#but that was the only good thing that ever came from that local food program thing

[carcarrot]

i should also tell you that one time at work when takeout pizza was brought in for family meal lunch that it was absolutely awful. i work in manhattan

[dearestmui]

can u do mui x demon! reader?

like, with the same plot the first 2 (?) episodes have where tanjiro comes back and finds nezuko as a demon, but with mui and reader

also (this is optional) reader is hesitant to hurt mui

TURNED INTO A DEMON

Summary: Muichiro comes home to you, only for you to be turned into a demon. Cw: graphic description, mentions of anxiety and vomitting Pairings: Muichiro x demon reader. Additional tags: no manga spoilers. muichiro without amnesia. he's not a demon slayer yet. can be interpreted as platonic or romantic. angst to comfort. Things are slightly altered in Muichiros backstory Word count: 1785

You ran away from home and formed a close bond with the Tokito twins. Unfortunately, the older brother died after an attack from a demon outside your home, and the lady who used to visit you to recruit the twins as demon slayers stopped visiting, which left you and Muichiro alone. You and Muichiro have been living together for awhile now, and it's been tough since Yuichiro died. While you were in charge of everything inside the house, he'd go out to gather materials such as wood and food.

Every time he goes out, you feel a strong sense of anxiety bubbling in your stomach, almost making you want to vomit. The thought of him leaving and never coming back haunts you until you hear the door opening again. Only then could you find a brief moment of relief until the next day when he had to go out.

You never thought that one day, the door opening would not be Muichiro

"Okay...." Your voice sounded like that of a sad kitten's. "Please come home safely, and don't take too long..!!" You hesitantly replied. Absolutely hating this time of day, you could feel yourself getting nauseous from the anxiety again.

"Y/n, I'm going to the village. Our food supply is running out." He told you. It was winter, so you couldn't grow crops. Instead, you relied on selling wood to buy ingredients.

Muichiro simply let out a hum and stepped out.

"I love you!" You'd repeat this phrase everytime he steps outside the door. To which he would simply reply with a hum of acknowledgment. He never repeated this phrase back, afraid that if he were to love someone, they'd disappear just like his mother, his father, his precious brother..

Ever since the death of his brother, Muichiro wasn't as energetic as he used to be. He knew he still had you to take care of, though. So no matter how depressed he was, how many times he wanted to give up, he needed to stay with you. He never understood that everything he did for you was out of love, because he'd do them without thinking much of it. It was something he did as If he was programmed to do it

He loved you so much he'd do anything for you without hesitance

It took longer than usual to get to the village. The deep thick snow reaching slightly below his knees made it hard to move. Him carrying wood on his back didn't make it any better. Luckily, at this season it was easier to sell wood for people who wanted to warm up their home.

When he arrived at the village, he was warmly welcomed by the locals.

"Muichiro! It's good to see you again!" They warmly welcomed the young boy. People started to call out for him to buy his wood. The villagers knew about Muichiro's situation, since they were close with his parents. So they always tried their best to support him.

Around evening, he managed to sell most of his wood, and traded the rest for ingredients. Having everything he needed in a bag, he was ready to come back home to you. Muichiro started to walk to the village exist, until a man — who Muichiro assumed was in his mid-twenties, came up from behind and stopped him. This man wasn't a stranger, Muichiro has sold plenty of wood for him before. Muichiro looked up at him, a curious expression on his face.

"You shouldn't be out this late kid, there are man eating demons roaming at this time of night." The man said, concerned about the child Infront of him. "Come stay at my house until the sun rises again."

Muichiro was fully aware of the man eating creatures wandering though the night, however-

"I have someone waiting for me back home."

"They will be fine." The man insisted. "If you want to go back to them in one piece, then wait until sunrise."

Muichiro sighed. The man was right, he couldn't let you suffer the pain of losing someone again. He had to come back to you safely, even if it meant to worry you for the whole day.

"Alright," Muichiro declared. "But I'm leaving early in the morning."

"Do whatever you want, kid. Just make sure the sun is up."

After that, they went to the man's home. He was kind of to give Muichiro a meal before bed, though he felt bad about eating it without you. While he had a feast with udon, you had to survive off of plain white rice for today. He made a silent promise to get you delicious food when he gets back.

After that, Muichiro went to lay down in the futon the man set up for him. His thoughts of you were almost drowning him.Are you crying? Are you vomiting? Are you going outside looking for him? Will you be able to sleep? His questions won't be answered until tomorrow morning. He engraved it in his mind to wake up as soon as possible, and to get good sleep so his way back won't be exhausting.

The next morning, he woke up so early that the man who took him in wasn't even awake yet. The whole village seemed to still be asleep, actually. Except for the shopkeepers who were getting ready to open their stores. It was cloudy, but there was light. And that was enough for him.

Muichiro quickly, but quietly as to not wake the man up, put on his boots and jacket to immediately get back to you.

"...Thank you." He whispered to the man; who was still sleeping, before going out.

Fortunately for him, the snow did slightly melt, now only reaching to his ankles. He ran home to you, beyond worried. He wanted to show you that he's safe, that he's okay, how much wood he managed to sell. He started to see his house from a distance. The closer he got the more excited he was to tell you, to make you warm delicious food.

Until, he got close enough. That's when he realized the door was open.

Something is wrong, the door shouldn't be open. He stopped running, fear creeping through every inch of his body. Has something happen to you? He walked towards the open house; the distance not being too far.

"Y/n?" He stuttered. Clutching onto the bag of groceries before entering the building.

His eyes widened at the site before him. Immediately dropping the bag, everything spilling on the floor. Your lifeless body laid out on the floor. You were severely wounded; deep cuts all over your body. Chunks of flesh on your arm looked like they were bitten off, like someone was eating you. Your empty eyes were staring at him, the scene reminded him of his brother. There were maggots coming to eat your flesh on your body. It was a disturbing site, an image that will forever haunt him.

Muichiro couldn't scream, no matter what he couldn't let anything out. He was completely frozen, just staring at your body. Until, he saw a slow rise of your chest.

"...!!! she's breathing!"

he quickly went to your side, sitting you up then wrapping your arms around his shoulders and putting his hands below your knees to be able to pick you up on his back.

"Stay with me, please. I'm sorry."

Your body was cold, so cold that when your hand touched his it made him shiver.

"Will I even be able to get them to a hospital at this state?" He asked himself, but he couldn't lose hope. He had no time to cry, he needed you to get medical attention asap.

Your blood smeared on him as he jogged through, the forest towards the village. towards the village, the cloudy weather and the big trees shading you both.

"I love you, I'm sorry." He sobbed out, finally saying the phrase he had refused to say. But why, did he have to say it when you couldn't hear him? When you were in brink of death? "Why, why did this happen? You took my older brother, please don't take Y/n too." he kept muttering out apologized, till he got interrupted.

Muichiro felt you moving behind him.

"Y/n?"

One of your legs kicked his back, causing him to fall onto the ground with a grunt and releasing his hold on you. The cold snow was stinging his face, he quickly sat up and looked at you. There was a fair distance between you both.

Your injuries were healed, and limbs spread apart; You were standing in a position like you wanted to attack him. You were breathing heavily, and he could see your sharp fangs. You glared at him, but didn't dare to move.

Muichiro stood up, and your eyes followed his every move. He couldn't believe what he was seeing... He slowly reached his arm out to you, tears threatening to falling from his eyes.

"Y/n.." He choked out. He felt like he was suffocating, like his head was held down underwater. The harsh winter air stinging his lungs everytime he inhales. He couldn't take it, his tears now rolling down his cheeks. You were a demon now, and he knew he had to do something. But he didn't want to hurt you. He couldn't hurt you.

Seeing Muichiro's pained face lit a fire in your heart. Even in your demon state, it hurt you to see him like this. Your face softens, and so does your porsture as you begin to tear up. He slowly walked up to you and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you. That's when you started to cry. You rested your head on his shoulder and sobbed, you were scared, you didn't know what to do. You turned into a demon; does that mean you have to die now? You were too scared to say anything, so you just let it out on his shoulder

"I'm sorry, I love you." He told you inbetween his shaky breaths, not missing the chance to tell you this when you were awake, when you could hear him say the words you've always been anticipating.

Neither of you noticed the presence behind you.

It was Lady Amane, the woman who used to visit the Tokito twins during summer. She came to try recruiting both again, unknowingly to her that one of the twins is dead. On her way here, she saw Muichiro carrying you and witnessed the entire scene unfold in the forest. She determined that despite being a demon, you were different. You were hesistant to harm Muichiro, someone who you loved dearly. Other demons would've eaten anyone infront of them, but not you. She approached both of you, willing to welcome you into the corps. And she hopes that one day, you will be able find your humanity again.

Do not repost

A/N: Not my best work aha,, I don't like this one.

[battybriefs]

Remember kids, it's only grooming when it's gay.

But for real heres personal story time. Let's talk about actual grooming.

I grew up in the Mormon church in the 90s and early 2000s. Like a good child, I participated in all the church activities including the young women's program. My parents wanted me to do it, i was told the church leaders were good people so I didnt question anything.

While the guys in the boyscouts and young mens program were learning survival skills, learning woodworking, learning how to fix cars, and learning financial literacy ... we were learning to do our makeup, can food, bake bread, sew clothes, cook large meals, and learn about changing diapers. It was hammered in our heads from a young age that our entire purpose in life was to get married, serve the husband, have kids and raise a family.

I remember when I was a Beehive, around 13 or 14, our ward was invited to participate in a fashion show for one of the local bridal stores. They dressed all the young women up, did our makeup and hair, put us in wedding dresses, and invited all the men in the ward to come watch us runway walk in the cultural hall. I was a literal child. I didnt even have tıts yet. Men in their 60s and 70s in our ward came to watch us parade around in our little wedding gowns. That's straight up a pedopagent and grooming child brides, y'all, and I didn't even realize it because things like that were so normalized in the church.

I remember sitting in the bishops office interviewing for my first temple reccomend so I could participate in the young women's activity to do baptisms for the dead. He asks me if I live by the laws of chastity. I was young, naive, sheltered and didn't even know what the word chastity meant. I remember him aggressively, explicitly asking me questions about my virginity- had I ever kissed a boy, touched a boy, thought about a boy, touched myself, touched a girl, thought about a girl, felt tingly down there, had a hymen. He kept asking me over and over if I was sure about my answers, and would elaborate on what he meant like he was fishing for a specific answer. It felt so dirty and invasive. In hind sight it felt more like he was trying to get spank bank material than trying to find out if I was being a "good girl".

Fast forward a few years. Im in Junior High, probably about 15 years old. I'm a closeted homo sitting next to my girlfriend in church, trying my damndest to hold my tongue and not let people catch on that I was crying. The young woman's lesson was about a woman's worth.

They opened up by talking about how we're getting old enough to go to college in a few years and that that's great, but a career and college education should be a hobby and not a goal. They stressed that we shouldn't put our educations and careers as a priority over finding a man, getting married in the temple, and starting a family. They said as soon as we found a man, we needed to drop out and become stay at home mothers. It was the mans duty to provide for the family. We were told that the reason God sent women to this earth to serve men and raise families, and that it was a divine and sacred calling.

The second half was about how lesbians and gay people were sent by the devil to destroy families. We were told if we "struggled with same sex attraction" we needed to pray, repent and try harder to be straight. That we needed to tell the bishop so they could help us get gay conversion therapy. That even if we liked girls, we needed to find a man to marry and bear his children. They actively encouraged gay men and women to catfish straight partners and trick them into thinking you loved them with the purpose of bearing children. Can you imagine how fucking awful it would be to fall in love and marry a person thinking they felt the same way, only to find out they're gay and living a lie so they don't go to hell?

The church advocating "its ok to be gay but you have to be celibate and single for the rest of your life" was a change the church made a few years later when Prop 8 passed and their members started leaving in hoards.

Meanwhile I've been to drag shows since I was in high-school. It's just a bunch of people with great makeup skills doing lavish impressions of Lady Gaga and Freddy Mercury.

Why is a drag show considered grooming but telling actual children that theyre going to be mommies and daddies when they grow up not? Why is it grooming if a trans person is out in public doing something mundane like grocery shopping, but it isn't grooming watching television shows that has love triangle plotlines that revolve around teenagers making out and exploring their sexuality? Why is it grooming when a children's show has a character with two daddies but not grooming when the children's show character has a mom and a dad?

If people really give a shit about grooming, they need to start in their own backyard. Start by deconstructing straight representation in media. Start by asking why its ok to joke that a toddler is going to be a ladies man when he grows up. Start by asking why child beauty pagents even exist. Start by looking at how your religion teaches and enforces sexuality. Start with comprehensive and age appropriate lessons about the human body and consent with little Suzy so when uncle Bob is being inappropriate at the family reunion she has the knowlege and tools to know whats going on, to assert her boundaries, and the confidence to tell another grownup what's going on.

[tumbleweed-writes]

Lilies and Thistles: Chibs Telford X OC Fic

This fic is at least a decade old, but I am starting up updating it again. I figured it can't hurt to share the first chapter here.

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Lily Unser managed to stumble out from the rain while keeping a tight grip on her leather camera cases. She knew that if she allowed the slick rain to trip her up and pull one of the cases from her grasp then she'd be screwed.

Cameras and photography equipment weren't cheap and she only had as much as she had thanks to the wonders of hunting for deals through online shopping and Black Friday sales.

She'd long ago developed the ability to maneuver through the rain without slipping. By now she had it all down to a fine art. It was a necessary skill when it came to living in a constantly rainy place like Seattle.

When she'd first moved from Charming California to Seattle Washington she had been looking forward to the rain and cold weather, but now she was missing the warmth of California and the small town atmosphere of Charming.

She guessed that old saying there's no place like home rang true.

Lily was spent just as she always seemed to be after a long afternoon and night of working weddings. Wedding Photography was a pain in the ass, but it paid generously.

It was a good job for her to have over her summer break from school. Doing wedding photography allowed her to fine tune her talents while keeping her rent paid and food in her fridge.

The pay almost wasn't worth the trouble though. Lily had reached her limit for the day of dealing with a highstrung bitchy bridezilla, a snooty mother in law and mother of the bride, drunken groomsmen, and a father in law who'd thought it was a great idea to pinch Lily's bottom.

It had been enough to make Lily wish that she could partake in the flowing open bar. A nice tropical Blue Hawaii or a fruity Mai Tai would have been the perfect drink to take the edge of the day and night right off.

She knew enough though to realize that most brides and grooms weren't too thrilled when their wedding photographer took a break to get tipsy off free booze.

Lily wanted nothing more than to get out of her black strappy high heels, slip out of her black cocktail dress, undo her long dark hair from it's twist, and collapse in her modest twin bed. She was too exhausted to even entertain the idea of grabbing a quick shower and washing the dark makeup from her face.

She knew that she would have to wake up bright and early tomorrow and make it to the darkroom at the art and photography academy she was attending, so she could develop all these photos she'd taken.

The bride and groom she'd worked for had insisted on going with the old fashioned traditional film route over the digital camera route.

It was a pain in the ass to develop the film, but at least it gave Lily some much needed quiet time.

The darkroom had always been Lily's sanctuary. She could go sit in it and put her mind to rest for a moment as she developed film.

She had always loved the process of seeing pictures develop from practically nothing. To Lily the entire process was the closest thing to magic she would ever witness.

She'd spent the past three years of her life attending the Art Institute in Seattle. She was studying Media Arts focusing primarily on Photography, and was loving every second of it.

She'd spent the first year and a half after high school attending a community college in Seattle studying Accounting. It had been her father's idea.

Sheriff Wayne Unser had wanted his daughter to have a good education in a secure field. Accounting had been the perfect career for Lily, or at least according to her father it had been perfect. She'd hated the program and had left a year into it. She'd switched her major a couple of times before leaving school for a little while as she attempted to figure out just what she wanted. She'd worked odd jobs around Seattle ignoring pleas to come home and give a local community college a shot.

Lily's true love laid in art and photography and she'd used this love to guide her future. Yes she was good with numbers, but her heart laid in taking pictures.

So she'd worked hard to get back into school, finish up her core courses, and had gone for her true love in an art program. Her dad hadn't had much room to argue over this decision. As a grown woman nearing her later twenties, her father had long ago had to accept that Lilian Unser was an adult

Lily had always been strong willed and the sheriff knew by now not to get in her way.

The only reason Lily had been able to get into the art institute was because she'd worked her ass off getting every scholarship and every bit of financial aid she could get her paws on. She'd worked hard and she knew that it was all worth it at the end of the day.

Lily knew for a fact that she didn't want to photograph weddings for the rest of her life. She'd only been doing it for a few months; freelancing, and she'd hated every second of it.

The money was what kept her coming back though. She was a struggling photography student with no family nearby, money was something she couldn't refuse.

What Lily wanted more than anything was to be an independent photographer. She wanted to work on her own terms. She wanted her own studio. She wanted to hang her works up in galleries where people would come near and far to view.

She wanted success. To her success meant no more bitch brides, no more drunken jerks pinching her bottom or asking her to dance, and no more being up on her feet in all too high heels while carting around a heavy camera.

Lily entered her dark studio apartment somehow managing to make it to the ringing phone sitting by her sofa, without tripping over any dirty laundry or shoes.

She did her best to hide her exhaustion as she spoke up. "Hello."

Lily widened her eyes stunned to hear her father's voice on the other end of the line. "Hey kid."

Wayne Unser and his daughter weren't the type to have long conversations over the phone. It didn't mean that they didn't care for one another. It was just that talking on the phone had never been their thing.

Long talks over the phone had always been Lily's godmother Gemma's thing. Gemma Teller Morrow spent just about every Wednesday calling Lily to check in on her.

Lily cleared her throat doing her best to hide her shock as she spoke. "How are you? Is everything okay with Della and the girls?"

She cringed a bit at her question. To be honest she couldn't care less about her step mother and her half sisters. Della had never taken to her step daughter and Lily had never taken to her.

Kate and Jade Unser were both a bit spoiled by their mother Della. Lily had always felt animosity for her 24 year old and sixteen year old half sisters.

When Lily was younger she'd tried hard to please Della, but it had become clear fast to Lily that Della and she were never going to get along. She'd tried hard to bond with her sisters but Della had always made a point of spoiling the girls while Lily was lucky if she got something other than hand-me-downs at the start of a new school year.

Lily knew it was cliché but she had always felt a bit like a fairy tale brought to life; a girl whose mother had run off leaving her with her father, an evil step mother and evil step sisters. It was all a bit too much like Cinderella when Lily really let herself think about it.

She shook her head a bit at the Cinderella thought. Life wasn't a fairy tale and she sure as hell wasn't Cinderella.

Lily knew that her step mom was just a bitch who held a grudge against Lily's mother. Lily knew that her step sisters were just rotten. And that this was all just life; life could sometimes be shitty.

There was no dashing prince charming coming to rescue her, and the closest thing she had to a fairy godmother was Gemma Teller Morrow.

She was pretty sure that the Grimm Brothers weren't picturing Gemma when they wrote about Cinderella's magical godmother.

She twisted her mouth a bit trying not to burst out laughing at the thought of badass biker queen Gemma being anyone's fairy godmother. She found herself easily picturing Gemma turning a pumpkin into a motorcycle.

Lily shook her head at the ridiculous thought leaving it all to it just being a long night stacked on top of sleep deprivation.

She turned her attention back to her father as he spoke. "They're okay...Kate's engaged and Jade is getting ready for her junior year of high school. Jadey made first chair with the cello. Della wants you to do Kate's engagement photos. The wedding is taking place this fall...and it's costing me an arm and a leg. I keep telling Katie that she has to leave some money in my savings account for when Jade ties the knot. At least I know I can count on you to stay on budget when you get married."

Lily let out a soft sigh not thrilled at the prospect of dealing with Kate getting married. She had a feeling that her half sister would put most of the bridezillas Lily had to deal with for work to shame.

She hated to think of how bad Della would be about this whole wedding thing.

"I tried to call you on your cell, but it went straight to voice mail." Unser pointed out lightly scolding his eldest daughter.

He worried about Lily being so far from home. If it had been up to him she would have gone to school in Oakland, but Lily had gotten scholarships to Seattle and he'd known that they'd be fools to turn down that opportunity.

Lily sat down on the arm of her old beaten up brown sofa as she reached down finally freeing her feet from those awful heels. "I turn it off when I'm working weddings...Most brides aren't too happy when Ace of Spades starts blaring out during their vows."

Unser laughed at this comment stopping to cough mid laugh. Lily frowned at the cough her intuition sparking at how horrible it sounded. Something was wrong with her dad; she could just sense it.

She spoke up almost not recognizing her voice. Lily found herself feeling more like a child than a twenty four year old woman. "Are you okay daddy?"

Unser took a deep breath his voice sounding so heavy as though he had the world sitting on his shoulders at that moment. "I have bad news sweetheart...It's my colon...fucking cancer. The doctors say it doesn't look good...I'm sick Lil. I need you."

And with that little statement Lily quickly realized that the life she'd known in Seattle was over.

Her dad needed her and she had to be there for him.

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

Sheriff Wayne Unser glanced across the arm rest onto the passengers seat of his old Ford Pickup truck, where his young daughter sat her arms crossed over her waist as she peered out the window.

Unser was surprised to find that his daughter had changed in her time away. Though she still looked younger than she really was it was clear that she'd grown into her features loosing a tiny bit of the baby-fat she'd held as a teenager.

Her long dark brown hair was pulled up into a high pony tail revealing a youthful pale face. Her big dark eyes were locked on the scenery as it passed them by.

The only things Lily had seemed to inherit from her dad were brown eyes and brown hair. The rest of her was all her mother, or at least Unser was sure it was her mother though some might argue her larger eyes had come from Unser. 

Lily's mom had been a pretty young thing whom Unser had met at a bar. It had been a bad time in his life; his dad had just died and his relationship with Della had hit a rocky patch.

Vera had been her name, or at least that was what she'd told Wayne Unser. She'd been an attractive woman much like Lily, average height, a pear-shaped body, a sweet petite smile, an upturned little nose, and big doe eyes.

Unser shook his head still a little stunned at how much Lily had taken after the woman. His daughter had grown into a gorgeous young lady. In her time away it seemed she'd matured losing some of the baby fat she'd held at eighteen. 

In a way Unser could admit he found it dismaying to realize she'd grown in her time away. It wasn't as though she'd taken many visits back home or at least her visits with him had seemed so short. She may have come home for the occasional Christmas, but her visits to Gemma Teller Morrow had always seemed to a little less brief than her visits with her father and his family.

Realizing that his oldest child truly was now an adult left Unser feeling a bittersweet sense of discomfort. In a way he had thought of her, in her absence, as the fresh faced eighteen year old who'd left California for Washington years before. She may be nearing 25 but he'd always see her as a child. 

He cleared his throat trying his best to make small talk with Lily. "I have a futon in the office set up for you. Kate is staying in her old room while her fiance and her plan the wedding, and Jade is in hers...Della turned your old room into a craft room and she'd skin me alive if I touched anything in there...so the office is just going to have to cut it till I can get you set up with an apartment."

Lily turned to face her father giving him a sheepish smile trying to hide her irritation that Della had taken over her room the second she'd moved out. "That's okay dad...I talked to Gemma last night while I was packing up some final things, and she wants me to stay with Clay and her. They have the room for me so it's no trouble. I can stay in one of their guest rooms till we get me a place of my own. It'll work out...You won't have to sacrifice your office for me."

Unser nodded his head trying to hide the annoyance he felt over Gemma sticking her nose in to this, but he knew better than to be shocked. This was Gemma after all.

He should have known that Gemma would stick her nose into things the second he'd made her Lily's godmother.

He let out a sigh turning his eyes back to the road. He could admit that at times he felt as though he didn't understand a thing about his daughter.

It was his own fault. He knew this.

He'd been so tied up with work that he often hadn't taken the time to really connect with Lily. Della just made everything all the more complicated.

Della Unser resented Lily. She saw the young woman as a constant reminder that Wayne hadn't remained faithful during their rocky patch.

Della couldn't help but to feel bitter when she looked at her husband and his daughter. Della hated the fact that Lily had taken the place in Unser's heart as his first born child; his baby girl.

Unser frowned remembering the day Lily had been brought to his front stoop by her mother. The way Vera had shoved a crying Lily into his arms while a pregnant Della stared on.

Wayne shifted the crying infant in his arms feeling lost as how he could get her to calm down. He sighed when he stared down at her realizing that her little face was as pink as the onesie she was wearing.

The yelling hadn't helped the already fussy baby's temperament. The little girl had already been screeching when she'd been shoved into his arms but Della's screams had only made it worse.

Wayne still remembered the exact words Della had screamed at him as she'd stormed out of their tiny house ''I'm going to stay with my mother. You handle this you prick.''

Wayne sighed guilt flooding him as he remembered the way Della had glared at little Lily. She looked at the infant as though Lily was a cyst on the face of humanity.

It wasn't the child's fault. It was all him, Wayne knew that.

Della and he'd had a fight the night Lily had been conceived. He'd gone off to a bar to drink away his heartache. He'd met Vera that night at the bar. She had been so gorgeous. Her long dark hair had been so long that it had almost almost reached down to her hips. She'd had a mischievous little smile on her face as she'd sipped her beer. The bell-bottoms she'd been wearing had hugged her backside perfectly.

Wayne could remember that Vera had reminded him of Cher; tall and gorgeous.

That night Vera and he'd shared a few beers and talked about the music playing over the loudspeaker. They'd both loved the Allman Brothers and Janis Joplin. They'd gotten tipsy and after a bit of flirting they'd wound up back at a motel where they'd slept together.

He'd spent a passion filled night with Vera unaware that this little life had been created.

The girl's name was Lilian; Lilian Winter Unser.

Wayne was little Lilian's father Vera had insisted as she shoved the screaming infant into his arms.

Wayne had barely had time to squeeze a word out as Vera spoke. ''I'm leaving her here with you. You have a good set up here Wayne. You can give our daughter everything I can't. I don't have anything to give her. I just can't be a mom...I'm not ready to take care of a kid. Please be good to her and tell her I loved her.''

And with that Vera had walked away jumping into the taxi she'd taken leaving Wayne in the dust with a crying baby and a pissed off pregnant fiancee.

Wayne knew that Vera might have a point about him being the more stable option for Lily. He had a nice little home and a good job with the police station. He was normal compared to Vera.

Vera didn't have much from what he knew; though it was the early eighties Vera was still locked in the hippie free love lifestyle. She never stayed in one place too long. She drove from town to town doing whatever it took to survive. She was always on the move like a modern day nomad. Vera was a free-spirit too careless and unstable to be a proper mom to a little girl.

Wayne had done the only thing he could think of at a time like this. He'd reached for the telephone calling the only person in the world he could think to call; his childhood best friend Gemma Teller.

Lily was still screeching as Gemma entered the room her high heeled boots clicking against the wood floor.

She shook her head staring down at the upset infant. "Shit Wayne. What have you done?"

"I fucked up Gem. Her mom is god knows where. She just dropped her on me...I don't know what to do? I mean I could leave the kid with my mom but what about Della?" Wayne spat out shifting Lily in his arms.

Gemma narrowed her eyes at Wayne stepping closer to him. Her voice took on a stern dangerous tone as she replied to this. "You aren't dumping this little girl on your mom. Fuck what Della thinks. This is your daughter. Family is forever Wayne. You can't tell me that you don't feel something for this baby girl?"

He sighed knowing that Gemma was right. The second Vera had placed the little girl in his arms he'd felt something in his heart pull. Despite all the dramatics and chaos Wayne knew he loved his baby girl.

He wasn't going to send her away to his mother's like she was something he should be ashamed of. No her conception hadn't been under the best circumstances, but she was still his child.

He was going to do the right thing; be a dad.

Wayne shook his head his mind going a mile a second. "What am I going to do Gemma. I don't have anything for her...no crib, no toys. There's barely any clothing but what's in that backpack. Anything I have is for the other baby...that's if Della comes back after this mess."

Gemma tossed her purse down on the sofa taking the baby from Wayne's arms as she spoke. "I'll get into my storage locker. I should have some shit left over from Jax and Thomas."

Wayne cringed at this statement; Thomas. Little Thomas Teller had died just the year before of a heart condition. He hadn't been much older than Lily was now.

Gemma didn't let Wayne's look of pity deter her as she shifted the sobbing infant in her arms. "What's her name?"

"Lilian Winter Unser." He remarked still a little stunned that Vera had given the girl his last name.

Vera had left the child's social security card and her birth certificate in the small backpack of things she'd left.

All that was in the bag not counting these two documents were a few purple and white dresses, a white onsie with little yellow ducks on it, a small package of diapers, formula, and a little white teddy bear.

Wayne knew he'd need more than that to raise a child. He needed a crib, a carseat, a changing table, more clothing, more diapers, toys, a stroller, and at least a dozen other things.

His brain ached as he realized just how much it took to raise a baby. His brain only ached more when he realized he'd be raising two babies once Della gave birth that is.

She shook her head at this name. "Well that's no good. Lily...we'll call her Lily."

"Why does she keep crying? I can't get her to settle down...you don't think there's something wrong with her do you?" Wayne blurted out his dark eyes growing wide as he stared at Lily.

Gemma rolled her eyes at just how clueless Unser was; a typical male. She spoke as she patted the infants damp bottom. "She needs to be changed."

She didn't give Wayne the chance to say anything as she snatched up the backpack heading to the back bedroom.

She spread a blanket out on the bed making quick work of unfastening Lily's little onsie. As soon as the baby had a fresh diaper on she calmed.

Gemma smirked a bit as the little girl smiled up at her one of her tiny hands reaching up to play with one of Gemma's necklaces.

She spoke to the girl her voice soft and soothing "You've got a long road ahead of you Lily...that father of yours is a disaster and don't even get me started on his fiancee. Don't you worry bout shit though. No one's going to hurt you as long as I'm around. You have Momma Gemma to look out for you."

Unser let out a huff knowing that he probably wouldn't have made it through Lily's first few years without Gemma.

Gemma had long played a mother role in Lily's life.

It bothered Unser to admit this. After all Della was her step mother and should be a mother to Lily.

Lily and Della had done nothing but fight all their lives though. Wayne hoped that with all the pain of his illness the two would come to tolerate one another and might even learn to lean on one another.

He spoke up knowing the perfect way to maybe start that bonding between his wife and daughter. "Della wants you to come over for dinner next Friday."

"Della want's me to come for dinner?" Lily replied raising an eyebrow at this. She could see straight through that comment enough to see the bullshit.

Lily shook her head feeling a little guilty that her step mother and she couldn't find a common ground. She silently reminded herself that she'd given Della all the opportunities on the planet to be a good mom and Della had failed time and time again.

It was no shock that Lily had moved out of the Unser household and had moved in with Gemma and Clay when she was fifteen.

Gemma had welcomed Lily with open arms and had made sure that Lily was taken care of, just the way a mom should.

"I'll think about it." Lily blurted out knowing that this was the easiest way to tell her father no.

She had a feeling she couldn't avoid her step mother forever though.

Lily felt her stomach roll at the thought of facing Della Unser. No one could drive Lily up the wall faster than her step mother.

Yep No place like home.

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

Lily practically jumped out of the truck as it pulled into TM Auto.

She ran to Gemma her arms encircling the woman a soft laugh escaping her lips as she spoke. "Momma Gemma."

"Hey baby. Look at you. You've grown up so much." Gemma replied smiling at the young woman who she'd always seen as a daughter.

Wayne sighed as he exited the truck watching his daughter and his friend together. He could admit he was a bit envious over the way Lily looked up at Gemma.

Lily adored the woman. She always had.

Though Unser was thankful that Gemma had been there for his daughter he couldn't help but to be irritated at the way Gemma was always jumping into things when it came to Lily.

Gemma had given Lily everything her little heart desired; a car when it was time to start driving, new clothing, jewelry, a place to live and hideout when Lily had gotten into a big fight with Della or Wayne.

After a while it had seemed as though Gemma was Lily's parent not Unser.

Gemma only saw this as her being there for Lily. She saw how Della treated Lily. Gemma knew that Wayne was too damn blind to see the truth. Della had always had a hold over Unser, even when it came to Lily.

Unser gritted his jaw as Gemma spoke up. "Come on baby lets get you settled in. I've already looked at some apartments for you and I may have sweet talked Clay into getting you some furniture."

Lily grabbed her suitcase from the back of Unser's truck giving her father a hug as she spoke. "I'll see you later dad. Call me after your appointment."

Unser let out a sigh watching his little girl walk away and disappear into TM Auto's tiny office.

Sometimes he wished he could turn back the clock. Maybe if he could do that he could fix all the mistakes he'd made with his baby girl.

Chibs Telford frowned looking up from the Harley he'd been reconstructing as he saw Sheriff Unser's old pickup truck pull into the parking lot.

It wasn't police business at least Chibs realized. Still though the sight of the sheriff always made his stomach churn, never mind the fact that Unser had been on the Sons payroll long before Chibs had even come to Charming.

He was perfectly ready to stare back at the Harley until the passengers' door on the truck opened up revealing a petite young woman.

Chibs let his eyes scan the young woman's body not helping but to like what he saw. The black jeans she wore showed her hips and bottom off perfectly and the low cut plum tank top she wore under her jean jacket showed off a small but perky set of breasts. He could see three necklaces dangling in between her cleavage; a long uncut rough clear crystal that was wrapped around wire hanging from a chain and two thinner silver chains with tiny heart trinkets hanging from them.

What Chibs liked the most though was her long dark hair. It was pulled up high into a ponytail. Chibs was sure that if she took her hair down it would reach down to the small of her back. He had to admire her smooth pale skin as well. Her skin seemed all the more milky when paired with those big dark eyes of hers.

She was pretty, he'd be a liar if he tried to deny it.

His interests were only peaked as Gemma left the office to be ambushed with a hug from the young woman.

He raised an eyebrow at the words that left the young woman's mouth Momma Gemma.

Chibs was puzzled as he saw Gemma smile down at the girl the same way he'd seen the Queen of SAMCRO smile at Jax Teller.

This was an interesting development Chibs realized.

In the five years he'd lived in Charming he'd never once seen a woman make Gemma smile like that.

Whoever this girl was she was obviously close to Gemma's heart, which Chibs knew wasn't an easy task.

Her closeness to Gemma only sparked Chibs' interest.

He continued to work as he tried to casually eavesdrop on this woman's conversations with Gemma and Unser.

Chibs found himself dying to at least know this woman's name.

He was sure he'd never seen her around town before. He was pretty sure he'd remember a pretty face like that not to mention a body like that.

He widened his eyes as the young woman gave Unser a tight hug. He only caught one word from her mouth dad.

Chibs sighed realizing that he had no place looking at this woman, not when she was a cop's daughter.

Chibs reluctantly decided that he better keep his distance if he knew what was best for him. Flirting with the sheriff's daughter wasn't a bright plan. Following his instincts with this girl was just asking for trouble.

He wasn't sure why he was so damn fascinated anyhow. After all it wasn't like he didn't see pretty girl's every damn day of the week.

The clubhouse was full of sexy women who'd gladly spread their legs for him without him even having to say a word.

A small voice in the back of his head pointed out the obvious though The girls in the clubhouse had been passed around from guy to guy at least a dozen times or more. The croweaters didn't make Gemma smile like that.

Chibs sighed knowing the truth; the truth was he was sick of the croweaters. It wasn't really any fun when you could get a woman without having to put the work into it.

As much as he hated to admit it he missed having more than sex with a woman. Yes sex was nice and all; it felt good and it was satisfying. But the satisfaction never lasted and at the end of the day Chibs was always left sleeping alone.

He was tired of always sleeping alone.

Chibs hadn't been able to move on from Fiona and all that had happened back in Ireland; all that had drove him to the MC and to Charming California.

He had almost gotten accustomed to being alone. It was just that when he saw a pretty girl like that, a girl that made the Queen of SAMCRO smile, his mind allowed itself to dream of maybe having something more than sex with her.

Chibs shook his head at these thoughts.

He knew these were just the thoughts of a foolish man, a man who wasn't getting any younger and didn't have a life that any woman would want to be a part of.

Despite the fact that Chibs knew it was best to just ignore his curiosity and stay back he found himself peeking back at Gemma and the woman as they disappeared into the office.

He let out a huff realizing that staying away would be harder than he thought.

[ahogechef]

"Kae-senpai! Kae-senpai!" The rapper happily skips towards her snepai, with containers in her hands. Looks like she made something to give Kaede to try. She looks pretty proud of herself with this dish! Ayumi hands Kaede the said containers. "I just came back from recording a TV program at my agency-- And, the program was about making food from our hometown. I come from Aomori and like--It's totally known for their HUUUGE apple selection. So I tried making apple turnovers! And it's known also for its so its seafood scene... I also made Iga-menchi! (Squid Fishcakes). A local classic for bar food!"

Of course, her cooking isn't as impressive as the chef's--- But Ayumi was pretty proud of herself own these turned out.

"I want you to try them! And give me your honest opinion!!"

@girlishwhiimsy (another senpai-kouhai situation!!!! oh boy!!!)

@girlishwhiimsy !!

"Ayumi-chan!!" Kaede immediately lights up when she hears Ayumi calling out to her, turning towards her with a bright smile. "What's up! Ohh?" She accepts the containers Ayumi holds out to her, looking curiously at them as Ayumi explains. "I see! That sounds like such a fun topic for a program! Ooo, is that so?! Then I get to try these two dishes made by an Aomorian, I'm so happy~! I'll be more than happy to try them, thank you so much! And I will, I promise: but I already know I'm gonna enjoy them~!"

Sitting down, Kaede eagerly pops open the lids of the containers. She first tries one of the fishcakes. Her eyes instantly light up, giving a very satisfied hum! "Mmm~! Oh this iga-menchi is delicious, Ayumi-chan! It's got that nice mix of crispy and chewy, and the vegetables you mixed in with them were great choices. I can just imagine someone pairing this with a nice sake!" After finishing the first cake, she eats a second right away.

Then, she tries the apple turnovers, which she also immediately loved. "And these apple turnovers... oh my god... these are so good. That perfect amount of sweetness of the apples and glaze, and the crispiness of the puff pastry is such an excellent combo! Yep, this is now officially my favorite version of apple turnovers, hehe~! This and the fishcakes!!"

And she wasn't just saying that to butter her up: she really did mean that. She could tell Ayumi was proud of herself, and she absolutely deserved to feel that way: because to Kaede, the one thing that makes a dish taste great, is when the person who made it, poured their passion and effort into it. And to her, in Ayumi's cooking: it showed. She rises up, so that she can pull Ayumi into a big hug! "Thank you so much again, Ayumi-chan! For wanting to share your hometown's creations with me. Not only do I love trying what others make, but especially dishes that are personal to them. Not to hint at anything, buuut...." She giggles. "If you ever need someone to try any more Aomorian dishes you make... I'm your girl~!"

[fancybois]

RIP Worth It

First off, I want to give a shout out to all the friends I’ve made along the way, you know who you are. I started this side blog during the peak of Worth It and the fandom, in 2017. And it was a much needed hobby for me to plug in to. 

I had just finished grad school, I had moved for an internship and I was alone and far from friends and family. I was getting over a major heartbreak too. I came back to my small apartment to my laptop to work on gifs for the fandom, chat with friends, or read fanfic (still some of the most quality fics I’ve read). I started my mornings before work watching Worth It in chronological order. I am so so grateful for this show and how it got me through my loneliness. So thank you Worth It fandom and thank you Andrew, Steven, and Adam and the rest of the Worth It team. 

Now. On to my last liveblog:

OKAY IMMEDIATELY NO. IMMEDIATELY 

HES’ GOING TO THE WATCHER STUDIO STOP THIS

IM LITERALLY SOBBING

SOMEONE MAKE A GIF WITH STEVEN GOING TO GET ANDREW IN  S1 AND NOW ANDREW GETTING STEVEN PLEASE i DONT HAVE THE PROGRAMS OR TIME TO DO IT

STEVEN’S DRIVING AGAIN 

Bub and Grandma’s has actually come up a lot in other videos for their amazing bread and I’m glad they have a shop now! If I ever visit LA I have to go there

First Cheers Steven, wonderful

Okay passionfruit donut??? Has to slap. That is my favorite flavor. Adam immediately going to that shows he knows whats up

Andrew just fucking dying when Steven said that he didn’t like limes as a kid

Andrew was like, you’ll remember this chef from our Oil episode and I was like, nope sure don’t, but I do remember the Boon sauce!

No Worth It fact?? ☹

Man, that chicken looks so so good

Steven: “Favorite food: free bread.” I knew he was my fave for a reason.

Second Cheers Steven!!!!

Oh man, pandemic Steven with the his black hair and glasses?? So fucking cute

Damn, we really got some Hearteyes! Andrew when Steven said he only thought of mousse as the thing his dad put in his hair. This last episode is a gift

Andrew was not ready for Steven to say confidence is sexy haha

Okay but that chicken might be sexy but that dessert is absolutely sexy too

Now Andrew is drivinggggg

Lot of French inspo in this episode

Man, remember when these boys had next to no experience with fine dining?? 

CHEERS STEVEN X3 HELL YEAH

Andrew: “This amuse bouche feels like the closest thing I’ve eaten to a pet treat.” hahaha

Half the things this chef is saying is in another language and I’m like, idk what that is but it looks good!

Throw back to their first episode. Every time I see truffle I think of the boys <3

Also this song was used when they were eating another fancy thing and I love that

Damn, Andrew really missed the opportunity to call back his hot honey joke. Local honey, that’s what they called me in high school. 

Pocky. They made fancy pocky.

Steven: “This is me holding on to like... everything I own, ya know? I just don’t want it to end. Arguably, the worst bite. Because it’s over.” Yeah. I feel that right now. That gave me a lump in my throat. 

Adam: “My Worth It Winner is the friends we made along the way.” So well said. Thanks guys. 

[purgatorical]

Obey Me Character Info: Miyuno

I’ve done one of these in the past but I saw one I’ve never seen before so Im doing a refresher for Night Bringer

This is from the template that EveningStar1516 made with the template HERE

Again I’m gonna make one for Miyuno, Kie, and Taxike with Miyuno starting under the cut uwu

PERSONAL INFO 

Name: Miyuno

Nickname: Miyu (thanks ace :D )

 Age: 26

 Height: 6′5

Weight: Heavy set with a tummy and muscles

Race: Human/ Half Jamaican Half Japanese

Religion: Agnostic

Gender: Transmasc

Pronouns: They/He

Birthday: 5/13

 Star Sign: Taurus

Hair: Medium-Curly black hair pushed back by a headband with ram horns attached, a curl sticking out by each ear

Eye Colour: Light blue, white, and pink eyes 

Skin Tone: Warm-toned dark skin

 DEMONS 

Demons Pacted with: All of the brothers

Sin Order: Assuming this means favorite order for the brothers: Miyuno likes all of them so much so he won’t pick favorites. If it means what order they got all of their pacts, they got them in canon order.

Nicknames for the Boys 

Miyuno calls everyone by their first name for the most part or uses common nicknames that others have said so this might be a little boring.

Lucifer: Luci

Mammon: Mams

Leviathan:  Levi

Satan: Satan, Satnyan

Asmodeus: Asmo

Beelzebub: Beel

Belphegor: Belphie

Diavolo: Dia

Barbatos: Barbatos. No nicknames.

Simeon: Sim

Luke: Luke :)

Solomon: Solomon 

PERSONALITY 

Personality Traits: Kind, Gentle, Caring, Easily Persuaded, not gullible per se but believes in the best in others. 

Background: An office worker who is thankful for the chance to get out of his job (and to never go back :) ) 

Why were they chosen for the program: Miyuno doesn’t quite know. They were just some person at some desk in some building when they were dropped into the devildom

Hobbies: Miyuno likes working out and doing yoga, reading fantasy novels, trying out new foods, and watching shows. They like creating cosplays but haven’t cosplayed much themselves

Likes: History, beaches, swimming, stuffed animals, teasing, fun pranks, and tea

Dislikes: Salty food, language classes, mean spirited pranks

APPEARANCE 

Casual Clothes 

S1: A large jacket with puffy wool around the collar and baggy sweatpants with a ram horn headband

S2: they’re a creature of habit and it takes them a long time to change clothes. They transitioned out of the headband around this time.

S3: A dark maroon Turtleneck with a green tweed sweater-vest on top

Uniform 

They wear their uniform perfectly, a bit of a stickler for the rules.

RELATIONSHIPS

Family

 Mother and Father: Although their parents were never hostile, things got very tense when they came out as trans. Ever since transitioning they have only spoken with their parents out of politeness during the holidays. They wonder if their parents even noticed they were gone.

Siblings: none

Pets: Miyuno was planning on getting a cat before getting taken to the devildom.

Friends: Outside of the Devildom Miyuno had a few friends in their office and a few friends in the local cosplay community. They would often make accessories for their cosplays

Past Lover: Miyuno has dated many people of all genders as they’ve grown up, but never really had a long term relationship. The longest they had was 18 months, but that was back in high school.

Been in Love: Miyuno felt like they were in love back in high school, they were dating their best friend and life was good. But when they graduated the went in opposite directions and Miyuno wonders if they just liked the idea of being in love

Have Crushes: Miyuno gets crushes easily, all it takes is spending time with Miyuno and matching up with their energy. They usually assume it to be a *friend crush* like wanting someone to be their friend. With the brothers it was different, he genuinely fell in love with each of them.

Believe in Love: Miyuno believes in love. Believes in caring for another and trusting and thinking about others. They believe you can love as many people as your heart can hold and each love can be different forms or different types. Variety of love and relationships is what Miyuno adores most about their partners. They love them each on their own way.

Type: Miyuno’s type varies based on the person. What he hates in one person he might adore in another. It’s more about the experience and friendship they have with people that makes them their type.

 Sexuality: Bisexual/Biromantic

Brother They Like the Most: Miyuno likes all of the brothers in their own way and cannot choose who they like more

Why: Miyuno has had such different experiences with the brothers that it wouldn’t be fair to try and rank them. They love them so so much that to even think of ranking them stresses Miyuno out to no end.

 Traits Looked for in Partner: someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, someone to help and someone to be helped. Someone to hold hands and hug and smile. Someone who gives love even if it’s in their own way.

Past Crush: Miyuno’s best friend from high school still comes up sometimes in phone calls and messages, to see how they’re doing. And Miyuno reminisces on their years of friendship and their attempt at romance. Perhaps to young to really try hard enough for each other.

GENERAL 

Favourite Food: Anything spicy, Parfaits, and unfortunately the Lunatic pudding :(. Solomon smuggled some back to the human world when they were first sent home.

Least Favourite: Salty foods, anchovies, tangerines, poison princess apples

Favourite School Topic: Potions, Devildom history

Least Favourite: Language Arts

Introvert/Extrovert/Ambivert: Ambivert

Favourite Movie Genre: Fantasy

Least Favourite: gritty action movies

Reads a Lot: Fantasy, loves the Lord of the Rings series

Favourite Animal: Guess :) (it’s sheep)

Least Favourite: Honestly loves most animals, but the least liked but still liked would be crawfish, too many legs makes them uncomfortable.

Favourite Music Genre: Classical but like Beethovens 7th and Flight of the Bumblebees, fast pace songs

 Least Favourite: I hate my wife and fuck my truck Country music

Do they Like Sweets: They don’t hate them but don’t have an overly sweet tooth. Prefer fruit parfaits and flan/cinnamon puddings over chocolate

 Do they Like Spicy Food: they LOVE spicy food. The hotter the better, they can’t feel the spice and it’s all just extra flavor for them

Do they Like School: They have had bad experiences at school but being in the devildom has renewed their love for learning. They like THIS school.

Pet Peeves: They don’t like people who are mean just to be mean. Having anger, feeling betrayed, or teasing is okay, but specifically being mean just to make someone feel worse about themselves when they’ve done nothing to you is the worst.

 Additional Headcanons:

Too many to put here honestly. But welcome to Miyuno again :)

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJCbqwmk/

I am a European, and I genuenly wanna know what do you think about this. Is living there really so bad?🤔

I mean, I heard people be afraid of going to the doctor because how hight the prices are, meanwhile here basically free...

And US tourist getting ptsd from fireworks, or crackers, because in US the shooting considered normal, meanwhile here they are always big news, because max it happens 1 in 10 years...

And I don't get started on the political things, that looks like it came from the distopy called "The handmaidens tale"...

So is it true? Or how do you feel about this?

Huh.

Well I'm by no means an economics or capitalist expert.

But yeah those are still a lot of those problems are prevent in America.

Even in my state where the homeless rates are pretty low...... It's still 11% and I am for sure seeing more homelessness then I ever did as a kid in the 90s...

It varies from state to state, but there are often affordable health insurance programs under the affordable healthcare act in place that give bare minimum insurance if you are on a low income wage. I am on one of those health programs. So I do get affordable healthcare, but they're only for people making under a certain amount. I've rarely had problems with my insurance and do get access to mental health services through them. However the services are usually Christian owned (yeah christian mental health services are a thing) and sometimes aren't too friendly to trans or lgbt people. I'm thankful I have a therapist who is super kind and listens to me though. My first therapist was working for college credit and checked out but I'm glad I got a new one now.

OH DAMN THE FIREWORKS. You need to understand, it's NOT JUST Independence Day, (the fourth of July) Every summer around the middle of June, these big top tents set up in retail parking lots for people to buy home fireworks at low low prices. Thankfully, not many have been going off in June in Michigan cus of the air pollution and fire danger lately. But during THE ENTIRE MONTH OF JULY it will be very likely you'll hear noise poppers, and home brewed and bought fireworks from millions of Americans across the country. I know my old dog hated the summer fireworks and my heart goes out to any veterans with PTSD, or anyone that has PTSD for loud gunshot type noises, or people that can't stand loud noises. And it's always when you try to sleep too.

I'm one of the people living from paycheck to paycheck and I do get by okay. I mostly utilize my local library. Which is very good about listing resources of what churches give out free food. Which I sometimes use so I can save money for rent that month.

There's always resources to help there and while it is bad, people here are mostly living their day to day life.

As I said I'm not an expert and your millage may very but I am doing okay....

That being said. Reminding everyone my commissions are always open and I never close them

[autumnalwalker]

The Tale of the Merchant and the Blacksmith's Daughter

Wordcount: 2,682 (Story is below the "Keep Reading" line if you want to skip the introduction of meta context.)

This is a story that appeared in @thearchivistsjournal, split into two parts, the first half on Day 98 and the second half on Day 364 as a sort of "story within a story" that the titular Archivist winds up telling. I liked it well enough and it works well enough as a standalone story that it neither dependent on nor particularly spoils anything in The Archivist's Journal that I figured I'd give it its own post with the whole story all in one place (and with some of the Archivist's parenthetical commentary stripped out).

The original way this story came about was that several years ago a friend of mine invited me to a concert/show that a coworker of ours was involved in. The concert was 95% instrumental and 5% chorus singing in a language I don't speak, but the individual songs had English-translation titles in the program pamphlet and a couple of them had brief introductions about the larger works or stories the individual pieces originated from. The two that stood out in my memory (or maybe it was both the same one, like I said, it's been several years) were one involving a blacksmith and his white-haired daughter and one having something to do with a gift found/given during winter. Anyway, this story is the story I made up in my head to go along with the music as the concert progressed. It wasn't until I decided to include it in The Archivist's Journal a few years later that I ever wrote it down or even told anyone about it. Of course, in that writing down it mutated a bit and more specific details got added until it became the story you see before you (beneath the "Keep Reading" line).

I hope you enjoy.

*******

This story starts in a village, not too unlike this Village, but rather than being surrounded by water it lay nestled in a space between mountains.  There were many other villages in this world, most of them similarly isolated.  The roads between, over, and through the mountains were long, winding, and dangerous; haunted by wild animals, malevolent spirits, and ruthless bandits.  But still, these roads were traveled despite the risks, mostly by merchants; people who brought goods and news from afar to trade for local crafts, foods, drinks, and gossip.

As I said, we begin our tale with one such merchant arriving in one such village in the springtime, when the trees bloomed with pink flowers and hid chirping newborn chicks among their branches.  A time when everyone, their pets, and their livestock are all taking any excuse they can to be out and about in the new-returned warmth and sun after months of cold and dark.  The time when everyone is happy to see a merchant after so long without word from beyond their village, for only fools travel in the winter, but when you are used to a thing it becomes strange to go without it and joyous to regain it.

As our merchant passed by the farms and rode into town on a rickety cart pulled by an aging steed, the locals smiled and called out to the young man they saw, and some even stopped their work to follow him to market.  The first merchant to visit the village this season, and a new one at that.  For this was the merchant’s first journey out on his own, and while these villagers had never seen this fresh-faced beardless young man before, neither had he seen the world beyond his home village until now, so he was excited as they.  And a bit afraid although he tried not to show it.

And so the merchant arrived in the village square and there was a sort of music to it all; the babble of the crowd clamouring for the latest news, the calling out of requests for foreign items, the rattling of the cart, the huffing of the merchant’s steed, the clucking of chickens happy to be forgotten for the moment as they pecked at the ground.  And behind it all, keeping the rhythm united, the steady beat of the blacksmith’s hammer.

It was toward the end of that first day when the merchant first caught sight of the blacksmith’s daughter, a beautiful young woman the merchant’s own age with snow-white hair despite her youth.  So distracted was the merchant by the sight of her that he did not notice the mischievous village children unhooking his cart from his steed, nor their unlocking its wheels, nor the steed wandering off.  So it was then that when he went to lean upon the cart to try to look casual when he realized she was leaving her father’s workshop to approach him that the cart began to roll off on its own.

A spectacle of a chase after the cart ensued, ultimately ending with the merchant making a fool of himself and landing in a pigsty.  Not the best first impression on the blacksmith’s daughter.  Perhaps even worse was the complication cleaning this soiled state presented.  For the merchant had a secret.  The merchant was in fact not a young man but a young woman, and in this world, among these villages, it was not considered proper for a woman to be a merchant.  There were many justifications and excuses for this idea, and regardless of the truth of any of them - or lack thereof - what mattered was that people believed them and if the young merchant’s true nature were to be discovered, her life and business would be that much harder.

And so the young merchant found herself gathering her goods, her cart, and her steed and fleeing before getting the chance to truly talk to the blacksmith’s daughter whom she was so smitten with.  And while beauty alone may not be the best reason for attraction, it’s a common enough one, and besides the merchant felt a certain kinship for the white-haired young woman.  By her apron and arms it appeared that she was training to take her father’s place and - while we know such an idea to be foolishness here - in that place blacksmith was not considered a “proper” occupation for a woman either.

As the spring passed into summer, and summer into autumn the merchant’s thoughts would often drift back to that white-haired maiden, and as she went from one village to the next she couldn’t stop comparing them to that first village she visited nor their inhabitants to the blacksmith’s daughter.  She resolved that come next spring she would talk to her for real, and prayed that she was not with another by that time.

Likewise, the blacksmith’s daughter would often surprise herself when her own thoughts drifted back toward the smiling handsome stranger who somehow managed to laugh and joke even while chasing down his runaway cart or lying in mud.  Such thoughts never lasted long as her father would tell her to get back to work and remind her that with no son nor wife he was counting on her to carry on his skills and legacy.

And as winter came the merchant hunkered down in the city and drew up two routes for the coming year, one for if talking to the blacksmith’s daughter went well, in which case she would loop around to visit the village multiple times, and one for if the conversation went poorly, in which case she would avoid that village in the future.  Such planning was perhaps a bit much, but those who are young and infatuated often do many foolish things when they should know better.

Meanwhile back in the village the blacksmith and his daughter enjoyed an evening together under the stars while the townsfolk carried on their festival that was the one bright spot in that dark and cold season.  Standing on a bridge leading to a pavilion in the center of a pond on the edge of the festival grounds, the father revealed that he was ill, and come this time next year - or if he was lucky the one after - he would be needing to pass all his work on to her.  Which made it all the more important that she find and accept a husband so that she might continue the family line.  True, she might not be able to smith while having a child, but a good husband could provide for her until she could again.  And if it happened sooner rather than later, her father could continue helping as well.

This news soured the blacksmith’s daughter’s night in more ways than one.

Such were the affairs weighing on the minds of the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter as spring returned, and with it, the merchant to that  village.

This time, there were no mishaps with the cart and steed, and  the two of them were able to talk.  First about business and news of the wider world, but then about themselves.  As luck or fate would have it, the two of them did actually enjoy one another’s company.  The merchant’s tales of travel and easy-going demeanor allowed the blacksmith’s daughter to forget her troubles for a time.  The blacksmith’s daughter and stories of village life were a pleasant reminder of the things the merchant had started to miss and grow homesick for after giving them up for a life on the road.

All too soon the time came when the merchant had to move on.  As promises were being made to see one another next spring, if not sooner, the blacksmith’s daughter mentioned her father’s illness and its impact on her own responsibilities.  As she rode away, on to the next village, the merchant thought about the blacksmith’s plight and the symptoms that were mentioned, and she remembered a skilled doctor she had met on last year’s route.  Letting her steed lead the cart on its own she consulted her map and her planned routes and began to make adjustments.  How soon could she get to that doctor’s village and return to this one?  Could she make enough money to pay the doctor for a cure to bring back before getting there?  Could such a route work out before winter?  And wintering in that village was no good, for if a merchant is to do well the next year it was said they must winter in the city where trade never stops, only slows.

Days she spent, revising her route, calculating profits and expenses, time and food.  By the time she reached the second village on her route, she believed she could do it.  There would be little profit in it and far too much time on the road, but it could be done.  Even if it meant a poor bed and lean food that winter in the city.

And so it came to pass that it was only early autumn, when the flowers were gone and the farmers made their harvests among the falling orange leaves that the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter met once again.  To save the blacksmith’s pride the merchant charged for the medicine of course, but left out that it was far less than it had cost her to acquire.  When asked why she had gone to such lengths, she said that a merchant’s job was not to make money, but to make sure people have the things they need but cannot get themselves, even the needs they didn’t ask for.  She may not have fully believed it herself at the time, but that explanation marked the birth of what would one day become the policy that made her reputation as a merchant.  At any rate, it sounded better than the city.

Alas, if the merchant were to keep herself and her steed fed and housed through the winter, they could not linger.  And so the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter parted ways again, hoping that by the spring the medicine would have done its work.

That winter, the merchant in the city chose to go hungrier than was perhaps wise while she searched for a gift to bring the blacksmith’s daughter.  Not a practical one, but a flattering one.  Meanwhile the blacksmith’s daughter thought of the merchant only to curse him as the medicine seemed at first to do nothing, or even make her father worse.  And then when her father joined her outside on the night of the winter festival, surprising her after being bedridden for weeks they both praised the doctor who’d made the medicine and the merchant who delivered it.

And so that next spring, happy to see one another again, their friendship began to bloom in full.

At first, when the merchant returned to the village, she was nervous.  What if the medicine had not worked and the blacksmith’s daughter now resented her?  What if the gift she now brought was rejected?  Was she being too forward?

As it happened, these fears were unwarranted.  The blacksmith was more hale and hearty than he had been in years.  And his daughter, already grateful, was delighted with the simple hair ornament the merchant presented to her; ostensibly as thanks for sending her on such a journey that led her to contacts that would be profitable in future seasons.  It was a small, plain thing, for the merchant could not yet afford more, but its color shone brilliantly against a head of white hair and it was most effective at keeping that hair out of the way when working a forge.

As in the last spring, and in springs to follow, the merchant lingered for longer than was profitable in that little village so that she anddaughter might spend as much time in one another’s presence as the sirmitwork.  There came the when she surpassed her father’s skill and took on most of the blacksmith’s work.  But, leave once again the merchant always did, although always with a promise to return.  And return she always did, with news and tales and goods, traded for coin and horseshoes and a nostalgic taste of a slower life.

And so the seasons turned, and with them the years.  The claim the merchant once made to impress the blacksmith’s daughter about her purpose not being money but to fulfill the needs of those who cannot for themselves became a guiding principle in truth.  And in this way she gained a reputation for being fair and compassionate in balance with being cunning and capable.  And in this way she wove a web of connections and esteem greater in value than the coin of any one great trade.  Of course, there was an ever-increasing amount of coin too.

Meanwhile, the blacksmith’s daughter came into her own as well.  There came the day when she matched her father’s skill and took on an equal share of the smithy’s work.  There came the when she surpassed her father’s skill and took on most of the smithy’s work.  There came the day when - to both their surprise - her father received a commission from outside their village.  She smirked as she cursed the merchant for spreading overwrought tales of the talent of a humble village blacksmith and pushed herself to ever further mastery so that she might live up to those tales.  And then surpass them.

And then give the merchant much playful grief over the whole ordeal when she next returned.

Yet, for all the sweetness of those years, there were still the subtle bitternesses.  The merchant still had to pretend to be a man for her own safety and status.  The blacksmith still got the credit for his daughter’s work while asking her more urgently every year when she would find a husband to continue the family line.  And for all the time the merchant and the blacksmith’s daughter spent with one another, growing ever more mutually smitten, neither had the confidence to admit to the other of being more than close friends.

And when at last the merchant shared her secret with the blacksmith’s daughter, her faint hope that one day the merchant would settle down as her husband and fulfill her father’s wish for grandchildren was dashed.  And yet, the revelation left her more smitten still.

So, turned the seasons and years with their bright joys and quiet sorrows, until one hot summer’s day brought a change.

The merchant had stopped at a pool beneath a waterfall, far off enough from the road that she might water her steed and bathe in private.  It was a pool she had stopped at often enough before and had never encountered another, so - for a short time - she allowed herself to relax the guard she kept up on those dangerous roads.  And so she found herself half-disrobed at the water’s edge when the bandits of that place’s wilds set upon her with the hunger of wild animals and the cunning of men.

Now, the merchant was not unskilled at defending herself - one must be capable of such to travel those roads - and indeed she had done so handily in the past more than once, but on this occasion she was caught unawares and with the bandits between her and her bow and her spear.  And so, after trying and failing to reach her armaments, for all it hurt her pride she shouted for help she did not believe would come.

The bandits laughed at her despair.

The merchant steeled herself for her fate.

The wind picked up, carrying with it a scattering of petals and the scent of flowers.

A glint from the forest.

A blur that seemed to ride the wind.

A whistle of sharp metal.

The first of the bandits fell.

The laughter ceased.

The merchant beheld the beautiful swordsman.

His mocking grin drew the enraged bandits unto him.

His dancing feet spiraled amongst them untouched.

His gleaming sword flowed in and out and across.

The last bandit remaining slipped behind the beautiful swordsman.

The merchant cried out a warning.

The blow that would have torn spine from back tore only skin from shoulder.

A final flash and it was over.

A final flourish and the sword was sheathed.

A final flower on the breeze and the air was still.

The merchant and the beautiful swordsman stared at one another for a long moment with no sound but the nearby waterfall.

And then the moment ended as the swordsman winced and gripped his injured shoulder, making a self-deprecating joke about being too reckless and then thanking the merchant for saving his life.  The merchant thanked him for saving hers and began to bandage him up.

While they recovered they talked, and as they talked they found they had much in common.  Both were wanderers of the roads; her to bring people together and him to keep them safe.  Both thought they were the only ones who knew of this pool.  Both knew of the other by reputation, although the merchant’s secret, now revealed, was news to him.  Both had a similar sense of humor and played off one another well.  Both were beautiful, although on this one point the merchant disagreed for none had ever told her such before.

How could she compare to this man who was more beautiful than any she had ever seen?  Who moved with a dancer’s grace?  Who smelled of iron and flowers in bloom?  Who had saved her life?

He smiled and reminded her that she had saved his as well.  And then he offered to show her how she might compare.

She did not object when he moved to kiss her.

Over the days it took to travel to the next village, the beautiful swordsman convinced the merchant to try - just this once - to present herself as a woman while conducting her business.  It was an out-of-the-way place where her wider reputation would not suffer if things went poorly.  To her surprise, it did not.  It was frightening at first, yes, and there was some initial skepticism, true, but she was known here and her skills had not changed with her appearance.

It felt better than she’d expected.  She had not realized how much hiding herself had worn her down.  She knew it was reckless, but she tried it again in the next village.  And the next.  And before she knew it, the rest of her stops on the year’s circuit.

It did not always go so well of course.  Some fell back on old prejudices despite their past relationship and dealings.  Some felt they had been lied to all these years and resented the fact.  But the greater number accepted her as the same merchant who had always served them so well or even befriended them in the past and continued business as usual.  Some even lauded her cleverness in keeping up the ruse for so long or called her brave or skillful at having succeeded so well at a disadvantage.

Although, of course, the merchant knew that having already built up wealth and reputation made things far easier than if she had risked being herself from the start.  And having a famous swordsman at her side as a personal guard didn’t hurt matters either.

If there was one blemish on that unexpectedly exhilarating year, it was the guilt.  The merchant could not help but feeling that she had betrayed the blacksmith’s daughter.  She told herself that since the two of them had never claimed to ever be anything more than close friends, there was nothing to betray.  But the feeling persisted, and so the merchant revised her route so that she would not pass back to her favorite village until she was on her way to the city for the winter.  Of course, that only made the gnawing feeling worse.

When the blacksmith’s daughter next saw the merchant, riding openly as she had only shown herself to her in private and with a beautiful man at her side, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest that she refused to identify.  A moment looked forward to for months, suddenly turned to a fear she dared not name.

Over the following days the time that had once belonged to just the two of them was now shared by the three of them.  Their favorite private place now had a beautiful intruder.  An intruder who was never anything but gracious, and funny, and kind, and infuriatingly hard to resent.

It hurt how happy her best friend was, and she hated that it hurt.  She knew that she should be happy for the merchant’s happiness.  And so that was the face she showed.  A facade that all was right in the world, when every hour she wished that she had spoken her feelings sooner while chiding herself that to voice those words now would be nothing but hurtful selfishness.

And so the blacksmith’s daughter spent those last days of autumn smiling and those last nights silently weeping.

As the merchant returned to the city for the winter with the beautiful swordsman still at her side, she was happy that the two people in the world she cared for most had gotten along so well.

And so again the seasons turned and the years turned with them.  The merchant grew yet wealthier and more connected, while the blacksmith’s daughter became ever more skilled.  Ministers in the city asked the merchant to handle their affairs.  Warriors from afar journeyed to a once little-known village for blades and armor like no other.  Young traders sought out the merchant and asked to work for her.  She gave advice to all but hired none.  Would-be smiths sought out the elderly blacksmith and his white-haired daughter for apprenticeship.  He would take no apprentice but a non-existent grandchild and she sent all away without a word.

Masks cannot hold forever, and lies to oneself can only be believed for so long.  The merchant’s guilt began to gnaw again.  She began to question her relationship with the beautiful swordsman.  Had she made a mistake?  Had she simply done what was easy, useful, and expected?  He was dear to her, and she enjoyed his presence and his touch, and had done so much for her.  He seemed as near to perfect as a mortal man could be.  He had never been anything but loyal to her.  But if he had deeper depths, he never revealed them to her.  So how could she ever truly open up to him in return? 

And why did every visit to the blacksmith's daughter feel so painful these days when all three of them looked and sounded so happy?

Meanwhile, the blacksmith’s daughter closed herself ever further off.  She spoke to no one except her father.  And the merchant and the beautiful swordsman when they visited.  All commissions would go through her father and she would make creations that each put the last to shame without a question of payment or word to the patron.  Suitors stopped calling after a thrown hammer grazed the last one’s ear.

The beautiful swordsman, while a carefree man, was not an oblivious one.  And he knew what he was well enough, perhaps even better than most know themselves.  He knew his bonds were not as strong as most, no matter how easily he formed them, and he had long since made his peace with that.  He saw himself as a simple man of simple pleasures, and saw no shame in that.

He was not unaware of the merchant's growing melancholy, nor was he blind to the masked pain of the blacksmith’s daughter.  Nor the other buried feelings between the two.  He’d hoped all that would either blow up or fade with time, but he hadn’t anticipated it festering this long.

He liked to think he knew when to end a good thing before it goes bad, but admitted to himself that this time he may have been complacent.

And so, one spring day, he sighed to himself and declared he needed a new sword.

Of course, there was only one smith who would do.

It was raining when they arrived in the merchant’s once-favorite village.  She found it fit her melancholy these days.  A place she’d first seen full of light and color, now dim and drab.  She hated that she now felt dread instead of joy in coming here.  She was surprised when the beautiful swordsman said he wished to speak to the blacksmith’s daughter in private about the commission, but secretly relieved.  It was strange though that they talked all day, and through the night.  

She never did learn exactly what they spoke of.

The blacksmith’s daughter did not know what to make of the long conversation herself at first.  Nor of the commission.  Her voice was sore the next day, she had not spoken at such length for… well, she didn’t know how long it had last been.  The next day she did not pick up a hammer.  She only sat, and thought, and paced, and planned.  And then the next day, she worked.  And the next and next until she quenched the metal in her own blood and tears.  Only once her frenzied work was finished did she pause to rest for a moment on the floor of her workshop.  A pause that became a deep sleep.

She never did learn what the merchant and the beautiful swordsman spoke of during those days.

When the merchant woke the next morning, the rain had stopped and the beautiful swordsman was gone.

When the blacksmith’s daughter woke the next morning, the rain had stopped and the sword she made was gone.

The other item from the commission remained.

When the merchant reached the door of the workshop, she hesitated, unsure if she was doing the right thing.

When the blacksmith’s daughter reached the door of the workshop, she hesitated, unsure if she was doing the right thing.

The knock came at the same time the handle turned.

The two of them stared at one another as if for the first time.  

The blacksmith’s daughter invited the merchant inside to see the second half of the beautiful swordsman’s commission.  As they walked through the maze her workshop had become, she nervously explained that the first part of the commission had been the easy one.  Only a blade finer than any seen before, worthy of its own name and stories.  The second half had been the most difficult piece she’d ever attempted to forge.

“Her own heart’s desire.”

The simple hair ornament was a small, plain thing, but it shone brilliantly against a head of graying hair.

[thexwayward]

𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤 '𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕪'𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟' 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕪𝕚𝕟' 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕙 𝕘𝕠𝕕, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡 𝕞𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙?

                          ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴  

full name:  cyrus nicolo aureliano petrelli

nicknames: cy, saint cy, admiral, etc.

age:  35

date of birth:  jun. 11

zodiac: gemini

gender:  male

pronouns: he/him

sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color: dark brown

eye color: black

height: 6′1″

weight: 180 lbs

personality

morality:  lawful evil

positive traits: charming, inquisitive, intelligent, attentive, strong-willed

negative traits: restless, easily bored, moody, fickle, short-tempered,

job: admiral stationed at Naval Air Base Key West

skills: adaptable, strong, combat trained, artillery trained.

family

parents: big tony and angelia petrelli

siblings: christopher petrelli, aurora petrelli

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :             war, murder, drugs, violence

                                     ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

born to anthony ‘big tony’ petrelli and his young wife angelina, cyrus was the heir to the petrelli name that no one could have accounted before. there were cousins, younger and older, all of whom never seemed to get doted on, quite so as cyrus was. he quickly became the golden child among the family.

the owner of a garbage and sanitization company contracted by the local municipality to take care of the city, their father wasn’t shy about bitching up a storm when shit started to go sideways. as good of a man as their father is, cyrus knew from an early age that he didn’t want to take the same course in life. he wanted to be different. better than everyone else.

always taught that nothing could hurt him unless he gave it license to, cyrus was rambunctious and foolhardy, always flooded with a charm and wit. paired with his keen instinct for outsmarting those his senior, he had a knack for mischief from the start.

fear is a fickle thing in the eyes of a kid who could do no wrong in his family, but a constant nagging was losing those he loved and cared about.  more often than not it was a distant, almost irrelevant fear; one that had no place among conscious thought. then, he gained a new baby sister. after she came, he felt a need to step up and be there for her in a different way than their parents ever could. he wanted to be the trusted confidant, the one she came to for help before she went to their parents; the reliable brother that loved her fiercely and with everything he had in him. cyrus cared for aurora beyond all others; no one matters to him half as much as she does.

moving through years in elementary and middle school, cyrus was popular, charming, well known and well liked, but could tip attitude at the drop of the hat. the moment he was provoked, his wrath came out and found the object of his rage. that indignation, the anger within him, and the willingness to hit first and worry later landed him in and out of detention and even one instance of juvenile arrest.

his mother was more concerned about his bursts of anger than his father was; as far as he was concerned, it was just cyrus defending himself when people tried to push him down, but for the sake of his wife, he had a talk with cyrus. tone it down, kid. and don’t get caught. your mama worries too much, don’t make ya mama worry like that, alright? that’s my good boy.

he needed discipline and anger management, but faking it til he made it worked just as well as anything else could. cyrus commanded respect wherever he went; more often than not, it only took a harsh glance to knock people back in their place and keep his fists from getting bloody again.

once settled at the top of the school food chain, his studies soared, both academically and in elective ROTC programs. he didn’t care for the people in the program with him: young republicans in the making with bad hair cuts who joined up because their father never could, or pick-me girls who wanted to prove themselves more than they were, and the most regrettable of all: the weird anime kid who didn’t fit in anywhere else and would meow at people to get their attention. cyrus found comfort in the regiment of the program, content to take the trial run before he joined up for real.

high school couldn’t have been easier. he was popular as ever, a shining example of what one should be; respectful, protective, intelligent, and above all; engaging. everyone seemed to want him as a friend or a fuck, and cyrus saw nothing wrong with it.

on occasion, there was the odd idiot who would try his very thin patience. cyrus found it far too easy to fight dirty. he liked the snap of bone beneath his knuckles, or the squelch of sweat as a body hit the concrete beneath him. though chastised for his behavior and willingness to act out of line, there was always a friend on the side who could vouch for the self defense aspect of the fights. still, cyrus knew the behavior had to cease. collecting outlets for his anger, he took the advice of his ROTC teacher and started to write.

he wasn’t good at it, or particularly knowledgeable in the rules of prose, but writing was his therapy. it was the only sympathy he afforded himself to have, and soon the bookshelves in his bedrooms were heavily lined with journals filled cover to cover with simple-minded musings, thoughts, and reports of the days where he could barely tell sunrise from bedtime.

after high school graduation, cyrus decided he’d go the way of the navy. he wanted to make his parents and sister proud; a noble son that learned the noble art of war. leaving them all behind would hurt, but it would be worth it in the long run? who better to protect his family than a man with all the skills of a trained, combat killing machine?

cyrus signed up when he was 17 and shipped off to basic not long after. nothing shaped his fears for the future quite like the fall of the world trade center in 2001. watching live from a tv in the cafeteria in his senior year of high school; he could recall the tension in the air; everyone in that room knew the wars they spent so much time learning about were now outside their very windows.

he was sent to coronado, california and underwent SEALs training. working his way up in the ranks was easy, but beyond deployed was hard. after the start of the iraq war, cyrus was sent into active combat and shipped overseas to afghanistan.

cyrus was a part of four tours, all of which were active combat on the front lines. during his second tour, he was adopted into a special ops program under watch of the secretary of defense. under this new assignment, cyrus was one of an elite group that was in charge of covert assassinations and the traffic of narcotics in ration packs and the bodies of those killed in action.

when he carried out what was asked of him as an initiation, he did so quickly, cleanly, and concisely. after all he’d seen on the plane of war, the carnage came as second nature. it made sense to do it for the sake of the country. there was only one crime in war- and it was to lose.

by the time he returned to key west, he had seen too much on his tours, fought and killed and his rage was tripled tenfold. the brothers and sisters he cherished in the service had been lost, killed, or moved on. cyrus felt as if part of him was left out there, far from where he was in key west.

the first fourth of july home was a noted one in the petrelli family. at the first thundering echo of a firework detonating in the sky, cyrus ran and tackled his sister to the ground and covered their heads. It was a snap instinct, one that came with the echo of bombs overhead.

soon after, he was encouraged to see a therapist through his higher ups at the base. diagnosed with ptsd as many veterans are, the therapist had an almost sickeningly positive outlook on cyrus’s prognosis. it seemed he was one of the few she believed in to pull himself out of the binds of a mental illness.

after a few sessions, his therapist encouraged him to get a service animal. after signing up and getting his certifications for a service animal taken care of, he adopted a rottweiler puppy. he named him LOOMIS.

however, there is no one can fake a fantasy like a government liar. outwardly, cyrus was still charming, still personable, and most of all: still lethal. writing did precious little to staunch his emotions, but fighting did.

there was nothing out of the realm of possibility for cyrus and his tastes; sleeping around, drinking, partying, fighting, living the reckless life of a daredevil whenever given the chance. every risky behavior was lidocaine on a burn, a cool soothing menthol that eased the scald of emotions he’d rather not feel. binge after binge, everything started to blur together- no obligation, no feeling, nothing but the bed of a woman who would have him.

the first sign something was wrong came when the secretary of defense asked him in for an official briefing over his assignments. in an abandoned office building in staten island. cyrus kept a close look on the man, tracking him for days as he tracked the marks he was assigned to kill.

he uncovered the double cross before it happened. the secretary of defense and some advisors were looking for a strong record to shift blame onto when they were questioned. cyrus gathered every file and every piece of proof he, and they, had and lined them up, painting a clear picture.

he flipped the blackmail and demanded silence and compensation for his own, but the changes and advances had to take place gradually, for all of their sakes. he earned the title of admiral 5 years later and has been stationed in the Key since.

he has money, bundles and bundles of it stashed away, wealth and riches and power on the heels of a former secretary of defense. still, he keeps to himself, running drills and educating new members of the navy as they pass through and train to become airmen.

cyrus stands as the shining, sainted golden boy of his family. if they only knew how slanted his halo had become.

updates:

probably has to go to therapy again

wanted connections:

TBD - a brother in arms. someone that was on tours/in the same special ops unit as him during his time in iraq and afghanistan. a ride or die, someone he loves almost as much as his own sister.

TBD- a recruit he has under his wing. someone he watches out and vouches for. 

verses 

main!verse 

mafia!verse (head of crime family) 

stranger things!verse (jock - baseball player) 

creature!verse (mesmer || a la lost girl)

[xcookedxchroniclesx]

There is another thing that directly affects me, and that is the disability financial program, known as the Saskatchewan Assured Income for Disability or S.A.I.D. I was homeless for much of my time since 2016 and I had to sign up for social assistance in 2017. I was able to get onto the disability program eventually. Now here's where things get unfair about the program.

I technically only get $1125 for rent and personal a month when my last place costed $925/month. I got $287 to spend on food, a bus pass, cigarettes, snacks, cabs, pop or anything else that may cost money. I am so used to this bullshit that I have explained on my Twitter that I have what I call "money day" only once a month. And I have a long list of needs that I have to prioritize meticulously in order to get what I really really need but i never cover it all. I smoke because I worked mostly since I came to this city in Grade 8 and am now 37. So it wasn't an issue because I made my own money and could afford it. I didn't start smoking until I was 15 tho.

And I like to go to the local pub for one pint and one shot once a month to feel like I'm a part of society because I usually spend my time at home holed up inside because I have nowhere to go ever unless I'm searching for cigarette butts. So I don't feel like I am a part of this city usually. And why the fuck would that be a bad thing? Bars are legal and tons of people go at all hours of it being open hence their hours of operation.

And I have to buy the whole months worth of food with that pay check too. The food bank only gives about 2 or 3 days worth of food and you can only go twice a month so that's like food for the weekend. I can go to the soup kitchen but some days I don't feel like walking all the way there and I can't get seconds. I'm always hungry on some level. I have to ration what little food I do get. And I like to drink Monster Energy Drinks and I don't see why not.

You might say that's tough shit because it's social assistance but I have schizophrenia, I'm not some lazy ass person who doesn't want to work, I have a mental illness that affects me. But it's not really social "assistance" because that implies that they expect you to work at least part time while on it but if you make over $6000 then they start deducting money from your benefits which would mean if I worked all year then eventually they would cut off my extra spending money because i made too much money and that could mean that they cut off some of my rent money too without telling me, fucking me over.

It's more like a social reliance cheque that is set to be good in 1974, that is seriously the year I think I would do just fine with that much money a month. The amount they say is for rent is like $486/month. When the fuck was rent that low last? A one bedroom is $925 in a rundown shit smelling building with no security these days.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with what I get? Pardon me if I choose to buy a bottle of vodka and a few packs of cigarettes and some McDonald's so that I can unwind from a hectic month of having to let street people into my home to bring me food and cigarettes and things got out of control again because soem people think it's their right to go into anyone's home if they feel like it and it's more than just one person and people steal your can opener and broom and dustpan and then they clog your toilet and you don't have a plunger because you didn't make it that far down the list.

The regular social assistance program basically only pays your rent and that's it.

With funds this low it's like it is designed for people who sell drugs and steal for a living because that's the only income that you can do without losing out on your benefits if you make too much. I call social assistance "gangsta pay" because it would be perfect for a gang member to rent a place with leaving them free to do whatever gang bangers do without worrying about rent. They're the only ones who could survive on this utter fucking bullshit failure of a system.

[levinletlive]

Last year, I found myself in the middle of a serious crisis of purpose.

I have always wanted to help people, and figured government was my best shot at doing it. I'm a receptionist in a children's mental health clinic right now, and I love what I do; but our programs fail to address the underlying reasons that children need our services in the first place, and they are not solution-oriented. It was the same when I worked for the Social Services department; obviously helping people get their cash and food benefits was a helpful thing to do, but our programs are wildly underfunded, mismanaged, and ineffective.

Last year, I realized I was sick of working for organizations that were doing a half-assed job. I noticed that our government--at every level--implements every social service it provides only begrudgingly, doing the shittiest possible job because our legislators and executives are unsympathetic parasites who are stingy with our money.

But what put me in crisis was realizing that this was the same no matter where I went.

The truth is, there are few to no businesses or organizations genuinely committed to helping people or the environment. Those that claim to be, often underpay their staff because they have to beg for funding from individuals, businesses, and other orgs. Those who actually want to help find their hands tied by legal and economic red tape put in place specifically to stop them from interfering with profit margins.

Where I live, my options for employment do not include anything that would both be meaningful and solution-oriented and pay me a livable wage.

Back when I was into accelerationism, I struggled with the fact that I'm really not oriented for fighting. I mean, my fear response is typically fight, so you'd think that would be helpful, but it's not. Not that I can't or won't fight under duress, but I'm not the kind of person you want in your army. I have a strong moral compass and I'd honestly rather be kind and merciful at my own risk than brutal and effective. That's why, in spite of generations of soldiers in my family, I never joined the military.

However, as I mentioned before, when I was into accelerationism I was there because I just wanted to rip off the bandaid, get the violence over with, and help build systems that were actually effective at what they did. I'm tired of supporting half-assed systems.

But I'm a healer at heart. I value connection and learning above all else, and I don't think you can forge a kinder world out of violence. It can't be rushed. Even Karl Marx never wrote about communism as something people tried to force; he just described it as a natural phenomenon which would eventually come about on its own as people became more educated and began to build kinder societies. You can't really make a communist government; it would have to come in its own time, if it ever comes at all. We think we're ready for it, but frankly, we're not. Even if we had it, we'd ruin it because we obviously haven't learned all the lessons we need to sustain it.

It's hard to swallow that we can't just get it over with and start doing better work today, but that's okay because it gives us time to grow and learn. The truth is, the people we are today are probably not good enough for a kinder world. We need to spend some more time here learning to be patient, organized, effective, and, well, kind. We have to be intentional in building a kinder world.

Voting is part of that learning. We are experiencing the consequences of over a century of political ignorance, and our job right now is to learn from the mistakes of the people that came before. We need to start voting, not just for president, but also for local elections. We need to start running for office. Our government needs a blood transfusion.

In a kinder world, you wouldn't just kill a patient who needs a blood transfusion.

America needs healers. Kamala and Tim will heal the nation by reducing hate, including all Americans and leading with grace.

VOTE KAMALA FOR PRESIDENT

[noteguk]

bad behavior | jjk | m

This is in the same universe as “bad influence.” It can, however, be read as a stand-alone. 

— summary; in which staying late to volunteer at a self-help meeting was the best decision you made in a while. 

— contents and warnings; smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, public sex (in a church…), dirty talk, fingering, degradation (name calling) but also praise, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, cum play, there is a window and also reflections, rough sex, cockwarming, jk being a lil shit because that’s his main personality trait, jk smokes (only mentioned), enemies to fuckbuddies: dawn of the first day 

— words; 8.2k

— author’s note; for the anon that asked how their first time was like ;) join me as we explore the lore of this godforsaken couple 

It was your mother’s idea for you to find a new place to volunteer. According to her, it had been a long time since you experienced “the invigorating energy of community work” — last time was when you were trying to level up your college application — and it could really “soothe your anxious soul” during the trying times of college finals. Apparently one tutoring program and two research projects weren’t enough to distract you, but you could see where she was coming from. 

In the end, you accepted. The old places you used to volunteer in had either shut off their programs or were just too far away from college for you to consider. At first, you decided to follow your mother’s suggestion and tried to work with children — “small miracles”, as she called them — in a local daycare. Which ended up being a terrible idea. 

You liked giving back to the community, you really did, but it wasn’t long until you realized that working with infants hasn’t been your wisest decision, and that children weren’t miracles at all. You got tired of going home covered in paint and with pieces of playdough entangled in your hair, and that was when you weren’t unlucky enough to get hit with other, less clean fluids. 

So you eventually gave up — both on the daycare and on the faint idea of one day going into pediatrics — and searched for a new place. After having to yell your way through retirement homes, and getting fed up with washing people’s sidewalks, you finally settled in a program that was flexible and light enough for your intense college hours: preparing (and then later cleaning up) a room that was reserved in a local church for weekly meetings. 

The entire ordeal took about two to three hours off your day, and more than half of it was spent as free time: waiting for the meeting to end, cramming piles of information in a small room next door. You didn’t really know what the meetings were about since they changed practically every month — they were, at first, a support group for teenage mothers, then it became an AA meeting, then a group for drug users trying to quit. Lately, you were starting to think that the church just gave away the room for whoever had the money to rent it, so it wasn’t a surprise when it was reserved for a motivational speaker to give confidence lessons. 

You had researched the guy, some old dude with an unpronounceable name and a sketchy background, and found exactly the type of person you had expected. Yes, you were in the house of Christ, but you were still being heavily judgmental of the fact that he was giving those talks when he had no qualifications whatsoever, and was probably making bank off all the self-help books he regurgitated at least twice a year to prey on vulnerable people. You did share your worries with the administrative office of the church, but they ultimately fell on deaf ears, and you gave up on the idea of kicking his ass out of the holy grounds anytime soon. 

It was after one of those pseudo-motivational talks that you walked into the empty room, ready to clean everything up before rushing back to your place, where your roommate had promised to greet you with some wonderful takeout. The chairs were still placed in a circle on the center of the room, where they had been since forever, and you made sure to align them perfectly before you moved on to the litter that had been thrown around the place. 

One good thing about those self-help meetings was that they were a lot cleaner than a lot of other attendees, so the “picking up the trash until your back started to hurt” part passed by surprisingly fast. You had just moved on to the snack table, analyzing what you could still save, when your soul almost left your body. 

“Hey, you,” you heard a known voice behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You swiftly turned around, heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t know how you hadn’t let out the biggest, most blood-curdling scream ever, but that was just the first of many miracles of the night. “Jesus Christ,” you wheezed out, taking one hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this.” You swallowed dry, some part of your brain recalling that he had asked you a question. “And I’m volunteering here.” 

“I didn’t sneak up on you, you’re just jumpy.” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with that stupid playful smirk curling up on his lips. You didn’t know they allowed demons inside the church. “And of course you are.” He rolled his eyes. 

Maybe a few months back, his mocking tone would’ve stung a bit more. However, you had been tutoring Jungkook for about three months then, suffering through endless sessions of his whining and complaining, and you’ve grown used to his passive-aggressive antics already. You learned that Jungkook was a shark seeking for blood, waiting for any crack that would allow him to jump into a perverse little joke — about how you behaved, your priorities, or even the color of your highlighter. You, of course, always stood your ground and threw his comments right back at him — which was his initial plan, as you’ve come to realize. Jungkook enjoyed playfully arguing with you, and you thought that it was another level of strangeness and masochism you simply didn’t have time to dissect. 

Still, Jungkook (shockingly) wasn’t the terrible person you once thought he was. Every once in a while — when he was trying to talk you out of teaching him — the conversations you two would have were actually mostly pleasant, and he wasn’t awful to hang around when he dropped the whole badass persona to act like a real human being. You would even dare to say that Jungkook could be actually funny at times, and not in the bitter, sarcastic way he usually was. Sometimes, you dared to think, he could actually be reasonably nice. And also kind of cute. Even hot. 

But you would never actually admit any of that out loud. Or even to yourself, really. 

“And you?” You asked, turning back around to face the table full of half-eaten food. That looked like a battlefield, and you could already tell that there were only a few survivors left standing. “What are you doing here? Repenting?” 

Jungkook chuckled dryly. “You wish. My parents want me to quit smoking,” he said. You could not see him, but you could hear him walking closer to you as you fumbled with the large Tupperware. “We settled on this crap instead of a forced intervention.” 

You scoffed. Most of the food before you was unsalvageable — some of the cupcakes had been bitten once and then placed back, and you wondered how someone like that could function in society. “You don’t seem very motivated to quit,” you mumbled. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “I don’t really care.” 

His voice was much closer to you, and you felt the air leaving your lungs for a pitiful instant. You convinced yourself you had only gotten scared again. “You should care about the growing possibility of lung cancer.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not really on the top of my list of priorities at the moment.” 

“And what is?” You asked. 

“Amongst other things…” he trailed off and, suddenly, he was standing besides you, pointing at the chaotic pile of sweets. “I actually came back to grab another one of those cupcakes. The chocolate ones are great.” 

You didn’t know why, but his comment broke the odd tension that you didn’t even know that was there, clicking you back into your previous mentality — the one that you just wanted to finish cleaning up so you could leave soon. “All yours,” you told him, “grab as many as you want.” 

Jungkook hummed in satisfaction, reaching out to grab one special brown cupcake — an untouched one, thankfully. “I love when you talk dirty.” He almost moaned before shoving the cupcake inside his mouth, taking a huge bite off it. Dramatically, Jungkook rolled his eyes and sighed in delight. “These are fucking great.” 

You chuckled, glancing at his direction. Jungkook was dressed in all black, like he usually was, and you were starting to recognize a newfound admiration towards his constant use of leather jackets. What? He looked good. “I’m glad the self-help sessions are paying off,” you commented, swiftly placing the cupcakes inside the transparent container. 

Jungkook was paying attention to your actions now, like he noticed you were there working for the first time. “What are you doing with the rest?”

“The church will probably donate it, give it to the homeless or something.” You shrugged. “Or they’ll eat it, I don’t know. I just clean up the place and leave.” 

Jungkook laughed at that, taking another monstrous bite from his cupcake and throwing himself on one of the nearby chairs. Your eye twitched a little at the thought that he had ruined your perfect circle, but you’d have to fix that on your way out. “Sounds absurdly boring,” he sang. “And they’re not even paying you.” 

You sighed. “After all the places I’ve volunteered in, boring is a blessing,” you told him. You had just placed five hot dogs in the container, and you were starting to wonder if it would be a good idea to feed people in need with those suspicious sausages. “But, yeah, you probably don’t care about any of that.” 

“You don’t know what I care about,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. You didn’t know if he was trying to tease you, but his voice came out so soft and monotone that you couldn’t really be mad about it. It was true, after all: you didn’t actually know what he cared about. Sometimes you thought that he could read you better than you could read him. “Want me to stay here with you? This place is probably empty already.”

You could not hold back your laugh at that, turning around so you could look at him. “Are you offering to be my bodyguard? In a church?” 

Jungkook pouted. There was a thin line of chocolate on the side of his lips, which he quickly licked clean. “I’m trying to be nice.”

You giggled, turning back towards the disgusting food. The rest was mostly trash, but you were happy enough with the amount you had managed to find in a good state. “That’s new.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “I’m always nice.”

“Always is a strong word.” You smiled, closing the lid of the Tupperware. You had managed to fill three small containers with the leftovers and, honestly, that was a big victory. “But you can stay or you can leave, I don’t mind. I’m almost done anyways.” 

He frowned. “Is that your answer?” 

You turned around. “What? You want me to beg for your company?” You smiled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever do that.”

“I’m staying.” Jungkook crumpled up the piece of cupcake wrapping and threw it in the trash can besides your body. He watched you for a moment as you started to throw the leftovers away, your back turned to him and a distracted look on your face. When he broke the silence again, you were throwing the last piece of bread in the bin. “Why are you volunteering?” 

“Because I like giving back to the community.” 

Jungkook sneered at your words. “Seriously now. Don’t lie, we’re in a church.” 

“I do, actually,” you stood your ground. There was a vague sound of crickets coming from the half-open window and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you, but, other than that, the city was covered in absolute silence. Perhaps that was why you felt so at peace. “But my mom told me it would be a good thing to keep myself relaxed. You know, take my mind off college stuff.” 

He hummed, and you heard him getting up from the chair. “You always do what your mom tells you?” 

You met his gaze. “Didn’t your parents make you come here?”

He smiled. “Not the point.” 

Before you could hold yourself back, your lips were curling up. Again: Jungkook wasn’t absolutely awful to be around when he actually acted like a human being. “When she says something I agree with, yes,” you told him. “My ego isn’t bruised when it comes to following someone’s idea.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that mine is?”

“I didn’t say that.” You smirked and turned back to the table. You started piling up the used plastic cups, already eyeing all the used plates, forks and knives that you’d have to throw away. The daycare had better eating manners than that. “Thought we were talking about me.” 

“We were,” Jungkook agreed. One of his inked hands moved to the table, and you were about to tell him that he could eat more of the cupcakes when you realized that he had started to reach for the discardable plates, throwing them away. You really didn’t think he’d help you. “Finals are coming up, though, and you care about that shit. Shouldn’t you be using this time to study or something?”

“I study while you’re out here listening to becoming your real self or, I don’t know... waking up the giant within,” you said. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

He hummed, his nose cringing up at the disgusting remains of food that stuck to the plastic forks. Jungkook seriously didn’t know how you could do that for fun. “You know there are better ways to relax than cleaning up a dusty room, right?” 

“Probably,” you agreed. The cups were already in the trash, alongside with the plates, and there were only a few crumpled up napkins to get rid of before you tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. “But here I am. That’s what I chose for myself.” 

“Literally any other option would’ve been better,” Jungkook pressed on. “Isn’t that obnoxious friend of yours in cheer or something?” 

“Who? Jisoo?” You smiled at him. No one had ever called her obnoxious, but you couldn’t say that the title didn’t fit. Jisoo could be really… intense when it came to standing up for what she believed in. “She is. She invited me to join her already, if that’s what you’re gonna ask, but it’s not really my thing.” 

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, leaning against the table. It was a beautiful miracle how clean that room had become just by getting rid of the piles of gross food, and you had proudly thrown the last piece of paper inside the trash bin when Jungkook spoke up again. “You’d look really hot in that outfit.” 

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to digest the claim he had so mindlessly thrown your way. Just like all-things-Jungkook, a pleasant conversation could not last long, so you weren’t even surprised that he managed to ruin that talk with such a fuckboy-esque comment. 

Also like all-things-Jungkook, he managed to awaken a reaction out of you that you didn’t even know could be there. With a faint heat in your cheeks and a frown blossoming amongst your features, you actually felt a little bit of... satisfaction with the fact that he thought that you’d look hot in that skimpy outfit. At the same time, you wanted to slap yourself for falling into his charms so easily. 

In that conflicting turmoil of emotions, all you could say was a monotone, “You cannot be serious right now.”

Even if you kind of wanted him to be serious. 

“I’m being dead serious,” Jungkook didn’t back down, much to the elation of your ego. You felt like a schoolgirl being recognized by her crush, and the idea alone made your stomach curl onto itself. What the hell were you even thinking about? Yeah, Jungkook was pretty hot, but he was also kind of a douche and you didn’t want to get involved with that mess of a person. Or at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I mean…” he continued, “you’re even rocking this knee-level dress right now, can’t even imagine how you’d look if—“ 

“You can shut up now, Jungkook, thanks,” you interrupted him. Because you didn’t know how to act when he was so blatantly flirting with you, you switched back to the same passive-aggressive behavior that you had given him for the past three months. Call it self-preservation, call it panic, but your mind simply didn’t know where to go from there. “And I’m also done here, so you can skidaddle back to whatever swamp you came out of.” 

“Awn, don’t be mean, princess.” He pouted. Jungkook was a master at getting you worked up, and you had just given that to him on a silver platter. Maybe if you had mock-flirted back, he would’ve baked away. You would never know. “I was just fucking with you, you’re too easy to tease.” 

You pressed your lips together, hip touching the corner of the now empty table. “You were pretty much harassing me,” you said playfully. 

“I was not.” Jungkook smirked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. When had the two of you gotten so close? There was barely any space between your chests. “But it’s okay, I’m not gonna compliment you anymore, don’t worry. You don’t have to be so defensive.” 

“I’m not being defensive,” you said, defensive. 

“What, is it the church setting?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a look around. “Is it making you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” you answered, crossing your arms before your chest. Jungkook followed the movement and his gaze got stuck on the shape of your breasts for a second too long, making a newfound wave of heat rise up to your cheeks. “Not as much as you’re trying to make me uncomfortable right now.” 

He chuckled. “You do look cute when you’re shy,” Jungkook teased, taking a step towards you, and you took another one back, pretending you were just going to lean against the table. You sat on it in a weird diagonal position, with one leg still on the ground and the other dangling over the edge. Jungkook was so close that, when he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, you could feel his breath on your skin. “If you don’t want me here, just ask me to go and I’ll go.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The atmosphere was filled with electricity, your body drowning in the warmth of his presence, the sharp seriousness in his dark eyes, and you could not bring yourself to say anything. Did you want him to leave? 

No, you realized in a rush of adrenaline, you didn’t want him to leave at all. 

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. “Hm? Nothing?” He smirked, placing himself between your legs. Every nerve of your body was screaming for you to touch him, to just wrap his mouth with yours, and you simply could not respond to any of its commands. “You’re full of surprises.” 

You found your voice at that comment, heart hammering against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” Jungkook placed one strand of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flickering down to your chest. From where he stood, he could see the beautiful mounds of your breasts peeking under the fabric, licking his lips at the sight. “Can I at least say that I like your dress?” 

Jungkook’s palm slithered up your knee before you could even react, moving towards your inner thigh and raising your dress along with it. His touch was electrifying, and you found yourself craving more of it, a sigh caught on your throat at the tenderness of his hot skin. 

“Something tells me that your compliment isn’t so innocent,” you told him, leaning your head back slightly so you could hold his gaze. “Aren’t you gonna complete that and say that I would look better without it?”

Jungkook chuckled. “The idea is compelling, I’ll admit it,” he said, rubbing soft circles on your skin. His other hand slithered around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But don’t need to take it off to fuck you.” 

Your eyes grew wide at that, brain short-circuiting. You frankly couldn’t believe that was happening — the fact that Jungkook was so shamelessly trying (and honestly succeeding) to initiate sex with you. In a fucking church too, of all places. “What- what did you say?”

“You heard what I said.” His stare didn’t falter. Jungkook was looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you seriously wouldn’t mind if he tried to. You'd deal with the social and psychological implications of that another time. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll do it, princess. No hard feelings, promise.” 

This time, you spoke out and the firmness and certainty in your voice surprised even yourself. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

“No?” His voice sounded like honey, so deep and melodic even through the thick layers of his sarcasm. You had never heard him get so serious, so focused, and the thought that it was all for you was igniting a fire inside your guts. “You wanna get fucked in a church?” 

You bit your lip, blinking up at him. The point was: you wanted Jungkook, of all people, to fuck you. The fact that it was in a church was just the cherry on top, and you didn’t care about it as much as you should — your mom would be weeping blood if she knew what was going on, but you weren’t planning on telling anything to anybody. “And what if I do?” You asked back teasingly. 

Jungkook smiled, knocking the breath right out of you. You could only hope that you didn’t look as horny as you felt, because your pride was still on the line. “Told you that you were full of surprises.” He pushed one of your legs open, making you lose your support on the floor. Now, both of your feet were dangling off the edge, body trapped between his strong arms and thighs on either side of him. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You shook your head, and your voice reached you a bit later. “No.”

“Naughty,” Jungkook said, leaning in. He stared at you like a lion stalking its prey, his gaze lingering on your parted lips before, at last, he tilted his head to the side, deciding to move towards your neck instead. “But if you have the taste I think you do, you probably had some lame missionary sex with some goodie-two shoes.” 

When he started kissing your neck, you almost forgot to give him a response. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan, instead producing a low, shaky sigh. “And if I did? What’s the problem with some lame missionary sex?” 

“No need to get mad, I’m on your side here,” Jungkook said, one of his hands navigating up your waist, between the valley of your breasts, before grabbing your boob. That time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped you. “Did he make you cum?” 

“Sometimes,” you said, slightly flustered. You didn’t think you’d be discussing your sexual history with Jungkook, but, well, there you were. “He was alright.” 

“Only sometimes?” Jungkook chuckled, the vibrations of his deep timbre vibrating through the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. The heat between your legs only grew, your entire body practically begging to feel more of him. “That’s a shame, I could do better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start getting cocky.”

“I never stopped being cocky,” he responded without hesitation. Well, he was right. “And I do have a good track record.” 

“Doubt it,” you said, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, pressing right at the weak spots of his inflated ego to see how he would react. Perhaps you’d be luckier trying to poke a bear with a short stick. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a real and fake orgasm even if it hit you in the face.” 

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you for an instant. You knew he had caught onto your challenge straight away. He liked it as much as you did, there was no doubt about that. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked. There was no denying the devilish aura that was all around him now, suffocating you with its tempting heat. “How long do we have?”

“I’m locking up the room tonight,” you said, watching as his eyes sparked with an emotion you could not decipher. “But I wanna get home before ten. Have homework.” 

You could see him fighting against the natural urge to ridicule you for saying something like that at such an odd time, but, at the end, he managed to avoid it. “More than enough time.” Jungkook placed one hand on the back of your neck, gaze darting hungrily toward your lips. “Come here.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and everything else was white noise. Jungkook kissed you much slower than you had anticipated, taking his sweet time caressing your mouth with his; hands exploring the curves of your body and teasing their way underneath your dress. He sighed heavily against your mouth when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, his soft tongue poking out and entering your mouth perfectly. Jungkook was a good kisser, you had to admit it, and he got your knees weak sooner than you’d like. 

His body was hot and firm against yours and you could feel the outline of his abs underneath your fingers as you trailed your hands down his torso; his quick heartbeat drumming on your palms. Jungkook’s breathing got heavier as you hooked your fingers on the hem of his pants and tugged him toward you. Instantly you noticed the outline of his hard cock against your inner thigh. 

Then, something switched. Just as you had reached out to touch his hardness, squeezing it lightly underneath your fingers, Jungkook groaned against your mouth and bit down on your lip. You had barely any time to react before he was pulling away from the kiss, gaze darkening. 

“Such a tease,” he mumbled hoarsely, his breath hitting your mouth in soft waves. His hand was hovering over your heat, his middle finger pressing down on your sensitive nub, making you whimper. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Jungkook was much quicker than your thoughts and, within a second, the motion of your panties being pushed aside made you fumble closer to him; your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders when he finally decided to touch you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned next to your ear, making your mind go blank for a split second. The teasing motions of his digits brushing your entrance were enough to make you whimper, hips thrusting forward in a failed attempt to make him move further. “Look at this, you’re soaking my fingers. Wanna get fucked that bad?”

But he didn’t let you respond. The sudden intrusion of two fingers inside your pussy made your back arch, nails digging in the leather of his jacket as Jungkook opened you up. “I—” you tried to speak, but it was hard to think when he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wetness were a filthy symphony filling the quiet atmosphere. “Jungkook, what—” 

“God, that’s so tight,” he groaned, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was enough to shut you up at the spot, a frail moan dripping from your lips. “Relax, baby, you’re too tense. Let me take care of you, alright?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting shut as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. You hated to admit it, but Jungkook was already winning against your ex by a long shot: the way his digits brushed inside you, gradually moving apart to stretch you, got you searching — begging — for more. You were sure you could cum around his fingers and, when he curled them up and they dragged against your sweet spot, the idea became a lot more palpable. 

“Jungkook, you’re taking too long, I’m gonna cum like this,” you complained, chest rising and falling under the waves of your upcoming orgasm. You could feel it building up in your stomach, ready to snap, and you didn’t want it to happen around his fingers. “I wanna feel you.” 

Jungkook breathed out at your needy request, placing a kiss against your jaw. “I’m just getting you ready for my cock, baby,” he said. A loud moan dripped from you when he unceremoniously added a third finger, your legs trembling on either side of his body. “I don’t know if you can take it.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, only half aware of the fact that your voice sounded more like a whimper than a serious comment. “I can.” 

He smirked wickedly. You really were pushing his buttons. “We’ll see about that,” Jungkook responded. 

Within a second, right as your orgasm was about to wash over you, he removed his fingers from your pussy. The frustrated moan you let out was quickly swollen by him, his mouth rogue against yours and the sweetness of his tongue intoxicating you — probably those stupid cupcakes, you thought. 

“Turn around for me,” he asked. 

You quickly did as he requested, putting your feet on the ground before turning your back to him, hands leaning on the table. Jungkook placed one hand on the curve of your spine, pushing you down until you had your chest against the surface, ass perked up and pussy in full display for him. There was a gush of cold air against your flesh when he pulled up the fabric of your dress and tossed it over your waist, exposing your lower body for him.

The boy hummed at the sight, one of his legs kicking your feet apart so he could position himself in the middle of your thighs. “You’re pretty all around,” Jungkook commented, one of his palms grazing your asscheek before grabbing it. His motion was harsh, needy; earning a whimper from you. “Knew you would be.” 

Through the dense clouds of your desire, there was still some part of you that managed to make fun of that situation. “You spend your free time thinking about my ass?”

“Won’t answer until I have a lawyer present,” he joked. 

You felt his fingers hooking around the fabric of your panties, pushing it further to the side so you had your cunt fully exposed for him to see. The drumming of your heartbeat almost drowned out the low groan he produced at the sight of your flushed heat. 

“Princess, your pussy is dripping so much…” Jungkook trailed off, one of his fingers tracing a line between your lips. He felt the urge to eat you out, to lick you completely clean and make you cum on his tongue, but he decided that would have to wait for a different time. “Is this all for me?” 

“Yeah, all for you,” you said, weak. There was a thundering exasperation building up inside you, motivated from your denied orgasm and from the way that Jungkook was taking his sweet time. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled and your chest was filled with pride. “Can’t wait to fuck it.” 

“Then don’t wait,” you practically begged. “Just rush.”

He removed his finger from your heat. “Shh… be patient,” Jungkook told you and you swore you could practically hear the smile in his voice. You could hear him shuffling behind you, the sound of his zipper opening echoing around that still room. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want.” 

You whined at the abrupt feeling of his warm cock rubbing between your folds, its tip hitting your clit after every languid thrust. “Fuck,” you cried out, shaky. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that he was big, his length was so thick that you were starting to get second thoughts whether you could take it or not. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. “Just put it in, Jungkook.” 

But Jungkook was having way more fun just teasing you. “Pussy’s so wet for me.” He breathed out, his hands tightening around your hips. You felt him throb between your folds, and the sensation got you searching for air. “You’re soaking my cock, baby. You want it that much?”

“Y-Yeah.”  

Jungkook hummed, leaning in so he could place a kiss on your shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked, princess,” he promised, his length still rubbing between your folds. He was so hard and heavy that your mind was spinning, your lungs drowning in expectation. “Gonna fuck you so well that you’re never going to forget it. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” your voice was a pathetic moan, and you hated your body for betraying you so easily. “Yes, please.” 

After another pec on your shoulder, Jungkook leaned back. “Be loud for me, alright?” He asked. “Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard — what were the chances that someone would hear you? You had no idea. “Yeah, whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous thing to say.” He moved around behind you, making you flinch when you felt his cock align with your dripping entrance. The anticipation was driving you insane. “Might have to see if you’re up for it another time.” 

There was an answer somewhere in your mind — you could swear there was — but it was quickly forgotten the second that Jungkook pushed himself inside you. The drag of his cock was a delicious torture, streching you out and filling you up to the brim until you were shaking under his touch, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, hands turning into fists on the table. Your cheek was pressed against the polished wood, hot breath creating small white clouds on the surface. 

Jungkook released a shaky sigh when he felt you clenching around him, your body desperately trying to move closer to him. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. Gradually, he moved himself away from your pussy just so he could slam back inside, marveling on the way you trembled at the feeling, crying out his name in the prettiest of whimpers. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock so well.” 

Took you only an instant to realize that you were absolutely addicted to the feeling of his cock inside you, the heavenly push of his hardness in and out of you as he slowly started to set a pace. “Oh my god, I’m—” a pitiful hiccup interrupted you, turning your voice into a sharp cry. “That’s so good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you, his thrusts starting to pick up speed. Your eyes closed in endless bliss, every part of your brain focused on the sensation of his fat length stretching you up. “Told you I’d be, not my fault you didn’t believe me,” he said, but you could tell that his confidence had started to wear itself thin — he, too, seemed to be much more focused on the way that your bodies met. “Do you touch yourself, princess?”

You almost didn’t know how to answer him, a deep heat rushing up to your cheeks. “W-What?”

“When you’re alone, baby,” he practically hissed. You were bouncing on the table then, your body jerking up and down as he fully pistoned his cock inside your heat. “Do you play with your little pussy?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, embarrassed. “S-Sometimes.” 

“Show me how you do it,” he requested in-between huffs, lust dripping from every syllable. Jungkook spoke to you like a siren, effortlessly inducting you to comply with everything he wanted. “Come on. Don’t be shy, I wanna see you play with yourself for me.” 

You didn’t even know if what you were feeling was shyness, but there was a veil of hesitation that covered your actions. As your hands moved downwards, one of them clenching around the fabric of your dress and pulling it up while the other trailed over your mound, you felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. At the same time, you wanted to do what he asked you to, wanted him to wash you over with compliments until your mind was going blank. 

So you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of two of your fingers coating themselves in your wetness, then their pressure on your clit. You whined at the feeling, pleasure exploding in your veins as you started to rub yourself, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. There was no way you could ever reach that sensation again, the sweet motions of your fingers combining perfectly with the thrusts of his hard, fat cock inside you. You were doomed. 

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” Jungkook whispered, obsessed with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him. You had gotten so tight that he thought he would see heaven at any second now. “Feels good?” 

“Y-Yeah, so good...” you struggled to get out, “feels amazing, Jungkook.” 

“So perfect for me,” his praise shot straight up to your core, making you mewl under him. God, the way that you were tightening around him was going to drive him insane. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop fucking you.” 

Jungkook took one of his hands to your neck, using it to guide your body upwards until you had your back pressed against his chest; his hot lips assaulting your neck. The new position made it so much easier for his cock to drill inside you, reaching even deeper and hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. It wasn’t long before you were moaning out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you. 

“Just take a look at that, baby,” his voice broke you out of your hypnotized state.  “Look at you. Such a good slut, just taking everything I’m giving you, touching yourself for my cock… fuck. Could watch you like this forever.” 

You had to take a moment to understand what he was talking about, and then you saw it: the window. It stood silently across the room from you, half open, and the glass combined with the darkness of the night gave a perfect reflection of the two of you. You could see yourself, the mess you had become, as Jungkook pounded in and out of you and your fingers worked on your clit; the darkness of his hungry gaze as he followed the motions of your body against his. 

Even if you cried out at the sight, your body freezed up a little at the thought of someone walking by and seeing that private spectacle. The possibility itself was minimal — the window gave way to the side of the land, where a big, thick fence separated it from the nearby houses; most of the ground covered by large trees and bushes — but it wasn’t zero. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation that would come from being seen like that. 

He, of course, noticed your change of demeanor right away, and you could see in the faint reflection that he had smirked at that realization. “What is it? Are you worried someone is going to walk by?” Jungkook almost groaned against your ear. His cock continued to pump ferociously in and out of you, and you couldn’t even understand your own thoughts for a moment. “That someone is gonna see you get fucked like a good slut?” 

“It’s not—” a moan cut your sentence short. Not like you knew where you were heading, anyways. 

“No one is gonna see you like this, know why?” Jungkook was grunting, his fingers tightening around your throat. You cried out at the feeling, your cunt clenching around him in a way that got him fucking you even harder. “Cause this is all for me. Just for me.” 

Then he was pushing you back on the table, your chest crashing against the wooden surface and his hands yanking you by the waist. Jungkook was fucking you so hard that your worries left you as soon as they arrived, your mind a turmoil of desires and broken exclamations that didn’t give space to anything else but him. 

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, stuffed with cock,” he marveled at the sight. There was a known wave of pleasure hovering over you, ready to crash at any given moment, and you stopped rubbing yourself just so you could prolong its arrival. “Wanna see you cum for me, make a mess for me, baby.” 

The words left you in a confusing, broken order, “Jungkook, I can’t… too much… can’t...” 

“Shhh, you can,” he was slowly easing you into your orgasm, his cock drilling in and out of your pussy. Jungkook fucked like a machine, fast and precise, and you didn’t think you’d be able to forget that anytime soon. “You told me you could take it, so now you’re gonna take it. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

“I- I want to… I’m so close,” you cried out, pressing your forehead against the table. You didn’t know how it hadn’t broken yet, with the way that Jungkook was fucking you so mercilessly hard. “I’m so, so close.”

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he urged you on, his member throbbing inside you at the thought. Your legs were so weak that you knew you’d fall facedown on the floor if he wasn’t supporting your weight with his strong arms. “Be a good girl and cream my cock for me.” 

And that was it. That was all that you needed to push yourself over the edge, submerging you in ecstasy and making you squeeze him so deliciously. “J-Jungkook!” You moaned out his name again and again, unsure of how loud you were being, but also not caring as much as you should. Jungkook realized he loved hearing you call his name more than anything else. “Fuck! Oh my god!”

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned back, his thrusts a sloppy, uncoordinated mess. He was hypnotized by the view of your cunt hugging him, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you rode out the last seconds of your orgasm. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect— gonna cum too.” 

You gasped out at the sensitivity that was starting to spread, every movement shaky as you tried to push yourself against him. “Yes, please.” You looked over your shoulder, meeting his hooded gaze. Jungkook looked like a god, his dark hair sweaty and messy and his lip trapped between his teeth. That image would plague you forever. “Cum inside me, please.” 

He groaned loudly, eyes closing for a second. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he hissed, chest heaving with anticipation. You knew he was close, everything pointed to that, and all that you wanted was to see him reach his high, using your body like it was just a doll for him to fuck. “Didn’t know you’d want to be filled up with cum, princess.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” You smiled — a pretty, fucked-out smile that got Jungkook grunting like a madman. “I want your cum inside me, Jungkook, please.” 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, don’t worry— Shit.” The sounds he was making were heavily: those breathy, high-pitched moans that echoed all around you; broken by deep grunts that had your thighs shaking. Jungkook fucked himself in you like he was meant for it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he finally found his orgasm. “Fuck! That’s it, fuck—”

Jungkook called out your name and mixed it with praises and curses when he came, spilling himself inside your pussy. You sighed at the feeling, taking in the blissful sensation of having his hot cum spilling out of you, dripping down your legs as he continued to thrust inside you, milking out his orgasm. 

At last, he started to wince from sensitivity. His body collided against your back, his heavy breathing fanning your neck as he tried to collect himself. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, “you’re amazing.” 

“You’re not so terrible yourself.” You could not help the smile that appeared on your lips, nor the way that you melted against the surface of the table, drowning in his heat. 

Still, you couldn’t stay there for much longer: it was already a miracle that no one heard the chaos going on in that room, and you weren’t trying to push your luck for the night. Especially since you had a pile of homework (and possibly — now cold — takeout) waiting for you at home. 

You raised your body, leaning against your elbows. “I have to leave,” you told him, taking one of your hands to lay on top of his tattooed one, trying to ease his grip from your waist. “Now if you could just…” 

“Shhh, shhh,” Jungkook hushed, unrelenting. He was much stronger than you, and your muscles were too weak for you to try and do much, so you eventually gave up. “Stop moving. Let me feel you around me for just a bit more.” 

You frowned. “Why?”

“I like it,” he said simply. His breath was a faint caress against the skin of your neck, and you didn’t have much fight left in you. “We all have our tastes.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t kinkshame.” Jungkook pouted, then pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “You just begged me to fuck you in a church, remember?” 

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much place to judge.” You laughed dryly, then looked over your shoulder. “Why is your cock still hard? How long is this gonna take?” 

Jungkook groaned, clearly annoyed. “Shut up and enjoy the moment.” 

~ 

The so-called moment lasted about two more minutes (which was kind of impressive, you thought) before Jungkook softened and slipped out of you. You hated to admit but you kind of liked the feeling of having him still inside you, completing you as his lips danced around your neck; fingers tenderly playing with your hair. You never thought Jungkook would be so gentle after fucking you like that, but you guessed that you weren’t the only one that was full of surprises. 

Jungkook, apparently, also liked to admire his work. After he had slipped out of you, he made you sit back on the table just so he could stare at his own cum dripping out of you, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark gaze. He had pushed his white release back inside you and smirked up at you, asking, ever so kindly, for you to go home like that, filled with his cum. 

You, of course, promptly accepted it. 

“By the way,” he called when you two had already stepped out of the church, enveloped by the coldness of the night. There was only one solitary light pole illuminating his features, making him look like one of the saints in the chapel — nothing but fake advertisement, in your opinion. “Wanna know how much I got in that immunology test?”

“How much?” You asked. 

“Eighty two.” Jungkook smiled brightly then, and you found yourself joining him. “Never saw a grade so high in my life. And that counts all the times I’ve cheated too.” 

“Seems like the tutoring sessions are paying off.” You crossed your arms before your chest, the hem of your dress swirling around your knees. The night was weirdly peaceful after everything that had taken place. 

“They are.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the next one. Helps that my tutor is kind of a hottie too.”

You scoffed. “So I’ve heard.”  

“And, by the way?” 

“Yeah?”

“You would look better without it.” He pointed at your dress, a sly smile already sprouting on his lips. “Hope to see it next time.”

“Good night, Jungkook.” You rolled your eyes, already turning around — yeah, like there would ever be a next time. 

~ 

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

TAGLIST: 

@taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati--c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[wooteena]

technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

-

Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

-

acording to tumblr statistics, only a small percentage of people who like the post actually reblog it. so if you liked it, give it a reblog! it takes five seconds and you can always delete the reblog later.

[ruvatia]

Sorry if this is a bit much with everything going on, but could I request a scenario where the Paladins + Matt & Lotor have a black s/o and they’re scared abt everything that’s happening in their country and are sad that racial injustice is happening? I’ve been rlly worried the past few days, but if this is smth too uncomfy I understand ;w; Thank you 💖💖💖

This got really long, I apologize but I turned it into half-headcanons with just the main paladins-- i apologize for not doing all the characters you’ve mentioned, but I don’t think they would fit all in a single post anyways www

On another note I hope you and every other reader take good care of their mental health; it’s important to be aware of what’s going on but it’s also important to be in the right mindspace to be able to tackle everything that’s being shared. It’s pain that’s been boiling for a very long time and there is absolutely no shame in taking some downtime to recover before heading back into current issues.

SHIRO:

If you were saddened, Shiro would suggest that maybe you switch to something else; if there was something that he knows will distract you and temporarily have you be a little more at ease, he’d do that!

But also maybe add a little twist-- extra soft blankets (fresh out of the oven! Screw the bills you’re worth it), extra cheese on your favorite dish, whatever it is that can make your smile a little wider, bigger or brighter just let him know!

Would give you hugs if you asked, but usually Shiro pets your head and brushes your cheek for comfort

He also does this when he wants to ask something of you, but thats another story

Why the TV was still on was a mystery to you, you’d stopped listening a long time ago. Your partner besides you noticed, and you felt the hand around your shoulder tighten his grip a little, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hey, maybe we should watch something else?” he asked softly, brushing your cheek with his hand. “I can’t really listen to this anymore.”

“Yeah… Sure.” you replied, though it felt like an automated response more than your actual opinion.

“Okay, I’ll switch to that weird show Pidge recorded the other day, we agreed to watch it, right?” he replied, quickly grabbing the remote to change the program.

The first episode started playing, but the moment that it did, you felt cold as Shiro left your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked, your interlaced fingers the only thing keeping him close.

“Ah, I thought I’d make us something. We both kinda skipped dinner….”

He’d thought about putting something together that you’d like, maybe order dessert to surprise you but seeing the look on your face, leaving your side was the hardest thing to do right now.

So he gave in, and your both fell asleep until the doorbell rang with your delivery.

KEITH:

I have this headcanon that Keith isn’t very good with physical touch but after the end of voltron and after enough time of humanitarian relief, he learns how important it is for someone that’s in a specific state of mind

So the best he has to offer when his words fail is physical touch

Over your time together he’s learned what you need depending on your mood, and it helped him out lots when you were more vocal about it-- if anything he liked it when you asked for things that he could easily deliver, he’d do anything to see you smile

A hand came over your phone screen, Keith’s fingers lacing into yours and making you drop the device onto the crevices of the sofa.

“Why did you--”

“You’ve been staring at that thing for the past hour, biting at your nails.” he said in a worried tone. “That’s enough. We’re going to bed.”

“But it’s just--”

“We’re going to bed.” he repeated in a harsher tone, lifting you off your seat.

Keith sat down onto the bed first, pulling you into him. You both fell onto the bed, Keith quickly pulling the covers over your shoulders before his arms came around you.

“My alarm is my phone.”

“That’s nice, but we both know we have nothing to do tomorrow.” he replied right away, making you chuckle.

“Keith…” you called, your hands sneaking up to his face.

You brushed away some of his hair from his face as he gave you a complicated expression, unable to reflect the small smile you wore. He knew things were shit outside, that being apart from your family and other loved ones was a toll on both you and that lately negative thoughts have plagued you more often than not but Keith, despite his good intention was still somewhat of an awkward man.

“Thank you.”

He kissed you in reply and you both left it at that, glad that he had someone like you to meet him halfway.

LANCE:

Lots of hugs the moment he feels something is off with you

Will be a brat™ for the sole purpose of distracting you, bET

I feel like post-series Lance tries his best to be as observant as Allura and tries to understand others better-- but it didn't take a genius or incredible empath to know why your eyes looked like they were about to overflow at the sight of the news.

I’d like to think that Lance, with a big connected family is one of the paladins that very easily gets what you’re going through, wouldn’t be surprised he’s been called one or two things in his past either

That being said it doesn’t mean that he completely understands your personalized struggles with racial injustices that you encounter everyday; as another minority himself + coming from a culture and upbringing that might be different than yours, its a very different experience.

Memories flooded as the news anchor spoke about “lootings” and as you scrolled down your feed to see feeble attempts at sympathy from local peacekeepers. You sigh and retweet another thread, only to find something equally as shocking right after. You stopped commenting in quote retweets a while ago, you felt like you were constantly repeating that none of this was okay and that a reform was desperately needed. Rather than typing out your thoughts you typed out your name, address and email over and over again, signing one petition after the other.

Hearing sigh after sigh, Lance eventually put an arm around your shoulder. He startled you, but his soft voice made both your shoulders and your guard lower.

“Hey, do you want to make a midnight snack with me? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“What about that new rule we were talking about? Not eating 4 hours before we went to bed?”

“Every diet has one or two cheat days, don’t they?” he replied, kissing one of your eyelids. “Come on, I’m sure your neck is sore from being like that for so long.”

In the end you both made some soul-food until a food-coma knocked you out until tomorrow. In the morning, you realized that Lance must’ve woken up in the middle of the night because you remember cuddling on the couch, and yet you’re waking up on the bed. Of course, still in his arms.

HUNK:

Having a sensible heart, I feel like both you and hunk would struggle a little about maintaining a healthy distance with current events.

Though overtime he would understand that keeping in touch with everything that’s going on is important, but not at the sake of burning out

His best bet, to him, to pull you out of a such a dark space is with comfort food

“Ok ppl feel like they want to eat a horse but they actually cant when they’re in that mind space Hunk, let’s make something sweet and small; something direct and straight to the point! Let’s add smiley faces on it!”

Your turned down the volume from the news, let your head fall backwards and brought up your forearm over your closed eyes. It felt warm and made it you realize that you had probably been staring very intensely at the screen as a wave of comfort hit your eyes the moment they were drowned in darkness. Letting out a deep breath, you stilled and let yourself bask in your thoughts until a familiar voice brought you back.

“Maybe a little bit more sugar? No, then it would be disbalanced. The base is already so sweet-- Ah, I have to take the cupcakes out or else they might get burned!”

You felt a smile grow on your lips, making you ignore the horrid news being broadcasted to turn to your partner that as usual, seemed to juggle ten thousand things to create a whole meal.

“What’s going on over here?” you asked, leaning over the counter to note that one of your favorite dishes was made and machines that were mostly used for baking had been brought out.

“Oh you know, just a little pick me up for my most favorite person ever.” he shrugged, but a smile soon came to his face. His hands were full but he leaned over, his lips meeting your cheek. “Things outside are a little dark, so I thought we could both use a little something nice.”

He turned on the machine after dropping a drop of dye to make it your favorite color and within a few minutes the icing was finished. Hunk scooped up a small amount on his finger and brought it to his lips and nod.

“Wanna taste?” he asked you, his finger dipping into the icing.

A mischievous grin spread on your features as you took his wrist and let his finger fall on your tongue, the sweetness quickly spreading through your mouth. The yellow paladin shivered as you let his digit hang in your mouth for longer than necessary, letting out a satisfied hum when you returned it to him.

“Tastes perfect.”

PIDGE:

She knew what could be fixed, she knew how to fix it but this meant she was also aware of how long such a transition would take

I think Pidge would be similar to Shiro: whatever she remembers that helps you be at ease, she would defect to that in hopes to maybe distract you for a while.

I don’t think Pidge is a very touchy person either, so if she reaches out to you _physically_ in worry, it’s a very clear sign she’s serious/anxious

I feel like she would reach out in other ways and then if she knew you were in a specific state of mind where touch was not useful, or if she just also wanted to try things out lol

As you watched the twisted information that was being shared on screen, another message caught your attention. Rather than a small red icon in the corner, a small window appeared in the middle of your computer screen.

<I found a way to modify notifications sent to another device.>

The video had stopped, every horrible gif about police brutality was paused and there was nothing else but the small window pidge had thrown onto your screen. You chuckled, and felt a pressure behind your working chair.

Another message popped up.

<You’ve been catching up with twitter for the past two hours. Surely you’re done now?>

A soft laugh came from you, making Pidge release a breath she didn’t know she was holding. You typed out an answer:

<Is it possible to be completely caught up with twitter? I follow like 500 accounts.>

<Okay, but half of them are just cat videos and the other half are just retweets of said videos.>

<Oh here I was thinking that this was an intervention to brighten my mood. We’re dragging each other’s follows now?>

<Oh please like you don’t want to be dragged, with that kind of follow list.>

<I can’t believe you’ve done this.>

You both laughed, before Pidge turned around and tapped your shoulder. She let her hand float in the air, yours coming to join it as a soon as your turned her way.

“Wanna take a nap?” she asked, letting her head fall onto your shoulder. “I had Chip make some hot chocolate, Hunk style.”

You squeezed her hand, putting your computer on sleep mode.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

[cyoc49]

Auto Pilot

James was 18 and already shaping up to be a disappointment in life. After spending four years of high school slacking off, doing drugs, and not caring about anything, he now found himself a freshman in college with little prospect of where to go. He was attending the local community college - he hadn’t even wanted to do that, but his parents threatened to kick him out and cut off funding if he didn’t do some higher education. Now he found himself wandering aimlessly around campus. He had no idea what his major would be, no plans of any kind, really. He wanted to stay as distant from this college experience as possible.

To be honest, James did sometimes think about his lack of aim in life. The truth was he truly did fear committing to anything in life, for the risk of making the wrong choice, and so invented a “don’t care” persona to cope with his lack of place in the world.

James arrived at his dorm, and made his way upstairs to his room. He shared it with some guy, Clide. They didn’t talk much. As he got to the door of his room, he noticed a package sitting in front of the door. He picked it up and inspected it. Relatively small, lightweight, addressed to him. Odd. Usually this type of thing would be sent to the mail room. As James entered his room, he put the package down on his desk. Clide wasn’t there, he was probably at class.

“Might as well check this thing out,” James said to himself as he opened the box. Inside was a big red button reading AUTO PILOT.

Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. It was one of those comically oversized buttons like you saw in movies. He had never seen one this big in person. And what did “Auto Pilot” mean?

Looking back into the box, James found a small booklet labeled “User’s Manual”. He picked it up and read the contents:

“INCREDIBLE AUTO PILOT BUTTON

Life can be exhausting. School, jobs, bills, food, house troubles, and countless other decisions have to be made and executed every day. At the end of the day, is all the grind really worth it? Wouldn’t you rather take the easy route? The better route?

The Auto Pilot button is simple. Press it, and your life will be set to “auto pilot”. We’ve spent decades studying the behavior patterns of successful people, and have created a formula by which we have the correct response to every obstacle and issue you will ever face in your life. Job troubles? You’ll always be a hard worker who knows how to get what he wants. Social issues? You’ll have the right line for every occasion. You’ll be more outgoing, more ambitious, and best of all: you don’t have to do any of it. When you’re on auto pilot. You can sit back and watch as your body makes all the right decisions for you. One press is all that’s needed.

Enjoy your life on auto pilot!”

James checked the back to see if there was anything else. He didn’t know what to think. He almost wanted to laugh. It had to be a joke, but the tone of the pamphlet was so certain that it could also be the delusions of some eccentric billionaire. Ah well, at least he finally had something to go on his barren desk. He slid the auto pilot button to the back corner of his desk, then paused. He pressed down on the button, just to see what those big red buttons really feel like.

Unfortunately for James, one press is all that’s needed.

*click*

As the button clicked down, James’ body slumped.

His eyes went dead.

And then he suddenly smiled.

And he kept smiling.

James was 22 and life was looking pretty great. After pressing that button his freshman year, James completely turned his life around, as if overnight. He suddenly started paying attention in all his classes. He began going to the gym, and joined an intramural soccer team. By the end of his freshman year, James had gained 25 lbs of muscle, going from a boney 150 to a beefy 175. He also ended his year, with a 4.0 GPA, and used it to apply to the local state school. It just offered him more opportunities than community college, and had better networking circles. James got in handily, and that fall found himself moving across state to university.

Almost as soon as he landed on campus, James continued his life climbing. He declared majors in international business and finance, knowing the money opportunities that lay there. The course load was nothing for James, as he always worked on homework at maximum efficiency. In fact, he had time left over to join a club lacrosse team.

Through his finance classes and lacrosse practices, James came to realize the social circle he needed to join if he wanted to get ahead: The rich preps. They were the ones who exuded the aura of success he wanted to project, and the ones with the connections to jobs after college. He modeled himself after them. He began to dress like them, in khakis and pastels, and leather loafers. Vineyard Vines, Ralph Lauren, and Brooks Brothers invaded his closet. He began to manage his hair, combing it into a neat side part every morning with pomade. He researched golf news, followed stock market trends, so he would have topics to talk about with these preps.

Slowly, by bringing up the points he now new about with classmates, and by projecting the image of a successful young preppy professional, James came to be accepted as one of their own. One of the boys. His ultimate dream. From that point it was easy: James was Mr All American, effortlessly witty and charming. By the time he was a senior, James was on fire. He had served as captain of his lacrosse team for the past 2 years, was top of his business classes. He had met several of his new friend’s fathers (all of them CEOs), and in most cases the fathers ended up liking James more than their own children. James was a professional in all aspects, and he did it all with a bright, mindless smile.

The one thing James hadn’t accomplished in college was finding a girlfriend. Of course he’d had several offers, but he never took a woman to call his own. Every once in a while he found himself staring at the guys on the lacrosse team while they changed, but these were only fleeting feelings. Certainly not the most efficient way to live his life.

But this didn’t matter to James. In just a few months he would be graduating top of his business program, and thanks to the father of a friend he had a job lined up at Plexicorp, one of the biggest marketing chains in the nation. James was only 22 and he was a consummate professional. Is this what a perfect life looks like?

James was 30 and on top of the world. After graduation he went right into work at Plexicorp, and immediately assumed the stereotype of a “young urban professional”. His work ethic was tireless, and through a mixture of countless golf matches and the perfect water cooler humor, James quickly became the most popular guy in his office, and the model employee. He rose in the ranks quickly, and was now a regional manager with a six figure salary at only 30.

With extra cash to spare, James had gone to work giving his life an upgrade. He bought clothes from extremely expensive brands, though sticking to his preppy classics. He got salon quality pomade for the classic styling of his hair (which had only gotten lighter over the years), and routinely had dermatology and dental work done to keep his face looking as fresh as possible. He bought a serene little cookie cutter McMansion out in the suburbs. Even with all this going on, he perfectly worked time into his schedule for gym and nutrition, keeping his body in peak shape even as he got older. At age 30, James was quickly approaching a DILF.

With the perfect job, the perfect clothes, and the perfect body, you’d think James would have quickly found a suitable wife, or at least someone looking for a QoL upgrade. But even over the years, James still never found himself fully committed to women, even though he knew starting a family young would be most productive in the long term. In a particular night of conflicting emotions, James made his way to a leather bar on the outskirts of town, where a nice 50 year old man with a beard and a harness taught James what he had always known. He was gay. And he loved it.

There must have been a hole in the Auto Pilot system. Certainly heterosexuality would be most efficient for a successful life, but somehow James’ base feelings came through. Of course he had no way of knowing what was going on in his body. All he knew was what was most efficient, and what felt best were in opposition to each other right now.

Eventually, with a smile, the straight James won out. After his encounter with the leather clad friend, he quickly found himself not thinking about sex at all. A life of chastity was certainly good enough for him. Letting sex be for pleasure hardly worked out, as we see. Sex should be for utility. Creating the family. And to get a family, he needed a wife.

The following weekend James took a trip to his local country club, and after a bit of scouting, chatting, and brown-nosing, James was introduced to Amber, an interior decorator. She wasn’t the most brilliant with a conversation, but she was single and looking to marry and that was enough for James. They went on several incredibly vanilla movie and dinner dates, where hand holding was the most action either of them got. After 8 months, they married and moved in together.

Now standing here at 30, James looked in the mirror. He felt his decently-sized chest push against the cotton undershirt and mint green button up sitting on top. His rotund and muscular ass was perfectly wrapped by his khakis. He looked down at the counter of his bathroom. Marble. With plenty of space. Even with his tricky sex situation, James had to admit he had a great body and a great life. He had made (almost) all the right decisions, and was reaping plenty of the rewards. As far as living life, this was a pretty good way to do it.

James was 40, and life was perfect. The shareholders of Plexicorp were so impressed by his keen business instincts and impressive management, and at only 32 offered to make him the youngest shareholder in the history of the company. From there he went from “pretty well off” to “disgustingly wealthy”. James knew how to invest his money well, and from the moment of that promotion never worried about money again. He moved into a mansion in the nice part of town and upgraded his wardrobe to suits, suits, and more suits. Now that he was one of the elites, he had to project as such. He kept his appearance as clean and refined as possible at all times. He loved to flash off in a khaki suit (a nod to his preppy roots), and with his now perfectly-blonde hair, he was the absolute image of refinement. He had certainly aged like fine wine, and there was no doubt about it: James was a DILF.

The only sore spot in his life has been Amber. After years of trying and failing to conceive due to lack of excitement, Amber eventually asked to file for divorce. James knew he had to grant her this, and handled the proceedings quietly (and generously) to let go of her gently. At 35, James was finally meeting a dead end that his Auto Pilot skills were unable to find a solution to.

Until he had an investment meeting with a local stock analyst named Robert

Robert was an image of success, beauty, and sharpness that James had seen in only one other man: himself. It was almost unnatural how beautiful and crisp Robert was. His perfectly parted hair. His well-fit gray suit and polished dress shoes. As James eyed this man up and down, it dawned on him. Robert must have made every decision perfectly in life to look like an image of success in his his 30s, because he did. Robert had help from Auto Pilot too. And judging by the lack of a ring on his finger, and the way he was eyeing James in the exact same way James was eyeing him, James had a suspicion that Robert had the same problem he had.

Robert was someone whose every value, choice, and lifestyle matched up with James’.

James knew exactly the right decision to make.

The two flashed each other perfect smiles and firm handshakes, and although the topic of their first meeting stayed on stocks, it was clear there was a mutual spark between the two. They quickly decided that weekly investment meetings would be best, which turned into lunch meetings twice per week, which turned into dinner, which turned into something much more. The two took it slow, to be safe, but it was clear they were disgustingly perfect for each other. On Tuesdays and Thursdays they met up at the gym at 6AM to exercise together. They had quickly learned they wore the same suit size, and exchanged looks on several occasions. Robert taught James just how he achieved his razor sharp part, and James taught Robert how to match pocket squares to outfits. After a few years of dating they married in a picturesque countryside summer wedding, and both knew this one would last.

Now standing here at 40, James could genuinely say life was perfect. He had gone from an aimless place in his life to the top of the world, and although it had been a bumpy road, he was now with the perfect partner living a life of gentility. Checking his suited image in the mirror one last time, James left the bathroom and walked to the front door where Robert was waiting. The two had plans to attend an orchestra show and get dinner at the nicest restaurant in town.

James flashed Robert the perfect smile, and Robert returned the favor.

“Ready to go, darling?” James asked the man of his dreams.

“Of course, love.” Robert replied in a smooth tenor. The two briefly joined to kiss, before heading outside where the driver was waiting to take them into the city for another wonderful night.