was just wondering if you could give me some advice considering that you're married and made me—"

"Son, while I would love to give you some advice right now, there's a ten-thirty that we need to take of down here. Can this wait till I get home?"

Miles moves the phone away from him so that his father won't hear the deep sigh threatening to spill out of him.

Ten-thirty. Great. And people are probably going to expect Spiderman to handle that, too.

"Yeah, Dad, it can wait." Miles says, trying his best not to make his disappointment evident. "I hope everyone's okay down there. I'll probably swing by in a second."

"Thanks, son," Jefferson sighs into the phone and Miles doesn't know if it's from stress about the situation or because he too is sharing in his son's frustration of not being able to this needed conversation. "I love you. Be careful."

"Love you too, Dad. See you soon."

Miles hangs up the phone and pushes his hands against his eyes.

That didn't go as planned.

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After swinging by the robbery, Miles decided to head to the Spider Society in order to find Peter.

He expected it to be a challenging task, considering that Peter is always with Mayday and Mayday is always everywhere, but it may be possible that after his failed conversation with his father, today decided to cut him some slack because Miles didn't have to search for long before he found Peter (and Mayday) sitting at a table in the cafeteria, eating lunch.

"Oh, so you want love advice?" Peter asks in between chewing his fries. "I got 'ya, kid. You came to the right place."

Miles sits across the table, his eagerness growing by the second.

"Okay, first thing's first: You gotta be calm. Cool and collected. Which, admittedly, you have a hard time with. So I'd start there."

A burn, but advice nonetheles.

"Okay, well, what about what I'm supposed to say?" Miles urges. "Do you have any tips on that?"

Peter scrunches his face and look up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking. He hums all the while, causing Miles to inch further in his seat until he’s hovering over the edge of the chair.

"No." Peter finally says at last, picking up another French fry. "But I did write a speech for MJ when I first asked her out. I rehearsed everything that I wanted to say in mirror at least fifty times until it stuck. It was absolutely worth it to see the smile on her face when I finally said it in-person. And plus, I still remember each and every word to this day. So maybe you can try something like that."

Miles nods frantically again.

Should he be taking notes? He feels like he should.

"Okay, and what about—"

"Peter!"

Before any of the two could blink, Miguel O'Hara appears behind Peter, his somber aura casting a dark cloud over the previous atmosphere of the conversation.

"Hey, Miguel!" Peter says cheerily. "I'm helping Miles ask his crush out to the prom. Wanna join in? Give some advice to the youngins—"

"Peter, I know ate the empanada in my office from earlier." Miguel tells him so serious and gravely as if Peter had done something far worse.

"Oh, right, that!" Peter perks up and snaps a finger, remembering. "Well, you see, Mayday is teething and we were both hungry so without thinking, I may have—"

"Come with me."

"What?"

"I said come with me."

"Why? Where are you taking me?"

"You're going to get me another empanada."

If it wasn't Miguel speaking, Miles would be on the floor laughing. But because it is Miguel and because Miguel is interrupting a very important moment, Miles only stares as the interaction progresses, with Miguel eventually picking up Peter by the shoulder to get him to stand up. He then ushers Peter to the food line but not before looking back at Miles, a bit apologetically.

"You're smart, you can figure this out, kid," he says. "Do what feels best. Be yourself."

Miles only stares in disbelief as Miguel marches back to his office but not before telling Peter to bring him the empanada and not eat it.

For what feels like the thousandth time today, Miles sighs with disappointment and frustration.

Seriously?

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"Hey, Uncle Aaron,"

Miles sighs as he plops himself in front of the gravestone, gleaming thanks to the recent rainstorm that they had the other day.

"How are you? I'm stressed."

Miles wastes no time explaining his predicament to his uncle. He starts from the very beginning, telling him how he met you freshman year but never got the chance to introduce you two to each other, how your friendship has grown stronger over the years and how and when he realized that he had feelings for you.

"...And I've been trying all day to get some advice but it just seems like everyone's too busy. And, of course, no one's more of a love guru than you were."

Thugh his last sentence is a joke, Miles's face falls.

Were.

"I miss you, man. Some days it's hard to keep going without you. But I do. I wish that you were here so that you could give me some advice. You would've been the first person that I went to..."

Miles inhales deeply.

No, he's not going to cry—this isn't meant to be a sad visit. He's just here to get some things off his chest.

"But anyway, I got into Princeton!" A proud smile creeps up onto his face. "Yep! Gonna be majoring in Physics! Dad and Mami have warmed up to the idea of me going away and now Mami can't stop telling everyone about her son, the Ivy League scholar!"

Miles continues on, talking and updating his uncle about his life until he notices the sun beginning to set. Then, reluctantly, he days up his uncle's gravestone one last time before heading home.

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Hey son gonna be home late 4 dinner.

Still gonna talk tho.

Miles groans as he rereads his dad's texts over and over again.

At this rate, his promposal is going to be an absolute failure.

Miles flops back onto his bed with a defeated sigh.

"Miles?" Rio knocks on his door gently even though there is already a wide enough crack for it to be considered open. "¿Qué te paso?"

"It's nothing, Mami," Miles mumbles, not even bothering to hide the sadness in his voice. "It's just been a rough day."

"A rough day?" Rio frowns. She hates seeing her son like this. Despite all of Miles' moments, he's a good kid. And he's her kid nonetheless. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Miles nods and in an instant Rio is at his side. She sits down on his bed (which is made for once) and begins to gently card her finger through his hair.

"Ay, when was the last time you got a haircut?" Rio asks, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you trying to copy your multidimensional twin or something? You can't show up to the prom looking like this!"

Though it's a joke, the comment elicits another groan from Miles.

"Is this what this whole mood is about?" Rio asks, gesticulating to her son's defeated position. "The prom?"

Miles only nods in confirmation, the action rustling his bedsheets.

"Oh, Miles," Rio coos, bringing her son's head into her lap, "why didn't you say anything, mijo?"

"I did say something!"

Miles's hands shoot up in the air and one narrowly misses Rio's chin. She gives him an icy glares to which he apologizes.

"Sorry—I'm sorry," Miles sighs. He didn't mean to; it's just been a really frustrating day. Feeling like nobody has time for him and that he no one's priority.

"It's just that this is important, you know?" He huffs, running his own hand through his. "And it feels like no one around me cares! And I know it's not true—everyone's just really busy—but I need someone to help me. Someone to be my own Spiderman for a bit. Just someone to care."

Rio looks down at her son fondly. Her heart feels as though it's about to split in two. She wants to cry because her baby boy has grown into a young man with such an ability to articulate his feelings. But she also wants to cry because her baby feels alone—and he never should. Not while she's around.

"Oh, Miles, I'm so sorry about your day and that no one was around to help you, mijo," Now Rio's fingertips begin to ghost across his right temple. "But I'm here now and I care so please, tell me what's on your mind."

And so he does.

For the umpteenth time today, Miles starts from the very beginning and talks about you, how you guys met, how he realized that he has feelings for you and, of course, how he's been wanting to ask you to prom for a while now.

All the while, Rio listens and nods intently, smiles when it's appropriate, and tries to keep herself from happy crying at the young man before her.

"I think that it’s beautiful that you're putting so much thought into this proposal, Miles," Rio begins when it's finally her turn to speak. "But the truth is that no one can tell you how to plan the perfect promposal. Not me, not your father, not Peter nor Miguel. Only you know the person so deeply and intimately. Everything that we tell you to do should be taken into consideration, not as a fact. Only you know how this person so deeply and how your relationship functions. Use that to your advantage, mijo. You have a creative mind; let it shine and take the lead. Because you can say the same standard 'te amo' like everyone else does but it's how you say it that counts."

There's a beat of silence as Miles processes everything that his mother just said.

And then it clicks.

He knows what he's going to.

"Yeah," he says once more to himself. "Yeah, I know what I'm gonna do!"

Rio smiles. "You got it, mijo?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do, Mami!" Miles exclaims with a little laugh. He jumps up and wraps his arms around his mother for a tight hug. "Thank you, Mami! ¡Te amo mucho! You always know what to say!"

"My pleasure, mijo,"

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A week later, you and Miles are walking through the empty hallways of Vision's Academy hand-in-hand.

It's something that you two don't normally do but with this scavenger hunt that Miles has planned for you, you think it best that he guides you before you end up somewhere that you're not supposed to be.

"Okay, and now we reach the cafeteria," Miles says, gesturing to the grand, dimly-lit space. "A hint for your next clue: it involves us all those years ago on that fateful day that you discovered that I could turn invisible."

To anyone else, this would be a puzzling riddle. But you've grown to know Miles—all parts and aspects of him—throughout these four years. And so, the memory comes easily to you.

"Oh my gosh!" you scream, remembering. "It was that day when you kept hyperventilating after that Chem test!"

"Ding-ding-ding! Correct!"

You laugh looking back at it now. Miles was so nervous because was convinced that he had gotten a B on that test—the last one of the quarter—and was worried that he would end up with a B+ on his report card—a grade unacceptable for both Princeton and his parents who expected him to maintain that A+ that he had recieved last report card. The poor boy kept turning invisible every other breath. You couldn't believe it. So, once he was calm, you asked him to sneak you a few extra chicken tenders from the cafeteria line just to male sure that you weren't going crazy.

You look around the cafeteria for a moment before spotting something on the lunch line. You rush over to it, only to be greeted with steaming hot chicken tenders (how? You don't know.) and a note in the center.

"Chicken tenders almost as hot as you," you read, your words faltering a bit towards the end.

You had your suspicions about this scavenger hunt of Miles' but you never thought that there was a possibility of them being true.

Was this it? Were you finally going to hear him say that he liked you?

"And now on to the art room!" Miles urges. You must give him a look because he adds, "You can bring the chicken tenders too, don't worry."

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Maybe the walk to the art room is longer than you thought or maybe you're just hungrier than you thought because by the time the two of you make it into the hallway containing the classroom, you're down to two chicken tenders.

"Okay, who wants to play Guess What’s Behind This Door?" Miles asks nervously. He tries to play it off as much as he can but he can't help it—not when you two have gotten to this point in your adventure.

"Is it a snake?" you ask dumbly, taking another bite of your second-to-lst chicken tender. You have a feeling about what’s behind the door but you don't want to get your hopes up.

"No."

"A box full of puppies and kittens?"

"Nope."

"More food?"

"Nuh-uh."

Okay, well that was kind of disappointing.

You take a moment, feigning thinking.

"Is it...a promposal?"

At this, Miles' eyes widen. He swears, for a moment his heart stops. And then it starts beating again—and rapidly so—when he sees the shy yet hopeful look on your face.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says, opening the door.

To his luck, the promposal still does surprise you. So much so that your last chicken falls out of your mouth as your jaw drops from shock.

Displayed all around the room are photos, paintings, paintings, and props—memories of your friendship. And in the center of the room is a painting that reads Will You Go To Prom With Me?

You've always known that Miles enjoys art, so much so to the point that he could create his own museum. But you never imagined that he feels that same level of passion with you.

"Everything in here is a collection of you and me and the memories that we've made together," Miles begins. He's speaking slowly and putting extra emphasis on properly annunciating his words—both for his and your sake.

"Everything on this scavenger hunt was, really. Because every time when I'm with you, that's what we do: we make unforgettable memories to look back on and I—" Miles pauses now, searching for words. He'd rehearsed this speech a thousand times and yet he still managed to veer off course. Dammit.

You look at Miles intently but you give him time to collect his thoughts. It’s not easy to do this, as much as you would like to think so. If it was then you would have told him how you feel a long time ago.

"What I'm trying to say is that I like you!" Miles finally says. "I think that you're amazing and wonderful and I know that this may seem sudden but I know—I've known that you were the person that I wanted to be my date—and date, if you're up for all of this—for a long time. So, this is all a really long way to say will you go to Prom with me?"

"Yes!"

You barely let Miles finish his last word before you say it. You spin around, taking everything in, stopping when you reach Miles.

Both of you stare at each other as if it's the first time you're meeting.

And, in some regard, it is. This is the first time that you two are exposing such a raw, vulnerable side to each other and you both can't help but stare in awe at the sheer beauty radiating off of the other person at this moment.

"Hey." Miles says sheepishly.

"Hi." You return the awkward tone.

Before you can think, you close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his. Shocked at first, Miles quickly melts into it, his bodying visibly relaxing as his hands move down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The two of you stay like that for a while and when you both pull back, you're both a bit red and nervous to look into each other's once more.

Best promposal ever.

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A/N: Okay, that's enough writing for one year. See y'all in 2025! (H/jk)

[astra-ravana]

A Dive Into The Dark Feminine

The Dark Feminine is not the same as the Wounded or Shadow Feminine energy. No. She is deeply misunderstood because society represses her into shadow. She is liberation, rage, pleasure, and intuition. She is not a manipulation or a repackaging of the male gaze.

She is fierce grace, wild liberation, the sword of truth. She is blood, sex, and earth. The Lover and the Whore. She shakes the cage of "Good Girl" conditioning to unleash the full spectrum expression of woman.

She is Hekate, Kali, Lilith. The Creatrix and the Destroyer. She is the Shamaness, the Wild Woman, and the Wise Crone. Once a woman awakens to her there is no going back.

"Your rage is sacred.

Your grief is a holy gift.

Your full-spectrum depths,

hold your greatest power."

Dark Feminine Energy is:

Self sourced power, sensuality, chaos, devotion, magick, passion, rage, transformation, internal safety, fearlessness, sexual liberation, the unknown, regeneration, wholeness, sisterhood, authenticity, death

Checklist

• Cut off toxic people.

• Practice shadow work.

• Prioritize self-care.

• Healthy communication with loved ones.

• Practice manifestation.

• Try things out of your comfort zone.

Essential Dark Goddesses

• Lilith

• Hekate

• Morrigan

• Nyx

• Persephone

• Morgan le Fay

• Erish Kigal

• Baba Yaga

• Sekhmet

• Freya

• Circe

• Oya

• Hel

• Medusa

• Eris

• Kali

• Melinoe

• Angrboda

• Tiamat

"And in the death of her reputation,

She felt truly alive."

Pre and Post Patriarchy Views of Women and Sex

Pre-Patriarchy

• Sexuality and divinity were one; sex was seen as divine.

• The more sexual a woman, the more holy.

• Priestesses that were initiated into the highest Mystery (womb magick) were seen as livinf goddesses.

• The worth of a woman was inherent.

• Sacred priestesses in tune with their sexuality, having mastered the power of their bodies (Kundalini) were revered as a direct portal to spirit and the Gods/Energies of the Universe.

Post-Patriarchy

• Sexuality being taboo, seen as profane, filthy, even evil.

• The more sexual a woman, the more vulgar and profane.

• Priestesses turned to sex slaves, "prostitutes" for men to release upon their repressed sexualities and sexual tension.

• The worth of a woman is now in relation to a man; her value is in her chastity. The more lovers she has, the more worthless she becomes.

• The word "whore" is used as an insult for women who were comfortable with sexuality.

• The more a woman is sexual, associated with the taboos and repressed instincts of the collective, the less she is respected, seen as "not respecting herself", "being cheap", "easy", or "giving her most sacred possession away".

• Women with high sex drives said to have "fornicated with the Devil".

Someone who has a lot of sexual energy can also possess a powerful healing energy. This is because sexual energy IS healing energy at a spiritual level. The best healers have big sexual energy.

VINDICA TE TIBI - "Claim yourself"

The Secret Power of Friday the 13th

Friday the 13th is actually good luck as it is associated with the 13 cycles of the moon in a lunar year, this is why a woman has 13 cycles a year, and ovulates on the 13th day. In 1487 free thinking and Divine Female Energy was suppressed and labeled witchcraft by Heinrich Kramer, who went forth to burn many healers on the stake due to forced ignorance and hatred for powerful female leaders. This is why Friday the 13th is actually a spiritual day of enlightenment, divine/dark feminine energy, and healing that should be sacred instead of hated.

Black Moon Lilith

In astrology, Black Moon Lilith plays the role of 'Guardian of the Threshold'. The term indicates a spectral image which manifests itself as soon as the student of the spirit ascends upon the path into the higher worlds of knowledge. Lilith, representing the testing of the feminine oracle, comes with temptations and promises for the ego, forcing the seeker to meet their own shadow.

"Darkness is the fertile soil of the feminine. Discomfort is the birth place of our shadows. Wild chaos catalyses true leadership. Raw emotions teach us how to feel. The deep void of our sex holds our primal hunger. So, what powerful darkness do you feel is wrong? "

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2

Summary: You're determined to figure out why Eddie hates you, and he's more determined to avoid you at any cost. But confrontations with Jeff and Wayne may have him reconsidering all of his choices--including the one to become a father. How long can he run from his demons before they catch up to him?

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of drug dealing, mentions of Eddie's dad, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 5.9k

Chapter 2/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“He called you what?” Jess screeches, and you have to pull the receiver from your ear to avoid losing your hearing. “Oh, he’s a dead man.”

You place the phone back between your shoulder and cheek so you can stir the pot of marinara sauce while talking to your friend. She’d called to ask about your first day of work, and of course you’d mentioned Eddie’s frigid bitch comment. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a grown man who promises to call and then basically drops off the face of the Earth,” you say, trying to keep your anger at bay. There’s murmuring in the background coming from a voice deeper than Jess’s. “Do you have company? Because we can talk later–”

“Nah, I’m just at Viv and Jeff’s place.” Before you can tell her not to say anything, you hear her spreading the news to her sister and future brother-in-law. The girl’s a sweetheart, but she spreads news faster than the New York Times. 

There’s the sound of shuffling and the phone being exchanged between parties, followed by Jeff saying, “Please tell me that you’re joking.”

“About being called a frigid bitch? I’m afraid not,” you confirm with a terse chuckle, draining a pot of spaghetti into the colander. “But, honestly, it’s really not a big deal. I’ve been called worse.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before he replies. “He’s such an asshole. Christ.” You detect a note of sadness in his tone, almost grief, like he’s mourning someone he thought he knew.

“Look, I shouldn’t have called him out on that stupid Cat and Mouse thing,” you say. “I should’ve just let it go, put a smile on my face, and acted civilly. I only said it to piss him off, and it worked.”

“No, this is more than you,” Jeff protests, letting out an exasperated sigh. “He never used to be like this. He used to actually be a great guy.” It sounds like he has more to say, but he just blurts out, “I gotta go,” and quickly hands the phone back to Jess.

The two of you talk for a few more minutes until the sauce on the stove starts to bubble, indicating that dinner’s ready.

“Grandma,” you call out, “it’s dinnertime!”

Your grandma pads out of her bedroom, hair disheveled even though you’d just combed through it this morning, and wrinkles her nose. “Not hungry,” she mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, you gotta eat so you can take your medicine,” you tell her, keeping your tone even and patient, “otherwise, you’ll feel sick. C’mon, you love pasta.”

“I don’t have to take any goddamn medicine,” she snaps, scowling at the three pills at her table setting. “These aren’t even mine.”

Well, then, whose are they? Do you think I robbed a Rite Aid? You want to snap, but you bite back the retort. “Yes, Grandma, they are. This one,” you point to a small, white pill, “is for your blood pressure. And this one,” you point to a larger yellow one, “is your multivitamin, and this little yellow one is for, um…” you hesitate, “for Alzheimer's.”

“I don’t have Alzheimer’s!” Grandma shouts, swiping the pills to the ground. They fall with a clatter, bouncing underneath the table. “And I’m not eating shit.” She storms off to her room, muttering a slew of swear words under her breath.

You take a deep breath, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs. This isn’t the first time she’s had an outburst like this, and you know to just leave dinner on the stove, and she’ll come and eat in a few minutes when she forgets that she’s “not hungry.” In the meantime, you pick up the fallen medication and place them back on her napkin before digging into your own bowl of spaghetti.

Sure enough, she joins you about fifteen minutes later, exclaiming that “something smells good,” and eating her dinner happily. She only asks you twice where you’re from and when you’re leaving, but your heart still sinks with each question. The grandma who never missed a birthday and brought your favorite candy when she visited had all but been erased by a vicious disease. All you can do now is keep her safe and enjoy the brief moments when she’s smiling.

There’s only silence when Eddie shows up at Gareth’s house after dropping Harris at Wayne’s trailer. He’s usually greeted by the sound of everyone warming up and tuning their instruments. For a second, he thinks that he has the wrong night, or he forgot that they canceled practice, but he finds the guys sitting in Gareth’s garage. They all look up guiltily when they hear him walk in.

“Who died?” Eddie asks with a nervous laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Seriously, guys, what’s going on?”

Gareth bites his lip, wordlessly turning to Jeff. Eddie stiffens a bit at the silent shift to Jeff’s newfound leadership. Since when does Gareth look to Jeff to speak up? 

“Ed, we need to talk with you,” Jeff says, sitting up a bit taller. “We, uh, we think Corroded Coffin needs a bit of hiatus.”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and gives a disbelieving snort. “Oookay,” he says sardonically. “And why are you telling me that we should break up the band I founded?” He walks closer to his bandmates, challenging them with the fury behind his eyes.

“It’s not fun for us anymore, man,” Danny admits. “This is supposed to be something we do to relax, blow off some steam and get a break from the real world. But lately, it’s been more of a chore.”

“A chore?” Eddie echoes, scoffing loudly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Jeff stands up, ready to bulldoze through whatever counterattack Eddie concocts. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a miserable person to be around. When you first moved back, when Harris was a newborn, we figured it was just a lack of sleep. But your kid’s four now, Munson,” Jeff says pointedly, “and you’re still a dick.”

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Eddie mutters with an incredulous laugh. “Let me get this straight: I have a couple of bad days, and you shut shit down? Without even talking to me about it first?”

This ignites a spark in Jeff, and he puffs out his chest and takes another step towards Eddie. “You wanna talk about it? Fine; we’ll talk. What should we start with, hm? The way you can never be happy for any of us unless it benefits you? The way you act like an immature teenager, selling drugs instead of getting a real job? The way you treat women like they’re disposable?” He looks Eddie dead in the eyes and says curtly, “I heard about your little ‘frigid bitch’ comment. And at her job, too. Real nice.”

“Why do you care whether or not I still sell? Or how I treat women?” Eddie shoots back. “Did I get you in trouble with your old lady or something?”

“That’s the other thing,” There’s no mistaking the bitterness seeping from Jeff’s pores. “I tell you–one of my oldest, closest friends–that I’m getting married and having a baby with the love of my life, and you couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.”

Eddie feels his mouth dry up, knowing that everything Jeff’s said is true; he clears his throat and tries to play it off. “You cool with this, Gareth?” he asks the drummer, hoping no one caught the waver in his voice. 

Gareth can’t even let his gaze meet Eddie’s as he mumbles, “I used to look up to you, man. You were my honest-to-God hero. But now, I…I don’t want to be like you anymore.”

The confession is a total knockout; Eddie stumbles back as though he’s actually been punched in the gut. “Whatever. You can all choke for all I care.” He slings his guitar case back over his shoulder and starts towards his car.

“Let us know when you decide to grow up,” Jeff calls out. Eddie just flips him off, slamming the car door and speeding down the road. 

Fuck them, he thinks, barreling through a stop sign without even noticing. Who the fuck do they think they are; breaking up the band because they don’t like my attitude? They didn’t mind my attitude when it protected them from all the assholes at school, or when it got them into clubs when they were underage. But now they’re complaining about it? Fucking pricks.

As he turns into the trailer park entrance, a thought occurs to him: how the hell did Jeff know that I called her a “frigid bitch” at work? What did she do, call him up and snitch on me? Trying to ruin my life all because I didn’t call her? He grips the steering wheel even tighter, throwing the car in park and stomping out to Wayne’s trailer. He knocks impatiently, as though he’s been kept waiting.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Wayne asks, concern written all over his face. “And why do you look like you’re about to punch a wall–Jesus, Ed, take a breather.”

“They kicked me out of the band,” he mutters through gritted teeth, walking over to where Harris is eating a bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of the TV and sitting down next to him, pressing a kiss to his curly hair. “Gave me some BS about taking a break, how I make all of them miserable, blah blah blah.”

“What’s ‘BS’?” Harris pipes up with a mouthful of cheesy pasta, but Eddie just mumbles, “don’t worry about it,” under his breath, and the boy goes back to watching a rerun of The Flintstones.

Wayne sighs, scratching at the scruff of his beard. “They said that you make them miserable?” he asks, wincing slightly. He knew that his nephew’s demeanor had changed considerably over the years; what was once teenage cynicism had slowly morphed into a constant state of anger and unhappiness. Wayne thought maybe it was just in his head, or just around him, but if Eddie’s best friends noticed it, too, it was more serious than he’d initially thought.

“More or less,” Eddie chuckles tersely. “And then they threw something in there about my–my job, about how I, um, pursue lots of different women, how I don’t support their choices when we all know it’ll take away from the band.”

“Support their choices?” Wayne echoes.

“Jeff’s girl is having a baby, and he wants to marry her,” Eddie explains, biting his thumbnail as he shakes his head incredulously. “So he’s gonna have less time for Corroded Coffin. How are we supposed to make something of ourselves if he’s gonna flake?”

“I don’t know if that’s flaking–”

“I mean, let me get this straight,” Eddie interrupts, standing up to pace. “Jeff’s a goddamn superhero for knocking someone up and taking time away from the band, but I’m the one who’s ruining it for everyone? Because I actually act like a rockstar?”

“Well, Rockstar,” Wayne crosses his arms over his chest angrily, “have you ever stopped to consider that maybe they’re right? Stopped to think about how your actions impact them? How would you feel if Jeff berated you for wanting to start a life with someone you care about?” He pauses for a moment, glancing at his grandson. “I’m not saying you have to get married or settle down, but if you aren’t gonna have a maternal figure in your boy’s life, you should at least show him how to respect women.”

Eddie snorts, grabbing his keys from his pocket and walking towards the door. “Like how women respected me? How all the girls at school called me a ‘freak’ or a ‘loser’?”

“You’re not in high school anymore!” Wayne shouts, snapping Harris from his Fred Flintstone-induced daze. “You’re a grown-ass man! With a kid! And if you spend the rest of your life jumping from girl to girl because of how you were treated fifteen years ago, you’re gonna continue to be one miserable son-of-a-b–gun.”

Ignoring his uncle’s rebuttal, Eddie waves Harris over. “C’mon, Har-Bear. We gotta get home. Say good-bye to Grampa Wayne”

“Ed, you don’t have to–”, 

“I’m really not interested in what you, or anyone else, has to say about my life,” he snaps, taking Harris’s empty bowl and tossing it in the sink with a clatter. “I’m doing the best I can; my kid is fed and clothed, and the lights and water are on in my place. Harris, I said, let’s go.” He takes his son’s hand and walks him to the car. 

“Daddy!” Harris whines as Eddie buckles him into his carseat. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Grampa Wayne!”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s okay, bud. We just gotta get home. Grampa understands.”

Harris bursts into tears, screaming and wailing at the top of his lungs. “I! WANT! GRAMPA!” he shrieks, kicking the back of Eddie’s seat over and over. “I don’t like you anymore, Daddy! You’re mean!”

Eddie tries to ignore the sting of Harris’s insult, reminding himself that he’s just a kid, but the words are like a thorn in his side. “I’m mean?”

“Mhm,” Harris says with another heaving sob. He tries to catch his breath between his words. “You…m-made…Grampa Wayne…yell. A-And th-then you…didn’t let me…say…goodbye!”

A dull ache thumps behind Eddie’s frontal lobe. “I’m sorry, Har. I should’ve let you say goodbye. We can call him when we get home, and you can say goodbye then.”

This seems to quell Harris’s tantrum, and his soft hiccups slowly fade out as he drifts off to sleep. Eddie gingerly unbuckles his seatbelt and lifts him. There will be a day where he won’t be able to lift him anymore, but he can’t bear the idea right now. 

He carries his son up the three flights of stairs and places him in his tiny race car bed. Eddie’s frameless mattress is right next to it, and he lays down and watches Harris’s chest expand and contract with each little breath. His bow-shaped lips are slightly pursed, and there’s a smudge of dried mucus under his nose, a remnant from when he was crying earlier. Eddie makes a mental note to wash off his face before he goes to school tomorrow. 

School—the thought of seeing you, really—had his stomach twisting in knots. Everything was fine until you waltzed into town, getting so bent out of shape over a one-night stand that you ratted him out to his bandmate. And now he looks like the asshole. 

He’ll sort it out tomorrow. He’ll march into the school and ask for—no, demand—that Harris is transferred to another classroom. And then he’ll never have to deal with you again. 

“I’m sorry, but all of the classes are full.”

Eddie raps his fingertips on the school secretary’s desk impatiently. “They’re…full?” He sputters, unable to believe his shitty luck. “Nah, there’s gotta be space for him somewhere. Can you check again?”

The secretary peers up at him over her coke-bottle glasses and rolls her eyes. “Mr. Munson, in order to remain in compliance with Indiana state standards, we are allowed a maximum of ten students per class. All of our classes already have ten students.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t we just swap him with a kid from another class? He can have their teacher and they can have his.”

“If a student from a different classroom moves or requests a transfer, we can discuss allowing Harris to switch. For now, we can just make a note of it in his file and let you know if that opportunity arises.”

Harris looks at his dad with a puzzled expression. “But, Daddy, I like my teacher! She’s really nice and she doesn’t get mad at me if I forget the rules.”

Heat creeps into Eddie’s face as he feels the secretary’s glare–a mixture of bewilderment and irritation that he’s wasting her time with his asinine request. He gives a resigned sigh and takes Harris’s hand as he walks him towards the classroom.

“Have a great day, Har-Bear!” he says, feigning enthusiasm as they reach the door. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Harris frowns. “You’re not gonna walk me inside like tomorrow?”

Eddie pauses for a second, brows pinching together in confusion before he realizes what Harris means. “You mean yesterday?” Eddie corrects him, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile at his son’s error. “I, uh, I think it’s better if I just stay out here.”

He waits for the impending tantrum, but to his surprise, Harris just shrugs and says, “Okay, bye!” and swings the door open, backpack bouncing as he speedruns into the room excitedly. Eddie can hear your voice, calm and patient, saying, “Harris, we use our walking feet in the classroom,” and his son replying with a chipper, “Oh, yeah! Sorry!”

He’s halfway down the hallway when you call out, “Mr. Munson?”

“Ya?” He stops walking, but doesn’t bother to turn around and face you. He stares at a bulletin board that reads Welcome Back to School in glittery red cut-out letters. Framing the message are little cardboard apples, each with a student’s name written on them in permanent marker. He spots the one that says Harris in the top left corner, and an unfamiliar twinge of pride sets in his chest. 

“I need you to sign Harris in,” you say, trying to keep your tone as even as you do with your students. “It’s school policy.”

“Christ on a cracker,” Eddie grumbles under his breath, spinning back on his heels to head back to the room. So much for avoiding you. You’re standing outside the door, and he immediately notices the way your maroon pants hug your curves in all the right places. If only her personality was as pleasant as her ass, he thinks bitterly, dragging his gaze to the clipboard in your hand. “I didn’t have to do this yesterday.”

“It was the first day of school. I forgot,” you admit. You’re not exactly sure why you’re giving him so much ammunition; perhaps it was the way he just conspicuously drank in the sight of you. “Kinda crazy around here.” You will yourself to shut up, practically clamping your lips together so you’ll stop talking.

Eddie scoffs, yanking the clipboard from your grasp. “Well, aren’t you Teacher of the Year,” he sneers, clicking the pen and scribbling his signature next to Harris’s name before jabbing the sheet back at you. 

Ignoring his insult, you force yourself to make eye contact as you inform him, “You’ll need to come back in later to sign him out.” 

He bites back an irritated laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his torn black jeans. He’s equipped with another comment ready to launch at you, one related to your rendezvous a week earlier, but he stops when he sees Harris tugging on the hem of your shirt with urgency.

“What if I’m with my new teacher?” he asks innocently, eyes wide with concern.

“What new teacher, honey?” you ask, crouching down to his level. “You mean Mr. Will?”

Harris shakes his head fervently. “Daddy asked the lady at the desk if I could have a new teacher instead of you.”

You expect Eddie to be embarrassed by his son’s candidness, but he doesn’t even appear to be fazed.  “It was your idea, Sweetheart,” he says with a sly grin. “I’m only making good on my word.”

“Well, look at you, keeping your promises,” you bite back instinctively, silently cursing yourself for snapping at him when you’re on the clock. He might be a total asshole, but he’s Harris’s dad first. At least while you’re at work. You turn your attention back to the little boy. “I’m sorry if we confused you, Harris. I’m your teacher, okay?”

Harris nods slowly, indicating that he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t press the issue further. His gaze flits between you and his father. “Why’d you call her ‘Sweetheart’?” he questions Eddie. “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Absolutely not,” he insists at the same time that you chime in with a firm, “no.”

“Then why–”

“It’s a nickname,” Eddie interrupts before Harris can say anything else. “Like how I call you ‘Har-Bear,’ or how I call Grampa Wayne ‘Old Man.’”

“Oh.” Harris chews on the answer before seemingly accepting it, giggling when he thinks of the way his grandpa grimaces at the name ‘Old Man.’. He smiles up at you. “Can I call you Sweetheart, too?”

You smile back at him, ruffling his curly hair. “That’s Ms. Sweetheart to you,” you tease, but as a four-year-old, he doesn’t pick up on your sarcasm.

“Okay, Ms. Sweetheart!” he laughs, and he mimics your movements and ruffles your hair right back before you stand up. How is this kid so precious when his dad is a complete and utter douchebag?

“Well,” Eddie says finally, crossing his arms over his chest, “I won’t forget about signing him out when I pick him up.”

“Try to get here on time today,” you retort, guiding Harris over to where Will is playing with the other students. “Really makes my job easier when the parents do what they’re supposed to do.”

He walks away with a haughty laugh. “Bold of you to assume I’d want to make anything easier for you.”

The rest of Eddie’s morning proceeds as normal. He picks up the product from Rick’s place and gives him his cut of what he made yesterday. Carefully separating it into small baggies, he delivers to his usuals: the guys who work down on the loading dock, the supergenius stoner who allegedly works as some top government official, the young teacher at Hawkins High who, more than once, has paid for her share with decent head behind the football field. Of course, Eddie keeps a bit hidden away for himself. Whoever coined the phrase don’t get high on your own supply never had a seemingly never-ending stash of weed.

He arrives back at his apartment just before noon, ready to crash on the couch and watch some mind-numbing TV. Opening the door, he kicks off his muddy sneakers to find his uncle sitting on the couch, twiddling his thumbs anxiously.

“Jesus, Wayne!” Eddie shouts, putting a hand to his chest. Giving him a key to the place suddenly didn’t seem like such a great idea. “Scared the shit outta me. What’re you doing here? Don’t you have work?” 

“Took the day off,” Wayne explains, reaching for the manila envelope that he’s placed on the cushion next to him. “Had, uh, an appointment.”

Based on the serious look on his face, Eddie assumes he’s talking about a doctor, and the blood drains from his face at the thought of Wayne battling a terminal illness. “Shit, you okay? Are you sick?”

“Sit down, Eddie.” He hands him the envelope without another word. Eddie does what he says, flipping up the edges of the silver fastener and taking out a small stack of stapled papers. He scans the documents, expecting to see some kind of medical test results. Instead, his eyes widen as he reads the opening lines:

TEMPORARY CUSTODY AGREEMENT: 

I, EDWARD JOHN MUNSON, the custodial parent of the following child(ren): HARRIS WAYNE MUNSON, do hereby give custody to WAYNE ALBERT MUNSON.

“What the hell is this?” Eddie snarls, clenching his fists and crumpling the papers. “Are you trying to take my kid away from me? Is this some kind of sick revenge because of our fight yesterday?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Ed, this has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. I’ve had this meeting with the lawyer for a while now.” He lets out a long, tired sigh. “When you got arrested a couple months ago, it made me realize how much I was turnin’ a blind eye to your…business.”

“You mean when Hopper let me off with a warning?” Eddie reminds him. He rolls his eyes impatiently, but his bouncing leg gives away how nervous he is to have this conversation. “The Chief isn’t gonna let anyone lock me up just for selling pot. I won’t sell the hard shit anymore, and Rick knows that.”

But the older man presses on, ignoring his nephew’s rebuttal. “When your dad got arrested, I was lucky that the state gave you to me instead of sticking you in foster care. But we were both twenty-odd years younger; I don’t know they’d be so willing to let an old man take care of a four-year-old without it in writing.” 

The mention of his father has Eddie seeing red. “I’m not my dad.” he spits. “My dad didn’t fucking take me to school. Couldn’t even be bothered to make sure I had everything I needed. Food, water, shelter? That piece of shit didn’t give a rat’s ass.”

“But he did sell drugs. And that’s how he got busted,” Wayne points out, voice rising a bit. “And Hopper’s nearly as old as I am. He’s gonna be retiring soon; we can’t keep countin’ on him to cover for you.” His eyes are misty with tears as he says, “all I want is for Harris to have the same kind of protection that you had. Just until you get a job that doesn’t put you at odds with the law. It’s all temporary, see?” He motions to the first bolded word at the top of the document.

But Eddie’s too enraged to care, tearing up the papers and letting them fall to the floor like legal confetti. “I’ve gotta go,” he hisses, grabbing his keys so quickly that they clatter among the sea of document scraps. “You should go, too.”

“I could get you some work at the plant,” Wayne offers meekly. It’s not the first time he’s extended the opportunity, but he figures it’s worth a shot. “Just somethin’ while you look for what you really wanna–”

“I said, leave!” Eddie shouts. “I don’t need you poking your nose in my life anymore. My life works for me, and it works for Harris, and there’s no reason to turn everything upside down.”

“You think his dad gettin’ thrown in prison won’t turn his life upside down?!” Wayne snaps, finally unloading everything onto Eddie. “You think being torn away from the people he loves won’t hurt him? I’d do anything to keep that boy safe, just like I did for you, you ungrateful sonofabitch.”

Eddie’s response flies off of his tongue before he can bite it back. “And look how that turned out for me.”

A pained expression crosses Wayne’s face, but he recovers quickly. “I’ll always love you, Ed. No matter what.” He pauses. “But I don’t like who you are anymore. Ever since you moved back here, all you’ve done is push away the people who care about you.” He starts towards the door before briefly turning back. “When you’re ready to let people in, to be happy again, you let me know.”

Eddie scoops up his keys and flings open the door, letting it slam behind him. His fingers tremble as he fumbles for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. It takes a few tries before he can steady his hands enough to light one, and he inhales deeply to try and calm his nerves. How could Wayne possibly think that Harris wasn’t safe with him? After everything Eddie had sacrificed for his son; the dreams he gave up, the life he let go of…

Did anyone actually believe that he still wanted to be here, in Hawkins, the town bursting with haunting memories? Every time he drove near the high school, he could practically hear the echoing taunts of freak and loser emanating from its hallowed halls. No; he was only here because he couldn’t raise a kid alone. Apparently, Wayne thought he was incapable altogether.

He goes through another three cigarettes on the ride to the preschool, snuffing out the last one with the toe of his scuffed Vans outside the entrance. 

“I need to sign out my son, Harris Munson,” he tells the secretary, who gives him a bemused glare. “Family emergency.” 

The secretary nods, picking up the phone without taking her eyes off of Eddie, as though she’s concerned that he’ll bolt if she lets him out of her sight. He hears her relaying the message that Harris’s dad is here to pick him up early, but he’s too busy pacing back and forth to eavesdrop for a response.

All he can think about is how it would feel to sign those papers, basically admitting defeat. Admitting that he couldn’t handle fatherhood. Just because he stepped up when Harris’s mom wasn’t able to be a parent didn’t mean he was a good dad. It just meant he stuck around.

Maybe his presence in Harris’s life was doing more harm than good.

“Mr. Munson?” Your voice draws him out of his rumination. You’re holding a now-empty Tupperware that once contained a salad; dressing smeared on the inside, and your eyes hold nothing but concern. Nothing in your body language demonstrates any sort of contempt, and Eddie has to wonder how bad he looks for you to not hate him, even briefly. “Is everything okay?”

It’s then that he realizes that his lip is bleeding from biting it so hard, and his cheeks are wet with tears.

“Don’t you have a classroom of kids to watch?” he sneers, watching as you wince. “Really vying for that Teacher of the Year spot, aren’t ya?”

“It’s my lunch break…” you start before realizing that you have no need to defend yourself to him. “Why are you so mean to me?” You keep your tone as hushed as possible, not wanting to attract any unwanted listeners. “Seriously, what did I do to you?”

“Besides ruin my life?”

You scoff incredulously, annoyance creeping back into your posture. For some reason, this bothers Eddie less than seeing you worried about him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your little gossip session with Jeff?” he spits back. “The one where you told him I called you a frigid bitch? Or maybe the one where you painted me to be some asswipe womanizer all because I didn’t call you?” He rakes his fingers through his long brown curls. “I have no one now; are you happy? Christ, you’ve lived in this goddamn town for two minutes and you’ve managed to turn my best friends against me.”

“I didn’t do shit,” you fume, whispering the last word in case children are passing by. “I told Jess, and I didn’t know she was at her sister’s place. And the only reason Jeff even knew about our night together was because I needed a ride after you basically kicked me out of your apartment.”

“You weren’t supposed to sleep over,” he murmurs so softly, you can barely hear him. 

“Why not? What would’ve been so bad about that?”

He doesn’t have the chance to answer–or come up with a half-hearted excuse–before Harris is flinging himself into his legs, wrapping his arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Daddy! Mr. Will said I’m going home, but none of my friends are going home.”

Eddie scoops up his son, resting him on his hip. “That’s because you and I are having a super-special, super-secret Daddy-Son Day at the zoo!” he whispers in his ear, and Harris beams in response. Eddie’s own father never took him out of school and brought him on fun outings. The only time he got out early was when they were on the run from the cops or evading an eviction notice over unpaid rent. Zoo trips? Unheard of. So there, Wayne.

“Have fun!” you chirp, swallowing your anger for Harris’s sake, and for your own. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, Harris.” You rub his back gently and walk back to your classroom. Like most of your encounters with Eddie Munson, you leave with more questions than answers.

“Daddy, look at that!” Harris shouts happily, pointing to a flamingo stretching and flapping its pink wings. “Look how fluffy it is!”

Eddie squints in the sun to get a better view. “Yeah,” he agrees with a laugh, squeezing Harris’s hand. “Fluffy like a teddy bear.”

Harris frowns, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “No, Daddy. That’s a bird, not a bear.”

“You’re right,” Eddie says, trying to hold back his laughter. “You’re really learnin’ a lot in school, huh?”

“Mhm,” Harris says, leading his dad to the next exhibit. A hippo pops its head out of the water and glances around curiously before lowering back down. “Ms. Sweetheart is the bestest teacher ever! She sings songs, an’ reads to us, an’ she’s even helping me write my name!”

At the mention of your inadvertent nickname, Eddie’s jaw clenches. It’s my own stupid fault for bringing up school, he thinks bitterly, but brushes past it. “Are you having fun on our Daddy-Son Day?”

“Most fun ever!” Harris jumps up and down with each syllable. “Did you and Grampa Wayne do Daddy-Son days?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Har, remember? Grampa Wayne is actually my uncle, not my dad.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harris says, slowing his pace slightly. “But he was kinda like your dad, right? He took care of you like he’s your dad?”

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Yeah, he took care of me like a dad.”

“Where is your dad? Why didn’t he take care of you?”

“He, um, he couldn’t,” Eddie offers lamely. “He didn’t know how to be a dad. So Grampa Wayne decided to raise me.” As he says the words, he feels sick. He’s tried so hard not to be like his old man–his biological one–and yet he’d basically become a carbon copy. Just a guy in way over his head, failing to be the man his son needed him to be. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Harris chirps happily. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go see the penguins now?”

“Sure thing, bud.”

On the way back from the zoo, with Harris nodding off in the backseat after the self-proclaimed “best day of his life,” Eddie pulls into the record store parking lot. It’s changed quite a bit since his younger years, but the music selection is still the best this town has to offer. He peruses their metal section, a snoozing Harris resting his cheek against his chest. Plucking a few cassettes from the bin, he places them on the counter and digs into his back pocket for his wallet. A handwritten HELP WANTED sign catches his eye.

“You guys hiring?” he asks the bored teenager behind the register.

“Yup,” comes the monotone reply, not making eye contact as he rings up the tapes.

Eddie waits a beat before continuing. “Is there an application or something?” The cashier pulls a sheet of paper from behind the sign and hands it to him. “Cool. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.” Eddie takes the bag of cassettes and shuffles back towards the car.

The application feels like it’s staring at him from where he’s set it on the passenger seat. The idea of being a minimum wage employee makes him cringe; it’ll probably take him weeks to earn what he makes in a day for Rick. He glances in the rearview mirror at his peacefully sleeping son.

“Only for you, Har-Bear.”

--

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[turtle-paced]

Did Jaime love Tywin or feel any sort of affection for his father in your opinion? After what he did to Elia and her children and later Tysha he had no delusions about the sort of man Tywin was. He was guilty and somewhat upset after Tywin died do you think that indicates some small amount of love?

Yes, I think Jaime absolutely did love Tywin. When Jaime was imprisoned, he asked for news of his father. When Tywin was murdered, Jaime keeps vigil over his bier (albeit as Kingsguard, which 100% would have pissed Tywin off).

But again, this is all in the context of Tywin's parental abuse.

It was queer, but he felt no grief. Where are my tears? Where is my rage? Jaime Lannister had never lacked for rage. "Father," he told the corpse, "it was you who told me that tears were a mark of weakness in a man, so you cannot expect that I should cry for you." Jaime I, AFFC

He had a terrible fight with his father not long before Tywin's death that ended in Tywin basically disowning him. Jaime freed Tyrion, who murdered Tywin - keeping in mind that Tyrion was in prison sentenced to death because Cersei accused Tyrion of murdering her and Jaime's son, and Tywin (at minimum) went along with Cersei's handling of the trial. Jaime's got some big and complex emotions to feel, and as we see in the quote above, Tywin did not encourage Jaime to develop a full suite of tools to handle those emotions.

Tywin did a lot of damage to all his children. Jaime might love his father, in spite of all the murders and atrocities he did to other people that Jaime academically knows about - but he's also starting to actually reckon with how Tywin and his ethos and his works have fucked up Jaime (and the rest of his family) on a deeply personal level. Jaime is literally standing there trying to work out how he feels about that.

It doesn't mean that Jaime didn't love Tywin and never loved Tywin. It's part and parcel of what makes Tywin exactly as horrible as he is. Part and parcel of the terrible irony of Lannisters, too - all Tywin's children loved him so much they did their best to follow his example, something that has done them no favours in developing the ability to love others. Or themselves.

[wiltkingart]

as another fruity tguy i really REALLY love the way u draw men so so much i see your work and i feel warm from head to toe cause you make trans men so beautiful. i can feel in every work that you love transmascs and being a tmasc and it comes thru in every paintstroke to me.

sorry to hijack with a big paragraph but last anon rly spoke to me and i wanted to share my experience if its ok

to last anon-- my journey is perhaps different from others but for me when i started T i also felt like it was the most important, life or death thing, but after spending time on T i found that even if the results werent as Manly as i was hoping for originally, i suddenly found myself in love with the simple fact that i had changed and my body had changed in a way that was on MY terms, even if it wasnt """perfectly passing"". since then ive found that not having T or having to lower my dosage was no longer painful or frightening.. im not sure how else to explain it other than At First, it felt like the testosterone was trying to fight Against the woman that Was my body, to sort of Transform it completely into this Man, but one day i just suddenly realized "oh. im not fighting anymore. and im actually pretty happy" and even tho i wasnt Perfectly masc by a long shot there was suddenly.. peace. i fell in love with my patchy body hair and my funny voice and my weird dick and then to my own suprise i found myself falling in love with the things i used to hate and wanted to get rid of. i suddenly loved my boobs (i wanted top surgery for YEARS before t) i loved my eyelashes, i loved the way my body looked in womens clothes, and i still loved being a man. im still a man and happier with that than ive ever been, but im more feminine now than i really ever have been! and its because suddenly being a man and having this mans body was something that belonged to ME, not to anyone else. this happiness and this body were on MY terms!!! so anon, i hope that you can try hormones and you get to explore the changes that bring you joy and that you find even more joy in the things you never expected before. but if you dont get hrt? youre still one of us always. i hope you will still find the love in your heart for yourself and the man you are regardless. peace and love and trangenderism ❤️

just want to add on that i relate heavily to your part about "falling in love with the things i used to hate and wanted to get rid of" because my chest was one of my biggest source of grief pre-T and could not imagine a life for myself without top surgery, and even injured myself from binding too much. but something about being on hrt and finally seeing and experiencing myself with more masc features (and living my life as a guy, in my own way) gradually flipped a switch in my brain and i started to love my boobs. and then when i stopped T i was worried and scared i would lose that love, but now i actually love them more than ever (if my art wasnt indication enough hehe). there's so many ways to be trans, and be a man, and i'm so grateful i gave myself the patience and space to explore that, and that i can continue to explore and experience joy with it. peace and love and transgenderism forever 💙

[kiwanopie]

What happens if crime lord!Kiyoomi actually thinks you’re dead?

went off the deep end with this one, but hey! there’s a happy ending at least <3

cw: death, murder, actual bad guy kiyoomi, grief, graphic descriptors of death (not reader), happy ending but a lot of kiyoomi turning into the worst guy ever

wc: 3.5k

He’d kill you if it didn’t mean winding up in the same predicament again. For all the suffering you’ve caused he’d be due a severed finger. - Lucky you he doesn’t regularly keep anything sharp on him.

Atsumu’s never quite been the caring type. Faithful? Sure. But never compassionate. ~ Never quite felt bad for the wounded paw or attached himself to temporary things and temporary pleasures, never really formed a dependency on people in a way that ever mattered. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not heartless. There are people he loves. His brother, his mother, maybe a few of his cousins. But he’s never quite had the capacity to feel bad for someone. It’s never clicked. He supposes that’s why he’s so valued in his profession.

But over the past three years, watching a man who owns everything, who controls everything, grieve and become the worst version of himself - the worst version of anyone, sour and harden into a crust and get worse every day… Well, he might say he feels a little sore about it. Experiencing grief from a bird’s eye view, that’d be easy, if it weren't for his position as the guy’s right hand man.

When news of your death broke out the first thing Kiyoomi did was lock himself in his office. He wasn’t there when the guy who told him did, didn’t see the look on his face or the initial reaction that came at finding out the woman he loved had been murdered in cold blood. Well not quite cold. The car they rigged blew you to bits. But he was there for the aftermath. He saw the nauseated look on his face when walking into his office. Pallid and silent. Kiyoomi’s always been a quiet guy but the stillness that followed him was a vacuum. If he stood too close he’d all but stop breathing, even the acoustic in the hall seemed to have left with him.

He stayed in that office for three days. Didn’t leave for food or water, didn’t pick up the phone or address any of his constituents. Didn’t even move a muscle when one of the guys started a fire a few rooms over. Lucky him they put it out but those shadows under the door never moved. - By day three, Atsumu had almost figured he’d killed himself. But there wasn’t a smell, and by closing, his door had been left open. Torn papers and broken glass, toppled over furniture left as any indication he was ever there.

But that was just denial.

Atsumu isn't the kind of guy to go out of his way to do something cruel. Well… that’s a lie. He doesn’t do it often. Sure he’s laughed in the faces of groveling women, sneered at broken men and maybe even kept a bastard alive a little longer than he had to but that’s kind of his schtick? He’s supposed to be a loose cannon! What’s an aloof domineering big boss without one?

But this - Makato hits the ground with a curdled groan. More pushed out by inertia than the bullet lodged in his brain, but even so, the way his face goes slack feels particularly disturbing. What shit luck. They just hired this kid not even a month ago.

Kiyoomi shuffles his feet until he’s standing in front of the next one. Same soured scowl on his face, same outstretched arm, same barrel burning scorch marks on the underling's forehead.

“Plea-“

This one falls on his back.

Atsumu grimaces at the blood splatter that reaches him from his place a little further behind. He’s making a mess. Which probably makes matters worse because Kiyoomi notoriously hates messes. He hates the smell of too much blood and too much gun powder. Guns create loud noises that are more grating than gratifying, and he doesn’t like presenting his business as a group that murders and nothing else.

Nushiba pisses himself when the boss cocks his pistol, the smell makes him kiss his teeth.

“You think you all deserve to be scared?” Kiyoomi speaks into the room. “Is that why you failed us so badly? Fear? You were afraid of what?”

Kiyoomi aims for his mouth this time, the force of the blast blows his teeth into bloody fragments. “There is nothing on this earth that warrants this kind of disobedience. Nothing. I should never expect to be let down this gravely by my own men.”

Kenji gets a few rounds in his stomach before he nails the killing blow in his head. He was the one who was supposed to check in with him before you left the venue. You weren't even supposed to be beyond the front doors let alone the back seat of the car. He’s still blinking when he hits the ground, bleeding out of the chunk missing out of his head but his breathing doesn’t stop for a few odd seconds. He’s cognizant enough to cry.

“Let this be a reminder to everyone in this room,” Kiyoomi announces. And he spits on Kenji’s body for good measure. “You don’t fear death. You don’t fear pain. You don’t fear God,”

“You fear me.”

Atsumu forces down a swallow as Sakusa shoots his colleague in the throat.

In just the next year and a half his boss and companion had become the boogie man.

If he wasn’t the most feared man in Asia already, you’d say he’d broken the scales and became the most feared in all of the Pacific. He had taken the entire underground industry and painted it red. Jobs they’d otherwise refused for morality sake were on the table now. And he was killing people with families, the families themselves. Selling witnesses into slavery and destroying the infrastructure of even some of their allies. But they could do nothing to stop him. Retaliating wouldn’t work, the guy had nothing to lose at this point. And with a show of chops like this who would even want to be on his bad side. He was killing people on his own team if they didn’t didn’t jump high enough. - The only thing you can do against a man like he’d become is roll over on your back and show your belly.

And obviously the guys responsible for the assanation were no more.

Jesus, just the thought of what he made them do to Onslaught’s people makes him a little queasy. “Ya’ called me in here, boss?”

Kiyoomi quietly nods.

Atsumu redistributes some of the weight on his feet as he waits for his boss to start. - Watches him stare into empty space with his hands folded over his chest, too far from his desk to reach for his pistol, but who's to say he doesn’t already got it on him.

He’s always had a habit for yapping when he’s anxious. “Something on yer mind, boss man?”

Kiyoomi pulls a piece of skin off his bottom lip.

“Do you think…” He starts flatly. “…That I’ve been overreacting?”

Atsumu hesitates. Not too noticeably. He doesn’t have a death wish. But he hesitates. Any sane man would tell him yes, obviously. But Atsumu’s not exactly sane, and he toys the line of what could be considered a “man” quite often.

Is he overreacting? If he were him, “No,” Atsumu says honestly. “No, I don’t think so at all.”

Kiyoomi takes the reassurance with a twitch of his brow.

“I’m not stupid, you know. I know how people are starting to look at me, and this organization,” He says thinly. “I know that she-“

It looks like it physically hurts him to say. “…I know that… she was scared. And she didn’t like the way I did things. Because she was good. She was a good person. And now… I’m worse.”

There are tears welling up in his eyes.

“Do you think…” Kiyoomi swallows. “… Do you think if I was better… If I could be better… she would still-“

“That girl loved ya, Omi.”

And even if talking out of turn could get him killed, nothing would be worse than what’ll happen if he lets him continue. “She loved you. Even if she could be a little twitchy about this… whole thing that we’re doin’ here, I could see it in tha way she waited for ya. She’d would sleep here all night if it meant you were going home with ‘er in the morning. It wasn't you that… It wasn’t you.”

“Yer grievin’.” He sighs. And for a moment it feels like he’s talking to his brother. Talking him out of doing something stupid cause he’s scared. - He’s scared and hurt. Whether that be from nearly losing a twin in a gun fight or finding out that someone you cared so deeply for has passed, it’s the same ballpark. It’s the same love. “We all become different people when we grieve. It’s a shitty fuckin’ feelin’ and it feels like dyin’ everyday.”

“Yer not overreacting.” Atsumu says, and then he chuckles under his breath. “Hell, if she were here she’d act like it was just Tuesday. ‘Girl could talk down a hurricane if you put ‘er to it.”

Kiyoomi lets out a humored breath.

“Yeah…” He sniffles. “…Thanks uh… Thank you, Miya. I appreciate that.”

“No problem, boss. Ya’ want me to round the boys up downstairs?”

“Yes, thank you.”

As much as he tried to get things back to normal, he couldn’t.

It was too much to lose you and by extension his happiness all at once. Thank the powers that be that he didn’t get any meaner, but a “nice” Kiyoomi had never quite been an option. With you around he was subdued, he had something to look forward to after work. Better days were the days you showed up and sat all cozied up near his desk. Sometimes he’d find you curled up on his lap - less common, the few times he’s barged in and found you bouncing on it. Repremandings aside, you kept him docile. Softened and genial, as much as a love drunk fool as any guy as reserved as him could be.

But now you’re gone.

Kiyoomi gets a little callous when he’s depressed.

There’s a civil servant in front of him. Not the first one he’s seen up close, not the first one he’s captured, but it’s the first one that cries so easily when he gets the tools out. She’s got a neat little suit and tie on that glows somewhat in the darkness of the cellar but he supposes that's a part of the gag. Justice. The fight against evil and the hand of the law, let it warm you over like the sun! Though regrettably, there ain’t too much sunlight for her to access fifty feet underground.

Atsumu checks his watch. The boys should be making some noise at the old courthouse about now. This little lady was supposed to be there around noon for the showcase, but he’s sure the big dogs won’t notice that their runner up has gone missing too soon. Big cases like this usually run an understudy anyway, and with the kind of shit they’ll be going against it’ll be a party.

So they can be comforted by the fact that no one’ll come looking. And the clear fear that that brings to the woman strapped to the ladder back, well he could go so far as to say it feels invigorating.

“Don’t play around with her too much, Miya. We need her lucid enough to talk.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest behind him. “This isn’t supposed to be for fun.”

Says the guy sitting in the splash zone. Even shrouded by shadows he can see the latent satisfaction in his face at seeing the official suffer. It’s the only time he sees him have any fun in this half year.

Atsumu exhales as he bounces the hammer drill in his hand. “A’right, I hear ya.”

He holds it to the bridge of her collar bone as she struggles. “You heard the boss. The fuck are you people doin’ with our money?”

“I already said I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Bullshit.” Kiyoomi asserts. “You work directly under Takuto. You of all people should know what goes on behind the scenes.”

“Shin doesn’t tell me anything…!” She sobs. “…He doesn’t tell me anything! I just write him his scripts and bring him his coffee!”

“So why does he cite you as an advisor?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

Kiyoomi kisses his teeth. “Miya.”

Her collarbone breaks with a nasty crack.

Her scream is enough to make his ears ring as he frowns to himself in his seat. It’s a pathetic display of the people who should be protecting the general public, let alone headlining our political infrastructure but it isn’t surprising. Half of the big wigs in the law game often pay off major criminals like him to send off small fries to further their laws and agendas, the other half, his people pay off to stay out of their dealings and territories. The Takuto firm has been a middleman of theirs for around two years now. They pay them to stage big cases with a few of their showmen, and Sakusa enterprises hands them a fat check to look the other way when his people pass by. Occasionally even, they do some of their handling for them.

But they’ve been doing a less than satisfactory job recently. And Kiyoomi’s just lost one of his best guys to the shithead with an angel scribbled on his business card. Nice guy he is, he only wants a refund and the head of the guy who did it. But they haven’t been exactly reciptible of his wishes.

Because they don’t have the money anymore. And Takuto’s too chicken shit to give himself up, even under threat of young uninvolved employees losing their lives in the process.

“You know something.” Kiyoomi says. “Your name is on everything. Not just our contracts but on the publicity deals. You’re a signing witness for all the cases you sell, all the commercials, all the revenue we gave you. So what the fuck do you mean when you say you don’t have it? You people make at least a million yen a day and you have nothing to show for it?”

She shakes her head.

“Speak clearly.”

“W-We don’t… We don’t.” She whimpers.

“Why not?”

“Please… I…”

Kiyoomi’s voice is so venomous that it nearly makes Atsumu wince. “You’ve got three fucking seconds to tell me what I wanna hear before we start sawing your hands off.”

She starts to retch. Even Atsumu kinda wants her to speak up.

“Ichi,”

“God, please…”

“Ni,”

“It’s…” She pitters off.

Kiyoomi sighs and starts the motion of lifting off of his feet.

She chokes it out like she’s gagging. “It’s Gethsemane! He’s been funneling the money to Gethsemane!”

Kiyoomi stops in his tracks.

There’s a look that passes through his eyes. A look that’s misplaced from the situation at hand and directed at something reminiscent. Something forgotten but perpetual, an open sore, now more scab than raw vessel, that peels open and encourages a reaction more akin to flinching. Bracing. Something hits him so suddenly that it overwhelms him to the point of freezing in place. Halting his breaths before blowing them out quietly. Atsumu could go as far as to say his eyes have gone glossy.

He speaks… carefully. “What do you know about Gethsemane?”

“The-They’ve… They’ve been threatening us… I think,” She admits shakily. “Whatever they’ve been saying to Shin is what’s been making him pay them. He says it’s for our safety.”

Atsumu scoffs.

“Why?” Is what Kiyoomi responds with. Which makes Atsumu furrow. I mean, Gethsemane’s fairly new to Japan and they’re a powerful organization, sure. But they’ve never exactly been on their radar. “Why are they-“

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “What would they want with you? Gethsemane doesn’t affiliate with case work. They would have no reason to threaten you.”

She pinches out a pained sound that sounds more like a plea than anything else. “I-…It’s the new hire… I think it’s the new hire…”

She sniffles. “They didn’t start bothering us until she showed up.”

Kiyoomi’s chair squeaks as he rises out of his seat.

It’s not even a moment that fully passes before he’s standing among the two. Towering just under the dim light, broad shoulders making shadows over the young official tied to her seat. Atsumu can barely react when he snatches the hammer drill out of his hands, and he eyeballs him as he points it before her nose.

His grip is trembling. Atsumu’s harrowed to find that there are tears in his eyes. “What’s her name?”

“I-I don’t-“ She cowers. “I don’t remember-“

He starts the motor. “Guess.”

“I-It was something foreign! She’s…. S-She’s gaijin! S-Super quiet!? You could find her on the registry if you-“

Kiyoomi takes a few dizzy steps back.

Atsumu stares.

She’s not talking about who he thinks she is?

You’re asleep in his arms when he walks through the door.

Knocked out would be more accurate telling by how limply your body pours into his grasp but it’s you. Flesh and blood, breathing in quiet puffs. The little sundress you’re wearing compliments you like everything else you wear. Just as pretty if not prettier, just as soft if not cottony.

Atsumu gapes as Kiyoomi silently walks through his living room, he’s following him before he knows what to do with himself. “H-Holy shit! Is that her?!”

Kiyoomi sniffles and then nods.

“What the fuck…What?! How did she-“

“I don’t know.”

Kiyoomi opens the bedroom door with his foot. Belatedly, Atsumu realizes he’s never been to this part of his house before.

His bedroom is about as neat as he’d expect it to be. Pretty much spotless to the point he wonders if the guy even sleeps in here or just hovers over the bed every night. There’s a big bay window that if not for the curtains would give a good view of the garden, solid mahogany floors, a big entrance to what he can assume is an enormous bathroom but -

Your stuff is still here.

At least, he can assume it’s yours and that it’s been here the whole time. Kiyoomi’s not quite a pink slippers kind of guy. He doesn’t think his tall frame would fit the little robe thrown over the vanity chair. Old posters of American artists take up a far wall and the English lettering on them is stylized and a little hard to read. Artists that look like you and share varying skin tones, some hung up records mounted to compliment them on the wall. There’s a console there that he knows Kiyoomi doesn’t touch, video game memorabilia posted on a near table. Even as he gets closer he realizes the discarded guitar leaned against the loveseat has collected dust over time. Hell, some of your clothes are still sitting where you probably left them before what happened a solid three years ago.

Oh man. Atsumu sighs through his nose. This guy’s been more tortured than he thought.

Kiyoomi’s feather gentle as he lays you on the bed, careful to position your neck in a way that won’t leave a crook in it when you eventually wake up. He’s tender enough to make the faux blonde go shy. So ginger that he blushes seeing him tuck some of your hair behind your ear and shuffles a little when he stares at you a long moment before letting out a sigh. He gawks as Kiyoomi lowers himself beside you, careful of your legs as the bed dips.

No one knows what to say.

Which is surprising, because nine times out of ten Atsumu can’t shut the fuck up. “Wh…” He whisps.

Kiyoomi turns his head to wipe some of the tears out of his eyes. “I don’t…”

He clears his throat. “I don’t know what this is about. Why her director is fear mongering a law firm into taking her in…Why she’s affiliated with these people in the first place… or why she’s been hiding for so long-“

His voice breaks. He really doesn’t wanna start again, his eyes have gone raw. “I just… hope that she can explain it to me when she wakes up. So we can put all this behind us.”

“Do…” Atsumu pitters. “Do you want me to stick around until then? Maybe call in the-“

“No, no,” Kiyoomi runs a hand through his hair. “No. The drug won’t wear until sometime tomorrow morning. So, you’re free until then. Just… Just uh-“

He messily fishes in his jacket pocket till he’s pulling out a crumpled up piece of paper. “Go to this address and make it seem like she went out for groceries or something. It’ll give us some time before they start looking.”

Atsumu takes the slip and slides it in his pants. “Alright… You gonna be okay?”

Kiyoomi breathes in a watery sniffle before nodding surely. “I’m just gonna turn in for the night, I think.” It’s five. “I think I’ve… exhausted all of my resources for today. - A headache like this is only gonna get worse.”

Kiyoomi rests his head in his hand. “Yeah… uh- engage the security system before you lock the door on your way out.”

Atsumu backs into the doorway. “Sure thing.”

“Miya?”

“Yeah?”

Kiyoomi turns to tuck his legs behind yours. “Hit the lights, please.”

“Gotcha.”

The lights dim as Kiyoomi pulls you into his chest.

[sempersirens]

a bird in your teeth, II

masterlist

summary: a night out with a friend has you reaching out for joel

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni, neighbour!joel, age gap: reader is early-mid 20s, joel early 30s. no break-out. no smut (yet). allusion to SA (nothing happens)

a/n: thank you thank you thank you for the love on part one! i know there is not much joel yet, but fear not, this will be rectified fruitfully in part three <3

word count: 2.6k

After leaving Joel's place, you ran across the street to change for your night out. As usual, you turned your porch light off to indicate to Joel that you had gotten home safely, a small tradition you had kept since you first started babysitting Sarah late at night. Sometimes you would linger by the front door to watch Joel appear at his window, confirming your safe return. Whenever you caught him looking, you would wave, and he would return a small salute. That tiny movement of his hand would replay on loop all night.

Tonight, you didn't have time to stay and check, but felt that familiar feeling of the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention as you passed your living room window. You had promised your closest friend Daisy that you would head into the city with her tonight, despite it being a Thursday and you both having ungodly early morning commitments.

When it came to Daisy, you could never say no. She had these all-devouring doe eyes and a sweet Southern belle twang that only came out when she wanted something. This time, she wanted to "accidentally" bump into a guy on her course she knew would be out. Aside from Joel and Sarah, your move to Texas would have been nothing without befriending Daisy in a bar toilet. Both a couple of drinks deep at the time, she had complimented your handbag and henceforth ignited a friendship closer to sisterhood. What kind of friend would you be to turn her down in her hour of need?

Quickly changing out of your comfy chick-flick-watching and popcorn-eating attire into something revealing a little more skin, you let your hair down from your claw clip and gave it a once over with a brush. You pulled on your rite of passage cowboy boots, already sensing the shriek that would erupt from Daisy's core when she saw the fringed boots paired with your little denim mini skirt. Another thing you loved about her was how similar she was to girls back home; a true girl's girl through and through. You had spent countless late nights on one another's front porches with a bottle (or two) of wine, philosophizing over the smallest and largest dilemmas all twenty-something women toss and turn over. The future, becoming mothers some day, not becoming mothers, the next episode of The O.C., careers, husbands, whether you’d ever grow to like the taste of red wine.

A car horn beeped once outside prompting you to grab your handbag and skip out the door to the passenger's side.

"Oh, honey. Let's have a moment for the boots! Y'ready to bring this city to its knees?" Daisy giggled as you jumped in.

"Baby, you know I always am,” you chirped in your bordering offensive attempt at a Southern drawl. “So, what's this guy's name again?"

"Mark. Fancy, huh? He's in my lab group. Sometimes when we're measuring out cobalt chloride hexahydrate I look at his big strong hands and think good grief man would'ya just take me on the work bench?"

"You're preaching to the choir here, sister." You laugh. Only Daisy could say the most academic and intelligent thing in one breath to then utter some unhinged depravity in the next.

"Soooo," she longed out, taking turns looking at you and then the road and then back at you again.

"Dais, don't even-"

"How's Mr. Miller?"

You throw your head back in the same manner Sarah used to when you first knew her; when Joel would tell her to get ready for bed so that he could break open a bottle of whiskey after a long evening of barbecuing.

"He's fine, as he always is when you ask."

"Sureee. He not tried the I don't have any cash on me to pay you for looking after my kid... but I could pay you another way yet?"

"It's so not like that and you know it. Plus I don't ask him to pay me to babysit Sarah." You muttered the last part, slightly embarrassed to admit that you spent so much time with the Millers purely out of enjoyment.

"What! You're always at their damn place watching his kid while he fucks some recently divorced suburban mom."

"You think he fucks them?" You ask, with a little too much rawness to your tone.

"Oh honey, this ain't good for you. You're smitten for the bastard."

"Can we talk about something else? This is making me depressed." You forced a laugh at the patheticness of your situation. More often than not, you had to sternly remind yourself that Joel was a divorced, single father, ten years your senior, who certainly didn't share your pining for him. He had responsibilities; he was too busy to deal with your little crush, being a father and all. You told yourself it was just you projecting onto him. Probably something with a Freudian explanation.

"Alright, alright. Let's talk about Mark's friend Elijah who I am certain is out with him tonight and would eat up the whole Kate Moss meets Minnie Driver thing y'have goin' on here."

"You're just referencing the only two British women you know other than me. Anyway, he better be handsome. You always stick me with the reject friend."

"Am not and do not!" Daisy laughed, shoving your shoulder as she pulled into the bar parking lot. "I'm leaving the car here overnight, wanna have a good couple drinks. You good to get a cab back to yours later?"

"Sure thing." You said.

"Who knows, we might even get lucky." Daisy winked at you, making her way toward the entrance, a sultry but sweet swing in her hips that only she could make look so effortless.

---

Elijah wasn't exactly your type. So, you decided to keep drinking until he somewhat was.

"You're not from round here, are ya?" He asked.

You widened your eyes in mock surprise at his intellectual summation. "What gave it away?" You said dryly, not really caring for an answer. It took moving out of England to realize alcohol simply made you more British. Or a sarcastic bitch, as some had put it.

"That accent for starters. Australia home for you, sweetness?"

It was going to be a long night.

"How did you guess!" You replied, slightly repelled by the misplaced enthusiasm plastered across his face.

"Well, myself I've never been to Australia, but I sure know my way 'round down under."

You half-choked on your sip of rum and coke, which Elijah seemed to take as a win.

"Dear Lord. That's really, um, something! I need to nip to the loo. Be back in a sec." You grabbed your bag and made for the bathroom, which was temptingly close to the back exit. Weighing up your options, you decided that you couldn't leave Daisy alone with two men in the middle of the city and settled with the bathroom.

Right on cue, she bustled in behind you shrieking your name.

"For a second there I thought you were gonna leave me all by my lonesome." She shouted over the bathroom stall.

"For a second there, so did I."

"Oh come on, he's not that bad."

You flushed the toilet and flung the door open to her standing nose-to-nose with the door.

"A Soviet gulag wouldn't be that bad compared to him." You retorted, moving to wash your hands. "He's a pig! He felt up my arse twice before we even sat down."

"Okay, so - he's handsy! You haven't been gettin' much action recently, anyway. Take it as a compliment?" You turned to give Daisy a look you knew she would choose to ignore. "Please, honey. They're having a little get-together back at their apartment and I would feel so much better if you came along. It's by campus, so you don't even need to worry about missin' class tomorrow."

Once again, you felt like channeling pre-teen Sarah, fighting the urge to stomp your feet at Daisy's request. As per usual, her big pleading eyes wore down your defenses. It was so obvious she was the youngest child in her family sometimes.

"Fine. But you owe me." She squealed at your response, hugging you and kicking one knee in the air.

"Anythin', honey. A lung, even! Mark has ordered an Uber and promised there's plenty'a liquor at his place. Let's go!"

You rolled your eyes realizing the Uber had been booked before the two of you had discussed your plans.

As you walked towards the boys, who sat with their jackets already on and big grins spread across their stupid faces, your mind wandered to Joel. You wondered if he had ever brought one of his dates to a bar like this. Maybe he had taken their jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and returned to her to ask so, what you drinkin'? He would wave his hand when she offered to pay for a round or if she reached for her purse. You wondered if he ever tried his luck, touching a knee against hers underneath the table. Whether he leaned in for a kiss, or put a hand on her thigh in the cab home.

You wondered if Joel ever noticed the way your breathing sped up when he put an arm around you after a couple of drinks, or how you would blush when he paid you the odd compliment. Did he ever notice the extra skin on show when the Texas heat made dressing semi-modestly for babysitting duties impossible? Or when you would lounge around the back garden in your bikini with Sarah? Did he catch a glimpse of you in skimpy outfits and heels running from your front door to various cars or cabs, or when you would sneak back at 6am on Sunday mornings clutching the heels? The dynamic between you and Joel felt so stilted sometimes. At times, it felt as though he was holding a part of himself back. Like he was always on the cusp of telling you something, but simultaneously fighting a battle between his tongue and his head to divulge any piece of himself to you.

But other times, he didn't. Since he'd first reached out that Friday at your front door, he had never failed to be there for you. When it was the flu or homesickness, Joel was there. Last summer, you had been especially missing your grandmother's homemade tiramisu, so had scoured the local bookstores for a Nigella Lawson recipe book and made you one with Sarah. The lady finger biscuits were so soggy they had disintegrated and the taste of amaretto was too much for even you, but you cried when he brought it over, the dish covered in a bumblebee dish towel. In the colder weather, he had fixed your boiler and defrosted your pipes. And whenever he passed a fresh produce store, he would bring you figs and watermelons to remind you of your summers in Europe. When you were in the thick of writing your thesis, Joel brought you a plate of whatever he and Sarah were having for dinner, knowing fully well that you would neglect your own dinnertime to meet deadlines. Joel didn't need to thank you for helping him out with Sarah, or whatever he had meant earlier, he was always thanking you in his own little way.

"Uber's here!" Mark's exclamation brought you out of your haze. You felt a hand on your lower back, Elijah was guiding you out of the bar not-so-courteously. You couldn't help but sigh at the disparity between your daydreams about Joel and the reality of your so-called love life.

"I'm not that drunk." You muttered under your breath, hoping you were loud enough for him to get the hint. If he did hear, he didn't act upon it.

Bundling into the car, Mark sat in the front seat, and you between Daisy and Elijah.

"D'ya like her boots, Elijah?" Daisy asked sweetly, leaning across you.

"They're real nice. Would look much nicer on my floor though." Daisy squeezed your thigh as if to say don't say a word.

"They'll look even better flying towards your head." You retorted, ignoring her.

"Oh, don't mind her! She's got that famous British sense of humor."

"Well, lucky she's so damn pretty, ain't it?" Elijah responded, making your stomach turn slightly at his unrelenting forwardness.

Mark announced that you had arrived, and everyone spilled out of the car in a stupor. You were drunker than you thought.

Between Elijah lingering around you like a bad smell, Daisy and Mark feeling each other up on the sofa, and the ever-looming presence of your 9am, you decided to call it a night a little over an hour into the impromptu after-party.

"Feel free to crash in my flatmate's room rather than pay for a cab home." Mark offered. "Think I'm gonna call it a night too, kinda tired myself."

"Oh, yes! You should stay, she has class early in the morning so it only makes sense." Daisy chimed in, clinging to Mark's arm. You could only assume she also planned on staying the night, but didn't have time to answer before Mark spoke again.

"Well then, it's settled. Down the hall and first door on your left. Make yourself at home."

You were too exhausted to argue, so made your way per Mark's instructions, ignoring Elijah's puppy dog look at you leaving him high and dry. You kicked off your boots but clambered underneath the duvet with your clothes still on. The walk of shame to class tomorrow will be just great, you thought. Popping two co-codomal tablets out of your bag, you swallowed them with a glass of water from the nightstand, entirely uncaring of how long it had been sat there. You needed all the help you could get for some proper rest on the hard mattress and single, flat pillow.

The apartment fell silent soon after, aside from a few recognizable giggles and the unmistakable slam of a bedroom door. Pills finally beginning to take effect, you had started to doze off with little resistance until the bedroom door creaked open.

"Daisy?" You muttered groggily, rubbing your eyes to make out the figuring closing the door behind them. "Is everything okay?"

"It's me." The unexpected masculine voice made you lurch into a seated position, recognizing it as Elijah in the dimly lit room.

"I thought you went home." You spoke, trying to sound braver than you were feeling as the mattress dipped with his weight.

"How could I, when I knew you were in here waiting for me." Your muscles froze.

"Look - I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm sorry, I really need to get up early. I didn't mean to lead you o..."

You were cut off by his lips clashing against yours, cutting your upper lip against your front teeth. His arms were leaning on either side of you, caging you in his embrace as your cries for him to stop went muffled and unheard. Elijah's weight shifted, moving his body on top of yours, trapping you entirely underneath him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Even if you wanted to try to push him off, your body had gone utterly lifeless in panic.

"You'll like it, sweetheart. Don't be so damn uptight." You felt sick. Your skirt was around your hips from the struggle between his body and the mattress, you were separated from him by only your panties.

He reached his hand down to palm himself through his jeans, which thanks to his undignified alcohol consumption throughout the night, was to no avail. Growing frustrated with his body's lack of cooperation, his weight on you relaxed and you took your chance to tumble out from under him.

"Where the hell are you going?" You grabbed your handbag in a haze and darted out of the door, his shouts after you growing quieter by the second.

As soon as you were out of the building, you rested your hands on your knees and emptied your stomach onto the pavement. You dreaded to think what you looked like; skirt hitched high up your thighs, no doubt mascara pouring down your cheeks, face inches away from your own vomit. You also didn't care. Silent sobs racked through your body as you tried to guide your trembling hands through your handbag to retrieve your phone. Messily scrolling down your contact list, your heart stopped at the letter J. It was the early hours of the morning, but you knew he kept his phone on during the night in case Tommy ever needed bail money.

"Hello?" His gruff voice had never sounded so sweet, the instantaneous relief that washed over your body almost brought you to your knees.

"Joel, I-I'm so sorry to call so late. It's me. Something... something's happened."

"Where are you?"

You stumbled to the nearest main road, searching for street signs. The sun was beginning to rise. You thought you might be sick again.

"West 22nd and Guadalupe." You touched a finger tentatively to your lip, not realising it had been pumping blood down your chin and onto your chest.

"You stay there, I'll be there in 15."

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 19 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: The owner of the barn returns, surprising you for unexpected reasons.

Author’s Notes: There is slight nudity in this chapter. Chapter nineteen of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, nudity, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Nineteen: What Lies Ahead

Word count: 5750

He figured it would work. You slept easily, satisfied and dreamless if the state of you was any indication. You were laid out on your back now, a sliver of the bare skin of your stomach showing between the fur openings of his coat, chest rising and falling with every slow breath. What Arthur hadn’t figured for, however, was the state all of this would leave him in. The first and most devastating thing being that you’d never done anything close to that before, even yourself, and he had had the privilege to introduce it to you with his own hands. The second was the look on your face as you had let go. He would never forget that absolute surrender, the complete trust you had in him. The third was the feeling of you tightening around his finger and how his brain wouldn’t release its hold on that thought. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do this with you a second time and hold himself back. But it wasn’t for the reasons he expected—he wasn’t hell bent on feeling himself inside you. Instead, he wanted to kiss every inch of skin you’d let him see. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to return that trust you had given him, what he believed to be the most valuable thing he had to offer. And how goddamn dangerous all of that was.

Arthur had only ever been in love once. Even then, he was young and a fool who knew nothing of it. Not really. If it had been truer, he would likely still be with Mary. But he remembered that feeling that caught in his chest around her plain as day, because he was feeling it now—a fondness so strong he couldn’t get past it. He recognized it now because he was able to lie there next to you content as could be without ever finding his own release. If sex wasn’t what mattered to him about all this, then that left a big hole that only something stronger could fill. And it terrified him. It terrified him to let that feeling in again, knowing how this would all end. He had weeks left with you. Days. That wasn’t enough time. He wanted your trust, your sharp humor, your rare, loving gaze you sometimes gave him. He wanted the woman who had forfeited her own life for his without question, the one strong enough to match his grit and stare death in the face. He wanted a life he couldn’t have, because it would come at the cost of his gang. Always at the cost of his gang. Before, with Mary, it was obvious leaving them was the wrong choice. But this felt so much more aligned with who he was and perhaps who he could become that he worried it would be the wrong decision to leave you. That was what scared him most of all. In a few weeks time, he had absolutely no clue what he would do. At least there was one easy factor he could rely on: you. You could make that decision for him. Love like that had to be returned to be worth a damn, and he was happy to lay the decision in your hands. But for now, he would enjoy every moment with you. He would sit here and watch you sleep peacefully, knowing what it had taken to get you there but thinking only of how that act had grown his fondness for you more. Knowing that, above all else, you trusted him. And that meant more to him than anything ever had.

~

You were warm, a bit stuffy, when you woke. You could feel the sweat on your forehead before you opened your eyes, could smell fresh hay and hear a creaking barn surround you. You wondered, for all of a heartbeat, what you had done to warrant this—your parents making you sleep out in the barn like livestock. Then you realized how very far away your family barn was and all the circumstances that came with the notion. The thought ached.

You slowly opened your eyes, seeing shadowed rafters high above you, feeling that sweat turn to clamminess at the vision of your dead parents and a dead deputy. You took a moment to release the breath you were holding, like it was swollen with every regret you’d ever had. Letting it go was a bit undeserved, but you did it anyway. You didn’t have the strength to weather all that hurt right now.

Realizing what else was missing, you turned your head to find Arthur in the corner of the stall, sitting there working away in his journal. At least that brought a faint smile to your mouth. As did the thought of what had happened between you only hours ago. That was why you were so sweaty—in your nakedness, Arthur had given you his coat. It was like a furnace wrapped around your body, the bed’s fur blankets on top of it making for a cocoon of heat.

“Hey.”

Your shallow voice drew his attention. He smiled at you. “She lives.” He went back to writing in his journal. “No more nightmares then?”

“None.” You hadn’t dreamed one wearying thing. Hadn’t dreamt at all. “How did you know that would work?”

He smirked, the sight like a kiss of its own. “Get the body relaxed, and the mind tends to follow.” He folded up his journal, stowing it away with his pencil. “At least, that’s what I’ve found.”

“So you do that often yourself, then?”

His face blazed red, his hand finding the back of his neck. “That’s…not what I meant.”

“Right,” you teased. Your smile was growing. It was usually you with a face full of embarrassment.

“Anyway,” he said on a long breath, and you let it slide. For now. “You may as well get some more sleep. How dark it is, sun won’t be up for another few hours.”

“Have you slept at all?” you asked, already knowing the answer. His eyes were heavy with it.

He shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t you worry about me.”

“Maybe you need relaxing,” you taunted. His eyes snapped to yours. It was so easy to get a rise out of him. But he just shook his head and smiled again, the rare smile that wasn’t for show.

“Go back to sleep.”

You would have, but he was too interesting. You suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about him.

“What are you writing? In your journal.”

You turned on your side, propping your head on your hand. With the motion, you could feel his coat fall open underneath the blanket. Naked as the day you were born, and that shyness in you was glad the blanket covered you.

He pondered your question a moment, likely deciding whether he wanted to tell you the truth or turn it into another joke of his. He finally caved. “Drawing.”

“What?”

“Drawing, not writing.” He just watched you, a bit of a challenge in his eye. You met it.

“Well, what are you drawing, then?”

Again, he took a moment to respond. “This barn.”

“Can I see?”

To your surprise, he reached in his satchel and pulled out the small, leather-bound book. He was awfully protective of it, never letting you near it before. Apart from when he had given you his satchel in that town, but you had been too preoccupied to think of snooping then. Now, you could feel excitement take hold as Arthur flipped to the proper page. You sat up, letting the blanket fall. Feeling excitement for another reason as his coat fell open, covering only parts of you but not the whole.

Arthur found his page and looked up at you, and his eyes caught and held. Moved down your body then back to your face.

“What?” you asked, smiling. You knew very well what.

He clenched his jaw and looked down at his journal. “This is…” He studied his drawing before letting out a bark of a laugh. “Ugly as shit now.” His eyes met your body again. “After a view like that.”

You could feel the heat in your cheeks but didn’t care. Not as you said without hesitation, “Draw me, then.”

That shook him. The eyes he almost never let widen met yours in surprise.

“It’s either this or me covered in dirt and blood and God knows what else.” You were still unusually clean from your recent bath and the trip to the launder. “Your choice.”

He clenched his jaw again. Then, dragging out his pencil from his satchel, “Lie back, then.” His voice was small but not weak. Like he was trying hard for control.

You did as he said, captivated by the sound of his voice, amazed you could have such an effect on a man.

“Like this?” You turned back on your side, letting the coat fall. You propped your head on your hand again, letting your other hand settle on your hip where it met the dip of your side.

Arthur eyed your body like it was a complicated thing to study, though there was an underlying softness in his gaze. He stood and moved to the right, sitting again when he found the viewpoint he was looking for. “Perfect.”

You smiled. He started drawing.

After a minute or two of pure captivation—on both your part and his—you spoke so as not to lose your nerve and write this off as a ridiculous idea. “Do you write at all or just draw?”

“Both,” he said, using the conversation as an excuse to look at you again. His eyes scaled down your upper body slowly, a smile forming in their wake.

“What do you write about?”

“Anything. Usually whatever shit predicament I’ve landed myself in.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I bet you had some choice words on the day I showed up.”

He smirked and went back to sketching, a few loose strands of his hair falling over his forehead as he did. It was distracting in a way you’d never known a man’s hair to be, of all things.

“I’ll admit, I weren’t too happy to be going with you in the beginning.”

“You hid it well,” you offered. “It was hell getting you to leave, but you haven’t complained the first time since.”

He eyed you again, a familiar gleam in his eyes as they locked onto yours. “It was hard to find something to complain about once I saw the real you.” He chuckled, going back to drawing. And just when you thought he had paid you a rare compliment, “Since you did enough complaining for the both of us.”

You shook your head at him with a grin, not wanting to prove him more right. And besides that you were too distracted by where his eyes kept catching, by his pencil tracing the lines of your breasts, the curve between your legs. You couldn’t help but think how wildly inappropriate this was, but you didn’t care. You wanted his gaze, wanted him studying your body and learning every inch of it. You wanted to do the same to him. Even now, you ached with the need to see him without his clothes. You wore his coat, and all that remained on him was a tattered shirt and pair of pants that let you in on just how powerful his body was. You didn’t just want to see it either—you wanted to feel it. You wanted his skin beneath your fingertips like he had done to you.

Laying there studying him just as shamelessly as he was you, you made up your mind. You would get your due, even if you didn’t know where the act would lead. Soon. Maybe as soon as he finished that drawing and got back in bed with you.

“I ain’t even gonna ask.”

You didn’t realize your gaze was so revealing of your thoughts until he said that.

“Probably best,” you told him, loving the way his resulting smirk lacked all notion of innocence.

The time ticked on, and other than more talk about his drawings, there was nothing left to distract you from the need you had for Arthur. It was growing, untamable, likely because of the pleasure he had shown you only hours ago. You wanted him to do it again. And finally, when he folded up his journal and stowed it away, did you see your opportunity.

“You better show me.”

“Later,” he said.

You patted the bed, purposely not going to him. Purposely leaving yourself exposed to him in the hopes that your body would tempt him like his was tempting you. “Now. It’s only fair.”

He eyed you, his gaze hardening in that way that meant you’d snared him. You felt satisfaction blooming hot and heavy within you, especially when he slowly reached back into his satchel, his eyes never leaving you.

He hadn’t even opened the book before the barn door swung inward, letting in an almighty gust of wind. You went still as death on instinct, having half a mind that the wind had done it until you saw a figure separate itself from the dark of the night outside. And just like that, your panic was back. You threw yourself to the floor, wrapping up in Arthur’s coat just as he cursed and pulled his gun, shooting to his feet.

“Who’s there?” yelled two voices, one Arthur’s, the other belonging to the newcomer. It was oddly feminine, enough that you raised your cowering head to see the person better. You still couldn’t see them well enough to tell their gender, and Arthur was pointing his gun with so much determination you quickly ducked back down again, not needing to see anymore death.

A barking laugh echoed through the barn. “Some nerve you got. I’m the owner of this barn. Who the hell are you?”

“We don’t mean no harm,” Arthur answered, the sound of his revolver being stowed filling you with relief. “Just passing through.”

Again, a snort of a laugh. “Passing through, huh?” You heard footsteps approach, oddly muffled. “It don’t look like you’re passing through. Looks like you gone and made yourselves at home.” The footsteps got so close you knew you were in plain sight. You turned your head to see—sure enough—a woman staring down at you, face tinged with mild curiosity in the lantern light. Though she was holding a gun, and you were willing to bet she knew how to use it based on the state of her—animal skins for clothes, even her fox hide boots. Her face was rough and worn like she hadn’t seen civilization in years.

“What you hiding down there for?”

Arthur stepped between you. “We were just leaving. Unless we got a problem here?”

The woman looked back to him, looking up so far you realized then how very small she was. But she must not have been intimidated by him, as she smiled with a toothy grin and said, “Not unless you want to start one.”

“No,” Arthur said, that commanding, protective voice of his back in place.

“Well, shit. I ain’t had company in years.” The woman let out a wild cackle and strapped her gun over her shoulder. “Years! A sight for sore eyes, you two!”

Knowing there wasn’t much danger apart from her strangeness, especially not with Arthur standing there like he would take her down at a moment’s notice, you made sure the bulky coat covered you completely and sat up. The woman eyed your clothes—or lack thereof—then the nearby end of the bed and all the clothing piled up at its foot. She let out another cackle of laughter. “Just leaving, were you?” She cocked an accusatory eyebrow at Arthur. “Don’t look like you were leaving. Looks like you were just getting started.”

Your face burned at that, but Arthur was quickly moving a step into the woman’s space, towering over her. “I need to repeat myself?”

Something about the way his pointed words made her frown at him had you standing. “Excuse him,” you said, stepping to his side. “We’ve been traveling a long time and haven’t met many hospitable folks along the way. He’s just being cautious.”

The woman eyed you, then sized Arthur up in a way that made you proud to call him your…yours.

“All right, then,” she answered. “But if he don’t mind his manners, I’m not letting him in on the fresh kill waiting for me outside.”

“I told you, we’re-”

You put a hand on Arthur’s arm to quiet him, looking to the woman with a small smile. “He’ll mind.”

Arthur’s head whipped to you, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know how offended he was by that. You reined in your smile.

“Good. Well, you can start by helping me with that deer out there,” she said to Arthur. “Goddamn giant, he is.”

The woman was already turning back, looking for something as she went when you finally caved to Arthur’s stare. You shrugged at him. He rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

That made your smile appear. “Go help the lady. Don’t be rude.”

He grumbled something but relented. That left you to turn back to the pile of clothes on the floor, the one that was filling you with such giddiness you felt the urge to laugh.

“Name’s Beth,” the woman called out. You peeked over to watch Arthur join her, begrudgingly offering his name in return. But he did take the gambrel from her that she had seemingly come in here for, at least willing to help her hoist up the deer outside. You knew he was helpful, had been since the day you met him, but watching him do so with a pout made it ten times more satisfying. And before you knew it, they were out the door together, leaving you to get redressed.

Normally, a new stranger would have you on edge. But as you donned your chemise and pants, buttoning your shirt back up, you couldn’t help but feel that this wouldn’t go badly. The woman—Beth—was strange but amusing. She knew how to fend for herself but hadn’t tried to do so against you. In fact, her first instinct was to be friendly, or as friendly as a person in this circumstance could be considered. So you let that as well as the familiarity of the barn lend themselves to your comfort that everything would be okay this time. It had to be. There had to be some decent people left in this country. You only hoped that Arthur wouldn’t get annoyed and spoil the visit—something he was very liable to do.

After donning hat and gloves, you joined the others outside. You were met with a biting wind that promised more snow, so you hustled over to the barn’s overhang where Arthur stood coatless.

“Here.” You handed him his coat back. The last thing you needed was him falling ill because you were too busy parading around in his coat. Which you had, just a little.

He thanked you and shrugged it on, going back to helping Beth skin the deer. She was right—the thing was massive. The animal sported one of the more beautiful racks of antlers you’d ever seen.

“Hell of a buck,” you offered.

“Ain’t he?” she said, looking up at you but still skinning, like she was so deft with the knife she didn’t have to watch what she was doing. “Been tracking this one for two years now. First time I saw him, I knew he’d be something special. So I let him grow a bit, made sure he stuck around. Turns out, he weren’t quite as smart as that big head could account for. Either that or he got cocky ‘round me. Didn’t even spook when he spotted me aiming for him.”

“Lucky,” Arthur said.

“Mhm,” she hummed proudly, looking back to you. “What’s your name, then?”

Your breath caught a moment before you remembered the last time someone other than Arthur had asked you that. “Frances.”

She nodded, going back to skinning. “Nice to meet you two. I don’t get many travelers out this way. Too far off the path.”

“What’s it like?” you found yourself asking, suddenly realizing why all of this was nagging at you—it was the life you had wanted for yourself in Montana. Alone and living off land your parents had given you. “Living out here, I mean.” You felt Arthur’s eyes on you but ignored him.

“Oh, it ain’t so bad. A good spot, really. Plenty of food and water. The barn I happened upon, but I’ve been fixing it up for years. Feels like I rebuilt the whole damn thing myself at this point.”

“It’s nice,” you said without thinking, admiring the structure looming beside you. Beth looked at you curiously but didn’t respond. It was more than you’d offered any stranger apart from Arthur.

You let the moment go, letting the barn continue to comfort you for its constant presence at your side.

After Beth and Arthur finished skinning, Arthur hoisted the animal up on the gambrel, letting it hang for Beth to harvest as she pleased.

“Thank you kindly,” she said, stepping around him. “Why don’t you two go back inside, take my horse and get him out of this cold a while? It’ll take me some time to finish this.”

“Sure,” Arthur offered.

“Thank you,” you added. “For letting us stay.”

She smirked, the expression much like that of an animal’s. “I know two lovers when I see ‘em.” You couldn’t hold her eye over those words and wondered wholly whether Arthur could. “The thing about lovers is,” she went on, turning back to the hulking deer. “They’re always too distracted by each other to cause much damage. Least, that’s the way it was for me.” She let out that wild laugh again, and you took that as your dismissal. You turned and passed Arthur by without looking at him, suddenly embarrassed for having your feelings laid out so bare like that. It was obvious you favored him, but to have it so easily recognized by a total stranger was…you didn’t know what it was. Real, somehow. Much more so.

You grabbed Beth’s horse by the reins on the way inside and led him in, letting Arthur shut the door behind you. The animal immediately tugged on your grip, tempted by the hay in the nearby corner. You let him be and led him over, taking his bridle and saddle off before giving him a pat and letting him eat. It was only then that you turned and saw Arthur meandering off, a cigarette between his lips. Nervous, then. You had to fight off the happiness that curled within you at the thought of him being nervous around you. Because of you.

You watched him walk over to your mounts, entering the stall and placing a fond hand on Boadicea. There were suddenly so many endearing things about him culminating together that you turned away and went back to keeping an eye on Beth’s horse.

Two lovers indeed—an entire barn apart and too nervous to put to words what was passing between you. Because something was definitely forming, something you nor he had a mind to confront, but neither seemed to want to stop it either. So it grew and grew in that barn, forming into stolen glances and, if it weren’t for the woman outside, the desire to come together again like you had just hours ago. You knew he felt it too, written in that small flame of a lit cigarette that was giving him away. You could only hope the feeling would last a little while longer, that this barn would keep you longer than necessary. A girl could dream.

After a while, Beth came inside on another gust of wind, like she was made of nature herself and bent it to her will.

“Ah,” she said, again in that unnecessarily loud manner. “I see the fat bastard’s already found the haystack.” She was smiling fondly at her horse despite the nickname, taking her gloves off as she approached.

“I think he was already going for it before we made it through the door,” you told her.

“‘Course he was. I think he’d go to that corner blind and deaf and out of a working nose.”

You laughed, the feeling a little unfamiliar. Especially around a stranger. But Beth was soon waving you and Arthur over to her wood stove, asking you to join her for a meal, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. There wasn’t much in the way of seating, but you settled nonetheless, Arthur’s arm brushing yours as he settled beside you. It filled you to the brim with contentment.

The three of you soon got to talking, you and Arthur telling Beth of your travels and the unfortunate circumstances along the way. Arthur left out the bit about the lawmen being after you and all the damage the two of you had caused in the last town. You were glad for it. You weren’t about to bring it up either. This small respite was something you needed after all the hardship, and you didn’t want it taken away over something as small as a stranger’s suspicion.

Beth talked about her childhood and what had led her to a life like this, never once questioning too much, seemingly pleased to talk about herself instead. You were grateful enough for that but even more so for her conversation. She was a fascinating woman. Most definitely out of her mind, but fascinating. And when she offered a bit of the deer meat she had just cooked and it turned out to be delicious, you thought that maybe all the turmoil you had been through leading up to this was worth it for the glimpse into a life like this. It was freeing in a way you had always desired for yourself. It left you wondering, for the hundredth time, why your parents hadn’t wanted this for you. Anyone would want this life if they had the ability to sustain it. Hell, your parents had left Nebraska for the very same reason. But that kind of thinking was doused every time you looked at Arthur, finding his gaze already on you. You never would have concerned yourself with loneliness before. But now, having him was enough to make the thought of his absence ache. And it had taken you all this time to realize why your parents had wanted you with family, why they had wanted marriage to be on the table for you. They had known what that companionship felt like, yet you’d been all alone in those mountains. You just couldn’t see it until you’d felt it yourself with Arthur.

When darkness finally gave way to light creeping in through the barn doors and after doing most of the talking herself, Beth finally gave it up. You’d left her bed just as you found it upon arrival and, without hesitation, she made for it without a scrap of concern for her safety around two strangers. You couldn’t decide if it was because she deemed you unthreatening or because she was truly that out of her mind, but it didn’t matter. It left you and Arthur relatively alone again. And you were on the verge of wondering just what that would entail, busy thinking of his drawing of you earlier, when he spoke.

“We’ll need to be getting on soon.” His voice was low so as not to carry.

You met his gaze from where you sat against a beaten up wagon, noting the exhaustion in his eyes. “You never got to sleep.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Sleep’s hard to come by in my line of work.”

You gave him a chiding glare, one that made him shrug.

“You need to rest, Arthur. I can’t have a half-sane guide when we’re back out there, back on the run.”

He shook his head. “Can’t sleep here.” He mumbled it, like it was tough for him to admit. And it hit you then, how much he would exhaust himself to keep you safe. He wouldn’t risk sleeping with a stranger around, unable to help at the drop of a hat if the need arose. He was too protective over you. And that was wholly comforting but just as unwise.

“How about I make a deal with you?” you offered, standing. He watched you closely in a way that had your mind wandering, your words tumbling out. “I stay up and keep my gun on me. Watch over you.”

His gaze broke away then, embarrassment reaching his fidgeting hands and half smile. “I don’t need you watching over me,” he said on a laugh, like the very thought was ridiculous. But you knew him well enough to know the laugh was to hide what he wouldn’t say—that you had caught on to his protectiveness over you. And the distance between how you felt and what you wouldn’t admit to each other stretched farther.

“Well, I’m not leaving here until we can say goodbye to Beth,” you quipped. “And you look like you’re about to drop dead, so it’s either sleep now or don’t get the chance for who knows how long.”

He snorted a laugh. “Stubborn.”

“I’m stubborn?”

His face reddened, but he said, “I know why you want to stay, and it ain’t ‘cause of any goodbye.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh really?”

“You been admiring this place the minute we stepped foot in it, and I know how you think—you want to carve out a little life for yourself just like this, don’t you?”

He’d pinned you dead to rights, damn him. “Maybe, but that doesn’t much matter, does it? It’s not like we can stay here,” you said, gesturing to Beth across the barn.

“No, we can’t,” he said smugly. Like he was trying to get that fact through to you. But you already knew that.

“So you want to what, leave now? Find another place to set up camp and-”

He held up a hand to silence you, grinning as he did. “Save it. I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you. We’ll stay.”

That surprised you. He seemed to always want to rile you as much as he could, and him giving up like that was…not as satisfying as you thought it would be.

“What do you mean we’ll stay?”

He was outright snickering now. “You just can’t resist, can you? Got to be on me about something.”

“You’re being stubborn and…confusing. I can’t help it.”

He flashed a smile at you that immediately branded into your memory. So unfairly attractive.

“Just get some rest and leave me be, Beth Jr. I can handle myself just fine.”

The nickname had you seeing red. “Not Beth Jr.”

“No?” The smile in that word was not helping his case.

“What’s with you and nicknames that make me want to strangle you?”

“Oh, you have a preference?” he teased. “‘Cause I seem to recall that you loved sweetheart.”

You were shaking your head, turning away, doing your best to keep to yourself. Because you would strangle him for that one. He just laughed, the sound like spun gold, and it took everything in you to block out any further thought of him. On the plus side, this was very far off topic from how much you liked it here and why. You weren’t ready to breach that subject yet, probably because he would make you see sense you didn’t want to see. And it took you until that moment to realize that was why he was teasing you—he saw how much it meant to you and had changed tracks. It was kind enough to have you finally meeting his eye again, an inevitable smile crossing your face. “Shut the hell up,” you chided.

He laughed still, and for once, you joined him in it.

There was no further talk of Beth and her barn and her strange life, no more talk of anything for a while. Instead, you and Arthur fell into comfortable silence for the remainder of the time Beth slept. He looked over his journal and you looked over your father’s ledger, both content for the time being. How he wasn’t falling over asleep, you didn’t know, but there would be time for that later. Now, it seemed each of you enjoyed being around each other for multiple reasons, the most obvious being the comfort of shared company. Just being with him felt good, even without words or touch. Friendship, you realized, deep and profound. And it wouldn’t be long until you were without it, so you soaked it in. You soaked it in while you sat there together. You soaked it in when Beth finally stirred and you said your goodbyes, thanking her again for letting you stay. You soaked it in when your mind was on Arthur rather than the retreating barn at your back, on the present instead of the past or the future for once. And you finally, for the first time since beginning this journey, found the key to contentment in the man at your side. It was about living each moment as it came. Harder said than done, but he made it easy. He made everything easy.

You pitched canvas within a few short hours and watched as sleep stole over him quickly, leaving him peaceful like only sleep could. But, you recalled, there was one other thing that brought him that peace, as you had seen it just yesterday before falling asleep yourself. You did. You had never seen him content like that until his eyes wouldn’t leave you, until his expression was calm like it never had been in his waking hours. And maybe, just maybe, the feeling that brought him was enough to match the feeling it brought you.

Watching him sleep and basking in the moment with him, you had one solitary thought that wouldn’t leave you be, circling and circling. Maybe now, that feeling of peace you brought him would be enough to make him stay.

_________

Chapter twenty is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage @marygillisapologist @formula1mount @oziozzioslo @lunawolfclaw

[flippinpancakes64]

Could you do one where the Cullens leave for the safety of their partner? (Just like Edward did) With the difference that they don't leave for months, they see each other for seven or eight years, but when they return they realize that their (now ex-partner) She has made her life, when they see her after returning and go looking for her, they see her with a man who is carrying a little boy of approximately two years old and that she is next to him with a pregnant belly waiting for her second baby (and very happy, his happiness can be seen from thousands of miles away, just like that of his current partner)

What would their reactions be like? Anger, maybe sadness, repentance?jealousy, would they come closer? Will he watch her from afar to take care of her and her family? Or would he try to be with her again? There are too many reactions that could have.

Would they say something like "I should be in his place" or not?

How would they deal with that?

Does it also occur to me that in her second birth Carlisle will be the one to attend to her? I don't know, it sounds good, it would be a big shock. Also let it be seen that her new partner loves her and takes care of her

I don't know if you understand, English is not my first language and I tried to explain as best as possible, I'm sorry if there are any errors

The Cullens with a Fem! Reader who has moved on

Wow this ask is so huge. And very specific. I think I understand what you're asking for so hopefully I brought this topic justice.

Summary is that the Cullens (individually) leave their human partner so that they can be safe, and when they end up coming back after they realize that they can't live without them, the reader has already moved on. Like a husband, a baby, is pregnant, the whole nine yards.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's been through this before

He's a monster, he's no good, blah blah blah

So he leaves

Only this time he intends for it to be permanent

He thinks about you every day, but he knows that you're better off without him

But there's a part of his brain that thinks that you're still there

Bella couldn't even leave her room she was so depressed

So when the Cullens move back to your city, he fully expects the same from you

He goes through every stage of grief when he sees you

So human, older now, no longer the teenager he once knew

Your stomach is just as round as Bella's once was, only this time you're lively, glowing

And he knows it's because it's not his

There's a beautiful little boy by your side and a handsome man with a matching ring on his finger

You're perfect

This is what you were made for

The human life, the life of tradition, of happiness

The life he can't give you

He receded after that

He moves to South America, somewhere far away

When you see that the Cullens are back, you ask about Edward, but he's long gone

You never see him again

Alice:

Her choice to stay around you, her family's choice to stay, was putting you in constant danger

It was a constant thing

The changing and unchanging future was warping right before her eyes

Every possible danger that was coming for the Cullens was coming for you too

So she had to leave

She made everyone pack up and leave

She didn't leave a note, no indication of anything

Only she fully intended to come back when the danger was gone

But as weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, she saw you change

As attuned as she was to you, she kept tabs

She saw you go on a couple of dates

Eventually she saw your wedding

She saw the birth of your first baby boy

And she knows that now you are pregnant again

She doesn't come back to your town

She knows that you are happy and better off where you are, without her

But she still wishes that she had stayed

That maybe she should have changed you, and that you would be with her now

The only time she ever reunites with you is at your funeral, where she wishes she could have changed something

Jasper:

He almost killed you

It was something super small, a pimple that you popped that started bleeding a little

You didn't even think about it

But Jasper pounced, Emmett and Edward had to pry him off of you

He left that same night, the Cullens packing up and moving not too long after in the hopes that he would come back if you were nowhere near

His guilt was eating him alive

Even years later

But the Cullens had made their rounds moving from place to place and were finally back within state lines of where you were

His curiosity got the best of him

He made Emmett come with him in case he couldn't control himself

He stalked around on the streets of your town until he eventually spotted you

You were radiant, glowing and gorgeous, a sharp contrast from how you looked the last time he saw you

A handsome man by your side, a beautiful kid at your feet, and glowing smiles all around

And then on the side of your neck was a huge, teeth-shaped scar

A splash of dark ink on a beautiful white canvas

That was all he needed to see

Seeing how happy you were, how perfect your life was without him, and then seeing how what happened all of those years ago is still present

He knows he could never do that for you

Never be that perfect man, give you that perfect life

And you never hear from Jasper or the Cullens ever again

Rosalie:

It would take a lot for her to leave

If you're a human and she loves you, chances are that she is not leaving you

But eventually she gets in her own head about it, and she decides that you need the chance to live a normal life

She wants you to be human, and even though she loves you, she wants you to have the life she never had

So she leaves

But she can't stop thinking about you

She yearns for you every day

In her mind, you're waiting for her, you can't stop thinking about her either

So she comes back

Independent from everyone else, she flies back to where you are

She imagines you in your room, unchanged from the teenager you were when she left, depressed and sulking, waiting for her

What she gets is much different

Your childhood home is empty

Your parents are graying, and your room is nothing more than a relic

She finds you in the American dream

A white house with a white picket fence, a dog running around in your backyard

Inside, she can see a little boy, no older than two, running around and playing with some toys

A man sits on the couch, smiling ear to ear as he watches the little boy, even participating in his games from time to time

And then you

Glowing, older now, you filled out so beautifully

You're standing in the doorway, looking upon your beautiful scene, a hand rests around your pregnant belly

She has to leave

She's caught between anger, happiness, sadness, and everything in between

That should have been her

That should have been her life, you should have been hers

She doesn't know if she wants to be you or be with you

Both, preferably

The last time you ever hear from Rosalie is when a package shows up at your front door, easily a million dollars, with a note that says "Take care of your babies"

Emmett:

His reason for leaving is a bit more simple

The Cullens have spent all of their years in your town, they can't stay there any more

And, simply, you can't come with them

You have a life, you're human, and not one of them intends on turning you

It's a hard decision for him to leave you

He loves you so much

But you deserve to live a human life

One day, a couple of years later, Alice gets a vision about you

Not necessarily about you, but you're in the background

She tells Emmett instantly

He doesn't even care that you're not the one primarily in danger, he has to go to you

So he books a plane ticket and away he goes

It doesn't take him long to find you

But what he sees is shocking

You're so happy

Married, a mom, a beautiful house, the perfect life

He doesn't want to disturb your bubble of peace, but he has to talk to you, he needs it like air

He's so scared when he knocks on your door

And you are shocked to say the least

The Cullens felt like a fever dream from your teenage years, and yet here he is, the man you loved so long ago

He comes in and tells you about Alice's vision, telling you to be careful

He intends to leave after that, but he can't

He asks you one last time if you want to come with him

It's selfish, he knows, but he needs to know

When you say no, that's it

Esme:

She knew from the beginning that you didn't belong in their lives

It would always be too dangerous for you

You would never be safe

You can't have both sides

Either you're human and stay far away from vampires, or you're a vampire too

She would never turn you, so the answer was obvious

The Cullens left without so much as a warning, and you were heartbroken

You tried to call, email, text, hunt them down, anything you could do

But it was all pointless

Years passed by, and Esme still thought of you every day

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her

She flew out to see you, to visit a little, chat a bit, have some closure

But when she sees you with a husband and a baby, her plans deflate

She can't bring herself to see you

She's caught between all kinds of emotions

Anger that she left, sadness that you have moved on, but happiness that you are happy

She does meet with you, she finally texts you back after so many years, asking to go get some coffee

If she can't be with you, then she would at least like to be your friend

Carlisle:

He was never supposed to fall for you in the first place

But he did

He knew he couldn't take you with him

And he has already been so selfish the past

He turned Edward because he was lonely and wanted a companion, he turned Esme because he loved her, and he turned Rosalie because he wanted Edward to have someone too

He couldn't turn you too

So he tried his best to break it off with you

But you weren't having it

So he left

But now he's back

Not in your town, but a couple of towns over

He tries his best not to think about you, to not wonder what you're doing, if you miss him too

One night he gets a call from the hospital in your town, their normal doctor is gone on vacation and they have no one else who is qualified to deliver a baby

So of course he packs his stuff immediately and is on the way

Imagine his shock when he gets there and sees you

Your husband by your side, a small boy in his arms crying out for his mama, a nurse next to you holding your hand and trying to calm you down

From the look in your eyes, you recognize him too

But now's not the time

He gets to work, trying to only think about delivering this baby safely, not about whose baby this is

Only after it's all over and you're holding your beautiful baby girl, does he truly take in the scene in front of him

He wishes so much that this could be him

That he was the man holding your hand and soothing your older baby

That he was the one who was stroking your hair and telling you how well you did

He wishes he was the one you would go home with later

But he's not

He mutters a small congratulations and leaves

And that's the last time you ever see him

Vampire! Bella:

She always thought Edward was dramatic

Yeah, she was clumsy, but she wasn't in any serious danger when he was around

In fact, she was safer when he was around

But now she gets it

Yes, you are safer when she's around

But none of these threats would even be posed to you if she had never been around at all

She apologizes to Edward afterward

And she asks the Cullens to leave

She wants you to be safe, first and foremost

She sits you down and tells you why before she leaves

It's not easy, but she knows she would have preferred a conversation from Edward rather than him just leaving

You cry, you scream, but she leaves anyway

When she comes back years later she expects you to be the same as she was

Young, sad, waiting

Only you're not her

You never were

When she sees you, your husband's arm wrapped around you as you both watch your son play on the playground, it finally sets in

What she wanted to happen actually did

You moved on

You made a better life for yourself

Without her

Despite everything telling her not to, she goes to you

You both talk for a while, you're upset, rightfully so

But the more you talk about your life now, one that's always changing and evolving, she finds herself yearning for humanity

Wishing she could turn back the clock, if only to be with you

The subtle lines on your face, your growing figure, she wishes she could evolve with you

But she can't

She leaves after that

Unknown to you, she keeps tabs, watching as you grow from afar, wishing that she could be there with you

[etherfabric]

How to Foster Peace + Lyrics

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.

Pile 1

3 of Wands, 10 of Wands

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You have to broaden your perspective on what help can look like. You are clinging to superficial indicators that not everyone can authentically hold, and remain overwhelmed by your burdens because of it. You might have a favorite outcome and are so hyperfocused on it that you don't even consider a lot of second best opportunities. Those could relieve you bit by bit instead of one big miracle. Stop seeing certain things as "beneath you", swallow your pride and admit to your very normal human need of support in general. Let the helpers have a little more say in what that might look like and don't argue against every minute detail. They probably offer what they can give best, and you don't know the effect this can have on you until you fully let it in and be the receiver for once.

Lyrics: "Rockland County" by Regina Spektor

Condescending down the stairs I'm condescending down the stairs I look out for a moment Condescending down the stairs I'm condescending down the stairs I look down at the bottles

I just know I got something coming If I got anything coming at all I just know I got something coming If I got anything coming at all

Pile 2

9 of Wands, 5 of Pentacles

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You need to find an outlet for your frustrations to foster more peace in your life. To you, that seems like a contradiction; give in to the aggressive voice inside my head for peace? Well, it depends on how you go about it. To not hurt anyone in this cathartic process, choose a time of privacy and maybe an object to express yourself with. Punch a pile of laundry, rip old newspaper to shreds, cry into a pillow, write the word "fuck" 500 times in your journal, let yourself have violent daydreams, scream at God herself - the possibilities are endless. But you have to face this side of you. The steam is buildung up pressure in the container that is you, and believe me, you want to let it out on your own terms. Otherwise you risk something outside of your influence pushing you over the edge in an inappropriate setting. This could harm you and others way more than it has to. Surpression is a short term coping mechanism, and you have reached the limit.

Lyrics: "A Cannon" by Regina Spektor

I write you a letter, I hope you feel better I hope you forgive the transgressions I've given you love and I've given you anger as well And I meant them both

Somebody's got to tell all the people to be like the water Somebody's got to tell all the people to be like the water

I would if I could, but I can't, so I don't My heart breaks too easy, my words get all jumbled And when I wear lipstick Then no one understands me at all...

Pile 3

5 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles

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You have some serious intergration to do. I feel you going "Another thing?? I am already doing so much! I can't do any more!" No, but that's the thing. You are doing so much to get away from the "bad" feelings that need integration. The pain, the sadness, the grief, the despair, the hopelessness. The goal isn't to build a life without any of these things. The goal is to grasp opportunities for authentic self expression whenever they arise, observe what blockages still hold you back, and explore how they came about. The goal is to become whole again; to incorporate those aspects of yourself you weren't safe to express before.

Every human has the capacity for darkness and a need to be authentic in that regard. The question is whether we accept and embrace it in our conscious approaches, or wear ourselves down fighting ourselves. As soon as you let yourself fall apart and let nature take its course, you will see you didn't need to hold it together that tightly anyway. It will feel like being stuck forever in this pit, but just for a couple of moments. Sooner or later, everything fades. What goes down, must come up again.

The next time you feel the darkness creeping up, walk intentionally towards it instead of running in the other direction. You will survive, I promise. This darkness holds a truth about your past that wants to be heard and felt like it deserves.

Lyrics: "Just Like The Movies" by Regina Spektor

You are mistaken cause I do not bite Over the Williamsburg bridge on a bike And if he loves me then why does he leave? And if he loves me then why does he lea— Lea-ee-ee-ooh-dee-no Aah-de-da-de-da-aaaah Don't say goodbye like you're burying him Cause the world is round and he might return Don't say goodbye like you're burying him Cause the world is round and he might re—

Pile 4

The Moon, 9 of Swords

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I see a crisis of faith in one or all aspects of your life. Doubts are creeping up, and they feel awfully truthful. The places where you used to turn to for confirmation are suddenly empty and lifeless, and you feel abandoned by a higher power.

If God doesn't send you signs, selfmade is fine. Become your own God for a moment. How can you give yourself a little faith back again? Maybe it's affirmations written on your mirror, or a ritual you designed yourself whenever you need that extra reassurance. Maybe it's that one friend who sometimes can be annoying with their constant positivity; now might be a time where you can benefit from their perspective.

Whatever it is, practice believing something intentionally. It will feel a little icky at first, like a conscious self-gaslight. Just remind yourself that this isn't a lie, you are reintroducing the truth to a part of yourself that has no emotional access to all the small and big miracles you already experienced. Let them see it with their own eyes. Start from the beginning. Make an event out of it. Like a second spring in your spirituality. This part probably saw you thriving in your faith, and now feels comfortable revealing itself to hopefully join the party.

Lyrics: "December" by Regina Spektor

We are not evacuating this house, We don't believe in you and your wrecking crew. We are not evacuating this house, We don't believe in you and your wrecking crew. We don't believe in you and your wrecking crew We don't believe in you We don't believe in you, We don't believe in you We don't believe in you, We don't believe in you... We don't believe in you

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Hopefully this was of some use to you. I love getting feedback on my readings, so don't hesitate to leave a comment if you feel called to do that.

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Stolen Wife - 6

Synopsis – Tommy Shelby is married to Grace, but he becomes obsessed with Y/N, wife of Reuben Fitch, Tommy’s business partner in the U.S. who is unaware of his actual “business”.

This blog supports Palestine. Zionists are not welcome here.

You could feel judgmental eyes of the bartender, it was not even 11 a.m. at the hotel bar downing tequila, vodka, whiskey, vermouth, and whatever bartender thought would appease you. You were drinking your weight in alcohol to numb the pain that senseless weirdo brought up so casually. The absurd and preposterous claim (totally correct & valid point) that you were running away from your husband’s memories. Thomas Shelby doesn’t know you, and the nerve of his mouth, the audacity of those haunting eyes of that man to tell you what you should do, after you barely met all those months ago, after you barely talked to him today, who does he think he is?

The pretty bartender, Patty, as her badge indicated, kept bringing you some sort of snack to absorb that alcohol, which you were thankful for, she didn’t question much, and you really didn’t have the energy to answer. You were pretty hammered and past the point of even noticing that there was a new bartender serving you what seemed like endless amounts of drinks without you even asking. Had you been a little careful, a little vigilant you would have noticed that the new bartender slipped something in your drink. Had you not been drowning in the insurmountable grief of losing the love of your life, you would have noticed Tommy Shelby and his goons spread out near the bar, keeping an eye on you. Had you not been so damn oblivious you would have noticed the bartender stealing your phone before darkness took over, and you lost consciousness.

Tommy didn’t know kidnapping was going to be added to the long list of crimes he has committed, but love makes you do crazy things, so what’s one more crime to add to that list but getting you to Birmingham, now that was going to take some serious effort, but he knows how to grease a few hands and tell them to look away when it's needed…That’s how he has been able to infiltrate North American black markets.

Flight from Vancouver to Birmingham was smooth, it had to be, the drug was effective for about 12 hours. It gave enough time for the Peaky Blinders to clean out your room, ditch your smartphone in some dumpster in other city before Rueben’s squad could even figure out what had happened.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, your throat parched, your mind a bit disconnected, and you needed to pee badly, damn, how many drinks did you have…Wait a minute, did you sleep with someone, so many questions swirling around in your brain.

The door opened, and you saw a sweet looking woman carrying a glass of water and a glass of orange juice. She offered them both to you, and you gulped down that water in one big gulp…

“Thank you….Could you point me towards the washroom? I need to freshen up…” you mumbled

She directed you towards the door on the other side of the bed. You got up quickly, a little too quickly and felt a bit dizzy. After practically rushing towards the washroom and doing your business did you start to take the notice of things not feeling right…You did not remember anything except the mimosa you drank. Fuck…what had happened? Where the fuck were you? You needed to get the fuck out of whatever this place was, you needed your phone, you needed to call an uber…

It was then you realized you did not have your phone, your stomach dropped…Fuck fuckity fuck…You searched the bedroom but there was nothing there…You were in process of ripping off the bedsheets when you heard a familiar voice.

“Your phone is not here, Y/N”

You turned around to face the devil with vibrant blue eyes; there was something sinister about them, something that you would learn rather quickly.

[kurogxrix]

When The Time Comes ( III. )

⇀ ( I. ) ( II. )

Sully family x Sully!reader, oc x Sully!reader

IN WHICH your family leaves for Awa’atlu under the threat of Quatritch, leaving you and your mate to rule the Omaticaya. You all reunite after 2 years but someone seems to be missing? Your younger brother, Neteyam.

WC: 9k

Warnings: ANGST, death, grief of a brother:(, suggestive, feeding the Mo’rata babes with this😋.

It was late at night as you waited for the moment when your mate would return home to you. Usually he would’ve returned home to you and your daughter, but to your surprise and shock when you had woken up in the morning, your daughter was nowhere to be seen. 

Your senses were enveloped with an intense feeling of fear as you rounded the village in search of your child, only before getting your nerves eased by one of your mate’s trainees. The news of your mate leaving the village with your young daughter right after your instance of dread was not necessarily pleasing, but you appreciated the honest man’s actions nevertheless. 

Your ears were downcasted and your tail tense and resting right between your legs. You just couldn’t wait to chew him out once he would step foot into your shared tent. After your father had left to seek uturu from another clan because of Quaritch’s constant menaces, you had decided to stay behind and lead the people alongside your mate.

Your family and you both knew that without Jake here, no trouble would arise for the Omaticaya. It had been with heavy hearts and tear stained faces that your family and you had both seperated, watching them fly further and further away upon their ikrans. Before they had left, Jake had surrendered his title of Olo’eyktan to the future leader of his people, Morata. Your heart and eyes burned as you watched your dad get slashed across the chest by your husband, in an act of ‘killing’ him to pass his title to Mo’rata. 

You knew how hard he had fought for the title, how much he had given for his people. He had given up his life on earth, his beliefs and everything that he once had for this life. For your mother who he had fallen so foolishly in love with. Watching him give it all up for the sake of his family brought tears to your eyes, which Mo’rata was quick to dry. You weren’t Tsahik yet, considering that your adoring grandmother was still rolling. Though Tsahik training did not did not strain you any less.

At the news of your bearing, you had been both elated and exhausted. The clan swayed and shared a feast all night at the news of a new clan member soon to be welcomed. You were truly happy at the side of your mate, and the grin on his face told you that he felt just the same. 

But now you were so, oh so angry at him. How dared he take your only daughter out on a hunt with him and the older na’vi men. Wasn't he aware of how dangerous the rainforest truly was? Surely his numerous scars must’ve been a forewarning. 

At the sound of heavy footsteps, you turned your whole body to the opening of your tent. Few years prior, he would’ve probably jumpscared you by sneaking up on you, courtesy of his silent footfalls. 

Though fatherhood has taken a toll on the man’s overall playfulness, deep down you knew that he was still the unruly teen that he once was, just having matured outwardly for the sake of his people. 

There he stood in all of his glory, with your tired daughter laying limp in his arms. Her barely opened eyes was the only indication that she was awake, even though it wouldn’t last for long. He knew that by the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and scrunched up nose that he was in trouble, he had already known ever since he had taken your daughter in the morning. You walked towards him, angry footsteps making more noise than his as you approached the both of them. 

Your daughter looked at you through her big and tired round eyes, a familiar trait that you both shared. Her head was swaying adorably back and forth as she tried desperately to stay awake in her father’s embrace. You pulled her away from Mo’rata, rightfully ignoring him as you undressed your daughter of all of her jewellery. You unclasped the necklace that she wore, a tinier version of her father’s. The same necklace that you had weaved him so many years ago. 

Your daughter, Sewii, had always wanted to be like her father. She was born a natural sweetheart, but it amused you how she tried to act stoic just like her father at times. Her facade would always break when you’d lift her up in your arms and nuzzle your nose into her chubby neck, ripping a wholehearted belly laugh out of her as she claimed that it tickled. 

Your mate watched with adoration as you delicately placed your daughter onto your shared hammock, given that she was too small to have her own, and mostly that you loved having her in between the both of you at night. You placed a kiss on her temple as her eyes shut tight for the night. Once Sewii was off to dreamland and her quiet snores resonated all over the tent, you turned back to your husband.

“I think we need to talk.” you hissed, teeth clenched together as you spoke. Lo’ak and you would always try to stifle your laughter when your angry mother would speak to you both in such a way, but now you could understand that it was truly a given mom thing. Mo’rata’s ears fell as he began to make his way out of the tent. He knew that if he even dared to utter a word to you right now, you would most probably serve his ass right back to him. 

“You brought our daughter out of the village gates, without even telling me?” you seethed, whisper-shouting at your irresponsible mate before you. Mo’rata’s eyes stared deep into yours as he remained quiet.

“You are like a baby, like a child that has first stepped foot into the forest. You know if it’s dangers and yet you dragged her along with you!” Mo’rata’s eyes then casted downwards at your accusations. Your tail flickered wildly behind you, the tip of it curving upwards as it conveyed your discontentment. 

“She is 2 years old now, she should be able to see the world like we do.” Mo’rata raised his voice involuntarily as he started, wincing slightly as he saw the way your shoulders fell. “You prevent her from being like the other children, she is bored and sad sitting in the village all day.” he tried now in a softer tone, though it was hard when the subject affected him just as much as it did for you and your daughter.

His hands had moved to grab onto yours somewhere between his statements, but you were too lost in his words to even have noticed. 

His fierce yellow eyes softened as yours practically sunk. You didn’t wish to bore or sadden your child, she was your everything. You felt as though you were your father in this instant, and she was the younger you that wished for nothing else than a sliver of freedom. You didn’t want her to be imprisoned amongst the invisible walls of the village, but your fears laid deep within.

Ever since your father and family had left for awa’atlu, the clan had deemed it safe enough for you all to move from the high camp and back onto the comfort of the trees. Everything was more accessible that way, more livable.

“I just want to keep her out of danger, yawne. She’s our only daughter, and I fear that it will stay this way for long.” he practically melted at the nickname though his heart fractured upon your words. The tears that had involuntarily gathered in your eyes breached the water wall, now pouring freely onto your cheeks. Mo’rata wasted no time as he pulled you flushed onto him, dropping your hands to comfort you in his embrace.

One of his arms laid onto the back of your shoulders as yours wrapped around his torso. His other hand caressed your hair in a comforting manner. It was silent as Mo’rata could never find the right words to bring reconfort, but his touch and actions always did it for you. He knew deep down that you had not forgiven him yet for the whole previous incident, but that was something that you could work on later. Now there was some sort of solace that you both sought after the weight of your words. 

Years prior, after you had been promised under the gazes of the many people - Mo’rata wasted no time in claiming you as his. You both had waited until eclipse before sneaking out like young teens once more. Jake had not stopped you from running off that night, solely because Neytiri had been physically holding him back. He knew what this meant, why you had been running off specifically that night. 

He knew that it was hypocritical and selfish to stop you from relishing in your newfound mate, because he and Neytiri had been through it. He knew that it was wrong to stop you. So he watched as you ran away, not showing your face until the break of dawn as you came back riding your ikran alongside Mo’rata. 

He acknowledged that you were a grown woman now, and that a family of your own would soon issue. jake told himself that he was ready for his eldest to finally leave the nest, though he and Neytiri both knew that they would grieve upon your departure for some time. It was hard enough watching their first child grow up so fast, but it was harder helping you move your things onto your new tent. 4 kids in their home was definitely something that they would have to learn to get used to. 

Though after the 5 months mark had hit ever since you had publicly announced your bond with Mo’rata, there was still no signs of you bearing any child. It was slightly alarming, and your family began noticing soon enough - though no one had the balls to ask. 

Except for your youngest brother Lo’ak, well he had gotten close to before getting smacked by Kiri. 

When you had first laid with Mo’rata, it had truly been a breathtaking experience for the both of you. Mostly for the male na’vi, given his inexperience - you had made it your goal to make him see the stars from up close on that night. You had started the night by leading, touching him in all sorts of ways after he had given you the green light.

It didn’t take him too long to learn, given his keen attention. Though he was still a little sloppy and blowsy, the intimate moment you had first shared was engraved onto his heart permanently. He loved that you were his first everything. His first love, first kiss, first relation - in all kinds of ways. You had laid besides each other at night, under the protection of the All-Great Mother. Your head had rested on his firm chest as his hands held you tightly in his embrace. Your queues still attached, tendrils intertwined firmly together. 

Your little nightly moments had been doubling, tripling and soon you found yourself going at it like rabbits. You felt once more like a teen that had just discovered the amazing world of pleasure, and mo’rata was adamant on being the one who made you see stars now. 

After five months, the fact that you remained unbearing had begun to trouble your busy mind. You had seeked the presence of your grandmother, the great Tsahik herself. Though she could not find anything anormal within your anatomy, you had gone back home full of self doubt that night. Your husband was quick to comfort you, holding you like he always did when you needed a little more reassurance. 

You had always found it hard to affirm your feelings, courtesy of your father’s strict lifestyle as a young child. So when you had finally opened up to your mother about it, you couldn’t stop fiddling with your fingers or looking at anything but her. Neytiri had a soft frown present amongst her features as she watched tears of frustration gather in your eyes before blinking the pathetic tears away. 

She had not known what was wrong with you. Well nothing was wrong with you, you just didn’t know how to word it. She had conceived you quickly after first laying with your father, and soon came your other siblings, so you being late on the whole pregnancy thing was strange.

After the tragic departure of your parents and siblings, a whole year after becoming mo’rata’s loyal mate - was when you had finally found out about your pregnancy. Hitting the 2 years and 2 months mark after her birth, here you were now - arguing with your mate about your light and joy.

You would always remember the prideful look amongst Mo’rata’s face when he had first announced your bearing to the clan, then the one that he had on while holding your child for the first time. He held your tiny daughter up and high for the clan to see, chanting her name as they did. She was barely bigger than the two palms of his hands, a big baby indeed. Despite her chubby cheeks and body full of fat rolls, she was still the cutest baby that you had both ever seen. 

-

You had always had some kind of faith in the thought that your family would return soon. Even though it’s soon to be 3 years since their departure, their absence still left a black hole in the depths of your heart. You could almost imagine it, the look on all of their faces upon their returns when they see your little one for the first time. 

How happy and proud your family would be for you, how proud they would be to see the fine chief that you made alongside your mate. Even in your upset state since earlier, your ears raised at the thought of your family, folding outwards. You wondered how the Metkayina were treating them, you wondered how big Tuk had gotten now. You’d dread the moment when she would not fit in the comfort of your arms anymore, or worse, when she would not want to be in them. 

You wondered if your father has been treating your youngest brother well, and vice versa. If your mother is at peace with your brother's arguments and if Kiri is able to connect with Eywa as much in Awa’atlu as she does here. You almost laugh at yourself for this one, of course she would, the people here even nickname her ‘Child of Eywa’ because of her strong connection with the All-Great Mother. 

You thought of your brother, Neteyam. You wondered if he was happy now that some responsibilities were taken off his back. You knew that at their arrival, he would most likely have it harder than here, but you prayed to Eywa for her to take all burdens off of his shoulder - and that’s what she had done.

Just not in the way you would’ve wished for.

Though you ignored anything that was happening with your family at the moment, you could only pray for them. Sewii sat in your lap as her face was squeezed in between your breasts in an attempt at getting breastfed again. She had reached the age where she could eat soft fruits and begin to chew on shredded meat, but she was so adamant about letting go of her sweet delicacy. 

You sighed at her once more, moving your hands from your work to push her away. She was just as hard-headed as her father, though Mo’rata would always argue and say that she had gotten that trait from a certain someone else. Sewii reached her little hand up again to grasp at the beads on your top, pulling it downwards towards her with all of her might.

You were just about to reprimand her as you had heard it, the loud ringing of horns. You would’ve gotten up way more abruptly if it wasn’t for the little bundle of joy that was on your lap, so you gently took her and dragged her outside with you. The horns could only alert two things, an unwanted arrival - most probably a sign for humans on sight. Then there was the arrival of people, na’vi people. 

You looked up at the 4 Ikran’s that were approaching your clan and you felt cold sweat gather up on the nape of your neck. If those were to be intruders then you feared for the safety of your clan, mostly of your family’s. They couldn’t be though, their path was immediate and there was no hesitation in their moves. They knew the forest like they knew themselves.

Mo’rata had suddenly popped out of nowhere, now being by your side. He raised a protective arm around the both of you, holding his family safe behind his stature. Everyone turned their eyes at the sight of their Olo’eyktan, wondering what the judgement for the new arrivals would be. 

Though when a series of gasps had been let off amidst the crowd, you knew better than them being a threat. You gave your daughter for Mo’at to hold as she happily accepted the embrace of her great-grandchild. You loved Mo’at not only because she was the best grandmother but because she was so loving to her family. She has always been when you were a child, and despite her age now she continues to be for the child of your own. 

You looked at your mate in the eyes before pushing through the crowd, with Mo’rata straight on your tail. You didn’t know who you were expecting when you had seen the 4 Ikrans, but the sight of your family had shocked you. It left you frozen in your place as they all eyed you, small smiles present on their faces. There was something more to that, more to the happiness that they displayed, though you couldn’t quite catch up on what. 

Tuk was the first to pounce on you and your heart soared at her affection. You were so happy that your little sister was not in her ‘don’t touch me, don’t talk to me’ phase yet, because you would miss embracing her like this. You had gone through it as a rebellious teenager, and looking back at it made you physically recoil in cringe. 

Your eyes moved towards your brother and sister, who were both two grown young adults now. They were not much taller than they had been before leaving, though Lo’ak looked a little more muscular. Defined muscles flexing at his every move. What had shocked you the most was the tattoos that adorned your little brother’s skin. There were some under his lips, nearing his chin. The longer ones went all the way from his arms to the side of his face. You smirked at him teasingly and he could only roll his eyes playfully at your banter.

He was all grown up now and you couldn’t tease him about being your baby brother anymore. Before you could physically greet your siblings, the skinny arms of your mother had found you first. For the first time in 2 years, you had never felt more at peace than now. Mo’rata was your pillar and Sewii was your comfort but a mother’s embrace is so much more than anything else. 

 You looked back at your father that observed you, his yellow eyes widening at how more mature you looked now. You haven't even changed height or had any crazy physical change happen to you other than the change that came with bearing a child. Somehow becoming a leader had just made you look ten times older, in the best way possible. You looked wiser than the young adult that he had left behind. He simply smiled at you, approaching you to pat you on the head and you closed your eyes, trying to relish in this happiness forever. 

Unfortunately, all things are temporary and you would soon learn of this. 

You looked back to be met with the playful sight of your husband headlocking Lo’ak. They played like two brother’s and you were rejoiced to see him being acknowledged as a sibling by your own, because you know that he had not gotten to feel that during his youth. Brothers, you thought. 

You had brothers, not just a brother. 

You looked back into your mothers eyes and she seemed to have caught on to your curiosity. The previous unknown look in her eyes had seemed to triple in size at your oblivion. 

“Where is Neteyam? I have someone very important that the family must meet, but the family must be complete first.” you said to your mother and your smile soon faltered as her face remained the same. She looked back at Jake who he simply nodded at your mother. You knew that your father was never really good at anything sentimental and that your mother would always be the one to break things to y’all, so you prepared for the worst. 

Mo’rata was quick to be at your side as your mood dropped, silently standing besides you. He had an idea of what had happened and he knew that so did you. You just wanted to play into the oblivion, because maybe if you never knew then it would never be true. Maybe your mind was just being pessimistic and your brother was waiting somewhere along for him to jumpscare you. 

 “Neteyam is not with us, my dear,” your mother tried to say but her own sorrow would not allow her to wreck the heart of her oldest child. Somewhere deep inside of your heart, Neytiri knew that you were somewhat sensitive. Though you never showed it because of the emotional absence that you had lived through during your youth. Courtesy of your father for raising warriors, not children. 

She knew that when you had an argument with your father, you would secretly weep in the sheer darkness of the night. Where no one could see you. 

You breathed out a laugh at your mother’s words and she frowned at your reaction. Had you not understood, or were you mocking your brother’s departure to Eywa’s afterland. She shook her head internally, cursing herself for thinking that way of you. “He has finally found a woman huh? That’s why he has chosen not to return.” Kiri’s stomach churned at your words.

She and Tuk had not been there to witness the tragedy of your brother’s passing, and it was just as devastating to hear from afar as Quaritch announced the death of their older brother. They were somewhat glad to not have witnessed the incident, although grateful to have been able to say goodbye to their brother before he was engulfed forever unto the arms of the ocean. 

You however, had not been as lucky as them to have gotten such a chance, and the guilt would forever nag at your heart.

“He has finally found a woman that makes him happy. That’s why he’s not here.” you said and your father pitied the sight of you. The subtle quiver of your eyes held so many words that you just couldn’t express at the moment, because your throat burnt so much that you just couldn’t voice out anything more. Your mother was the first to break as she tilted her head down, reliving the fresh memories of her arrival before her firstborn son’s lifeless body.  

Your lips wavered as you looked back desperately at your husband, looking for some kind of hidden answer somewhere. You gritted your teeth before squinting your eyes at Mo’rata. “Tell me it isn’t true,” you questioned him as if he hadn’t been here with you the whole time, as if he had been there to live through what your family had. He said nothing at first, face crestfallen as he didn’t quite know how to respond to your pleas.

Before the sobbing could consume you, your husband had made it his priority to engulf you into his embrace, holding you tight against his toned body. You cried as loud as a lost viperwolf cub in search of its mother, you cried for Eywa to take the pain away from you. Tuk ran to the arms of your father, still a visibly sensitive child at heart as she couldn’t stand the sight of your mother’s and your tears. 

For a second, you had wished that you had made different decisions in your life. You had wished to have followed your family there, because then maybe you could’ve protected your brother better than you had ever done in your entire life. You could’ve saved him but you weren’t there and nothing in this world could ever change that now. 

You know that the hurt will never go away, but you know that at some point your sobbing will cease and your tears will dry. Because no matter how much you cry and beg, your brother will never return and you will live with the guilt of your decisions until the day you die. Mo’rata rubbed a hand over the back on your head, comforting himself just as much as you. Just because Neteyam wasn’t his biological brother didn't mean that he wasn’t allowed to grieve too. 

The feeling of tiny hands on your toned calf had shaken you out of your distressed state. You looked down at the sight of your concerned daughter, and you had allowed yourself to let out another breathy laugh as you spotted her. Perhaps it was because you tried to make yourself happy in this moment of sadness, you’d never know. 

You picked her up in your arms as she made grabby arms towards her father instead. Usually you would’ve faked offence but you were not in the mood to play pretend with your child at the moment. You gave her to Mo’rata and Sewii was quick to nuzzle her face in the collarbone of her father, she looked sad as well and you couldn’t help the new wave of deception that rose upon you. She was sad because you were sad, you were the cause of her dejection.

Before you could go for another round of tears, Kiri had approached you softly. She graced her hand upon your shoulder, rubbing comforting motions onto you. 

“Who's this little one?” she asked despite already having her suspicions. She would fake it for the moment though, in an attempt at easing her family. You tried to smile at her as she asked about your little family, something that you had dreamed about introducing forever. 

Sewii attempted to hide from the unwanted attention by forcing her head deeper into her dads neck. Mo’rata groaned at her force but he couldn’t get himself to be angry at her, she was just a shy little girl after all. 

“Would you like to introduce yourself, ‘ite?” you spoke softly to your daughter, and the many eyes of your family behind you widened - except for Kiri’s of course. It was obvious that the child was yours, though hearing you say it was like a truth revealer. 

Neytiri stepped forward, her cheeks now vacant of any tears as she tried her best to stay strong for her family.  

Neytiri stood before your daughter, raising a cautious hand to stroke at the shy girl’s cheeks. She visibly relaxed as she noticed that your mother was no one to be afraid of and so she slowly began to pull her head out of her fathers neck. Much to Mo’rata’s relief. You looked back at your father that was still standing awkwardly in his place, then to your siblings that had now vanished somewhere in the clan. Your father had told Kirk and Lo’ak to bring Tuk somewhere else for now, until everything was settled.

“Would you want to stay with grandma tonight, i’m sure she’d love to have you over?” you questioned Sewii as your mother moved out of the way to let you speak with your daughter. She nodded before shocking the whole of you. She extended her hands towards Neytiri, making grabby hands at her grandmother. 

Mo’rata himself seemed shocked, even though he wasn’t a man for many expressions. The creases that formed on his forehead could say everything at the moment. Neytiri on her side wasted no time grabbing Sewii from under her armpits and into her own arms. She ushered the both of you out, and so you went, peaceful minded as your daughter was safe in the arms of her grandparents. The great warriors. 

-

You had been ranting to your husband for a good 30 minutes now, though it’s not like he would complain. If he could, he'd even retrieve himself a cup of wine and listen to you talk about your sorrows like a good househusband, but he can’t, so he’ll just stick to sitting pretty in front of you. 

The moss under the both of you was soft and inviting, almost making you fight the urge to lay down on its large bed of softness. Your husband fiddled with a stray twing as his ears turned towards you, showing you that his attention was on you. He broke the twig into little pieces to entertain his fidgety fingers in the meanwhile, watching as your ears twitched each time that he did so.

“I don't understand Mo’rata, I feel like I'm failing everything and everyone,” you said, throat feeling heavy at your confession. Though you were shred that you wouldn’t cry. You couldn’t. You had emptied the whole of your body crying earlier as you grieved the fall of your younger brother, and your head still aches as the aftermath. 

Mo’rata looked at you through half-lidded eyes as you ranted to him. “First of all It has taken me a year to give you a child, then I heard about the death of my own brother.” you wavered, head tilting downwards as you drowned in self pity. 

“Maybe if we had gone with them, then we could’ve saved my little brother.” 

“Stop blaming yourself for things which you cannot help, if Eywa has decided of his fate then so be it, there was nothing that you could’ve done to undo it anyways.” his words sounded scolding, but his tone held nothing more than tenderness. He sounds anxious as he speaks, like something was physically holding him back from comforting you. Though you don’t blame him for the awkward way that his words come out, because you’re just as shitty as him at expressing your feelings. 

On a usual, that is, with him it just feels like you can rely your deepest secrets upon his shoulders. He’s like a safekeep, with a double lock and tied off with a steel chain. Like a confession post that you can confess to at any moment. 

“And stop with those deprecating thoughts, it doesn’t matter to me how long it has taken for Sewii to be conceived. What matters to me is that she’s here, a part of our growing family,” Mo’rata reproves you in his own loving way, but he means well. “Your body has done so much hard work just to carry and birth her, you should be proud of yourself.” 

He stares at your silent figure for a solid minute, his eyes unwavering as they trace your distinctive features. He thought of ways in which he could comfort you other than his awkward consolation words, and remembers how much you love it when he spills his totally unfunny jokes that you can’t help but cackle at. 

“Is it the wrong moment for me to want to kiss you?” you can’t help yourself but let out a dry laugh at his words, not that you didn’t find him funny, just that you didn’t really have the energy to. There’s a comforting smile on his lips as his ears turn inwards and towards you. 

“Maybe..” you joke back at him. “But maybe a kiss is what I need to get my head off of everything right now.” Mo’rata is quick to submit into your desires as he brings a hand up to lay upon the smoothness of your skin. 

the feeling of his warm palm resting upon your chin felt grounding, his thumb rubbing circles into your cheek. The look that your husband was giving you was filled with love, yet again when was it not? To the clan and other people, he might’ve appeared as a stern or stone cold leader, but you knew better than that, he had a hidden side for his little family. 

Oh and he was beautiful. Better looking than any men that your sister has ever tried setting you up with during your teen years. Better looking than any guy from the clan that you’ve ever had a stupid crush on, yet he was still the same guy that was outcasted because of his looks and now look at how far he has advanced. 

Mo’rata watched as your eyes strayed further from his own, instead they traced every single feature on his face. From the varying scars that went from barely noticeable to the ones that dug so far into his skin that were sure to follow him to his deathbed. He watched as your smile grew bigger once your eyes laid on his hair, clearly happy with its growth.

The first time that you had met the man, he had one long loc of hair that caged his face, while the other had seemed to have been accidently cut during one of his hunts. During the years, the awkward loc had grown, and now he looked more marvellous than ever. You had even tried to lure him into wearing matching beads with you, but he denied, saying that it would affect his mean look.

As he grew to embrace his duties more seriously, and took some more time to train his students and himself, his physique changed drastically. He was afraid that fatherhood would’ve taken a toll on his body, but clearly it failed to do so. He was so entranced and lost in his daydreaming that he had failed to notice you moving closer to him, until you pressed a peck to his cheek. It brought him back, reviving him like a flower in dire need of water after a rain session. 

His hands laid firmly on your hips as you kissed, oftentimes digging into the soft flesh with his calloused fingers. You whined desperately into his mouth as you felt him grabbing you by hips in his bruising grip, dragging you onto his lap as he sat you there. He manhandled you like you weighed nothing, like you could compare to thus of a feather. Your arms were quick to be thrown over his shoulders for stability, clasping your hands together behind his neck. 

You smiled into the kiss once you felt his hands exploring again. His fingers dug under the strings of your tweng, exploring and caressing the skin of your hips again. You tilted your head to the side for better access and everything was going perfectly. That was until you felt the soft pinch that Mo’rata had given you to the side of your body.

You gasped as you opened your mouth for a second, overtaken by the slight feeling of shock in the moment. Though your husband wasted no time as you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, smooth bastard. Battling for dominance as two switches was more entertaining than a match of mud wrestling itself. You unlatched your hands from each other and away from the nape of his neck, dragging it painfully slowly down to his chest. 

You could’ve felt him hastily sliver once your fingers reached his torso. Feather-like touch caressing the hard bed of muscle above the sculpted V-line that ran past his Tweng. The same V-line that would attract the unwanted eyes of many single na’vi women amongst the clan, but it satisfied you to know that you were the only one that could ever look further down than that. 

The tip of your fingers caressed his toned pack of abs as Mo’rata stifled his chuckle at the feeling. Mo’rata had grown so much ever since the Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. He was bulkier now, his abdominal muscles being the result of his training. His shoulders were broader now and it accentuated that tiny waist of his. 

Mo’rata was sure that having to carry his daughter 24/7 was what had been the reason for his arm muscle growth. His breath hitched as your curious hands explored his body. Even after so many years of being mated to the man, he just couldn’t get enough of your touch. 

You removed your mouth from his, much to his dismay. Though the feeling of you nipping at his neck was more the less rewarding as he craned his neck back, his head tilting backwards in pleasure. You knew his body like the back of your hand, what made him recoil of displeasure and what made his body tingle like no other. You knew him like nobody else did, his body was practically yours at this point. 

Mo’rata felt the purging need to have to be closer to him, closer than you physically could. You continued your assault on his neck, leaving a trail of faint hickeys on his neck. You kissed the underside of his jaw, assaulting his jawline with your mouth. You could feel his loincloth tightening right under you, and you grinned at the feeling. 

Being a parent and a chief meant having less time to spend like this with the other, so you’d be sure to make the best of your time tonight. It didn’t matter if you went until sunrise and returned at sunset, your daughter was in the safe hands of your family. You knew that she was already fond of your family anyways, despite it being the first time that she has ever met them in her 2 years of existing, but she could always go back to the warm arms of her great-grandmother if she wanted to. 

“Stop worrying so much, y’know she’s probably having fun with Tuk right now.” Mo’rata whispers in your ear as though he could read right through your thoughts, his voice was raspy and it dripped with impatience and desires. You could feel his warm breath hitting the side of your face as his fingertips ghosted your sides while he ran his hands up and down, awaiting for you to come back to your senses. 

You could only laugh at his desperate sight before snaking your arms over his shoulders, your hands gliding from his neck and onto the start of the hairs at the lower back. He grunted as you grabbed a handful of his locs, pulling the twists of fine hairs between your fingers roughly. His ears folded upright as you continued pressing toothy kisses onto his exposed neck.

You didn’t want to leave too much because you’d have to return to your family afterwards, and you and your brother were always known for teasing your parents when they’d come back home after a date night. Now you imagined that he could only do the same to you, considering that your little brother has always been a living menace. The feeling of your fangs nipping at his skin was sending him over the edge, and Mo’rata swore that he’d have you reaching for the stars again tonight. 

-

The walk back home was nonetheless relaxing and it reminded you of the many times that Mo’rata had walked you home during your teenage years. His squinted eyes watched as you played with the surrounding nature like a child, and he found himself reminiscing of the moments where he could allow himself to be so carefree along your side. 

Things were different now, you had both aged and you had more responsibilities than any other clan member upon your shoulders. As parents and clan leaders, this short-lived night was more than what you could’ve ever dreamed of. 

Being formally greeted in the village was something that you had gotten used to since birth, being a Sully and all, but it was a whole new concept to your mate. Surely new means since 3 years ago, but it was still new. You both passed by feasting village men and women who offered you a place in their family circles for dinner, and your heart warmed at the act.

Though you both had your own family to attend, so you politely denied the offers. It was nice to see everyone getting along so nicely and it surely saved Mo’rata from his olo’eyktan duties of having to separate stupid men from fighting each other to death. With your hand tightly holding his, you both entered the tent that harboured your little family. 

Your family tried their best to ignore the light marks on your husband's neck, but Lo’ak just couldn’t help himself and make a silent joke about it to himself. Like the one time that he had nicknamed you Dracula, a fictional character that he had found in one of the human’s books, widely known for his neck biting antics.

Without missing the disgusted and knowing looks that your little siblings threw at you, except for the all innocent Tuk. She was now 11, and you feared the instance where those stupid boys would ruin her pure mind with the mindless things that they say. Needless to say that the first thing you felt amongst entering the tent was the feeling of a small body crashing into yours, a little head stuffing itself wherever it could reach. 

And that being unfortunately your poor

kneecaps. 

You reached down to the obvious little person being your daughter, given that Tuk now reached just below your upper chest. Sewii was quick to nuzzle into your chest as she pressed the feathers uncomfortably into your skin, but could you really blame her when she looked so adorable? 

“No hugs for dad? How unfair.” you heard the scruffy voice of your own father from behind, and Sewii was quick to throw grabby hands at her dad. She didn’t want him to feel left out, but she’d always have a soft spot for her mother. You chuckled lightly as Mo’rata took her effortlessly into his arms, resting your daughter on his hips with one strong arm. You’d have other times to gnaw about the way his muscles rippled with the way he positioned his arm, for now you had a family to entertain. 

“I see that parenthood has found you well?” your mother now spoke, rather to your mate than to the both of you. Neytiri brought a piece of the fruit that she was eating up to her mouth, sticky juices running down her arm before she could even stop it. 

“It’s exhausting, but…” Mo’rata trailed off before your entire family, afraid of revealing his feelings out loud to everyone. Surely had fatherhood been a way different routine then his usual one, not that it was unexpected. During the first year that you had brought Sewii on this planet, she had been nothing more than a living menace. Between her raging mood swings and the fact that she just felt the need to wake the both of you up by wailing in the middle of the night was excruciating. 

But the moments in which he’d get to go back home after a long day, only to be welcomed by the sight of your daughter waiting patiently for him while you prepared for the night's meal was more than gratifying. For so long had Mo’rata dreamed of such domesticity, even though he wouldn’t verbally express it. 

After getting rejected for the first time by a woman he once liked, he believed that there weren’t many options of a future life laid out for him. Sure it might’ve seemed like he was just overly dramatic, but it was just so hard to fit in when he was so different. He was scarred both physically and mentally and rejection was practically a word that was engraved in his vocabulary. 

Not many women had ever looked his way, not when he was littered in war scars and had a permanent frown gracing his features. He was a walking dark cloud, and he passed off as rude even to people who he had never even interacted with. Then he met you, the certain Sully that had changed his life for the better. The person that had given him the loving family that he had always secretly dreamt of. He loves you more than his words can describe, and he would go to the world's ends for you. 

Unbeknownst to you, your mother was staring dead at you as you interacted with your daughter from her father’s lap. The men in the tent were too busy talking on and about to even notice her sudden silence. Neytiri was undeniably proud of how far you had grown, and how much you had earned for yourself. She knew that it was no easy task, because she had once been tsakarem just as she was still a mother. 

She was glad that Eywa had finally blessed you with a child of your own, because even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud, there was always this subtle fear that the Great-Mother wouldn’t give you her blessings. For whatever reason, it didn’t mean that you weren’t deserving of one, Eywa just has different paths for everyone. 

“What are these on your face, brother?” you ask Lo’ak, and the whole room turns to him. Your brother’s ears falter for a second as all eyes turn to him, before he pulls himself together. 

“These are my iknimaya tattoos.” you watch with curious eyes as Lo’ak points towards the sleeve tattoos that run all the way up his both arms. Your own ears raise for a second at the word. 

“So you’re a man now?” you beam, happy for your little brother. For his whole life, he had been seen as some immature little boy by the people around him. It made you happy that he finally decided to pull his head out of his ass and prove to everyone that he is a worthy warrior. Mo’rata himself can't even stop his own smile from showing, though it’s more subtle than anything. 

For a minute, the tent is filled with nothing more than a comfortable silence. Other than Sewii’s baby babble, you all enjoy your meal in the casted quietness. 

“The ones on my face here, is to show my mateship.” Lo’ak boasts loudly, his pointer finger directing your eyes towards the top left of his forehead. Your family watched with amusement as yours and Mo’rata’s eyes widened comically at the news. Though it wasn’t that surprising because he had reached the age of 18 now, you knew that the Metkayina had a tendency at doing everything earlier anyways. 

oh, and it clicked in your head. This is the perfect moment for you to get revenge at all of the times that he had teased you about Mo’rata. 

“Sooo…,” you moved closer towards your brother, throwing an arm over his shoulders as you pulled him towards you. The mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed by your keen husband, and he grinned to himself at your undying playfulness. “I haven’t even met my sister-in-law yet, so make sure that I don't catch you with my niece or nephew when I do meet her.” 

The tip of your brother’s ear immediately flushed to a purplish colour at your insinuation. Jake only rolled his eyes at your sibling’s banter, not being able to scold you both for your crudeness now that you were both adults. 

“So what is she like?” your husband asked, startling you all as he awakened from his silence. Lo’ak tilted his head to the side as he looked at your husband in pure puzzlement, before the gears seemed to have finally turned in his head, and inevitably got stuck again. He was just stupid. Your good old stupid brother. 

 “Your woman I mean, i’m afraid that she’s another troublemaker like you my brother. That’ll make your father’s hair fall off faster.” your mate joked, accent thick as he accentuated his words. His tone held no malice, no venom in its syllables, and it told you that he didn’t really care if Lo’ak’s mate actually could be another little gremlin just like him. 

He treated your siblings like his own family, teased them and took care of them like a real brother. Eventually, the whole tent erupted into laughter at his joke, before Lo’ak reassured him that it was not the case. On the contrary, he explained that his lover kept him grounded if anything. Tsireya sounded like a good woman to you, and you couldn’t wait for the day that you’d get to meet your new sister. 

Eventually everyone came down as your daughter fell asleep in her father’s arms. Her body was limp and it looked like her neck would crack at any moment from her weird position, but she was comfortable like this so what could you do? Her face was resting against Mo’rata’s chest, chubby cheeks squished together in a drooling mess that you couldn’t help but chuckle at. 

You’d spent a good amount of the night gossiping and weaving with your little sisters as they now laid unmoving on their temporary hammocks. Even your parents looked the more exhausted, the trip must’ve messed with them pretty badly. Your little family wished them all a goodnight before moving back to your own home, not all that far away from theirs. 

You were just as tired as you reach your tent, and Mo’rata being the amazing husband that he was had volunteered to prepare your daughter for bed. You were already laying on the big hammock in the middle of the room when Mo’rata had arrived with the sleeping Sewii in his arms. It was like an immediate reflex to wrap your arm around his upper torso as he laid down on his back besides you. 

One of his arms was placed under your head as a pillow as you laid on your side, enjoying the sight of your daughter peacefully placed onto his stomach. She drooled still, but it didn’t seem to disturb him much. He’d gone through much worse as a warrior, a little baby slobber was nothing to him. His other hand rubbed warmth onto the small of Sewii’s back, keeping her heated up for the night. 

It was silent around, darkness enveloping the land if not for the bladder lantern spread across the village. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to sleep for the night and put everything that had happened today in the past. Your day was truly an eventful day, filled with heartbreak and longing highs. The heartbreaking loss of your brother was still there, fresh and uncovered as you laid in the comfort of your family’s presence. Even if it had not been spoken of ever since the moment of your breakdown, it still ran wild through your mind. 

It was like you were being punished for all the wrongs that you had committed during your life. Fresh just as old memories of your brother replayed through your head, leaving you to feel empty at the end of each. They spiral repetitively in your mind, like a broken loop of haunting memories. And you felt unable to open your eyes, like Eywa herself was forcing you to take it all in. Forcing you to accept that the brother that you used to spoon-feed would no longer be there at your wake. 

You were shaken awake at the sudden feeling of some warm fingers upon your cheek. Though your vision was blurry from the tears, you knew by the size of the palm that it could be no one else but your husband. His thumb ran across your cheekbone, rubbing the fresh tears away, moistening your skin. You could faintly distinguish a little smile on his face, not one of derision or amusement, but one filled with condolence and solace. 

A wobbly smile of your own made its way onto your face as you leaned into his palm, closing your eyes once more as you seeped into a filling void of darkness. But the memories didn’t stop coming in, and your tears failed to stop as they drenched your husband's fingers that laid unmoving on your cheek. Though the smile on your relaxed face contradicted your tears. You were just happy to see your brother for a few final moments, even if it was simply in your mind. 

You wanted to take advantage of the moment where you could still see him, before his face disappeared from your memory bank and became nothing more than a blurry mess as you grow older. You felt your husband press a chaste kiss onto your cheekbone before his breathing levelled out, and the images of your brother completely faded out as you succumbed into slumber. 

You were happy as you fell asleep. Happy because your family was safe and there with you, Neteyam was safe in the Great-Mother’s hands. You were content because you knew that you’d always cherish your brother, even if he wasn’t here with you to do so physically anymore, even if one day you wouldn’t be able to make up a picture of him in your head anymore. You were happy. 

-

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